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lucyintheskywithxanax · 3 years

Text

Red Roses

Pairing: Wilhemina Venable x Fem Reader

A/N: I wrote this a few weeks ago and gave up on it because I thought it was too messy and too repetitive. But I re-read it yesterday and was surprisingly pleased with it and with its messiness. So here you go.

Credits to Stevie Nicks for some of the words in one paragraph at the end.

Summary: this is my take on the “reader introduces new gf to her family” story, except I decided it should not be cute but angsty

Warnings: homophobia, internalised homophobia, racism

Word count: ~ 5 400

“Are you ready ?” Wilhemina asked.

You made a face and gave her hand a squeeze. “No? But I don’t think I’ll ever be so let’s just do this.”

“Permission to cane them if they get mean?”

You breathed out a laugh. “Mina, no.”

She gave you a small wicked smile that made your heart skip a beat. “Too bad,” she said in that deep voice that meant someone was in trouble.

“They’re old,” you smiled. “You would break their bones.”

She hummed thoughtfully. You stared down at your linked hands on your lap as you absentmindedly stroked her knuckles. Wilhemina waited a few more seconds, then opened the door of the car and got out.

Well, here goes. You followed her immediately, as she knew you would.

Outside the air was cold and crisp and smelt of the ocean. Every year your family would gather at your grandparents’ house to celebrate Christmas. It was a tradition you dared not break, no matter the toll it took on you. This year, it would just be you, your parents and grandparents.

You stepped closer to Wilhemina as your grandparents appeared at the front door and waved. “Come on in, come on in, it’s so cold!”

“I can smell the ocean from here,” you smiled.

“Yes, but come on in!”

When they closed the door behind you, it felt as if you had just been thrown in jail. They beamed at you, happy and content, as they helped you and Wilhemina take off your coats.

“Welcome! How was the drive? We’re so glad to see you, it’s been too long!”

“I made your favorite cake,” your grandma said with a wink.

“And welcome to you, Y/N’s friend!” your granddad said, opening his arms to Wilhemina.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” she said. Her voice was cold, but not cold enough to set off their reproaches.

Your grandparents gave her polite smiles as they ran their eyes up and down her body, gazes lingering on her cane for a second too long. Automatically you reached out and brushed her wrist, a small gesture of comfort just in case she needed it.

“Are mum and dad here?” you asked, taking a peek inside the living-room.

“Not yet.”

Your parents had always supported you and knew you and Wilhemina were a couple. They had met her three or four times already, had offered her kind smiles that had grown kinder when they’d noticed the fond look that would soften her eyes every time she’d look at you. But your grandparents – that was quite a different story.

You loved them. You really did. They were kind and affectionate and generous. You hated them. They made you feel so small and dirty.

Here was the thing. Your grandparents had their own definition of what was right and what was wrong, and nothing would change their minds. Their convictions were engraved in marble. They pointed a finger at everyone who dared put a toe out of the norms, and laughed at them and jeered and hated. How they hated. It was a terrible monster, that hatred of them. It was too big and too strong and too dark. It stifled you, clawed at your skin, bullied your heart. And how they adored you. You were the perfect grandchild, polite and kind, educated, always respectful, always so proper. If only they knew – they didn’t know you. They only saw what you had allowed them to see, a masquerade, a very pretty picture in a golden frame.

You had wanted to keep Wilhemina safe from your grandparents’ toxicity, but the alternative was her spending Christmas on her own. Again. While all around her the world celebrated. You wouldn’t have that – it wasn’t even an option. She had been so alone for so long, and it had hurt her so deeply, so viciously, until loneliness had become so familiar she had mistaken it for home. You had been trying to teach her, one gentle touch at a time, what home really felt like. So this Christmas, she would be loved and cherished.

You carried your and Wilhemina’s bags upstairs to the spare room you would sleep in. Wilhemina rolled her eyes at the twin beds. You shot her a sheepish smile.

“Sorry,” you whispered.

She shook her head. “No need to apologize.”

“We can put the beds closer after I tell them about us.”

You wouldn’t get to sleep in that room, part of you knew that. Your grandparents would kick you out like the reminder of a shameful memory as soon as they learnt about Wilhemina and you.

You picked up one of the pillows, so soft and comfortable, expensive pillows that had been carefully chosen for the comfort of loved ones, and stroked it absentmindedly. Your eyes veiled over.

You had been so happy in this house. There had been so much love and joy, so much sunshine. But you had never really been yourself in this house.

Wilhemina slipped one arm around your waist and pressed your back against her chest. A soft kiss on the nape of your neck. You leaned back into her, eyes fluttering closed, gathering strength from her warmth. She gave you so much of it, every day.

“Are you okay, little one?”

You hummed, turned in her arms to look at her. You poked her cheek. “Never better.”

Your parents arrived half an hour later, and your grandma immediately ushered you all in the kitchen for lunch. Cooking was how she expressed her affection. Her meals were always abundant and delicious. Because she loved you all, so dearly.

“Your house is very lovely,” Wilhemina said as your dad poured the wine.

Your granddad flashed her a smile. “We fled big cities two years ago. Too many freaks, too much filth. We couldn’t stand it anymore.”

Your grandma piled food on your plate, her eyes soft and kind, for she loved you so dearly. Your hands were shaking.

“We are being invaded,” your granddad was saying. “In two years my neighbours will be a couple of fags or a family of black people. And the government is doing nothing to stop it. When I look around, I cannot recognize my own country.”

You fidgeted with your fork, unable to eat, suddenly feeling incredibly nervous. Several times before, you had heard Wilhemina complain about how “worthless” part of the world population was. You had seen her look down on people and snarl at them for merely existing.

You stole a glance at her. And what – your throat closed up – what if she took your grandparents’ side? What if she agreed with them? What if she pulled her chair closer to them, and nodded to what they said, and shared a few laughs with them, and when next she would look at you it would be with scorn and disdain? What if, listening to what they had to say, her eyes finally opened, and she saw you the way you sometimes saw yourself? Freakish, unlovable.

What then?

You shook your head, suddenly angry with yourself. You knew her. You trusted her. She would never think of you like that.

But what if she did?

Your dad laughed loudly, startling you from your thoughts. You met your granddad’s eyes – kind, soft – and offered him a weak smile.

“And how’s your love life, Y/N?” he asked.

Tell them. You had promised it to yourself. You had promised it to Mina. But what if – Lord – what if they were right? What if they had been right all along? What if Wilhemina finally opened her eyes –

“Did you see how the neighbours pruned their apple tree?” your grandma was saying. “It looks hideous now.”

You cleared your throat.

“Uh, guys, I have something to tell you.”

Your heart was beating so fast you were pretty sure it was going to burst any minute now. You couldn’t look at Wilhemina. You had never been more aware of her presence ever since you had met her, her body radiating burning heat that almost threatened to destroy you.

Your grandparents looked up at you expectantly.

Who’s the lucky man? your granddad’s happy eyes asked. Great-grandchildren! your grandmother’s smile beamed. So proud, so satisfied.

You had become ice. Ice that was melting in the fire that was Wilhemina. Your hands were shaking. You wanted to run away so badly.

“Um, so, Wilhemina and I are dating,” you heard yourself say – from very, very far away. The voice wasn’t yours. It echoed in your ears.

Your grandparents didn’t understand.

“We’re dating,” the voice said, “as in we’re together. We’re in love. I love her.” The voice was almost proud. It surprised you.

Your grandparents understood.

This was terrible. This was the worst. The disappointment on their faces, as if you had failed them, as if you had failed to honour your side of the contract. What would they say to their neighbours and friends now? How would they boast about you? When would they get to greet your nice, respectful husband? When would they bounce their great-grandchildren on their knees? Where were the respectability and the pride and the freaking normal?

You lowered your eyes so you didn’t have to watch as disappointment and pain settled on their faces. You were vaguely aware of the stinging in your eyes and the trembling of your chin. This would not do. You were freezing, ice crystallizing around your heart, to choke it or to protect it you didn’t know. You would break under your grandparents’ gazes and nothing would be left of you. You had failed them.

Warmth. Wilhemina’s hand found yours under the table. She gave it a gentle squeeze, laced her fingers with yours. Warmth, and softness and love.

Your parents weren’t saying a thing. Your dad was staring at his plate, your mum at the ceiling. It broke your heart, their silence. It was like an agreement with what your grandparents’ faces were expressing.

You couldn’t talk either, so you waited, for Wilhemina’s hand to let go of yours as she realized just how pathetic you were, how disgusting, you were disgusting and your love was disgusting and –

“Why are you doing this to us?” your granddad asked. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Wilhemina wince. “Uh? What did we ever do to you to deserve this?”

How sad he looked. How so terribly broken.

There was the sound of a chair scraping on the floor, and then Wilhemina stood up, slowly and threateningly, eyes half-closed, teeth half-bared. You looked up at her, saw the anger on her face, and mechanically you reached out to stop her. She shouldn’t snap at them. They were right. Couldn’t she see that, see how sad they were, how badly you had hurt them?

Wilhemina looked down at you in surprise. For a second she seemed to be at a loss for what to do. Her mouth opened, but you shook your head, jumped on your feet, and flew out of the room.

It was so very cold outside. You had left without your coat. But the cold felt good. You dived into it.

You couldn’t see very well because of the tears in your eyes, but the sky was white, the earth was wet, and the sand was a faded yellow that was almost grey when your feet sank into it. You hadn’t even realized you had run to the beach.

The tide was low, the ocean quiet, barely any waves, which was funny really because your heart was a storm. You had expected the ocean to be raging.

You sat down on the sand and wrapped your arms around your knees. The chilly wind bit your cheeks. You let the cold sweep through you, let it slip its fingers under your clothes. You took a few deep breaths of the salty air.

Warmth. A gentle hand on your shoulder.

“You left without your coat, little one,” said Wilhemina, her voice firm but laced with tenderness. “It’s too cold. Here, put it on.”

You didn’t move, so Wilhemina draped your coat over your shoulders. She sat down beside you and you hated the tenderness and the love that clutched your heart for it felt wrong – her love felt wrong. You deserved a slap in the face and a few bitter insults.

You sank into her nonetheless. You couldn’t help it. You had always been drawn to her like a magnet, and she was always craving your touch.

She wrapped one arm around your shoulders to press you close against her. She was staring fiercely at the ocean, eyes black and angry. You saw her blink several times, her jaw working as if she were gritting her teeth to hold back words. She wasn’t good with words. Communication had always been her weak point. But she always tried, for you.

“Maybe they’re right,” you heard yourself whisper after a while – or maybe it was just the wind, carrying the words from your heart to her ears. “Maybe I am a freak. Maybe I am disgusting and there’s something wrong with me.”

Wilhemina’s face hardened. She held you tighter. “Well then,” she said, very low and very slow, “we are meant to be together. I’m a freak, too.”

“You’re not!” you exclaimed. “Don’t say that about yourself. You’re not a freak, Mina!”

Her lips curled into a small smile. “Funny you should say that. It’s what I think of you, too. See, maybe we can help each other.”

She turned her head to look at you. Her eyes were big and so painfully honest and loving you felt like dissolving into tears. You bit the inside of your cheek as your face crumpled.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Wilhemina cooed. Her brow pushed up in concern, her hand coming up to hold your chin. She gazed at you, searching your eyes, then leaned in to kiss you.

You couldn’t kiss her right now. It didn’t feel proper – if your lips met, the gods in the sky would roar in wrath and smite you. And what if one of your grandparents’ neighbours or friends saw you? Your family would be so ashamed. You had already hurt them so badly. So you put a hand on Wilhemina’s chest to hold her back, and you saw the pain and the fear flash in her eyes before she blinked them away.

“No, Mina, I –“

She leaned slightly away, blinking, nodding. You told yourself it was the cold wind that made the tears pool in your eyes again.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered to Wilhemina. You watched her out of the corner of your eye and reached for her hand.

“It’s okay,” she nodded, smiling through her fear.

You gave her hand a squeeze. “I love you,” you whispered, low and anxious, as if it were a shameful secret. As if it should never be uttered loudly. But the ocean captured the words and sent them back to you and her with a loud groan and spray as a wave almost lapped up your feet.

“I love you,” you repeated, louder. You leaned in and planted a peck on her cheek. Nuzzled her skin, breathed her in. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, love. I understand.”

Of course she did. You had seen the harshness in her gaze when she inspected herself in the mirror in the morning. There were days she would not even dare meet her own eyes.

But she was right. You could help each other. For you both knew what the other was worth, and you both were willing to apply love like a balm on the other’s wounds.

It seemed to you the ocean was whispering. What was it? A secret. Come closer. Don’t be afraid. Closer still.

You sagged against Wilhemina. I’d rather stay here on the beach with her, you told the ocean. Where it’s warm and dry and safe. Keep your secret. I don’t want it.

Tentatively, Wilhemina dropped a kiss on your temple. You hummed, to let her know it was okay. You felt her relax slightly against you, and then she whispered in your ear the secret you had refused to hear from the ocean. You didn’t fail them. They failed you.

Without warning you put one hand on the small of her back and your other hand on her shoulder, and gently pushed her so that she was lying on the sand. She met your eyes in surprise, mouth opening in protest but you kissed her silent. You felt her smile into the kiss.

Her lips were cold, but her mouth was warm and so very sweet. One of her hands tangled in your hair and gently stroke the nape of your neck. Your whole body was tingling. There was no way, you thought, no way this could be wrong.

When you pulled away, Wilhemina’s eyes were shining, and she bit down on a smile. “You’re getting sand in my hair,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“Tough shit,” you teased. You brushed your mouth against hers, marveling at the warmth and softness of her; your tongue darted out to taste her lower lip, then plunged into her mouth and gently licked her teeth.

Wilhemina held your hand all the way back to your grandparents’ house. You mother was waiting for you by the door. She gave Wilhemina a grateful smile when she saw you were safe and sound.

“Y/N that was quite an over-reaction,” your mum gently scolded.

“Thank you for your input,” Wilhemina snapped. With a hand on your back she guided you inside. “And thank you for speaking up for your daughter earlier,” she spat over her shoulder. You couldn’t hold back the small smile that tugged at your lips.

“Y/N?” came your granddad’s voice from the living-room.

He appeared in the doorway.

And just like that you were freezing again. For he looked so sad, so very broken – his anger would’ve been alright, you could stand up to anger, but this look, this terrible look on his face that suggested his whole world had just come apart – you froze. Instinctively you leaned away from Wilhemina, hating yourself for doing so.

Your granddad took a tentative step towards you. “Can we talk this over? Surely if we talk this over, you’ll change your mind.”

Wilhemina’s hand on your back felt like molten metal. You had to force yourself not to squirm away from her touch. It wasn’t right, your granddad’s expression told you. It wasn’t natural for her to love you like that.

Your body leaned towards him and further away from Wilhemina. Did she notice? Please don’t let her notice. But she did, and you saw her square her shoulders to look taller like an animal sensing a threat.

“Come on, love,” she said, giving your back a gentle push.

Your granddad’s eyes fell on her. “Where are you going?”

“We’re leaving,” Wilhemina answered in a cold but calm voice. “Our destination is none of your business.”

“And you think Y/N’s gonna come with you?” A laugh, of genuine surprise.”We’ve spent every Christmas since she was born together. We’re family.”

Wilhemina’s fingers on your back stuttered. Her eyes widened, oh, just a bit, just the slightest bit, imperceptible to anyone who didn’t know her as well as you did.

“Christmas,” your granddad went on, his face growing more and more animated, “is for family and love. What do you have to offer her, apart from depravity and deceit? Did you really think,” here he laughed again – genuine surprise again, so much worse than hatred, “that she meant it when she said she could love someone like you?”, with a glance at her cane, incredulous, pitifying, almost amused.

He was good, you had to give him that. He knew exactly where to scratch so it would hurt the most. But he had also made a mistake. He could abuse you all he wanted, but Wilhemina was off limits. She was sacred ground, never to be sullied by anyone.

“She’s family,” you groaned, raising your chin defiantly, “and I love her.”

Your granddad scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. Please, you’ve seen her – or maybe you haven’t, and that’d explain why you agreed to date her. Come on, come sit with us, let us talk, let us help you –“

“Just, stop talking.” You closed your eyes and gritted your teeth, trying to curb the anger that was rising inside you – hot, red, like lava. “Stop talking, and leave me alone.”

Only now did you realize that Wilhemina hadn’t said a word for too long. No snide comebacks, no insults. You glanced at her. Her face was hard and blank, but her eyes were veiled, and you knew that look. There was the glaze she always hid herself behind when she was afraid and hurting. Like that Sunday morning at the farmer’s market, when she and you had been browsing a flower stall, bright pink orchids, red and yellow tulips, green buds, and that old woman behind you in the line had made a disparaging remark about “cripples”, loud enough for Wilhemina to hear.

You reached for her hand on your back and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Come on, Mina, let’s go.”

Your granddad called after you as you stomped up the stairs, Wilhemina’s hand still in yours, but you ignored him. Your body was tingling with a strange mix of anger, fear and relief. You walked into the spare room, picked up your bag and Wilhemina’s – there had been no time to unpack – and turned towards the door. Wilhemina was staring at you, her left arm crossed over her stomach in a hug, her brow slightly pulled down in thought.

“If you’d rather stay here with them –“she started.

“I don’t,” you cut her off firmly.

“I don’t want to get between you and the people you love.”

You heard the pain in her voice, so you dropped your bag on the floor, walked up to her and cupped her face. “Don’t let his words get to you,” you said, tilting her head to make her meet your eyes.”They were lies. You know that. I love you.”

Her eyes locked with yours, wide and begging for reassurance.

Please, you know better than that. You’re so smart, did you really think that she meant it when she said she could love someone like you?

Footsteps on the stairs, your grandma’s voice – how much she loved you. How very much she wanted to be proud of you.

Wilhemina’s eyes reflected the hesitation she saw in yours, and it spread and spread and spread until it threatened to darken the whole room like the falling of night.

“I love you,” you repeated, voice strangled, fingers trembling on her skin.

Oh please – they’re family.

And it was the same fear, the very same fear that was pulsing in both your veins – freakish, unlovable. Your lips curled in a soft smile at the exact moment your grandma entered the room.

With your free hand in Wilhemina’s, her pulse and your pulse drumming between your palms, you walked past your grandma, down the stairs and down the hall, towards the front door, and when you opened it you could have sworn you heard the call of the ocean, singing “come away”.

Wilhemina was half crying, half laughing nervously as she fumbled in her bag for the car keys, hands shaking, so you cupped her face again, kissed her, her mouth, her cheeks, kissed her tears until she could breathe easier. And you heard someone behind you gasp, and someone else curse in the same voice the old woman had used that day at the farmer’s market, when Wilhemina’s fingers had stuttered over the flowers.

A sob pushed out of her throat, a jingle of keys as they fell to the floor; Wilhemina bent down to pick them up, but she couldn’t see well enough through her tears. You picked up the keys for her and opened the car.

Before you got in, you turned and faced your family. When you spoke your voice was firm and hard, a surprise, but not an unpleasant one. “I will sit with you, and we will talk, when you’re ready to apologise,” you growled, staring into your granddad’s eyes, then your grandma’s. You slammed the door of the car, just to make a point.

You drove. A little bit above the speed limit, on winding narrow roads that crossed small, sleepy villages. You had driven almost twenty miles when you realized you had no idea where you were going.

You glanced at Wilhemina. She was staring out the window, her face blank, but at least that veil had lifted from her eyes. When you focused on the road again, you spotted a sign that read a familiar name.

“Let’s go there,” you said. Wilhemina didn’t react. “You’ll like the place.”

The place in question was a small fishermen village surrounded by fields, with a narrow pier and a wide beach that stretched for more than half a mile before it abruptly ended on an expanse of rocks covered with seaweeds. You had come here countless times with your family as a child, to sit on the pier with your feet dangling above the water and ice cream dripping between your fingers.

Today the water was as grey as the sky. You reached for Wilhemina’s hand and led her down the coastal path that weaved among the dunes.

“I have so many happy memories linked to this place,” you whispered, barely louder than the wind. “Now I want to make one with you.”

Wilhemina let out a small, pejorative laugh.

You shot her a sideways look. “What?”

She shook her head. “Nothing.”

You narrowed your eyes at her, then straightened your shoulders and pointed at something in front of you. “Look.”

There, half-hidden behind a swell of the dunes, rose the ruins of what must have been a manor house, but was now a clustered mess of broken walls from which four seagulls flew out with angry cries. A small stream spurted out from between two stones and flowed lazily across the beach to be soaked up by the sand right before it met the ocean.

Wilhemina stopped in her tracks and let out a surprised puff of air.

“I told you you’d like it,” you smiled. “Doesn’t it look so very Victorian?”

With a clumsy curtsey you extended one arm towards the ruins. “Would Miss Wilhemina accompany me on a tour of Netherfield Hall?”

Wilhemina’s face lit up with a smirk.

The place was rather tricky for her to navigate with her cane, but she didn’t complain. You and her stepped over the bits of wood and the stones that littered the sand, falling into a comfortable and slightly awed silence. There was something so solemn, and a bit impressive, about those ruins, like walking in a silent church.

Wilhemina stopped in a doorway that led into a small, square room. “What is this room?” she asked in a haughty voice.

You assumed a proud expression. “The library. See all my books? Folks come from all across the country to admire them. I have the largest collection.”

“All I can see is you have very bad taste,” Wilhemina quipped as she turned on her heel and walked away. You laughed and followed her into the next room, of which only one wall remained. It opened on the ocean.

“Careful!” you screamed, pointing at a brown seaweed on the sand. “There’s a banana skin on the mahogany floor!”

Wilhemina snorted, then assumed a scornful expression. “Call a servant. Somebody get us rid of it. I will not tolerate the state of this kitchen.”

With a grin you pulled her to you and kissed her, slow and sweet. She hummed into the kiss, bringing one hand up to cup your cheek, fingers barely brushing your skin as if it were made of something indescribably precious. When you pulled away, her smile was genuinely happy.

“Hello,” you giggled, giddy and fond.

She bit her lip, ran her thumb over your mouth.

“Hi.”

You took her hand again, and together you made your way through an archway into yet another room.

“This, I believe, must be the master bedroom,” you sang. You shot Wilhemina a suggestive look, which she pretended not to notice.

“I see a bed, but where is your husband?” Wilhemina asked.

A sad smile. When you spoke, your voice had a quaver to it. “Alas, Miss Wilhemina, there is no husband.”

She hummed. Pressed her cane against her stomach. “So who’s to share this big bed with you?” she asked after a while. She was avoiding your gaze, her eyes fixed on a tuft of grass that had managed to grow in the sand. “It must get so cold in the winter. Any suitor waiting by the door?”

She was no longer teasing you. Her voice was serious, her face had become unreadable again. You looked at her, and felt that familiar pain that wasn’t just pain but also sadness, and yearning for an easier, kinder life, clutch at your heart.

“A hundred, probably,” you whispered. You stroked your thumb over one of her knuckles, back and forth. “I don’t know. I didn’t check. I keep the doors closed.” You tugged her arm to make her turn and face you. Gave her a soft, sad smile, cupped her cheek with your free hand and caught the lonely tear that dropped from her eye. “I already have my sweetheart here with me inside,” you murmured, gazing into her eyes.

There was so much fear in your heart. So much fear you could have thrown up on the sand in the middle of those ruins that had once been a manor house, where people dressed in pretty clothes had met to share an evening of dancing and revelries. Love had bloomed among those walls before, love that had been so bright it had lit up the whole room and love that had been kept secret behind closed doors. The walls and the ocean were still singing the long-dead lovers’ songs.

You would sing it, too, grab the hand of the nearest dancer and join the farandole.

So you gave Wilhemina’s hand a squeeze that was almost too tight, just like that day at the farmer’s market when, with rage thundering in your chest and your eyes shooting daggers, you had towered over the old woman and shouted profanities at her until all the colour had drained from her face. And you had bought Wilhemina a ridiculously big bouquet of roses she had carried down the aisle, her cheeks flushed with gratitude and happiness and almost as bright and red as the flowers, for the whole world to see how beloved she was.

You pulled her close and smirked when her eyes flicked hungrily to your lips.

“What is that sweetheart of yours like?” she whispered.

“Most of the time she’s an ass.” Wilhemina gave you a look that made you laugh. “But when I do this – “you leaned in and dropped a soft kiss on her mouth, “I find my home and family.”

Wilhemina’s eyes had fluttered closed; she didn’t open them for a long moment after you pulled away. That was new: she always made sure her eyes were opened when somebody stood that close to her, so that she would see danger come, so that she would not be taken by surprise when her lover suddenly sneered and mocked and laughed. But today she let herself sink into intimacy and trusted it would not hurt her, and you felt yourself melt with gratitude and love.

When she eventually opened her eyes again, she gazed at you with wonderment, as if she were seeing you for the very first time and you were the most beautiful creature she had ever laid eyes on; and then she blinked, and wonderment gave way to adoration and something that was so pure and so genuinely happy.

#ahs #ahs imagine #sarah paulson #sarah paulson x reader #wilhemina venable x reader #wilhemina venable #fics

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maladaptive-ninja-returns · 4 years

Text

Kira Vol 2 (2)

The Mistress

CHAPTER 2: You Were Found

Loki x fem!Reader (Kira)

Series: A new chapter begins in Kira’s life. Old secrets, new confessions, surprising allies and unexpected meetings. All of them have one name in common. Loki.

Chapter content: soft feels

Warnings: none

Word count: I’m feeling better today, enjoying the weather, shit scared of thunder and wanting sleep to come early so I don’t wake up in the noon like I did today

MASTERLIST & Taglist in bio, my love

If the air could spell out the emotions floating in this space, it would paint the molecules 'awkward'. But what is more fascinating to witness by anyone who would walk in on the scene is to point out to who is more uncomfortable than the others. You sit across your parents, busy helping serve breakfast around the table, your attention is mostly taken by your grandmother- who is more than delighted to be served fried bread, these little pieces of her favourite edible treasures of fried dough and a hot cup of tea to go with it all. Shireen and Ritviz, your younger sister and brother sit on the other end of the table together, watching you with their piercing gaze as you try to- almost- completely ignore this extraordinarily handsome man sitting right next to you. They dare not blink as this pale sculpted dude looks at the movements of your hands busy at work before landing his haze upon your face. "So-" Ritviz leans in towards Shireen, his eyes still not letting go of this guy who is stuck on his sister for some reason- "this is her boss?"

Shireen hums, narrowing her eyes towards the duo. Taking a cardamom stick from the table basket, she snaps it in half. "Ay, Kira. Give your boss some of that mint sauce you prepared last night." You turn to watch your sister nibble at the cardamom, trying your best to ignore the palpitations and nod with a smile. How does she always know? It is hard to know if the heat your feel at the nape of your neck and cheeks is visible to everyone sitting around you and even harder to let your excited brain find a switch to shut down the anxiety that your body feels on having all the people you love in one room. On the same table. "Have some of this," your mother brings forward an entire serving of her signature chillis fried and spiced in her signature chickpea dough recipe and asks Loki to help himself. "No!" You blurt out when Loki tries to go for them, moving them away to take charge of filling his plate up. "He can't eat chilli," you explain, gathering more judgment from your siblings, "it doesn't suit him." "Tsk. How have you been living with him till now?! You can barely survive without spicy food!" You and Loki turn your heads- quite in sync- to look at Shireen. "Shireen," mother uses her tone to make it known she is crossing some line. But she also makes sure to smile at her daughter's guest and serve him some piping hot tea. "Don't mind her. I dropped her on the floor when she was a baby," you whisper to Loki. Loki blinks and quietly chuckles before turning back to look at Shireen. "We have a cook back home. She makes sure Kira gets everything she wants and needs." There is a gasp forming in Ritviz's lungs right now as he bites into the fried cheese. 'We'? 'Back home'? This dude already planned their retirement?? "So, Loki..." Now all three children turn to look at their mother, knowing full well where this is going the moment she addresses your boss so casually. "Do you have any siblings?" Ritviz facepalms himself harder than anticipated. Shireen grabs a chilli and stuffs it in her mother's mouth while you try to keep a straight face through the embarrassment your family is making you feel. Well, your dad and grandma are an exception because they are more interested in the food. "She doesn't have any idea about what's going on around the world. So..." You trial off with apology bursting through your y/e/c eyes. Your siblings look at your mother with daggers in their eyes, knowing full well she has consumed the Odin family history through the news like an addict ever since you got the job at Sun Corp. More so when you came back home. Your mom can feel their stares. But she too takes her time to look at them and go 'what' like it's a big deal. "Meet me outside after breakfast and I'll tell you 'what'," Shireen threatens her. Loki simply shrugs. "It's fine. I have a brother. He is back in Asgard looking after his father's empire. We don't meet each other much. Mostly because of our work." It is both relieving and painful to watch Loki sail on those words so smoothly and end them with a genuine smile. "These are delicious, by the way," he adds and you have to wonder about a thousand things about your boss in one go. Your mother is won over by that compliment but that does not stop her from prying more into your boss' life. "The business must be going well then?" Loki nods in respect. "We have been going stable. So, that is a plus after the slump the market was facing." "Okay, no business talk on the table," you remind everyone before pouring some soda for you, your grandma and Loki. "The food still might feel spicy. Have the soda first and tea later." Loki pauses between bites and lets that sweet command swirl inside him, his bones feeling alive after so long on hearing that voice talk to him this way. "Yes, ma'am," he replies softly, and you have to hide the flush on your face and the smile on your lips behind your hands. "What happened?" your grandma asks you out of the blue, her strong sixth sense already catching the flutter in your gut. You shake your head and bribe her with the soda. Her focus is redirected instantly, but that does not mean she stops observing you through this heavenly meal. "Why didn't you get married yet?" your mother throws the question out of nowhere, making some people choke on their drink, others groan, and one snicker. "Okay, that's it," you announce, "he's staying at the hotel. Loki, you're staying at the hotel." Your mother's wide eyes look at the usual judgment of the siblings falling upon her. "What? I'm just asking this handsome man about-" "You cannot ask him that, ma," you and Ritvik groan, Shireen tsks and rolls her eyes. Loki, watching this unfold simply smirks at this pure delight he feels sitting in the midst of this family. You get up and go to the kitchen to get some more sauces for the table, all the while glaring at your mother- who chooses to not notice. The fried dough smells and tastes heavenly even though it is one heavy portion for him. Worth it, he shrugs internally and goes for another bite. His right wrist feels a tug and he witnesses the frail wrinkled hand shaking a little before pointing him to the soda bottle in front of him. "Have some sprite," your grandmother urges Loki with a smile in her eyes. Loki feels a tug on the string of his hearts. Those eyes are a mix of green, brown, grey and every mystic power of nature that can be held in the iris of a wise person. That withered face shines bright with plump cheeks and transparent emotions. "I'm...uh...I'm good, Mrs Kane, thank you," Loki reciprocates the smile, "I still have some left in my glass." Grandma nods and pushes her own glass forward. "Then pour me some, will you?" Loki cannot help but chuckle, complying with the orders straight away. "So-" your mother's voice breaks through the soothing air over the table just as you come out of the kitchen- "how much do you earn?" And you walk right back into it.

"Pretty cringy breakfast downstairs." Moving away from the view of the mountains in the near distance, Loki sees Ritvik stand by the rooftop door with a box in his hand. He can see Shireen stand behind him, bluffing disinterest as she pushes his brother away to walk towards the wires and hang the washed laundry to dry under the oddly hot December sun. "Isn't that how families usually are?" Loki smiles in his direction. Ritviz joins the man by the railings, looking at the mountains covered in thick clouds before paying attention to the maroon sweater Loki wears with his midnight blue jeans. The boy cannot help but appreciate the wide knit patterns adorn that white skin with apt beauty. "Nice sweater," he points before turning around to sit down on the platform. "Thanks, it w-" something stops Loki mid-sentence when he remembers the day he found it waiting in his bedroom- "it was a gift." Ritviz hums and smirks. "Good taste," he mutters. Shireen's eyes have been stuck on these two, reading their every word as every fabric getting in her hands is tortured with a sudden flick. "Is she a good assistant? My sister?" the brother asks. Is...that a trick question? Loki blinks at the mountains before smiling at the boy. "The best one I could ask for." A nod of agreement comes from the brother while the sister stands there giving more frustrated flicks to the sweaters. "Cool. Cool cool cool cool. So...she must keep up with whatever it is she's supposed to do." Oh for fucks sake. Shireen groans out loud. "Just ask him already dammit!" Both men turn towards Shireen. One looks at her in confusion while the other widens his eyes in caution at her, shaking his head as discreetly as possible. "Ask...ask me what?" "Nothin-" "How did Kira get hurt?" A crow yells whilst sitting on the top of the malacca as if laughing at the entire situation. Ritviz scratches some itch at the back of his neck while sighing in defeat. "You are supposed to go easy with the questions, Rin. This guy is the reason Kira has a job." "Oh, shut it, Ritz," she scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest, "it's not like he's doing her a favour. She has earned her place, okay? And she got wounded under his care!" Loki can see the scrunched up nose and brows carry on them a rage held in for far too long. Even though those grey eyes have nothing but animosity in them for him, he feels a certain elation on seeing them stand in defence for her sister. "Oi!" RItz is about to yell at Rin but Loki cuts him on the way. "She was in an accident." The chilly breeze takes the words and swirls them around the audience. "The car she was travelling in met with a serious accident. Three of my men died that night. One survived long enough to make sure Kira was all right." The crisp heat of the sun feels warm instead of scorching. Those fine lines on Rin's forehead fade just a little; partially because of hearing those words straight from the lion's mouth, partially because the guilt is transparent to a fault in those smaragdines that shimmer more than they normally should. "I was supposed to be with her that night. I promised to take her home, safe and sound. And I regret every second of not keeping my promise, I assure you that. If there was a way to repent for being careless with Kira's life, I would gladly give myself up for it." The silence that erodes the rooftop brings a lightness to it. Rin sighs and crosses her arms while Ritz cannot bring himself to look at Loki- who is patiently waiting for a word. "Kira told us there were bad guys involved," Rin mutters while letting her fingers play with the wool of her white sweater, "and by us, I mean me and Ritz. Mom and dad have no idea about this. They still think she fell from the stairs." Loki nods. "Did they try to hurt her because of...you?" Ritz cannot help but ask. The weight that has begun to make home over his chest returns after what seems like a while. That uneasy feeling of something scratching over his heart makes him uncomfortable. "I'm sorry, that is not what I meant," Ritz scrunches his face in an apology, "not that she was hurt because of you. What I meant was-" "Yes. I was the reason." "Bullshit!" Rin scoffs and laughs. That...was unexpected. "I'm pretty sure she did something to piss them off. She's done it before and she will def-fucking-nately do it again." Rin is not wrong. And the strong edge in her voice tells him she knows her sister well enough. "What I care about is that now that she works for you, she will be fighting a fight that isn't hers. And, God forbid, if something happens to-" "I won't let it," Loki is already marking down a vow, "I have witnessed it once and I am not going to let anything or anyone make her go through it again." "But you cannot promise me that she won't go looking for danger, can you?" The lift of her brow makes Loki recall why he fell for Kira. "Agreed. I cannot do that. But whatever she brings home with her, I am willing to clean the mess." "You-" Rin has to literally grit her teeth before she can find herself pouring down fire over the man who talks about her sister like... The embers burning inside her bring blood to the surface under her teeth. Of all the goddamn people in this world. She looks at those green eyes shining under the soothing rays; translucent to a fault, standing bare. "Rin," Ritz quietly urges, trying to take her by the arm. "She will get hurt again, won't she?" Ritz stands there, feeling as significant as the wind meddling with the two people standing opposite each other defending their love for the same person again and again. And if they could, they would do it endlessly. "She does not back down from a fair fight," Loki addresses something all three of them already know. "That fight is always to save someone else," Rin adds, never blinking. "One more reason for me to carefully choose my enemies," Loki concludes, never wavering his gaze. A sigh leaves Rin's lungs and she feels her watery eyes closing with a pinch of pain in the eyelids. "The audacity of this bitch," she mutters and walks away, kicking the lone brick in her path that was used to keep the blankets holding drying chilli in place. "Please don't hate her," Ritz presses, sighing at the sight of his sister stomping down the stairs, "she is mad because she does not yet know how to process the emotion of envying you." Loki's brows furrow. And Ritviz can see the question incepting from miles away, making him chuckle and scratch an itch at the back of his head. "Kira stopped singing two years ago," he began, having Loki's full attention at the mention of the name, "all the weird songs and lyrics, all the wacky sound effects and humming disappeared when she fell ill. Of course, to the world, she was suffering from insomnia. But there was so much more. We were worried it would get worse when she left for the cyber city. So easy to get lost there, you know. I knew she cried every night even though she did not say. She always called mom in the morning when she had the energy for another day. I even thought of bringing her back home one day and right that morning she called us to tell us she had landed a job in your company. And her call times got more erratic. But her voice grew stronger. I don't know if it was because of the work or people around her, but she seemed to be better. That was one hope for us till we heard about the accident from you. That must have been hard for you, man. Telling us about her? And at the same time having to tell us to not meet her because of security reasons or whatever was going on? The day she told us she was coming back we thought that was it. That she was done. That she was coming home, done with the world and stuff. The first day she came back home, she was humming." Loki blinks, feeling an old string strike. "She-" Ritz chuckles at his own disbelief- "was covered in bruises and bandages and she was humming. She narrated incidents like she had come back from some great adventure and she talked like could not wait to go back. And the last time I saw her eyes sparkle like that, Loki, was when she had created art. And that was ages ago." Words do not even dare to come up from that lumpy throat. And even though he has no idea, Ritz can only imagine what Loki must be feeling right now. "So, please don't mind if my sister envies the fact that you were able to do something she could not figure out for Kira before. She fears Kira might have experienced a high that might be too dangerous for her. I'm not saying that I completely agree with her, but she might not be completely wrong." Loki exhales, feeling a load leave him as he moves his hand through his hair. "And I'm sure you'll do what's best," Ritz shrugs and smirks, casually pointing at Loki's sweater, "I mean, she doesn't give the best gifts to just anyone." Loki looks down at his sweater and has to take some time to find in himself to chuckle through the smooth roller coaster he was sent on. "Here." He watches Ritz bring forward the box he has been carrying for a while now. "Happy birthday. From me and Rin." There is a pause in every moment in his body. Even on an extraordinary day, it would be unexpected, but this man had stopped keeping expectations from the world a long time ago. No wonder then, that this gesture hits hard right in the chest, squeezing that heart to bring up some buried or burned scripts of having the chance of making new friends and family. It is a melody- on a piano sitting at the edge of a hill, a harp standing by the edge of the sea or a cello right in the middle of a wheat field- slowly but surely engulfing him with a different warmth that he is currently too slow to figure out. The undone ribbon lies on the cemented floor underneath him. The lid hangs in his hand as the ceramic reflects the light in his eyes while he looks with a mixture of confusion and surprise. The polished piece of mug is picked up to watch the animated caricature of two really proud beings leaning next to the words in the middle. One he recognises immediately. He can never miss those golden eyes and that lited brow with a knowing smile. The other? He has a hard time breathing it in because it only ends up making him laugh. The green eyes with the smug look and red sweater with black pants against the pale skin are giving him goosebumps. 'Father of a Big, Bad Wolf' it says.

For a second you feel like he hasn't heard you walk up to him. You are about to call out his name when a thought slides in from that on itching corner of your mind and tells you to pause and breathe in this picture. Loki, the man responsible for an empire that is both feared and respected today; the man with mysteries surrounding him in as dense clouds as the men and women who have fallen for his shadowed personality. The man who can run the world but right now stands on your rooftop with dewy eyes looking at the mug your brother made for him. The man who smiles the best smile when the world isn't looking. The man you have fallen for. Hard. It is a treat to witness this soft moment and it almost stings a little when he raises his head to let his gaze fall on your face. But more than that sting, it burns so well when his pupils dilate and his face glows on sensing your presence. "Do you like your birthday present?" you have to ask. And you cannot undo this big smile that is stuck on your face today. "Like would be an understatement, darling," he mentions while carefully putting the mug back into the box. Darling. The word still holds the power to send a delicious buzz down to your core. More so when he breathes such magic into it. "Oh," you nod and pretend to question, "then I wonder what will happen when you find out the rest of them today." Those fine lines on his forehead appear for second before excitement mixed with disbelief washes them away. "What?" He is barely able to whisper through the rush that is making his skin flush. And you are loving every second of it. "Happy birthday, Mr Loki, sir," you coo sweetly, licking your lips and taking a step closer to him, "let's not waste our time. We have a lot to do in these eighteen hours." And in this very second, he is certain of one thing when he looks at you. He would make sacred grounds in your name, kiss the dirt you walked in and teach the world what love is by painting a picture of you. He will protect that smile with his life and do everything in his power to make the world safer just for you. "Oh, and for your first surprise," you mention with a skip and jump in your step- something he is witnessing for the first time and loving every part of it- "my grandma seems to like you now." He chuckles with a smile so wide that makes you giggle at the adorableness. "That's good to he-wait. What do you mean now?" But you are already turning the corner to walk downstairs, humming a tune. "Kira, what-Kira! What do you mean now?"

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purplesurveys · 3 years

Text

1093

survey by pinkchocolate

Hi there! This list is based on some things I've done recently. Let's say, within the last few days. Have you done any of these things in the last few days?

Worn make-up? I never wear makeup. I’ve never felt the need to.

Worn perfume? Sure. I went out last Sunday to bring Cooper to the vet and to take myself out to a coffee shop for a few hours, so I wanted to make sure I smelled decent.

Taken selfies? I think I may have, but I’m sure I deleted them almost immediately.

Shared some photos on social media? Yes, I posted a couple photos of Cooper because he was being super smiley the other day. I also shared a photo of my laptop, which was playing Friends, beside my Friends mug the other night.

Woken up to the sound of your phone vibrating? Technically. But this usually happens when I’m trying to fall asleep in the evening, i.e. someone sending a late-night message, and not in the morning.

Heard the rain outside your window? Yes. It’s literally happening right now haha it just started raining.

Added sugar to a mug of tea/coffee? No. I use 3-in-1 coffee packets, which are already pre-mixed and all I have to do is add hot water. I’m terrible with measurements and starting from scratch and I doubt I’ll ever get the hang of manually combining coffee + sugar + milk + creamer + whatever else goes into coffee haha.

Refilled your drinks bottle? I don’t use a tumbler. I’m at home nearly every day of the week so I always have access to our glasses.

Felt emotionally involved while reading a book? This has happened before for sure, but not in the last few days.

Chuckled/laughed while reading a book? Uhhh I guess. My employer recently lent me this book on PR that they thought would help me gain a richer appreciation of the industry and I guess I did lightly chuckle at a few humorous anecdotes in it.

Spilled a drink? I don’t think so.

Eaten something that was sprinkled with sugar? Nope. I’ve eaten sweets here and there but nothing sprinkled with sugar.

Googled the definition of a word? At least a few times a day.

Read a Wikipedia article? Yes, I love Wikipedia. The last entry I read was a list on notable last words.

Laughed at a video you watched online? So many times. The main reason I watch videos is to be entertained and to laugh, to be honest; so it’s nice that a lot of creators make great, funny content.

Craved a savoury snack of some description? I’ve been craving gourmet donuts for weeks now. Nothing sweet; I’m looking for those with creative, out-of-the-box flavors.

Cursed after dropping an item on the floor? Probably.

Been amused by your pet's behaviour? I am always amused at their behavior. Kimi’s approaching 13 years but he still makes me laugh every single day.

Recognized an actor in a TV show, from another show you'd seen? I’ve only been watching Friends, soooo nothing to compare it to.

Seen an actor on TV that you thought attractive? Courteney Cox, always.

Typed something in a word processor? I had to look this up lol, but I guess I have if Google Docs counts as one? I use it a lot for work.

Been asked a question that you found awkward or difficult to answer? Sure. My grandma called up when I was stuck in a particularly tough period of my shift and she was asking how it’s been. I didn’t want to worry her or overshare, so I paused for a bit and just said “it’s going great!”

Smelled a pleasant food aroma? Yeah, my dad cooks up some great stuff al the time.

Dipped your food in ketchup, mayonnaise or another sauce? Tartar sauce.

Forgotten a hot beverage, then found it had gone cold? I don’t make hot beverages, so.

survey by kellyburnsred

What music video do you wish you were in? I don’t watch music videos a lot, mostly because they’re usually not at all related to the song it corresponds to and I never saw the point. Buttt idk, the one I had some of the most fun watching was One Direction’s Best Song Ever because it was hilarious. It’d be cool to fuck around with the characters there.

Who makes you laugh the most? I’d say it’s either Andi or Hans. JM and Kate are good runners-up.

You only can eat three things the rest of your life, what do choose? That would make me sick of those foods so fast...but if it were a legit life-and-death situation, I would go with surf and turf (so that I at least have a bit of variety), rice (because I can’t live without rice), and macarons (for something sweet).

What's one thing you wish you had in your life right now? Macarons. I recently liked a slew of local macaron shops on Facebook and even though I know it’s my fault, I hateeee that my feed is filled with macarons now haha.

If you had to give up your style, what other style would you choose? I’m not really sure. I can think of more styles I’m not willing to adopt, than those that can be my back-up.

What's your favorite ice cream topping? Hot fudge.

What is the bare minimum of sleep you could function on? I guess 3 or 4, but that’s the barest of the bare minimum. I would still be cranky if I was only able to sleep for that few hours.

When you drive, do you generally speed? Yeah, if I can. You’re always stuck in traffic in Manila so if you have the chance to press harder on the gas, you typically wouldn’t want to miss out on it.

Are you an animal lover? Yes, except for pests and insects I don’t like, like cockroaches.

What's the dumbest thing you've done because someone dared you? I once ate a piece of siomai that already fell to the ground; when I ate it I felt a lot of tiny pebbles and other debris so I promptly spat it out in a nearby bin.

What is the most disgusting trait that you have? Idk...typical disgusting habits make me wince myself. The worst thing I can think of is that I tend to keep my nails super long just out of neglect; and I usually only clip them once dirt starts getting trapped under the nails, or once it starts to become hard to type.

What was the last thing you talked to your friends about? Angela had made this really cute, DIY foldable collage for Hans for his birthday yesterday and I just checked in on her earlier to ask if he loved it.

What part of your day do you look forward to the most? The moment my shift ends.

What are your favorite song lyrics? This week, it’s probably “It isn’t the same, but it is enough.” It’s oddly calming no matter how sad the actual context is.

Who are your closest friends? Angela and Andi.

What profession do you admire the most? All are worthy of admiration. I don’t really have a ~favorite~

Do you believe in karma? Not strictly in the spiritual sense; but it can be comforting to think that the people who have hurt me will have their ass handed back to them someday.

What do you think is the funniest show on TV? Ooh, I don’t watch a lot of TV anymore...I have a sitcom in mind but it ended 17 years ago and it’s still pretty polarizing to this day, lol.

Are you an organ donor? No.

Did you have imaginary friends when you were younger? Just one, but I didn’t get the point of it and I got bored very quickly.

Have you ever smoked weed? No but a friend knows a supplier should I ever want to start getting into it.

Who do you look up to for your style? Idk, whatever girls my age are wearing these days.

What's the most expensive thing you've ever bought? With my own money, probably the hotel accommodation I purchased for my dad’s birthday this weekend. I’m super stingy with my money and I can’t imagine spending 4 or 5 figures on something just for myself.

What's your favorite amusement park ride? Not too big on rides.

Who was the craziest teacher you've ever had? Ironically, it was my Christianity/religion teacher from 5th grade. We bumped into each other a few weeks after I graduated high school and his first remark towards me was about my breasts. He did a lot of stupid shit too when I was in 5th grade but I don’t feel like getting into them because he was just one big headache of a man.

Where would you like to travel that you have not been? Thailand, if within Asia; Spain if outside.

If you could be any musician for a day, who would you be and why? No thanks.

Do you have any tattoos? No.

What are your favorite scary movies? Some favorites are Carrie, The Shining, and Scream.

#survey #surveys

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wt4kmm · 3 years

Text

WATER

We don’t even talk about death--cause dying ain’t gotta be done today

We not ready to die--we keep just getting this started

Our audacity surfaces as the blueprint

And the blueprints are the maps

Domestic & internationally

The faces of every person that died already--are surfacing everywhere

--as the blueprint to rebuild the bricks of this dynasty--

Breath...easy

This is survival of the fittest

We are the off springs of the fittest

The Victors of the Fitters

Breathe

Easy

These answers are for the questions we can’t afford to be scared to ask no more

I saw my greatest great great grandmother for the first time in a dream last night

We had the same pair of eyes--kinfolk

She fed me without fire

Designed me amour--adornining me without a needle and thread--but water and air

After going to sleep off of ginger water--

She reminded me of living & protection

That we are the new --we are the improved

that we should do something about staying here a little longer

“Y’all be so gung-ho-to go”

grandmother water speaks

“You have never belonged on the bandwagon anyway--the ride been too full--with an emptiness too foreign to the map and design of you. Woman Child, eagle, fire bird,, way maker flesh of my flesh and blood of my blood that disguises itself in the crevices of the wind--winter is blessed--you are chosen-and you should do something about staying here a little longer--there’s honor in dying for something but you become a different type of giant when when you don’t die when you’re supposed to--when it’s written--there’s no eraser. ”

I spoke back:

“It’s not that we really ready to die--

it’s just sometimes a lot goes into breathing—a lot of us ain’t done catching our breaths--a lot of us don’t know how to--a lot of us just know how to run --how to try to catch up--

if we all not standing in the circle holding hands--the magic won’t work

The broom will beat us up and the doors will open & shut without a hand on it-- the windows will break on its own the curtains will tangle us all up--

“That’s what happens when you try to catch up where you aren’t in the running”

She said worry about yourselves

She told me to stop to remember we are the alchemist of the sun--the function of the moon

the highest and the lowest points of truth & illusion

She asked “ever seen a watermelon destroy a volcanic fire?” we control where 92% of that water goes.

----------------------------------------------------------------

I’m from this

Round

Yellow

Brown

Crown

Oak

Purple

Heavy

Dark Brown

Dark and Black

Dark and Bright

*x2*

Never see through

while burning and never the same when shit hits the fan

Or a son hits the ground--or a daughter who doesn’t make it to tomorrow when all she was doing was laying down & Olu I think of your face everyday I look at mine in the mirror or in the wind when it’s late and I’m walking under dark trees--praying I don’t run into anyone who doesn't know that their trauma is mine too---hope he makes his mind up to see me & see the best parts of his mother

I’m from women who will talk you into the color: calm

While with a head full of chaos like a bullet bubbling in a barrel of a gun

Palms sweating--jittery off of coffee, making it happen, and 4 hours of sleep

Somehow cool—women maintain

We still get up and we feed the babies

I come from this

Stepping out of women

Spread thick across their own worlds like lotuses

Who on one shoulder

had the world on it

Who

On the other shoulder

Balanced the heaven in her head as simple as a “goddamn break” from trying catch up & the one Jesus tells her has pearly gates

--balances hell

like imaginary shapes she hides from herself to keep herself

never lost, for as sure as her hands stir the pot--there’s food

Sweet potatoes 36 ways

We are the women of the sun and the moon--we are the belly of a compass

Pickpocketing stars & rent money

We make a way out of no way--

10 dollars stretch against her bra & breast & lasting for weeks

Born into--

Women who use improvisation to become masters

Born into the challenge and the victory

Women who sit themselves out on cliffs to jump

and not die

Women who talk to God in classrooms

And practice him on athletic fields--and in the parking lot

We get audacity from grandmothers.

Working up the nerve as grand as 10,000 armies like a grandmother

Pot full of beans filling us for weeks --like Charlotte

Grandma would buy 1 whole chicken

Cook it and we’d have soup, lunchmeat, chicken & rice

Charlotte would spread it thin like she had 8 legs

Turns out she just has powers

9 lives like porch cats

My grandmother mean if that’s what you wanna call audacity

but she’ll give you and your kids her shirt if it’s cold

a house if it’s raining

if you standing outside barefoot

she’ll give you her shoes

It's audacity that makes up our rarest form of magic and magicians who look like us

Handmade by God disguised as Grandmothers

Mine made home fries & salmon cakes with sardines

Hardly ever baked, goods from scratch

Just payed home insurance

with formulas and rubrics in her sweat glands

Ever-y uphill--fight--counts more than any downhill fall

Deliberately she is made up solely of delivering herself

Mother

saves them all

Mother

save them all

I am from who gets scared of her own reflection

But remains a fact

up front

At attention

These mothers don’t take orders

But scriptures

And surahs--not in binded leather but in blue skies and blue water

Fingertips stitched with electricity and intuition

‘And that mine eyes are ever toward the Lord; for he shall pluck my feet out of the net’

And that “All dominions of heaven and earth belongs to Allah, he gives life and causes death’

Before hash-tagged, women who are

Yemaya and Oshun in spirit and in flesh

Who before the tabernacle was invented knows where the scriptures were stolen from in place of our land

creates justice,

gives justice,

is justice in the eyes

Of herself, without flash

Women who revere on foot

Who don’t know nothing about counting no money

but makes it all the way to three hundred and sixty

On foot--not using her hands & without a shadow of a doubt

The first one to choir rehearsal

And they all; always the last to leave--caught up in the ritual of praise; the holy ghost of the music who lurk in foyers & tambourines

When the lights go out

The women I come from rub their hands together like Birdman for fire, heat for the house

laugh and sing until there’s a rumble in the walls

Wash each others feet in lukewarm water

Chant,

Quote

Dance

Pray—

Sing loudly

while steadily bleeding

They laugh loudly together

Cause the blood...falling on them

Woman, I’m grateful for your mothership

Your chariots of rainbows

Whether in black and white or in color

Woman, your colors have turned darkness into day

I’ve never gotten the truth from the bible that I didn’t have to cross reference

With you as my study

You make me believe in the glare they said wasn't mine but I know it belongs to me

You are the reading rainbow of common sense

I’m breathing in your sacrifices

inhaling your truth -- I'm not just making it through

My life here, is an ode to you

I have turned into God, for you

I will challenge everything I do not believe as the truth

I will follow myself into any abyss--if the spirit uses me so

I will combat what was taught me— find it for myself

I will bring back what I have gathered and teach you to let go of the cross

And except your winnings as the ones you worked for

Challenging you to see yourself as God

Because woman you are my source

One could only create another

You deserve more than flowers woman you deserve to live

I will, in your honor, reach higher, lotus

For you--I will make a paradise out of birds--gamble everything where truth sees fittest

I will stand statuesque like two moose making love where plain eyes see fighting

She asked:

If a circle is solid, is it full or empty?

#poetry #poet #revolution #blackart #blackwriters #woman #blackwoman #writing #literature #culture #mothership #spirit #blackcreatives #blackcreators #artist #writers

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cheollies · 6 years

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Surgeon!Wonwoo

warnings: none!

Definitely wearing wired glasses both in school and as a surgeon

Had a fascination with patching things up as a young child

If he wasn’t reading books about renowned doctors in the past, he was sewing things together with surgical precision

His mom gave him quite a few side eyes and grimaces as the other kids were running around at the park and Wonwoo was happily content, sewing up his torn teddy bear in perfect fashion

His academic hobbies and shyness didn’t garner him a lot of friends, but he always had 12 rowdy boys by his side who encouraged his medical dreams

Soonyoung would always run to Wonwoo if he got hurt, knowing how happy it made Wonwoo to be able to patch him up and put the bandaid on

In high school, one single biology class sealed the deal for his dreams as a surgeon

Dissecting a cow’s heart

The excited (and arguably psychotic) smile on his face scared his biology teacher

Wonwoo was a little distracted and accidentally squirted a bunch of cow liquid on Jihoon’s face, resulting in Jun’s snickering from the other side of the room

Wonwoo and Jun weren’t heard from for the rest of the day

Graduating as valedictorian of his year, he entered one of the top medical schools in South Korea

Mingyu’s cooking and copious amounts of coffee were the only thing that got Wonwoo through the torturous years of medical school

He was far too busy to ever bat an eye to anyone else besides his 12 brothers

Jisoo and Soonyoung were always in charge of rejecting avid girls that tried to make romantic advances towards Wonwoo

The mysterious yet enthusiastic intern rushing around the hospital became a reputable cardiac surgeon within a few years

On the morning of his first day as head of cardiac surgery, Seungcheol was freshening him up to make “a good impression to the grandmas who will be swooning over their new doctors”

Enter Wonwoo with a pristine powder blue shirt, black slacks and a fresh white coat

His hair was even gelled up (as per Minghao’s request) and his wired glasses looked sharper than ever

The get up didn’t stop him from petting the neighbourhood stray cats perched on the road outside his apartment building though

Except there was another figure crouched outside, a comforted cat rubbing itself against her outstretched hands. There were even small piles of cat food dotted along the edges of the road

All the cats ran up to surround Wonwoo and dance between his legs

You turned around to see an incredibly sophisticated man looking shy and awkward with 6 cats clawing at his pants

He flashed a toothy smile and you swore you saw a beam of light cast over him because you didn’t know if it was because it was 7 am or you were deprived of beautiful things around you but

What a charming man.

Being late to feeding the stray cats just got a whole lot better

Greetings were exchanged but Wonwoo couldn’t stay for long, so he left only knowing your name and your habit of feeding the cats every morning

The fleeting encounter was back-burnered though when Wonwoo loses his first patient in his new position

Despite his expertise and experience, and despite the revolutionary technology proposed by him in the field of cardiology, he still couldn’t fight the odds and loses the patient

Psychologist Seokmin helps him cope, but the stress and demands of Wonwoo’s job prevent him from progressing

A pet therapy centered around cats (and aptly named CaTherapy) is being offered at the hospital and Seokmin suggests Wonwoo to babysit some of the kittens while the volunteers work around the hospital

So Wonwoo visits the cat room for the first time and is instantly greeted with kittens flouncing and jumping over his feet

The short periods he has to babysit the kittens help him immensely and Seokmin alongside everyone else is relieved that Wonwoo is finally feeling better

When Wonwoo visits the cat room one last time before he’s working full time again, he sees the same figure, crouched and petting one of the grey kittens

Even though he isn’t looking as fresh as last time (Seungcheol was passed out on his couch when he left this morning), he greets you with an easy smile

You look slightly startled as a flush instantly colours your cheeks and your face breaks into a smile

Each with a cat in hand and both cross legged on the floor, he introduces himself as a cardiac surgeon at the hospital, and you introduce yourself as the director of the CaTherapy program

You thank him for babysitting the cats, since the volunteers could now work more with the patients rather than constantly rushing back to make sure the cats hadn’t caused a havoc

He listens intently as you share the beginnings of the program and your passion for helping both animals and people

The supposed ‘short’ conversation becomes an hour long, and although Wonwoo’s working full hours again, he’s always stopping by the cat room and you move your workspace from the hospital cafe to the room.

Conversations during lunch breaks become conversations as you leave the hospital and return to the neighbourhood

As bubbling feelings churn between you two, Wonwoo in his shy and cat loving fashion, confesses with a note attached to the collar of the same grey kitten he saw you petting when you first saw each other in the cat room

The kitten has no idea what’s happening but is happy that both its parents look as excited as when it gets treats

Minghao points out Wonwoo’s radiating smile as all 13 of them gathered to watch a horror movie

“A serial killer sure is exciting enough for a smile.” Sarcasm was dripping off his words

You stay over at Wonwoo’s once when you had to take in a sick kitten from the program

Seeing Wonwoo sleeping on the couch with a kitten in his arms almost made you melt into a puddle on the floor

It almost scared you a little hearing that he had 12 best friends since he was a child because the two of you weren’t exactly the most sociable pair

They welcomed you with open arms and nutritionist Mingyu was especially excited since he now had another test subject for his food creations

From then on, you two saw his friends EVERYWHERE

Seokmin would find you two lining up at the hospital cafe, hand in hand, and smile while saying “Wonwoo I helped you get better AND found you a girlfriend. Who’s the wingman now?’

Senior nurse Jeonghan always teases you two for the matching cat pins you and Wonwoo wear on your uniforms

Jeonghan loses the fight when you point out the dinosaur pin he wears for Chan

Insert Wonwoo piling all the kittens into your lap and laying his head on your shoulder as gratitude for helping him escape the embarrassment

Seungcheol is convinced that you two are cat loving grandparents until he sees you screaming just as hard as Wonwoo as you lose another round to him at Overwatch

As you volunteered at the cat shelter every weekend, you start bringing Wonwoo there too

He charms all the old ladies there even though he just rambles on about the importance of preventing cardiac diseases with a healthy lifestyle

When Wonwoo has rubber kitchen gloves and a floral pattern apron on to wash the animals, you can’t help but laugh and take a million pictures to show Seungkwan

He ends up “accidentally” dousing you in water (Jihoon may have taught him a few things in their youth)

Memorable moments aside, you’re Wonwoo’s number one supporter when he goes through grief and intense stress because of his career

He may love doing surgery and helping others, but you can’t turn a blind eye to the negatives that shackle him sometimes when things get really rough

While he’s laying in your lap and you’re running your hands in his chocolate locks, he really feels the warmth that runs through his veins whenever he’s in your presence

Your careful intuition towards his sensitivity keep him going and pursuing the career he loves

Of course, Wonwoo may be good at patching things up and fixing broken hearts

But you and the kittens are definitely better at fixing his’ up.

a/n: I hope you enjoy this cat centric piece! This was actually really fun to write. It’s my first time writing here so I’m still getting used to this <3

- jen

#seventeen scenarios #svt scenarios #seventeen #svt #wonwoo #jeon wonwoo #wonwoo scenarios #admin jen #jen's writings

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disorientedblog-archive · 5 years

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“A Form of Excavation” – Interview with Jihyun Yun on Writing Poetry in Korea and in Diaspora

Jihyun Yun is a Korean-American poet from California. A 2017 Fulbright Junior Research grantee and four-time Pushcart Prize nominee, she received her BA in Psychology from UC Davis and her MFA from New York University. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Bat City Review, 32 Poems, Adroit Journal, AAWW The Margins, and elsewhere. She currently resides in Ann Arbor Michigan where she is editing and querying her first full-length collection Some are Always Hungry. Follow her work on www.jihyunyun.com and on Twitter @jihyunyunpoetry.

Paige Morris: Thank you so much for taking the time to speak with Disoriented. First of all, could you tell me a little about yourself? Your essential or inessential biography, anything you deem noteworthy, is welcome.

Jihyun Yun: Thank you so much for reaching out! I’ve loved so much of what I’ve read on Disoriented and wholeheartedly support your mission, so I’m thrilled to be in dialogue now.

I’m a second-generation Korean-American. Though I was born and raised in California, Korean was my dominant tongue until I entered school, after which I swiftly and deliberately stopped using and forgot much of it. It’s a huge regret of mine that I’m trying to rectify now by practicing Korean as much as possible.

I came to poetry when I was a junior at UC Davis in California. Before then, I was a psychology major actively pursuing a career I wasn’t really equipped for in crisis counseling. The poem that flipped the switch in my head was Li Young Lee’s “Persimmons.” The way the poem handled identity and linguistic estrangement really spoke to me. That one poem was the reason I switched tracks so late in my undergrad to major in English and eventually enroll in New York University’s MFA program. It completely rerouted my life, which I am thankful for.

An inessential piece of biography is that I’m a complete glutton, and my love-language is food. My family and I cook for each other in lieu of saying I love you which I feel is true for many immigrant families. This is embarrassingly prevalent in my poetry.

PM: I, for one, love the centrality of food in your poems. I’m currently an MFA student myself, and in a recent class, a professor of mine—the poet Brenda Shaughnessy—said poets often spend their lives writing the same poem, carving smaller poems out of that one, writing variations on the same theme. How true would you say that is for you and your poetry? What would you say is the poem—the theme, the obsession, the question—you tend to circle back to in your work?

JY: (First of all, swoon. I love Brenda Shaughnessy’s work so much!) I would definitely agree with that idea, at least for myself. My work is obsessed with being the daughter of a family of immigrants, with my family history—particularly my Grandmother’s experience fleeing from North Korea during the war—and with food—both the having of and the dearth of, how food is informed by history or used as a vehicle to survive where you are othered. My poems really circle mostly around the lives of the women I love, so much so that my body of work is almost bereft of men. If they appear, they appear mostly as a vague, ominous force, like dangerous weather.

This vulturing around a handful of topics used to be a source of anxiety for me when I first began writing, but I no longer discredit myself for it. Navigating the same themes is a form of excavation for me. It’s interesting to read back on some of my very first poems about identity and those same obsessions I write about now, seeing how much internalized racism I still held in my throat at age 21, and understanding how far I’ve come.

PM: There are some fantastic, contemporary Korean American poets writing in diaspora today. The access each poet has to the place(s) they write about, from, and/or toward in their work, of course, varies. Some poets like Lee Herrick are said to be writing toward Korea from outside about topics like adoption, location, and exile. Other poets like Emily Jungmin Yoon write poems with dual sensitivities, rooted in both Korea and North America. Where in this diaspora, this conversation, do you see yourself and your poetry?

JY: I think I’m still trying to understand where I fit on this spectrum. On one hand, I know I am an inheritor of much of Korea’s modern history: my Grandparents both lived through the Japanese colonization of Korea and then the war, and my Great-Aunt was a “Western Princess,” a somewhat derogatory moniker that was used to refer to Korean prostitutes on US bases and camp-towns during the Korean War, many of which were conscripted into sexual labor via coercion and desperation. It’s impossible to feel unaffected by their testimonies I grew up listening to, and I believe it informs me in more ways than I fully understand. I feel a personal call to write towards them, but I know I must do so from the position of a guest, not fully rooted in either.

PM: Speaking of place, the first time I encountered your work was during a conference on Jeju Island in South Korea. You were a Fulbright scholar presenting your creative project, a collection of poems exploring the lives of the female divers, the Haenyeo (해녀), in Jeju and Busan. Can you talk about the origins of that project?

JY: I was actually encouraged to apply for the Fulbright grant by my thesis advisor, Yusef Komunyakaa. So many of my thesis poems were about family history and Korea, so when I told him that I’d actually never gone to Korea before except as a two-year-old, he insisted it would be important for me to experience living there.

I’ve been fascinated by the Haenyeo since I was young. My Grandma used to tell me stories, and I remember us watching a television documentary about the tradition together. I think when I first set out to write that project, I felt an urgency knowing that the tradition is slated to disappear in my lifetime.

About halfway through the grant, though, I noticed myself distancing from the project. Not because I was not interested and in awe of these women, but because I realized I wasn’t the right person for this task. I think this goes back to your question about where I see myself on the spectrum of Korean writers of diaspora. As a guest in the country with no familial ties to Jeju, I just ethically didn’t feel right about being the one to write this collection anymore.

I still continued to go observe and interact with the Haenyeo for the duration of my grant, but I no longer wrote poems about their work. Now my Fulbright work-in-progress manuscript is a long-form hybrid essay/memoir about my family’s immigration and repatriation, my feelings about failing the mission of my grant, and just basically being in Korea for the first time as a second-generation Korean. I’m realizing now that there is really no way for me to make that sound at all interesting, but I’m having a great time writing it.

PM: What is most salient to you now about the time you spent living in Korea?

JY: I lived in Busan on a street lined with love motels. A pickup truck drove down my alley every morning with a megaphone atop it announcing the price of hairtail and tilefish. The men on mopeds often nicked my ankles with the business cards they were paid to flick as they drove around the city. There was an old-school liquor store in my neighborhood run out of a grandma’s one-room home. When I went in to buy water or beer, she was usually behind a curtain watching TV. She would tell me to leave the money on the table and take whatever I need. I never even saw what she looks like. I spent many nights on Gwangalli beach, and the light show never failed to make me happy.

In Jeju, I helped a group of Haenyeo harvest a bunch of turban-conch from their shells. I did a homestay at one of the women’s home in a village where no one locked their doors. I went on a Jeju Massacre remembrance tour and listened to the testimony of a living survivor. I went to the basalt beaches and watched tourists enjoy themselves in the water. I took a volcanic rock back home with me in my pocket.

PM: How did your writing process change, if at all, while you were living in Korea?

JY: My time in Korea was such a gift in that it allowed me to treat writing as my full-time job, something I’d never experienced up to that point. In California and New York, I was always juggling writing with waitressing in order to make ends meet. In New York, I sometimes worked upwards of 50 hours a week and put writing on the backburner. I was lucky if I wrote one poem every few months. In Korea, I got to fully commit to immersing myself in the day-to-day life of the city, strike up lazy conversations with strangers and write for hours every day without guilt. Travelling was also a big part of my year in Korea. Most often to Jeju to talk to the Haenyeo, but also often to Uijeongbu, which is the city my mother was raised in and where my Grandparents have recently repatriated to.

PM: In what ways did your experience living in Korea inform your poetry, in the end?

JY: If living in Korea has informed my poetry in a significant way, I don’t think enough time has passed for me to detect it. As someone who had never travelled abroad before, I thought the transformation in my writing would be immediate and obvious, but it hasn’t really been so. Perhaps with more distance and time, though, I’ll look back and realize a shift had occurred without me even knowing it.

What I am thankful for are all the experiences and memories I have that I was able to render into poems. Like exploring Seoul with my Grandma and seeing the city through her eyes like a double-exposed film: the Seoul it is today and the Seoul it was in her youth. Revisiting her old elementary school, and the location where her first love’s cigarette factory used to stand (it’s a shopping complex now). Even if my general tone and way of writing experiences has not changed dramatically, I’m so glad to have so many memories catalogued to wrought poems out of.

PM: What draws you to places as subjects of poems? Are there other places you’re interested in writing about?

JY: This is also within Korea, but I regret never going to Iksan in Jeolla province during my Fulbright year, as that is where my Grandfather is from. My Grandfather’s early life has always been a bit of a question mark to me, but the bits and pieces I am told by my Mother and Grandmother are fascinating. I know he has some living relatives in Iksan, and I would love to talk to them. Whether or not I write about it would depend, though, as I’m not sure if there would be a permission there. But in the future, I would like to write about my Grandfather (and perhaps the other men in my life) more.

PM: What’s next for you? Are there any projects you’re excited to share, poetic or otherwise?

JY: An unexpected gift from my year on the Fulbright is that it helped me finish my first full-length collection of poems which I’d been working on since my MFA. I’m in the process of querying it now at various presses. In April, I am collaborating with The Visible Poetry Project and emerging filmmaker Damani Brissett on a short film based on my poem “All Female.” And I am steadily working on my aforementioned memoir, tentatively titled Our Blue the Hue of Thirst. I’ve never written memoir or lyric essay before and the newness is still giddying.

Photos provided by Jihyun Yun

#SouthKorea #Korea #Poetry #Inteview

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comfreycompost · 3 years

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The Enigma of Wilderland

20 minutes south of Whitianga lies an anarchist community called Wilderland. Pine trees stud the gravel road, which is not council maintained and winds for two kilometres past several other farms. Pine tree roots have a symbiotic relationship with fly agaric mushrooms (Amanita muscaria), and as I walk up the road one winter night shortly after lockdown it is almost as if the toadstools are guiding the way. As strange as it sounds, it feels as though I am following some sort of Hansel and Gretel crumbs into fairyland.

[Caption: Amanita muscaria at Wilderland]

Every so often a handpainted sign reads “WiLDERLAND,” with an arrow pointing the way. A lot of people get lost finding it for the first time, and I am no exception. I am walking the road because I had taken a wrong turn and got my 1992 Toyota Starlet hatchback stuck in a farmer’s muddy field during a rainstorm.

[Caption: The long and winding road]

Wilderland is an example of a self-sufficient community, of which there are many in Aotearoa. The difference is, while most such communities are closed, anyone can go to Wilderland. All you have to do is apply on their website and commit to a full month of work (unpaid, of course). New intakes arrive every second Sunday. With the exception of a handful of long-term residents, the 20-30 people living at Wilderland at any given time are always changing. If you are serious about learning how to be self-sufficient, or just curious to see if it is really possible, you can go to Wilderland and see how it’s done.

In 1956, the land on the property that became Wilderland was abandoned by its owner. A long-term resident called Ken, who is in his 60s, tells me that the reason was that the land was too difficult to farm. The original farmhouse still stands on the property, although it has been condemned by the council. Ken tells me that a family of six used to live there before it was abandoned 65 years ago. Today, the house is thoroughly overgrown with jasmine and stands in the middle of a forest. One needs a machete to cut through the jasmine into the house, and inside there are only two items: a 30-year-old newspaper and a picture book, Grandma McGarvey Goes to the Zoo.

[Caption: The original farmhouse]

In October, 1964, Dan and Edith Hansen purchased the disused block of land (roughly 170 acres) on the Whitianga Estuary and founded Wilderland. At the time, it was one of Aotearoa’s only organic farms. Before he died, Dan Hansen donated the land to the Wilderland Trust, meaning no actual person owns the land. The Wilderland Trust is a registered charity in Aotearoa and the farm holds the Organic Certification. There is a lot of accountability that goes along with all of that which is taken quite seriously. For example, drugs and alcohol are not allowed.

The farm is collectively managed by trustees and the long-term residents, each of whom have voting rights. Anarchism as a philosophy is generally misunderstood: far from lawlessness, it is actually a highly organised system where power is decentralised and given to the community to make their own decisions on anything that affects them directly. At Wilderland, there are multiple meetings every week, discussions ranging from who should be allowed to stay, how money should be spent, what produce (if any) should be sold, what projects should be prioritised, whether the cat should have a bell on his collar to prevent native bird casualties, and so on. Everything is voted on. There is always work to do and everyone has their own pet projects. Conflict is natural, but it is reduced compared to a typical eco-village, because no one actually has their own financial resources tied up in the community.

In January, 2017, a fire destroyed about 25 acres of forest and four houses that were on the property. “We've managed to save more homes than we lost, but I feel very sorry for everyone from that community... there's not much left,” a rural firefighter was quoted as saying at the time. In the aftermath, 4000 new trees were planted to begin the recovery process but many long-term residents left. Wilderland has faced many challenges in its long history, and it is something of a miracle that it still exists when most of the other 1960s communes failed. One can read about the history of Wilderland in detail in one of the many postgraduate theses that have been written about it, or on their website, so I will focus mainly on my experience. The fire is worth mentioning, though.

On my first day, I am inducted with the rest of the newbies. The visitor host, Khan (named after Genghis), shows us around. We are shown the various gardens, the orchards, the buildings, the compost toilets. The tour ends with us planting some spring onions outside the main hall. The community hall is a rustic, rectangular structure containing a kitchen (vegetarian only), extensive library, musical instruments, personal lockers, couches, tables, and art supplies. Food is cooked using a wood burner oven, which also heats the hot water for the shower. The fire is lit at 7 am and usually burns until past 9 pm. Herbs are hung upside down next to the fire to dry, destined to be brewed in tea or sold at the roadside stall on State Highway 25.

[Caption: Herbs drying in the community hall]

My accomodation is a metal shed which contains a bunk bed (long-term residents live in the houses, visitors sleep in cabins or tents or vehicles). I share the shed with a 22-year-old Australian man named Bryce. Over the month we live together, we become good friends. The shed is crawling with cockroaches and it becomes part of our nightly ritual to evict as many of them as possible using a jar. As soon as they are thrown outside they start coming back in through cracks in the walls. Cockroaches like to crawl on you during the night, and I regularly wake up in the night and turn on my torch to find myself surrounded. At times like these I simply read until the sun comes up and I can get out of bed. By week four, the sleep deprivation is really getting to me.

[Caption: A compost toilet and a cabin for sleeping (left to right)]

Every weekday morning at 8 am we meet in the community hall for porridge and the morning meeting. The main purpose of the morning meeting is to decide who will do what jobs that day. The work is varied and interesting, involving much more than just gardening: there is building and maintenance work, roads to be fixed, community lunch to be cooked (using food foraged from the gardens), a roadside stall to be manned, administration to be done, firewood to be chopped. Planting and harvesting is planned based on the phases of the moon and the solstices and such. At 1.30 pm every day, a massive bell outside the hall is rung by whoever made lunch that day and everyone finishes their work and eats together.

My first experience of the “lunch circle” is a bit of a culture shock. Everyone forms a circle and holds hands. Thankfulness is expressed. “Thank you for helping me today in the Dolphin Beds,” says one hippie to his helper that day. “Thanks for brushing your teeth,” says another to his girlfriend who stands slightly outside of the circle, brushing her teeth. Then announcements are made, and finally, when everyone simultaneously senses the moment is right, hands are lifted with a universal cry of “WOOOOO!” Then lunch is served. After what is sometimes up to five minutes of someone sweating into my hands, I always have to scurry off to wash my hands before lunch, so I am always last in line.

[Caption: The kitchen and the table where food is served]

The food is always incredibly good. Eating a diet of mainly fresh and seasonal produce is highly beneficial for physical health, and it gets me thinking about food — its effects on the mind, body, and spirit. Food is one of the most important needs of the human animal, after water but before shelter and fire. After a few weeks of eating food grown on the land I am living on, I begin to understand something J.R.R. Tolkein once allegedly said, according to C.S. Lewis:

❝ Tolkien once remarked to me that the feeling about home must have been quite different in the days when the family had fed on the produce of the same few miles of country for six generations, and that perhaps this was why they saw nymphs in the fountains and dryads in the wood — they were not mistaken for there was in a sense a real, not metaphorical connection between them and the countryside. What had been earth and air and later corn, and later still bread, really was in them. We of course who live on a standardised international diet — you may have had Canadian flour, English meat, Scotch oatmeal, African oranges, and Australian wine today — are really artificial beings and have no connection, save in sentiment, with any place on earth. We are synthetic men, uprooted. The strength of the hills is not ours. ❞

Time passes differently at Wilderland. It takes me about two weeks to adjust to the rhythm and the silence. In the afternoons after work I bathe in the rock pools or kayak in the estuary or try to learn a dusty accordian in the hall or do any number of other wholesome activities. Poetry club happens on Wednesdays. Every second Thursday is pizza night (cooked in the outdoor woodfire pizza oven). Every Friday night is Meat Club — a group of meat enthusiasts pitch in for some sausages and steaks from the Whitianga butcher and cook it outside on a fire far away from the hall, paired with lots of cheap red wine (another contraband). On the weekends everyone does their own thing — I spend mine exploring.

It is worth mentioning the stars. Being treated to blazing constellations every night with no sound but the morepork feels like a massive privilege. But it shouldn’t be. For thousands of years, humans looked to the stars to find meaning and our general lack of ability to do that nowadays is one reason why we are so spiritually impoverished. Bright stars are an innate human need and light pollution has taken that away from us.

As a layperson, my understanding of permaculture increases slowly. One day, I am working with Khan and he says something that connects a lot of dots for me. “Permaculture gardens are like tiny forests. There are tall things and short things and things that exist mainly underground. There is a throbbing animal and insect life and there is mycelium, a brain that connects everything like the internet. There is biodiversity. There are bees. And everything works together in the same way as a forest.”

[Caption: The Dolphin Beds — apparently a dolphin was buried here once]

[Caption: Hina Hina, where a famous battle took place in the 1860s]

On my first Friday morning, I have another culture shock. One of the strange traditions in this place is to have a “Dialogue” every Friday morning from 9 am until 10 am before work. In theory the Dialogue is an open platform where anything can be discussed, in reality though the main topics that get discussed at the Dialogue are “What is the Dialogue?” and “Why don’t we replace the Dialogue with x?” No one really knows what it is for. Newbies are thrown in the deep end and long-term residents regard it as sacred and any attempt to abolish or replace it as subterfuge. Emotions run high. People storming out is common, crying is common, and cigarettes are smoked afterwards.

[Footnote: Like any isolated community, Wilderland has its own unique politics. I adopted the renegade view of “Dialogue Abolitionist.” I suggested that a much healthier way of purging the tension of the group would be to have a fight club, but this was not well-received.]

It is my last day. Apparently I can’t just leave. Everyone gives me a hug; I am the recipient of several group hugs. A jar of local honey is pressed into my hands, entreaties are made for me to return. I realise that like the plants I helped to cultivate, I have roots here now.

[Caption: Saying goodbye]

What is Wilderland? Is it a hippie commune? An eco-village? A cult? It is none of those things, really. I see it as more of an educational community. It models self-sufficiency, although it is partially reliant on the outside world. It models anarchism on a micro level. It teaches the patience of permaculture to a world drowning in Roundup. Most of it all, it clearly demonstrates what is possible. It is no secret that dairy farms are causing Aotearoa excessive droughts. Importing and exporting and transporting food exacerbates the climate crisis and makes us reliant on the global economy (which as Covid has shown, is frighteningly fragile). Wilderland proves that things could be better. For 56 years, Wilderland has represented a choice — the possibility of a better world where nature is worshipped and humans have freedom.

[Caption: Scarecrows]

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some-thrilling-heroics · 6 years

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Hi was tagged back by @rapha-did-no-wrong and @smudgebucket ty~!

Top 5 things you love about yourself: my morbid sense of humor, my cooking/baking skills, my hands, being queer, that i can be discreet

What is the sweetest, nicest thing someone could ever do for you?: idk? *panics* punch my grandma (she’s emotionally abusive, homophobic, transphobic and racist and.... the list goes on XD )

Do you like hugs?: yes (with exception of a few ppl I hate)

A library or a carnival?: library!

Do you have any recurring themes in your dreams?: yes! and I figured how they’re connected to my awake state recently: whenever I’m stressed irl I dream of my ...elementary/junior school (which is in itself also stressful and very opposite of helpful lol) it’s usually some weird shit happening in the building, rarely actual schoolwork

Favorite song this year/month/whatever: last six months it’s practically modern talking and boney m on repeat with some spanish stuff for vocab

What mythical/fairy tale/supernatural creature would you like to be and why?: I keep going between mermaid (I love water) and vampire (I love blood) LOL

Your top 3 OT3: parker/hardison/eliot (leverage), amy/rory/eleven (dw) and ezekiel/cassandra/jake (librarians)

Your top 3 fictional friendships: doctor x donna (dw), raphael x magnus (parental friendship.... is that a thing? it is for them!)(shadowhunters), brooklyn 99 squad

You come home late one day and find a vampire hiding in your bathroom, what do you do?: I would ask if they’re ok and how they got in and insist they move in with me, in the morning I’d go to the butcher’s and confuse the shit out of the sales person by asking for animal blood (bc that’s what I’ve learned from Buffy over the years lol)

Top 5 favorite books: 1. Pest Control (DW tie-in) 2. Families Like Mine (and any books that deal with queer parenting) 3. The Warmth of Other Suns 4. The Kane Chronicles 5. The Nazi Connection (maybe not favorite per se but did blow my mind)

What’s your go to solution when you’re sad?: depends on how bad it is and what is available, cats (mine or online), sweets, re-reading fav fics or watching my go-to happy shows (brooklyn 99 etc)

A castle or a cottage in the woods?: cottage would be more cozy and peaceful, i think, and not as cold as a castle

A trope you wish was used more often: serious relationships that include more than two ppl, healthy and happy relationships with no drama between them (the drama is outside and ppl support each other) and COMMUNICATION

A trope you’re tired of: actually gonna use @rapha-did-no-wrong answer here and go with no communication just to create drama; also unnecessary sex scenes (so, like, 99% of them)

What character(s) would you like to have as a roommate(s) and why?: aside from that random vamp from above? XD hmm the doctor (for endless trips in the TARDIS), Rosa Diaz (she’s badass and we share the love of the morbid), Alec Hardison (bc I love him! and would love to cuddle with him! also I started typying Aldis Hodge and then corrected myself XD), we’d all live in an old renovated house along with a few cats ^^

Any unusual headcanons?: uh, can’t think of any rn dammit

Do you have a pet and if not, would you like one?: two cats <3

Do you change your favorite color or do you stick with one?: blue (for what I wear) and green (for surroundings) and it’s pretty unchanged? the green shit around me is going on for years now, before blue I usually dressed in all black XD

Alcohol or chocolate?: chocolate!

I didn’t expect this to be this hard XD

I already tagged all the people I reasonably could, and then some XD

#about me

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ruffsficstuffplace · 6 years

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And The AWRD Goes To... (Part 30)

The others made way for Weiss first, Whitley pushing her wheelchair and stopping at the foot of the stairs.

“Do you need some help carrying Weiss down?” Ruby asked.

“No need!” Snowie said as she pulled out her scroll. “My dadd—ah, father built this whole house with a lot of useful gadgets and features in mind—watch!” she pressed a button, Ruby gasped as the wooden stairs suddenly started folded and locked into place as a ramp gently sloping downwards.

“Oh my gosh, that’s so cool!” Ruby squealed.

“I know, right?!” Snowie squealed right back, before her eyes widened and she quickly took an awkward, “serious” pose. “It’s, uh, super useful for wheeling lots of airlifted supplies or people down easily.”

“It’s also super fun to ride a bike down it!” Akko said. “Well, uh, so long as you remember to put something soft at the bottom, or you have a lot of aura so it won’t hurt as much when you crash.”

“What other gadgets does this house have?” Ruby asked excitedly. “There’s a transforming roof/landing pad, the security system in the forest outside, the elevator to get up and down the front door, and a staircase that transforms into a ramp if necessary, are there any more?”

“Quite a lot, actually!” Freya said as she went down the stairs next. “My husband never lacked for energy or boredom, had a constant need to occupy himself, and far too many non-cash favours to turn in for his own good.” She sighed. “You’re lucky you weren’t here when he was ripping out entire sections of the house just to run a new batch of wires and machinery into them, and/or rebuild them entirely.

“I swear, I never knew what the hell it is Nick was going to decide our house needed next, or that he’d build just to occupy his time.”

“Aww, I actually would have wanted to have been there...” Ruby said as she, Akko, and Diana followed, Snowie staying behind to turn the roof back to normal. “Sounds like it was a good opportunity to get a look at his methods up close!”

“Understandable, but you didn’t have to live here, too...” Freya grumbled. “In any case, welcome to our home! Please mind your sides and where you’re stepping, it may seem like there’s an abundance of space right now, but as soon as you start putting more people in, and especially when my husband’s around, planning your movements through any area of the house starts becoming a necessity.”

“I don’t really mind,” Diana said as she looked at the collections of random junk and papers stuffed into numerous shelves and cabinets built into the walls, hand-holds about the size of Freya’s hands built in the spaces between. “Your abode is rather…” she struggled to think of a word.

“Cramped?” Whitley offered. “Claustrophobic? A few steps from being a candidate for an episode of ‘Stockpilers’?”

“Cozy!” Diana said. “I was going to say ‘cozy.’ I’d never dare say anything so crass and rude about someone’s dwellings, especially while I’m a guest in them!”

“Don’t bother, Cavendish,” Freya said as they neared the bottom of the stairs. “We’re a rather frank, honest family here, frequently to the point most people would call ‘brutal.’”

“You forgot ‘angry and sweary’!” Whitley chirped. “A very key part of our identity, that,” he said as turned Weiss’ wheelchair around, backed up to make space for the others.

Freya scowled. “I was about to get to that, and would have phrased it better, but yes: flaring tempers, vulgar language, and rampant, casual verbal abuse is ‘kind of our thing,’ to use an expression…” the look on her face softened. “Please inform us if that could make you incredibly uncomfortable, and we’ll try to keep our tempers down, our swear words to a minimum, and not use ‘fuckface’ as a term of endearment, among other colourful words and phrases.”

“Oh, that’s fine!” Ruby said, smiling. “I lived in a halfway decent apartment in the lower city with thin walls and my sister Yang, I’ve heard WAY worse!”

“Cavendish?” Freya asked.

“I appreciate the honesty and the concern, but I won’t mind,” Diana replied. “It, uh, certainly is… unconventional, but, I suppose all I’ve seen so far says you’re a rather close-knit, loving unit.”

“Only going to be downhill from here, I promise~!” Snowie called out. “Oh, by the way, step a little to the right please, Diana?”

Diana looked up then down, noticed she was standing by the fireman’s pole and inside a circle painted in black-and-yellow hazard stripes, and stepped aside accordingly.

“Thanks! Incoming!” Snowie went down the fireman’s pole again, much more gracefully than earlier. “Haah, so! We, didn’t really get introduced properly earlier, what with everyone arriving than I thought—I’m Snowie, real name ‘Silsa,’ but, ah, nobody really calls me that except my momm—mother!”

She smiled and extended her hand, before she panicked and vigorously wiped it off on her apron. “Ah, sorry, was just super busy cleaning house before you guys arrived, and I haven’t really uh… had the time to bathe or wash my hands, so I guess I probably shouldn’t have offered to shake...”

“I don’t mind!” Ruby said, offering her own. “I keep forgetting my hands are covered in machine oil all the time, and I just leave greasy fingerprints everywhere—had to learn how to use my scroll using the eye-tracker function, else I keep damaging the screen!”

“Hah, me too!” Snowie cried as she took Ruby’s hand, shook it vigorously. “I tried using the voice recognition function, but then I had to keep disabling it cause I talk when I work--”

“--Then you have to make super weird phrases for it so you don’t accidentally activate anything while you’re hyper-focused on your work?” Ruby replied as she took her hand back.

“Yes! Exactly!” Snowie cried, her eyes sparkling as she laughed, before she stopped abruptly. “Ah, I mean--”she awkwardly turned to Diana “--you’re Diana Cavendish, right?”

“Yes, yes I am, of the Cavendish Medical Foundation fame,” Diana replied. “Please forgive me if I don’t want to shake your hand; it’s not you, it’s just the…” she got a haunted look in her eyes “… numerous other things I’ve come into contact with on the way here.”

“Oh, I totally understand, it’s fine!” Snowie said. Her eyes softened as she smiled. “Thank you, by the way—to your family, and all the work you did. My father wouldn’t be around right now if not for your family...”

Diana smiled. “You’re very much welcome.”

“And I’m Whitley, Weiss’ little brother,” Whitley said, stepping away from Weiss and shaking hands with Ruby. “Pleased to meet you both, hope you enjoy my quiche as much as my sister does!” he said as he went back to Weiss, and started wheeling her into the kitchen.

“He cooks really good, you guys!” Weiss added. “You can’t really see it right now, but I’ve been dying to get at it since I smelt it upstairs.”

“Yes, another breakfast would be much appreciated...” Diana said quietly, before she looked at their belongings and bags, still piled up on the platform just outside their front door. “… After we get all of these inside and organized.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that!” Snowie said as she headed to them. “I’ll handle it, you all just have breakfast! I’m all gross, filthy, and sweaty all over anyway…! Ah, sorry, I probably shouldn’t have mentioned that, didn’t I…?”

“… Yes, yes you probably shouldn’t have, but fret not, my appetite’s been in jeopardy all morning, anyway...” Diana muttered as she followed them into the kitchen.

“Let me just go get the Shiny Rod!” Akko said as she rushed out, came back with the weapon tied to a sash on her belt. “So, how have you guys been here since we’ve been gone?” she said as she headed to the kitchen.

“Well enough, I suppose!” Whitley called out from the kitchen as he helped Weiss to a seat. “Though could we please have that story for another time? Grandpa and Grandma have been rather skimpy on the details behind your obviously eventful first week in Haven, and all the news we could read from MNN haven’t been much better.

“Raised more questions than answers, really,” he said as he went off to the sink to wash his hands again, get plates and utensils.

Weiss groaned as she let her head hit the back of the chair. “Ugh, where do we even start…?”

“Agreed...” Diana grumbled as she headed to the sink after Whitley. “It feels like someone could have written an exceptionally lengthy novel of everything that’s happened to us, even if they only just pick and chose from the ‘highlights,’ so to speak.”

“Maybe we should start with when we found the Shiny Rod?” Akko said as she took a seat herself.

“That’d be skipping quite a lot of the important events leading to your finding the artefact, however,” Freya said as she climbed up a series of steps built into the base of the sink. “There’s the whole business with Manbavaran and her experimental Grimm bait, for one...”

“Maybe we should just start at when we got off the airships and came to Haven?” Ruby offered as she took a seat. “That seems like as good a place as any to start.”

“Yes, but from whose perspective, exactly?” Diana asked as she took the seat beside Weiss. “It’s not like the four of us have been conveniently been together since we got off the airships, not to mention all the noteworthy events that have happened to us separately, like our private talks back in Professor Schnee’s office.”

“An objective view might not be the answer, either,” Freya said as she took a seat at a chair that was taller than the rest. “I should know from having complied a good chunk of the reports to the Council—they were hell to sort through, let alone pick and choose what was actually important.”

“Well, I’m certain we’ll all think of something!” Whitley said as he and Akko started setting the table and serving up the quiches. “How about I start asking questions about the things I’m most curious about, then we’ll just use that as a guide?”

“Sounds good to me!” Akko said as laid out the plates and pitchers of drinks, the other members of AWRD and Freya saying much the same.

“Excellent!” Whitley said. “So, I heard there was something about you four blowing up an ancient tower…?”

The group ate, drank, and recounted their eventful week as best as they could. Whitley went through a gigantic series of emotions as he listened and asked questions, teetering back and forth from positive and negative, until everyone had had their fill, Snowie had joined them after taking a bath in the stream nearby, and they hadn’t even come close to reaching the circumstances that drove them to coming back together in Hoshiko.

“How…?!” Whitley muttered. “How is it possible that every single one of those things happened over the course of a WEEK?! It feels like you entered some sort of time-space anomaly that stretched days out to a month, and none of you have just noticed for how fast things were going!”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Diana replied. “Honestly, I’ve found myself struggling to remember things like what we even learned in our classes, or from all our reading without the help of my notes.”

“You know what?” Whitley said. “Never mind, I’m not that curious anymore, I don’t think I want to know if hearing all of this has given me several miniature heart-attacks in a row.”

“We came out of it just fine, didn’t we?” Akko said.

“Yes, but through a great deal of good fortune alongside the bad!” Whitley cried. “I’ve heard that the Schnee luck tends to follow a cycle, but what the actual fuck?! I’m suddenly so glad I had Sanctum to distract me all week so I couldn’t bug you or Weiss for an update!”

“Then you mind if we have that conversation about my depression now…?” Weiss asked. “I slept on the ride here, and I’m full… it was delicious as always, by the way, Whitley, thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Weiss...” Whitley grumbled as he started collecting plates.

“Nah, I’ve got this,” Snowie said as she put a hand over Whitley’s wrist. “You go have your big, important team conversation.”

“Then off we go to our room, then!” Whitley cried as he got off his chair and headed out the kitchen. “Akko, take care of Weiss for me, I’ll set everything up...”

“Got it!” Akko said as she got up and made her way to Weiss’ wheelchair.

“No, not the wheelchair!” Weiss said as she gripped the edge of the table, and shakily stood up. “I want to walk… I want a break from all the laying around doing nothing.”

“Let me help, too, then,” Ruby said as she came up to Weiss’ either side, joined Akko in supporting her.

“Are you sure you should be doing this, Weiss?” Diana said.

“No, but I want to,” Weiss replied. “Besides, I’ve got Whitley, he can heal anything I might overexert.”

“Let me get the stairs for you!” Snowie said, fiddling with her scroll.

There was a girlish shriek, followed by the sound of Whitley tumbling down the stairs.

“GUYS, WHAT THE FUCK?!” he yelled.

“Oh shit—Whitley, I’m so sorry!” Snowie said as she shot up from of her seat and out the kitchen.

“I TOLD YOU I WAS GOING UPSTAIRS! WHY DID YOU CHANGE THEM BACK SO SOON?!”

“I forgot, sorry!” Snowie yelled.

As more angry yelling and frantic apologizing filtered into the kitchen, Freya sighed. “Yes, that happens a lot here… I suppose I shouldn’t have railed so much on Nick’s ridiculous obsession with mechanical buttons and switches...”

“You could just set up a motion detector or pressure sensors that’ll keep it from activating if there’s something or someone on there!” Ruby said as she, Weiss, and Akko headed out, Diana following suit.

“A good suggestion, but I’m afraid to relay it, as that might mean having to climb up and down via ladder all over again, while my husband rips up the stairs to work on them...” Freya muttered.

Team AWRD stepped out to the living room, found Whitley standing, miserably pressing to his head a cloth with Snowie’s beer bottle from earlier wrapped inside it.

“Shouldn’t you be using a cold compress or a bag of ice cubes?” Diana asked.

“MSB bottles retain their temperature for longer and better,” Whitley grumbled. “It’s practically a company secret.”

“Unofficial pro-tip from the field: they work even in a place as hot and dry as Vacuo or the most tropical parts of Menagerie, so if you ever need to keep food fresh or keep something or someone cold, just pack a shit-ton of them!” Snowie said. “… They don’t have to be full or have some in them, either, but they don’t work as good empty, just so you know.”

“Thank you for the tip,” Diana said politely, before she turned to Whitley. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Yes, I’ll be fine...” Whitley grumbled as he started making his way up the stairs again. “My aura may be small, but I’m still the grandson of the ‘Unkillable’ Nicholas Schnee...”

They followed after him, helping him throw pillows out onto the center of the Schnee children’s room, and collect an overstuffed, especially rotund plushie of a Solitan seal from Winter’s gigantic collection near her bunk. “Great!” Whitley said as he went to one of the two shared closets, and opened it. “Now all I really need to do is get my… crap.”

“What’s wrong?” Ruby asked.

“I forgot I lent my Starlight Crusader sword to Weiss before she left for Haven...” Whitley muttered. “… Damn, I can’t moderate a Blubbermouth session without it.”

“Why don’t you just use the Shiny Rod?” Akko asked as she held it out to him. “It’s about the same size!”

“An excellent idea!” Whitley said, smiling as he reached out for it.

“Wait! Akko! Whitley!” Diana cried.

“Oh, crap—sorry!” Akko said as she pulled it back.

Whitley’s eyebrows rose as he frowned. “… What was that all about…?”

“The Shiny Rod is SUPER picky about who gets to hold it,” Ruby explained. “So far, it’s just let me and Akko hold it without shocking us, or messing with us to get us to drop it.”

“… And I’m glad you all remembered that before I got my hands on it!” Whitley said, before going to one of the desks in the corner. “Nevermind, I just remembered I had a presentation I needed to make for school, and bought some supplies from Hoshiko, one of which was…

“… Ha-ha!” he cried as he triumphantly raised a pink, rolled-up cartolina like a sword. “This will do just fine,” he said as he returned to the circle, sat down and put Blubbermouth in the center. He looked at all of them in turn as he said, “Now, everyone ready to get this Blubbermouth session on going?”

“Do we really have to call it that?” Diana asked as everyone else nodded.

“Yes, because Winter started it, we named it in honour of her, and in respect for Blubbermouth,” Akko replied.

Diana sighed. “… Alright then, I suppose if it helps...”

“Then I, Whitley Schnee, do declare this session has started!” Whitley cried, proudly raising the cartolina roll up into the air. “Now, since we’re in the presence of two newcomers… as you might have guessed, this is Blubbermouth,” he said as he reached out and patted the seal plushie. “With the exception of myself, your moderator, only the person holding him can talk.

“No one will talk at the same time as whoever’s holding Blubbermouth, or speak without words, such as through facial expressions, writing, or ASL. As soon as you’re done talking with Blubbermouth, put him back in the circle, so someone else can pick him up and have their turn to say what they need to say.

“You can’t pick Blubbermouth up twice in a row, unless everyone agrees you can get a second turn, so say whatever it is you wan to say—no hesitation, or risk having to wait for the next person to stop!

“If two or more people want to take Blubbermouth, Boulder, Icicle, Blizzard for him. Respect the results, no do-overs.

“You can’t stop someone from talking while they have Blubbermouth, but you can leave if you’re uncomfortable for whatever reason. No need to ask permission, just get up, and leave quietly; you can discuss whatever it is that rubbed you the wrong way with me, your moderator, after the session ends.

“If it’s just a bathroom break, raise your hand, and make it clear, we’ll wait for you to get back.

“When it seems like everyone’s said what they need to say, I’ll ask if you guys want to stop. If you all agree that you’ve said what you want to say, everyone put their hands on Blubbermouth, and say, ‘I’ve said all I have to say.’

“And finally, keep it civil. No personal attacks, try not to raise your voice in anger, but feel free to use as many curse words and harsh language as you would like—whatever gets your point across as clearly as possible, without stepping on anyone’s toes, or their comfort zone.

“Are the rules clear to everyone?”

All of AWRD nodded. “This is kinda like the Talking Teddy back at the Bunker, actually!” Ruby added.

“Then let the talking begin!” Whitley cried, raising his cartolina sword into the air, before he rested it across his lap.

There was a brief moment of silence, before Akko, Ruby, and Diana all looked at Weiss, she sheepishly took Blubbermouth and cradled him in her lap. “I actually had this big speech I’ve been working on in the summer leading up to now, with all kinds of notes to myself based on what might happen, but I left that in Haven, it’s handwritten, and I didn’t take a picture on my scroll…

“… So, I guess you’ll all just have to be content with me rambling on and on about the shittiest part of my past that’s come back to haunt me.”

As Weiss began to tell her tale, the others silently listened.

Note: I feel like I should feel at least slightly bad for throwing Whitley down the stairs just for fun.

#au #fanfic #rwby #little witch academia #white rose #dianakko

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the-kryomancer · 7 years

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Who's Who in the Shimada-McCree Family

A/N: This is the family for my McHanzo domestic AU, I’m writing it along with a lot of other things. Please ask about the fam. They’re precious.

Hanzo:

The “strict” father.

Goes to all of his kids’ extra curricular activities.

Wakes the kids up for school.

“Yes, Weston. You need to go to school today.”

Is a big softie for Hatsu and Eiji.

Does most of the cooking.

Always worries about the kids when he’s away on missions.

Gives the older kids life advice.

Has all of their awards and certificates in a trophy case or hanging on the wall.

Lowkey brags about his kids.

Loves when his kids ask if they can meditate with him.

Makes the whole family go on yearly trips to Hanamura.

Loves taking the kids on camping trips.

He’s usually the only one actually getting the items on the grocery list.

“No, Jesse. We don’t need… denim scented candles?”

“Weston don’t climb that!!”

“Ana, Dominic. Where’s Eiji and Hatsu?”

Forces Jesse to come to all of the parent-teacher conferences.

Isn’t mad, just disappointed.

Encourages his kids to achieve their dreams.

Has to defuse any and all fights between Dominic and Ana.

Hates when the kids fight with each other.

Jesse:

Let’s his kids get away with just about everything.

Sneaks them candy before dinner.

And after.

Let’s them stay up late.

Even on school nights.

Makes breakfast while Hanzo wakes the kids.

Also makes their lunches.

Bakes a ton of sweets for the school bake sale.

Likes to flirt with the moms on the PTA to mess with Hanzo.

Hates going to parent-teacher conferences.

Probably tried to bribe the teachers to pass his kids at least once.

Isn’t disappointed, just mad.

When he’s away on a mission he calls the house every chance he gets.

“You kiddos okay?”

“Yes, dad. Same as when you called ten minutes ago.”

Best cuddles when it’s cold in the house.

Likes it when the whole family is snuggled up on the couch.

Always let’s any of the kids sleep in bed with him and Hanzo if they can’t get to sleep.

Gets everyone in the family hats and serapes matching his.

Along with the kids, begs Hanzo to let them get a pet.

Teaches the kids how to shoot a gun.

Always takes them to visit Reinpa and Grandma Amari and Grandpa Gabe.

Isn’t allowed to be alone with the younger kids for more than a few hours.

Reinhardt:

The fun grandparent.

“Reinpa” because his name was too hard to pronounce for the little ones.

Teaches Ana, Dominic, and Weston how to speak German.

Loves taking them to visit Germany.

Always bringing them stuff back from his travels.

Is a big teddy bear.

Always has at least one grandchild with him while he’s visiting.

Picks up the kids and puts them on his shoulders.

Let’s them climb him.

“Rein, be careful hE MIGHT FALL”

But seriously, will dote on his grandkids cause he’s a concerned Reinpa.

Highkey brags about them to anyone he meets.

Has pictures of them in his wallet.

Brings them sweets from Germany.

Ana Amari:

She’s the best at getting the kids to behave.

Is always able to get them to bed.

She secretly sleep darts them.

Loves taking Ana and Dominic to Egypt.

Teaches them Arabic if they want.

Cried when she heard her oldest granddaughter was being named Ana.

Loves being with the youngest ones.

Somehow manages to know when one or more of the kids is sick???

Makes the best tea and chicken noodle soup.

Is the go-to babysitter though.

Will drop everything to be with her grandkids.

Goes to every event for the kids.

Lowkey wants to take them home with her.

Teaches Dominic and Ana how to use a sniper rifle.

Goes to all of Dominic’s concerts.

Supports her grandkids.

Is the best grandma.

Genji:

Let’s Hatsu and Eiji play with his dragon.

Speaks to them in Japanese so they know their native tongue better.

Let’s Weston use his sword.

Gets in trouble for letting his nephew use his sword.

Insists he doesn’t have a favorite.

He does.

It’s Weston.

Loves to make them his favorite Japanese meals.

Loves to babysit his nieces and nephews.

Encourages Dominic to choose his own path.

Literally encourages him to rebel against Hanzo.

Is Hatsu and Eiji’s nightlight though.

But the kids refuse to hug him in the winter because he’s so cold.

Except for Hatsu.

She loves cold.

Highkey tried to take one of them home with him one time.

Hanzo and Jesse noticed two hours later that Weston was missing.

He takes them to the arcades all the time though.

Is the best as claw machines.

Wins Hatsu and Eiji whatever they want.

Tried to give Dominic Sake once.

If he heard Dominic or Ana has a date, lowkey follows them.

They still know he was following them.

Is jealous when one of the kids says Hanzo’s cooking is better.

Mercy:

Has known just about all of the kids since birth.

Was the pediatrician for all of them.

Still is for Hatsu and Eiji.

Literally is always doting over Weston.

Calls the house every week to see how Weston’s genetic therapy is going.

Makes sure all of the kids are eating healthy.

Has and will call one of the older kids out on their shit if they make her mad enough.

Is usually fairly patient though.

Gives extremely good advice.

Always gives them Swiss chocolate.

Helps Ana through her female problems since her house is full of males and the only other female is Hatsu who is five.

Sometimes stays the night if Weston is having a problem with his dyslexia and can’t do his homework.

Helps Weston through his low points about himself.

She’s always there to give words of encouragement.

Answers any questions they may have about medicine or treatments if they are sick.

Will stay at the house the entire time one of the kids is sick if she feels she needs to.

“Angela, you don’t need to-”

“Jesse, I am staying. Eiji has the flu, he needs me.”

Loves to take Hatsu and Eiji to the park.

If Ana or Dominic is mad at the other or their parents she lets them stay with her.

Is like the mom for the kids.

But she’s their aunt.

Soldier 76:

“Grumpa”

Forgets their names half of the time

If he’s babysitting he’s either doing paperwork or sleeping.

Sometimes both.

Calls Weston “Mini McCree”

Fell asleep on the couch once.

He slept on the remote.

Gets Dominic and Weston confused sometimes.

Insists he’s the best grandfather though.

Lost Hatsu and Eiji at the mall once.

Everything is a challenge though.

Don’t let him get Christmas gifts.

He either wraps them in newspaper or doesn’t wrap them at all.

Lowkey loves his grandkids and brags about them to everyone.

Doesn’t let Gabriel or Jesse or Hanzo know he really does love the kids.

They do know.

Reaper:

Honestly, the best grandfather ever.

Takes his grandkids to the best restaurants.

Always insists he stay the night.

If he’s babysitting over night and Hatsu or Eiji wakes up from a nightmare he hums or sings to them.

Has conversations with Dominic in Spanish.

Loves to help the kids prank Jesse and Hanzo.

Took Eiji home with him once.

It was the best two hours of Eiji’s life.

He always manages to bring some kind of stuffed animal for Hatsu and Eiji.

He spoils his grandkids to death.

He bought them too many Christmas presents at one point.

He was put on a budget.

He could spend $300 on each kid.

He bought 600 stuffed animals from the dollar store, 300 for Eiji and 300 for Hatsu.

Makes all of the Halloween costumes for the kids.

Made matching costumes for everyone.

They were a Mariachi Band.

Always talks about how he’s the better cook.

Hanzo disagrees.

But Gabe makes all the traditional Mexican food for his grandkids.

Loves listening to Dominic’s music.

Sneaks so much candy to them.

They aren’t hungry by the time it’s dinner.

Loves to cuddle Hatsu and Eiji.

They’re always attached to his legs.

Gets the kids ice cream if they’re upset.

Has tons of pictures of his grandkids.

Shows everyone.

No matter where he’s at.

Ana Gabrielle:

The oldest kid.

Loves her siblings.

Sometimes not Dominic.

Loves her grandparents.

All of them.

You know how a lot of girls wanted to marry their fathers when they were young?

Ana wanted to marry her Aunt Mercy.

Lowkey loves rock music.

Highkey is obsessed with classical and instrumental music.

Loves animals.

Tried to bring a sloth home from the zoo.

Is secretly good at singing.

Meditates with Hanzo on a daily basis.

Honestly, has punched Dominic more than once.

Their fights get physical sometimes.

Ana is a badass though.

She secretly misses her mom.

Curses in Japanese when she’s frustrated.

Plays the piano and the drums.

Highkey loves spicy everything.

Is the best baker in the house, second to Jesse.

Halloween is her favorite holiday.

Insists she buys all of the Christmas presents by herself.

Makes Christmas dinner with Hanzo and Grandma Amari every year.

Stays up at night helping Weston with his homework.

Sleeps like four hours a night.

Help her.

But the biggest nerd ever.

Dominic:

Really sweet.

A hard ass.

But sweet.

Is closer to his Grandpa Gabe than anyone else.

Tells him everything.

Writes Spanish songs and plays them for his Grandpa Gabe.

Loves his Grandma’s tea.

Cranky if he doesn’t listen to music at least once a day.

Hates country music.

Obsessed with pens.

Has hundreds.

Prefers erasable ones.

Plays so many instruments.

RIP Hanzo and Jesse’s bank accounts.

Dyed his hair blue and green once.

Hanzo fainted.

Dominic regretted it.

Picture day was a week later.

Most Christmas spirit out of the whole family.

Sings Christmas songs every year.

Is the first person to wake up.

Buys the best Christmas presents.

Wants to be a musician.

Wants his own car.

Can barely afford his guitars.

Ditched school for his gigs.

Loves the rain.

Has run outside during a storm.

He got sick.

Loves to read books.

Fantasy specifically.

Weston:

Protect him.

Just wants to be happy.

Is really insecure about himself.

Loves his uncle Genji.

Steals Jesse’s hat a lot.

Likes to use his gun.

Eats fried chicken as a midnight snack.

Talks in his sleep a lot.

Shares a room with Dominic???

He likes to stay with his dads though.

Brags to Hanzo and his Uncle Genji that he has three dragons.

Thinks it’s funny to unleash them in school.

Loves playing video games.

Watches old west movies with Jesse a lot.

Likes to be called “Wild Weston”.

Hates the water.

Hates his dyslexia.

He loves his family a lot.

Loves being with his Grandma Amari and Grandfathers.

Doesn’t like it when his sister and brother fight.

Has fought a few kids at school though.

Sneaks cookies and brownies to school.

Eats ice cream for breakfast when his Grandpa Gabe is in charge.

Has a small crush on his aunt Fareeha.

Hatsu and Eiji:

Twins.

Hatsu is more outgoing then her brother.

They’re the babies of the family.

Get away with everything.

Love sugar.

Are very attached to their stuffed animals.

Practically share a room with their dads.

Eiji loves vanilla ice cream but Hatsu loves mint chocolate chip.

They hate pancakes but love waffles.

Christmas is their favorite holiday.

But they’re always the last ones awake.

Love school.

Have a lot of friends.

Loves to be with their Grandma Amari or their Grandpa Gabe.

Hatsu’s favorite color is blue while Eiji’s is orange.

Can’t sleep without a nightlight.

Love TV.

But they don’t watch it often.

Get tired really easily.

Hatsu is Hanzo’s favorite and Eiji is Jesse’s.

Are very creative.

Really energetic too.

Surprisingly love vegetables.

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fascistslooklike-blog · 7 years

Text

The oldies

Mike Pence looks like he chose the wrong grail. mike pence looks like wax and powdered milk. Mike pence looks like the ghost of Christmas yet to come. But the part of Christmas where you are at Best Buy trying to return a DVD copy of the second season of CSI:Miami that your uncle got you. Mike pence looks like you were painting a fence and accidentally painted a stick bug. Mike pence looks like a ghost of a shart. Mike Pence looks like if Slim Jim decided to make a vanilla flavor meat stick. Mike pence looks like someone tricked him into smiling once and he's been trying to undo it ever since. Mike Pence looks like he is sustained by children's sadness. Mike Pence looks like an over cooked Lima bean. Mike Pence looks like one of those cyborg people in the opening credits of Westworld. But if the 3D printer stopped working and they put him in the discard pile. mike pence looks like the villain in a caddyshack sequel Mike pence looks like if a tapeworm was wearing a human Halloween costume that came from Spirit Halloween Store. Mike pence looks like that cat turd that's been behind the litter box for months and you're just now finding it Mike Pence and Jeff Sessions look like the evil millionaire brothers from an 80s movie that try to buy and demolish an orphans summer camp to build a Walmart super center. But more molesty. Mike Pence looks like he has Lego hair. Mike Pence looks like if Trump was living A Christmas Carol and got to the ghost of Christmas yet to come and offered him the job of VP. Mike Pence looks like a GoodValue candy cane that had all the red licked off it then dropped on the carpet. Mike Pence looks like the shi tzu ate a bunch of tinsel and then pooped. Mike Pence looks like he has an edited version of A Christmas Carol where he just watches the scene with tiny tims empty chair on loop. Mike Pence looks like a wet little Debbie zebra cake. Mike pence looks like someone that figured out a way for the wet bandits to sue Kevin for all the mental anguish. Mike Pence looks like his favorite holiday dish is miracle whip sandwiches. Mike Pence looks like his favorite holiday tradition is sitting quietly and considering poor children and laughing to himself. Mike Pence looks like he volunteers to bring dessert to family holiday potlucks and then just brings frozen milk. And then it's just for the adults. Mike Pence looks like someone that gathers his family around the Christmas tree for holiday stories and just reads the Bible quietly to himself. Getting angry if his family stops watching him read to himself Mike Pence looks like someone that watches the first half of How the Grinch Stole Christmas(up till the grinch gets back to his cave with all the gifts from whoville) year round. Mike Pence looks like a ketchup packet that's been licked clean. Thought I was being chased by Mike pence earlier. Turned out to be bird poo on my back windshield. Mike Pence looks like if you only used that useless white crayon from your 96 pack of crayolas (with sharpener on the side!) Mike pence looks like one of those crappy bully ghosts that were mean to Casper. Mike Pence looks like one of those long cotton swabs that they use at the health department to swab your junk and check for STDS. But guess what, it already had STDs on it Mike Pence looks like one of those fish that live in caves and evolve into translucent assholes. Mike Pence looks like he still has a CRT tv on purpose. Mike Pence looks like he gets a secret boner every time someone mentions Hitler. Mike Pence looks like he would be excited to have Jeff Sessions around so they can talk about all their favorite jams. Like poor people crying. Or how people lose control of their bowels when you electrocute the gay out of them. Mike Pence looks like his favorite book of the Bible is Mein Kampf. Mike Pence looks like he moisturizes his "skin" with salt. Mike Pence looks like ten seconds into a Dr Pimple Popper video. (Don't look that up if you aren't familiar) Mike Pence looks like his patronus is wet toilet paper. Mike Pence looks like he has that Benjamin Button disease but instead of getting younger he's just a piece of shit. Mike Pence looks like he hates music. Even bad music. Just doesn't see a point. Mike Pence looks like he had all the mirrors taken out of his house so he would stop scaring himself. Mike Pence looks like he would have "pray the gay away" stickers made if he didn't think using stickers was gay somehow. Mike Pence looks like he finds egg shell texture paint offensive. Mike Pence looks like he sniffed really hard once and his upper lip disappeared. Mike Pence looks like he is always smelling a fart. And that makes him happy. Mike Pence looks like if you started to tell him a knock knock joke he would just hand you. Card that said "no soliciting" and walk away. Mike Pence looks like his favorite food is flour Mike Pence looks like he has never heard a punchline to any joke Mike Pence looks like the kind of guy that doesn't see a problem using "bing bing Ching Chong" when ordering Chinese food. Then get mad and ask how that's racist. Mike Pence looks like he orders his coffee by saying thing like "I like my women like I like my coffee...aryan". Then he just drinks hot water and talks about how stiff it is. Mike Pence looks like he loves to make home made ice cream. But really he just relates to rock salt mixed with ice on a spiritual level. Mike Pence looks like he says things like "the only good minority is the 1%". Mike Pence looks like the inside of a coconut. Mike Pence looks like a sculpture my child did in first grade Mike Pence looks like he really loves third wave ska, except for all the guitars and horns and drums and stuff. Mike Pence probably used to look like a young Brad Pitt. But then he saw a man kiss another man and it shocked him into the apparition he is now. Mike Pence looks like he looked into the Ark of the Covenant. Mike Pence looks like he chose the wrong grail. Mike Pence looks like he got voted into office because he was running against "beheading all of your loved ones". And people just thought they were picking the lesser of two evils. Mike Pence looks like he says "now we all like a good joke, but this is going too far" every time he passes a mirror. Mike Pence looks like when you leave grits in a pot too long then go to clean it and they all come out in one pot shaped lump. Mike Pence looks like he doesn't understand why everyone is upset that Trump likes women pee on each other. As long as it wasn't two dudes. ‪Mike Pence looks like he eats healthy. He only absorbs the life force of athletic children. ‬ ‪Mike Pence looks like he loves winter. Because when he goes outside the cold air keeps its host body from rotting. ‬ ‪Mike Pence looks like he's excited to see a broadway musical telling the life story of Martin Luther King but featuring an all white cast. ‬ ‪Mike Pence looks like he meant to shed his people skin a while back and just can't get around to it. He's just an ashy reptilian ‪Mike Pence looks like he gets up to "public bathroom antics". But feels like it's ok because he makes up for it by torturing gay youths. ‬ Mike Pence looks like he was born 8 months premature. ‪Mike Pence looks like he only watches Full Metal Jacket with his shirt off and all alone. ‬ ‪Mike Pence looks like he blames all his angry confusion on the first time he saw a man with a ponytail.He has sexy fever dreams about that guy‬ ‪Mike Pence looks like he saw a ghost rider comic and wondered why people kept drawing him on fire. Mike Pence looks like he would use the urinal right next to you even though there are 2 empty ones on each side of yours ‪Mike Pence looks like Michael Graves was his favorite Misfits singer. ‪Mike Pence looks like he would love to take a hot bath but is afraid he would just turn into a dead skin bath bomb. ‪Mike Pence looks like he dozes off each night mumbling"ANCIENT SPIRITS OF EVIL TRANSFORM THIS DECAYED FORM TO MUM..um MIKE PENCE"#thundercats‬ Mike Pence looks like Senator Kelly from Xmen after he turns into a mutant and becomes water ‪Mike Pence looks like he got "his" and "hers" pillows for him and his wife. And sometimes...He makes her sleep on the "his" pillow. #kink‬ ‪Mike Pence looks like he googles porno by typing"STRAIGHT sex where female human isn't allowed to talk or be seen and is actually male"‬ Mike Pence looks like he is a huge fan of male competitive endurance tickling. Mike Pence looks like a racist unmasked Scooby Doo villain. Mike Pence looks like he irons his tshirts. Mike Pence looks like he is stoked to become president in (vegas odds) one year when Trump is impeached. Mike Pence looks like the stains you would find on a mattress on a hotel if you used a black light? Mike Pence looks like the whitest part of the outside of the box of generic saltine crackers Mike Pence looks like grated parmesan cheese when viewed at 500x under a microscope. Mike Pence looks like the black sheep of the Quaker Oats family. Mike Pence looks like he likes his steaks "extra well done". He's probably one of those people that will send it back if it's not burned enough. Then puts ketchup on it. Mike Pence is so white he doesn't have to wear a robe at a Klan meeting Mike Pence looks like he doesn't cast a shadow. Mike Pence was surprised to find white rice in a box of Uncle Ben's Mike Pence shocked that Colonel Sanders actually not a Colonel. Mike Pence looks like he cans his Christian farts like your grandma cans tomatoes. Mike Pence won't display the Rosary because it resembles anal beads a little too much. Mike Pence looks like an off brand Q-Tip. Mike Pence looks like he thinks there should be reasonable allowances for abortion. Like if the fetus is gay. Mike Pence looks like he has his original "host body" stuffed in a closet somewhere. Mike Pence looks like drywall's wet dream. Mike Pence looks like the starches his own shirts just by wearing them. Mike Pence looks like an albino albino. Mike Pence is the type of guy who would get angry watching the Andy Griffith show because Barney never pistol whipped Otis drunk ass before (un)locking him up. mike pence's only problem with baby powder is that it isn't white enough. he still rolls in it nightly. Someone once told mike Pence he smelled like a "jizz fart" and he got offended cause he thought they said "jazz bar" Mike Pence marinates his steaks in Liquid Paper. Mike Pence looks like a taco bell dollar menu option: a stack of flour tortillas with a side of sour cream. Mike Pence looks like he respected Sarumon the White until he saw him standing a little too close to those dark-skinned Uruk-Hai.

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shineeink · 7 years

Text

Perfectly Dangerous

Description:Areum and Audrey have been friends for years, but when Audrey disappears Areum finds peace in the arms of Jinki. However he isn’t who he seems to be. Apparently he is a secret agent and Areum faces danger. Without knowing who to trust Areum investigates Audrey disappearance and agent Key might know something about it.

Asian Fanfiction Link

Tumblr link

Author Note:

A dream (sexy honeymoon with agent Jinki) and Alex (sweet bunny alexie...kyaaaaa my Audrey

This is my first fic with action scenes on it. So it's probably going to have many mistakes and follow like 414223 action cliches. I promise to try and make it funny and interesting but please keep this in mind. Also this is over everything else a romance story with action, mystery and fantasy elements to it.

I hope you like it and it makes you smile. ^^

youtube

You can say that it all began when Audrey met Areum.

Song Areum

Charming, passionate Areum, follows her heart on everything. She is the opposite of Audrey, with her sometimes careless and childish decisions that can give her trouble.

She likes to read manga, collect furry soft toys, flirt with her boyfriend, run and sleep. Also likes girly things like dresses, accessories, makeup but is too lazy to use them.

Her mom died when she was nine and she was practically raised by her dad with whom she has a distant relationship.

Recently married Lee Jinki. Is a writer because she has "too many ideas running wild in her head that need to be prisoned" but only wrote one successful novel yet and is searching for inspiration on her honeymoon with Jinki.

Lee Audrey

Clever, brave Audrey tried to always follow her brain because she was the smartest person she knew until things went really wrong.

Best friends with Areum since their high school days, she saw her as a sister and put her on a pedestal.

She liked girly things, dressing up and fashion. Pretty and smart would be a lethal combination to find someone special but Audrey pushed everyone away with her heavy work schedule and her fear of getting hurt.

Also likes reading, bunnies, telling unfunny jokes, pink, Areum and bad guys (the ones she reads about on books).

Became an orphan when she was five, loosing her parents and older brother in a car accident. Lived with foster families until being a grown up.

Worked at Dokko Science Development Corporation as a researcher and inventor.

Went missing and is confirmed dead.

Lee Jinki/ Onew

Jinki married Areum and they are currently on honeymoon.

Has no known family and doesn’t seem to have many friends. Works as a computer engineer and travels a lot making Areum upset with his workaholic nature.

Mysterious, funny, gentle Jinki seems to have deep feelings from Areum, being sometimes too over protective, scolding her for her reckless behavior.

Likes martial arts and self-defense technics and often works out at a club dedicated to it.

Likes to play phone games, sleep, eat, all kinds of swords and blades, to travel and his biggest wish is to build a family.

Not much is known about Onew. His enemies call him gentle, soft and yet deadly Onew. His smile and manners make everyone fall for him. The man you want to use on an undercover mission.

Part of the SHINee Team. Has a close relationship with Lee Taemin but clashes with Choi Minho for personal reasons.

Kim Kibum/Key

Kibum likes to keep his personal life private so not much is known about him.

Although being very social and having his way with words Kibum likes to keep his true self for himself.

Adventurous, sensitive and with a sharp tongue, Kibum is the most sincere person you can find.

He likes art, cooking, drawing and animals. Knows several languages and normally is seen learning them on his free time.

Works as a photographer for a traveling guides book editor, and spends his time traveling alone around the world.

Both his parents are alive and he tries to visit them as much as he can.

Key is part of the SHINee Team. He is a very versatile agent, dominating several skills. His language knowledge his useful on foreigner missions.

He is called Almighty Key by his enemies due to his over the top qualities. He is very professional and hopes the others are like him. That’s the reason that even though he is friendly with the others he still keeps his distance from them. Building bonds with the others is not a possibility.

Failure is not an option.

Choi Minho/?

Choi Minho was once a famous model until he disappeared from the spotlight for more than a year.

Still very famous, does some modeling jobs for big companies.

His parents live outside the country. Divorced.

Rich, elegant, educated and extremely nice, Minho likes to do sports, and always searches for new adrenaline indulging hobbies.

He likes good food and wine, to make collections of almost everything, camping and volunteering. Minho is very popular with women but never gets serious with them.

Minho code name is a mystery for most people outside SHINee Team. He is as sophisticated as deadly and Minho is perfect as a fighter and a key point to seduce women when needed, something he disputes with Taemin in a game between the two.

Was the last one to enter the team, and did it for special reasons.

Clashes with Jinki and is close to Taemin.

Kim Jonghyun/Base

Jonghyun is a rich aristocrat that likes to surround himself with culture. He often promotes cultural events around the country and likes to sing and play instruments.

Since he often interferes in important social and political matters in the country, he is often the victim of retaliations.

Jonghyun lives in a huge mansion with his wife and baby daughter.

Jonghyun likes music, dogs, doing magic tricks; make a difference, his daughter and wife and SHINee team members that are his second family.

Base is as his name says the base of SHINee Team and the person everyone goes to, to ask for an opinion about personal or work matters.

Base is calm, experienced and most of the times the brain, the one behind most of the plans for the missions the Team has. Also he provides the Team hideout and funds most of it. Even though the team has no leader, they see Base as the one.

Lee Taemin / Ace

Taemin is a perfectionist, hardworking young man that is finishing a major on Film and Movie degree and facing some doubts about what he wants to do with his life.

Nothing seems to please him more than his secret life and the way he risks his life every day. The only exception is seducing women that he does as a game with Minho.

Loves his bike, dancing, going out with close friends to drink, sex, extreme sports, his dog and horror movies.

Taemin used to live with his grandma and older brother.

Looks up to Jinki as an older brother and sees in Minho the same darkness that he has.

Ace is the oldest member of the SHINee Team even though he is the youngest. He was taught by the founder and is the best assassin of the group and also the most reckless. For Ace, killing comes very easily.

#perfectly dangerous #info #T__T #this will take ages to change #onewnetcreates

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