#of laughter not of covid-19 to be clear

[mayasinghal]

Writing on the Walls:

A Socially-Distanced Ethnography of Asynchronous Communication

Son looked in vain for children. He couldn’t find them anywhere There were short people and people under twelve years of age, but they had no child’s vulnerability, no unstuck laughter… It wasn’t until he caught the downtown A that he saw what they had done with their childhood. They had wrapped it in dark cloth, sneaked it underground and thrown it all over the trains. Like blazing jewels, the subway cars burst from the tunnels to the platforms shining with the recognizable artifacts of childhood: fantasy, magic, ego, energy, humor and paint. -Toni Morrison, Tar Baby (1981, 215)

So many things begin and perhaps end as a game, I suppose that it amused you to find the sketch beside yours, you attributed it to chance or a whim and only the second time did you realize that it was intentional and then you looked at it slowly, you even came back later to look at it again, taking the usual precautions: the street at its most solitary moment, no patrol wagon on neighboring corners, approaching with indifference and never looking at the graffiti face-on but from the other sidewalk or diagonally, feigning interest in the shop window alongside, going away immediately. -Julio Cortázar, “Graffiti” (1983, 33)

In April 2020, about a month after Boston began Covid-19 social distancing protocols, posters appeared around my neighborhood in Allston, stuck to mailboxes and streetlights. On brightly colored paper, bold printed lettering read, “Meat markets cause pandemics,” referring to allegations that Covid-19 originated from human-animal contact in a meat market in Wuhan, China. A few weeks later, I took a walk around the neighborhood and noticed that someone had written on the left side one of the posters in black Sharpie: “This is anti-Chinese racism.” On the right side, in the same black Sharpie handwriting, it said, “We have them here too.”

It was not immediately clear why the poster should be construed as anti-Chinese racism. Maybe the Sharpie scribe was reading the sign as referencing racist tropes about Chinese people eating varieties of meat jarring to Western ideas of morality and health (for instance, dogs and bats). I also wondered what the commentator meant by “We have them here too.” We have pandemics here, too? We have meat markets here, too? And, what is the importance of “here” versus “there” in racialized reactions to global events? The Sharpie scribe seemed to emphasize the xenophobia central to anti-Chinese racism: that there is some fundamental, inheritable Chinese-ness that marks all Chinese people and practices as inherently blameworthy for problems between China and the rest of the world.

These posters disappeared shortly after I witnessed this graffitied commentary. They were replaced by pig head illustrations bearing the caption, “Animals are not products.” A few weeks after these posters went up, I found another poster glued on top of them. It showed two Black children, climbing on the Lincoln Memorial with large red letters that stated, “Black liberation is human liberation” (Fig. 1). It was June 2020, not more than a month since an African American man, George Floyd, was murdered by a white police officer, Derek Chauvin, prompting Black Lives Matter protests around the world. Recalling histories of legalized enslavement in which Black people were sometimes treated as commodities, the “Black liberation” poster challenged the “Animals are not products” one it was placed over, highlighting tensions between animal rights and human rights. Certainly, environmental degradation, climate change, and pollution disproportionately impact communities of color around the world (Nixon 2011; Taylor 2014). And, many indigenous approaches to animal studies argue that decolonization must be a multispecies endeavor that accounts for Native peoples’ relationships to the environment and land (Struthers Montford and Taylor 2020). However, in practice, white environmentalists and animal rights activists often use concerns about non-human species to legitimate violence against people of color or prioritize non-human species over people of color (Kosek 2006). The juxtaposition of these posters raises questions about the status of arguments for animal liberation when predominately African American populations are still legally enslaved and otherwise financially exploited in the US prison system.

Throughout the first year of the Covid-19 pandemic, I saw several of these graffitied exchanges about human and animal rights on walks around my neighborhood. While animal rights posters are somewhat ubiquitous around all of the college campuses I’ve been to in the Northeast, I was struck by the extent of these asynchronous conversations that took place on my neighborhood’s walls during the pandemic. In this essay, I want to think through the content of these discussions: human and animal rights in the context of the pandemic, the Movement for Black Lives, and Stop Asian Hate. I also want to think further about the form of these discussions, about doing socially-distanced ethnography by reading writings on the walls.

Fig. 1: A poster reading “Black liberation is human liberation” on top of posters that read “Animals are not products” (June 2020)

Wall Art

In the epigraph to this essay, taken from her 1981 novel Tar Baby, Toni Morrison describes New York City in the 1970s from the perspective of Son, an African American New Yorker returning to the city after a long absence. In the face of poverty and mass incarceration, Black people in the city do not seem to Son to experience childhood anymore: “There were short people and people under twelve years of age, but they had no child’s vulnerability, no unstuck laughter” (Morrison 1981, 215). They seem to be missing the kind of freedom, but also the innocence and helplessness, associated with childhood. This idea parallels a common claim from law enforcement officials guilty of using force against unarmed African Americans who insist they feared for their lives during encounters with young Black people they perceive as having the size, strength, and prowess of grown men. However, unlike law enforcement officials, who have sometimes used graffiti as evidence of local criminality, Son sees childhood in graffiti. For Son, 1970s New York is jarring, filled not only with new fashions, but, he thinks, new kinds of gender- and racially-ambiguous people: “beautiful males who had found the whole business of being black and men at the same time too difficult and so they’d dumped it” and “black people in whiteface playing black people in blackface” on TV (Morrison 1981, 216). Stunned by these changes, Son searches for signs of normative life stages: children and old people. When he finds no old people either, Son clings to his recognizable sign of childhood: graffiti. Graffiti, for him, is a public display of things that cannot be communicated publicly or embodied in other forms, a material vestige that he collects, almost archeologically, as proof that these new New Yorkers are still human.

Julio Cortázar similarly treats graffiti as an illicit method for communication under repressive conditions in his 1980 short story “Graffiti.” Going further than Morrison in this regard, Cortázar depicts a conversation through layered public art, similar to the postering that I discussed, shown in Fig. 1. Set in the context of authoritarian rule, an allusion to Argentina’s military junta in the 1970s, two graffiti artists navigate a prohibition on street art and increasing “disappearances” of people in the city. The narrator writes in second person to a male artist who makes chalk sketches on walls when one day, he finds a sketch next to his done, he is sure, by a woman. The narrator explains: “You couldn’t prove it yourself, but there was something different and better than the most obvious proofs: a trace, a predilection for warm colors, an aura” (Cortázar 1983, 34). This logic and evidence prime the reader for the interpretive and imaginative relationship the artists develop. Their art becomes a call and response, building on each other’s meanings to develop a visual language between the two of them: “if he didn’t look at it closely, a person might have said it was a play of random lines, but she would know how to look at it” (Cortázar 1983, 35). Cortázar doesn’t describe most of the drawings in detail—focusing simply on outlines or colors. However, the climax of the story is told with pointed emphasis on the art:

At dawn on the second day you chose a grey wall and sketched a white triangle surrounded by splotches like oak leaves; from the same café on the corner you could see the wall (they’d already cleaned off the garage door and a patrol, furious, kept coming back), at dusk you withdrew a little, but choosing different lookout points, moving from one place to another, making small purchases in the shops so as not to draw too much attention. It was already dark night when you heard the sirens and the spotlights swept your eyes. There was a confused crowding by the wall, you ran, in the face of all good sense, and all that helped you was the good luck to have a car turn the corner and put on its breaks when the driver saw the patrol wagon, its bulk protected you and you saw the struggle, black hair pulled by gloved hands, the kicks and the screams, the cut-off glimpse of blue slacks before they threw her into the wagon and took her away.             Much later (it was horrible trembling like that, it was horrible to think that it had happened because of your sketch on the grey wall) you mingled with other people and managed to see an outline in blue, the traces of that orange color that was like her name or her mouth, her there in that truncated sketch that the police had erased before taking her away, enough remained to understand that she had tried to answer your triangle with another figure, a circle or maybe a spiral, a form full and beautiful, something like a yes or an always or a now. (Cortázar 1983, 36)

Particularly when the woman is arrested, the conversation becomes clearer. For the first time in the story, the reader is given descriptions of the drawings, but the narrator also provides the interpretations. Where the graffiti at first was a sign of the presence of others, the public life available even under authoritarian conditions, when the other is taken away, the communicative capacities of graffiti become even more clear.

Later, the man returns to the spot the woman had been arrested: “There were no patrols, the walls were perfectly clean: a cat looked at you cautiously from a doorway when you took out your chalk and in the same place, there where she had left her sketch, you filled the boards with a green shout, a red flame of recognition and love, you wrapped your sketch in an oval that was also your mouth and hers and hope” (Cortázar 1983, 37). The patrols somehow miss this sketch, and it stays up for a long time. In the last scene of the story, the man returns to his sketch and sees a reply:

From a distance you made out the other sketch, only you could have distinguished it, so small, above and to the left of yours. You went over with a feeling that was thirst and horror at the same time; you saw the orange oval and the violet splotches where a swollen face seemed to leap out, a hanging eye, a mouth smashed with fists. I know, I know, but what else could I have sketched for you? What message would have made any sense now? In some way I had to say farewell to you and at the same time ask you to continue. I had to leave you something before going back to my refuge where there was no mirror anymore, only a hollow to hide in until the end in the most complete darkness, remembering so many things and sometimes, as I had imagined your life, imagining that you were making other sketches, that you were going out at night to make other sketches. (Cortázar 1983, 38)

In this final scene, the narrator is revealed as the woman artist, after her arrest. The torture she endured has broken down her sense of self (“there was no mirror anymore”), so instead she narrates her past through the eyes of another artist who represents her hope and lingering sense of community, of social life. Through a tale of layered artworks, Cortázar treats graffiti as a form of public discourse when public discourse is limited. Where scholars often focus on graffiti as a way of communicating marginalized ideas, Cortázar’s story takes it up as a way of preserving public space and public fora. The comparison of the Covid-19 pandemic, particularly in the US, to an Argentinian dictatorship is problematic, not least because the US has not had mandated lockdowns. Still, the pandemic has occasioned state and municipal strictures concerning public congregation. Cortázar highlights the ethnographic importance of attending to how layered graffiti can function as a kind of artistic conversation, especially when considering how people develop socially distanced spaces of interaction.

Police and Pigs

During Black Lives Matter protests in 2020 and 2021, some protestors brandished severed pig heads, playing on “pig” as a slang term for a police officer. These expressions of outrage at police violence were quickly taken up by some animal rights organizations and condemned as “hypocrisy,” “protesting against rights violations while violating the rights of others.” Meanwhile, other animal rights activists argued that it is anti-Black to focus on how Black people use dead animals to protest oppression instead of the much more serious violence against animals perpetrated by racist institutions. The layered “Animals are not products” and “Black liberation is human liberation” graffiti (Fig. 1) index these debates about real and metaphorical pigs, emphasizing the pig head in the middle of the “Animals” poster. Not only are the rights of real pigs put into tension with human rights, the rights of Black people specifically, but also the pig head becomes a representation of police, bringing these human and animal rights into greater conflict.

Animal rights and human rights, particularly those of African American people, have often been placed at odds with each other. For instance, in 2018, actress Tiffany Haddish suggested that she would not stop wearing fur until the police stop killing Black people. “So sorry, PETA!” she added in an Instagram video. “Don’t be mad at me. Be mad at the police.” The implication of this joking “protest” was that white people often seem to prioritize animal lives over Black lives; therefore, by threatening animal lives, Haddish might force white people to address police murders of Black people.

Similar arguments about people caring more about animals than African American people have been made about pets being rescued after Hurricane Katrina while many Black New Orleanians died. An analogous claim centers on the football phenom, Michael Vick, who was incarcerated on dog fighting charges, while police officers (and some civilians) accused of murdering African Americans have frequently been acquitted (Kim 2015). Yet, the utility of these comparisons is not always obvious. In fact, as Bénédicte Boisseron has argued, “The ‘America-likes-pets-more-than-blacks’ attitude… is symptomatic of a system that convulsively pits blackness against animality, forcing blacks themselves to engage in a battle over spared likeability” (Boisseron 2018, xiv). Furthermore, these comparisons also obscure real concerns about the status of animals, given anthropogenic climate change and environmental degradation.

On the other hand, animal rights activists have often compared the plight of farm animals to chattel slavery to argue the injustice of animal treatment (Boisseron 2018). These analogies are troubling, not only because they recall racist comparisons between Black people and animals. As Claire Jean Kim writes:

Analogizers claim to be connecting and avowing, but in many cases they seem to be instrumentalizing the other cause in question or treating it as a means to an end. The analogizer does not connect x and y in the sense of exploring them as independently significant and conjoined logics. Rather, concerned to validate x, which is her true focus, the analogizer seizes upon y, which already enjoys some measure of social validation, and posits x =  y. This exercise seeks to transfer the legitimacy and social importance of y to x. (Kim 2015, 285)

In short, by comparing the experience of enslaved African people to animals, this analogy “suggests that the Black story is a triumphalist one of overcoming racism, thus bolstering white fantasies of colorblindness and postraciality. It succinctly repackages and falsely truncates the story of anti-Blackness to serve the present purposes of animal liberation” (Kim 2015, 285).

Perhaps it is these regular implications of “postraciality” by animal rights movements that so frequently prompt people to respond to animal rights postering with graffiti about racism and slavery. In February 2021, on another walk around my neighborhood in Allston, I found a poster advertising a documentary about animal abuse papered over with an image of George Floyd, the man whose murder by police prompted the Movement for Black Lives in 2020 (Fig. 2). A few months later, a little north, around Harvard Square, I saw posters depicting a cow strung up after slaughter with the caption “Stop lying to your kids about their ‘food.’ ” On top of them, someone had written in Sharpie, “Socialism is slavery” (Fig. 4). However, the fact that graffiti about animal rights is often read by other graffiti writers as having implications for communities of color certainly also has to do with how racism references animals, from comparisons between people of color and animals to allegations that communities of color endanger animals or enact particular cruelty against animals (Kim 2015; Boisseron 2018). Shortly after the beginning of the Covid-19 pandemic, an art director for the brand Lululemon posted a link to a shirt depicting “bat fried rice” with the words “No thank you” on the sleeves, referencing allegations that Covid-19 originated from Chinese people eating bats (King 2020). In the context of these prevalent forms of Sinophobia, particularly at the beginning of the pandemic, the exchange about anti-Chinese racism on the “Meat markets cause pandemics” poster reads into a statement about vegetarianism a whole history of associations between Chinese people and forms of meat consumption deemed “cruel and transgressive” (Kim 2015). Still, other graffiti discussions about veganism and racism begin from links that seem much less apparent.

Fig. 2: Poster showing George Floyd placed over an animal rights poster (text illegible)

Fig. 3: A similar animal rights poster as the one visible in Fig. 2, advertising a documentary called Dominion

Fig. 4: Posters showing a picture of a cow hung upside down with the words, “Stop lying to your kids about their ‘food.’” Several of the words have been crossed out in Sharpie. In pencil, someone has written “Who’s lying” on one poster. Another person has written in Sharpie, “Socialism is slavery,” which another person has crossed out in Sharpie.

If These Walls Could Talk

In October 2020, a couple months after I found the “Black liberation” poster, I saw a more extensive discussion on another set of animal rights posters. On a mailbox, someone had placed two posters of roosters with the words “Go vegan” coming from their mouths. One respondent wrote in black capital letters, “End human suffering first.” In the same handwriting, “This is cringe” was written next to the rooster, suggesting that the poster is problematic and “cringe-worthy.” Another person then added in black marker, “You can’t buy tofu and vegetables because someone else is suffering?” Yet another person added a profane statement, playing on the rooster or “cock.” Still another person, in white marker, wrote, “I don’t like ppl [people] who can’t write words.” The second poster was colored black except for the rooster to obscure the “Go vegan” statement, faintly visible under the marker, and someone added in reddish ink, “BLM,” or “Black Lives Matter,” coming from the rooster’s mouth in its place.

Fig. 5: “Go Vegan” posters with annotations and redactions

This exchange highlights another kind of graffiti debate concerning animal rights and human rights through revision, or what Christina Sharpe might call “Black annotation and Black redaction.” For Sharpe, the most familiar work of annotation and redaction takes the form of violence against Black people: captions included with photographs of Black death and suffering and redacted government files about Black activists, for example. Through “Black annotation and Black redaction” (emphasis added), Sharpe proposes a radical reappropriation of these editorial tools. They are “ways to make Black life visible, if only momentarily, through the optic of the door” (Sharpe 2016, 123). Sharpe uses the examples of the annotations on the second autopsy Michael Brown’s family requested after he was murdered by police officer Darren Wilson in 2014 and her own redactions of a New York Times article to highlight the voice of the Black girl who was its subject. She argues that through these Black annotations and redactions, we see the lives of Black people beyond how they are portrayed by the state.

In the example of the mailbox “Go Vegan” and “Black Lives Matter” graffiti, the Black annotations and redactions make visible Black people who may or may not have been there before. As one of the graffiti writers asked, “You can’t buy tofu and vegetables because someone else is suffering?” Or, as Boisseron has asked, “Why should the black become so blatantly visible against the animal rights backdrop?” (2018, xix). In part, in October 2020, Black Lives Matter and Defund the Police were still central in the national conversation about social justice, and communities of all kinds were organizing under the slogans: “X for Black Lives.” As such, one reading of the annotations and redactions here is that it places animals in solidarity with Black people. Where, in the first poster, the rooster is meant to highlight the animal lives at stake in “going vegan,” through Black annotation and redaction, the rooster becomes an animal arguing for Black lives. Perhaps part of the appeal of this message, too, is that the animal rights posters I saw never highlighted how the environmental impact associated with farming animals impacts communities of color. Instead, I only saw comments on the experience of the Covid-19 pandemic as a whole (“Meat markets cause pandemics”). By avoiding how animals and people of color are connected, not merely compared, these posters invite people to write back to them—to paper over them, annotate and redact them—to highlight the diverse groups implicated in any project concerning animal rights.

Open Letters

I want to suggest another genre to make sense of this form of political graffiti: the open letter. Laurence Ralph, in his 2020 book The Torture Letters, experiments with the open letter as a form of ethnographic writing by writing open letters to a variety of people and groups affected by the cases of torture by police officers in Chicago between 1972 and 1991. Ralph writes that his method of “ethnographic lettering”—

includes three ways of layering field research. First, it transforms research “subjects” into “interlocutors” during the research process by focusing on the projects they are already invested in as a way to explore broader social problems; second, it includes exchanges with interlocutors in the research and writing phases of the project; and third, it positions one’s interlocutors and the communities they want to address as the primary audience for the ethnographic material that will ultimately be produced. (Ralph 2020, 192)

This method, he explains, is indebted to James Smith and Ngeti Mwadime’s Email from Ngeti (2014), which is written through the authors’ email correspondence; however, Ralph writes, “As I have written to a host of dead people, others who had no interest in responding to me, and to another group who did respond but whose responses are not included in this book, my idea of exchange is much more expansive than Smith and Mwadime’s approach” (Ralph 2020, 199). Ultimately, Ralph explains that his method of “ethnographic lettering”—and letter writing generally—requires an invested audience and “a sense of voice and a sense of purpose” (Ralph 2020, 199). Certainly, these criteria apply to any form of writing, but Ralph’s book of open letters does highlight the uniqueness of the open letter as a genre of writing.

If a standard letter’s audience is the named addressee, an open letter’s audience is not. It is possible, but not necessary, for the open letter that the addressee will read it. The audience of an open letter is the public, who is recruited to witness the writer speaking toward the addressee. Written in the second person, Cortázar’s story, “Graffiti,” functions similarly to an open letter as well. The reader is positioned as a witness to the narrator speaking to the artist she addresses as “you.” Similarly, the creators of the original animal rights graffiti posters need not ever return to their pieces for the graffiti commentators’ discussions to be effective, as the point of these layered posters, annotations, and revisions is to register disagreement or offer an alternative perspective rather than to change the original writer’s mind.

During the Covid-19 pandemic, open letters have also been an important mode of public art and activism in more official capacities. In response to anti-Chinese violence by people who blamed China for the pandemic, people around the country began “Love Letters to Chinatown” projects. Inspired by the first Love Letter initiative started by the Wing On Wo Project in New York’s Manhattan Chinatown, Pao Arts Center in Boston collected its own set of love letters to Boston’s Chinatown, which they translated into English and Chinese and posted around the neighborhood. Many of the letters are addressed to Chinatown as a whole, while others are addressed to specific shops and restaurants that people hold dear. First shared online and then posted throughout Chinatown, these open letters become part of the street art landscape of the neighborhood—ways of communicating support to a neighborhood particularly hard-hit by the pandemic, often by people who are no longer frequenting Chinatown’s streets due to public health concerns. Projects like these are fascinating ethnographic sites in themselves to consider the innovative ways that people have found to conduct public dialogues in public space, despite social distancing requirements. In conjunction with the graffitied conversations about animal rights and racial justice, these open letters shape how I read the possibilities of street art as a kind of letter writing. Rather than seeing graffiti only as a one-directional form of protest or speech more broadly, the graffitied discussions during the pandemic have served as forums for people occupying the same space at different times to argue over how to weigh concerns about animal rights and human rights and racialized and culturally specific approaches to food. With restrictions on public space, graffiti served as a mode for people to discuss some of the most fundamental issues about how Covid-19 impacted all of us yet impacted us differently.

Works Cited

Boisseron, Bénédicte. 2018. Afro-Dog: Blackness and the Animal Question. New York: Columbia University Press.

Cortázar, Julio. 1983. “Graffiti.” In We Love Glenda So Much and Other Tales, translated by Gregory Rabassa, 33–38. New York: Alfred A. Knopf.

Kim, Claire Jean. 2015. Dangerous Crossings: Race, Species, and Nature in a Multicultural Age. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press.

King, Michelle T. 2020. “Say No to Bat Fried Rice: Changing the Narrative of Coronavirus and Chinese Food.” Food and Foodways 28 (3): 237–49.

Kosek, Jake. 2006. Understories: The Political Life of Forests in Northern New Mexico. Durham, NC: Duke University Press.

Morrison, Toni. 1981. Tar Baby. New York: Vintage Books.

Nixon, Rob. 2011. Slow Violence and the Environmentalism of the Poor. Cambridge, MA.

Ralph, Laurence. 2020. The Torture Letters: Reckoning with Police Violence. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press.

Sharpe, Christina. 2016. In the Wake: On Blackness and Being. Durham, NC.

Struthers Montford, Kelly, and Chloe Taylor, eds. 2020. Colonialism and Animality: Anti-Colonial Perspectives in Critical Animal Studies. New York: Routledge.

Taylor, Dorceta. 2014. Toxic Communities: Environmental Racism, Industrial Pollution, and Residential Mobility. New York: New York University Press.

#essay #pandemic #animal rights #blm #human rights #graffiti

[evareviews]

‘This is Why’

Paramore’s newest release This Is Why, might just be the best Paramore album to date. Don’t get me wrong – I love their old, emo music. Like many little emo children back in the 2000’s, Paramore dominated much of my listening; from the second I heard Misery Business, I was hooked. Being the type of person who is incredibly resistant to change, I personally did not find their Paramore album much to my taste – for me, I felt it strayed too far from the Paramore I knew and loved. It didn’t stop me from listening to After Laughter of course, but again, I just did not see Paramore in the songs. To me, those two albums are almost a crossroad for the band – they were exploring and trying to re-invent and find themselves as a band after so much conflict between the members. Some wonderful songs from these albums still – Part II, (One of Those) Crazy Girls; Pool and Idle Worship to name my favourites – but as an overall, to me, it just wasn’t what I saw Paramore to be.

Hayley’s self-titled album, on the other hand, was truly a masterpiece. Petals for Armour was what I listened to on repeat in the first covid-19 lockdown – her pain and anger, brought out so beautifully with her magnificent vocals, truly showcased an unmatched talent. Sudden Desire, Roses/Lotus/Violet/Iris, and Crystal Clear, display her vocal range and musical abilities to their highest form. Petals for Armour was such a step away from Paramore, and especially the Paramore I was used to – leading to a wondering of what this meant for the band’s future.

Their first single since After Laughter, This is Why, again took a step in another direction. You can see the elements of Paramore and After Laughter within the song, yet still brings a completely new era into the equation. I wasn’t sure what to expect with the album – with the accompanying singles of The News and C’est Comme Ça, I was expecting a newer, improved era of their 2013 and 2017 albums. What has been produced, however, is something entirely different. This is Why, is that perfect blend of Hayley’s solo projects, and Paramore as a band – Figure 8, especially, for me, is the perfect example of such. The lyrics, raw, emotional vocals and the accompanying music mesh perfectly, combining Hayley’s solo work exploration, and Paramore’s new era.

I saw a tweet (@tinyhottopicbish) upon release date, suggesting listening to Pool, Crystal Clear and Liar in a sequence. The way the songs flow into each other, across the span of three sperate albums, made me second guess my initial reactions to Paramore and After Laughter. It is almost as if a plan was truly made – perhaps this was always the route Paramore was to go. I’ll re-iterate that I am not a fan of change – when My Chemical Romance’s Danger Days album was released, I was almost hurt by the drastic change in their tone and mood. Paramore's 2013 album brought about the same reaction. But we all must grow up and mature at some point, and Paramore’s evolution is clearly one for the better. This is Why, is a wonderful example of such maturity: it is different but holds elements of their roots still at heart. It has made me re-think my emotions on their 2013 and 2017 albums, and although they will never be my favourite of their six albums, This is Why may have overtaken Brand New Eyes, and I am so excited to see what the future holds for Paramore.

#paramore #paramorealbum #thisiswhy #thisiswhyalbum #newmusic #newmusicreviews #musicreviews #album #albumreviews #music #indierock #2023 #2023music #newalbum #newparamore

[paracunt]

As emo nostalgia crests, Paramore returns, with a new sound and a healthy outlook

by Suzy Exposito

Twenty years ago, if you told Paramore vocalist Hayley Williams that she’d become one of the most influential pop singers in America, she might have offered little more than a scowl. As a DayGlo-haired punk sprite, miraculously gifted with the lung capacity of a Southern church choir, she couldn’t have seen it then — nor could her childhood friends-turned-bandmates, Zac Farro and Taylor York — but Paramore would go on to craft songs that would alter the trajectories of rock and pop. 

Artists such as Olivia Rodrigo, Demi Lovato and Willow Smith have all cited Paramore’s music as the blueprint for their own snarling pop-punk confessionals. For her 2021 hit “Good 4 U,” Rodrigo gave Paramore a songwriting credit, citing the verses of their 2008 song “Misery Business,” a scathing missive to Williams’ teen rival.

“What feels most merciful about it is that we didn’t know we were doing anything different back then,” Williams tells The Times inside the band’s North Hollywood studio, her neon locks now a mulled shade of amber. “I use the word ‘merciful’ because we could not have predicted that people would give a s— 20 years later. We were just eating peanut butter and living the dream.”

Behind a wall of Marshall stacks and assorted trunks of gear, Williams, 33, drummer Farro, 32, and guitarist York, 32, nestle into a leather couch. Williams’ charismatic goldendoodle, Alf, holds court in the studio: he tramples over Williams, curls his body around Farro’s neck like an exquisite wriggling scarf, then finally curls himself into a ball next to me. Williams, donning a white hoodie emblazoned with the words “Main Character” in rhinestones, chuckles at her dog’s audaciousness; “I’m so sorry. He’s such a star,” she says.

The band has officially just wrapped production on its upcoming album “This Is Why,” set for release on Feb. 10. The lead single of the same name — and the band’s first new offering since the 2017 album “After Laughter” — is a funky tapestry frilled with tambourines and angular dashes of guitar. Paired with a crisp “Mod Squad”-evoking video, directed by Turnstile frontman Brendan Yates, “This Is Why” weaves in tendrils of rock ‘n’ roll’s past but lodges the band firmly back into the foreground of pop’s present.

The band first teased “This Is Why” in September, with a photo of the players’ faces smushed against glass. It called to mind the stifling social restrictions brought on by COVID-19, and the residual hostility between people. “This is why I don’t leave the house,” Williams sings bitingly on the new track, “You say the coast is clear / but you won’t catch me out!”

“How sad it is that we’ve gone through this horrible thing globally, as humans,” says Williams. “Whether it’s racism, or conspiracy theories … I think about how the internet is supposed to be this great connector, but drives us further inward and further apart. I’ve watched people be so awful to each other. How could we go through these things together and come out worse?”

Ironically, Paramore is gearing up to greet more people than they have in the last four years combined — this fall, they will hit the road for the first time since 2018. Kicking off on Oct. 2 in Bakersfield, the tour includes shows in L.A. on Oct. 20 and 27, and three nights at the sold-out pop-punk and emo festival When We Were Young, scheduled for Las Vegas on Oct. 22, 23 and 29.

Paramore will co-headline the fest with another essential emo group, My Chemical Romance. Yet there’s a catch: They may have to perform at the same time on opposite stages.

“They want war!” jests Williams, a longtime MCR fan. “We did not think there was going to be the kind of demand there is. We’re careful about how we engage with nostalgia; five years ago we would have said ‘absolutely not’ to this. But I think it’s significant that we feel confident enough to maintain the journey that we’ve been on and celebrate with these fans.”

Some of the fanfare hasn’t computed for Williams, who came to fame during a vastly different time for women in rock music. Paramore used to be relegated to smaller, designated female stages at festivals, such as the Shiragirl stage at the Vans Warped Tour. While still a minor, Williams was written off as sexual fodder by punk gatekeepers; and by her own admission, “Misery Business,” which viciously dressed down another girl, has aged poorly since the 2000s. Williams retired the song from the band’s repertoire in 2018, citing sexist lyrics like “Once a whore, you’re nothing more,” but the song briefly resurfaced at April’s Coachella festival, where Williams performed a course-corrected version with pop superstar Billie Eilish.

“It wasn’t cool to be feminine back then,” Williams explains. “I put a damper on that for my own confidence, because it was hard to go into a male-dominated space — not even as a woman, but as a little girl.”

“I think that’s why a feminine perspective is really important in this day and age of music,” offers Farro.

( For the record:

1:52 p.m. Sept. 28, 2022 Producer Richard Williams was incorrectly identified as a manager in an earlier version of this article. )

Williams’ dreams of rock stardom were realized early in life. After her parents divorced in 2002, Williams and her mother relocated from their hometown of Meridian, Miss. to Franklin, Tenn., a 30-minute drive south of Nashville. A prodigious singer-songwriter new to the Music City circuit, Williams was discovered by manager Dave Steunebrink and producer Richard Williams; she then signed a deal with Atlantic Records in 2004, when she was 15 years old.

The label primed Williams to be a solo act, in the same vein as pop-rock virtuosas Kelly Clarkson and Avril Lavigne. Yet Williams, already promised to punk, insisted on sticking with her band of friends: bassist Jeremy Davis, guitarist Josh Farro and his kid brother Zac. (York opted to graduate from high school before joining the band as rhythm guitarist in 2007.)

While Williams retained her solo deal with Atlantic, the label decided to release Paramore’s thunderous 2005 debut, “All We Know Is Falling,” via the Florida label Fueled by Ramen: a launchpad for pop-faring emo bands like Jimmy Eat World, Fall Out Boy and Panic! at the Disco. With the release of Paramore’s 2008 breakthrough LP “Riot!,” the band rose up the ranks of the Top 40, continuing with 2008’s “Decode,” their moody cut from the “Twilight” soundtrack.

However, the separate record deal with Williams, as well as differences in faith and lifestyle, sparked discord between bandmates. After releasing their 2009 album, “Brand New Eyes,” the Farro brothers departed in 2010, stating wishes to be closer to family. Davis worked intermittently between the years of 2005 and 2015; after his resignation, he filed a lawsuit claiming credit for songs on their 2013 self-titled record. (It was settled in 2017.)

The group’s remaining members, Williams and York, won the Grammy for best rock song in 2013 for Paramore’s guitar-gospel hit, “Ain’t It Fun.” Yet the two found it difficult to celebrate; Williams began floundering in the throes of what she’s come to understand as depression and PTSD, while York says he developed symptoms of acute anxiety. “I was struggling with agoraphobia before the pandemic,” he says, with a hint of levity.

In 2016, Williams married her partner of nine years, Chad Gilbert, lead guitarist in New Found Glory. The marriage ended the following year in divorce, due to what Williams has described as issues with his infidelity. She began a course of therapy thereafter.

“In retrospect, I can see clearly that I was looking for a family unit that I didn’t have,” says Williams. “I was angry about that for a long time.”

During this period, Williams exchanged messages with Zac, who had started his own projects, Novel American and HalfNoise, and relocated to New Zealand for two years. Zac returned to Nashville to record drums on the band’s 2017 album, “After Laughter” — a 12-track dance-off with depression that conjured the world-music infatuations of new wave groups like Talking Heads.

“Somehow we metabolize all these styles that we loved growing up, or that we randomly discovered, and it still sounds like us,” says Williams.

The band further indulges their sonic curiosities on “This Is Why,” which is accentuated by syncopated rhythms and jagged guitar rock riffs. The band absorbed the sounds of U.K. acts like Radiohead and Bloc Party, says their L.A.-based producer Carlos de la Garza; the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ 1985 funk-punk LP, “Freaky Styley,” also played a pertinent role during the recording process.

“You just have a new animal,” he says of the trio.

“It’s only lately that my outside and my inside world are kind of congruent, where I feel safe,” says Williams, motioning at Farro and York. “I think as more LGBTQ people [enter mainstream] conversations, people are now familiar with their term ‘chosen family.’ This band kept me out of a lot of trouble. It gave me a place to belong and identify with.”

Paramore’s live shows have served a similar purpose for its diverse fanbase. Prior to the pandemic, Paramore shows culminated in Williams picking a fan from the crowd to hoist onstage and sing along with the band.

On social media, people share videos of Black and brown Paramore fans — long marginalized in emo and the music industry surrounding it — shaking and crying with glee as they sing their favorite Paramore songs opposite Williams.

“I feel a very ferocious passion and want to protect people that don’t look like me,” says Williams, who used her Instagram page to platform anti-racist activists during the George Floyd protests in the summer of 2020.

“Not that there’s any comparison, but there’s something that we learned from not knowing where to fit in growing up,” adds Farro.

“We benefit from the joy of people feeling free and welcome at our shows,” says Williams. “I want people to see different fans onstage. If everyone had the same opportunities, I think we’d be surprised [to see] who would step up when given the chance.

“It is our responsibility to uplift new artists and young people,” says Williams, who has amplified indie artists like Phoebe Bridgers, Nova Twins and Pom Pom Squad on her podcast for BBC Sounds, “Everything Is Emo.”

“I’m stoked it’s turning around, that there’s more people of color in the scene, and so many rad new bands that are teaching bands like us,” says Williams. “We have to continue to make it easier and more hopeful and more equitable as a scene.”

#2022 #interview 2022 #interview #this is why #paramore #hayley williams #taylor york #archive

[totally-tann]

STANDING ON THE EDGE OF BECOMING AN OT - REFLECTIONS ON MY JOURNEY THUS FAR

My journey began in 2017 when I enrolled in a degree that I had no passion in pursuing. It took 3 years of my application being rejected, many tears later and a whole degree, for this incredible journey to begin. A journey that I don’t think I would have ever been ready for. Standing on the edge, with no clear view of what’s ahead.

https://www.shutterstock.com/search/unclear-path?image_type=photo

The last 2 years have been a bit of a blur, Covid-19 rocked this world and a whole new way of learning had to begin. My main reason for wanting to study OT was so that I could really interact with others on a daily basis, but this was soon taken away and my laptop screen talking to me become my best friend. As for many others, adjusting to online was difficult, the lack of personal interaction having very few friends made the journey rocky. This then posed as a difficulty when having to finally go on fieldwork. So much social isolation, I feel as if I had lost my people skills, which was my main reason of becoming an OT. 

So please excuse me, I am still a bit rusty with my social interaction skills!

In 3rd year now, looking back at the last 2 years and all I can say is “Man, what a roller-coaster it has been”. Covid-19, annual university strikes, riots and floods, anxiety, stress, all the uncertainty has made it feel like my journey to becoming an OT was a never-ending uphill battle. There’s been mixed emotions about the profession, tears, and late nights as well as new friendships and laughter. Studying OT sure has been different to my previous degree. I have learnt so much more about myself in just 2 years than I ever did in the 3 years prior. A lot of positive about myself, as well as a lot of negatives. However, I do think that it’s part of the learning process, the whole self-identity is crucial to understand and learn about yourself in order to become a critical thinker and future OT, this is just my opinion. As you can’t really help/guide someone in their life if you are lost in your own. 

I have had to completely come out of my shell and learn to trust myself. A prime example of this is answering a lecturer’s question/ to comment over zoom when no one else in the class wants to. Previously, I was a quiet learner, I rarely answered questions in class, but I’ve realized that in order to learn in OT and especially in the situation of being online, I had to take full responsibility for my own learning, which meant actively engaging in class to ensure that I at least understood the content. 

I tend to always worry about the future and if I will be a good OT, that I tend to put a lot of pressure on myself now and I set unrealistic expectations of myself that I have to know it all here and now. Which I very quickly realized that I will not know everything and that it is okay to ask for help along the way (which is something I really do struggle with)https://www.instagram.com/reel/ChVR8aRB6HA/?igshid=YmMyMTA2M2Y= . However, this journey has been full of learning experiences and growth (both academically and personally). And it’s important for me to focus on what I need to do in the present time to ensure that I continue with my journey of becoming an OT, and not to worry too much about what is still to come/uncontrollable!

https://za.pinterest.com/pin/6262886972427461/

I have been following a number of other OT students on Instagram that inspire me to continue with my journey.

@alaskha_ot (she has a lot of self-help tips when it comes to studying OT, she is also an older student so I feel as if I relate to her at times quite well, being 1 of the older students in my class myself) https://www.instagram.com/alaskah_ot/

https://www.instagram.com/p/CgpDm89uLkb/?utm_source=ig_web_button_share_sheet --> an OT page that I follow on Instagram that shares really helpful tips and ideas. This specific post was about tips on preventing OT student burnout, which I have found really helpful along my OT journey as a student as studying consumes a majority of my time, so it’s been important to remind myself that I still need me time. 

 The journey ahead is still a long and daunting one with many obstacles to still overcome, however, life is all about experiencing the ups and downs and not about the final destination. I still have a lot to learn and much more growing to still do, but if I just take one day at a time then I’m positive that it will all be worth it!

#OTstudent it'sallaboutthejourneyandnotthefinaldestination

[vidrphotography]

Energetic Wake County Courthouse Wedding | Downtown Raleigh, NC

~ Lively courthouse wedding in Downtown Raleigh with a vibrant mural ~

Earlier this year I had the pleasure of photographing Christina and Mariah’s courthouse wedding in Downtown Raleigh. This ceremony was so much fun to capture as the group was quite energetic and excited to experience the union of such a wonderful couple. After the ceremony, we ventured to the Marbles Kids Museum to take some stunning pictures in front of a beautiful mural.

Arriving Downtown

To ensure everyone could be a part of the celebration, Christina and Mariah thoughtfully rented a Sprinter van, allowing the entire wedding party to travel together from the courthouse to the reception venue. This was a great idea and is an awesome tip for those who plan to be at multiple locations on your wedding day. This way everyone arrives at the same time, and it makes parking a whole lot easier! Once everyone arrived at the courthouse, we found out that unfortunately due to COVID-19 restrictions, not everyone could be present in the courtroom. Luckily Christina and Mariah’s family and friends who couldn’t join during the ceremony were able to wait in a spacious, windowed room while the ceremony took place. We were able to snap a few group shots in this room before heading into the actual courtroom. After the ceremony, we made sure these friends and family were able to get some photos with the newlyweds.

Wake County Courthouse

The wedding day began at the historic Wake County Courthouse, I loved shooting at this courthouse as it really let the couple and their interrogee shine. The venue's charm added a special touch to the ceremony, making it a unique and memorable occasion. The atmosphere inside the courthouse was filled with palpable excitement and anticipation. Luckily, Christina and Mariah were allowed to have their bridal party join them inside the courtroom. Even the magistrate couldn't help but comment on the joyful and spirited nature of this group that Christina and Mariah brought with them. Not only did this energy make for a great wedding but resulted in some wonderful spontaneous shots. One of my personal favorites is Christina and Mariah’s friends and family cheering as the couple shared their first kiss. Having such a vibrant and energetic group of people makes capturing these special moments even easier. It’s clear from these photos how much Christina and Mariah are loved by their friends and family. So much celebration and happiness filled the courtroom during their ceremony, and I was honored to be able to capture it. Its sessions like these I am just thrilled to be able to capture such a special courthouse wedding. Christina, Mariah, and their friends and family were able to keep the energy high and make the time fly by. Being inside a courthouse can feel very serious and even nerve-wracking so it was very important that Christina and Mariah had such a great support system standing with them on their special day.  

Couple Portraits

After the courthouse ceremony, we stopped outside the courthouse to take some portraits before heading to a colorful mural. Upon a first glance you might not expect the outside of the Wake County Justice Center would serve as a great backdrop for some portraits, but it did just that. Luckily the justice center’s grays and beiges allowed for the couple to pop in their white outfits. We were able to capture some shots full of smiles and laughter. I had a lot of fun working with Christina and Mariah during this part of the session. They made it very easy to capture their love and joy as we walked around outside the courthouse.

Downtown Mural at Marbles Kids Museum

Once we were done with the portraits, the newlyweds and their entourage proceeded to the Marbles Kids Museum Mural in downtown Raleigh for some additional photos. This mural had a completely opposite vibe from the courthouse. From the beiges and grays to the vivid reds, blues, and purples from the mural, we were able to capture a wide variety of shots in this session. The mural's bright, vibrant colors perfectly mirrored the day's cheerful atmosphere. This spot turned out to be a fantastic backdrop for capturing the love and energy of the newlyweds and their fabulous crew. At the mural, we were able to capture more photos with those who were unable to attend the ceremony due to the courthouse’s COVID-19 restrictions. The vivid hues of the mural added an extra layer of charm to these photos. This mural is a great gem in Downtown Raleigh and is a perfect spot to take photos.

Vendors

Venue: Wake County Courthouse & Marbles Kids Museum Mural

View more courthouse weddings here.

View more weddings here.

#blog #raleigh nc #nc weddings #nc wedding photographer #civilceremony #wedding #wedding photography #wedding photographer #nc wedding #elopement

[skyfall8600]

Children of Dawn Pt. 6 (A Twilight Saga Fanfiction)

Note: I originally created this story back in 2020 with the first lockdowns from COVID-19. I had posted it on Wattpad under a different name, SaturnFire2000. However, I kept being drawn back to this story. It might be a while before new chapters are added, but I thought it would be worth re-posting the story on here given my new-found family of followers.

Summary: Years after the final battle, the Cullen family face new challenges. Edward and Bella take on new roles in life; Renesmee struggles to understand her goals and purpose in a world where no one is like her. The Volturi kept a large secret that could destroy them all.

Warning: Sexual references, violence, blood, supernatural. Recommended 13+. 

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Chapter 6: Edward

Nothing prepared me for what had come. Hearing the children’s cries as they ran to huddle around Arabella showed how in the dark on this situation was. The people gathered here in the main banquet room cheered with laughter, a few of the higher-class vampires proceeded to discuss if the children had any specialised abilities like the rest of Aro’s guard. 

“But of course! We kept all the ones of use to us; the others served their purpose in other ways.” Aro grinned wickedly at his friends. 

The guards holding me down tightened their grip, small cracks appearing at the connection between my neck and my head. I was desperate to get my family away from here, I wished to save the children…. I wanted Aro dead. 

“Get off me!” I heard Renesmee scream. Aro’s guards were dragging her to the front of the room, her red dress getting caught on the grand wooden tables and chairs making her thighs become bare. There were two golden thrones where Aro now was, he sat seated in one and his dark robes draped down onto the floor. 

Jacob became filled with rage when they began handling my daughter roughly, his inner monologue becoming aggressive and brutal. He shifted to his wolf form without hesitation or restraint from the guards holding him down, in any other circumstances Jacob would not have been able to break free… but Renesmee was in danger. 

“Jacob!” she called out, trying to reach for him as he started to tear the guards’ limb from limb. As more of them focused on the wild wolf Bella and I took our chances to escape their hold on us. Bella ran quickly to Arabella and the children, protecting them with her shield. I was more focused on saving our daughter. 

“A shape shifter!” many of the others exclaimed in shock, the humans afraid by the unknown creature and fleeing to the other side of the banquet hall. The vampires saw this as an opportunity to devour one of their naturally borne predators, they ganged up on Jacob and for a split second I thought all chances of survival were lost. 

Edward! A familiar voice called out to me, I was shocked to hear Alice so close by and in the state of frenzy that I was in, I didn’t exactly plan to question her.  The rest of my family barged through the doors, bringing Jacob’s pack in wolf form with them. We may have still been outnumbered, but we were stronger together. 

I saw Esme and Rosalie work with Bella to remove the children from the room, Bella was still stronger than they were, so she fought off anyone attempting to get in their way. Emmet and Jasper looked towards dismembering the rest of the guards, their stability and resourceful thinking made it an easy win compared to the guards who rarely had to fight in their battles. 

The wolves helped Jacob protect Renesmee, Leah and Seth preoccupied with the man holding her by the shoulders. 

Edward, where is the professor? Carlisle asked me softly, it was amazing that I was able to hear him over all the screams and riots around me. 

My eyes locked on Joham, he appeared to be pleading with Bella to give him back his creations… his children. It was clear that the professor had become attached to his work, unwilling to view the lives he created as anything more than successful experiments. Carlisle and I moved towards him, my anger rising in me and the foul creature. 

I would like some alone time with him… Carlisle requested, Emmett helping to escort him out of the room and away from the children. 

“Friends! This is not necessary, please…” Aro tried to persuade us, his arms stretched out as he still remained untouched. “You have come and destroyed my home… I only offer peace and a new way of life.” 

“You are a coward who has killed innocent children for your own benefit!” Renesmee screamed. 

“Because they were not in your true image, my dear Renesmee… I wished for you to be by myside, a mother to the children that bare a resemblance to you.”  

Jacob was angered by Aro’s statement, charging straight for the leader’s throat. I would not have been deeply concerned with Aro’s death, but these were unknown circumstances and we knew little of how deep his plan went. 

I grabbed the nearest candle and guided it down to the delicate tablecloth covering the table, “Get out now!” I screamed to the remaining humans in the hall. Many of them scrambled to their feet and ran instantly out of the castle, the children were already outside in the moonlight and I waved around the burning flame across the draped curtains as well. 

Upon the threat of a new danger, Jacob understood my motives. He forced Aro into his thrown, so the top golden spikes of the frame were impaled through his shoulder and ribcage. It wouldn’t be enough to kill him, but it would be some time before he could remove himself. 

We were better than the monsters they painted themselves to be, we killed in defence. Now that the children and Renesmee were safe there was no need to continue to fight so aggressively, we gathered together quickly. Renesmee clinging to Jacob’s fur as she cried in fear. 

We run now? Jacob asked me, I only nodded as he sprinted with the rest of the pack out of the burning castle. 

You will not get away with this… the sinister voice from the impaled leader spoke in my mind. His blood red eyes matching the velvet curtain behind him. 

“You have gone too far Aro.” I said, moving towards the door. 

I was amazed as how easily it was for us to take control of the situation, it all seemed too simple but our main concern to get Renesmee and the other children out of here. 

“Edward!” Bella called out for me, two of the young blonde children clung to her legs. The flames were starting to engulf the banquet hall, if Aro would be unsuccessful to remove himself then the burning fire would surely succeed in killing him. 

We did not stay outside the building for long, many of the humans ran off into the night and the children stayed close with us, grateful for my wife, sister and mother helping them. 

“I know a nearby farmhouse we can stay in.” Arabella said, already moving to show us the way. She was humiliated by the events that unfolded, she had to stop herself from crying as she cradled the youngest child in her arms. 

“Arabella…”

“The children aren’t safe in the dark,” she whispered, her mind racing and struggling to interpret all the new information she now knows. “We have to find shelter.” 

Many of the other children started to cry, Esme comforted the ones closest to her. 

“Nothing else can harm you now, you are safe with us.” Esme said. 

“How did you find us?” Renesmee asked in-between her deep breaths, she was no longer frazzled and crying but was trying to recompose herself. “Alice said that everything she saw from the Volturi was blocked.” 

“I realised once you got on the plane…. The only other time my visions have been blocked that strongly was when Bella was pregnant, which meant Aro had a large number of hybrids here… I just didn’t know the reason why.” Alice spoke softly. 

“What Joham said… does that mean I am related to all these children?” she turned to me, “how did he use my DNA?” 

I could not think of a suitable excuse or explanation to give any of them as we followed Arabella’s path. I knew that the situation was complicated, but I had no idea how infatuated Aro had become with my daughter. The lengths he went through… the countless of innocent lives he created and tossed aside if they weren’t what he wanted. 

The cold started to affect the children, their warm skin was below their naturally occurring temperature. The wolves stayed in their wolf form to provide heat to them, many of the younger ones who grew tired stayed asleep on their backs. 

The farmhouse was old and large, the broken wooden framed that had not been used in decades was creaking at the hinges as it opened. There was enough hay for the children to be comfortable enough to lie down, the older ones helping them get settled. 

“Did you know about the experiments?” Carlisle asked Arabella. 

“Yes, but not that we were created by them… we thought that because we were half and half there were medical issues, and they were trying to help. It was common that two or three children at a time didn’t come back, they were always the ungifted and weak ones… I didn’t know.” 

Joham was wailing from behind us, Jacob was dragging him along the way with his teeth grasping into his arm. 

“My children….” He whispered. The thought of him claiming these children as his own made me sick, he had to be stopped.

_______________________________________________________________________

A/n: If you like any of my work, please reblog. I promise it goes a long way in helping your favorite fanfic writers share their stories. 

#twilight #bella x edward #renesmee cullen #skyfall8600 #twilight fanfiction

[mr880fan]

Noticing Positives

We are living in a world that can be scary and full of unknowns. Never before has there been anything exactly like the COVID-19 pandemic that has been terrorizing the entire world. Governments have followed recommendations of researchers and health experts in ways that have changed our entire lifestyles. At the same time, however, I have noticed that there are many, many positives that are occurring every day. Following are some of the things that people tell me they have been enjoying: - Time - Being required to respect physical distancing and working from home for those who can, has allowed us much more time to pursue interests. Instead of having to attend meetings or appointments and drive children to events we can pursue other personal interests. Many people are investing the extra hours saved in hobbies, learning a language, reading, or exercising. Money - A large portion of the population have less money coming into the household but those who are on fixed incomes have told me that they are spending less than they did previously. Some of this, of course, is because businesses such as beauty shops and retail outlets are closed but being at home also means that there seems to be less interest in spending money. The government has been trying to fill the gaps with financial programs and we are also watching the stock market with the hope that it will rebound over time. It seems that everything we were used to has shifted. Skills - Being at home provides more opportunities to learn and use skills. Many family members are cooking and baking, renovating, starting seedings, doing their own hair or sewing - practical skills that our ancestors used for everyday survival. Before the pandemic our busy schedules often would encourage us to turn to others to do the things that we are now doing ourselves. Relationships - More time with those who live in your home can be positive - a time to communicate and share activities. Fortunately, we have social media sites and technology that allow us to stay close to loved ones who are living at a distance. Close proximity can also be stressful though and it is therefore important to schedule "alone" time. Reflection - Facing difficulties can led to assessment and realignment of values. When we are in isolated situations, we begin to think about what is really important in life. Most recently the ideas of health and loved ones top the list. I know that there are many challenges that have been brought on by the pandemic. One of the most serious is that we do not have any clear idea about exactly how it will affect us and when it will end. It is therefore very important to drastically limit the input from television and internet as these can significantly increase stress. Instead focus on the things that you can do that will make today and your future more satisfying. And remember to laugh as often as possible for laughter is good for the soul! Source by Linda Hancock Read the full article

[erroredge82]

Ceritfied Green Carpet Cleansing

If you do not want dangerous chemicals to be used when cleaning your house, then we are going to discover a way to accommodate your wants using a unique cleansing method. At COIT, we are dedicated to delivering the best resolution on your carpet and your house. You create an all-purpose cleaner – pure cleansing solutions could be utilized to any stain in your home. Compared to traditional carpet cleaning, green cleansing requires much less water. By reducing the volumes of solid waste, the quantity of water and power wanted to achieve the desired outcomes is decreased. You will enjoy a reliable cleansing expertise without having to fret in regards to the carbon footprint. With different methods, you can be stuck ready days in your carpet to dry. It’s crucial to think about biodegradability in terms of carpet cleansing products. Since these products find yourself in our waterways, you have to make sure that they break down rapidly and don't stay within the surroundings for many years. When it involves biodegradable cleaners, it implies that the elements within the cleaner will degrade quickly and organically. The surroundings and our impact on it is a concern for hundreds of thousands, if not billions, of individuals. Unfortunately, corporations that manufacture cleansing merchandise in the United States aren't obligated to disclose the components in their merchandise by regulation. And it is a significant concern, particularly on situation that many conventional cleaning chemicals can release volatile natural compounds . Greenwashing is a standard follow when a company says that its merchandise are environmentally pleasant, but they do not seem to be. Large corporations that make degradable and all-natural cleansing solutions are often responsible. To keep away from greenwashing, you want to analysis and maintain an inventory of unaccepted components. Here at Jeff’s Chem-Dry, we are repeatedly working toward developments in green carpet cleansing. This tends to be an awful odor, and you will have to cope with it until it goes away, or spray an air freshener to lighten the odor. Green cleaning removes stains and odors from your carpet without inflicting harm to the fibers, which maintains the beauty and strength of the material. The carpet cleaning approach is reasonably priced and efficient and can prevent time since your carpet will dry faster. Harsh chemical cleaners and solvents can irritate your pores and skin, trigger respiration troubles, and become environmental toxins and pollution. Full Record Of Toilet Cleaning Provides Poo-Pourri stops odors before they stink up the room. I buy inexpensive washcloths and use these as a substitute of paper towels. They can be utilized to absorb grease within the kitchen or to wipe up a spill, and so on. then they just get tossed within the washer. There were moments of laughter about potty training and home messes. Looking to disinfect your area of the COVID-19 contagion? Brand names showing in publications are for product identification purposes solely. No endorsement is intended, neither is criticism implied of similar merchandise not mentioned. Persons utilizing such products assume duty for their use in accordance with present label directions of the manufacturer. Installing childproof latches on cupboards can stop children from opening them and probably ingesting dangerous chemical substances. Just spray it on and it takes little or no scrubbing to get a clear tub and tile. Most of the stink in a relaxation room comes from urine and germs on surfaces and within the air. By giving everything a good clear, that can naturally deal with any stinky smells. It’s always nice to stroll into a relaxation room, although, and smell something contemporary like lemon or cinnamon and clove. If merchandise on EPA List Nexternal icon are not available, bleach solutionscan be used if applicable for the floor. Do you've the best products and equipment to keep your restrooms looking great? Wet mop the ground with a microfiber flat mop and cleaner/disinfectant. A Clear Sweep There can additionally be a Sweeps' Festival in Santa Maria Maggiore, in Italy and in Rochester in Kent the place the custom was revived in 1980. One of the most famous literary works about chimney sweeps is William Blake's poem, The Chimney Sweeper. The widespread flue was designed to be one and a half bricks long by one brick extensive, although they usually narrowed to one brick sq., that's 9 inches by 9 inches or much less. Often the chimney would nonetheless be scorching from the fireplace, and occasionally it will truly be on hearth. In follow, nevertheless, Archduchess Marie's chosen bridegroom was no chimney sweep, but just a minor and undistinguished member of the reigning Habsburg family. One of the characters in the Mary Poppins books is The Sweep. 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#清潔公司

[someonewhowannadielol]

My name is 01001010 01001011 (Alien!Jungkook! x Human!Reader)

Summary: “So you’re a human?” The alien that looked and acted like a human asked. The only difference between him and you was that he had two upside down triangles starting from his jaw going down under his shirt. Also, he was huge. “I’m talking 8 foot tall” huge.

Warning: Daddy kink, Dirty talk, size kink, cunt slapping, Jungkook being rlly big, fingering, nipple sucking (?), Dom/sub themes, and Jungkook being a curious alien.

Genre: Fluff, Smut

Word Count: 6.3k

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

COVID-19 vs Human kind. Human kind was pretty much fucked. In front of your eyes, the world population went from a staggering 8 billion people to an exponentially low 1 million. Within two years. It was in October 2020, when scientist realized that instead of working on a vaccine, they needed to discover a place where those free from this deadly disease could live. Safely and peacefully.

Then, the people of Jubal, stepped in, and it was pure chaos. You still remember the day, 14thof December 2020. Everywhere; social media platforms, billboards, NASA’s speech, everything revolved around the message they sent us. They wanted to help us. Surprisingly, we knew nothing about them, but they knew everything about us. From our appearance to our food, cultures, languages, and what not. It low key creeped you out, not going to lie.

Nonetheless, we began building the transport link through their help and finally, one year later (pretty much the brink of our extinction), we were on our way to a new life.

Honestly, you had imagined them to look like- or well, to not look like how they looked. You’d expected Pokémons, or weird looking octopus, or even insects. But they looked just like you, expect they were way bigger in size.

After half a month or so, you had started to get used to the atmosphere. Almost similar to Earth, there were two sides to this planet, a much hotter plane, where the temperature never went below 104 Fahrenheit. You remember going there when you first arrived here, and oh god, you hated it. The temperature was too high for you; they didn’t know what ice cream was (how can they not know! You thought they knew everything, yet they’re unaware about one of the most popular desserts on Earth), you absolutely hated sweating and no amount of air conditioning could stop it, and the beach just looked out of place. The sand wasn’t the usual pale brown shade, instead it was just the color of the ocean itself – it adapted to the shade of the flowing water into a green-blue hue. Weird. Also, there was one sun in the morning, and three in the evening, gradually coming as the hours passed by.  

You had also noticed that all of them ate food at the same temperature. Nothing was cold like ice, or hot like a fresh pizza. The concept was new to them, and when you asked for the water to be cold at the first restaurant you went to – the waiter just looked lost. The poor soul, he was told to make the humans feel at home, so when he realized he couldn’t do what you asked to, you just felt really bad. Still, it was funny that a seven-foot tall man was scared of you being uncomfortable. It was cute, honestly.

Also, almost similar to Earth, the two places had different types of Jubals living there. The sunny side had more tan skinned people, with bright, blond hair and bright eyes. Whereas, the cold plane Jubals had fairer skin, darker hair and doe eyes. The one similarity being – they were huge as fuck. The average height was around seven foot for men, and around six foot for females. So, standing at a 5 foot 2 inches (almost three inches I swear!), you felt tiny (and intimidated sometimes, but you weren’t going to admit that.

After finalizing that you definitely didn’t want to live in the hotter part of the planet, you moved to Corellia, it was cold there but not in the way you expected it to be. In the morning, it was perfectly fine, the cold breeze was nothing short of comfortable, but as the evening came, it started to get cold to the point where you couldn’t bear to go outside after 6 PM. Sometimes, you think you might have underestimated the cold here at night, because the two beautiful moons brought such intense cold that you wouldn’t dare go out at night. They gifted you a cozy one bed apartment with a really good heating system, which you appreciated. Also, you had never been so glad that you brought the microwave from Earth, without it, you didn’t know what you would do.

Ever since you moved, you had pretty much been lonely, because of the lack of contact with humans. Most of them preferred to live in the hotter state, wanting to get tanned - and to fuck the surfer Jubal hotties. You still remember parting with your sister and her ranting about this Jubal she met who was so “dreamy” and “good at surfing”.

As usual, you were just trying to get used to the food here, thankfully, they had a smaller section of “human,” food that mostly consisted of cup noodles, vegetables, chicken and chocolates. Getting groceries was intimidating at first (honestly, it kind of still is), because everyone and everything was so large, and everyone just kept staring at you. You still haven’t interacted with a Jubal on your own, it’s not like you were scared – you were – but also you didn’t really know how to go up to one. Until now, the only two Jubals you’ve met were the grocery store cashier and the landlord. Sigh.

You were so happy when you saw the new addition of real, organic milk in the grocery aisle! Thank god you got a break from that horrid almond milk. It was just water pretending to be milk honestly, and whenever you poured it in your cereal, it felt like drowning them in water, yuck. But, as much as you could try, you just would not reach the goddamn shelf. Why did these Jubals have to be so tall! Why couldn’t they just make this aisle according to human size!

You heard someone shuffle behind, but paid no heed until you heard laughter burst and immediately looked back to see one of them laughing so hard, his body shook.

“You- you’re so tiny!” He barely managed to get that sentence out of him, since he couldn’t stop his outburst.  

Of course, you were offended.

“I’m actually not! You all are way too big!” You didn’t really know how to respond, because this was just so sudden.

“Hm, I don’t think so, you’re smaller than average earthlings. But it’s okay, because it’s adorable,” so, you were really surprised when you felt him behind you, reach up to the milk shelf and grab a container of it. Of course, being the dumb idiot you were, you suddenly turned around and had to face him again. You hadn’t noticed his physical features before, but now that you did. Holy shit.

He was tall (I know, it’s obvious by now), and had such, clear, fair skin. Two upside down triangles were on each side of his jaw and went down, disappearing under his coat. He looked at you with such doe, curious eyes, almost as if he was entertained by your mere presence.

“Here you go,” he handed you the container of milk – while still being really close (not that you minded it). Despite the irritatingly bright fluorescent store lighting, his hair shined, and looked so soft.

And after that, he just followed you around the store, and you honestly didn’t really know what to do.

“You know, I’ve been trying to find a human since a month now, but I’ve heard most of them moved to the Southern part. You should’ve done that too, because Corellia is too cold for you. You’re a little slow,”

And you’re a little piece of shit.

“But now I found you. You’re really adorable, the books didn’t tell me that. Ever since humankind moved here, I’ve been really studying Earth. Did you guys really had pink leaved trees? And forests? It must be so cool for so many trees to be in one place. I also really want to meet a lion,”

“You can’t just meet a lion,” you chuckled, he was weird, but somehow, it wasn’t awkward around him. He radiated this warm energy that you hadn’t seen in the Jubal people around you, and it was comforting, made you want to stay by his side – even if it meant answering his dumb questions.

“I can, you can’t. It would eat you, because you’re bite sized for it,” he continued to comment on your petite stature, and the worst part is that you couldn’t even defend yourself, especially when he kept towering over you.

“Hey! Stop making fun of me,” you tried to push him but the basket was too heavy for you, so you ended up just… awkwardly not being able to do it. Suddenly his – huge – hand swoops in and carries the heavy grocery basket as if it was nothing.

“You should’ve told me it was too heavy for you,” he sounded almost as if he was scolding you, and coo-ing at you at the same time. His eyebrows bunched up in frustration as he mumbled something along the lines of ‘how can I protect you if you won’t tell me what you need,’ but you couldn’t really make out what he said.

You were just pulled out of your thoughts when you heard him put something in your basket. Something that the Jubals ate, not humans.

Should I ask him to leave? No, that’s way too rude. Then, should I ask him why he’s following me?

“This is delicious, you should try it,” He spoke while continuing to look around the store, and put random items in your basket. There was a variation of their fruits (this one had a gradient of yellow and orange, with huge spikes coming out from the top), cans with God-knows-what inside (the one he put in your basket had cherry colored pentagons on it, and a juice bottle that contained neon green juice. You were not looking forward to drinking that.

“I don’t even know how to make all of this. What if I can’t eat it?” You were scared of most of these food items, you got sick easily, and didn’t know how to cope if you fell sick here. Without the medicines, you’d probably die.

“I’ll cook it for you if you want to,” He looked at you and smiled, “I know humans are fragile, so don’t worry, I made sure to get the ones which would be safe for you,” he said, while petting your hair, and smiling. You instantly fell in love with it, it wasn’t like the way he laughed at you earlier, but somehow, it was far more beautiful. His eyes crunched up into half-moons, cheeks being bunched up, he almost looked like the small bunny you had as a pet when you were younger. So. Cute.

“But I don’t even know your name, why would you do this for me?” You really were curious, why was a Jubal so interested in humans? So far, most of them have just maintained a distance from you.

“Because I want to keep you,” he looked at you, and the duality of his presence made you shiver. The small bunny smile morphed into a more serious face, his already dark brown eyes, turned into a slightly darker shade, giving you the chills.

“You can’t keep me,” you didn’t know how to fight this argument, you almost wanted to laugh and act as if you thought it was a joke, but you weren’t an idiot – and nor was he.

“I know, I can’t find the Earth word for it, I want to be with you, is what I mean,” he mumbled as he tried to find something in the cereal aisle.

The grocery trip was actually not as weird as you’d expect it to be. While you both didn’t know anything about each other, not even names (not that Jubals had actual names, they just talked through their minds?)

And as soon as you reached the cashier, before you could even take out your money, he nod, and paid the bill.

“Hey! I can pay for myself, you don’t have to do this!”  

Honestly, you didn’t really know what to say after he said, “I’m paying, now be a good baby and stand still,” where did he even learn to speak like that?

It was starting to get cold now, and after you exited the heated mall, it was visible that you shivered every time the cold brushed up against your figure. You should’ve worn the third sweater, sigh.

“So you’re really a human?” He said, as he carried your groceries and followed you, on your way to the apartment.

“Yeah, I’m Y/N,”

“How can you be a Y/N? You just said you were a human,” He asked, really confused. Were you pranking him? He learnt in (one of his many books about humans) that humans liked to prank each other for entertainment. He found the idea amusing, but right now he couldn’t decide whether you were pranking or joking.

He didn’t understand the difference between pranking and joking, either.

“I-  What? No, I mean I am a human, but my name is Y/N,” you were definitely amused at his seriousness, yet you couldn’t help but be intimidated by his tall figure. Also, you felt bad that he was holding all the groceries, so you decided to grab one of the bags from him.

“Y/N!” He stopped dead in his tracks after your fingers brushed against his, “I just remembered you can’t bear the cold after 6pm, so you have to wear many clothes to protect yourself. You’re already so cold,” he felt your hand, and his was so warm and felt right, intertwined in your hand. His hand was so huge, that it enveloped yours easily, and you could really notice the size difference now. 

He quickly transferred all the grocery bags into his left hand, and continued to give you his coat, and held your hand again, and it felt… nice. The fact that he smelled so good, helped too, you couldn’t exactly put your finger on it, but it was really comforting. 

You were quite used to the stares you got on the streets from other Jubals, and always thought that they would go away, but it’s been two weeks, yet they still continue to look at you up and down, so you finally asked him. You still didn’t know his name, and didn’t know whether you should ask him or not, was it insulting?

“Why does everyone keep staring at me?”

“Because you’re so cute,”

What. It was almost like you forgot how to breathe. How could he say that all of a sudden, out of the blue? Also, you actually could not breathe, because while he had long legs that lasted for days, you had much smaller legs and it was starting to get hard to keep up.

“Hey! Could you walk-” you took in a breath, wow, your stamina was really, uh, shitty, “could you walk a little slow?”

He looked back at you, and tilted his head almost as to ask ‘why?’, but understood quickly. Then, he flashed one of his cute smiles, again, the smile that did things to your heart that you hadn’t felt before.

“Do you want me to carry you?” He also had read previously that humans can get really tired, and sometimes not even have the strength to move on. Especially females, they were more fragile, and he could physically see that too, because you were just so small. The average height was supposed to be 5’4 or even 5’6 for human females around your age, but you seemed smaller than that. But you also didn’t seem to be a child because those under the age 18 were always with their parents right? He had almost started to doubt those textbooks he bought on humans.

“No, I can walk myself,” You tried to defend yourself, and started to mentally curse as to why you asked him to slow down.

You finally reached your apartment door. Honestly, you had thought that he would stop following you after you reached the apartment building… but he just continued to bring the groceries in.

Should you invite him in? Did you even clean your living space? You probably had your underwear lying all over the place, since now you lived alone and had no fear of someone else coming in your private space.

“Can I come in?”

Well, you didn’t want to say no to him, he’s been really nice so far, and you had to admit, picking up groceries was really hard to do, and you weren’t exactly physically active enough to carry all those bags that he easily carried in one hand.

He then walked himself to the door after putting the groceries in the kitchen. What really surprised you was how he looked back at you, not how he looked before. Before, he looked with warmth, and now. Now, he almost towered at you, reminding how much power he really has over you. He looked at your lips, and then back at your eyes and tilted his head.

“W-well, it was really nice to meet you,” you said trying to break the tension and to distract yourself from the obviously gorgeous man.

“I hope to see your cute face again soon,” he smiled one of his bunny smiles again, and kissed you on the cheek before disappearing under the stairs.

You curled yourself up in your blanket, and tried to sleep, but that Jubal kept intruding your thoughts. 

Would you get to see him again?

The next time you saw the cute Jubal from the grocery store was next week Saturday. On Earth, entertainment was in the form of movies, arcades and concerts. Similarly, here too, people had a theatre – instead of a movie on a projector, it was shown in 3D form, almost like a live performance, expect there were holographic figures.

You looked around, and by now you had taken into account that Jubal people weren’t afraid to show off their skin – even though it was crazy cold here, their bigger bodies could compensate by giving them more body heat. Unfortunately, your smaller stature couldn’t provide you with the same amount of heat and you always had to bundle up in three or even four layers to keep yourself from freezing or catching a cold.

You were watching a really heated up scene, and it was getting kind of… uncomfortable. While others were simply watching casually, as if it was nothing out of the ordinary, you kept shuffling in your seat – so it was a pleasant surprise when you felt someone cover your eyes from behind you.

“Wha-” instinctively, you looked behind, and it was the same boy (or man?), from the grocery store.

“Hey,” again, you waved at him, almost as a form of habit, and he looked at you as if you did something quite weird. Without any questions, he tried to imitate you, but he was really stiff so you couldn’t help but let you a laugh.

“I know I didn’t introduce myself much better last time, but we don’t really have names. Still, I decided to get one for myself, because once I get a human, she should be able to call me something,”

Did he… did he mean that you were his human?

“Well, what did you settle for?”

“My name is 01001010 01001011. I thought it was really similar to the ones that humans have. Do you like it?” He asked with a proud grin, as his face lit up.

You tried to keep your laughter in, you really did but you when it did come out, you felt like wanting to die. His face crumpled up almost as if he was ashamed of his name as he increased the distance between the two of you.

Nice one, Y/N, you made the only person who cared enough for you sad.

“Hey, look, it’s a nice name, it’s just not very human-like,” you explained to him.

“It’s the binary code for a human name,”

Because of the constant conversation you both were immersed in, the Jubals beside you were starting to get annoyed – and while they didn’t say anything, probably because they didn’t want you to feel bad (you still did, for trying to ruin their experience for this live-movie thing), you decided to head out with him.

As you both walked in one of the main parks situated in the middle of Corellia state, he settled on a spot in the corner of the massive area.

“Would you like to give me a name?” he looked at your face with such intensity, that you couldn’t help but feel insecure and want to cover your face.

“Well, what did those binary numbers represent?” you really did want to help his get a name, after all, he was your first friend here.

“I want to be called JK, but my friends told me it was a ridiculous human name, because no one was named JK before. So I settled for its binary number. They approved of that,” his eyes shone of much when he talked about it, his long lashes were uprightly curved and you couldn’t help but swoon.

You fiddled with your sweater as you gave him suggestions, but none seemed to suit him.

“Jake? No,” you were starting to get frustrated at this, “Hm, maybe Jacob?” you shook your head again, unsatisfied.

He just simply continued to laugh at you being so serious, occasionally playing with hair and pressing a finger to your soft cheeks. When he commented on you being soft, you couldn’t help but blush (and when he compared you to one their red fruits, you couldn’t help but blush harder (you denied it, obviously)).

“Jungkook!” you remember reading that word in one of the books you had in high school literature.

“Jungkook? Do you like it, baby?” He played with your cheeks with happiness, he was happy that you were no longer frustrated or angry. Finally satisfied and happy. Of course, you blushed at the word of endearment, but didn’t tell him to not say it.

Oh. Well, after that, he just continued to ask you about humans, and more specifically about you. You were amused by most of his questions,

“What is sarcasm?”

“Why do you like pizza so much, when it’s detrimental for your health? You shouldn’t eat it, I’ll make good food for you,”

“How do you make stereotypes?”

“Why do people get cosmetic surgery?”

And each one of them seemed normal for a Jubal to ask until,

“Why do humans like cuddling?”  

At this point, you were quite tired, but still thought it would rude to ask him out, because he seemed really curious, every question coming right after you answer the last one.

“I guess, we just like to be touchy and close,” you said and you tried to suppress a yawn, but it just slipped.

“What was that? Was that a sigh? Or a yawn? Are you tired? That was so cute, do it again,”

“Just a little tired,” you said as you rested you head on his shoulder without realizing to do so. It was also getting really cold; the second moon had started to show up.

You both got up, and the walk back home was really pleasant. He kept cracking jokes and dancing on the pavement. You tried to imitate his dance, but your flow wasn’t as steady as his. How could someone dance so good like this, yet not be able to wave correctly? Your fingers intertwined again, and you leaned more into his body this time. You could barely reach his mid chest, that’s how tall he was. But somehow, you didn’t mind it because you both fit so perfectly – as if two parts of one puzzle.

As you reached the door of your apartment door again, you felt Deja-vu. He looked at your face, studying it carefully and looking back at your eyes, however instead of just looking at your lips this time, he leaned closer and looked back at you – almost as if asking for permission to kiss you. You nodded, and wow.

As his lips drew closer to yours, you could feel him cupping your face with both hands, one of them gradually descending to the back of your head as it found its place in your hair. They were incredibly soft, and almost overpowered you, because you didn’t expect this. As he slid his tongue and slowed himself, you found yourself wanting more, leaning towards him.

Before realizing that you needed to breathe, you started to choke, as he pulled himself back, and chuckled before saying, “Baby girl, take it slow, I’m all yours.”

“Want more,” is all you can say before leaning towards him, wanting to kiss him again. But unlucky for you, he just moved back before laughing again, and this time you pouted and slightly punched his chest.

“Now, you’re just being a brat, baby, you’ll get what I’ll give you, understand?” You could feel his breath fanning your face, and his eyes were no longer twinkling like they did, but instead were full of lust and an animalistic hunger.

‘’Jungkook, please,” you had never really been serious with boys in your high school, and so, this was the first time you had actually felt something down there. It was almost like someone – or Jungkook – lit a fire in your core, and you couldn’t help but just want more.

Fumbling hands opened the door to the apartment and you both tumbled in, messily but both of you didn’t care as you headed to your bedroom. On the way, he messily kissed your neck that made your knees buckle in a way that even walking was difficult.

He tossed you gently on your bed, that was way too big for the apartment, and ran his fingers through your hair, to you neck, and to your chest. He attacked your neck again, and started to form a pattern with his tongue as he pressed harder on some areas and trailed lighter on others.

You couldn’t help but let a whine escape your mouth when he left your neck unattended to take off your sweaters and cardigans till you were only in your undergarments and a see-through white dress.

“Fuck, baby girl, you’re so beautiful,” he said as he attacked your lips again, this time being harsher with his movements, as his tongue slipped in your mouth, doing wonders to his body.

“J-Jungkook, please,” you felt so much, so sudden, and even in this cold, the heat was too much for you – the heat inside you wanted to escape, but you didn’t know how to ask him.

“Yes, baby? Tell me what you want,” his amused voice made it obvious as to what you wanted, but still he continued to tease you, torment you, put you on the edge, “Tell daddy what you want,”

You took in a gasp as he unbuckled your bra strap from behind, free-ing your breasts, and the very next second, tore your fragile dress.

“Hm, tell me baby girl,” he asked you once again, as he took in one of you nipples in his mouth, his tongue encircling your bud, as one of his hands pinched the other one.

“Jungkook I-” you gasped as you felt a slap on your clit, it wasn’t that harsh because he was being careful, and you were still in your panties – but it just turned you on more.

“Baby, you have to call me Daddy, do you understand?” he said as his free wrist kept putting pressure on the top of you panties, making you want to rip them off, so you could finally feel him where you wanted to.

“Yes,” you said, and whined after he took off his mouth from your nipple to look at you, and after a second you understood what you had to say, “Yes Daddy, I understand,”

“Such a good girl for me, so pretty,” he said as he kissed your cheek, and you just couldn’t stop blushing. He was so harsh, yet so gentle at the same time – and it made your head spin.

“Now, be a good baby, and tell Daddy what you want him to do to you,” he said as he neared your ear, “does baby want daddy to wreck her pussy?”

You couldn’t help but shiver before speaking, “I want Daddy to make me feel good,”

His fingers slowly trailed your body, making you moan and buckle your body up towards him. You looked at him, his ears tinged red, and his eyes were darker than before, he almost looked like a fallen angel. He chuckled, looking at you seem so helpless, so fragile.

You were so soft, so ethereal, like an angel from the sky and he was there to taint you, to make you his.

He teased you by playing with the band of your underwear, he put two fingers in your mouth and you instantly slicked them with your saliva, making obscene noises that blended in with your moans. Then he trailed those two fingers right above your covered clit, and you couldn’t help but buckle up again, wanting those two fingers inside of you.

“Be patient, princess,” and it felt like an eternity as he circled his tongue in your belly button and it so, so, so slowly trailed down and down, and he finally took off your panties with his teeth.

“So wet, baby, you’re making a mess,” he commented as he rubbed you with one finger, and using the other one to encircle your hole. He pushed it a little inside, easily as your slick helped him, before looking back at you to see if you were comfortable, and when he got the green light, he continued to push it entirely in, “Such a good baby for me, think you can handle Daddy’s cock?”

You nodded in exasperation, his finger was long and hit all the right spots, but you needed more. He added another finger, while rubbing your clit with more pressure and making circle patterns with his tongue below your belly button. You were so near, so so near, you just needed that one push off the edge.

“Well, you’re going to have to work for Daddy’s cock, baby, think you can take this monster?” He took out his finger with a pop, as soon as he felt you clench down on his finger.

“Daddy, f-fuck me, please,” you moaned, missing his touch. He looked just as a mess as you were, panting and taking off his shirt. You continued to admire his body, he didn’t look buff like gym rats, but instead he had a lean, slightly muscular body.

He continued to tease you by biting his lip and taking off his boxers extremely slowly. You whimpered when his cock was free against his stomach, and it was bigger than any you’ve been before while watching porn. It was even bigger than the dildo your friend bought as a joke for your birthday present, and you had started to doubt if he would fit inside of you.

“Suck Daddy if you want to cum, princess,” he groaned as he pumped himself a couple of times before you put your mouth on his head.

Not having any experience before, you didn’t really know how to start, but you gave little kitten licks at his head, and then took it in your heated mouth. He didn’t taste how you had imagined, instead it was more like a salted caramel toffee you had, it was delicious and you wanted more. You continued to take more, and more of him and suddenly gagged because you couldn’t take anymore – only to realize you had only taken half his dick in your mouth.

“Can’t handle more? I guess you’re too small for Daddy’s big cock, huh?”

The thought of his not fucking you was almost terrifying at this point and you continued to let your throat loose and tale more of him, until you felt his cock twitch, which made you moan. Tears spilled out as he fucked your throat, fast and hard. 

“Such a good, pretty baby for daddy, taking my cock so good, princess,” he groaned before pushing in it a couple of times and taking it out.

“Such a naughty baby, making Daddy almost cum,” he kissed you again, tasting his own cum, before dipping down again, “you need to be punished, huh?”

“Daddy, please t-touch me,” you whined, grabbing his hand and putting it in between your thighs, and surprisingly he slapped your inner thigh.

“Being such a bratty baby now, I guess I do need to punish you, you don’t deserve Daddy’s fingers,” he said trailing again lightly all over body, but stopping as soon as he neared where you needed him the most, “touch yourself,”

You were dumbfounded, but when you saw his serious look, you shyly dipped your finger into your heat, and circled them around, but even after two fingers, it just wasn’t enough. You wanted more, you needed more.

“Daddy, please, I c-can’t, I need you,” you cried out while rubbing yourself between your legs, filled with your slick.

“Such a needy princess, always demanded Daddy,” he tsked before adding two fingers inside you, and as you gasped, “but Daddy adores you, so he’ll help his pretty little baby,”

You moaned, not holding back, as he pumped those fingers, and let his tongue work magic on your clit. He continuously pumped his fingers back and forth, while torturing your bud and the heat inside of you kept growing and before you realized it, “Jungkook, I’m going to cum!”

“Cum on my fingers, baby, go on,” his movements became more faster and you trembled under gaze, and unconsciously arched your back before letting yourself loose. It felt like heaven.

Even after this, you had been surprised to see that he didn’t stop and the stimulation was too much for you, as you tried to get away from him, but he held you in place, his wrist holding your pelvic in place.

Despite your whimpering and moans, he took his mouth to your perked up nipple again, and scissored his fingers, to prepare you for his cock. Then, he looked at you, cupped you face and kissed you again, this time more soft, as if you were a china doll, going to break at any given moment.

After letting his dick sit on your bud, he slowly let the head of his cock find your entrance and pushed it slightly. You let out a cry, he was too big for you, but he shushed you and pressed against your lips again before letting it enter little by little. You quickly grab his upper arm and clench it, the pain and pleasure were starting to combine again and you nodded, letting him know that it was okay to continue.

The raw emotion in his eyes was enough to let you go on, and when you were finally full, you looked down only to find you could only take half of him, he was just too big for you.

“Baby, fuck, you’re too tiny, can’t even take all of me,” he groaned before moving slowly, and then finally setting a pace that was safe, but unsatisfactory for you.

“J-Jungkook, f-fas-ter please,” you whined as he started becoming harsher, and his finger started abusing your bud again, and you couldn’t help but realize you were close again. This time, it felt more intense, more powerful.

He was so big, that you could feel him everywhere, it almost felt like he was ripping you apart, but the pleasure was almost overwhelming and the way his cock filled you up made you insatiable – you just wanted more, and more. You could feel your walls being pushed everything he buckled inside you, but he just did it so right.

“Baby, you’re so cute, gonna cum for Daddy?” he kissed your nipple and trailed up to your lips before diving a tongue into your moaning mouth. You nodded, and felt your second release come near.

“J-Jungkook, you feel so good,” you moaned as your walls clenched around his cock, and finally you gushed out, and trembled as you rode your orgasm. Simultaneously, he too, slammed his hips a couple times before cumming deep into you. As he took himself out, cum poured out of you, and he chuckled before taking it and spreading it over your face. Globs of cum covered your red cheeks and entered your mouth.

“You look so pretty with my cum on you face, keep it there until tomorrow morning,” he kissed your nose and coo-ed when you squirmed in embarrassment.

You could feel tugging and pulling when you felt someone wake you up and instinctively, you said, “Just five more minutes.”

“But you said that the last time,” Jungkook looked at you, his breathe fanning your face.

Too close, too close, too close. You looked at other way and tried to close your eyes.

“You’re so cute, like a small puppy,” he coo-ed at you, making your stomach feel things you’ve never felt before.

“I- I’m not like a puppy!” You tried to fight back in your sleep, but couldn’t help the blush forming on your cheeks and ears.

You could feel the dried up cum on your face, and wanted to wash it off, but feeling too sore to move.

“Can’t move, princess? Was Daddy’s cock too much for you, last night?” he coo-ed at you, mumbling about how cute you were, and how he wanted to baby you and make you his.

“I’m too sore, Kookie,” you whined into the pillow and were taken by surprise when he lifted you and carried you to the tub.

“It’s okay, I’ll take care of my little human baby girl,” he said as he laid you in the lukewarm water and washed your body softly.

CLICK HERE FOR PART TWO

You were starting to feel more at home, even more than when you were at Earth.

A/N: That’s a wrap! Hope you like it. Go to master link for more!

#bts smut #Jungkook smut #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts reactions #bts reader insert #bts preferences #bts #jungkook bts #jungkook scenarios #Jungkook #jungkook reader insert #jungkook reaction #jungkook x reader #Jungkook daddy #jungkook fluff

[hannahdra-ws]

and now (you’re hyper paranoid)

Summary: 

hypochondria; n; abnormal anxiety about one's health, especially with an unwarranted fear that one has a serious disease.

(or: Janus has a very bad time.)

Romantic, established dukeceit

TWs: hypochondria, covid-19, panic attacks, unspecified eating disorder, coughing, crying

----------

Through the uneasy feeling, Janus knew he was being a little unrealistic.

He's perfectly healthy, he rarely gets sick. He hasn't even had the flu before. He's double vaccinated, and he wears his mask everywhere. He's certainly never gotten food poisoning before.

So he doesn't know why he's freaking out so much.

read on ao3

Janus stared at the plate in front of him, heart thumping so loudly he was almost sure the others at the table could hear it. It wasn't anything major, it was just meatloaf with a side of mashed potatoes and corn, and Patton and Logan (mostly Logan) spent a lot of time on it, so there's no reason he shouldn't eat it.

The others are enjoying it too, bantering and joking across the table without a care in the world. Roman was basically sitting in Logan's lap, and Four Idiots (as Janus and Remus dubbed them as) kept sending each other equally besotted expressions. Remus was next to him, gesturing animatedly while he talked with one hand and the other hand tightly gripped in Janus's own.

He felt off kilter and shaky, watching everyone eat their food. Janus knows he should be eating too, and logically he knows that there is a very small chance of him getting food poisoning. But that doesn't make the debilitating anxiety welling up inside him go away.

Oh God, he's going to get sick, somethings wrong with the meat he'll get sick and vo-

Ugh. Virgil's the one that has the anxiety problem, not him. Why did his brother have to give him his mental illness? Bitch.

Suddenly, a loud noise happened, forcefully dragging Janus out of his mind. It was Roman, coughing loudly. He kept hacking, and hacking, and Janus abruptly felt faint. 

The others were watching with concern, and Logan was patting Roman on the back to get whatever had lodged in his throat out. Eventually, he did clear his airways, after a long breath in and a particularly violent cough. 

Patton inquired if he was okay, and Roman nodded, face red and tears streaming down his face from coughing so much. "Sorry, I choked." His voice was scratchy from coughing. But he was smiling, and that should have been an indicator that he was okay, he just choked, he's fine-

Remus made some comment, and Virgil flipped him off while still looking worriedly in Roman's direction, but Janus suddenly couldn't hear through the ringing in his ears. Remus must have noticed either the way he abruptly went still, or the fact that he had barely eaten anything, because he squeezed his hand in question. Janus abruptly stood up from the table, almost knocking his chair down in the process.

Remus frowned, a small, confused thing, "Jaybird? You alright?"

"I'm sorry, if you'll excuse me," Janus managed to choke out, before quickly ripping his hand from Remus's and stumbling away, ignoring the protests and calls from the table behind him. 

He hopes no one noticed that he didn't finish his meal.

----

Janus stumbled to his room, heart beating out of his chest, thump, thump, thump. He quickly locked the door and slid his back down to the floor, digging his gloved hands in his hair and pulling.

Roman's dry hacking wouldn't leave his head, oh God he sounded sick, but he's not he just choked he's fine, he doesn't have covid none of you do you're all vaccinated, fuck-

Janus was acutely aware that he was crying, now, his chest tight and his throat sore from the tears. He was trembling, small and terrified against the back of his door, and he couldn't stop thinking.

Janus had to go back to school in a week. School, with its crowded areas and unvaccinated people and possible removal of masks. The very thought of it makes his heart jump into his throat, dizzy with terror.

What if one of them had covid, and we just didn't have any symptoms, what if the vaccine doesn't work against the variant, fuck, he's going to get it, maybe he already has it, he's going to die he's going to die he can't breathe-

He suddenly had the image of his own funeral in his head, his boyfriend and his friends and his brother at his own funeral, crying softly and holding each other. He envisioned himself in the afterlife, waiting for them, watching Remus suffer alone because he wasn't there-

And that horrifying image in his head is what turned his soft crying into desperate sobs, shaking and pulling his hair so tight it stung. 

And that's also when he finally registered the frantic knocking on the door, how long has that been going on? and Remus's panicked voice coming from the other side.

"Jan? Baby, I can hear you crying, fuck, are you hurt? If you want me to fuck off, tell me, but- Oh, Jay, please answer, even a knock, just let me know if you're alright-"

Janus reached with trembling hands to unlock the door, even as his mind went no don't he could be sick, and he quickly moved away from the door a little so Remus wouldn't smack him in the face with the door when he came bursting in.

And burst in he did. In a flurry of motion, Remus quickly came in and shut the door behind him, then sat on the floor with panicked, worried eyes looking at Janus.

"Janus? Can you- fuck, I'm not good at this- can I touch you?"

Somewhere, in the back behind the panic, Janus found his stumbling endearing.

Janus debated for half a second, social distance 6 feet apart you'll die you'll die you'll die, before crumbling to his desire to be held.

"Pl- Please, hold me, I- I can't-" Janus's voice came out absolutely pathetic, broken up in sobs and small and trembling, but Remus paid it no mind. He quickly scooped up Janus in his arms, and Janus held onto him for dear life, like he'll be swept away if he doesn't. He cries so hard he's almost heaving, shaking like a leaf in Remus's strong, tattooed arms.

Oh, Remus, make it go away, He thought, and then cried harder because what a childish thing to think.

"Shh, shh, you're alright, I've got you. Can you breathe with me, darling? In and out, you're okay," Remus's voice was calm and soothing, the panic deliberately gone from his voice, probably to not make him feel worse. He breathed in deeply, over exaggerating his breaths so that Janus could follow along.

Janus tried to follow the rhythm, hiccupping through his tears. He stumbled a few times, and it took a bit, but he eventually was able to settle his breathing. His tears had started to slow, and he suddenly felt overwhelmingly childish. 

He just had a breakdown over something so stupid. It's not like he's the only one affected by covid, they're in a fucking pandemic, and he has no right to panic when he's not even sick. He's fine. 

Janus and Remus had only been together for a few months, so Remus hadn't seen this side of Janus yet. This was sure to make him leave. Fuck, he's so stupid.

"There you are, baby," Remus crooned with a soothing voice, and Janus flushed despite himself. Remus wiped away one of his lingering tears, his palm cupping Janus's cheek, and Janus leaned into the warmth, suddenly exhausted. He felt boneless and hollowed out inside of Remus's arms, like his limbs were made of lead.

"I'm sorry," Janus croaked, and Remus was shushing him before he could get more words out.

"No, shut up, you're not allowed to apologize for having a panic attack. You have nothing to apologize for." Remus was strong and steady, and Janus opened his eyes that he didn't mean to close. For some reason, he wanted to deny that what just happened was a panic attack. "You're okay, love, we're okay."

Janus gave a small laugh in spite of himself, and Remus huffed, indignant. "What?"

"Nothing, just- you use a l- lot more cutesy nicknames when you're calming me down." Janus noted, and Remus puffed up like a peacock, but he was smiling. 

"Would you rather I use my normal names? J-anus? Two Dicks? Hot ass? Da-"

Janus cut him off with laughter and a smack to the arm, "Shut up, you awful man, that wasn't an invitation-" 

Remus was laughing too, grin blinding. When they both stopped laughing, they just sat there for a while in comfortable silence. Remus traced the vitiligo patches on Janus's back through the clothes (Janus flushed at the fact that Remus just knew where they were) and Janus traced the tattoos on Remus's brown skin.

After several long, quiet moments, Remus's quiet voice broke the silence. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Instantly, Janus went tense, before shaking his head no. He couldn't explain it without sounding stupid, and he didn't want Remus to leave.

Besides, there was nothing Remus could truly say that he hasn't heard before. 

Nothing will make it go away.

Remus nodded, content with not pushing. "Well, I say we move the cuddling to the bed and not the floor, how does that sound?"

Before Janus could respond, Remus just scooped him up, effortlessly in the air. Janus squeaked and held onto Remus before Remus just dumped him down unceremoniously onto the bed, bouncing a little on the springs. 

Remus laid down on his back, and Janus immediately crawled to him and curled up next to him, laying his head on Remus's chest and Remus wrapping an arm around him.

"Nap time," Janus mumbled into Remus's shirt. Janus felt more than heard him chuckle.

"Well, if the king says it's nap time, then I have no choice but to obey." Janus swatted at him lazily, and he couldn't see it, but he bet Remus grinned. Remus laid a quick kiss to his temple and his heart swelled.

The worry still pricked in the back of Janus's mind. He was sure that later, he was going to freak out over this moment, that the sudden contact made him contract an illness.

But right now, at this moment, he's fine. He's with his boyfriend, and his other friends and his brother are in the house somewhere too, no doubt worried about Janus. They're all vaccinated, healthy, and safe. 

I'm okay, he thought, the thought not panic induced this time, and fell asleep next to Remus, and dreamt of nothing but warmth.

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #janus sanders #janus sanders angst #tw covid #tw hypochondria #dukeceit #fanfic #janus sanders fanfic

[labelma]

all the pain of yesterday

Read on Ao3

When the call comes, it’s a surprise. 

Maybe it shouldn’t be, but it is. 

“Hello, is this Fiona Gallagher?” 

Somehow, Fiona just knows. She doesn’t know how or why, but...

“Yes this is her.” 

The woman’s voice is soft, but clear, there’s quiet murmur in the background, it reminds Fiona of every time she got a call from the police station, the hospital, the school. For a moment, she feels like she’s 21 again, scared, alone, at her wit’s end, trying to hold everything together, scraping by with the skin of her teeth, always one wrong step from a catastrophe. 

There is a split second of silence where Fiona knows this is it. Whatever the woman has to say- there’s no going back from it, as soon as the silence breaks. And it does. 

“This is Brenda at Kindred Hospital South, your father Frank Gallagher was brought in experiencing hypoxia, disorientation and a high fever,” 

This is it 

“We regret to inform you that we did-“ 

This is how it happens

“Everything we could-“ 

Fiona’s blood runs cold, 

“But your father passed away this evening at 8:46 from complications due to Covid-19.” 

She knew it was coming. They all did. Frank had been dancing with death for years, how he had even managed to hold on for so long was beyond her. 

It seemed that Frank’s luck had finally run dry. 

“Would you like to make arrangements? If not we would be happy to help…” 

Fiona isn’t listening. She tells the nurse to do whatever they need to do before hanging up. 

She surprises herself when she feels tears prick the corners of her eyes, and she clenches her jaw. They won’t fall. She won’t cry over Frank. Not anymore. Not ever. 

She takes a moment for herself, a moment to breath, a moment to consider the fact that she’s now lost both her parents, even if she lost them both years ago to drugs, to the bottle, to insanity. 

She takes the briefest moment to grieve what could have been before stopping herself. 

What’s done is done. 

Her parents made their decisions, and she made hers. 

Fiona thinks that at least now Frank and Monica will get to make each other miserable for eternity while they’re burning in the deepest pits of hell. 

Or was it freezing? 

Fiona never paid much attention in church anyway, on those rare occasions they went, usually to sneak bills from the collections plate. 

Phone in her hand, screen still on from the phone call, Fiona realizes she doesn’t know what the next steps are. 

Her instinct is to hop on the L, deal with the situation as it comes, never planning, never even able to plan because of the speed at which things fell apart. Her instinct is to go grab Frank from whatever shithole situation he got himself in, and slap some sense into him. 

But obviously, Fiona couldn’t hop on the L, she was standing in the middle of the street in Chula Vista, California. Gone were the days of running into burning buildings with no forethought. Fiona had her life together. She had a serious job. She wasn’t busy juggling teens and pre-teens anymore. 

And of course, there was no Frank to slap sense into anymore. 

An odd pang twisted Fiona’s stomach at the thought. 

She’s brought back to the presence when someone stumbles into her from behind, 

“Perdóneme,” 

The woman doesn’t look much older than she is, and she’s busy pushing a stroller with one hand, pulling a toddler along with the other. 

Fiona sighs. 

It’s time to face the music. 

She calls her kids. 

<hr>

Arrangements are made. Fiona honestly has very little say in them. 

Frank wanted to be cremated, his family didn’t give nearly a big enough shit to make it fancy. 

He had no possessions of value, nothing to give to his kids other than stained furniture, empty bottles, and trauma.

Really, Fiona is coming back for Liam. 

Fiona was the guinea pig. The oldest daughter, the one who had no one except a wino father and batshit crazy mother to look after her. 

Lip and Ian, born so close together, both so resilient, but still so so young when they first learned the hard way of Frank’s negligence. 

Debbie and Carl, young enough to remember the times before Fiona dropped out of high school and made being a mother to her siblings a full time job. Old enough to remember all the times Frank stole their money, ruined their creations, hurt their very fragile childish feelings. 

But Liam? 

Liam never lived in a world where he had to be raised by Frank of Monica Gallagher. 

And Fiona knows that she wasn’t the best guardian either. She knows that she abandoned him, even though she was the only mother he’d ever known. She knows that she’s done worse things. 

But even when she fucked up, Lip was there to pick it up. And Ian behind him. And now Debbie and Carl are adults too. Liam would be just fine without her in the long run. 

But still. Liam had the good fortune to be born last, young enough to be raised by his siblings, to never feel the sting of abuse and neglect the way the oldest five always had. 

And Frank had always loved Liam, loved him so much. Liam was so kind, maybe even too kind. He loved Frank back, even though they all knew Frank was not deserving of such care from his youngest son. 

So Fiona knew, knew it like she knew herself, that Liam, of all the Gallaghers, was going to be the most devastated. 

And well, she missed her other kids too. 

She hadn’t seen Franny far too long, hadn’t even met Fred. She missed Ian’s wedding, Carl’s graduation from the academy. 

She’d stayed up to date of course, speaking with her siblings on the phone, FaceTiming to see her nieces and nephews, but she knew what it was like in Chicago. If you weren’t there you may as well not exist. 

Fiona liked it that way. 

When her plane had arrived at the San Diego International Airport all those years ago, she almost had a panic attack, nearly booked the next flight back to Chicago. 

It had gotten easier with time. 

For her entire life she’d been so tied to the little house on Wallace, she didn’t know who she was without it. 

It was time to find out. 

And she did. 

She did find out, she found out what she was capable of, she found out how successful she could be, she found out who she was without living her life for her siblings. 

Not that she would ever hold it against them but… She did what she could. It was time for her to live her own life now. 

And for those very reasons, she was terrified of going back to Chicago. 

She was terrified that all the progress, everything she built, all that she’d become, was nothing more than smoke and mist, ready to blow away the minute she arrived in the Windy City. 

Which is why she never visited when Fred was born, or considered flying in to meet him. 

Which is why when she received the surprisingly tasteful wedding invitation to Ian and Mickey Milkovich’s wedding, she regretfully declined. 

She was so scared. 

So scared she would go back and never be able to leave again. 

But some of the fear had worn off over the months. 

Her new life felt less like smoke, and more like a healthy young tree, still growing, but strong enough to weather a storm. 

It was time to return. 

<hr> 

The plane ride feels oddly unceremonious for how anxious Fiona feels. 

She watches as the Southern California coast line disappears from sight as the plane flies eastward, and wonders how she’ll be received when she arrives. 

She doesn’t tell the kids she’s coming for a visit, worried they’ll make a big deal out of it, or worse, do nothing at all. 

Chicago is exactly like she remembers it, and yet nothing like it used to be. Still dirty, windy, freezing, especially after her years spent in the San Diegan sun, but dotted with new boutiques, nicer buildings, fences that don’t look like they’re about to crumble into a pile of dust. 

She has to fight to control her breathing in the Uber back to the old Gallagher house. 

The sight of the sun setting over the familiar buildings of the South Side makes her feel something unidentifiable. 

The house looks much the same as always, if not just a bit nicer due to Lip’s efforts to fix it up. 

She hesitates for just a moment at the front door before turning the handle and walking in, refusing to give in to her doubts. 

The TV is on, as usual. Debbie sits texting on the couch while Franny, much bigger than the last time Fiona saw her lounges on the couch engrossed in the colorful TV show, Carl next to her, also engrossed in the show. 

She hears banging in the kitchen, and she walks towards it to find Lip hammering at the shelving unit, Tami preoccupied with hushing Fred, while Ian and Mickey sit at the kitchen table passing a beer back and forth, talking quietly. 

Fiona is only a little surprised that she hasn’t been noticed yet. She’s quieter than she used to be, and each one of her siblings seems to be in their own little worlds. 

It’s Liam who sees her first as he walks down the stairs, eyes red, looking tired, though his face lights up as soon as his eyes fall on her. 

“Fiona!” 

He runs into her arms, and the tears Fiona has been managing to hold back for days finally fall. She holds her youngest brother, and breathes in the familiar smell of his hair. 

Liam’s shout alerts the rest of the family to her presence, and for a few minutes Fiona is wrapped in hug after hug, feeling laughter bubbling up in her chest. 

It strikes her that even after so long away, she can still read her siblings like a book. 

Lip is tense, she can feel it in the way he hugs her, in the hard set of his features, though Tami seems happy enough. 

Carl and Debbie are both distracted, though the days where she could tell what kind of things they’d be distracted by are long gone. 

Ian looks lighter, happier than she’s ever seen him, and for the smallest moment, she worries that Frank’s death may have thrown him into a manic episode before she notices the way Mickey has his hand firmly planted on his shoulder, and though Fiona was never quite able to trust him in the past, she thinks she does now. 

She holds Franny against her hip, marveling at how heavy she is, while Liam entwines his fingers with hers. 

Fiona gets the sense that she’s missed so much, and yet nothing at all, everyone falling into their familiar roles. 

They settle in with coffee to catch up, Fiona hanging on every word, desperate to soak up everything she’s missed. 

Lip decided not to sell the house in the end, figuring that the value in owning property was worth more than a quick payout which would disappear quicker that you’d think. 

With Ian and Mickey in a new apartment and Frank… gone, the house was quieter, less crowded, a better place to raise two kids, at least until Lip and Tami could afford to move out. 

Debbie had sworn off dating, saying she was sick of dating psycho chicks. Fiona laughs along with her and agrees, dating hasn’t been so kind to her either, but she suspects that Debbie will change her tune when the next person willing to go down on her comes along. She shares that same trait with Debbie, something she’s been trying to work on as she gets older and realizes how fucked up her habits and coping mechanisms are. 

Liam is grieving, and Fiona’s heart aches for him. She cups her hands around his sallow cheeks and as she kisses his face and celebrates when he brushes her off, an embarrassed smile turning up his lips. She knows this is hard on him, Liam being the only Gallagher who truly still cared for Frank in more than just an offhand obligatory way. But she also knows that the hurt will wear off eventually as grief tends to do. Liam is young still, with so so much potential and such a bright future ahead of him. She’s not worried, even if she feels bad for leaving him. 

She tells Liam that before she leaves she’s going to help get him into a good private school. 

He deserves the opportunities none of his older siblings ever had. 

Carl is still Carl, even if he’s trying to be a fine upstanding citizen. Still, she’s so proud he really seems to have made something of himself, even landing a stable union job. 

Ian is happy, so happy, and Fiona lets his infectious joy wash over her. There was a time when Fiona worried for him. Worried he was doomed like Monica. She knew that stats, knew how hard it was for people with bipolar disorder to manage stable relationships, knew the Gallagher history was full of divorces and scorned exes, many of them hers, even without the added bonus of mental illness. When Ian was arrested and sentenced to three to five years in prison, she thought that was the end of any hope he had for a happy ending. 

She’s glad she was wrong. 

She can’t say she’s surprised by the reappearance of Mickey Milkovich in their lives, Mexico and prison be damned. Fiona doubted many things about Mickey, doubted his trustworthiness, doubted his intentions, doubted his stability, and all for good reason in her opinion. But one thing she never doubted was his love for her brother. Well, maybe there were times she doubted it a little, but she’s a cynical person. 

She thinks that Ian and Mickey have the best relationship of any of the Gallaghers, a reality she would have laughed at 5 years ago, but it’s true. 

She hopes that one day she can replicate their success, but she isn’t counting on it. 

Right now she’s just working on learning to accept herself, and all her flaws. 

It’s a process, but she’s getting there. 

<hr> 

Ultimately they decide not to hold a real funeral for Frank, not caring enough to plan one, and thinking Frank probably wouldn’t even want one. 

Instead they congregate in the alley, joined by Kev and V as well as Tommy and Kermit, behind The Alibi to dump his ashes. 

They aren’t so ceremonial, though Liam, with tears on his face does insist on saying a few words. 

The whole ordeal takes no more than ten minutes, and when it’s over, Fiona feels like she can finally breathe. 

Her entire life she was burdened with being her father’s daughter, living under his metaphorical shadow, even when she moved as far away as she could. 

He haunted her every time she had a beer, every time she felt guilt creep in for leaving, every time she felt close to snapping at her new job. 

But now Fiona thinks she can finally let it go, let Frank go, along with all her demons. 

The flight back to feels shorter, or maybe Fiona just feels lighter. Somewhere along the way she stopped seeing Chicago as home, and finds herself eager for San Diego with its sun, beaches, and mountains. Her new home is her little apartment in Chula Vista, so close to Mexico she can cross the border whenever she wants, with her new friends, a new job, and a tan for the first time in her life. 

She isn’t worried about her siblings. Lip is building a life for his new family, Ian is happily married to the love of his life, Debbie is learning and growing, trying to be a good mom to her daughter, Carl has a stable job he loves despite all odds, and Liam is the smartest and most resourceful of all of them. 

They’re going to be just fine. 

And so will she.

#shameless #Fiona Gallagher #gallavich #Ian Gallagher #mickey milkovich #my fic

[jazzytriestowrite]

Date night | Takami Keigo (Hawks) X Reader

Fandom; My hero academia

Pairing: Takami Keigo (Hawks) X GN Reader

Synopsis: Late nights and long mornings, quarantine has made it hard for y/n to see anyone, more or less their boyfriend hawks. Feeling bad for leaving his s/o alone in their empty home, hawks plans a date night for the both of them to relax and enjoy the little time they have together. 

Warnings: A bit of angst at the start, but after that bone rotting fluff. 

Word Count: 4,778

A/N: This lovely fic is apart of quarantine fluff collab that the discord server crackhead sanctuary put together. Thank you Sof @myherowritings​ who hosted this, and I can't wait to read everyones fics!! Also this lovely banner was made by @sanurrwrites​ and I'm very thankful!!! 

♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡

It hit us unexpectedly.

The drastic change in how we did everything was overwhelming, and many of us didn’t really think it would be such a big deal at first. It was a silly virus that would be cured within weeks, nothing to really worry about. So everyone continued about their normal lives, happy that the virus wasn’t in their country, happy it wasn’t them. It simply wasn’t our problem right?

Wrong.

Everything flipped and turned upside down when the unknown and mysterious virus finally hit Japan. While earlier we thought it wasn’t our problem, what are we supposed to say now that it's at our front door? Affecting our neighbors, our friends, our students and our heroes who protect society. No one really cares until it's your problem.

The first death the virus caused made everyone realize just how serious this was. This wasn’t some joke, people's lives were actually in danger and things needed to be done to protect the citizens from a virus that was on a killing spree.

That meant no more social gatherings.

Someone might ask- Well that doesn’t sound too bad? What's wrong with not having to see people?

It was a problem to you, and many others.

Laying in bed day after day, letting the loneliness set in and the worry skyrocket about the current situation. You had taken the simple act of seeing someone in person for granted, and realized just how texting and calling wasn’t the same. You missed going out with friends and doing random things that made you happy. You missed going to the ice cream parlor down the street that would sell you ice cream and soothe all your sad and depressive feelings. What you missed the most was your boyfriend.

The sudden thought of him already made your eyes water and your heart clench. ‘’I miss you Keigo’’ You whispered to the darkness, pulling your warm blanket closer to your body for comfort. The bed that was made for two, suddenly felt way bigger than it needed to be without your boyfriend. ‘’I’m just being selfish, he’s keeping us protected’’

Keigo or Hawks as most society knows him, had been quite busy since the virus broke out in Japan. You’d think villains themselves would stay inside once they heard a virus could kill them, but it was quite the opposite. With no one outside to stop them from their wrongdoings, it was easier for them to commit their daily crimes. So that meant heroes never really got the break they thought they’d get.

While they risked their life everyday to protect citizens, the risk factor was now doubled because of the virus. Heros would continue to go out and protect homes, stores and people who needed it, not letting the virus keep them from doing their job.

It made you happy to know that your boyfriend was doing his job, and probably saving many lives with his patrols. It just hurt that you couldn’t really see him anymore. He was gone before you woke up, and back away after you’ve closed your eyes. You had tried multiple times to keep yourself awake, but never seemed to make it.

You missed his laughter, the way he grinned after getting on your nerves and the stupidly cute smile that would make your heart flutter. You missed his bear hugs and his butterfly kisses all over your face. You missed everything about him down to his annoying antics and crazy eating habits. You had taken it all for granted and now all you had was yourself and the little notes he would leave behind.

‘’I love you Keigo, goodnight baby, stay safe’’ You whispered to the darkness, hoping your words would get to him. Closing your eyes, you snuggled into your body pillow and fell asleep within minutes.

♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~

A couple hours later, the front door of your home creaked open. A blonde male entered quietly, or what he thought was quiet. His posture was slouched, and the eye bags under his eyes gave a clear giveaway that he was tired. ‘’Shit’’ He glanced at the clock and saw it was around 3 am, meaning you had fallen asleep some time ago. His red wings felt heavier than usual, and the thought of sleeping by the front door so he wouldn’t have to climb the stars to the bedroom, was seeming like a good idea.

Keigo shook that idea out of his head, if anything, he wanted to see you, even if you were already sleeping. He felt filthy, so maybe a shower before he got into bed. Even though he was sprayed with every cleaning spray known to man before coming back to your shared apartment, he still took extra precaution when coming home to you. Constantly checking his temperature, and wearing a mask and goggles to keep you protected. You were his little dole, he’d never get over the regret if he passed a virus on to you.

Slugging upstairs, he yelled in fright when he felt himself falling forward towards the steps. At first he didn’t even fight it, trying to save himself from marks on his face from steps seemed like too much work. However, his wings spread out as much as they could, leaving the males face hovering over the steps he was just about to kiss. ‘’Oh’’ He mumbled, the simple thought to use his wings had flown out of his head. God he was so tired. Standing back up, he carefully treaded up the stairs, trying to be more quiet now that he was getting closer to the bedroom.

Opening the bedroom door as quiet as he could, his yellow eyes found your body first. Walking closer he stared down at your sleeping form, a small smile appearing under his mask. ‘’Hi baby, I’m home’’ he said softly, before he frowned. He noticed the tear lines on your face and his heart suddenly felt heavy. Just the thought of you crying without him here to comfort you was truly heartbreaking. You weren’t the only one who missed their partner, since he was surely feeling the same loneliness as you.

He teared his eyes off of you finally, walking away and into your shared bathroom. Shutting the door behind him, he turned on the light and let gaze find the mirror. His rough appearance made him cringe. His golden blonde hair was matted down poking in every direction, eye bags were prominent and his gorgeous smile was covered by this stupid white mask. Reaching up, he ripped the mask off his face, cringing at the red lines he saw of having to wear it so often.  All of this sucked. Yet if it meant keeping you and others safe, he would wear this mask for eternity.

About an hour later, he’d showered and dressed in the clothes he’d be sleeping in. All today's grime and cleaning products washed off his skin leaving it spotless. As he stood in front of the mirror, brushing his teeth half heartedly, the thought of you crying earlier was still fresh in his mind. While you wouldn’t tell him you were lonely and wanted more, he knew better. He had been with you for some years now, he knew you inside out. He knew that whilst he had it hard, you were equally suffering.

Within the first two weeks of Covid 19, your student Bakugou Katsuki had caught the virus and was hospitalized due to it. You had cried for 4 days straight, and nothing he said made you feel any better. Being a U.A teacher meant you had worried even more for your students, who were still kids and had places to go.

Keigo felt terrible that he was putting extra stress on you since he still had to do his duties, and that everything wasn’t easy on you just because you were home and hopefully safe.

‘’I’ll make it up, we’ll both have some fun soon’’ He said to himself in the mirror, before spitting out the nasty toothpaste and rinsing his mouth out with some cold water. Finally finishing up, he turned the bathroom light off and trudged towards the bed. Climbing in lazily, he wiggled under the comforter you were hogging to yourself. As his head hit the pillow, he had to keep himself from falling asleep on the spot. The soft fluffy pillow almost sent him to heaven. Scooting closer to you, he wrapped his arms around your body and pulled you closer to him, his head resting in the crook of your neck. Your hair didn’t even bother him, if anything the smell of your shampoo calmed him.

‘’I love you y/n, goodnight dove, I’m home and safe’’ Keigo whispered to you before finally letting his eyes slip close, knowing in a few hours he’d be gone again. Yet getting to hold you before he went to sleep always made his mornings and days easier.

♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~

Sometime before the sun came up, you had felt the bed move, and the warm arms that were keeping you secure left again. You wouldn’t lie, the disappointment you felt hit harder than anything. And when you heard the bedroom lightly shut behind Keigo, you simply wrapped your arms around yourself, hoping to mimic the arms of your lover. Yet his arms and presence were unique, so of course you couldn’t replace his embrace.

You don’t remember falling back asleep, so it confused you when you suddenly felt the bright rays of sun on your face. ‘’Oh, Good morning I guess’’ You mumbled as you sat up, trying to rub the sleepiness out of your eyes.  Shielding your eyes from the sunlight with your right hand, you looked around for the one thing that always made your morning.

‘’There it is!’’ You say happily as you roll out of bed and towards the dresser that was next to the bathroom. On Top of the wooden dresser was a handwritten note covered in chicken stickers, and a red rose next to it. Grinning you grabbed both items and jumped back into bed, excited to see what the dumb bird had wrote for today.

Ever since the pandemic started, and since Keigo had been having long shifts, he’d always left letters for you to read in the morning, and a different coloured rose everyday. It made him leaving easier, and the fact that he spent time writing and putting his feelings into them always sparked joy.

Carefully opening the note, you were met with Keigo’s chicken scratch handwriting. You loved him, but one day you were going to give him writing lessons. You shook your head in amusement, ignoring the bad handwriting, you began reading.

‘Good Morning Chickadee,

I hope you had a good sleep baby, I came home late again but as soon as I had the chance you were in my arms. You cuddled up to me instantly, what if I was some intruder? I guess even in your sleep you recognize me and my godliness.  

Anyways, I apologize for once more coming home late beautiful. Work has been a bit stressful, but I believe we’ve put a dent on the villains plans. Only small time villains are really causing trouble, and were handling it pretty well. I think sooner or later we won’t need so much patrolling anymore. Hopefully soon, I wanna spend time with my lil nugget.

Oh! I have some news.

Someway or another, I will get off early today and spend some very much needed time between the two of us.

Not to be too sappy in this letter, but, I really miss you y/n. Way more than words can describe. It’s lonely patrolling instead of being home with you and having fun, and honestly just the thought of coming home to you at night is the only way I’m getting through my days at work.

I miss you and the weird laughter you let out at my god awful jokes, I miss you and the way your eyes sparkle when you look at something you like, I miss you and the way you love me unconditionally even when i’m being a weird asshole.

I love you y/n, and I’ll see you tonight dove.

-The best boyfriend ever

ps. You mumbled my name in your sleep.. Having some good dreams huh ;)’

‘’I hate him so much’’ You say while grinning and holding the note towards your chest, your heart beating like crazy. It was weird he still had this affect on you despite dating for a few years, but you hoped this feeling never went away. Neatly folding the note back to how it was, you crawled to the edge of the bed and pulled out a container that was hidden under the bed. Popping the lid off, you placed the note from today alongside the other notes you’ve received over the weeks.

‘’I love you Keigo’’ You whisper lovingly before closing the box once more, sliding the box back under your bed. Picking up the rose you abandoned, you smiled at it. The red rose was beautiful, and it seemed your lover had taken the time to cut the thorns off it.

Shaking your head with a smile, you stood up and walked out the bedroom, your feet padding against the cold ground. ‘’God it’s freezing” You mumble out loud shivering physically, before heading into the kitchen. Opening the window above the sink, you see a cast of 7 different colored roses from this week alone. ‘’Here's your new home’’ You say softly to the red rose before placing it in the vase next to the others.

Leaning against the sink, your gaze wandered to the window or more specifically what's outside the window. The beautiful flowers that were blooming outside made your mood feel lighter, and hearing the kids laughter who was next door made your heart clench in joy.

You couldn’t wait to start a family with the love of your life.

Now that you were up, you would start your daily routine of going with the flow and seeing where the day would take you. Hoping that Keigo would keep his promise in the note and come home early so you could shower him with much needed affection

♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~

Sighing, you turned off the tv with the remote, eyes getting tired of staring at the same screen for hours. Looking over at the clock, you read it was currently 8pm. While your boyfriend said he’d be home tonight, it was starting to get late and you were questioning if he’d actually show.

Not that it’s his fault or anything, you knew his job could get stressful. Yet that wouldn’t stop the disappointment that started to set in, which was a very valid feeling.

Standing up you begin to head towards the bathroom, planning to simply take a bath before getting comfy in your bed and reading, a hobby you picked up after quarantine.

‘’HONEY I’M HOME’’

A voice shouts after forcefully kicking down the door, startling you and making you flinch. None other then Takami fucking Keigo was standing at the door, wings tucked neatly behind his back, huge grin on his face and two grocery bags in both hands.

‘’Keigo, you scared me’’ You say with an angry look before everything set in. ‘’Wait.. Keigo..’’ The light bulb in your head turned on and before your brain could process it anymore, you were flying across the room and jumping into your lovers arm.

Keigo let out a grunt at the sudden attack, but smiled at your innocent gesture. He placed the bags down and wrapped his arms around your body, spinning you around as he bear hugged you. ‘’I’ve missed you too’’ He says, kissing the top of your head. ‘’I told you’d I’d be home tonight, I hope you didn’t lose hope’’ He says as he grins down at your sheepish expression.

‘’No worries though’’ He comments before picking back up the backs he previously dropped. ‘’So, I have a whole plan in mind for tonight, which I am very excited for’’ He says before kicking the door shut and walking into the kitchen. He places the bags on the counter, ‘’So just sit back and relax and I’ll make this a date night you’ll never forget.’’

You tilt your head in curiosity, now wanting to know what this bird brain had planned, but you couldn’t help but get excited along with him. It had been a while since the two of you properly hung out with each other. ‘’So Mister ‘’I have everything planned out already’ what's on the agenda right now?

‘’Well Chickadee, we are gonna make dinner together’’ Keigo says with a bright smile, but cringe when he see’s your deadpanned expression. ‘’Don’t look at me like that dove, I promise it isn’t what you think it is’’

You saw through his desperate attempt to lie. ‘’Kiego did you plan on making chicken again’’ You say while staring him down, and when you see his head hang in shame you laugh. Stepping closer to the male you lift his head back up and press a quick kiss against his lips. ‘’It’s okay, I don’t mind having chicken for the seventh time in the row. Your cooking is actually pretty good’ You comment before stepping away, tying up your hair so you could help as well.

‘’WOO!’’ Keigo winked as he gave you finger guns, ‘’Chicken never gets old babe, thought you knew this’’ When you responded by throwing said bag of chicken at him he screeched before catching it and laughing.

You pull out your phone and play your favourite playlist, so the two of you could bop while cooking. ‘’Oh we can make cookies as dessert! It’s the one thing I can actually bake’’ You say sheepishly, sticking out your tongue when your lover nods in agreement.

With that, the two of you jammed quietly as you began the preparation of dinner.

While you were pouring the cups of flour into the big mixing bowl, you suddenly got the idea to terrorize the male who was singing quietly behind you. Scooping some in your hands, you turn around and innocently call out his name. You wait until the perfect moment. Which is when he turns around fast, a small smile on his face as he quirks his brow. He immediately see’s what you're about to do, but it's too late anyways.

You blow the white powder in your hand right at him, watching as he closes his eyes and screams. ‘’Y/N!! IT'S ON NOW’’

And while you thought this was a good idea at first, when you saw Keigo open his eyes and reveal the determination within them, you mentally cursed. And from there started the flour war, with the two of you giggling while throwing flour at each other.

It ended when you were running to throw some flour at him, but ended up instead eating shit and busting your ass on the wooden floor. Keigo, who was concerned, couldn’t help but start laughing as he helped you off, dusting the flour out of your hair. ‘’Oh gosh, we’ve made a mess of the kitchen’’

Looking around he was right, everywhere you looked there was flour, and now the two of you regretted ever touching the damn powder.

♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~

After some cleaning, and a mini dance session to a couple of songs, the food was finally ready and the two of you sat at the table eating together.

‘’Yeah there was this big spider and I was so scared, I yelled for you and then realized I’d have to get rid of it myself’’ You spoke between bites, your eyes lighting up as you continued telling the story of how a huge spider made its way inside your home.

Kiego just stared at you silently, his mind not even processing your words anymore. You were so cute when you started to ramble, he honestly missed the way you would get so into your stories. Sometimes he didn’t think you were real, you were too perfect. But he was glad you were his, because at the end of the day, he was wholeheartedly yours and he was glad you shared the sentiment.

You two continued to chat as you ate, nothing too important just random chatter to fill the silence. The two of you had so much to tell each other that you didn’t even know much time had passed. Two hours had passed by in the blink of the eye, and you didn’t notice until you glanced at the clock behind you. ‘’Wow it’s getting late’’ You comment, putting the dry dish where it was supposed to go, stepping away from the sink.

Keigo nods, ‘’Time sure does pass when you’re having fun’’ He says with a soft smile, before taking your hand in his, ‘’Come on, I have one more activity I wanna do before sleeping’’ He said as he picked up the last bag that was still sitting on the counter.

You nod, trying to get a peek inside the bag only to be met with him pulling it closer to his body. Letting out a pout, you followed as he pulled you upstairs, nearly sliping as your socks slid across the wooden stairs. ‘’Jeez, the stairs are trying to kill me’’ You complain, glad when the two of you reach the bedroom.

Kiego then whips around, ‘’You should go clean up, you know to get the flour out of your hair’’ He says nervously, and while you wanted to ask why he suddenly started acting weird, a voice inside your head told you just to listen. You simply nodded and gave him a grin, ‘’Okay I will, better not run away while I do’’ You say before going inside the bathroom, shutting the door behind you.

Keigo lets out a deep breath, his eyes drifting to the bag in his hand. ‘’Don’t fail me now’’ he whispered  to himself as encouragement.

♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~

Finally done with washing your hair, and getting the flour out of random places you stared at the door in front of you. It was obvious he was doing something out there since you heard his hard footsteps running all around the place. Yet you wanted to give him all the time he needed, and the fact that he was trying to surprise you was cute.

Suddenly, you hear music start to play, making your brows furrow. It sounded like that one song..

‘’Dove you can come out now,,’’ You heard the slight panic in his voice, which made you nervous too. Pushing those feelings aside, you open the door and slowly peak out.

‘What would I do without your smart mouth?

Drawing me in, and you kicking me out

You've got my head spinning, no kidding, I can't pin you down

What's going on in that beautiful mind

I'm on your magical mystery ride

And I'm so dizzy, don't know what hit me, but I'll be alright’

You stand in shock as the lyrics start to reach your ears, which was the song the two of you danced to when he first confessed his love to you. The next thing that almost brought you to tears was the sight in front of you.

Standing in the dim moonlight, your lover was standing proud and tall in the balcony, a nervous smile on his face. Leading up to him were red and pink rose petals, some thrown on the bed as well.

‘’Keigo’’ You whisper as you start walking in his direction, not even caring that the petals stuck to your feet as you walked.

‘My head's under water

But I'm breathing fine

You're crazy and I'm out of my mind’

You finally reach your lover, who in fact still has some flour in his hair. Yet that didn’t matter, because all you could see was his beautiful face, the way his blonde locks flowed in the wind, and how his golden eyes sparkled with an emotion you knew all too well.

Love.

‘’Hi my love, I wanted to end the night really special’’ Keigo whispers as his hands find their way to your waist, pulling you in as your arms wrapped around his neck.

’Cause all of me

Loves all of you

Love your curves and all your edges

All your perfect imperfections

Give your all to me

I'll give my all to you’

The two of you start to sway to the song, your eyes staring into his honey coloured ones. You were caught in a trance, a trance you didn’t really mind at all.

You loved this man more than anything and anyone you knew. Even when he was being a weirdo or saying unfunny jokes, you always found him entertaining. You loved him and all his imperfections. Arguments never tend to last long between you guys as of the unconditional love you had for one another.

As the song started to come to an end, you laid your head on his shoulder, embracing this moment and engraving it in your mind. Tonight was simply perfect, and while the two of you didn’t do much, you still had a blast with your boyfriend.

’I give you all of me

And you give me all of you, oh oh’

You pulled your head off his shoulder when he started to sing the final lines of the song, a genuine smile on his face. ‘’Kei-’’ As the song turns off, he suddenly lets go of your waist and bends down onto one knee, his hand reaching inside his pocket.

‘’ Ah, so here I go’’ The male says as a blush covering  his face and running up to his ears. You stand there shocked, your hands coming up to cover your mouth.

‘’Quarantine has been pretty rough haha, but it has taught me a lesson. The world is a scary place, and when this virus pops out of nowhere, I’ve noticed that anything can happen. It’s scary to think that villains aren’t are only problems, but some killer disease could sweep over and take away our happy lives’’

Keigo takes a deep breath, before putting on a nervous smile.

‘’These last few days that I’ve been apart from you made me realize that I never, NEVER, want to be away from you again. I realized that I want to spend all my time that I have left here with you. Y/N, I love you so much’’ He laughs, ‘’I’ve been nothing but happy with you, and you bring out the best in me, and without you I wouldn’t have found myself. I never thought I’d find love, If anything, I just thought I was made to be a hero and nothing more. But I’ve figured out that I can be a hero and also love you.’’

‘’You are my pride and joy, my dove, my chickadee, my beautiful lover...What I’m trying to say is, I love your last name, But I’d prefer if you’d take mine’’

You giggle at his words, tears slipping down your face. You were speechless, and honestly couldn’t even compel yourself to say anything.

‘’Y/N L/N, will you make me the happiest bird every and marry me?’’

You can’t help the shit eating grin on your face as you stare down at your lover, your best friend and the best thing that has ever happened to you. ‘’Keigo’’ You say as more tears fall down your face, your voice shaking as your brain processes everything that just happened. ‘’Yes duh! Who would say no to you’’ You yell, your bottom lip trembling as he stands up and slips the gorgeous diamond ring onto your finger, kissing the ring after he placed it.

‘’I love you’’ The two of you whisper at the same time, both of you gazing into each other's eyes. The both of you were crying, and it made it more special to see him showing so much emotion.

Keigo leaned in slowly, ‘’I’ve loved you for many years Y/N, and I’ll continue to love you until my dying days’’ He says softly before pressing his lips against yours, one hand holding your cheek and the other bringing your waist closer to him.

And with that, moonlight shined on the newly engaged couple, who still had their whole life ahead of them.

#kiego takami #Bnha writing blog #bnha fluff #hawks x reader #fluff

[dornish-queen]

Pedro Pascal on Fame and ‘The Mandalorian’: ‘Can We Cut the S— and Talk About the Child?’

By Adam B. Vary

Photographs by Beau Grealy

When Pedro Pascal was roughly 4 years old, he and his family went to see the 1978 hit movie “Superman,” starring Christopher Reeve. Pascal’s young parents had come to live in San Antonio after fleeing their native Chile during the rise of dictator Augusto Pinochet in the mid-1970s. Taking Pascal and his older sister to the movies — sometimes more than once a week — had become a kind of family ritual, a way to soak up as much American pop culture as possible.

At some point during this particular visit, Pascal needed to go to the bathroom, and his parents let him go by himself. “I didn’t really know how to read yet,” Pascal says with the same Cheshire grin that dazzled “Game of Thrones” fans during his run as the wily (and doomed) Oberyn Martel. “I did not find my way back to ‘Superman.'”

Instead, Pascal wandered into a different theater (he thinks it was showing the 1979 domestic drama “Kramer vs. Kramer,” but, again, he was 4). In his shock and bewilderment at being lost, he curled up into an open seat and fell asleep. When he woke up, the movie was over, the theater was empty, and his parents were standing over him. To his surprise, they seemed rather calm, but another detail sticks out even more.

“I know that they finished their movie,” he says, bending over in laughter. “My sister was trying to get a rise out of me by telling me, ‘This happened and that happened and then Superman did this and then, you know, the earthquake and spinning around the planet.'” In the face of such relentless sibling mockery, Pascal did the only logical thing: “I said, ‘All that happened in my movie too.'”

He had no way of knowing it at the time, of course, but some 40 years later, Pascal would in fact get the chance to star in a movie alongside a DC Comics superhero — not to mention battle Stormtroopers and, er, face off against the most formidable warrior in Westeros. After his breakout on “Game of Thrones,” he became an instant get-me-that-guy sensation, mostly as headstrong, taciturn men of action — from chasing drug traffickers in Colombia for three seasons on Netflix’s “Narcos” to squaring off against Denzel Washington in “The Equalizer 2.”

This year, though, Pascal finds himself poised for the kind of marquee career he’s spent a lifetime dreaming about. On Oct. 30, he’ll return for Season 2 as the title star of “The Mandalorian,” Lucasfilm’s light-speed hit “Star Wars” series for Disney Plus that earned 15 Emmy nominations, including best drama, in its first season. And then on Dec. 25 — COVID-19 depending — he’ll play the slippery comic book villain Maxwell Lord opposite Gal Gadot, Chris Pine and Kristen Wiig in “Wonder Woman 1984.”

The roles are at once wildly divergent and the best showcase yet for Pascal’s elastic talents. In “The Mandalorian,” he must hide his face — and, in some episodes, his whole body — in a performance that pushes minimalism and restraint to an almost ascetic ideal. In “Wonder Woman 1984,” by stark contrast, he is delivering the kind of big, broad bad-guy character that populated the 1980s popcorn spectaculars of his youth.

“I continually am so surprised when everybody pegs him as such a serious guy,” says “Wonder Woman 1984” director Patty Jenkins. “I have to say, Pedro is one of the most appealing people I have known. He instantly becomes someone that everybody invites over and you want to have around and you want to talk to.”

Talk with Pascal for just five minutes — even when he’s stuck in his car because he ran out of time running errands before his flight to make it to the set of a Nicolas Cage movie in Budapest — and you get an immediate sense of what Jenkins is talking about. Before our interview really starts, Pascal points out, via Zoom, that my dog is licking his nether regions in the background. “Don’t stop him!” he says with an almost naughty reproach. “Let him live his life!”

Over our three such conversations, it’s also clear that Pascal’s great good humor and charm have been at once ballast for a number of striking hardships, and a bulwark that makes his hard-won success a challenge for him to fully accept.

Before Pascal knew anything about “The Mandalorian,” its showrunner and executive producer Jon Favreau knew he wanted Pascal to star in it.

“He feels very much like a classic movie star in his charm and his delivery,” says Favreau. “And he’s somebody who takes his craft very seriously.” Favreau felt Pascal had the presence and skill essential to deliver a character — named Din Djarin, but mostly called Mando — who spends virtually every second of his time on screen wearing a helmet, part of the sacrosanct creed of the Mandalorian order.

Convincing any actor to hide their face for the run of a series can be as precarious as escaping a Sarlacc pit. To win Pascal over in their initial meeting, Favreau brought him behind the “Mandalorian” curtain, into a conference room papered with storyboards covering the arc of the first season. “When he walked in, it must have felt a little surreal,” Favreau says. “You know, most of your experiences as an actor, people are kicking the tires to see if it’s a good fit. But in this case, everything was locked and loaded.”

Needless to say, it worked. “I hope this doesn’t sound like me fashioning myself like I’m, you know, so smart, but I agreed to do this [show] because the impression I had when I had my first meeting was that this is the next big s—,” Pascal says with a laugh.

Favreau’s determination to cast Pascal, however, put the actor in a tricky situation: Pascal’s own commitments to make “Wonder Woman 1984” in London and to perform in a Broadway run of “King Lear” with Glenda Jackson barreled right into the production schedule for “The Mandalorian.” Some scenes on the show, and in at least one case a full episode, would need to lean on the anonymity of the title character more than anyone had quite planned, with two stunt performers — Brendan Wayne and Lateef Crowder — playing Mando on set and Pascal dubbing in the dialogue months later.

Pascal was already being asked to smother one of his best tools as an actor, extraordinarily uncommon for anyone shouldering the newest iteration of a global live-action franchise. (Imagine Robert Downey Jr. only playing Iron Man while wearing a mask — you can’t!) Now he had to hand over control of Mando’s body to other performers too. Some actors would have walked away. Pascal didn’t.

“If there were more than just a couple of pages of a one-on-one scene, I did feel uneasy about not, in some instances, being able to totally author that,” he says. “But it was so easy in such a sort of practical and unexciting way for it to be up to them. When you’re dealing with a franchise as large as this, you are such a passenger to however they’re going to carve it out. It’s just so specific. It’s ‘Star Wars.'” (For Season 2, Pascal says he was on the set far more, though he still sat out many of Mando’s stunts.)

“The Mandalorian” was indeed the next big s—, helping to catapult the launch of Disney Plus to 26.5 million subscribers in its first six weeks. With the “Star Wars” movies frozen in carbonite until 2023 (at least), I noted offhand that he’s now effectively the face of one of the biggest pop-culture franchises in the world. Pascal could barely suppress rolling his eyes.

“I mean, come on, there isn’t a face!” he says with a laugh that feels maybe a little forced. “If you want to say, ‘You’re the silhouette’ — which is also a team effort — then, yeah.” He pauses. “Can we just cut the s— and talk about the Child?”

Yes, of course, the Child — or, as the rest of the galaxy calls it, Baby Yoda. Pascal first saw the incandescently cute creature during his download of “Mandalorian” storyboards in that initial meeting with Favreau. “Literally, my eyes following left to right, up and down, and, boom, Baby Yoda close to the end of the first episode,” he says. “That was when I was like, ‘Oh, yep, that’s a winner!'”

Baby Yoda is undeniably the breakout star of “The Mandalorian,” inspiring infinite memes and apocryphal basketball game sightings. But the show wouldn’t work if audiences weren’t invested in Mando’s evolving emotional connection to the wee scene stealer, something Favreau says Pascal understood from the jump. “He’s tracking the arc of that relationship,” says the showrunner. “His insight has made us rethink moments over the course of the show.” (As with all things “Star Wars,” questions about specifics are deflected in deference to the all-powerful Galactic Order of Spoilers.)

Even if Pascal couldn’t always be inside Mando’s body, he never left the character’s head, always aware of how this orphaned bounty hunter who caroms from planet to planet would look askance at anything that felt too good (or too adorable) to be true.

“The transience is something that I’m incredibly familiar with, you know?” Pascal says. “Understanding the opportunity for complexity under all of the armor was not hard for me.”

When Pascal was 4 months old, his parents had to leave him and his sister with their aunt, so they could go into hiding to avoid capture during Pinochet’s crackdown against his opposition. After six months, they finally managed to climb the walls of the Venezuelan embassy during a shift change and claim asylum; from there, the family relocated, first to Denmark, then to San Antonio, where Pascal’s father got a job as a physician.

Pascal was too young to remember any of this, and for a healthy stretch of his childhood, his complicated Chilean heritage sat in parallel to his life in the U.S. — separate tracks, equally important, never quite intersecting. By the time Pascal was 8, his family was able to take regular trips back to Chile to visit with his 34 first cousins. But he doesn’t remember really talking about any of his time there all that much with his American friends.

“I remember at one point not even realizing that my parents had accents until a friend was like, ‘Why does your mom talk like that?'” Pascal says. “And I remember thinking, like what?”

Besides, he loved his life in San Antonio. His father took him and his sister to Spurs basketball games during the week if their homework was done. He hoodwinked his mother into letting him see “Poltergeist” at the local multiplex. He watched just about anything on cable; the HBO special of Whoopi Goldberg’s one-woman Broadway show knocked him flat. He remembers seeing Henry Thomas in “E.T.” and Christian Bale in “Empire of the Sun” and wishing ardently, urgently, I want to live those stories too.

Then his father got a job in Orange County, Calif. After Pascal finished the fifth grade, they moved there. It was a shock. “There were two really, really rough years,” he says. “A lot of bullying.”

His mother found him a nascent performing arts high school in the area, and Pascal burrowed even further into his obsessions, devouring any play or movie he could get his hands on. His senior year, a friend of his mother’s gave Pascal her ticket to a long two-part play running in downtown Los Angeles that her bad back couldn’t withstand. He got out of school early to drive there by himself. It was the pre-Broadway run of “Angels in America.”

“And it changed me,” he says with almost religious awe. “It changed me.”

After studying acting at NYU’s Tisch School of the Arts, Pascal booked a succession of solid gigs, like MTV’s “Undressed” and “Buffy the Vampire Slayer.” But the sudden death of his mother — who’d only just been permitted to move back to Chile a few years earlier — took the wind right from Pascal’s sails. He lost his agent, and his career stalled almost completely.

As a tribute to her, he decided to change his professional last name from Balmaceda, his father’s, to Pascal, his mother’s. “And also, because Americans had such a hard time pronouncing Balmaceda,” he says. “It was exhausting.”

Pascal even tried swapping out Pedro for Alexander (an homage to Ingmar Bergman’s “Fanny and Alexander,” one of the formative films of his youth). “I was willing to do absolutely anything to work more,” he says. “And that meant if people felt confused by who they were looking at in the casting room because his first name was Pedro, then I’ll change that. It didn’t work.”

It was a desperately lean time for Pascal. He booked an occasional “Law & Order” episode, but mostly he was pounding the pavement along with his other New York theater friends — like Oscar Isaac, who met Pascal doing an Off Broadway play. They became fast, lifelong friends, bonding over their shared passions and frustrations as actors.

“It’s gotten better, but at that point, it was so easy to be pigeonholed in very specific roles because we’re Latinos,” says Isaac. “It’s like, how many gang member roles am I going to be sent?” As with so many actors, the dream Pascal and Isaac shared to live the stories of their childhoods had been stripped down to its most basic utility. “The dream was to be able to pay rent,” says Isaac. “There wasn’t a strategy. We were just struggling. It was talking about how to do this thing that we both love but seems kind of insurmountable.”

As with so few actors, that dream was finally rekindled through sheer nerve and the luck of who you know, when another lifelong friend, actor Sarah Paulson, agreed to pass along Pascal’s audition for Oberyn Martell to her best friend Amanda Peet, who is married to “Game of Thrones” co-showrunner David Benioff.

“First of all, it was an iPhone selfie audition, which was unusual,” Benioff remembers over email. “And this wasn’t one of the new-fangled iPhones with the fancy cameras. It looked like s—; it was shot vertical; the whole thing was very amateurish. Except for the performance, which was intense and believable and just right.”

Before Pascal knew it, he found himself in Belfast, sitting inside the Great Hall of the Red Keep as one of the judges at Tyrion Lannister’s trial for the murder of King Joffrey. “I was between Charles Dance and Lena Headey, with a view of the entire f—ing set,” Pascal says, his eyes wide and astonished still at the memory. “I couldn’t believe I didn’t have an uncomfortable costume on. You know, I got to sit — and with this view.” He sighs. “It strangely aligned itself with the kind of thinking I was developing as a child that, at that point, I was convinced was not happening.”

And then it all started to happen.

In early 2018, while Pascal was in Hawaii preparing to make the Netflix thriller “Triple Frontier” — opposite his old friend Isaac — he got a call from the film’s producer Charles Roven, who told him Patty Jenkins wanted to meet with him in London to discuss a role in another film Roven was producing, “Wonder Woman 1984.”

“It was a f—ing offer,” Pascal says in an incredulous whisper. “I wasn’t really grasping that Patty wanted to talk to me about a part that I was going to play, not a part that I needed to get. I wasn’t able to totally accept that.”

Pascal had actually shot a TV pilot with Jenkins that wasn’t picked up, made right before his life-changing run on “Game of Thrones” aired. “I got to work with Patty for three days or something and then thought I’d never see her again,” he says. “I didn’t even know she remembered me from that.”

She did. “I worked with him, so I knew him,” she says. “I didn’t need him to prove anything for me. I just loved the idea of him, and I thought he would be kind of unexpected, because he doesn’t scream ‘villain.'”

In Jenkins’ vision, Max Lord — a longstanding DC Comics rogue who shares a particularly tangled history with Wonder Woman — is a slick, self-styled tycoon with a knack for manipulation and an undercurrent of genuine pathos. It was the kind of larger-than-life character Pascal had never been asked to tackle before, so he did something equally unorthodox: He transformed his script into a kind of pop-art scrapbook, filled with blown-up photocopies of Max Lord from the comic books that Pascal then manipulated through his lens on the character.

Even the few pages Pascal flashes to me over Zoom are quite revealing. One, featuring Max sporting a power suit and a smarmy grin, has several burned-out holes, including through the character’s eye. Another page features Max surrounded by text bubbles into which Pascal has written, over and over and over again in itty-bitty lettering, “You are a f—ing piece of s—.”

“I felt like I had wake myself up again in a big way,” he says. “This was just a practical way of, like, instead of going home tired and putting Netflix on, [I would] actually deal with this physical thing, doodle and think about it and run it.”

Jenkins is so bullish on Pascal’s performance that she thinks it could explode his career in the same way her 2003 film “Monster” forever changed how the industry saw Charlize Theron. “I would never cast him as just the stoic, quiet guy,” Jenkins says. “I almost think he’s unrecognizable from ‘Narcos’ to ‘Wonder Woman.’ Wouldn’t even know that was the same guy. But I think that may change.”

When people can see “Wonder Woman 1984” remains caught in the chaos the pandemic has wreaked on the industry; both Pascal and Jenkins are hopeful the Dec. 25 release date will stick, but neither is terribly sure it will. Perhaps it’s because of that uncertainty, perhaps it’s because he’s spent his life on the outside of a dream he’s now suddenly living, but Pascal does not share Jenkins’ optimism that his experience making “Wonder Woman 1984” will open doors to more opportunities like it.

“It will never happen again,” Pascal says, once more in that incredulous whisper. “It felt so special.”

After all he’s done in a few short years, why wouldn’t Pascal think more roles like this are on his horizon?

“I don’t know!” he finally says with a playful — and pointed — howl. “I’m protecting myself psychologically! It’s just all too good to be true! How dare I!”

#pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #variety magazine

[thepeacetea]

Mistake of a Lifetime

I LIVE!!!!!!! Hey everyone! I don’t know what happened last month. It was like my brain shut down. It was the worst feeling ever. I just couldn’t write. Which was insanely frustrating. But I’m back and off of work for the next three week due to COVID-19. And since I’m not venturing into the outside world, hopefully I’ll be able to get more writing done!!! So thank you all for being patient with me. I honestly have absolutely no idea where this story came from, but enjoy my beauties. Warning, there is a tiny, little bit of swearing but nothing major. As always, if you have any questions or comments feel free to let me know. Anyway, hope ya’ll enjoy!!! Peace!!!

Damian was frustrated. He couldn’t find that girl anywhere. He knew when he explained what he had done what he did that she would understand. His angel always did. She loved him too much to stay mad at him for long. Once she learned why, Damian knew that she would come back. That’s one of the reasons he loved her, she was so trusting and forgiving. No matter what he did, he knew she would welcome him back with open arms. But right now, he was irritated with his girlfriend. She hadn’t been in contact with any of the family in five months. No one knew where she was. Tim couldn’t even find her. It was as if she just disappeared. Which is what led him here, to what was hopefully the door of his best friend’s apartment. If anyone would know where Marinette was, it would be Jon.

Finding the apartment had been a slightly more difficult then Damian had first thought. Jon wasn’t one for covering his civilian tracts, usually allowing anyone, if they so wished, to track him down. But he had been strangely quiet the past few months. Superboy had also been absent from the hero scene. When Damian had inquired as to why, no one could supply a straight answer. Jon had spoken to his parents every few weeks to assure them that he was fine, but other then that, no one knew much.

The search for apartments rented out to a Jonathan Samuel Kent had turned up blank, as did all the other alias that Damian could think his best friend might possibly use. It eventually arrived at the point that Damian had run his handwriting through the data base to find a match for a signature. Eight states and eleven empty apartments later, Damian Wayne found himself climbing the squeaking steps to the apartment located above a little Chinese restaurant in the middle of Chinatown, San Francisco.

‘Honestly Jon, the other places where far better off then this,’ Damian muttered as he knocked on the door. The sound of scuffling followed by multiple items falling sparked a flicker of hope from the Wayne heir. Though he would never tell Jon this, Damian had missed his idiot of a friend.

“Buy too much at the market again? M, I told you, just get what we need for dinner tonight and we’ll get the rest tomor . . .” Jon said opening the door, the laughter that was oh so evident in his voice died the moment he saw who was at his door.

Damian watched as a wave of emotions filtered across his friend’s face. Surprise, confusion, and doubt where all understandable, at least in Damian’s opinion, but when Jon’s face finally settled on a mixture of anger and disgust, Damian grew confused and slightly irritated. He had not come all this way nor spent all that time looking for him to be received like that. Not by Kent, not by anyone.

“What are you doing here, Wayne?”

Now that caught him off guard. Damian could not, for the life of him, remember a single moment when Jon had referred to him, or anyone, by their last name. Ever.

“Tt, came looking for you. No one’s seen so much as a flutter of your cape in five month. The last time anyone heard from you was your parents, six weeks ago.”

“Well, as you can see, I’m fine. Now if there’s nothing else . . .” Jon said, closing the door, causing Damian to bit back a growl. He did not come all this way to get a door shut in his face.

“Actually, there is,” Damian countered, forcing the door back open as Jon sent a chilling glare his way, nearly causing him to laugh. If Kent thought he could scare Damian, the only blood son of Bruce Wayne, the Batman, with that poor excuse of a glare, he was in for a nasty surprise. “I need to know if you’ve seen my girlfriend?”

Damian was expecting many things, but none of them was the utterly disgusted scoff that came from the dark-haired young man as his face twisted into a scowl.

“Yeah. Two weeks ago. On tv. At the Wayne Gala. You remember, she was hanging off your arm like one of those rich people’s lapdogs. You know, the really yappy ones.” He said, something sparking in his eyes, though Damian couldn’t quiet place it.

“Not the Italian she-devil, you idiot. I mean Marinette.” Damian strained, actively using more force to push the door open as Jon was closing it. The disbelieving laugh that left the young half-kryptonian surprised Damian.

“Mar is not your girlfriend anymore, Wayne. Remember? YOU broke up with her five months ago. And then YOU announced that you were dating that – that – Rossi girl the next day on national tv.”

“Look Kent, all I want to know is if you know where she is or not, because I need to talk with her.” Damian ground out as he began to lose what little leverage he had on the door. The half second hesitation and slight dilation of Jon’s eyes was all Damian need to know whatever came out of his friend’s mouth was a lie.

“No.”

“You were always a terrible liar Kent.” Damian stated. Taking advantage to the slight surprise, Damian force the door open, stepping inside before the other man could react.

The apartment itself was rather small, though Damian was use to having far more space then needed. The apartment was an open floor concept. The only thing separating the kitchen from the living room was a counter that extended from the wall, cutting the room in half. A worn couch was sitting in the middle of the main room with a small coffee table in front of it. A tv was pushed against the wall, a few open movie cases lay scattered across the stand with a gaming console tucked neatly underneath. A bookshelf was shoved into the far corner. A fallen stack of books lay by a beaded doorway that Damian could only assumed lead to a bedroom. A few pictures adorned the walls, though Jon drew Damian’s attention before he could get a chance to identify who was in them.

“What the heck do you think you’re doing? I didn’t invite you in! Get out!” Jon said, his voice raising an octave, jabbing his finger towards the door.

“And here I thought your mother taught you hospitality,” Damian countered, enjoying the growl his comment caused. “As for what I’m doing here, I already informed you why. I want to know where my angel is and I need you to tell me.”

“Never. Gonna. Happen! What makes you think you have any right to see her let alone call her ‘yours’?” Jon growled, actually growled, at Damian. Under any other circumstances, he would have been impressed that the cheerful, happy Kansas native sounded so . . . threatening in his questioning. But Damian was quickly reaching the end of his already short patience. Pinning the other man with a glare that would have made his father proud, Damian watched as the other subconsciously straightened to his full height.

“I’m bringing her back, where she belongs. The Rossi mission is over and I want my Angel back.”

For five seconds, Jon stood there, brows drawn together in confusion as his brain processed what was said. Five seconds where he could have been telling Damian where his girlfriend was, Jon just stood there.

“. . . what?”

“Lila Rossi held vital, insider information of a new program which my mother and Dr. Hugo Strange were developing. We needed the information, but more importantly, we needed Rossi to trust us. I, obviously, was the best candidate for the job. Father and the others helped plan and execute it. We have the information we need and the parties involved have been dealt with appropriately, including Rossi.”

“. . . all of this . . . everything . . . was for a mission?” Jon asked quietly, his voice calm as he bent his head, his bangs covering his eyes. Damian let a small smile slip. He knew Jon would understand, and once he told him where his angel was, she would too.

“Yes. Now I need to know where . . .” Damian began to say when the left side of his face erupted in pain as the sound of something breaking filled the air. Whether it was his jaw or the picture frames he landed against, he didn’t know. He didn’t have the time to figure out as he was hauled to his feet and slammed into the wall, his head smashing into an other picture. Once Damian’s vision cleared, confused emerald met rage filled electric blue.

“You mean to tell me, that everything, Every hatful word, Every cutting remark, Every. Single. Day! Marinette spent CRYING was for some GOD DAMN MISSION!?!” Jon yelled, pulling Damian closer as his eyes flashed back and forth between blue and red, and for the first time in a long time, Damian felt fear. “Do you have any idea how much you hurt her!?!”

“It was a sacrifice necessary for the completion of the mission. Once she knows that, she’ll understand!” Damian shouted, defending himself. Everyone who knew agreed. The action was necessary for the mission. Without it, the whole mission would have been unnecessarily complicated. Even Clark and Diana had agreed, so why couldn’t Jon?

“Sacrifice? Is that what you think this was?” Jon hissed, eyes steadily changing from blue to solid red. “You broke her!”

“I didn’t . . .” Damian started to say before he was slammed against the wall again, causing the remaining pictures to fall, glass breaking on impact.

“SHUT UP!!!” Jon screamed. If it was possible, Damian saw his eyes fill with more rage then he had ever seen in one person, Jason included. “You know nothing! You broke her Wayne. She trusted you! After everything that happened to her, after being abandoned by so many others, she trusted you and you broke her! She gave her heart to YOU! Marinette gave you everything, only for you to turn around and throw her away like trash!”

“Jon,” Damian tried to say, but Jon wasn’t done.

“Do you know how I found her? After I found out you not only broke up with her but then decided to date the person that made her life a living hell, I spent six, SIX, hours looking for her. I finally found her on the roof where we first met her. She was just sitting there, on the edge, looking over the city. When she finally looked at me, her face was completely blank. No trace of emotion. The only real sign of life was how red and swollen her eyes were from crying. Do you want to know the first thing she said to me? ‘He left me.’ ‘He LEFT me!’” Jon snarled. “You have no idea how hard it was to keep her going after that. What it was like seeing her like that. Do you know what its like seeing someone who’s so full of life to just wilt in front of you. To see them lose everything that made them who they are.” Jon asked, his voice dropping in grief as his grip on Damian shirt loosened.

“Jon, I know. I hurt her. I know. That’s why I need to talk to her. I know my angel. Once I tell her, once I explain, everything will be fine.”

“No, Wayne. I don’t think you do know her.” Jon said, completely letting go of him as if he couldn’t stand touching him. “I know Mar better then my own mind at this point. She is the most trusting and kindest person you will ever meet, but even she has her limits.” He hissed, turning his back on his once friend, running his hands through his hair in anger and frustration.

All Damian could do was stare at the person, who had for the longest time, been his only friend. Steadying himself against the wall, the young Wayne looked down. Trying to gather his thoughts. To think of something to say when one of the picture frames caught his eye. Gingerly picking it up, Damian found himself looking through shattered glass at what appeared to be an ultra-sound photo sitting beside one the soon to be mother. Barely legible through the broken glass was Jon’s handwriting, ‘Mama and baby at eight months.’ The photo was dated three days ago. Damian couldn’t stop staring. There, through the shattered glass, stood HIS angel, her belly swollen to the point where it looked ready to burst, smiling at the camera.

What Damian was seeing wasn’t making sense. Eight months pregnant. They had broken up five months ago. He knew she had never slept with another guy before. Her first time had been with him. Once. Three months before they broke up. Eight months ago. She was pregnant. She was eight months pregnant.

His mind flashed to the last time he had seen her. The day he had ‘broken up’ with her. She had an appointment the day. A doctor’s appointment. She hadn’t been feeling well for the last few weeks. She had wanted to tell him something after the appointment. She had sounded so excited over the phone. She promised she’d tell him over dinner but he had gone first, telling her they were over. She had looked so heartbroken. So devastated. She never got a chance to tell him her news

Suddenly, the frame was torn from his hands but the damage had been done. He knew. Lifting his eyes, Damian met Jon’s gaze. Utter shock met panicked anger. For a few moment’s neither spoke. Neither man knew what say or how to react.

“Jon, I’m so sorry I’m back late! I distracted chatting with Aunty Liu and Grandpa Zhao wanted to know how the baby’s doing and then Mama Zhang wanted to give me some tea that’s suppose to help with my back pain an . . .” The sweet, sweet voice of his angel broke through the apartment before abruptly cutting off.

Damian’s whole body twisted toward the door faster then he thought possible. There, standing in the doorway, was the most beautiful sight Damian had ever seen. His angel, dressed in a soft, baby blue shirt that proudly displayed her heavily pregnant belly and black pant, stood completely frozen as her eyes, her gorgeous blue eyes that he had missed so, so much, darted between the apartment and the two occupant.

Damian took a step forward, she instinctively took one back, panic blooming in her eyes.

“Beloved I . . .”

Damian never got father then that. As soon as he spoke, Marinette’s face drained of colour as she turned and bolted from the apartment as fast as a woman of her condition could. He raced to follow, to hold her and tell her everything would be alright. That he would take care of her and their child. Their child! The very thought of his child sent an unbelievable wave of joy coursing through him! He was going to be a father! Damian was going to spoil his angel, his beloved, rotten. They would need to have one of the manor rooms renovated into a nursery. He would need to have someone take over his patrol for the next few month, his child and soon-to-be wife would need him and . . .

Both Damian’s train of thought and path was halted by the very painful grip on his arm. Fully ready to bite Jon’s head off, Damian was silenced by the red tinted glare his friend was giving him. He immediately notice how tense Jon was. He looked like he was ready for a fight, one that the kryptonian knew he would win.

“No. You are not going after her. The last thing Mar needs is this kind of stress this far in the pregnancy.”

“But . . .”

“I said no Wayne! Mar almost lost the baby once already. I am not going to allow her to go through that again! She can’t go through that again. I can’t handle going through that again!” Jon hissed, dropping his hold on Damian’s arm as he made a beeline for the stairs.

“Jon!” Damian yelled, hoping against hope that he would change his mind. That was his girlfriend and his child, damn it. He needed to be with them.

“No, Damian! Just . . . just go. You’ve done enough.” Jon shouted as he disappeared down the stairs.

Jon’s last comment caused the young heir to pause. He had done enough? He hadn’t been given a chance to fix what he had done. How could he have done enough? Sure, he had messed up royally, but he wanted to fix it. Why wouldn’t Jon let him fix it?

Pushing those questions aside, Damian ran down the stair, praying that he would at least catch a glimpse of his beloved. But the scene that met him as he burst into the street somehow drove Jon’s parting words home. There, braced against the wall of the building across from him, was Marinette. She was curled up as tightly as she physically could be, her face buried in Jon’s shirt as she let out the most heart wrenching sobs. Damian’s body refused to move as he watched Jon gently rock the mother of his child. His body refused to move as he watched the other man stroked her hair, promising to never leave her, whispering soft words of comfort to her as he planted butterfly kisses on her head. That he would always be there. That no one was going to hurt her. That she was safe.

Seconds turned into minutes before he could summon the strength to do what Jon had said. Casting one last look at his angel, his Marinette, Damian knew that taking that mission, that leaving her, had been the worst mistake of his life.

#maribat #daminette #jonette? #angst

[longitud-de-onda]

Porque el querer causa pena, pena que no tiene fin

pairing; mad sad genius (we never got a name) x reader summary; you can love someone with all your heart, but nothing compares to the madness that exists in their absence rating; t warnings; language, a bit of alcohol, angst, it isn’t specifically covid-19 but it is a pandemic science fiction story, so the quarantine and other situations are taken to the extreme which could be potentially triggering depending on how you’re handling the quarantine. word count; 3.0k a/n; this is fanfic for ngozi anyanwu’s for all the lovesick mad sad geniuses which aside from pedro’s amazing performance, is a brilliant monologue. we’re taking the title from the rosalía song (maldición, cap. 10: cordura) that helped inspire this.

You met him at an art gallery. It was your own show, and you were standing in the corner drinking wine from a clear plastic cup, the edge of which was sharp against your lips. You held a paper plate with five almonds, a mozzarella and tomato crostini, and a mini chocolate cupcake carefully balanced in your other hand.

He was standing in front of your favorite piece. No one else was. Probably because the gallery owner told you it wasn’t the sort of work that would stop anyone. That out of all the work in your collection, it was the type that belonged in the back, where it would be found by the people who cared enough to wander there, whose interest would likely be piqued enough for them to enjoy it. It hurt to hang it up on the back wall and not up in the front where you wanted it.

But he hadn’t stopped at everything else. He had walked into the gallery minutes before, giving every painting a quick glance before settling on the one in front of which he was standing. He had been there for almost five minutes before you decided to walk up next to him.

He looked over upon seeing you approach and your heart stopped. He was the most beautiful person you had ever seen. His smile reached his eyes and you found yourself falling into them. You almost asked him if he would model for you.

You didn’t paint portraits.

“This one is beautiful,” he told you.

You smiled and took a sip of your wine. You didn’t need convincing that it was beautiful. That much you already knew. It was the one piece you were confident beyond belief about.

“What do you like about it?” you asked, jutting your chin up at the painting in question.

“The artist seems to have cared. You can see the brushstrokes. They’re more detailed than the others. Someone only spends that much time on something they really care about.”

That was when you fell in love with him. Thirty-three words. That was all it took.

Your first date was dinner after the gallery closed for the night and he dragged you out to his favorite burger joint because he said you deserved it after opening an exhibition. After wolfing down more than enough food and splitting a tub of fries, you spilled out onto the streets in a pile of laughter and joy and you’ll never forget the look on his face when you asked for his number.

Your second date was a night you’ll never forget. He had taken two days to contact you after the first night, and you had begun to worry you would never hear from him again, but he called you and said he wanted to meet you at 6pm the next day and to dress nicely. You showed up where he told you too and he was there with that goddamn smile.

He took you to a Chinese restaurant and said I’d take you somewhere nicer but I don’t think you’re that kind of woman. And you would have slapped any other guy in the face but he looked so earnest and he was right about you. It was like he could read you like a book. And when you laughed he’d sometimes stop laughing with you just to stare with a certain reverence that made you question what you did to deserve the sort of man who looked at you that way.

He took you past all the big theaters showing musicals and stopped at one tucked away with a modest set of doors but the grandest entry hall you had ever seen. You let him lead the way as he took you through the doors into the auditorium and you walked down the aisles to seats near the front.

You didn’t know what you had done to let him know you loved comedies, but he had picked out the perfect play. By the time it was over your stomach hurt from laughing so hard and your eyes held the watery ring around them from your tears. You hit the cool night air just as it started raining, and any other time you would have run for cover but with him and his smile next to you, you didn’t give a shit.

The aimless wandering that night was your favorite part. You were doubled over laughing as he told you the parts of the play he liked, and the parts he didn’t.

“She was a fucking genius and a poet, you know?” he said.

“Who?”

“The playwright.”

“What? Why?” you asked.

“She wrote a play about another fucking genius,” he said. “And despite it being the funniest shit ever made, it still had all those deep-ass lines. You know, like, ‘If you got one friend when you die then most people never have something like you.”

And he didn’t know why you started giggling until you calmed yourself enough to tell him what the real quote was in between fits of laughter. He had that look from earlier that night on his face. The one where it was like he didn’t even know you could see him. He gazed at you like he could see you. Not just on the surface, but underneath everything too. Like he could see every thought that went through your head and took the time to hold every one and appreciate it before letting it go.

He leaned down to kiss you and you tilted your head up to meet him and you wondered how you hadn’t kissed him before. Why you didn’t when you said goodbye your first night. Why you didn’t when you were getting to know him over a burger. Why you didn’t let him kiss you that first fucking moment when you fell in love, right there, after he told you about your own goddamn brush strokes.

You fell in love all over again the following weekend when he took you to his favorite spot in the park, a large grassy hill overlooking all the kids playing below and you spread out a blanket and ate sandwiches that he had put into little ziploc bags. You told him that he should have packed some wine and he said baby, we didn’t need any alcohol our first two dates and you flushed and told him about the wine you had at the gallery and he laughed.

“I probably wouldn’t have had the guts to walk up to you without it,” you protested when he jokingly expressed mild disappointment.

“If you hadn’t walked up, I probably would have shouted ‘where’s the fucking artist, I need to talk to her!’ by the end of the night,” he said, and you found yourself laughing again.

“Wouldn’t be the weirdest thing that’s happened at one of my exhibits,” you said.

You met him every morning before work to go out for coffee, even if it meant waking up an extra hour early because he’s a morning person. You had his coffee order memorized by the third day.

He invited you to his apartment one day and you found yourself laughing over home videos of him as a kid late into the night. When you said goodbye, your heart yearned to stay. To take one of his shirts and wear it as you curled up next to him in bed. Instead, you kissed him good night.

After dinner one evening, you brought him to your place and showed him the little studio you had in the most well-lit room. He spent almost an hour exploring it, asking you questions about every little thing, the brand of paints you liked best, the angle you preferred to set your easel, your favorite tools, your favorite color, and telling you how honored he was to be in the workplace of a genius.

You didn’t tell him he was the smartest person you had ever met.

You didn’t tell him that he was the genius out of the two of you. That he could talk about his work and you could listen for hours to his voice but not understand a single word he said. That he would talk like no one was listening and then say the most serious shit. The sort of thing that made you rethink life, and by the time you had escaped from your thoughts he was already on another topic, rambling about the multitudes of things he loved. He saw the beauty in everything.

How the hell could a man like him love you?

He was the sort of person you would hear about in movies. The type to never stop dreaming. Someone watching the two of you would think you both mad. He had his head in the clouds and you would watch from below in awe as if his brain was firing off fireworks, and then you would speak about anything and he would give you that smile and that goddamn look that drove you crazy.

Your entire life he was there, living his own life without ever having met you, and you often wondered how many times you had almost met. You lived in the same city, surely there must have been times. Hundreds if not thousands of moments in which your paths nearly crossed. Whether what kept you from meeting was a mere 3 feet of distance in a crowd or a mere 3 minutes of time and space in which one of you was running late or early to something along which way you would have found him.

But you were lucky to have met him when you did. Gotten to share the brief moments while they lasted. That was before the virus hit.

You were sitting on his kitchen counter, covered in acrylic paint he had bought at the grocery store as the two of you detailed messy renditions of Van Gogh’s work on his cabinet doors, and he had wrapped his dirty hands around your waist, leaving two purple handprints on your painting shirt, and pulled you into a kiss. And this one was different. It was deeper, searching for more. There was more heat and passion. Your whole relationship, months of it, had been slow and beautiful and intimate, but there were times where it was more like friendship then romance and neither of you minded as you walked along the fine line between the two, happy with the state of things as they were. But you had loved him since the first day and you didn’t mind the idea of, one day, collapsing naked and sweaty into bed with him instead of snuggling up against his side as he wrapped you in his arms like he usually did when you did decide to spend the night.

But that was for another day. You broke apart after minutes to return to your project. By the end of the night you were screwing the doors back in and he was admiring everything. If you were being honest, he was completely helpless when it came to handiwork. Couldn’t hammer a nail, tighten a screw, sand some wood, or even recreate a decent Starry Starry Night, but that didn’t matter. Because his kitchen looked vibrant and beautiful and the art reminded you of all the ideas you could see swirling in his head. The fucking genius.

The reports had started to come in by then, but it wasn’t until the following morning that you realized how serious everything had gotten. Schools announced that day that they were closing. He called to tell you he was working from home. You got the call that evening that you would be too.

A week later and you had met with him once, in the park. It was a long trek for both of you, living on opposite sides of the city. But the brief kisses, kind words, and soft touches on the waist, thighs, arms, neck, jaw, nose, back, anything? Those were all worth it.

The following day you learned you couldn’t leave your neighborhood. You video-chatted with him in tears. If only you had let yourself follow the thoughts of moving in with him instead of stamping them out as soon as they started to take root in your head. If only you had let him spend the night one more time. So you wouldn’t be clinging to his fading smell on the t-shirt you stole from his closet.

It was like your whole world cut out when the strikes started. No internet. No cell service. No connection. The postal service was all but gone, and you had no way of connecting with him. Your only source of news was the newspaper, three times a week, delivered to your doorstep. And your neighbor who got it every day and would shout to you the important things.

You wished you had photos of him framed around the house. 

Then when you did, the sight of him staring at you from every corner of your apartment was enough to drive you mad with longing that you took them all down. 

When the government got the strikes under control, they started to introduce the plans for rolling out the internet services again. Things had become grim. You spent every night dreaming of him, but you were starting to forget his face. Did his nose curve that much?  Were the creases around his eyes that deep? Was his shabby beard that full? Did he have dimples, or were you just making that up?

You would stare at the photos on your phone, desperately trying to commit him to memory. Remember how he looked when the man in the photo came to life in three dimensions. How did he walk? How did he wave his hands?

By that time, life was different. You didn’t make art anymore. What was once your life had been shoved into your studio room, the light turned off, and the tubes of paint left to dry up. Your apartment didn’t smell like clay and charcoal and linseed oil anymore. You didn’t have it in you to keep painting. You went to the grocery store once every fourteen days, grabbing produce and frozen goods, bottles of alcohol and some cleaning supplies before handing over your newly minted ration card to receive the staples. Rice, pasta, beans, eggs, flour, sugar, a couple bags of dried fruit, a bottle of milk. It wasn’t so bad when you lived on your own, but you felt bad for the mothers and fathers in line behind you, knowing that their children might be too picky to even eat the food they were lucky to get.

The introduction of connectivity services was a slow process. Neighborhood by neighborhood across the country so as not to overwhelm the systems. There were new rules. It was only to be used for three things: education, work, and essential communication between legal family members.

Your finger hovered over the call button next to his name hundreds of times, but you could never press it out of fear that someone would be watching or listening. You knew that when you walked the streets they were. It was likely the same for your phone now too.

One day in a drunken fit of anger and yearning and the craze of love, you deleted all the photos on your phone, hoping that maybe without them you could forget how much you missed him.

You tried to forget him. But every night you dreamt of his slowly warping face. You wondered if he was doing the same.

Sometimes you would watch the DVDs you had and try to replace his image in your head with the actors. Sometimes it would work and weeks would go by with only dreams of the movies. But it would always lose its effectiveness. Usually around the time that you remembered that he was probably your soulmate and you didn’t get enough time.

In every single one of the possibilities of your lives together that you daydreamed about for hours every day, there was never enough time. But this reality was the worst. You were sure of that.

You had read every book in your house. Read every poem you could get your hands on, even the ones you had risked your life for in searching them on the internet, carefully saving pdfs and screenshots and printing them out on the dwindling paper in your apartment. Words didn’t do the same thing they used to anymore. They didn’t bring joy and excitement and escape. You stopped reading them.

You talked with your neighbor for the first time in a month. It seemed that almost everyone had stopped reading books. You wondered if people stopped doing other things too. 

The world before was starting to blur around the edges. You couldn’t remember if the path you liked to walk in the park had such an erratic course or if it was more subtle than you could remember. What did you like to do on the weekends? There was a place, a building, that you liked to go to. You couldn’t remember what it was called or what was inside, but you remember the feeling of standing there. The musty smell and the awe and the sensation that you were staring out at all of humanity. And you had no idea what the fuck it was. 

You weren’t sure how much of the world before you had forgotten. But you couldn’t shake him from your memory. You wished you could. 

When you weren’t working you were cooking or eating or sleeping. And when you weren’t doing that, it constituted the dangerous time where you didn’t have anything to do and nothing to interest you.

And every fucking thing you did, be that making pasta or lying on the floor and staring at the ceiling, made you think of him. You had loved him as you’d never loved anyone before. And you never told him. Did he even know that you loved him? Did he know that you knew he loved you back?

You would close your eyes and the only thing you were sure of in your mind’s image of him was that goddamn smile.

.

taglists; (let me know if you want to be added, removed, or moved around)

perm taglist; @turquiosenights @el-lizzie​ @sparrows-books​ @dxxkxx​ @opheliaelysia​ @trashbin2​ @rzrcrst​ @arcadianempress​ @stevieharrrr​ @peterparkers-tingle​ @blushingwueen​ @coredrive​ @lokiaddicted​ @mserynlarsen​ @badassbaker​ @1-800-fandomtrashqueen​ @flower-petal-blooming​ @talesfromtheguild​ @eupphoriaaa​ @weirdowithnobeardo​ @gaybroadwayloser​ @randomness501​ @adikaofmandalore​ @ahopelessromanticwritersworld​ @poesdxmerons​ @bountyguild​ @sinnamon-bunn​ @readsalot73​ @gooddaykate​ @rage-isaquietthing​

pedro taglist; @pascalisthepunkest​ @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead​ @mrsparknuts​ @souls-rain​ @twomoonstwosuns​ @sophiasescape​

#for all the lovesick mad sad geniuses #pedro pacal #24hourplays #ngozi anyanwu #camila writes #rated t #under 5 #angst #pedro fics #fatlmsg #fatlmsg fics #mad sad genius x reader

[moxiety-my-love]

Automotan

Analogical Fic

Prompt: How about some Logan angst? Him having some issues with his self esteem cause he feels like he always has to be a robot. And then (insert favorite other half of pairing) comes in to see him crying at his desk cause he is very overwhelmed with work? And then some comfort and maybe a love confession

Summary: Logan isn’t handling quarantine well, and Virgil is the only one who notices.

Word Count: 1k

Pairing(s): Analogical

Warning(s): Swearing, anxiety, food mention, Remus mention. Let me know if you find any more!

General Tag List: @hogwarts-my-love @yourelost-itsokay @rebeyerfdog

A/N: Decided to place this prompt during the events of COVID-19 because that’s where my mindset is right now. This can be read as either platonic or romantic Analogical!

~~

Logan wasn’t handling being quarantined well.

That was an understatement. Logan wasn’t handling it at all. Every day that Thomas continued to stay at home, Logan’s state of mind grew worse. His inability to think straight was affecting Thomas’ productivity, which only added more stress to his already growing list of things to worry about. It was also making the other sides hesitant to be around Logan when he was irritable.

As such, Logan began to isolate himself in his room, surrounded by stacks of papers and swirling thoughts. He was the literal embodiment of Logic-- he should be able to fix this! But all the alone time in his room was making him more robotic than usual. He bottled up his emotions and hid them from the other sides, trying to help them with their own fears about the quarantine instead. Virgil was the first one to notice.

“Lo?”

Logan lifted his head from its resting position on his desk to see Virgil peeking into his room through the cracked door. With a sigh, he lifted himself from his chair to fully open the door.

“Hello, Virgil. Do you need anything?” Logan rubbed his temple, assuming Virgil had had an issue with one of the other sides. Remus, in particular, had been especially hard to deal with lately. “Did Remus do something?”

Virgil laughed, “No, but that’s a good assumption.” He coughed, stifling his laughter. “No, I just, I thought I’d check on you. You’ve been acting like an automaton, overworking yourself. I’ve been there, Lo, and I wanted to see if you needed anything.”

Virgil shifted his feet as he finished his statement. He knew Logan didn’t love to be accused of anything, so he’d tried to phrase his concerns as best as he knew how. He awkwardly dug his hands into the pockets of his well worn sweatshirt.

“A good use of ‘automaton,’ Virge,” Logan smiled, “but I don’t believe I’m acting any differently than usual.”

“It’s okay to ask for help, Logan. None of us are doing our best work while being stuck in the apartment. It’s taking a toll on everyone, so you shouldn’t feel bad about--”

“I don’t,” Logan interrupted curtly. “I have nothing to feel bad about, excluding the fear that Patton allowed Remus to help him cook tonight. Nothing is more distasteful than the thought of whatever disaster should come of that.”

Virgil laughed and gave a tentative smile. “Well, if you’re sure, Lo. Just don’t hesitate to ask for anything.”

A week had passed since that incident and Logan still wasn’t any better. In fact, the only thing that had gotten better was his ability to lie straight to the other sides’ faces. Whenever he felt his mind clouding over during a conversation, he plastered on an ambiguous expression he deemed passable as “normal.”

The one time he felt himself falter from these falsified interactions was when Patton, during one of his emotional compliment rants, told Logan how proud he was of him for all the work he’d been doing to help Thomas during their social isolation. When those words left Patton’s mouth, Logan’s eyes heated up as he forced back a flood. How wrong he is, to be proud of me, Logan thought. He wasn’t proud of himself.

A sharp rap was heard at the door and Logan bolted awake. After his consciousness returned, he looked to the wall to squint at the face of a clock. 2:30? Afternoon or late at night?

“Logan? Are you up?”

Logan recognised Virgil’s voice again. It must be afternoon, he decided, if he’s asking whether I’m awake.

Adjusting his glasses, Logan realised how much he’d let himself go. A short glance around his room showed just how quickly he’d allowed things to deteriorate. The stacks of paper atop his desk were now nonexistent; in place of the neat piles there now was utter chaos. Paper clips and pens lay strewn at his feet. Meanwhile, his bed and closet weren’t any less of a sore sight. He hadn’t done his laundry in days, or even changed clothes for that matter. But somehow he had managed to distribute the majority of his wardrobe either to the floor of his closet or in place of his bedsheets.

“Lo?”

Shit. Virgil was still there. Logan knew he shouldn’t leave his friend out in the hallway, but didn’t want him to see the mess that had replaced his life. With a sigh, he waved a hand to clear the floor, so Virgil could at least step in.

“Come in,” Logan’s raspy voice cracked as he spoke, and he realised his throat was dry. He was probably dehydrated.

Virgil only had to take one look at Logan before wrapping him in a great bear hug. That was what did it for Logan. The warmth that emitted from Virgil’s sweatshirt and arms engulfed Logan’s entire being. Before he had a second to choke back his cries, he released them into his friend’s shoulders. After the first sob, a weight was lifted immediately off Logan’s chest. For too long, he’d been suppressing his feelings. Finally allowing himself to indulge in them eased a small bit of his anxiety.

Neither of the left-brained sides knew how much time had passed by the time Logan’s sobs had softened into erratic, muffled breaths. But Virgil did know something had to be done to help Logan. He already felt terrible for letting things escalate the way they patently had.

“You need a break, Lo. This isn’t healthy.” Virgil waited for a response before deciding to say anything more. He lightly chewed on his bottom lip, choosing to tread lightly while Logan was still in a fragile state.

Easing his breath before speaking, Logan waited until he thought he could manage words again before replying.

“I- I believe you are correct, Virgil. Thank you for helping me to realise it. We’ve spent so much time discussing repression, yet it didn’t occur to me that I might be repressing.”

Virgil smiled behind Logan’s back, brushing a finger through the taller side’s hair.

“We’re all here for you, Lo. Every one of us loves you, especially me.”

Logan hesitated for a moment before replying.

“I love you too.”

He nestled his head into the warm crook of Virgil’s neck, finally at peace for the first time in weeks.

~~

Requested by @fukindork

#my writing #thomas sanders #sanders sides #virgil sanders #logan sanders #analogical #ts virgil #ts logan #ts analogical #thomas sanders fic #sanders sides fic #ts fic #thomas sanders fanfic #sanders sides fanfic #ts fanfic #thomas sanders fanfiction #sanders sides fanfiction #ts fanfiction #logan angst #analogical fluff #sanders sides angst #tw swearing