#its one of the few sources of serotonin i have left

[one-irrelevant-ghost]

I'm genuinely embarrassed about how many times I've watched Griffin's animal crossing videos in just the last few days

#i cant help it #its one of the few sources of serotonin i have left #animal crossing #griffin mcelroy #mcelroys #video games #games

[2996-sana]

Seeking Arrangement - Rosé

Part 1

The pitter patter of the rain served as background noise for Y/N and Lisa who was sat on their couch munching on some cucumbers, eyes glued to the Kdrama playing on the TV. Y/N let out a dramatic sigh as she watches Ko Moonyoung and Moon Gangtae lock lips for the first time. The sound was not lost on her best friend who shot her a grin.

“Are you going all soft again, Y/N?”

Y/N rolled her eyes at the teasing tone in Lisa’s voice. This was not new as she was always on the receiving end of Lisa’s jokes about her being such a hopeless romantic. Though Lisa found this amusing about her best friend, she thinks there is strength in Y/N’s ability to believe in love after the shit her ex-girlfriend Suzy put her through. Could you really blame her? Being in love was without a doubt one of the best feelings in the world in Y/N’s book. For her, it was an overwhelming yet warm feeling that stretches throughout your whole body once it enters your life and leaves you feeling like you’re on top of the world (but its all fun and games until your partner cheats on you).

Despite this though, she was not in a hurry to find love. In fact, after the tragedy that was her last relationship, she just wanted to lie low and have fun for a while.

“Shut up. You’re lucky you’re in a stable relationship,” Y/N scoffs.

Lisa and her girlfriend Jennie have been together for 2 years now (3 years next month) and Y/N envied the love shared between the two.

“Don’t worry, Y/N. No one can resist you for too long,” Lisa tries to reassure her best friend, wrapping an arm around her.

Y/N grimaced, “Eh…I don’t really want anything serious at the moment. Especially after Suzy.”

Lisa pretends to gag at the sound of Y/N’s ex-girlfriend’s name, “I agree. Have fun and take it easy. You should like…I don’t know…find a sugar daddy or something.” They both chuckle at Lisa’s words, knowing she would never even think about it.

•

It was hours later on her bed while typing out a reply to some guy she matched on Tinder that she realizes how hard it was to find a worthy candidate to waste her time on. These boys lacked substance and were coming at her with the same pick-up lines. She wonders if they all got them at the same Fuckboy Convention. It didn’t help that she rarely matched with girls either.

She groans at the reply that came through.

Wyd tho? U tryna fuck?

“The audacity of these boys,” she mutters under her breath, closing the app.

As she stares at her ceiling zoning out, she remembers Lisa’s words from hours ago. A sugar daddy. She laughs at her best friend’s ridiculous idea. She could never.

Unless? No. It’s stupid. She doesn’t wanna give out any sugar AT ALL.

But she was bored out of her mind. For the past 3 months, she has been cooped up in her bed wallowing in self-pity while listening to the very suspicious sounds coming out of Lisa’s room. There were also only so many pep-talks she could give herself until she grew tired of her own words. It was this that fueled her to sit up and turn on her laptop. After all, she considered boredom as an invitation for her to find something that would raise her serotonin levels. And what is the value of life without a little fun? She owed herself the first few months of her breakup to relax and take care of herself after all the mental damage, but now she needed a little play. She needed both the loud and quiet joys of life, peace with a little bit of wild mixed in. It was needed to feed her soul.

She also couldn’t lie that she craved some sort of human connection and validation. Yeah, she definitely was not proud of that last one.

Y/N stared at the keyboard, not believing what she was able to type into Google.

How to find a sugar daddy?

What she found out during her deep dive in the wondrous world of sugar daddies and babies was the number one site to find one was called Seeking Arrangement.  

So that is where she found herself, blinking at the statement written in bold.

100% Free to Join!

To hell with it, she thinks as she begins to fill out the application.

30 minutes later, she nods in approval as she scanned through the photos she chose. She would totally hit herself up if she was a sad middle-aged man desperate for companionship. As she hits submit, she was met with pictures of men – and surprisingly women, although there were considerably more men – complete with their basic information.

Looking for a woman to spoil.

Looking for love.

Looking for a loving companion.

Looking for a good time.

It was nothing she didn’t expect to find at a sugar baby site but it was the net worth of the men and women displayed on her screen that caught her eye. She was almost tempted to message one of them but couldn’t find it in herself to do so. She rolls her eyes at the thought.

She spent hours researching and signing up for a sugar baby website and she still finds herself being stubborn about making the first move.

Glancing at the clock, she realized that it was almost 4AM. She decides that she was going to wait for someone to message her first instead. Besides it gives off the vibe that she’s hard to get and that’s always a little bit sexy, right?

•

"Y/N! Wake up! I made banana pancakes.”

Slowly opening her eyes and stretching, her foot meets a hard surface. The cold metallic feeling on her foot was enough to remind her of her antics 7 hours ago. She hides her face on her hands, sighing. Why did she think that was a good idea?

Once she was out of her room, she was met with the sweet smell of banana pancakes and nutella. She dragged herself to where the smell was most present and found herself in the kitchen where both Lisa and Jennie sat on the counter. Jennie threw a gummy smile her way while her best friend simply nodded at her presence, busy stuffing herself with her girlfriend’s banana pancakes.

“Vas happenin’, love birds?” she greets them with a faux British accent.

“What kind of dollar store Zayn Malik am I hearing right now?” came Lisa’s reply to which Y/N’s response was to smear Nutella all over her best friend’s face.

“Yah, Y/N!” Lisa whines as she hits Y/N on the shoulder.

Y/N gasps as she prepares to retaliate.

“Children! Stop it.” Jennie scolds the two. She was used to the duo’s playful fighting but she also knew it could go on for hours if she doesn’t put a stop to it.

Both were quick to stop but stuck their tongues out at each other.

Y/N grabbed her plate to return to her room. She glanced at the couple making sure they were preoccupied enough not to notice what she was up to.

You have 11 unopened messages!

A loose grin formed on her face at the notification. Not bad. She hurriedly opened her inbox to find the different men who deemed her worthy to reach out to.

It was all pretty tame, it being the typical greeting. She sighed, already bored. It wasn’t until she reached the bottom of her inbox where a small gasp came out of her. She sat up and read the sender’s name.

Rosé Park. A woman.

She excitedly clicked on the woman’s profile.

It only took the woman’s profile picture for Y/N to realize that this Rosé Park was the type of woman she fantasized about. For starters, she was a brunette and the woman was a blonde. She was a sucker for blondes. Who could resist a good brunette and blonde wlw duo?

Santana and Brittany. Rose and Rosie. Clarke and Lexa. Piper and Alex. Need she say more?

Basically, Rosé Park was a dreamboat. Something radiated from her pictures that Y/N knew rendered her irresistible to both men and women. She could outshine any of these men on the site any day. It also only took her profile picture to realize that the woman was a big deal. Her outfit looked straight out of the pages of a fashion magazine. Why would gorgeous and rich 25-year old Rosé Park want to talk to a normal and boring 23-year old like her?

Y/N composed herself, fighting back a smile, before returning to her and Rosé’s chat.

Hi, gorgeous. I passed by your profile and knew I had to talk to you. Looking forward to your response x

Y/N’s blush seared through her cheeks and for a minute she thought her face was on fire. She suddenly felt awkward, demure, and coy; even going as far as attempting to hide her rosy features behind her slim fingers even if no one else was around to see her. She blames it on the fact that an insanely beautiful woman complimented her. So naturally, it took her at least 5 minutes of over-analyzing every possible response for her to actually send one.

Hi there :) You’re one to talk. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on.

To her surprise, three little dots indicating Rosé was typing appeared beside the woman’s picture.

Haha, cute.

Hmm what brings you to this site, Y/N?

The woman’s question made her pause. She doesn’t even know the answer to that. Was she supposed to make some shit up?

Um I was bored.

She facepalms herself as she hit send. Really? Your brain cogs couldn't turn fast enough to come up with a more interesting response, Y/N?

Y/N thought she blew it as 45 minutes has passed and no response from the blonde bombshell came. She internally cursed herself for her boring response to the woman. Rosé probably thought she was an airhead.

•

It was 10PM after binge watching another Kdrama with Jennie and Lisa that she remembered being left on delivered by Rosé. Her mood quickly sours as she realizes she ruined her chance at getting to know the beautiful woman. Thinking to distract herself with the depressing fact, she goes to check if any of the men messaged her back. Sure, a man could never fill the void of a woman but she really needed to talk to another human being besides Lisa and Jennie.

Y/N was apparently in for a surprise because what awaited her was a message from the woman.

Well, I hope to provide some sort of entertainment for you ;)

I’m not one to beat around the bush Y/N. I think you’re stunning and a good lay in bed. That’s a really good source of entertainment for the both of us, no?

Jesus Christ. She was not expecting that.

Y/N knew what being a sugar baby entailed but she was still brought to a shock at how blunt Rosé was being and so early on into the conversation. The thought of being with Rosé like that, being able to feel her skin against hers, the godly sounds that it would elicit…

Her private thoughts made herself blush. It seems like if there was anything Rosé was good at it was making Y/N blush. But her unholy thoughts about the woman didn’t create a cute soft pink tint on her cheek like a healthy outdoors glow, it was beet red. Y/N figured that Rosé was probably highly practiced at the art of seduction. Rosé’s looks although a masterpiece sculpted by all the deities that exist… well, nothing so pretty could possibly harm you, right? But it was that combined with Rosé’s choice of words that had anyone she chose to even focus her attention on jumping through hoops to please her. So, she swallowed her pride and forced herself to play it cool, putting on a mask that she thought would appease the woman she really wanted to impress.

I like the way you think, Rosé. I like to think I make great company in bed too ;) Give me a time and place and I’ll be there.

•

That message was what lead Y/N to the 21st floor of Seoul Forest Trimage Towers, one of Seoul’s most luxurious and exclusive apartment complex, standing outside of Rosé’s penthouse two days later.

All the reasons not to go through with it and just leave came flooding in. Y/N can feel the soft panic growing inside her body as she wills herself to breathe in and out, not quite ready to ring the doorbell just yet. But before she could finish her fourth exhale, the door was opened to reveal the woman who has not left her mind ever since signing up for that damned site.

“I grew tired of watching you hyperventilate so I thought I’d do you a favor and open the door for you.”

Y/N almost choked on air as she looks at Rosé for the first time. The pictures on her profile did not do her justice at all. The woman could have graced every billboard or magazine in the city and she wouldn’t even question it.

Y/N did not say anything - did not know what to say. She was conscious of the smirking woman standing before her, dressed in a white dress that stopped just above her knees.

“Do you wanna come in, Y/N?” Rosé’s voice was dripping with amusement, eyebrows raised. Shyness wasn’t usually Y/N’s gig so what the hell was going on?

“Yeah, sure.”

Once she entered the threshold that Rosé called home, she immediately noticed how fancy and expensive everything was. She was immediately drawn to the large window overlooking the whole city. The glass was so clear that it looked like a high definition screen at the movie theatre.

Rosé quickly picked up on her fascination, grabbing hold of Y/N’s hand and leading her to the glass window. “Cool, huh? I picked this unit because of the view. The city below is so far away it's like another world. This penthouse is my cocoon and the window, well, the window shows me as much detail as I want to know.”

Y/N could only stare at their joined hands and then to the woman beside her, intoxicated by her words. “It’s beautiful, Rosé. I’d kill to wake up to this every way. You have great taste.”

“Yeah I do have great taste huh?” Rosé looked her up and down, biting her lip before chuckling. (Y/N swears she saw the gates of heaven open at the sound)  

•

A few hours later after a candle lit dinner prepared by Rosé herself and a bottle of wine, Y/N finds herself straddled in the living room couch being kissed roughly on the neck as pure pleasure runs through her entire body.

“Fuck,” she pants as she feels Rosé grind on her. Unable to control herself anymore, Y/N holds Rosé’s head in her hands and pulls her into a fiery and passionate kiss.

“Someone couldn’t wait,” Rosé smiled against their lips.

With a laugh, Y/N pushed Rosé down on the couch, switching their positions, not breaking the kiss. Y/N’s hands slowly work their way around her body, tugging on Rosé’s dress.

“Off.”

Rosé sat up slightly, allowing Y/N to pull down the zipper of her dress, feeling skilled fingers unhook her bra. Rosé tears it off herself before reattaching their lips. Immediately, Y/N’s hands found itself on Rosé’s breasts as she tugged on her nipples.

Rosé gasps against her lips causing Y/N to pull away, making her way down and sucking on the skin surrounding Rosé’s breasts before soothing it out with her tongue.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you but I’m not complaining,” Rosé giggles but whimpers midway as she feels Y/N’s tongue latch onto her nipple.

“Probably the wine.”

Y/N couldn’t help but think that their bodies fit together as if they were made just for this, to fall into one another, to feel this natural rhythm.

Y/N’s hands drop to Rosé’s thighs, caressing her from above her panties. Rosé moans at the feeling of the soft silk rubbing against her as Y/N’s mouth still busied herself with her nipple.

“Oh my god.”

Rosé grips her hand tightly onto Y/N’s hair as she feels the wetness between her legs. “Take your clothes off. I wanna see you.”

Y/N stops devouring her nipple to pull her shirt off. Rosé drops her hands to the zipper of Y/N’s jeans pulling it down and slipping her own hand in.

“Good to know I’m not the only one dripping wet,” she teases.

Before she could begin her sweet torture on Y/N, she feels hands finally moving inside her panties and her mind went blank.

Fingers toyed with her nub making Rosé bite down on Y/N’s shoulder. Thumb continuing to rub Rosé’s nub, Y/N slipped two fingers in. Rosé moaned so loud that Y/N swears it was enough to get her off.

Pumping her fingers around Rosé, Y/N felt a smirk making its way on her face. She couldn’t believe she was on top of the godly woman seeing her face all scrunched up in ecstasy. She feels Rosé pulling her in for another heated kiss as she picks up her pace inside the woman. With every moan and whimper coming out of Rosé’s mouth, Y/N feels her own wetness.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Y/N mutters under her breath.

She could feel Rosé getting close as the woman’s grinding on her fingers became sloppier and her breaths became more uneven. Burying her face on Y/N’s shoulder, Rosé tries to stifle her moans as she finally comes undone.

Y/N slowly leaves feathery kisses up and down Rosé’s neck as she waits for her to come down from her high.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N.” she hears Rosé trying to catch her breath. “I honestly wasn’t expecting you to take charge tonight.”

“Maybe I’m just full of surprises,” Y/N grinned, pressing a kiss on Rosé’s temple.

Rosé slowly sat up as Y/N leaves her place on top of her. “I guess you are.”

They both sat in silence as they picked up their clothes scattered on the floor before putting them back on. Rosé was the first one to break the ice as she reaches for her purse on the wooden table. It was at that moment Y/N remembered why she was even there in the first place. Disappointment stabbed through her like a knife. Somehow during the duration of the night, she made herself forget that she was there because of an agreement made online. As if she was there spending the night with a new lover, both milking the feeling of a love that just arrived. The night started out like a sweet melody of a blackbird -- full of promise, freshness, and newness to come. Now it sat like a cold cup of coffee waiting to be drained away. All of a sudden, she felt dirty and used and all she had to blame was herself. Rosé’s words from a few hours ago during dinner echoed through her head.

I signed up because I have no time for relationships. I’m just too busy for that. It saves me the hassle of meeting new people and having to get to know them, y’know?

And truthfully, no, Y/N didn’t know. She remembers Lisa telling her she loves like a puppy - devoted, playful, and trusting. So, no, Y/N didn’t know. She just didn’t roll the way Rosé rolled.

“Here you go,” Rosé reached out with a wad of cash in her hand. “Go treat yourself. You deserve it.”

It was the way Rosé said it, so confident and smug, that Y/N knew that she was not Rosé’s first rodeo. The woman sounded like she does it so often that she just didn’t care anymore.

“How many girls receive this same amount of cash?” Y/N laughs quietly and she hopes it didn’t sound as bitter as she felt.

“A couple a week,” Rosé grins so nonchalantly it makes Y/N stomach churn. “Why?”

“Nothing,” Y/N awkwardly shifts in her place on the couch. “Um, you really don’t need to. I’m not looking for cash.”

Rosé actually looked shocked at the girl’s statement. “I’m a little bit lost here.”

“I signed up because I was bored and curious not because I’m low on money,” she laughs keeping an unamused tone. “I really didn’t expect to reach this far ahead. So, you can keep your money Rosé.”

Y/N got up and started walking towards the door. She was halfway there when she felt Rosé grab her wrist.

“Why do you sound angry? Don’t act as if you didn’t know why I invited you here, Y/N.” Rosé looked at her confused. “We met through Seeking Arrangements for god’s sake. I thought we had a good time.”

Rosé did have a good time. Aside from the mind-blowing sex, she was impressed by Y/N’s ability to be present during a conversation, always having her own two cents to offer, which lead to a lot of fun and meaningful discourse all throughout dinner. She had never met a woman through that website as enchanting and beautiful as Y/N. Y/N was a smart woman who was good at sex and Rosé liked that. A lot. So why is she being difficult?

Rosé saw different emotions flash through Y/N’s face before settling on a look of defeat. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I did have a good time.”

Y/N stepped closer to Rosé. “I loved being here with you and money was never on my mind tonight. Maybe that’s why I reacted that way. I’m sorry. I joined Seeking Arrangements for fun because honestly…I was lonely and bored and looking for some sort of human connection and that’s what you gave me tonight. I just got lucky that you reached out. That was all I needed I promise.”

She offers Rosé a genuine smile before turning to leave once more. “Have a good rest of your night, Rosé.”

Y/N hears footsteps behind her as Rosé opens the door for her, a smile planted on her face. “You’re something else, Y/N.”

Before the door closes, Rosé speaks once more. “It’s Rosie now by the way.”

The last thing she saw was the woman throwing her a wink before the door finally closed.

#blackpink #blackpink x reader #blackpink imagine #rosé x reader #rosé imagine #blackpink scenarios

[akiwisfics]

Dipping Her Toes In

Summary:  A snapshot of what freedom might look like for Kirari, and the next step of her relationship with Sayaka. Notes: Response to the Hundred Devouring Artist’s Prompt, “Kirari’s first ‘I love you.’” You can find the rest of the collection here. 

---

>> “What does it mean to be in love?”

“... With love being so closely connected to meaning and fulfillment, it's valuable for each of us to define love as an action or series of actions we can take to bring us closer to the people we value...”

A glance through the article doesn’t offer many tidbits. Warnings about not appreciating partners over time, fantasy bonds, things that she never considers. In any case, it’s been some time now, and just as quickly, she clicks the tab close.  She needs something more… concrete.

>> “Scientific studies on love.”

“...During the first love-year, serotonin levels gradually return to normal, and the ‘stupid’ and ‘obsessive’ aspects of the condition moderate. That period is followed by increases in the hormone oxytocin, a neurotransmitter associated with a calmer, more mature form of love…”

The medical benefits might interest Sayaka if she brings it up; they sound like things the girl would use to justify using the word herself, but by now, she knows better: Sayaka gives in to the feeling, surrenders to its irrationality like the true beast that it is. Though it isn’t useful, perse, she does bookmark it for later. Sometimes, Sayaka gets bored with her schoolwork, and something tells her she may appreciate a small abstract like this for bedtime reading.

The girl never learns to relax.

>> “Quotes on love.”

“ At the touch of love, everyone becomes a poet.”

Plato is a questionable source of advice, maybe. The quotes are saccharine and only fill her mouth a sickenly sour taste. They’re better suited for agonizing romance novels and pop tunes that Yumemi still sings on the radio sometimes. Perhaps a straightforward approach is necessary.

>> “Wiki-How ‘How to Confess Your Love’”

“Take a step back. Be rational for a moment, and take stock of the situation. Consider your relationship to this person, and try to predict how they will receive your words.”

Oh.

Was she supposed to confess before the relationship started? She doesn’t think Sayaka would reject her if she admits to it; not when the other girl had confessed her love… a year ago now? A year and a half? It feels longer, but she tries to block out the shades of things she doesn’t want to think about; it’s easier that way, when now she has something normal that’s hers.

But how would Sayaka react to it? It’s a thought she’s never considered, so she keeps reading.

“Make sure that you mean it. If you have never been in love before, it may be hard to understand the implications of this phrase. There are many types of love…”

What does that mean?

“Sister?”

Kirari pokes her head away from her laptop, and notes the curious look in Ririka’s eyes. She knows she hadn’t started that long ago, but it feels so much later than it is. There’s some cacophony of traffic outside their apartment window, drunk office workers bickering about the latest gossip around the office, her stomach grumbles at the sweet aroma of curry simmering in the kitchen, and Kirari feels at home. Her legs are stretched out in front of her, toes wriggling freely as she balances the laptop on her knees. Her glasses feel a bit crooked, but they have to wait another week or so before she can fix them.

But it doesn’t matter, because tonight, she has a bigger project on her hands, and she can see the way Ririka is already worrying her hands into her white apron.

“What are you doing?” her sister asks and peers over curiously at the laptop screen. Her face blanches just a tad as she scans the article.

Kirari can’t help giggling at the response. “Sayaka is coming next week. I thought

I’d do something nice, but I’m… having a bit of trouble.”

“You two are dating... right…?”

She nods, and keeps scrolling through the page. More social plays. Indirect confessions, gauging the other person. However, it just seems like Kirari skipped a few steps. She never has to worry about Sayaka not being receptive, because she must be. Yet… she keeps pulling up to that second step. The types of love. She doesn’t have many examples. She loves Ririka, for instance. Familial love. But she doesn’t know if the word sits right on her tongue the way it does anyone else.

She doesn’t recall ever saying the word before. At least not like that. She doesn’t recall saying it to her mother, her grandmother, to cousins, to pets, to Sayaka. It isn’t something that…

Ririka is stepping away, but the impulse comes to mind. “Hey, Ririka?” Kirari calls after her, enough to give her older twin some pause.

“Yes?”

Should she look at her when she says it? Would it be more natural? Kirari doesn’t quite make it, instead focusing on the small counter behind her, filled with calendars, homework, bills, and dates. Things to remember for later. The words however, come out easily enough-- even as they feel a bit weird on her tongue.

“I love you,” she says.

Ririka looks slightly disturbed. That didn’t seem right either. Is it really that odd to hear her say it?

“I think you’re supposed to say it back,” Kirari suggests.

Her twin still hesitates, as if testing the word for herself-- seeing how it tasted, if it really fit how she feels. She’s learning how to wear her heart better on her sleeve, and Kirari enjoys seeing it. They are two people now, and though love fitted them before now, it molds itself more naturally in her vocabulary.

Yes. She loves Ririka. She is her twin, her lifeline since she was a child and even now, when sometimes it still feels like the world is ready to swallow her whole and drown her in its murky depths.

“I… I love you too?” Ririka squeaks, though it comes out mostly as a question. It works for now, and truthfully, Kirari finds a bit of comfort in the fact that it’s foreign for them both. They are two people now, but something about their commonalities warm and comfort Kirari all the same. She still plays games, has dumb jokes, and sighs and grumbles whenever Kirari doesn’t think. It’s now that it’s only two of them, they can just be that.

Kirari always loved Ririka, but now especially, it doesn’t hurt to call her sister.

--

She’s known for a while, of course, but perhaps Kirari didn’t have a word for it right away. Fascination was a safer word. It sparked academic interests-- thoughts and feelings more akin to objectivism than the more dangerous realms of subjectivity and the heart. When she puts it like that now though, it feels… sterile-- a dry taste on her tongue, better suited for Terano’s voice, her speeches. Or maybe her midterm paper.

It started and ended with the tower. It always did. She knew the name she wanted for them when she fell, but it was a taste that she was familiar with long before then, a certain sweetness that watered her mouth, like fresh fruit in blistering hot summers. Her eyes had darted and memorized the resume with a rejuvenation she had never known, never felt, and from it, the first loops of a love letter began to form in her mind.

But she hadn’t known how to write a love letter, nor the word for her fascination, so instead, she constructed a tower, and let it loom over the entire school-- a beacon of her obsession and tether to this new humanity that encroached on her heart.

(She still has the deed to that piece of land. She keeps it locked tight in a small safe underneath her bed, along with other traces of the old life she left behind. The only two things she ever needs constantly are the things she has already. Ririka. Sayaka.)

(Sometimes the other things still come back. Sometimes the nightmares don’t stop. But there’s either warm arms around her in the morning, or a welcoming, defrosting smile waiting for her in the kitchen-- Ririka’s breakfast. Soft. Perfect.)

She could’ve told Sayaka after the fall, when she looked so divine in the shimmering moonlight, eyes shining and glistening. In a way, Kirari did? But it wasn’t… it wasn’t the same, was it?

Sayaka never does well with metaphors. Despite the constant reminder of this, Kirari seems to constantly forget. It’s easier to slip into those ideas and actions that she knows well-- a double-speak that was necessary in the clan, at the school. If a truth isn’t at least a half-lie, then its free information-- and information never should be free.

Sayaka is an open book, but the language is one she doesn’t understand just yet. She’s learning though, slowly. She prefers her glasses in the morning, she prefers earthy teas, and she fidgets without anything to do. Waiting is an action to her, but to have nothing planned is permission for her to fiddle. Sometimes that’s organizing and cleaning the apartment (much to Ririka’s chagrin, when it takes weeks afterward to find everything), sometimes it’s studying the big law books-- a few extra copies making a neat stack on the coffee table. Kirari isn’t sure what to do with them now that her entrance exam is done, but Sayaka keeps insisting on keeping them in case she needs the books again.

She puts things to reuse and cherishes what luxuries she can afford. It’s a skill that Kirari is learning, slowly but surely. She recycles, she’s started cooking lessons with Ririka, and though she loathes to do it, she puts more focus on what they need versus the excess and statements that she enthralled herself with growing up.

But Kirari has grown to enjoy parts of it-- beautiful aspects that were easy to forget when she was richer and more pressured. Acts of love, self-sacrifice. Coupled with rarer appearances, even the smallest of actions seem to carry a heavier weight.

It started with a picnic.  Early spring, with the white lilies in full bloom, petals fluttering in the warm breeze. Her nose itched from the pollen as she laid on a dark blanket and observed the open blue sky, cloudless and empty. The looming tower was the solitary object in her vision, the lone door they dove out of just the barest outline from so far below.  On a whim, she outstretched her hands, framing the door between her fingers. What would it have looked like from down below? Two girls in the throes of their own madness, plummeting to their supposed deaths.

“Pres-- Kirari!”

Ah. She hadn’t been used to the name yet. Kirari smiled still, letting her hands drop lazily back on the blanket and patted the empty spot next to her. “The weather really is beautiful.”

“You… you just graduated. Shouldn’t you be--”

“Who’s going to kick me out?”

Sayaka relented and piece by piece, she laid down next to her, shoulders stiff and an uncertain fidget as she observed the clear sky above them. It may have been moments, maybe hours. Kirari counted the breaths shared between them, memorized the warmth that spread where their fingers and hips brushed, and allowed herself to consider what forever would look like just like this. The thought was dizzy, unclear, always is, but it was a thought that was hers . A thought that no one could ever, ever take again.

Not even the girl that held that dream in her hands without even knowing, even as Sayaka had continued to fidget next to her, thoughts elsewhere as they always were. Now? She’s better about it, but some days--

“Are you nervous?” Sayaka had asked, though better for herself than Kirari.

“No,” she spoke evenly, “I know you’ll find me when you need me.”

“And--”

Kirari found her hand, fingers twisting and tangling in the sheet below them and tangled them with her own hand instead. She squeezed firmly, once, and tried to take in the softness along her rough pads, knowing that it would be empty come tomorrow. “I always need you.”

--

And she always does.

So Kirari tries to include her in other ways. They text more frequently now, and sometimes when Sayaka visits, they spend half the time just working on homework and studying. She tells herself it’s normal and that’s okay too. The classes don’t challenge her as much as she would like though, and sometimes her mind drifts. Kirari thinks about fish, thinks about the smaller aquarium she has in the apartment, what her and Ririka will learn how to cook tonight. There’s supposed to be a raid, and she thinks Sayaka is free for once to lend a hand. Thank goodness, but Kirari is a shit healer.

Her mind finds the article when it does wander though, and still, she has to consider everything that’s come before and now. She missed the chance to confess when the election ended, she missed it on her graduation day, and distressingly enough, Kirari missed it when they had their first anniversary just a few months ago.

It was pleasant. She had saved her money through the last couple of weeks before it to take Sayaka to an expensive restaurant downtown-- seafood. Kirari had gifted her a pendant necklace-- a heirloom she had stolen from her clan back when she was leaving it. … Still in the midst of leaving it she supposes.

Though Kirari didn’t have the funds (Sayaka would be terribly upset if she spent the money on her instead of fixing the very minor crook in her glasses of all things), she has to wonder if there is something that could create a moment for them. Not so unlike the picnic between them, a gesture so simple but still stikes at where Kirari needs it.

… Sayaka did just finish her entrance exam. The results wouldn’t be posted yet, but perhaps--

“Igarashi-san?”

It takes her a second, but Kirari is learning to get used to that too. She stands obediently, and feels relieved at the lack of curious, bewildered stares. No one blinks at her name. No one recognizes her face. She is just a classmate, a figure in the crowd. But she wonders, if she had kept the Momobami moniker, would they?

“Could you read the next two paragraphs for us please?”

Kirari speaks loudly and clearly, even as her mind continues to wander. It’s a habit she can’t break from high school, unfortunately. She can’t help it, really. Whatever they read today will be a distant memory, foggy shapes once she’s turned to bed for the evening. Instead, she remembers the way she heard that name the first time.

Sayaka doesn’t know. If she was better about herself, she would admit she’s embarrassed. But she likes the way it sounds next to her name. Kirari Igarashi. It doesn’t remind her of peaches rotting in trees, of drowning. It’s a name that’s hers, and Sayaka’s too.

One day, she’d like it to be legally hers. For now, a few forged papers for her college admissions let her live the fantasy.

--

Kirari knows the man that moved next door to them. He’s smart enough to keep gloves on his hands, hiding the brand permanently etched on his skin, but he doesn’t know enough to keep the weighty recognition out of his eyes as they cross paths in the apartment hallways.

She doesn’t bring it up to Terano when she calls her later, even as she makes plans to meet her. They know Kirari still has a foot in the doorway, just in case the clan tries something again.

The next time she sees him, Kirari waves. He ignores it.

--

They always meet in public. Kirari isn’t sure that’s for her own sake, or more for the sake of Terano’s pride. It’s a routine at this point-- Kirari dangles a particularly juicy carrot, one Terano can’t ignore as she works to repair the damage, and Kirari asks for a favor fitting the price. A public space allows Kirari escape routes, and it allows Terano to have watchers-- in case something goes wrong. Kirari counts the heads that look just slightly out of place, the ones that take a second too long to look away when she sits down.

They never meet at the same restaurant, but Kirari learns that Terano has a habit. She likes coffee, the way the beans reek and leak out of the store out into the open patio. Terano always orders it black, and uses careful sips to disguise her nervous pauses. She’s changed little in the year, now with a weary weight to her eyes that Kirari is all too familiar with.

Kirari settles with a chai tea, because sometimes the thick aroma is enough to distract her from the two very ugly things around her: coffee and bad company.

Today is no different. They’re closer to Shibuya, a dizzying circle of subway stations and commuters that dizzy Kirari some ways and fascinates her in others. Now that her aquarium is more reasonable, she occupies her time observing people like the fish. The commuters and works walk their perfectly etched paths with few variations or changes. If she tries hard enough, she can recognize a few-- those that share the same path she does. If she tries hard enough, she could tell what days they stopped to grab coffee themselves, or which ones had some skeletons in the closet that they weren’t trained as a child to keep secret like Kirari did.

But Kirari is supposed to be normal now, so she doesn’t try that hard most of the time. Terano never thinks she’s trying enough.

She sits down on cold iron chairs, swallows the bile down at the thick smell of coffee beans, souring her mouth, and offers a placid smile to Terano. Something more familiar to both of them. “Good to see you, Terano,” Kirari lies.

“Stop calling me,” Terano snipes. Always straight to the point. “Every time you call me, I keep thinking I was better off just killing you.”

Kirari chuckles and marvels at how her cousin’s eyes trail the white envelope naturally as she pulls it out of her jacket pocket. It’s much plainer than the old calligraphy that was drilled into them both, and she prefers it. “You could never pull the trigger,” she teases in return, naturally. “Do you have it?”

Terano scowls, deeper than usual, but she still digs through her suitcase. What she pulls out is an envelope with sleek black, sealed with clan kanji that she hasn’t seen in months. Something inside her sinks, but Kirari knows that’s the purpose behind it. She wishes she could shake the feeling. Instead she lets herself tread along the surface. Breathing room.

“She passed. That really shouldn’t surprise you.” And yet, Kirari releases the breath she didn’t know she was holding. Even as Terano continues, uses slim fingers to slide the cruel reminder of things she doesn’t want anymore, Kirari feels relieved. “Top score. The pre-law department has been busy trying to make sure the offer’s good. They’re worried someone might leak the score to other schools.”

And Terano hesitates. “... The name she’s attached to--”

“It’s not real anymore.” She feels the smooth paper against her own rough palms, and feels how her appetite drains with each inch that she feels. It stings, it burns -- a heat Kirari so desperately tries to ignore as she stuffs the envelope in her pocket for safekeeping. Later, she will smooth out the creases and take in each letter of approval. University of Tokyo. With her. The warmth will be better then. Light.

Terano swallows. “... Igarashi?”

Her smile blooms at the word. Terano doesn’t say it with the gravity it deserves, but in a way, Kirari appreciates it. She wants her to be hesitant. Uncertain of something that never belonged to the clan. It is hers. It is her and Sayaka’s.

“It has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

Her eyes trace upward, to silver hair, no doubt too bright in the open sun. Kirari likes to think that Terano is trying to observe her for the first time. Not with the chains around her neck, of that nightmare of Momobami. She grew so tired of it choking her, and though there’s still bruises, some maybe too deep to heal, she’s free.

Only once, Terano swallows her pride. “The short hair suits you.”

--

“Are you sure about this?”

Sayaka threaded her fingers through as if handling something far more precious. Perhaps like sand through her own hourglass, dreading cutting those seconds and years away with a clean shear. Kirari’s eyes slid closed as Sayaka worshipped. Sometimes she misses those mornings where Sayaka would carefully braided silver tresses, looping them with finesse that Kirari could never perfect on her own.

“I need something new,” and she looked up, offering a smile only shared between them. “I know I can trust you to pick something that suits me.”

Sayaka hummed carefully, and through her reflection in the mirror, she could see how furrowed and frustrated she looked. Eyes dark and frown deep. She knew how deeply she was thinking, and the idea of what Sayaka would come up with thrilled her. With gentle hands, Sayaka brushed her hair back, letting it pool behind the chair.

The glean in her eyes was remarkable. “I won’t disappoint you, Kirari,” Sayaka said with stark conviction, leaving a kiss to the back of her head before she began her work.

It took some time and experimentation, but Kirari loves the freedom. They have time to decide what they want. What Kirari wants. The bob cut took some getting used to, but she loves the way it fans against her cheeks when she hunches over notebooks or her laptop. She loves the way that when her and Sayaka are sleeping, Sayaka’s still finds her hands tangled in her hair.

Kirari is in love. She’s always been in love.

--

There’s an extra pair of shoes. Mary’s here. The relationship between her and Ririka confuses her. Mary is all spitfire, physical brushes and jerks. She’s careless and unapologetic with her touches. Perhaps it appeals to Ririka in some sense, that someone would be so comfortable with themselves after spending so long hiding behind a mask like a tortoise shell.

Mary is stretched out on their couch, blonde hair drawn back in a loose ponytail, tied in silk black ribbon. The hum out of her pursed lips is almost contagious as she scrolls through her phone, completely at ease in a space she would have shied away from before. Kirari likes to think that it’s Ririka’s influence, and she’s grateful too, that they seem to be happy together. She just isn’t sure how it works.

Kirari has seen them together of course. Ririka shies away from more overt affection when Mary first arrives, but she gets used to the affection, she sees her grow more into herself. Back to the agonizing babysitter in many respects. She remembers how openly Mary gaped when Ririka admonished Kirari for the first time in her company, and Kirari thinks that was when she realized how serious they were.

But she doesn’t know how they don’t find that constant dance exhausting. And that’s not even including the love mess. Ririka is just as lost by the terminology. She hardly ever makes the first move.

“Where’s Ririka?” Kirari asks in way of greeting as she crosses the threshold into the living room. Their coffee table is starting to lean in the weight of the big law books. There’s a fern plant that needs watering, and the window is open to the busy streets below. She smells noodles at the shop down the street; salty. Maybe they have the extra cash to grab a bowl this evening.

Mary doesn’t look away from her phone, disinterested as ever. “Grocery shopping. She wanted me to wait for you.”

“That’s nice.”

She puts the phone to sleep and sits up, allowing Kirari the space to sit. As Kirari takes her seat, she realizes Mary is wearing perfume and tries to bite back her smile. “I’d like to ask you something,” Kirari says as she sits there, stiffly.

“I’m gonna regret saying yes, aren’t I?”

“Has Ririka said ‘I love you’ yet?”

The way Mary chokes immediately at the question is fascinating as she lurches back, covering her mouth with her hands. The red of her cheeks fits her blond better than Ririka’s silver, but no less amusing. “ What? ” Mary croaked out.

“Has she?”

“Th-This isn’t any of your business!”

“What would you consider romantic enough for such a confession?” She turned closer to her, legs crossed, and studies the way Mary squirms underneath the questioning. There’s something lovely how uncomfortable both her and Ririka could be. “I was considering a devotion day of sorts. People like Ririka and Sayaka need someone to remind them to relax, don’t you think? Breakfast in bed, a nice walk in the park perhaps, and … how do I bring it up?”

“ Shut up, Kirari!”

“Have you said it to Ririka yet? How did you--”

“SHUT UP,” and Mary latches onto her collar tight with clammy red hands, stretching the fabric and shaking her violently. Kirari’s head thumps with the way it rocks back and forth, but really, she thinks the headache is more internal. She wishes Mary could be more honest, but perhaps they’ll learn to do that in time.

--

Some days, it hurts.

It hurts worse than any word Kirari can describe.

But for the first time in her life, she feels like she doesn’t have to be alone to deal with it.

--

Sayaka gets in late, and as they take the dizzying concrete pathways back to Kirari’s apartment, her eyes are already drooping and Kirari spends more time holding her up than actually walking there. She’s learned how to relax a bit more now that they don’t use secretary or president . It’s just them. Sayaka and Kirari. It’s a thought that bubbles pleasantly. Like champagne simmering below. When Sayaka is here, Kirari never stops smiling.

She’s grown too. Sayaka has never stopped training, and she feels muscle as she holds her weight, the weight of a taser in her pocket. Some habits never die. The same time they settled on a good haircut, Sayaka started wearing her own in a high bun with long dark banks framing her beautiful, perfect face. The scratches never completely faded, and Kirari has to stop herself from counting the scratches as she guides them.

“Did you sleep at all?” Kirari teases gently.

Sayaka stifles a yawn, but she doesn’t pull away to save face. “I wanted to make sure everything went well.”

It doesn’t surprise her, but there’s nothing disappointing about it either. Kirari is learning the language, even as it evolves and starts using words that used to be just hers. Sayaka is a book-- her favorite book. She thinks of it like one bound by old parchment and illustrations painted with beauty and dedication. A marvel of detail that frames each chapter in ways that could never be replicated again.

They collapse in bed together as soon as they make it, and Kirari welcomes the extra weight. She welcomes the warmth molded against her. She welcomes the fingers tangled in her hair and the butterfly kisses against her cheeks and lips.

Sayaka shows her love most here, and it’s moments like this that Kirari cherishes most.

--

The date hits a snag immediately when Kirari wakes up to an empty space next to her and the digital clock reading 11:30. She smells Earl Grey and eggs from the cracked door, enticing her to crawl out of the residual warmth of her bed and further into the reaches of the apartment. If she closes her eyes and concentrate, she can hear a light hum, carefully content.

She wants to listen to the melody longer, but she knows Sayaka doesn’t like the breakfast to get cold. Kirari gets up in starts and pauses, fumbling for her slightly crooked glasses and old sweatshirt and pants. She keeps her feet bare because she likes the feel of her toes against ground that’s hers. She yawns and she looks less than perfect. And that’s okay.

Sayaka’s eyes find hers as Kirari wanders into the kitchen, and something catches her by the warm smile. It curves her eyes, black hair wild and fussed from the way Kirari clings to her in her sleep. She’s wearing a t-shirt and shorts, bare legs twitching off and on in a nervous fidget. She pours the tea with a practiced perfection, steam billowing and clouding both of their glasses in the tight space.

“Good morning,” Sayaka says and the smile stretches just a wider, and all too sudden--

“I love you,” Kirari blurts. It’s not perfect, not even close to perfect. They both look like a mess, Sayaka’s dark circles under her eyes after months and months of studying and preparing. Kirari’s hair is tangled and fussed, make-up smeared across her face. But it slips out like a waterfall, one that Kirari can never hope to stop.

She doesn’t realize the tea cup slips out of Sayaka’s fingers until it cracks on the floor, and like a startled rabbit, Sayaka jumps back-- eyes owlishly wide and flabbergasted. Kirari isn’t sure if this is the reaction wants.

“... What?”

Kirari hesitates. “Is… was that a bad time?”

Sayaka cries and Kirari is never, ever sure what to do when it happens. She isn’t sure Sayaka knows what to do when she does either, because rather than responding, she starts bending down to pick up the broken ceramic. By the third piece though, her hands start shaking as the phrase hits her, and almost as if on instinct, her hands start gravitating toward her eyes to cover her tears.

Kirari takes them instead. A quick snatch up and a squeeze tight. She wishes it was to comfort the poor woman, but she wouldn’t-- “Careful. Wouldn’t want you to blind yourself, my dear Sayaka.”

“I’m sorry, I just--”

“Is it weird?”

“No! Never. I…” And her eyes well up again. “... I love you too.”

She kisses once. Forehead. Then along the curvature of one brow. She lets the small touches calm Sayaka down. The ceramic can be picked up later. The tea can be remade, and while the eggs probably couldn’t be salvaged, there’s always another time. She’ll send a better note later, especially after Kirari wakes up one morning to her glasses perfect and the tea cup replaced, but for now, she chooses to cherish the warmth between them.

It’s only one of many first steps in their lives. Kirari doesn’t mind waiting a bit longer for more.

#kakegurui #kirasaya #kirari momobami #sayaka igarashi #fanfiction #fanfic #kiwicrossposts

[ephemerlskies]

in the stars tonight | pjm

⇢ pairing: jimin x reader

[other members - seokjin, taehyung, namjoon]

⇢ genre: series, ANGST, enemies to lovers au, actor!jimin, actor!oc, (eventual) fluff if you squint

⇢ word count: 8.4

⇢ genre: Landing a role that might launch your entire career as an actor had come with the most unpredictable and daunting circumstances: grappling with the tragic loss of your boyfriend, Namjoon, and co-starring in a film with the vexing yet enchanting (and famous), Park Jimin.

⇢ warnings: explicit language, themes of grief/loss, themes of depression, (many) mentions of death, mentions of driving under the influence (please stay safe!!), themes of alcoholism, themes of escapism, mentions of alcohol, mentions of marijuana, unhealthy coping mechanisms, lots of internal dialogue with one deceased boyfriend, arguing/bickering, seokjin being seokjin, eventual love triangle (ish) feud

♪ playlist: dynamite - bts, move! - niki, saint nobody - jessie reyez, through the night - iu, ilomilo - billie eilish, the truth untold - bts, slow dancing in the dark - joji ♪

╰ series index: 01 | 02 (coming soon)

a/n: i, and i cannot emphasize this enough, can't believe this came out of me.... it was just a lil idea in my head, but then it expanded into this entire story that was way too long to fit into a one shot. so, here's me serving up a hot plate of enemies to lovers with a generous side of angst and longing!!! i hope y'all enjoy (and hate) arrogant jimin as much as i did hehe <3 ps i have no idea how long i want this series to be i'm lowkey winging it

The world does not slow down for anything. Not for catastrophes or miracles or even something as devastatingly common as death.

When your boyfriend of three years, Namjoon, lost his life due to another's drunken mistake, you realized this. The world revolves on a scheduled orbit, and not even your tragedy wedged a wrench big enough to halt life just a moment. Just to let you breathe and grieve without feeling left behind. However, you were left behind, both by the world and him.

Every sun and moon, every skipped meal, every unfulfilled rain-check, every isolated Saturday night, and every cancelled audition that came as quickly as they left paid tribute to this merciless phenomenon. It seemed you now existed just to watch the days pass, just to balefully relive the moments before Namjoon's passing. And that seemed to have been the only way you could have survived. To make a recluse of yourself because if the world was careless enough to let someone as amazing as him go, then what held it back from spilling even more wreckage into your life? For the past six months, you stuck to the cold, dead past. It was all you had to hold onto; letting go meant plummeting into a depth far too unknown and inescapable.

You and Namjoon were steadfast. You were still steadfast, or more appropriately, stuck now that you had no one to be loyal to anymore.

You and him were one of those couples other people saw and wished they could replicate into their own lives, but when it came down to it, rooted for your happy ending with him. The type similar to that of highschool sweethearts who beat the odds, or the type whose encounter fell along the silver lines of fate. Something beautiful that automatically made all the love poems authenticated by you and him. And when he held you, the idea of worry or evil seemed like concepts that did not exist past fictional tales. So warm, so loving, now gone.

The way in which you and Namjoon grew over the three years you were able to love him was in a convergent manner.

Your branches and vines were woven into his, and his into yours. Even your roots, the elements of your past, began to entangle beneath the soil. To root between each other meant there had been a foundation from which you grew, a stability that was once neat. There was no boundary of which would discern your life from his. And at one, more favorable, point in time, your life did belong to him. Namjoon was someone you only knew for a mere fraction of your life, however the moment he wandered into it, you had unlearned how to continue without him.

You didn't think you would have to relearn.

But then one decision forced you to do so. One person, who decided paying fifteen bucks for an Uber was not a wise enough investment, ripped out the plant of his body from your shared soil by means of inebriated judgment and a missed red light. You had no choice but to absorb the cruel sustenance of the sun completely alone. Most of your branches of life were left barren, with torn twigs where your body once borne fruit and leaves and beauty. But the roots were where most of the pain inhabited. A stubborn, sharp ache resided in your chest, deep enough that you might have had to be cut open and searched through to find the source.

It had been six months of 'Sorry for your loss' and 'Gone too soon' and your personal least favorite 'He's in a better place now'. It made you angry, because was there a place better for him that didn't have you in it? How could anyone know what was better for him when they didn't experience something as tender and gentle and loving as your relationship?

But none of the sympathetic smiles or half-hearted condolences made you quite as angry as the monster who was too selfish to call someone to drive them and consequently punctuating the eternity you were meant to spend with Namjoon. You always followed the virtue that an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind. Forgiveness was a sweeter release than anything else, but if you could, you would take that drunk driver's life in a heartbeat. You would have gauged out your own eyes if the chance fell into your reach.

Though, no matter how hard you screamed at the universe for hurting you, despite the countless pleas to somehow retrospectively tell Namjoon not to go out for something as trivial as toothpaste so he might be alive today, holding your hand in this waiting room, telling you that you're going to do great, you knew the world wouldn't stop for you or your sorrow.

It revolves, waits for no one, and you had to pace yourself to jump back into the turning carousel of life.

"___. We're ready for you!" His voice was ten notches above a volume that wouldn't irritate you. The only hint you let slip that his tone made you want to throw this script at his crotch was the muted sigh.

You knew this audition was going to play out like the rest. They would ask you to read, stop you in the middle of your monologue, then say something like 'Thank you for your time, we'll get back to you soon' which was show business code for 'We are not giving you the role'. The only reason you were here was because you had been out of work for too long, the piles of overdue bills on your kitchen table a cruel reminder of that. Plus, you knew Namjoon would have told you to go.

He would have said something like, 'Get your lazy ass out of bed and go to that audition! You don't want Hollywood to miss out on a star just because you want to sleep in fifteen more minutes'. And it would have worked. It always had. Now, the only motivation that came to your aid was the echo of his voice, and even that had begun its slow descent into forget. Other than that, guidance of your own volition was as fleeting and disarrayed as a violent wind.

"Hi, my name is ___, and I will be auditioning for the lead. Jordan." Your hand must have been fielding its way through a nervous tick. The person you assumed was the director was eyeing the way it had been contorting at your side, and you hated showing that you were nervous.

"Perfect! We've already casted the other lead role. This audition will mostly be based on whether we think you'll have good chemistry with him." Him. So your possible running mate was a man. Before a list of names engraved on rows of stars cemented into the Hollywood walk of fame ran through your head, you lifted the script and collected all the air your lungs would allow.

Maybe, you thought, my courage and passion might come with it.

And when you opened your mouth, something magical that you credited to talent claimed sovereignty over your body. Now, you were Jordan. Jordan didn't have a dead boyfriend, now ex boyfriend, or luggage enough grief to sink a depression into the crust of the Earth. Jordan was a kind, low-energy, and sentimental artist coming into an age of overwhelming success and fortune —and love.

That's what alluded you in acting. For a moment, you could escape your life, leave your pain on the back burner while you emerged into someone who was unacquainted with the pain of losing the love of your life. It was akin to a drug, administering an intoxicating fill of temporary serotonin. Instant relief, and if you got this job you would have your fix of this twisted sort of high that tempered the Namjoon-sized void in your life. And Jordan's life definitely seemed to have, quite literally, all the things yours lacked.

"Wow, ___, was it? That was absolutely incredible!" The hand-covered whisper that followed this appraisal gave you time to begrudgingly peel of the Jordan mask. Within a half second, all the pain seemed to compound into your body. If you hadn't already shaped your entire life around that weight, you would have fallen over. Though you had done this, and even worse, you had been shouldering it for so long, you would have felt naked without such a burden. "Okay, well, we have a few more auditions but I think we have our Jordan! We'll send your manager the full script along with the schedule for the first week of shooting in about two weeks."

"Uh-" If you had not said something quick, the opportunity might have slipped away all too fast, the way Namjoon had. You vowed to grab hold of anything remotely good that arose into your life, giving you more than late nights of choked sobs and transfixed gazes out of half-curtained windows. This offer was clutched tightly in your fist. "Oh... Th- thank you! Thank you! Fuck, thank you so much. This means so much to me, thank you!"

Before you proliferated the meaning of the words thank you and the director's smile turned into rolled eyes, you stumbled your way out of the door. Waiting on the other side was a world that might strike against you with partially docile cruelty. The wind pressed against your skin, almost blowing away all your grief with the help of this successful audition.

That feeling, as always, was as comforting as it was fleeting. Because the scars of your past would not have budged for any brash current. Because your next thought disrupted the scant flourish of joy. It was the thing that came easier and sooner to you than eating and blinking; telling Namjoon any news of both good and bad ranks, sharing your life to celebrate or stress over. One of the many things that remained by an undissolvable adhesive along your mind. You tried to soak it away with liquor or smoke it out with weed, but there was no breaking of habits you loved almost as much as Namjoon.

I did it, Joon. I landed my first role. You thought, because that was the closest you could have gotten to relaying the news.

Your heart began to physically hurt. Heartaches were literal in your case. Literal and grim. You felt the grip of loss pierce its sharp thorns into your flesh. It had nearly been as painful as all the times your words were met to deceased ears, speaking to someone that had not belonged to you anymore. Six months had passed and pain cannot tell time in the way people can. So, you knew the marathon of your grief was one that followed its own metaphorical clock. You just had to keep running in hopes you could make it out alive.

Though, being Jordan for the next six months would help momentarily satiate your grief. If there were a remote for your emotions, this role would be the mute button. Your pain would still move as it usually would, but now it would be silent. You wouldn't have to listen to its unforgiving taunts and crippling obscenities. It was only just that you were paid reparations for six months of utter misery with six more months of narcotic, soundless distractions.

Two Weeks Later

If the universe had given you one good thing, it was skill and dedication to your craft. The script was memorized in just short of four days, and even a sizable amount of lines of the other characters had been stacked atop your memory. Doing an acceptable job at this role wasn't something that was worried you. In fact, the idea of wearing another's life on your body and on your heart was something you looked forward to. 

It was a bit difficult to convince yourself how good this natural born gift was when the universe took something that felt a thousand times more crucial to your existence. Acting, or anything else that planted joy in you, was a consolation prize for merely participating in life. Namjoon was the reward you were meant to win in the end.

And you had no idea what the hell to do when the prize becomes in all of the sense of the word unattainable.

You hadn't driven in six months, despite the run-down Honda parked in front of your street, desperate to be given some sort of purpose. It was too much. Ever since the accident, the idea of manning a wheel that could take away more than it could ever offer was a responsibility you felt entirely too daunted to assume. Even though seat hogs, missed busses, and overcrowded walkways had been inconveniences of an indescribable level, it wasn't enough to put your body into the same vehicle that derailed your life.

Luckily, the bus stop was only three blocks away from the studio. It gave you plenty of time to get into character, however it also nestled in a span of time for Namjoon's voice to filter in and out through running your lines.

He talked to you a lot. As much as it made you want to cry, you held onto it, feeling as though it might be the last of his voice you'd be able to recall. If Namjoon's internal commentary were to suddenly disperse, you might forget his voice entirely. And you wouldn't admit this to anyone else, but you would always answer back. Sometimes out loud, and sometimes, when company forced you into sanity, you responded mentally. It kept you separate from life and any form of interaction with actual people, but it felt better than living in a world without him. Additionally, it helped keep his voice alive, which when you thought about it, was such sick irony. His voice, alive, his heart and mine and soul, dead.

And that was the only downside to acting. When there was another mind you had to engage in, Namjoon couldn't have broken the barrier and his voice wouldn't even register as an echo. Perhaps that was why you waited so long to dive back into your job. It felt synonymous with betrayal to do anything that would sever your connection already hanging by a single, fragile thread.

"___? Hello?" You were immune to every condescending gesture or vernacular weaponized in Hollywood by now. Your makeup artist's snaps fell into the base of annoyance you had grown used to. "Did you hear me? You're all ready."

Her voice wasn't too abrasive. If anything, you should be the one apologizing for dazing in and out of consciousness. Though, Namjoon's sweet compliments about how beautiful you looked with your stage makeup should have been the one to acquire this remorse.

"Sorry. I'm, uh, tired. Not used to waking up at six in the morning quite yet."

"Well, get used to it, or you'll have a rough few months ahead of you." Her laugh had shed whatever shell of pretentiousness once veiled her previous impression. "I'm Nayeon, by the way. I've heard many great things about you, ___. Let's hope you live up to the hype."

Nayeon's nudge was friendly, and it comforted you that within the first day you hadn't pissed off the person who could easily turn your face clown-like with a few heavy strokes of her brush. She was beautiful, too. If she hadn't been dressed in a black T-shirt strewn with foundation and powder stains, then you would have mistaken her for an actress.

"Let's hope so... I guess the director was selling me better than myself." Your eyes scanned the area, though no one seemed a fitting candidate to be your lead. "So, who's the other lead?"

"Park Jimin. I'm surprised they didn't tell you yet. I guess it's some obscure, artistic director decision to keep you in the dark. I’m lowkey fangirling right now… But, don't tell anyone that." Before you could respond, let alone react, Nayeon had collected all the products she needed for her next subject and was about a yard away from you. "Good luck, rookie!"

Park Jimin. You've definitely heard of him, but it surprised you that someone like him accepted a role in a romantic, indie, coming of age film that had not the budget to pay half of what he usually made in his repertoire of previous movies. He was certainly what one would consider an 'A-list' celebrity. The type paparazzi actually cared to stalk, and fans recognized in public, but were too shy to approach due to his sheer intimidation. It hadn't eased your nerves that he was notoriously withdrawn when it came to the behind the scenes portion of shooting a movie.

And, like any decent person, you did your very best to refrain from placing judgments without the opportunity for them to fill in their own narrative. Most of what you ‘knew’ of Jimin had been hearsay. However, you had some hunch Jimin wouldn't qualify as one who labored tirelessly for the roles he had landed or authenticated any sort of compassion with his rising fame.

See, acting and snagging a big role in a movie was characterized as a tall building for you. If one reached the top floor, then they would assume a wealth of opportunities and Oscar nominations and acclimation. Of course, this film industrial structure had various modes of climbing to the top. Some had stairs which called for more excretion and effort but still, all you needed were persistent legs, then each step would eventually get you where you wanted to be.

You had more of a ladder. Each wrung was slanted at an angle of which only deepened your brawl with success and had not been sanded down enough to save you from a generous supply of splinters. After a while, your hands began to ache and the fear that some high-society type would kick the base of your ladder always stalked the forefront of your worries. It certainly had not been a choice means of arrival to whatever awaited you on that top floor, however it was the only one available.

And while you had a ladder to overcome, Jimin had an elevator. The most he'd ever expend to reach that coveted floor was a few presses of a button. And perhaps his only sacrifice would be sharing the elevator with one or two others. Things just worked out for people like him. And an elevator’s delivery was always in a manner that was quicker than the likes of a staircase or a ladder.

When he arrived on set, dragging himself like his own body was a weight he shouldn't have to carry himself, you fought that instinct of yours to assume everything you needed to know from him.

Just because he's wearing sunglasses inside doesn't mean he's some arrogant asshole, even if that is the most cliché character trait of one. This internal lecture was certainly of Namjoon's doing, since he was always one to never run out of allotting the benefit of the doubt.

Yeah, I guess. But, come on, he looks like a fucking idiot. You replied as if he were really there before walking up to the callous man with your gauntlet thrown down by default. No need getting on Jimin's bad side, because you were sure it's complement was being blacklisted from the film industry. Instead of sharp edges you offered him a non-threatening smile and handshake.

Play nice. Namjoon reminded you before you had the chance to decide what you wanted to say.

"Hi! It's such an honor to be working with you. I'm ___." Jimin looked at your hand like you had filled it with mud and were intending on smearing his Gucci jacket, which you assumed was worth more than your monthly apartment rent. "Um, wanna touch base before we start shooting or..."

If his admonished glare at your hand wasn't encouragement enough to retract it back into yourself, then what he said, or more fittingly, what he didn't say next was.

The way his sigh infused a scoff within it made you feel small. It felt like fire, how thoroughly it burned you into a pile of ash, but then it felt like a gust of prickled wind that would scatter your remains completely. If it had not been for the way his head shifted from your head to your toe, you wouldn't have known that his shielded eyes were trailing the length of your body. Such a glare seemed like a calculation of your worth; it must have totaled out to that of a fly he had to swat away because the second you stood on the outside of his peripheries you stopped existing in his world altogether.

His back made a longer impression on you than his eyes, and that was your que to huddle yourself in the corner and stick to the two things you were best at.

Imaginary conversations with Namjoon and rerunning through your already memorized lines.

Before you say anything, I already think he's a prick. It might be pathetic to have instigated theoretical conversations with your dead boyfriend, but the world wouldn't know he would have scolded you first for already constructing an agenda to avoid Park Jimin whenever you could. You just felt an itch to lay down the first word.

You never know, maybe he had a bad day.

Yeah, well people like him don't need to be professional unlike the rest of us. I mean, I'm on the verge of openly conversing with you and I'm the one that has to turn the other cheek? Your script was decorated with a number of wrinkles. Proof that your anger was sleeping from your insides in the form of tightly gripped hands that were pretending to pinch Jimin's skin instead of the script. For once, you felt some grain-sized semblance of luck for having a grasp of acting to pull off pretending to love Jimin.

"Hey." You weren't quite thrilled to meet the person you had imagined pushing down a staircase standing over you. Without his glasses, it was difficult to remember why you had been so angry with him and you hated that. His eyes consisted of more than just irises and pupils, though you would not have been able to place what exactly accompanied these features. They were just eyes, after all, parts of a body. Functional. Mechanical facets of being. And yet, his seemed more than that. More than just sense mechanics. Perhaps beauty. 

But for him to have been beautiful, it would have tainted the very idea of beauty.

"We're about to start shooting. Don't make this difficult, I'm trying to leave on time." 

"Okay... Sure." Those were the two words you substituted for the 'fuck you' itching to crawl from your throat.

"I'm Jimin, but you know that already." The way he spoke was punctuated as though it was a waste of his time to spend any attention on you. If you weren't already drained of your strength from that tube of toothpaste that was some sort of paraphernalia of the night Namjoon became an article of your past, then you would have rolled your eyes or retorted with something that would knock him down a peg.

"I do." Your own weak will bothered you more than Jimin. "Um, I-"

"Let's not." Though he had no idea what you were about to say, a part of you agreed to not even indulge in small talk with him. It would be too forced and uncomfortable and that might leak into your performance on camera. Still, he had an abrasive way of going about it that made you want to disagree with him just to be able to lie contrary to him.

"Fine." It rolled off your tongue easily, like silk. His lingering eyes had you wondering if you somehow impressed him with your passive agreement or insulted him for not groveling for his approval. Either one would have satisfied you.

"Alright! Looks like you two got acquainted. We're jumping right in." The director, Kim Seokjin, was chirpy. Even if this project wasn't necessarily mainstream or highly anticipated, he was the type to salvage all his passion and pour it into anything he created. It comforted you knowing someone other than you found this to be somewhat life changing. "Please, Jimin, ___, on your marks. This is the scene where you two meet, so we're hoping you two can infuse that feeling of being slightly awkward but nevertheless enthralled in each other's presence. Got it?"

"Yessir." You said, and Jimin only produced a nod which seemed generous for him. Fighting the urge to snarl or squeeze your brows together came as a difficulty you had to practice at.

"Slate! Quiet on set..." Seokjin’s voice filled the empty space of the entire studio.

"Scene one, take one." Just as the snap of the slate reverberated through the room, your eyes changed just as abruptly. Your gaze upon the set transformed it into your reality. You looked at Jimin and now saw Laurie, a young soul filled with enough dreams and kindness one could have mistaken him for a cloud; the kind that spoke in loving whispers and gentle caresses. He reminded you a lot of someone else you knew.

You tucked Namjoon's voice away with the rest of your grief and became Jordan.

Amazing things seemed to happen when you least expected them too. You guessed that was the nature of amazing things, for if you expected them then they probably wouldn’t feel so amazing. About halfway through the scene, after a number of cuts, re-shoots, directorial notes, you noticed something. Or more so, this something willed you to notice.

Once you fell into stride with your character, it became easier to pick up on the person acting opposite of you. Maybe you hadn't given Jimin enough credit before. You knew maybe was an understatement, though you felt a sting admitting talent had fallen into his hands just as all his accomplishments had.

Jimin's acting rested on the side most polar to your own. You replicated, he revolutionized. You became your character, shrinking yourself enough so that one wouldn't have been able to tell who you were beyond who you were playing. Jimin, however, made the character his own. There was no minimizing his own body to fit into the mold of the character. Jimin was the mold, and he sculpted the character to fit along himself. He forged his movements, voice, and confidence into whichever role he played and brought life to someone strewn with a signature of his own soul polishing said character. All the while, he was inventive with each intention and emotion that were strung into his lines.

It was difficult to pull this off, being that you could easily begin to just play yourself in a movie and neglect any character mannerisms that you were supposed to portray, however Jimin seems to slip in and out of his role with ease. And with each take, he peppered in more dimensions to a character. He gave meaning and depth to a person constructed onto a paper script until you couldn't believe this person didn't exist in real life.

That was the amazing thing that kept your well-rehearsed lines behind an impermeable wall of reluctant admiration.

What hadn't helped, though seemed to have been timed to a tee to unwind your sensibility, and timing had always worked against you like you had done wrong to it, was the part when Laurie was written to sneak his hand along your waist after Jordan stepped backwards into his body.

His palm felt so warm. So warm that the entire world felt too cold for you to be anywhere but apart from his touch. Then, all your lines spilled from your recollection. He was standing close behind you, the plush of his cheek tickling your ear and sending the entire world away so you and he could reserve this moment just for yourselves.

"Your line." His whisper wouldn't be picked up by the mic, though it had no trouble debilitating the rest of your senses. Did he intend for it to blur any sort of attraction his character felt for you into the life beyond the camera?

The director called cut to the scene, and it felt like a lifetime before you were released from the entrapping heat of Jimin's body. When you spun around, hoping you could at least dig through your throat to pull out a deflated apology, the smirk laced along his lips illustrated every bit of his arrogance and once again shut you up.

From the way his eyebrow was arched, you assumed he must have read your mind. He knew what he did to you, and it reminded you of everything you disliked about Jimin. Presumptuous, prideful in his taunts. It also reminded you that he stood many floors above you in this architectural competition of acting. You were grabbing hold of each wrung as you went, unprepared for something as disarming as Jimin. All he had to do was peer down at the sight of you to make you feel a hundred times lower than him. 

“___? What’s wrong?” You looked over to find Seokjin’s half worried, half irritated expression. 

“No, nothing. Sorry, I just blanked for a second.” Jimin’s snide chuckle at your confession to a faulty performance didn’t help simmer the burn of embarrassment.

"It’s okay, I get it.” The director offered a smile as a peace offering, and since he looked not seven years older than you, it had you assuming he was the laid-back type. “Let's take five. We'll block a few of the scenes and finish the rest of this and we'll call it a day."

You made your nest over at the snack bar. Shoving half of a donut into your mouth had almost resurged your energy. Nayeon made a swift return to pat your face with more powder.

"Hey, you're pretty damn good." You were stuck with a mouthful of donut to null any chance of responding. "Except for when you kinda just shut down at that last scene."

You would have felt embarrassed, or rather more embarrassed than you currently did, if it weren't for the light laugh that followed. All you had to reply with was a shrug.

"I mean, I don't blame you. Jimin's pretty hot and if I were cozying up to him during a scene I'm sure I would also fuck up my lines." Nayeon finished applying whatever touch ups she felt necessary, not without a suggestive eye arch. This either meant she was going to shuffle over to another actor in need of visual repair or she would stay and talk. Her continued monologue advocating for Jimin's talents and good looks proved the latter was what you had in store. "I mean, damn. Also, I'm pretty sure he's got abs under that shirt. So, are you into him? Is that it?”

"It's not like that." The harsh delivery gave an impression contrary to what you said. "I mean, I just... He's just really good at this. I guess I got kinda intimidated."

Normally, you would have sought Namjoon's voice ringing in your head about how you could do this, reminding you how he believed in you. It would have gotten you through the scene however, Jordan didn't know Joon.

"Well, he won an Oscar for a reason, babe." You finished the rest of your donut and begun a prowl for another savory comfort food. "I mean, damn, twenty-five and already winning Oscars and getting nominations. It ain't for nothing."

"Yes, this is helping so much, thank you." You twisted in sarcasm as if that would make you seem any less intimidated. Again, Nayeon laughed off any shroud of roughness coating your words.

"What, do you want me to lie? Is that how you want to start this friendship, with lies?" Her elbow nudged you, and that alone communicated more than the brief exchanges you two shared. Now, you had a friend. Someone else to talk with that wasn't a figment of your own imagination.

Look at you, already making friends. Your smile was not as hidden as you attempted for it to be. Namjoon's little encouragements had that effect on you.

"What's that smile for?"

"Oh, nothing." You scarfed down the mini muffin, turning towards Nayeon. "Just happy my makeup artist goes easy on the blush."

She winked, and you felt ready to be sent back into the throes of this film. You weren't keen on Jimin feeling closer to a competitor than a partner in this project, however if that is how he wanted it to be, you were never one to submit so easily. You were determined to level this playing field, and your communion with victory felt like a well-deserved birthright.

"Thought I told you I wanted to go home on time, rookie." You watched his lips shape such venomous words, since his eyes, the unnamed, nearly beautiful presence, might have sunk you back into that state of speechlessness.

"I take it you're not a method actor, since Laurie is so sweet and you're a fucking ass." It felt good for all of one second before a series of reprimands fueled by none other than Namjoon now had you on the brink of apologizing.

"Feisty, huh?" Again, his lips eased out sharp words as if they would not nick the plump skin as it went.

You hoped Joon had nothing to say about how you were now tracing the lush of Jimin's lips. And yes, it had been six months, though you knew your love-ridden heart had yet to free its hands from grabbing hold of Namjoon, still, the feeling of attraction, no matter how brisk it might have been, felt like you were committing adultery. Adultery, over someone who was dead. You weren't the one who left him behind, and at the same time, you never got that shiny patent of closure. There was no break-up, so perhaps that was an explanation as to why your heart was foolishly stuck in love, never realizing its oath to loyalty was graced upon the deceased. 

You thought of love now, while you were supposed to be getting into character. You thought of the one thing you once had held worn so easily, and now you had been chasing it knowing your legs weren’t enough to catch up.

There was a well in your eyes, supplied by the same source which fossilized a ragged lump in your throat. And you must have blinked twice as many times as you normally would since Jimin's eyebrows met halfway between his forehead as he watched you. Or, more disappointingly, he might have noticed your tendency to grow red in more places than just the whites of your eyes when you were about to cry. Holding those tears in hadn't helped with keeping your skin less flushed.

It frustrated you that he might have noticed, which only twisted you tighter into the verge of crying. You knew it was unlikely that his watchfulness of your pre-breakdown expression was due to a lapse of genuine concern. For all you knew, he was subtracting even more value from your worth, plummeting you into negative integers.

And if you weren't so dedicated to your craft, then you wouldn't have the ardor nor the ability to pull off acting like you loved him.

Nayeon is a good makeup artist, I think you have a thick enough cover of foundation and powder to hide it. That of course, along with any sliver of light in this dark tunnel, had always been attributed to Namjoon. He was the reason you kept going, the reason you had been able to get out of bed to drink a glass of water once in a while, the reason you did not completely break down every time a tube of toothpaste fell into your line of vision. Him and the memorialized voice was what chipped the lump free from your throat and dried your tears before they had the chance to spill.

"What-" Whatever motivated Jimin to ask you something had been gone almost immediately after it sprouted.

"Quiet on set!" There was no way you'd figure out what he was going to say if the director had mandated pre-shooting silence.

The rest of your day went accordingly. Nothing too devastating happened that cleared away the momentum of excitement of this being your first big role. Though, not that you weren't beyond grateful for this chance, you made a chore of reminding yourself to be aware of your good fortune.

And, with the help of a few well-placed improvisations that made you seem somewhat of a visionary in your craft, your previous mistake had been washed with water under the bridge in the director's eyes. It escalated your ego and confidence to watch Jimin scavenge for an unpracticed reaction to go along with the slight details or lines you infused into the scene. At a certain point, you could almost describe him as impressed with your acting. Maybe enough to bump your worth up a few decimals, not that that should be occupying your worries.

"Wow, ___! Look's like we hired the right thespian. Great work! By the looks of it, things will flow easier from here." The director, who you finally felt on a first name basis with, approached with a hug. Though, usually this would have sent red alerts, you could tell Seokjin had no ill intentions of the predatory type. "Also, you two have chemistry, but it's not quite there yet. I want this to be believable. There has to be some real life element of camaraderie if this story is going to be genuine."

"So, what exactly are you asking of us?" Jimin, of course, sounded all but thrilled with whatever Seokjin was suggesting even when it hadn't been specified yet. And though you hadn't expressed it outwardly, this aversion for what Seokjin has been suggesting was shared.

"I don't know, get to know each other? Method acting works usually. I mean, Jared Leto did it for that movie and he seemed pretty crazy." The attention was never yours to claim once Jimin had already pressed his phone to his ear and Seokjin was off reevaluating the shots taken today.

You were alone again. Surrounded by an entire crew and cast, but alone nonetheless. Your version of escapism was never as consistent as you needed it to be. All it took was a moment of stillness for you to drift into some place much darker than your current reality. Jordan was sealed away for now, and you were trapped in your own body. It felt horrible. Being you without the man who loved and cared for such a kindred soul felt no different than writhing in pain. Being you without him was empty. Before long, you might have fallen faint in front of your coworkers.

The only target you could acquire as of now was Jimin, taken away from the world for reasons much less burdensome than your own. Where you had a plight of grief to sift through, Jimin had a phone and most likely a supply of friends to text and busy himself with. Seokjin wanted you to get to know him, try your hand at method acting so to speak, and that was the excuse which allowed you to walk over and try to kindle some sort of conversation.

"Hey, so, uh..." The pause came to no avail, since it seemed as though you could have said nothing at all judging from his reaction. "Hey."

It took a fictitious clearing of your throat and three more seconds of unwavering silence to lure his eyes from his phone.

"What?"

As it had been for this entire day, everything involving Jimin was made to be some sort of challenge. A feat you had to overcome without an ounce of reprieve, just to remain standing.

"Seokjin said we should, like, get to know each other. Or, at least get along. I think that's a good idea." His eyes gave absolutely no clues to anything below the exterior of an expressionless face.

"Why are you trying so hard?" You waited for him to laugh, or even for a laugh of your own to slip and loosen the tension. A laugh to make what he just said a joke, victimless banter, because it would have been wildly insulting if that were the most genuine thing he had said to you all day.

"What the hell does that mean?" Your arms were crossed as if that would keep your heart safe from his cruel tactlessness.

"I'm not taking this shit seriously." He laughed, but it wasn't the one that you wanted previously. It sunk wounds deeper, with such a dull edge too. "It's just a side job so people think I'm humble, or whatever my manager said."

The puzzle began to piece together, it took this admittance from Jimin for the picture to emerge from ambiguity. This movie was some form of damage control for his reputation, and that might be because your accurately placed criticisms of his lackluster humbleness did not stand solitarily. Your big break had been reduced to a convenient plot of image reconstruction. You were familiar with anger, it was one of your trickier stages of grief to surmount, but it still affected you to the same degree as before.

He didn't expect a response. You could gather that much from the way he instantly turned back to his phone, rendering you nonexistent once again. Namjoon would have told you to remain civil. But Namjoon was gone. It hurt to think that way, but if his voice hadn't emerged to mitigate this situation now, then Jimin was yours for the taking.

"You're a fucking ass." It seems brash was the only approach to seize immediate attention from Jimin. His eyes widened as if you had grown twice as large and the vision of you wouldn't fit in his narrowed, judgmental glare. "This may be a joke or a throw away gig for you, but this means a lot to me."

"Wanna back off, Jesus. I only-"

"No, I don't wanna back off. I haven't had the best year, and having a co-star that treats me like shit isn't really helping either. And, I get it, you're some sort of elitist who thinks they earned their success." You scoffed, tethering his eyes with yours as though there were a string tying them together. And with each step closer you took, the knot only secured tighter. "But people like you, men like you, don't do shit to earn where they are. But it's so cute the way you think you did! Truly, it's embarrassing watching you flaunt your ego around like you actually have something to be proud of."

"So it's like that, huh? You know, I was almost starting to respect you." The fact that his delivery suggested this was some sort of badge of honor made him all the more pathetic. You should not have put it past Jimin to boast over paying a fundamental level of respect where it's due.

"Wow," You doused a generous layer of sarcasm over your throat so the words came out so. "Basic human decency? From you? How can I ever repay you for such kindness?”

"I said almost."

"You're pathetic."

"Like you're one to talk."

"Yeah, well at least I don't pretend I'm hot shit." The tip of your shoes finally closed the gap between his. Again, you were snared in his warmth, however it didn't feel as tranquil as before. Now, it was closer to a pot of boiling water, evaporating flesh and bone until you were steam floating along the air, bendable and displayed out thinly.

"You don't pretend because you're just that bad of an actor, huh?"

It suffocated you, being this close with him; the blurry details of his face became sharp this way. His eyes were hypnotically watchful of your lips, preparing for your next gambit. You surrendered only a smirk, hoping it would antagonize him. And you could have sworn standing at the furthest point of the Earth from Jimin wouldn't appease this invasive thronging. The universe had yet to expand wide enough to provide an acceptable distance away from him. Until then, you were left with shallow bouts of breath tasting of metallic hatred, hoping those would alchemize into words that would make you seem more intimidating that you really were.

"Please, I could act circles around you. Your performance is transparent. Anyone with a scope of the basics of acting could see through you."

"Is that so?" You hated how quick you had been to notice his tongue slip along his lower lip. He must have found this delicious, patronizing someone who only had 'friend number five' or 'cashier' as proof of their employment. Jimin was greedy, devouring all the blood spilled from his wounding retorts.

In some perverse way, being the focus of his attention had you feeling fulfilled. Jimin, the man commonly sought after among the demographic of teenagers and middle-aged women. Not only were you proving your merits of qualification to act alongside him, but you had something to prove to yourself. You weren't going to let Jimin push you around without pushing him right back. You were strong enough to fight. It seemed to have come natural to you to enjoy provoking anger in him. It felt as if you were finally accomplishing something that was unattainable to anyone else. 

And even if you wanted to retreat, his gaze guaranteed your obedience. It was a battle, along with every other exchange you have had with him. Even when silence was the only parcel between you two, when the only semblance of noise was heavy, jaded inhales, it felt as though you and he were at wits to gather more air than the other. To see who would fall breathless first.

"You're pathetic." His words hit like physical blows, and you might have had to check for bruises along your ribs and torso from the churning sensation in your stomach.

"If I'm pathetic, I don't know what that makes you." You wanted your rebuttal to feel like fire. You wanted to scorch and sear blisters along his flawless skin for proof of any successful hit. “A privileged boy with enough of daddy’s money to get him any job he wants. But, I’m the pathetic one?”

He appeared unscathed, with one end of his lips rugged upwards, mocking you without needing any of the words to do so. Perhaps he'd gotten the best of you, as you were searching through your arsenal of refutes only to find it overspent. It would not have surprised you to discover his supply of acidic insults piling without a visible dent. 

His eyes looked fully employed in studying you, and you felt disrobed to be under such scrutiny from a stranger. Jimin seemed to have been reading you like words on a page, armed with a twisted smile that was unnervingly addictive, but you tried your hardest to keep your book closed. You didn’t want him to know how weak you really were.

"God, you're so-"

"Oh, great! Both of you are still here." Seokjin's voice reminded you that there was a world of events beyond you and Jimin. For a moment, you had felt secluded into a universe constructed especially for any collateral destruction that might have come of whatever war was about to be waged. "I have some notes for you two. Go home, read, digest, and come prepared tomorrow! I have full confidence in the two of you."

"Thanks." Succinct yet not lacking any tonal sentiment, Jimin got the first word in with the director, leaving you scrambling to find yours.

"Thank you." You were frustrated in how recycled your responses felt after Jimin handled them. Actors like you always fed on scraps of the higher-ups, and they were never as appetizing or filling as you would hope.

"See ya, ___." Your name sounded awful on his tongue, like his voice had filtered out the good parts of it and the waste remained spilling from his lips. Like dirt or decayed flesh, or both, and saying your name was akin to saying a slur.

"Fuck you." Those words couldn't sift through your screwed jaw or muffled throat, but it gave you satisfaction that it had been said in the slightest.

It wasn't until you were halfway to the bus stop that the realization pummeled you down a hole you hadn’t recollected being dredged. That whole time, what might have been the product of a mere ten minutes, was the longest segment you had gone without thinking of him.

It was the most intimately you had ever engaged in a conversation with someone other than the late, imagined voice in your head. And it was the most you've gone without consulting with said voice before speaking. You simply spoke, and listened, and responded; like you were normal. You couldn't tell whether that was good, because maybe you would finally be able to move forward with the world, perhaps catch up with the life you were supposed to be living. But, at the same time, the guilt festering something acrid in the pit of your stomach had you convinced this wasn't entirely sunny skies and bright futures.

"I'm sorry." What frightened you, besides your mental slip to keep the words meant for Namjoon in your head, was the unreturned sound of his ringing through. It took the longest ten seconds of your life for the mental silence to be furtively trimmed by your own train of thoughts.

Jimin had done this to you, that you were entirely sure of. Jimin and his carnivorous tongue and greedy glare had drained your head of its second conscious. The one it had adopted when Namjoon's body could no longer harbor it. And that's how he lived on, through you.

Jimin took that away, somehow. You could almost kill him for it, but you had not favored a life in prison nor tabloids that headlined the Park Jimin being murdered or 'Crazy, Jealous Co-star On Murderous Rampage Targets Jimin'. So, for the time being, all that was accessible was quiet hatred.

And you took that over nothing. You hated Park Jimin.

#bangtanarmynet #ficswithluv #btsgoldnet #bts fanfic #bts writing #bts angst #bts x reader #bts series #jimin fanfic #jimin angst #jimin enemiestolovers!au #actor!jimin #jimin x reader #jimin series #bts enemies to lovers #in the stars tonight #rubycoast

[carmen-sandal-eggos]

Me: why am i so tired all the time

Also me: *stays up late every night drawing just because its one of the few sources of serotonin i have left*

[dercolaris]

Dread

A simple conversation among professors. A story about Jonathan Crane and Hugo Strange. Surprise! Well, it’s sort of in the Arkham Verse, but long before the asylum incident.

Song to the story: https://youtu.be/UroVey4fJ_g

Thanks to @shin-arei as always <3

“Ladies and gentlemen, even if the weekend is just around the corner, I would ask you to sit still for some moments. The academic hour is far from over and I will, of course, use the last ten minutes of our precious time.” A loud groan penetrated the hall, followed by the rustling of the documents. Jonathan examined the partly bored faces of his students and smiled a bit. Despite the difficult and complicated subjects, his lecture was always well attended. There was rarely a vacant seat in the rows of seats. The psychiatrist laughed softly, ran his slim hand through his tangled hair. The students seemed to know by now that staying away during the professor's extremely dark lessons could quickly end in an absolute failure in the pretty complicated exam. Indeed, his exams caused high failure rates at the end of each semester. Jonathan smiled contentedly and finally picked up the short chalk again. Slowly he turned to the green board, studied the three full pages. The professor hesitated a moment, but then began to write a word in the middle of the last empty space. Psychopathy. His hand rested on the green board for a moment. After a few seconds he revealed what was written on it, his normally more than indifferent eyes almost lit up by the reaction of the audience. A rare moment of silence fell over the classroom. The psychiatrist looked into the questioning faces of his students and had to suppress a laugh. The chalk finally found its way back onto the table. Jonathan put his hands in his trouser pockets and explained without any hurry: “For your next lesson I ask you to create a mind map on the subject of psychopathy. Be sure to think of both levels, both interpersonal-affective and anti-social-deviant. If necessary, take another look at your documents from November 25th. In the individual groups you will then work out for yourself how to recognize a psychopath and how to deal with this group of people in psychiatric facilities like Arkham. Please make a good effort, ladies and gentlemen. The library offers a large amount of literature on the subject and one or two sources are not enough."

The students quickly wrote down the assignment, then looked back at the desk. The professor smiled a cold-hearted smile and closed the folder with his script, then turned to the audience once again: "Have a nice weekend." The students immediately began to pack their stuff and finally left the large room. There were only three lecture lessons left this semester. A circumstance that terrified the not so gifted youngsters. Jonathan put his fingers around the almost empty water bottle and opened it. He took a few greedy gulps and then licked his dry lips. The psychiatrist was about to leave the lecture hall when suddenly a student he knew stood next to his desk. Her hanging bag was heavy on her shoulder. She seemed to be looking for the right words. Possibly a question. The professor ignored the young woman and continued to pack his papers. Half of it was already stowed away when the student finally spoke up: "Professor Crane, I have one more question if you allow it." The addressed stopped doing his work and looked up. The blonde hair framed her youthful face. He knew her from the practice lessons, when the woman stood out for her good cooperation. She was also involved in the lectures and tried to answer the psychologist's questions with appropriate answers. Despite the good cooperation, he had forgotten her name again. Jonathan raised an eyebrow and finally replied calmly: "Sure, but hurry up, please, will you? We have already passed ten minutes and I actually wanted to be home before nine o'clock.” The young woman nodded in understanding, then looked in her college pad for a piece of paper. On this was a lot of information about the last lesson. Her fingers traced the lines, quickly found the records in question. She looked up and spoke briskly: “What about the free points, for example the promiscuity? It does not fall into either of the two levels, but it can certainly help to identify a psychopath from my knowledge.” The professor nodded in agreement and put the last folder in his ancient bag. The worn leather chafed uncomfortably on the hands. He returned his attention to the eager student and explained with a fake smile: “You are absolutely right about that. I hope that at least a small percentage of my audience will stumble upon this fact. Unfortunately, my experience of the last semester indicates something else."

The young woman's lips formed a line as she closed the college block again. Her documents disappeared from the psychologist's field of vision. Suddenly a small smile crept onto the student's face. She blinked a few times and spoke a little quieter than before: “Your lectures are really special, professor Crane. I have the feeling that I learn a lot more from you than from the other lecturers. You always try to go into such detail on the individual points and give us significantly more knowledge on the way than the superficial lessons of certain professors of this department.” Jonathan knew exactly which lecturer the young woman was talking about. He rubbed the back of his neck slowly, tried to think about the praise just said. That was much more difficult to grasp than the usual criticism. He thought for a moment and replied shyly: “I am glad if you have the feeling that my courses are helping you to understand things in psychology. I'm used to hearing the exact opposite.” The young woman smiled even wider, holding her bag tightly against her body. She carefully studied the angular face of her professor. “You know,” she continued slowly, “most students are just too lazy and unable to listen for a long time. Your lessons are not easy, I'll admit that, but they can be done.” Jonathan listened to the young woman's words, then smiled a bit. He stepped next to her and calmly replied: "You are honest with yourself. An important step in becoming a good psychologist. Clearly useable potential in your future of helping tortured souls." Together they strolled through the classroom onto the Gotham University campus. There they parted ways. Jonathan's path led him to the main building, a building of fifteen floors.

He pressed the elevator touchpad on the first floor and waited patiently for the elevator to arrive. The doors slid open with a loud ringing. The professor entered and pressed another button to go to the twelfth floor. A soft melody played in the background as the elevator made its way up. Another ring signalled the arrival. The psychiatrist stepped out of the elevator and looked around to the left. Room number 1229. He started moving and after a few steps stood in front of the white door. The key opened the lock carefully. Unfortunately, it often jammed, making it a balancing act not to break off the small piece of iron in his hand. Finally the lock gave way and opened the door to his small office. Jonathan sighed in relief and went straight to the tidy desk. On top of it were three folders with projects he was working on. Among other things, a study of phobias and their effect on human behaviour. The associated examinations on the subjects were in full swing. The professor smiled wryly and glanced at the first page of this series of experiments. Young, inexperienced students were a very good practice field. His self-mixed drug of adrenaline, serotonin, and dopamine worked on so many levels. For example, the mixture caused hallucinations in most of the subjects. However, these were unexpectedly violent and were reinforced by added variables. A burlap sack with a cut-out face met this criterion. None of his involuntary research subjects appeared to be immune to the drug. Jonathan stroked the first sheet of his work, examined the finished synopsis. It offered groundbreaking insights into dealing with phobias, and each new attempt only confirmed his suspicions. A smile fell on his lips. This died instantly when he heard footsteps from outside. His fingers opened the drawer and stowed the work out of sight of potential visitors. The steps came closer, then stopped.

A loud knock confirmed Jonathan's suspicions. He took another deep breath, then invited the guest inside. The door swung open and Hugo Strange appeared in the frame. The bald man with the round glasses showed his usual uncomfortable smile. The psychiatrist still did not know what to do with the leading philosopher. The professor was a total mystery to him. Hugo sat down on one of the vacant chairs and clasped his hands. A few seconds passed before he actually began to speak softly: “You are always so absorbed in your work, Jonathan. What luck for the department of Psychology, hm? It is rare to find talented individuals who turn their job into a calling these days.” The addressee frowned and leaned back in the comfortable chair. What did this man want from him? Meanwhile, the philosopher examined the small collection of enclosures. In these sat mostly scorpions and tarantulas of different sizes and types. The psychiatrist followed the other's scrutinizing gaze and asked casually: “You probably don't suffer from arachnophobia, do you?” Professor Strange gave a dry laugh, his smile widening a little. He waved him off: “No, your little creepy crawlers don't scare me, but how many students ran out screaming? Definitely an amusing spectacle for you, right?” Jonathan snorted and turned his chair to the enclosures. He opened one of the containers, navigated one of the eight legged animals with a brush on the back of his hand. His eyes fixed the tarantula. The creature crawled leisurely on his arm and explored the new area. Hugo watched the process with watchful eyes. Only when the spider lingered calmly on the shoulder of its holder did he speak almost fascinated: "Phobias are really something amazing." The professor nodded, put a hand on his upper arm to navigate the animal back on the back of his hand. Once there, the spider remained calm again. Jonathan smiled and replied with a low voice: “Most people don't understand their fears and don't want to deal with them. You avoid direct confrontation, which in many cases could lead to overcoming a useless phobia."

Hugo laughed a little at the reply and asked curious: “Who likes to deal with things that make us fearful? But tell me, Jonathan, why does the sight of a hairy tarantula frighten people who are so many centimetres taller than the little animal?” The professor raised his hand in the direction of the enclosure, let his spider crawl slowly back onto the damp ground. While she was slowly resting on a cork tube, the psychiatrist explained dryly: “We are afraid of things that do not look human. Take a dog as an example. He is admired because, like us, he has two eyes, a torso, and moves on four limbs. Some even believe that they recognize facial expressions similar to those in humans. In addition, the size of the dog is associated with a toddler, which is why the owners often talk to the dog in children's language. Exactly the same goes for cats. But if we look at a spider, we hardly see any correspondence with us. Eight legs, many eyes, a mysterious physique, sharp fangs. There is really nothing next to human anatomic about this animal. That makes it a pure nightmare for arachnophobes. Also nature teaches us to be afraid of something probably venomous, even if the threat is not real in the end.” The philosopher listened to the professor's words with huge interest. He glanced at the enclosures again, lingering on a white knee tarantula. This crawled deeper into its hole in the ground, soon vanished from the field of vision of the philosopher. “They are impressive creatures,” Hugo admitted after a while. Jonathan took a deep breath and looked suspiciously at his colleague. Whatever it was, Hugo Strange lived up to his last name. This man was hiding something. The psychiatrist's brow furrowed. What was it? This uncomfortable feeling became even more noticeable during the break in the conversation. Finally Jonathan broke the silence carefully: “Did you only come here to talk to me about my scorpions and spiders, Hugo? I assume you have more serious business with being here.” The philosopher grinned wider and sat up straight.

“Of course not”, he replied with amusement, tilting his head a little, “there are peculiar cases of students who disappear for a short time and then reappear with very odd amnesia symptoms. They don't remember what they did during that short period. All that is noticeable is fearful behaviour on the part of all those affected. You should know about this, because it seems to hit psychology students most of all. Especially from your classes, my friend.” Jonathan frowned and folded his hands. He remained silent for a few seconds until he replied softly: "And I am under suspicion now?" Hugo waved his hand and smiled frugally. He got up from the chair and went to the door. He stayed there for a moment, then turned back to Jonathan and said mysteriously: “Aren't we all under a specific sort of suspicion in this field? But to answer your question, Jonathan: you're not more suspicious than the other professors right now. Just a quick reminder, as friends. You should be careful what you do and who you share this information with. It's harder for two to hide a secret than for one. Have a good night.” With these words, Hugo left the office. The door closed with a bang and he was alone again. The professor stayed in his position, running a hand through his short hair. He had to be more careful with his research and leave fewer traces. Jonathan breathed in and out deeply, then pushed himself out of the chair and pulled on his jacket. There was still so much to explore. So much in too little time.

#DC #Batman #Hugo Strange #Jonathan Crane #Scarecrow #Professors #ArkhamVerse?

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

Dawn (6)

Loki x fem!Reader

ONE/TWO/THREE SHOT

Warnings:shhh!

Summary: A truce to end all wars leads to an alliance between Earth and Asgard in the form of Loki marrying a mortal. None of them what this. None except fate.

Word Count: I don’t know how many of you read this but oh Lords of whatever forces there are in this world, the things I hear. The girl my brother broke up with is have a lot of trouble letting go of him. To the point that she is dragging him through the mud in front of his friends one second and then begging his friends to make him talk to her another. it’s a roller coaster he wants to get off and is more than happy to admit all his faults and apologise for them as long as he gets some space to heal in his own. But nooooo. *sigh* Times like these when I think I was lucky to not be in a relationship in school and college.

MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)

Eyes closed. Candles lit. Incense burning. Body soaked.

Everything inside you wants to drown in this bliss after the nightmare. Everything does. The incense from the garden of healers is working its way through your lungs and into your bloodstream, latching onto that which does not belong there; forcing it to give up and be out of your system after eighteen hours. The cold water filled with the flowers from Yggdrasil to the brim is tingling every wound and bruise. Well, except the ones on your neck and around your shoulders.

It is relaxing. It should be relaxing. That is what your mind keeps running in a loop instead of enjoying the way Asgard is taking care of you right now. But the continuous throbbing of your brain for apparently no reason is not making anything work.

Why are you so on edge right now? Your inner voice would shake you till your brains feel off if it could.

I don’t know. Your heart keeps jumping now and then; that poor thing is not sure what it is running to or away from. I don’t know.

It is frustrating to keep looking at the night sky outside while unconsciously scratching your head for answers that it cannot give you. I don’t know.

“May I be of some help?”

The siren voice soaked completely in the purest honey in the world comes from the archway leading to your bedroom. Your body turns in the tub to watch the source, creating ripples where you sit. It is him, your heart says as Loki stands there, leaning on the wall in that black shirt and black pajamas.

Of course, it’s him, your inner voice lets out a tired sigh before going quiet for a minute only to come back with a whisper resonating inside your head, your husband.

“Hmm?” is all you can muster while trying to force this unforeseeable lump inside your throat down. Loki parts his lips and looks down at something on the floor. His feet are naked, that lump in your throat grows a little. Great observation, your inner voice replies with a hint of sarcasm. “You have been struggling with that itch for quite a while. How about I help you with that,” he breathes with a tilt of his head, and the candlelight hits the pupils just perfectly for you to see the glow in those gentle eyes.

It does take some time for your brain to process that you are not breathing. It takes a little longer to realise that he has been standing there watching you scratch your head like some wild animal for quite some time. Very smooth, Y/N.

“Uh, it’s fine. I’ll shampoo it and it’ll be aww-aahh-”

Your right arm disagrees the moment you try to lift it up. You weren’t even hit, you stupid limb!

Loki is already taking patient steps towards the tub while the embarrassment is heating up your body, and this wonderful cold water. “It never hurts to have a working hand,” he states and your brain instantly deep dives into the endless oceans for the lit-up notorious corners imagining what all those hands can do.

You scooch a little inside the tub. Can he read my thoughts? Oh, Gods, I hope not. While you are trying to hide the hot thoughts of your vibrating brain, your left hand is undoing the knot of your hair; a gesture that welcomes Loki to draw a stool behind you, grounding his feet on either side of the subsection of the tub storing water just for the purpose of washing those beaten up locks.

Cold hands gather those Y/H/C tresses and push them away from you and into the sink section of the tub. Those frosty fingers come back to gather whatever is left; brisking by your neck, teasing your shoulders, marking your forehead, tantalising your temples, taunting your ears. And you can do nothing but let the tiniest touch of his fingers fire up your nerve endings.

“Rest your head here,” his voice whispers. With that low pitch, your body is ready to do anything it asks of you. Anything.

You feel his hands steadily undoing the knots in your hair. Slow and patient with his movements, he has made sure he has got all of them before your ears hear him dunking something into the water and pouring the cold elixir on your head. His hand is steady; so is the trail of water that trickles down from your temples into your head, making its way through the marred strands, doing its best to take the muck down with it before another wave comes. And with every wave, Loki’s palm rests on your forehead to stop that water from going anywhere it is not supposed to; gently pressing back into your head, feeling like his palm is taking with it all the burdens and horrors of the night that are weighing upon your soul.

Once the weight is all in the wet tresses, Loki turns to grab the shampoo- that Sybll was kind enough to leave for you- but stops to reach for the concoction he uses. Taking a generous amount in his palms, he mixes enough drops of water for it to start forming a lather. Once he is satisfied, he comes for your hair, starting with your head, smearing the product in every nook and corner, around the ears and on the back of your neck. Once he feels he has covered everything, he gets ready to get to work, never even letting you sense the high you are about to ride.

The fingers dig past the hair to make contact with the scalp and start a symphony with the skin as they massage every micron of skin they touch. You can feel your eyes turn back into your head at the perfect pressure they are putting onto your mess of a head; pressing into the pain, hurt, anxiety, mixed feelings, and releasing them all with the release of these cold little magic wands. Every press and release is a gush of serotonin just washing all over your existence; every wiggle of those fingers is a newfound lightness you never thought you could feel. In the midst of floating in a clear blue ocean of release, you do not expect a moan to escape your parted lips. And just as it does, you feel your body falling headfirst, realising the cruelty of gravity and jerking awake just as your moan registers in your hypnotised brain cells. Your hands catch hold of the edge of the tub and the water ripples at the sudden jolt.

“Everything okay?” Loki’s voice comes from behind you just as his hands stop moving in your hair.

“Yeah-” you clear your throat and shush your heartbeat to slow down- “yes.”

Don’t stop, please.

Every single strand receives the love and care it deserves; to the point that they are sure to question if you actually ever cared for them. So tender are his movements that three questions run inside your mind.

The first question- how can someone so soft ever have the heart to hurt anyone? The past of your world speaks of evils this God had brought to earth. In fact, it speaks it louder than the time when the same God was the one to bring down the threats that would have ended your planet once and for all. We all have our reasons to be manipulated by the darkness at some point in our life. I am a living breathing example of one.

The second question- how utterly vivid your imagination had to be to imagine what those very tender movements of his hands feel like on your naked skin? The mystery that was his supple touch, chasing the goosebumps on your body. How enticing was the mere thought?

The third question…………what was the third question?

Washed with the same scrutiny as they were lathered, Loki pats the water off before leaving the room to give you privacy.

Clean and dried, you take one of the green bathrobes to wrap around yourself and walk out into the bedroom where Loki stands stirring something in a small bowl. “Oh,” you cannot keep the mild surprise in, mostly because every ounce of the insignificant has escaped your body now, “I thought you would be asleep by now.”

“Not yet,” he answers quite seriously, his eyes on the bowl for a few more moments till they rise to look at you; and get stuck on you. You do not know what those eyes are seeing. Of course, you cannot comprehend the image- of something beautiful right out of a textbook- that you are for Loki in this slowed-down moment. The glowing delicacy shining still from the pollen of the flowers working on your skin, the wet hair strands teasing him of the closeness he has yet to feel; all of it wrapped up in green with one single knot. Oh, the prayers he feels coming out of him to be permitted to unravel that knot and bow down to worship you.

“What is that?”

Your voice brings him back to the bowl in his hand. He has to let his eyes adjust to the reality he stands in so as to come up with a reply in time. “It’s for your wounds. Here, sit down.”

You do. The copper bowl contains a muddy mixture with a pasty consistency. The handy mixer that seems smaller than it is in Loki’s long pale fingers is kept aside on the side table and his fingers dig themselves into the concoction. His eyes turn to you. “Your shoulders,” he requests. With the brilliance his pupils reflect, you can swear you would have given him your heart if he asked just as sweetly. And so you turn to the other side to sit with your robe slipped just above your chest, giving him all the exposed wounds the water could not get to as much.

The fresh red bruises along with the open scars marred from Torbarik’s bad etiquettes sink Loki’s heart a little. Now, he wishes he had ended his life with his own hands. It itches his chest deep inside to know how much it must be hurting you right now; given your inability to heal as fast as the Asgardians or frost giants.

“Thank you, Loki-” you bring him out of the slow train of overthinking misery is about to step on inside his head- “for coming for me.”

Loki’s fingers tenderly dab the paste over the wounds, instantly bringing a soothing cold fire over the cuts. “You are my wife, love. You should expect anything less than coming to your aid from me.”

You are my wife, love.

Your throat can visibly be seen sucking in as much air as it can to make sure you heard him right. Once your mind settles that this is in fact what Loki just declared, your brain cannot help but run those soothing words in a loop inside your head till they seep into every cell in your body, making that truth a part of your existence. And soon enough, parts of you are getting heated from the sudden confession. Your cheeks and the back of your neck are doing a really bad job of hiding the flush from his words. And on top of that, those fingers are doing one hell of a job, soothingly rubbing themselves on your shoulders and neck.

“Just two minutes and then it will dry and fall off. The wounds will close but the bruises will take some time to go away as per my observation.”

He has barely finished the sentence and you are already shifting in your place to turn and face him. He can see you have something on your mind that you want to speak and so, he puts away everything and sits there patiently for you to take your time to gather your words.

“Loki-” he darts a quick look to your nails digging into your knees- “you don’t...you don’t have to do...umm…-” your voice lowers to a whisper- “how do I put this-” you straighten your back and close your hands into a fist before looking him into those beautiful hypnotising eyes- “you don’t have to do anything you don’t really...feel. What you do not want to...do? Uhh...it’s just that...okay. Ahem. Because I am...I...oh my God-”

“I like you too.”

The white noise humming through your eyes feels like you have lost your ability to hear. The sudden roller coaster rush that your heart feels makes it want to save you from whatever height you are falling right now. You do not see it but the mere dilation of those starry y/e/c eyes at those words washes away any doubts Loki has of you not reciprocating his feelings. The fresh flush of heat emanating from your cheeks and the surprise-filled blink adds to the euphoria. “...you do?” you hushed voice cannot rise beyond this or you might start crying.

His smile is the response. The love in filling his eyes to the brim; something you have never seen before, not even for Thor. His hand moves to let his fingers caress your cheek. And oh! The cold touch of the back of his fingers with your hot cheeks is nothing short of the blessed fountain satiating the thirst of a traveller looking for eternal youth. Your eyes close on his touch, your head tilting, giving into his brush. “I have always liked you, Y/N,” Loki asserts softly, his hand embracing you while his thumb grazed your cheek, “today you just resonated my feelings and made me fall in love with you.”

Your hand rises to engulf his into yours. Like a heavyweight lifted from your chest, you feel your body breathe again. Your foreheads meet, exchanging what feels like a lifetime of unspoken feelings. They were there for quite a while; it just took them a brush with danger to surface and show their colours- their strength and their weakness- all in one night.

This is the first time you are so close to him, being able to witness all the perfection that is Loki, the God, the strategist, the Silvertongue. Yours. All yours. His lips parted, his cold breath a verse teasing your lips. His dark lush eyelashes heavy with a newfound need, hiding it in those eyes gone dark. His tongue licking his lips, waiting for your approval even though you are right in his reach. Your fingers, with a mind of their own, touch his chin, wanting to travel to his lips, feel them, want them. The craving is making your stomach turn, your breaths shallow and length apart till it is unbearable. You close that inch of space to let your love-deprived lips land on his, hesitant at the gesture. But Loki welcomes it. The first sweet kiss bursting lights inside the both of you. And with the first, the urge for the second grows. His tongue tastes your lips, and you let it enter; you let it discover every edge needy for his touch. Your tongue plays with his, lets him know how much you want it; how much you want him. So do your hands. Running over his chest, they find their way to his neck and hair. His, on the other hand, draw you closer to him- one by the waist, the other supporting your neck- carefully so as not to hurt your still-healing wounds- while pulling you further into him.

There is a mellifluous clash of your bodies that night, hands discovering each other, heat siphoned by the cold, love pouring in tender kisses over the bare skin, fingers entangled in hairs, pleading for more. Hips crashing into each other like lazy tides under the pleasant moonlight on a deserted shore, moans filling the ears, satiating the hunger of giving the satisfaction to their lover, breaths both hot and cold creating such wondrous mist in the midst of that steaming love-making. The fulfilling rise to the high, the tides reaching the rocky shores, wanting more to come crashing with thunderous vibrations. And thunderous they are, making you see rainbows in the back of your head. The best part is that love does not stop at discovering the bodies. It continues, with the willingness to take care of you, with pulling the duvet over your body and gathering you in his surprisingly strong arms, with that sweet longing and deep kiss on your forehead, and then your nose and then your lips, telling you that he is yours. All yours. For eternity.

.

“What’s happening? Sybll handed me the sparkliest dress in whatever wardrobe this appeared from and said it was urgent. Is this another one of Odin’s tradition things?”

Loki is already walking towards you as fast as he can. And while he does, you notice a blue bruise on his neck which you are pretty you did not mark him with. We were so gentle! I couldn’t have. Could I? 

“What’s that on your neck?” you cannot help yourself.

“Yes,” Loki nods, “this is-”

“Y/N,” Thor calls for you from the halls, “you are here. Look who is here to meet you!”

Your eyes are wide and already turning to Loki for answers, who is drawing in a loooong breath. “Yes, this is what I was talking about. The bruise is also for...this. Come on, let’s go meet your self-declared father.”

You don’t even have to guess who Loki is talking about, for that very moment you enter the great hall, Tony walking with his arms open to embrace you.

“How are you doing, kid? These Asgardians treating you well?”

His hug is more than welcome and you throw yourself into it. Oh, and he smells like home. Tom Ford cologne and Quinnjet- just like you remember. “Tony, it is so good to see you.” Your lips cannot stop smiling and the smile turns even wider on seeing Rhodey and Carol standing behind him.

Rhodey’s bear hug still has the same power to cure your homesickness while Carol’s embrace just tells you she is here for you now and whenever.

“Loki.”

“Stark.”

They still greet each other the same way- a simple nod and...that’s it. Same goes for Rhodey. Carol, on the other hand, has a special fistbump for her partner in galactic crimes of justice. “You still owe me one artefact from your vault, Loco,” Carol mentions, making Loki chortle.

“You still owe me a decent fight.”

“Bullshit. I cleaned the floor with your face last time, you trickster.”

“I’m sorry, I cannot hear you over the sound of my undefeated title.”

“Oh, okay okay okay. It’s on, Loki boy. It is on!”

“Before anything is on,” you interrupt, “how about we go have a drink. Or two.”

“Yes, I love that,” Thor smacks you in the back, forcing you to swallow the grunt politely as you lead the way.

 Asgards finest wine and beer are being served and you cannot help but notice Thor eyeing you and Loki with certain veiled judgement while conversations are made around the table. You let it slide, hoping it’s Tony being Tony.

“Isn’t that right, Stark,” Thor laughs and looks at him.

“Yeah, yeah, all good,” Tony replies with disinterest, his eyes stuck on you, “I’m sorry, Y/N, I have to ask. What is that bruise on your neck?”

The whole table goes silent. Loki’s drink is paused right by his lips while Carol sips hers with peak interest while shifting her curious gaze between Loki and you.

“It’s nothing,” you respond lightly with a shake of your head, wanting the conversation to go back to whatever it was.

“We tried to get the same tattoos,” Loki adds, “it did not work so I removed it in my Asgardian ways. The bruises are nothing. They’ll vanish within two more days.”

You nod a liiiittle vigorously in agreement, making Tony narrow his eyes in suspicion. “I don’t buy it. Y/N, look at me. Tell me what happened. I need to know that you are safe.”

Thor looks at the two of you. You know it will be difficult to make Tony understand your safety concerns. Even if you are safe here now, he will see it as nothing else but an excuse to take you away from here. And even take Loki with you if that’s what it takes. Or worse, he might actually start a war with the enemies here. You know of at least five people who would agree to this and stand on the front lines of that very fight.

“Tony it’s nothing,” you try to convince him.

“Y/N. What. Happened.”

Thor is about to open his mouth when you do the most outrageous thing you could think of.

“Loki and I tried some stuff, okay!” you nearly yell.

At this point, everyone is looking at you with more questions in their eyes. Even Loki.

“We experimented with BDSM,” you finally blurt out, keeping your head high, “and I liked it.”

Silence.

Carol’s silence is a victorious one; like she was waiting to hear this. Rhodey’s is more uncomfortable and you know he just wants to get up and go from there before hearing any more details about this. Loki’s silence is on the lines of appreciative surprise towards you. He is impressed. And at the same time getting some ideas.

And Tony?

His beer glass shatters in his hand. That pretty much answers it.

“W-what is beady-essum?” Thor is the only one sitting there in confusion while Carol is the only soul who guffaws through the thrilling silence.

“YESSS! I KNEW IT! I KNEW YOU TWO WERE SMUSHING BOOTIES!!”

#loki #loki odinson #loki x reader #loki fanfic #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki fluff #loki smut #smut #fluff #marvel smut #marvel fluff #mcu smut #mcu fluff #loki fanfiction #loki fic #Loki Laufeyson #marvel loki #loki god of mischief #loki mcu #loki series #marvel fics #marvel fanfic #MCU #Marvel MCU #MCU fanfiction #mcu x reader #marvel x reader #mcu fanfic #fanfic

[willowistic22]

RedFinch sickfic 🥺?

The redfinch requests are fueling my serotonin you guys don’t even understand!!!! a very fluffy fic in my opinion and i quite like it. A few curse words but nothing too serious yknow. Anyways, i hope whoever’s reading this enjoys! 

Requests are still opened by the way! I have three more I got to write but I’d be happy taking more, though with a hectic school schedule it will take some time! 

He wraps himself in a big knitted blanket and lie in bed with minimal movements. A tissue box placed on the floor next to his bed with crumpled up tissues scattered around the floor along with it. Bedroom lights dimmed to accommodate his half-consciousness, not exactly sleepy but can’t stay awake either. 

Albert has his eyes fully closed but his mind on full swing. He’d much rather sleep through his discomfort, but the stuffy nose and headache makes it hard. His breathing is loud with so much liquid blocking his nostrils which makes it hard for Albert to breathe, another reason why it’s difficult for him to sleep. 

Though, he longs for sleep to envelop him. He was rustling under his blanket all night. Getting the flu isn’t an end of the world thing, though he knows it can get serious if it’s not treated right after getting millions of lectures from his mom, but Albert still think of it as a huge inconvenience. Sure, he got the chance to ditch his classes, but he’d much enjoy it if the reason behind it was something other than calling in sick. 

Al groans, furiously opening his eyes and rolling from his side to lie on his back. He stares at the ceiling, placing both hands on his stomach above the blanket. 

He really should be doing something. So far, he’s woken up early as per usual to get to his campus, thinking his flu was cured after taking some medicine before bed. As it turned out, it didn’t, so he had called in sick and barely moved out of his covers. He was able to drag himself to shower, which only took about two hours of convincing himself then he props himself back on his bed with clean clothes. 

Albert wants to ask one of his classmates what he missed from today’s lecture, but the energy to even reach to his phone is non existence. And its literally placed just across his tiny bedroom on the desk. Al could use some food since he hasn’t eaten anything today, but he has no appetite. There doesn’t seem to be any source of entertainment that would do good for him either so he’s left in his boredom. 

He exhales out of his mouth full of desperation, defeating the pointless weight on his eyelids. Al’s brain is desperately screaming at him to get out of bed and walk to the kitchen. Albert’s stomach would be very thankful to be given a slice of bread and some water. He just needs to muster up the energy to push through his exhaustion first.

“YO ALBO!” 

His bedroom door swung violently from a kick, the sound hitting the wall caused him to jump. As if the pain Albert’s head is feeling isn’t enough. 

Al’s head half sits up to see who decided to bother him with a sniffle, causing even more pain to his head. The light coming from the other room seems so bright, he can only see two silhouettes of people standing in the doorway. 

“How’re you feelin’ there?” A voice, he recognize to be his roommate Race, asked. Of course it’s Race who busts down his door. Why did he thought it’d be anyone else? 

“Like shit!” Al answered with a nasally voice and another sniffle following his words. 

“Well, you sure look like one!” Race replied, approaching Al on the bed. He turns back towards the doorway, gazing back at the other figure he’s with, “Your boyfriend’s here to take care of you. So don’t worry about me busting down your door again like that” 

Race walks away with a bounce to his steps, leaving Albert and his visitor to have the room all to themselves. 

Albert flops his head back to the pillow with a groan and a sniffle, propping his arm on top of his eyes to block out the bright light. With the little strength he has left in him, he voices out a nasally greet, “Hi, Finch” 

The distant light coming from the doorway slowly fades away till the door can be heard clicking shut. The next thing he notices is the side of his mattress slowly dipping from the extra weight on the edge. 

“Hi, Al” Finch greets back gently, pulling down his arm away from his eyes. Albert can now clearly see the smile on Finch’s face. The sight of the blond picked his spirit up enough to get the grumpy redhead to smile back. 

He puts the back of his hand on top of Albert’s forehead and asks, “How are you feeling? Other than shit” 

Albert chuckles and sniffles out, “My head hurts, I can’t breathe through my nose, and I’m hungry but can’t bring my ass to the kitchen” 

Finch giggles through his smile, retracting his hand and turning to view the rest of Albert’s room. The floor to be exact, “And you should really start throwing your trash away...” 

“Yes, that. I also ditched all my classes of the day, so that’s another problem on my plate” Albert said, slightly unwrapping himself out of his knitted blanket, “And I can’t, for the life of me, sleep but can’t stay awake either because I’m actually sleepy”

He sees his boyfriend reach towards the floor, but can’t clearly see what he’s aiming for. He can hear plastic rustling before Finch sits up straight again, now presenting Albert a bowl-shaped food container, “I made you some cream soup. It’s still warm and it won’t require a lot of chewing” 

Albert smiles at the idea, sniffling his nose out a bit as his hazel eyes twinkle at Finch reaching back down. He could only assume that he’s getting something else. 

“Since you said you lost your appetite, I suspected you aren’t keeping yourself hydrated either so I prepared a water bottle” Putting the water bottle next to the cream soup on the bed. Finch pulls something else up, a small blue container with a bright green lid, “And also some vaporub to save your nose and headache!” 

Albert is beyond thankful to see Finch preparing all of this just for him. He really does not have the energy to do it himself. 

“I’ll get your laptop so we can binge something boring till you fall asleep” Finch ended his note. 

Albert smiles weakly at him, but the adoration was very much present. He hums out, “What did I do to deserve you?”

“Nothing. Which is why you owe me big time for doing this!” Finch joked with a little giggle. It made Al roll his eyes with a chuckle.

Finch helps prop a pillow against the wall. Al’s head painfully pounds as he makes the efforts to sit upright, but any sort of comfort they can spare goes a long way. Finch gives him the bowl of soup with a spoon while he does a bit of cleaning. Albert can’t help but feel guilty for making his boyfriend do this. He’s already doing a lot by making time to visit and preparing a homemade cream soup plus other things to nurse him back to health, and he just got the flu! Finch just shrugs him off, saying that he’s more than happy to help.

After throwing away all the dirty tissues, he gets in bed besides Albert with his laptop in hand. Finch notes the knitted blanket he’s using, “Didn’t know you like knitted blankets”

“My mother made this for me when I had my first stay at a hospital” Albert explained after taking a spoonful of cream soup. He puts down the spoon and sniffles out, “I don’t remember why I had to stay overnight but I remember I was around ten”

Finch smiles at the short story before opening up the laptop and Albert continues eating his soup. Finch doesn’t need to worry about eating, he already had a sandwich before heading over here.

Not even thirty minutes into the movie they’re watching, and Al is already declaring his stomach is full. He ate so little that it looked as if he didn’t even bother touching it.

“Al, you haven’t eaten anything all day!” Finch countered.

“I seriously can’t eat right now. I’m sorry” Albert said. He only apologized because he knows Finch had personally made this for him.

“Please, just take your time finishing it” Finch begged, “I’ll feed you myself if I have to!”

Albert kept arguing that he can’t keep going, so Finch really did feed him. Placing the laptop on Albert’s lap and taking over the spoon to force down one meal down his stomach.

An hour or so through the movie, Albert was able to finish the soup. It wasn’t that his stomach was full, he just didn’t have the strength to finish it on his own. With the help from Finch, he was able to make himself eat something.

Finch helps him apply some vaporub on his chest, sliding his hand under his shirt. Albert lazily placed his head on Finch’s shoulder while he did it, smiling full of contentment. He tries to reach up for a kiss, but Finch pushes him away with a smile. 

“Slow down! We haven’t even held hands yet!” Finch joked, lightly pushing Al back against the wall he’s leaning on, “And there’s no way I’m kissing you while you’re sick” 

Albert laughs with a sniffle following, “We can be sick together!” 

“And leave Race to take care of us? No!” 

So they settle back in the comforts of each other, watching various movies under the warm covers of Alberts knitted blanket. Well, Albert moves his position to lie down completely on the bed and wrap an arm around Finch’s waist as sleep slowly overcomes his senses. Finch stays upright while holding the laptop, but the movie is now long forgotten as he strokes Albert’s hair and watches him drift to sleep. 

He looked terrible when Finch first arrived. To see him now sleeping peacefully by his side, a heavenly feeling wraps Finch’s heart. What a privilege it is to be able to cradle Albert in his arms and help him get better. As he unconsciously tightens his grip around Finch’s waist, he laughs seeing the act unfold.

 BANG! 

The bedroom door slammed opened with a powerful kick, sending both Albert and Finch to jump out of their little serenity. Finch keeps his arms on Albert as the pounding pain in his head appears once again. His eyes squints at the bright light coming from the door. 

“What’s up guys!” Racetrack’s loud voice echoed through Albert’s head, adding even more to the pain. And not to mention to new pain in his ass with his presence. Though, neither of them are entirely surprised. 

“Race... Please go away...” Albert weakly whined, slipping a hand under his pillow as he slowly lies back down. 

“What? Come on! I’m bored!” Race replied, he walks over to the bed in the corner with his signature grin, “The more the merrier, Al!” 

Before he could sit on the bed, Finch took the initiative to stand up and show Race to the door. Slamming it shut and locking it while he’s at it. He returns to his spot on the bed, Albert instantly wrapping his arm around his waist again. 

Finch notices the little pout on his face as he tries to catch more sleep. He laughs and threads his fingers through his hair, “Should’ve locked that door sooner. Sorry” 

“It’s fine” Albert said, barely audible since his face is half buried in his pillow. He opens one eye at Finch and voices out whatever he can without needing to move, “Lie down with me? We can take a little nap” 

Finch chuckles at the offer and proceeds to follow his orders. He gets comfortable under the blanket, facing his boyfriend to wrap his own arms around him. Albert’s head is placed on the crook of his neck, tickling Finch a little  with his hair as he adjust to get comfortable. 

They get comfortable in each others embrace after a few moments of adjusting. Chests rising and falling on their own slow pace. Albert already on his way to dreamland whilst Finch still has the small energy to pet his hair. Though as the seconds passes by, his eyelids begin to get heavier and heavier till sleep finally envelops him. 

#newsies #drabble requests #redfinch #redfinch newsies #albert dasilva #finch cortez #albert newsies #finch newsies

[ryttu3k]

Doing those ship meme questions only it's the new OT3 (Beckett/Sascha/Ilias) because they're my main source of serotonin these days. Occasional appearances from Anatole and Lucita, too.

Not doing all, but there are A Lot.

1. Who's the one who's reckless and always getting into trouble while the other gotta pull em out

Beckett and Sascha actually do have a lot of braincells between them but none of them are in use for 'can sense danger'. Ilias has gained some minor common sense since his 'hey, I'm going to ask our Antediluvian for power to help face its favourite childe oh whoops I am possessed' thing and is usually the one sighing fondly and saving their asses.

2. Who's the one to send the other "I love my gf/bf" memes

Ilias. 100% Ilias. He would go out in public in a shirt saying 'I <3 Sascha' and calling them ‘my flower’ while Sascha is just pleased they can't blush any more.

3. Who's the one who listens to a music genre the other doesn't like and how does the other react

God their music tastes are all over the place. Sascha is over a thousand years old and has seen and heard A Lot. They consider the Romantic period 'modern music'. Beckett is similar albeit with about 350 years of it. Ilias got hurled from 1233 to 2004 and after a period of ??? went, "Oh, Romanian music!" and it was. Dragostea Din Tei. Like can you imagine one moment it’s 1233 and the next moment you are listening to Dragostea Din Tei. Also thanks to the language drift they only caught about a quarter of the words so it was this whole thing where he almost, almost was understanding it but the rest was just, “...what.” And that’s how Ilias discovered modern music.

Anyway yeah they’ve pretty much decided that their collective music tastes are so disparate no one is allowed to comment on them.

4. Which one spoils the other more and do they ever get competitive to show the other more love

Honestly, they all kind of spoil each other, albeit in different ways. Like Ilias will just randomly pop a handmade flower crown on Sascha’s head. Beckett will occasionally find an extremely rare book on his desk and know Sascha found it for him. Beckett always tells Sascha first when he’s found something cool so they can be the first to investigate it. And they absolutely get competitive, yeah.

5. How many years did it take to get married or was it just not for them

Sascha and Ilias have a mutual blood bond, which is more or less the equivalent of thus. Beckett has a mutual bond with Anatole, but he and Sascha have a level-2 bond.

7. Are their friends/family supportive

 Honestly, uh, Sascha and Ilias don’t really have anyone else. Beckett’s companions tend to range from, “They’re terrifying but I trust your judgment :D” (Anatole) to “hahahahahaha if Vykos harms one hair on Beckett’s head I’ll end them” (Lucita) to “WHY” (Aristotle, Okulos, most others tbh).

8. How does one comfort the other when the other is in distress/having a panic attack/crying

Sascha is the one most prone to panic attacks because trauma is a bitch and basically just... Beckett and Ilias both respond by with hugging/gentle restraint (if they’re okay with touch) or by giving them space and doing things like running a hot bath when they’re touch-averse.

9. Which one dissociates

Honestly Sascha spent most of 1234 to 2006 lowkey dissociating, which is fair when there’s literally another essence fused to yours. Post-Dracon, they still get the occasional dissociative episode, but it’s much easier to bring them back to themself.

10. Which one stares at the other's booty like “damn” and how does the other react when catching them

All three tbh. Beckett stares at Sascha, Sascha either gets a bit self-conscious or a bit ;) , depending on mood. Sascha stares at both Beckett and Ilias and gets a bit embarrassed when caught (Beckett will laugh it off, Ilias will basically be ;D). Ilias stares at both and is completely shameless about it because he may no longer be on the Path of Pleasure but he’s absolutely not going to feel ashamed for admiring his gorgeous lovers.

11. When they live together what kinda place do they live in? What does their home look like?

Beckett and Sascha travel too much for one place, honestly, and Ilias accompanies them a lot. They do have a few houses scattered throughout the world, though, including one in the Carpathians (nowhere near Brasov, tyvm). Not really as big as the monastery, it’s mostly like... big library, a few comfortable places to sleep or rest, Ilias likes having a garden these days and grows a lot of flowers.

12. What do their dates look like

Museum heists.

13. How does each act when getting drunk

Ilias gets even more handsy. Actually he can get to be a bit of a pain, but he does listen immediately if one of them tells him to tone it down. Beckett gets very enthusiastic and fired-up and a bit more feral and he’s gonna go find Enoch right now and prove Caine wasn’t real once and for all. Sascha, uh, tends to get a bit emotional and also very talkative, but can literally like. Talk their way into minor breakdowns. Basically less barriers.

14. Which one rolls over in the morning evening to wake up the other one just to kiss them

All three :3

15. Have they saved each other's lives before

Yup!

Ficverse-wise, Sascha did also save Ilias from becoming a bogatyr to the Eldest, although that was also Sascha and Beckett both saving themselves by being emotionally honest. Yeah XD

16. Does one have an interest the other think is weird but wants to listen to it regardless

Ilias’ spirituality conflicts a bit with Beckett’s... atheism, I guess? Like he’s definitely not sure he believes in the spirits that Ilias regularly works with as a Koldun, but he’s willing to keep a relatively open mind. (He’s a bit less open-minded in Sascha’s belief in - and support of - Caine, given that he’s literally based his career around the metaphor theory!)

17. Which one uses cropped hentai as reaction images

Sascha.

They have troll tendencies, okay.

18. Does one of them kinkshame the other

There is absolutely no kinkshaming here. Listen Ilias was a Priest of Jarilo. Sascha was once on the Path of Pleasure too. Beckett seduced Dracula for information then forgot to ask his question. They’re all very open about everything.

There may be teasing about the odd hobby or interest but it’s pretty lighthearted.

19. Is one of them self conscious about their body? If so how does the other comfort them

Beckett occasionally has Moments over his hands and worries about hurting Sascha or something. They basically respond by being like “are you kidding the claws are hot as hell”. On occasion, Beckett will get one of them to Vicissitude them down if he wants to use his hands more, although they’ll regrow and be achey for a night or two afterwards.

20. Say they were cuddling on the bed while listening to record player playing the background. Which song is playing?

Honestly I want to say Third Eye by Florence + the Machine just for fic reasons. When I was writing Mantle I saw it very much as Beckett towards Sascha, but it fits with Ilias towards them as well.

I have no idea how they would have discovered F+tM but anyway.

23. What kinda joyrides do they go on? Relaxing ones or wild ones?

It. I imagine it usually involves police chases. When it doesn’t Beckett will occasionally go wolf so he can stick his head out the car window like :P

Shh don’t tell anyone.

25. Do people ever get annoyed of their pda

God probably. One of the main exceptions is Anatole, who’ll basically go, “Oh! Are we cuddling?” and flop on top of Beckett.

27. Which one’s the red, which one’s the blue

They’re all red. Fear. Ilias is probably closest to blue.

28. Are either of them mentally ill, if so how do they help one another cope

Sascha has both PTSD (from Symeon and Michael, and from the Eldest) and C-PTSD (from being bound to the Dracon for literal centuries). Also depression and anxiety, which are... pretty common with those. See question 8 for some of the coping methods, the rest is just... taking each day as it comes. Like they’ve lived a very long time, but they only got free of the Dracon in 2006, so it’s still a very new thing.

Ilias has some trauma from some of the things he’s had to do to survive since waking up with the Thirst of Ages, and gets into guilt spirals on occasion. He mostly focuses on Path of Nocturnal Redemption methods to work through it; he’s kind of adverse to anyone seeing him vulnerable like that. He knows Sascha has done some awful shit, but they weren’t themself at the time so Ilias feels it doesn’t count, and Beckett is like, Humanity 6? He just doesn’t get it, so Ilias keeps it to himself.

Beckett has an odd, acquired one - his experiences in Jerusalem left him with the ability (if it could be called an ability!) to occasionally hear the Cobweb (the Malkavian Madness Network). While his connection isn’t nearly as strong as an actual Malkavian’s, he does get odd flashes of Insight; less helpfully, it can occasionally get, uh, loud in his head. This tends to ramp up a bit with proximity to Malkavians, so when he’s around Anatole, Anatole will help him filter the voices and thoughts out by teaching him meditation techniques. (Given that Anatole - correctly - feels responsible for Beckett being afflicted thus, he wants to make sure it doesn’t hit his lover too badly.)

29. Does one have a spot on them where they would melt when the other kisses them there

Give Beckett head scritchies and he’ll turn into a puddle :3

34. Are they a reckless couple or safe

*loud, prolonged laughter*

37. Do they get into fights often? If so what do they fight over and how do they make up?

Sascha and Ilias are usually... very chill; if they argue, it’s over the other’s safety, like Ilias wanting to do something reckless and Sascha being very much ‘please do not’. Sascha and Beckett argue a bit more, although thankfully they have now stopped trying to literally kill each other XD When they do, it’s usually ideological, related to Gehenna, Caine, et cetera. Sascha is still very much a part of the Sabbat, and Beckett is, well, basically an atheist.

40. Who would fight in honor for the other if someone would insult them

All three tbh. Here’s a fun bit from the novel:

Still really dig this bit from BJD, too!

No misgendering on Beckett’s watch!

42. How would one react if the other was to die

Uh.

Poorly.

Like most of Sascha’s sanity slippage was due to the Dracon’s essence being fused to their own and just how the Eldest... did that, but a good part of it was absolutely due to Ilias’ death.

43. Who dies first

...canonically, Ilias XD;;

It’s okay he gets better.

#vampire the masquerade #feral nerd #mx meat crimes #tzinnamon roll #caymanshipping #heartflowershipping #ivoryringshipping

[newstfionline]

Saturday, July 10, 2021

Billionaire Blastoff (AP) Two billionaires are putting everything on the line this month to ride their own rockets into space. Virgin Galactic’s Richard Branson is due to take off Sunday from New Mexico, launching with two pilots and three other employees aboard a rocket plane carried aloft by a double-fuselage aircraft. Blue Origin’s Jeff Bezos departs nine days later from West Texas, blasting off in a fully automated capsule with three guests: his brother, an 82-year-old female aviation pioneer who’s waited six decades for a shot at space and the winner of a $28 million charity auction. They will go 55 miles to 66 miles (88 kilometers to 106 kilometers) up.

Severe heat wave builds across Western U.S. after nation’s hottest June on record (Washington Post) Last week, a “thousand-year” heat wave baked the Pacific Northwest and adjacent British Columbia with widespread highs topping 100 degrees, resulting in a death toll in the hundreds. Lytton, Canada, climbed to 121 degrees and established new national records three days in a row before the town burned in heat-intensified wildfires. The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration announced Friday that the heat wave helped the United States clinch its hottest June on record. Eight states had their hottest Junes, including Arizona, California, Nevada and Utah. These four states are at the heart of yet another heat wave developing in the West that could challenge records and bring dangerously hot temperatures. It will mark the third punishing heat wave in the West this summer, including last week’s in the Pacific Northwest and a record-breaking event in mid-June. This heat wave will not likely be as extreme as the event in the Pacific Northwest, but temperatures could challenge all-time highs around Las Vegas, Redding, Calif., and Sacramento and a few other places between California’s Central Valley and southern Nevada.

Political Crisis in Haiti Deepens Over Rival Claims to Power (NYT) The political storm in Haiti intensified on Thursday as two competing prime ministers claimed the right to run the country, setting up an extraordinary power struggle over who had the legal authority to govern after the brazen assassination of President Jovenel Moïse in his home the day before. Haiti’s interim prime minister, Claude Joseph, says he has taken command of the police and the army, declaring a “state of siege” that essentially put the country under martial law. But constitutional experts questioned his right to impose it, and his claim to power was quickly challenged by a rival. Two days before his death, Mr. Moïse had appointed a new prime minister, Ariel Henry, a neurosurgeon who was supposed to take up the role this week and told a local newspaper that he was the rightful prime minister instead. The dueling claims created a volatile political crisis that left constitutional experts confused and diplomats worried about a broad societal collapse that could ignite violence or prompt Haitians to flee the country en masse, as they have after natural disasters, coups or other periods of deep instability.

Brexit bill (Reuters) Brexit’s unfortunate fallout continues. The European Union has said that the United Kingdom is liable to pay 47.5 billion euros ($56.2 billion) to the E.U. as part of its post-Brexit financial settlement. The E.U.’s consolidated budget report for 2020 said the money is owed under a series of articles which both sides agreed to as part of the Brexit withdrawal agreement. The amount is significantly higher than the U.K. expected. Its Office for Budget Responsibility predicted in its March 2018 economic and fiscal outlook report that the bill would amount to 41.4 billion euros ($49 billion). Britain and the E.U. were in a 47-year relationship, and the divorce has been dicey. It took more than four years of acrimonious negotiations and lingering mistrust before the two finally struck a trade and cooperation agreement at the end of December.

Thailand to impose tighter restrictions to slow virus spread (Reuters) Thailand will announce new travel restrictions, mall closures and curbs on gatherings in the capital Bangkok and surrounding provinces starting next week, in an effort to slow the spread of the coronavirus, two government sources told Reuters. The government will issue a stay-home order from 9 p.m. to 4 a.m. for 14 days and bar gatherings of more than five people in the capital and high-risk areas, the sources said.

China’s gaming curfew (Foreign Policy) Chinese gaming giant Tencent will begin using facial recognition technology to prevent minors playing mobile video games past a nationwide gaming curfew. China established the 10 p.m. to 8 a.m. curfew in 2019 to combat gaming addiction—deemed a mental health disorder in 2018 by the World Health Organization. Chinese children and teenagers had been circumventing the nighttime ban by using adult’s credentials to log in to the gaming service, prompting the technological intervention.

Biden Accelerates Withdrawal Timetable (Foreign Policy) U.S. President Joe Biden on Thursday defended his decision to withdraw U.S. troops from Afghanistan, despite the Taliban’s rapid territorial gains in recent weeks. In a White House address, Biden said that all combat troops would leave Afghanistan by August 31, even earlier than a Sept. 11 deadline he set back in April. Heading off criticism from some conservatives, who have called for a small combat troop presence to remain in the country, Biden—a long-time skeptic of prolonged U.S. involvement in Afghanistan—questioned the cost of such a move. “Let me ask those who want us to stay: How many more—how many thousands more Americans, daughters and sons—are you willing to risk?” Biden said. “I will not send another generation of Americans to war in Afghanistan with no reasonable expectation of achieving a different outcome.” Although nearly all U.S. troops are set to depart Afghanistan by August, a substantial number—roughly 650—will remain in the country to provide security for the U.S. embassy and Kabul’s international airport.

Drone attacks by Iraqi militias reflect Iran’s waning hold (AP) Iran’s expeditionary Quds Force commander brought one main directive for Iraqi militia faction leaders long beholden to Tehran, when he gathered with them in Baghdad last month: Maintain calm, until after nuclear talks between Iran and the United States. But he was met with defiance. One of the six faction leaders spoke up in their meeting: They could not stay quiet while the death of his predecessor Qassim Soleimani and senior Iraqi militia commander Abu Mahdi al-Muhandis in a U.S. drone strike went unavenged. Militia attacks have only been increasing against the U.S. in military bases in both Iraq and Syria. Three missile attacks in the last week alone resulted in minor injuries, stoking fears of escalation. There have been at least eight drone attacks targeting the U.S. presence since Biden took office in January, as well as 17 rocket attacks, according to coalition officials. The attacks are blamed on the Iranian-backed militias that make up the bulk of Iraq’s state-supported Popular Mobilization Forces. The Biden administration has responded by twice targeting Iraqi militia groups operating inside Syria, including close to the Iraqi border.

Israel levels family home of alleged Palestinian attacker (AP) Israel on Thursday demolished the family home of a Palestinian-American man accused of carrying out a deadly attack on Israelis in the occupied West Bank, rejecting pleas from his estranged wife that he rarely lived in the house, which she shared with their three children. The demolition drew a rebuke from the United States, which is opposed to punitive home demolitions and has taken a more critical line toward Israel’s policies in the occupied West Bank since President Joe Biden took office this year. “The home of an entire family should not be demolished for the actions of one individual,” said U.S. State Department spokesman Ned Price. “There is a critical need to lower the temperature in the West Bank. Punitive demolitions exacerbate tensions at a time when everyone should be focused on principally ensuring calm.”

Religion (Public Religion Research Institute) A new survey of 50,334 Americans over the course of 2020 tracked how religion in the United States has continued to change over recent years. According to the survey, 36 percent of those 18 to 29 years old considered themselves unaffiliated with a religion, substantially higher than the 23 percent of 18 to 29-year-olds who considered themselves as much in 2006, and the 10 percent who were unaffiliated in 1986. That’s also double the rate of religiously unaffiliated compared to those aged 50 to 64. Still, a majority—54 percent—of those 18 to 29 are Christians, though that’s down from the 70 percent of all Americans.

Laughter can make you more productive at work (CNBC) Being inundated with bad news and working from home, for some alone, during the coronavirus pandemic has made it harder than ever for workers to find the time for laughter, but experts argue that it can really make a difference when it comes to productivity. Daniel Sgroi, an economics professor at the U.K.’s University of Warwick, told CNBC via telephone that laughter can trigger the activation of neurotransmitters such as dopamine and serotonin, both of which are considered mood-boosting hormones. Sgroi explained that laughter “fast tracks networks in the brain to help you concentrate and focus,” working as the equivalent of a productivity boost. Research that Sgroi co-authored, published in 2015, found evidence of a link between happiness and productivity. One of the techniques used in his study was to use comedy to make participants laugh and be happier, which he said boosted productivity by up to 12%. “So it’s almost like being happy generates more time,” he said, explaining that someone who is happy might be able to do in one hour what it takes someone who is less happy to do in an hour and 20 minutes.

#headlines #news

[unfolded73]

Husbands: Two Years In (5/5) - schitt’s creek ff

Here it is, the final chapter!  There's nothing I can say that can get across how touched I've been by the comments on this fic. The number of people who have shared things about their own struggles with mental health -- I'm not worthy of it. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

While I'm including this fic as part of the "Labels" series, the preceding fics are not required reading. Previous fics in this series: Boyfriends; “I Love You”, Partners, Fiancés

Warning: This fic deals with depression as one of its major topics.

Rated Explicit, this chapter 4718 words. (ao3)

Thanks to @high-seas-swan for cheerleading and B13_MaybeThisTime for many valuable comments (and also cheerleading).

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

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Chapter 5: Winter

“So how was your week?” Jessica asked.

Patrick always felt like he should plan before therapy what he was going to talk about, but he never remembered to do that.

“It was a little crazy. The holidays at the store always are, although it’s very lucrative. The money we make in December will carry us through at least half of the upcoming year,” he said, pinching the webbing on one hand between his thumb and forefinger of the other.

“And did you feel more equipped to handle that? The busy store, and all your responsibilities around that? Especially with Christmas a few days away?”

Patrick shrugged, feeling obstinate. “I don’t know.”

Jessica let a silence settle, waiting for him to talk. Patrick hated this part; it made him feel like he was failing at therapy when he didn’t know how to fill that silence. What the right answer was. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the sofa cushions, calling her bluff.

Finally, she relented and spoke, and Patrick felt like he’d won a round of whatever game they were playing. “You’ve never said much in here about your sexual orientation other than to talk about your husband and to say that things with your family are good. Was it always that way?”

Patrick tried not to roll his eyes. He knew this would be coming eventually. He’d been avoiding the subject of Rachel or his coming out process because he knew it would be something Jessica would fixate on. “I’m not depressed because of being gay, or… or anything to do with that. I love being gay.”

She smiled genuinely. “I’m glad. But humor me.”

“My parents always accepted me,” he said quickly, but that felt like a lie even though it was technically true.

“How old were you when you came out?” Jessica asked.

Patrick let out a frustrated sigh, seeing no way to avoid the truth now. “I was… I was in denial about being gay for a long time.” Might as well get it all out, he thought. “When I was twenty-nine I broke off an engagement to my high school sweetheart — who was a woman — and moved away from my hometown. Pretty soon after that, I realized I was gay.”

“That must’ve been hard,” Jessica said.

“Yeah, but once I got through it and… and got together with David, I’d never been happier.”

He couldn’t help but see the smile she gave him in response to that as patronizing. “New love can flood the body with so many good chemicals that it swamps out all of the bad ones.”

Patrick narrowed his eyes. “Are you saying I wasn’t happy?”

“No, I’m saying that the way you’ve framed things in some of our past sessions — that you were depressed before you moved here, and then you weren’t, and now for some reason you’re depressed again… that may not be the right way to frame it. Do you think perhaps it puts a lot of pressure on David as the source of your happiness?”

“I don’t put pressure on David,” Patrick protested.

“Is it possible that you put pressure on yourself, then? When it comes to your relationship with David and its importance in your life?” Jessica asked.

Patrick huffed and didn’t answer. Now she was contradicting herself from one sentence to the next.

“When did you come out to your family?” she asked.

“That isn’t why I’m depressed either,” he said.

Jessica sighed like he was finally challenging her constant state of serene acceptance. “Untangling the web of depression isn’t straightforward. It might be helpful to pull on different threads and see what they’re connected to. Okay?”

Patrick supposed that made sense. “Okay.” Then after another pause, he admitted, “It took me a while to come out to my parents.”

“Why is that?”

He stared at Jessica’s bookshelf for several seconds, his eyes running over the titles without reading them. “I worried that my parents wouldn’t be okay with it. They didn’t talk about gay people when I was a kid, really. Or when they did, they made it sound like a sad thing that we needed to tolerate because it wasn’t a choice. You know, that brand of ‘tolerance’ that is just that and nothing more.”

She shot him a sympathetic look. “It’s understandable why you were hesitant to come out to them.”

“But they were great about it. It wasn’t long after coming out to them that I asked David to marry me, and they were great. They love him, and all my worries were unfounded,” he said, trying to figure out why tears were threatening to spill over.

Jessica took a few seconds to rearrange herself, setting her ever-present portfolio aside and leaning forward on with her elbows on her knees. “I understand that, looked at a certain way, you’ve had a purely positive experience with coming into your sexuality. You had David, who from what you’ve said before is a very loving person. And based on what you’ve told me, you live in an accepting community. And then your parents stepped up and were there for you when you asked them to be. That’s all wonderful, and not to be discounted. But it doesn’t change the fact that for all of your formative years, when maybe on some subconscious level you did know that you were gay, or at least different in some fundamental way, you didn’t feel like your parents or the community you were living in would accept you. That kind of experience leaves a mark, even though everything turned out fine.”

She smirked, leaning backwards again. “Or not. Perhaps your serotonin is low due to simple physiology and I’m completely off the mark.”

Patrick felt strangely reassured by this honesty, this admission that she knew that she didn’t know everything. “So I need medication, then?”

“Maybe,” she said. “Medication might help. Or cognitive behavior therapy could help you. Or both together.”

His reassurance quickly dissolved, leaving Patrick wanting to scream at his therapist, fix me, goddammit! Instead he said, “That all sounds very nebulous.”

She grinned. “From what I know about you so far, I bet that’s driving you crazy, and I’m sorry about that. Can you bear with me for a little while, though? Work through the process?”

He sighed. “I’ll try.”

~*~

Patrick drove past the empty storefront on Elmdale’s main street as he was leaving his therapy appointment. He’d noticed every week that the ‘for lease’ sign was still in the window. After the second time he saw it, he’d texted Ray to ask if that was the space he’d mentioned to David. David hadn’t said anything about the second Rose Apothecary location in a while, but it didn’t take a genius to guess that he was still thinking about it, and probably wondering when Patrick would be ready to seriously entertain the idea again.

On impulse, he pulled into one of the parking spaces that lined the street and got out of the car, walking over to the empty storefront. The windows were covered in paper, but he could see enough through the gaps to make out that it had a scuffed up hardwood floor. It would need to be refinished, he thought, but it looked like it was in pretty good shape.

The smell of coffee attracted Patrick’s attention, and he looked over to see that there was a coffee shop next door. Grind House, the sign that hung under the awning said. Curious, Patrick went over and opened the door.

The barista looked up and waved. It being around two in the afternoon on a weekday, the place was mostly empty other than two people at a table in the corner who were huddled over laptop computers. The shop was decorated tastefully for Christmas, and he thought David would approve of the warmth and coziness of the space.

“Hey, what can I get you?” the barista — Taylor, her name tag read — asked him with a smile. Tattoos snaked out from under the sleeves of her t-shirt, black ink against dark brown skin.

“A small earl grey tea?” he asked.

“Sure thing. Is that it? We’ve got a few pastries left.”

His eyes strayed over to the pastry case. “Yeah, could I get a couple of those butter tarts to go? My husband is a real connoisseur.”

Taylor grinned at him. “Smart man.”

“Hey, what do you know about the empty space next door? Do you know if there’s been any interest in it?”

“Oh man, I’m still bummed about that. It used to be a comic book shop. I was afraid to go in there for the longest time — comic stores aren’t necessarily the most welcoming places to black queer women, you know? But the old guy that ran it was super nice. I remember he made a point of telling me when Ta-Nahisi Coates started writing Captain America.”

“What happened to the store?”

She shrugged. “Amazon drove him out of business, I guess. That’ll be $9.25,” she said ringing up his tea and butter tarts. As Patrick put his debit card in the reader, she added, “Why do you ask?”

“Oh.” He scratched his cheek. “My husband and I run a store in Schitt’s Creek. Rose Apothecary?”

“Holy shit, really? A friend gave me some of your lotion for my birthday. It’s great.”

Patrick swelled with pride. “Thanks. Anyway, we’re considering opening a second location in Elmdale.”

Taylor smirked, handing him his tea and a box with the tarts. “Sorry, I can’t allow you to have a store right next door to my coffee shop. I’ll spend all my profits there.”

Laughing, Patrick accepted his purchases. “Oh, well. Guess we’ll have to look for another place, then. Although David would return the favor, I’m sure.”

“What’s your name?” Taylor asked.

“It’s Patrick Brewer,” he said, setting the tea down again to shake her hand.

“Nice to meet you, Patrick. I’m Taylor. And I hope you guys get the space.”

“I… do too,” he said, surprised to find that he meant it.

The store was bustling when he got back to Schitt’s Creek, and David and Bethany were both busy with customers. Patrick put the box of butter tarts in the back room and went to work restocking Christmas decorations. Given how many decorations they sold every holiday season, Patrick had to assume that by now every Christmas tree in Elm County was fully outfitted in David Rose’s aesthetic.

As soon as David finished with the customers he was helping, Patrick went over and put a hand on his shoulder. “I got you something for your afternoon break,” he said. “There’s a white box on the table in the back.”

David’s eyes lit up, and he hurried into the back before he could be waylaid by another harried holiday shopper.

They didn’t have a chance to exchange any more conversation until Bethany finally flipped the sign on the door to Closed and locked up. Patrick felt dead on his feet, but he had to admit that the thought of all the money in the cash register made him feel pretty good. Bethany went to work cleaning the windows while David leaned against the center table.

“Oh my god, Patrick, where did you get those butter tarts? Those are the best ones I’ve had in years.”

Patrick walked over and put his arms around his husband, pulling him into a hug. “A little coffee shop in downtown Elmdale that happens to be next to an empty store that I believe Ray mentioned to you a couple of months ago.”

David pulled out of the hug, his eyes darting back and forth as he studied Patrick’s expression. “It’s still vacant?”

Nodding, Patrick leaned up and kissed David’s cheek. “We should call Ray after Christmas and go take a look at it.”

“Are you sure?”

Patrick shrugged. “No, I’m scared as hell. Among other things, I’m afraid I’m going to miss having days like this with you, working together in our store. But I want to go look.”

David kissed his lips gently. “Okay.”

~*~

Stevie stood shivering on their back porch, bundled up in her hat and puffy parka. “It’s way too cold for this,” she said.

Patrick exhaled pot smoke in a crystalline cloud of breath and handled the joint back to her. “Our families are getting here tomorrow and I don’t want the house to smell like weed.” He giggled. “It doesn’t match David’s holiday aesthetic.”

His phone chimed, and he took it out to look at it, expecting a complaint from David. Instead the text was from his cousin. There were no words, just a picture of Justin pressed cheek to cheek with another boy.

Patrick: Who’s this?

Justin 🌈: his name is Jonah

Patrick: Very cute. And closer to your age, I hope?

Justin 🌈: 🙄 you sound like my mom he’s 18

Patrick: Good. Merry Christmas, Justin.

Justin 🌈: thanks you too

Then a text arrived from David, just as Patrick expected. She’s got even more luggage than last year.

Patrick laughed. Maybe it’s a lot of presents for you, he texted back.

David: You give my sister entirely too much credit.

Patrick: See you soon.

“Why are you suddenly so fucking popular?” Stevie groused, her teeth chattering, handing him the joint back as he put away his phone.

“Sounds like Alexis’s flight got in on time,” he said. “And my cousin Justin has a new… boyfriend, I guess?” He took another hit.

“I can’t stand this anymore; I’m going inside,” Stevie said, taking the half-smoked joint from him and carefully extinguishing it, then putting it in a crumpled sandwich bag that she produced from her coat pocket. Patrick followed her back into the house. “Is this the cousin that you rescued a while ago?”

“How many gay cousins do you think I have?” he asked, pulling his coat off.

“I mean, statistically? Given how many cousins you have? More than one.” She flopped down on the sofa and stretched out on her back. “So are you liking your therapist any better?”

Patrick dropped into the overstuffed chair across from her. “I don’t know. As I predicted, she’s starting to fixate on my sexual orientation and…” He gestured airily in a very David way. “All that.”

Stevie turned her head and regarded him balefully. “The fact that you were in denial about being gay until you were thirty? And didn’t come out to your parents until you were ready to ask David to marry you? Is that what ‘all that’ is?”

“Fuck off,” Patrick grumbled.

“I’m just saying, there’s probably some stuff to unpack there.”

“Stevie, I’m completely comfortable with being gay,” he said.

“Didn’t say you weren’t. It’s not about you being gay, but maybe it’s about how you get so wrapped up in your obligations to other people that you lose track of yourself. Or that you’re so obsessed with not disappointing the people you care about that you have a hard time being truthful about who you are or what you need.”

Patrick blinked. “Wow. Maybe you should be my therapist.”

Stevie laughed. “The problem is, I need to be high to have these deep insights.”

They settled into comfortable silence for a few minutes. Finally Patrick admitted, “I don’t like the way it makes me feel cracked open.”

“What does?” Stevie asked, her mind clearly having wandered.

“Therapy.”

“Oh. Yeah, I don’t think I could deal with that either,” Stevie said.

“It’s like… you know how if you pick up a big rock in moist soil, there’ll be all these bugs underneath it?”

“Ew,” Stevie said in a perfect imitation of David, and the two of them burst into gales of laughter for a while. When Stevie finally got control of herself, she said, “Sorry, what about the bugs?”

He wiped away tears from his cheeks. “It was a metaphor for my brain. I’ve got a lifetime of practice not moving those rocks. I don’t know if I want to know what’s underneath them.”

“Yeah, I get that.” She stretched her toes out, brushing them against the arm of the sofa. “You know you’ll be okay though, right?”

Patrick felt a swell of love for Stevie and he would have hugged her, but it would probably be weird. Also he was comfortable in his chair. Maybe he’d hug her later.

When David arrived from retrieving Alexis at the airport, Patrick put his coat back on to help with the luggage. David opened a bottle of wine and turned the lamps in the living room off, leaving only the light from the Christmas tree to illuminate the four of them as they settled in to talk.

They told Alexis about the new location in Elmdale that they were considering leasing, and she made some marketing suggestions that were good enough that David went and retrieved his journal from the bedroom so that he could make some notes.

“One thing I’ve seen businesses do to get market penetration is sponsor relevant conferences,” Alexis said. “Like, professional association meetings. Then they get their business name and logo printed on everything for the conference — tote bags, lanyards, USB sticks, all that stuff.” Her free hand that wasn’t holding her wine glass flopped around to indicate all of the stuff.

“We don’t really have general store conferences,” Patrick said, bemused.

Alexis rolled her eyes. “But it works for other events too. Summer festivals, parades, whatever.”

“Elm Valley has a pumpkin festival every year,” Stevie said.

Patrick was starting to have a germ of an idea related to what Alexis had said. He sipped his wine and filed it away to mull over later, when he was sober.

Tomorrow, Johnny and Moira and his own parents would arrive and things would take a turn for the chaotic, but for right now, Patrick could enjoy the warmth of David’s hand on his shoulder as his husband bantered happily with his sister and his best friend. Leaning into the crook of David’s arm, Patrick smiled and tried to soak up all of the love in the room, an inoculation against the darkness that might lurk around the next bend in the road.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” David murmured against his spine later in their bed. Their kisses had been drowsy and a little bit drunk as they decided that sex was happening tonight in spite of their houseguests. Alexis was in the guest bedroom and Stevie had zonked out on the living room sofa, David tucking an afghan around her shoulders before he and Patrick went to bed themselves.

“It’s not Christmas yet,” Patrick said with a chuckle, writhing, pressed against the sheets as David worked him up and up.

“I know it’s not technically Christmas, but tonight was so nice,” David murmured into Patrick’s shoulder, words alternating with kisses. “It filled me with holiday spirit.”

Patrick tried not to laugh, he really did, but it was a losing battle. He made an attempt to smother his giggles into his pillow.

“If you say something about me filling you with the holiday spirit, it’s over between us.” The things he was doing to Patrick with his fingers belied that statement.

Laughing again, Patrick pushed his hips back against David’s hand, and then his laughter turned into a moan, and then neither of them said anything coherent for a long time.

~*~

The first town council meeting of the new year came on a grey January afternoon, the threat of snow on the horizon. Everyone was subdued and low energy, even Roland, and Patrick felt drowsy, struggling a little bit to pay attention and type at the same time that they discussed several budgetary issues. A lot of the topics were the same every meeting, with tiny, incremental changes almost too small to detect. Or worse, they were recurring issues that indicated no progress had been made at all.

When they got to the bottom of the agenda, Ronnie asked if there was any new business, and Patrick almost didn’t say anything. The idea that had occurred to him during the holidays had seemed strong on a happier day. Today, he wasn’t sure he had the energy to argue for it. But then he thought about the things Ronnie had said to him about queer activism, and he thought about Taylor and her coffee shop, and he opened his mouth.

“Have we ever considered having something in Schitt’s Creek for Pride?” he asked.

Ronnie raised her eyebrows. “What, like a parade?”

“No offense, but it might be kind of a sad little parade,” Roland said.

“No, not a parade. Like, a street festival. Tents with food and other vendors and LGBT educational booths. Opportunities for people to find out about meetings in the area. Maybe a stage with speeches and musical performances. And we don’t have to limit it to only Schitt’s Creek. I looked into it a little, and even Elmdale doesn’t have anything like it. We could draw vendors and patrons from all over Elm County.”

Ronnie crossed her arms. “Sounds like a way to line your own pockets. I assume Rose Apothecary would be one of the vendors?”

Patrick met her gaze. “I’m sure the rest of council could be counted on to keep us on a level playing field with everyone else. Come on, Ronnie. Can you honestly say it wouldn’t be a good thing for the community? And a good way to bring money into the town?”

She tilted her head in acquiescence. “Put together a formal proposal and we can vote on it at the next meeting.”

“I’m going to vote ‘yes,’” Bob stage-whispered to Patrick.

“Thanks, Bob.”

After the meeting had adjourned, Patrick went over to Ronnie. “I thought later this month I’d go to that Thornbridge LGBTQIA+ meeting you told me about. See what they’re doing and make some connections. Ask if they’d be interested in helping out with our Pride festival.”

Ronnie stared at him for a second. “Your festival idea hasn’t been approved yet,” she said.

“Assuming it’s approved,” he said, unable to keep himself from grinning. “Would you like to go with me?”

“You want me to spend hours in a car with you, driving to Thornbridge. Really.”

“Come on, Ronnie. Someday you and I are going to have to bury the hatchet for good.” He put on his most guileless expression, the one that caused David to accuse him of weaponizing his eyes. “Why not in service to the queer community, of which we are both pillars?”

She almost, for a split second, looked like she was going to crack a smile. Instead she sighed. “Fine. Let me know when it is. I’ll see if I’m available.”

~*~

They celebrated signing the lease for the new store with pizza at David’s favorite spot in Elmdale. There were paper hearts colored by children in the front window, and it reminded Patrick that he only had a few days to find a suitably tacky gift for David for Valentine’s Day. It wasn’t worth it if he couldn’t get David to threaten to divorce him on this, David’s most hated of holidays.

While they waited for their pizza, Patrick reached across the red and white checkered tablecloth and took David’s hand. “Thank you,” he said.

David had been fiddling with his phone, but at the sound of Patrick’s voice, he set it face-down on the table and gave Patrick his full attention. “What for?”

“For being there for me so many times this past year. For… for putting up with me at my worst.”

A crooked smile threatened to erupt on David’s face. “Patrick, you know your worst is still pretty good, right?”

“I hope you’re not still grading me on a Sebastien Raine curve, David.”

David rolled his eyes at that. “No, I’m just saying that maybe you don’t have the most objective perspective on what being married to you is like.” His eyes softened. “I’m as happy being your husband today as I was the first day. Okay?”

Patrick swallowed around a surprising lump in his throat. “Okay.”

“You’re nervous about the new store,” David surmised.

“I am, but it’s the right decision,” Patrick said with confidence.

“I’m nervous too,” David said. “Don’t mistake my outward confidence for anything other than a thin veneer over all of my anxieties.”

That statement automatically put Patrick into reassurance mode. “The marketing ideas from Alexis are going to be helpful. The customer base in Elmdale is huge and has more disposable income compared to what we’re used to at home. I’ve run some numbers, and I think the revenue from this location may outstrip our Schitt’s Creek location in a matter of months.”

David grimaced. “Well, that somehow makes me feel irrationally protective of our first store. It doesn’t deserve to be the under-achiever.”

Squeezing David’s hand, Patrick said, “Never. I fell in love with you there, and there’s nowhere in the world more important to me than that store.”

“We can make new memories at the new store,” David said softly.

Patrick knew, realistically, that he and David probably wouldn’t be spending that much time together at the new store after they got it open. They’d have to split time between the two locations, and there would be even more work to do out on the road, expanding their vendor base to support the increased demand.

David seemed to read his thoughts. “And when we spend our days apart, it will make being at home together in the evenings that much more precious.”

“Yeah,” Patrick managed to say, his voice raw. He averted his eyes from David’s piercing gaze, staring out the window between the gaps in the paper hearts. “Can you… can you talk to me more about that?”

David smiled and rubbed his hands together. “Well, imagine a day when I’m at the store here in Elmdale, and you’re at the store back at home.”

“Are you at the one in Elmdale because of Taylor’s pastries?”

“Shhh,” David said, reaching out with a finger like he was going to put it over Patrick’s lips. “I leave the store a little early, letting one of our trusted employees close up, and I bring home some wine and cheese from the store. Maybe some of Heather’s new triple cream.” He closed his eyes like he was having an erotic fantasy about Heather Warner’s cheese.

“Wine and cheese that you pay for,” Patrick said.

“Naturally. Oh, and fresh berries. It’s summer, and there are berries in season. So I set everything up on the kitchen table, just in time for you to arrive home from the other store. And we drink wine and eat cheese and we tell each other all about our days. The sun is setting, and the light is all golden,” David said.

“I like this story,” Patrick replied. “Then what happens?”

“Eventually we move to the sofa. Maybe watch some TV or listen to some music. We put our feet up and finish our wine and you remember something funny that you saw on the internet and you tell me about it. And then when we get tired, we go to bed.”

“What happens then?” Patrick asked as their server set their pizza in front of them and David grabbed a slice.

David’s mouth twisted into a crooked smile and he waggled his eyebrows. “The rest of the story is very interesting, but you’ll have to wait to get home to hear that part.”

“Hmm, okay.” Patrick reached for his own slice of pizza.

“Hey,” David said, drawing Patrick back to looking at him. “I love you. I can’t wait to see what the next year brings for us.”

Patrick smiled. He felt bolstered, lifted up by David’s support and for once, he allowed himself to feel good about it. “Me either, David.”

#david x patrick #schitt's creek ff #schitt's creek fic #david x patrick fic #david x patrick ff #my fic

[reneejuliet]

Ignorance is Bliss.

Author: reneejuliet

Pairing: Primary Jungkook x Reader, side of Namjoon x Reader, and hinted Yoongi x Reader

Rating: M (18+ to be safe)

Author’s Note: Okay. I’m not new to fanfiction, but I am new to it on here. Also, this is just the teaser/summary. It’s based on an original story idea I have and am working on, but I’ve hit a roadblock on it and for some reason, I’ve always found that supplementing original characters with someone else helps. I’ve learned not to question it. Plus, 3 of my favorite characters just reminded me of BTS members, so. Here we are. I hope you like it. Any feedback is welcome - just don’t be rude, thanks.

Live like you feel it Live like you need it Live like you feel this

The world ended in fire and ice. Flames rose high above the cities, licking at the sky with greedy, ashen fingers. They consumed and destroyed and burnt everything it could reach. With no resources to keep them in check, it wasn’t long until it was all fire. A sea of red and gold, dancing with desolation.

With nothing left to ruin, the flames extinguished. Silence fell upon the world. Then came the ice, cold and hard and piercing. It rained down on the ashes of what once was, dusting gray to white. A new canvas. The heat of pain now turned to cold resolution. It was time to start over.

ElectriCity rose from the ashes, bright and shining in the dark. Refugees flooded in from the underground, blackened eyes once more alight with hope. Homes were built, jobs created, families restarted. Slowly, the world was healing, coming back together. And at the seams was Take Kare Industries.

The light in the darkness, the beacon of hope, the transcendence of a new world. A better world. Take Kare Industries had single-handedly nourished the panic and emptiness into a flourishing change, a belief that things would look up. That humanity would persevere, rebuild. It had before, and it would again. For that was the nature of humans, after all. Survival.

With its kind, nurturing founders at the helm, Take Kare Industries picked up the pieces left scattered in the wasteland of the world’s end. They armed themselves with the few ancient texts that had endured the fires and applied newfound applications. A once primary energy source before the Dark Days was re-purposed to ignite ElectriCity - and with it the people’s faith. They flocked blindly, gratefully to the promise of life, and not just survival. A concept long lost the day everything burned, rekindled now in the cold of a new beginning.

It was not a smooth journey, however. Hesitation, distrust, and uneasiness were rife among the people, often causing disturbances and setbacks. There to ease it all was Bliss. A medication created by the good-natured founders of Take Kare, it soothed and calmed those who could not hear reason, could not see past the dark. Formatted into a thin, gauzy patch adhered behind the ear, it stimulated serotonin levels until a sedative peace was achieved within the body. In moderation, it allowed for lucidity and understanding. Harmless enough.

But just as there are good attributes of human nature, there are just as sinister of ones. Greed, corruption. It isn’t long once the original founders of Take Kare pass away that these creep in at the foundation, riding almost exclusively on the coattails of their successor, Cormac Volt. With a charm so sharp it could wound, he believes in a much different approach to the company’s motto; after all, there’s more than one interpretation to “taking care” of the problem.

And you know what they say. Ignorance is Bliss. 

#kpop fanfiction #bts fanfction #bts fanfic #bts fantasy #bts fantasy au #bangtan fanfiction #bts au #bts imagines #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #namjoon fanfic #namjoon x reader #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x reader #dystopia #writing #story #original idea #fantasy #jungkook fanfiction #namjoon fanfiction #yoongi fanfiction #rm fanfic #suga fanfic #bts fic #bts smut #eventual smut #bts angst #reneejuliet #anberlin lyrics

[ptilopseth]

POV you are my spotify as i repeat ‘covid-19 type beat’ ‘stay safe’ and ‘no flex’ while writing that part of this bit

sqrt(-1) love you bit, transcription of comic i need to scan. nothing truly saucy happens but you will be able to tell if you need to do the ol’ clickie off

BEEP.

The clock-in device for Rhodes Island emits its usual shrill sound, and Dr. Seth Warren steps into the building at five AM sharp. The base infrastructure smells of machinery, of cleaning solution, and of Seth really, really needing a coffee. After a quick detour with Dr. Kal'tsit ("remember to do your work, etcetera, etcetera"), Seth steps into his office and finds his usual secretary Ptilopsis arranging books. It's a surprise to see her actually awake at such an hour, considering her narcoleptic tendencies. "Hi, Ptilopsis." Seth sets his messenger bag to the side of his desk, and sits down to begin working on whatever recruitment papers or promotion sign-offs he's got to deal with today. "It is a new day. The Doctor is now online." Ptilopsis turns away from her books and towards Seth. "Detecting emotional surge within Ptilopsis." "Who're the roses from?" Seth eyes the very noticeable glass vase of red roses on his desk. Not often he receives such gifts from Operators. And it isn't like Dr. Kalt'sit or Amiya to gift him anything as extravagant as this. "They are from me." Ptilopsis says very matter-of-factly, as if Seth was supposed to suss that out from simply looking at them. "Oh. Well, thank you, then." "...I believe you are misunderstanding the intent of my gift." Ptilopsis walks over to Seth's desk to confront him directly. "Oh, am I, now?" Seth leans back in his chair, crossing his arms indignantly, as if there are often times where he understands anything at all. "Yes. You are. Out of 500,435 queries, I wanted to choose the most adequate vessel to express my feelings for you." "Wait-" "Doctor, may I remind you that roses are a stereotypical symbol of love." The words kinda stab Seth through the chest. His face flushes, but his reply does not indicate such an appearance. "Then you're lying." Ptilopsis tilts her head, confused. "You're lying to make fun of me." "Lying? Surely you are aware I cannot lie to you." "Yes, but-" "I ask you to stop there." And so it is done. "If you will notice the additional note on your desk, you will see that I have compiled a list of the most vital reasons that contribute to why I feel as I do. Please observe." Seth picks up the handwritten note, one created with very flowy handwriting unexpected for Ptilopsis. "Dearest Doctor Seth Warren: Through intense research and data analysis, I have concluded that I, Operator Ptilopsis of Rhine Labs, am in love with you. The flowers on your desk symbolize such feelings. Additionally, please review these ten reasons that I consider the most vital to my attraction towards you." Seth does as he is asked and reviews the ten. His eyes linger on #1: "As you are aware from reading my case file, Originium poisoning has allowed me to see the world in a newer light. As such, I realized recently that there is merit in attempting to observe the world through a less analytical lens. Of course, I cannot truly do as such unless my Oripathy is cured; but after exhaustive study of the object of my desire, and through one query, I have deduced that the serotonin which is delivered to the system nexus when I see you is the most vital reason behind my romantic feelings towards you." Seth sets the note aside and lays his face between his arms resting on the desk. "Ptilopsis..." "Yes?" "Are you sure? With me being- you know-" "I am aware you suffer from occasional bouts of a mental illness identified as depressive disorder. However, this will never affect my ability to, or degree to which I am romantically interested in you. And I truly see no harm in the transition of one's gender, so long as it provides you with some form of happiness or an increase to the mental or physical quality of your life." Seth turns away for a moment- "Or do you not trust my analysis? I may find need to rerun the queries I have calculated." -And turns back, now finding it difficult to look Ptilopsis in the eye. "Rerun them how?" And this isn't a lead-on; he's genuinely curious. "...Please do not reboot the system. Ptilopsis is analyzing your query. ...I have deduced via 40,523 queries that the most adequate way to validate the truth of my data is to participate in the common romantic gesture in which two or more parties press their lips together." Seth sighs, and stands up to face Ptilopsis, just a few feet away from her in front of his desk. "Ptilopsis... tell me you know what a kiss is." "Relax. It was just a joke." The two are silent for the longest two seconds of Seth's entire life. "If you are not comfortable with the gesture, I will not force you to participate." "No, it's just..." Seth's eyes well with tears, and- "...Ptilopsis has discovered that the emotional source behind your tears is that of dopamine. Why do you cry? Is something the matter?" Seth buries himself in Ptilopsis' strangely comforting hug. "I'm alright." "Is this a verifiable truth? I do not want to leave you in such a state." "Yeah." "Then what is the meaning behind your tears?" Seth pulls away from Ptilopsis. "Because, I- Ptilopsis, nobody has ever said they loved me like that before. Not like you have." "I see. Please do not reboot the system. Ptilopsis is analyzing your query. ...I have formulated a solution through 435,642 queries. I will simply take it upon myself to remind you. ...Adding protocol to base system commands. ...Protocol added. Initiating protocol." And with the ghost of a smile on her face, the most she can manage: "I love you. I love you in such a way that I do not believe data can adequately describe. There is something very strange about the ways you push yourself, but I will admit it is one of your multiple admirable qualities. Despite your lack of memory, you have never hesitated to call on others when you falter. A capable leader knows when to perform such an act. You also have a certain way of bringing yourself up from your downfalls. You may tend to keep to yourself, but rest assured that I can assist you in managing such emotional valleys. Lastly, for now at the very least, your craft has always sparked some kind of interest within me. The system nexus has encountered errors while attempting to parse your creative works, but that does not mean I do not support you in such endeavors. In fact, I will ponder these errors from now on and make an effort to repair the system and fix them." "I..." Seth is expectantly speechless. "You do not have to weave such prose in response. A four-word reply will suffice." "I love you too." "Is Ptilopsis granted administrative permissions to go forth with the earlier activity outlined?" "Yes. But! Do I have permission to get saucy with it?" "Based on the associations of your previous uses of the phrase, I have deduced the meaning of 'get saucy.' Ptilopsis gives you full administrative permission to 'get saucy' so long as it assists in satisfying such a need." "Well- it's not a need, but... I'm not into it unless you are." "Do not worry. Ptilopsis is currently experiencing such a desire. I do not need to deduce via query that I am very into it." "Good," Seth leans close to Ptilopsis, so close that their lips are brushing. "Just had to check." And the two kiss, Ptilopsis' arms finding their way around Seth's waist, and Seth positioning his hands on Ptilopsis' hips. With a series of intricate steps to the right, Seth presses Ptilopsis against the bookcase flush with his office wall, and releases from the kiss. His lips graze down Ptilopsis' face, and come to rest just above her collarbone. "Ptilopsis has deduced that the action you are about to take is one that would result in the creation of what I believe is a hickey." Seth leans up, looking to Ptilopsis, suddenly embarrassed. "Do you not want that?" "I do not mind. I will notify you if you take an action I do not want to be a part of." Slightly less embarrassed, Seth leans back down and gently bites into Ptilopsis' neck, once on the right and twice on her left. "Ptilopsis has a request." "Yeah?" Seth brings himself back up to Ptilopsis' eye level. "Do I have administrator permissions to take part in the same action?" Seth nods. Ptilopsis latches onto Seth's neck just below his jawline; Seth's breath hitches. "Uh-" Ptilopsis immediately retracts. "Did I go too far?" "I- uh, yes, I think? Sorry, I just-" "Pay it no mind. I will not continue if such an action discomforts you in any way." "But I-" "The system nexus has a very high tolerance for what you personally consider 'saucy,' as stated earlier. Do not worry." "Gonna be honest with you. No idea why I asked you that." "It is fine. I believe I will ask the same thing if such a situation as this ever occurs again." "You want it to?" "I do not need to run a query to determine that my answer is a definite yes." And just then, Seth's phone rings from inside his jacket pocket. He carefully removes one of his hands from Ptilopsis' waist to grab his phone and answer it. "Hi?" "Hi, boss?" There's only one Laterano at Rhodes Island with that pep in her voice at five in the morning: Exusiai. "What's up? "You were supposed to be briefing us in the RIIC command center fifteen minutes ago." "Fuck." "Where are you? I saw you clock in this morning, and then you probably went to your office, but, like, I know Kal'tsit gives you a lot of paperwork, but not that much, right?" "Uh. I had some complications." "Complications, right." Exusiai says it in a knowing tone. "...I won't rat you out, boss. Promise." "Not a lot of people can say that, Exusiai." "Can you put Ptilopsis on the phone real fast, though?" Seth hands the phone over to Ptilopsis. "Hey, Ptilopsis?" "What may I assist you with, Operator Exusiai?" "I assume it worked?" "Yes it did." "Cool. But that was meant to take, like.. a few minutes? What happened?" "We had some complications." "Oookay, now I want to know." "Seth and I mutually decided to begin making out in the middle of his office. We then gave each other hickeys." "...I'm gonna hang up. Just get to the command center." "Affirmative." Ptilopsis hangs up the call for the two of them. "What was that about?" "Operator Exusiai will not tell anyone. She swore a vow of secrecy when I first asked her for advice on how to best court you." Seth steps away from Ptilopsis, his non-free hand accidentally lingering on Ptilopsis' hip for a moment longer than intended. "Court me? Awfully, uh... formal." He walks over to his desk and picks up his messenger bag, hoisting it over his shoulder. He takes his phone back from Ptilopsis and tucks it back into his jacket pocket. "It is simply the truth." "Court, like, date? Or marry? Or intercourse?" "I have deduced through three queries that the appropriate answer to this question is 'yes.'" Seth's face turns beet-red. "Oh. I think we should go on a few dates first, though." "I am in agreement. I do wish to truly know you before advancing in such measures as described." Seth does one last sweep for missing items. All good. "Wanna head out?" "Yes. Although I would like to ask for administrative permission to perform two tasks." "We're late." "They will take only a moment." "What's up, then?" "As a gesture of goodwill, may I lightly kiss your cheek?" "Yes, what? You don't have to ask about that." Ptilopsis provides a quick peck on the cheek in affirmation of Seth's reply as the two make their way out of Seth's office and into the hallway. "I would also find joy in performing the classic romantic gesture of holding hands as we walk to the command room." "My palms are sweaty, Ptilopsis." "I do not mind." "Pff- okay, you win." Seth closes the door to his office, locks it, and takes Ptilopsis' hand in his. ...And then, from around twenty feet back, in the shrill tone of a Supporter Operator whose skill with mechanics is unmatched: "Ohmygod, Ptilopsis and the Doctor are dating?!"

#sqrt(-1) love you #text #fic

[pink-rathian-official]

At the beginning of 2019, I mentioned I would keep track of every game I finished, and sum up my thoughts on all of them at the end of the year. And now I’m half regretting it because I’m gonna have to write out a short summary for each of these games. Oh well. You’ll be able to find all of them under the Read More, if you’re interested. Will be including an arbitrary score next to each game based on how much I enjoyed them.

Just some fun numbers before we jump in to the meat of the post- In 2019, I beat a total of 41 games. That’s an average of 3.41 games per month, which actually isn’t too bad of a rate!

Super Smash Bros. Ultimate (5/5) 100% complete! Beaten twice! Without doubt, the best Smash game yet. You didn’t need me to tell you this- if you’ve got a Switch, then you’ve probably got Smash.

Bayonetta (4/5) A classic character action game, and an immense source of nostalgia for me. Play this game or I’ll break your knees.

Bayonetta 2 (4/5) I actually went into this game with low expectations, I didn’t expect to enjoy it as much as the first game. Fortunately I was stupid and wrong and ended up loving it just as much as Bayo1.

Splatoon 2 (3/5) The story wasn’t particularly the most enjoyable thing ever, although I did sink a pretty decent amount of time into the multiplayer. Still not my go-to game if I’m looking for a quick match.

The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild (4/5) It was enjoyable, although kinda started dragging on towards the end. The side content started feeling very repetitive, especially the shrines- but it was still a genuinely great time.

DOOM (2016) (3/5) I raged a wee bit, gonna admit. Although it was fun, I had a lot of frustrations with the late game.

Cthon (3/5) Doom, but a Lovecraftian roguelike. I’d recommend picking it up on Steam, it’s only USD$4.99 regularly, and USD$1.69 during the Steam sale currently going on.

Fire Emblem: Awakening (4/5) I suck at strategy games because I’m a smoothbrain, but FE:A is totally one of the best 3DS games ever released. Lucina is my daughter and the story made me cry.

Hyrule Warriors: Definitive Edition (2/5) I already played the 3DS version, and went into the DE expecting it to be a bit more enjoyable- and while it was, I did find myself getting bored rather quickly.

The Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind (5/5) The best TES game ever released according to many fans. While I do still prefer Skyrim more, I can see exactly why so many love it. Planning on returning to do the DLCs soon.

Night in the Woods (4/5) I hate story-centric games, but I liked NITW a lot. The exploration was nice, seeing the town change day-to-day was nice, and the ending was freaky in a good way

Warhammer: Vermintide 2 (4/5) An incredibly fun game, very similar to Left 4 Dead but fantasy themed and with rat monsters. Launched my obsession with the Skaven.

Fallout 3 (2/5) Yeah just play New Vegas instead mate.

Assassin’s Creed IV: Black Flag (3/5) If you separate it from the rest of the relatively mediocre AC series, Black Flag is pretty gud. I like being a pirate. I don’t like tailing missions. I really don’t like ship tailing missions.

Ib (3/5) I played this game a few times through during my obsession with RPGMaker horror games. Still holds up pretty strong, although it’s a wee bit short.

Amorous (3/5) 100% complete! Yeah it’s just a lewd furry dating sim. Does have a decent character maker that I use as a reference for my fursona now though!

Way of the Samurai 3 (4/5) I don’t know why this game slipped under everyone’s radar back on release. Just overall a very Nice samurai simulator, albeit with some combat that takes some getting used to.

Monster Hunter Generations Ultimate (5/5) The best MonHun released yet. World is great, but for some reason it just doesn’t hold me like GU does. Maybe I’m just a boomer.

Super Mario Odyssey (3/5) It’s definitely what you’d expect out of Mario. Not a bad game by any means, but I just didn’t really keep attached to it like most others seemed to.

Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney (4/5) I like being a lawyer, and I love the serotonin rush that I get when cornering a criminal on their logic.

Resident Evil 7 biohazard (4/5) The first RE game I’ve played to completion. I don’t regret it at all, because it was super good. Got some great DLC as well.

SoulCalibur VI (Libra of Soul + Soul Chronicle) (4/5) Loved the character creation, loved gitting gud- did not love some of the side missions in LoS because holy Hell a lot of them are bullshit.

Borderlands 2 (4/5) I hated the first Borderlands, and went into 2 expecting more of the same. Ended up leaving surprisingly satisfied. Great loot n’ shoot all around.

Deus Ex: Game of the Year Edition (4/5) It took me a few tries to really get into this one, but once I did I was totally hooked. The ending battle could’ve used a little more love, but it was still by all means a great game.

Vampire: The Masquerade - Bloodlines (4/5) Despite being a clearly rushed game with a drop in quality towards the last few hours, VtmB is still one of the most solid action RPGs I’ve ever played. Still not exactly gonna excuse the last couple of boss battles though.

Danganronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc (5/5) This went from “tumblr meme game that I had no interest in” to “one of the best fucking games I have ever played, and it hurt me deeply.” I don’t think I’ve ever been so invested in a story before, and the trial system was very refreshing.

Danganronpa 2: Goodbye Despair (5/5) How did they make a story with twists even more mindblowing than the first game? While THH invested me into the series, GD solidified my newfound love for it.

Which (3/5) 100% complete! A very short experimental horror game by indie animator and developer Mike Inel. Not bad at all, and completely worth the free download.

Skullgirls: 2nd Encore (3/5) I never really got good at this game, although the story mode was still very enjoyable. Not particularly something I’m probably gonna be coming back to.

Hollow Knight (5/5) Absolutely spectacular Metroidvania that gives quite a unique challenge. Fell in love with this game so bad that I was constantly thinking about it at work. Please stop comparing it to Dark Souls, it’s such an amazing game on its own merit without needing that comparison.

Undertale (5/5) It’s Undertale, do you really need me to tell you how amazing it is?

Devil May Cry 3 (Dante story) (4/5) Extremely fun and challenging. If you haven’t played this game yet then you are wrong. Beating the first Vergil battle without being hit filled me with very unneeded confidence- the spectacular final battle against Vergil stripped that confidence away.

Ion Fury (3/5) Very challenging, but still super enjoyable. The heroine is a genuine badass, loved hearing her quips. The final boss was garbo though.

Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice (5/5) Sekiro absolutely deserved the GOTY award. Loved the combat, loved the challenge, loved everything about this beautiful game.

Dragon Quest XI S: Echoes of an Elusive Age Definitive Edition (5/5) DQXI singlehandedly changed my opinion on JRPGs. A story that’s equal parts awesome and tearjerking, combat that feels truly satisfying, and a quirky world that had me hooked for all 98+ hours.

Danganronpa Another Story: Ultra Despair Girls (4/5) While it absolutely was a good game, something about it didn’t really hold the charm that the other Danganronpa games had. The story was still superb, and the twist at the end was hooh.

Spyro the Dragon (3/5) 120% complete! The nostalgia factor drew me in, the level design kept me. Except for Tree Tops, fuck you Tree Tops.

WarioWare Gold (3/5) Packed with the best microgames from WarioWare’s history, but not enough content to keep me there past the main story mode.

Metal Gear Solid: Snake Eater 3D (3/5) MGS3 is one of my favorite games ever, but the 3DS port’s framerate issues really killed the fun for me.

Halo: Reach (4/5) The story mode was good, but the multiplayer was absolutely sublime. I raged, I cheered, I had the fun I missed out on growing up without an Xbox.

#video games

[enbyleighlines]

I’m seeing a lot of post about “Moomins” and characters from a handful of users I follow. I had no idea this series even existed, could you give me a little history in it? How did you learn about it? What’s it about? What do you like about it?

I would LOVE to answer this question!! Sadly, I am not an expert. The tumblr user @moomintrivia has a LOT of great and in-depth information about the topic that you should check out

So I’m just going to give you a brief overview

The moomins are a fictional fairy-tale inspired race created by Tove Jansson. The first published instance of these characters occurred in the beloved Finnish children’s novel The Moomins andthe Great Flood, which was published in 1945. Since then, it grew into a nine book series, then a comic series, and then multiple TV adaptations.

It’s always been wildly popular in Finland and Japan, but recently, a 3D TV adaptation called Moominvalley released earlier this year, inspiring a surge of fanart that began spreading moomin mania all across the internet.

Like you, I discovered it from seeing the fanart on my dashboard. I was first drawn to it because of the amazing character designs. Although I had never seen the characters before, I felt a huge wash of nostalgia looking at them. Plus, the soft “living in nature with a small but close community” aesthetic really hooked me in.

I think a large part of its popularity is its setting and main family, the Moomins. They live in a sort of idealized world, where everyone in the community knows one another, and even though all the characters have their own flaws and annoying quirks, for the most part they accept one another.

For example, Moominpappa loves telling dramatic stories, and he quickly gets bored with domestic life and routine. On the opposite end of the spectrum, Moominmamma is a family woman who really enjoys domestic life. Despite this seemingly incompatibility, they get along just fine. They go on the occasional unprompted trip to sate Moominpappa’s wanderlust, and then once Moominpappa starts to miss the comforts of home, they return.

Snufkin, too, is a character who is fueled by his need for freedom. He doesn’t like being tied down, and especially hates privatized property, because he thinks that no one person should be allowed to hoard a piece of nature to themselves. His best friend is Moomintroll, who doesn’t like to be left alone. Snufkin’s need for solitude sometimes clashes with Moomintroll’s desire to spend time with him, but neither character is villainized for their needs. They find ways to compromise, with Snufkin promising to spend three out of the four seasons of the year in Moominvalley.

Little My, especially, is often affectionately called a “gremlin” by fans. She’s a mischievous character, pulling pranks on people, and constantly trying to figure out everyone’s secrets. Despite this, Little My is very much beloved by the Moomin family, who have more or less adopted her into the family.

But the thing I love the most from the Moomins is the values they preach. Here are just a few to come to mind:

“Everyone has a right to having at least one secret.” (Moominmamma, 1990 anime version)

“The world is full of great and wonderful things for those who are ready for them.”(Moominpappa, from the books)

“You can’t ever be really free if you admire somebody too much, I know.”(Snufkin, in several adaptations)

“But one needs a change sometimes. We take everything too much for granted, including each other.”(Moominmamma, from the books)

“Perhaps I better not do that. I won’t be able to appologize, because I’m right.” (Moominmamma, Moominvalley 2019)

It’s very much an optimistic, beautiful world, where tolerance is a huge reoccurring theme. Additionally, since Jansson herself was an anti-fascist woman who had relationships with both men and women, her work really resonates with modern-day queer people, who live in countries (like the USA) whose governments are becoming startlingly more and more fascist.

Or, put more simply, moomins are a free source of serotonin for those of us with extreme anxieties about the current state of the world.

#long post #moomins #moominvalley #asks #anon #anonymous #Anonymous

[summersoldier-616]

First Impressions

Chapter 00/Prologue

Sherlock Holmes x Reader

word count: ~3.000 words

warnings: swearing, talk about murder, alcoholism, drug abuse, angst, sulky reader and surely some grammatical mistakes or mistranslations :)

A/N: This is actually a kind of pilot for an actual series I am starting. I am indeed fairly new to writing fanfiction and espacially this little lovely bastard but hopefully I’ll do my fair share. So please enjoy and let me know what you think.

I also wanted to say that I am in no way an expert in forensics, biology or anything similar. All facts I use are either researched or fictitious. However, I try to come as near to the truth as possible.

You found yourself in a dark room devoid of any warmth or furniture, not even a window to determine the daytime. The only light source consisted in a naked bulb which hung still; the light beaming neiter bright nor large enough to illuminate the walls or ceiling as you made your way towards the dirty light source, the floor cracking underneath your feet as you neared.

Standing close enough to touch it, you carefully reached out for the lightbulb. Holding your breath for a second you finally gave it a spin to make the bulb turn around in circles in hope to see more of the foreign room. However, nothing new came into focus as you kept staring into empty space, the spinning light source making the atmosphere even more eerie than before.

As you were about to turn away, a blinding reflection appeared for a second making you halt in your movement. Seconds went by before the action recurred, this time revealing its location. When you took a step forward the sound of breaking glass rang out, making you direct your focus downwards in an attempt to decipher the new sensation.

Picking up a small, oblong object you stepped farther out of the light cone and recognized the item without much effort as a syringe, a dirty one at that. As soon as the term fell from your lips, a low grunt rang out which in return made you turn around. You screamed in horror as a shadowy frame hang underneath the lightbulb, desperately gasping for air while his limbs had been bound.

With shaky steps you closed in on the struggling being but as you reached out, about to touch his shoulder, you felt a hand on your own.

“Ma'am, excuse me“, a soft voice accompanied by a slight shake of your shoulder awoke you from your slumber. As you opened your eyes to find yourself in another foreign environment, in a confined seat surrounded by strangers and backrests, the friendly face of a young flight attendant came into your field of vision. “Ma'am, we're about to begin our final descent. Therefore I have to ask you to fasten your seat belt“, the stewardess repeated kindly.

With a short nod you quickly fiddled with the safety belt, your brain still slightly foggy from the nap and the corresponding dream. At the sound of the fastener clicking into place the young woman in costume gave you a quick smile and then continued her check down the aisle.

As you looked out of the small airplane window and saw nothing but grey clouds, you quietly scoffed; already missing the burning hot sun of Phoenix, Arizona. After graduating from the University of Arizona – the College of Medicine in Phoenix, to be quite exact – you had started to work for the Phoenix Police Department while still participating actively in the Department of Pathology at your former place of study.

However, the work with the PHXPD was not exactly as thrilling as you would have expected. Most of your 'patients' had died by some drug related crime or the drug itself wherefore the actual pathological examination proved to be less difficult than you had hoped. So when your dreaded 30th birthday rolled around and you came to the realisation that you were heading down an impasse, the decision to alter the current course wasn't that difficult.

And that's exactly how the now 32-year old you found herself on an airplane headed to England's capital with all important belonings stuffed into two large suitcases and the letter of resignation back home on your employer's desk. However rash that decision might have seemed and no matter your family's protests, till the moment you boarded the plane almost ten hours ago you didn't doubt your decision; feeling almost encouraged by the outcry you had caused.

With a sigh you teared your eyes away from the cloudy view and redirected your attention towards the slight mess you had created before falling asleep. As your departure was at quite short notice and you didn't like to leave unfinished buisness behind, you chose to take some unsolved cases with you, including a quite unsettling case, a young gang member's corpse being found drifting through the Gila River, which had occupied your mind just before your involuntary nap.

This may not seem out of the ordinary if it wasn't for the man to die from asphyxiation. And although throughout your examination you had found multiple indications for physical abuse, neither of those were from strangulation or the like which could have led to suffocation.

However, as you took another look at the forensic report everything seemed so painfully obvious. Quickly grabbing the toxicologic report you scanned the results for a certain data and as you finally found the object of desire you had to fight the urge to smite your forehead.

You emptied the rest of your overprized gin and tonic in one gulp before rapidly typing away on your laptop, determined to finish the covering letter before deboarding as you had just solved the case in your sleep – quiet literally.

“No, listen to me“, you audibly groaned on your way to the baggage claim, the mobile phone pressed to your  ear since you had stepped out of the airplane, “Bobby, if you'd just shut your mouth for a minute, I might not have to repeat every second sentence.“

You really weren't a short-tempered person, cross your heart, simply incredibly impatient. Since early days you had been irritated by the obvious inability of your fellows to follow your trains of thoughts, always feeling pressured to slow down which in return made you even more frustrated.

However, as time went by and you grew older you found a way to at least dial it down a notch in 'emergency situations'. The initial bad habit to sometimes drink one to many became a slight addiction to more often than not being at least a bit tipsy; numbing your brain to slow down your racing mind.

“Yes, I am well aware of the time difference but as criminals never rest, lawmen shouldn't either“, you reasoned while your destination came into view, the first suitcases and carpetbags already passing by on the baggage conveyer belt. As you heard light snorring instead of an answer you shouted loudly into the speaker, “I finally understand how they murdered him!“

As soon as the sentence had left your lips, you felt countless pairs of eyes on you; some passerby even stopped in their tracks to cut you a look. Looking around you mouthed an inaudible 'What?', forcing yourself to look more confident than you actually felt, and continued your way, hopeful to now have your collocutor's attention.

“I hope this is a good one“, Bob murmured while you heard rustling in the background, he was probably leaving the bed as to not disturb his wife. As he rambled on you arrived at the baggage carousel, standing between other passengers who had already found their luggage.

“Cry me a fucking river, Bob“, you taunted absentmindedly while scanning your surroundings, quickly growing impatient as you waited for your baggage. Looking to your left you saw a small child at the hand of her mother who shot you a deadly glare; probably for swearing within earshot of her offspring that was surely too busy watching items of luggage rolling by on the baggage conveyer belt to listen to some stranger's phone call.

“Do you remember how I had a hard time understanding how someone could die by suffocation with neither external influence nor pulmonary aspiration? And yet it is so painfully obvious that it must have been too easy for me to see. The drugs, Bobby, it's his addiction!“, you explained, earning a few more irritated side glances. “So what?“, Bob asked, his voice still laced with sleep and now additionally incomprehension, “The little junky took an overdose?“

“No, no, quiet the opposite actually. His body did not only show symptoms of regular drug use, which doesn't come as a surprise considering his presumable addiction, but they also found evidence for recent drug withdrawal. That was the missing piece, Bobby, don't you understand?!“, you asked excitedly. Your question was answered by a short peroid of silence, followed by a deep-drawn sigh and a muttered, “Do me the favour and just tell me.“

If it hadn't been for the importance of the current phone conversation, you would have ended the call at this point. Explaining an officer how the cause of death was brought about was basically solving the case for him. However, as your luggage seemed to be long in coming you chose to elaborate.

“Okay, listen and listen closely. The victim showed signs of physical abuse in form of possible captivation which means that he quiet surely wasn't able to satisfy his cravings and therefore went through an involuntary withdrawal. This 'shock theraphy' probably resulted in a seizure which thereupon led to the asphyxiation and due to the lack of medical intervention his death.

I just gave the results from the toxicology a once over and all indications are that his serotonin as well as the noradrenaline level must have been extremely low which would complement my assumption about the deprivation and considering his physical condition I am confident that my presumption concerning the captivity will turn out to be true as well.

I already sent an email to my replacement in the pathology department to run another test on the victim concerning his external injuries and as soon as I arrive at the hotel I'll send you my report on the current data which I worked with. If you'll excuse me now, I still have a busy schedule ahead of me and there are only so many hours in the day.“

Without awaiting an answer you ended the call and with a smile on your face put the phone in your jeans' backpocket. However, as you realised that the conveyer belt had come to a halt without a trace of your luggage your facial features derailed. Spinning on your heel you quickly made your way to the next information while holding your handbag close in a futile attempt to slow your racing thoughts and heart.

You stared wide eyed at the middle-aged woman sitting behind the counter, wearing a sympathetic look on her face. “I am truly sorry, Miss, but it seems like your luggage wasn't on the plane. Our personnel could not find it either in the cargo area or somewhere on the way to the baggage claim“, she explained once more.

“But that is impossible“, you choked out, “All my belonings, clothes were in those two suitcases and you are telling me that you lost them? How is that even possible?“ Just as the woman was about to answer your rhethorical question, the ringing of her phone stopped her before you could, saving her from further embarrasment. While she concentrated her attention on the computer, typing away on the console, you had time to check your phone, only to realise that you had already wasted two precious hours in this maze called airport.

“Thank you, I'll inform her immediately“, the female sighed into the telephone before hanging up. Before she even managed to address you, you stood at the desk and asked hopefully, “So, you did find them? Oh, thank god. I wouldn't have known what to do without them. Where exactly can I pick-“ -  “Miss, we indeed did find your luggage. However, I must inform you that your suitcases are currently in Madrid.“ The last part was a slightly whispered answer, followed by an unsettling long pause.

“I do not expect that you have by any chance a town called Madrid in England?“, you muttered tiredly although the question sounded more like a half hearted joke which the staff member answered with a shake of her head. Suddenly you felt exhausted, tired and absolutely fed up with the whole situation. Massaging the bridge of your nose, you chose to end this conversation as quickly as possible; not like it was leading anywhere wherefore you quietly asked, “How long?“

After a quick look into her computer she informed you that it should take about three days, maximum five. At this point you just accepted your fate silently, leaving behind your phone number and e-mail address if by a fluke your luggage would arrive any sooner. The woman apologized again profoundly before releasing you by wishing you – quite ironically – a 'good day'.

On your way out, you made a quick stop at one of the airports' outpriced shops to buy some necessities. The cashier, probably a student who needed to make money on the side, shot a scornful glance at you as he scanned your purchase consisting of a fresh-perked coffee and a bottle of whiskey.

While the young man put away the cash you opened the bought liquor, opened the lid of your steaming coffee and poured some of the spirit into your caffeinated drink. As you took a sip and tasted the delightful flavor on your tongue a content sigh fell from your lips; answered by a quiet snicker from the male student.

“Listen, kid“, you warned the boy while you stored the liquor away in your purse – your only luggage at the given moment. With a quick once-over you knew that the male behind the counter had it coming; glazed over eyes due to increased production of lachrymal fluid, chapped lips and lastly a light swelling of the lymph node meant that the poor boy would be laid low with a pretty nasty flue in a few days.

A dry chuckle escaped your lips before you rummaged through your handbag, all the while lecturing, “First of, if you haven't heared of Irish Coffee, then you should probably rethink your attitude to life. Secondly, you have no idea how shitty this day has been so far.“ As you finally found what you were looking for, you tossed the item in his direction while adding with a frosty smile, “And lastly, my bad habits surely shouldn't be your greatest concern.“

Whit that you took your coffee and left the store behind with the boy looking back and forth between your departing form and the package of tissues.

You couldn't help the content sigh that fell from your lips as you finally breathed fresh air; and although it was slightly drizzling by now, the cooling effect was more than welcome as you were practically fuming with rage at this point. As you dragged your feet towards the street to hail down a taxi, your rational side managed to regain the upper hand after being too emotional for the last two hours.

Straightening your back and raking your fingers through your hair to look the least bit presentable, you whistled with your fingers to catch some taxidrivers attention. With a small smile adorning your lips as seconds later a taxi stopped you walked towards to vehicle; only to be outrun by two men, the smaller one opening the door while the taller man tipped away on his mobile phone, mumbling to himself.

“Excuse me“, you shrieked furiously, admittedly louder than you intended to but as the one holding the car door open focused his attention on you, it obviously had served the purpose. With a smile that didn't reach your eyes and a bitter sweet voice that dripped with venom you purred: “I believe that is my cab.“

While the blonde one quickly let go of the car door, wearing a guilty expression mixed with a tinge of embarrasment, his friend didn't seem to mind the inconvenience as he began to step into the taxi, not even bothering to spare you a glance. With a quick movement you banged your fist on the car roof which in return made the man stop in his tracks. “I think you failed to hear, sir“, you repeated sibilantly, “This happens to be my cab.“

As you looked angrily at the male he scanned you blatantly, only for his expression to grow even colder as he retorted monotone, “You are already late so I don't see the necessity for your rush.“ Shocked not only by his straightforwardness but the veracity of his claim as well, you failed to come up with incisive answer, only hissing a half-hearted 'You don't know the last thing about me'. Misinterpreting the retort as a challenge the dark haired man turned around, beginning to slowly stroll around all the while ignoring his friend's attempts to stop him.

“Early thirties which would explain your decision for a significant life change like – in your case – leaving Arizona; an age in which the average person decides to conduct a sort of 'life audit' to assess meaningfulness and satisfaction. The farewell must have been quiet tearful considering the residue of lachrymal fluid on your shoulder; your mother must weep easily, doesn't she?

However, considering the evident lack of luggage you either a) had it collected or b) the airline must have made a mistake which is much more likely due to your tense posture and the alcohol you mixed in your coffee; don't you think ten o'clock in the morning is a bit early to drink?

Which overall brings me to my original assessment of your lateness. After all, as an arrival you surely had an appointment for the key delivery which you must have missed by now. Therefore, it shouldn't be to much of a hastle to wait for the next vehicle and leave this taxi to us.“ His deduction concluded with a fatigued sigh from his companion.

You were taken aback. It was neither do to his perceptions and following conclusions being spot-on nor because of the obviousness he stated those facts with but the simple aspect of meeting someone who was able to talk even more than you made you speechless. As you made eye contact with the other man he gave you a compassionate smile, implying that his friend's remarks weren't anything out of the ordinary. But no matter the impressive demonstration, you weren't about to loose this fairly one-sided verbal exchange.

“Impressive“, you cooed, trying to keep your composure which proofed to be a difficult task, “Right down to the last detail, except for one minor exception.“ At these words the dark haired man stopped in his tracks, keeping his back turned to you. You couldn't fight down the smug smile that overtook your features – admittedly, you didn't try to either – as you heared his deep voice asking: “And what would that be?“

You shot his companion a knowing look and although you weren't quite sure why, his features held the same smug look present on your face as he let go of the door, stepping back onto the pavement. Stepping inside the car, you calmly answered, “That this is my cab.“ With that you shut the door while the dark haired man turned around, an unreadable expression on his face as the car drove off with the two men standing at the roadside and you sitting inside the taxi.

“Whereto, Miss?“, the taxidriver asked, a slight tinge of petulance evident in his voice. As you turned around, looking through the rear window to see the tall man standing in the same position as you had left him while his friend hailed down another cab, you answered with a smile on your face, “236 Baker Street, please.“

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