#I also set up a first draft of my cover and I am surprisingly happy with it

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

Progress Update

Guys, send help, I had already the word Sept- typed out before I remembered it is, in fact, October.

But I did get my October word goal done with 10 days to spare, which is neat, because now I can hopefully push further into November's goal already and also finish perfection in SDV for the first time.

You might wonder why I even bother with setting my goals like that, if the reality is all over the place. Well you see, with October's goal low like this, I am now delighted that I made it rather than stressed during those last few days, and anything on top is a gold star bonus. It's all about cheating myself!

In other news, we're in the last stretches of the middle part (I hope *fingers crossed*) but unfortunately I have no idea yet where the last part will take me, word-wise. I just hope that at some point I will feel like doing a lil timeskip, and then I'll do it, because man, this is not gonna end in 20k, is it?

Reminder that I made a WIP Intro and got a third commission done! :D

[fandomscombine]

Exploding Stink Bomb

Platonic!Weasley Twins x Reader

BG: Chaos ensues when the twins steal your latest prank invention. How much worse could it be when innocent people are caught in the mess?

WC:1744

Entry for @feetoffthetable​ 's 500 writing challenge. A week late I know-sorry! Cause I lost the initial draft. (Note: Do NOT trust auto save that much) So I had to rewrite it.

The prompts are taken from Random Prompts List No. 4 and No.11. (Are in bold in the text)

4. “…Are they dead?” “I don’t know! Why don’t you ask them!”

11. “You’re being remarkably calm about this.” “Thanks, it’s the shock. Give me fifteen minutes, the screaming will happen.”

>>>MASTERLIST<<<

Fred Weasley, George Weasley and Y/n L/n, also known as 'The Pranksters Trio' of modern day Hogwarts.

It is the winter of senior year, and your stress levels are increasing by the day. NEWTS are to be held in a couple of months and you have managed to procrastinate completing your mock papers. At this rate, you would get a passing grade but in all honesty you know that wouldn’t cut it, you know your abilities. If you actually put effort in your subjects you can bump a level up.

You've made a deal with your parents that if you had completed your practice papers, you could spend the last week of the Christmas holiday with the Weasleys.

Which you are; 3 days in, 4 days left till school.

'What your parents don't know won't hurt them...' You mumble to yourself as you stir the bubbling green mixture clockwise.

See you haven't finished the potions assignment yet. Your parents thought you did last week, but in reality what you were working on was a little fantastic smelling concoction that could contribute to the twins' upcoming new joke shop merchandise lineup!

During the journey to King’s Cross, Fred had come up to you and asked if you could help brainstorm a new product that would blow people's minds away. Of course you agreed, a multitude of ideas already brewing, you would do anything to help out your friends.

That night, it was all you could think about. Naturally you are itching to get started, before the thought flies away. Pushing your potions textbook aside, you got to work. It took 18 hours of no sleep but it paid off. The product was now in your hands.

A shiny burgundy shimmering marble-like sphere. The final product was smaller than the blueprint- the amount of ingredients you had on hand in your muggle household were limited- you do a mental note on raiding the potions supply closet once back in school for dragon hide.

But when you do finally have all the resources, the sphere should be the size of a baseball.

For now, at 30% of the ideal size, this mini test sphere could stink up a small bedroom. Which is enough to do damage but also has a small enough impact that you fix if anything were to go wrong.

BAM! You knew the quiet was too good to last.

“y/n/n, my dear!” Greeted Fred, waltzing into Ginny’s room.

“Are you--” George placed his hand on the door, stopping it from slamming back to his face. “Oi! Why’d you have to kick the door so hard? You could have ruined my handsome face!” He shouted to his twin.

Dropping your quill back into the ink bottle you sighed. “Nooo, how many times do I have to tell you? I’ll be finished when I’m finished. Most likely tomorrow, the earliest.”

“Why can’t you just let US test it though?” voiced George.

“Because I came up with it and it’s the only one we’ve got!” You reasoned. “I wanna see it when it explodes!”

Right then, the boys’ eyes lit up.

“IT EXPLODES?!?!?” They exclaimed in union.

“SHIT!” It was too late to cover it up. The secret is out.

The twins shared a look, you don’t really believe in twin telepathy but in the case of your 2 best friends and mischief, they almost always are on the same page.

You are sent flying sideways off your chair and hit the air mattress. “Offph! George! Let….me….go!” With all your might, you try to push George off you but to no avail. The muscles built up during quidditch training are to his advantage.

In the other side of the room, Fred is rummaging through your trunk, eagerly looking for the mysterious and highly sought after invention.

Although he may not know what it looks like, Fred is still one of your accomplices in sneaking prank items to school, meaning he and Geroge know all the secret compartments in your trunk. As do you with their trunks.

This setup made sense, it was a precautionary method devised so that in a matter of incoming danger or when suspected of something, the others could easily get rid of any incriminating evidence.

The system is perfect! Well expect now when it backfired on you.

“AHA GOT IT!”

Your face snaps to the direction of the voice. Cursing internally, right there, raised high above Fred’s head is the prized Exploding Stink Bomb.

“WICKED!” cried George. While the twins are reveling in their success, you took the chance to push George off you and launch towards Fred.

While George was caught off guard, Fred had the few seconds in which you got up to process what was happening and sprinted towards the door.

“IMMA GET YOU FRED!”

“LET’S SEE THAT SMALL LEGS!”

“GOT YA! AHHHHH--” One moment you had your hand on Fred’s shoulder, next you felt a tug on your waist. “GEORGE LET. ME. GO”

“No can do y/n/n.”

His hold wasn’t enough to hurt you, but it was certainly tighter. “Learned from your earlier mistake eh” You teased.

“Just caught me off guard” George reasoned.

Fred walking backwards, bids his farewell. “See you Suckers!” He shouted, taking a bow. With that he disappears round the corner.

A THUD.

“Ginny!”

You and George shared a look of confusion, what was going on?

Arriving at the scene, you are not surprised to see a sneering Ginny.

“That’s what you get for going in my room!”

What you’re more surprised to see is a frantic Fred. You knew that Ginny is fully capable of being terrifying but this was all in good fun right?

Slowly George walked up to his brother. “Freddie what’s wrong?”

“The ball… it slipped”

Eyes wide, your heart starts to beat faster. “Where…?”

You barely had gotten the question out, the answer is given.

As if on cue, you hear shouts coming from your right, Ron’s room.

Ginny being the closest, beats all of you to the door. When it opened, you catch the faint bit of purple smoke before it completely clears away, no other evidence of the stink ball in sight-you smile at the result, hard work does pay off.

‘Now is not a time to be happy y/n’ you told yourself. Your gaze reached the unconscious bodies on the two beds. “Well that’s…..uhh... new...”

Here are 4 guilty looking teenagers looking at the scene of the crime.

Ginny gingerly poked Ron’s side, keeping a fair distance away just in case he jolts back. “…Are they dead?” she asked, breaking the silence.

“I don’t know! Why don’t you ask them!” George paused his pacing to point his finger at both you and Fred.

“Hey! I am not the one you had thrown the stink bomb into the room!” You said defensively. “Besides I told you to test it when I’m ready! BUT NOOOO… you two wanted it now WITHOUT EVEN KNOWING IT’S FULL CAPACITY AND RESTRICTIONS!”

“I…..I…” When George couldn’t come up with a come back, he changed tactics. Turning to Fred he challenges. “You’re being remarkably calm about this.”

Fred, who was still standing rooted at the entryway, replied. “Thanks, it’s the shock. Give me fifteen minutes, the screaming will happen.”

“What the heck happened anyway?” asked Ginny.

“Yea, I thought it was just a stink bomb that could explode!” added George.

“It is just an exploding stink bomb!”

“Then why are they unconscious?” George’s panic becomes more evident as in addition to his pacing, his voice is now an octave higher.

“I think that the stink bomb was too powerful for such a small room.” Sighing, you gestured to the closed windows. “There’s no adequate ventilation too. Must have cause them to inhale a larger concentration”

“How long will they be out?”

“I don’t know Ginny…really.” You shrug. “It could be hours, one to two at best.”

“TWO HOURS?!?” The twins say in union despite one clearly in utter distress while the other scarily unmoving.

Fred gripped his hair, placed his head in between his thighs and let out a scream that could rival a lion.

George now having lost hope of his brother functioning, took charge. “Mum is gonna be back any second now. What are we gonna do?”

“Well, first…we’re gonna check the boy’s condition again for progress” You suggest, dragging Ginny to check on hair while you check on Ron.

“Then..we’re gonna say..”

“GOT YA!” You 4 shout, finger guns at the ready.

“Wait.. WHAT?!!?? WHAT’S HAPPENING?” George looks at Harry and Ron- who are surprisingly alright and laughing their heads off, to you and GInny looking very smug.

Fred tilts his red face up to the commotion.

“YOU JUST GOT PRANKED! SAY CHESSE!” You announced, indicating to Ginny with the camera.

“Cheeseee” murmured the twins in defeat.

~

“How’d you do it?”

You knew that they would be back with questions. You keep them on the edge as you finish up your potions essay.

"You lot are predictable."

"Predictable?" George scoffed.

Tidying up the study table you continue "Mhhhmmm hmmm. Predicted that you would test it out on Ron, knew that you would try to steal it from me cause you both are very impatient- especially you Fred."

"Heyy!"

"But how did you wake up Harry and Ron?" Piped George. "We shook them but they were still unconscious!"

"Ah George ever the curious. It's simple really." You lay on the bed with hands behind your head, enjoying this moment of outsmarted the boys. "Your siblings were all very tired of been pranked so when we saw an opportunity to have you taste of your own medicine we grab them chance."

You glance at them.

"The time of you setting off the stink bomb is unknown but we were ready. I've made a nose blocker chewing gum while I was tinkering with the foul smell of the stink bomb."

"No sense of smell, no effect." stated Fred.

"Exactly, the rest I'd just improv and acting! The boys weren't actually unconscious, just a temporary numbing spell which Ginny and I reversed when we checked on them."

Sitting back up, you continued.

"What I didn't predict was how crazy you with react. I've never seen you two gone off the rails scared shirtless like that before." You admitted. "Priceless."

"And now you have a photo of it" grumbled George.

"And video too!"

"WHAT?"

Taglist [All/General]: @gruffle1

HP Taglist: @onlyfreds

[talldarkandroguesome]

4th of Rain’s Hand, Morndas

I slept surprisingly well in the new bed. The linens I packed fit things fine. I will need to have more sent for. I am thinking that the nest will all be decorated in reds.

Not simply because it is my favorite color. It also is my Prince’s color. Also just a sign of wealth and luxury that should appeal. Not to mention a color representing passion and blood. Seduction. Betrayal.

It is perfect.

The bed was far larger than Sildras and I needed. A good bed for having multiple partners within. And I suspect that the posts will be able to hold up well against weight and strain alike.

The one thing that I would like to add still, is a curtain or canopy, something to add a bit of privacy. Perhaps some of the spiders would be good enough to make something for me. I will have to make that decision as time goes on, but it is hardly a pressing concern now.

Sildras and I made morning prayers and did prayers for the dead at the memorial I set up for Leythen. I left behind most of additional incense and offerings for future use. I will have to find a supplier in Lilandril for the future. Yet another thing to add to my list of things I need to take care of in future.

With all the basic furnishings in place, I have the basics in place for when the first recruits arrive. It was very exciting and I had Sildras look through all the rooms and tell me what he thought of them and what he might think was missing.

He made some suggestions for items to add to the alchemy room which I was happy to note for my next round of purchases. As soon as I have finished with Baro, I will dedicate more of my time to completing the nest. Then recruitment can start in earnest.

I have to be so careful with my selections, particularly in the start. These will be the people who will ultimately become the elders of the community. They will be the ones who set an example for future recruits. They will be the ones the others will look to for advice.

I will also need to designate one of them as my closest confident. I will need someone who will be able to run things smoothly and to my liking when I am not present.

It will not be easy to find such a person. To find someone I can trust with this place. I will have to have particular locks installed to my bedchambers. I want none to be allowed entrance without my say so. Perhaps I shall have to speak with Zethith about a sort of spell based locking mechanism.

Regardless, the time will come. For now, Sildras and I are traveling to the portal for Artaeum. With the horse and cart, I expect that two days will be the max time for us. We have stopped for supplies in Lilandril. I purchased many things, if only to be able to make a case for being merchants. The false papers were easy enough to draft. Probably not enough to pass a deep scrutiny, but enough for any basic guard looking to give us trouble.

Sildras has been delighted by the sights of the isle. I cannot wait to show him Artaeum, which is truly spectacular. I think he will be awestruck by it and perhaps even have a chance to ask all the questions I could not answer for him.

I know I am forcing hospitality upon the Psijics, but it is all for a good reason. Besides, I am sure that with a bit of luck, we might even be able to get teleported back east, making it that much easier for covering our tracks.

Besides, Sildras deserves a bit of adventure. He has spent so long kept in the gilded cage of Mournhold, which is no way to teach a young mer about the world. Sometimes you simply need to get out and explore. See the world for yourself. Put things to use. What good is knowledge without application, right?

And he did say he was worried about his practice of magicka, what better way than with the best mages Tamriel has to offer?

[jaskierswolf]

A Thirst Like Flames

Part 6/6  (1, 2, 3, 4, 5)

Ship: Gerlion - Rated: E (for smut) - Also on AO3

Rated E - for smutty reasons.

Dandelion shivered as he wrapped his heavy burgundy red cloak around his shoulders. Kaer Morhen had some of the most beautiful views in the continent but it was bloody freezing. It was his first day at the keep and he had yet to meet the other witchers, too exhausted when he’d first arrived, barely conscious as Geralt dragged him through the gates. One bath and a good nap later, he felt more like himself again. If not a little nervous, not too dissimilar to stage fright he’d experience in his youth. His heart felt like it was racing in his chest and his fingers tugged at his clothes, needing something to do.

The sound of his footsteps reverberated in the draft halls, the acoustics just perfect for a performance. Dandelion made a note to bring his lute down to dinner once they’d settled in. Geralt’s family had probably heard of him, maybe even heard his songs through other, less talented, bards, but Geralt was the only witcher from Kaer Morhen that he’d had the pleasure to meet.

And oh it certainly was a pleasure.

The scent of cooking venison filled his nose as he drew closer to the kitchens, making his stomach rumble in anticipation, and he could hear the sounds of laughter.

“Ah, found them,” he cheered to himself, pulling his cloak tighter around his shoulders. The feathered bonnet that was usually perched on his head had been left behind in Geralt’s room, instead the thick woollen hood was keeping his ears warm, and completely messing up his hair.

Dandelion had hoped that he would look his best when meeting Geralt’s family, but alas the cold had rather scuppered that dream. So, he took a deep breath and held his head up high before entering the room. As expected the witchers fell silent, Geralt’s eyes found his across the room, and it was easy to get lost in his gorgeous golden gaze. Dandelion winked at his witcher before turning to the rest of the room. There were more witchers there than Dandelion had been anticipating. Geralt had only told him about three other remaining Wolf School witchers, Vesemir, Eskel and Lambert. The silver haired witcher resting closest to the fire with a book in his hand was most likely Vesemir. Another golden eyed witcher who bore a striking resemblance to Geralt, aside from the vicious scar that ran across his cheek and his dark brown hair, was probably Eskel. That left a third witcher with golden eyes, who he assumed to be Lambert, and two others. One had long flowing dark brown hair, and startling blue eyes, the other bald with a thick dark beard and green eyes. The latter two both had dark tanned skin that was striking in comparison the chalky white skin of the Wolf witchers.

“Greetings, I am so sorry I’m late. I do hope that Geralt wasn’t too much of a grump without me,” he flashed a charming grin at the occupants of the room.

Lambert burst into fits of laughter and stood up, pulling Dandelion into a tight hug, lifting him off the floor. The air was forced from his lungs and he squeaked as his legs were suddenly dangling in the air, but warmth bloomed in his chest. Lambert was supposed the most prickly out of Geralt’s family, and Dandelion had apparently won him over purely by teasing his own grump of a witcher.

“I like this one, Geralt. He can stay,” Lambert laughed as he dropped Dandelion back to the floor.

“Ah, why thank you, Lambert.”

“Geralt was inconsolable, pacing the floor, pulling his hair out. If he hadn’t already gone grey….”

Geralt growled from the corner which set Lambert off again. “Shut up.”

“Oh bite me,” Lambert snapped back.

“Boys!” The elder witcher, who Dandelion was sure was Vesemir, barked and the two younger wolf witchers fell silent. “We have a guest, try not to act like animals.”

“Well-” Eskel started to say with a crooked grin, “-we are wolves.”

Dandelion giggled and strutted across the room until he reached Geralt’s chair. The seat next to his witcher was vacant but it didn’t matter. Dandelion fell into Geralt’s lap, pressing his lips to his cheek. “I think it’s sweet that you were worried about me, darling. Now then, are you going to introduce me?”

“They know who you are, Dandelion.”

Dandelion scoffed and rolled his eyes, running his hands through Geralt’s hair. It was surprisingly untangled, still soft and well conditioned despite the hike up the mountain. As he carded his fingers through the silver locks, Dandelion could smell the gentle scent of chamomile, the oil that he’d bought for Geralt on their first anniversary before their journey to Kaer Morhen. His usual lavender oil was too strong for Geralt’s heightened sense of smell, but the chamomile was subtle enough and helped to calm the witcher even when he was high on those blasted potions.

He began to separate the strands of Geralt’s hair, fingers working nimbly as he continued to speak. “They may know me, but I am afraid I wasn’t quite in my right mind when I arrived. I only know of your family, dearest, and unless I’m very much mistaken. I’m not the only visitor this year?”

“Vesemir, Eskel and Lambert you know,” Geralt gestured to the golden eyed witchers in turn. “Aiden,” he pointed to the blue-eyed man who had now settled onto the seat next to Lambert and was happily draped across the man’s lap. “Coën.” The green-eyed witcher smiled back at him. “And this is Dandelion, my bard.”

“I am absolutely thrilled to finally get to meet you,” Dandelion cooed at the witchers, not bothering to look at the braid in his hands. He’d done this so many times that he could probably do all but the most complex designs in his sleep. When he wasn’t playing his lute or scribbling away in his notebooks, he often needed something to do with his hands. Otherwise he felt restless. Geralt had noticed and suggested the braids. Dandelion had tried, and was still trying, to get his witcher to let him curl his hair, but Geralt was being stubborn about it. “Geralt has told me so much about you,” he lied.

Eskel chuckled. “That would be a first.”

“And probably a last too,” Lambert agreed.

“Fuck off,” Geralt grumbled and Dandelion giggled, poking his witcher’s nose with one elegant long finger.

“Be nice to your brothers, Geralt-” he chided before brushing his lips against Geralt’s ear, “-or else we won’t get to enjoy that fantastically large bed of yours later.”

The other witchers in the room all groaned, just as Dandelion had suspected they might, but he played innocent and smiled brightly up at them all, launching into a tirade of questions to divert their attention. Kaer Morhen was fascinating and Dandelion wanted to know everything! He was particularly curious as to why there were two witchers from other schools in the keep. There was just so much potential in just this one room! Dandelion’s reputation as the White Wolf’s bard and poet was about to get a makeover, he would be the barker for witchers everywhere!

The evening passed in merriment, music and mirth. Wine and liquor were spilled, and the roast venison was simply to die for. Dandelion kept a hand on Geralt at all times, in his hair, resting on his thigh, his arm, his shoulder. After a year together, Dandelion still couldn’t quite believe that he was allowed to love this beautiful, kind and generous man, and that he was loved in return, but Geralt showed his love and devotion every day.

It wasn’t poetry and roses like Dandelion was used to, but it was Geralt’s own unique language of love that Dandelion delighted in learning, and he’d always been a quick study.

No, Geralt’s love was more heartfelt than any superficial trinkets or flowers that would die. It was woven into the very essence of Dandelion’s lute, each note the instrument played, every word that fell from his lips. The love shone in the stars above their camp as they cuddled together for warmth, Dandelion’s chest pressed to Geralt’s back as their limbs tangled together. It was in the breath of each kiss, the swing of his swords.

Geralt’s love was all encompassing and it was his.

Or perhaps he was merely a poet in love.

What did it matter? The result was the same. They were happy together, despite the darkness in the world around them, there was light, like the flames that danced in the hearth as Vesemir began to snore.

Dandelion sighed, rubbing his nose along Geralt’s jaw and kissing his neck. “Time for bed, my love?”

Geralt grunted and swept Dandelion up into his arms. The world spun and Dandelion squeaked as he hurried to fling his arms around Geralt’s neck, not that he thought Geralt would drop him, but, well, it was always better to be safe, and it gave him an excellent excuse to continue kiss the pale skin of Geralt’s neck. The bruises never lasted more than an hour but it didn’t mean that Dandelion couldn’t try. He giggled as he nipped at the skin below the witcher’s ear.

“Would you two get a room?” Lambert groaned.

“Oi,” Aiden swatted his boyfriend over the head, “don’t be a spoilsport, we could always watch.”

Dandelion winked at the Cat witcher, making Lambert flush a deep red. “Out!” he barked.

“With pleasure,” Geralt chuckled, carrying Dandelion through the halls and back up to their room.

It didn’t take them long to disrobe, lips moving in slow languid kisses as they caressed and touched and held each other close. Dandelion’s fingers hooked under the chain of Geralt’s medallion, the only item left between them, and he held the silver wolf in his hand before kissing the cold metal. The witcher shivered as the medallion once again rested on his chest and Dandelion moved on to kiss the pale pink scars that covered his shoulders.

“I love you, dearest Geralt,” Dandelion hummed, and Geralt’s finger hooked under his chin, lifting his head so their lips once again met in a soft kiss.

They’d made love before, but this was Geralt’s room, not some shit-hole of an inn, or in the exposed elements of nature’s forests. This was a home, more importantly, it was Geralt’s home, and he was honoured to finally be a part of it. There was a whole new level of intimacy which warmed Dandelion’s heart, like the sun rising over the horizon, flowers blooming in the spring and fluttering cries of the birds to bring in each new day.

Geralt lifted him up, carrying him towards the bed and Dandelion could feel the anticipation, lust and arousal begin to cloud his mind in a dizzying haze. His witcher was looking at him with the utmost adoration and oh did that make his heart sing. As his back hit the mattress, Geralt stopped and stared at him, a calloused finger brushing against his cheek. It was almost too much, burning in its intensity.

Dandelion let out a nervous giggle, leaning into his lover’s touch. “What is it, my dear?”

Geralt just shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Poppycock,” Dandelion declared, reaching up to capture Geralt’s lips in a quick kiss. “Tell me, darling.”

“You look beautiful.”

Dandelion felt himself blush. His hair was fanned out behind his head and he was sure his face was the colour of the sweetest roses but he was nothing extraordinary, certainly nothing that Geralt hadn’t seen before. Yet this fire that burned between them felt entirely new, and his witcher’s expression was so tender, so heartfelt.

“You look beautiful,” Dandelion echoed, and then because he was a poet. “Radiant as the sun, and as ethereal as the moon, my darling, my dearest, my… hmmph!”

Geralt cut off his ramblings with a kiss and Dandelion wrapped his arms around Geralt’s neck, pulling him closer. They had time to savour every moment, every touch, every kiss. They had forever.

[thegalleonsnest]

Wiggle’s Muse - Short Excerpt turned into a FanFic

Yo, so, I wanted to share a small snippet of a future project I’m working on (while also delaying my current art projects). What I’ve written out here in this post was originally in a format not meant for professional writing purposes, but I said “eh, why the hell not,” and written it out in sort of a short fanfic format for you guys to read. This project btw, is not a fanfic (had to make that clear). What I am working on is a very large scale project for myself and is still in the blocking out/rough draft phases. This right here is probably my most fleshed out scene I’ve written out, and feels pretty complete as it’s own thing. Honestly, I’d appreciate the feedback if any of ya’ll found this interesting! 

Also I’m putting this in a tumblr post because I don’t have an AO3 or fanfiction account, and this is already too short for it anyway. Read the excerpt below

In front of the camera lenses, multiple grumpuses walk back and forth discussing a matter of topics but most importantly, where was Wiggle?

"Has anyone gotten ahold of Wiggle yet? She was supposed to be here hours ago,” a gruff voice coming from out of frame says. “We’ve tried calling her for over an hour, but we got nothing,” says another off camera, “do you think we should reschedule-” before they could finish, the studio doors bust open with a loud thud echoing the studio room. A tall, short armed grumpus with a boa stumbles along the room carrying an oddly shaped banjo.

“There she is,” said the gruff voiced grump, “Wiggle, whatever you got going on, you better do it now cause we got a meeting with investors in half an hour!” From the blurry view of a slightly out of frame Wiggle, she barely registered what the grump said. In a stumble, she walks to the center of the camera’s view & shakes her head, almost slurring her words, “Doooon’t worry, Darling, we’ll get you a new vest later.” “What, no, wait, that’s not what I-” before another word could be said, Wiggle readies her banjo and strikes a quick pose before strumming the strings like her life depended on it.

It didn’t take longer than a few seconds before the crew sprung into action, setting the proper lightning, mics and cameras around her. Her rhythm and measures became a lot more stable, catchy even, and then she broke into song. The next set of lyrics would become an instant, regrettable classic. 

It’s not long before the VHS tape stutters and stops, showing mostly static. A magenta furred Grumpus with some hair covering a part of eye, hits the eject button, takes out the tape and turns off the tv. “Girl, you were a right mess there!” She said with a giggle. “Tell me about it, Vrittany...” Wiggle said frustratingly, pinching the bridge of her nose. “And you’re telling me you can’t come up with anything better than that? Come on now!” “I wish I was lying, but I’m not. No matter what I come up with, nothing is topping whatever the heck my walking coma came up with instead!” Wiggle grabs her mug of coffee and takes a longing sip.

The two sit across from one another at the coffee bar. The aroma of that day’s set of cocoa beans waft through the cafe as most of the outside lamps fill out the darker spots inside. The place is nearly empty besides them, and a single muted green furred occupant sitting at a booth at the opposite end of the cafe, drawing away in his sketchpad.

“So, whatcha gonna do?” Vrittany asked sarcastically, “Stay awake for another week? Get inspired again? Hehe.” Wiggle sets her mug down, and answers, “I did try that again, but in style I fell asleep comfortably on a couch in the lobby”. Vrittany looked a bit stunned. “You’re kidding?! You’re crazy!” “Not crazy, Vrittany,” she takes another sip of her coffee before striking a pose in her high stool seat, bellowing out her voice. “Just creatiiiivly driveeeen~” “Whatever you say, darling,” Vrittany says before turning around to her bar’s sink. She cleans several mugs and glasses with gusto while preparing one last pot of coffee, enough for a single cup for later.

Vrittany takes off her apron and hangs it on the wayside of the counter as she walks around to take a seat next to Wiggle. After situating herself, she puts a paw on Wiggle’s shoulder. “Listen, pretty sure this is just a rut you’re stuck in right now,” she says. “Doesn’t every artist go through that every now and then?” Wiggle turns her head toward Vrittany, “Well..yeah, but this is different,” she desperately says. “I can’t let a song I made in my sleep be the best thing I’ve ever made! I know I can make something that’ll shake the world more than whatever ‘Do The Wiggle’ was.” 

Vrittany pulls back her paw from Wiggle to put on her best thinking cap. As deeply in thought as she was, her face immediately relaxes into a deadpan expression, “Have ya tried singing from the heart?” Wiggle cracks a smile, “HA, if only that’s how it works! It takes a musical genius to write a hit song in show biz, not just some field day with my feelings.” “Eh, worth a shot. Got any other plans?” “I’m still trying to figure that out. I need some kind of inspiration...almost like a-”

Before she could finish her thought, they both caught a glance at the muted green furred grump who walked up to them. He mustered up the words and said, “E-excuse me, you’re Miss Wiggle, right?” Wiggle turned in her seat to get a better look at the young Grumpus. She could tell he was nervous, clutching his sketchbook in his arms rather tightly. She quickly put on a more relaxed front to help calm things down, while also still showing off a bit of her excited side. “Why yes I am, Darling,” she said enthusiastically. “And I can tell you must be a fan of mine.” “Y-yeah...!” The green grump looked a little more relaxed, but still stiff in the shoulders. “Hey now, no need to be so nervous. I always got time for my fans.” “Thank you, Miss Wiggle. Um…” “No need to finish that thought, Darling, I know what you’re about to ask and I’m happy to oblige!”

Before the young man could stop to say something, Wiggle pulls out one of her many professional hand out photos that she has, and quickly signs with her autograph before handing it to him. “O-Oh, thank you, Miss, but that’s not what I was going to s-say.” he sheepishly says. “Really? Not an autograph,” Wiggle says surprisingly. “It’s usually the first thing fans ask of me.” “Sorry, I just...I wanted to show you this sketch I made…” 

The nervous grumpus slowly turns his sketchbook around to reveal a fully sketched art piece depicting a stylized Wiggle singing her heart out at the bar with Vrittany hanging out in the background cheering her on. He hands it to Wiggle to give them a closer look. It was still somewhat messy, showing a few guidelines and early roughed out shapes, but for what it was, it was still impressive to the two girls.

“Woah, that’s pretty rad!” Vrittany yelled out, leaning out from her seat trying to get a closer look. Wiggle was pretty stun, gasping at the sight of such a piece of artwork. “Darling, you drew this?! Just now,” Wiggle asked in awe. “Yeah! I was listening to some of your music and then you came in and sat down. It made me wanna draw you as fast as I could,” the green grumps says excitedly before rubbing the back of his head. “Sorry if it’s still a little messy looking though…” “Don’t be, because it is beeeaautifuuul~” “T-thank you so much, Miss Wiggle! T-that means a lot to m-me!” the grumpus says while his face lights up red from the praise. “You’re like an inspiration to me.” “Really now? Like a muse? All I do is sing the night away, Darling. You draw little masterpieces like this from me?”

As Wiggle continues to be enthralled by the young man and his work, Vrittany notices the coffee pot had finished brewing. She gets up from her seat and go back behind the counter to finish her last cup for the night. Wiggle and the green grump continue their conversation.

“W-well kind of,” says the grump, “it’s a bunch of music that inspires me when I draw. A lot of your stuff is so upbeat and fun, it gives me lots of different ideas to pump out!” Wiggle looks back, almost flabbergasted. “I’m...honestly a bit stunned that I had that kind of impact on you, Darling,” she says, almost with a melancholy tone, “...heh, kind of forget sometimes I do make some kind of impression on grumps like you.” She looks back down at the sketchbook, entranced by the creativity that sparked in the moment. That dazzling moment where it all clicked...where could she find that, when someone else can find it in her?

After an awkward minute of silence, the young grump spoke up and said, “If you like, you can keep the sketch page, Miss Wiggle?” Wiggle snapped her head back up from the sketchbook to the green fuzzball. “W-wait really? Are you sure you wanna give up this piece of art?” said Wiggle worryingly. “It’s no problem at all,” said the green grump proudly. “I already took a picture of it to save for later. I’m gonna make a painted version of it online later! Besides, it’ll make me happy if you kept it, since I was going to give it to you anyway.” “Oh Darling, you’re nothing more than a sweet one now, aren’t you? I’ll gladly keep it!” “Thank you so much, Miss Wiggle!”

Wiggle hands the sketchbook back to the green grumpus and he tears out the sketch. “No, Darling, thank you,” Wiggle says ecstatically. Vrittany returns from behind the bar with a to-go cup in hand, saying “Here’s your order, kid.”  “Oh, thank you, Vrittany. How much was it again,” the green grump asked. “Eh, don’t worry about it. Don’t feel like counting change. It’s on the house.” “O-oh you sure?” “You wanna change my mind?” “Don’t think I can, so thank you!” The green grump turns back to Wiggle and says “It was so nice meeting you in person, Miss Wiggle!”

“The pleasure is all mine, Dar-,” Wiggle catches herself before she realizes something. “Actually, what was your name?” “It’s Grite, Grite Tillsland!” Wiggle lets a genuine soft smile grow on her face. She felt a lot more at ease and happier knowing her new friend was much more relax and happy overall. She reached out her paw for a handshake, and Grite reciprocated.

“The pleasure’s mine, Grite, Darling.”

[alias-levi]

flash fic friday #7

for @liz-pooh . in celebration of the exams you passed. i got you and i love you 💙

i also want to say that I'm not 100% happy with what I'm written but I'm quite happy with how my initial draft of this turned out in the end.

i appreciate very much every interaction with this post! 💙

fandom: twilight word count: abt. 1,500 words pairing: Felix/fem!oc topics (and warnings): teasing, fluff, domestic!Felix, i gotta admit Demetri is only mentioned like twice, dancing salsa

summary: Liza, Felix and Demetri have been sent to Galicia, Spain to find out more about an old vampire. But it’s late summer and the days are sheer endless - and so is the time that has to pass before they can leave the house. Time to learn some salsa.

[ID: They learned how to salsa on a Friday night in the dim light of the kitchen.]

source: this prompt is from @poison-prompts (it's also #66 if anyone wanted to know) and the only thing that is different, is that it's not dim haha

thank you and the text is below the cut :) enjoy!

Spain is a beautiful country - especially in late summer. The mostly dry air makes it rather easy to breathe in the heat. The seemingly endless masses of tourists are finally travelling home and there are a few quieter weeks before the first winter tourists arrive, looking for a place to stay warm and cozy while their home countries drown in rain and snow. They come to Spain to escape the depressing grey sky, the short days and long nights. In late summer, the nights are still warm enough to even go swimming in the ocean - not that the temperature would have been a big concern for three vampires anyways.

Liza, Felix and Demitri have been sent to Galicia by Aro. Their order is to find out more about a male vampire that’s supposed to be in the area. He is rumored to be several hundred years old and to have explicit information on the Spanish royals. Aro has also heard that this vampire is not too friendly towards strangers and - that’s where Liza’s power comes into picture - is said to be one of the last dozen people who still speak an old Galician dialect.

Aro is not taking any chances.

So, he sent Liza.

Because that’s what she does: Whenever Liza talks, the recipient will, without a doubt, hear her words in their mother tongue. No matter how ancient, how rare, how complicated or hard to pronounce the language is. While Liza always speaks her own first language, German, the received sound will differ. This has caused quite some surprised reactions so far and Liza loves seeing people get excited and emotional about hearing the language their mother once spoke. Especially older vampires.

Aro had provided the trio with a nice small finca near Oia, on Spain’s north-west coast. It’s not exactly a tourist hotspot like other Spanish cities, so their area is rather quiet. Just like the long days in the finca.

With a sigh Liza turns yet another page in the book she is reading. Demetri had retreated to his room just after noon, leaving Liza and Felix alone in the living area. The dining table somewhere behind Liza is cluttered with files and documents that Felix needs to examine to make sure they did not overlook anything.

Another dramatic sigh leaves the female vampire’s lips. Liza throws her book next to her onto the cushions and dramatically turns her head to look out of the window front. From the terrace, through the garden and beyond the fence a narrow path winds down just to the coast. Their own private beach.

Still, there’s hours to pass for the sun to set eventually.

Liza listens to Felix drop his file onto the table. His chair gets pushed back. Only a bit, though. She can hear it scratching over the wooden floor. He doesn’t stand up.

“Querida, have you ever danced salsa before?”

Liza snorts. “No, I can’t dance anyways.”

“You could learn it. You've got a lot of time now.”

“And who’s going to show me? You?”

There’s a challenge in her voice and Liza turns just enough to be able to look over the back of the sofa. Felix is staring at her, his elbows resting on his knees, hands together, head slightly tilted. He looks intimidating. Like a predator preparing to attack his prey.

“Querida you forget where I’m from. I’ve been dancing salsa before I could even walk.”

“How come I’ve never seen you dance before then?”

“Well, I’ve been lacking the right... partner for that. Come here, let me show you.”

“No, thank you. As I said, I can’t dance.” Liza laughs and turns back around.

“Oh come on! This is going to be fun!”

“Make me!”

Liza’s book gets ripped out of her hands and hits the wall with a thud before falling to the floor. Still sitting on the sofa, Felix is towering above her. He leans down, one hand on either side of her. Felix’ face is so close, Liza can see her reflection in his dark red eyes and ever so often she can’t help but look down onto his lips. But she doesn’t get to do anything about it.

Felix winks at Liza.

Taking her hands he pulls her up and away from the sofa. Felix doesn’t let go of her hands when he takes another step back and turns serious again.

“Basic steps, querida. It’s not as hard as it looks.”

Liza rolls her eyes. “Fine.”

“Good. Now mirror me. Left, right, left. Right, left, right. Do it again.”

“Easy. That’s it?”

Felix smiles at her, “oh no. These are the basic steps that will stay the same all the time. Oh and you need to move your hips more.”

Liza’s eyes shoot up to look at Felix. A smug grin on his face.

“If you wanna see me shake my booty, you just had to ask, boy.”

Felix moves to stand behind his girlfriend and his sudden closure makes it surprisingly hard to concentrate. His lips are at her ear, softly touching it as he speaks quietly.

“Again, querida. Left, right, left. Right, left, right. Left-”

The vampire’s hands have been sitting loosely on Liza’s hips. Guiding them, his body as close as possible but still leaving her enough space. When she missteps, Liza rests her head on her boyfriend, groaning. Felix chuckles softly into her ear.

“Am I making you nervous, querida?”

“Nervous is not what I would call it,” she turns around in his arms. There’s an expression flickering through her eyes that causes Felix to swallow hard. “Let’s just say you distract me... Anyways, what’s next?”

Felix watches Liza bat her eyelashes innocently at him and it takes clearing his throat for him to find his words again.

“Right, right. So next we do this together. Come here.”

Felix doesn’t wait for Liza. He pulls her back in, probably a bit too far, but that is not the point. Liza laughs briefly and takes Felix’ hand. After making sure she’s good with the basic steps, Felix starts rotating them. Slowly but surely they make one round, and it is really coming together.

It’s cute how concentrated Liza stares at their feet, Felix finds, so he decides to spice things up by telling her to do a double step. Though neither vampire stops in their movements, Liza looks at Felix in disbelief.

“A double step?”

“Yes,” he smiles at her encouragingly, “I’ll count you in twice then we actually do it, okay?”

“Okay.”

Her answer is breathless but her eyes never leave Felix’. After a couple more minutes Liza gets the hang of it and feels safe enough to look at Felix again. He looks utterly happy and relaxed. She smiles.

Felix looks at his girlfriend with a proud face. “Close your eyes,” he tells her. “Keep the steps the same, that’s the only thing you need to concentrate on. I’ll do the rest. Trust me.”

And Liza does. Closing her eyes, she rolls her shoulders one last time and relaxes her hands. She can feel Felix move them around again, slow circles but not on the spot anymore. Felix leads them in bigger circles through the area. Once he feels sure enough that Liza will keep the steps, he starts moving faster. He watches her frown.

“You’re getting faster.”

“Correcto, querida. You’re doing great so far.”

Liza smiles and suddenly Felix’ hand leaves her hip. His other keeps holding hers and her free hand just hovers in the air. For three steps they stay like this, then Liza feels Felix’ chest under her fingertips again. She opens her eyes and takes the look in.

Smiling brightly Felix’ eyes never leave her face. His dark, usually very neat hair, looks a bit disheveled and his black silky dress shirt is halfway unbuttoned.

Quite a look, Liza thinks to herself.

But the female vampire doesn’t look less alluring. Tight black control leggings are hugging her curves and her white sheer cotton blouse has been unbuttoned a while ago. Underneath, a white crop top holds everything in place and covers about as much as it reveals.

Felix can’t take his eyes off her as they dance. Dancing salsa again after all this time brings back some memories he usually keeps locked away. But the woman in his hands keeps his brain routed in the present. By now, she is taking some initiative. Liza is putting more power into her steps and swings her hips just a bit more. When Felix’ eyes return to Liza’s face he watches her tip her head back and laugh. Freely. Happily.

In a swift motion, he brings their bodies together. He doesn’t need to tell her that they are no longer doing double steps. By now hours must have passed and their bodies are synced oh so well.

Reflexively Liza gasps for air. She raises her arms to lock her hands in his neck. Her eyes wide open as Felix’ hands cup her side firmly. She knows what’s about to come.

Then Felix kisses her.

[nossbean]

Ooh Hot Chocolate for the WIP meme, if you please :)

hee! I’m going to cheat possibly and combine this and Hot Chocolate II XD This sprung from asking a friend for a prompt for a writing warm-up last winter, hence the season appropriate: hot chocolate! Neither of these have any plot: my first go at the prompt is the start of a deleted scene from the Pacific Rim AU fic I did, with Jaime waking up before Brienne on his first morning in Tarth. Buuut it didn’t really have anywhere to go; I like it, but it petered out at just under 500 words. The second one is book canon, set in the future where Brienne and Jaime are visiting Sansa in the North with their kidlets. It has... genuinely no plot! This fic says: How did any of them survive? How did they get to where they are, post-war? Who knows! Who cares! They’re happy and healthy and mostly whole and that’s what matters! I do like it, for some slice of life fluff and I did come close to posting it -- I think it lived as a draft on AO3 before reaching that month limit to when AO3 deletes drafts, and indeed, reading it back now, I’m pretty sure I’d made some edits to the ao3 version to how Brienne in particular acts at the end. I’m not sure I’ll return to it, but in case it might bring some warm feelings as is, here’s the version I have:

Winterfell is under several feet of snow when they arrive. It is, at least, something to distract the children. Jo and Gall immediately fall all over themselves, tangled with Sansa’s Robb. Arya appears from only the Gods know where, and throws a loosely-packed snowball with infuriating accuracy at Jaime’s face. It collapses on impact, filling his nose and his beard, and somehow managing to sneak under the neck of his clothes to chill his chest, and with a growl, he launches himself into the mix.

He isn’t sure how much time passes, but he’s kneeled now in front of Gall, helping Jo and Robb pack snow around his legs to make him into a snowman. He has no idea where Arya’s gone, which is worrying, but he suspects Arya won’t disturb him when he’s playing with his children. Jo is in charge, one hand on her hip, the other pointing imperiously as she orders Jaime and Robb to work faster, bury her brother more efficiently, and Jaime delays long enough to cause her to frown severely at him, a downward pout to her mouth that he knows mirrors his own when he’s doing his best to goad Brienne, and he doesn’t know if he’s ever loved their daughter more. Of course, the thought is one which crosses his mind by the minute; with a glance to Gall, who is shimmying with excitement, sending the packed snow tumbling in small clumps, and his heart is full. He is so lucky. He remembers, every day.

“Fa-ther,” Jo says, and Jaime says quickly, “My apologies, Lady Joanna,” pretending at being demure when she nods regally, and redoubles his efforts.

His gold hand is surprisingly useful for the task, comparatively. That is, until Gall looks over Jaime’s shoulder and starts giggling, covering his mouth in a motion reminiscent of his mother. It’s enough warning, and Jaime collapses sideways onto his arse, just as Brienne drops an armful of snow where he’d been kneeled. It lands, now, on his calves and feet, and Jaime scowls, looking up at his wife. Her eyes are bright over her cold-kissed-red cheeks, broken teeth peeking from the wonderful curve of her smile, and Jaime curses his age as he struggles to scramble to his feet to tackle her into a nearby snowdrift.

Brienne gives him the time, though, kind, foolish woman that she is. She laughs up at him as they fall, the children hollering behind them, and Jaime wonders that he ever lived without the warm song in his chest brought on by the sound of her laughter. Once they’re collapsed, surrounded by snow, he squirms to prop himself up beside her, and promptly sets about stealing her scarf.

“You’ve made me cold, wife.”

“I haven’t,” she says, setting her jaw and tugging back on her scarf. “You should have dressed more warmly.”

“I didn’t expect such a chilly welcome,” he says, and Brienne groans and rolls her eyes. Jaime grins, then persists dramatically, “I also did not anticipate being attacked by our hosts upon arrival.”

“Last time we were here, Arya pushed you into the watering trough within minutes.”

“What’s your point?”

“That you bloody well should have anticipated it.”

“I have learned that in life, it is possible to mature,” he tells her with exaggerated sobriety. “And I had hoped that Arya might —”

“That Arya might what?” Arya says behind him. Brienne looks past his shoulder and starts snickering.

“Oh,” he murmurs. “I’m not going to like this, am I?”

“No,” Brienne says, tone what passes for sing-song with Brienne, and he almost doesn’t hate when the cold water soaks his head and slips under his various layers to spread wet patches across his undershirt. He definitely doesn’t hate when Brienne splutters furiously as he shakes his head, spraying her and Arya, who he hear skips back with an outraged yelp.

Mostly he soaks Brienne though. She deserves it for her betrayal.

After they escape to their quarters to change — and have a quick tumble, for the sake of warming his blood, he had declared, and Brienne had murmured shut up against his mouth, her fingers already on the ties of his breeches— one of Sansa’s handmaidens leads them to Sansa’s solar. 

Sansa smiles as she embraces Brienne and nods to Jaime. She is still a little shadowed, but each time they visit, she seems a little brighter, a little less guarded and distant. She gestures for them to sit, and says, “Ser Jaime, I think this may please you.”

“I will be honest with you, Lady Sansa,” he says, settling beside Brienne and leaning back in his chair to stretch his legs out in front of him. “Little has pleased me of Stark hospitality thus far.”

Brienne shoots him a look, but he sees as the turn to Sansa’s smile becomes more true, the way her eyes flicker mischief. She says, with the barest sardonic emphasis, “I’m terribly sorry for the nature of your welcome. I will speak with my sister.”

“Thank you, my lady,” he replies, matching her tone. 

“Perhaps this will make it up to you,” she says, and stands. She moves to the sideboard where mugs of something steaming wait. “We had an envoy from Dorne recently,” she says, lifting the tray and carrying it over. “They gifted us with this drink concoction. It is surprisingly suitable for snowy winters, given it came from warm climes.”

Jaime reaches out for a mug, passes it to Brienne, before taking one for himself. He sniffs dubiously at the steam rising from the brown mixture: it smells sweet, and rich, and dark, somehow. His mouth waters from the scent alone and he spares a passing thought that of course something so obviously luxuriant is a Dornish beverage before he raises the mug to sip.

The thick liquid spreads warm through his mouth, coating his tongue, and he hears Brienne offer a startled moan beside him. Rarely has he ever tasted something which matches its scent, but this drink — the sweetness fills his mouth, offset by a slight bitterness. It’s delicious. And yes, warming. It spreads heat down his chest, settling comfortingly in his belly. He drinks again, settling into the coziness it brings.

“So?” Sansa asks. Jaime opens his eyes and tips his head up to meet her gaze, looking down on him archly through the steam of another mug still on the platter. “Are we forgiven?”

For the sake of his wife, he ought to make this easy. But there’s a glint in Sansa’s eyes that he’s keen to tease out. So he shrugs insouciantly and says, “That depends.”

“On?” Sansa says evenly.

“How generous you are with your remaining stores.”

“Ah. That may depend on how keen you are to maintain truce with my sister. Really, this was a gift to her.”

“Mmm,” Jaime says thoughtfully. He looks to Brienne. “Are we prepared for war with the North?”

Under normal circumstance, Jaime would laugh at the serious look on his lady wife’s face despite how transparently absurd he is being, but Jaime has a facade to maintain. So when Brienne says firmly, “No,” Jaime sighs dramatically and turns back to Sansa.

“It seems we have reached an impasse, and it falls to me to be the bigger person.” He ignores Brienne’s disbelieving snort — will extract recompense later that this is what breaks her stern exterior — and nods graciously to Sansa. “All is forgiven.”

[bakugou-tm]

Fall Feels

@bnha-halloween2019 | Day 3 & 5: Thunder Storm/Pumpkin Patch | Bakugou x Reader | Teen | Cursing

Hello there, I finally have got all my drafts down for the Halloween Writing Challenges :’) So since I’m late and very busy, I won’t be able to get to every single day so I’m just going to combine a few days and make longer fics to make up for it. Quality over quantity am I right? (and I’m just a lazy busy ass) Anyways here’s some fluffy fluff fluff for my first submission, enjoy!

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Honestly this place was Bakugou’s worst nightmare.

Children running around screaming and fighting over which pumpkin is their’s, pumpkins large and small littered all over the floor with little to no room at all to even walk, sweltering heat that would barely be classified as offering “shade” to those at the patch.

And worst of all, parents forcing their children to wear shitty costumes and take pictures on the uncomfortable pumpkins. He would never forget the years of torture his mother put him through just to get a cute picture for her design company, honestly he thought she only did it to piss him off.

Which it did. A lot.

And yet here the ash blond was, standing before the large tent along with his so called friends and girlfriend by his side. Just in case you were wondering, it wasn’t his idea. And surprisingly it wasn’t his friend’s idea either.

It was yours. For some reason you were dead set on going to one of these shitty patches to pick a pumpkin out for your dorm. Why you were so determined on getting one of these rather odd shaped fruits for your room, he didn’t know. 

After his friends begging him literally all day to go, it only made him want to decline the offer even more. But when you got him alone and gave him that stupid adorable face you always flaunt when you want something, he knew he was fucked.

So begrudgingly he tried to hide his disgust, not very well at that, and stood by your side as your eyes lit up at the sight like a child at a candy store.

“Katsuki look at all the pumpkins!” You squealed with a wide grin quickly bending down to pick up a pumpkin that was almost the size of you, which showed as you shakily got it to rest against your legs before showing it off to the Bakusquad, “Aren’t they awesome!”

The rest of Bakugou’s friends seemed way more interested than he did, marveling at the pumpkin in your hand while Kirishima picked it up from your shaking hold.

“You might want to look for one more your size (L/n).” Kirishima chuckled as you let out a slight pant of relief once the heavy pumpkin was out of your hands.

“Go.. go big or go home am I right?” You said in between heavy breaths with a grin, most of your friends laughing except for Bakugou who clicked his tongue.

Walking beside you with folded arms, the grumpy boy scanned the perimeter of the tent with unimpressed eyes, “Just pick out a damn pumpkin already before you get fucking scoliosis.”

Looking over to your boyfriend you snuck a quick kiss to his cheek, giggling slightly at his startled expression, “Don’t rush me Katsu, I’ll just take even longer~”

Bakugou glowered down to you, ready to let a string of curses come out until a bright flash was seen from above. It only took seconds for the horrendous boom to come after, shaking the ground aggressively as the rain followed suit.

Your hand immediately found its way into your boyfriend’s at the startling sound, even Bakugou glancing up at the sudden change in mood.

For a second he almost felt a surge of excitement, this meant he could go home right? But then other sounds filled his ears that made him want to blow up the planet.

Children crying, adults shouting, loud wind and rain just adding to the new chaos of the situation.

Bakugou’s friends all let out annoyed groans, the six of you moving under the tent so not to get drenched by the heavy downpour.

“Talk about bad timing for a storm to show up.” Kaminari groaned with folded arms, the group nodding in agreement as they brought up what they should do next.

The ash blond couldn’t be more annoyed, the weather couldn’t hold out for five more seconds? Now he had to come back another fucking time so you could pick out a damn pumpkin, this was supposed to be a one time deal!

Though he remained silent, it was clear Bakugou’s mind was screaming profanities as he glared at the heavy rain, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

He hadn’t realized he was spacing out until he felt two nudges at his side, vermillion eyes glaring over to see Kirishima looking at him with a concerned expression.

“(L/n) okay? She doesn’t look too good bro.”

Bakugou raised a brow, glancing down over to you. Immedietly he noticed how closed off your body language had become. (H/c) locks covering most of your face, arms wrapped around your torso, lower lip just barely lowered in a small pout, and were your eyes getting glossier?

There’s no way you would cry over this, right? He knew you really wanted to come here but it wasn’t the end of the world?

“Sorry about the weather (L/n)-chan it’s a real bummer, maybe we can do this next year!” Mina said with a reassuring grin, your eyes snapping up to her own as you noticed all eyes on you now.

Quickly fixing your posture, you forced the corners of your lips to raise up and nodded, “It’s okay guys don’t worry about it! I only wanted to go because this place reminds me of home..”

Shit. That’s why you were so excited to come here. Bakugou forgot how seriously your country took these holidays, doing these small things must’ve made you feel a little more at home.

“My entire family would always come to this pumpkin patch, and we would take picture then me and all my cousins would pick out a pumpkin and have a carving contest when we got home,” You explained with a small smile, not being able to help it as your eyes sunk to the floor, “I guess recently I’ve been feeling a little homesick, I was hoping this would help bring some happy memories back.”

Now Bakugou really felt like a piece of shit. He had been such an asshole the entire way here thinking you were acting like a two year old, when really you just missed your family.

Your relationship was still a few months new, so he wasn’t used to sharing feelings and actually thinking about how you felt. It was something that he always beat himself up over in the back of his mind, but his stubbornness and pride often got in the way of it.

But he would be damned if he just watched you feel this way for the entire rest of the year. He was your boyfriend, it was his job to keep you happy. And he would really be damned if he wasn’t the best fucking boyfriend you’ve ever had, hopefully the only one you’ll ever have.

His eyes flicked over to the plastic table at other side of the tent, seeing the associate start to pack his box of money and signs. This wasn’t going to do.

“Don’t you dare fucking close this place up,” Bakugou yelled from across the tent, startling the young man as he looked over to see the six of you still there, “It’s nowhere near closing time buddy.”

Your head perked up at the sound of this, not only you but the rest of his friends looking at the ash blond confused as he snatched your hand into his own. You blinked owlishly at him as his vermillion orbs landed on your own, softening slightly as he took your features in.

“We aren’t leaving here until we find the best fucking pumpkin.”

At this your friends all cheered, a warm smile spreading across your cheeks as you squeezed his hand excitedly, “Thank you Bakugou.”

Bakugou would be lying if he said his heart didn’t do a flip as he saw that beautiful smile flash across your lips, but he also would never admit that in his entire life.

So instead he walked in front of you and tugged you along through the patch of pumpkins with a scowl on his face.

“Whatever, just pick a damn pumpkin out already!”

This is why you loved the ash blond so much, he was such a wild card. Some days he made you want to slap him senseless, but in the end he always made sure your heart was on cloud nine. He even managed to turn this horrible situation into a good one.

Even when you first started dating, you had a small feeling he had a heart deep down in that prideful body of his. People warned you, even a few teachers did, but you saw the light in him. If their wasn’t a light, why would he want to be a hero after all?

Bakugou was simply a normal misunderstood teenage boy in your eyes, one capable of love and being human. Yes he did work harder than the average person, and he was insanely prideful, and sometimes he could be an asshole. But he had a heart, and you intended on digging it out so other people could see what you see in him.

The loud snapping of your boyfriend brought you back to reality as you glanced down at the pumpkins. You might as well try to find one as soon as possible so the poor sales guy could go home.

Back at home you always went for the smaller pumpkins, they were just so cute how could you not? All of your cousins and yourself were able to pick out one large pumpkin for carving, and another pumpkin of any size for your room.

Since you obviously couldn’t fit any obnoxious ones in your small dorm, you figured you should pick out a decent sized one that could fit on your desk.

Meanwhile, Bakugou watched as you somehow gracefully maneuvered through the rows and rows of pumpkins. He figured you must’ve been used to walking through them from back home. 

It wasn’t until he watched you dance through the pumpkins that he realized just how cute you looked today. He begrudgingly noticed that you were wearing one of his shirts. Half of him didn’t mind too much, part because seeing you in one of his shirts made him swell with pride, the other part admiring how well you put the outfit together.

You had tucked in the front of the plaid shirt, which was oversized on you, while leaving the back end of the shirt out giving it a loose simple look. The colors went well with your high waisted jeans and of course those stupid boots you always had to wear during the fall season.

Even as you bent down to examine the pumpkins, you were just so naturally beautiful. Your (e/c) eyes narrowed carefully, soft lips pursed together in concentration, silky locks cascading down your shoulders. It almost pissed him off how imperfectly perfect you were.

Quickly shaking his head, the ash blond muttered a curse to himself. He needed to get out of his damn head, you were making him too fucking sappy.

Glancing around at the pumpkins around him, Bakugou chuckled slightly at the sight a of a rather awkward pumpkin. The stem was practically chopped off, probably kicked or torn off by some bratty child. One side was distinctly higher than the other, making the lumpy object look deformed.

Grinning deviously, the ash blond tugged the pumpkin in his arms before calling your name, his grin growing wider once you made eye contact with him.

“Hey (S/o), this looks like your ass!”

Why you had any thought in your mind that perhaps your boyfriend was trying to help you, you had no idea. As soon as your eyes fell on the rather depressing pumpkin, your lips puckered out into an annoyed pout, your eyes following suit with a sharp glare.

This earned a loud snort from Bakugou, the ash blond finding your change in mood apparently hilarious.

“Oh I’ll show you funny...” You grumbled, glaring at the ground until you noticed the patch of squash a few rows down. Grinning you quickly grabbed a smaller one and whipped your head back to your laughing boyfriend with a smirk.

“Hey Katsuki~” You purred, successfully gaining his attention causing you to sneer before you held up the pathetic squash, “This one looks like your dick, asshole.”

Bakugou’s once wide grin fell into an expression of shock before a scowl came across his lips as you bursted into laughter. For someone so aggressive, he sure was sensitive.

That’s one of the reasons Bakugou came to like you. Even though you were kind and gentle, you were also confident and didn’t take shit from anyone. Any normal girl, except for maybe Mina, wouldn’t be caught dead saying something like that to him. Yet here you were, making fun of his package, inaccurately at that.

“Oh you think you’re funny you little shit?” Bakugou hissed, storming his way over to you as you continued your obnoxious laughter.

Grinning over to him you slowly stopped your laughing, pretending to wipe a fake tear from your eye as he neared you.

“Oh I think I’m hilarious babe, don’t you think-”

Your words were cut off from being lifted into Bakugou’s arms, a yelp escaping your lips as you held onto his neck tightly and blinked down to him.

“Bakugou? What are you doing? Why are you getting closer to the tent?” 

The onslaught of questions seemed to go in one ear and out the other as you both neared the edge of the tent that was barely protecting you from the pounding rain.

“Katsuki! I swear you better not do this!” You shrieked, holding a vice grip on your boyfriend as you felt light pelts of water brush against your face, “Katsuki don’t-”

You couldn’t finish your sentence before cool water began to soak against your back and side, a shrill scream escaping your lips as you tried to hide your face in Bakugou’s hair.

If you thought Bakugou’s laugh was loud before, this would’ve been a howl of laughter then. Somehow he thought you getting drenched was funny.

But if he was going to play that game? You were going to then.

Gritting your teeth you lifted your leg that was behind his torso and kicked it against he back of his knee, causing his legs to buckle forward as he stumbled outside the tent with your drenched body.

Bakugou attempted to drop you but you held onto him like your life depended on it, keeping him out in the rain so you could both be soaked to death.

“(S/o) you little shit!” Bakugou growled as he ducked his head low, your giggles filling the air as you ran your fingers through his now damp locks.

“What? Don’t like getting wet pretty boy?” You questioned with a grin, placing a few kisses on his cheek while he glared up to you.

Initially the ash blond was mad, not wanting to get a genuine denim jacket wet, but with you looking down at him with so much joy... how could he be mad?

Even for a minute you though Bakugou was mad with you, but soon his glare softened, his vermillion eyes narrowing playfully at you as he grabbed your chin and pressed his lips against your own. Whenever he was like this with you, nothing in the world mattered at all. Not his friends, not the pouring rain, nothing. Just you and him.

Smiling through the kiss you held on to the back of his head and moved in close to him, welcoming the drops of rain falling from your now soaked hair.

And even as much as you didn’t want this moment to end, you knew for your friend’s sake and the poor sales associate’s sake, you should probably pick your pumpkin out so you could continue this at home.

Pulling away from him was a slight challenge, his head following your fading lips until your head was away from his own, causing his eyes to open while he scowled at you.

“The hell did you stop for?” Bakugou growled lowly, but stopped when he noticed your eyes weren’t on his own. Your (e/c) gaze was narrowed at something behind him, examining something. Raising an eyebrow, he opened his mouth to ask but you scrambled out of his arms before he could get the chance.

Quickly Bakugou made his way back under the tent, shaking his head out to get at least the dripping water from his locks before looking over to you.

Your soaked form was bent over some pumpkin, holding it close to yourself before you spun around and looked to him with a grin, “I found the perfect pumpkin!”

Bakugou nodded slowly as if taking everything that just happened in before walking beside you to see what this magical pumpkin looked like.

And to his surprise, it was white. Not orange like the normal pumpkins, just a light cream color with a curly stem.

“The hell do you want that one for?”

Smiling softly you stood up with the pumpkin in your arms, brushing the wet strands of hair out of your face before looking up to Bakugou.

“Because it reminds me of you.”

For a second, just a second, Bakugou didn’t understand. Were you still making fun of him? But then it clicked. The pumpkin had the same color tone as his ash blond hair. Only you would correlate such a stupid thing, only you would take something so meaningless and make it special.

And yet Bakugou felt his face getting hotter by the second. He wasn’t even sure if it was the way you were looking at him or the words you spoke, but there was no way in hell he was going to let you see him blush.

Without hesitation the ash blond snatched you into a hug, holding you close against him so you couldn’t try to get away.

“Why the fuck are you so sappy shitty girl?” Bakugou grumbled, placing a soft kiss on your forehead before glancing the other way so his friends on the other side of the tent wouldn’t see his rosy cheeks, “You watchin too much of those fucking Hallmark movies?”

The sound of your giggling filled his ears, making his heart warm as your voice vibrated against his chest softly,

“Maaayyybbbeee.” You cooed with a goofy grin as you squeezed your face from his grasp to rest your chin on his chest so you could look up at him with that adorable expression of yours, “I can’t help it! They make my heart squeeze!”

Bakugou couldn’t help but smile at this, a small ‘tch’ escaping his lips as he grabbed the pumpkin from your grasp and tugged you along to the check out table.

“Yeah yeah heart squeeze, let’s get your sappy ass home.” 

[onemistresstorulethemall]

Chapter II. The announcement

The series continues with setting their plans in motion. Nothing spicy yet, but it's coming. I also have no self control and posted this as soon as I finished it instead on putting in the queue. 😅

Word count: 2025

Spicy level: 1/10 jalapenos

In this one Rose naps with the twins, so it deserved a pepper for this.

On the long dreaded morning of her departure a gloomy atmosphere ruled over the dining table, as everyone in the house of lamentation served their breakfast. She did not inform the demons of the delay of their separation, but soon enough they were going to find out. It saddened her, however, to see Beel's appetite lacking, Asmo's dark circles from the lack of sleep and Mammon's eyes which were clearly puffy from crying. The other ones seemed to be masking their emotions alright. Even Lucifer's anger seemed to have dissipated. After all, he thought she was leaving for good. No reason to hold a grudge, right? Little did he know...

Eventually they all ended up gathered in the exact same spot where Rose arrived in Devildom. Although Simeon, Solomon and Luke were supposed to leave before Rose either way, after all that happened, there was a new reason for them to be present. Respectively, to listen to Diavolo's announcement.

"I would like to take a few moments to thank each and every one of you for making all of this possible and for making the exchange programme a success. I hope you had a good time here in the Devildom and that you'd consider coming back every once in a while", his characteristic smile throned on his face, "There is another thing which I would like to announce here, in front of all of you", he paused for a second, scanning the faces of everyone in the room, "Not all of you will leave Devildom today. One of you is going to stay behind.", he held his hand out for Rose who grabbed it and stepped closer to him, standing on his right and smiling, "Rose chose to remain in Devildom and after a fruitful discussion we decided that she'd be a great fit for the position of human ambassador of Devildom."

Six out of seven brothers were thrilled to hear the news. One, however, looked like he saw death with his own two eyes.

"Congratulations, Rose! I'm sure you'll be a great human representative!", Simeon cheered for her.

"You want to stay? Are they forcing you? Blink twice if-"

"Come on, Luke. Nobody's forcing her. She loves it here. Isn't it obvious?", Solomon giggled at Luke's insinuation.

A few replies exchanged later, it was time for the three of them to leave. Solomon said that he'd return and Simeon and Luke insinuated a future meeting with Rose when she was going to reach heaven, without the knowledge that it wasn't possible anymore.

That night, instead of dining at home, Rose and the seven brothers were invited over to Diavolo's castle to celebrate.

In fact, it was a nice facade for covering the fact that Rose and Diavolo were going to talk strategy and make preparations for setting their plan in motion. It was easier and safer to talk in person rather than over the phone or over text. While having them all there, Diavolo could make sure they were distracted and not in a position to interrupt or overhear their discussion. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

She wore a turtle neck black midi dress with a slit on her right thigh and a heart cutout at the chest, showing off some cleavage. The dress was chosen by her one and only personal stylist, Asmodeus.

"I'm so glad all of you were able to attend tonight's festivities. We're lucky to have you, Rose", Diavolo took her hand into his and kissed the top of it before making small talk with the seven brothers.

They were all, well mostly all of them, thrilled that their human got so stay. Even more happy as she now held an important position. They knew their human was special.

"I wouldn't have gotten out of my room tonight if it wasn't for you", Leviathan whispered to Rose while passing by to take a seat at the table.

"I can't wait to eat all this delicious food with you and Belphie.", Beel's smile was brighter than the sun.

"I told ya she's great. I wouldn't hang out with just any human, ya know?", Mammon boasted as he usually did.

"Well, now, I guess we didn't run out of time to have that book club meeting, huh?", Satan's smile seemed genuine for once.

"Let's nap together after this is all done, okay?", Belphegor followed after his twin.

"Come on, darling. Sit next to me!", Asmodeus grabbed her hand before Lucifer even got the chance to say anything to Rose.

In retrospective, she didn't mind it as the first born probably had nothing nice to say to her anyway.

After the starters, most of the demons present rushed to take over the dance floor. Rose already knew her feet would hurt by the end of the night as all of the gazes turned to her as the music started playing. Surprisingly enough, the first one that asked the redhead to dance was the one and only Lucifer. Wasn't he supposed to be mad at her? He was plotting something, she could feel it.

Reluctantly, she extended her arm and grabbed his hand, letting herself be lead over to the dance floor.

"I'm glad that I was able to get you alone here for a second.", he stated without any noticeable emotion in his tone.

"Well, what can I say? You're welcome.", she chuckled.

"I am... disappointed but not surprised that you are still so impertinent.", his grip on her hand got stronger.

It wasn't the first time he tried to intimidate her like this. If then she was angry, now she was bored. A lot has changed since then.

"I bet you thought you've seen the last of me, huh?"

"Can't say I enjoy the idea of keeping you around, but I'm not one to question Diavolo's judgment."

"Look, before you threaten to kill me again if I ever harm the ones you love, let me just say that I'm sorry", she took a look at Lucifer who seemed to tell her 'go on' without even moving his lips, "Although I still stand by the meaning of my words, I don't think I used the right ones to express myself. I do not want us to be enemies. After all, we're all trying to protect the same people, so, how about you let it slide just this once? You don't have to like me, it's enough for you to tolerate me."

She hoped it was enough to convince the demon to change his mind. It would make everything so much easier if he did. She couldn't fulfill her duties if Lucifer was suspicious of her and angry. It's not as if she feared his wrath, it was rather an annoyance.

Much to her delight, he agreed.

"As long as you don't come between me and my family, I can tolerate your presence. But the second you hurt my brothers or do anything to put Diavolo in a bad spot, you're going to wish you were dead", his condescending smirk made a reappearance.

Although everything seemed sorted out, she still needed to be cautious. After all, once you upset the Avatar of Pride you'll always have to watch your back.

Six songs and two meal courses later, Rose found herself back in Diavolo's study.

"I see they kept you pretty busy. I wanted to ask you for a dance myself, but after seven songs, I think you're exhausted.", he confessed while sitting down at his desk.

"We could dance after we finish our meeting if there is time left. After all, I'd do anything for my king.", she smiled at him.

Diavolo chuckled softly before pushing the discussion into a different, more serious direction.

Approximately two hours passed since they entered the study and finally they had a rough draft of their plan. Barbatos was kind enough to bring them both dessert as they missed it being served.

In a week's time Rose was going to go home and talk about her choice to stay in Devildom, giving interviews and trying her best to promote her story and bring attention to it, sparking controversy and brining the issue in the attention of the public. That was going to be their starting point. From there, Rose would be able to arrange diplomatic meetings which would lead to strengthening the relationship between the two realms.

On his end, Diavolo was going to push the continuation of the exchange programme and urge the next one to be created in the celestial realm.

Eventually, in both realms there was going to be a party at some point or as angels would call it, a small gathering. One in the human realm with the Devildom's representatives and the human realm's government and one in the celestial realm to celebrate the success of the exchange programme. With a little bit of synchronization both would happen at the same time and with the angels distracted, what would be a better time to strike?

Pleased with the outcome of the meeting, Diavolo did end up asking Rose to dance. Although there were other demons on the dance floor, they all stopped and stood aside, leaving the whole thing to the pair. Diavolo was a far better dancer than his human partner, but he lead in such a way that you couldn't realize the skill difference unless you paid close attention.

After the dance was over, Diavolo grabbed two glasses of a bubbly alcoholic drink that looked like champagne, offered one of the glasses to Rose and held up his, wanting to make a toast.

The redhead was more than grateful as she did not sip any liquor that night, wanting to keep her mind clear until all the details of the plan were discussed. That glass was going to be the first one for her it relaxed her a bit.

"The hard part is only just beginning", she told herself.

Although gloomy thoughts were filling her mind, she kept a smile on and pushed herself to stay in character for just a little longer.

Every demon follow in their suit and picked up a glass, awaiting the words of their future ruler.

"For new beginnings, new allies and a new path for Devildom!", he raised his glass.

"For loyalty and bonds that cannot be broken!", she added before Diavolo and her clinked glasses and drank up their contents.

The room filled with the sound of glasses clinking and cheers. The following hours for Rose were filled by making small talk with Diavolo's guests and attempting to prove herself and her importance in Devildom.

Not long after, the party died and every demon went back to their house. The redhead made no exception. For once, she was so happy to drift to sleep. Usually, she wanted to be up and doing something, but just for that night, she wanted to put her head on a pillow and forget about any and every worry that ever filled her head. She longer for all of it to disappear.

Just as she promised Belphie, she was going to sleep with him, so that night she crashed into Beel's and Belphie's room. It took a bit of convincing to get the others off of her back, but she promised she'd sleep with all of them eventually, so they had nothing to be jealous of.

Finally wearing something comfortable and with her face free of make up, she drifted asleep while sandwiched between the twins. For a moment, before everything turned to black and she faded into unconsciousness, while feeling the twin's heartbeats and feeling their chest move as they breathed, Rose felt happy. Their smell was comforting, making her feel safe. For a little while nothing else existed. It was just the three of them, that bed and the night. No worries, no war, no lies, no strategies, no hidden meaning. It was a safe heaven where the three of them could be happy. Nothing else mattered. It was a moment she'd daydream about when things got tough. However, it didn't last long as she was exhausted and soon her mind left her body.

[kind-wolf]

My Billy Russo dream

Warnings: nsfw, kinda smutty in the beginning, cursing, fighting, blood, gore, murder, guns, (typical Punisher stuff, I would say)

Word count: ~3110

A/N: To make it a bit easier to read, I wrote it down, like most fanfics are written: In second person (I guess?) Also, some parts were really clear in my dream, but describing them on paper was kinda difficult. So, yeah…. 🙈 Hope this is at least somewhat entertaining.

Billy, Frank, Karen and you were signed-up in a tough mudder run a few hours outside of the city. You rented a two bedroom apartment in the small town the event was held in. The night before the run, you settled in and each couple retired to their bedroom. While you were still getting undressed, Billy sat on the bed in only his boxers and asked: "Why am I doing this again? You know, I was pretty happy not having to crawl through mud anymore when I quit the marines." You walked over, standing between his legs in just your underwear. Running your fingers through his hair and tilting his head back you kissed him before cooing: "Naww, it's an adventure. I'm sure you'll enjoy showing all these wannabe tough guys, how it's really done. And don't you always say, you enjoy when I get dirty? I will be as dirty as never before." 

After shaking his head with an amused chuckle, he pulled you closer and pressed a teasing kiss to your stomach. "You know, I meant a different kind of dirty." "Really?" You questioned. But before he could think of a witty reply, you dropped to your knees, ran your hands up his thighs and to the waistband of his boxers. "This kind of dirty?" You asked with a grin, pulling the waistband down just a bit. Leaning forward you teasingly licked at the exposed tip of his cock. "That's the kind, yeah." He confirmed, anticipation clear in the husky tone of his voice and the fingers burying themselves in your hair. You pulled the fabric of his underwear down some more, when there was a knock on the door. You had barely enough time to release the waistband and pull your head back, before the door opened. "Hey guys, I hope you're not asleep yet, I just had the best id-... Oh shit!" Karen stopped dead in her tracks, when her eyes landed on you, on your knees between Billy's legs. "Karen!" You squeaked, not really knowing what else to say in the moment. She quickly covered her eyes. "I'm so sorry guys. I... I forgot myself in the excitement." Your were still a bit mortified, but Billy didn't seem to feel the same. He snickered. "You could've just asked if Frankie doesn't get the job done and you would like to join us instead." Karen stumbled back, trying to find her way back out the door without looking. "No...That's not... That's really not for me. Ughhh have a good night you two."

With that the door slammed shut and you dissolved into a fit of giggles, hiding your face in embarrassment. 

The next day, after an awkward breakfast, with you and Karen mostly staring in your cereal, while Frank and Billy just grinned at each other in amusement, you all left the apartment. However, just then a courier ran into you, asking for William Russo. Billy accepted the large envelope with visible wariness. By the looks of it, his mind was already running a million miles per hour. And yours quickly followed. Hardly anyone knew that you were here - pretty much only Curtis and your family. And they didn't know the exact address. It was just a weekend away, you didn't bother with details. Excusing himself, Billy went back to your room. While Frank and Karen sat on the couch in the living room, you quietly followed him. Just in time to see his lips pull back in a snarl before a hissed "Shit!" escaped them. "What is it?" you asked when he threw the contents of the envelope on the bed and started pacing. Seeing that you wouldn't get an immediate answer while he was lost in his thoughts, you looked at the stuff on the bed. The pictures caught your eye first. There were more than a handful of them. Billy and you, You alone, Billy and Frank, you and Karen, Billy and you, Billy and you, Billy and you. They were taken just yesterday when you went out to dinner and In every one there was a big red X marking your head. But the letter made it even worse. It were only a few words, that made your skin crawl. "Don't play games when you have something to lose." You swallowed. "Billy, what's going on?" Your voice coming out more strained than usual, got him to reply. "Pack your shit. You and Karen leave with Frankie, he knows how to lay low for a couple of days. I'll... I'll take care of this." You stepped into his path, stopping him with a firm hand pressed to his chest. "Hold your horses cowboy! You will tell me what's going on first and then we'll decide what to do. Together." By the way his mouth immediately opened, you could tell he wanted to dismiss you and simply get you to follow his orders, but he seemed to think better of it. You weren't one to take orders, just because. Billy let out a huge sigh and dropped his forehead to yours.

You both sat down on the bed and he gave you a quick rundown on the situation. Bottom line was, he dug up some dirt on some very bad people and got them in trouble with it. He thought he hid his identity well enough but apparently they found out. And here you were, in their crosshairs.

You stood from the bed and offered him your hand. "Ok, first things first. Let's tell Frank and Karen to go to the ground for a few days. Then we can figure out what to do about your new friends."

He grabbed your shoulders, fixing you with his best no-bullshit-stare. "You have to go with them."

Only it didn't work on you. It never had. "I will not leave you to deal with this alone." You clarified, staring right back at him. 

He tilted his head back, exhaling loudly through his nose before he tried again. "I got it under control. I'll call in some guys. But if something would happen to you, I couldn't… I couldn't take it, alright?"

Your hand came up to rest on his cheek, wishing to take the stress from him. "Exactly. If I were to go with them, your new friends would probably focus a lot more energy on finding us, just to screw with you. And no offense to Frank, but he would prioritize protecting Karen over me, which I wouldn't blame him for. But if something would happen to me, you would blame him. And we both know how that would end. And don't tell me you get some more Anvil guys to protect me. Again, no offense, but I trust most of them as far as I can throw them."

Billy paused, considering your words for a few moments before his lips twitched into the tiniest smile. "That's a surprisingly well thought-through argument. What other way do you suggest then?"

You playfully patted his cheek. "Yeah yeah very funny, I have my moments. Anyway, I'll go with you. We go somewhere... let them come to us so we have the advantage and then we dispose of them.”

At your words his expression changed into one of utter disbelief. “You...Shit! That’s insane… You realize what you're saying here? I know you're able to handle yourself in a bar fight. But this… Killing someone...you...you're not trained for this, you don't know what you're saying.”

“I know that I will do whatever it takes...” You picked up one of the pictures, waving it in his face. “... to make sure we survive this."

“Shit!” Billy cursed again, knowing there was nothing he could do against your stubborn streak.

There was a lot more arguing when you filled Karen and Frank in. They wanted you to come with them. It was also quite obvious that Frank would offer Billy his help, were it not for the woman by his side. But you really couldn't blame him.

In the end, your best friends had to admit that if you set your mind on something, you would do it - come hell or high water.

With a rough draft of a plan for the next couple of days worked up, you all quickly packed your bags and went separate ways.

After losing your tail and making a quick stop at a warehouse on the outskirts of New York to pick up a load of Billy's equipment including some tactical gear for you both, you kept on driving - mostly in silence, each of you lost in your own thoughts.

The cabin Billy rented under a false name was actually kinda cozy. If it weren't for the imminent threat, you would have really enjoyed spending a lazy weekend here in the middle of the woods.

As soon as you arrived, he had started to prepare everything. First outside - Cameras, lots of them. You honestly lost track after a while of watching him from the porch. Back inside, he strategically hid weapons in all rooms - just in case. You followed him around, trying to remember all places he hid them. The bedroom upstairs was last. He finally turned to you and handed you a gun. "You remember how to use it, right? Just in case."

Suppressing the need to roll your eyes, you responded with a firm "Yes."

Billy looked at you with an unreadable expression and just as he was about to speak again, there was an alarm from his phone. One of the cameras he set up on the driveway had been activated. "Shit! They were fast."

Without sparing you a glance he grabbed his rifle and positioned himself at the window, ready to hit the first thing that entered his line of sight. "Go, hide in the bathroom. Lock the door. If I can't hold them off, you can squeeze through the window, climb down the rain pipe and get to the car." He ordered, voice colder than you ever heard.

"I'm-..." you cut yourself of when you saw Billy take the first shot. After a moment you could hear voices from outside. More voices than you would've liked.

Billy pulled the trigger again. "Go. NOW." He barked, clearly getting agitated by your lack of compliance.

"I'm not hiding." You hissed back, when you came to stand beside the window he was shooting from.

Billy pulled his rifle from the window and quickly ducked to stand on the other side of it, just before the glass of the window burst inward with your attackers bullets.

You couldn't help but flinch.

Billy glared at you but quickly averted his gaze to carefully peer out the window to see if he can get another hit in. "Stop that! I'm… " You paused when you spotted movement outside the other window of the room. You ran over and carefully peered out. "I got three approaching from this side." You informed Billy, your argument momentarily forgotten.

He dashed over to you and fired two shots through the window before ducking out of sight. Bullets immediately pelted against the outside wall and through the window. "This is not the time to be stubborn. You don't have to get right in the middle of this." As quickly as it came, the firing from outside stopped.

But the quiet didn't last long. There was a crash that clearly indicated the destruction of the front door.

"They're inside." Billy unnecessarily commented in a whisper, changing to a smaller weapon. "I try to pick them off on the stairs from here." He glanced around the doorway and immediately started firing. The sound of bodies hitting the ground was quickly overridden by rapid gunfire. Billy spared a quick glance at you, standing behind him, gun ready. "When I go out there, you-... "

"I will be right behind you." you finished before he could come up with more bullshit.

Billy fired blindly around the corner to keep them at bay while he glared at you. "Up close it gets real ugly. I… I Don't want you to see this."

He reloaded his gun and fired around the corner again, so he couldn't see you throwing your hands up. But the clearly could hear your exasperated scoff. "For god's sake! I can't believe it. You're worried I will see you differently after this. You still think I can't see you for who you are. Who you are behind that handsome face, that gorgeous hair and that dazzling smile."

Billy licked his lips as he glanced back at you for a second. "Do you? Do you really?"

It took you a moment to register the look in his eyes. It was almost like a challenge.

But you didn't have time to linger on that thought as Billy suddenly leaped and grabbed a guy that was about to enter the room. He put a bullet through the man's skull, using him as a shield as another man appeared through the doorway.

Billy was about to pull the trigger when blood splattered from the man's head and he went down.

When Billy pushed the body he was holding to the side and glanced at you in surprise, your gun was still pointing to the door, ready to put a bullet into anyone that dared to enter. No hint of shock or remorse on you face.

Your voice unexpectedly didn't waver when you continued your previous argument. "I do. I see the man that when he enters a room, immediately maps out all the possible exits. I see a man that appears relaxed but is always alert because he always expects the worst."

There were now bullets ricocheting off the doorway and footsteps drawing closer. And then - a smoke grenade landed right before your feet.

Billy hurried to stand with you, pressed chest to chest beside the door with your guns ready. "I see the man that sleeps like a baby, no matter what questionable job he did that day, because he'd seen and done much worse in the past." You whispered.

Unexpectedly, your feet were pulled out from under you. You hit the ground with a yelp and your gun clattering to the floor.

Due to the smoke Billy couldn't take a shot without risking to hit you when you were pulled away. So he reached out to pull you back.

You gave a sudden yell, that made Billy's blood freeze. The growled "Motherfucker!" that followed at least assured him that you were still kicking.

And you were quite literally kicking, despite the burning of the knife sticking in the flesh of your upper thigh. When your attacker tried reaching for the knife again, your body knew what to do on its own accord, the endless hours spent grappling in jiu-jitsu lessons, finally being put to good use.

Billy could barely make out you and your attacker struggling on the ground, but he couldn't help as there was the shadow of the next one right above you and he leaped at him, with his knife at the ready.

In the background he could hear a deep grunt and then your breathless voice. "I see the man that sometimes has a hard time keeping all that anger towards the whole world inside of him."

You just shoved the guy you killed with his own knife off of you, when you spotted another one approaching the blurry mess you assumed was Billy fighting with another attacker. Without a second thought, you jumped at the guy, pulling him to the ground and stabbing blindly at him until he went still. "I see the man that builds up a distance after every little disagreement between us, because he's worried I will leave him."

You looked up at the sound of a dull thud and saw Billy wiping his knife on his pants before shoving it back in its sheath.

You pushed yourself up on shaky feet and despite the incredible ache in your body and the ever growing dark spot on your pant leg, flashed him a cheeky smile. "And most importantly I see the man that loves me with all his heart even though he's too afraid to admit it out loud."

He only stared at you.

"You hear that?" You could hear nothing. Only silence. "I think we've done it, eh?"

Billy was still staring at you when he slowly nodded. "Yeah… I… I'm just gonna have a quick look around. Stay here."

When he came back two minutes later, he found you perched on the edge of the bed, trying to muster some enough strength to tie your belt around your bleeding leg.

"Shit! I got it." He cursed, dropping to his knees before you and taking over the task. "You good?" He finally asked, stroking your cheek, without caring about the mess of blood and sweat on the both of you.

You gave him a reassuring smile, covering your hand with his. "I'm alright. He didn't hit an artery or something, so I reckon I'll be fine. What about you? Your sleeve looks soaked!"

Billy glanced at his arm. "It's fine. Just a graze."

You looked around the room, bodies strewn all over the place. But you survived. Relief finally made its way into your very bones. You survived and so did Billy.

His gaze hadn't left you for minutes.

When you at last couldn't take the stare anymore you looked back at him. "What?"

"You're so fucking hot right now." Before you could even question that statement, his lips were on yours. He tasted like blood, desperation, joy and relief - all at once.

"Marry me!" He blurted out as soon as you parted for air.

You weren't sure if you were starting to hallucinate from blood loss or something. "What?"

"You were right. I love you. More than I could ever imagine loving anyone or anything." He fumbled around in one of his many pockets before presenting you a ring box.

"Marry me." He repeated without a hint of hesitation in his voice.

Through the tears of joy that suddenly gathered on your eyes, you chuckled, gesturing around the room - pointing out the not-so-romantic setting you were currently in. "You're insane."

Billy nervously licked his lips and flashed you one of his winning smiles. "Yeah, but you knew that, didn't you? Since you know aaall about who I am behind that oh-so-handsome face."

A big smile spreading on your grimy face, you nodded, holding out your dirty hand. "Yes. Yes I do."

Billy slid the now blood-smeared ring onto your even bloodier finger. There was no time to admire it anyway, since you were immediately pulled into another kiss.

[ow3nraich3]

Dodging the Draft

I went to my grandfather’s house over break. During dinner one night, he told an interesting story about an event that changed his life. It was the early Sixties and my grandfather was just starting out. He had graduated from Brown University earlier that year and had landed a job at a prestigious advertising agency in New York City. He spent weekends with his friends and had recently met a cool girl whom he really liked (she is now my grandmother). He was in his prime and was ready to live a great life. Then he received a letter telling him that his draft number had been chosen and that he would have to show up to have a physical taken in two weeks. This would determine if he was “fit to serve”. If so, he would be forced to join the US Army and serve in Vietnam. 

This destroyed him. In the two weeks leading up to the physical, he had to cope with the fact that he might been sent off to war. Many of his friends had been killed in Vietnam and he was terrified at the thought of dying. Nor was he eager to abandon the promising life that he had just started to build. The night before his exam he didn’t sleep a wink. 

When he arrived at the Army Center in New York to have his physical taken, he was grouped with other boys from Westchester county. They were ordered to strip down to their underwear and organize into a line. The men working at the center were big, with buzzed haircuts and camouflage pants. The yelled and shoved. My grandfather said he got a sense of what it would be like to be in the Army from being around those men. He said he got more and more anxious as the morning went on. Finally, after hours of waiting in his underwear, his physical exam was set to begin. His first stop was for a pressure check. 

My grandfather stepped up to the table and had a gauge placed on his arm to check his blood pressure. A man pumped the device and subsequently checked the reading. My grandfather watched as the man’s eyes grew wide. The man un-pumped and re-pumped the gauge. He then turned and told my grandfather that his reading was so high that he was in danger of passing out.

They sat him down and had him wait. He waited there for the entire day, watching the other boys go through their physicals. At the end of the day, the man in charge of the operation walked up to him and began to talk. He explained that some men, known as “Draft Dodgers”, would take drugs to spike their blood pressure right before their physical. This would allow them to avoid being drafted. My grandfather denied that he was a draft dodger, but the man said he couldn’t be certain my grandfather was telling the truth. They told him that he would have to spend the night in a jail cell and come back the next day to re-take his physical. 

He was taken to a prison on an island in the New York harbor and put in a large cell with sixteen other cellmates. His cellmates were all big, tough men covered in tattoos. They gambled and played games with knifes. All the while they taunted my grandfather, who was much skinnier and younger than they were. The prospect of a night in a cell with these men made my grandfather even more scared than before, since he was afraid that they would beat him up.

In the morning he went back to the Army Center and re-took the blood pressure test. Not surprisingly, the reading was even higher than before. My grandfather was told that he had been deemed unfit for the army and that he could go home. He said that day was the best day of his life. He could return to his family and the life he loved.  

When I heard this story, I thought of what war could have done to my grandfather. Today he is a happy and accomplished man, but all that could have changed if he had gone to war. He would have lost his job and friends and would have had to experience the horrors of warfare. He could have been killed, permanently injured, or diagnosed with PTSD. I’m fairly certain that had he gone to Vietnam, he would not be the same person that he is today. So for that reason I am so glad that he failed his blood pressure test and avoided the draft.  

His story also made me reflect on how grateful I am that the draft is a thing of the past (at least in this country). The idea of leaving my school, friends and family to go off to war is as terrifying to me as it was to my grandfather. I am thankful that I will not be forced into that situation now that military service in the U.S. is strictly voluntary.

[riisinaakka-draws]

Under the cut there are some thoughts on the process and ideas behind the drawing JOURNEY INTO THE DARK if you are interested :)

I thought it would be too big of a burden to mention all of this within the art post. This is also for my own archiving purposes (so I won’t forget what was involved! :D) and it’s always nice to see how things start and develop...

Long post ahead! (contains spoilers for the show)

COMMENTARY:

I continued this work bit by bit over a period of several months (I started this just when s4 started airing) and only finished it recently. A few hours then and then (whenever I felt like it or had time for this), but I can’t really say how much time it took all together. Occasionally there were weeks/months that I just forgot about it and was more focused on other things...

Most of the thoughts here are fleeting ideas during the process (how a thing X lead to thing Y) and some personal fun and not something I actually spend too much time on dwelling or planning (or researching lol). I have probably forgotten some already and some happened by accident and some I am just incabable of putting into understandable words.

None of these are any actual instructions (or limits) of “this is how it’s to be seen”. Art doesn’t have to be or even shouldn’t be explained in some cases, but I just wanted to document the process and open up the symbolism since there were a lot of (random) things involved.

It’s also fun to look back on things and how they evolved and what their connection to other things were.

You are free to have your own interpretations of course and I hope this additional post doesn’t ruin any of those :)

The initial idea and motifs:

Flint decends the steps from light to darkness and Miranda is standing behind him as an accomplice/orderer. Stepping stones get bloodier by every step and gold coins are glimmering on the path (Urca de Lima’s gold). Sword is drawn out for war and slaughter. Black water as in the opening credits + general darkness to represent the abyss. Reflection shows James when he was happy (him returning to Hamiltons) and how much he has changed compared to that (McGraw vs Flint). Sort of stage / antique/ greek tragedy(?) setting with marble columns, red curtains (like a myth, a monology or a story or something).

A white feather shining in the dark to show there’s always hope and another way out. I already explained this in another post, but here it is again:

Short answer: Silver (although some of you may not like it) Long answer: the feather is for “hope and an alternative for war” (the dove of peace..haha). Also remember the trap Flint laid in season 1? The feather and the logbook in his drawer -> leads to Silver’s capture later.

The feather is also a reference to the swan of Tuonela (in Finnish mythology the river of Tuonela separates the world of the living and the dead (compare Styx in Greek mythology I guess). Flint decents to the world of death (also represented here by the pale and dead-looking organic shapes of the opening sequence’s sculpture… thing).

Anyway, the feather is mainly about Silver: both how they end up meeting in the beginning (the trap, and then some new hope along the way and eventually some light in Flint’s miserable life) and what (who) also ends up being “the end of Captain Flint” (a tiny nod to the swan guarding the border between the living and the dead).

Visually I wanted something to shine in the darkness to remind there’s always hope and another way out. At one point it had an additional thin string leading to Thomas’ hand. You know, a connection to the memory (and to the reason of Flint’s revenge and war path and so on) but the idea didn’t work so well and felt too distracting so I left it (the string) out. And then the finale happened (!!!) and the reflection became also the future.. :D

a way out of the darkness… :)

There was also a post going around a long time ago about the empty space (the absence of Thomas) next to James and Miranda in some scenes, so I incorporated that in here, too. Unfortunately I cannot remember who did the post, so I cannot link it right now :| It was something about how some of the New World scenes were framed in a way that it looked like there was something missing (aka the third person of the trio).

Here’s the early drafts again so you don’t have to scroll back:

I didn’t like the first composition that much and continued it into another direction with similar elements and the main ideas.

The stepping stones changed to wooden planks: angrier zigzag lines (rage) and also the idea of “walk the plank” (except that you don’t know when and where the nightmare ends...)

I ditched the gold coin idea. The overal setting became more spacious and gloomier to emphasize the vastness of abyss and the smallness of people. The stage / arch became the staircase seen in Flint’s dreams.

The whole thing is sailing on a similar sculptural thing seen in the opening sequence which for some reason made me think about the floating theatre in the Moomins (when the Moomin valley is flooded in one dangerous midsummer. LMAO):

(*coughs* lots of water, a stage and some drama after a disaster...so..)

(At one point I was also thinking about Howl’s moving castle and how that too is a monstrous looking vessel travelling between worlds (well, opening doors) but how the moving castle itself is also composed of various other things... and how in the drawing Flint would be stepping out of the ride for a moment to do some dark deeds in one of these ‘worlds’ etc.)

Black Sails opening sequence - is there a term for that cool monstrosity?

Some other inspiration and references:

Akseli Gallen-Kallela’s “Lemminkäisen äiti” (Lemminkäinen’s Mother, 1897).

(notice the swan, the black water, blood-covered stones, ‘the mother’ and the red-bearded ‘son’ waiting/asking for a spark for new life after the mother has combed his broken parts out of the river and assembled them back into the shape of a man)

I must admit that I didn’t bother to think any deeper parallels with Lemminkäinen and Flint (or the Mother and Miranda) beside this (more about it later though) and mainly had my thoughts just on this painting and its visuals because it is so well known (and liked) in Finland.

Moving on.

Screencaps from season 2 (source here):

I chose the latter stairs for the reflection (although modified) only because they were in London and there is an arch above them (to mirror the window in the drawing)

Some steps futher when the needed elements are more clear:

At some point I tried things with a lot more light and coldness (below, left pic) to channel some of the the dream sequence in s3 but in the end I chose the darker atmosphere, faces in shadows and I also wanted to preserve the red colour somehow (right pic):

The reflection sketch (at some point), although most of it cannot be seen in the finished work and thus didn’t need too much details. Young lieutenant James McGraw returning to London from his voyage:

Also, (and I am so sorry about this, but it was “fitting” and I decided to keep it..) in the reflection (when flipped and put in its position) the plank (their unfortunate blood-covered war-path and future) accidentally hides Miranda’s face and decapitates her so to speak and she won’t be there anymore ;_;

Thomas, on the other hand, is in the reflection to meet James -  both in the past and again in the future - but not in ‘the present’ where Miranda is.

Miranda in Flint’s visions (s3 ep3):

When I first met you, you were so Unformed.

And then I spoke and bade you cast aside your shame, and Captain Flint was born into the world. The part of you that always existed yet never were you willing to allow into the light of day.

I was mistress to you when you needed love. I was wife to you when you needed understanding. But first and before all I was mother. I have known you like no other. So I love you like no other. I will guide you through it, but at its end is where you must leave me. At its end is where you will find the peace that eludes you, and at its end lies the answer you refuse to see.

And then in s3ep5: You can't see it yet, can you? You are not alone.

The end part of it is seen in the fandom as a reference to Silver (and his partnership) and how Flint’s mind is telling himself to see it too. And I agree on that. I don’t think James had any hopes for Thomas being alive (especially in s3). As I mentioned earlier I originally did the reflection to show him (Thomas) only as a memory. Then the finale happened and the reflection got its double meaning :)

And here again Miranda as the mother (there has been better discussions about this topic and speech in the fandom so I won’t go more into that now). In the inspiration painting that I showed earlier the mother had assembled his son back together (for rebirth / reanimation) <--- Miranda being part of the creation (birth) of ‘Captain Flint’.

Aaaaand here’s the feather again and Silver’s words (and sort of motto):

“Take it from me, there's always a way.” (season 1)

“Nothing is inevitable here. I'm showing you a way in which we can survive this.″ (season 3)

Some further fixed details and adjustments. In the end the wall almost disappeared and to me it made this feel a bit like “floating alone without a shelter on your back or a place to return once you leave its premise”... I fixed the perspective of the planks (took me surprisingly long to notice what was wrong) and got the bloody red back on the planks (and not leaking too much on the water).

I wanted the water to be quiet, pitch black and endless and the reflection to seem like a dream. I probably should’ve done everything a bit more detailed or sharper, but in the end it didn’t feel so necessary (and it would have been way too much work, haha).

The final drawing:

The planning and initial idea was done after seeing s3 and just when s4 was beginning so there weren’t any thoughts linked to s4 while making this (other than the surprise connection with Thomas). Most of this I did paint after s4 though, but only to finish what I had already started.  

One more thing. I also made “the doors of the warship” -drawing after planning the JOURNEY INTO THE DARK (although I posted the doors pic first, since it was finished earlier).

It has a similar lighting and the theme of James and Miranda facing together ‘the civilization’ although this time they are stepping towards the light again (in hopes of closure and the promise of new life... which doesn’t go well as we already know ;_;).

James and Miranda about to leave the warship and meet Lord Peter Ashe in Charles Town:

So, here we sort of have a beginning and an end for their journey in the dark (together)  - believing that there are just the two of them left from the original trio.

Aaaaaand, that’s about it. Sorry about some repetition and messiness.

As I said in the beginning of this post, you are free to have your own interpretations (and I hope this post didn’t ruin any of them). These were just the things and thoughts that went into this work (or were stumbled upon along the way...), but you don’t have to take them to your heart.

Thank you so much for checking out this post and I hope it was worthy of your time! ( ˘ ³˘)♥  

[yogurtdrink-blog]

Concluding Post: Down the Memory Lane

Do you have to apologize for events that you did not cause?

Can you claim you knew what happened?

Can you talk on behalf of those who have deceased?

How do you remember? Or, would you rather forget?

Whose Narratives Matter?

Writing this post is difficult. Eight posts into Apocalypse Now, I still cannot claim what stories we should tell. The premise of this blog has been to uncover the voices that were missing – those of the Vietnamese in Apocalypse Now or of the natives in Heart of Darkness, the novel on which the movie was loosely based. As I wrote in the comparison posts of the two mediums (here and here), I could find very little narrative coming from the natives. Granted that as a movie, Apocalypse Now has limited space to feature several plot lines, when compared to slightly more freedom for sideway descriptions in the case of the book. Even in Heart of Darkness, however, there were not many scenes when the natives did more than crawling or babbling. The Vietnamese has an even more limited role in Apocalypse Now. The story rests in Captain Willard’s silent struggle with post-traumatic disorder, in the sight of napalm swallowing trees and people, in Lance‘s firing frantically into a fishing boat, and in Kurtz’s recall of the ruthlessness of the Viet Cong. We never learned about what the Vietnamese might have thought, as they watched their loved ones and belongings burn down. Without the other side, the narrative seems incomplete to me.

The truth is, I might not be the intended audience of Apocalypse Now when it came out in 1979. As I noted in my earlier post, this was when the Right was trying to retell the story of how Americans did not loose. That Americans were simply not brutal enough, or that Americans sided with the “softer” side, the Southern Vietnamese. If Apocalypse Now was intended for Americans, its narratives might have been complete. I realized this more than ever in my conversations with my friend, someone who only learned about the war in a chapter in his history textbook, and his grandfather, who served in the Air Force right after World War II. To my friend, the war in Apocalypse Now was the backdrop to feature dehumanization and what came out of it. As such, the movie could have been about any war, and its message would still have stayed the same. To his grandfather, the war was a justified cause. When I asked his grandfather his opinion about the war, he said he did not have one. “If the government thinks it is right to go to war, we go to war.” Someone in the room reminded him that Americans lost 58,000 men, but two millions Vietnamese from the North and South lost their lives, and as many as 400,000 boat people died at sea when they tried to migrate. He did not respond.

If we base our stories and interpretations on our prior experiences, none of our reading of the movie is wrong. This is a topic we discussed at length in class – how narratives target certain audience and build on experiences. My friend’s grandfather, as a member of the Great Generations, is proud of America and its exceptionalism. My friend is as curious to learn about the war as I am, to see what we could have done differently. I cannot claim that my interpretation is better than theirs, because I also did not really experience what happened.

However, narratives do not bound us to rigid beliefs; they could open up the opportunities to question the untold stories. “A story happens when someone walks out of town and someone else walks into town”. It is from questioning what triggered the action that a new narrative emerges. Reducing the story to “a war narrative” in subsequent productions in other genres—including a fantasy series and a Sci-Fi—eliminates the opportunities to dig deeper into the Apocalypse Now storyworld beyond its surface-level messages. It is in this aspect that I consider the storyworld project a success, because as much as it prompted me to explore my own assumptions as a Vietnamese, it also caused me to interact with the other narratives, even when they were uncomfortable.

You learn about the other narratives not to become apologetic or accusatory. Rather, you acknowledge these stories to not repeat the same regrets.

What Was Left Behind? – The Narratives that Transcend

What is in the Vietnamese movies from the same period with Apocalypse Now? There is The Abandoned Field: Free Fire Zone (1979), a film by the North Vietnam. The film shares a surprisingly similar setting with Apocalypse Now, featuring the life under helicopter bombs in the Mekong Delta. The landscape, albeit mostly taking place within the scope of the abandoned field, reaches from under the water to the sky edges as American helicopters were firing. The film focuses on the day-to-day interaction in a family of three: husband, wife, and their child in a small shack in the middle of the water. The film is not free from bias. The American troops, if seen, are most often drunk and shooting at random. When a helicopter shoots the husband, however, the wife revenges by shooting the helicopter down. The most notable scene is when the film with a photograph falling from the shot pilot’s chest. In the photo are his wife and child. Yes – the pilot is an American. Yes – he just killed a Vietnamese and got killed. But he is also a human pulled into war.

Helicopters in the sky, water meadow underneath, does that seem familiar? (Picture: Poster of The Abandoned Field)

I cannot claim to have uncovered the hidden voices if I only mentioned films by the North Vietnam. Regrettably, since most of the movies by the South Vietnam were banned from screening, I did not know of any growing up. One movie that I know of from the 1970s is an anti-war film named The Land of Sorrows (1973). The movie features a family who could not flee the war in Central Vietnam during the Tet Offensive of 1968. There was internal conflict, as members in the family—an anti-war son, a captain on the South Vietnam side, a sister about to marry someone who is neutral in the war, and another brother who has just been drafted—walk the line between patriotic and familial values. Mixed in with the main narrative are real footages of people fleeing from the battle, including scenes of dead civilians and children. Rather than fighting back, the middle son, a singer who opposed the war, sang amidst armored cars:

When peace returns to our country

I shall visit many sad cemeteries

And tombs covered with grass

When killing ends in our country

Then children will sing on the roads

When peace returns to our country

I shall be continuously on the road

From Saigon to the centre

From Hanoi towards the south

I shall share everyone’s happiness

And I hope to forget the history of my country

Taking on the antiwar lens, The Land of Sorrows is a far cry from the rather propagandistic The Abandoned Field. In fact, I would not have heard about The Land of Sorrows had it not been for this project, because the movie was banned from screening in Vietnam. When we zoom in on the civilian losses in the two movies, however, their sufferings are not that different no matter which sides of the war they were on. These are the lives that Apocalypse Now does not include.

What to Remember?

Recall Captain Willard’s voice recollection in Apocalypse Now’s opening:

It was no accident that I got to be the caretaker of Colonel Walter E. Kurtz’s memory, any more than being back in Sai Gon was an accident. There is no way to tell his story without telling my own. And if his story is really a confession, then so is mine. (Apocalypse Now, 00:09:47)

Just as Willard carries onward Kurtz’s memories to remind himself of his own version of Vietnam, no war story should stand alone. This project has been an opportunity to connect the themes of Apocalypse Now with the narratives about the Vietnam War in other works, from a Southern Vietnamese movie to a documentary (Ken Burns’ Vietnam War, which I wrote about earlier). In the beginning of the documentary Vietnam War, former secretary of state Henry Kissinger suggested that America needed to “heal the wounds and put Vietnam behind us.” Similarly, what happened in the war, as seen in Apocalypse Now, were only chapters along a river in an unknown land that Willard might have left behind. That is not an option for reconciliation. At the end of the day, there were losses on both sides. I saw my dad tear up when he talked about his emotions upon watching the Vietnam War documentary series and Apocalypse Now. He talked about the soldiers from his platoon who could not make it for the first time, something we never did when I was at home. Only when you approach “the wounds” with respect and openness to the untold stories can you really heal.

I will leave you with these questions. 

Do you have to apologize for events that you did not cause?

Can you claim you knew what happened?

Can you talk on behalf of those who have deceased?

How do you remember? Or, would you rather forget?

References:

Rosenburg, Alyssa. What Ken Burns Wants You to Remember. The Washington Post, 2017, https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/act-four/wp/2017/09/29/the-american-war-youve-watched-all-18-hours-of-the-vietnam-war-heres-what-ken-burns-wants-you-to-remember/?utm_term=.e4b27e4cd66b

Spector. The Vietnam War. Encyclopedia Britanica. https://www.britannica.com/event/Vietnam-War

Trueman. "Vietnamese Boat People". The History Learning Site, 2015. http://www.historylearningsite.co.uk/vietnam-war/vietnamese-boat-people/

Notes:

(1) Thank you, Jason, for suggesting me to include the Vietnamese films and compare the narratives. If you are curious, you can watch the two movies here, The Land of Sorrows and The Abandoned Field: Free Fire Zone. 

(2) Eighteen hours into the other narratives — the 10 episodes of The Vietnam War, by Ken Burns and Lynn Novick can be watched here. 

(3) In the beginning of the class, I mentioned looking at the physical remnants of Apocalypse Now based on the documentary about the making of the film. What I meant by physical remnants was the legacy of the places where the film took place. For example, the residents of Baler, the fishing village in Northern Philippines where the movie was actually filmed, took up surfing because of the surfing scene in the movie. Or how the filmmakers started widespread child prostitution in the villages they came to, years after they left. While those are also interesting hidden narratives, if I were to write this blog again, I would still stick to the war narrative, particularly the natives’ voices, as it allows me to bring the film close to home. 

[stevedonnellyfaith-blog]

Moving In and Barnaby the Bear (Post 105) 9-9-15

                        I closed on the house last Wednesday but didn’t have much time to do any serious moving until Saturday morning due to my work schedule.  I actually spent Friday in a local customer’s backyard installing and removing various pool safety covers that were being tested to ASTM standards by a professor at a local university.  It was interesting to see our products in the field instead of on the manufacturing floor.  I learned a lot, and caught some rays at work for the first time since leaving the Navy.

Because it is the now the season where many procrastinating frost-belt customers finally replace the pool safety covers that had previously been destroyed by snow, weather or rodents, the plant where I work manufactured on Saturday of the long weekend.  Strong sales are delightful from a business standpoint, but ruining a holiday weekend is generally a bummer for manufacturing folks so all of management made at least a token appearance to rally the troops. Most of us also had tasks we needed to work on anyway, but, for me, the early workday added an undesirable prefix to a moving day that projected to be long, hot and sticky.

As expected, Saturday proved to be a sweaty morass of miserable torture that would have also have been unproductive without the help of my brother Sean and my son Nicholas. The purgation lasted from about ten in the morning and finished at about ten at night and consisted mostly of shuttle runs back and forth from the storage container I rented about ten miles away from my new abode.  We used my father’s pick-up and Pam’s Yukon XL because they were available and free.

On a good note, the weather was cooperatively hot enough to melt some of the extra baggage I am currently packing about my waist.  Lifting boxes and furniture could also be construed as a health benefit by some, particularly by those who cannot see the current condition of the big toe on my left foot.  I actually dropped the corner of a dresser, one that I have prophetically never cared for, on a toe that unfortunately used to give me quite a few problems.  I suppose I will be hoofing about like a caricature of Richard III for the next little while.  Anyway, the busted toe was just one of any number of inconveniences that Saturday.

Moving day has been something that I have been dreading since the date in March that I accepted the position in Ohio.  It proved to be a real meat grinder and fulfilled all my expectations.  Piece by piece, the garage filled up with boxes that I will be working through for the next several months and I had the opportunity to notice each and every ding and dent that has ever accumulated in every sundry piece of my furniture.   Some new damage was surely added during the current move process, but it would take a forensic pathologist to determine what scar occurred when and who was responsible. Also I sweated to such a large extent that Nicholas was seriously considering asking me to ride in the truck bed with the boxes.  We were exhausted at knock-off, but I was very pleased to see by headlight illumination that we had left only two more loads in the locker.

I am very thankful that Sean and Nick were there for me on Saturday.  I won’t say that my brother helped me so much as I helped him.  He used to be a supervisor for Roadway so he knows how to pack a truck and, five years my junior, he has a gear in his drive-train that I no longer seem to possess.  I endured while he excelled.  Nicholas, delightfully, hung every step of the way.  It was less than a year ago that he was bald, emaciated, perpetually nauseated and largely listless.  Nick’s condition was a bright spot in a day that I was very happy to be done with.  I went to sleep on Saturday exhausted but partially satisfied that the majority of the work was completed but also dreading the need to do more on Sunday and Monday.

Nick and I arose at about 9 AM on Sunday, but while he headed off to Mass, I brooded and avoided thinking about the need to do more work on the house.  I procrastinated through the morning in the sun room of my parent’s house, putting off my ambitious plans to assemble all the furniture by a half hour and then another not wanting to attack the giant pile of things to do that awaited me at my freshly purchased address.  Being a homeowner was shaping up to be every bit as enjoyable as I remembered.  

Then my friend Terry Weiss called.  He had driven out from Youngstown on his motorcycle unexpectedly to give me a hand. So I scrambled on my sandals, oh so carefully around my big purple toe, and gathered up Natalie and headed to meet him at the new house.  Natalie had never met the fifth Donnelly brother and was quite excited to get introduced to a neighborhood pal from my childhood that had spent a good portion of his adolescent waking hours in our house during the summers after his father passed away from a brain tumor that grew and progressed in manner and rate that was very similar to the disease that killed my wife, Natalie’s mother. So I spent a day of expected drudgery in providential happiness with an old friend assembling stuff throughout my new house.  As far as Terry and I could remember, the last thing we had assembled together was either Hot Wheel track or the crazy contraption from the Milton Bradley game Mouse Trap.  

Nicholas also showed up to help and while Terry and I talked and assembled most of Natalie’s room, Nicholas put together Stephen’s room, the kitchen, the living room and his own basement bachelor pad.  We worked until about 6 PM as Terry had to head back East on the turnpike towards the Pennsylvania border and the rest of us were returned to the Donnelly family Fantasy Football draft at Sean’s house.  My brother Jim and his wife Cici had even flown in from Maryland to participate. So a surprisingly delightful day was followed by an equally enchanting evening in Sean’s basement doing what all good families do:  crack jokes at the expense of those who are absent.

On Monday Nicholas and I both rose early and this time were waiting and ready for Sean and Jim’s arrival at 10 AM for the last two loads.  We planned to make quick work of the little putt we had left ourselves after the momentous drive throughout Saturday.  Unfortunately, the leftovers included one item, Abby’s fridge, which had to be almost completely disassembled and reassembled again in my parent’s basement where she will soon be moving … once I vacate the premises. It took enough out of me that Natalie and I restricted ourselves to cherry-picking out the Christmas ornaments and odd totes containing family keepsakes once we were alone at the house Monday afternoon.  She was especially interested in the keepsakes.  I set up a little table and chair for her to do here archaeological investigation of the family memories.

That is where she discovered the bear, a big grizzly, properly Paddington sized, well-worn and most definitely belonging to Pam.  Natalie’s shabbily golden discovery disquieted me.  She wanted to name the bear Barnaby and obviously had designs on adding it to her extensive stuffed animal collection. I could understand her desire, but the bear had been named something else once by another little girl that I have only seen in Polaroid and Kodak renderings.  Should the bear be renamed, played with and possibly worn further? Does the bear truly belong to Pam’s daughter, who knows nothing about the toy other than what we can surely learn online about its manufacture? Has the bear been found so that we can return it to Pam’s mother or sister who probably knows the bear’s true name and whether he took his tea with one lump of sugar or two?   Would returning the bear be a great kindness, a stabbing thrust of pain or, perchance, nothing at all.  Is newly named Barnaby only Pam’s 11th favorite bear of no great import?

 For the time being, the bear went back into his Rubbermaid trundle bed with its lid closed for safe-keeping.  I expect once the move is completely done I will spend my own hours down at the little folding table going through the boxes of bric-brac and old letters, correspondence between a young couple looking forward to a long and happy life together with our growing family.  Then I may make a final determination about AKA Barnaby and where he shall go now that he is found along with many other similarly perplexing decisions.

[theotherscarmanthewoman]

Season 2 Episode 4: Baby, baby, baby, you’re out of time (and other stories)

A health and safety nightmare.

Ahem. I got distracted by the familiar face and somehow the fact that a man in distress just ended his life has been glossed-over. So to reiterate: this guy has just thrown himself into the river, and that's quite a harrowing beginning for a children's show. ANYWAY, here comes the Tardis, inside which the Doctor is tutting and faffing around the console. Apparently, something is ‘not clear at all’, but we don’t get to find out what’s gone wrong because at this point the rest of Team Tardis comes in, asking where they are now and hoping it’s somewhere quiet. Susan enthuses about the possibility of a holiday, which makes me sad, because she’s about to take a permanent holiday if you catch my drift. The Doctor reckons the scanner (which I thought was broken?) might be showing running water, and Susan reckons the instruments are showing Earth readings! AND OH BACKGROUND (WELL, FOREGROUND) ACTING! Wordlessly, Ian and Babs look at each other; Ian grins at her; Babs moves over to his side of the console. MY SUBTLE DARLINGS. Well, what are they waiting for? They all traipse outside the Tardis, and I’m assuming Jacqueline Hill legit trips on her way out because it’s not addressed in the script. And OH look at them all they’re all standing by the river like it’s the end of The Empire Strikes Back, the preciouses. The humans made it home, the long way round…which I didn’t realise was something Moff nicked from this serial. The next time I watch The Day of the Doctor, I shall have a few extra tears. The Doctor, in a rare moment of modesty, claims it was more luck than judgment.

Presented without comment.

Susan looks a bit morose (BECAUSE SHE’S NOT READY TO SAY GOODBYE), but the humans are excitable even though the Doctor complains about it being a horrible mess; as Twelve would say, ‘London: what a dump’. Ian hollers but to no avail, and things get meta when he speculates that it’s ‘probably Sunday’, which is of course how they got all those shots of deserted London in the next few episodes. The Doctor wonders about the time factor, and, as the InfoText remarks, ‘[d]espite Barbara’s evident happiness, though, Jacqueline Hill’s performance subtly pulls focus onto something wrong—the small tree she’s fiddling with’. Because urban decay. Nice one, Jackie. Babs, however, is still delighted because it’s still London. Also, I’m glad Ian says a couple of years either way wouldn’t bother them, because spoilers. Susan, meanwhile, has decided to climb up a wall/bank/thing because she is a short-arse and usually doesn’t get to climb up stuff the better to see what’s going on. The Doctor talks about neglect and decay, but Ian, like Babs is having none of it—construction work is always messy. Babs tells the Doctor not to be a spoilsport, but the Doctor assures her he 'wouldn’t spoil your homecoming for all the worlds'. At this point, Susan falls off her perch; Ian is exasperated. THIS IS PARENTHOOD, IAN. According to the InfoText, in the first draft, Susan is startled by an owl; I feel like ‘topple, startled by an owl’ is right up there with ‘exit, pursued by a bear’. Babs is sympathetic and clucky, but the Doctor chides her for always dashing about being far too curious. WOMEN WHO DISPLAY OVERT CURIOSITY GET THEIR ANKLES SPRAINED AS PUNISHMENT. Poor, infantilised Susan. Ian gives it all the kiss of death by saying it could’ve been worse, at which point the entire bridge collapses. The Team bundles Susan and her sprained ankle out of the way just in time, but OH NO the way into the Tardis is barred by a fallen girder! The Doctor gives Ian a Chesterton Neck Pinch in his chagrin.

There’s a wonderful moment when Ian reckons they’ll need help to shift the crap that’s fallen onto the ship and the Doctor reminds him this is London and people will be curious and want to know what they’re doing trying to break into a police box…which is pretty much what happened in that junkyard when Babs and Ian followed Susan home. Once bitten, twice shy! But seriously, I do love that being home (even home in the wrong time) presents its own set of challenges. Ian reckons he needs a cutting flame, spots a warehouse, then decides (much like the Space Bae in The Reign of Terror) that he can sort this all out with a crowbar. The humans do get so enthusiastic about crowbars. The Doctor is gorgeously amused at the optimism of his Space Bro. Ian once again displays his thorough grasp of the Rules of Classic Who:

The Doctor gazes on in fierce approval at his Space Son-in-Law's good sense, observing that 'it's intelligent' and 'that's good'. Can't help feeling that the 'it' in question is in fact Ian. However, the Doctor has a feeling/intuition they’re nowhere near the 1960s. Ian hopes not, but the Doctor reckons it’s just too uncannily quiet. I don’t know if you’re meant to be able to hear Big Ben from where they’re meant to be, but the Doctor seems to think its absence is odd. Maybe this is why Big Ben doesn’t exist in the 28th Century (as our crestfallen humans discovered in The Sensorites). At this point, Babs helps Susan hobble over, declaring no bones have been broken, and the Doctor continues to be a dick to his granddaughter by essentially blaming her for their current predicament. I mean, yes, she did pull the bridge down, but it WAS an accident. Ian seems to think this is all a jolly lark and informs the ladies that he and the Doctor will be off on an adventure to the warehouse; Babs looks miffed and asks why they can’t all go. Apparently she is default babysitter, because Susan’s ankle is still too bad to walk on. Then this thing I somehow managed to erase from my mind happens:

THE ACTUAL FUCK, DOCTOR?!? Oh, apparently this was William Hartnell’s unscripted contribution to the scene (THE ACTUAL FUCK, BILLY?!?), which may explain the expressions on the faces of the rest of the cast. Ian contributes to the general infantilisation of Susan by ruffling her hair as he exits. UGH this is the WORST. Susan is being treated like a wayward child; even if she is actually fifteen and not whatever the Gallifreyan equivalent of fifteen is, fifteen is way too old to be talking about a jolly good smacked bottom. Assuming that you believe that this is even an acceptable way to discipline your child, as it apparently was in the 1960s. Vom, vom, vom, vom, VOM. Babs goes off to wet her handkerchief in the DISEASED RIVER so Susan can bathe her ankle; Susan (POOR SUSAN) punches her own leg in frustration. SUSAN DON’T APOLOGISE, THAT BRIDGE WAS SO STRUCTURALLY UNSOUND IT FELL DOWN JUST BECAUSE ONE TINY PERSON TOUCHED IT, IT WAS GOING TO HAPPEN AT SOME POINT. ALSO THE DOCTOR IS BEING THE WORST. There are some gorgeous shots of the warehouse and a crane swinging in the breeze looking derelict, and then we are treated to a scene I am reluctant to love because of the whole Famous Five ‘the girls should stay behind’ vibe, but oh my goodness the Space Bros are just too endearing when they’re off adventuring:

Gifs by cleowho.

I’m dying. Mostly because the Doctor isn’t even crotchety when he tells Ian’s he’s not a halfwit, it’s just sarcastic as hell. I love it. Back at the river, Babs has spotted the sign about it being forbidden to dump bodies, and frowns to herself; returning to Susan with a filthy, river-soaked handkerchief, she tells Susan they’re not in her time. And my heart breaks. Susan asks what makes her say that, and Babs breaks my heart again:

Oh this scene. It’s so subtly done (well, not Susan's ankle face, but the rest), with little looks, and Barbara’s busying herself with Susan’s ankle but you can tell she’s crushed because she knows her home and it isn’t like this. Right place, right city, wrong time. Having been happy to the point of just standing there and fondling a plant, she’s now disappointed and businesslike. Then this happens:

SUSAN: Well, off we go again. (Barbara looks pained.) I'm sorry, Barbara. Is it selfish to want us all to stay together? BARBARA: No, of course not.

I am feeling feelings I haven’t feelinged since Marco Polo: two homesick people realising how far they still are from home, and Susan desperately clinging to the stability of her new Space Family even though she knows how it feels for Barbara to be far from the home she loves (oh and I’ve strayed into Fiddler on the Roof... Actually, if the ending of this serial had been more like this song, I'd have maybe been slightly less pissed off. It would still be an insulting end to an insulting character arc, but at least Susan would have some agency.) Then something weird happens, which makes me wonder whether someone skipped a line of dialogue: Barbara thinks it’s ‘ridiculous’ (that word creeping into proceedings again—careful, Babs) that they still haven’t heard anything, to which Susan responds thus: ‘Things have to stay as they are, don’t they? Can’t change.’ Well, that’s disconcerting. I’m going to assume that what’s actually happening here is that both women are lost in their own trains of thought: Barbara is once again succumbing to the absurdity of being in the right place but at the wrong time, while Susan is rather scarily musing on how things have to stay the same…either because she wants them to or in spite of what she wants. It’s quite poignant, actually, given that we know she leaves at the end of the serial: on the one hand, Susan (or at least the Susan of Marco Polo) wants something to change insofar as she doesn’t want to be a wanderer forever, but she doesn’t want the change that would come of her Space Parents leaving her to wander the universe with only a man who thinks she needs a jolly good smacked bottom for company. But anyway, this amount of discussion about Feelings isn’t British, so Barbara breaks my heart yet again by making a joke about how they’re probably done away with noise altogether, determinedly changes the subject to Susan’s ankle, then makes some bullshit excuse about her handkerchief not being wet enough, presumably so she can go back to the river and weep silent tears of fury or something. I jest, but I love the way both these actors are playing this scene: Jacqueline Hill in particular is being properly subtle about it, to the extent that what was probably written as a bullshit reason for Barbara going offscreen (seriously, a handkerchief is either wet or it isn’t) so that Susan can appear to have vanished in the next scene (spoiler alert) to rack up the dramatic tension feels like an exit that’s true to character, whereby Babs has made up said bullshit excuse just to get away from this conversation and have a moment to pull herself together. I have written many words about a very short scene, but I will never not devote blogspace to Good Acting. Meanwhile, the Doctor and Ian are spluttering about in the warehouse…and OH LOOK IT’S SUSAN’S FUTURE HUSBAND! I know, I know, spoiler alert. But everyone knows what happens at the end of this serial. Anyway, he’s lurking dramatically.

Ian goes to the window and spots Battersea Power Station but with a nuclear reactor and some missing chimneys, which means this is defo not the 1960s. The Doctor finds a calendar dated 2164 (exactly 200 years in the future), WHICH HAS BEEN STUCK ONTO A LITTLE NOTEBOOK WITH SOME SELLOTAPE OH MY GOD THIS IS THE BEST THING SINCE THE FAST RETURN SWITCH. I don’t know whether the year is actually 2164, because if the Daleks (oh come on, everyone knows the Daleks are in this) have indeed been terrorising the Earth for a while, I doubt anyone has been printing new calendars. Still, they can at least say it’s the 22nd Century. Meanwhile, Babs is dipping her hanky in the river (and getting rat-piss disease all over her hands) when…THE HORROR! She spots a corpse floating in the water. It’s Noah! I mean the guy from the beginning who face-planted into the Thames! Apparently this was considered particularly gruesome by the TV critics of the time (thank you, InfoText). But oh there’s worse! Scurrying back to her Space Daughter, she discovers that Susan has gone! Panic ensues! And OH WHO IS THIS! A man jumps into shot, demanding whether Babs wants to get killed; Babs jumps behind some smallish tree trunks (presumably so she can use one of them as a staff, Little John stylee) demanding to know who this shouty bloke is and what they’ve done with Susan. Apparently some guy called Tyler’s got her, and Babs now has to get out of her and follow him. Babs knows a moment of crippling indecision, yells for him to wait, drops her handkerchief (on purpose?), and apparently decides that making sure Susan is ok is her top priority and that the Space Bros will have to fend for themselves. Because Barbara Wright is a grown-ass woman who don’t need no man and she will follow the shouty guy through this dystopian hellscape. Back at the warehouse, the Doctor finds a dead guy in a cardboard box. He and Ian speculate as to the purpose of the dead guy’s headgear, and after discounting Ian’s suggestion of some sort of medical whatsit for a fractured skull, the Doctor decides it’s like an extra ear for picking up high-frequency radio waves. Apparently Terry Nation had something smaller in mind. Ian asks whether this means they’ve invented some form of personal communication, and I’m just chuckling away because I would love to see Ian in a story with wifi. At this point, I become distracted, because Ian has found a whip, and I’m too busy laughing at the idea of wholesome Mr. Chesterton in a Fifty Shades scenario that I can’t read the InfoText, which at second glance tells me that originally the Doctor speculates that whatever shit went down did so in the 1970s, which is why this London looks so much like it did in the 1960s. Which would have been neat, actually. But would have ruled out the Tardis landing on Earth anywhere between the 1970s and the 2160s later on in the show, because it would be an alternate universe in which those 200 years were under Dalek rule. Insert satire here.

You're welcome, Chesterfans.

OOH and the InfoText keeps on giving: when speculating about the plague, apparently the original dialogue had Ian assume it was germ warfare between the USA and the USSR, ‘but Doctor Who points out that this would be suicide’. TOPICAL COLD WAR SHIT IS TOPICAL. Which makes sense, given that Terry Nation also wrote the neutron bomb into The Daleks. And OH they’ve zoomed in on the knife that’s stuck in the dead guy and he’s very obviously breathing. Bless him, he has just been tumbled out of a cardboard box. They explore a bit more, and end up in a storeroom (where Ian mercifully discards the whip he’s been brandishing like that map in The Sensorites), and then Ian manages to go through a door that leads to a room without a floor. Then this happens:

Ian: No one can get through that way. Doctor: Except you!

Sweet Lord I will never not appreciate the Doctor sassing his Space Bro for his Charlie Chaplin shit. Essentially the Doctor has realised that they are the Space-Time Continuum’s answer to the Chuckle Brothers and they should quit while they’re ahead and get back to the others; Ian agrees. Susan’s future husband peers in from between some petrol cans. Peeringly. I mean, I know we don’t know who he is yet or what the threat to the Earth is yet or who this man is yet, but I still like to foreground the fact that this loitering creep is the man to whom the Doctor will eventually marry off what I’m going to assume is his only living relative. Also, apparently Shell made it to the 22nd Century. We now have a gorgeous sequence of Babs running after the shouty man through a derelict landscape which the InfoText informs me was a disused Tube station, though Terry Nation’s suggestion that they use an old bomb-site reminds me of what I’d forgotten—that there were indeed unreclaimed bomb-sites still knocking about London in the 1960s. Post-war Britain is post-war. Also, Jacqueline Hill must be boiling in that jumper. And uncomfortable in that pencil skirt. And feeling the terrain in those thin, flat shoes. Susan, however, is being carried, so congrats to whoever’s jogging down the stairs with her in his arms, because that is a surefire way to fall and twist your ankle, and we don’t need two hobbling people in this episode. The sequence ends rather comically with Babs coming up against a wire fence and melodramatically Hulking out on the bars before shouty guy comes up and points her in the right direction.

Back to the Space Bros, who have heard a noise…AND OH IT’S A WOBBLY FLYING SAUCER THAT LOOKS LIKE A BIT OF CARDBOARD SANDWICHED BETWEEN TWO COINS ON SOME STRINGS AND IT’S THE MOST BEAUTIFUL THING I’VE SEEN SINCE THE CARDVOORD. OH but this is a GORGEOUS shot: Tyler carrying Susan and then Babs running after them in an underground station-type place and the lighting gives them these fantastic long shadows. Beaut. Oh and then Babs trips over a can. Which serves no narrative function, so I’m happy about finding it entirely relatable. Oh and here’s the little button saucer again. Also, according to the InfoText, the reason it’s so wobbly is because they used lateral strings rather than vertical strings which people automatically look for. Meanwhile, Susan and Babs are arguing with the mysterious Tyler about going back for Ian and the Doctor, and pretty-much have to lump it. Speaking of the Space Bros, they have arrived back at the Tardis to find Susan and Barbara have gone. And Ian, whose exasperation that nobody else has worked out that THEY’RE IN A TV SHOW WITH RULES, DAMMIT continues to delight me at every turn, has only this to say:

The Doctor, however, seems less convinced that the womenfolk are engaged in a conspiracy to wind Ian up and suggests that their disappearance may have something to do with the gunfire they heard over the river earlier. But seriously, the sooner Ian accepts that the women will never, ever do a thing because he told them to, the happier he will be. I mean, Terry Nation established pretty early on that Babs doesn’t always do what Ian says, and any filthy-jokey blonde aliens who try to mock her on the subject can expect disdain and/or sexual tension for their trouble. But oh, what’s this? HOO-FUCKING-RAH, we have some actual character development for Ian! And William Russell has clearly quite literally taken a leaf out of Jacqueline Hill’s book, because he too has taken to using the foliage to ramp up the subtext. Indeed, Ian is anxious as hell given the way he’s shredding the local plant-life, and is clearly preoccupied by the thought of the body in the water and what it might mean for the other two. Then this happens:

Gifs by cleowho.

THIS. This is brilliant. Terry Nation, I had forgotten how much I like the way you write Ian. He’s anxious, and he's crotchety, and then he opens up: he admits, without mincing his words, that he wants to get away from here. Like Barbara, he feels this right-time-wrong-place thing is horribly, horribly wrong. He’s scared, he doesn’t like it, and he doesn’t mind admitting that he is all for running. It’s not just that he isn’t curious, it’s that this is the future—his future—and he doesn’t want to know what’s coming. He just wants the family back together and for them to get out of Dodge. Don't get me wrong, Ian gets bothered by stuff all the time, but he generally mucks in in spite of things—last week, after all, in that cut scene, we essentially had Ian’s philosophy in a nutshell, which is ‘fight the world we’re in [and] make something of it’—but this week we finally find out what freaks Ian out apart from being separated from Barbara: it’s not the past; it's not unknown worlds; it’s the future. After a pregnant pause, Ian flings aside his mangled bit of foliage and snaps: ‘Where the devil are those two?’ The answer to this question would appear to be some underground location, where a poster of an elephant has been ‘VETOED’. I freaking LOVE those ‘VETOED’ signs. Can’t remember what they mean, but it’s gorgeous world-buildy stuff. Tyler (where has the shouty man gone?) bangs on the wall, and David (Susan’s future husband) climbs out of a secret wall-chute thing with a knife, demanding to know who these people are. Obvious confession time: I dislike David. Violently. Do you know one of the many reasons why I dislike David? Because he introduces himself to Barbara like this:

FUCK OFF YOU SEXIST ARSEHOLE, THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE THE 2160s AND YOU HAVE JUST ASKED A STRANGE WOMAN WHETHER SHE CAN COOK FOR YOU LIKE THIS IS LIKELY TO BE HER ONLY FUCKING SKILLSET? EVEN THOUGH YOU HAVE AT LEAST ONE KICKASS WOMAN (OF WHICH MORE IN FUTURE EPISODES) IN YOUR RESISTANCE? EVEN THOUGH THIS IS BARBARA FUCKING WRIGHT WHO ONCE TOOK ON THE DALEKS WITH HER BARE HANDS, A ROCK, AND SOME MUD AND WON? HAVE MEN FORGOTTEN HOW TO COOK IN THE 22ND CENTURY? DIE IN A FIRE. DON’T YOU EVEN TOUCH SUSAN. Ahem. Barbara, who is from the 1960s, politely affirms that she can indeed cook. David ignores her attempt to question him and tells Tyler about how the warehouse is compromised or some shit and then it is established that he did indeed see Ian and the Doctor but thought they were enemies. Because…no fucking reason, I mean they clearly weren’t Robomen but whatever, David. Enter a dude in a wheelchair, who nearly mows Barbara down and who wants to know what’s going on. His name is Dortmun and he's Sciency and he is determined that they’ll be ready for whatever’s in the saucer…this time. He also has a chip on his shoulder about being as active as everyone else, unsurprisingly, and Tyler isn’t a dick about it, thank god. He’s excited about the two extra pairs of hands, and David yells about how Barbara can cook, way too enthusiastically. DAVID, LEARN TO COOK. IT’S NOT FUCKING HARD. Then he asks Susan what she does, and it's fucking beautiful.

YES SUSAN! FUCKING YES! REMEMBER THAT THIS IS THE BASIS OF YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH THIS ARSEHOLE AND ON NO ACCOUNT FALL IN LOVE WITH HIM. David, still lightly smoking from the burn Susan just delivered, decides to go and find Ian and the Doctor. Yeah. Fuckity-bye. Dortmun wants to know whether the two down by the Warehouse are MEN, and seems pleased when this is the case. Also die in a fire. Dortmun mentions some attack plans, but won’t tell Susan what they are, and wants to know why she’s sitting down. Tyler takes the women off to what I’m going to assume is the kitchen, which Dortmun stays on watch. With a knife. Not a gun. They did not give the guy with mobility issues a gun. Maybe they don’t have guns. Meanwhile, the Doctor and Ian are still kicking around by the river (and haven’t noticed Barbara’s hanky…which wouldn’t help them, but I just want someone to notice it…oh and look they find it in the camera script, according to the InfoText). Ian has, however, spotted the big sign about dumping bodies in the river. Which the Doctor proclaims stupid on account of the fact that nobody’s going to read it down by the river. Well…it’s not that stupid, Doctor, if the river is where people are dumping the bodies. Makes sense to have it by the actual river. Which Ian points out. Ian also mutters stuff about bringing out your dead, and suggests that there’s been some sort of plague in town. And oh shit. David has spotted them, but he’s also spotted a patrol of robomen! Yikes! Meanwhile, the Space Bros are worried. Ian reckons the saucer landed over the river, but the Doctor is more concerned with the plague, and from what I can work out appears to be concerned that either Babs or Susan has in some way been in the water and been infected? I’m not sure. Ian says it’s unlikely they’ve drunk any, but clearly the Doctor still has Barbara and the Sugar Puffs on his mind. Anyway, they decide to go further afield…but find their way blocked by Robomen! David is hissing ‘run!’ from the shadows, unheard by them, but would clearly be the ideal viewer for this show, seeing as how he seems quite invested in their plight. The Doctor suggests they swim for it, but Ian is lovely and suggests they try talking first; the Robomen raise their whips threateningly. Ian—and I’m paraphrasing wildly—says ‘when I say swim, swim’, but OH MY GOODNESS WHAT’S THIS COMING OUT OF THE WATER?

IT’S ONE OF THE MOST ICONINC MOMENTS IN CLASSIC WHO, NAY THE ENTIRE WHONIVERSE, THAT’S WHAT! A DALEK IS COMING OUT OF THE WATER AND IT’S BEAUTFUL AND SCARY AND YES WELL DONE THAT SHOW. Ian and the Doctor are about to do a synchronised swimmer dive into the shallow Thames, but when they turn around…THEY ARE STOPPED IN THEIR TRACKS BY THE SIGHT OF A NIGHTMARE FROM THEIR OWN PERSONAL HISTORY, RIGHT HERE ON EARTH! SKARO COMES TO LONDON! THE DALEKS HAVE ARRIIIIIIIIIIVED! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH WILL THE SPACE BROS BE EXTERMINATED? WILL BARBARA AND SUSAN NOW HAVE TO SPEND THEIR LIVES COOKING (AND EATING) FOR THE HUMAN RESISTANCE? WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO THE EARTH? HOW DID THE DALEKS GET HERE AND WHAT ARE THEIR DASTARDLY PLANS? IS THIS BEFORE OR AFTER THE EVENTS OF THE DALEKS? SINCE WHEN HAVE DALEKS BEEN WATERPROOF? Summary (as applicable to this episode)

Does it pass the Bechdel test? With flying colours. Is the gaze problematic? Nope. Is/are the woman companion(s) dressed 'for the Dads'? Nope. Save the girl or save the world? Whose decision is it? N/A. Though Babs has a variant thereof, insofar as she has a 'go with the girl or wait for the bros' dilemma. Does a woman fall over/twist her ankle (whilst running from peril)? Yes indeed. Susan does her ankle in falling off something she climbed and has to be carried, while Babs trips over several things (possibly unscripted), once when coming out of the Tardis, once when running after the guy in the underground. However, only Susan's fall is a plot point. Does a woman wander off alone for the sole dramatic purpose of getting into trouble so she can be rescued later? Hmm. The group splits up along gender lines but it seems this is for the dramatic purpose of the men being rescued later, which I appreciate. Is/are the woman companion(s) captured? Not exactly, but Susan is pretty much carried off by the resistance. Does the Doctor/a man companion/any other man have to rescue the woman companion(s) from peril? Babs has to run after Susan to make sure she's not been carried off for nefarious purposes. Is a woman placed under threat of actual bodily harm? Mostly the Doctor and Ian this week from the Robomen. Does a woman have to deal with a sexual predator? Nope. Just a few asshats. Is/are the woman companion's/s' first/only reaction(s) to peril gratuitous screaming? No. Does a woman faint at the sight of peril/horror or generally lose consciousness (discounting normal sleep)? Nope. Does a woman companion go into hysterics over something reasonably minor? No.

Is a woman 'spared' the ordeal of having to do/witness something unpleasant by a man who makes a decision on her behalf/keeps her deliberately ignorant? Nope. Does a woman suffer in silence (to further the plot)? Nope. Does a man automatically disbelieve or belittle something a woman (companion) says happened to her? No. Does a man talk over a woman or talk about a woman as though she isn't there? David talks over both the women. One of whom he will end up marrying.

Does the woman companion have to be calmed/comforted by the Doctor/a man companion/a man? Nop.e

Is a woman the first/only person to be (most gratuitously) menaced by the episode's antagonist(s)? Nope.

Is a man shamed into doing/not doing something because the alternative is a woman doing/not doing something? No.

Does the woman companion come up with a plan? No.

Does the woman companion do something stupid/banal/weird which inspires a man to be a Man with a Plan? No.

Does a woman come up with a theory and is it ridiculed by the Doctor/a man? No.

Does a woman call the Doctor out on his bullshit? No, but Susan does protest against her telling-off from the Doctor.

Does a woman get to be a badass? Running alone through a post-apocalyptic wasteland is pretty cool.

Is the young, strong, straight, white male lead the person most often in control of the situation? Ish.

Is there past/future/alien sexism? AND HOW.

Does a 'present'-day character call anybody out on past/future/alien sexism? SUSAN. Ish. Does an past/future/alien person have the hots for a woman companion and is it reciprocated? Right now David and Susan seem to have taken a violent dislike to one another.

Did a woman write/direct/produce this episode? No/No/Yes.

Verdict I despair at the twenty-second-century sexism, but I love Susan for having precisely none of that shit. Speaking of Susan, it is infuriating how she is continually treated like a wayward toddler. Maybe she’ll leave the show having grown into her own agency in a way that will have nothing to do with Dickhead Dave or the aggressively stifling control-freakery of her Grandfather. Pfffft. Barbara and Ian have some beautiful, subtle character development, while the Doctor is generally delightful…when he’s not threating to spank his granddaughter or just generally being the patriarchy. Thrilled that we got to see some proper Ian stuff this week for a change, too. Good job, Terry Nation.

[recentanimenews]

My Week in Manga: February 6-February 12, 2017

My News and Reviews

Last week at Experiments in Manga I posted the Bookshelf Overload for January–it was kind of a strange month for manga and other media acquisitions for me, but it wasn’t as absurd as December so at least my wallet’s a little happier. I also managed to finish my draft for February’s in-depth review, so I should have that cleaned up and posted sometime later this week.

Last week I came across a few interesting things online related to queer manga, comics, and other media. Massive has now released Jiraiya’s Two Hoses in English, a manga telling the story of “The Greatest Couple,” characters who were initially designed for the company as part of its launch. (Massive has released Jiraiya’s Caveman Guu manga, too, which was subsequently collected in the excellent anthology Massive: Gay Erotic Manga and the Men Who Make It.)

I haven’t had a chance to actually listen to it yet, but the most recent ANNCast focused on LGBT representation in manga and anime with guests Erica Friedman, Jason Thompson, and Valerie Complex. Friedman also visited the University of Michigan back in January to discuss queer manga. The recording of her presentation Alt Manga, Queer Manga: Telling Our Own Stories is now available to watch on YouTube.

There were a few Kickstarter campaigns that caught my attention last week as well. First and foremost, Chromatic Press is raising funds to release the final volume of Lianne Sentar’s series Tokyo Demons in print, produce a revised edition of the first novel, as well as reprint the other books in the series. It isn’t a secret that I am a huge fan of the series, so I definitely want to see the project succeed. Tabula Idem is a great-looking tarot-themed queer comics anthology with an accompanying queer-themed major arcana tarot deck. I’m not very familiar with most of the artists involved, but Kaiju (whose comics I greatly enjoy) is contributing the cover illustration. Pamela Kotila has also launched a campaign to print the second volume of the webcomic Spidersilk. Though I haven’t actually read it yet, I recently picked up the first volume so this project seems to be aptly-timed.

Quick Takes

The Ancient Magus’ Bride, Volumes 4-6 by Kore Yamazaki. It’s been a little while since I’ve read The Ancient Magus’ Bride but that’s not because I don’t like the manga. In fact, it’s quite the opposite–The Ancient Magus’ Bride is actually one of my favorite series currently being released in English. I simply wanted to have a whole stack of volumes to read all at once. (Also worth noting: The first printing of Volume 6 is even accompanied by a special booklet with an additional comic!) Somehow, I had managed to forget just how much I enjoy The Ancient Magus’ Bride. I love its moody atmosphere and setting, beautiful artwork, and intriguing characters. Elias remains something of an enigma although parts of his past have now been revealed. He isn’t particularly happy about this development, though. Likewise, more is known about Chise, too, although she is still hesitant to share. The relationship dynamics in The Ancient Magus’ Bride are somewhat peculiar but remain compelling. Most of the characters in the manga are struggling with some sort of heartbreaking loneliness or feelings of isolation. To see them slowly drawing closer together, forming bonds of friendship, family, and love is immensely satisfying.

Mr. Mini Mart by Junko. Although the boys’ love manga Mr. Mini Mart was released in English first, my introduction to Junko’s work was through the series Kiss Him, Not Me. Because I was enjoying that series, I made a point to track down a copy of Mr. Mini Mart which for a time had gone out-of-print. (It’s more-or-less back in print again, but the manga seems to only be available directly from Juné Manga’s online store.) I forget why I initially passed on Mr. Mini Mart but I’m very glad that I finally got around to reading it. Mr. Mini Mart collects two boys’ love stories. Most of the volume is devoted to the titular “Mr. Mini Mart” but a short, unrelated one-shot manga “Young Scrubs” is included as well. It’s not nearly as good, though. “Mr. Mini Mart” is wonderful and surprisingly sweet. The story follows the high-school-aged Nakaba who, after an unfortunate incident in middle school, has been living as a shut-in. He gets finally gets out of the house when his uncle gives him a job at his store, but Nakaba has a difficult time getting along with his coworker Yamai and his abrasive personality. I’ll admit, I’m a sucker for a sensitive tough guy and it turns out that Yamai is an amazing example of one and is just a great person in general.

The Seven Princes of the Thousand-Year Labyrinth, Volume 1 written by Yu Aikawa and illustrated by Haruno Atori. I really wanted to like the first volume of The Seven Princes of the Thousand-Year Labyrinth more than I actually did. The basic premise is intriguing. A group of some of the kingdom’s most noteworthy, and in some cases most notorious, citizens wake up to find themselves trapped together in an elaborately booby-trapped castle. (The exception is the protagonist Ewan whose only distinguishing characteristics are his trusting nature, inherent kindness, and the fact that he’s from the kingdom’s most remote island.) The assumption is that whoever manages to survive the ordeal will become the kingdom’s emperor and reigning lords. There is a ton of potential in this set up, but The Seven Princes of the Thousand-Year Labyrinth simply didn’t work for me. Mostly I think it’s because the characters all come across as types rather than well-rounded individuals. What’s more is that they don’t even feel like they should all be a part of the same series; I found this lack of cohesiveness to be frustrating. The artwork is pretty, though, if not especially distinctive and there are plenty of plot twists, too.

Tomie by Junji Ito. Although uncommon, license rescues aren’t particularly rare, but Ito’s horror series Tomie is one of the very few manga to have been released in English by three different publishers. Most recently, Viz Media has collected the entire series in a single, massive tome with over seven hundred forty pages. The translation used is the same as the one in Dark Horse’s Museum of Terror series which I own, but I couldn’t resist the deluxe, hardcover treatment the volume received to match Viz’s other recent re-releases of Ito’s manga. Tomie was actually Ito’s award-winning professional debut and began serialization in 1987 in a shoujo magazine. The manga is largely episodic although there may be several chapters devoted to a single story arc and later stories sometimes make passing references to earlier ones. What ties the series together is the presence of Tomie, a beautiful young woman who is seemingly immortal. Time and again men fall desperately in love with Tomie and are eventually overcome by a desire to murder and dismember her. Not only does Tomie survive, she regenerates and multiplies, and so the horror continues. While not as mind-bendingly bizarre as some of Ito’s later works, Tomie is still weird, horrifying, gruesome, and grotesque.

By: Ash Brown