#please excuse the general lack of editing thus far

[confetti-cat]

Twelve, Thirteen, and One

Words: 6k

Rating: G

Themes: Friendship, Self-Giving Love

(Written for the Four Loves Fairytale Retelling Challenge over at the @inklings-challenge! A Cinderella retelling feat. curious critters and a lot of friendship.)

When the clock chimes midnight on that third evening, thirteen creatures look to the girl who showed them all kindness.

—

It’s hours after dark, again, and the human girl still sleeps in the ashes.

The mice notice this—though it happens so often that they’ve ceased to pay attention to her. She smells like everything else in the hearth: ashy and overworked, tinged with the faint smell of herbs from the kitchen.

When she moves or shifts in her sleep (uncomfortable sleep—even they can sense the exhaustion in her posture as she sits slumped against the wall, more willing to seep up warmth from the stone than lie cold elsewhere this time of year), they simply scurry around her and continue combing for crumbs and seeds. They’d found a feast of lentils scattered about once, and many other times, the girl had beckoned them softly to her hand, where she’d held a little chunk of brown bread.

Tonight, she has nothing. They don’t mind—though three of them still come to sniff her limp hand where it lies drooped against the side of her tattered dress.

A fourth one places a little clawed hand on the side of her finger, leaning over it to investigate her palm for any sign of food.

When she stirs, it’s to the sensation of a furry brown mouse sitting in her palm.

It can feel the flickering of her muscles as she wakes—feeling slowly returning to her body. To her credit, she cracks her eyes open and merely observes it.

They’re all but tame by now. The Harsh-Mistress and the Shrieking-Girl and the Angry-Girl are to be avoided like the plague never was, but this girl—the Cinder-Girl, they think of her—is gentle and kind.

Even as she shifts a bit and they hear the dull crack of her joints, they’re too busy to mind. Some finding a few buried peas (there were always some peas or lentils still hidden here, if they looked carefully), some giving themselves an impromptu bath to wash off the dust. The one sitting on her hand is doing the latter, fur fluffed up as it scratches one ear and then scrubs tirelessly over its face with both paws.

One looks up from where it’s discovered a stray pea to check her expression.

A warm little smile has crept up her face, weary and dirty and sore as she seems to be. She stays very still in her awkward half-curl against stone, watching the mouse in her hand groom itself. The tender look about her far overwhelms—melts, even—the traces of tension in her tired limbs.

Very slowly, so much so that they really aren’t bothered by it, she raises her spare hand and begins lightly smearing the soot away from her eyes with the back of her wrist.

The mouse in her palm gives her an odd look for the movement, but has discovered her skin is warmer than the cold stone floor or the ash around the dying fire. It pads around in a circle once, then nudges its nose against her calloused skin, settling down for a moment.

The Cinder-Girl has closed her eyes again, and drops her other hand into her lap, slumping further against the wall. Her smile has grown even warmer, if sadder.

They decide she’s quite safe. Very friendly.

—

The old rat makes his rounds at the usual times of night, shuffling through a passage that leads from the ground all the way up to the attic.

When both gold sticks on the clocks’ moonlike faces point upward, there’s a faint chime from the tower-clock downstairs. He used to worry that the sound would rouse the humans. Now, he ignores it and goes about his business.

There’s a great treasury of old straw in the attic. It’s inside a large sack—and while this one doesn’t have corn or wheat like the ones near the kitchen sometimes do, he knows how to chew it open all the same.

The girl sleeps on this sack of straw, though she doesn’t seem to mind what he takes from it. There’s enough more of it to fill a hundred rat’s nests, so he supposes she doesn’t feel the difference.

Tonight, though—perhaps he’s a bit too loud in his chewing and tearing. The girl sits up slowly in bed, and he stiffens, teeth still sunk into a bit of the fabric.

“Oh.” says the girl. She smiles—and though the expression should seem threatening, all pulled mouth-corners and teeth, he feels the gentleness in her posture and wonders at novel thoughts of differing body languages. “Hello again. Do you need more straw?”

He isn’t sure what the sounds mean, but they remind him of the soft whuffles and squeaks of his siblings when they were small. Inquisitive, unafraid. Not direct or confrontational.

She’s seemed safe enough so far—almost like the woman in white and silver-gold he’s seen here sometimes, marveling at his own confidence in her safeness—so he does what signals not-afraid the best to his kind. He glances her over, twitches his whiskers briefly, and goes back to what he was doing.

Some of the straw is too big and rough, some too small and fine. He scratches a bundle out into a pile so he can shuffle through it. It’s true he doesn’t need much, but the chill of winter hasn’t left the world yet.

The girl laughs. The sound is soft and small. It reminds him again of young, friendly, peaceable.

“Take as much as you need,” she whispers. Her movements are unassuming when she reaches for something on the old wooden crate she uses as a bedside table. With something in hand, she leans against the wall her bed is a tunnel’s-width from, and offers him what she holds. “Would you like this?”

He peers at it in the dark, whiskers twitching. His eyesight isn’t the best, so he finds himself drawing closer to sniff at what she has.

It’s a feather. White and curled a bit, like the goose-down he’d once pulled out the corner of a spare pillow long ago. Soft and long, fluffy and warm.

He touches his nose to it—then, with a glance upward at her softly-smiling face, takes it in his teeth.

It makes him look like he has a mustache, and is a bit too big to fit through his hole easily. The girl giggles behind him as he leaves.

—

There’s a human out in the gardens again. Which is strange—this is a place for lizards, maybe birds and certainly bugs. Not for people, in his opinion. She’s not dressed in venomous bright colors like the other humans often are, but neither does she stay to the manicured garden path the way they do.

She doesn’t smell like unnatural rotten roses, either. A welcome change from having to dart for cover at not just the motions, but the stenches that accompany the others that appear from time to time.

This human is behind the border-shubs, beating an ornate rug that hangs over the fence with a home-tied broom. Huge clouds of dust shake from it with each hit, settling in a thin film on the leaves and grass around her.

She stops for a moment to press her palm to her forehead, then turns over her shoulder and coughs into her arm.

When she begins again, it’s with a sharp WHOP.

He jumps a bit, but only on instinct. However—

A few feet from where he settles back atop the sunning-rock, there’s a scuffle and a sharp splash. Then thrashing—waster swashing about with little churns and splishes.

It’s not the way of lizards to think of doing anything when one falls into the water. There were several basins for fish and to catch water off the roof for the garden—they simply had to not fall into them, not drown. There was little recourse for if they did. What could another lizard do, really? Fall in after them? Best to let them try to climb out if they could.

The girl hears the splashing. She stares at the water pot for a moment.

Then, she places her broom carefully on the ground and comes closer.

Closer. His heart speeds up. He skitters to the safety of a plant with low-hanging leaves—

—and then watches as she walks past his hiding place, peers into the basin, and reaches in.

Her hand comes up dripping wet, a very startled lizard still as a statue clinging to her fingers.

“Are you the same one I always find here?” she asks with a chiding little smile. “Or do all of you enjoy swimming?”

When she places her hand on the soft spring grass, the lizard darts off of it and into the underbrush. It doesn’t go as far as it could, though—something about this girl makes both of them want to stand still and wait for what she’ll do next.

The girl just watches it go. She lets out a strange sound—a weary laugh, perhaps—and turns back to her peculiar chore.

—

A song trails through the old house—under the floorboards—through the walls—into the garden, beneath the undergrowth—and lures them out of hiding.

It isn’t an audible song, not like that of the birds in the summer trees or the ashen-girl murmuring beautiful sounds to herself in the lonely hours. This one was silent. Yet, it reached deep down into their souls and said come out, please—the one who helped you needs your help.

It didn’t require any thought, no more than eat or sleep or run did.

In chains of silver and grey, all the mice who hear it converge, twenty-four tiny feet pattering along the wood in the walls. The rat joins them, but they are not afraid.

When they emerge from a hole out into the open air, the soft slip-slap of more feet surround them. Six lizards scurry from the bushes, some gleaming wet as if they’d just escaped the water trough or run through the birdbath themselves.

As a strange little hoard, they approach the kind girl. Beside her is a tall woman wearing white and silver and gold.

The girl—holding a large, round pumpkin—looks surprised to see them here. The woman is smiling.

“Set the pumpkin on the drive,” the woman says, a soft gleam in her eye. “The rest of you, line up, please.”

Bemused, but with a heartbeat fast enough for them to notice, the girl gingerly places the pumpkin on the stone of the drive. It’s natural for them, somehow, to follow—the mice line in pairs in front of it, the rat hops on top of it, and the lizards all stand beside.

“What are they doing?” asks the girl—and there’s curiosity and gingerness in her tone, like she doesn’t believe such a sight is wrong, but is worried it might be.

The older woman laughs kindly, and a feeling like blinking hard comes over the world.

It’s then—then, in that flash of darkness that turns to dazzling light, that something about them changes.

“Oh!” exclaims the girl, and they open their eyes. “Oh! They’re—“

They’re different.

The mice aren’t mice at all—and suddenly they wonder if they ever were, or if it was an odd dream.

They’re horses, steel grey and sleek-haired with with silky brown manes and tails. Their harnesses are ornate and stylish, their hooves polished and dark.

Instead of a rat, there’s a stout man in fine livery, with whiskers dark and smart as ever. He wears a fine cap with a familiar white feather, and the gleam in his eye is surprised.

“Well,” he says, examining his hands and the cuffs of his sleeves, “I suppose I won’t be wanting for adventure now.”

Instead of six lizards, six footmen stand at attention, their ivory jackets shining in the late afternoon sun.

The girl herself is different, though she’s still human—her hair is done up beautifully in the latest fashion, and instead of tattered grey she wears a shimmering dress of lovely pale green, inlaid with a design that only on close inspection is flowers.

“They are under your charge, now,” says the woman in white, stepping back and folding her hands together. “It is your responsibility to return before the clock strikes midnight—when that happens, the magic will be undone. Understood?”

“Yes,” says the girl breathlessly. She stares at them as if she’s been given the most priceless gift in all the world. “Oh, thank you.”

—

The castle is decorated brilliantly. Flowery garlands hang from every parapet, beautiful vines sprawling against walls and over archways as they climb. Dozens of picturesque lanterns hang from the walls, ready to be lit once the sky grows dark.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen the castle,” the girl says, standing one step out of the carriage and looking so awed she seems happy not to go any further. “Father and I used to drive by it sometimes. But it never looked so lovely as this.”

“Shall we accompany you in, milady?” asks one of the footmen. They’re all nearly identical, though this one has freckles where he once had dark flecks in his scales.

She hesitates for only a moment, looking up at the pinnacles of the castle towers. Then, she shakes her head, and turns to look at them all with a smile like the sun.

“I think I’ll go in myself,” she says. “I’m not sure what is custom. But thank you—thank you so very much.”

And so they watch her go—stepping carefully in her radiant dress that looked lovelier than any queen’s.

Though she was not royal, it seemed there was no doubt in anyone’s minds that she was. The guards posted at the door opened it for her without question.

With a last smile over her shoulder, she stepped inside.

—

He's straightening the horses' trappings for the fifth time when the doors to the castle open, and out hurries a figure. It takes him a moment to recognize her, garbed in rich fabrics and cloaked in shadows, but it's the girl, rushing out to the gilded carriage. A footman steps forward and offers her a hand, which she accepts gratefully as she steps up into the seat.

“Enjoyable evening, milady?” asks the coachman. His whiskers are raised above the corners of his mouth, and his twinkling eyes crinkle at the edges.

“Yes, quite, thank you!” she breathes in a single huff. She smooths her dress the best she can before looking at him with some urgency. “The clock just struck quarter till—will you be able to get us home?”

The gentle woman in white had said they only would remain in such states until midnight. How long was it until the middle of night? What was a quarter? Surely darkness would last for far more hours than it had already—it couldn’t be close. Yet it seemed as though it must be; the princesslike girl in the carriage sounded worried it would catch them at any moment.

“I will do all I can,” he promises, and with a sharp rap of the reins, they’re off at a swift pace.

They arrive with minutes to spare. He knows this because after she helps him down from the carriage (...wait. That should have been the other way around! He makes mental note for next time: it should be him helping her down. If he can manage it. She’s fast), she takes one of those minutes to show him how his new pocketwatch works.

He’s fascinated already. There’s a part of him that wonders if he’ll remember how to tell time when he’s a rat again—or will this, all of this, be forgotten?

The woman in white is there beside the drive, and she’s already smiling. A knowing gleam lights her eye.

“Well, how was the ball?” she asks, as Cinder-Girl turns to face her with the most elated expression. “I hear the prince is looking for fair maidens. Did he speak with you?”

The girl rushes to grasp the woman’s hands in hers, clasping them gratefully and beaming up at her.

“It was lovely! I’ve never seen anything so lovely,” she all but gushes, her smile brighter and broader than they’d ever seen it. “The castle is beautiful; it feels so alive and warm. And yes, I met the Prince—although hush, he certainly isn’t looking for me—he’s so kind. I very much enjoyed speaking with him. He asked me to dance, too; I had as wonderful a time as he seemed to. Thank you! Thank you dearly.”

The woman laughs gently. It isn’t a laugh one would describe as warm, but neither is it cold in the sense some laughs can be—it's soft and beautiful, almost crystalline.

“That’s wonderful. Now, up to bed! You’ve made it before midnight, but your sisters will be returning soon.”

“Yes! Of course,” she replies eagerly—turning to smile gratefully at coachman and stroke the nearest horses on their noses and shoulders, then curtsy to the footmen. “Thank you all, very much. I could not ask for a more lovely company.”

It’s a strange moment when all of their new hearts swell with warmth and affection for this girl—and then the world darkens and lightens so quickly they feel as though they’ve fallen asleep and woken up.

They’re them again—six mice, six lizards, a rat, and a pumpkin. And a tattered gray dress.

“Please, would you let me go again tomorrow? The ball will last three days. I had such a wonderful time.”

“Come,” the woman said simply, “and place the pumpkin beneath the bushes.”

The woman in white led the way back to the house, followed by an air-footed girl and a train of tiny critters. There was another silent song in the air, and they thought perhaps the girl could hear it too: one that said yes—but get to bed!

—

The second evening, when the door of the house thuds shut and the hoofsteps of the family’s carriage fade out of hearing, the rat peeks out of a hole in the kitchen corner to see the Cinder-Girl leap to her feet.

She leans close to the window and watched for more minutes than he quite understands—or maybe he does; it was good to be sure all cats had left before coming out into the open—and then runs with a spring in her step to the back door near the kitchen.

Ever so faintly, like music, the woman’s laughter echoes faintly from outside. Drawn to it like he had been drawn to the silent song, the rat scurries back through the labyrinth of the walls.

When he hurries out onto the lawn, the mice and lizards are already there, looking up at the two humans expectantly. This time, the Cinder-Girl looks at them and smiles broadly.

“Hello, all. So—how do you do it?” she asks the woman. Her eyes shine with eager curiosity. “I had no idea you could do such a thing. How does it work?”

The woman fixes her with a look of fond mock-sternness. “If I were to explain to you the details of how, I’d have to tell you why and whom, and you’d be here long enough to miss the royal ball.” She waves her hands she speaks. “And then you’d be very much in trouble for knowing far more than you ought.”

The rat misses the girl’s response, because the world blinks again—and now all of them once again are different. Limbs are long and slender, paws are hooves with silver shoes or feet in polished boots.

The mouse-horses mouth at their bits as they glance back at the carriage and the assortment of humans now standing by it. The footmen are dressed in deep navy this time, and the girl wears a dress as blue as the summer sky, adorned with brilliant silver stars.

“Remember—“ says the woman, watching fondly as the Cinder-Girl steps into the carriage in a whorl of beautiful silk. “Return before midnight, before the magic disappears.”

“Yes, Godmother,” she calls, voice even more joyful than the previous night. “Thank you!”

—

The castle is just as glorious as before—and the crowd within it has grown. Noblemen and women, royals and servants, and the prince himself all mill about in the grand ballroom.

He’s unsure of the etiquette, but it seems best for her not to enter alone. Once he escorts her in, the coachman bows and watches for a moment—the crowd is hushed again, taken by her beauty and how important they think her to be—and then returns to the carriage outside.

He isn’t required in the ballroom for much of the night—but he tends to the horses and checks his pocketwatch studiously, everything in him wishing to be the best coachman that ever once was a rat.

Perhaps that wouldn’t be hard. He’d raise the bar, then. The best coachman that ever drove for a princess.

Because that was what she was—or, that was what he heard dozens of hushed whispers about once she’d entered the ball. Every noble and royal and servant saw her and deemed her a grand princess nobody knew from a land far away. The prince himself stared at her in a marveling way that indicated he thought no differently.

It was a thing more wondrous than he had practice thinking. If a mouse could become a horse or a rat could become a coachman, couldn’t a kitchen-girl become a princess?

The answer was yes, it seemed—perhaps in more ways than one.

She had rushed out with surprising grace just before midnight. They took off quickly, and she kept looking back toward the castle door, as if worried—but she was smiling.

“Did you know the Prince is very nice?” she asks once they’re safely home, and she’s stepped down (drat) without help again. The woman in white stands on her same place beside the drive, and when Cinder-Girl sees her, she waves with dainty grace that clearly holds a vibrant energy and sheer thankfulness behind it. “I’ve never known what it felt like to be understood. He thinks like I do.”

“How is that?” asks the woman, quirking an amused brow. “And if I might ask, how do you know?”

“Because he mentions things first.” The girl tries to smother some of the wideness of her smile, but can’t quite do so. “And I've shared his thoughts for a long time. That he loves his father, and thinks oranges and citrons are nice for festivities especially, and that he’s always wanted to go out someday and do something new.”

—

The third evening, the clouds were dense and a few droplets of rain splattered the carriage as they arrived.

“Looks like rain, milady,” said the coachman as she disembarked to stand on water-spotted stone. “If it doesn’t blow by, we’ll come for ye at the steps, if it pleases you.”

“Certainly—thank you,” she replies, all gleaming eyes and barely-smothered smiles. How her excitement to come can increase is beyond them—but she seems more so with each night that passes.

She has hardly turned to head for the door when a smattering of rain drizzles heavily on them all. She flinches slightly, already running her palms over the skirt of her dress to rub out the spots of water.

Her golden dress glisters even in the cloudy light, and doesn’t seem to show the spots much. Still, it’s hardy an ideal thing.

“One of you hold the parasol—quick about it, now—and escort her inside,” the coachman says quickly. The nearest footman jumps into action, hop-reaching into the carriage and falling back down with the umbrella in hand, unfolding it as he lands. “Wait about in case she needs anything.”

The parasol is small and not meant for this sort of weather, but it's enough for the moment. The pair of them dash for the door, the horses chomping and stamping behind them until they’re driven beneath the bows of a huge tree.

The footman knows his duty the way a lizard knows to run from danger. He achieves it the same way—by slipping off to become invisible, melting into the many people who stood against the golden walls.

From there, he watches.

It’s so strange to see the way the prince and their princess gravitate to each other. The prince’s attention seems impossible to drag away from her, though not for many’s lack of trying.

Likewise—more so than he would have thought, though perhaps he’s a bit slow in noticing—her focus is wholly on the prince for long minutes at a time.

Her attention is always divided a bit whenever she admires the interior of the castle, the many people and glamorous dresses in the crowd, the vibrant tables of food. It’s all very new to her, and he’s not certain it doesn’t show. But the Prince seems enamored by her delight in everything—if he thinks it odd, he certainly doesn’t let on.

They talk and laugh and sample fine foods and talk to other guests together, then they turn their heads toward where the musicians are starting up and smile softly when they meet each other’s eyes. The Prince offers a hand, which is accepted and clasped gleefully.

Then, they dance.

Their motions are so smooth and light-footed that many of the crowd forgo dancing, because admiring them is more enjoyable. They’re in-sync, back and forth like slow ripples on a pond. They sometimes look around them—but not often, especially compared to how long they gaze at each other with poorly-veiled, elated smiles.

The night whirls on in flares of gold tulle and maroon velvet, ivory, carnelian, and emerald silks, the crowd a nonstop blur of color.

(Color. New to him, that. Improved vision was wonderful.)

The clock strikes eleven, but there’s still time, and he’s fairly certain he won’t be able to convince the girl to leave anytime before midnight draws near.

He was a lizard until very recently. He’s not the best at judging time, yet. Midnight does draw near, but he’s not sure he understands how near.

The clock doesn’t quite say up-up. So he still has time. When the rain drums ceaselessly outside, he darts out and runs in a well-practiced way to find their carriage.

—

Another of the footmen comes in quickly, having been sent in a rush by the coachman, who had tried to keep his pocketwatch dry just a bit too long. He’s soaking wet from the downpour when he steps close enough to get her attention.

She sees him, notices this, and—with a glimmer of recognition and amusement in her eyes—laughs softly into her hand.

ONE—TWO— the clock starts. His heart speeds up terribly, and his skin feels cold. He suddenly craves a sunny rock.

“Um,” he begins awkwardly. Lizards didn’t have much in the way of a vocal language. He bows quickly, and water drips off his face and hat and onto the floor. “The chimes, milady.”

THREE—FOUR—

Perhaps she thought it was only eleven. Her face pales. “Oh.”

FIVE—SIX—

Like a deer, she leaps from the prince’s side and only manages a stumbling, backward stride as she curtsies in an attempt at a polite goodbye.

“Thank you, I must go—“ she says, and then she’s racing alongside the footman as fast as they both can go. The crowd parts for them just enough, amidst loud murmurs of surprise.

SEVEN—EIGHT—

“Wait!” calls the prince, but they don’t. Which hopefully isn’t grounds for arrest, the footman idly thinks.

They burst through the door and out into the open air.

NINE—TEN—

It has been storming. The rain is crashing down in torrents—the walkways and steps are flooded with a firm rush of water.

She steps in a crevice she couldn’t see, the water washes over her feet, and she stumbles, slipping right out of one shoe. There’s noise at the door behind them, so she doesn’t stop or even hesitate. She runs at a hobble and all but dives through the open carriage door. The awaiting footman quickly closes it, and they’re all grasping quickly to their riding-places at the corners of the vehicle.

ELEVEN—

A flash of lightning coats the horses in white, despite the dark water that’s soaked into their coats, and with a crack of the rains and thunder they take off at a swift run.

There’s shouting behind them—the prince—as people run out and call to the departing princess.

TWELVE.

Mist swallows them up, so thick they can’t hear or see the castle, but the horses know the way.

The castle’s clock tower must have been ever-so-slightly fast. (Does magic tell truer time?) Their escape works for a few thundering strides down the invisible, cloud-drenched road—until true midnight strikes a few moments later.

—

She walks home in the rain and fog, following a white pinprick of light she can guess the source of—all the while carrying a hollow pumpkin full of lizards, with an apron pocket full of mice and a rat perched on her shoulder.

It’s quite the walk.

—

The prince makes a declaration so grand that the mice do not understand it. The rat—a bit different now—tells them most things are that way to mice, but he’s glad to explain.

The prince wants to find the girl who wore the golden slipper left on the steps, he relates. He doesn’t want to ask any other to marry him, he loved her company so.

The mice think that’s a bit silly. Concerning, even. What if he does find her? There won’t be anyone to secretly leave seeds in the ashes or sneak them bread crusts when no humans are looking.

The rat thinks they’re being silly and that they’ve become too dependent on handouts. Back in his day, rodents worked for their food. Chewing open a bag of seed was an honest day’s work for its wages.

Besides, he confides, as he looks again out the peep-hole they’ve discovered in the floor trim of the parlor. You’re being self-interested, if you ask me. Don’t you want our princess to find a good mate, and live somewhere spacious and comfortable, free of human-cats, where she’d finally have plenty to eat?

It’s hard to make a mouse look appropriately chastised, but that question comes close. They shuffle back a bit to let him look out at the strange proceedings in the parlor again.

There are many humans there. The Harsh-Mistress stands tall and rigid at the back of one of the parlor chairs, exchanging curt words with a strange man in fine clothes with a funny hat. Shrieking-Girl and Angry-Girl stand close, scoffing and laughing, looking appalled.

Cinder-Girl sits on the chair that’s been pulled to the middle of the room. She extends her foot toward a strange golden object on a large cushion.

The shoe, the rat notes so the mice can follow. They can’t quite see it from here—poor eyesight and all.

Of course, the girl’s foot fits perfectly well into her own shoe. They all saw that coming.

Evidently, the humans did not. There’s absolute uproar.

“There is no possible way she’s the princess you’re looking for!” declares Harsh-Mistress, her voice full of rage. “She’s a kitchen maid. Nothing royal about her.”

“How dare you!” Angry-Girl rages. “Why does it fit you? Why not us?”

“You sneak!” shrieks none other than Shrieking-Girl. “Mother, she snuck to the ball! She must have used magic, somehow! Princes won’t marry sneaks, will they?”

“I think they might,” says a calm voice from the doorway, and the uproar stops immediately.

The Prince steps in. He stares at Cinder-Girl.

She stares back. Her face is still smudged with soot, and her dress is her old one, gray and tattered. The golden slipper gleams on her foot, having fit as only something molded or magic could.

A blush colors her face beneath the ash and she leaps up to do courtesy. “Your Highness.”

The Prince glances at the messenger-man with the slipper-pillow and the funny hat. The man nods seriously.

The Prince blinks at this, as if he wasn’t really asking anything with his look—it’s already clear he recognizes her—and meets Cinder-Girl’s gaze with a smile. It’s the same half-nervous, half-attemptingly-charming smile as he kept giving her at the ball.

He bows to her and offers a hand. (The rat has to push three mice out of the way to maintain his view.)

“It’s my honor,” he assures her. “Would you do me the great honor of accompanying me to the castle? I’d had a question in mind, but it seems there are—“ he glances at Harsh-Mistress, who looks like a very upset rat in a mousetrap. “—situations we might discuss remedying. You’d be a most welcome guest in my father’s house, if you’d be amenable to it?”

It’s all so much more strange and unusual than anything the creatures of the house are used to seeing. They almost don’t hear it, at first—that silent song.

It grows stronger, though, and they turn their heads toward it with an odd hope in their hearts.

—

The ride to the castle is almost as strange as that prior walk back. The reasons for this are such:

One—their princess is riding in their golden carriage alongside the prince, and their chatter and awkward laughter fills the surrounding spring air. They have a good feeling about the prince, now, if they didn’t already. He can certainly take things in stride, and he is no respecter of persons. He seems just as elated to be by her side as he was at the ball, even with the added surprise of where she'd come from.

Two—they have been transformed again, and the woman in white has asked them a single question: Would you choose to stay this way?

The coachman said yes without a second thought. He’d always wanted life to be more fulfilling, he confided—and this seemed a certain path to achieving that.

The footmen might not have said yes, but there was something to be said for recently-acquired cognition. It seemed—strange, to be human, but the thought of turning back into lizards had the odd feeling of being a poor choice. Baffled by this new instinct, they said yes.

The horses, of course, said things like whuff and nyiiiehuhum, grumph. The woman seemed to understand, though. She touched one horse on the nose and told it it would be the castle’s happiest mouse once the carriage reached its destination. The others, it seemed, enjoyed their new stature.

And three—they are heading toward a castle, where they have all been offered a fine place to live. The Prince explains that he doesn’t wish for such a kind girl to live in such conditions anymore. There’s no talk of anyone marrying—just discussions of rooms and favorite foods and of course, you’ll have the finest chicken pie anytime you’d like and I can’t have others make it for me! Lend me the kitchens and I’ll make some for you; I have a very dear recipe. Perhaps you can help. (Followed in short order by a ...Certainly, but I’d—um, I’d embarrass myself trying to cook. You would teach me? and a gentle laugh that brightened the souls of all who could hear it.)

“If you’d be amenable to it,” she replies—and in clear, if surprised, agreement, the Prince truly, warmly laughs.

“Milady,” the coachman calls down to them. “Your Highness. We’re here.”

The castle stands shining amber-gold in the light of the setting sun. It will be the fourth night they’ve come here—the thirteen of them and the one of her—but midnight, they realize, will not break the spell ever again.

One by one, they disembark from the carriage. If it will stay as it is or turn back into a pumpkin, they hadn't thought to ask. There’s so much warmth swelling in their hearts that they don’t think it matters.

The girl, their princess, smiles—a dear, true smile, tentative in the face of a brand new world, but bright with hope—and suddenly, they’re all smiling too.

She steps forward, and they follow. The prince falls into step with her and offers an arm, and their glances at each other are brimming with light as she accepts.

With her arm in the arm of the prince, a small crowd of footmen and the coachman trailing behind, and a single grey mouse on her shoulder, the once-Cinder-Girl walks once again toward the palace door.

#Well this wasn't my first Cinderella retelling idea that I was excited about BUT - #since that one was turning into a tangle of Too Much Going On (though it's currently at 5k and maybe 70% done; I still plan to finish it) #I tried this one instead! #pros: I think I actually wrote myself out of writer's block? Which is AWESOME #And I feel like I'm starting to notice what needs fixed and mended about my writing; which is very helpful! #cons: due to having the additional pro of a very socially growth-filled few weeks IRL; I did not do much about that fact #please excuse the general lack of editing thus far #I have also learned that I may want to be at least a Level 5 Fairy Tale Reteller #before I tackle stories with hundreds of years of popular retellings and versions? #Although this one came much more easily than my first idea; it still felt more difficult to write than my Nix Nought Nothing story. #So another pro - I learned that I enjoy writing about lesser-known tales the most! Next time I might try a fun obscure one. #All in all this was a ton of fun!! Thanks for running the challenge! Apologies for being nearly late - I had a wonderful time! #I hope you all enjoy! <3 #inklingschallenge #four loves fairy tale retelling challenge #love: philia #love: agape #Cinderella #story: complete #basil writes #salt and light

[the-bau-quinjet]

Trending

Summary: Steve thinks you’re too young to like him despite the obvious hints you’re dropping.

Warnings: unspecified age gap

Word count: 2246

a/n: I’ve clearly spent too much time on TikTok recently, but inspired me to write something so that's good. It was loosely based on a request for a young reader x Steve, but I forgot part of the request so I'm gonna write something else for that one! Also, I wrote this on my phone so please excuse any typos I missed when trying to edit it lol

Masterlist

Messing with Steve is one of your favorite things to do. Tiny pranks, over the top flirting, poking fun at his lack of understanding of technology. Anything you can do to get him to roll his eyes and chuckle.

Nat would say it’s because of your feelings for him. She would be correct. Not that you’d ever admit that to anyone. Nope. So instead, you have your fun, and enjoy the way his eyes crinkle and his cheeks redden.

Your newest method of hearing the sweet sound of Steve’s laugh? TikTok. It’s a double whammy. One because he doesn’t understand the app and two because a lot of the trends make him blush.

It started as a fun way to blow off steam. Sometimes, being one of the younger and newer team members made you feel like an outsider. Of course, Peter was younger than you, but he had his own friends outside of the team. You didn’t have anyone else. When Tony found you and invited you to join, it was you against the world. Now you have this makeshift family.

Having your account on TikTok helped you when you hadn’t really become a part of the group yet. You bonded with Peter because of his account, and you found a new way to make Steve blush.

Anyway, you’ve learned way more TikTok dances than you ever would have thought just to see his pink cheeks. It’s not even always over the top dances that have him chuckling. The last trend you did had him laughing the entire day. It was that sound about Wednesday Adams having one thing on her mind. Only when it said homicide, instead of a deadpan expression you panned the camera to show Bucky and Sam arguing over who got the last donut.

Of course, you knew when you made the video it would appeal to Steve’s sense of humor. Sam and Bucky feature in a lot of your videos for that exact reason.

In general, you make a lot of videos featuring the Avengers just to keep Tony happy. He likes to be the center of attention, plus the only way he would approve of your account was if it could also feature as PR for the team. You agreed, as long as you had final say over what you posted. There’s nothing scripted or designed for a specific reason, you just feature the team sometimes.

Like when that sound from the Big Bang theory was popular amongst Avengers fans, you made a video confessing to Pepper that you’d been thinking about the Avengers, panning to show the team during training.

Of course, the text on the screen said “you are an Avenger” instead of “I believe that”, allowing you to play off the joke. But still, it was fun to include the team.

One of your favorite videos features none other than Scott Lang, mostly because nobody else would do it. Scott thought it was hilarious though.

Using the sound from New Girl, Scott played Schmidt and you Jess. The text on the screen read as follows:

Scott: You just walk around all day thinking about America’s Ass?

You: Yeah, don’t you?

Scott: No! How do you get anything done?

You: It’s hard…

Steve blushed like crazy when everyone cornered him to watch it. Bucky, Sam, and Tony wouldn’t stop bringing it up for at least a month. A part of you hoped he might make a move after that video, seeing as you put yourself out there, but he just assumed it was a joke and laughed it off.

Honestly, you were running out of trends that you could use to get him to understand your feelings. You only had two ideas left, and one of them would be mortifying if it didn’t work out…

-

“Steve. You’ve got to be kidding me.” Bucky sighed, exasperated with Steve for the umpteenth time that month. “You’ve been pining for forever, just make a move!” he whisper yelled, doing his best not to throttle his lifelong friend.

Steve rolled his eyes, purposefully ignoring Bucky’s pointed glare. The two men had spent the last hour looking through your TikTok account. Bucky was adamant that you liked Steve, but the blonde didn’t believe it, despite the so called proof Bucky kept forcing him to watch.

“Buck, would you please just back off? We’re friends. She’s too young to want to be with me like that.” Steve blushed, thinking about the context of his words.

Before Bucky could say anything about how repressing his feelings is bad for him, a new video popped up on your account. Bucky smirked when he saw the thumbnail was once again a picture of Steve, this time with a beard. Steve took the silence as an opportunity to escape, walking into his closet to change.

The video opened with a video of you and Natasha just hanging out, you lip syncing to the words “I like you have a cupcake.” You repeated the words as the video cut to you and Tony.

Bucky nearly dropped the phone when “smack my ass like a drum” blared from the speaker. He cackled bending over in a fit of laughter when he realized that’s what Steve’s picture was used for- and one where he had a beard to boot.

“What is it now, jerk?” Steve emerged from his closet, having changed into loungewear. The sight of Bucky fully cackling had him nervous.

Bucky tossed him the phone, doing his best to stop laughing long enough to tell him to watch the most recent video. With a hesitant sigh, Steve obliged.

Again, Bucky rolled his eyes at how obvious Steve’s feelings were. The second he saw you on the screen, he smiled. And not one of those half hearted polite smiles, a full on happy smile.

Steve’s eyes widened, nearly bulging out of his head when he got to the end of the video.

“‘She doesn’t want to be with me like that.’” Bucky mocked his friends earlier words, grabbing his phone back. “Punk, I don’t know how much more obvious she could be.”

With one more glare in Steve’s direction, Bucky finally left him to his own thoughts. Okay, so you made a lot of videos about how you find him attractive. That doesn’t necessarily mean you’d want to be in a relationship with him. Leave it to Steve to talk himself out of everything Bucky had spent so long trying to convince him of.

-

You were desperate at this point. You honestly thought the cupcake one would send him over the edge, but it didn’t work either. It has been three days, and you know Steve’s seen the video because everyone likes to tease him about it.

“Naaaaaat, it’s not working,” you whined, dramatically throwing yourself onto her bed. She laughed at your antics, briefly looking up at you before deciding to stop what she was going and give you her full attention.

“Look, not only is Steve one of the most clueless people I’ve ever met when it comes to women, but he can also talk himself out of believing someone’s interested in him. Especially you.” Nat watched as you lifted your head from her comforter, slowly turning to stare at her with narrowed eyes.

“Especially me?” you questioned. Why would you have a different standard?

“Y/N, Steve’s from the 40s. He’s super old fashioned. You're a hot young thing, super up to date on modern trends. He thinks you're just messing around as friends because he doesn’t believe someone as young as you would be interested in actually having a relationship with him,” she spelt it out for you, sick of trying to get you to figure it out on your own.

You took a minute to fully understand what she was saying, but then sat up when a new idea struck. “So you’re saying I need to be more direct?”

Her eyes narrowed, but she nodded nonetheless.

“I’ve got an idea. Thanks Nat!” you ran from the room before she could question your newest plan, instead checking to make sure her notifications were on for posts from your TikTok account.

-

“Steve!” you shouted when you saw him down the hall, about to turn a corner. He immediately stopped, turning back to see you running at him. “I need your help!”

You pulled him into the gym, briefly glancing around the room to make sure it was empty. Confirming nobody else was present, you set up your phone on one of the weight racks to record the two of you. It was already open to the recording section of TikTok, the sound you needed queued and ready to begin.

“What’s going on?” Steve looked between you and the phone, nerves heightening as he realized what you were doing. All of your videos about him thus far hasn’t actually involved him filming anything.

“I just need you to react to this trend, okay? It’s kind of old, but that doesn’t really matter,” you spoke quickly, trying to start the video before he could decline.

The music started playing instantly, with Steve awkwardly looking between the screen and you. He wasn’t sure what exactly he was reacting to, and it had him on edge. Just as the song reached the chorus, you turned and grabbed his face. Throwing caution to the wind, you followed through with your plan before you could back out, kissing him with all the passion and emotion you’d been holding back.

Steve froze, clearly surprised by your actions. Before you could pull away, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you closer. He kissed you with equal passion and emotion, no longer paying attention to your phone recording the moment.

Neither of you noticed when the music cut off, too wrapped up in each other. When the need for air overpowered the desire to keep kissing him, you pulled back to gasp in a few breaths. Steve leaned his forehead against yours, eyes closed and breathing erratic.

The two do you spent the next few moments just breathing, trying to come to terms with what just happened. You gasped when his hands moved, one resting on your waist and the other cupping your cheek. His eyes were still closed when you chanced a glance at him.

“What was the trend?” he breathily whispered the words, still coming down from the high of kissing you.

“Huh?” you mumbled, unable to comprehend the question when he was still touching you like this.

“The TikTok trend? What was it?” his grip on your hip tightened, but his hand framing your face remained gentle.

“Oh, uh, it was- it was kissing your best friend/crush.” You whispered, heart still racing from his proximity. Your nerves had never been greater. Yeah, Nat always tells you that Steve has feelings for you, but what if he was just being polite? Maybe he didn’t know how to reject you when you kissed him out of nowhere, and now he’s trying to find a way to turn you down gently. What if-

“Was my reaction good enough to post?” he broke your train of thought with another question. You took a minute to think about the question, your brain still moving like molasses

“Um, that depends…” you froze when his eyes opened and stared into yours.

“On?” he prompted you to continue.

“Which caption I can use.” you finished the thought, finally remembering the two most common outcomes of the trend.

“What are the choices?” Steve smirked when you looked flustered, clearly not expecting this conversation.

“Uh, the two-” he began rubbing small circles into your hip with his thumb, effectively cutting off your train of thought again. It wasn’t until he lightly squeezed your hip again that you remember you were answering his question.

“Right! The two most common captions are some variation of ‘this was so awkward’ or ‘we’re dating now’,” you managed to blurt out the choices, blushing when he smiled at you.

“Well, I know which I prefer…” you waited with bated breath as he prolonged the silence, enjoying seeing you so on edge. You nearly whined when he let you go, moving to pick up your phone from the weight rack.

You watched in silence as he typed out a caption, tapping each letter with his pointer finger. A small smile formed on your lips at his adorable old man behavior. He then managed to find the post button, adding the video to your account before handing you the phone to see what he chose.

Your smile only grew after you read the caption, dropping the phone and immediately kissing him again.

-

Meanwhile, Nat had gathered the rest of the team that happened to be around to wait for whatever video you had planned to be posted.

Tony, Sam, Bucky, Wanda, Vision, Peter, and Clint all watched as the new video popped up on the screen. Peter bounced with excitement when he heard the song, instantly recognizing the trend. The rest of the group watched as you kissed Steve, mouths gaping open when he actually kissed you back.

Fans were already commenting about how long it took for the two of you to get together, but the team was too focused on laughing at the caption to pay any mind to the comments.

She said the trend was kind of old, but that fits because I’ve got a habit of waiting too long anyways.

Permanent taglist: @averyhotchner @jesuswasnotawhiteman @strawberryspence @sebastnstn @jswessie187 @ellobruv

Marvel: @leyannrae @livstilinski @oceaniamaddness @justreadingficsdontmindme

#Steve Rogers x reader #Steve Rogers x you #Steve Rogers x y/n #Steve Rogers fluff #Steve Rogers one shot #Steve Rogers fic

[risingsouls]

Recruited: Chapter 12

[Just in time for Sinday, this chapter is more self-indulgent smut! It has a point. It really does. And the end is wholesome-ish. So you know. :3 Probably cheesy again but what can ya do ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

EDIT: wow knew I would do that. It’s not sinday. I mean it is somewhere. But whatever. I hit post.]

Vegeta

"You're okay with Raditz going to find his brother?"

Vegeta snorted, checking the numbers on his key again to ensure they were still heading in the proper direction. "It's no big loss to us. He'll be the one taking the hit to his pay." He turned the corner and Nabooru followed, their rooms grouped together. 

They had arrived at their destination a day early and, at the behest of the other two Saiyans, he agreed to using the down time as a last hurrah for Raditz before his trip to a planet called Earth. Round trip, they expected him to be away nearing half a year, two months to leave their current location to make it to Earth and around four to return to the base they were currently stationed at. And that was if they weren’t moved.

"Raditz is more useful than you give him credit for. And don't give me that, 'he's weak' excuse. He's been running with you guys for decades and done fine. He's not so bad."

Vegeta ignored her, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. "If this brother of his exists, he's likely dead." He paused in front of the door matching the number on his key and slipped it into the slot. The door slid open. "Or he failed what should have been an easy mission for even a child to accomplish, meaning he's worthless to us."

He only spared a glance over his shoulder when she followed him into the room. "Then, what's the point of him going?"

"There probably isn't one. But another Saiyan is another Saiyan. If he's out there, it means more firepower for us." Against Frieza. Whatever challenges they faced beyond usurping the tyrant. He knew he didn't need to voice these things; she would catch on.

The Gerudo crossed the room and perched on the edge of the bed, palms pressed into the mattress behind her. He narrowed his eyes briefly, but huffed and strode to the window. "Mm, makes sense. Never know what we may face down the line."

"Precisely." He allowed his tail to slip from around his waist. "Anything else you need?"

"No." He glanced over his shoulder, the corners of his lips drooping further downward and dark brows lowered. She tilted her head back and, seeing his deadpan expression, amended, "I mean, not really. Just wanted to...talk."

“Talk,” he repeated, disbelief dripping from his tone. His tail swayed in content arcs. He smirked and turned back toward the bed, arms folded over his chest. “Well, go on then. Talk.”

She scrunched her nose and flopped down on the mattress, her head hanging over the edge. His eyes remained fixed on hers in silent challenge and he could see the gears working behind those golden eyes, struggling to come up with a viable topic of conversation when chatter wasn’t on her mind. For some time after their first tryst, they both successfully remained faithful to maintaining the only once rule. For a time, that single coupling seemed to sate his physical desire for sex in general as well as how it had revolved specifically around fooling around with her. After disposing of the gloves he foolishly left on during, as her scent lingered too strongly on the leather even after washing them, everything returned to normal. The fantasies died down. She invaded his dreams less often, the return of his nightmares somehow better and less of a distraction. He didn’t leave their spars frustrated, craving the nearest cold shower or body of water he could hunt down. His behavior, his insatiable cravings, disgusted him. He felt weak and lacking control of his own body. 

Thus, when he finally caved, bent her over the bed, and finally indulged, his issues seemed remedied. Months went by without incident and he was convinced his theory worked, pure professionalism between them returned. Until a spar got too heated. Until they both drank more than they should. Until their “harmless” flirtations and teasing or an argument ignited more in the pair of them than a passing flare of desire. At the very least, they remained infrequent. Few and far between. Quick and with as little extra contact as possible.

He chuckled, switching his scouter off and removing it. He closed the gap between himself and the bed and did the same with hers, keenly aware of her head next to his thigh as he did. "You're lucky I'm in a good mood."

"That's what I was hoping for." She grinned up at him and he rolled his eyes. He headed for the bathroom and dropped the scouters off in the furthest corner, shutting the door behind him upon his return. Nabooru had pushed herself back up to a seated position. "When you barely argued with Nappa and Raditz, I figured you were either in a decent mood or tired. I gambled on the former."

Vegeta grunted and peeled his gloves off, a process closely watched by the woman seated on his bed biting her lip. He didn't understand it, but he had noted her odd fascination with the simple, innocuous gesture. He didn't bother asking her about it either; time with Nappa and Raditz exposed him to all manner of kinks and fetishes that were far stranger and disgusting than this. He tossed them to the side and his armor followed.

"You know," Nabooru lifted her backside off the mattress and returned to the edge in front of him, "if you'll let me, I have a few tricks to out to put you in an even better mood."

"Tch, learn that line from Nappa and Raditz? That's what they say about me after I fuck you, isn't it? That was already the plan."

Her bottom lip poked out slightly, her brows knitting together. "You're good at ruining my mood," she huffed. "And I don't want to hear it. You're the one that confirmed it for them with your damn bragging."

Vegeta cocked his head back and laughed. "It was worth it to see the looks on their faces. They're at least smart enough to keep their big mouths shut about it."

His attention snapped back to her, a jolt of pleasure shooting from the tip of his tail. In his mirth, his traitorous tail swept out from behind him and toward Nabooru. The end rested in her palm, and her thumb caressed along the fur. Heat flooded his cheeks and he whipped the appendage away from her. Understanding flashed in her eyes, and he cursed his carelessness as he returned his tail to his waist. 

She at least had the good sense not to prod him about it, and resumed to her previous ramblings. "If they knew you hadn't seen me naked, I'm not sure they would be as impressed," she said. She extended her hand out and trailed her fingertips along to bottom hem of his battle suit's top. "It's almost tragic we've always kept our clothes on."

"That's on purpose." He tried to ignore the brush of her fingertips, the invasive considerations his mind whipped up in light of her suggestion and how her touch would feel on his bare skin. "I only allow this because I need the release, which is pathetic enough."

"So, you don't actually like it when we have sex? It's just a chore?" She tore her gaze away from her finger tracing the indentations of his abdomen and glanced up at him. Her bottom lip protruded once more in a pout, but Vegeta saw a mischievous gleam in her eyes.

"Of course I like it! I--!" 

She slid her hands beneath the spandex of his top and cut him off, and all his mind could manage to consider with coherence was how she still wore her gloves. Leather brushed over his abs and up to his chest and back down again before she removed them entirely. He tried to keep his features neutral, but judging by her soft giggle, he failed.

"Maybe if we switch things up just this once, we can change that. Rather than you just bending me over and fucking me from behind again." She peeled her gloves off with her teeth and kicked off her boots. She extended her leg out to his side, and he fell for the trap of allowing his eyes to follow her hands in their slow procession down her thigh, over her knee and calf, to remove her stocking. His tail unraveled from his waist again as she slipped the other off. 

Bending her knees back in, she sat up tall once more, gratefully breaking his trance. She pulled her armor over her head with a pleased sigh and tossed it with his. "What the hell does it matter?" he asked. He crossed his arms as she released her crimson locks from her ponytail. "It's all the same result in the end."

"Wait. So this is just how you've always done it with every partner you've had?"

"Tch, you say that like I've had so many partners before you." He rolled his eyes, ready to kick her out with his waning patience. "But to answer your question, yes, to some degree or other." 

Her silence on the matter only further tried his patience, as did the way she observed him with roving eyes and a minute tilt of her head. Warmth filtered into his cheeks again as his mind automatically assumed she judged him but was too cowardly to voice it since her expression only revealed some form of contemplation or another. His fingers twitched into his palms and, just as he decided to flip her over and shove her face into the mattress to get this over with and move on with his day, she stood and stepped forward, further closing the already minuscule gap between them. The difference in their height placed his line of sight directly on her ample chest, a detail he noted more readily without the near shapeless armor pulled over the battle suit. The skin tight fabric left little to the imagination, fitting snugly to her breasts and defining the musculature of her arms and abdomen. All details he never allowed himself to dwell on or appreciate. He had enough trouble keeping his mind off her in a sexual sense, and she wasn’t wrong in her assumption concerning his insistence on maintaining a strict routine when he succumbed to his base desires. He assumed the less tantalization he allowed--from what he saw and heard to the amount of contact and actions he permitted from her and those he took himself--the less likely he was to seek her out for meetings such as this. While the theory had some merit in the span of time he managed to maintain control, it still seemed flawed, considering his imagination still found purchase in lewd fantasies of her from time to time and he found himself fucking her more often than he thought he would.

Movement caused him to unintentionally flinch back. Her arms crossed as she grasped the hem of her top and she pulled it over her head, discarding it with the rest of her garments. She slid her briefs-style bottoms and tossed them aside, returning to her full height and resting her hands on her curvy hips. Once more his gaze locked in at eye level, staring at her exposed breasts and any protest from his former reservations went ignored. He drank in every inch of the exposed, bronzed skin, the scars littering her body in an array of sizes and shapes from a lifetime of fighting, her toned arms, legs, and thighs. His tail swept in content arcs behind him and his gaze trailed up her inner thighs and lingered at the juncture, the managed strip of red hair acting as an arrow to her slit.

His eyes snapped up to her face when she breathed a chuckle, reminding him of just how long he stared. Confidence poured from every inch of her, from the smirk on her lips and the spark in her eyes to the brush of her hair over her shoulder and the upward lift of her chest. It only added to her appeal. As much as part of him screamed to regain control, curiosity and lust won out; he wanted to see where she would take this. Experience all that he denied himself since early adulthood.

She leaned in and her lips brushed his ear, her breath tickling his skin behind his ear and on his neck, sending a chill up his spine, as she whispered, "Relax. You're so tense." Her fingertips swept along his jaw and settled in the center of his chest, eyes meeting his. "You can trust me, Vegeta."

"Can I?" He searched her face for any change, surprise or hesitancy in her claim, but her expression remained resolute. The tip of his tail glided along her outer thigh and wound around the back of it, swishing to caress the inside. He chuckled when she stifled her gasp by biting her lip. He didn't know how far he truly could trust her, not when he still struggled with fully trusting Nappa and Raditz. But he supposed with this he could. For the moment. A lust driven decision, perhaps, but one he didn't care to amend in the moment.

He stepped back and yanked his top off and his pants followed. His smirk returned. It was her turn to stare, her plush lips slightly parted. A further boost to his ego. "Fine. We'll do it your way this time."

"I really did catch you in a good mood." Her palms found his chest and shifted outward along the breadth of it, over his shoulders and down his arms and back up again. She shifted forward and dipped down to bury her face in the crook of his neck. He felt the wicked smirk of her lips when he stiffened at the mere graze of them on the sensitive, neglected area. She nipped at his neck, the jolt of pain a welcome mix with pleasure. "Or was that just because you finally got to see me naked?"

"You talk too much," Vegeta rumbled, head tilting to the side and successfully baiting her licks and bites up his neck. He grasped her ass and squeezed, kneading her cheeks with his palms. His tail ventured further up her inner thigh. He relished in the feel of her soft skin in his hands, pressed against his body. Her roving fingers and lips, her thigh brushing along his hip as she wrapped her free leg around his to coax him toward her, the places where their heated flesh met. She had him intoxicated already, but he shoved the associated panic away; he wanted more.

Nabooru hummed her amusement and awarded his gripe with a harsher nip at his neck. "If it's so horrible, I guess I'll just have to find something that keeps my lips and tongue too busy to talk," she said, hands gliding down his body. The rest of her followed suit, a trail of kisses between his pecs and down the center of his abdomen marking a path as she sank to her knees. She traced her index finger along his half-hard length, eyes hooded and chewing her lip. A shudder raced through him, a product of the contact and the sight of her kneeling before him and the lustful admiration in her eyes.

Her fingers wrapped around the base of his shift, her thumb caressing along the underside. She pressed her lips to the tip then parted them, gaze lifting to watch his as she rubbed the head over her tongue. He bit back a groan and the corners of her lips twisted up in a cheeky grin before she closed her mouth around him. 

Her eyes closed, and her hum of appreciation as she slid his length further into her mouth and toward the back of her throat shocked him with the vibration, his whole body tense and heat coiling tightly in his lower abdomen already. She pulled back again until only the head remained in her mouth and opened her eyes again, staring up at him through long lashes. She repeated the motions in a slow, steady bob as if relishing his taste. His reactions, and her hand stroked the remaining half of the length she didn't swallow.

The sensations were wholly new to him, oral another practice he never allowed for the same reasons he kept his trysts as impersonal and quick as possible. The motion and the created friction itself. The moist warmth. The feel of her tongue and the movement that offset the bobbing. The gentle suction and occasional vibration from a hum. The top down view and the desire in her half-lidded gold eyes. He hadn't expected it to feel so different from just fucking her, but it was bliss. He discounted Nappa's and Raditz's lurid praise of it as exaggeration, their stories written off as more of their disgusting habits he wanted no part of. Not that it stopped his mind from imagining it, offering a dream amongst the nightmares in which someone--these days typically the woman currently pleasuring him--sucked him off. Vulnerable position be damned. If she bit his dick off or found some other way to kill him, so be it. It felt too good to stop her at this point. 

Vegeta breathed a shuddering sigh and muttered curses under his breath as her ministrations already had him on the brink of a climax. He brushed stray strands of crimson out of her face, earning another appreciative hum around his cock, and he tangled his fingers into her hair. Perhaps sensing his oncoming release, Nabooru quickened her pace and occasionally took him deeper into her throat, another action he didn’t realize he wanted until she did it. His grip tightened in her hair and he grit his teeth, struggling just to keep his knees from buckling. She pulled off of him and allowed her hand to finish her work, her saliva acting as lubrication. Her free hand shifted behind him and wrapped around the base of his tail, another near sickening jolt of pleasure rushing from the pressure point. He growled a “Fuck!” and bowed forward, sharp canines bared as he came. His seed spilled from the tip in spurted rivulets, down his length and over her hand.

His breath hitched in his throat again and his cheeks warmed when she licked him clean with luxuriant strokes. She pulled back and she did the same with her hand, amusement shimmering in her golden eyes and a wicked smirk on her lips. It riled both his anger and desire.

"I thought you'd like that," she said, licking her lips once more and pushing up to her feet. "And you didn't--"

He didn't allow her to finish her statement. He didn't care to hear it. He shoved her onto the bed, knocking the wind out of her in a whoosh of air. He dropped a knee onto the mattress and grabbed her hips, yanking them back toward him and the edge of the bed. He caught a glimpse of the flash of shock on her features and the dawn of gleeful curiosity and her legs settled over his shoulders, her hair a streak of red behind her from being dragged toward him. He leaned in and lifted her hips up toward his face, the strong scent of her arousal and sight of her glistening slit stirring his own once more. 

Eager to taste her, he flicked his tongue over the lips, along the full length of her slit, and swirled it around the clitoris at the apex. Though another first, a glance down her body to the woman propped up on her elbows and watching him told him he had a decent start. She bit her lip but he still picked up the stifled moan she held at bay, and he felt her muscles tense up as he sucked on the sensitive nub. He left it behind with another flick of his tongue and dipped down to her entrance. He pushed his tongue inside, nose pressing instead to her clit. He purred and swirled his tongue inside her, relishing her taste and the purposefully muffled sounds his ministrations elicited from her. Another passing wish that he could hear her let loose, moaning and screaming his name…

Her fingers wove into his onyx spikes, the sensation of her nails dragging along his scalp earning her a pleased purr and his tongue’s attention back on her clitoris. He released her thigh with one hand to plunge his middle and third fingers inside of her, pumping them in tandem with the rhythm of his licking and sucking. He watched her with a growing smirk. She pushed her hips toward him needily, and her chest rose and fell rapidly with her panting. Her other hand gripped a handful of sheets in her hands, threatening to tear. Her eyes begged him to bring her to a climax, saying what her lips could not without the risk of the entire floor hearing her. He considered halting altogether, teasing her mercilessly until she begged him for release.

Instead, he decided on a compromise, reminded of his own growing need when her heels dug into his back with the spasm of her muscles in her thighs, abdomen, around his fingers. He curled his fingers once more, flicked his tongue over the sensitive nub, and pulled back, giving her ass a firm squeeze and slap before dropping her on the bed. The prince laughed as she blinked and stared up at him, mouth hanging open. 

He climbed on top of her the instant her expression shifted to annoyance, pinning her beneath his weight as he had so many times prior in their spars. This time, he didn't have to stop himself from indulging and taking full advantage of the sexual tension between them. He didn't have to hold back like he did then with the risk of an audience or as he did in their past relations. He didn't have to resist the urge to touch her. Lick her. Squeeze her. Bite her. Mark her. He could contend with tossing his inhibitions and control out the window later; for now he wanted to sate his hunger for her and make his idiotic fantasies a reality.

Vegeta swept his hands up her toned abdomen and cupped her breasts in his hands, massaging them and circling her raised nipples with his thumbs. She arched her spine to press into his touch, her head falling back and leaving her neck vulnerable. He dipped down and licked up the column of her throat, tasting her. He heard her whine as he dragged his teeth back down the same path, sharper canines just nicking through the surface of sensitive flesh in a thin scratch. He diverted his path to one side bit down, drawing a gasp from the Gerudo and blood from the bite. A dark chuckle rumbled in his throat as he lapped the sanguine liquid from her skin and sucked at the spot, her pulse drumming beneath his lips. A series of the same followed along her neck, the only disappointment in the fact that the higher collar of her battle suit would hide the tender splotches from view when she dressed. 

Her arms circled around his broad shoulders. Reaching down, he positioned himself at her entrance, the moist warmth on his tip enough to put his teasing to rest. He pushed inside of her, a pleased growl rumbling in the back of his throat to the tune of her gracious praise and her nails digging into his skin. He nipped her neck a final time and pressed his hand into the mattress to push himself upright, the pain of her unintentional scratches over his shoulder blades pleasing. Grasp on her hips, he began a slow pace with powerful, deep thrusts, observing her. Deciding if he truly had missed anything with always preferring to fuck her from behind. Her writhing fanned her hair out around her like a fiery corona stark against white sheets. She wore a playful smile on her lips, and her gold eyes were once more hooded and roving along his body, perhaps doing the same as him. Her breasts bounced with each thrust and he once more admired the toned muscles of her belly. She moved her hips in tandem with his motions, and his focus was drawn to the sight of his cock driving in and out of her. He kept his new preference for seeing it from this side to himself, though if she paid attention, she would see how long his eyes lingered in the constantly disappearing space between them.

Her hum snatched his attention upward, and her back arched as she languidly lifted up from the mattress. Her thighs tightened around his waist and she straddled his lap, knees on either side of his thighs. “Don’t stop,” she breathed in response to his protesting growl, half-hearted in the wake of where the new position placed her breasts. Her hips continued to rock at the same pace they had established before, and her hands rested on his shoulders, head bowed over his. “Just trust me and keep fucking me.”

Adjusting his position, he slipped his grip to her ass and squeezed, giving one side a punishing slap for once more changing things up and, in his mind, overcomplicating the process. “If you didn’t feel so fucking good, I would stop for all your damn indecision,” he responded huskily, leaning in to catch a pert nipple in his mouth and causing her laughter to morph into a moan. He shoved his hips upward with more force, his own chuckle rumbling in his chest when her nails sank into his back and she buried her face in his hair. 

The familiar heat coiled in his lower abdomen with the quicker pace and more powerful thrusts he implemented. The needy jerk of her hips and the tightening of her walls signaled the approach of her own orgasm and pushed him closer to his own. He swept a hand up to cup her breast, lips latching onto the other to tease her nipple with teeth and tongue. Within moments, she tossed her head back and just managed to slap her hand over her gaping mouth to stifle a pleasured scream, tremors racing through her body and her nails digging deeper into his skin. 

The sound of her climax, the scent of blood and sex, the picturesque curve of her body in the throes of her orgasm were almost too much. Shoving her back again, he pinned her wrists above her head and pounded into her with reckless abandon, free hand and tail pushing her thighs toward her abdomen. His smirk grew as he witnessed her struggle to maintain the last dregs of discretion they could with their secret trysts, biting her lip but the whimpers still eeking through. 

“Scream, woman,” he commanded. Confusion flashed over her flushed features and reminded him for a split second of the stupidity of it. Of the risk it invited. But he didn’t care. His addled brain convinced him he needed to hear her more than he needed to be careful. His grip on her wrists tightened and he reinforced his demand with a rougher pace. “I want to hear you scream my name.”

Perhaps tired of holding back herself, the tension that always loomed over their coupling dissipated with his okay to let loose. She arched against his restraints and let out a full-bodied moan, hearing one properly pushing him to speed up the thrust of his hips to elicit more and earn that scream he desired. His hand slipped down her thigh to slap her backside again. 

She writhed beneath him and she tensed again, her body snapping upward against his hand. “Fuck! Vegeta!”

It was like she pulled a trigger. With a final deep thrust and a roar, he came deep inside her, legs and arms threatening to give way beneath him and stars erupting over his vision. He released her wrists and thighs and his head fell forward, his breathing came in heavy pants and a hand planted near her head for support. He rolled his hips with hers as they rode out their orgasms, a purr vibrating in his throat with her mumbled praises.

The sensation of her fingers gliding up his back and into his hair again recalled his attention to her. "See?" She nipped his bottom lip. "That was fun, and if you try to tell me you didn't like it, I'll know you're lying."

"Hmpt…" The Saiyan pulled out of her and flopped onto the mattress next to her. "Of course it was enjoyable. Sex usually is to some degree."

He heard her snort and the bed shifted beneath them, and a glance over found her lying on her side propped up by her elbow. “Coming from the guy that lets himself get pent up to the point of near desperation?” Vegeta shot her a glare to which she grinned in the face of. “It’s a little hard to believe you think that at all. But I guess I’ve seen the proof firsthand multiple times now.”

“You spend too much time with Nappa and Raditz. It has warped your perception.”

She hummed and his entire body bristled when she idly caressed the tip of his tail as it passed her by in its content swooping along the sheets between them. “You’re probably right. Even though I don’t partake, it’s easy to forget not everyone wants to constantly use sex as a form a relaxation. Escape...or a distraction...”

Vegeta eyed her a moment longer, the last two a suspected confession than an observation. He didn’t care what purpose the sex served for her; he couldn’t say his motives for caving to his desires were much different. He found that the window of time offered him a moment of reprieve from his troubles: facing Frieza and the seeming impossibility of the task, conquering planets for a tyrant instead of his own empire, how he and his cohorts could possibly bring glory back to the Saiyan race with only three possibly four still living. As a bonus, she eliminated the daunting and annoying task of tracking down a favorable partner he felt worthy of his time. Far pickier about who he let warm his bed than his cohorts, the prince welcomed the ease seeking Nabooru out offered him.

He laced his fingers behind his head and averted his gaze to the brightly painted ceiling. “Embarrassing as it is for me, I suppose they could have worse vices. And soon we’ll thankfully only have to deal with Nappa’s idiocy for a while.”

“Mm. It will be different…” She sat up and stretched her arms over her head, and he drank in the stunning sight of her torso fully extending upward and gentle arch of her back. The hint of a smirk tilted the corners of her full lips upward. “I guess I should go take a shower like I said I was going to. I’m sure we’ll have to hear it from the other two at this rate, if not for the time we’ve spent up here then for hearing me scream like that. Are you going to come down for a few drinks?”

“We’ll see.”

Nabooru rolled her eyes and began to climb over him, but paused and straddled his waist. She observed him with a tilt of her head, smirk still on her lips and biting her bottom lip. Vegeta felt the cursed fire in his cheek as his mind betrayed him and willed her to shift half a foot backward. 

“What are you doing?” he grunted, considering shoving her off but not quite finding the will to do it. “Get the hell off and go take your shower.”

She dragged her nails lightly down his chest, a tingle racing down his spine. “Just checking something. I’ll definitely have to ride you properly next time.” 

She leaned down and pressed her lips to his. A first--for him in his lifetime and certainly for the two of them together--that, if the way she pulled back a few inches after mere seconds and stared at him with wide eyes, appeared to surprise her as much as it did him. A habit for her, he surmised, one that the ease of their encounter coerced her into. One he stupidly found he didn't hate as the sensation of the pressure of her lips on his lingered. His frown deepened before he cupped her cheek and leaned up to return it. He felt her physically relax on top of him as the tension dissipated once more and they parted a moment later.

As she climbed off of him and slid off the bed, instinct placed the denial of a next time on the tip of his tongue, but he had to swallow it. How many times had he claimed the same and, months later, he succumbed again? He doubted this time would be any different, so he settled on a huff and watched her gather her battle suit and armor.

"You know, I was thinking…"

Vegeta snorted. "Isn't that what got us into this mess?"

She slid the bottoms of her battle suit up her calves and thighs, snapping them over her backside. "And you should be thanking me for that." Her arms and then her head disappeared into her top and she tugged it down. "But seriously. I was thinking about how, maybe when this is all over, you, Nappa, and Raditz could make Hyrule your home base. I'm sure you'll all get along with the Gerudo well. And..."

She trailed off and sat on the edge of the bed to slide her stockings back on. Her words caused him to shift up to his elbow and narrow his eyes slightly.  She caught his gaze in the mirror across from them and rushed on. "I figured it might be nice for you guys to have somewhere you could call home after not having one for so long. A place to go in between...whatever you plan to do after."

“Getting a little ahead of ourselves, aren’t we? We barely have a plan,” he sneered, pushing himself upright to sit properly. His tail curled around his waist. In truth, he hadn’t considered such details of the future. Nothing horribly concrete, anyway. Killing Frieza and securing his empire for himself was as far as he had gotten. He hadn’t considered the idea of creating a new home for himself and the other two. And he wasn’t sure if it was simply because he had grown so used to jumping from base to base depending on where he and his cohorts were needed or if deep down, the cynical voice that occasionally overpowered his confidence and bravado had indeed convinced him his efforts to dethrone Frieza were pointless.

Considering her offer further, he didn’t doubt he and the other remaining Saiyans would fit in with her people. Being new to the Empire and recently conquered by the Gerudo, their loyalty to Frieza could be flimsy, making it a decent place to start for amassing his army as well. Many of Frieza’s loyalists would refuse to follow him so willingly, after all. And...perhaps a proper home wouldn’t be all that horrible. It would never be Planet Vegeta, but he at least was too young to have too much attachment to the planet itself anyway.

Nabooru swept her hair up toward the crown of her head and tied it in a loose ponytail. “I know. But I guess I can’t help but be optimistic.” She shrugged a shoulder and glanced back at him. “I want to go home. You want revenge and to take what you feel is rightfully yours. I think we’re both determined enough to succeed. And as far as that Super Saiyan thing goes, I feel if anyone can figure that out, it will be you.”

“Tch, of course I will. But that doesn’t mean you three can slack off and leave all the work to me.”

She snorted and pulled on her boots, rising to her feet and tugging her gloves over her hands. “I can’t speak for the other two, but I have every intention of keeping up with you. Maybe I’ll become a Super Gerudo.”

“Ha! We’ll see,” he taunted, smirk returning. If he unlocked the Super Saiyan transformation, she didn’t have a prayer in keeping up with his power, but he did admire her steadfast tenacity for improving. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, stretching. “I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you.”

“Wasn’t it you who specifically asked for my help with this?” She shot him a grin before disappearing into the bathroom and retrieving their scouters. She tossed the red to him and dangled her orange one from her index finger. "Must mean you think pretty highly of my prowess as a warrior, right? So why shouldn’t I be able to?"

"You do well enough for my purposes." Vegeta laughed at the annoyed tilt of her head and shoved passed her to the bathroom, keen on cleaning up himself. He would have enough to answer for without her scent lingering on him. “If you’re so determined, then you can spar me later. We’ll appease the fools and their stupid send off idea and then I can see just how close you are to making good on that claim of keeping up.”

“It has been awhile. I have been thinking about a few new techniques to try.” She hooked her armor over her forearm and strode to the door, her fingers lingering over the switch to open it. “You should think about what I said sometime, though. Even if not Hyrule or whatever number Frieza has given it by now...just knowing you have a home to go back to and a place to call home is….comforting.”

She didn’t wait around for his response, pressing the button and exiting the room. Vegeta gave the thought little more attention than he already had. Such sentimentality, such a longing would only hinder him at this point. If fighting to return to her planet, her home, motivated her to get stronger and aid him in toppling Frieza, so be it. For him, the word home had long since lost such meaning to him. He found his own comfort in dreaming of slaughtering Frieza and reclaiming what was meant to be his. In the freedom it would afford him to do as he pleased, to conquer for his own empire. Securing a proper home for him and the remaining Saiyans mattered little for the moment, a detail to be worked out upon his success and not a moment sooner. Or perhaps not at all, as the attachment would be a prime target for his enemies.

Vegeta clicked his tongue, closing the door behind him. He switched the shower on and stepped in, not bothering with adjusting the temperature or concerned with the frigid water pouring over him. He had no need for such distracting thoughts. The task at hand was daunting enough, improbable if not impossible. He had no room for thoughts outside of dealing with Frieza and surviving in the meantime. Though it would test his patience, he would end that bastard no matter how long it took. By whatever means necessary. Of that much he was sure.

#fic: recruited #// vegeta ♅ #:: nabooru ☀ #.:not sfw:.

[amphtaminedreams]

I Shopped at YesStyle So You Don’t Have To: Lookbook no.10

Hi to anyone reading,

And welcome to what I guess is my first “review” post of sorts! Which is basically an excuse for me to rave about Korean street style and ask why the fuck Seoul fashion week isn’t more of a big deal!? Though I’ve pretty much quit fast fashion over the last few months and have been getting my clothes from Depop, I did want to talk about the website YesStyle which I ordered from back in May (jfc, the fact that May was almost 4 months ago now is terrifying) and how impressed I was with their service and the clothes I received. It should go without saying from the fact that investing in someone with about 200 followers on here wouldn’t be a very good financial decision, but this isn’t a sponsored post-I just think that if you’re gonna order from anywhere, YesStyle is a good shout for those of you who, like myself, are inspired by East Asian street style. I have to give credit to the incredible Katie O, otherwise known as StealTheSpotlight on Youtube and Instagram; she’s the medium through which I’ve been introduced to the world of “k-fashion” and YesStyle in the first place. Yes, my current knowledge of k-pop doesn’t extend far past fan tendencies to flood every popular tweet with fancams of their favourite singers and girl groups (I admire the dedication), but through Katie’s content and Instagram accounts like TokyoFashion on Instagram,  I have come to the conclusion that the stylists behind these groups and Asian designers in general are owed a huge amount of credit by Western trend forecasters. If you have any Instagram account or blog recommendations with similar content please let me know! For now, I’m gonna give a run down of the pieces I ordered (most of which are still available), prices and sizing, and also a bit focussing on ethical concerns and what I could find out about their practices from my research.

DISCLAIMER: The photos used as backgrounds are mine. Yes, I’m in mourning over the fact that this time last year I was inter-railing, in case the ham-fisted insertion of touristy pics didn’t make that obvious. Remember when we could leave the country? When it didn’t feel like the world was ending? When everything didn’t seem to be going to absolute shit all at once? When there was a glimmer of hope that we wouldn’t spend the next 4 years being governed by the Conservatives here in Britain? Simpler times :-)

The Pieces

1. The Alizio V-Neck Camisole Top in White: £4.97, Size M

So, what you’re gonna get from the off here is that YesStyle’s prices seem ridiculously cheap, which is something I’ll address in the ethics section at the end of the post. For £4.97, you’d expect an ill-fitting SheIn/Zaful style number but I was so impressed by how flattering this top actually is. I was a size 8 and 32C for reference and my only complaint is that because the neckline has a slight plunge, it was a little awkward to wear with a t-shirt bra. You know, unless you’re into that cups poking out of the top kinda vibe that was a rite of passage for all British teenage girls going through puberty back in, like, 2009 when you wanted everyone to know you’d been on your first bra shopping trip to M&Co with your mum at the weekend. 

2. The Rhames High-Waist Plaid Mini Skirt in Purple: £9.12, Size M

Clueless being as iconic as it is, a plaid mini skirt is always going to be timeless and I know this is a piece I’m gonna be basing outfits around for a long time. It fit perfectly and is surprisingly good quality material; I was kind of expecting it to come in that super thin, semi-see through jersey that you get when you order from a lot of UK fast fashion sites, but a recurring feature of the clothes I picked out was that they were such good quality for the price and exactly as they appear online. I’ve found in the past that UK sites are deceptively canny with lighting and angles in that when the garment actually arrives (Boohoo in particular is a repeat offender in this regard) it’s a lot frumpier than it looks on the model. It seems to be common practice to pin back and temporarily alter the clothes during photoshoots to give the illusion that they’re a lot more fitted and structured than they actually are which ultimately just leads to disappointment when you try on the supposedly bodycon dress and resemble a sack of potatoes. Been there, done that. I worship the ground all carbs walk on but I don’t want to look like them. Should go without saying really. It’s nothing to do with size, but it’s just crappy tailoring and cutting corners on the brand’s part and that’s what irks me. I really appreciate that YesStyle has photos of “regular” people just wearing the clothes out rather than the outcomes of these overly edited, studio lit shoots that aren’t necessarily the most representative of how the garment is gonna look irl.

3. Nikiki Garter Belt: £5.59, One Size

As comfortable as garters come, I guess? I don’t have much experience with them tbh, lol. 2021 to do list, if we make it out of 2020 alive: try more garters.

4. Lucuna Floral Embroidered Cropped Cardigan in Almond: £15.61, One Size

Don’t get me wrong, this cardigan is adorable and there’s nothing misleading about the photo on the website. What I will say is that considering it only comes in one size, it’s pretty tight on the arms. I’m a size 6 right now and it’s really not like I’m ripped or anything (lol) so it’s safe to say that in terms of the Lucuna brand, their sizes come up very small. The cardigan wasn’t the only one size thing I purchased and whilst the others did fit, I think in general the fact that said “one size” is pretty much only suitable for UK sizes 4-8 is pretty shit. A few of the pieces had elasticated waistbands but in general in 2020, when we’ve come so far in the last few years with body positivity and being more inclusive of all sizes, to have a sample size that runs so small isn’t acceptable and this sizing issue is my biggest problem with the store. Though I recognise that YesStyle acts as an outlet for smaller East Asian brands (in this case Lucuna) and thus aren’t themselves responsible for the designs, more consideration should probably go into the harm that could potentially be done by stocking these supposedly “one size fits all” garments. Brandy Melville, I’m looking at you too. Your designs are cute but your lack of inclusivity is shitty.

5. Ohnana Ruffle Trim Strappy Cami Cropped Top in Purple: £5.01, Size M

I’m not as jazzed as I was about this top now it seems that everyone and their mother’s dog is selling it at an extortionate price on Depop but I will say that it’s also very flattering. Makes my strangely long torso look somewhat proportionate, which is nice. The material is pretty thin but it is for all intents and purposes a tank top and the price is reflective of that.

6. Sisyphi Plaid Shirt in Tangerine: £11.30, One Size

So the “one size” option strikes again, though this time with less vengeance-I would say this would be wearable up to size 12/14 so slightly better than with the cardigan.

7.  BBChic High-Waist Wide-Leg Jeans: £10.04, Size M

When it comes to these jeans, I only have good things to say. Like firstly, they make me feel like early 2000s Avril Lavigne AKA. my childhood icon/potential clone/queen of millennium grunge and an incarnation of Y2K fashion I can actually get behind. Secondly, they have an elasticated waistband, which is ALWAYS a good thing. Thirdly, they didn’t come up ridiculously long on me which I feared would be the case; I did wear the platform Filas with them but as you can see, it’s not like they’d be trailing over my feet even in flats. I’m somewhere between 5′3 and 5′4 for reference and usually go for petite in jeans  and trousers just to be on the safe side.

8.  HERMITAKH Ring Detail Halter Crop Top in Black: £5.15, Size M

I have only recently become a member of the itty bitty titty committee but even back when I shot this lookbook this halter actually fit! When it came to tops that necessitate going braless, I always had issues with finding pieces I didn’t feel were going to cause an unintentional free the nipple moment, but the fact that you can tie this top up at the neck and back yourself allows you to work out a fit that’s supportive for you. 

9. Puffie Lightning Print Straight-Cut Pants: £13.76, Size M

I’d wanted a pair of trousers like these for ages before I saw them on YesStyle but the ones I’d come across in the past were a bit extra for my hometown and typically cost more than they seemed to be worth. This pair lack the bulk that the original styles I came across had, which helps give them a more casual, laid back feel, though they are just as vibrant and substantial BUT there isn’t much give in them. They have the slightly baggy look I was going for however they aren’t elasticated on the waist so I recommend having a look at the guide that’s available next to the drop down box where you select the size you want.

 10. Alfie Mesh Long-Sleeve Top in Pink: £7.71, One Size

No, the Jennifer’s Body top isn’t from YesStyle, I’m sorry to disappoint. Go to RedBubble for that one! The considerably less exciting mesh top underneath however, is, and in spite of its relative mundanity (you can’t top Megan Fox as a man-eating demon) it does the job as a versatile staple piece. It’s one size but it does have a lot of stretch in it so would probably go up to about size 14 (not to say that’s great).

11. Barrash Harness Bag: £17.10, One Size

The harness vest is one of my favourite trends to come out of k-fashion and I wanted SO badly to pull this piece off (especially because it was one of the most expensive pieces I purchased from the site) but it was far too big for me even when I adjusted it and TBH...I don’t even know if it’s just the sizing? I kinda felt like a paranoid tourist with their bag on back to front and yeah...I don’t think that’s the desired effect. Here’s an example of how cool they CAN look from Seoul fashion week, and with that another example of why NYFW should lose its place in the “big 4″ to make room for SFW:

And just Blackpink just setting the standard for the utility wear trend in general:

12. Mikiko Short-Sleeved Blouse in White: £8.79, One Size

I appreciate that the website notes that the “one size” here runs small, however it does also say that a “base layer” is needed for under the shirt which I didn’t find was necessary at all. The fabric is quite thick and it genuinely looks like the kind of shirt you’d find tucked away in a vintage shop, cute af and will go with anything.

13. Closette Sleeveless V-Neck Vest in Black: £11.87, One Size

Again, I was really impressed with the quality of this jumper; it definitely looks like something you’d pick up in a uniform shop (though this one is probably cheaper because those shops are daylight fucking ROBBERY) but I can never get enough of that grungy school girl look. Blame St.Trinians. 

14. Niji Smile Pleated Plaid Skirt with Insert Shorts in Green: £9.12, Size M

This skirt might be my absolute favourite of the items I ordered on the sole basis that it comes with shorts built in underneath, like, WHY DON’T ALL MINI SKIRTS HAVE THIS!? Plus the shape and the bounce it has to it makes me feel ultra-feminine and effortlessly cute which I love. It didn’t even turn up crumpled! Which you’ve really got to admire considering half the clothes in my local H&M look like they’ve never got within 10 metres of an iron in their short lifespan. 

15. LINSI Elbow-Sleeve Print T-Shirt: £10.92, One Size

If I had to pick one more favourite piece, it would be this graphic top that I wore underneath a pink chiffon Ebay dress. It looks and fits exactly like the photos on the website and I have to restrain myself wasting a wear of it just lounging around the house because it’s also ridiculously comfy.

16. LINSI Plaid Straight-Cut Pants in Orange: Size M

These trousers are currently out of stock, however I will say that of everything I’ve ordered they’re probably the least comfy and on that basis I’m not sure if I’d buy them again. They look great and I will push myself to wear them for that reason but they’re the kind of itchy fabric that I rush to take off and swap for some pyjamas the moment I get into the house. That being said, I don’t know if this is an issue everyone will have because I am someone that is overly sensitive to fabrics so you might not even notice it, plus-stretchy waistband! Which is a plus for sure.

I was also very impressed by the accessories I ordered, which once again completely surpassed my quality expectations. Pretty much everything pictured here was under £5 apart from the shoulder bag which was closer to 10, and when you consider that the price of these is inflated at the moment because of the resurgence of the Y2K trend, this is still ridiculously cheap.

The prices are definitely a concern of mine because unfortunately, when products are this cheap there’s usually somebody being exploited down the line. Since I made this order in May, I’ve had a small slip up with a Motel Rocks order, but other than that have cut out fast fashion completely. I want to be as ethical a consumer as I can, and that’s something I considered before making this post; that being said, YesStyle, actually a Hong-Kong based company in spite of it being touted as the destination for k-fashion, was recognised as a "Caring Company" between 2014 and 2019 (I don’t think this has been updated for 2020 yet given the circumstances) by the Hong Kong Council of Social Service. From what I can find online, this award is given to Hong Kong companies that demonstrate good corporate citizenship and responsibility. Whilst this seems like reassuring information, like I said, I find it hard to believe that the production of clothes selling for these kinds of prices isn’t outsourced to low wage workers at some stage of the process. It’s a hard to know where to stand, because obviously the fast fashion industry DOES create jobs that people rely on to sustain themselves but at what point does the treatment of workers in developing countries negate the opportunities the industry provides here in the UK? “There is no ethical consumption under capitalism” and all that but shouldn’t we try to make a change where we can? I agree with the statement though at times it can come across like a deflection of individual responsibility. Plus there’s the environmental side of the debate-having to fly the garments over from the point of manufacture obviously takes a massive amount of fuel which it goes without saying is hugely detrimental to our planet. The sizing is also an issue; the average clothes size here in the UK is a 12, I believe, and yet a size medium seems to come up as about an 8. Asian sizes do tend to come up smaller in general but at the same time, if that’s the case, as an international retailer shouldn’t YesStyle at least address that somewhere on the site?

I don’t want to end on a negative note because compared to sites like Zaful, SheIn, and even UK based retailers such as Pretty Little Thing and Boohoo, YesStyle appears to be one of the better ones. The quality of their garments is incredible for the prices and I admire the transparency of having reviews for every product be so readily accessible. It’s also great to see that they have a section specifically addressing their response to the COVID-19 pandemic, AND  offer refunds to their customers for import fees. God, I don’t know why this isn’t something that more websites do? I will never forget being slapped with a £100+ invoice for a Dolls Kill (bleurgh) order I made once back in the more impulsive shopping days and all the Karen-y emails I sent back and forth. Import fees are understandable but international retailers should definitely make it clearer how these are calculated and give more of an indication of just how steep these fees might be if you’re making a large order. It almost seems disingenuous not to do so especially when said retailers most likely know that customers wouldn’t make these orders if they had an idea of what it would cost just to get access to the goods they’ve already paid for.

I won’t ramble on for much longer because there is so much important shit going on in the world right now and I don’t want to take up time that could be spent reading more valuable posts-with the shooting of Jacob Blake earlier this week, and the death of Chadwick Boseman earlier today (I can’t imagine the amount of mental and physical strength it takes to film all the movies he did back to back whilst dealing with colon cancer), the most important thing to do is listen to how black individuals are feeling and what they are thinking right now. I will keep an eye on my dashboard and retweet what I can. Thanks for reading. Even if you’re just here for the photos, I appreciate it! And I don’t know if I’ve said it before but please know that my messages are always open to anyone struggling, especially with everything that’s going on at the moment. I don’t claim to be a professional but I can always listen. Lots of love<3

Lauren x

#k-fashion #streetstyle #k-pop #fashion #fashion blog #style #style inspo #fashion review #yesstyle #stealthespotlight #blackpink

[lonbergwrites]

The Gross, The Bad, and The Unforgivable

A review of Undercover Bromance by Lyssa Kay Adams

 Let me start off by saying that this book has an instance of what clearly seems like sexual assault, wrapped up in a gloss of romance. Skip down to the “The Unforgivable” section for that information.

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Normally, I don’t rate and review any books that I read for fear of poisoning the memory well. Normally, I wouldn’t rate and review a romance novel in particular, because it isn’t a genre with which I have much experience, nor is it one I have much love for. But the title and the fact that it showed up on a list of good romance novels for men from a source I trust made me pick it up in the first place. I’ve been trying to get deeper into the Writing Community online, and so many writers there are romance authors – and romance is such a popular genre generally – that I wanted to familiarize myself with the genre as I work on my own writing...

I’m making an exception to rating and reviewing this book because there were some truly, deeply problematic things going on here, on top of the bad/schlocky writing, and the gross descriptions so prevalent in my mind’s limited knowledge of what’s bad in the romance genre. So, in the following review I’m going to justify my one star rating of this book by describing The Gross [broadly, the terribly stomach-turning descriptions, characters, and plot points in this book], The Bad [the technical problems – especially in the plot], and The Unforgivable [the glossed-over sexual assault].

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The Gross:

I’m going to jump right in on the most obvious issue I have with (my own idea of) romance novels: the sex scenes. But this isn’t going to be what you think it is; I am not a prude. Nothing turns my stomach faster than euphemistic language about body parts. “Her sex” is bad enough. This book also talked about running his fingers along “her slit.” But the description that almost made me hurl was “her pink bits.” Nope. Vomit. Say vulva. There is nothing gross about that word. A good sex scene is hard to write, and you don’t need to go full-on erotica (though honestly, I think hardcore erotica is far more enjoyable to read, more real, and sexier than the euphemistic stuff), but why have a very descriptive scene only to censor over the words everybody is paying their good money to read? Pick a lane. Give me actual adult sexual content, or have everything fade to black. Please?

I looked at a bunch of the reviews of this book, astounded as I was that it was so highly rated. Where language was used as a fault, the line “my vagina senses are tingling” was often cited. Cited as gross and crass. Sorry, this was a line I found truly funny and endearing, used as it was by a female character who was grossed out by the villain of the story, a serial sexual predator. To me, it was a great Spiderman reference, and an honest thing for a woman to say. I’ve heard such comments from female friends before. Seeing this comment from the romance reading community really saddens me, because not liking an honest use of body parts, but championing “pink parts” is only fueling the female body shaming that is so prevalent in our society.

“Now if you’ll excuse us, we have a happy ever after to start” is the line that ends the bulk of the novel, before the epilogue. Once you’ve scraped the vomit out of your mouth, there’s also the ending of the epilogue, where after the main character “proposes” off-handedly on the couch, they have sex, and then he asks her if that was a yes, and she confirms it, the narration says, “after she said yes he did things that made her say it a whole bunch of times naked.” Then they fist-bumped. End of novel. Yeah… Did I mention they’d only known each other for a little more than six months at this point? Yea, I think that’s kind of fast…

But romance novels are stereotypically bad in this department according to me, who knows little to nothing about them. What other gross stuff happened in this book? Let’s start with the male lead, Mack, who winks at everything in a skirt. There are paragraphs where he literally winks at the woman he’s talking to three times within said paragraph. She’s always super charmed. This is supposed to be endearing behavior. Then there are a whole chapter where the sex the characters are having is compared to the national anthem – wanting to sing it, wanting to wave a flag, saluting this with that appendage. Barf barf barf.

I could go on, but this book isn’t for me, really. I’ll just close with a line I really did like from the book: “Smells like a camel exhibit in here.” This line is said by the bros when they come in to rescue Mack from his depression on losing the girl, and they find him in squalor. This book could broadly be described as smelling like a camel exhibit.

 The Bad:

The biggest plot error I found in this book happened near the end. A group of the team is running to meet the “inside guy” who will distribute the dossier on the villain to the press as they march in to his book launch. They get there to find their inside guy knocked out, and another security guy holding the dossiers they were literally carrying to the meeting (he knocked him out to take them away, even though he didn’t know what was in them – not to mention that they weren’t actually there in the first place). Terrible editing!

There are other things – characters switching their mind on something deeply held from paragraph to paragraph, a convoluted plan to expose the sexual predator at his own event, and thinking that’s the only way to take the guy down, when in real life a reporter will take information at any time, not just when tricked into it. But it is the real lack of understanding of the human character that really bugged me.

The secret that Mack is carrying with him is that his father was abusive and murdered somebody, and is in jail. Mack changed his name out of embarrassment, and lies and tells people his father is dead. He is made into the villain towards the end of the book, because he “lied” to Liv, his love interest, about this. They had known each other for some time longer than a week and shorter than a month. They were not dating (she was adamant about that), and had slept together just twice. But he was a liar now, because he had a “secret identity” and lied about his father. People just accepted that that was a terrible thing to do. No! If that’s your past, it is yours, and you don’t owe that information to anybody that early in a relationship. Sure, you need to own up to it before you talk marriage, but not before you’ve started dating. This doesn’t have anything to do with his character, but his father’s. Shaming him for “not being honest” and having him have to come to terms with it, and be open about it publically, is just *not* something that he has to do. Weird morality here. I know it was stretched to add drama, but I think it does a disservice to his great trauma in life.

I don’t believe a group of people should take matters into their own hands to investigate a person on sexual harassment on behalf of other women. I don’t think they need to use their friend’s van (literally an FBI-style surveillance van that nobody seems to think it is weird that a friend just has – a van that never plays an important role except that it doesn’t drive fast). I also don’t think a former cop is going to play along in a game of entrapment with a bunch of youngsters out for the thrill of taking down a celebrity chef. I especially don’t think people are going to trust the “inside guy” who is the security guard for the big bad. There is absolutely nothing that any characters do (aside from taping the bad guy) that moves the plot forward. It is all them falling into luck or information that others provide. Everything happens to them. This is just not the makings of a well-written book.

The characters were also so bland and uniform, with the exception of “The Russian” who was all caricature and comic relief, and whose lactose intolerance goes into play when they almost got caught because of the smell of his fart while they were hiding. Hilarious? No. So juvenile. And also, it was from vegan cheese, which the author says “is still cheese” and thus causes him the same problem as cheese. Speaking as a chef, that’s not how lactose intolerance works.

And, can I quickly gripe about the fact that the tech whiz who can break into a computer in 2 minutes, take out the contents of said computer in 30 seconds, breaks down all the banking info in an hour to tie the sexual predator to dozens of victims financially, also says he will be unable to edit a video (literally cut it off at all), in the hour they have during a drive, so by showing the big bad to be the big bad, they will also expose Mack’s terrible history and show him too to be a liar? Remember, this is literally exposing that his dad was a bad guy… again, not seeing the problem for Mack (as if that would kill his reputation)… but also: press stop on the tape? In an hour I, a complete novice, could learn to edit video enough to be able to stop a video when I wanted it to stop. The drama was unnecessary, and the mechanism to achieve it is so utterly stupid.

I also don’t love the fact that it takes a group of men to save women who were the victims of sexual assault. I also don’t love the message that women have to be a certain way when it comes to coming forward (even though they try to say otherwise, it was very moralistic against anybody being quiet). I very much don’t love the fact that they called the sexual predator – who honestly had unwanted, forced sexual relations with many women – a mere “sexual harasser.”

 The Unforgiveable:

Let’s talk about consent. The second time the main characters have sex, Liv expressly says ‘hey, I haven’t given you consent to have sex again.’ He then says that fingering her isn’t sex. Then proceeds to finger her. Then grabs her, carries her to a bed insider her own house, and then has sex with her. Without actually obtaining consent. This isn’t even an instance of tacit consent, because both parties are acting in a certain way and advancing the same act. She literally denied him consent by saying he didn’t have it, and that was never cleared up. Even if she never said no again, that’s pretty terrible for him to just assume.

Also: this happened immediately after he just shows up at her house. They had had sex once. She said she’d call after 3 days. He comes over after two, not calling specifically because he said that she’d have probably said no to his coming over. It was dark, she thought he was an intruder. She hit him with a shoe. She has to apologize to him for hitting him, and clean him up. Hey. In my mind, this dude is a psycho at this point. If you don’t buy into the 3 days before a call, fine. But then you pick up the phone. Don’t just show up at a near-stranger’s house. Don’t do it at night. Don’t sneak up the stairs. And don’t get mad when she’d mad because you acted like a psycho. And then most certainly, listen to her when she says that you don’t have consent to have sex with her again, and go on fingering her immediately thereafter.

 This book is bad on a lot of levels, but the sexual assault scene tarted up to look romantic just made me seethe inside, especially because this whole book attempted to be a “bros don’t let bros sexually assault women” morality tale.

Rating: 1 very dim star of 5

#book review #am reading #amreadingromance #bad books #author

[blackgirlnotes]

The Misconception of the Black Public Image

disclaimer: this has not been fully edited/proofread. please excuse all typos.

We have all heard the words ghetto, hood, thuggish and we have all seen what those words are attached to: gang violence, civil unrest, a young black boy walking home wearing a hood, our neighborhoods. These words have been in the English vernacular for decades and have not lost their meanings, yet their connotations have.

The term ghetto was initially used in reference to overly-crowded and unkept neighborhoods where immigrants were forced to live after arriving to the United States. These neighborhoods were in various cities but are mostly kown to have been in New York City, New York. These neighborhoods, due to the overflow of people, quickly deteriorated and the city never sought to refine the infrastructure. Therefore resulting in slums and borderline shanty-towns. The American English language thus adopted the term ghetto to refer to these places. However, amongst the many different races and ethnicities that sheltered in these homes, only one would maintain the stigma of low-income housing stereotypes despite where they came from.

To be fair, the argument can be made in the defense of the word ghetto as it was famously used in reference to Jewish neighborhoods and was not always directed at black people. However, ghettos can be defined as worn down, overpopulated neighborhoods that were meant to keep nonwhites and whites separate.

In the 1990s, via the rap/hip-hop scene, the term hood was popularized. It is the shortened version of neighborhood and was used by black people when speaking about where they lived. The idea of “being hood” grew from the general assumption and stereotype of ghettos and the people who lived in them. Because ghettos were unkempt by the landlords and the state, they decreased in property value. Many people who lived in private or luxury housing viewed the run-down areas as dangerous and breeding grounds for rascals and delinquents. This idea was unfortunately perpetuated by the dawn of storytelling through rap music. Artists like N.W.A and the Wu Tang Clan spoke about issues and situations that only too place in heavily black populated areas, specifically ghettos. From gang violence to drug addiction, rap and hip-hop began sharing these stories of trial and triumph to the mainstream media which in turn demonized these experiences and ultimately led to the idea that people who came from these neighborhoods were trouble makers. In short, we now associate the word hood with how we define the term ghetto. We see them as synonyms when in fact, they are not.

The idea of being thuggish is also something that gets mixed in with these misconceptions and tone-deaf assumptions of the black experience. Being a thug is not a new concept nor is it only applicable to unarmed black men who get racially profiled and gunned down in the streets. The word isn’t even a synonym for gangster. Thuggish joined the English language in the 1800s. It comes from the root word thug which is derived from the Hindi word thag, meaning “rogue or cheat.” In English, a thug is a cruel or vicious ruffian, robber, or murderer. A thug is a criminal not a black person from the hood.

With the background knowledge of the aforementioned terms, it is not hard to see the picture that has been so devastatingly painted for us. Because of racial inequalities, black people are hugely disproportionate compared to their white counterparts. We face more injustice in our lives than our white friends and family. We are viewed far differently than other races and we are never given the benefit of doubt. Because of racism, black people who live in low-income neighborhoods and/or public housing are seen as ghetto simply because they are from a place that resembles the halfwit idea of the hood. Black people are viewed a thugs because oppressors relate unmanicured lawns to domestic terrorism and suspicious activity when in fact is just the lack of money for yard care do to wage inequalities and limited resources.

Learn the origin of words before you use them. 

- nellmaria

#blacklife #blacklivesalwaysmatter #ghetto #hood #blackgirlnotes #african american #political #black and white

[youreawizardharr]

A Guide to the Chapman's Traditions and Trademarks

An event I shall be participating in. Get ready to have my trash in your dash. I still have other things to work on, so look forward to that. This time I will pace myself and not work on a million things at once like I have.

Image used was edited by Tseon.

Tagging: @cradlesonanetwork

Eirene | Arion | Chapman History | Andrasta

Warning: I cannot use the Read More option, please forgive my long post in your dash.

Side Note: I hadn't realized this event happened last month, so excuse me for doing this a month later. I hope this is okay

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1. Beauty Mark

Anyone born into the Chapman family will inherit the beauty mark that is always seen on the left-hand corner of their mouth. It never appears in any other spot on their face. This is the only visible trademark anyone can easily distinguish a Chapman.

This gene seems to be a dominant trait. For instance, Eirene, despite being conceived by someone from the Land of Reason, inherited it from her father. Even her daughter, Andrasta, inherited this same beauty mark.

2. Angelic Magic

Those who possess this ancient magic are held in high regard. The Chapmans consider this as a "rite of passage." The family holds a ball in their honor, whether they permitted other noble families to attend is uncertain. However, Eirene was born years after the Chapman Massacre, so she never received this honor after showing signs of magic use.

The Archon Seal: the seal on their upper back is the proof that these members can harness this powerful magic. Unlike ordinary magic, Angelic magic doesn't chip away the user's lifespan, which is the very reason the Magic Tower was interested in studying this magic and wanted to conduct experiments.

Angelic magic stems from the Grace of the Angel within the user. These Angels can fall from Grace, most likely due to their host. For example, Arion committed a heinous crime that involved murdering the Chapman family, their blood stained his hands, thus his Angel fell from Grace, becoming a Fallen Angel in the process.

3. Grandeur Balls

The Chapmans always invited nobles from all across Cradle to attend balls they hosted, regardless of where they come from. Their fatal mistake is inviting the head of the Magic Tower and his only son, Amon Jabberwock. The two forged an alliance with the previous King of Hearts, as well as Hephaestus and his own son, Arion Chapman. This lead to their early demise.

The balls the Chapmans hosted were always exquisite, always living up to the expectations of the elites. They relished their standing in society, but were never ones to flaunt what they had. When Erza took the title and throne after the death of his father, he continued hosting these balls to honor the Chapman family name. Eirene was far too young to remember the one she attended as a toddler, nor the fact that she had already met Ray, Lancelot, Jonah, Luka, Sirius, Fenrir and Harr. The only one who suspects the toddler was Eirene is Sirius.

4. Raw Talents

The Chapmans weren't talent crazed as the nobles from the Red Territory, as they were more interested in the Magic that runs in the family. However, most members proved to be skillful in the arts, such as playing instruments, jousting, singing, painting, etc.

Erza Chapman was skilled in everything, but he wasn't one to boast about his efforts. After the Chapman Massacre, he was well known for his handyman skill. People of Cradle appreciated everything he did for them. What Arion lacked in raw talent, he made up for by mastering Angelic magic, advancing himself in the Telesmic stages.

5. Magic Competitions

Rather than focus on raw talent in the arts, the Chapmans placed their efforts on honing their magic. Once a year, they hosted games for all of Cradle to participate in. However, one game, in particular, is what they're most famous for: Magic Competitions. People who were born with magic were allowed to enter, regardless of what their status was or where they came from. Arion Chapman was considered a prodigy by the Chapmans, and was revered for how powerful his magic was.

6. Holiday Celebrations

The holidays were very important to the Chapman family. The most notable ones they celebrated were Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Years. They hosted extravagant dinner parties during these exact holidays, being all about family.

Regardless of their royal status, the Chapmans never thought they were better than anyone else. They often lowered tax rates, something Hephaestus didn't approve of, during the holiday season as a gift from them to their people. Erza would buy dinner and ingredients for unfortunate families, or he would join them if they refused his offer.

7. Birthdays

Birthdays were celebrated for intermediate family members of the royal family. Only they were permitted to attend these private parties. When he was younger, Arion spent the last birthday he celebrated in the Red Army Headquarters. Ever since the Chapman Massacre, he doesn't celebrate his birthday anymore. He's repulsed by this day.

In her case, Eirene attends balls that the Red Army arranges for her birthday to continue the Chapman tradition. Loki always manages to convince Harr to go as her date (much to his embarrassment). Lancelot always ALWAYS grants permission for the Black Army to attend for Eirene's sake.

8. Wielding Holy Artifacts

The Chapmans who were born with Angelic magic weren't able to advance themselves in the Telesmic stages, thus were unable to conjure the Holy Artifacts their Angels wielded. The ancestor of the family was the first to accomplish this feat and save Cradle.

The second was Erza, who advanced himself to the Gnosis stage, conjuring the Holy Sword Excalibur. However, he never had the chance to complete the Gnosis Overload stage for Amon extracted the Angel within him, ultimately killing him in the process. Arion mastered all of the Telesmic stages, conjuring the Holy Artifact that his Angel wielded. People have often gossiped that Erza could have easily defeated him in battle, which angered Arion even more. Eirene was able to accomplish this feat with the help of the two armies and the neutral party. It took her longer to advance through the Telesmic stages due to lack of experience, but she was able to achieved the Gnosis stage before her battle with Arion.

9. Chapman Emblem

Emblem of the Chapman family resembles the Telesmic stages of the Archon Seal. From the time of their ancestor up until the generation Erza was born into, the Chapman emblem has stayed the same. Eirene made the decision to keep the emblem as it is.

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Additional Information

Eirene and Arion have nothing in common. Neither of them knew the other existed until Amon informed him of a mysterious girl with the surname of Chapman. Arion has wanted to rid the world of the Chapman name, thus he commanded Amon to make a secret meeting and force Eirene to attend, so he can meet her without the armies interfering.

Upon their first meeting, Arion physically tormented Eirene. Her emotional and physical distress caused her magic to spiral out of control but Arion easily subdued her.

In the Garden above the Civic Center, Arion threatened to slaughter Harr right before her eyes after deducing that she was in love with the wizard, thus her magic went berserk and she very nearly destroyed the entire building and surrounding areas. It took Harr to reach her with his voice, bringing her back to consciousness. Eirene refused to let him go.

#ikemen revolution #harr silver #sirius oswald #lancelot kingsley #ray blackwell #fenrir godspeed #luka clemence #jonah clemence #my cradlesona #my writing #family suited pair event

[antialiasis]

What ever happened to the other TQftL one-shot? I know one of them ended up as chapter 76, but the other one? I remember you posted the first few sentences from it on the quest blog since those were non-spoilery (which the server ate years ago along with a bunch of other good stuff), but is this still a thing or did plans change or something? This has been bugging me for a while now.

One-Shot A ended up as the first scene of chapter 75, the one with Mitch! One-Shot B was parts of chapter 76. Technically later there was a third one, ‘chaletwo.docx’, about Chaletwo and Mew shortly after Chaletwo’s creation, half of which became the inspiration for the final scene of chapter 76 and the other half of which (unfinished) never made it in as I deemed it unnecessary. I talk about that one a little in the chapter 25 commentary that’s going up tomorrow.

I think you may actually be referring to the QftLverse creation story that I wrote, though, because I did post an excerpt from that, but I don’t think I ever posted an excerpt from One-Shot A (it would’ve given too much away, I think). That would be this thing here. I was originally going to make that an extra at the end, but ultimately I pretty much just fit the really relevant information into chapter 76, so I didn’t feel it was needed.

I guess I can post the rest of that, though, for the hell of it! It’s a poor attempt at mythical writing last edited in 2008, so please excuse the general badness, but. (Serious spoilers if you haven’t read the fic.)

“Far, far backin the mists of time, there was no world. There was just chaos and, in itsmidst, an egg, or something like an egg in any case.

“And the egghatched, and out of it came Arceus, the Original One. And two others he made tospring out from himself, Dialga and Palkia, and with them came the fourdimensions of existence. And the third sprang out of him too, Giratina, and itbrought about the law that everything must perish.

“And when thedimensions had come into being, a little grain of potential began to expandinto the nothingness to fill it; and thus was formed the universe with all ofits laws and elements; and because the dimensions never ended, so it is stillexpanding to this day.

“But whenArceus saw the universe, he could see more potential, and wished to createLife. And he created by his will a being into the universe and named it Azelf.And it had will as he did.

“But Arceusshook his head and said: No, this will not do; and he used his knowledge andexperience from the previous creation to create another being and named itUxie. And it was wise, but it still lacked.

“So Arceusagain shook his head in despair and said: No, I must try again. And he createda being and called it Mesprit, and it could feel emotions as he did. But it wasstill lacking, and Arceus was exhausted.

“And theOriginal One had nearly given up when he realized what he should do. He toldthe three living beings he had created: I am unable to create a living soul;for Dialga and Palkia are not living, and none of you has the full makings of asoul. But I was selfish: I worked alone, and now my power is exhausted. No, youshall instead create a living soul: work together, and you shall manage what Idid not. For I was a fool.

“And the threebeings nodded, and they linked their paws in a circle and closed their eyes toconcentrate. And together, they created the perfect being that had a fullliving soul: it had knowledge, will and emotion all in one. It resembled thembut was still different, and the warmth of its heart gave it a light pink colorunlike their cold blue.

“And it openedits eyes, and they were brilliantly blue; and Arceus told it: Welcome to theworld, young soul; I shall call you Mew, and you shall be the Creator. Youshall now be able to create living beings from yourself, for you havecreativity and imagination; and the first you shall create shall be thePreserver who will protect life from evil and destruction, and then you shallcreate many beings like yourself to watch over your creations, while you shallcreate other beings who will be mortal and eventually die. And to the threebeings who had made it he said: Well done, and now I shall entrust you withwatching over Dialga and Palkia for me, for I am exhausted and will now go tosleep.

“And Arceuswent to sleep, and Mew rose up and began to create the Immortals; and the firsthe created he called Celebi, and Celebi could travel through time to help guardlife from evil. And many other Immortals Mew created, and many Mortals hecreated as well, and the Immortals would each watch over a portion of theMortals.

“But theImmortals grew arrogant, and began to rule over the Mortals to make them dotheir bidding. And their selfish thoughts manifested themselves in a being,Darkrai, which injected their malice into Arceus’s dream as he slept. And hewoke up, knowing that a nightmare of such evil could only be born frommalicious feelings, and saw what the Immortals were doing.

“FoolishPokémon! he said: he was angered that they had not known better, and grievedthat they could harbor such emotions, and afraid for what this might mean abouttheir intentions. Were you not created to watch over and help the Mortals, notto enslave them and make yourselves superior to them? With this action, youhave forgone your right to immortality.

“And Arceus’sanger, grief and fear shattered his soul, and they manifested themselves in abeing: Chalenor, the Destroyer, the True Immortal, whom even the Immortalscould not harm. While the soulless and powerless Arceus returned to sleep forall eternity, Chalenor would teach the Immortals that they should have to knowweakness and fear death.

“Chalenor’spresence, expressing the last will of Arceus, would slowly strip all Pokémon oftheir power, bit by bit, and then make them destroy one another until only one wasleft, who would become a new Creator and start the cycle anew. But because theMortals were mortal, the generations passed one by one, and slowly but surelythey grew to resist the draining of their powers; but the Immortals did notevolve and remained as vulnerable as they had ever been: their immortality wastheir curse.

“But theImmortals blamed Chalenor for their fear, and they tried to attack him manytimes; but they would always fail, because Chalenor was a True Immortal.

“So manycycles passed; but when Arceus’s soul had shattered, it had planted a seed of asoul in the depths of the Destroyer’s heart: he began to feel the sufferingthat he brought upon the Immortals, and to long for the company of another, butthe Immortals feared and despised him, and in his eternity of life, the livesof the Mortals seemed to pass as merely a drop of water in an endless stream.

“Chalenor waslonely, as no being since has ever felt loneliness.

“But then, atlast, one of the many incarnations of Mew – for the Creator’s first work wasalways to honor his predecessor and create another Mew – felt pity forChalenor. They talked and began to understand one another, as no being sincehas understood another being; and Chalenor felt joy and calm and love for thefirst time. But the thousand years that Mew was destined to live passed like abreeze, and though Chalenor wanted to save Mew from the fate of hispredecessors, he was unable to control the effects of his power, and Mew’s strengthwas drained day by day.”

I’m actually kind of impressed with the degree to which this thing is still accurate, for being last edited in 2008; I didn’t think I’d realized Chalenor’s emotive color-changing thing was rooted in being made of Arceus’s out-of-control emotions until later than that. But as the actual events are told in chapter 76, I ditched the bit about Darkrai that didn’t really add much of anything beyond hey look here’s how Darkrai comes into it, there’s more intentionality to Arceus creating Chalenor (the myth makes it sound like Chalenor just sort of happened when his soul shattered, although it does go on to say his presence was “expressing the last will of Arceus”, so it may just be a more mythlike way of saying the same thing), and Mew isn’t literally the first person ever to sympathize with Chalenor because come on, really.

The “and they understood each other MORE THAN ANYONE EVER” is a bit over-the-top too (and not really accurate, actually, what with them each managing to conceal their massive issues from one another), but I think we can chalk that up to the mythical writing.

(But they absolutely were the bestest BFFs.)

(Also why does the myth go on this long. Why does the myth go into Mew and Chalenor’s personal relationship and not just stop at Chalenor developing a soul. I guess the reason I cut it off so abruptly there was that I realized oh whoops this myth shouldn’t actually be going this far along the timeline at all, this is One-Shot B material now, let’s stop.)

#tqftl #actual writing #Anonymous #MAN #looking at this again though #ten yeeeeears I sat on all this

[faejilly]

i am for you

this is entirely @janoda‘s fault. her and her tag essays. ANYWAYS. I have a weakness for epistolary fic, and also Alec & Magnus being adorkable, so here. Have some self-indulgent fluff. Part 1/? (AO3) (series tag)

One misdirected email leads to bonding over bookstores & bad fiction, sleep-deprivation, the introduction of the Lightwood-Garroway Family Hedge, and Magnus and Alec falling in love.

From: [email protected] [M. Bane] To: [email protected] [R. Fell] subj: forgive me

Hello, you old stick in the mud.

Yes that is a perfectly acceptable way to open a letter, do shush.

And yes, email counts as a letter, just because you study ancient dead people more than living ones does not mean you should not admit to the existence of modern innovation.

Also yes, obviously, I have bad news, you know me so well, however have we borne each other's company for so long?

Especially when you have such an appalling lack of sense as to allow me to borrow your copy of Marlowe's treatise on the White Book.

Oops?

It will not be wending its way back to you along with the references on the Grey and the Red. I know, it's not the same when it's not a whole set, I will make it up to you.

Somehow.

I promise.

And you know I keep my word.

From: [email protected] [Alec L.] To: [email protected] [M. Bane] subj: this is awkward

I want to apologize. I'm not whoever it was you were trying to write to, but there are way too many people I know who would start an email with a "forgive me" so I was about half-way through before I realized you weren't actually one of them.

So, uh. Sorry? I mean. Sorry, really, and you should probably double check your friend's email.

But. Not to be too creepy or intrusive, barging in on someone's accidentally public conversation, but I know a bookstore on Isaacs Dr, behind the campus liquor store, (the one with the red roof, not the one with the blue roof), that had a copy of the book you mentioned. If you wanted to find a replacement. It's called Fray & Garroway, and if you tell them it's for Alec they'll give you a 10% discount.

Assuming you're even in Alicante, which may be a bit of a jump, but you did send your note via a UIA email address.

From: [email protected] [M. Bane] To: [email protected] [Alec L] subj: Charming, not awkward

I feel, my darling Alec, (if I may?), that it must have been Providence that sent my email astray. Do you believe in fate? I think I do, as of today.

There cannot be many people in Alicante who have even heard of Marlowe's delightfully obscure infatuation with the occult, much less know where to find a copy of a reprint of one of his books. Or be familiar enough to know a discount on that price-tag is not a trivial thing.

Not that I wouldn't have paid full price to redeem myself in my long-suffering (as he says) compatriot's eyes, but it is rather delightful to know that I did not have to, purely thanks to the kindness of a stranger.

Thank you.

You didn't have to reply at all, much less go out of your way to offer assistance. It's unusual to bump into such a giving soul these days. You have quite restored my faith in humanity.

-- M

From: [email protected] [Alec L.] To: [email protected] [M. Bane] subj: you do have a way with words, don't you

M, is it? Are we embarking on a mystery correspondence? I feel I may have fallen into a bad spy movie, or perhaps a pulp detective novel. (I am certainly no 007 to have fallen into a good spy movie, after all.)

Do you have contacts scattered across Idris running secret errands for you? Clandestine meetings and secret back-alley exchanges?

(Please don't tell me if you don't, imagining a secret society dealing in strange matters of the occult is the most interesting thing to have happened to me all week, and the only interesting thing in at least a month that wasn't bordering on a disaster, and is quite probably the only thing that's going to keep me awake for the next two hours of my shift.)

You're welcome, but you don't have to thank me. I just answered an email. Definitely not worth the weight of the entire human race settling in-between us.

From: [email protected] [M. Bane] To: [email protected] [Alec L] subj: but your words were so much more interesting than mine

There are a myriad number of people whose job it is to reply to my emails and yet they never manage it. You are exceptional, and I refuse to let you avoid my gratitude. I am thanking you, and you are just going to have to accept that that is the state of things.

Also I may have laughed out loud and scared my best friend when I read your email, so now you have to keep responding so I can prove you're a real person and we're having a real conversation and she doesn't think I'm crazy.

Well. Crazier than usual.

You are a real person aren't you? Who likes spy movies and old pulp paperbacks? (Can you recommend some of those detective stories?  I really loved your bookstore, it was very welcoming. Sunlit and dusty and well-organized shelves but piles in the corners just waiting to be explored and the most gorgeous tiny pieces of artwork hiding in all the small bits of wall where shelves wouldn't fit. Quite my new favorite place, I think I shall be back, especially if I have a shopping list as an excuse?)

Don't answer that real person question, I don't want to know if it's a no, anymore than you want to know that there are no covert societies, encoded messages, or secret passages anywhere in my life.

Though wait, of course you must be real, that lovely young redhead at the bookstore was positively delighted at the idea that Alec sent me, her whole face lit up with a smile.

Are you sure you're not already living the life of a secret agent? I feel I may have unwittingly been involved in some of your clandestine courier work already.

Though I suppose secret agents do not generally have shift work.

From: [email protected] [Alec L.] To: [email protected] [M. Bane] subj: not nearly as interesting as you are attach: ruleswip.docx attach: pulpfiction.docx

Oh hell, Clary was working? Were there charcoal stains on her fingers and a sketchbook on the counter? Was it an evil smile?

It was, wasn't it. I'm doomed, I'm going to have to avoid family dinner for at least a month.

I could distract her with your compliments, perhaps? Most of the artwork is hers. Some of it was her mother's. Either way she actually almost looks shy whenever someone says something nice about it.

Or I could ask her all about you.

I feel like that would be uncalled for, but I'm not sure why. Are we playing a game? Are there rules? Would that be cheating?

Unless you asked her about me, in which case it would be entirely fair, and also that was definitely an evil smile and oh my gosh I'm rambling in an email. I'm typing myself rambling, clearly the sleep-deprivation has reached epic proportions, I am so sorry.

And yet I'm going to send this as is, because I think perhaps that might be one of the rules.

Maybe I should make a list? Would that be weird? This entire email is weird, have I apologized already?

See attached: two lists. Feel free to delete them. Or edit and send them back. I feel I have no idea what I'm doing anymore, I may need some direction.

That's wow. I'm kind of pushy tonight, sorry.

This is what happens when you work second shift at the student support center. Which is usually about as difficult as did you try turning your laptop off and on again and let me unjam the printer with the occasional yes I do know how to format a bibliography, that's why I'm here. I am definitely as far from a secret agent man as it is humanly possible to be, and my brain has mostly leaked out my ears from boredom by the time I'm done.

(That was an attractive description, wasn't it. I'm sorry.)

But second shift was quiet enough when I was an undergrad I could manage to do extra studying, and now they're stuck with me, I guess. Or I'm stuck with them? I'm not entirely sure anymore. At least this is the last year.

But now I'm wondering, if you're not part of some secret coven of the occult, why The Book of the White?

Which is assuredly none of my business, feel free to ignore me.

If you've made it this far and still respond, I think I might start believing in miracles.

From: [email protected] [M. Bane] To: [email protected] [Alec L] subj: still with the incredibly charming  attach: ruleswip2.docx attach: pulpscripts.docx

I don't believe anyone has ever compared me to a miracle before, I am quite over-wrought.

That sentence came out even more melodramatically than I intended, but that does not mean it isn't sincere. We haven't met, but I find I am quite pleased to think I have earned your good opinion, and your curiosity.

I have indeed taken a look at your rules, and marked it up with my virtual purple pen. (Not red, because it did not need correction so much as expansion. You have a very economical way with words once you switch to informational.) Also I counter your collection of ridiculously titled fiction (all of which I am looking forward to devouring) with some ridiculously styled plays. We did start this with Marlowe, after all.

I feel like it will be a great disappointment to tell you that I am doing regular boring class-related research; I do not think that crosses the bonds of this strange pseudo-anonymity we have, as you recognized the UIA email address, and thus know what an 05 extension means. (Though I still have no idea how my first email got routed to you. I am distressingly good at clicking the wrong thing, but that is a bit dramatic even for me. The servers must have had an aneurysm or something, the original recipient's an 08, on top of the entirely different set of initials.)

And no, I did not ask the redhead anything about you, I was oddly terrified that somehow she'd learn my entire life-story in the process. There was a very steely glint in her eyes when she rung me up.

But family dinner! I am entirely intrigued. Are you also a redhead, my mysterious benefactor? Cousin, brother, uncle?

I typed boyfriend in that list and erased it and typed it about three more times and then I looked up at our rules and realized you're right. I'm not sure if we've reached a coherent set of directions yet, but I don't wish to cheat either. I typed it, it stays.

From: [email protected] [Alec L.] To: [email protected] [M. Bane] subj: I may start blushing at any moment attach: ruleswip3.docx attach: bmovietime.docx

Oh fuck no, definitely not her boyfriend, I am very gay and also she's kind of my sister?

And wow, that's a way to come out to one's secret pen pal. I really have to stop responding to your emails at 2 in the morning, I am always vaguely horrified when I remember what I said the next day, and this is clearly not going to be the exception.

Though, since you keep responding anyways, clearly I should only respond at 2 in the morning? I may have to consider that one.

And no again, I am not a redhead, and the family dinner is a little complicated, (see the kind-of above) but I suppose I would be her step-brother once removed? That sounds entirely implausible doesn't it, it's quite obvious I just made that up.

Her step-dad married my mom.

That was much less complicated than I thought it was going to be, hmm. Clearly I have been over-thinking the family history every other time someone asked. Perhaps it's a lifetime of being over-sensitive. One of my brothers is adopted and we got a lot of oh dear you look nothing alike comments when we were little.

But now I realize how very one-sided our conversation has become, you know my name and that I have a family hedge rather than a tree, that you can find some of us at a bookstore, and that I have a rainbow flag sitting in the cup of pens and highlighters on my desk.

Also that I am much more familiar with b-movies than b-plays, so I feel I must switch media in our disaster lists of duelling recommendations yet again. I did manage to find that set by Bernhardt to read, however, and they were joyfully terrible, I hope someday I can see them on stage.

My sister is staring at me in shock from across town, I always rolled my eyes when she was in her musical theatre stage in middle school. (Different sister, not the redhead.)

Then again I rolled my eyes at everything at that point, it's difficult being nice when you're so far in the closet you can't even see the door. And look at me, over-sharing again. I don't.

This isn't something I do? But since that email you sent back thanking me, I have felt like I've known you forever, and can tell you anything. Is it because I don't have a face to put to the words, so I'm not worrying about what I look like to you? Is it just that such sincere and honest gratitude isn't something I've really seen before? Maybe you don't think people can just help just because, but I'm not sure I've ever seen someone just say thank you without a single caveat. You answered me with such grace, it made my heart ache.

I don't know. And here I am getting all philosophical, the joys of 2am confessions. I can't say I'm sorry though, because that wouldn't be true.

But I know next to nothing about you. And you did just compliment my curiosity, it's in the email chain, I could copy-paste it and prove my point, if I had to. (Never leave a paper trail if you don't want it to be used against you.)

Though I can make an educated guess, at the very least, that your long-suffering compatriot is Professor Fell? I don't know why I didn't think of it earlier, I knew he had a bunch of Marlowe in his collection. And his old email got routed to mine over the summer when I did a work-study with him and he didn't want to deal with any more of Dean Aldertree's questions.

Everyone else switched to his new extension when he got tenure. Except you. Providence does seem to be the answer here. I'm glad.

From: [email protected] [M. Bane] To: [email protected] [Alec L] subj: the very thought makes me breathless attach: ruleswip4.docx attach: ChairmanMeowFavorites.docx

I am honored you trusted me, Alec. Is that short for Alexander, perhaps? Would you mind if I called you that? It seems to fit the poetic nature of this correspondence.

Ragnor and I have been friends for a very long time, even before we both ended up on opposite ends of campus. It is terribly tempting to go ask him for a description of his interns last summer, except for the fact that I'd be lucky if he remembered the color of your hair. He could probably recognize your writing style within three words, but asking someone else is not how this goes, is it?

You are giving me clandestine operation vibes again, darling. Paper trails. Who says things like that? Spies. In delightfully bad movies.

Oh, oh! Do you have a tuxedo with exploding cufflinks? I have always wanted to see such a thing.

And yes, I am avoiding your questions, and no, I am not entirely sure why.

Or I am, and it's vaguely embarrassing. I think I am afraid that as soon as you know my real name this will stop being some unexpected fairy tale I have landed in, and something will go wrong, and I'll never get another email from you, and that thought is more upsetting than it has any right to be. I trust you too, dramatically, inexplicably, and completely.

I have never wanted to delete anything as much as I want to delete that paragraph. But you sent me all your sincere 2am ramblings, so I must do the same.

You make me brave, my mysterious Alexander.

Our rules list is not so much rules as elaborate flirtation at this point, wouldn't you say? And we've made our way through books and plays and movies, so now have a list of the music I never admit to people I listen to when I'm home alone and dancing for the cat.

My name is Magnus, and I have no real family to speak of, so I am not at all sure what one means by a hedge but I must admit that I want to find out.

And also that I especially wish to see a tuxedo on you, which I am sure is entirely too forward of me and I am quite sure I have just scared you away and I have never been so nervous about clicking that damn send icon in my life.

From: [email protected] [Alec L.] To: [email protected] [M. Bane] subj: forget breathless, I think I've forgotten how to breathe entirely attach: music.docx

I don't think I have successfully flirted with anyone before in my entire life. I feel suspiciously like I might be having an attack of the vapors like the characters from an old romance novel.

Don't tell my sister I read old romance novels. Or that there are showtunes on my music list. She will never let me hear the end of it. And look at me, assuming you want to meet my sister. Did I mention breathing is not really a thing at the moment?

Your cat's name is Chairman Meow? That is the second-best thing I've heard in my life.

First is that this unexpected correspondence means as much to you as it does to me. Or maybe first is the idea of you calling me Alexander. No one does, never have, though I've had to repeatedly correct a few teachers over the years to keep it that way, but I like the idea of it coming from you. I like that very much.

To answer your sort-of question before I get to my actual question, because I am nervous enough I have started this email about five times already, law students talk about paper trails. Especially in their last year when they're trying desperately not to think too much about everything that could go wrong before graduation and how easy it is to fail the Bar.

And here we go. If you were brave I cannot be any less, can I?

It's not a tuxedo, but if you do want to meet the hedge (and me, hopefully more so) Clary's best friend Simon is a musician, and he has a gig this weekend at The Hunter's Moon, if you would like to come and find out...

I don't know, find out if this is a real off the computer screen as it is inside it, somewhere public where it'll be easy enough to make a strategic retreat if necessary.

Or, I think we're past easy retreats, but at least it'll be possible.

I hope we don't have to.

It will be an awful lot of the hedge though, if that's too much? We could try coffee or something first.

I mean, there's my brother and sister and step-sister and Simon and his girlfriend (who also works at the bookstore, we're a tangled disaster) and sometimes my friend Lydia because if I don't drag her out occasionally she's even more of a workaholic than I am. And it would be even worse if our cousin Aline was here, but she's visiting her girlfriend abroad.

They frequently are too much. Because they will, assuredly, every single one of them, make a comment on me inviting someone. Except maybe Lydia. She'll give you a look though. She's very good at those. So. Just. A warning? Hell, that paragraph looks terrifying and I know all of them already. I don't even know what I'm saying anymore, and if I had to talk instead of type I'm pretty sure I'd be stuttering. I kind of am, even here, aren't I?

I am 102% convinced I have just scared you away, but it's better to warn you than drop you in the middle of that. No one deserves that, and especially not someone I am very much looking forward to meeting.

And I really better hit send now or I'm going to give myself a heart-attack.

From: [email protected] [M. Bane] To: [email protected] [Alec L] subj: breathing is overrated

I have, my entire life, always been the one who is too much for someone else. I think it only fair, at our first acquaintance, that you have the opportunity to be too much as well. I would be delighted to dive into the deep-end of whatever this is and start out by meeting your family. We've done everything else out of order, haven't we?

With the caveat that perhaps we meet outside rather than in the middle of your hedge? (Do they know you call them that? Can I call them that? That sounds delightful.) Just in case, as you said.

And to share note by note, and also so you can answer your delightful hedge's presumably nosy questions about who the dashing man you've invited along even is, I am finishing up the second year of my very first real professor job in the drama department.

Not that that is likely to be a surprise, considering Marlowe and Bernhardt.

Also the eyeliner tends to add to that conclusion for most people who have met me in person. I am so very much looking forward to adding you to that list. (Also I'm terrified. Is it alright to be terrified? Should I admit that? Probably not. Too late now!) What's your favorite color, Alexander? I think I shall need the fortitude of getting my nails done before I arrive.

From: [email protected] [Alec L.] To: [email protected] [M. Bane] subj: but I need to survive until Saturday

There's a bus-stop around the corner, on 5th? We can meet there at 8 on Saturday, and then decide if you're willing to come inside with me or not. (I have not ever called the family a hedge before I attempted to explain them to you, and most definitely not to their faces. I highly encourage you to do so, so that I can watch. Is that mean? That might be a little mean of me, I do apologize. Sort of.)

I don't think anyone's asked me my favorite color since I outgrew my moody teenage years and the only possible answer was black, with perhaps the occasional detour into grey. Would it be terribly out of line of me to admit that meeting you makes me think of the sunrise, and thus I am, at the moment, most especially fond of pink and gold?

From: [email protected] [M. Bane] To: [email protected] [Alec L] subj: if you keep saying things like that, I'm not going to survive either

I never knew heart-attacks were contagious, but oh I think you shared yours with me with that last line. You are painfully romantic, Alexander, I am in awe.

But now I desperately need a change of conversational topic or I will fidget myself into a disaster by Saturday night, that's two whole days.

Why law school, if I may be both bold and boring and ask the obvious and impertinent?

I shall answer your return question, why the theatre? before you even have to ask. Or the short version, anyways. It gave me a world better than the one I was living in when I was young, and then it was just so very pretty that I never wanted to leave. Especially when I realized how many other people need that escape as well, and I could help them find it.

That got a bit more serious than I intended. That does keep happening to me, as soon as I start a message to you. I have never failed so entirely at being a light and sparkling and charming personality before. You're remarkable.

From: [email protected] [Alec L.] To: [email protected] [M. Bane] subj: you have rendered me almost entirely speechless

I am not at all remarkable but the fact that you think so has kept me smiling all day. At least three people asked if I was all right, Lydia asked what his name is, whoever he is, (I have not told her yet, but I did re-invite her to Simon's gig, and I think she's definitely decided to come now), and I didn't even mind having to fix the same printer error four times tonight.

And you are easily the most captivating person I have ever (almost?) met.

Most of the time when people ask why law school it's easy enough to fob them off with a shrug, to mention that my father's a lawyer and my mother's a forensic accountant so I sort of just grew into it. Lightwood family tradition. Or something.

But my father's really the reason I almost didn't go to law school at all, and I don't want to give you the wrong impression. It's also a bit of a long story and may quite well ruin the conversation and if I scared you off now I think I might not recover any time soon.

Which is my way of saying hello there terror, nice you're visiting me, too.

I suppose the short version would be that, after Jace (the adopted brother) and my parents' truly disastrous divorce, I'd seen too many cases of terrible situations where no one had a real advocate. So I'm going into family law.

Hopefully. Assuming I don't have a panic attack and fail the Bar. Which is honestly what every other law student I know thinks is going to happen and clearly we can't all be that disastrous, but it's hard to keep that in mind some days.

Most days.

I can tell you the long story, if you'd like, but I have to admit I rather desperately want to kiss you before I say something too depressing and you no longer want to kiss me back. (And don't think I didn't notice you doing the exact same thing with your long story.)

And the 2am inability to think before I type is back. I did not miss you.

I am going to hit send now before I chicken out or die of mortification.

From: [email protected] [M. Bane] To: [email protected] [Alec L] subj: asdfjklgh (how's that for speechless?)

I may have just lost a half-an-hour staring blankly at my screen imagining Alexander kisses so. Priorites agreed upon! Until tonight it is.

#malec #malec fic #shadowhunters #alec lightwood #magnus bane #epistolary #modern email epistolary even #jilly writes #my sh fic #modern au #college au #i am for you

[helmes-deep]

Thoughts on Season 3 of Fuller House (3B):

Thoughts on 3A here. So just binge-watched all 9 episodes of it today haha and here are my random thoughts:

I LOVE THE GIBBLER FAMILY I LOVE FERNANDO AND KIMMY!!!! I JUST NEEDED MORE AND MORE OF THOSE TWO TOGETHER THROUGHOUT THIS SEASON AND/OR MORE GIBBLER FAMILY MOMENTS IN GENERAL THEY’RE JUST SUCH A WARM, LOVING, AND ADORABLY PERFECT FAMILY WHEN THEY’RE TOGETHER AND SO FUNNY WHEN THEY TRY TO OUTSHINE EVERYONE ELSE I LOVE THEM HAHA

Seriously, Andrea Barber is such a great actress!! Like honestly, she should really win an Emmy for this show I am not kidding haha. She is soooo entertaining!! and wickedly talented at acting!!!!

DJ AND STEVE YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!! FINALLY!!!! I’VE WAITED SO LONGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!!!!! I’m not exactly 100% down on the whole DJ x Steve thing; I’ve said before that I think currently, the actor who plays Matt has more chemistry with DJ, but DJ x Steve was how it was SUPPOSED TO BE and I’m 2000% down for that. Also, idk how, but I think the Steve actor guy (Scott Weinger) somehow got cuter/more likable over the Season 3 break. He just seems to look a bit cuter and has more chemistry with DJ now lol (the kind he should have had at the beginning of Season 1).

The wedding fiasco... didn’t go down as ideally as I would have liked it to... it was the ultimate break-up — a wedding break-up — so it was, in a way, what you would have expected: really sad and harsh-letdowns all-around... idk how it could have turned out better (although there really is no excuse for how Steve and DJ treated their significant others ://). I am glad they didn’t drag out the whole DJ x Steve thing, though. And the Japanese-set episode was really fun!! Really enjoyed seeing all of the different, beautiful sights and experiences!! Wish we had gotten to see more of those :33 (The Japanese episode was definitely a bit shorter than I had expected.) Also loved how the episode was shot.

The appearance of the Japanese boy group Sexy Zone made me think of K-pop, and how much I love it, so I could relate. Sorry, guys, I just had to put that in there :PPP 

KIMMY’S FASHION STYLE IS JUST SLAYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!! PROPS TO HER STYLIST IDK HOW THEY DO IT BUT SHE MAKES WACKY AND CRAZY LOOK SO AWESOME AND GOOOOD!!!!!

That alligator scene was top-notch. Great acting/balancing!

Seriously, as much as I love DJ and Steve, I will be so, so, so, so, so sad to see John Brotherton (the guy who plays Matt) go if he no longer gets a larger presence on the show. I have really, really appreciated the character Matt and have really enjoyed watching John’s performance.

Max, thankfully, is getting a little less annoying to handle on-screen (might have to do with his lack of scenes with the dog, which perhaps makes him less juvenile???). Also not exactly into his whole “I’m a smart guy”-type persona, but it’s not done terribly or maybe I’m getting used to it, so I can live with it. Idk, I just know I laughed more at and enjoyed his scenes more than I used to (he’s my least favorite character on the show, and probably still is).

Not really a fan of Max’s relationship with CJ’s girl, either (seems a bit forced), but whatever. If they want to make them that horrendously (I am not exaggerating when I use that word) cute couple, then more power to them.

Kinda sad/disappointed we didn’t get to see Popko for 3B, but he was a jerk, so it’s all okay. Ramona didn’t exactly get any love interests this time around, which is fine. And I really, really hope she doesn’t get with that high school dance-team guy, ugh. The dance-rival thing-y is cute enough, though, and I can see it being pulled off in the future.

I also don’t know why Ramona would skip out on SAFSPA: seemed like it was definitely her dream/goal as portrayed thus far, but okay, maybe it wasn’t. I thought the lesson we got out of that whole parent/kid situation was really good/nice.

Jackson and Rocki are a thing, and I AM LIVING FOR IT!!!!!! I’m just a sucker for nerdy guy/cool girl relationships, tbh :p :p

Still don’t like how Gia (a.k.a. Rocky’s mom) is sometimes cast as the “villain,” but oh well. I guess that discrepancy comes from us wanting post-Full House to be absolutely, 100% “feel-good,” but Gia was inherently written as a “bad” character, so she’s destined to be somewhat of the “bad” girl, no matter how far we get into the Fuller House world. At least she was written as less “evil” this time around.

ADORED Fernando and Tommy; ADORED Fernando, Tommy, and the race-car storyline; and ADORED Fernando and Tommy vs. Jesse and Pamela moment.

Tommy’s cute rn and had some really, really adorable moments this time around (funny enough, I enjoy him with Cosmo more than I do Max + Cosmo). I just really hope he doesn’t end up becoming annoying and unlikable like Michelle was on the original show. I liked Michelle as a baby/younger, but I didn’t enjoy her when she got older/was a toddler.

Honestly, I’ve never been a big fan of the “let’s be cute with babies” on TV-thing, especially on the original show, but I really liked seeing the guys or anyone holding and playing with the babies this time around. For once, I was like, “You know what?? I get it. This totally warms and melts my heart into a million pieces.” Idk, something cute and maybe more maternal?? within me just spoke :’pp

I STILL don’t think Stephanie should have a baby, especially when she has no job, no stable relationship, etc. I also kind of don’t want anymore babies lololol (first Jesse and Becky with Pamela, and of course, there’s already Tommy); there’s already so many people I have to keep up with on this show haha. But if that’s where they want to go, then hey, I’m glad the surrogate’s Kimmy and not someone else.

Needed more Stephanie and Jimmy. Or just Jimmy tbh.

When I saw Vicky, I gasped out loud. Could NOT believe she’s back, even though I already knew she’d be back/had a strong feeling she would be (idk if it was announced).

I DO NOT want the older guys (aka Danny, Jesse, Becky, and Joey) back for the majority of next season. It just seems like whenever the older guys come back it’s more of a static “callback” than actual progression of the episode/overall storyline. I enjoyed a lot of this season because there was less of the older guys; vice versa, I much more enjoyed seeing the older cast members visit this time because there wasn’t so much of them around. So yeah, reaaaalllly hoping we don’t see that much more of the older cast during the next season (if they get a next season), since they all announced they’re going to move back to San Francisco.

On the other hand, I’d really like to see Danny and Vicky finally get a news/television show together and get married already, lol.

I do like it when the older and newer generations are well-integrated, though. The Danny, Jesse, Joey, Steve, and Fernando scene was really funny and one of my favorites. Fuller House is basically just one big fanfiction that isn’t perfectly written, but it’s pretty snappin’ close, and it’s all TRUE AND Y’ALL GET TO CLAIM IT AND CALL IT CANON!! :P :P

Like I said, glad the whole DJ x Steve thing didn’t get dragged out, but a little disappointed it wasn’t exactly, totally resolved... But it’s okay; I can live with it, for the most part. At least they’ve decided they really do love each other, got in a good kiss, and want to try to pursue a real relationship again (hopefully that doesn’t get messed up next season). Excited to see what happens when they’re finally together after the “6 months” are over huehue...  

CAN YOU IMAGINE STEVE BEING A DAD AND HELPING JACKSON, MAX, AND THE REST OF THE BOYS OUT?!?!? LIKE MAYBE THEM COMING TO HIM FOR ADVICE ON “BOY/GUY STUFF” AND HIM ANSWERING ALL OF THEIR QUESTIONS AND/OR TRYING HIS BEST TO HELP THEM OH MY WORD IT WOULD BE SO CUTEEEEEEE!!!!

Happy that there wasn’t so much drama over “whether DJ would pick Matt or Steve”; I really didn’t want that plot point to drag on forever :V :V There was a lot more focus on the girls and family-interactions this time around, which I liked, even though it meant less of the adult pairings altogether.

TBH, there weren’t that many substantial main storylines or funny lines during this half of the season, imo (SHOUT OUT to that “ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM” EXCHANGE THOUGH; that scene was hilarious!!). A lot of it focused on everyday family interactions or Stephanie’s “surrogate/trying-to-get-a-baby” storyline (for those who are curious, I’d say the most we got this season was a solid on Stephanie’s storyline, and DJ and Steve confirming they will be getting together, but there really isn’t any further development toward their relationship. Also surprised they didn’t have a Christmas episode??) But tbh, I’m not mad. It was nice to not have to worry about any big romantic or whatever-else-possible drama, and just focus on seeing these characters interact with one another as a family. It was just ordinary, nice, and cheesy fun, and somehow kept me laughing and smiling like an idiot the entire time (which, in a way, is a nice nod to the original show’s purpose). This is really, really just a feel-good show. And you can see that reflected in the cast. You can just tell how comfortable everyone is with one another, and at times, you can see some real tears about to be shed during a couple of heart-felt scenes. It really is just about one big, ordinary, and optimistic family (although sometimes a bit too optimistic lol; I think they give themselves a bit of a dig about that at the end). So yeah, Fuller House is cheesy, ridiculous, lame, or whateverrrrrrrrr you want to call it, but I love it. And I enjoyed watching every episode of the entire second half of this season :’333

Please tell me they bring on Urkel as a special guest for Season 4.

Please tell me they will get a Season 4!!!! I KNOW THE SHOW SUCKS AND IS CHEESY AND LAME, BUT I AM LIVING FOR IT AND LOVING EVERY SECOND OF IT!!!!!

Yup, I think those are my thoughts for now. Might add/edit some more points in later if I can think of anything!! lol :P :P

#Fuller House #Full House #FullerHouseedit #FullHouseedit #DJ x Steve #text #fuller house spoilers

[inferno-loop]

hello there! im sorry if this is not the way to request something but can i have a story that y/n pass out or fainted because she works too much (it could be angst or fluff or angst and fluff) so yeah. AND I LOOOOOOOOOOOOOVE YOUR WRITINGS. THEY ARE SOOOO GOOD 💕💕

Warning: this shit is hella long, the longest I’ve written yet so proceed at your own risk babies.

Farah, thanks hun, sorry I’m late!  since you haven’t mentioned a member I’m choosing Jeon Jungkook at my own discretion.  Y’all can let me know if you want one for another member! Also, I tried going for something other than the classic ‘reader faints, boyfriend worries’. Hope y’all like it. ☺

***Please remember I don’t know jackshit about the functioning of corporate world, I’m training to be psychological counsellor-miles away from the field of techs, mnc’s and conglomerates so if y’all find something out of place please bear with me. XD

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

enJOYYYY

Working overtime was definitely not your thing, however, the environment at your workplace was comically peculiar for you to not give all your attention, strength and intellect during and beyond office hours.

You were the youngest of the 3 advisors to the recently appointed CEO of the tech giant KRONOS, Jeon Jungkook, who also happened to be the youngest CEO to have been appointed in the history of the company, at the age of 25. He had signed in only a week ago but had managed to change the entire working dynamics of the place. Despite being younger than most of the employees working in the company (including yourself, if only by few months), he was confident and for the lack of a better word, scary. He wanted all the work exactly on time, not an hour late. Tardiness was to be dealt with strictly. Work ethics were to be followed, on paper and in principle.

You supposed that a CEO, especially someone of his age, may have to build a tough exterior to gain the employees’ respect so you were never too judgmental of his conduct. You found it quite appealing, in fact. You could even say that you had a little crush on him.

Yes, you found it appealing- that is, until you became a direct target of his bullying.

Being one of the three advisors to the CEO, you also held a position of power- and with power came immense responsibility. All the completed files had to be sorted out, reviewed, edited and classified before reaching the CEO and that was your and your partners’ work. Your partners- Kim Namjoon and Jung Hoseok- were far more experienced in this field of work. Two years ago, when you had joined the company as Jungkook’s father -Mr Jeon’s- personal assistant, the two had already been working as his advisors. You, on the other hand, had a very specific set of skills but also knowledge regarding business in general. Mr. Jeon decided that you would become a part of the little group of advisors when you offered him an idea for one of his business deals- and it worked. Within six months of working as his P.A., you were transferred to the advisors’ committee and since then you had been working with the two. 

The work had been mutually divided amongst the three of you, with you working on editing and classifying the files and documents. That however was not your only job as the Advisors committee. The HR department of the company also reported to you, therefore for any misconduct of behaviour in the office, the final word of consequences came from the three of you. No one in the office would argue that the three advisors were perfect at their job, true role models. 

So when an angry CEO summoned the three of you, it all but left you confused.

You entered your boss’ luxurious office to the sight of your friend and junior, Park Sarah, standing in front of Jungkook’s desk with one hand on her baby bump and the other clenching and unclenching at her sides, out of nervousness. Jungkook sat on his seat behind the desk, legs crosses and hands joined, staring at Sarah like a hawk.

“Can I help you, sir?” You asked him as you reached his desk and bowed politely, Hoseok and Namjoon mirroring your actions.

“Yes, please. The three of you are supposed to be my advisors, are you not?” He held his hand up to silence Hoseok just as he was about to answer. “Don’t answer that, it was rhetorical. As I was saying,” He cleared his throat slightly as he got up from his chair and brought both his hands on the table suddenly, with force, “why was the Kim’s file sent to me incomplete, when I have not one, but three advisors who are supposed to review the files before sending them to me?” He finished as you looked at your partners; mouth slightly agape at the shocking information. They looked just as confused.

“I am positive that this is a misunderstanding, sir. It is not possible for even one file to be passed on to you until we review it.” You stated in a matter-of-fact tone, unintentionally further aggravating the CEO. He exhaled loudly, closing his eyes as if controlling himself from lashing out at you.

“Ms. ____, don’t your co-advisors stand here with more experience in the field? I’d rather have them explain the situation to me than a novice.”

“I believe it’s because of your unfamiliarity with the working pattern of the Advisors Committee but we work as a unit. There is no reason for us to answer individually when we manage the work together.”  Pin-drop silence followed as everyone looked around nervously, except you and your boss, who were engaged in battle of stares with neither of you backing down.

“Oh, please! It was my fault, sir!” Sarah suddenly cried out. “It was an important file and I took it upon myself to finish it but it proved to be too much for m-”

“So you came here to boast about your incompetency? I can’t believe this.” Jungkook scoffed at her with an incredulous expression.

Sarah looked down at her feet, almost on the verge of tears while the three of you couldn’t help but feel bad for the lady. She clearly had good intentions.

“Okay, I’d like you to hand in your resignation by the end of today, Mrs. Park.” Jungkook deadpanned as he moved around his table to sit back on his throne and cross his legs. Your head shot up, looking at your CEO with wide eyes. Surely, he wouldn’t fire her for this?

“S-Sir?” Sarah stammered as her hands fell from her big stomach to her sides. “Y-You are firing me?” She looked at him with widened eyes, now flooding with tears.

“Of course not. You, a responsible employee of my company, realizing the gravity of your actions in not completing a very important file and thus, rendering loss to the company, handed me your resignation out of guilt.” Jungkook said in a monotonous voice, not even sparing the pregnant lady a glance. Sarah was full out bawling now and you couldn’t blame her at all. You were standing there with your mouth agape, not believing what was happening in front of your eyes.

“That’s it. You all can resume work now and Mrs. Park can proceed to clear out her desk and write the letter.”

“That’s enough.” Your voice cut through the thick air like a knife.

Jungkook looked up at you, frowning. “Excuse me?”

“I said that’s enough. You can’t fire her.” You regained your composure as you straightened your back. You knew you would have to deal with tact and not the anger that was ready pour out of you in the nastiest form of words known to mankind.

“I can do whatever the fuck I want, Ms. ___. I’d suggest you get out of here before a similar fate befalls you.” Jungkook growled at you, allowing you to get a glimpse of his wrath, but you were not one to back down. Especially, if what you were fighting for was someone’s job.

You stepped forward with grace, feeling Namjoon and Hoseok on either side of you indicating that they were going to stand by you no matter what. You put both your hands on his desk and bent down.

“I’m afraid you don’t know, Mr. Jeon Jungkook but you do not have the authority to fire any employee without our consent and I am positive that I speak for all three of us when I say this,” You straightened up again and gave him the sweetest smile you could manage,

 “There is no way in hell that we will approve this.”

Jungkook was ready to cut you to pieces then and there.

This b*tch thinks she can overpower me? Fuck! She is treating me like this because I’m younger than her. She is underestimating me. He innately smirked as the perfect idea formed his head. She deserves this.

“Alright then. I’m aware that you hold some amount of power in those terms but surely, you’re aware that if I forward my qualms to the board of directors, Mrs. Park here WILL be fired and not even given the opportunity to resign with honour.” Jungkook eagerly waited for your response as he watched you narrowing your eyes ever so slightly- definitely a sign that you were affected by his words.

“Yes. However, if it does reach that stage you can expect my resignation as well.”

Now, Jungkook was really surprised. There was not an ounce of arrogance in your words, hidden or otherwise. You genuinely cared whether this employee stayed or not. He wondered why you were so adamant on protecting the lady. She was clearly in the wrong.

“Well, then I have a proposition to avoid the chaos. The client I’m dealing with, whose file Mrs. Park here effectively ruined,” He paused as he shot her a glare, “as you know, they are the ones majorly benefiting from the deal but from the perspective of a long term investment, this was a great investment for us as well. They are supposed to come here tomorrow morning. So if you can complete the file before I’m in the office tomorrow, without any mistakes might I add…I will not take any action against her.”

Jungkook sat back in his chair, openly smirking at you and your companions’ shocked expressions. He knew you could never complete that file by tomorrow even with three people and he was also aware that Namjoon’s and Hoseok’s company tour for official purposes was scheduled tomorrow and they would only return in the later in the evening. There is no way that they could stay the night here, helping you out. It was five in the evening already and you had a deadline of 10 the next morning. Jungkook sipped on his green tea as thoughts of victory ran through his head. You would not be able to complete it. Now you would have to swallow your pride and apologise to him for your misbehaviour. He had won.

“Okay. Thank you for considering Sarah’s position, sir. You will have the file before your arrival in the office tomorrow morning.”

Jungkook almost choked on his tea as he refocused on your elegant frame, bent at 90 degree exactly as a gesture of sincere gratitude. He looked around and noticed that he was not the only one shocked at your acceptance of his proposal. Sarah was looking at you with hopeful shock while Namjoon and Hoseok looked at you with pure horror painted on their faces. 

Is she fucking mental?

He realized that you weren’t going to move an inch until he addressed you so he cleared his throat, “O-Okay, you may leave.” He cursed inwardly as he stuttered.

You straightened up and without a glance in his direction you turned around walked out his office.

“____! What the fuck has gotten into you?!” Namjoon screamed as you entered your huge lounge like office, made to accomodate three people.

“I can’t believe you just went head on with that stuck up brat.” Hoseok marvelled at you.

“Hoseok.” Namjoon warned his friend as you chuckled, shutting the blinds on the glass pane.

“___, there is no way you can complete that file alone. Why did you do that?” Namjoon asked you, his voice strained with stress. Hoseok nodded in agreement with Namjoon.

“I can’t let him fire an employee like that. She has been working here longer than I have, for Christ’s sake! She did not have malice in her intentions and tried her best to do a good job. It would be unfair and I can’t let that happen on my count.” You shrugged.

Truth be said, you were dreading the night. You knew, without a doubt, that you would complete the file but the amount of hardwork, concentration and energy it would require would be immense. “There’s nothing to do, boys. I know you’re worried for me but please, don’t be. I’m a big girl and I can handle this.”The boys could do nothing but nod their heads.

“We still have an hour before we head back to pack, let’s start now. We’ll help you out as much as we can.” Hoseok said as he pulled up his sleeves and lead your little group to the working corner of your office. You sighed as you pulled up your own sleeves and opened the file.

Let’s do this.

Jungkook could not deny his rapid heartbeat as he entered his office building the next day, at ten in the morning. He had admittedly delayed his departure from his house, he did not know why. As he entered his private elevator, the realization that you would not have been able to complete the file affirmed itself in his mind making him more uncomfortable than ever. The elevator doors opened as he regained his composure and stepped out, ever so slightly glancing at your quarters. The lights were off. You must have gone back home. Feeling disappointed for unknown reasons, he entered his own quarters and he took his place on the chair. Within a second, his landline starting ringing.

“Yes?”

“Sir, your clients are here as scheduled, shall I send them up?”

Jungkook let out a frustrated sigh. “Yes…please do that.”

Jungkook could only practice his rejection for 5 minutes before he heard an obnoxious knock on his door. He muttered a ‘come in’ and watched as a semi bald man in his 40s and his young secretary entered his office as if they owned the damn place.

“Good morning, Mr. Kim. How are you on this wonderful day?” Jungkook greeted the older man as he shook his hand rather forcefully, but with a dashing smile on his handsome face, nonetheless.

“As wonderful as the day, Mr. Jungkook.” He laughed at his own joke making Jungkook inwardly cringe. “Please, sit down.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes as he turned around and made his way to his seat. How typical of the goon to act like the boss in someone else’s territory.

“Allow me to get directly to the point.” Kim smiled arrogantly, “I understand we’re closing the deal today. I’m sure you have read and reviewed the documents I sent to you. Why don’t we discuss the nature of our future ventures together?”

Jungkook almost snorted at the man’s over-confidence. Nonetheless, he did feel uncomfortable in telling him the embarrassing reason behind the cancellation of the deal. He would simply have to tell him the deal did not fall in sync with the prospects for his company and that it was too risky an investment. 

He sighed. “I’m afraid I have some bad news, Mr. Kim.” He watched as Kim’s complexion turned pale as he considered what the bad news might be. It was like reverse metamorphosis; his wretched wings, which had arrogantly spread around him, were now shrinking.  Jungkook would laugh if he didn’t feel bad about the strategic loss his company would have to endure.

Jungkook opened his mouth to deliver the bad news but was interrupted by the loud ringing of his desk phone. He apologized to Kim and picked up the receiver. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry to interrupt you, sir but ___ ma’am asked me to inform you that the KIMs file has been completed and kept in the first drawer of your desk. She will be in your office within 5 minutes. Thank you.” His receptionist hung up.

Jungkook calmly kept the receiver down, giving Kim his best smile. Internally though, he was losing his mind. He apologized to Kim once again as he moved his seat away from his desk to open the drawer. There it was. And what was that on the file? A post-it note?

He took the note out, reading the content.

“The file has been completed and reviewed. Keep in mind that clause no. 48, 57, 93 and 101 are hollow clauses, only been put in the deal to benefit the client and may possibly render monetary and reputational loss to our company. Negotiate to cancel these out and then proceed to sign the deal. Good luck, sir.”

If Jungkook had felt uncomfortable previously, now he felt absolutely terrible.

You were dizzy. The moment you hit the road that led to your building, you knew that you were going to fall sick. Even when you were young, not sleeping had always proved to be extremely problematic for you, especially. You were not a person who dealt with lack of sleep kindly. However, today was slightly different. Maybe it was because you had worked AND not slept, but you felt more disoriented than usual. It’s like you were having an out of body experience. You scolded yourself as you parked your sedan in the allotted space of the company building. That deal was important. After that deal, you would allow yourself to rest anywhere you wanted but before that…you would have to endure.

You got out of your car and suddenly a strong wave of dizziness had you clutching your car for support. You closed your eyes, trying to steady out your breathing. You couldn’t afford to miss out on the signing of the deal. You inhaled deeply one last time and stepped out of your car and made your way to the elevator. 

Reaching Jungkook’s office, you lightly knocked before entering and immediately noticed the tense atmosphere between your boss and the client, who were engaged in a battle of words, not even sparing you a glance.

You interrupted by clearing your throat and bowed politely towards the clients and your boss. “I’m sorry for interrupting your meeting. I believe I’m late, allow me to apologize for that.”

The three men in the room turned their heads to look at you. Kim raised an eyebrow, as he looked you up and down, making you cringe inwardly “And who might you be, miss?”

“I am-“

“She is my advisor.” Jungkook interrupted you before you could complete your sentence. “Please, Ms ___, take a seat, we were just discussing the clauses in the contract proposed by Mr. Kim. I’m sure you would want to give your opinion on the matter.”

Slightly shocked, you forgot the building pressure at the back of your head and made your way towards your seat, but not before noticing the silent look Jungkook passed to you. He clearly wanted you to help him negotiate. You understood immediately and straightened up.

“Well then,” Kim said as he observed the unsaid but obvious alliances in the room, 

“Shall we begin?”

Jungkook was in awe as Mr. Kim departed the office with a grumpy face after 3 hours of a tense and heated session, but not before passing you a dirty look. It was quite understandable why; after all, you had single-handedly and successfully negotiated with Kim, literally taking out all the potential risks to the company, much to Kim’s disappointment.

He observed your side profile as you stood beside him and felt his heart skip a beat. He could not lie to himself; you had occupied his mind since that little fiasco in his office the other day. He thought about how petty and immature his reaction was when all you clearly wanted was good for the company. He had over-reacted and he did feel bad about what he had done but apologizing to you? That was another deal altogether. He had trouble saying sorry, he knew that. He would prefer to naturally normalise things over the period of next few months.

He tore his eyes off you and made his way to his desk. He could not apologize to you but he could definitely reward you and give you the rest of the day off. You would, no doubt be exhausted. How you were even standing straight was beyond him.

He turned around leaning with his back on the front of his desk but before he could say something to you, you turned around, bowed your head and took your leave. Jungkook felt a pang in his chest as he felt the hostility that radiated from you as you shut the door to his office, not glancing at him even once. As he watched you move towards your quarters through glass pane in his office, however, he felt the pang in his chest grow into something else. 

You were no longer walking straight but very clearly stumbling around. His eyes narrowed as he watched you gripping the corner of a table for support but your body weight proved to be too much in your weak condition and your arms gave away, making you fall to the ground in a slump. You did not move.

Jungkook’s eyes widened with horror as he watched the scene unfold in front of him.

You had just fainted.

The realization of that fact was enough to snap him out of his trance. He dashed for his door and ran to you, faster than a bullet. He bent down as he reached you, taking his coat off and throwing it out of his sight blindly, and cradled your head on his lap, calling your name again and again.

“Ms___?! Can you hear me? ___! Fuck!”

Hearing all the commotion, the office workers hurried inside only to find you unconscious in your CEO’s lap. So naturally, they started whispering amongst themselves.

“WILL NO ONE CALL A FUCKING AMBULANCE?!” Jungkook bellowed as took his eyes off you for a second to glare at the onlookers. Shocked with the frequency of his voice, no one moved.

“Okay. Fine.” Jungkook growled as he moved you to put one arm under your neck and the other under your knees, picking you up bridal style and hurrying towards the elevator, all the while cursing himself under his breath. He had caused this. Of course, you would be exhausted! That file was huge, and Jungkook knew even he couldn’t complete it in the sorry excuse of a time frame he had given you. How could he have been so petty? 

He had caused this and he couldn’t hate himself more at that moment even if he tried.

You woke up to the smell of lavender. In fact, your entire…room was engulfed in the soothing fragrance of lavender. You looked to your left only to find a diffuser, burning with a light flame on its bottom.

Ah, that’s where the lavender is coming from.

You removed your attention from the diffuser to glance around your room and almost choked on air as you registered two facts.

One- the room was huge as fuck. It was a room in the hospital, no doubt, but it looked no less than a room one would find in a luxurious penthouse. Exquisite paintings covered the walls of the room, a 70-inch TV polished to shine rested on the wall in front of you. There were flowers, huge windows overlooking the city, a fridge and also, the second fact that caused you to almost choke.

Your boss.

You boss, with his hair disheveled and the first two buttons of his white shirt open, was sleeping on the sofa, no more than 2 meters away from your bed. While the fact that you were in a hospital did not shock you at all, your boss’ candid appearance did. You let out a surprised squeal causing him to wake with a start. He looked around, disoriented, until his eyes landed on you and visibly widened. He got up immediately and came to you, sitting on the chair beside you bed.

“Are you okay? Are you in pain? Should I call the doctor?” He asked as his eyes searched your frame for any signs of discomfort.

“Uh…no, that won’t be necessary. I’m quite alright, I was just a little shocked to see you sleeping on the sofa…sir.”

Jungkook groaned as he brought his hands to his face. “Please…don’t call me that right now.” He removed his hand and looked at you, his face ridden with guilt, before he got up from his seat and took two steps back. He then bent down on his knees and bowed until his head touch the ground. “I am so very sorry ___. I was such a dick to you that day and I…I am the reason you fainted. I am so sorry. I really am. I thought you were undermining me because I’m younger and acted so immature-“

“Please, get up!” you said out of horror. “There is no need to do this! Please get up.” You ushered him to get up and sit beside you before you handed him the glass of water on your bedside and watched him drink it.

“…Jungkook, I’m hardly a few months elder to you.” You broke the ice.

“What?” Jungkook said out of disbelief. “B-But I thought you were…?”

You smiled slightly. “No, not really. I’m practically the same age as you. Listen, how does that even matter? I’m more than happy that you’re ready to see what you did wrong. That is what matters.” You said with honesty as you watched him listening to you carefully.

“I’m your advisor, it’s literally my job to tell you what you do right and what you do wrong…and I will continue to do that. I understand that you are insecure about your age but hey, that is why we’re here, the advisors committee. You need to manage your temper. Let us in, and trust me we will help you out. That’s all we want to do-“

You words were cut short as Jungkook snaked his hand behind your head, turned you towards him and brought his lips to yours softly. You just sat there in shock as he removed himself from you and sat back in his chair.

“Thank you. For everything.” He said looking at you, straight in the eyes but you hardly registered his words. You were still shocked.

“And sorry about that, uh, kiss. I couldn’t help myself.” You finally found the energy to chuckle as you saw your arrogant boss blushing and looking around the room out of embarrassment. 

“Really? Well…why don’t you take me out for coffee as an apology?” You hinted openly.  

Jungkook looked at you with his eyes’ narrowed. “Are you serious? Will you…agree?” 

You smirked at his expression,  enjoying his nervousness. 

“Hell yes.”

I feel like the dead tbh, my eyes are ready to close not open for the next 2 days if I allow my self that leisure but working means working…haha…☹…

Let me know if you want this plot for some other member.

Much love,

Inferno-loop

#bts jungkook #bts #bangtan sonyeondan #bts fanfics #bts fake texts #bts fake chat #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #bts angst #bts fluff #bts smut #bts x reader #bts x you #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader angst #jungkook x reader fluff #jungkook x reader smut #bts v #bts rapmon #bts min yoongi #bts jhope #btsjimin #bts jin

[schpiedehl]

An open letter to Hamilton (etc) fan artists, Re:whitewashing

Hello. Time for another ill-constructed rant on probably already well-tread ground. Specifically whitewashing in fan art (even more specifically Hamilton art though this could be applied to any fandom) and when it is ok. lol jk it’s never ok. PLEASE NOTE: I am an (amateur) artist. I am not ragging on artists because I “don’t understand how hard making art is,” “how hard artists work,” or what have you. These are legitimate problems of representation in fanart (that I have witnessed firsthand) and this is my earnest attempt to elucidate these issues. Feel free to interact with this post as you see fit. I am always free for debate if you disagree, would like clarification, or have anything to add.  

+Look out for those embedded hyperlinks for more content 

Preface: I am a member of far too many fb Hamilton groups. Sometimes people post their art, apparently forgetting that when you post things online you open yourself to critique. Hilarity ensues.

I often see Hamilton characters (generally portrayed as original Broadway cast members - Lin-Manuel Miranda, Okieriete Onaodowan, Anthony Ramos, etc.) who have been horrifically whitewashed - complete with lightened skin, bizarrely red or light brown hair, lightened eyes, and so forth. The most common defenses for this misstep, from both artists and fans, are personal style and apparent inability to approximate accurate skin tone (“I tried but skin color is hard”). Here’s why both of those excuses are utter bullshit.

1. Personal Style:

A lot of things in life are open to interpretation and all art is inherently interpretive. But the racial and cultural identity of a real life person is not one of these interpretive things. [PAUSE: before anyone says that this is precisely what Hamilton is doing with its casting, don’t.] First of all, I get it, personal style is important to art. Some people trend toward realism while others prefer more abbreviated, abstracted, and/or cartoony styles and part of that is selecting stylized color palettes, interpreting color in new and inventive ways, and playing with light, value, line, form, etc. This is NOT what I am talking about. It is entirely possible to honor a person’s background using relative or approximated shading/tone/coloration and to create beautiful art in the process [example: Chris Vision’s color series]. This little rant is specifically directed at people who "attempt" to depict Hamilton (etc) actors/characters using realistic/semi-realistic color palettes (as in, how they appear irl, accounting for abstraction, drawing style, etc) but fall short when it comes to depicting the actors, particularly in regards to racial background. You can find excellent examples of what I mean at Calling Out Whitewashed Hamilton Art and I’m positive you can find far too many examples in this and many other fandoms simply by scrolling through the tags on Tumblr and Instagram.  So without further ado, lightening a person/character’s skin in fanart is racist. There’s really no ifs, ands, or buts about it. Foremost, the practice of editing a person of color to appear more European (skin, hair, eyes, even facial features) intentionally erases the cultural, racial, and ethnic background of the person in question. This is incredibly disrespectful to the actors who portray these characters and works to undermine what Hamilton as a whole is trying to build. If Hamilton is trying to reclaim American history for People of Color, stripping the racial, ethnic, and cultural backgrounds from the actors represents a rejection of conceit and, perhaps, even a form of appropriation. It is as though “fans” are saying that they want the art that is made by and for POC while simultaneously rejecting the distinctly racialized aspects of that art. When artists depict Lin!Hamilton as white, they are rejecting the Nuyorican background which Lin brings to the character in both writing and performance and projecting faux whiteness upon the character. In doing so, whether consciously or not, they are rejecting the actor’s race as well. Lin is beloved because of the art that he makes which allows many fans to look past his racial and cultural identity rather than accept it as an intrinsic aspect of both the man and his art.  Moreover, the ubiquity of this whitewashed art also reveals a lot about what “fans” find visually appealing and acceptable - e.g., the Eurocentric standard of beauty. Whitewashing in art represents not only a rejection of POC’s culture but, obviously, their physical attributes as well. Dark skin is lightened and or whitened, hair is often straightened and/or lightened to a light brown or red hue (with the exception of Laurens, whose features, hair in particular, are often feminized as a form a queer fetishization but that is a rant for another day), and features are changed to appear more European. Often, depictions of characters are changed so much it is nearly impossible to tell that the art is based on any particular actor. In addition to being, again, extremely disrespectful to the actors, this further perpetuates the extremely harmful notion that beauty only exists in European features and sends a direct message to POC fans that their appearance is neither beautiful not accepted by the fanbase of a piece of media that was made by other POC specifically to appeal to them. This seems especially true of dark skinned black individuals who are often completely stripped of the melanin in fan art, further driving home notions of ingrained cultural colorism and anti-blackness. With Hamilton in particular, it is fine to “change” a character’s race if and only if you are depicting a character as a different actor. For instance, while Lin!Hamilton is Latino, Michael!Hamilton is a black man and depicting Hamilton as such, while uncommon among fan communities, is better than fine [*the lack of art of dark skinned actors is another point of contention. Not only are dark skinned actors frequently whitewashed, many are ignored altogether]. Depicting Michael!Hamilton as light skinned or white, however, is obviously not fine.  Having established that lightening a character’s skin or depicting them with more European features is inherently racist, the claim that whitewashing is a stylistic choice is invalid. If you make the “stylistic choice” to depict a POC as white, you are racist. End of story.  And if you want to do better but find yourself wanting to draw Lin!Hamilton as white, remember that this guy existed and just draw him instead. It’s not that hard.  2. Technical Difficulties:

One of the most unfortunately common excuses for whitewashing in fanart seems to be that, for some reason or another, artists have difficulty accurately approximating actors’ skin color so they presumedly just make something up, This results in Lin!Hamilton and Phillipa!Eliza looking a bit like Snow White, Oak!Mulligan looking a little tan, and so forth. As an artist, I understand that approximating realistic skintones can be rather hard, especially with traditional mediums, but it is glaringly obvious when artists don’t put in any effort.  With traditional mediums such as paint, markers, or color pencils, artists can blend to create the colors which accurately (or as accurately as possible given the limitations of certain mediums like watercolors) approximate actors’ skin tones. If the colors dry lighter than intended, the artist generally layer and blend more to achieve a better approximation. If they then scan their image, they can use a photo editor to fix or correct any mistakes. It might not be the easiest to find good matches (speaking from experience, there aren’t a ton of good warm brown toned markers and thus a lot of blending is sometimes required) but, as previously stated, it’s generally easy to tell when someone at least tried to get close to a correct skin tone. With digital art, it’s even easier. Fact: Nearly all art programs have a nifty eyedropper tool which can be used to pull color swatches directly from a reference picture. Even MSpaint has this function. By pulling multiple swatches from a variety of reference images (to account for different lighting conditions), an artist can build a relatively accurate gradiented palette for skin tone. It’s really that simple! And if an artist notices that the color isn’t quite right, it’s nothing a few tweaks to hue and saturation can’t fix!  If my tone seemed a bit sarcastic/passive aggressive in that last paragraph, it’s because it totally was. I see this excuse so much more often than I see any other excuse for whitewashed fan art and it is incredibly frustrating but also, as an (extraordinarily mediocre) artist myself, it rings incredibly inaccurate, especially for digital art. I completely understand that it sometimes takes a lot of time to get used to a medium but when an artist’s color palette is literally limitless, there is absolutely no reason (aside from personal, possibly subconscious/implicit but no less real, biases) for an actor/character to be depicted as white/light skinned when they are not. As previously discussed, that is disrespectful and harmful, and really only serves to make the artist (and those that support work) look like a jackass.  And look, if you find yourself making whitewashed art, it’s not as though it is impossible to change. When someone criticizes your whitewash-y art, don’t get defensive. Don’t claim that it’s your style or that you don’t know how to color POC. It looks and sounds really fucking ridiculous. Instead, evaluate your art and place it into a cultural context. Take it as an opportunity to improve. And maybe also take the opportunity to learn a little about yourself and your biases.  This wasn’t meant to be a call out post and I’d like to end this on a positive note so here are a few wonderful Hamilton fan artists who are worth a look:  terror-in-a-dream zzzoehsu linmanwhydididothis mikiprice thegentlehoneybee dorothywonderland maeng

#hamilton #lin-manuel miranda #fanart #fan art #whitewashing #racism #longpost #rant #daveed diggs #Okieriete Onaodowan #phillipa soo #alexander hamilton #anthony ramos #lams #discourse #Renee Elise Goldsberry #john laurens #michael luwoye #jasmine cephas jones

[pocinperioddramas]

Some of the things you said in reference to Wonder Woman - Gal Godot specifically - really rubbed me the wrong way. I'm not Jewish, but it's my understanding - re a post by a Jewish person on the way antisemitism crops up in discussions of Israel and how to avoid it - that 'Zionism' is just the belief that Israel should EXIST, not something that has any connection to support/lack thereof of Israeli politics/military action. (1/2)

Unless you really do think Israel shouldn’t exist - in which case, please be clear on that so I can unfollow. If it was a case of mistaken terminology (I’ve been there too!) please clarify or edit. I’d be happy to send you a link to the post in the messaging or something if you’re interested, or reblog it and tag you! (Also, it might be good to look into the Godot thing a little - she may be problematic, but a lot of the criticism I’ve seen of her is actually anti-Semetic dogwhistling.) (2/2)

Hello there! I am finally getting around to answering your question, after around 2 weeks of being absent from this blog. As you said that you don’t mind me posting my response publicly, I will do so in order for people to be clarified about my views regarding the issues on the table.

I understand your reservations. You linked me to the post you were referring to in your response to my own ask to you (the link did go through BTW). I actually saw that post a few years ago, I believe, and while the OP’s concerns about anti-Semitism cropping up in the process of defending Palestine are definitely valid (and they have every right to be concerned, as there have been some infamous figures who were pro-Palestine but also turned to be very anti-Semitic - there were at least 2 people I remember reading about, but I can’t remember their names at the moment), not every Jewish person shares their particular view about Israel/Zionism. There is, in fact, a website known as the New Jewish Resistance founded and run by anti-Zionist Jews (and they explicitly identify as such) through whom I learned a lot about anti-Semitism and Zionism and how to fight both forms of oppression (in this article, they discuss about what they stand for and in this other article, they tackle about how being anti-Zionist isn’t equivalent to being anti-Semitic). But understand that this definitely shouldn’t excuse from any possible anti-Semitism (as citing that could make me sound like one of those “I’m not racist, I have [insert race/ethnicity being discussed] friends” or in this case, “I’m not anti-Semitic, I have Jewish friends” and I definitely don’t want to be like that), so please do call me out if I have been anti-Semitic, whether subtle or explicit.

But you do bring up the issue of whether Zionism can be considered a legitimate ideology that started out with good intentions (a la how communism and socialism can be interpreted by many people too), which is the view held by the OP of the post you shared, or if it is an inherently flawed or oppressive ideology. To be honest, I’m still very conflicted about that. The important thing here has always been to center both Jewish and Palestinian voices speaking out on the issue, and while most Palestinians identify as anti-Zionist and anti-Israel, Jewish people are divided on it. Of course I definitely think that people who actively support the policies and actions of the Israeli government and Israel Defense Forces are reinforcing oppression, but Jewish people who bring up the point about Zionism being interpreted as an ideology with good intentions should be taken into account too, as people do think that Jewish people, despite centuries and even millennia of being in the diaspora, have an ancestral claim to their homeland in the Middle East.

But that also begs the question: if you support the ideology of Zionism while opposing the oppression of Palestine, do you think the two can be brought to life (i.e. Israel - or at least a Jewish state - and Palestine coexisting peacefully) in a way that do not contradict each other? Because as far as I know, Zionism is founded on the belief that the Jewish people have the right to a state of their own in the region of Palestine, where millions of Palestinians have lived for centuries too. Could a Jewish state exist where it does not have to oust these Palestinians from their own lands and it does not have to be a colonizer, and how can it be (realistically) put into practice? Or does Zionism and the right of Palestine to exist as a state directly contradict each other and thus you cannot actually support both? I would in fact hope for a two-state solution, but I do not know how it could be truly brought to life without involving any oppression or bloodshed. (Most of these questions are actually brought up too in the post you shared, but I am still curious about them and now that you asked me about it, it’s made me realize how sorely lacking my knowledge is on the issues and has made me want to learn more now actually. This is actually a good wake-up call for me, so I thank you for that, as your criticism has made me realize it’s important to evaluate my knowledge about issues in social justice - Zionism included - before speaking out.)

Now, with regards to Gal Gadot, most of the criticism I’ve read about her - from the people I follow on social media who have been vocal about being anti-Gal - with regards to her support of the IDF seems valid to me, but as it is said, anti-Semitism can still insidiously seep into conversations where people are defending Palestine, so maybe there truly was anti-Semitism there but I didn’t notice it. I did recently read an article from a Palestinian woman that discussed Gal’s Zionism/support of the IDF that might have had anti-Semitic undertones, though the author did make very good points about other aspects like the cruelties inflicted by the Israeli government and the IDF and the oppression that the Palestinians face from them, so maybe that’s an example of criticism that has anti-Semitic dog-whistling. What other examples have you seen of such criticism with anti-Semitic undertones?

But my point about Gal still stands: she may be a good actress and apparently progressive in other aspects, but her active support of the IDF and her praise of Shimon Peres alone are enough for me not to want to support her in any of her work, even “Wonder Woman”, despite my admiration of the character, her importance as a strong female superhero presence in pop culture and media, and the appeal of the movie due to the rave reviews it received, and I firmly believe that she wasn’t the one best suited to the role as there are plenty of other female actors who are even more progressive and whose personality, behavior, and views embody Wonder Woman and what she stands for more than someone who is an IDF supporter. I hope you understand.

Maybe you know more about these subjects, so if you have any more information, you can share with me so that I can learn too and if I am wrong in my views, I can rectify them and become more understanding and careful on these topics.

I am in no way an expert on Zionism, Israel’s oppression of Palestine, anti-Semitism, and Jewish and Palestinian experiences, as I am neither Jewish nor Palestinian. In fact, I only heard about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict relatively recently (I might have heard about it earlier had I been living in the West, but I don’t and I learned about it entirely through social media - that’s no excuse for me though, and I’m trying to catch up). I have conflicted feelings about Zionism and Israel in general, as I am not always certain about all the information I learn about these topics. But in recent years, I have tended to think along the lines of ‘Zionism is oppressive’ and ‘Israel (at least the way it was created and the state in its present form) is a colonizer/colonial state’, thanks to the articles I have been reading and whose views make sense to me. However I do get that I may have unconsciously appeared to be making assumptions with regards to the issues of Zionism and Israel, despite not being super knowledgeable about it as I’d want to be (although I definitely do think that what the Israeli government is doing to Palestinians is wrong). So I apologize for that, and please do not be afraid to criticize me for any faulty information or stances that I hold, when I air such information and stances. I actually encourage my followers and even non-followers to do so, so that I may continue to learn too (but that doesn’t mean I should rely entirely on other people to call me out - I am trying to educate myself as well by reading up on more articles, thinkpieces, and books discussing such issues as well as listening to the voices of the people at the center of such issues - I’m simply saying that it’s perfectly fine to call me out too in addition to me calling out myself while I am learning in my own way).

(Now, I will tread more carefully and be more specific when referring to Zionism and Israeli colonialism and make less assumptions as well.)

You are still free to unfollow me if you want, of course. I do hope we can reach an understanding, and thank you once again for your thoughtful ask. I really appreciate it.

-Admin Dawn

#theserpentsadvocate #answered ask

[maxwellyjordan]

Ask the author: Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes and “the loneliness of original work”

“[A] man of high ambitions … must face the loneliness of original work.” — Oliver Wendell Holmes, Brown University Commencement Address (1897)

The following is a series of questions posed by Ronald Collins to Catharine Pierce Wells in connection with her new book, “Oliver Wendell Holmes: A Willing Servant to an Unknown God” (Cambridge University Press, 2020).

Catharine Pierce Wells is a professor of law and a Law School Fund research scholar at Boston College Law School, where she teaches and writes in various areas of legal theory, including pragmatic legal theory, feminist jurisprudence and civil rights theory. She received her law degree from Harvard Law School and also earned an M.A. and Ph.D. in philosophy from the University of California, Berkeley.

Wells’ articles on Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes have appeared, among other places, in the Journal of Supreme Court History. Her new book was published in the Cambridge Historical Studies in American Law and Society series, edited by Christopher Tomlins.

Welcome, Catharine, and thank you for taking the time to participate in this question-and-answer exchange for our readers. And congratulations on the publication of your book.

* * *

“Holmes is on the way of becoming one of the great representative figures of his nation, a type of man which has so far been rare in American history.” — Max Rheinstein (1943)

“[A]re we in danger of accepting him too uncritically?” — Max Lerner (1943)

Question: These two quotes reveal something of the spectrum of views on Holmes – Olympian on the one hand, dark and dangerous on the other. Before we turn to your book, what is your general sense of this range of opinions?

Wells: As you say, Holmes is a controversial figure. What is surprising, of course, is not so much the range of opinions but the passion that animates them. While there are some moderate voices, assessments of Holmes and his influence have tended towards the extreme. They run the gamut from “he is the greatest jurist who ever lived” to “he is a fascist and a dangerous influence on American law.” It is hard to imagine John Marshall or William Howard Taft exciting such passionate responses.

One common explanation for the intensity is that Holmes became the symbol of generational conflict among law professors. One generation mythologized Holmes as its spokesman and leader, while a younger generation rebelled by seeking to desecrate his image. But this explanation does not account for the fact that Holmes was controversial even in his own time.

I think the true explanation is somewhat simpler. Holmes was an astute observer. He saw all sides of human life — its heroism and villainy, its successes and failures, and its joy and despair. In addition, he made no excuse for doing what he thought was right, and he did not mince words when saying what he honestly thought. To put it in Thoreau’s words, Holmes was a man who marched to the beat of his own drum. Some people think of this as a sign of courage; others as an unwarranted smugness. The former group tends to see in Holmes a captivating idealist; the latter group may see nothing but a cranky old man. The truth, of course, is somewhere in between.

  Question: In an essay published last year in the book “The Pragmatism and Prejudice of Oliver Wendell Holmes,” you wrote: “No expert on American law has been subject to as many differing interpretations as [Holmes].” In your own book, you concede that “it is hard to have a fresh outlook” on Holmes. Given that, how does your interpretation of the man and his legacy differ from what has already been offered up in the 6,275 biographical pages printed in books about Holmes?

Wells: What compelled me to write about Holmes was the feeling that, despite all that had been written, no one had gotten it quite right. I first read Holmes after completing a dissertation on Charles Peirce, the founder of American pragmatism.

Pragmatism is a complex philosophy. The men who formulated it were intelligent and well educated (even if self-educated) in philosophy. As philosophers, they had a somewhat contradictory vision. On the one hand, they sought to provide an analysis and justification of the scientific method. On the other, they were committed to recognizing the limits of scientific thought. Disagreeing with Kant, they believed that there was no objective foundation for science. Instead, they saw the value of science in its effectiveness as a guide for human action.

The essential insight of the pragmatists – whether Peirce, William James or John Dewey – was their recognition of the value of the subjective aspects of human experience. Thus, they did not view feelings and speculation as degraded junior partners to rational science. Rather, they understood them as an essential ingredient in the construction of meaning. As lawyers looked at Holmes, they did not see this aspect of his philosophy. Even Professor Thomas Grey, who recognized Holmes as a pragmatist, seemed to ignore it. It was this omission that challenged me to write one more book about Holmes. It was written in the belief that one had to take Holmes’ mystical statements seriously, and to treat them as an integral part of his pragmatism.

  Question: The subtitle of your book is something of a riddle – “A Willing Servant to an Unknown God.” Can you unravel that a bit for us?

Wells: Yes, it is a bit of a riddle, but one that is central to Holmes’ life. Remember he was descended from Puritans who thought that the meaning of life was to serve God. But he was also an agnostic who lived in a city where zealous Calvinism had morphed into a more liberal Unitarianism. He did not believe in the biblical God, preferring instead to think broadly in terms of an unknowable power that transcended the physical world. Thus, he found himself inhabiting a paradox. On the one hand, he believed in serving God, and on the other, he had no sure knowledge of God or what it meant to serve God.

Some members of his generation resolved this conflict by embracing a faith that defied skepticism. Others simply shrugged, finding it impossible to serve a God they did not understand. But Holmes followed Ralph Waldo Emerson on a harder, middle road. He dedicated himself to duty, but at the same time recognized that the nature of his duty could only be gleamed by momentary insights. The best he could do was to remain open to his experience and allow himself to be guided by the love he felt for honor and country.

  Question: As you see it, how does Holmes’ life experience (especially his Civil War experience) connect to his philosophy and jurisprudence?

Wells: The standard answer to this question is that three years of blood and gore made him cynical and detached. This is the central narrative for those who think that Holmes lacked the idealism necessary for a legal legend. But I disagree. One can see a similar detachment in others of his generation who did not go to war. Think, for example, of his friend Henry Adams or his cousin, the historian John Torrey Morse.

As I began to reconstruct his experience in the war, what stood out to me was the constant back and forth between the horrors of the front and the comfort of home. He was wounded three times and each time spent a significant period in Boston. We can see in his letters that he came to realize the unbridgeable gap between the war as it was understood on the battlefield and the war as it was understood by the civilians in Boston. He also understood that the soldiers of the South were as idealistic and committed to justice (their vision of justice) as he was. These were formative experiences. Through them, he learned in the most dramatic fashion that perception depends on context.

What we see, sense and understand is always dependent upon perspective – the way in which our past constructs and illuminates present experience. This emphasis on perspective was an important element of Holmes’ skepticism. On the one hand, he authentically held certain beliefs. On the other, he understood the substantial possibility that some or all of these beliefs were wrong.

  Question: You write that “we need to reject the simple image of Holmes as a [legal] realist.” Please explain why you think that common portrayal is inaccurate.

Wells: When we approach Holmes through the lens of contemporary legal theory, it is natural to think that he must be either a formalist (someone who believes that legal decision-making is the result of applying logic to precedent) or a realist (someone who thinks that judges should decide on the basis of sound social policy). But this dichotomy overlooks a substantial middle ground.

Holmes was not a realist; he did not believe that judges should impose their own views of social policy. Nor was he a formalist, as is obvious from his criticism of Christopher Columbus Langdell.

Holmes understood something important about the common law. He saw that it was not the logic of precedent that constrained legal decision-making. Instead, he viewed the common law as a tradition with its own customs, norms and vocabulary. Judges were participants in the tradition and had to abide by its rules – both stated and unstated.

Sometimes, but rarely, there would be a right answer to a legal question because there was a stated rule that dictated the result. Mostly, however, the constraints were less formal. There might be a right answer or a range of right answers because the law dictated the form in which questions could be raised, the strategies that might be deployed in analyzing legal problems, and the vocabulary to be used in their resolution. This way of looking at the common law is neither realist nor formalist as those terms are understood today.

  Question: You note your interest in Holmes’ “role as a judge” and your consequent focus on his method of deciding cases. One of the opinions that you dwell on is Holmes’ 1896 dissent in Vegelahn v. Guntner. Why is that case important, and what does Holmes’ dissent tell us about his judicial method?

Wells: I focused on the Vegelahn opinion because it illustrates the type of constraint I just described. It is a clear example of Holmes’ use of a common law method in deciding cases of first impression. In this case, there is no stated rule that determines the outcome. Nevertheless, Holmes’ approach in this case is a good example of how adherence to the common law – broadly understood – commits him to a specific outcome.

The method is dialectical in the sense that it cycles between form and substance. His first move is to frame the issue in traditional tort terms. Then he suggests that privileges in tort cases are always a matter of substantive policy. The next step is to compare the case to other cases that seem to raise the same issue of substantive policy. He then applies the vocabulary and doctrines embodied in this latter group of cases to the case at hand. He reformulates the issue through this lens. Once this is done, he is able to decide the case based upon the fundamental principle of the common law – like cases must be decided alike.

  Question: All the chapter headings in the first part of your book come from lines in Holmes’ 1884 Memorial Day speech. In that speech, Holmes spoke words that would reappear in President John F. Kennedy’s 1961 inaugural address. Said Holmes: “[I]t is now the moment when by common consent we pause to become conscious of our national life and to rejoice in it, to recall what our country has done for each of us, and to ask ourselves what we can do for the country in return.”

Why is that 1884 speech so significant to your interpretive project?

Wells: I used the speech in the Prologue because it so clearly expresses Holmes’ basic attitude toward life. In it, we see the heart of his creed:

[Memorial Day] embodies … our belief that to act with enthusiasm and faith is the condition of acting greatly. To fight a war, you must believe something and want something with all your might. (This you must) do to carry anything else to an end worth reaching. More than that, you must be willing to commit yourself to a course, perhaps a long and hard one, without being able to foresee exactly where you will come out. All that is required of you is that you should go somewhither as hard as ever you can. The rest belongs to fate. One may fall – at the beginning of the charge or at the top of the earthworks; but in no other way can we reach the rewards of victory.

This summarizes not only his attitude toward fighting a war, but also his approach to studying law. I used phrases from the speech as chapter headings as part of an overall intention to tell Holmes’ story through his own words.

  Question: You write about Holmes: “How was it … that the young man who had gone to war to fight for abolition had come to the Court forty years later seemingly uninterested in the project of restoring basic freedoms for those who had been emancipated?” Might you say a few words about this apparent conflict?

Wells: Such a hard question. Perhaps the simplest answer is that the conflict is based upon his differing roles as soldier and judge, but this could use some elaboration.

Holmes favored abolition, but that was not the main reason he enlisted in the Union Army. He explained his reason in the Memorial Day speech:

I think the feeling that a man ought to take part in the war unless some conscientious scruple or strong practical reason made it impossible was right – in the South as in the North. I think that, as life is action and passion, it is required of a man that he should share the passion and action of his time at peril of being judged not to have lived.

Note that his reason for enlisting was not necessarily a hope that his action would help end slavery. To some extent, it reflected his desire to participate in something larger than himself. This was a touchstone throughout his life — full participation was a continuous goal. Thus, he threw himself into learning the law with total and intense commitment.

The key to understanding Holmes is to understand how he thought about his place in the world. He often said that we should not set ourselves up as little gods outside the universe. By this he meant that individuals should not imagine that they are masters of the universe, that they can “improve” the world by imposing their own ideals. As a result, he did not believe in mandates for reform. He was a judge. That was his job, and doing one’s particular job was Holmes’ highest ideal. By the time Holmes got to the Supreme Court, he knew what this meant. His role required him to participate in the grand sweep of the common law, and this meant conformity to a very specific set of ideals. Common law judges, he believed, should resolve disputes by upsetting surrounding customs and usages at little as possible. He may have disapproved of slavery. He may have thought that Southern efforts to restrict voting rights were unfair. But it was not his personal beliefs that were at issue. As a judge he believed, rightly or wrongly, that he had no power or authority to overturn well-established social arrangements.

In our time, young people are idealistic; they often become lawyers because they want to change the world. But their desire would have puzzled Holmes. It was just not the way he thought about things. Possibly our attitude is better, but thinking about Holmes has convinced me of at least one thing – that arrogance and hubris are attached to a commitment to social change.

  Question: In his 1960 Oliver Wendell Holmes Devise lecture, Francis Biddle (who once served as a secretary, the former term for a law clerk, to Holmes) took aim at the growing ranks of critics of his former boss. That criticism began in in earnest in 1941. By 1945 it was so strong that the American Bar Journal published an article by Ben Palmer (a prolific Minneapolis corporate lawyer) titled “Hobbes, Holmes and Hitler.” A more judicious, but nonetheless highly critical, portrait of Holmes was painted by Professor Albert Alschuler in his book “Law Without Values: The Life, Work, and Legacy of Justice Holmes” (2002). And that criticism continues today on various fronts. In your opinion, is any of the harsh criticism warranted?

Wells: In 2002, I wrote a review of Professor Alschuler’s book; it was titled “Reinventing Holmes: The Hidden, Inner, Life of a Cynical, Ambitious, Detached Old Judge without Values.” As the title suggests, I do not think that Alschuler’s negative assessment of Holmes is fair. His book is one of a number of works that distort Holmes’ record by cherry-picking quotes and discussing his worst opinions. Nevertheless, I do concede that there is a dark side to Holmes, especially in his later years.

The question is whether this dark side constitutes a real defect in character. What exactly were his “crimes?” In 50 years on the bench he wrote a few bad opinions – opinions that are “bad” in the sense that, 100 years later, we strongly disapprove of them. I wonder if Alschuler or any of the others could do better. I am pretty sure I could not.

  Question: Ralph Waldo Emerson (philosopher, poet, essayist, lecturer and leader of a transcendentalist movement) receives a good dollop of attention in your treatment of Holmes. Tell us how you think he influenced the justice.

Wells: Holmes first read Emerson in his early teens. In his later years, he would say that it was Emerson who had stood the test of time. Emerson’s influence was important because it shaped the way in which Holmes thought about the world. We can see this clearly if we contrast Emerson’s views with those of the British empiricists. The empiricists thought of human beings as observers. They equated experience with the passive reception of sense data. Emerson, on the other hand, thought of the natural world as a teacher. It interacted with human spirits, teaching them not just about the characteristics of a physical world but also about the meaning of a greater, transcendent world. Experience, he thought, was a relationship between himself and a larger world of which he was a part. This difference affected Holmes’ understanding of law in many ways. The British empiricists, for example, thought that experience taught only the “facts.” For Emerson and Holmes, it taught not only facts but also values. We should learn from our experience not just how to do things but also what is worth doing. This is an especially important insight for one who is studying law. Note, for example, how this larger conception of experience enlightens Holmes’ famous phrase – “The life of the law has not been logic: it has been experience.”

  Question: You devote time and attention to a two-volume book Holmes read in 1897, written by Fridtjof Nansen, the Norwegian explorer, scientist, diplomat and Nobel Peace Prize laureate, and titled “Farthest North: Being the Record of a Voyage of Exploration of the Ship FRAM, 1893-96 and of Fifteenth Months’ Sleigh Journey.”

Can you give us a nutshell account of why this wild-eyed explorer caught Holmes’ – and your — attention? 

Wells: It is obvious why Holmes liked it. At the turn of the century, a trip to the North Pole was the greatest possible adventure, and Holmes admired action and passion. Nansen’s trip was filled with insurmountable obstacles and seemingly certain death. I think Holmes saw this narrative as the ultimate expression of a life well lived. He also clearly identified with Nansen’s experience, thinking not only of his trials during the Civil War, but also of the rather grueling trip he took through the Alps with Leslie Stephen.

In his 1897 Brown University commencement speech, Holmes used Nansen’s book as a metaphor for his own life. In the speech, he compared the perils of Nansen’s journey with his own lonely struggle to understand the common law and the universe that it illuminated. Like Nansen, he saw his journey as a series of difficult challenges that required heroic efforts.

  Question: The second half of your book makes ample use of the Brown commencement speech. All the chapter headings in Part Two come from lines in that speech. Apart from Max Lerner’s inclusion of it in his 1943 book on Holmes, that speech has received relatively little attention from Holmes scholars. What made you decide to focus on it?

Wells: When I first read the speech, I was struck by the fact that it so accurately described Holmes’ intellectual life. It is easy to overlook the fact that, from 1865 to 1880, Holmes spent virtually all his spare time studying law. Essentially, he was glued to a seat in the Social Law Library in Boston reading dusty legal texts and wondering what they said about the human condition. This was lonely work, and like Nansen’s trip to the pole, it was not accompanied by assurance of success. I wanted to emphasize this aspect of Holmes’ life, because it was so formative for him. If you ignore this period of his life, it is easy to suppose that Holmes was just one more well-bred, well-connected young man who was in the right place at the right time to make his mark on the world.

  Question: On a chilly Friday in March of 1935, there was a service for Holmes at All Souls Unitarian Church, located at 16th and Harvard Streets NW in Washington, D.C. You fold Unitarianism into your biographical/jurisprudential account of Holmes. Please tell us more.

Wells: Someone in Washington once asked Fanny Holmes about their religious affiliation. She said that they were Unitarians, and added: “In Boston, one has to be something and Unitarian is the least you can be.” The Holmes were not joiners. They did not actively involve themselves in religious or social organizations. Nevertheless, as Fanny’s statement indicated, they were comfortable with the agnosticism of the more liberal wing of the Unitarian Church.

  Question: For a variety of political reasons, it is hard to imagine that any modern president would nominate a jurist in the jurisprudential mold of Holmes to the Supreme Court. The “public,” you observe, “has come to understand ‘good’ judging in terms of political ideology. This is a tragedy. … [But] Holmes reminds us there are alternatives” – namely, “acting impartially.” Absent that, we would confront a troubling prospect: “With ten more years of ideological struggle, how much legitimacy will the Court retain?”

If a Holmesian jurist were to be nominated and confirmed, would such a justice have any real allies on the Roberts court? Or would they be no more than an anomaly, without even a Justice Louis Brandeis to join in thoughtful dissent? Put another way: Are the days of a Holmesian jurist long past, both as nominee and justice?

Wells: Holmes placed law above politics without exception. As you know, he dissented in Northern Securities v. United States (1904) soon after he was appointed by Theodore Roosevelt. This was no small matter, as can be seen in a March 24, 1904 press account in The Citizen Republican:

The president is angry at Justice Holmes … (for his) dissenting opinion in the Northern Securities case, and Mr. Roosevelt is not going to any great trouble to conceal his displeasure. The trouble with Justice Holmes was that he reached his conclusion with his own interpretation of the law, instead of deciding the question as Mr. Roosevelt wanted him to.

And Northern Securities was just the tip of the iceberg. Over and over again, he made decisions that he knew would be unpopular among those in power.

Of course, the situation is different now. The country is polarized and there is no one opinion that pleases the powers that be. But the basic lesson is the same – putting law over politics would strengthen the Supreme Court’s ability to fulfill its constitutional function. This notion has support among several of the justices, including Chief Justice John Roberts.

Unfortunately, there are countervailing factors. Bickering over abortion and gun rights has created a sense that law is irrelevant to constitutional decision-making. In addition, the court continues to make openly partisan decisions, inserting itself into the very heart of the electoral process by explicitly benefitting one party over the other. Bush v. Gore (2000) is an example, but there are others dealing with voting rights, campaign finance, etc. In each of these cases, the Supreme Court could have emphasized its neutrality by deferring to state courts or to the Congress. To make matters worse, the president unequivocally promised that he would make appointments that had been individually approved by one of his constituent groups. Obviously, these factors are very harmful to the credibility of the court.

  Question: Thomas Jefferson wrote: “We hold these truths to be self-evident.” Holmes countered: “No concrete proposition is self-evident, no matter how ready we may be to accept it.” Do you think those two statements can be reconciled? If not, what does that tell us about Holmes’ grand view of things?

Wells: Holmes and the other pragmatists adopted Alexander Bain’s definition of belief as something upon which one was prepared to act. Looked at in this way, we understand that even Jefferson did not believe his “self-evident” proposition. Had Jefferson acted on it, he would have freed his slaves, but infamously he did not.

It is easy to assemble a number of positive qualities and say that we should all aspire to them. Perhaps, for example, it is self-evident that we should all eat healthy meals. But this statement does not tell us what a healthy meal is, nor does it do much to change unhealthy eating habits. It is not, in Holmes’ terms, a “concrete” proposition. Aspirations of this type have an obvious power to command acceptance, but acceptance does not always result in a commitment to act. When the Supreme Court decided Dred Scott v. Sandford (1856), for example, it simply overruled one of Jefferson’s self-evident propositions.

Then again, there are times when what is aspirational becomes real. One example of this was a suit by Quock Walker, an enslaved African American who sued for his freedom. The suit was based on the Massachusetts state constitution, which had been adopted a year earlier. He relied on a 1780 provision, similar to the one in the Declaration of Independence, which provided: “All men are born free and equal, and have certain natural, essential, and unalienable rights; among which may be reckoned the right of enjoying and defending their lives and liberties; that of acquiring, possessing, and protecting property; in fine, that of seeking and obtaining their safety and happiness.”

Based on that provision and good lawyering, a jury found in Walker’s favor, ending the custom of slavery in Massachusetts. In Commonwealth v. Jennison  (1783), the state’s highest court agreed. For the Massachusetts court, the idea that all men are created equal was a concrete proposition that had consequences for legal decision-making. At the same time, we must recognize that as the proposition became more concrete, it also became more controversial and less self-evident.

Ron, I thank you for this opportunity to discuss my book on Holmes. 

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