#i need to get better at Attributing cat puns

[secretmellowblog]

More Catvatar! Pun suggested by @bitter-as-wormwood-13

#avatar #atla #avatar the last airbender #suki #cats #daily cats #i need to get better at Attributing cat puns #(cattributing???)

[joeyglowy]

Can i request Osamu having a crush on a really short girl

Course you can! I’m pretty short myself so, SHORT GIRLS REPRESENT. I hope you don’t mind, but this crossed over into a boyfriend scenario because, you know, boyfriend Osamu is supreme. 

Miya Osamu x Fem! Short! Reader - 1600+ words

WRAPPED.

Unlike his brother, Osamu was actually a decent person.

Even when he was crushing on you, Osamu was very careful and observant to things that you were particular to and all the other idiosyncrasies you might have.

Being particularly vertically challenged, that was quite unfortunately, a lot.

He found it a particularly visually appealing and rather fucking adorable image to compare you to that of a cat. You hissed a lot, which he always found amusing but he supposed, it was all in fairness as you’d swat away the callous grins of people that tried to use you as an arm rest. You bristled quite a bit too, it reminded him of a cat puffing out their chest or their hairs standing on edge and ready to strike. You’d give people death glares at their incessant and incredibly uncreative puns (which Osamu found was justified as they were all, in fact, quite unoriginal and he could come up with much better if given a chance but refrained for sake of retaining a status where he could be viewed as a candidate for the occupational dream position that is your suitor).

You also spent fifty per cent of your existence puffing your cheeks out because for some reason no one wanted to take you seriously. It was simply ridiculous, just because you were discriminated against in the gene pool concerning the category of height, doesn’t mean you deserve any less respect than anyone else!

As such, in the crushing stage, Osamu was very deliberate to never poke fun of your height, no matter how tempting the urge was but he found himself smiling unconsciously around you anyways because he’s not blind.

You were so incredibly endearing in everything you did, he just couldn’t bring himself to pull away.

Which is why when he saw you sending smiles that seemed to be reserved just for him, or the way your eyes would twinkle when you’d see his larger than life stature in the halls, he finally brought himself to just ‘fuckin’ confess already, yer makin’ me sick with all the mush and smush, it’s embarrassin’ to be seen around ya whenever she’s there!’ as so eloquently put by his pickle headed brother.

But just this once, his brother’s advice was not completely useless, he supposed. You returned his feelings in full and Osamu remembered being so ecstatic that he picked you up and had spun you around before encasing you in fervent hug because finally he could just completely wrap himself around you and not be issued a restraining order afterwards. He remembered you getting quite embarrassed but you still had clung onto him with just as much tenderness anyway. Rarely did Osamu ever lose his composure like that but with how charming you were, your gravitational pull was too strong and all he could do was hopelessly collide with you—any battle against gravity is a futile one after all, you’ll just get send pummelling to the ground. Not that he minded since you were the one doing the pummelling.

Time skip to now, with all those formalities out of the way and the careful tiptoeing no longer applying to him since he held immunity as your boyfriend… he became an insufferable shit.

Osamu was an avid cuddler, and a sleepy one at that.

You’ve lost count of all the times Osamu would use your lap, arms, crook of your neck, sometimes just flat out sitting on you to take a nap because apparently, you were ‘perfect pillow size’.

AKA, you were his personal body pillow.

Apparently he liked how small you felt in his arms, he joked that all your pent up anger made you warm and more inviting to cuddle too.

In fact, he was even doing it right fucking now.

You groaned as you almost lurched into the kotatsu to feel what could have easily been the weight of a bear choosing to hibernate on a boulder (or in this case, your rather small frame) in the midst of you trying to do your physics homework. You huffed, irritated down to the bone as you even felt your neck being pushed down, feeling Osamu’s chin digging into your scalp as he took a casual whiff of your hair (which smelt like mangoes… damn, now he was craving mangoes). Your eye twitched.

“Osamu!” you cried out but your retaliation was met with a melodious hum. You felt yourself getting warmer as he chuckled, the rumble reverberating through his chest and onto your back before he left searing tracks of burns on your neck, brushing your sensitive skin with his nose and warming it with his breath. He settled his chin onto your shoulder, humming contently as he slouched. He was no better than a sloth finding the perfect tree to take a three day nap on. You flushed, your grip getting a little too strong for your pen as it creaked in response. “I’m trying to study here, you’re crushing me!”

Osamu, not minding the fact that he had poured his entire weight on you, yawned playfully as he just buried himself deeper into your burning neck. “Nah, I’m good. You’re pretty warm too,” he added scathingly as you pouted, feeling yourself get hotter, not appreciating this abuse of strength and power.

“Must I be harassed by everyone in my life? Woe is me, I’m being bullied for body constraints that I can’t control,” you moaned melodramatically and Osamu blinked in contemplation. He peered over your shoulder and he supposed he was being an obstruction to your studying. He grimaced, well, he did have you face planted into the kotatsu. While he was rather warm in this position and having your frame fit perfectly in his, almost like Russian dolls, he didn’t actually want to disturb you too much, last thing he wanted was for you to get upset at him.

“Fine, I’ll let go–” he had started, attempting to inch back as the shackles that were his well-built arms unlocked their hold on you and were slowly retracting until—

“Keep your goddamn hands around me or I will kick you out.”

Osamu blinked in surprise to find you tightly clasp your hands around his wrists and roughly crossed them over your stomach again, huffing once more. He couldn’t help laughing at that as you kept puffing like a steam engine. “I just wanted you to lay off so I can sit up straight and not parallel to the table! Didn’t say you had to let go,” you argued adamantly although Osamu could see your cheeks were stained a rosy red and he couldn’t help biting his lip, smiling.

“[Name], if you keep that up, I won’t let go at all,” he whispered lowly into your ear, smiling sensually before he was rudely interrupted by the back of your fingers swatting him away.

“I don’t mind that but stop leaning all your weight on me. My friends do that enough and you’re heavy babe.” As if to prove your point, you playfully slapped his inner thigh to express your annoyance. Osamu blinked absentmindedly at the snare drum sound that had resounded, still feeling the stinging impact of your hand that left lingering heat and anticipation crawling over his skin. “You’re literally a solid block of muscle which is heavy Osamu, I don’t need you giving me back problems this early in life, I’m not furniture just cause I’m short you know.”

Even as you were berating him, Osamu found his pout slowly disappearing. Sometimes he forgot how annoyed you get with these sort of things and although one could simply attribute it to you overreacting, he knew that you really were probably sick of it by now. He didn’t want to add to that. Guiltily he pushed himself straighter up, allowing you to have your back perpendicular to the floor again as you sighed in relief but found Osamu hiding his nose into your shoulder.

“M’sorry. Short jokes are overrated. I just like doing this because you’re warm. If you want, you can use me as a chair,” he mumbled out the offer and immediately you found your heart melting and your internal structures crumbling as you became as flexible as water and the expanse of Osamu’s wonderfully sculpted body was your container. Even though Osamu was tall enough to comfortably use your head as a head rest, he much preferred your shoulder since it was ‘closer’ to you in a way, something that you also appreciated.

“Maybe, and while you are quite comfortable and big enough to be a rather suitable chair, I think you’re closer to a backpack… or extra baggage than anything.” Osamu’s brows furrowed, the lines streaking across his forehead in annoyance, miffed by this statement. However, before he could protest, like a cat waiting to prey on the little mouse that finally decided to come out of its hole in the wall, when he finally brought his face into the open air, out of the comforts of your shoulder, you attacked his nose with a quick and swift kiss. He stiffened in surprise as you grinned cheekily at him.

“I don’t think a chair could ever be as cute or as soft as you Osamu.”

Satisfied with his stunned expression and the peaches of pink on his cheeks, you returned back to physics with an amiable smile that obviously meant you weren’t thinking about physics at all. You snorted to feel Osamu digging his face into your shoulder, letting out some sort of muffled, feral growl but you playfully ignored him and continued your work.

Osamu concluded that once you were done with physics, he’ll have to convert this chair into a bed because there’s no way he’s letting you get away with that one scot-free.

You really did have him wrapped around your finger. Or, maybe your whole body in this case, but the metaphor still stands.

#miya osamu #miya osamu x reader #miya twins #whipped for osamu club #request #haikyuu!! #haikyuu osamu #inarizaki #a hint of atsumu because he must be involved in everything osamu does #haikyuu

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

And They were Coffin-Mates

Title: And They were Coffin-Mates

Summary: “I’m a vampire.”

Out of all the things to come out of his best friend’s mouth, he hadn’t expected that. Was Virgil sure he wasn’t dreaming? Maybe this was some set-up to one of Patton’s corny puns. Something like “I’m a vampire. I like my coffee de-coffin-ated.”

Virgil pretended to hate them. He groaned or grimaced at how awful they were. But really, it was all to cover up the smile they produced.

“A vampire? Pffft,” He quirked an eyebrow, “You’re going to have to try for a better joke than that, Pat.”

Word-Count: 3.5k

Pairings: platonic moxiety (they’re best friends)

Warnings: Vampires, blood mention, memory loss, involuntary turning, hurt/comfort, puns, so many puns, crying, non-graphic violence, headache, sensory overload, panic

This is based off a prompt ask I got sent a long, long awhile ago and just finally finished!

-

Virgil trudged up to his apartment, sweat rolling down his back. Really, it was his fault for wearing a black plaid hoodie and ripped black jeans. Wearing black in the sweltering heat of the summer sun’s gaze was like inviting death upon you. But he looked good in black and was willing to suffer. Besides, Virgil was quite sure his soul was dead already.

Eventually he made it to his apartment, blessed air conditioning hitting his face at last.

“How was your day, kiddo?” His roommate and best friend Patton asked. He was in the kitchen, mixing something in a bowl.

Virgil groaned loudly, collapsing into the couch cushions.

Patton whistled, “That bad, huh?”

“I’m going to fight the sun. Either that or move to Seattle, whatever’s easiest.” 

He groaned again, shoving his head into a couch pillow. His head hurt and he was so damn thirsty. Thirsty for water, please get your mind out of the gutter. He was terrible at remembering to drink enough water, something his coworker Logan constantly berated him about. Did he work with Lo today? God, he couldn’t remember. The entire day felt like a blur.

“Aw, I’m sorry you had a rough day. Maybe I can brighten it up with some pat-cakes?”

“Pat-cakes?” 

“Like it’s like pancakes, except with my name--pat-cakes!”

Virgil groaned, this time attempting to keep himself from laughing.

“Stop trying to cheer me up, it’s illegal.”

“Oh? I guess I’m a warmhearted crook then!”

“Warmhearted?”

“Yeah, because instead of a coldhearted crook, I got a lotta love and I’m not afraid to give it.”

Virgil snorted, gazing up from his pillow. Patton stood there, grinning in his grey cat-onesie. The sight was enough to warm his cold, barely beating heart, dammit.

“Well consider yourself under arrest.”

“What for?”

“Stealing my heart.”

“Oh my goodness, you made a pun!” Patton’s blinding white grin was worth it for allowing such a cliche, cheesy pun escape his lips.

“Yeah, well, don’t count on it being a regular thing,” Virgil said, turning away in a poor attempt to hide his burning, surely reddening cheeks, “that was my allotted pun for the year.”

“Auugust I’ll have to try to get another pun out of you before the year’s over.”

“August?”

“Y’know Auuu-guust, like ‘I guess?’”

“Pat, I love you but that one was terrible.”

“Oh, tearable! Like paper?! Or tearable like tears?”

“Patton, no, that wasn’t a pun.”

The banter continued as Patton finally started to pour pancake batter onto the grill. In typical Patton fashion, he created animal shapes  and stick figures out of the pancakes, rather than keeping with normal, round ones.

It helped distract Virgil from both his headache and his rather unmemorable day. Everyone deserved a Patton in their life. Someone who brightened your day with their mere presence. Virgil set the table for their pancakes-for-dinner feast as he pondered this.

He then found their largest water container (a blender) and filled it up to the brim with water. Was he going to regret this sometime in the middle of the night? Yes. Did he care? Not really, no.

He didn’t even know why his throat felt so parched. The last couple weeks of work had been ridiculously slow. It wasn’t like he had to deal conversing with a horde of customers, thank God. He took a gulp, then another and another.

“Wow, I sea you were thirsty!” 

He lifted the blender away from his mouth to respond, before pausing. He blinked, staring at the now-empty blender. Huh.

“Um yeah. Really thirsty.” He chuckled, setting the blender beside the sink.

“Good thing you quenched it then.” Patton said, looking at Virgil weirdly.

He didn’t blame him. Virgil would too look at someone weird if they chugged a 40 ounce blender like it was nothing. He licked his lips, his mouth still feeling as dry as ever. 

A part of him wanted to grab the blender, refill and down it, desperate to douse the itching, stinging feeling that clenched his throat. But he refrained, sitting down at the kitchen table instead. It was probably possible to die from drinking too much water, right?

“Here you go!” Patton said, shaking him of his thoughts. He placed a plate of pancakes in front of Virgil. There were several blobby pancakes with two triangles pointing out at the top, what Virgil presumed to be either a cat or dog.

“Thanks Pat,” He said, “So, uh, how was your day?”

“Oh, it was Pet-tastic!” Patton perked up, “I got to pet a dog today!”

“Really?”

“Yeah! I was on the subway when a person came in with the cutest--”

Virgil tried to focus on the words coming out of Patton’s mouth. He really did even as his head throbbed, headache worsening. Patton’s voice, the humming of the refrigerator, the dishwater noises, everything was suddenly too loud. He fidgeted, the fluorescent light beating down on him. He took a bite, hoping it would help. He hadn’t eaten since morning, of course he felt like shit. He just needed substance. Once he ate something, things would be okay.

Except he spat it out, coughing. Something was wrong. It couldn’t be Patton’s pancakes. He always made them to a fluffy, sweet perfection. Yet Virgil’s stomach threatened to heave up its contents at the mere taste.

“Virgil?”

He jerked his head towards Patton, wincing from the whiplash. 

“Are you okay?”

“I’m never okay.” is the retort Virgil wanted to throw back. Deflecting and self-deprecation was Virgil’s main attributes. Patton would’ve gasped at him, telling him he’d physically fight him for talking bad about himself. Except those words didn’t make it out of Virgil’s throat.

“I’m--I’m sorry, I just--think I need to go--bedroom.” 

He hated it. He ruined a perfectly good dinner all because his brain decided to freak out over things that didn’t bother normal people. 

“Hey, Virge. It’s okay, I’m not upset,” Patton said softly, “we can hang out more tomorrow. Movie night, remember?”

“Y-yeah.” Virgil said, rising from his chair. Vertigo crashed into him, almost sending him to the ground if not for a pair of arms catching him.

“I’ve got you.” Patton said, adjusting his hold so that Virgil stood, heavily leaning against him.

“T-thanks.”

“Let me help you to your room, okay? Wouldn’t want you falling for me again.”

Virgil let a small, breathless snort. He wanted to protest, but his legs felt too much like jello that he didn’t trust them. Patton guided him down the hallway, to Virgil’s dark cave of a bedroom. He let out a hiss when Patton flipped the light switch.

“Opps, sorry kiddo.” Patton apologized, shutting it off. They stumbled into the room, until they reached Virgil’s bed. Patton hoisted him onto the bed, fussing with his covers until Virgil was nice and tucked in. 

“I’ll save you some pancakes.” Patton said as he closed the door. Virgil didn’t respond. He closed his eyes, the quiet darkness quelling his swelling anxiety. Fatigue finally claimed his bones and he fell unwillingly into slumber.

It wasn’t a peaceful sleep. It was one of those dreams you woke up more exhausted than rested. The thirst followed him into the dream. It gnawed at him, nearly indistinguishable from hunger. He had to satisfy it, relinquish the control it held over him. He went out to search for something to make the burning ache go away. 

He went--well, he wasn’t sure he went. Everything turned hazy, as dreams often tended to be. The next thing he knew, he was standing over someone. No, not a person, they were just a pulse of red to him. They had it, the thing he needed and they weren’t giving it willingly. Something tackled him to the ground, pinning him to the ground as he flailed, desperate to escape its’ grip--

He shot up, gasping. Panic pumped through his veins. This wasn’t his bedroom, where was he? He frantically scanned the dark murky surroundings, relaxing slightly when he recognized it as his apartment living room. Still, what was he doing here and not his bedroom?

“You’re awake.”

Virgil jumped, vaguely making out Patton in the armchair beside the couch. He wasn’t in his cat onesie anymore. Oddly enough, he seemed dressed not in pajamas but in a polo shirt and blue jeans.

“Y-yeah, finally. I had a really weird nightmare.” Virgil said, surprised to find the action of speaking no longer painful. In fact, his throat felt fine even. Maybe the blender water’s effect was delayed.

Patton sighed, moving to sit on the couch next to Virgil. He didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he clasped his hands together, fingers twisting in a fretful manner. It alarmed Virgil. Patton was always babbling about something, jumping from one topic to the next seamlessly. Virgil didn’t know how he never ran out of things to say.

“Virgil, there’s something you should know,” He hesitated, “I was planning on telling you eventually. I just didn’t think…”

“What is it?” Virgil asked, his curiosity getting the best of him.

“I’m a vampire.”

Virgil gaped at him. Out of all the things to come out of Patton’s mouth, he hadn’t expected that.  Was Virgil sure he wasn’t dreaming? Maybe this was some set-up to one of Patton’s corny puns. A way to placate Virgil. Something like “I’m a vampire. I like my coffee de-coffin-ated.” Virgil pretended to hate them. He groaned or grimaced at how awful they were. But really, it was all to cover up the smile they produced. 

Virgil laughed, except it came out wrong. All high-pitched and strained.

“A vampire? Pffft,” He quirked an eyebrow, “You’re going to have to try for a better joke than that, Pat.”

“I’m not joking. Promise.” Patton insisted, grasping Virgil’s hands with his own.

Virgil swallowed, staring down at Patton’s pale hands. Come to think of it, Patton always shied away from doing outdoor activities, especially in the blazing hot summer heat.

“I’m Irish! I burn easily.” Patton once said, laughing.

Patton wasn’t laughing now. He looked abnormally serious, his lips pressed together in a neutral line. It was starting to freak Virgil out even more, to be honest.

“Vampires aren’t real, they’re just fictional,” Virgil said, as if he didn’t spend his time watching conspiracy theory videos at 4AM and wholeheartedly believing them on a daily basis.

Besides, Patton was too sweet, too kind and bubbly to be a vampire. They were gruesome creatures of the night, they feed on blood and had little room for morals. Unless, Virgil’s breathed hitched, unless Patton had been faking everything, what if their entire friendship was just a whole facade in order for him to get close enough to suck his blood?!

“Virgil, breathe,” Patton said, squeezing his hands.

He squeezed back, inhaling a deep shuddering breath.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. You have nothing to apologize for, remember?” Patton said, referring to a past conversation they had regarding Virgil’s anxiety.

“Patton, I just…” Virgil bit his lips, instantly regretting it. He must’ve bit down harder than usual because it hurt, “having a hard time not thinking this is a dream.”

“I can show you,” Patton said, “Is it okay if I turn on the lamp light?”

Virgil nodded and with his consent, Patton reached over to the end table and turned the lamp on. A soft glow flooded the room. Virgil closed his eyes regardless, black dots overwhelming his vision. 

“You okay?”

“Just gimme a moment.” Virgil gritted his teeth, wincing again when the action hurt him. What the hell was wrong with him?

“I’ll only keep it on for as long as necessary,” Patton reassured.

“Alright,” He nodded, fighting to keep his eyes open. It burned like someone had been chopping garlic, but that was ridiculous, right?

Patton drew a breath in, opening his mouth wide. Virgil watched in horror as two sharp incisors intruded from his gumline. Even if Patton wasn’t one for cruel, practical pranks, there was no way it was a pair of cheap plastic fangs. They looked too real, too grotesque to be fake.

“What the fuck!” Virgil fell off the couch, tripping in his haste to flee. He plunged to the floor, his head banging against the corner of the coffee-table.

A dull pain blossomed around the crown of his head but he stood up anyways. He had to get away, flee from this twisted nightmare he found himself in. This couldn’t be real. Perhaps he thought he woke up only to be thrust into an even worst nightmare than before.

“Virgil, Virgil, please calm down!” Patton appeared at his side within a blink, placing his hands on Virgil’s shoulders. 

He tried jerking out of Patton’s grip, glancing wildly for some sort of escape. Belatedly he realized though the lamp light had been turned off, he could still perfectly see his surroundings. What the hell? He looked back at Patton, taking in the worried wrinkles and his normal set of teeth. No fangs. Where were they? He knew he saw them, he couldn’t have imagined them--

“P-please dont hurt me,” He whimpered, digging his head into Patton’s chest. He didn’t know why he did that. He should kept thrashing, escaping the grip of a supposed vampire. But Patton was also his friend, who cheered him up with stupid cheesy puns. The one and only person Virgil trusted and sought comfort from.

Patton drew his arms around Virgil, pulling him closer. He froze, waiting for sharp fangs to pierce his neck. Instead a hand carded through his hair, soft and gentle.

“I wouldn’t dare,” Patton said, his voice tight with emotion, “I’m going to hurt those that did however.”

Virgil craned his neck to look up at him, “W-what do you mean?”

Patton didn’t say anything at first, continuing to caress Virgil’s hair.

“Virgil, how was your day?”

“What?”

“Your day, before you--” Patton hesitated, “before you fell asleep, what happened?”

“I overslept my alarm,” Virgil recalled, “I was in a rush to get to work, and I....”

He bit his lips, a soft curse slipping out from both the pain it produced and the fact he couldn’t remember. He must’ve went to work, right? Work has been so slow and tedious that he just forgot what happened. He must’ve said some of that out loud because Patton slowly shook his head.

“Virgil, I contacted your workplace. You never showed up to work.”

“Wha-but I wouldn’t--I mean--” Virgil jolted, making direct eye contact with Patton, “I’m a vampire now, aren’t I?”

 He couldn’t believe he said that out loud just now. It was absurd, it didn’t make any sense! But...it did make sense in a maddening, down-the-rabbit-hole way. His unquenchable thirst, his unusually sensitive eyes, food tasting weird, that absurd, horrific nightmare that was starting to feel more and more like it wasn’t a nightmare. Had he really almost killed a person to drink their blood? He felt lightheaded, his world spinning wildly out of control as he clung to Patton for balance.

“I got you kiddo,” Patton whispered, leading him to sit on the couch, “do you need a glass of water?”

He was deflecting, maybe in a poor attempt to spare Virgil from the cold, harsh reality.

“Patton,” Virgil hissed, “I need to know.”

Patton averted his gaze, his hands curled into fists by his side.

“Yes.”

Virgil’s heart stopped beating. Wait a minute, didn’t vampires’ hearts already didn’t beat because they were undead? Did that mean Virgil was technically dead?!

He frantically checked his own pulse, relieved yet spooked hear it. Albeit, much more slow and lethargic than before.

“Our heart beats at a slower rate than humans,” Patton laughs weakly, “A lot of the myths around vampires don’t have any truth to them.”

“Pat,” Virgil’s voice trembled, “This is crazy, I mean--you’re a vampire and I’m one?! Did you--”

“No!” Patton insisted, his eyes flashing a brief red, “Virgil I promise you, I’d never do that. It can be really, really painful--the whole turning process. It can be so traumatic that well, I--I don’t even fully remember my own. Many don’t survive let alone live pass it. I’ve never wanted you to know what it’s like to--”

Patton cut himself off, jerking his head away. Virgil took hold of his hand, squeezing it gently.

“Know what?” He pressed. Patton’s lips quivered, tears glistening in his eyes, as he cupped Virgil’s cheek with his free hand. Virgil leaned down, gently touching his forehead with Patton’s.

“Pat, please.”

“You deserved a normal human life,” Patton said at last, a strangled noise escaping him, “Where you got to live and grow old and die. You didn’t deserve this. You didn’t deserve to be a monster like me.”

Patton broke away, clasping a hand to his mouth as the tears finally fell down his face. Virgil watched, his head throbbing as conflicting emotions raged war inside. Denial, rage, sadness--he pushed them all aside. Patton. He needed to focus on Patton. 

Despite everything, he still knew one thing; Patton Patterson was the furthest thing from a monster. Virgil refused to believe anything otherwise. He needed that one thing to remain true or else he’d fall apart completely.

“Patton you’re not a monster, you’re--you’re,” Virgil took a breath, steadying himself, “you’re my best friend.”

Patton let out a bark of laughter, “If--if you knew the things I’ve done, you wouldn’t be saying that.”

“Yes, I--I would,” Virgil swallowed, kneeling down beside him, “Pat, you are the kindest person I've ever met. You cry at cheesy Hallmark movies that end in happy endings. You volunteer at the local animal shelter and soup kitchen. You believe the best in people, even if they’re a shitty anxious nobody who doesn’t deserve it--”

“Virgil--” Patton choked.

“And--and unless that was all one elaborate ruse to fool the world, to fool me,” Virgil pressed on, “vampire or not, your presence makes my day bat-ter.”

“Bat-ter? L-like bat?”

“Yeah, well, congratulations you managed to get a pun outta me before the year’s end.”

Patton stared at him, mouth hanging open. He then laughed again, this time surging forward to tackle Virgil in a hug. Virgil yelped, falling to the floor hard enough to see black dots. Still, he clung to Patton as if afraid of never getting the opportunity again. Virgil let out a high-pitched keen, no longer being able to contain his anguish. Patton responded with a despairing wail of his own. 

Tears poured down both of their faces as their sobbing duet continued. For a long, long while it was the only noise produced from either of them. Until it tapered off into weak whimpers and then it was just the sound of two slow, steady sets of heartbeats close together.

“Pat?” Virgil croaked, utterly exhausted from the ordeal. He wanted nothing more than to fall asleep, safe and secure in Patton’s arms. A small part of him yearned to wake up in his bed and learn that all of this was a nightmare and nothing more. Yet the pain from unconsciously biting his lip with his newly sharpened incisors said otherwise.

“Yes?” Patton answered, his hand brushing through Virgil’s hair once more. He was so soft and gentle that it was hard for Virgil to ever imagine him the same species as Count Dracula.

“If--if you didn’t, um, turn me, then wh-who-how--why don’t I remember--why would--” Virgil let out a frustrated huff.

“Virgil, I...I don’t know who did it or why. There’s lots of reasons why another vampire would do it,” Patton said, dropping to a low growl, “and none of them are good ones.”

“Oh,” Virgil swallowed, “and that person? I went after a person, didn’t I? That was real, right? Did--did I hurt them? I swear I didn’t mean to, I--I--”

“Virge, deep breathes,” Patton said, “They’re okay, you didn’t hurt them. They were fanged out but okay. And then I brought you back here and gave you some of my blood supply.”

“I--I don’t remember that.” Virgil said, “I remember attacking them and something...stopped me? That was you right? But I don’t--I don’t remember--”

Virgil’s voice trailed off, the words once more getting tangled up in his throat. He was afraid. Virgil was always afraid but this was new. Vampires were real and he was one of them. He was an immortal, bloodsucking creature of the night. As much as it sounded cool on paper, it was utterly terrifying. Especially to know he had no memory of becoming one. 

As if sensing his distressed thoughts, Patton brushed his bangs aside to kiss his forehead.

“Shh, it’s common for young vampires to black out from blood rage. It’s--well, it’s not okay what happened to you, Virgil. I’m so sorry, I should’ve been there to stop it from happening. But I swear to you it’s going to be okay and that I’m here now to help.”

“Promise?” Virgil asked, yawning.

“Of course. Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a stake in my heart.”

And while Patton’s words didn’t immediately quell his fears, he fell asleep knowing Patton would be there for him, like he always was.

#thomas sanders #sander sides #virgil sanders #patton sanders #moxiety #kat writes

[robot-unicorn-attack]

CHAPTER 02 - NYX

Taglist: @ayzrules​ @bebemoon​ @jay-swagsby​ @interluxetumbra @now-on-elissastillstands @shiftyprincess  @kzombi3 @filthysoulls (written by @kzombi3)

To say that she was excited would be an understatement.

The morning of the first race of the season came upon Team Nyx faster than expected. After the fiasco at Neon Demon and her "confrontation" with Len Widowmaker, in the eyes of the public and what press was present, they had a field day and ate it up. Spinning it into something much bigger and drama laced than it really was.

It's not like the two of them had never had a spat before. Especially in public - she was the villain after all - but it just rubbed Sol the wrong way. Particularly because she really missed her one and only true friend. Still misses.

So, for the last few days after the incident leading up to the day of the race, Allryn's been running around playing firefighter - trying to squash anything that would tilt the scale of the judges and more importantly LAZER before the race. Not that he needed too. Again; villain.

So when Allryn burst through the apartment door, expecting to have to drag the, typically drunk, dark beauty from her bed he was shocked and albeit surprised to find her curled in the window space that overlooked the skyline with a holoscreen opened in front of her. The manufactured glow from the holoscreen reflected off her eyes as they quickly scanned the ever moving tabs that she was throwing around. Making it look as though those cat like eyes of hers were blinking, even when they weren't.

Being as laser focused as she was, no pun intended, she didn't even register the other body that was making it's way towards her in the early morning light that was beginning to fill her spacious loft. Allryn continued to call out to her as he made his way towards her, trying to make his presence known before giving up and just marching up to her. He didn't have time for this. Neither did she for that matter.

Sol absolutely hates it when he sneaks up on her, so what better way to get her attention other than when she's spiting venom at him for scaring her?

"Solana." A last ditch effort resulted in improved results as he poked her bare shoulder. Turning faster than any robot unicorn could, Sol whipped her head in his direction while simultaneously jumping 10 feet in the air and pulling a small black bud from her ear.

"ACK! Allryn you motherfucker!" her chest was heaving as she placed a hand trying to calm herself. The smug asshole was just laughing, clutching his sides as he bent over. Standing back up to full height he wiped the small tears that gathered in the corner of his eyes and tried to catch his breath.

"Ahh, that was well deserved."

"I'm glad you got some enjoyment outta me after all." She cooed from her spot, still curled up and still focused on the screen in front of her. The artificial light was beginning to fade as the sun light streaming in became more prominent.

A small pout took root on his face, though it's not like Sol took notice. "New playlist?" A hum was all the response he received. Sighing he took a seat in the plush chair next to her and took one of her legs and draped it over his lap. A common position that they would find themselves when the atmosphere around them was comfortable as it was in this moment.

"You know you're going to have to start sleeping before races."

"It's never been a problem before. Why break tradition?" Another sigh from the agent.

"It's not good for you. And with the shit stirring up between you and Eleni-," that earned him a quick glare over the top of the screen, "Hey, it's the press' words - not mine," he threw his hands up in defense.

 It grew silent once more. Not as comfortable but still there. "How's Caelia?"

"She's great. Really great actually." A large smile broke through his tough exterior and Sol couldn't help mimicking him.

"And the pregnancy?" at that he might as well have combusted with light he was so animated.

Sol couldn't help it, she was sucked into this vortex of good news as Allryn went on and on about how the baby was growing stronger inside his mother's womb. So much so that Sol saved and downloaded all the music she had been searching for and turned it all off to sit and listen to him ramble on. Happiness oozing from him and thus being absorbed by her.

---

A few hours later and Vespa and Asteria arrived, along with a cheery Eleos to stand guard outside the apartment. Sol rolled her eyes and told him to at least guard from inside. "At least be comfortable," she had commanded. Eleos wasn't one to deny the comfort of a couch and some reading material. Honestly, it's not like she really needs to tell him with how long they've known each other. He just likes to hear that she's concerned. Even if she won't admit it out loud.

As her team flit about her, having thrust many an energy drink into her well manicured hands, they got to work stylizing her in iconic Nyxian garb. Making sure to start with her protective gear first underneath the hyper styled mesh and leather ensemble. Unlike the first time.

Vespa got to work on accentuating those piercing orbs of hers - the gold and black around the eyes really stood out against her attire and she stood back pleased with her work. Claiming it's her finest yet, "That's what you say every time," Asteria called from behind Sol as she made sure the pieces were tailored to perfection.

"So? I'm fuckin' da vinci when it comes to painting faces. Just look at mine baby."

---

The trip to the track was filled with more energy shots to keep her awake, laughter and scripts for what to do, what to say, how to say it etc. etc. The same old, same old. Sol remembers back to her first race and how LAZER force fed her lines through a bug in her ear to make sure she played up her role as the baddest bitch in the industry. After a few lines she ignored their prompting and took the reigns. Ever since no one can deny that that title is still hers to command.

It pulls at her ego, inflating it somewhat - OK a lot - but nevertheless tugs her lips into a genuine smile of pride. She's the one who has got her this far. The only thing she can attribute to LAZER is the opportunity and Uuie.

---

Pulling up to the track went about as expected. Regardless of how early she decided to show up, there was always going to be the paparazzi and press, along with the die-hard fans of course. Sol definitely played up her persona when she stepped out of the aircar, Eleos holding the door and reaching out to take her hand in attempt to help her. She took it like she always does and shot him a "scathing" look that to others looks very on brand for the villainess, but was just an inside joke between the two.

"Nyx! Nyx! Nyx! Nyx!" the crowd chanted loudly. So loud she almost couldn't hear the burning questions that were thrust into her face by the reporters.

"Nyx, who are you wearing?!"

"Nyx what is your srategy for this race?"

"How's it feel to have the home advantage?"

"What's the scoop going on between you and your teammate, Widowmaker?"

"We haven't heard your side of the story! And Widowmaker isn't talking to anyone either!"

"C'mon give us something to work with!"

Allryn was two steps in front of her at all times, pushing others out of the way in order for them to be able to walk through - however, no one made a motion to lay a finger on the Goddess of Darkness. At least no one outside of her masochistic following. Though they probably wanted to.

Turning on a dime when she got to the doors leading into the main hall of the stadium, she spoke in her most dastardly voice, "You'll just have to keep your eyes on the track then, won't you?"

---

Inside was no different as some press with VIP privileges bombarded her with a few questions themselves. The one that stuck out the most was something she was used to hearing. Having the reputation of being someone who sabotages others for the sake of having fun as well as a potential upper hand has always loomed over her. Though it's not like they would be completely wrong. All rumors start with a little truth, don't they?

"Nyx, here early to sabotage some competitors rides?" The question was followed by a group of laughter from the surrounding area. Not like it could be true, right?

A well placed grin and piercing eyes, "Me? Never~" A purr on her lips.

And with that she continued on her way to the stalls where she was able to visit and tinker with Uuie before the race would begin. Not to mention she'd been hearing through the whisperings of others that a certain spider was lurking about. Spinning webs that she definitively wants to get caught up in.

---

Once inside the stalls she glances around quickly for the one she truly wants to see and comes up short. A defeated sigh rings out as she makes her way to Uuie, the skeletal grin of his makes her heart jump in excitement as she begins to think about jumping onto his back and riding outta this place.

"Hello my beautiful, spooky boi~" she scratches - or rather, rubs her hands quickly, up and down the front of his long face. His eyes, er, rather lights, flash and blink like a real horses and she's taken back to when she was younger and a very headstrong Len berated her for thinking that these robotic creatures were anything less than alive. Having worked with machines her whole life it was hard to see past the gears and gas, oil and pistons. But ever since that night she's held a different outlook on the mechanical beasts.

His pistoned legs shifted as his weight did and Sol was dragged from her trip down memory lane. "Hey, hey now. Don't worry. I haven't forgotten~" she sang as she dug around the drawers and cabinets in her stall bay. Rummaging through all the excess parts and cans of oil and grease she let out a squeal of discovery. "Just gotta hook it up and… VOILA!" Noise and tempo began to pulse through the air in waves, finding a home within Sol's body and she couldn't help but twist and curve around as she began to dance to the music. Uuie must have been cut from the same cloth as her because he enjoyed music just as much. But it wasn't always the case.

When they were first introduced he was a little wary of the black beauty. She did run up to him and throw her arms around a skeletal beast. What kind of normal being does that? It was then that they realized how similar and weird the other one was. Their first meeting was a time trial run, something LAZER was adamant about conducting. So there they were in the stall bays getting tuned up - Sol refused to let anyone work on him other than herself - and she had music softly playing. Uuie must have enjoyed the beat because as she was greasing up the gears he began to tap his hooves to rhythm. It's been tradition ever since.

As she's bouncing around, she misses the door opening to area, but snaps at attention when it shuts with a very metallic clang. Her eyes lock onto the being she most looked forward to seeing and her heart flutters in her chest and she wants to run and tackle her, but knows that that's not the best idea, given the circumstances of location. Not to mention she'd ruin her attire and she can only imagine all the shit she'd garner from Asteria and Allryn. She shudders at the thought.

She settles for a large, wide grin and continues to tinker with Uuie, hands moving deftly as if she were born to do this. Which, she kinda was. Oils probably runs through her veins more so than blood at this point. Mouth moving in sync with every word that comes through the airway.

Void whinnies and she smiles a little, picturing Len stroking her side. The small pony wall truly separating their view from one another, especially at the crouched position Sol finds herself in. After the finishing touches to Uuie, she sneaks her way into Len's bay, bumping her hip with the latter, causing her to jolt and drag her out of her thoughts.

"Loosen up, Leni~" she coos, dancing around her, "You look like you're going to a funeral," and she wasn't blind to the twitching at her lips. Not because she was staring at Len's mouth or anything… definitively… not…

Having known each other for so long, it was inevitable that they would develop their own sort of language. It was also bound to happen that with close proximity and Sol being, well, Sol, that the amount of arguments would have been quite a lot. So, in their own little language they developed different ways of apologizing. Not that either of them did of course. No, never. But, in the off chance that one needed to, there was always a sort of manner of which they would. Sol's just happens to be inserting herself in the other's company and spouting off nonsense, in a way of making Leni more comfortable. Her tone and actions always held good intentions so it was pretty easy to pick up on Leni's perspective.

"There is a significant chance I might be," she had quipped back doing that head tilt thing that made Sol swoon. It was just too fucking cute and very on brand with soft Leni from their childhood. The one that likes to get drunk and lean on Sol. One of Sol's favorites. She was so entranced she almost didn't hear her speak again about the ravines being difficult.

Sol can help but let out a cackle that's too on the line to be discernible from Sol or Nyx - but she prays that her friend knows the difference. She seems to with the stare she's giving Sol. "Like you and Void have anything to worry about~" she sang before the song changed to one that makes the list of Len's annoyances. But she doesn't seem to notice, or at least mention it. So, Sol sings along. Any response from Len is a good response in her book.

And the reaction that is elicited from Len is one that Sol did not expect. The short haired spider sings the words under her breath and something in Sol swells with giddiness. "You know the words," she breaths out and hopes to all gods that it came out sounding more leveled than it was.

Leni's gaze turns to her, a brow raised and tone that tries to mask the little playfulness that's clearly there, "I've certainly heard you play the song enough. How is your hearing still that sharp anyways? With how loud you play your music I thought you would've blown out your eardrums by now."

Another cackle but this time laced with a squeal of delight as she claps her hands together, "You filthy liar! You've always gone on and ooooon about how much you hate this song!" She giggles and throws her arms around Uuie neck, nuzzling into his neck. "I thought I would never see the day~"

---

Eventually it was time to begin. Flame showed up in all her flashiness, appeasing to the crowd as the newest and fan favorite. 'For now' Sol thought bitterly. It wasn't like she didn't like the new blood on the contrary, she liked her a lot. She just didn’t like the threat she posed to Nyx of potentially "over throwing" her…

Shaking the thoughts from her mind, she pushed on wards. The cheering of the crowd rumbled through the stadium, shaking the stands with the motion of the spectators as they stomped and shook the railings separating them from the track below. The air around them rumbled deep into her bones and she wasn't quite sure if it was the heat from the world around her or from the mechanical beasts that were lined up that caused her  blood to boil over with excitement.

Eye scanning the other racers already at the line and ready, Sol's intense gaze caught the floral presence of Aura, who avoided any and all eye contact with Lava worlder. It would have hurt her feelings had she cared enough but she just smugly placed a well to do smirk that the crowd's cheered for when the hovercams caught it, broadcasting the event to blast on the jumbo-tron screens for all to witness.

"… the ever wicked villainess Nyx in all her glory, with U-800 ready to strike-" the announcer's voice is drowned out by the raucous noise reverberating around her as Sol continues to stare around at the other racers - searching for her latest victim. Ah, there… poor sap, a no name from the citadel above the clouds. She was given explicit directions to not target any of the Big Three, for fear of having a swarm of lawyers crawl up LAZER's ass. And that was just something they could not have. However, whatever happens on the track as a result of her interference can't be faulted to her, or more importantly, LAZER.

So, she may or may not have had a hand in the tweaking of a horse or two. Maybe.

As she walked with Uuie to the start of the line, she made a subtle pass to the tubing in his exposed neck, where his audible sensors were, and tapped a small button there. This allowed Uuie to experience tunes at a very low and soft volume while he raced. Just another idiosyncratic habit the two of them formed over the years. Sol and Uuie, together on the track listening to whatever beat seemed appropriate for the moment.

Sol did however roll her eyes when she caught sight of Leni strapping into her helmet. It was something that didn't sit well with her. Something strange when she learned about all the safety equipment that went into the races upon signing onto a company. Years of running tracks and races without a care in the world, getting seriously injured, like that's part of what makes the races so alluring. It's one of the reasons that called out to Sol in the first place. Her and Leni would always berate the other when either one returned with new cuts and bruises or broken bones, doting on each other, nursing them back to health. Kissing it to make it better. She lived for those little moments.

Though she may roll her eyes at the idea of the helmet, she was so relieved to know that Leni would be safe, cranial wise cause she always knew if she was wearing one while on the tracks. Not to mention she was easy to spot. Aside from her other … assets. Sol tried her hardest to fight the sentimental smile that threatened to spill outwards as she looked at the helmet Widow was sporting. The design was only suppose to be a joke as they sat together drinking at Leni's place. The horns really tied into her Demon persona and Sol joked that it was because she was "Clever as the Devil and twice as gorgeous~"

Standing there as the stoic warrior she is Leni takes a glance at Sol, and through her holo-fitted helmet, she winks at her with eyes that burn with excitement of what is about to take place. Widow nods and even though she can't see her now covered face, she hopes that it has at least relaxed a bit. 'She's no good when she's tense~' Sol muses to herself.

 Climbing atop Uuie's frame gets easier and easier every time and like all the times before, they seem to just … fit. Like missing puzzle pieces. So snug and fitted that it's natural. His lightening mane illuminates her face and features, catching in her molten eyes that match the terrain around them. She can't wait to get this party started. And then, she didn't have too.

---

"The actual fuck?!" Sol snarls as she removes her invisible helm and chucks it into a cart stocked with spare parts and grease rags. Resulting in it crash to the concrete ground below, startling the retainer horses in their bays and stalls.

Quickly storming around the bay area she continued her tirade never once faltering in her anger. "I'm gonna blow up the judges' car." It wasn't a question. Nor was it something that could be swayed from her mind. It was a promise.

"No, Sol." Leni had been right on her heels since the final scores were announced. It was comforting to have her there with her as she was spewing curses at the lot of them. Though, she would have thought she was on her side with this. Leni was just as pissed. Sol could see it in her posture, the way she carried herself. And years with this woman has given her a leg up on everyone when it came to reading Eleni Landry like a book.

"Why not?!" She throws her arms out wide nearly clipping Leni's face as she did so. "What kind of fucking judgement was that? That was bullshit! We had the fastest time, and they put some RISE bitch and the fucking hoity toity Snow Queen at the top? I'm gonna fucking do it. I'm gonna-" though her rantings were cut off by Leni yanking her backwards by the cuff of her top and drags her into an empty room.

A look of seriousness flashes in her eyes as she stares down Sol, "You are not going to blow up the judges' aircars."

"But-"

"Not their shuttles, either."

It was almost comical to see the mighty goddess plop to the ground in all her regalia, and pout because she didn’t get her way when it came to causing collateral damage to those that wronged her. "Leni~" She whines, "that was so-fucking-unfair-," a groan slips past her lips smacking at the floor as if that was going to convince the spider to let her blow something up.

Leni just tightly folded her arms across her leather clad chest, pacing in circles around Sol as she continued to spout off different plans of mass property damage. "They were so clearly biased! They fucking cheated us! We should have been the winners!" Another groan and she went to tug at the ends of her hair.

"You were the fastest on the track, no injuries on our part! I don't understand, Leniiiiiii! Whyyyyy~" She made as if she were going to sob from the frustration.

"We should have won," Sol's ears perked up at the sound of her lover's voice in a tightly wound tone. She was about to go on about how much she agrees with her friend when the spider continued about how there must be something for them to do, how to spin it to emphasize their placements, where they stand.

"Whoa, whoa. Slow down, Leni, fucking stars. Fucking spin?" She huffed blowing one of the stray strands of hair outta her face. It was her own fault for pulling at it. "Who are you, Allryn? Since when did you care so much about winning a race?" She leaned forward to rest her arms across her knees, mumbling about how the winning portion was never a concern for her friend before but ya know, do you. Sol was way more preoccupied with more important business, like cutting a bitch.

Leni was still pacing circles around the angry black woman and more than once Sol would catch a hand twitch here and there. She would never bring it up to her unless she believed there to be a more serious cause other than angry jitters. But it had to be more than that, right? Leni doesn't just all of a sudden start caring about winning or losing races. Not at the drop of a hat. And especially doesn't talk about "spinning stories" for any type of gain. Sol doesn’t care if it's spider like or not. Leni's always been a straight shooter, well, relatively. Shit, the woman couldn't stand to know about Sol and her family's business so she would conveniently be busy elsewhere. There's even a few times where Sol is dead ass convinced that Leni called the cops on a location where Sol was meant to procure some materials. She's a fucking Robin Hood.

"OH! I could drug 'em with some synth and then watch as they go fucking insane over their poor decisions. Sneak on board their aircars and get their addresses and then strike 'em at home?! And I'm saying, I could do it, personal security systems are jack shit on those aircar models, so - Len? Leni? Are you even listening to me?"

Sol's voice must have cut through a deep thought as she witnessed Leni physically shake herself back to the present. "Don't. You can't do that."

"I absolutely can," Sol was about to go on the defensive and then it would just be another Neon Demon all over again. But the look that Leni's got across her face makes her think twice about that. There's something going on and she's going to find out.

"What the hell is wrong, Leni? What was so important about this race? You look scared and-,"

The moment was shattered when the doors opened with a clatter and Leni jumped in Sol's grasp, eyes darting to the source of the noise. LAZER agents come to grab their prized meal tickets. Their presence only served to fuel Sol's ire as she was still fired up about the outcome of the race and then for the fact that they were interrupting their moment. Not to mention, their arrival didn't seem to make Leni relax in the slightest only served to solidify to Sol that there was something more going on here.

"OUT!" The snarl that ripped from Sol did nothing to deter Allryn, however the woman just looked away and with a clear of her throat announced that they had post-race interviews to conduct in a few minutes. With a sigh, Sol stood from her seated floor position with ease and closed the gap between the two of them. Gently holding onto either side of Leni's face. Their faces mere centimeters, breath intermingling with one another. Sol rested her forehead to hers. She wanted to hold her forever, to reassure her that she was always here and always will be. But Leni isn't the type to get all mushy and tends to reject that Sol when she comes on too strong with the lovey dovey crap.

But it was as if Leni could read her mind, because in an instant, she pulled away and pressed her lips to Sol's cheek. Breath tickling her ears, "I'm fine." She was able to muster. And in that moment she knew she was being lied to. But she enjoyed the warmth that flowed through her at the contact. Something she's craved for what feels like eons.

So when she reached out to keep Len from walking away, she wrapped her arms around her. The leather jacket Leni wore, crinkled and gave under the embrace. And she smelled the same as she does every time they're together. Smoke and gas and leather and sweat and justice. It lasted only a moment and it was over just as quickly as it happened.

She slips the paper she's been carrying since the Neon incident into her slacked hand before straightening out and steadying herself before walking into the interview. Head held high, body swaggered like the Villain should be.

Lights flashed before her and all she could think about is the woman in the other room, and how she misses everything about her. From the way her skin feels under her touch, legs tangled up with one another, laughing about nothing and sitting on a roof as they watched the sky dance around them. Racing without a care in the world, dangers around every corner. Sol coming to Leni when Frankenstein fell on her and broke her arm and the big tough warrior of justice taking care of her.

Sol misses Leni and everything she represents for her.

                                                                                         - home.

#sol #nyx #writing #ch2 #written by kzzzz

[lynnearlington]

kara/lena high school part time job

Kara takes the job at the pumpkin patch because she’s known Mr. Ehlers her whole life and along with her hourly wage he offers her a free pick of pumpkins and free hot apple cider every shift.

The work isn’t bad either. It’s only a few hours every weeknight and she gets to be outside, meeting all different kinds of people.

Her friends stop by too, pick out their pumpkins for their annual contest while she’s working. Alex, who takes the event as seriously as Kara does, monopolizes nearly a half hour of Kara’s time picking out the perfect one.

Aside from that, the job is mostly uneventful. Kara walks down the rows of pumpkins and helps out anyone that looks lost, takes a few shifts at the register checking people out.

On one particular night as Kara’s rearranging a display of pumpkins painted with black cats, she notices a girl staring down at a pile of pumpkins for long enough that Kara feels her help is likely needed. She straightens out her vest and makes sure her nameplate is on display before strolling towards the girl.

It isn’t until she’s too close not to get noticed that she realizes who it is. Lena Luthor.

The realization makes her trip a little, but she plays it off as much as she can by kicking a nearby pumpkin and laughing at herself when Lena startles and looks over.

“Stupid pumpkin,” she mumbles, fighting a blush when Lena just looks at her, eyebrows raised.

It’s not her fault that Lena’s one of the more popular, elusive figures in their high school. Lex Luthor’s little sister and the only person in their class to get a perfect SAT score. Kara’s had a passive crush on her since they were biology partners sophomore year and Lena laughed one time at Kara’s dumb joke about pigs while they were dissecting one.

“Gotta watch out for those,” Lena replies dryly, looking Kara up and down once before turning back to the pumpkins at her feet.

“Yeah, totally,” Kara says, running her palms down the front of her vest and swallowing. “Hi, Lena.”

“Kara,” Lena greets with a slow nod of her head.

Kara puts on her best customer service smile. “Can I help you out with the pumpkins?”

Lena kicks her toe lightly against a nearby pumpkin and glances back at Kara. “I think I’m just looking.”

“Well, I’m here if you need me,” Kara says, hands in her pockets as she rocks a bit on her heels. Lena nods absently at her and Kara should probably turn and walk away, but her feet feel rooted to the ground even though she can’t think of anything useful to say.

Lena glances at her again, looks confused by Kara’s continued presence, but doesn’t comment. Instead, she turns to walk down the path, her eyes on the pumpkins.

“You know what you’re going to carve?” Kara says, feet finally moving to follow behind Lena and words coming out a bit more eager than she’d like.

“Pardon?” Lena’s hands are in the pockets of her light grey jacket and she turns to watch Kara skip her direction.

“On the pumpkin,” Kara clarifies, coming back beside Lena and walking with her through the rows.

“Oh,” Lena says, a play of a smile on Lena’s lips giving Kara a stitch of confidence. “I hadn’t thought about it.

“I’ve got tons of ideas if you need help with that too. It’s always better to have a plan.” Kara knows she’s sounding probably far too enthusiastic about pumpkin carving compared to the normal person, but her mouth starts inventing things to say to Lena before she can stop it.

Lena stops again, her lips thinning into what looks like the beginning of a smile and she laughs just enough to make Kara feel warm up her throat. “I think I’ll just go for the normal jack o’lantern look,” Lena says. “I’m not really sure.”

“A classic,” Kara says, nodding in agreement. “Respect.”

“Thanks,” Lena replies, but she draws the word out with a tinge of sarcasm that makes Kara blush.

“Sorry,” Kara says. “Am I bothering you?”

Lena glances away for a moment before offering Kara a full smile. “No, you’re fine.” They’re quiet a moment, Lena turning back to look at the pumpkins before she speaks again. “I didn’t know you worked here.”

“Part time, obviously,” Kara answers, moving to stand next to Lena and observe the pumpkins as well. It strikes her a bit odd that Lena would say that - as if Lena would know anything about Kara’s life other than they go to the same school and Kara’s full of really great biology-related puns. “My family’s been coming here since I was little.”

“That’s nice,” Lena says in a quiet voice before abruptly bending down to pick up a large pumpkin at her feet. It looks just on the too-heavy side so Kara reaches out to steady Lena’s grip, their hands brushing against each other briefly.

“Careful,” Kara tells her after Lena’s secured her hold on the pumpkin.

“Thanks.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Kara says, as gung-ho as she can manage.

There’s a light flush in Lena’s cheeks that Kara attributes to the chilly breeze fluttering past them. “Well, I think this one works,” Lena says, hefting the weight of it in her hands and holding it against her stomach.

Kara eyes it skeptically, a bit confused at the abrupt choice. “You sure?”

Lena smiles, her lips pressed together and her dark hair fluttering a bit across her face. When she moves a hand to put her hair back behind her ear, she struggles again with the weight of the pumpkin and Kara has to jump forward and grab it before it falls to the ground and likely smashes there.

“Ooof,” Kara exhales, taking the pumpkin in her own hands and laughing at the startled look on Lena’s face.

“Sorry!”

“How about I carry the pumpkin?” Kara offers, laughing at the embarrassment on Lena’s face. “Are you even sure you want this big guy?”

Hands now free, Lena runs her fingers through her hair to straighten it, pulling it back and off her head in quick agile motions that Kara can’t help but track. “It seems fine.”

Kara clicks her tongue in disappointment and moves to set the pumpkin back down. “You can’t settle for fine,” she says and she smiles entreatingly at Lena. “Come on, I can help.”

Lena seems to take a deep breath, hands retreating back into the pockets of her jacket. “Sure, okay,” she says softly and it shouldn’t excite Kara as much as it does, but her stomach flips over nonetheless.

“Great!” The word squeaks out of her much higher than intended, but she turns to lead Lena back down the through the rows of pumpkins before the other girl can catch a glimpse of her blush.

They spend the next fifteen minutes together strolling down the paths of pumpkins. Ehlers’s Pumpkin Patch is the largest in the county and Kara fills the time explaining its history and how the pumpkins are organized.

It’s probably a lot more information than Lena really cares to hear about, but she stays quiet and listens to Kara as she details her favorite designs and which pumpkins work best for which ones.

Just as they’ve stopped in front of a small pile of medium sized pumpkins and Kara’s lifting one up she thinks would work for Lena, they’re interrupted by a loud call of Lena’s name from across the patch.

Lena jumps as she hears it and Kara nearly drops the pumpkin, but they both turn towards the sound. It’s Lex Luthor. Lena’s older brother, graduated nearly two years ago, but famous at their high school. He’s strolling towards them in jeans and a large black sweater, scarf loose around his neck.

“Lena, you ready?” Lex is asking, smiling charmingly at Kara as he gets closer. “If Mother doesn’t get a glass of chardonnay soon she might start taking it out on civilians.”

It hadn’t occurred to Kara that the rest of the Luthor clan might be there and she nods at Lex, a little taken aback by his presence.

“Yeah, sorry,” Lena says, breathing out the words and offering Kara an apologetic smile.

Lex glances between them, bemusement obvious on his face as he puts his hands on his hips and arches an expectant brow at his sister when she makes no other movement. “Well? Let’s go.”

“Right yeah,” Lena says again, shaking her head. She reaches out to put her hand on Kara’s forearm, holds it there warmly for a few seconds until the feeling shoots straight up Kara’s arm. “Thanks for your help, Kara.”

“Yeah, anytime,” Kara manages to reply through the sudden dryness of her throat.

Lena smiles, the look doing nothing to calm the beating of her heart and the awareness that Lena Luthor is touching her. “See you at school,” Lena adds before turning to join her brother and head towards the exit.

It doesn’t occur to her until Lena’s well out of sight that Kara’s still holding her pumpkin and Lena left empty handed.

–

They don’t see each other at school like Lena said. Not really anyway. They don’t share any classes together this semester and they’re on different lunch schedules.

Kara’d like to say that Lena leaving the pumpkin patch without a pumpkin wasn’t something that was occupying a lot of her thoughts throughout the day, but that’d be a lie.

It consumes her so much that she knows she’s not going to be able to let it go until she’s assured Lena has her pumpkin for whatever she needed it for. The pumpkin they’d picked out together is sitting in a safe spot that Kara’d hid it in the night before.

After her shift, she clocks out right on time, skips her usual free cider and even declines an invitation to run over to a local Fall Festival. Instead she hefts the pumpkin up into her arms and has every intention of loading it into her car and driving over to the Luthor household to personally deliver Lena her pumpkin.

In fact, she gets all the way to her car with the pumpkin and is struggling to get the back door open when a spattering of footsteps across the gravel parking lot draws her attention.

It’s the object of her thoughts, half jogging her way and smiling as she leans across Kara’s body and helps her with the back door.

“Lena,” Kara greets, breathing the name out in surprise and trying not to sound too pleased.

“Hi,” Lena says, sounding uncharacteristically shy. She’s dressed in dark tight jeans and an oversized grey sweater, her hair loose on her shoulders and looking just as crushworthy as ever.

“Hey, you forgot your pumpkin yesterday,” Kara says, lifting the pumpkin up in her arms to show Lena.

Lena blinks at it, seems almost startled by the reminder as if there’d be another reason for her to show up at the pumpkin patch that night. “Oh, right,” Lena says softly, a hesitant smile on her face.

“Good thing I brought it out,” Kara says with a happy grin. She gestures towards the entrance to the pumpkin patch with a shrug of her shoulder. “We’re closed.”

A beat of silence as Lena look towards the darkened lights of the Ehler’s Pumpkin Patch sign. “Good thing,” she says through a smile that looks just a bit off.

Kara’s not sure how to read it, but she’s seen Lena have the expression before. Years of going to school with Lena and nearly as many having an unwavering crush on her meant Kara’s relatively familiar with Lena’s cadre of emotions and expressions. Most of the time, Lena’s expression hovers somewhere between two emotions, relatively unreadable as a result.

So she moves past it with an easy smile and hip checks her car door so it closes again. “Do you want me to bring it to your car?” Kara offers and Lena straightens with a polite smile.

“Yeah,” she says after another moment of silent consideration. “That’d be nice, thanks.”

She waits for Lena to turn and lead them that direction, takes a deep calming breath before following the other girl. Lena’s sleek looking white car is parked not too far away and Kara waits for her to pop the trunk before setting Lena’s pumpkin there.

Straightening, she scuffs her hands together to shake off any lingering dirt and smiles widely at Lena. “Mission accomplished.”

Lena returns the expression, a more genuine look than earlier, but after a moment frowns and starts to pat at her pockets. “I need to pay you,” she says hastily, clearly searching for a wallet she can’t seem capable of finding. “My purse is in the car.”

Moving around Kara, Lena heads to her front door, but Kara grabs her elbow and halts the motion with a laugh. “Lena it’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t be silly,” Lena says, looking incredulous. “I’m not going to let you spend your money like that.”

Kara laughs, but let’s Lena go ahead and open her car, bending to reach across the seats and pull a tote from inside. “It’s really not that big a deal.”

“What did it cost?” Lena asks, head down as she fishes inside her bag. “Ten dollars? Twenty?”

Eyebrows raising, Kara tries not to laugh again, but reaches out to touch Lena’s arm and stop her flurry of motion. “Lena, it’s barely the price of a cup of coffee.”

A flit of embarrassment flushes across Lena’s face. “Oh,” she says succinctly, punctuated by a quick chuckle.  

“Like I said, don’t worry about it,” Kara dismisses, waving her hand at Lena and smiling. “I couldn’t let you go without a pumpkin to carve.”

She puts her hands back to her hips and lifts her chest a bit in an exaggerated heroic pose that makes Lena laugh again. The sound floats so prettily across the chill fall air and that Kara feels herself warm all over.

“Such a hero,” Lena jokes, abandoning her bag back to the driver’s seat of her car and crossing her arms over her chest.

“All part of the job,” Kara says in a haughty voice that makes them both smile before she relaxes her posture and just enjoys a few moments of hovering in Lena’s presence.

Lena’s eyes search her face for a few seconds, her teeth poking out to bite softly at her bottom lip before she seems to come to a decision. “The price of a coffee you said?”

Kara’s brows pull down the slightest, but she smiles as she nods. “That’s right.”

“Well,” Lena says on a deep breath. “Then you’ll have to let me buy you that coffee.”

Kara blinks, takes a second to process the offer and the nervous look on Lena’s face. “Right now?”

Lena shifts on her feet, shrugs a shoulder. “Are you free?”

“Uh,” Kara’s mouth gapes a second, her palms feel suddenly clammy and she stuffs them into the pockets of her jeans. “Yeah, definitely.”

“Good,” Lena says definitively, nodding sharply and uncrossing her arms. “Starbucks on Elm?”

“Yeah, sure,” Kara says though she doesn’t get all the words out before Lena’s sliding into her car and shutting the door. The engine roars to life and Kara’s still standing there, staring at Lena’s figure in the front seat until she realizes she should probably move.

“See you there,” she yells out, bending over to wave through the window of Lena’s car.

Lena waves back, smiles and Kara tries not to run to her own car across the lot.

–

They meet up at the small Starbucks not too far from their school. It’s open for a few more hours and mostly devoid of people.

Kara immediately orders a pumpkin spice latte because they’re advertised all over the massive menu boards over the register and when Lena tries to order a boring americano, Kara talks her into changing. “Get in the spirit, Lena,” she says and it doesn’t take much convincing before Lena’s rolling her eyes and ordering the same as Kara.

They find a table in the back, tucked around a corner and mostly private. It’s the first time Kara’s ever really been alone with Lena. They’ve been in the same classes for most of grade school, and even partnered together on a spattering of projects, but they don’t run in the same social circles and it’s rare for Kara to ever spend this much time with Lena outside school.

It feels exciting and nerve racking and Kara’s sure the sugar in the drink she’s practically chugging down is not helping.

“Thanks for the coffee,” Kara says softly, smiling at the face Lena makes when she takes a sip of her drink - somewhere between a wince and hesitant enjoyment.

“This isn’t coffee,” Lena says, but a smile is tugging at the corner of her lips that makes Kara want to laugh.

“Thanks anyway,” she replies, sitting forward in her chair.

“Thanks for the pumpkin,” Lena counters and it’s then that Kara’s nerves start to ratchet up.

What do you talk about to the girl you’ve crushed on for years, the girl that most of the school probably crushes on? Kara searches her brain for something interesting to say, dismisses about sixteen different ideas for being either too nerdy or too boring. In the end, she settles on: “So did you decide what you’re carving?”

A quizzical look crosses Lena’s face before it clears and she laughs softly. “I think I’ll stick with the jack o’lantern look. It feels in my wheelhouse.”

Kara fights a look of disdain, but shrugs in passive agreement. “I suppose you can’t go wrong with that one.”

It turns out Kara doesn’t quite succeed in hiding her expression because Lena laughs again and bends her head to catch Kara’s eyes. “Your face says otherwise.”

“Oops,” Kara says, making a show of covering her face with her hands until Lena reaches over and peels one away. The touch makes Kara’s knee start to bounce before she takes a breath and stills it.

“I’m assuming you have a better idea?”

Kara waggles her eyebrows and fishes in her pocket for her phone. “You’re going to regret asking me that,” she says and Lena lets out an exaggerated sigh, but she’s grinning at Kara - an expression Kara can’t help but want to keep on Lena’s face as long as possible.

“I’m sure I will,” she says, leaning forward when Kara puts her phone on the table and opens up her photo album entitled carving ideas.

It doesn’t take long for Kara to convince Lena to at least jazz up the classic pumpkin face with a few different details - picture after picture of Kara’s own versions help her argument. After Lena agrees to make some adjustments to her design and Kara claps way too excitedly about it, the conversation winds its way through topic after topic.

It’s the longest she and Lena have ever held a conversation, and the coffee makes her jittery. But Lena is so pretty in the dim lighting of the Starbucks and if she focuses on that twenty percent less, she finds that they’re good at talking to each other. It helps that Lena laughs at all her dumb jokes, the kind of puns that usually Alex calls lame.

As they talk, she learns things about Lena she hadn’t thought to know before. Like how Lena is so much smarter than even a perfect SAT score would imply. That she goes skiing every winter break with her family and that she hates PSLs and has an irrational fear of empty swimming pools.

Kara feels like her crush is expansive in her chest, pressing down and spiraling outward in a way that’s starting to feel overwhelming.

“I don’t do haunted houses,” Lena says, waving her hand in Kara’s face as if the idea could get wiped from her mind. Kara laughs, smacking Lena’s hand from her airspace and trying to ignore the hot feeling that runs up her arm at the brief contact. Their coffees are long finished, sitting on the table between them.

“But it’s October!” Kara says. “You should come with me. I know a great one upstate that you have to sign a waiver for before going.”

Lena blinks, her smile incredulous as is the laugh she lets out. “You could not pay me to do that.”

“They’re open Friday,” Kara tells her, the offer clear.

“Nope,” Lena says, popping the word out of her mouth definitively. She leans back in her seat and affects a look of nonchalance that’s familiar to Kara from school. But there’s a small quirk to her lips that indicates a smile lurking beneath it.

“Yes, totally, thank you for inviting me, Kara is what I think you meant to say there,” Kara says.

“You should get your hearing checked,” Lena replies dryly.

“Come on,” Kara entreats, enjoying the careful suppression of a smile on Lena’s face. “It’ll be fun. We can go after the game.”

“I don’t do football games or haunted houses,” Lena says, her grin finally breaking across her face slowly. “Get it into your head, Danvers.”

“Oh, totally, for sure. I forgot Lena Luthor is too cool for such things,” Kara says, nodding overly serious, but laughing when Lena frowns.

“Jerk,” Lena says, but she starts laughing too and her toe collides with Kara’s shin under the table in a gesture that makes Kara’s stomach flip over.

–

The poor Starbucks worker kicks them out ten minutes to close, glaring unhappily at them for holding up her night. Kara feels nearly as light as a feather as they make their way through the parking lot to their cars. Lena’s arm in her coat brushes Kara’s. There’s a violent urge in Kara to sling her arm up around Lena’s shoulders and pull her close.

“I have something to confess,” Lena says as they idle by her car. The moon is bright up above them, a little chill in the air. Lena’s pale skin is even prettier in the October night.

“What’s that?”

“I didn’t need that pumpkin,” she says softly, looking towards her trunk. Kara blinks. Why would Lena not need a pumpkin? She had been in a pumpkin patch. What else would she have been there for?

“What?”

“I didn’t need it,” Lena repeats. “That’s not why I came back to the pumpkin patch tonight. Lex had already got me one yesterday.”

Confused, Kara tries to figure out what that means. “Then why did you…?”

Lena takes a deep breath, fiddles around with her keys and shrugs. “I came back to see you.”

“Me?” It comes out a bit too loud, but she can’t help it as she points at herself, eyebrows shooting upward.

It makes Lena laugh even as a flush creeps up her neck. “Yes, you.”

“Me,” Kara repeats. “Me?”

“No, I came to see Mr. Ehlers himself,” Lena says, deadpan. Kara feels like her hands are going to shake their way out of her coat, they’re buzzing with nervousness so much.

“Why’d you want to see me?” Kara says. “I mean, I wanted to see you too. Obviously. Because I had a pumpkin for you. Very serious business. Pumpkin business, you know-”

She is blissfully interrupted by Lena Luthor grabbing ahold of the lapel of her coat and pulling her close. Their lips meet then, and Kara for sure hits cloud nine in four seconds flat, even when she can’t really figure out how to do anything. It’s more like their lips just hit each other and all sense of time and memory escapes Kara. They pull away slowly, Kara still pressed somewhat close to Lena, and she feels the dopiest grin come across her face as she looks down at Lena.

“Cool,” is all Kara can think to say, the lingering taste of pumpkin spice on her lips - whether from her own drink or from Lena’s mouth she’s not sure. “I get it now.”

Lena rolls her eyes, her fingers running up the collar of Kara’s coat until they brush against the hair at the nape of her neck and it feels so good that she can’t help but lean forward to kiss Lena again. It’s inexpert and the best, kissing Lena Luthor.

Pumpkins and free apple cider is cool, for sure. But this is way better.

FALL PROMPTS | MY KO-FI

#Anonymous #writing fall prompts #prompt fill #hs au #supercorp fic #this tag is for fic #churning these out in random order #trying to keep them as short as humanly possible

[eclare-draws]

My ML/Enneagram Theory

So I was bored and have a huge interest in the Enneagram personality type test, so I decided to figure out what Adrien and Marinette are on the Enneagram. I was just making points, and it somehow turned into an eight page double spaced essay. I’m realy happy with it and it only took a couple of hours, so here it is to read. It will help with the art I’m posting tomorrow ;)

The Enneagram is a personality test based on a person’s basic fears and desires in life. It is a set of numbers one through nine, each of which represent a specific type of person but are all connected based on how each basic type (the one someone identifies the most with) reacts to stress and growth. The system is largely based on fluctuation, but by analyzing the fears and desires of characters in Miraculous Ladybug, their basic Enneagram type can be quickly identified by the actions they take to change injustices and make sense of the world around them. Here, the discussion will be based on Marinette/Ladybug and Adrien/Chat Noir in various contexts.

In every episode, we see both Marinette as well as Ladybug strive to make the world better based on her beliefs of what is right for the city and her friends (which is typically in-line with what we as a society associate with good and honorable behavior). This attitude and drive is often associated with Enneagram Type One: the Reformer, who wants “to be good, to have integrity, [and] to be balanced.” This analysis of character can be seen in both personas Marinette takes on: the busy schoolgirl and the savior of Paris. Ones are often faulted with “always striving to improve things, but afraid of making a mistake,” which is clearly displayed in “Stoneheart,” where Marinette struggles to cope with the fact that she messed up to the point where she feels she is so incompetent that it would be better for her to give up her miraculous for the sake of Paris. “[Ones] try to maintain high standards, but can slip into being critical and perfectionistic.” Marinette’s sense of perfectionism is clearly seen in her designs and plans. She spends a disproportionate amount of time on tiny details, such as an embroidered signature, that no one else would notice but add depth and meaning to her work. Not only this, but her perfectionism shines when she makes detailed and convoluted plans, whether it is how to use her lucky charm as Ladybug or how she will get together with Adrien (see Operation: Secret Garden in “Gigantitan”).

The audience can often see Marinette trying to improve the lives of others, whether they ask for it or not. She often zeros in on a single problem and tackles it in order to help the world align with how she sees it best. When she is criticized for a mistake or wronged in some way, she reacts dramatically and impatiently. This aligns with the direction of disintegration, where “methodical Ones suddenly become moody and irrational at Four.” When Marinette is wronged, she reacts brashly and “[has] problems with resentment and impatience,” easily showcased in situations dealing with Chloe. All nine Enneagram types are associated with a sin, and Ones are paired with anger. This makes sense with Marinette, because while she tends to be level headed in most situations, she gets mad and defensive whenever something is turned against her or goes against the plan.

“History is full of Ones who have left comfortable lives to do something extraordinary because they felt that something higher was calling them.” Marinette started her career as Paris’ superheroine just as anyone would expect: spilling macarons everywhere while preventing an old man from getting hit by a car he could have easily avoided. Master Fu’s intention with the ladybug miraculous was Marinette’s higher calling. One of the more famous figures often referenced in speaking of the Type One personality is Joan of Arc (Jeanne d’Arc). Not only was Joan of Arc in a similar position as Marinette - a teenage girl destined to save France - but she is also depicted in the show as a past holder of the Ladybug Miraculous (see Befana episode and Thomas Astruc’s art). This revelation could be interesting to anyone, but it also enhances and hones this theory into a definite explanation. Marinette Dupain-Cheng is a Type One on the Enneagram personality test.

But what about her partner, crush, and friend, Adrien Agreste or Chat Noir? Well, it is made clear early on that Chat Noir is what Adrien would be if it were not for his father and the life he is expected to lead for the sake of looking good (pun intended). By analyzing this character in two parts rather than at the same time as previously done with Marinette, he becomes much simpler to understand. Chat Noir’s abilities allow Adrien to leave the fortress that is the Agreste mansion and live his life in a way that helps him grow and thrive, while being locked up puts him in a state of disintegration or stress. By evaluating the character from this point of view, it makes sense that Adrien would be an Enneagram Type Seven: the Enthusiast. 

Sevens want nothing more than “to be satisfied and content—to have their needs fulfilled.” Adrien grew up in a wealthy household and never had to worry about his physical needs being met but he constantly looks for ways to have his emotional needs met because his father refuses to do so and instead feeds into the basic fear of sevens: “Of being deprived and in pain.” Adrien’s worst nightmare is being locked up, as displayed in Sandboy, where bars appear in his room until he’s trapped and isolated. In “Riposte,” Ladybug hides him in a sarcophagus in the Louvre and, after escaping to be Chat Noir, he uses the excuse of, “I hate to be locked up.” While this is not actually why he left, his body language and tone show that he is being genuine in his words and that his clawstrophobia (sorry) is an actual problem. This claustrophobia is not only based in literally being in tight spaces, but also figuratively being trapped. His father over schedules him to the point where he, a young boy, cannot discover who is for himself or what his interests are. Despite the skateboarding ramp and posters in his room, does the audience ever see him even have the slightest interest in skateboarding? Or basketball? Rockclimbing? Piano? Fencing? Chinese? Modeling? While he seems to go along with these and generally find entertainment in them, there is no way to show that he is actually inclined to do these things - he is just expected to, so he does.

Being locked away in his room allowed him proficiency at the activities provided for him, but the only time he is ever depicted as actively enjoying one of these things is when he plays the piano with Plagg in “Puppeteer 2.” Sevens often prefer “to keep themselves excited and occupied, to avoid and discharge pain.” By giving in to the hobbies he is expected to have, he keeps himself busy so that he cannot worry about what he might actually enjoy. His ability to have high performance can also be attributed to the fact that “Sevens are frequently endowed with quick, agile minds, and can be exceptionally fast learners. This is true both of their ability to absorb information (language, facts, and procedures) and their ability to learn new manual skills—they tend to have excellent mind-body coordination, and manual dexterity (typewriting, piano playing, tennis).” While he might not be interested in the activities he participates in, he finds himself great at all of them because of this ability to adapt and learn. Despite this, it is likely that Adrien will struggle to figure out what he wants to pursue because, “Sevens do not feel that they can find what they really want in life.” The only thing he truly knows for himself and his future is that he wants Ladybug to be in it.

The few active decisions the audience sees Adrien make are in line with those associated with Sevens, in that he “[wants] to maintain [his] freedom and happiness, to avoid missing out on worthwhile experiences,” or, in this case, the experiences of a normal teenage boy. He decides he wants to go to school with other people because he deems it important in “Stoneheart”. In “The Gorilla,” he runs  away from home in order to avoid missing out on his mother’s movie. By keeping the black cat miraculous, he makes the choice to continue to have worthwhile experiences and make positive change to better his life. Sevens “do not feel that they know what to do or how to make choices that will be beneficial to themselves and others,” which is shown in “Reflekdoll” when Adrien holds the ladybug miraculous and worries that his choices are not the correct path without the assurance of Lady Noire. Sevens are known for “[keeping] their minds occupied, especially with projects and positive ideas for the future, they can, to some extent, keep anxiety and negative feelings out of conscious awareness.” As Chat Noir is being rejected by Ladybug, he quickly slips into a Marinette-like fantasy of moving to an island, living off fruits, and buying a pet hamster. By creating these plans, which one can only assume he spends much of his free time doing, he avoids the harsh reality of his family and love life.

Sevens are often referred to as being optimistic, which is certainly true of Adrien. Yes, he faces isolation and what is assuredly a deep set of insecurities and pain that a children’s show will not delve into, but he still finds the silver lining of every situation. When he is denied the love of Ladybug in “Glaciator,” he decides “her friendship is the best gift of all.” Even after he spent months trying to save Ladybug as Aspik in “Desperada,” he still decides that he can best help her as Chat Noir and sees the positive that can come out of what must have been a traumatic experience for him. Even in regards to his father, where most people would resent a parent who treats them like Gabriel treats Adrien, Adrien still manages to not only love but also respect his father and his wishes. When Sevens are at their healthiest, they “Assimilate experiences in depth, making them deeply grateful and appreciative for what they have.” When Adrien becomes his alternate persona, Chat Noir, the audience is able to clearly see the vivacity this character has and the beauty he finds in the world. Chat Noir often appreciates the smaller things in his life that others often tend to ignore, as he is unable to participate in life as Adrien Agreste. His separation from the world as his father’s son causes him to usually live in an unhealthy level for Sevens, where “their energy and health is completely spent: become claustrophobic and panic-stricken” which is again illustrated in his greatest fears of being trapped. “Sevens deeply resist feeling trapped or being in situations that continually produce unhappiness,” a statement that can easily be attributed to Adrien as he lives his life as a true Seven on the Enneagram.

It does not need to be stated that Chat Noir and Ladybug make a miraculous team (sorry). Their styles of planning, solving, and fighting are on opposite ends of the spectrum. Chat Noir tends to have a spontaneous take to his fighting, while Ladybug is methodical and calculating. This all makes sense with the analysis of the interactions of Ones and Sevens according to the official Enneagram study. “Enneagram Ones and Sevens have a particular complementary and reciprocal relationship. They are opposites who can either bring something needed to the other person, thereby helping both to achieve new growth.” The black cat and ladybug miraculous are said to be two parts of a whole, the yin and yang of the miraculous. Because of this, the interactions between them make sense to be reciprocal actions towards the same goal. While Ladybug creates, Chat Noir destroys. Their powers work together to create a balance in the world and within their lives. Occasionally, the audience sees examples of when their actions affect the outcome negatively because they are out of sync with the intentions of the other.

Sometimes, Chat Noir’s casual approach and joking attitude will get in the way of Ladybug’s plan, as seen in “Oblivio” and referenced in “Reflekdoll.” This dynamic between the two heroes can again be comprehended through the understanding of the two types, “Ones bring conscientiousness, orderliness, good work habits, methodical attention to detail, and a pleasure in maintaining excellence and high standards. Sevens bring spontaneity, high energy, curiosity, an orientation toward fun and adventure, the desire to try new things, and an ability to not get too hung up with getting everything done perfectly.” This is a perfect summary of their tandem relationship that balances out for a positive outcome. When things do not go to plan, Chat Noir finds a way to help Ladybug and solve the problems that they face most of the time. This spontaneity can sometimes cause issues between them, another common flaw between the two types. “As stress increases, Ones become increasingly critical, judgmental, inflexible, and insistent that things be done only one way, the right way—their way. They inevitably begin to see Sevens as undisciplined and inefficient, self-centered and childish. Ones feel that Sevens are scattered and tend to fool around too much.” In “Relfekdoll,” Ladybug points out these types of behaviors in her partner, going so far as to call his suit a “clown costume.” She also struggles to understand that Chat Noir’s approach to holding the Ladybug miraculous is vastly different from her own, which causes some bickering between them because her brain does not work in a “simple, straightforward [manner].”

As the audience does not see Marinette and Adrien interact in a normal fashion very often, it is harder to see these similarities appear between the two civilians. This is not only because of Marinette’s crush, but also because Adrien tends to guard his emotions to save face and do as expected of him. In “The Gorilla,” the dynamic between them peeks through as the friends have to rely on Adrien’s spontaneous changes of plan while Marinette struggles to follow along because she does not have time to make a cohesive plan. While Marinette can adapt quickly to her missteps around Adrien, she often finds herself floundering when she does not have a plan. Some of the few times she was almost successful in confessing her love can be noted in “Dark Cupid,” “Puppeteer 2,” and “Gigantitan.” In all three of these, she comes up with varying levels of plans in order to make Adrien fall in love with her. In “Dark Cupid,” she writes a love letter but forgets to sign it because she is distracted. “Puppeteer 2” shows her and Tikki devising a plan to play the role of someone who is confident around Adrien, but she had to go and almost kiss him in that situation. In “Gigantitan,” she develops what is easily her most in-depth plan (Operation: Secret Garden), which almost worked until she had to improvise. Her inability to improvise is greatly contrasted by Adrien/Chat Noir’s ability for the trade. He is a quick thinker and finds ways to avoid a negative outcome in the worst situations. When he tries to plan, such as his poem in “Dark Cupid,” it does not work out for him because he is able to do it on the fly with a higher success rate.

While Miraculous Ladybug may be a show intended for children, it is easily enjoyed by older viewers who look at each episode with a keen eye and interested mind. In the observation of interactions, mindsets, and attitudes, the Enneagram types of Paris’ heroes can easily be discovered and analyzed through a clearer lens. By doing so, an audience member can have a better understanding of the characters and make sense of their actions and thought processes without necessarily being able to relate to the characters all the time. By watching Marinette/Ladybug’s ability to plan and desire to do what is right for her city and her friends, one can see that her Enneagram type must be a One - the Reformer. She prefers a methodical approach to life that is filled with clear morals and a call to greatness and she often becomes frustrated when the world does not work the way she expects it to. On the other hand, Adrien/Chat Noir’s ability to see the positive in every situation as he improvises his way through life shows that he must be a Seven - the Enthusiast. Adrien’s family situation often places him in a period of stress or disintegration where he feels trapped and stuck in life because he does not fully understand himself. As the two characters interact with one another, it is made obvious that they are meant to be (whether as a couple or just the strongest duo in Paris) and that they can only improve and hone their partnership as they better understand one another on a deeper level.

(All quotes taken from “Miraculous Ladybug” and The Enneagram Institute.)

#ml fan theory #miraculous ladybug #enneagram #ml #ladybug #chat noir #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #miraculous fan theory #miraculous ladybug fan theory #miraculous ladybug fanfic #miraculous fanfiction #ml fanfic #ml fanfiction #ladrien #ladynoir #lady noire #aspik

[whythinktoomuch]

Reincarnation AU

a.k.a. the one where Kara seeks out the company of her loved ones again and again and again.

Kara’s bones ache constantly, which is only worth noting because they had never done so before. By all accounts, they shouldn’t be aching. Not like this, not while the yellow sun continues to exist in this world. Winn’s seventh iteration suggested that the pain was just all in her head, and he’s probably right. But this knowledge isn’t necessarily new to Kara, nor does it do anything to ease the hollowness gnawing through and throughout all 206 of her ageless, weary bones. 

Her bones ache. 

It’s a visceral fact, and Kara has long since accepted it and moved on.

At first, Kara stays away from everyone. She vows to just watch as their lives unfold how they’re meant to, from a distance that’s both appropriate and respectful.

Alex usually matures with only the conventional amount of teenage angst in her life. It inevitably culminates in a rocky college career and a rather difficult adult life, but she gradually finds enough of herself in her late-20s to survive. She is as good at being an only child as she is an older sister. Sometimes, even better. 

When Kara finally gives in and tries to insert herself into Alex’s life, it isn’t easy. Not at first anyway. Alex is reserved, occasionally standoffish, and doesn’t take to Kara’s go-to bubbly persona. But Kara is nothing if not relentless and desperate and, not to mention, emboldened by the possibility that Alex just might need her as much as she needs Alex. Eight times out of ten, they end up becoming best friends for the rest of Alex’s life.

Kara eventually starts approaching Alex as herself: the lonely Kryptonian who’s repeatedly outlived all her loved ones just one –– two, three, four, and counting –– too many times. And something about Kara’s grief resonates with Alex’s own heavy heart, and their sisterly bond forms all the more quickly for it. It consistently saves Kara a good three to five years in relationship groundwork, which gives her an extra three to five years with her beloved sister. 

It seems like cheating, but if Kara is to indulge in anything anymore, it’ll be in more time with the one person who’s always made Earth feel like home.

She usually tells Winn the truth. His natural curiosity and love for sci-fi make it easier for him to understand and even embrace what she tells him. Alex tends to push back –– What the everloving fuck do you mean by “reincarnation,” Kara? –– and Kara has managed to convince her only on the rarest of occasion. But Winn believes her almost every single time. He even brings up various theories involving quantum mechanics, though his excitement wanes whenever Kara explains that yes, she does in fact know that consciousness is just another collection of versatile energy and whatnot, because she had listened to the first five of his predecessors say the same exact thing. 

Kara always, always, always appreciates every little interaction she can contrive with her loved ones, no matter how far removed these new relationships seem from the original. They’re close enough. Sometimes, she has a beer with Alex at a seedy bar and they share a laugh and she’s Kara Danvers again. Other times, she nails a horrendously cheesy pun and Winn rolls his eyes and Kara feels 26 for the first time in nearly a century.

She has spent many a human lifetime getting to know Alex and Winn and Eliza and James and Lucy and Cat and all the rest, until there can’t possibly be anything left for her to learn. And still, she does. She finds them again, loves them even harder, and gratefully relearns everything she’s never had the chance to forget. 

In fact, out of everyone she had loved during her very first venture as Kara Zor-El Danvers, there is exactly one person she’s been trying to avoid all this time. Her resolve in the matter only continues to redouble with each subsequent iteration, and she fully intends on keeping to the pattern. Indefinitely.

That is, until one fateful day, around Kara’s 750th year on Earth, when that adamant decision of hers is dutifully plucked right out of her unsuspecting hands. 

Kara is listening intently to Dr. Alexandra Danvers’s steady pulse as she performs open-heart cyber-surgery for the first time almost two neighborhoods over. That’s what Kara will later attribute this highly inevitable misadventure to: her super-hearing being preoccupied with her adoptive sister at least twelve times removed, dozens of miles away, surrounded by the unfamiliar buzzing and hums of medical technology that they hadn’t gotten around to patenting just yet.

“Hi, is this seat taken?” 

Kara blinks and drags her gaze heavenward, and absolutely everything hurts. Not just her bones or her fluttering heart or her eyes now spiking with the most unwelcome heat. But everything. 

“I don’t mean to intrude. It’s just that... everywhere else is taken and I’d rather enjoy my coffee and pastry out here in the sun.” 

Well aware of how her shaky voice would betray her, Kara just nods and gestures at the empty chair across the table. 

“Thank you! I really appreciate it,” says the woman, taking the seat with a dazzling smile. 

For one precious moment, Kara thinks that nothing else will happen. That they will just finish their respective coffees in silence, maybe share one polite smile when it’s time to leave, then Kara can live out the rest of this lifetime avoiding the woman now sitting before her for as long she lives. 

But life, if nothing else, is cruel and wretched and oh so very lovely.

“My name’s Lena, by the way,” the woman needlessly introduces herself as she tears her almond croissant into tiny bite-sized pieces. 

“Kara.” 

Lena smiles so wide that her eyes crinkle a little. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Kara.” 

#wrote this on a whim and a half #so no please don't ask me to elaborate #but if i *do* expand on this I'd make it very black mirror / futuristic #and change alex's name to something less recognizable #because 700 years into the future y'all!!!! #GOOD NIGHT!!!! #my words.

[ladylynse]

Hey, look, more of my DPxML crossover....

I promised an age ago to finish writing one of these two scenes from  Le Fantôme, and when I asked which one people would prefer to see, this one won. So, enjoy!

Paris – The Previous Evening (relative to this scene)

Marinette pursed her lips as she surveyed the City of Lights from her perch on the Eiffel Tower. She had arranged this meeting with Chat Noir yesterday, but she wasn’t upset that he was late. Even under the cover of darkness, it could be difficult to get away from the responsibilities and people that filled your other life. She didn’t expect him to always be prompt, and he didn’t expect it of her.

She just wished she had more to tell him.

They had no idea how long Le Fantôme had been active. Alya had started digging up ghost sightings and posting them on the Ladyblog when she’d caught wind of it, but Marinette had first heard of it from Alya, and she wasn’t convinced Chat Noir had known earlier, either; he would have told her. Ghost stories weren’t something anyone dismissed, not anymore.

It didn’t seem like the work of another Vanisher. They weren’t sure exactly how many things were connected—no one knew—but the things attributed to Le Fantôme were not always the sort of thing merely an invisible person could accomplish. There had been robberies from places locked up tight, with no evidence anywhere of tampering, let alone a break-in. There had been things said in private that had been leaked to the news, to the detriment of both parties, most often those heading up wealthy companies. (She was waiting for Adrien’s father to be targeted, but he seemed to have evaded Le Fantôme’s scrutiny so far.) But then there were all the little things that kept happening, the reason the media had begun calling this latest victim of Hawk Moth’s Le Fantôme.

There were cold spots—colder than expected, anyway, for the end of October. There was talk of floating objects, carried by invisible hands, and of other things vanishing before someone’s very eyes. There were strange lights, inexplicable power outages, horrible sounds, and…and sightings.

Nothing consistent. Not really. Not enough to go on, what was consistent. No photographs. Conflicting eyewitness accounts. Was Le Fantôme a teenager, someone around her own age, or an older gentleman who might be closer to her father’s age? Was Le Fantôme the girl who had reportedly been seen crying for help by the abandoned rail line or the woman who had purportedly taken to haunting the Venus de Milo, sketching it for hours before vanishing without a trace to enact whatever she had been planning? Was Le Fantôme someone who had fallen on hard times and found themselves ignored by the rest of society or were they someone who had the appearance of everything but had come to the sudden realization that they had nothing that truly mattered and felt that they couldn’t regain what they had lost?

She didn’t know. It was starting to feel like no one did. Moreover, it seemed to Marinette that Le Fantôme had awakened every ghost legend in Paris. At least, it felt that way when she looked at Alya’s blog. Paris, a city that was filled with ghost stories, was now filled with ghosts. And she and Chat Noir had to find the right one in order to stop them.

It was an impossible task.

She heard Chat Noir alight beside her and waited for some light-hearted pun to follow. When it didn’t, she turned her head and realized he looked grim. “You can’t be tired of chasing ghosts already,” she teased.

“No,” he said quietly as he looked over the city, “but I think I’ve seen one.”

“Le Fantôme?”

“No. The mayor’s daughter.”

What? “Chloé Bourgeois? We’re chasing ghosts, kitty, not banshees. Even if she can screech like one.”

That didn’t even get her a smile. “Something happened before I passed the Grand Paris; I’m still not sure what. The mayor is convinced she’s been kidnapped, but the staff….” He took a slow breath. “She’s been missing since yesterday. Her father has been busy, and everyone thought she was at her friend’s.” Sabrina’s, that meant, since Chloé couldn’t count many friends. “Except her friend came by today to ask after her, claiming she hadn’t seen her and had thought she was sick because she hadn’t been in school.”

“That doesn’t make Chloé a ghost.”

Chat Noir turned to face her. “Sabrina—Chloé’s friend, the Vanisher—she says she heard Chloé screaming at her as if she were in the room, but no one else heard anything. I went up with the butler to check her suite. It was empty at first, but…then she was there, right in front of me, begging me to make this stop, to fix this.”

“Begging?”

That got her a smile, albeit a small one. “Well, demanding. But no one else seemed to notice anything, and when I looked away, she vanished.”

Marinette might not like Chloé, but even she didn’t deserve this, whatever this was. “So you think Le Fantôme is creating ghosts from living people? On top of everything else? What would that gain them?”

“An even better way to hide in plain sight. We still don’t know who we’re fighting, but if there are suddenly other people who fit what we know of Le Fantôme, the public can’t even help us narrow it down.”

“So they’re even more like a ghost.” She’d rather fight someone like the Puppeteer again, even with the risk of being controlled, because at least then they had a clear target. “So who are they really after? They don’t want to show themselves. They haven’t even made a bid for our Miraculous.”

“Not that we know of,” Chat Noir agreed, “but they could be watching us. They wouldn’t be the first villain to act quietly for a while before we caught wind of them. I’ve asked the police to take a look back over all their missing persons reports; if we can figure out where most of the people were last seen and when they disappeared, we’ll have a better idea of where Le Fantôme’s been operating, and it might give us a clue about what they want.”

It hardly seemed like it would be enough, but it was far more than she could offer. “Good thinking, kitty.” It would still be looking for a needle in a haystack, but at least it would be a smaller haystack. “But what are we supposed to do once we find them? We can’t catch a ghost.”

To her surprise, Chat Noir actually grinned. “Says who? I’ve been looking into the lore. Something’s bound to work.”

She didn’t like the idea of going into a situation like this blind, armed with multiple attempts that could very well blow up in their faces. “I’d rather we test it out. If other people are turning into     ghosts, they might be willing to help us.”

“If we can communicate with them,” Chat Noir agreed. “And find them. And assuming they aren’t more limited than Le Fantôme.”

She wished he didn’t make so much sense. “We have to try.” They needed to; they were desperate. “I wasn’t able to dig anything up, so your information is all we have to go on.” She bit her lip, but there was no way around it. “Besides, we don’t need to find them. Not really. Not if you already know where one of them is and she’s trying to communicate with us.”

Chat Noir surveyed her for a moment. “You want to try to talk to her. You think she actually saw Le Fantôme? She never said anything.”

“Did you ask? Chloé—at least, what I know of her—isn’t one to volunteer information like that when she’s more concerned with being returned to normal.” Corporeal form, her mind whispered, but saying it like that…. It was another reminder of how much they didn’t know. Le Fantôme might not even be a ghost. Maybe they just had the ability to turn other people into ghosts, and that’s why there was such a spike in ghost sightings.

Still, she didn’t know what that power would gain them.

And she didn’t know why there had been no attempt to seize their Miraculous if that were the case. Could the ghosts touch each other? Would it be easier for Le Fantôme to take their Miraculous if they were caught, or did Le Fantôme have to try to take their Miraculous without changing them? What kind of fight did they need to be prepared for?

“I never had the chance to ask anything,” admitted Chat Noir. “I didn’t see or hear her for long, and after I lost track of her, I didn’t stick around to try to talk to her again. I wanted to drop by the police station and pull the only string we have before our friend’s shift was over.”

Lieutenant Raincomprix tried to help them as much as he could within the realms of the law—as much as repayment for the time he’d been akumatized into Rogercop as recognition that they were all trying to keep Paris safe—but she and Chat Noir tried not to take advantage of him as a resource. He would not break the law for them, of course, but he would answer their questions as best he could, and it could be a lengthy process. This time—researching all those missing persons reports—would certainly take a while.

“That was a good thought.”

“But I should have questioned Chloé first. Or tried to, anyway. Because she’s the more concrete lead.”

Marinette smirked. “I’m not sure concrete can apply to her any longer, kitty cat.” He grinned, and she knew his word choice had been deliberate. She climbed to her feet and unlashed her yo-yo as he followed suit. “Come on. Let’s see what we can find out.”

#miraculous ladybug #danny phantom #fanfiction #crossover #Fic #fanfic #my writing #ladylynse #crossover snippet #snippets #ml snippet #dp snippet #I think most people wanted to know more about the villain #so #now you do #at least a little

[distant-rose-archive-blog]

No Leg to Stand On (1/2)

Note: Well, I can’t believe I finish this thing in a day. This writing streak has been absurd. Like I have just felt an intense need to write all week and hopefully I won’t get burned out over the weekend. Anyway, this was...this one was tough. Though Killian and Emma aren’t be factors into this one, they are constantly brought up and discussed because issues. I think I’ve made some of my feelings about the how Neal Cassidy thing known in this own. So, yeah, some anti-Swanfire thoughts here. I’m really curious to see what you all think of the ending of this one. As usual, thank you @welllpthisishappening for reading a shit ton of text from me. I owe you a shit ton. Summary: At sixteen, Beth Jones is Killian’s pride and joy. She’s gorgeous, intelligent, clever, witty and possibly the most talented swordsman of her generation. She might also be pregnant Rating: T Word Count: 6,900+

It started with a phone call from his stepfather.

Henry Mills was sitting a Starbucks on his laptop after a lengthy conversation with his agent about starting a new book series. His latte (not well made and completely overpriced) had long since been finished, but he was looking to have a moment to himself before he went back home and packed up his and his daughter’s things for when their upcoming weekend visit with his parents. His phone lit up as Killian’s name flashed upon the screen. Henry glanced at the clock in the corner of his computer and frowned. It was Friday afternoon in late July and according to the forecast, it was sunny. Typically, Killian took the Jones crew out on the Jolly and wasn’t necessarily reachable by phone.

A hard feeling formed in Henry’s gut. Something was wrong. Where his mother could detect lies, Henry’s superpower was that he could predict trouble and some strange storm was brewing.

Tapping his fingers against the table, Henry picked up the call while ignoring the dirty looks he gets from the patrons around him. If they wanted peace and quiet, they should have gone to a real coffee shop. There were plenty in Portland.

“Hey. What’s up?”

“Hello lad. I’m well. Yourself?” Killian greeted. His voice was a bit on the gruff side, but Henry attributed that more to his stepfather’s advancing age than any real stress.

Henry could not help but smile. He hadn’t been a ‘lad’ in years, but then again, at his age, everyone was probably a child to Killian. (Henry tried very hard not to think of the implications of that.)

“Just finished a Saturday meeting with my agent. She wants me to focus on something else aside from my Once series. I’ve been thinking about doing something in the same universe though. Might call this one Ever After, you know, to keep the fairytale theme to it,” Henry replied conversationally, leaning back in his seat.

“Thinking of writing about yourself rather than your mother?” Killian asked. If someone else had posed the question, Henry would have thought they were subtly accusing him of being an egotist, but this was Killian and he knew him better than that.

“No,” Henry said with a chuckled. “I’m rather boring. I think there are far more interesting protagonists in the world than Henry Mills. I’m still working out the kinks though. My material is a bit on the young side.”

“Speaking of the young,” Killian said. And there it was - the real reason Killian was calling him. “Have you spoken to your sister lately?”

“Beth?” Henry asked as if he somehow had another sister in the woodwork. Considering his life, it wouldn’t necessarily surprise him that much. “Over the phone? Not recently. I mean we text. She sent me a list of cat pirate puns yesterday but that’s about it. Why? What’s going on?”

“Well, officially? Nothing, but she’s been acting real strange lately. Very shut in and quiet,” Killian said with a sigh. “Your mother thinks it’s a phase. Teenage hormones and all that, but I know my daughter, lad and so do you. She’s a firecracker. Vibrant and full of fire. Now she’s just muted. Doesn’t talk. Doesn’t eat. That…that isn’t my daughter. It’s like she’s been replaced by some zombie creation.”

Henry frowned, leaning forward and shutting his laptop.

“Is she sick?”

“She insists she isn’t, but I don’t know. She’s sixteen and I’m now persona-non-grata,” Killian sighed. “I figured if anyone knew, it might be you. You’re her brother and she looks up to you. You don’t have parental authority over her so I figured if she was really in trouble, she would turn to you.”

A part of Henry wanted to tell Killian he was barking up the wrong tree out of some strange sense of loyalty to the younger Joneses, but he was absolutely right. Whenever his younger siblings stepped into something bigger than they should have, they had a tendency of calling him before anyone else as if he were some magical “Get Out of Jail Free” card. He had always helped them and had kept their screw ups under wraps from their parents with the strong understanding that they would pick up babysitting hours if Henry needed them. He wasn’t aware that Emma and Killian had an inkling of this.

“I wouldn’t say Beth looks up to me that much, but I can talk to her if you like,” Henry said after a moment.

“That’s all I ask, Henry,” Killian replied gently. His gratitude was evident in voice.

“I’ll let you if anything comes of it,” Henry sighed. “I will see you tomorrow though.”

“You’re coming around noon with the little one, right?” Killian asked. Henry didn’t have to see him to know that his stepfather was rubbing the back of his ear as he spoke. It was already funny how well he could picture him even when he was miles away.

“Aye, Captain.” Henry couldn’t help but grin.

“Smartass,” Killian said affectionately. “I blame you for the constant sass I put up with. They learned it all from you.”

“I think you and Mom gave more than enough examples for them to follow in that department,” Henry laughed. “But if it makes you feel better, sure, blame me. I’ll see you tomorrow, Killian. Have a good one.”

“You as well, lad. I will see you then.”

Upon ending his phone call with Killian, Henry scrolled through his contact list. He frowned as he went through the ‘B’ section without seeing his sister’s name. He definitely had her number. She sent him random texts constantly. He immediately went back to his messages application and nearly smacked himself. He had forgotten that Beth had changed her name in his phone to ‘HRH Queen Beth of the Seven Seas.’ He snorted, thumbing the name and pressing the call button.

The phone rang twice before it went to voicemail.

“Hey it’s Beth! I’m either busy or ignoring you. You can leave a message, but I’m probably not going to listen to it. Just being up front. Bye,” his sister’s mischievous voice rang out.

Henry snorted again. Firecracker was certainly an optimal term for his sister.

“Hey Queenie Bee, it’s your favorite brother,” Henry started. “I cannot wait to see you tomorrow; however, you haven’t messaged me if you wanted me to sneak any contraband into the Swan-Jones Federal Prison. I’m packing tonight and would rather have it folded away nicely so Mom doesn’t see anything. You know how she snoops. Anyway, call me back.”

Not even a few minutes passed before Henry’s phone dinged in rapid session, heralding a series of text messages. Henry wished he could say he was surprised, but he wasn’t. There was something about teenagers that made them prefer text messages to phone calls. He couldn’t necessarily judge. He had been the same at that age. He tapped in his passcode to look at messages.

Beth: Hey. I need a huge favor.

Beth: Major favor.

Beth: And you can’t tell Mom or Dad.

Beth: Bro Code, Henry. I’m invoking the Bro Code.

Henry sighed, debating in his head out he wanted to respond to the messages. He would flat out ask her what was up, play protective older brother and get serious with her or he could play it cool and give her a more humorous response. He bit his lip before typing.

Henry: I’m kinda wounded you think I’m a snitch. Bro Code invocation granted.

Henry: As for the favor, it depends on what you’re asking.

Henry: I’m not buying you beer or shit until you’re 18. That pact is sacred and before your time. Don’t like it? Take it up with the Dread Pirate Roberts

Henry watched as dots appeared on his screen, signaling that his sister was typing back a reply. It took five minutes. The dots disappeared twice before reappearing. He idly wondered if he was going to get a reply with a word count that was worthy of a novel publication. It wouldn’t surprise him. Beth was absurdly fast at typing on her phone. She had the Guinness World Record in the bag if she ever went for it.

However, when Henry finally got her reply, it wasn’t novel length at all. It was only nine words. Nine words that made all the color drain from his face.

Beth: I need you to buy me a pregnancy test

Henry didn’t bother writing back a text. He pounded his thumb down on her name and pressed the call option.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” Henry chanted under his breath. His fingers were tapping more violently against the table, loud enough to almost cover the sound of his heartbeat thudding in his ears.

She picked up just before the final ring.

“Hey…” Her voice was above a whisper.

“Please tell me this is an elaborate and very cruel joke,” Henry said. His desperation was clearly evident in his tone.

There was a long unsteady silence that followed his demand. Henry strained his ear to make sure he wasn’t missing a sound, but he wasn’t even sure he could hear her breathing. His fingers stopped tapping and he clenched his hand into a fist as his anxiety took hold.

“It’s not,” she said quietly.

“I’m driving over right now,” he stated firmly and began to back his stuff up.

He cursed as his laptop banged against the side of the table. It was a miracle the thing still worked. It was covered in scratches and dents from all the times he and his siblings had dropped it. He remembered quite vividly a time it fell off his lap while he and his sister had been watching the old Batman cartoons when she was eleven – only five years ago. Christ.

“You are not coming here today,” she hissed. “If you show up here, Mom and Dad are going to think something is wrong.”

“Something is wrong,” he bit back. “And they should know. Goddamn it, Elizabeth, what were you thinking?”

“Look, yell at me tomorrow,” Beth snapped. “This isn’t something that can get better or worse overnight. Either I am or not. But Bro Code has been invoked, Henry. You cannot tell Mom and Dad. Are you going to get me a test or not?”

“I will get you the test,” Henry sighed, rubbing his temple. “But we’re having a long chat tomorrow. A long chat. We are talking some Killian Jones length lectures involved.”

“Thanks, padre número dos.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how Spanish works and I’m sure as hell not your father but we’ll save that for the lecture tomorrow,” Henry said, squeezing his eyes shut. Coffee wouldn’t do. He needed vodka. Some serious vodka. And at least a tank of water because he wasn’t young enough where he could deal with hangovers anymore.

The rest of Henry’s evening went in a daze. He couldn’t focus on anything, even listening to his daughter talk about her day at school. All he could think about was the fact that Beth had asked him to buy her a pregnancy test. His sixteen-year old sister was possibly pregnant. He still remembered when she was born. Hell, he remembered changing her diapers. The concept of that baby potentially having a baby made him nauseous.

Before he went to bed, his phone went off one last time, another text message.

Beth: Mom & Dad are on patrol tomorrow morning since they aren’t expecting you until noon. Drop by the house early? I’ll make Bean a cupcake.

Henry bit his lip before typing his response. His heart seemed to ache more when Beth had invoked her nickname for Lucy. She had given his daughter that name before she was even born. Beth had been six and incredibly excited to be someone’s aunt. When he and Jacinda had shown her their first ultrasound picture, she had called the baby “the Little Bean,” which had slowly evolved into just “Bean.” It was just another reminder that Beth wasn’t that much older than Lucy.

Henry: Sounds like a plan. No cupcakes though. Luce doesn’t need more sugar. She’s sweet enough as it is.

Beth: You’re lame. :P

Henry: And you’re possibly pregnant. Now sleep. Big day tomorrow.

The next morning, Henry nearly had to drag Lucy out of bed to get her in the car. She was only ten, but liked to sleep in like her teenaged aunt and uncles. The only thing that seemed to arouse her from her slumber was the promise of two doughnuts and a strawberry coolatta from Dunkin Donuts. He made a pit stop to at his local CVS to buy a pregnancy test and cranberry juice before heading on his way to Storybrooke, blushing violently when the cashier granted him a cheery “good luck.”

When he arrived at his parents’ house an hour later, he found his younger brother Wes sitting on the couch watching a women’s fitness program in his underwear while eating directly from a box of cheerios. He looked incredibly hungover and stared bleary eyed as Henry walked through the door with Lucy, who was still slurping contently on her coollatta.

“Mom and Dad aren’t here, Hank. I thought you weren’t coming until noon,” Wes said, blinking rapidly.

“Yeah, well, duty called. Where’s Beth?” Henry asked, feeling a little impatient.

“Probably still asleep upstairs. Why? Are you giving her something?” Wes asked, eying the plastic bag in Henry’s hand.

“Nothing you would be interested in,” Henry sighed. “Would you mind putting on some clothes and watching Lucy for me?”

“Depends on what’s in it for me,” Wes replied, drumming his hands against his stomach and giving him a grin that would have looked mischievous if Wes didn’t look half dead. Henry had seen him down an entire bottle of Captain Morgan and look ship shape the next day. He didn’t even want to know how much alcohol he had consumed last night.

He also wasn’t in the mood to play this game this morning.

“How about this? You have my old room. I know there’s a loose floorboard in there that’s perfect for hiding things. You’re clever and I know you found it. You might even have some unsavory stuff in there. How about I don’t tell Mom and Killian about it and you watch Lucy.”

“That’s evil.” Wes was staring at Henry like he had never seen him before.

“Oh, sweet summer child,” Henry smirked. “You don’t even know what evil is.”

Wes opened his mouth to say something but as he was about to, the front door opened and a sweat-drenched Harrison walked through. He had music blasting in his ears so loud that Henry could actually hear the lyrics and promptly identified the current song as something from the Jimi Hendrix collection.

“Uncle Harry!” Lucy smiled, putting her drink down on a side table and opening her arms to give Harrison a hug.

Henry’s other brother gave Lucy a small smile as he took out his earphones. He looked like he was ready to fall on his knees and hug her back but was also becoming aware that he was creating a puddle of sweat around him and smelled like a locker room.

“You don’t want to touch me right now, Bean. Uncle Harry is pretty gross since he just ran seven miles without his running buddy,” Harrison replied gently, giving Wes a mild side eye.

Wes scoffed.

“It’s a weekend. Saturday is a day of rest. I don’t need to run circles around you every day, Har,” Wes replied with a roll of his eyes.

“You know what,” Henry said, coming to a decision. “This is perfect. There’s finally someone responsible here who isn’t at work or asleep. Forget what I said, Wes. Harrison, can you watch Lucy while I go talk to Beth about something personal?”

“Did you just suggest I wasn’t responsible?” Wes asked, offended.

“Yeah,” Henry said casually. “That and I don’t trust you with my kid. Knowing you, you would teach her how to make a bomb or something.”

Harrison snorted in a amusement both at Henry’s comment and Wes’s following look of outrage. He wiped at his brow while working out the kinks in his earphones. Henry made a mental note to get him some Bluetooth headphones for Christmas.

“Sure. I can watch Lucy. What’s going on with Beth?” Harrison asked as he placed his headphones down on the side table next to Lucy’s Dunkin Donuts confection.

“None of your business,” Henry replied shortly.

“Apparently they’re having a pow-wow that we’re not invited to,” Wes remarked before shoving an entire handful of cheerios into his mouth.

Henry and Harrison both made a face at the display.

“Hey Bean,” Harrison said, dropping a hand on Lucy’s head and giving her hair a firm ruffle. “How about we go upstairs and wake Neddy up, then I’ll take a shower and we get a Rockband tournament going?”

Lucy nodded enthusiastically, grabbing Harrison’s hand and gripping it tightly. Harrison laughed as she started to “drag” him up the stairs. It was comical for Henry to watch as his gigantic younger brother was being led around by his tiny daughter. Harrison was great with her though; always patient and gentle.

“I have a feeling she prefers the Bear to me,” Wes commented as he turned his attention back to the fitness program.

“Well, “the Bear” isn’t hungover half the time she sees him,” Henry said pointedly.

Henry didn’t bother waiting for a reply. He made his way up the stairs, stopping only when he got to Beth’s door. It was closed and he gave it a tentative knock. After yesterday’s conversation, he highly doubted she was asleep.

After a moment, there was movement on the other side of the door. Beth opened it just a crack. Henry could barely see anything inside the room, but what he could see was his sister’s tired green eyes looking out at him.

“Did you bring it?” Beth’s voice was but a whisper as she opened the door wider.

Henry almost shook his head when he saw his sister because he didn’t want to believe it was her. Regardless of what time it was or how she was feeling, Beth was lively and full of spirit. Killian had said it best - Beth was a firecracker; exciting, explosive, loud and stunning. She was full of energy; always ready to slash someone down whether with a clever quip or her practice sword.

The person in front of him wasn’t lively, bawdy and boisterous at all; nothing like the Beth he knew. What Henry was looking at was a shadow of his sister. Beth, who had always been slender, looked now pale and positively gaunt. Dark bruises had formed under her eyes and there were long dried streaks of make up that trailed down her cheeks, indicating to Henry that she had been crying for quite awhile before he showed up. She looked like a paradoxical picture of youth and death; a pretty animated corpse. He didn’t want to believe this was his sister, but it was. All the anger and annoyance he had been harboring since last night seemed to deflate in an instant.

Henry offered her a weak smile and lifted the plastic bag in his grasp up for her to see. He gave it an unnecessary shake, the contents inside dully thudding against their packaging.

“I bought test and some juice in Portland on my way up. I didn’t think it would do us any good if I got it from Dark Star’s. The whole town would know about it two seconds after it was bought and I think the last thing you need right now is gossip,” he said gently.

Despite the softness of his tone, his words seemed to have broken this brittle and sad version of his sister. Tears welled up in the corners of her eyes and she threw herself at him, clinging to him as if he was the only thing keeping her up. As her arms wrapped around him, Henry’s mind wandered idly back to a documentary he had watched on pythons. He recalled the amount of emphasis that been given on their kill methods and the amount of pressure per cubic inch they could enforce upon their prey. Python muscles had nothing on Beth Jones. Henry was almost certain that his internal organs would be squeezed out by the force of her embrace.

“Thank you,” Beth choked out in a faint whisper that broke  Henry’s heart. He ran his fingers through her hair in hopes of soothing her.

Every part of him hurt for her. She was so incredibly young; a child stuck in a precarious situation. Beth had never seemed so fragile and small before, but she did so now. She was looking at him with large green eyes that were pleading with him to be her lifeline.

“No need to thank me,” he murmured against her hair. “That’s what big brothers are for. It’s going to be okay.”

Beth seemed to break a bit more when he said the word ‘okay.’ Her body shook and Henry did his best to comfort her by rocking her gently from side to side.

He didn’t know what he was doing. He was a complete fish out of water. There wasn’t a manual out there for impossibly older brothers and how to handle their possibly pregnant teenager sisters. He kept thinking back on the mere six years difference between his sister and his daughter. He tried incredibly hard not to let that thought continue to freak him out.

“I’m pretty sure that big brothers aren’t supposed to buy pregnancy tests for their sisters, but okay,” Beth wetly laughed.

Henry cringed at the sound. Her laugh was a hollow and empty sound that bordered on hysteria.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Henry murmured, still rocking her gently and rubbing her back. “None of that, okay? Regardless of everything going on, I got your back. We all have your back. You got family, Beth, baby or not.”

“How can you say that?” Beth cried, tears falling off her face and dribbling down Henry’s leather jacket.

Her eyes bulged for a moment and a look of pure horror formed on her face as some dark thought flashed across her mind. Henry could only imagine how awful it was.

“Dad is going to kill me,” she said in a broken whisper. She looked ready to crumble.

Henry’s lips pulled into a tight smile. He has no illusions as to how his stepfather was going to react. Henry knew him well enough to know that Killian Jones was going to blow an absolute gasket if he discovered Beth, his unabashed pride and joy, was pregnant. He would be furious, incredibly upset and disappointed in his daughter, but he certainly wouldn’t kill her. The same could not be said for the currently unknown possible father, however. Henry couldn’t imagine a scenario where Killian didn’t try to run his hook through the unfortunate bastard that impregnated his only and beloved daughter.

“He will not kill you,” Henry murmured, placing a kiss on her head. “He and Mom might be upset and disappointed but they love you and will love you no matter what. It’s not like Mom has a leg to stand on when it comes to teenage pregnancies. At least you’re not in jail.”

As soon as he said it, Henry was hit with the sobering realization that his sister was roughly the same age as his mother when she had fallen pregnant with him. He had never truly thought on it before, but his mother had been like Beth, little more than a child. Not only that, she had been alone. Beth had him and though she didn’t believe it, she had an entire army of family that was willing to do anything to help her out if need be. Emma hadn’t had that. She had been locked in a prison cell with no one to turn to.

This revelation made him swallow roughly as a variety of emotions made themselves known. He felt a strong wave of admiration and sympathy for his mother. Seeing how broken Beth was at the moment made him realize the magnitude of Emma’s strength that went beyond just being the Savior. She had survived prison and given birth to a baby while being only a baby herself. And she had been alone.

That fact seemed to repeat itself on and on in Henry’s head. His mother had been alone. She had been pregnant and alone in jail. And his father had left her there. Henry sometimes thought about Neal and wondered what it would have been like if he had lived, but now all he felt towards him was anger. He had left his mother, the girl who had no one, left alone in jail. The fact she had been pregnant only made it worse. What sort of man did that?

A violent push from his sister cut him away from these thoughts and he was brought back to the present when Beth untangled herself from his grasp with an angry hiss.

“That was not remotely comforting!” she snapped.

Though she was angry, Henry was somewhat glad to see it. She looked more like his sister than the weeping zombie that clung to him. The fact she still had some steel in her bones made him more at ease. Beth was not a weeper. She was a fighter. An angry Beth, Henry could handle, but crying Beth had up him more off than the possibly of her being pregnant did.

“Sorry,” he replied apologetically. “I don’t have a basis for a situation like this. If you don’t mind me asking, who is the father? Well, possible father?”

Beth was quiet for a long moment and Henry was almost certain she wasn’t going to tell him.

“Benny Booth,” Beth sighed, running her hands through her hair and looking positively drained.

A flicker of anger returned to life in Henry’s stomach. This time wasn’t aimed at his sister and her carelessness, but rather at the asshole who had decided to mess around with his little sister. Benjamin Booth was three years older than Beth and though Henry no longer lived in Storybrooke, he was aware of his reputation as a lothario. He had once even tried to steal Henry’s motorcycle. Benny was handsome and charismatic, but was also manipulative and self-serving; the last person Henry wanted being with Beth.

“Ah, Beth, he’s nineteen. He has no business being around you. He’s an adult. You’re a kid. That’s statutory rape right there!” Henry exclaimed, trying to keep his anger out of his voice.

“It wasn’t rape,” Beth sighed, burying her face in her hands. “It was…we…we’re seeing each other…well, we had been. He hasn’t spoken to me since I told him about possible spawn.”

“I’m going to kill him.” Henry was just as surprised as Beth was by the amount of venom in his voice, but he meant every word.

“Henry, no. He’s not worth it,” Beth huffed, looking up from her hands.

“You seemed to think he was,” Henry snipped without thinking.

Beth looked pained at the remark and Henry immediately felt bad.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,” he said apologetically.

Beth put her palm up for a moment as if to make him stop talking before brining it back to her temple and sighing.

“No, no,” she said, fingers traveling down her face to pinch the bridge of her nose. “You’re right. I did and I was wrong. Look, it happened. Just give me the pee stick.”

Henry almost smiled at the abrupt command. It was signature Beth Jones to be blunt and crass whenever she could manage. Glimmers of his sister were rising from the surface and it reassured him that this situation hadn’t completely shaken her.

He handed her the plastic bag and she immediately rummaged through it, taking out the cranberry juice and the test. She carelessly tossed the remaining bag on the floor and Henry could hear his stepfather in the back of his mind throwing a fit over lack of proper disposal.

She eyed the cranberry juice dubiously for a moment before looking up at Henry.

“What? Did you think I had a UTI on top of possibly being pregnant?” Beth asked with a quirk of her brow as she uncapped the juice bottle and took a heavy swig.

“I thought you liked cranberry juice,” Henry replied hesitantly. “Was I wrong?”

“Yeah, I like cranberry juice. With vodka. But drinking it straight is kinda ‘meh.’ Ah well. I mean, at least it isn’t orange juice. That shit is nasty,” she replied as she took another sip.

“Only you would say orange juice is nasty,” Henry said with a shake of his head, sitting down on Beth’s bed and watching as she chugged the bottle. “Think you can pee on command?”

“That is a ridiculous question so I’m not even going to answer,” Beth responded with a snort, smacking her lips together as she finished the small bottle of cranberry juice.

Silence fell between them. Beth stared at the ceiling, tapping her fingers restlessly against the empty plastic bottle. Henry spent this time studying his sister. The more he looked at her, the more he thought on about their mother.

Beth strongly resembled Emma; she had the same slender built and similar facial features, though Beth’s cheeks were more pronounced and her lips a bit thinner than Emma’s. The major differences lay in Beth’s dark hair, pointed ears and tanner skin. Though if Henry ignored the hair and squinted a bit, he was certain he could see what his mother looked like at that age; the age were she had been pregnant with him.

Had Emma cried like Beth did when she realized she might be pregnant? How long had she been in prison before she started to suspect? Did she feel as resigned as Beth did when she realized that his father wasn’t going to be in the picture? He couldn’t ask Emma these questions, but something told him that she had been a bit like Beth - shocked, hysterical and panicked but trying to keep it all under wraps with small barbs and little jokes.

“How long do you think it will take before I feel the need to pee?” Beth asked, still looking at the ceiling.

“No idea, but I think I know a way to kick start it. I do it with Lucy every time I take her to the pediatrician,” Henry said, getting up from his spot on Beth’s bed.

He opened the door to the tiny little bathroom attached to Beth’s room and turned on the sink. Beth watched him with a quirked eyebrow.

“Think of rivers and waterfalls,” Henry instructed.

“Does that ever work?” Beth asked, not looking impressed in the slightest.

“It does for Luce.”

Beth rolled her eyes and resumed tapping against the bottle. Henry sat back down on the bed and resumed watching her.

If she ended up pregnant, there would a smaller age gap between his sister and her child than there would be between himself and his sister. That realization left an acrid taste in his mouth. Beth was too young and he hoped against everything in existence that she wasn’t.

Emma had been too young as well. The thought kept bouncing in the back of his mind. It was as if everything led back to the fact that his mother had given birth to him when she was only seventeen.

Beth got up abruptly and picked up the test. She looked nervous and lost again. When she realized he was looking at her, she gave him a tentative smile.

“Duty calls,” she said.

He gave her a strained smile.

“Good luck and be brave,” he replied, watching as she tiptoed into the bathroom and shut the door behind her.

As he watched her walk, he came to the decision that if she was pregnant, he would teach that kid how to walk properly. It wasn’t always noticeable, but Beth talked on her toes constantly to make herself look taller. It was an odd little thing that she did to look on par with the rest of them, but Henry was certain that she was going to fall over and break something someday. No, Beth’s kid would walk properly.

And Beth would not be Emma. That was the firm conclusion that Henry had come to. As he had said before, she had more family than she knew what to do with and they would always help her out. However, even if they did somehow cast her out (and they would have to be brainwashed, cursed or on drugs to even consider it), Henry would be there for her and the kid no matter what. He wasn’t going to allow her to go through this experience alone. He would move her and the kid in with him, Jacinda and Lucy if he needed to.

After what felt like ages, Henry got up from the bed, went up to Beth’s en-suite and knocked on the bathroom door.

“You okay in there, Queenie Bee?” he asked tentatively.

“Just waiting.” Her voice was a bit muffled, but still audible through the door.

“Need me to come in there?”

There was a loud scoff from the other side. Henry could picture her rolling her eyes at him.

“I can handle a pee stick. Thank you.”

More silence followed and Henry waited anxiously outside the door. After a few more moments, there was hysterical laughter and Henry jumped at the sound.

“Beth? You okay?”

Beth opened the door abruptedly and gave him the biggest grin.

“I’m not pregnant!” she laughed before waltzed around Henry back into the room. She began spinning around like she was Linda Carter, arms stretched out and waving in the air and dark hair flying everywhere. She looked manic. “Who’s not pregnant? I’m not pregnant! No Booth spawn in me! Fuck yes!”

Despite his relief, Henry couldn’t find it in himself to share in her excitement.

“Good,” he said firmly. “You’re telling Mom and Killian about this.”

The spinning stopped. Beth looked over her shoulder at him with an incredulous expression. She adjusted herself so she was completely facing him. All euphoric cheering was gone and placed with confusion and annoyance.

“Why would I tell them? I’m not pregnant, Henry. There’s nothing to tell,” Beth said in a hard tone.

“Nothing to tell? Beth, you were subhuman this morning. Barely alive and full of anxiety over just the idea of being pregnant. I don’t know how you would be mentally if that result went the other way. You may be feeling good right now, but I’m not convinced you’re okay. I’m pretty certain you need to talk to someone about this and they need to know,” Henry said, crossing his arms in front of his chest and looking at her sternly.

“Don’t go Dad Mode on me, Henry Mills. I’m your sister, not your daughter!” Beth glared.

“What happened to be me being padre número dos?” Henry asked, raising his eyebrows. “Look, this was a big deal, Beth. I bought you a fucking fifteen-dollar pregnancy test and held you while you had a complete meltdown. You owe me this because I don’t feel comfortable keeping this from them.”

“Bro Code was invoked, Henry!” Beth hissed. “You cannot tell them!”

“Okay, Beth, Bro Code was originally made between Harrison, Wes and myself. You were not a party to it, so technically you can’t even invoke it. You have no leg to stand on, kid. Also the Bro Code was made with the purpose of keeping Wes from doing completely stupid shit and so that I could somewhat control him. Bro Code has nothing to do with accidental and potential pregnancies,” Henry replied, completely serious. “This…this could have gone south so fast, Beth. And if you don’t tell them, I will.”

Beth’s face was completely red and she looked like she wanted to punch Henry’s lights out. Her jaw was clenched and her fists were balled at her sides. Henry glanced around the room, taking in how many swords were just carelessly lying around it. He pitied anyone who tried to navigate this disaster in the dark. It was a dismemberment waiting to happen.

“I’ll tell Dad,” she said after a moment. “But let me do it on my terms.”

“No. Beth, you’re not doing it on your terms. You’re doing it on my terms,” Henry stated, holding firm. “You’re going to tell your father about this sometime before dinner or I’m going to tell him. And I’m going to be honest with you, if he hears it from me, he’s going to blow a gasket. And it’s going to be worse for you.”

“Fine,” she spat. “I’ll tell him before dinner, but if you tell him before the deadline, I will never forgive you. Now get out of my room.”

“I honestly wouldn’t expect anything else. But remember, tick tock goes the clock, Elizabeth,” Henry said with a sigh as he made his exit.

Henry went back downstairs where Harrison was showing Lucy and Neddy how to play better on Rockband. Neddy looked positively bored with it while Lucy’s cute face was screwed in concentration as she tried to follow her uncle’s meticulous instructions. Wes was laid out on the couch with a pillow over his head and Henry wouldn’t be surprised he was plotting everyone’s death underneath it. He watched them for a moment, waiting for Harrison’s lesson to end before approaching his daughter and placing a kiss on her head.

“What was that for?” she asked, looking a bit confused.

“No reason,” Henry smiled at her. “Just don’t be quick to grow up, okay?”

“Okay…”

It was a few more moments before Beth joined them, her lips still pursued in an angry frown and glaring at Henry every chance she got. Henry promptly did his best to ignore this behavior. If she wanted to act like a brat, then she could act like a brat. It just made him grateful she wasn’t going to be someone’s mother.

The glowering continued throughout the day and every time Henry caught her staring him down, he mouthed ‘tick tock’ at her. When they finally met up with their parents, Emma gave him a confused look when she saw him mouthing it at her.

“Do I even want to know what is going on?” she asked over dinner, watching as Killian and Beth walked outside of Granny’s to have their conversation.

Henry sighed.

“You’ll know soon enough,” he said, following Emma’s gaze and watching his stepfather and sister through the window.

Killian and Beth talked outside for long while. Henry observed as Beth wrung her hands and looked at her feet, fidgeting profusely while Killian looked more and more pained with each word. At the end of their conversation, they hugged tightly and Killian kissed the top of his daughter’s head. Henry was slightly surprised with his reaction. He was expecting a little more anger out of Killian over the situation, but was glad that he wasn’t the one who had to break the news of the pregnancy scare fiasco.

After dinner and when they returned back to the house to watch a film before bed, Killian pulled Henry aside and clapped him on the back.

“I just wanted to say thank you,” Killian said quietly. “Thank you for helping Beth out. I’m grateful that she was able to talk to you and get some help. Though I won’t lie, I’m a bit upset that she didn’t choose to come to me.”

“She loves you and she really doesn’t want to disappoint you,” Henry replied. “Don’t beat yourself up. It was a tough situation and I think she was afraid you would disown her.”

Killian scoffed.

“I’m not going to disown her because of some ridiculous boy. That’s absurd.”

Henry frowned. That didn’t sound right. There should be a lot more anger there regardless of the fact that Beth wasn’t actually pregnant.

“Killian, if you don’t mind me asking…what did Beth tell you?”

“She told me how she was having boy trouble with some kid who was trying to blackmail her into doing some repulsive things even by my standards,” Killian responded with a frown. He looked at Henry with a perplexed expression, eyes intensely searching his face. “Why is there more to the story that I need know?”

The corner of Henry’s mouth twitched as rage roared inside of him. He was furious at Beth for lying and putting him in this situation. She had said she was going to tell her father and had deceived them all. More than that, she hafd called him out on his bluff and put him in a hard situation. Henry firmly believed that Killian deserved to know what was going with Beth and that Beth really needed to talk to someone, preferably a professional, about the experience. At the same time, he understood why Beth didn’t tell Killian and knew if he told Killian the truth right now, Beth would never forgive him. He would lose the trust of his little sister.

Henry sighed and a ran through his hair, silently cursing his sister in the back of his head.

“Nothing,” Henry lied. “There’s nothing else to it at all.”

#captain swan #ouat ff #ouat fic #cs fic #cs ff #some captain cobra #little pirates #little pirates fic #my shit #my fic #no leg to stand on #beth jones

[bakechochin]

The Book Ramblings of February and March 2019

In place of book reviews, I will be writing these ‘book ramblings’. A lot of the texts I’ve been reading (or plan to read) in recent times are well-known classics, meaning I can’t really write book reviews as I’m used to. I’m reading books that either have already been read by everyone else (and so any attempt to give novel or insightful criticisms would be a tad pointless), or are so convoluted and odd that they defy being analysed as I would do a simpler text. These ramblings are pretty unorganised and hardly anything revolutionary, but I felt the need to write something review-related. I’ll upload a rambling compiling all my read books on a monthly basis.

Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass, and What Alice Found There - Lewis Carroll I am a jammy fucker, and so when faced with all of the editions of Alice in Wonderland that I could have bought, I had to go with the deluxe edition of The Annotated Alice, because it’s big and fancy and I could get my fill of cheeky secondary reading from it. However, upon purchasing it I realised that there is definitely a line that needs to be established when it comes to analysing books like this, and you’ll have to forgive me for repeating some of my thoughts on Peter Pan in this ramble, because my thoughts are much the same for both texts. Unlike Chesterton, who fought against the scholarly intellectualisation of Carroll’s works, as well as giving us the great quote on the subject, ‘Alice is now not only a schoolgirl but a schoolmistress’, I think that there can be benefits for reading Alice with a scholarly eye, especially when focusing on Carroll’s own life and outside influences of his that may have explicitly affected the writing of the stories. (Brief side note, I’ll stick to referring to the author as Carroll as opposed to Dodgson in this ramble, for simplicity’s sake). Whilst I do think that there are a lot of annotations in this book, which I will consider representative of fields of study done on the subject of Alice, only vaguely relevant and interesting in a detached way from the overall narrative, just additional embellishments to the reading rather than explicitly making the stories better to read, I’ve still got time for them because such extra tidbits of information are interesting in their own right. Of course, sometimes the information tidbits aren’t as interesting as what Carroll did with them - why would I care to read the sensible proper versions of verse extracts that Carroll changed into nonsense verse when it’s the nonsense that’s far more entertaining? - but, again, it has its use. What I do have qualms with are the annotations attempting to over-intellectualise the nonsense aspects of the story with real-life physics or mathematics application, retroactively attributing theories and shit to Carroll’s formulation of his nonsense and judging the nonsense by the sum of its (supposed) parts, and of course it’s awful when the annotations spend paragraphs upon paragraphs comparing the twenty billion different drawings of Alice within the framework of Carroll’s hatred of crinoline fashion. That shit can bugger right off. But let’s actually talk about the stories. These stories are, if not the first, than certainly the definitive examples of literary nonsense, and what proved most interesting to me was how said nonsense specifically manifested itself for comedic effect. Alice’s straightforward thinking and no-nonsense attitude (no pun intended) to all the kooky shit around her is always fun, and this book deserves kudos for its bold strides in the direction of really dark comedy in a children’s book. Similarly to a lot of people, I was familiar with the Alice nonsense before reading it, thanks to the 1951 Disney film and the sheer ubiquitousness of the stories’ content in pop culture, but it didn’t make it any less fun to read. I know that this is far from a novel takeaway, but there’s some things in a written text that a film just can’t capture; the writing has a fantastic way of being able to gloss over Alice’s low moments to firmly cement her as a fearless protagonist who accepts all the challenges thrown her way head-on, whereas the film needs to cover every low point in the story with heartstring-pulling poignancy. This is helped greatly by the fact that we know that everything will turn out alright in the end, either because the tone conveys it or because Alice explicitly tells us; there’s strife and peril along the way, but there’s no real risk of the whimsy giving way to any real danger, and so the story can just revel in its nonsense. Reading how Carroll describes all his fun Wonderland nonsense is, of course, incredibly enriching and fun; going into the story, I was expecting a lot from such well-known characters as the Caterpillar or the Cheshire Cat, and was subsequently surprised to see how little they actually figured into the overall story, but this gave way to the inclusion of scenes and nonsense I hadn’t seen before, like the tart debacle in the Queen’s Court. I was advised by a friend to leave it a while between reading Wonderland and the sequel, Through the Looking Glass, because the novelty of the nonsense would lessen were I to read them one after the other, and whilst I agree with his advice I feel that there is so much overlap of content between the two stories (especially considering how the film adaptations pick and choose story elements from both stories) that the new story wasn’t the completely novel experience I was hoping for. Whilst Wonderland didn’t have much of a story structure, with events unfolding and characters appearing as the story went along, there is more of a structure to Through the Looking Glass, however loose it may seem. This structure is that of a chess game, a fact I am left in little doubt about on account of the annotations giving me a constant fucking running commentary of the game’s progress, a progression which only ties into the story in terms of the characters’ idiosyncrasies in a humorous way once or twice in the whole fucking story. I know very little about chess, so any complex nonsense surrounding that fell way the fuck by the wayside when I was reading this, and therefore I was grateful that the usual Wonderland nonsense persists; my favourite encounters are the ones that reflect Carroll’s academic interests and experimentations, including a really interesting discourse on semantics and nominalism held by by none other than Humpty fucking Dumpty. WOULD I RECOMMEND?: YES

The Third Policeman - Flann O’Brien Nonsense writing is a fun concept to me, but my introduction to the genre, and indeed my full understanding before reading this book, was limited to texts by Carroll, which, don’t get me wrong, are of course great nonsense texts, but are familiar to us on account of how ingrained they are in pop culture, and thus you go into them knowing what to expect. I had no fucking idea what to expect from this book, and what I got was great. The story follows a chap with no name getting embroiled with a station of bizarre policemen, a vague setup into which is slotted in subplots about a league of one-legged men, inter-dimensional maps hidden on the ceilings of innocuous bedrooms, colours that make one go mad, and a conspiracy involving men taking on the attributes of bicycles and vice versa. This is supplemented with our narrator linking the banal sights and sounds around him to the speculations on said subjects by the insane savant writer de Selby, leading to pages upon pages of footnotes talking about de Selby’s ideas on bottled darkness or the world being shaped like a sausage, and all the contrasting and fucking ridiculous critical responses and hypotheses about said de Selby nonsense. I don’t need to tell you that this is all fucking amazing stuff. Not only is it always fun, it is described frankly and without laughing at itself, and while there is a lot to keep one occupied, it never gets overwhelming (or at least, the density of nonsense content in the prose never weighs on one’s brain in an information overload). The story is short, but dense with nonsense as mentioned above, and the fact that the few events that do progress the plot occur without warning nor aplomb is perhaps forgivable, because honestly the plot isn’t really the point as much as it is a vague backdrop for the nonsense at hand. All the way through it we have our nameless narrator, who challenges the farce around him but not incessantly or obnoxiously, and has a great patience for the shit he has to endure, greeting every new slab of ridiculousness with a polite nod and a smile; it’s very easy to align with the narrator without feeling like your interests clash with his. What I will say about this book is that, whilst it is purportedly many different things, from a murder mystery to a love story to an allegorical tale of guilt and despair, the sheer quantity of its bullshit means that it cannot be any of said things effectively. As a murder mystery, the plot hook that sets the pieces in motion for the circumstances of the murder is swiftly forgotten as the story barrels onwards. The love story element, whilst being ridiculous because it’s between our narrator and a stolen bicycle, is just one minor element of our narrator’s journey and is only dwelled upon for as long as it takes for the story to travel onwards to the next wacky plot thread. And as an allegorical tale of guilt, any attempt at inspiring guilt or sadness or whatnot is immediately offset by the knowledge that you’re reading a book with sentient bicycles and robes made of woven wind and policemen who refer to a difficult-to-solve problem as ‘an insoluble pancake’. This point does, however, bring us to the ending, which I will not explicitly spoil, but I will say that a) it does come as a surprise, but b) it pretty much juxtaposes the spirit of the entire work, and as such I thought it was a bit of a cop-out (no policeman-related pun intended). A thought-provoking cop-out that came as a bit of a shock, but a cop-out nonetheless. WOULD I RECOMMEND: HELL YES

Complete Stories - Clarice Lispector I like to review books based on whether I have personally got something out of them, and I am subsequently at something at a loss with this collection; as much as there is to recommend in the short stories of Lispector, they’re really not what I, or indeed those who know me, would consider to be ‘my thing’, and so my recommendations for the book may come across as a wee bit disingenuous. But let’s talk about these stories anyway. Lispector’s thing is incredible prose, almost prose poetry in some stories; it is florid and it is evocative and it is captivating, describing the emotions and thought processes of the narrator characters with such zeal and passion and complexity and verbosity. On this basis alone, I can recommend her stories, and presumably also her novels, to which I understand follow the stories in similar ways. However, I myself am loathe to pick up a novel from Lispector, because I find her short stories draining enough; I don’t mean this in a negative way, please simmer down and let me finish. These are incredibly dense short stories, with pages upon pages breaking down and analysing thoughts and feelings, snapshots of life extrapolated on and made to seem like powerful life-changing moments, the grand momentous prose depicting something as banal as a misinterpreted situation or a moment of embarrassment as cataclysmic disasters or mind-boggling enigmas to be contemplated by the finest philosophers. Only once could I sit back and laugh at this (the story ‘The Chicken and the Egg’, if you’re interested); for the rest of the time, I was fully and unequivocally invested in the strife and troubles described in these stories. But that’s not to say that they don’t take a toll. It took me quite some time to read this anthology because, were I to sit down and read these stories one after the other, I feared that the emphasis, the fucking punch that these stories had would become saturated, and it would just be a weary slog through turgid prose. I asked my friend (i.e. the bloke who gave me this anthology) why he considered the novels of Lispector to be some of the best he’s read, and he said that he loved how Lispector could pack seemingly everything into the world, every issue and matter and question and philosophy, into such small events; I won’t argue that Lispector excels at this, but I will protest having to read an entire novel’s worth of it, because I don’t have the patience nor the willpower. Anything else that I can think to say about the stories pales in comparison to Lispector's major strengths, but I’ll say what I’ve got anyway lest anyone were to accuse me of half-arsing these rambles. Some of the stories are unflinching examinations of the darker side of human nature, whilst others sacrifice this rumination for succinct twist endings and a black comedy tone; whilst I am fond of these stories, it can be a tad misleading or even anticlimactic when some stories set themselves up as examinations of curious human nature only to change course at the last second for the sake of the comedy twist (see ‘A Chicken’ for a good example of this). Though I scoffed at the suggestion of such in the introduction, believing it to be too much like base-level GCSE-tier literary analysis, the focus (and to an extent style) of Lispector’s works do noticeably change as she gets older; her earlier works are often first-person stories about love and confusion and vanity, but by her collection Covert Joy her stories are often framed around nostalgic or formative experiences. I prefer Lispector’s earlier stories; they’re more representative of the amazing storytelling I’ve been gushing about for this entire ramble, whereas her later stories are told like wistful recollections, good in their own right but not what I think of when I think of Lispector. I’ll recommend my favourite stories (in the order that they were printed in my collection), with the caveat that not all of these stories are good because of the reasons outlined above: 'Obsession', ‘Daydream and Drunkenness of a Young Lady’, ‘A Chicken’, ‘Happy Birthday’, ‘The Smallest Woman in the World’, ‘The Dinner’, ‘The Solution’, ‘The Fifth Story’, ‘Covert Joy’, ‘Remnants of Carnival’, and ‘Where Were You At Night’. WOULD I RECOMMEND?: YES

The Warden - Anthony Trollope I was a tad ill at ease as I started this book and started discovering some startling truths, most notably that I had been deceived once more into reading something out of my comfort zone. All I knew about Trollope going into this was his misplaced pride in his disgusting beard, but the introduction to the story cheerfully informed me that Henry James had referred to his ‘complete appreciation of the usual’, whereas Carlyle had more scathingly called him ‘irredeemably embedded in commonplace, and grown fat on it’. I was here for larger-than-life characters embroiled in a grand scandal in a sleepy cathedral town, perhaps some boisterous near-deaf old men or some juicy satire about lascivious priests, but I’d only gone and signed up for a quiet and relatively uneventful novel of everyday folk embroiled in quiet affairs! What a fool I am! However, whilst I worry that by saying this I am resigning myself to walk down the long path of boring realism-centric literary classics that I have long reviled, I’ve got to admit that this book is really rather good. Trying to describe the plot may very well deter any prospective readers in much the same way as it initially repelled me, but the general gist of it is a scandal coming to light (or, more accurately, being somewhat fabricated and blown out of proportion) involving the distribution of charitable funds in an almshouse in the quaint cathedral town of Barchester, and the story follows the main people who become embroiled in the affairs, either because they started it or because they’re under threat by it. You’d be forgiven to gloss over this as a load of old banal quotidian twaddle, but where this book shines is in its storytelling. The narrative voice is warm and affectionate, the characterisation is fucking stellar, and the story getting into the minds of its characters with every encounter and fantastically describing how events unfold for different people is all bloody incredible. It is perhaps the warm and inviting quality of the storytelling which results in this not being the most effective of satirical texts, because satire requires you to step back and think about what you’re reading and why it’s funny, whereas beyond recognising a few real-world allusions (my favourite of which is Mr Popular Sentiment, Trollope’s less-than-complimentary imagining of Charles Dickens), you as the reader think and react along with the characters rather than from a lofty distanced position, and the material that you find funny is funny in-world rather than necessarily because is aptly reflects real-life folly or works in some other meta-textual way. The warmness of the story which, at its heart, is a story of an old man trying to do right by his morals and his friends, doesn’t really allow for the most dramatic of plot resolutions, and indeed this book displays some rather odd choices in its pacing of such plot resolutions. Things are established as relatively chaotic in the storyline, with different characters with different motivations striving away and characters with the same motivations approaching their problems in different ways to overcomplicate the affairs at hand, but ultimately there is little payoff for all these hectic antics. The law suit that sets the plot in motion is established to have been poorly founded and generally worthless from the get go, which isn’t a problem in of itself because the titular warden’s guilt about the matters of the law suit are well-founded even if the law suit is not, but the law suit is dropped without fuss and without any serious consequences around halfway through the book, despite all the elements at play and the goings-on behind the scenes that led to the law suit being dropped. The warden’s story ends without fuss or without anything particularly dramatic happening, save a few heated debates and incredulous blustering figures imploring him to reconsider his choices, and overall just seemed a bit empty because of the lack of any real stakes. The actual ending was at times very poignant (and without any real clue as to how things may be resolved), and at times a tad rushed to tie up its loose ends and get in a bit more quaint narration endearing the characters of the story and speaking regrettably of leaving this story to face times to come; I suppose this somewhat reflects the book’s content, if perhaps losing sight of the life-affirming nature of it, and it is if nothing else bittersweet. By fuck it’s going to make me read the next book in the series to see what happens to these lads next, because hell yeah there’s a series of these. WOULD I RECOMMEND?: HELL YES

Dead Babies - Martin Amis I was cognisant of the preponderance of texts that I’ve been reading recently being all warm and powerful and life-affirming, and therefore I decided to read this and Wilt for a mindless black comedy experience. This was perhaps not the most mind-numbing of reads, being a rather fucked up book, but it’s a bloody good read regardless. Amis’ writing is absolutely incredible; his strengths lie in giving life to abstract scenarios and feelings with evocative metaphors, and characterisation that is complex and beautifully written. With this writing Amis paints a picture of a fucked up urban setting, a setting that I would attempt to succinctly summarise but know in my heart that to try would only be to amateurishly ape Amis’ own fantastic scene-setting descriptions, and so I will instead merely say that it is fucking good. It works because it’s a very grim setting, but it is also curiously sensationalised, while still being grounded in its grim content; there are gangs of cold calculating men who perform elaborate synchronised morbid atrocities, there is a pseudoscientific drug-mixing station with different uppers and downers to chemically alter or emphasise any aspect of a person’s character, and one of the main characters is a grotesque dwarf with nails digging into his feet from shoddily-constructed platform boots and a collection of grotty vintage porn magazines. Everything is primal or gross or part of some sort of beautiful chaos, and it’s an incredible hyperbolic depiction of society’s seedy underbelly, reminding me at times of A Clockwork Orange. The powerful narrative voice lends the grotty and grotesque setting a touch of high-mindedness or high society flare. The characters make up a fun array of misfits, from the pathetic to the neurotic to the braggart to the horrifyingly fucking villainous, and with a small cast of characters we get to learn everyone’s opinions of one another and how they bond, which was surprisingly well done considering how diverse and angsty all of them are, and pleasantly surprising that they don’t all just genuinely hate each other because of how different they are from one another. The narrative voice also helps out here; its direct commentary on the main narrative reminded me of Trollope, but this is not narration to warmly speak of the characters or implore the reader to think upon them positively, but rather to remark with grim resignation the actions of the characters or the shitty direction their lives are taking them. And now we come to the tricky subject of comedy, a tricky subject because some people will no doubt argue that this book is too fucking awful to be considered as such. The setup of the story seems like Trainspotting, a grim world periodically ameliorated with little scenes of light-heartedness and comedy, and at the start of the book it’s easy to laugh at the vileness of of the characters’ actions. As the book goes along, however, the narrative moves from the overall setup of a debauched weekend of dissolute youths to being determined by the dramatic actions of the characters, spurned by simmering emotions (and sometimes catalysed by large quantities of experimental drugs) and often ending very very poorly. It is here that some of the more disgusting plot points of the story occur, and yet interjected into it are elements of farce so ludicrous that you have no recourse but to laugh at them in the face of all the horrors surrounding it. Or maybe that’s just me. WOULD I RECOMMEND?: HELL YES, IF YOU’RE IN THE MOOD FOR SOME FUCKED UP SHIT

Wilt - Tom Sharpe This may well be my shortest book ramble to date, and indeed I deliberated whether or not it was worth writing, simply because it is another example of books that I’ve liked in the past and continue to enjoy. There’ll probably be a bit of a crossover between this ramble and my ramble on Roald Dahl’s short stories, as their black comedy content has much in common. This is a relatively short book that takes you on a pretty wild fucking journey of farce; ridiculous situations and misconstrued motivations abound, and even from the confines of a prison confinement our eponymous protagonist is able to escalate the plot like you wouldn’t fucking believe. The general premise, such as it is, revolves around an uneasy marriage of a domineering wife and a put-about unmotivated husband who humours himself with elaborate dark fantasies of murdering her, and the plans of actualising these fantasies (catalysed in part by some villainous Americans) spirals into all sorts of wacky shenanigans that I shan’t spoil. I went into this book at a friend’s recommendation, and at around one hundred pages in I commented that there are parts of the story that veered too far into plain old cringe, and that overall the story seemed to be shaping up to a rather vengeful story written as the author's attempt to vent frustrations. My friend said that Sharpe was ‘playing [me] like a pipe’, and so I persevered, and can subsequently say that all such thoughts are swiftly quashed by the rest of the book, which is an absolute tour de fucking force of fantastic time-wasting and nonsense that leaves all that real-world cringe or vengeful thoughts of worldly injustice behind. And of course we get a satisfying life-affirming ending, because this is that sort of book; everything’ll be resolved in the end with smiles and ironic twists. This isn’t exactly a book with incredibly florid prose or life-changing writing, but what it is is a book written by an incredibly smart person, which is instrumental in shaping this book’s fucking fantastic (and often dark as fuck) comedy, contributing some phenomenal turns of phrase, and as a source, much like Dahl, of a hundred throwaway references to miscellaneous academic tidbits that Wilt employs in his endlessly hilarious time wasting. WOULD I RECOMMEND?: YES

Other shit that I read that I couldn’t be arsed to ramble about: Shakespeare’s Local by Pete Brown (conspicuously NOT about Shakespeare’s local pub but nonetheless about the long history of my all-time favourite pub (The George in Southwark), funny and informative (if noticeably written by a man who is not a specialist in some of the subjects he talks about, for people who are also not specialists in said subjects), would recommend if you can go down to the George and have a pint there while contemplating the history) and Green Men and White Swans by Jacqueline Simpson (a great and informative book with a subject matter seemingly tailor fucking made for me, greatly enjoyed Simpson’s none-too-subtle asides about peoples’ over-intellectualising of pub names, was mildly disappointed that my own home town has got fuck all in the way of cool folklore-inspired pub names, would absolutely recommend alongside a cheeky bev).

#book reviews #book rambles #alice in wonderland #through the looking glass #lewis carroll #wilt #tom sharpe #dead babies martin amis #the third policeman #flann o'brien #clarice lispector #the warden #anthony trollope #i had a load of great ideas in mind for my usual nonsense wittering in the tags but i've totally forgotten all of my great ideas #what an absolute piss take #i really need to be writing my essay right now

[fatgirlsguidetodating]

Fatgirl dating hurdles example #1: passing the “looks” test.

[Let me add a caveat here: there are dating hurdles for all women- big, small, and in between.]

No matter how many times my mum said it or I heard it said or read it doesn’t mean that guys subscribe to the belief that it’s “what’s inside that counts.” And sure some women don’t subscribe to it either but men are known to be more visually orientated than women. It’s all down to evolution. Because historically women were more invested in procreation so picking a man who wouldn’t leave them in the lurch. And that is why, even now, personality has a much greater effect on women’s perception of good looks than men. Recent studies have supported the theory continuing even in modern times that men were more interested in attributes pertaining to moderate sexual desirability while women valued characteristics regarding moderate social status.

A quote from a recent study on this very topic made me smile: “It’s quite remarkable how little women are influenced by physical looks. All men should pay attention to this. It’s much more important to be a valuable social partner than worry about your physical looks,” says Wilson,an evolutionary biologist at Binghamton University in New York.

Science and evolution aside I think the first online dating hurdle for bigger girls to jump is having their photographs pass muster. All women are self-conscious about their pics, but when you are a bigger girl who knows that your photo has to be great to get the jump (pardon the pun) on those who don’t carry extra weight. Hell there are even photographers in New York- and perhaps other capital cities- who’s sole mission is to take photos for people’s dating site profiles now!

Anyone with dating account will know that choosing the perfect profile picture for your page is a tricky business. From candid photos to Snapchat selfies, it can be difficult to know what will help you bag the likes in a sea of profiles.

So what is the perfect profile pic and how do we achieve it? I’ve seen men on “Tinder” say on their bio they will only talk to women who have a face photo and a full body photo. Obviously they are an automatic hells no. I don’t need a guy who would spend more time in the mirror than me!

Data scientists from New York-based dating app, “Hinge” analysed 1,00 photos with 35 unique tags to reveal which profile pictures get the most likes. The findings suggest that women should smile with their teeth, men should avoid looking away from the camera, and no one should share a bathroom selfie. So what specifically should we do to get the perfect profile pic? Best photos for women featured hair up (+72%), smiling with teeth (+72%), looking away from the camera (+74%) and standing alone (+69%). Sports, enjoying a night out and smiling also went down well.

What shouldn’t we do? No beach shots, no bathroom shots, no snapchat filters, wearing sunglasses, posing with other people and spontaneous rather than posed pics.

Let’s not lie: we all post photos that show us in the best light (men and women, big, small and in between). We women are experts at knowing the best angle and filters to use and if we wouldn’t put a terrible photo up on Facebook for our family and friends to see why the hell would we put it up on a dating site where we know that one pic is the thing that will make up a man’s mind whether to swipe left or right.

Frankly I don’t see any problem with that provided it’s not a photo that’s ten years old or has been filtered out of all recognition because if the pic doesn’t look like you it doesn’t matter what sort of connection you may have built with the person they would still feel as though you lied to them. I once was talking to a guy online and it was only when I added him on Facebook that I realised his photo was quite a few years old, back when he was smaller and had more hair. As much as I wanted to be I wasn’t attracted to him in his real form and I felt kind of betrayed that I had invested so much time in a lie. (Note: we are still FB friends and we talk sometimes and I’m okay with the relationship being that way.)

The best profile photos will lead to a conversation. But what kinds of photos are most likely to do that? If you’re a man, the research shows that simply taking a photo outside can lead to 19 percent more messages. According to eHarmony’s research, other great conversation starters include photos that indicate an interest in politics, travel, exercise, or theater. If you have a cute pet, all the better — pose with them in a picture and you’re set!

But it’s a different story for women. The same study shows that the most attractive interests for women to showcase on their profile are health, food, family, dancing, and art. But beware: for women, pet photos can lead to decreased interest. You might want to save the photos of you and your cat for a later date.

My tips for that great photo/photos: 1.) Pick ones that show your personality of possible; out having fun, laughing, in your element. Not a crazy drunken pic, but something that shows your personality be that the bubbly type, the type who would happily curl up with a coffee and book, the type that loves going out walking and exploring nature or the type that loves to travel. 2.) If you aren’t comfortable with a full body pic (which I get as I rarely upload photos that show any lower down than my chest) then it’s ok to have a photo of your face. Just don’t photoshop it to make you look like a supermodel. It’s okay to take it on a bit of an angle or to filter it so it’s lighter sure but if you don’t have a full body pic and then put one up that makes you look much slimmer than you are be prepared to fall at the second fat girl hurdle (the first meeting). 3.) Don’t upload all your photos with other girlfriends. Besides the guys having to work out which one is you you are also allowing them to, subconsciously, compare you to your friends and perhaps find themselves more attracted to another friend. 4.) Don’t upload photos with your ex. Think about how you’d feel if the position was reversed: immediately you would be comparing yourself to their ex and thinking oh she’s so pretty how could he possibly be interested in boring me? 5.) And this goes for anyone- male or female- don’t put photos up with your kids or a friends kids. Just for safety reasons. I shouldn’t even have to say this but I see it a lot on Tinder and it simply doesn’t seem the kind of place for it to be.

Fatgirl.

#fatgirl #fatgirlproblems #dating #onlinedating #fatgirldatinghurdle #firstdatinghurdle #datinghurdles #passingthelookstest #selfie #profilepic #bestprofilepic #fatgirlsguidetodating #photos #profilepics

[pixxyofice]

TIME FOR A SUPER DETAILED THING FOR ASAGAO!PIX BECAUSE I’M A TRASH BAG FOR THIS GAME NOW

Name: Pixie Annie Kohler Nickname: Pix Meaning of name: ...Pixxy. a Pixie, like those things that fly around magically? whee? Origin of name: Well I was trying to name my tumblr something and decided to go with “pixxyofflames” as in, a rewriting of Vulpix... Age: 16 Gender: Female Sexual Orientation: Asexual Biromantic Current status: ...Available and Alive? Birth date: 02/16/01 Current residence: Asagao Academy Occupation: Student Hobbies/Pastimes: Playing Games, Writing Stories, Drawing Cats/Humans/OCs Talents/Skills/Powers: Singing, Acting, Dancing Past History Most important childhood event that still affects him/her: Her first bullying event Why/How? SHE BECAME A SOCIAL OUTCAST AND WOULD CRY AT A LOT OF THINGS Backstory: Coming from a relatively well off middle-class family, she went to public schools for most of her life. As a third grader, however, a mix of a habit she used to have and the fact that she would cry easily led her to being shunned by most people and thrown out of a lot of friend groups. She turned to video games and attached herself to that, though due to this she was still emotional and was still made fun of. This lasted until her last year of middle school, where she begged her parents to go to someplace better.

They chose asagao academy, and Pix went there for her first year. Physical Characteristics Height: 5′1 Posture: Slightly slumped, kind of messy. Build: smol and skinny Skin: pretty pale white. Hair: reaches about halfway down her shoulders in length, mostly purple until the top, which is black. Ears: rounded, pierced Eyes: slightly lidded, green Face shape: slightly chubby, pointed chin Expressions: Tend to be neutral-frown, not exaggerated much when expressing others. Describe their smile: Sides of her mouth slightly go up, and she slightly shows her teeth. She tends to press her tongue against her teeth, too. Left/Right handed? Right-handed Distinguishing features: She has a lot of freckles Who does s/he take after; mother or father? She takes more after her dear dad. She has his hair color and general short gene... Style (Elegant, shabby, etc): A little shabby, though she tries her best to wear at least somewhat nice How does s/he dress or what do they typically wear? Wears a t-shirt and some sweats when on weekends, and during the weekdays she wears the asagao uniform, only with shorts instead of skirts. Other outfits one might find in their wardrobe: A few dresses, lots of graphic tees, lots of designs on t-shirts Jewelry: A few earrings, a necklace with a black and orange gem at the bottom. Characteristics

Do they curse, and if so, to what extent? She tends to curse... quite a bit around pals. This stemmed from middle school. She also swears around non-pals, but not as much. Write a piece of dialogue that this character might say (can be between someone else): “I really love this game. I mean, it’s just a few creatures fighting each other, but the creatures are so fucking adorable, especially this one. I fucking love this one.” Voice: in the words of a pal: Kawaii voice. soft and cute... Describe their sleep patterns (light/heavy sleeper, no sleep, sleeps too often, etc): She sleeps a bit heavy, as long as she does fall asleep. On the weekends she sleeps a LOT during the day and wakes up at like. 2 in the evening. oops.

Psychological/Personality Attributes and Attitudes Character's long-term goals/desires in life: She wants to become a writer of some sort! She’s already got an idea for the first book! She just needs to plot it out... and write it... Character's short-term goals/desires in life: Get through high school, get friendos, look c Secret desires: To be able to draw like Shane does. How self-confident is the character? NOT VERY!! SHE HAS THE WOR ST SELF IMAGE!!! How do they see him/herself? Chubby. Weak. Emotional. Crybaby. Too small. How do they believe s/he is perceived by others? A bit annoying. Laughs too much. later on this changes to something like ‘a weird friend, laughs a lot, loves to be creative’ What is the character most proud of? HER WRITING SKILLS What does the character like least about themselves? Her past, and her slight chubbiness in her stomach. How do they express themselves? Her drawing and her writing. Is this character generally dominant or submissive? Submissive. Patience level: Very high. Doesn’t snap often. Does the character seem ruled by emotion or logic or some combination thereof? A combination thereof. Wants to be mostly logical but tends to be a bit emotional Most at ease when: Cuddled under blankets, playing games Ill at ease when: In a loud room Describe their sense of humor: a combination of puns, memes, and actual fucking jokes. Mostly puns though. If they could be described with one of the seven virtues, which would it be? Justice If they could be described with one of the seven sins, which would it be? Sloth Optimist or Pessimist: Introvert or extrovert: Introvert Greatest Fear: Everyone’s going to abandon her and she’s going to die Character's darkest/deepest secret: She believes she doesn’t deserve kindness from the nb table. Doesn’t even know this herself. Minor Secrets: She’s a middle class kid, her full name, she’s a furry, Favorite...

Color: Pink Clothing: Anything with Nokemon on them Place: Her room Food/drinks: Macaroni and Cheese, Strawberry milk Music genre: whatever videogame music counts as Subject in school: Chemistry Animal: Cats Least Favorite... Clothing: anything really itchy Place: her elementary school Food: VEGGIES Music genre: heavy metal. hurts her ears. Subject in school: MATH Where does this character like to hang out? In her room Where is this character's dream place to live? Someplace in a forest, near a town she can drive to, where almost nobody bothers her except for friends she invites.

Relationships with Others (Non-Married) Relationship Skills: None ATM due to NOT BEING IN A RELATIONSHIPS Lusts: N/A Crushes: @ asagao!jirard Girlfriend/Boyfriend(s): N/A Other lover(s): N/A First crush: Indigo from Blazing Symbol: Awakening Did it last? .... Why or why not? HE’S FICTIONAL, HELEN Best Friends: Asagao!Alto Friends: Hana, Shane, Jirard, PBG, Susan, Chorus Club, some of Theater Club, Paul, Satch, Jimmy, Luke, Ian Hates: Mimi Dislikes: Jon, Shane Rivals: Jimmy, Luke, Ian Pets: back at home: Orion, Pandora (German Shepherd/Husky mixes) at school: Flame (Ginger tabby) What kind of person would s/he consider to be the perfect partner? Someone who is kind and won’t judge her for her habits. Someone she can be cute with. Someone she’ll be serious with.

What If If this character were an animal, what would they be? A (Black) Cat. Why? BOI SHE LOVES CATS If this character were the opposite sex what would they . . . Do? Around the same things. He’s still Pix, even if a male. Say? A lot less things, maybe a bit less sweary. Feel? A LOT MORE BULLIED AND LESS CONFIDENT BECAUSE OF BEING ‘LIKE A GIRL’ What would/does this character do if confronted with someone identical in personality? She would like them, if a bit annoyed by the self-image thing. She likes people similar to her!

How the Character is Involved in the Story Character's role in the story (main character? hero? Villain? etc): If asagao academy was unaltered, she would just be a side character that hana bumps into while they’re on their way to class, but if it WERE to be altered slightly, alto and pix show up at the NB table soon after Hana and Mai join, and Hana and Pix become somewhat friends. Scene where character first appears: (going with slightly altered) Alto slams her hands down on the table and slides into a chair she brought over. Pix is spotted scooting a chair up, but not talking as much as alto is. Relationships with other characters: Friendly! ESPECIALLY with jirard, her crush... Where, how and when did s/he first interact with other characters: She was pulled into the drama club by alto before they became friends, and met Jon as that WEIRD AF PRODUCER OF THE SHOW and because sorta friends with him. Sorta. Background Story: Explained in Backstory. Additional Notes on This Character: In super!au, she’s a shapeshifter that shapeshifted a panther and lost control over her form, causing fear in her family and causing her to feel even more isolated before she was shipped to Asagao.

#Asagao Academy SI #Asagao Academy self insert #asagao academy #Pixie Kohler The Student #here we go folks #more trash bin stuff

[ketzwrites]

Is this send me a pairing thing still valid? :D Because I'd like Malec + “Can we pretend I didn’t just say that?"

Not anymore :D yours is the last one, darling.

But I gotta say, I’m particularly proud of that one. I’m sorry it took me a lifetime to write it. I hope the wait is worth it

Huge, huge thanks for @sargentcow 

Magnus Bane was an expert in flirting. There was no denying it. Some people were born as great artists, some people were mathematical geniuses. Magnus Bane had been blessed with the ability to charm. For the better part of his life, he had been exulting on pure charisma alone, entrancing the people around him with a few well-placed smiles and a couple of witty comments. It came naturally to him and he barely had to think before speaking anymore, he just did.

In retrospect, that was probably what made everything go so horribly wrong when tactless, no nonsense, practical Alec Lightwood stormed into his life. Because when a born charmer falls in love with a pragmatic, disaster strikes.

Not that Magnus could’ve foreseen the completely fiasco of a relationship, judging by its start. The night Isabelle had introduced him to her dear brother, Magnus and Alec had hit it off right away. Sure, Magnus’ innuendos were often lost on Alec, but he laughed at his silly puns and, by the end of the night, they had exchanged phones numbers and more than a few lingering stares.

After that, a date was inevitable. Alec was the one to ask Magnus out, to their mutual surprise. They had spent a lovely afternoon at the Natural History Museum and had ended the date at a lovable sushi place after laughing all day long.

Okay, they had actually ended the date in Magnus’ loft, more specifically his bed, but alas, some of us are trying to sound romantic here, people.

Second date came, and then the third. By the fourth date, they were calling each other boyfriend and having fun at their friends’ expanse by having inside jokes. Their relationship was the best thing that had happened to Magnus since he had discovered makeup and he had never been that happy with anyone else.

Alec made life seem like happy summer days. He was impossibly smart and twice as kind. His eagerness to please was only surpassed by his stubbornness and Magnus was reminded of what real honesty was every time they talked.

But Alec wasn’t flawless and he could also make the sunniest day feel like the depth of winter. He was short-tempered and tended to lash out when he felt cornered. He internalized most of his feelings and a lifetime being pressured to be the perfect son, brother and man by his parents’ distorted standards had made it impossible for him to cherish who he really was in the light of who people wanted him to be. Alec had no problems to let his siblings take advantage of him and he didn’t care to be civil to people he disliked, which, truth be told, was most people.

At that time, Magnus had attributed all of that to Alec’s age. Being eight years older than him, Magnus had more often than not let rude comments and frankly obnoxious behavior slip by because he thought Alec would grow out of it. That is, when he wasn’t downright patronizing with sighs and the occasional “Oh, Alexander, just shut up and kiss me”.

It wasn’t only Alec’s flaws that Magnus would brush over, though. Magnus had an issue with opening up himself, thanks to some past lovers that shall remain nameless in her French fashion, so more often than not he’d prefer to ignore problems than to talk them through. Rationally, Magnus knew that was a recipe to disaster, but whenever he saw the frustrated and almost desperate look on Alec’s face as they started fighting, he felt it was better to change subjects. Desirably, to the bedroom.

Needless to say, their relationship crushed and crumbled after little more than an year together. At least it had been a mutual consensus and they had ended that chapter of their lives with the knowledge that although they had lost a lover, they still cared too much for each other to keep on hurting like that.

By then, however, both Alec and Magnus had earned their places in each other’s group of friends, which meant there was no staying away. Magnus was Clary’s and Izzy’s first choice for a shoulder to cry on or a fun night out after a stressful day at work. Simon was still trying to impress him, or at least make Magnus remember his name. Even Jace liked hanging out with him, despite their not-so-friendly arguing from time to time.

At the same time, Ragnor absolutely adored Alec, since he did not take Magnus’ bullshit and that was frankly refreshing. Catarina had adopted Alec after he got into med school and they could spend hours talking. Tessa had once told Magnus that if he did not marry Alec, she would have one of her boyfriends do it. Not to mention Raphael, who had taken a liking into Alec when they realized they hated the same things.

There was no avoiding each other. Which was fine, totally fine. Magnus was glad to realize that he cared so much for Alec, he’d gladly stay friends with him. They still had hour long talks, they still discussed their favorite books and movies, they still drank together.

But only when there was at least two more people around and as long as those two people weren’t a couple. That was the first unspoken rule that everyone knew and nobody disputed. Magnus and Alec never hung out alone, although they secretly still had a private chat on their phone nobody knew about.

The second unspoken rule was that if one of them was seeing someone, the other could not vent about them where the single one could hear. That rule was established when Alec ranted about a guy he had been dating during movie night at Clary and Jace’s and Magnus proceeded to mistreat the guy so much afterwards - purposefully forgetting his name, arranging restaurants reservations so there was no place for him to sit, outright telling him to his face he wasn’t good enough to even breathe the same air as Alec -, the guy broke up with Alec.

Magnus did not regret that one, especially because he could see the relief on Alec’s eyes beneath the anger when he came to confront him after the break up.

It was ridiculous, but the rules had been working fine for the last four years, which was everything that Magnus needed. He had dated and/or slept with a fair number of people since then, but Magnus was starting to grow worried. He was almost thirty-seven now and it looked like New York simply did not have anyone that was right for him.

At least, nobody who made him feel like he did when he was with Alec. Nobody who Magnus could love despite their flaws. Nobody that could love Magnus despite his flaws.

But alas, it’s no use crying over spilled milk. Alec had done a lot of growing up in the last couple of years and Magnus was proud of him, of the person he had become. It wouldn’t be fair if Magnus didn’t let go of his old crush and got over it. They were friends now and friends didn’t pine after each other forever.

It was good, then, that Isabelle had called for an emergency night out. Magnus hated feeling like he was going to die alone and he would gladly drink those thoughts down with his favorite people in the world. Ragnor had confirmed, though he said he was going to be late. Simon and Clary were coming too, though Jace was stuck at the precinct. Raphael had said drinking on a Tuesday night was beneath him and Cat was out of town.

Magnus had arrived early, to his standards, which meant he was right on time. His last client of the day had wrapped up their meeting after Magnus told him to shut up and listen if she wanted her house to look the slightest bit decent.

You see? Magnus definitely needed a drink.

He walked into the wolf’s den checking his messages to see if anyone was already there. Such a weird thing to do, wait for the rest to arrive.

“Magnus!” A familiar voice called and, of course, it was Alec. He was sitting at their usual table alone, but for a bottle of beer.

Blinking, Magnus put away his phone and smiled, gesturing to the bar. He got himself a cosmopolitan before joining Alec at the table and drunk half of it on the way there. “Just the two of us for now?”

Alec nodded, but he didn’t seem worried. “Izzy said she’s on her way and I just spoke to Ragnor. He finished the chapter he was working on, so he should be coming too.”

“Brilliant,” Magnus said quietly. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been alone with Alec like that and it was making him nervous.

Especially because Alec looked so calm. In the almost six years knowing each other, Magnus ought to have gotten used to Alec’s cool façade but he hasn’t. There was something in his sharp beautiful lines and the eye Alec’s hazel eyes always seemed to be reading the situation with absolute precision.

Magnus cleared his throat. “So, how have you been? It’s been, what? Weeks since we last talked?”

“I guess.” Alec nodded and took a sip of his beer. “I’m okay. Passed all my exams.”

“That is great! Not that I had any doubts you would.” Magnus smiled proudly. Alec had always been hard-working and never more so than after getting into med school. “How’s the internship going?”

“Rough, but good.” Alec smiled a little and Magnus could see he seemed tired, but impossibly happy. “How about your clients? Anyone wanting to paint their walls vomit-green again?”

Magnus sneered and shook his head. “Not recently, but let’s not get our hopes high. I’ve expanded business to New Jersey.”

“Oh no.” Alec snorted. “That’s just asking for trouble.”

“You know me,” Magnus said with a shrug and batted his eyelashes at him. “Trouble is my middle name.”

Alec just shook his head, but he was smiling behind the bottle of beer he busied himself with drinking. They stayed quiet for a couple of minutes and Magnus checked his phone for any news of their other friends. There was nothing.

“You don’t think…” Magnus began, but he stopped mid-sentence. The puzzled expression on Alec’s face made him chuckle. “Sorry, I’m being ridiculous.”

“What?” Alec asked, still confused.

Magnus pushed his lips together, but then he stopped, because that was Alec’s habit to do, not his. “It’s just… You don’t think they set this up, do you? Pretend to settle a night out and then bailed so it would be just the two of us?”

“Why would they do that?” Alec frowned and he seemed even more at lost. “They know we don’t… We don’t hang out alone.”

“That’s why.” Magnus suddenly felt unable to stare at Alec’s eyes, but he powered through it. A bit. It would’ve been easier if his heart wasn’t racing so fast. “Maybe they thought we could, you know, use some alone time.”

If Alec was feeling how Magnus was, though, he was doing a remarkable job in pretending otherwise. “To do what?” He asked in a way that made it sound like an accusation.

Magnus huffed. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe talk? About us? About the fact that neither of us had ever had a stable relationship since we broke up? Or the fact that we are still each other’s first choice to talk on our phones, but we avoid to be physically alone together like the plague? Or the fact that I always go to that necklace you gave me when I need to be confident about my outfit? And that I see you doing the relaxing techniques I taught when you’re anxious?”

When he finished his rant, Magnus could see the emotions shifting in Alec’s expression. He went from confused to alarmed to guilty and finally to perplexed. But it wasn’t just Alec’s face that Magnus was paying attention to. He also looked at the way Alec was rubbing his thumb on the inside of his hand and how he pushed his lips together, about to speak but saying nothing.

Until he did, in a small voice that did not match the strong man he was. “What are you saying? I thought… I thought you had moved on.”

“Well, I clearly didn’t, despite my great efforts.” Magnus inhaled sharply. “And I think the others know it too and they have set us up so we could talk this through. I blame your sister.”

Alec nodded. “That’s something Izzy would do.”

Sighing again, Magnus drew strength from the necklace he was wearing. Not for nothing, it was the one Alec had gifted him on his birthday when they were together. “Okay, I’ll start. I love you, Alexander, and that is very clear because I do not hide it. What I try, and obviously fail to, hide is that I am still in love with you. I have always been and I don’t think that’s changing anytime soon. So there. That’s how I feel.”

It took Alec a moment to get over his astonishment. When he did, there was a new determination on his eyes and his hand moved in the direction of Magnus’.

And then a voice sounded from a few feet away. “Hey guys!” Isabelle said, coming in the bar in a rush and taking a seat besides her brother. “Sorry. I know I’m late, but Simon offered me a ride. He’s parking the car with Clary, they should be here any moment now.” She smiled and placed a kiss on Alec’s cheek. “What are we talking about?”

Magnus smiled, showing all of his teeth. “My stupid client and her stupid ideas.”

“My favorite topic, then. Because I too have a stupid client with stupid ideas.” Isabelle smiled and then waved at the door as Clary and Simon walked in.

Using that moment of distraction, Magnus got his phone out. It had been stupid of him to think anyone aside him was still milking on that story. Of course not. Damn, Alec probably was about to tell him he had been over Magnus for ages now. He had to make amends  before it blew up on his face.

Can we pretend I didn’t just say that? Magnus typed and sent. Thankfully, Alec had his own phone in his hands and he looked at the text as soon as it arrived. As Clary and Simon sat down, Alec threw an unreadable look at Magnus’ direction that could only mean one thing. Yes.

And thus began the worst night of Magnus’ life. He tried to pretend everything was fine and that he was having the time of his life talking amenities in front of the man he had just confessed his still very alive love for. Never mind that Alec had fallen into introspective silence for the rest of the night, Magnus couldn’t stop himself from looking at him from time to time, waiting for anything. A look, a sign, a word. Anything.

But Alec gave him nothing but silence. He didn’t even look in Magnus’ direction for the rest of the night.

Magnus was pretty sure their friendship was over. When that realization came, he lost his will to keep pretending he was alright. Magnus just excused himself, not even bothering to give an excuse as simple as a headache, and went home.

He was still crushing the Chairman against his chest when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.

A text from Alec. No. No, we can’t.

Tired and feeling sincerely hopeless, Magnus didn’t have the energy to fight. He simply closed his eyes and put his phone down, wondering if he could buy a ticket to Siberia in the morning.

But then another text came. Because I’m still in love with you too.

#malec drabbe #I wrote this one in one day #after changing the plot a hundred times #that one just popped in my head #and kicked all the other garbage ones away #daemonya

[katsavesanimals]

New! Mental Health Issues Solved by Local Pets!!🐕🐈🐢

Pets, they sit by our sides, keep us company, entertain us, and give us reasons to “run into” the cute girl or guy next door. For all that our domesticated animals do for us it’s no wonder that owning a pet can significantly affect our mental health. Today let’s look at 6 ways owning an animal can improve your mental health.

1.Reduce Stress via petting: Did you know that petting your animal and just sitting calmly with them produces the chemical Oxytocin which when released is related to reducing anxiety and helps to reduce blood pressure and even lower cortisol levels. (http://www.huffingtonpost.com/danielle-hark/pet-ownership-health_b_3187960.html) So next time your feeling stressed or trying to build up courage to ask someone out, just go pet Spot. Who knew that quality time equals less anxiety?

2.They get us to go outdoors: Taking Spot for a walk outside gets you outside in nature where fresh air and sunlight naturally exist. Being outdoors can elevate your mood and help keep you healthy. Not to mention the sun will give you a good dose of Vitamin D which “helps fight physical and mental conditions, including depression, cancer, obesity, and heart attacks” (http://www.huffingtonpost.com/danielle-hark/pet-ownership-health_b_3187960.html) Feeling down? Need some Exercise? Then take Spot for a walk or sunbathe with your cat Fluffy. Getting outside can be greatly beneficial, unless it’s a sand storm or blizzard, then I would strongly suggest staying inside.

3.Conversation IceBreakers: Going to your local park with Spot can engage you in conversation with other dog owners or maybe even get that cute girl to notice your existence. Shopping with Fluffy at the local pet store can help you easily socialize with other animal lovers and even get a smile from the cute cashier. Pets can help you get out of your shell and meet other human beings. Just try to avoid becoming the crazy cat lady.

4.Exercise Trainers: Taking Spot for a walk or jog gets your heart pumping and gives you the exercise your body need to function properly. Without healthy blood flow the body can’t do what it needs to which can make you ill and moody. “Studies have shown that animal owners, both adults and children, have lower blood pressure, as well as lower cholesterol and triglycerides, which may be in part attributed to the more active lifestyle pets promote” (http://www.huffingtonpost.com/danielle-hark/pet-ownership-health_b_3187960.html) And as everyone should know, when you feel better you do better. Having a more active lifestyle and healthy body is linked being less susceptible to mental health issues. Even getting up to feed Fluffy is better than not doing anything at all.

5.Smile Makers: Everyone loves cat videos, don’t even try denying it. We’ve all seen a cat do something funny or stupid at least once. Now imagine having a bunch of those videos right in your own home, so 3D that you can even touch it, literally because your pet is real. From seeing Fluffy sneeze so hard they fall off of the table to Spot playing with children, from seeing Bubbles do some weird swimming techniques to laughing at the parrot for repeating what you said about you mother-in-law. Pets can make us laugh and keep us happy. When your pet makes you smile, your smile then fires neurotransmitters in your brain which “can raise your serotonin and dopamine levels, which are nerve transmitters associated with calmness and happiness.”(http://www.huffingtonpost.com/danielle-hark/pet-ownership-health_b_3187960.html)

6.A reason to be around: Having a pet, even a little goldfish, can give you a purpose. Even a reason to live in some instances. Everyone wants someone to come home to after a long day and a pet can be that someone. They can keep you and others company and lessen feelings of loneliness. Pets can give us a reason to smile and want to keep on going even when times get ruff. (pun intended)

Source:https://www.theodysseyonline.com/pets-good-for-the-heart

Sources: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/danielle-hark/pet-ownership-health_b_3187960.html

4/4/17

#metal health #pets #domestication #smile #happy #goodmood #animalconservation

[bizmediaweb]

10 Reasons Celebrities Are Better at Instagram Than Brands

The 25 most-followed accounts on Instagram are, more or less, what you’d expect. There are quite a few familiar faces: Selena Gomez, Taylor Swift, Beyonce Knowles, Justin Bieber, Katy Perry—the list goes on.

And, of course, the ubiquitous Kardashian-Jenners make a good showing. The alliterative sisters Kim, Kylie, Kendall, Khloe, and Kourtney all rank within the top 20.

It’s hard to deny that celebs are good at social. And why is that?

There are a few things that they get about Instagram that brands just don’t.

Bonus: Download a free checklist that reveals the exact steps an adventure photographer used to grow from 0 to 110,000 followers on Instagram with no budget and no expensive gear. Plus we’ll show you how you can use Hootsuite to grow your own following on Instagram and other platforms.

1. They get internet humor

The internet is a vast place, full of disparate people voicing a cacophony of opinions. There’s very little that can typically be attributed to the culture of the internet as a whole.

Except maybe humor.

The internet at large, and social media in particular, is home to a particular sense of humor—a unique constellation of memes, clever hashtags, and puns, mixed with a healthy dose of nostalgia. Add in a dollop of self-deprecating jokes and you have internet culture.

And celebs get it. They get it in a way that brands just don’t.

Kylie Jenner pokes fun at herself in this Instagram post where she wears a t-shirt featuring an unflattering photo of herself that’s been circling the internet for years.

A post shared by Kylie (@kyliejenner) on Apr 18, 2016 at 12:44pm PDT

This shot of Kylie Jenner is a great example. She’s showing that she can laugh at herself—it’s goofy and self-deprecating in a way that the internet loves.

2. They’re so relatable Not only do celebs get internet humor, they also get what works online: nostalgia (the #tbt is alive and well). Specifically, they get that their primarily millennial audience responds to 90s references.

🦋🦋#Butterfly is my favorite album, it's the most personal work I've ever done and will always be a defining moment in my career and in my life. I'm so happy to celebrate this anniversary with a special picture disc vinyl release – link in bio. Stay tuned for more surprises!🦋🦋

A post shared by Mariah Carey (@mariahcarey) on Sep 16, 2017 at 2:36pm PDT

So when celebrities post throwbacks—like this one from Mariah Carey—to 90s moments from their own lives, it’s very relatable for their audience.

But the relatability of celebs—that authenticity that people love to describe as ‘so real’—goes beyond embracing nostalgia. It’s about sharing moments from their lives that are a tad less glamorous than the usual red carpet shot.

In a way, the content that celebs now share on their own Insta timelines is reflective of the kind of material that paparazzos once doggedly pursued. But they’ve realized something fundamental about it: if they post it themselves, they control the message.

And, on a less cynical note, these down-to-earth, ‘authentic’ moments give them the opportunity to connect with fans. It’s precisely this relatability that explains why followers love celebs’ bathroom selfies.

A post shared by Demi Lovato (@ddlovato) on Feb 15, 2017 at 5:32pm PST

And the oh-so-relatable moments they share with the mini-humans in their lives.

Love u so much x kisses @Cruzbeckham X ✨

A post shared by Victoria Beckham (@victoriabeckham) on Feb 12, 2018 at 8:43am PST

Or their relationships with their parents.

Bonnie and Clyde

A post shared by chrissy teigen (@chrissyteigen) on Aug 5, 2017 at 5:18am PDT

Or those moments of uncontained, bona fide joy.

THE TRAILER IS JUST EEEEPPPPPPPIIIIICCCCCCC! Star Wars is back! gaaaaaad laaaaard! You know what! Let me just relax because this kind God oooo! Lmao! Seriously congrats to everyone ! December 18th!

A post shared by John Boyega (@johnboyega) on Oct 20, 2015 at 12:02am PDT

John Boyega’s reaction to The Force Awakens trailer is so utterly relatable, because his excitement reflects that of the franchise’s fans. It’s the sort of over-the-top, genuine, unabashed enthusiasm that spawns reaction GIFs—the kind people share with the comment, “Same.”

3. They get that the caption can make or break a photo

I think we can all agree that celebs have great photos. They’re often glossy, professional images that beat the average snap. But it isn’t just their photos that make their Instagram feeds stand out from the crowd. Celebs get that Instagram captions can be just as important as the image they’re attached to.

When you could go anywhere for your bday dinner but you're so OG that you go to OG with all your OG's. 📷 by @ronyalwin #thosebreadstickstho

A post shared by KATY PERRY (@katyperry) on Oct 27, 2015 at 12:37pm PDT

This Instagram from Katy Perry is the perfect example. The photo itself is nothing special, just another group photo at a restaurant. What makes it special is the caption, which cleverly plays on ‘OG’ as short for ‘Olive Garden.’

I'm up at 4am everyday to work extremely hard BEFORE I go into work, not because I'm bat shit crazy (well maybe a little;), but because I know my competitors are not paying that price and sacrificing to that degree – and that will alway give me the edge and anchor for an opportunity for success. You don't have to get up at 4am, but I encourage you to find the thing that gives you the edge over everyone else around you. Once you find it, let it be your anchor. Then you've just created an opportunity for yourself to succeed. And that's all we ever want to work hard and create for ourselves.. opportunity. #GainTheEdge #FindYourAnchor #ButForTheLoveOfGod #YouDoNotWantToWakeUpAt4amEveryday 🖕🏾😂

A post shared by therock (@therock) on Apr 12, 2016 at 2:14pm PDT

In this shot, The Rock goes beyond simply posting a photo from the gym. Instead he gives his followers a behind-the-scenes glimpse into his routine and his motivation. It’s the details around it that make the shot special.

When brands post to Instagram, their captions are often short and unexpressive—they lack personality. But personality is something that celebs have in spades. And when it comes to Insta, it not only shows—it pays off.

What many brands fail to recognize is that they need to go beyond the image. A picture may be worth a thousand words, but a great Instagram caption can be worth so much more.

4. They get that people connect with faces

Love ‘em or hate ‘em, celebs have selfies down to an art. And while selfies may be considered narcissistic, they’re based on a fundamental truth—people respond to faces.

A study by Georgia Institute of Technology and Yahoo Labs found that Instagram photos that feature human faces are 38 percent more likely to receive likes than photos without faces. They’re also 32 percent more likely to get comments.

The study’s lead, Saeideh Bakhshi, theorized about why this might be: “Faces are powerful channels of nonverbal communication. We constantly monitor them for a variety of contexts, including attractiveness, emotions, and identity.”

The researchers also found that the number of faces in a photo, their age, or gender didn’t make a difference.

We would like to share our love and happiness. We have been blessed two times over. We are incredibly grateful that our family will be growing by two, and we thank you for your well wishes. – The Carters

A post shared by Beyoncé (@beyonce) on Feb 1, 2017 at 10:39am PST

This shot of Beyonce announcing her second pregnancy proves that faces work—it was the most-liked photo on Instagram in 2017.

5. They understand that cute animals win on social

It’s a truth universally acknowledged that the internet loves a good cat photo. Or a snap of a cute puppy. Or basically any warm fuzzy thing. (Chewbacca aside, though the internet certainly loves him as well.)

Taylor Swift gets this.

Some real tough questions I had for Olivia.

A post shared by Taylor Swift (@taylorswift) on Sep 7, 2017 at 8:05am PDT

She incorporates her adorable felines, Dr. Meredith Grey and Detective Olivia Benson, into her feed, with excellent results.

Mary Jane ❤️

A post shared by Miley Cyrus (@mileycyrus) on Dec 2, 2017 at 11:18pm PST

Miley Cyrus is no stranger to this tactic either. Her feed boasts snaps of her own pets, puppy Boomerangs, and a personal tattoo commemorating her dog Mary Jane—effectively taking her ‘cute animal’ game to the next level.

Thankful for @beaglefreedom and their mission to free captive pups from inhumane animal testing labs! Without BFPs work I wouldn't be falling asleep next to Little Dog, being lulled by the sound of her heartbeat …. #whosavedwho #myrescuerescuedme #fucktestingonanimals ❤️💙💚💜💛 @happyhippiefdn

A post shared by Miley Cyrus (@mileycyrus) on Jul 22, 2017 at 9:41pm PDT

How can brands make this work for them? Think beyond your product and get right into your customers’ lifestyle. Might that lifestyle involve pets? Insta ‘em. Hootsuite does it with our #HootDogs hashtag.

Building friendships 👫 Some new #hootdogs getting aquainted with Owly over lunch 🐾 Welcome to the team! #lifeofowly 📷: @evarobin

A post shared by Hootsuite (@hootsuite) on Mar 31, 2017 at 1:46pm PDT

6. They go Insta-first for big news

Something that celebs do often that brands rarely emulate: they announce big news on Instagram.

Taylor Swift did it with a music video. Beyonce did it with an album.

Surprise!

A post shared by Beyoncé (@beyonce) on Dec 12, 2013 at 9:12pm PST

Others have gone Insta-first for more personal news, like engagement and pregnancy announcements.

Like Kylie Jenner did with the first shot released after the much-anticipated birth of her first child.

stormi webster 👼🏽

A post shared by Kylie (@kyliejenner) on Feb 6, 2018 at 1:14pm PST

Or Danneel Ackles did with the announcement of hers and Jensen Ackles’ twins.

Yep! Doublemint here we come! http://celebritybabies.people.com/2016/08/10/jensen-ackles-danneel-harris-pregnant-expecting-twins-son-daughter/

A post shared by @ danneelackles512 on Aug 10, 2016 at 11:31am PDT

Or this heart-melting post from Michael Phelps on his engagement to Nicole Johnson.

She said yes😁😁😁 @nicole.m.johnson. (Photo credit to @arschmitty )

A post shared by Michael Phelps (@m_phelps00) on Feb 21, 2015 at 10:49pm PST

When Disney employed this strategy it was massively successful. They released the much-anticipated Star Wars teaser trailer on Instagram first and fans went wild.

There has been an awakening… #StarWars #TheForceAwakens

A post shared by Star Wars (@starwars) on Aug 27, 2015 at 10:00am PDT

7. They don’t shy away from taking a stance

Leonardo DiCaprio’s Instagram feed is a mix of beautiful landscapes and endangered animals, accompanied by fact-filled captions urging action on climate change, environmental, and humanitarian issues. Nearly all of them are Regrams.

DiCaprio uses his Insta to amplify the images, causes, and work of activist organizations. The few original posts he shares are still clearly focused on his overall message of environmentalism.

Last night’s win at the #Oscars was an incredible honor – but it was also an important opportunity to bring even more attention to #climatechange. Last year was the hottest in recorded history. Climate change is real, it is the most dire crisis our species has ever known, and it is happening right now. We must empower leaders who don’t speak for corporate interests but who speak for us, our children’s children and those whose voices cannot be heard. Take action now: LCV.org/act

A post shared by Leonardo DiCaprio (@leonardodicaprio) on Feb 29, 2016 at 7:53am PST

This dedication to his core message gives his feed a consistent focus that fans can connect with. It also tells the world what he’s about, giving him a chance to do good.

#Regram #RG @nrdc_org: Anti-environment members of Congress are trying to weaken the Endangered Species Act, effectively declaring it open season on imperiled species like the gray wolf. Visit the link in our profile to help us defend the Endangered Species Act before it’s too late.

A post shared by Leonardo DiCaprio (@leonardodicaprio) on Feb 12, 2018 at 5:43pm PST

DiCaprio isn’t the only one doing this. His single-minded focus is similar to Emma Watson’s commitment to gender equality, as she often shares posts on her talks and appearances. Like DiCaprio, Watson uses captions as a call to arms for followers to learn more and take action.

Marai- what can I say. You were the best date on the most meaningful red carpet I have ever walked. Thank you for being so darn articulate and fun. Thank you for the trust, care, compassion and solidarity. I am so proud to say I work with #Imkaan and the End Violence Against Women Coalition and to be learning from you. Emma 💪 @jusmarai

A post shared by Emma Watson (@emmawatson) on Jan 14, 2018 at 11:41pm PST

While companies don’t necessarily need to transform their feeds into a list of social justice issues, it can be beneficial to declare public support for causes about which the brand feels strongly. For example, Hootsuite is a B Corporation. B Corps use business as a force for good to solve social and environmental issues.

8. They shoot for a consistent look and feel

Celebrities are excellent at creating aesthetically-pleasing feeds. Whether they’re filled with vibrant colors, muted tones, or black and white, celeb feeds are typically identifiable by a distinctive look and feel.

Kourtney Kardashian has mastered the art of the #triplegram—a series of three related photos posted to Instagram consecutively (something that any pre-Instagram photographer would identify as a triptych).

      Image via People

    On the other hand, Joe Keery is all about creating consistency through the look and feel of his overall feed. Joe’s photos typically have a matte-finish look with muted tones reminiscent of film photography. Wherever you land in his feed, it’s clear whose photos you’re looking at.

9. They talk up their friends

Who do you see most often in celebrity photos (other than the celeb you’re following)? Their friends and family of course, just like anyone else.

Except for them, those people just happen to be other celebs.

Gettin advice. From da GOAT.

A post shared by Samira Wiley (@whododatlikedat) on Dec 14, 2017 at 3:08pm PST

They’re all about the casual name-drop mention.

Happy Birthday to my work sister #JenniferAniston !! 💕🎂 Wishing you a day filled with lots of love and laughter ! 🎊 #HBD

A post shared by Reese Witherspoon (@reesewitherspoon) on Feb 11, 2018 at 1:38pm PST

And the birthday wishes.

You might be thinking: my brand doesn’t hang out with celebrities, how is this useful to me?

The key, you see, is in the mentions. Brands should mention their friends, influencers, people they admire, and customers in posts. Tag people to show a little love and increase the potential reach of your content. After all, if you mention them, maybe they’ll mention (or even Regram) you!

10. They get that it’s all about the fans

Celebrities are only famous because of their fans. But some of them are better than others at recognizing this crucial fact.

Selena Gomez is the queen of this.

Just look at how she shows off her appreciation for her fans on her own feed.

I have a lot to be thankful for this year.. My year has been the hardest yet most rewarding one yet. I've finally fought the fight of not 'being enough'. I have only wanted to reflect the love you guys have given me for years and show how important it is to take care of YOU. By grace through faith. Kindness always wins. I love you guys. God bless

A post shared by Selena Gomez (@selenagomez) on Nov 24, 2016 at 6:21pm PST

One of the best ways for brands to show appreciation for their fans on Instagram is, of course, engagement. Like and comment on photos that have to do with your brand or your business. Emulate Selena Gomez and make your interactions personable.

Due to safety I couldn't go outside tonight in Winnipeg. That did NOT stop me from gettin my pic tho 💘

A post shared by Selena Gomez (@selenagomez) on May 20, 2016 at 8:40pm PDT

Whether you follow celebrities on Instagram or not, there’s a lot that brands can learn from them.

Follow your favorite celebrities on Instagram. Schedule posts, manage, and publish directly to Instagram with Hootsuite. Try it today.

Learn More

The post 10 Reasons Celebrities Are Better at Instagram Than Brands appeared first on Hootsuite Social Media Management.

10 Reasons Celebrities Are Better at Instagram Than Brands published first on https://themarketingheaven.tumblr.com/

[raystart]

A Real-Life Education in Protecting Your Creative Work In a Digital Age

Syd Weiler’s Trash Doves sticker pack turned into an internet phenomenon earlier this year. And they almost didn’t make it out of her notebook.

“I wasn’t even going to post them. They were just four-minute little sketches [of pigeons] I’d done sitting in a park in Minneapolis,” Weiler says.

One day, she tweeted the pigeon drawing and the next morning it had a couple thousand likes and retweets. “I thought ‘oh cool, people like those pigeon drawings, but whatever.’ It’s always the little stuff people take and run, not what you’ve worked hours on,” she says. 

Then Apple went and released a new iOS, and allowed independent artists to make “stickers” – basically drawings similar to emojis – as part of the update. If you’re wondering what a sticker pack is, think of the narrow, shrink-wrapped packages you might have found at a gift or craft store and stuck on your notebook or Trapper Keeper back in the pre-internet days.

So Weiler and a friend decided to make a weekend out of each creating a sticker pack and uploading it to the App Store. This happened in September. For $1.99, you could buy a pack of 25 (37 thanks to an October update) pigeon stickers for your, as Weiler described it, “cool conversations.”

The stickers, showing a purple pigeon in various situations, like eating a baguette, a doughnut or sliced bread, can be inserted into iMessage conversations on the iPhone. One pigeon lies atop a loaf of bread with the caption “loafin’ around.”

It was “a little, fun, weekend project,” that “made people happy,” until she figured out how to put the stickers on Facebook. That happened in late January, and within a couple of weeks, people all over the world had heard of and seen the Trash Doves.

Sure, they were being inserted into Facebook messenger conversations and people were getting a kick out of them, but they also started showing up on coffee mugs and T-shirts without Weiler’s permission. The purple pigeons were appropriated as the mascots of some unsavory neo-Nazi groups.

Someone also mashed-up the image of a head-banging trash dove and a dancing cat. The lewd 22-second animation received over three million YouTube views in just a few days. The trash dove officially became a thing.

Why did it happen like that? Weiler thinks people just want something cute and fun when the world seems like a confusing and scary place.

“So much of what you see online is negative, when something happy, cute and funny comes along on your feed, that’s what you latch onto,” she said. “It feels like a life raft, at least for me. I think that’s what happened to these. They were simple, they didn’t have a larger meaning. It was funny birds with funny bread puns that they could use to send to friends to make their friends smile and laugh.”

But when the doves started showing up all over the place, Weiler decided it was time to protect her property. She spoke with 99U after spending a couple of months and thousands of dollars with a lawyer trying to protect her images.

“It was pretty much my entire February,” she says.

While the income from the stickers has paid her rent a few times over, it has also paid some of her legal fees. She knows she couldn’t have sold the stickers on her own, but if she had never done them in the first place, she also would have been saved some serious hassle.

“We’re talking about a positive but it kind of made February the worst month of my life. People don’t understand copyright law or IP law,” Weiler says. “They assume that because a sticker is free on Facebook, they can take it and put it on a T-shirt, but that’s not the case.”

It’s something most art and design students are just not equipped to deal with, especially if some trifle catches fire in the online economy.

Sarah Burstein is a law professor at the University of Oklahoma. She is an expert on copyright and intellectual property and also has a bachelor’s degree in art and design from Iowa State.

She can appreciate the situation Weiler found herself in without much preparation, but she says artists can protect their drawings and animations, and that is to register them with the U.S. Copyright Office.

“It’s a pretty quick and easy process,” Burstein says. “But you do have to take that small and important step.”

Until you’ve registered, you can’t sue someone. And that’s important.

A good designer with a lot of work out there for the public to see may need a good lawyer. But it’s not something many creatives think about while in school.

“No one ever talked to me about IP in my design classes,” Burstein says. “The only things I learned about IP or copyright came from a media law class. So certainly there’s education that could be done. Teaching people how to register their copyright certainly wouldn’t hurt. That would be a nice, basic start.”

Weiler agrees.

“I learned how much I did not learn in art school from this experience,” she says. “I knew basics but I didn’t know the nuance.”

Burstein suggests that artists think about what they want to get out of chasing down individual copyright violations.

“I’m not sure you could go and sue every person that used your sticker on Facebook or make them get a license. Even if you had taken the proper steps, the question is: What does that get you? Or what do you want? Most designers and artists actually want attribution. ‘You like my sticker, that’s great, come to my website and buy my other work, or hire me.’”

After all, no one wants to spend $100,000 on legal fees just to net $50,000 in damages.

But Burstein says there are still ways for artists to gain financially from work that goes viral in the way the trash doves did: Look for “ancillary commercial exploitation opportunities.”

“My sense is that the money might be in other merchandise. What I would want to do is register the copyright and then say: ‘Come get the T-shirt, or the print.’ And copyright would certainly protect that right.”

Weiler calls the experience “soul-sucking,” but thinks the hard days are behind her. If she had one thing to do over, she says she would not have licensed the images and animations to Facebook. “I didn’t have the inkling that any of this would have been possible in this short amount of time.”

And she is working with some online retailers to make the trash doves more widely, and legally, available.

In the end, Weiler walked away with some extra cash, some headaches, more legal knowledge and about 120,000 new followers on social channels like Twitter and Twitch. While she would not wish what she had to go through over the winter on anyone else, she does feel in some way it has been worth it.

Much of Weiler’s work is social and she streams her creative process on her Twitch channel. The more people who know about her, the better, and it can only help down the line. She has both a property a lot of people know about – the Trash Doves – and a larger audience she can educate about what it takes to protect that property.

There are worse ways to double your audience. And if all of it came from trying to protect her work (“You can’t steal from an independent artist and you can’t just make a mug out of it,” she says), all the better.

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