#I think they’d be the worlds most boring couple and that’s epic

[siliconcat]

hi to all 4 other people who enjoy this pairing. everyone else: hear me out

followup from more patchouli stuff

[sketchfanda]

A Little Moxxie Love:Coco & Apple Pie

The living world and hell had more in common besides the latter being just a borderline shittier version of the former. Case in point being they had their stereotypes and it’d be 5050 whether of them were proven true or not. For example that all succubi and incubi were walking sex machines who had little to no trouble getting laid on a regular business. That right there was absolute bullshit to say the very least.

In the case of one of the resident couple units in the personal entourage of Verosika Mayday, Coco and Apple? It was the fact that being how they were, they were as happy as they were together as they were also in enjoying the sexual company of a man together. But of course that meant they had standards when it came to the kind of guys they slept with, and outside of targets to feast on the human world like all those drug and booze addled morons in the living world, quality dicks in the demon world were hard to come by. Size sure but the personality was a different matter altogether entirely.

Such was the lament currently boring the two lovers out of their minds as they tried to relax in their personal van, a lovely little mode of transport they called the Bang Van for obvious reasons. Nursing their drinks as they idly passed time after a recent unsuccessful hunt by watching the video of their boss lady’s hot as fuck threesome with those two imps who worked for her ex. Nothing soothed the itch but made them thirst for action more than seeing that little snowball possum called Moxxie rock Verosika’s world, reminding them hey really needed to get around to having a slice of that action. That was if they could find the little dude, you think the fact their offices were next door would make it easier to encounter the guy but there was always something, timing and circumstance could be such a bitch sometimes.

Apple:”Damn I think I can count how many times he’s blown his load by now…..most guys went limp from just a handjob once…”*Coco’s ponytailed blonde girlfriend quipped as she sipped her coffee. Her mood souring recalling some of their epic fails that couldn’t even qualify as decent lays or worthwhile conquests. Like the guy who’d holler ‘I win, I win!!’ If he came first or that one guy who cried when asking was it good for you. And that was just the living world of course to say nothing of the disappointments in hell, which only made Moxxie stick out to them as one of a kind.*

Coco:”Seriously I heard a rumour the brand M toy from Ozzie’s factory was based on him. Tempting as it is, I think it’d just make us want the real thing even more….”*They’d heard Milky and Kiki had managed to get lucky with the little dude too, lucky bitches. Small wonder if the little dude wasn’t in any more demand, he’d make more of a killing as a gigolo instead of a hitman. The Afro haired succubus blinking, almost doing a spit-take with her coffee as she nudged her girlfriend to look where she was looking, how’d that phrase go? Speak of the devil and all that….*

the pair widened their eyes before they began sporting some very eager, sinister grins as they saw none other than the object of their lust walking by just across the street. Carrying a box filled with office supplies as he was no doubt in his way back from some errand for that wise-ass if a boss who somehow used to date Verosika once upon a time, how and why was a mystery. But for the sweet pair, they knew opportunity when they saw it and right now it was a sweet little snowball possum who clearly looked like he needed some stress relief. Chugging down their coffees as they strapped their belts and revved the engine, it was party time!!

Moxxie of course was yet unaware of the danger he was about to wind up in, the oh so sexually thirsty danger of course as he adjusted the box in his hands. Leave it to his employer to remember last minute that they needed to restock the office supplies it wasn’t like paper and staples magically came out of thin air!! And of course he just had to draw the short straw and be the one to make the run, but ah well least soon as he got back he could look forward to a quickie with Millie, assuming Loona didn’t pounce first. So lost in thiught was our fave freckled imp boi thst he didn’t notice a fan screech to a halt as it pulled over beside him, the side door opening as two pairs of arms reached out to grab and pull him right in, slamming shut as it drove and parked away into a cozy little private alley that just so happened to be behind the imp city branch of the Consent club.

Before Moxxie could even comprehend just what had happened, he found himself laying on a mattress with two sets of lips and tongues on his own. Coco and Apple caressing his face with a passionate, sloppy three way kiss, making out with the sweet little possum as they worked on undressing him as they threw aside his cute little bow tie followed by a shirt and coat. His now exposed torso being massaged as their tongues continued to dance in the air with his in a sloppy spitswapping game of tonsil hockey before they ceased their sensual assault. Looking at him with their lust filled eyes as they purred and giggled at how overwhelmed he seemed, his brain no doubt just catching up on what was going on.

Moxxie:*Soon as Moxx.exe rebooted, the freckled sweetheart shot the horny couple a deadpan glance. His tone even as he began assessing his situation.*”Let me guess, you like me, You want me, and this can either go the easy way or the hard way?” *The kinky couple nodded, giggling that he just seemed so adorable in spite of his situation. Cute looks, hung like a hellhound and fucks like a god, what a keeper.*”Bring it on….”

As soon as he said that, the succubus girlfriends made to do just that as they grasped his pants by the waistband, boxers and all. Pulling them down and away to look at awe upon his length and girth as it stood stiff and pulsing with desire and arousal. Small wonder his wife was so kinky or that the boss lady was so addicted as the 2 girlfriends wasted no time in assaulting the object of their lust with all their sexual skill and pleasure. Grasping it in their silky hands as they stroked it, their sharp teeth bared with lusty smiles as they commenced with their long awaited two on one feast.

Naturally the van was soon rocking and shaking outside as groans and moans of ecstasy could be heard within its interior. Moxxie was no stranger to threesomes with two women let alone lesbian couples but a succubus pair like Apple and Coco was a leave all their own. The sweet little possum shuddering as the duo performed a tag team blowjob on his cock, drowning it in their saliva as they assaulted it with licks and kisses. Taking turns sucking and blowing on it before making out with it between them, tongues dancing with intimacy before they looked at him with those lust filled eyes to make it clear they were just getting started.

So now the van was really rocking as the succubus girlfriends stripped themselves naked, wasting no time in wanting thst alpha male imp cock inside of them. Taking turns with one riding him cowgirl style as the other sat on his face to have him eat them out, deepthroated moans escaping them as they were filled by a very gifted tongue and one very prime set of length and girth. But of course Moxxie wasn’t one to just lay back and let such a spicy pair do all the work as they would soon get it doggy style or in missionary while eating out their lover. Inches of red hot, pussy pounding, womb hammering infernal heaven jackhammering away and filling them up with every ounce of baby batter contained within those golf ball sized sacks of his.

But of course much to their delight and well exceeded expectations, the sweet freckled possum was their boss’ favourite boy toy for a reason. Having not just the size and skill but the stamina and staying power to boot as they kept going more than an energizer bunny. The back of the van’s interior a sea of crimson and pink bodies moving about in a tangle of limbs as they shifted from numerous combinations of two on one to having turns one on one, Coco and Apple just feeling themselves falling in love with one another all over again. Just Something about seeing their faces in the throes of of passion and ecstasy as Moxxie plowed away like the sex machine he was, was just pornographically romantic.

Naturally that love was also extending to their new favourite little shortstack stud who hasn’t just lived up to their expectations but went well above and beyond them. How could they not when he was more concerned about their pleasure rather than just his own, such a chivalrous gentlemen even when it came to sex? Minutes into hours went by with some in the Consent club wondering if they could hear the sounds in the van parked outside their back alley. Most just chalked it up as folks in the private rooms just getting really rowdy and frisky of course.

Oh if someone had bothered to look into it, they would've gotten quite a show if they dared to look inside that van. But their loss was a gain privacy and intimacy for Coco and Apple, as the Van's rocking had ceased. The pair snuggled and spooning up against their sweet little dude, making him the filling in their succubus sandwich as they they basked in the afterglow of their threesome marathon. No about it, the little guy passed with flying colors and they had just about maybe the best lay of their hellborn life.

A lay that sure as Hell wasn't going to be a one time thing, they took to leaving their contact details on paper scrap in Moxxie's pocket, after which they took the courtesy to drop him back off at his and Milie's place after checking his address on his ID in his wallet. Millie answering their knocks on the door to find the sexy pair deposit her husband into her arms as her sweet hubby snugged up adorably against her. The wrath shortstack surprised before shooting a knowing look and smile at Coco and Apple who simply shot back some winks as they made some call me gestures. Making their departure back to their bang van as they drove off back to their studio, ready to share some juicy details in their having joined the I heart and banged Moxxie fanclub.

For some sex demons, finding a decent lay in either Hell or the living world was a pain in the ass. But hey maybe that's why God arranged to have Moxxie be born because God only knows, even succubi need themselves a good man. And they don't get much good or better than that sweet little possum. How sweet it is....

[aye-write]

An aye-write Guide to Beta-Reading and Feedback!

Beta reading and feedback is an important part of the writing process! Whether you’re looking to fix simple spelling and grammar errors in a short drabble, or a full examination of a 150k epic, it’s really valuable to you and your beta-reader to have a good grasp of how to give - and receive - feedback!

How to Ask for Feedback One of the things that I will always suggest giving your beta-readers is a Beta Reading Worksheet. Simply put, the writer puts forward a list of questions, topics, or points they’d like the beta-reader to address. I did this when I sent my murder mystery out to betas: 

As you can see above, the questions I chose gave me a great overall impression of how my betas felt about the novel and also I was able to address specific concerns that I had. Another great reason for giving beta-readers a list of questions is that it also helps them give you meaningful feedback, especially if the beta-reader is unsure of what you want from them or struggles to think of “good things to say”. 

Be as specific as possible! Do you want your beta-readers to look out for spelling, punctuation, and grammar? Let them know! You don’t want them to comment on the overall story but more on the technical details? You need to tell them! The more you help them, the more help they will be able to give you!

.-.-.  

Ideas for Questions for Getting Great Feedback  Here are some questions that I’ve either seen used or used when considering feedback for all sorts of pieces! Some may be of use to you, others not, so feel free to adapt any of them to suit you!

GENERAL

As a reader, what did you like about the story? 

What makes you want to read on? 

What makes you want to stop reading? 

What questions did the story make you want to ask? 

Did the story hook you in? 

PROSE AND TECHNIQUES

Was the prose easy to read? 

Were the sentences too short or too long? 

Were there too many adverbs or other writing quirks that stuck out? 

How well is the prose written?

Is there too much description, too much dialogue? Not enough? 

Does the text feel repetitive in places or are there descriptions missing? 

DIALOGUE

Is the dialogue believable and easy to follow? 

Can you tell who is speaking? 

Are there too many distracting dialogue tags? 

Does the dialogue seem boring or does it move the plot along? 

CHARACTERS 

Are the characters believable and interesting? 

Do you know what their motivations are? 

Were they described enough to picture them, or too much?

POV AND TENSE

Do you know what the POV (point of view) is? 

Does the story stay in the right POV or does it switch and become confusing? 

Does the written tense stay consistent? 

Does it change or come across as confusing? 

SETTING AND WORLDBUILDING

What did you think of the setting? 

Was there enough detail to set the scene, or too much detail that overpowered the story? 

Could you tell where the story was set easily? 

Does the setting/world building come across realistically? 

PLOT

Can you follow the plot of the story? 

Does the plot seem too obvious or vague? 

Does the story end satisfactorily or do you feel cheated/bored? 

Are there any plot holes? 

 How is the story paced? 

Does it move slow, drag on and bore you? Or does it move too fast and feel rushed? 

Can you tell the theme of the story? 

Does the plot and characters evoke any particular emotions? 

Personally, I wouldn’t send everything on the above list to a beta-reader, you don’t want to overwhelm them after all, but you could pick and choose a couple!

.-.-.  

Be Good to Your Betas  Whether they’re beta-ing a three page short or a 400 page novel, beta-reading is a huge commitment, and can be a tough, and sometimes thankless, job. Giving them guides for betaing like above can really help! Here are some more top tips to help out your lovely betas: 

Give them an as polished a draft as you can! This will help both you and your beta-reader get the most out of the experience.

Give them plenty of time! My betas had three months to read my 104k novel. More time for more words and more detailed betaing. 

Be flexible! Life happens and things do go wrong. 

It’s fine to disagree with what a beta-reader has to say - they are only one opinion after all - but asking for clarification or more details will serve you better than getting annoyed!

.-.-.  

What If I Don’t Like my Beta Feedback?  It’s definitely disappointing when you get some feedback that you don’t like. Especially if it’s a piece you’ve put a lot of heart and soul into. If you think there’s some problems with your beta feedback, consider the following points: 

Get a second pair of eyes (or third... or fourth!) It’s always better to have multiple eyes on a piece of work - even just to make sure nothing gets missed - but especially if there’s discrepancies between feedback. If four out of five beta-readers pick up on an issue, odds are it’s something you may have to address, even if not in the particular way the beta-readers suggest. 

Is the feedback fit for purpose? Does the beta-reader have an innate bias or dislike for a certain aspect of your work? So, if you’re told that your dialogue between two girlfriends is “cringe” and you discover your beta-reader dislikes romance, that feedback may not be fit for purpose. This is another reason why you should lay out your expectations and explain what your piece will explore before taking on a beta reader. A good beta-reader should be able to tell you how/why something works despite their own personal preferences. 

Are you asking readers... or writers?  A lot of people think readers make the best betas. Others argue writers. Personally, I think there’s value in asking a mix of both. Reader feedback may be able to indicate where things don’t “feel right” but may not be able to articulate exactly why. But reader feedback can also be invaluable because they’re the target audience! Whereas writers can usually articulate the problems “under the hood” of the piece, as it were, and help you with more targeted support. Fellow writers are also fabulous for earlier drafts. 

Trust your instincts!  At the end of the day, beta-feedback is just feedback! And your story is your story. You’re the one who knows it inside out, you’re the one who knows what you want to get out of it, and ultimately you’re the one who decides what goes into the piece. You don’t have to take every piece of advice as gospel. 

[jacaranda-bloom]

FIC WRITER QUESTIONS

Thank you to the lovely @allwaswell16 @runaway-train-works @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed @uhoh-but-yeah-alright and @evilovesyou for tagging me to answer some questions about my writing.

1) How many works do you have on AO3?

47

2) What’s your total AO3 word count?

901,445 (Hoping to hit the Magic Million by the end of the year!)

3) How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

1 (One Direction)

4) What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

When Tomorrow Comes 1155

The Baby Whisperer 950

Love, Ever After 898

Harry Poppins 856

Play Me A Memory 760

More under the cut…

5) What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Oh gosh. Uhm. I don’t really write angsty endings? All my fics have Happy Endings and most have epilogues to round them out and tie them up in a bow. Perhaps I’d say If You’re Out There (I’ll Find You Somehow) purely because (spoiler ahead) the epilogue is written 100 years into the future so they’ve both passed.

6) What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

Interestingly, I would actually say the answer is the same as above, If You’re Out There (I’ll Find You Somehow). The epilogue is so uplifting and I cry happy tears every time I re-read it. It’s written from the POV of their granddaughter and you get to see the world they had a hand in changing for the better through her eyes, so you get a sense of how impactful their lives were on the rest of society. Oof, tearing up right now just thinking about it.

7) Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

Yeah, I have actually. I really enjoy doing new takes on an existing universes, although they aren’t always the easiest thing to pull off tbh. I’m not sure which I would say is the craziest, but the hardest to write was definitely The Peter Pan/Hook AU.

Harry Poppins - Loosely based on the book/movie Mary Poppins, but without any magical aspects.

Playing To Win - Set in the Big Brother house.

The Pirate and The Piper - A Peter Pan/Hook AU which I took a lot of liberties with.

In The Still Of The Night - My Dirty Dancing AU.

A Hungry Heart - This is a Great British Bake Off AU that is due out in September for the Cliche Fic Fest!

8) Do you write smut? If so what kind?

Whoa Nelly. Yeah, I do. All the time. Every fic actually. There’s only one, Exposed, the only fic I’ve published that’s not rated Explicit and doesn’t have smut. But, to be fair, the challenge was to write exactly 666 words and I still managed to get the implication in there. Plus, Louis was naked and Harry was applying body paint for the majority of the story, so like, I think I can get a free pass on that one - I tried!

In terms of what type of smut, I guess it varies depending on the story. I tend not to push the boat out too far, but I do dabble in BDSM in quite a few of my fics. A recurring theme in the comments I receive is that my smut scenes are well constructed and detailed, without being too tedious or drawn out, which is lovely feedback to get because they can be challenging to write.

9) Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

Absolutely. Every single one.

10) Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Not often, people are usually so kind, but there have been a couple.

11) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I’m aware of!

12) Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yeah, quite a lot, particularly on Wattpad, all with my full consent. That said, I’m thinking of stopping this because it’s getting a bit out of hand and I’ve been feeling uncomfortable about it recently for various reasons that I won’t bore you with here. 

13) Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nope! I don’t think it’s really my thing tbh. I get very in my head about writing and struggle even to brainstorm or share too much until I’m well into a story.

14) What’s your all time favorite ship?

Of the 47 fics I’ve written, there are 45 Larry, 1 Narry, and 1 Louis/Dermot O’Leary (I think mine is still the only fic with this ship hahahaa), so that’s probably a good indication of my fave writing ship.

15) What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

I have one lonely WIP sitting on AO3 from 2018. I keep promising myself I’ll finish it and it’s on my schedule every year, then I get distracted by other fics/fests and it gets pushed back. Plus, it needs a complete rewrite because my style has developed so much since I started it, so it’ll be a big job. Based on that, I think that the fic, in its current form, won’t ever be finished as the rewrite will completely wipe out what it was, although the underlying plot will still be there.

16) What are your writing strengths?

World building (or so I’m often told). I write very visually and people often say they can imagine the scene exactly, or that it’s like a movie, or that they think it’s actually a real place I’m describing, when most of the time it absolutely isn’t, it’s just something I’ve created in my weird brain.

17) What are your writing weaknesses?

Dialogue (although my lovely beta disagrees) and telling rather than showing. They’re both things I’m actively working on.

18) What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I’ve never really considered it. It’s not something I’d shy away from necessarily, but it’s just never come up.

19) What was the first fandom you wrote for?

One Direction. First and only.

20) What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

Wow. This is really tough because it changes over time. I find that once I’ve finished a fic I don’t want to revisit it for a few months because I’m kind of over it. But I find comfort in them after a while, like I get to go back to that happy place and immerse myself in that world and the characters again, similar to catching up with an old friend. It’s familiar. I think I also like different stories for different reasons and I’m drawn to various ones depending on my mood. My top 3 (although, ask me next week and the list will probably be completely different!) would probably be:

1. If You’re Out There (I’ll Find You Somehow). Written for the hybrid fic fest (a fest I created just for this fic lol). It’s not everyone’s cup of tea due to the hybrid aspect, but it’s one of the stories I feel is the most rounded from a character development perspective and the world building was pretty epic, if I can be so bold as to throw that out there myself!

2. No Going Back. One of my Big Bangs from 2020. I adore the way their relationship develops in this fic and the setting (as remote lighthouse keepers) was such a lot of fun to write. Plus I got to collaborate with an amazing artist who created an entire website as an accompanying travel blog which was truly wonderful.

3. From The Heart. This is a series I wrote for wordplay back in 2019. I had no idea that what I was doing was so unusual and so meta by having Louis essentially write for the equivalent of wordplay in the fic. It was such an fun way to share my writing process and challenges I encounter (exactly how many synonyms tabs do I have open at any one time?!) and I thoroughly enjoyed the outcome (although getting there was definitely a struggle).

~

This was really fun and thanks to anyone who made it this far! Writing brings me so much joy and is a wonderful outlet for all the imaginings in my head, so I appreciate everyone who supports me and joins me on that journey.

~

I’m pretty late with this and I’m not sure who has already done it but I’ll tag @fallinglikethis @homosociallyyours @lululawrence @reminiscingintherain and @beau-soleil-louis if they’d like to do this and haven’t already.

[elizabeth-mitchells]

supercut of us - The Old Guard (2020) - TOGFemslashFortnight

@tog-femslashfortnight - Saturday's Prompt: Free Choice

This is especially for everyone at the TOG Femslash Discord <3

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Old Guard (Movie 2020) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Andy | Andromache the Scythian/Quynh | Noriko, Andy | Andromache of Scythia & Nile Freeman & Quynh | Noriko Characters: Andy | Andromache of Scythia, Quynh | Noriko, Nile Freeman Additional Tags: TOGFemSlashFortnight, Post-Canon, Canon Compliant, ish, Headcanon, Friendship, Team Bonding, World Travel, Fluff and Humor, Tooth-Rotting Fluff Words: 3517

Inspired by 57 headcanons shared on the TOG Femslash Discord... (which you can find along with their creators here)

After Andy and Quynh are reunited they decide to travel the world with Nile. Andy deals with her uncertain mortality, Quynh deals with the twenty-first century, and Nile... deals with both of them. It's fun, exciting, sweet and never boring.

There was just something about the way Quynh was holding Andy’s hand, which was perfectly complemented by the exact pressure of Andy’s hold, but defied by the purposeful pattern that Quynh’s thumb was drawing on the back of Andy’s hand. Then, of course, there was also something else to be said about the particular arch of Andy’s eyebrow, or just a flash of a frown in Quynh’s face, followed by Andy biting her lip, and answered with a brief pout from Quynh. Which lead to-

“What are you guys doing?” Nile blurted out, finally exasperated by the way the two women had been silently staring at each other for four minutes doing nothing but exchanging microexpressions and holding hands. “Did you guys changed your mind?” she tilted her head.

“No,” Quynh replied slowly, “I was just asking Andromache if she’d like me to stab her just once more to check if she is still immortal.”

Andy rolled her eyes, not very happy to be reminded about the fact that she still couldn’t figure out if her immortality was back or not. She had scars now, but still healed much faster than she should. It was complicated. “We’re ready to go, Nile,” Andy grumbled, as they finally followed the younger woman to the plane. With just one look Quynh had let her know she wasn’t feeling particularly great about being locked in that small plane for a long period of time. Andy was comforting, and reassuring, let her know that she disliked it just as much. “It’s safe though, trust me, I’ve only crashed one without meaning to once, or twice. And it was back when they were considerably less safe,” she added.

“Without meaning to,” Quynh shook her head fondly, “And that wouldn’t even be you at your worst now would it, my heart? You love falling from high places.”

Before Andy could protest, Nile was exclaiming, “Oh you have to tell me about that Quynh.”

“Not again,” Andy groaned, falling into her seat in the plane.

Once inside, it was obvious that Quynh’s anxiety of the reduced and unfamiliar place was kicking in again. With a smile as kind and bright as ever, Nile offered her her phone and headphones and said, “You know what I think could help? Music. And I have just the right-”

“Just the right kind of meaningless, over simplified, repetitive-”

“Oh, excuse me, I forgot classic rock was the only valid form of music. Andy, you’re a cliche grandma.”

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

“Quynh agrees with me!”

Their always-loving, never-ending bickering stopped for a moment, so they could both look at the third member of their group looking for her evaluation of the argument. Quynh, who had been so completely engrossed in Nile’s favorite playlist of pop music that she had missed the take-off of the plane entirely, only looked up when she took notice of the silence around her. “Hm, what?” she took off one earbud, looking from one face to another and nodded, “Yes, my heart, you are too old to understand. And this is actually really good.” She went back to her music and, by the end of the flight, she may or may not have accidentally started listening to a jazz music playlist, and ended up absolutely loving that too.

--

During the first hour of their hike, Nile tried to remember that she was exploring the world with the two oldest women on Earth, women who could teach her absolutely everything, women with knowledge so invaluable it was difficult to comprehend. Women who, also, sometimes acted like annoying children. 

“You slipped on a little bit of mud and broke your skull when you fell down, that’s worse,” Andy argued.

“Not as bad as dying because you failed to balance your own axe on your head! Even after I told you not to do that, Andy,” Quynh insisted.

Teasing each other like that was as natural as breathing, but that little detail of Quynh calling her just Andy, it had the oldest woman narrowing her eyes and suspecting it was better to give up the fight. “Anyway, it was Nile who shot herself in the foot for no reason at all,” she mumbled, attempting to change the subject.

Except, “Yeah, but it didn’t kill me,” Nile raised her hands in faked innocence while the three of them started laughing. As annoying as it could be to travel with the oldest couple on Earth, it was also a lot of fun.

--

Quynh had opted to stay behind to rest and look over their camp, so it was just Andy and Nile slowly riding their horses around. 

“You’re doing great, kid,” Andy sent a smile her way, “Just a little more practice and you can join me on the Mongol Derby next year.” The younger woman replied with a genuinely frightened expression. She was just learning how to do that, she didn’t need to think about the absurd things that Andy, who apparently had loved and befriended horses before anyone had even thought about domesticating them, would do. Still, she knew she’d probably end up joining her and being dragged into whatever chaos that experience would entail. “I hope Quynh will join too, she’d be amazing. Though, I didn’t tell you this but, she used to be terrified of horses,” Andy finished with a soft chuckle.

Nile laughed along with her and as a reflex she looked back in the general direction of where they’d last seen Quynh. When she looked back at Andy she was surprised to find a not entirely unfamiliar look of melancholy on her friend’s face. Before Quynh came back, that was Andy’s usual look, but it had been a while since Nile had seen her like that. She took the risk to say, “I can’t even imagine what it must have been like for you, when you lost her.”

For a second, Andy looked surprised to hear those words. “Good,” was the first thing she replied, wholeheartedly hoping the young woman would never even have to imagine that sort of pain, that absolutely devastating loss of having your universe ripped to shreds, decades of looking over your shoulder to find out your better half is no longer there.

But, on second thought, she remembered how closed off she had been when they all first met Nile, and in a matter of months Quynh was back and everything had changed too quickly. Perhaps she owed her some part of the story.

“I never really stopped looking for her, you know?” Andy took a deep breath, her heart warmed by the genuine interest in Nile’s gentle eyes. “Just weeks before we found you I was still trying… It was hell though, back then, when it first happened. I got my revenge and a little too late I found out there was no one alive who could tell me where she was. Then I had to accept she was impossible to find, and accept I’d never be the same again. I shave this whole thing off,” Andy ran a hand through her hair, making the most of that brief moment to try to soothe her raging emotions, and remind herself she was just remembering, and this time Quynh really was back, waiting for her nearby. “I got into piracy for a couple of years, still bent on revenge and staying closer to, you know, the ocean. And a lot of regrets.”

“It brought all of us here though, right? She’s back,” Nile added with a smile that she hoped could cheer up her friend at least slightly. It worked though. Andy, not for the first time, found herself not only endeared by the young woman’s optimism, but surprisingly agreeing with her.

--

This time it was Andy and Nile waiting for Quynh by the beach. The island was just big enough for the three of them to hide without worrying that someone would figure out if was Quynh it was who had just killed one of the wealthiest men in the world. When she arrived at their spot on the beach and took a seat by the fire, she was still impeccably dressed, barely a hair out of place.

“Well, that felt good,” she sighed, getting comfortable in the sand, “Also, you’re welcome. Unless you had stock in his company. Actually, I don’t know how that works. It doesn’t matter to me, and I bet it doesn’t matter to any part of him left.”

Despite Nile’s shocked, slightly disturbed, and somewhat confused expression, Andy smiled, completely smitten by the woman beside her. “Take a look,” she told her lover, nodding her head toward the sky, not taking her eyes of Quynh, “Beautiful, isn’t it.”

“Mesmerizing as always,” Quynh replied in a whisper, leaning back on her hands to look up at the stars above them as the two of them always loved to do. “Always changing…”

“Wait, what?”

Smiling at the younger woman’s confusion, Quynh added, “Hey, Nile, bonfires are perfect for some good stories. What do you think, are you interested?”

Nile agreed immediately and Quynh expertly launched herself into dozens of epic tales that, with the power of only her words, took the three of them all over the world and all over history. She reminded Andy that this wasn’t the first time they took care of greedy dictators. She talked them through the discovery of lands for the very first time. She brought legends back from the dead and left Nile speechless. She even indulged herself in sharing one or two of her favorite stories of Andy and her, including her time spent as a sculptor with her obvious muse being Andy, and also all the myths she personally started with one of the many special swords Andy singlehandedly created for her.

A very important part of the stories was the interaction between Andy and Quynh. It didn’t take long for Nile to understand how whenever Quynh hesitated on some part of her magnificent stories, Andy was always there ready to provide the missing piece of the puzzle. It might have to do with some part of Quynh’s mind perpetually lost to the unforgiving ocean. But, judging by the way it looked like Quynh expected Andy to fill in the blanks for her, it suggested that this habit of sharing their memories as one wasn’t new at all. 

Quynh was an expert in the art of storytelling. She knew exactly how to tease the knowledge only she had about Andy’s life before immortality, including their birthdays, and yet keep it all still a mystery. She knew just how to bring Nile close to tears with the tale of the Scythian warriors’ welcoming arms giving Andy her first family, and her longest-lasting name, and yet keep to herself the memory of it being just the last name Lykon got to call her.

When Nile can’t help herself anymore and falls asleep, Andy half expected Quynh to be just as tired, but she wasn’t all that surprised when instead the love of her life stood up and offered her a hand. “Are you joining me?” Quynh asked, nodding her head toward the sea, the gentle waves crashing on the shore.

“Are you sure?” Andy asked, but immediately took the hand offered and followed the other woman’s lead in taking off their clothes and walking to the shore.

“It’s terrifying, I admit that. I wouldn’t dare do it without you,” Quynh looked unusually bashful and vulnerable for a moment, the moonlight catching the precious light in her eyes just right, “But there’s just something about it… I need to prove I’m stronger, you know?”

“I am completely certain of that fact, my love,” Andy replied with a smile, taking Quynh’s hand and going into the water with her. And she meant her words. Five hundred years of torture beyond human comprehension, and Quynh was still here, still alive, still herself. There was nothing in this world stronger than her, Andy knew that as a fact.

--

Taking some time to finally stand still and relax in a safe house was a great idea for several reasons. Firstly, Nile would be lying if she said she didn’t miss a stable internet connection, which she made quick use of to sign up for an online Art History course. Plus, the isolated charming little cabin near the woods was the only place where Andy could possibly get away with adopting an actual wild bear cub.

“You stole a baby bear?!” Nile exclaimed, lowering the sword and giving up her training for a moment, because the sight of Andy arriving at the house carrying a bear in her arms was a little too much to easily comprehend.

“She lost her mother,” Andy shrugged, as if it was the most common thing to go around the woods picking up orphan bears to raise like pets.

“She does this often,” Quynh mentioned to Nile, lowering her own sword and instead picking up her recurve bow, “Personally, I prefer big cats. But it’s cute, isn’t it?”

Nile narrowed her eyes and looked at Andy. “I mean… look, that’s not normal. I love penguins, they’re my favorites and I’d love to have one, but they’re not pets. Dogs are my favorite pets, that’s normal!” Before she could get to her arguments about bears not being fit for keeping as pets, she was interrupted by Andy’s newest friend running toward her and instinctively hugging her leg. “Oh… okay, fine, it’s cute but…” But this was her life now, and she wasn’t exactly complaining.

--

Life in the various safe houses they stayed was fun, pleasant, and a very particular kind of peaceful that was only possible when living with actual immortal warriors. It was, at least, never boring. And sometimes it was also surprisingly sweet.

Nile had the brilliant idea of introducing Quynh to many, many things about modern culture. This included a quick review of the twentieth century, and Quynh reacted horrified by world wars, fascinated by 1920’s style, and skeptical about the moon landing. This, somewhat accidentally, involved introducing her to hitmen, leverage, other shows and movies that she passionately loved or disliked, and it was hilarious to watch Andy and Quynh bicker about how attractive or definitely-not-attractive the actors and actresses were. And there was also the occasional video game. Though Quynh definitely developed a love-hate relationship with Candy Crush, often saying to Nile “I’m your friend, your family, I teach you archery tricks that no other person alive knows, and this is how you repay me? You give me this devilishly addictive little game?!” 

Later, Nile was pleased to find out that both women were skilled in doing hairstyles for her, and, even better, since they had learned with Lykon thousands of years ago, they knew ancient styles that thoroughly impressed the young woman. Cooking was, more often than not, a struggle for the three of them. Baking, on the other hand, was a wonderful experience. Maybe Andy didn’t do much beyond distracting Quynh and eating the majority of everything they made, even before it hit the oven. But it was still a good time and, judging by the way Andy nearly burst into tears whenever Quynh offered her any sweet pastry, it was easy to guess there was some sort of meaningful history behind it.

Nile was also lucky enough to witness the moment Quynh found out that same-sex marriage was a perfectly legal thing in some places. Maybe she couldn’t marry the love of her immortal life as soon as she would have liked, maybe they would need to fake a few documents or even try to take advantage of some odd American laws, but she couldn’t wait for the moment it’d finally be official. Andy perfectly understood how she felt. Maybe they had absolutely no need for anyone or anything to certify their love for each other, but it would surely be fun to get to do something that for centuries was denied to them. That was partly the reason why Andy had attended college a handful of times, as soon as it was legal for women to do so, just to proudly get kicked out.

As perfect as the dynamic between the three of them was, they all needed their moments to themselves, and Nile had learned when to give the couple the space they needed. Plus, she also got time to herself. This entire life was a, literally, never-ending adventure, but it was necessary to take the time to breathe, take a step back, and think about things. One of Nile’s favorite things to do to achieve some peace of mind was journaling. Truthfully, it started as a desperate attempt to write letters to her family that she would never send. But it soon became a helpful habit that kept her grounded. And also busy, on those times when Andy and Quynh disappeared for a handful of hours at a time.

--

It was starting to happen less and less, but it was still a common occurrence for Quynh to wake up feeling the weight of the entire ocean on her chest. She’d wake up startled, a desperate scream already halfway through her throat, and already halfway prepared to die again. Some nights were harder than others, some nights it took several minutes for Andy to convince Quynh she was safe and alive and far from the sea, and get her to calm down. But then, of course, there were some easier nights, when the warmth of Andy’s body beside her would quickly bring Quynh back to her reality. She’d be shaking, frightened, afraid. But she’d turn to Andy, even with tears and in her eyes and smile in relief.

“Hey, it’s okay, I’m here, you’re safe Quynh,” Andy immediately whispered in the softest tone she could manage, wrapping her arms around her lover, bring her closer, letting her find comfort in her touch and the sound of her heartbeat.

After a few moments, with her face pressed against Andy’s chest, Quynh wondered, “I’m sorry, did I wake you up?”

“Nothing to be sorry about,” Andy promised, kissing the top of her head, “And no, as a matter of fact, you didn’t. You fell asleep and I was just reading.” That got Quynh’s attention, getting her to finally meet Andy’s eyes. “It’s been a long time but… The Odyssey, remember that one?”

“Your favorite,” Quynh said softly, granting the other woman a genuine even if small smile, before cuddling closer to her. “Read it to me?” she asked, knowing nothing would make her feel safer, feel better than that. This moment, this connection brought by holding each other tightly, reminded both of them of a time in their past. Shortly after losing Lykon, they would embrace each other just like this, usually after a battle, and it was the only way to soothe their fears, it was a silent promise. The painful memory was gently replaced by Andy’s words recounting her favorite story, a different reassurance, a sweet gesture, and everything Quynh needed at the moment.

--

“You,” Andy said, and kissed her, “are wearing my shirt,” she added, kissing her again.

“Well,” Quynh returned the kiss, “It’s obviously not mine, Andromache,” she teased her, and bit her lip. Pleased with Andy’s eager reaction, Quynh continued kissing her, and let her hands start roaming her lover’s body. She was sitting on Andy’s lap, always more comfortable there than anywhere else. She kept one hand on the other woman’s short hair, since both equally loved it when she played with her hair, and with the fingers of her other hand she caressed Andy’s jaw, her neck, shoulders, and finally arrived at her upper arm. Then she pulled back from the kiss just enough to say, “You have a new scar.”

“Do I?” Andy replied and when she tried to go back to another kiss she was gently rejected.

“I notice, you know?” Quynh added. She had a somewhat complicated relationship with Andy’s scars. They represented a new and interesting part of her lover for her to cherish, so she enjoyed checking up on these small changes every now and then. But it was impossible to ignore that they stood for the love of her life getting hurt, and being, more or less, mortal. She still healed, slowly but surely, and certainly faster than regular people, but… Before her thoughts spiraled out of control, Andy’s gentle hand on her cheek brought her back to their conversation. She had been mindlessly tracing one of Andy’s scars with her fingertips, a new habit that turned out to be comforting for both of them.

“I know,” Andy said with a small smile that was quickly returned. There was more she wanted to say, both of them, but in their case, it could perfectly well be said silently. Starting with resting their foreheads together, taking a deep breath, and holding each other just a little tighter. It was enough, because their love was loud enough to fill the silence for thousands, and thousands of years.

[littlemessyjessi]

How They’d Be As Mukbangers:  Harry Potter Characters

How They'd Be As YouTube Mukbangers

James: Every video has a theme.   Like, I'm not even playing.   Holidays?  All kinda of holiday themed food.  Quidditch World Cup coming up?   Things inspired by the country of his favorite team.   Just a random day?  Everything is blue.   He's that type of way.

Sirius:  If a mukbanger was a thirst trap.  I could easily see him really getting into.  Dark background, black gloves, aesthetic as fuck and like, he doesn't even talk.  He just sits there, looks hot and somehow makes eating looking incredibly sexy.  And he fucking knows it.   Bitch also one hundred percent rolls his eyes back when it hits his taste buds.  Licks his lips and his fingers.  Takes way too big of bites.   Most people would say it's cringy how sexual his videos are...but everyone is secret subscribed anyway.  With notifications on.

Remus:  This goes one of two ways.  If he's in a good mood and things are chill, he'll find a recipe, make it to the mother fucking 't' and then have a little mukbang slash review on said recipe.  Nice lil chat.  Sweet tol bean.   Precious. If it's near the full moon there ain't none of that.  Ya boy, brings in his monstrous plate of food, sits it down and just tears into like a fucking beast, no talking.  Just nom nom nom.  Unintentionally thirst traps and people opening talk about when Remus goes beast mode.  

Peter:  Candy and sweets channel! Small mukbangs with reviews from different candies from Honeydukes!

Lily:  Lol, Lilypad.  She ain't playing around.  Her videos are planned out, edited and just generally finessed to perfection.  Even had music added to it with tiny vlog segments as it's set up.  It's a little pretentious but she does have a good following.

Marlene:   This bitch.  Fucking competitive eating queen.  Tiny ass lil ho can eat you under the table, bro.   Think RainaIsCrazy on YouTube.  She can fucking smash.  Usually does eating challenges from different resteraunts and competitions.  Often, challenges Remus on his wild days.   He's a beast but she still wipes the floor with him.  

Dorcas:  The collab.  Dorcas always has good food and good company.  She's all about sharing a meal with someone and talking about random things.

Alice and Frank:  The couple channel.  It's generally filled with so much fucking cute and the food is always tasty.  It's sickening they feed each other but you also can't help but awww.

Molly Prewett/Weasley:   Family recipes.   Molly's channel are tried and true recipes from the Prewett family.  Cook with me and tons of kitchen life hacks.  Also, that woman can turn a ham sandwhich into a full course meal. Bet.   Always taste tested by Daddy Weasley.  Yes, I said Daddy Weasley.  

Lucius Malfoy:  The most pretentious fucking channel to ever exist.  It's a whole fucking production that admittedly he does put a lot of work into.   Somewhat thirst trappy like Sirius' but instead of just having a plain black background he goes out of his way to shove as much of his manor into.   Only eats the most expensive food fucking on the planet and of course, it's prepared by House elves cause he's a twit.  (Yes, I know this is Thranduil but honestly wouldn’t put it past Lucius to be this fucking pretentious.) 

Severus Snape:  Actually pretty solid content.  His exquisite skills in potions actually made him a rather good chef.   Tasteful shots, edited well with music over everything and subtitles.   Simply audio for the eat portion at the end.  Nothing too fancy for the background.  Often just a very clean kitchen. Solid content though.

The Black Sisters: Mass chaos.  Part vlog, part drama channel, half the time the food never even gets finished because of fights.  

Bill Weasley:  The Traveler.   A lot of egyptian food.  Some made by hand.  Some vlogs from street food while he's out just generally doing his job.   Short videos but solid.  He's hot and he picks good food.  It works for him.

Charlie Weasley:  This extra ass bitch.  He's the bitch that does all that outdoor cooking.  You know what I mean.   Shots in the woods, roaring fire.  Lit by a precious dragon child no doubt.  Dragons lounging in the background like those bitches who always have their dogs there.  Yes, I'm jealous.  Close up shots of him cutting things on a custom wood cutting board. Everything he makes causes your mouth to water.  God damn, scarred, freckle faced bastard just gobbles it up and ends every fucking video with a wink.   Charlie Weasley is the ultimate thirst trap and he fucking knows it.

Percy:  Percy's channel could be epic but instead is boring as fuck.  Why?  Because he insist on having the most snooze worthy meals that are 'sensible' and THEN he proceeds to talk about politics.   He actually had a pretty decent following of other like minded individuals but my god- politics and porridge, Percy?  Really?

However, once he chills the fuck out, leaves the ministry to do something else - it’s a game changer.  Brings the family on for mukbangs.  Does videos with mummy weasley.  Percy grows his hair out and Bill teases him for being a copy cat.  Much better.  Still talks politics but it’s fucking hiliarous and now the food is poppin. 

Fred and George:  Alright, this shit right here.   Every fucking bit of it is a self promo for the shop.  Meals inspired by and that would go well paired with 'this product'.  Like, that's the whole thing.  And then they run an add for their shop at the end featuring the product.  It works for them because they're smart, they're hot and they're also wildly entertaining with their constantly sibling squabbling. But yeah.  Big promo for the shop.

Ron Weasley: Honestly, out of everyone.   Ron probably has the most followers and it's because he doesn't say shit while he's eating. He sits down with a massive fucking turkey.  Nods at the camera and just tears it up.   It's literally so satisfying.  All the food is prepared by his mother.  So it's obviously fantastic. ( I just had to use this gif.) 

Ginny:   Gin's channel is usually team building videos with the Harpies.  'Cheat Day: Vlog and Mukbang w/the Harpies' type of vibes.  It's cool though and since it's a famous quidditch team the fans enjoy the behind the scenes action and actually drop all kinds of recipes for them to try in the future.

Hermione:  Hermione could easily veer off into Percy's channel of misery when she gets started on her rants but mostly they're really chill videos.  Mukbang and Book Review type of vibe.  Or sometimes even the playing of an audio book while she does her thing.  All in all, wholesome.

Harry:  Lol, I swear.  Fucking awkward bean.   Harry's videos are literally of him making the simplest of things and being so fucking awkward. "Er, well, hi guys.  So I'm about to head out for work.  Running a bit late.  But we're having a bit of toast and jam."  Like it's literally just little videos of him eating whatever throughout the day.  But of course, since he's Harry Fucking Potter- his follower count is astronomical.  

Neville:  Now, this boy.  This boy is a goblincore gobbo's wet dream.  Gardening videos with homegrown veg.  Recipes from Grandmother.   Have a nice Veggie Pot Pie with Professor Longbottom in the Hogwarts Greenhouse.  There is a fanbase and it is huge.  

Luna: Honestly, the weirdest fucking channel in the world.  Like she finds the weirdest things to eat and goes from there.  But Luna is bae so it's cool.  Also, a thousand percent does Smoke Sesh + Mukbang videos.  You know it's true.

Dean and Seamus:  Literally, eating in the most crowded pubs as they visit football games around the country.  Seamus will definitely pull the Irish card from time to time to have a drinking competition.  He wins everytime.  He may be a little dude but shit- homie can hold his own.

Cedric:  Honestly, it's so fucking pure.   Straight up did videos during his time at Hogwarts in the Hogwarts kitchen.  Such kind little conversations with the house elves.  "Hey, guys.  Thanks for coming back to another video.  Today we're making some really tasty biscuits.  Whispy, one of the talented bakers here in the kitchens, is here to help us today so please say hello to her in the comments."  He'll also always make extra and leave them in the Hufflepuff common room for everyone to enjoy.  Like, it's honestly so pure and he's such a soft boi and oh my fucking geeeeeeerrrrrrdddd!!!!!

Draco: Actually takes it really seriously and put a lot of hard work into it.   Nothing like his father's ego-tistical recipes.   Surprisingly, every. single. recipe. is a muggle recipe.  How would he know?  Because he cross referenced with Granger of course.  Cooks it himself.   No magic.  Lots of random talks.  Just like a monologue of things and it gets kinda deep sometimes.   Like, it's the channel to go to when you need advice that you didn't even know that you needed.   Still eats incredibly proper.   It's that pureblood raising of his.  Old habits die hard.

Tonks:  Pure chaos.  "Hey, today we're having Mum's homemade lasagna and I'm also getting a new tattoo.  Might dye my hair.  Don't really need to since I can do this  but whatever. So yeah, there's that.  Like it's just all over the place and you'd think it would take but the chaos is too good not to watch.  Literally gives herself beaks and snouts while she eats.  It's iconic.

Dumbledore: Mother fucker just sits at his desk, stares straight into the camera and eats a lemon drop.  Like a weirdo.  The video usually no more than a minute and each video is just some variation of that.  Meme lord.

Hagrid:  Tea With Hagrid.  Also, so the recipes suck, they too, but Hagrid is a peach and it's relaxing to see his gentle half giant there in his hut, pumpkin patch out the window and Fang laying by the fire.  It's a mood and he's just like the comforting Dad figure. 

McGonagall:  Honestly the best one in the entire world.  She makes a full course traditional Scottish breakfast... and then transforms into her animagus the cat...and promptly knocks it off the table.   A fucking legend.

------------------------------

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Love, Kenny

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Love, Kenny

[thekytchensynk]

Ain’t No Picnic (9/9)

Summary: They were just supposed to head over to the island real quick, just to see what was going on. After all, if pirates were trying to ambush and kill the Straw Hat crew, how could Coby NOT go? And how could Helmeppo let him go alone? It should be simple enough, but nothing can be taken for granted in the New World, and when things go awry, Helmeppo finds himself separated from his captain on an island chain full of pirates who probably won’t be too happy to see a Marine if their paths cross.Oh yeah. And one of those pirates is the infamous “Surgeon of Death,” Trafalgar Law… Warnings: Occasional strong language Read it on AO3 

__________

Helmeppo opened his eyes to find a curious-looking animal staring down at him, half lit by flickering firelight. He blinked groggily. The animal blinked back.

��How are you feeling?” it asked.

What an adorable voice, he thought muzzily. After taking stock for a moment, at least one thing was clear. “I don’t feel great,” he said aloud.

“Any acute pain? Your breathing sounds good, but if you feel something like a stabbing pain, let me know.”

Stabbing pain? “Not right now,” he replied as he started to wake up a little more. The stabbing had been before he fell asleep.

“Helmeppo!”

The furry creature disappeared from his vision as a familiar voice reached his ears. Despite the sleepiness still struggling to reclaim him, Helmeppo slowly propped himself up on his elbows, and took in the immediate surroundings.

He was back in that accursed open space where they’d all started at the beginning. No melee there now, thank goodness, but somehow it had definitely become night (sleep will do that, he supposed), and the bonfires here and there were doing little to push back the inky black. Just a few people remained in sight, talking in small groups, or doing things singly. Helmeppo seemed, unsurprisingly, to be in a sort of medical area. Across from him he could see a man … a bear?... a guy with his arm in a sling arguing with a guy in an oversized hat. Bear guy clearly did not want to stay on the makeshift bed he’d been given. Hat guy disagreed.

The next person, he recognized from the wanted posters and wild tales from Coby. Nico Robin lay sleeping, a careful swath of bandages encircling her middle. He was keeping some esteemed company today it seemed.

To his left, Coby stooped a good dozen paces away, speaking with the little fuzzy creature who, Helmeppo figured, had to be the Straw Hat crew’s doctor. The wanted posted said otherwise, but Coby had told Helmeppo it was the doctor and his questions of a moment ago would seem to confirm he had the right of it.

The doctor was speaking to Coby in earnest tones that Helmeppo could hear but not make out, since the doctor’s back was to him. But he heard Coby’s polite, “Understood. I will.” Then the doctor said something else, this time accompanied by one hoof shaking sternly at him. With a sheepish grin, Coby nodded and said, “I won’t. I promise. Thank you.” The two parted, and Coby headed toward Helmeppo’s makeshift sickbed, face shadowed and growing serious.

Oh. That’s right.

He sat all the way up and looked down. His leg was wrapped in bandages. The wrapping looked more or less white, not thoroughly stained red, so it seemed things could definitely be worse. Of course, he hadn’t tried standing on it yet. His shirt had been similarly replaced with at least a double measure of fabric covering the knife wounds and stabilizing his ribcage.

He experimentally tried a deep breath. Oooh. Bad decision. The surge of pain wasn’t unexpected, and didn’t rise to the level of stabbing pain that he assumed the little doctor meant, but what was unexpected was that the pain dragged everything else back, momentarily bright and clear.

The fight. That last fight.

At the time he’d been too concerned with surviving, but now, with the benefit of hindsight, he felt nauseated. How had he failed that badly? He’d talked a big game -- more than once! -- about how he was going to find his dad and beat him, big strong Marine that he thought he was. And instead he’d gotten his ass handed to him. It hadn’t even been a contest. He should be dead. Utterly dead. He’d been too weak, and got in over his head, and he should be d-

“Hey.”

Startled, Helmeppo’s head snapped up to look at Coby, who’d stopped a couple feet away. After taking in as much of a slow, steadying breath as he could and offering what had to be one of the shakiest salutes he’d performed in recent history, Helmeppo replied, “Hi, Captain.”

Coby rolled his eyes at that. But as Helmeppo put his hand on the ground and started trying to get up, he put out his own hand to stop him. “Wait, wait! Don’t get up. Dr. Chopper says you need to rest. And if he can keep the members of his crew in their sick beds, it’s probably best to listen.”

Settling back to his seat on the ground, Helmeppo glanced over toward the doctor. He looked about as threatening as a plush toy, but then again … New World.

“He said I’m not to keep you from resting when you need to, and that you’re supposed to take it easy for the next week or so,” Coby continued, glancing over toward the bear man and his hat buddy. “And see the ship’s doctor when we get back, to keep an eye on your leg, but he said it should heal cleanly if you take care of it, though there will probably be a scar.” He slowly looked back, as though he didn’t really want to look at Helmeppo, and said, “So … you okay?”

“Still breathing and in one piece,” Helmeppo said with a self-deprecating laugh. “Feels like a win today. How about you?”

“Same.” He cracked a small smile, but the solemnity quickly overtook it. “Sorry. This whole thing really did turn into a mess. After I had to-”

“Hey. It all worked out, right? So let’s leave it at that?” Helmeppo interrupted. “The mermaid’s safe, and your … those pirates are safe?” Coby nodded so he continued, “Then it was just a heck of a training mission, I guess. And we are not telling Garp about this place.”

“No? I kind of feel like we should make a report to him.”

Helmeppo sighed. “Coby, if I have to come back here again, my body will probably shut down on its own to save this place the trouble of killing me. So you can tell him whatever you want, but just make sure you’re OK with that being on your conscience.”

Another brief smile at that. “Fine. If I make a report, I don’t know what the island was called or much of anything about it. Just some island. That work?”

“I’ll take it,” Helmeppo said.

“All right. So, do you want to chat? Or you want to go back to sleep?”

Helmeppo considered. He was definitely still tired -- his body felt leaden -- but he was waking up now, to some extent. Plus, watching Coby interact with Luffy and the rest of that crew was kind of adorable to watch, even if a bit predictable -- how excitable and flustered he got. Not to mention, now that he was up, the idea of being asleep and vulnerable sounded … well, not great. Not if there were alternatives. “Think I’ll stay up a while,” he said.

Coby dropped smoothly to a sitting position and glanced first at the sleeping woman, then the bickering pair again, before saying again, “Sorry about all this.”

Exactly what he’d been trying to head off before. Ah well. “I didn’t have to come,” Helmeppo reminded him wryly.

Coby came back with, “Well, it definitely wasn’t boring.”

“You’re telling me,” Helmeppo muttered. Then, since he could just about see the question Coby was getting ready to ask, he hurried to add, “So what happened with that guy you were fighting. Was he the other twin?”

“Hm? You heard about them? Yeah, I guess.” He reached back, fidgeting with his headband, as he said, “Really all I did was keep him off Luffy and his friends most of the time. They handled the bulk of the fight. I thought the one guy had blown everyone over there up for a while, but…” He chuckled, and Helmeppo did too. The idea of trying to wipe out part of a New World pirate crew with a simple explosion -- even on this island -- sounded about like trying to stop a charging bull with a piece of paper.

“So you just fought him to a draw until you got help?”

“No. I beat him eventually. Just not in time to be much more use,” Coby said, saying it like it was something he felt ashamed of.

Which was dumb. That guy might not have been the most powerful person fighting, but he’d been central to the group’s plan. And he wasn’t weak -- not by a long shot. Too hard on himself again, Helmeppo sighed.

“Sounds like it was a whole thing. Glad it all worked out.”

Coby nodded his agreement, then asked, “How about you? Looks like things got rough for you too.”

Helmepppo knew exactly what he was asking about, but he wasn’t really in the mood to talk about it. Maybe if he just forgot about it now, he could forget about it forever. So feigning a carefree tone, he replied “Well, getting dropped into the sea the first time wasn’t too bad. But then I got cornered by a group of pirates in a cave.” He started ticking things off on his fingers one by one. “Got glared at by the Surgeon of Death -- not recommended, in case you were wondering. Another dip in the ocean to pull someone out. Another round with those pirates. Had to be saved, that time. Then back over here for the tail end of your epic fight. And for being called a castaway by some random lady pirate.”

He looked down. The bandages in place of a shirt, barefoot, missing a weapon, hat and sunglasses gone, one pant leg cut off at the knee to make way for more bandages. One hand went up to his hair and … yup. Salt-stiff and tangled. “I guess I have to give her that one,” he finished. He desperately needed a shower and like a week’s worth of sleep. He felt today’s adventure to his bones.

“Saved?” Coby frowned.

“That Law guy helped me out.” Helmeppo said. Coby’s eyes narrowed at the name, and he glanced out into the darkness. “Guess I got lucky.”

“Well, either way I’m glad,” Coby said.

Quiet fell between them. Distantly, Helmeppo could hear other lives going on around them -- people talking, laughing, shouting. The wind through the plants. The lapping of the waves. Bear guy and hat guy had stopped arguing at some point and were sharing a meal. After the wild tension of earlier, it all felt very comfortable.

“Why’d you decide to take them on alone?” Coby asked.

Briefly, Helmeppo wondered if he could ignore the question and pretend the concussion had damaged his hearing. Nah, he wouldn’t buy that. And it wasn’t exactly what he wanted to avoid. So he said, “Honestly? I thought I could beat them. They didn’t seem like big-bounty sorts. And it seemed like taking that other twin guy out was the right move.”

“Yeah,” Coby agreed. “I mean, he was throwing things off. Messing up the fight for a few people. Luffy’s shipwright can shoot missiles, but they were going all over the place, and whenever anyone tried to go find the source, they got headed off. How did you get through?”

Well, that was easy. “Because of Trafalgar Law.” He said, grinning. “It would be like if I’d showed up with … with one of the admirals. One of us is definitely going to draw the attention. Plus, I think he used his power to kind of help me along.”

“Ah.”

It was absurdly kind of Coby to sound doubtful in that one word, as though he thought they should have considered Helmeppo -- no slouch in combat broadly, but still only a lieutenant commander and only a couple years removed from abject uselessness -- a threat anywhere near on par with an infamous pirate.

And then he realized what Coby might be thinking. After all, hadn’t he wondered it himself, in reverse, at the start of this whole thing, about Coby himself being a target? Ugh. That stupid fight. The smile dropped from his face.

“Trust me, it wasn’t anything to do with me,” he said, tone going flat. “He was as surprised to see me as I was to see him.”

Some tension in Coby’s face relaxed at that. “Okay,” he said. “But if-”

Yeah, no. He was not going to do this. “I think I need to lay back down for a while,” he interrupted. Coby’s mouth snapped shut, and his eyes widened. Helmeppo’s stomach clenched at the look. But Coby just nodded and got to his feet.

“All right. Get some rest. Our ride should be back early.” He smiled, and there was nothing forced or false in the look. It felt so earnest that despite everything, Helmeppo did too. “So we can get back and you can do something about that hair.”

“Hey, it’s a trophy of my struggles,” Helmeppo retorted, laying back down.

“Sure, sure. Rest up.”

He didn’t intend to go back to sleep. He didn’t want to. But in the face of a really bad day, sometimes neither intent nor want matter very much. He thought he heard the little doctor walking past. Before the footsteps faded away, dreams swallowed him again.

The next time he woke, night remained, but most of the fires were down to embers and all but the nature sounds had faded. At first, he blinked sleepily around, trying to get his bearings. Then he saw the empty space around him, the massive flat island, and all the memories of the past day sent a jolt of adrenaline through his body. He sat up in a rush, eyes wide in the dark. The other patients were gone. Quiet lay heavy around them. How long had he been asleep this time?

“Mmm… Helmeppo?”

Coby’s voice, a little slurred and slow, came from the darkness to his left. He searched the shadows and finally saw a form standing up from the ground and walking toward him.

“Uh .. yeah. Sorry. Did I wake you?” he asked.

“No. I was keeping watch.”

There were probably questions about how well he’d been keeping watch, given the sleep in his voice, but Helmeppo felt a stab of guilt. This was exactly what he wasn’t supposed to do. He was supposed to worry about Coby, not make him worry.

Stretching and trying to blink the sleep away, Helmeppo said, “Well, I can take over if you like. Feels like I’ve been asleep all night.”

“You were hurt. You should be sleeping,” Coby said.

“And I did,” Helmeppo replied, slowly standing up. Basically every muscle protested this move, all of them sore and wound tight. As he got to his feet, he swayed a little. Putting weight on the injured leg let him know that while it might be well bandaged and expertly treated, that big gash wasn’t gone. He said, “I can-”

“Stop!” The word came out partway between a plea and an order, and froze Helmeppo in his tracks. The quiet of the island fell over the pair for several long seconds.

“The others left. We swept the area for enemies. Everything’s fine. It’s just us two until the kid comes back,” Coby continued. “Please? Just rest. You don’t have to prove anything. I’m planning to keep watch until we’re on our way back.”

Helmeppo watched his friend, barely outlined in the remaining light from the near-dead fire. He was serious about this. And Helmeppo had enough experience with him to know there was no talking him out of things if he was serious enough. Helmeppo had tried. He knew better than maybe anyone.

“In that case, want company?” he asked instead.

He could see Coby’s shoulders relax a little as he said, “Sure, if you want.”

At best estimation, they were maybe an hour from dawn, which put them about two hours from their ride home. Rather than stick around here, they formed a pair of makeshift torches that they lit in the coals of the nearest former bonfire and started walking back toward the spot where they’d be meeting the kid. Helmeppo had only the vaguest idea what direction that lay in, but Coby seemed certain of his way, so Helmeppo simply followed. They came out, a few minutes later, at a place which he supposed might be familiar. Maybe. They both wedged their torches into the scant earth near the shoreline, letting the flickering light cast broken trails of glitter across the choppy black water.

Helmeppo had been moving slow, taking each step gingerly -- the island was light on crutch-appropriate branches, and stepping on a weak spot meant wet shoes before, but he had a feeling wet bandages over an open wound would be a whole lot worse. Coby never hurried him, just kept pace, and let him get himself along, but stayed nearby just in case. Once they got to the shore, he took up a spot against one of the massive leaf stalks, while Helmeppo found a dry spot to ease himself to the ground. The quiet fell between them, as it often did, but this one felt … uncomfortable. Helmeppo stared at the light on the water, waiting for the start of the sunrise to add paleness to the sky.

“Helmeppo?”

“Hmm?”

“Was it really him?”

Helmeppo kept staring out over the water, debating whether or not to answer. At length, he relented. “Yeah.”

Quiet fell again.

“Can I ask what happened?”

He pulled his knees up and crossed his arms across the tops, resting his chin on them. Sighed. “I’d really rather not talk about it.”

“Why?”

Helmeppo tensed up. “I just don’t want to.”

He expected Coby to press the question, but instead the quiet returned, vengeful and accusatory. It felt like the surroundings themselves were judging him for shutting down so blatantly. Coby was worried, Coby was trying to be nice, and he was just being terse and rude in return. Just like before. Like he hadn’t improved in any way that mattered since … since then. Helmeppo tried to think of something, anything to say to break the silence, to make it less awkward, but with every second, he felt the weight of it more. He’d been an idiot. He should have kept his mouth shut, should have-

“You know, I was sure I was too late.”

“Hm?” Helmeppo turned his head, looking over at Coby in the half light. His friend was looking out across the ocean, face solemn.

“When I got there. After we heard that awful racket, that-” Whatever he’d been about to say, he bit off, and continued a moment later with a hint of heat, an emphasis on the name, “Trafalgar Law told me to go, you might need help there, and-”

“Wait. He sent you over?”

“Yeah. Since you two showed up at the same time, I thought maybe you’d come up with some plan. So I went with it.”

Huh. Yeah, Helmeppo definitely had no idea what was going on in that pirate’s head. But he had yet another reason to be grateful to him. “Well, he wasn’t wrong.”

Coby looked over and caught Helmeppo’s eye for the first time in the conversation -- Helmeppo’s own fault, he supposed. “What was that noise, anyway?”

“Something the Straw Hats’ sniper gave us,” Helmeppo said. “It was … you know? I’m not honestly sure. Really loud grass. In a handy pill. He said to snap it if we needed to get some distance. I can see why.”

Coby chuckled a little at that. “Sounds useful. Certainly helped me find the place.”

“Yeah. I think my ears are still ringing. I feel a little bad for the pirate who got the brunt of it. She just ran off, screaming. I think. I mean, she looked like she was screaming. I couldn’t hear it one way or the other.” He waggled his fingers in as close to a dismissive gesture as he could manage without unfolding from his current pose.

They both laughed, and for a moment everything was normal. Then Coby sobered abruptly, and the good mood drained away from Helmeppo too, replaced with dread. He hated the look on Coby’s face, even hidden as it was by the deep shadows from their small torches. Forget it, he’d take the uncomfortable silence for the next hour, or day, or week, if they could just … just forget everything here. Or at least his part in it.

But, as Helmeppo had figured, Coby wasn’t going to let that happen.

“Sorry. But it really scared me. When I got over there, and I saw him standing there, and you bleeding, and I was still so far away, I was sure there was no way I’d get there in time. I was honestly sure I’d gotten you killed.” His voice wound down to little over a whisper, that would have been lost if anything more than the nighttime nature sounds surrounded them, and he finally chanced a peek in Helmeppo’s direction.

“Yes, well, I should have been more careful.”

“It’s not like that! I just … I’m trying to figure out how to say this. I’m not really wording it right at all.”

“Hmm?”

This time it was Coby who fell silent until Helmeppo raised an eyebrow. On seeing that, Coby squinched his eyes shut -- a childish but familiar gesture -- and steeled himself before blurting out what was on his mind.

“You can’t let this get to you? OK? And-”

“It’s fine, seriou-”

“And I’m so sorry I let you face that by yourself! That I unintentionally put you in that position.”

Coby was clearly fighting to find the right words, which Helmeppo appreciated, because he wasn’t sure he was going to deal very well with the wrong ones right about now -- even from his best friend. The last day had been awful, top to bottom, and now that it was all over he just wanted to try to forget all about it and pretend he hadn’t abjectly failed when faced with a true challenge. But Coby was here just raking through it with both hands. Steeling himself against an urge to snap at his superior officer, he said, “Listen, like I said, just forget about it. It doesn’t matter.”

“It does, though.”

The plaintiveness caught Helmeppo off guard. “Why?” He asked.

“Because it’s bothering you,” Coby said.

“No, it’s not!” Helmeppo protested, but he could hear the lie in his own words.

“Ugh, why is this so weird to say? Listen. I’m not saying you’re dad’s not awful. He is. He’s really awful, and you’ve already surpassed him in every way that matters. I guess I’m saying, it’s okay to feel …” He paused, debating, before continuing with, “conflicted. Because I know you can’t just stop feeling how you feel. No one can. That’s all.”

Yeah, this was definitely not what he needed today. Bitterly, Helmeppo said, “So, what, you think I should-”

“I don’t think there’s a should,” Coby said quickly, pushing away from the leaf stalk. “It’s just, I think it’s OK to be horrified by what he did and to bring him to justice and to still be sad about it coming to that and wish things were different. You don’t have to just see him as an enemy. Because he’s not just an enemy for you.” He finally looked over at Helmeppo again, a guilty, furtive look. “Sorry. I know I should have said that a while ago.”

“What are you even talking about?”

“Back when you first told me, Helmeppo. Remember? I felt bad, later. Because it was the first time you trusted me with anything.”

A while ago? What was he talking about?

First time you trusted me with anything.

Oh.

That sparked a memory, of those first few weeks as a chore boy. Of hating every minute of it. Of rejecting everything he could about Marine life without getting himself kicked out. And each day’s list of chores just reinforced that he really was just as weak and stupid and useless as his dad had said, and that made him hate everything even more.

And this guy, this guy had continued to be so damn nice, cloyingly nice, after everything. He never seemed to get how he just made it harder. Being in the Marines was what Coby wanted, after all, while it was basically the only road Helmeppo had. The kid already knew how to wash dishes and scrub floors, things Helmeppo himself struggled with at first.

Plus, Coby had been sixteen, just coming into his own. Helmeppo, at twenty, was ostensibly an adult and found himself serving the whims of the same Marines he’d been an asshole to for so long. He’d been sure they were all laughing, watching him struggle and enjoying every moment of it. Some of them had been, of course. But a greater part of that feeling, he figured now, had been in his head. Still, at the time, it had felt so real that it was all he could feel.

And watching Coby take to the whole situation as though it were completely natural had felt like salt thrown directly in a very raw wound.

It had been maddening. Helmeppo felt like he was drowning, and as a drowning man will, he lashed out and nearly dragged others down too. But despite every attempt to get Coby to either give up the goody-two-shoes act and show his own awful side or just leave Helmeppo alone, he kept just being there. Friendly. Kind. Trying to make him keep going.

To be honest, it had worn Helmeppo down. And it had just been so difficult to pretend nothing bothered him, every day, when everything did. His entire life had been upended. He had no place anymore than felt like home. The work was awful and hard and he couldn’t do any of it right. And his father was going to-

He’d never felt more cowardly than at that moment, crying in front of some kid over his father’s well-earned upcoming punishment. But on some level, it had made him feel better. And even that took him a long time to accept. What was it Coby had told him, when he finally confessed all this? It took a moment to dredge up the words -- not even the words, just the message. He’d wondered if they’d kill his father, and Coby had said he didn’t know.

Had that been bothering him?

“Ah.” Helmeppo honestly wasn’t even sure what to say to that.

“I’m pretty sure that’s why you only read the newspaper when you think you’re alone,” Coby said, causing Helmeppo to blanche. He’d figured that out? “And I know you sneak down to check through every new batch of wanted posters. I’ve seen the look on your face when you do. Like you’re so angry at the world, until you get to the end and it’s just … you go still. So please don’t tell me it’s not bothering you. All right?”

Huh. So apparently all this time of thinking he was doing a good job of being discreet, he’d actually just been lying to himself. Just perfect. It was a really good thing that Coby couldn’t see just how red he was turning. One more reason to just forget today and-

“Helmeppo?”

Oh, right, Coby had been pouring out his thoughts and Helmeppo had been sitting here like a lump. “Sorry,” he said, struggling to find words that would assuage Coby’s worries. “It didn’t bother me, you know. What you said back then. I think that was what I needed to hear. Just someone to acknowledge that it was happening, and that there wasn’t an easy answer. As for today-”

What about today? How did he even begin to explain it all? Or even the heart of it? On the surface, it was simple. But more broadly…

“I screwed up,” he said heavily. “You shouldn’t have had to come flying to my rescue, but I stopped paying attention to the fight I was in. I noticed him, before I knew who he was, but I lost track of him during the fight. Until he cut me off when I tried to get out of there. Found him then.” He laughed, bitterly.

He chanced a look over at Coby. He was looking at Helmeppo, paying full attention, and there was something in his expression that Helmeppo was kind of glad he couldn’t see more clearly. He didn’t like seeing his friend sad. Especially not over something like this.

And like that last time, alone like this, something about Coby -- hell, maybe just him being willing to be here, and so clearly willing to listen and wanting to understand -- let Helmeppo finally break down.

“I know I said I was going to find him and bring him in. And I meant it. But it was like…” He groped for the right words. “It was like when I was there, in front of him, he looked at me like he was seeing the person I used to be, and I … I felt like it. Sure, I wasn’t exactly in great shape, but part of me didn’t even really want to try. When he looked at me, my first thought was just to get away from him. And when I couldn’t do that, I was just hoping someone would come help me, because he seemed so impossible to face. And-”

His fingers tightened on his elbows. Just talking about it was dredging the vision -- his dad big as a mountain, eyes hard and mouth in a thin line, his voice just the same -- He apparently thinks he’s a grown man. Never was willing to do what needed to be done. You never belonged on the Grand Line. You barely belonged in the East Blue.

“Helmeppo?”

“I felt trapped,” he said, startled out of reverie and into verbal motion again by Coby’s voice. “And I felt like … a fraud, you know? Like, I’ve been so full of myself, so sure that I’ve grown into a better, stronger person. But the moment I get tested, really tested, I find out I’m just the same self-important, oblivious coward that-”

“No.”

He couldn’t stop a rueful laugh. “No?”

“Listen, Helmeppo … today was a mess. You can’t just judge yourself by the worst of it. Come on. You think the you from before could have even stood up to him? Much less doing so when you were already injured? Even when I got there, you weren’t backing down or running away.”

Why did he have to sound so reasonable? “Maybe I should have,” Helmeppo said. “He even told me to, you know? Said if I dropped the weapon and begged him for mercy he’d let me leave.”

“And you didn’t,” Coby said firmly, as though that were the end of the conversation.

“It was weird for him even to say it though,” Helmeppo said. "I never would have thought he of all-”

But… wait. He’d been lying about the offer, Helmeppo was certain of that. But he’d said no, and maybe … maybe that was what had caused that hesitation at the end? The one that both he and Coby had noticed.

“Helmeppo?”

“You’re right, you know,” he said slowly. “He had me down, had me dead to rights, and he didn’t … he was just standing there and waiting. I was even thinking, why didn’t he just end it? But he didn’t. And then you came, and he lost the chance.”

“I didn’t know him,” Coby said. “Can you think why he might not press an advantage?”

“No.” Helmeppo laughed a little. “Mercy was never one of the virtues he particularly liked.”

“That’s why I wondered.”

“Maybe he … ugh. No. That’s dumb.” It couldn’t be.

“What?”

“I just wonder if he’s such a … you know, so wrapped up in his whole power and strength schtick that that was the only way to ever get through to him. Like back when he escaped. Remember? He could have killed us, or subdued one of us and tossed the other. But he tossed us both overboard. After we both stood up to him.”

He was overthinking this. He had to be. Until now, he’d never given it a second thought. He’d been sure it had happened because they had been too big a pain in the ass to control and the Marines would have been happy to add another charge to his rap sheet if he’d killed them. But would he really care about that?

“So you’re thinking he might have been impressed enough with you standing up to him that he didn’t want to h… well, kill you?”Coby mused.

“I told you it was dumb.” How many of those attacks had been aimed, not at something immediately vital, but an arm or leg?

“I don’t think it’s dumb. It kind of makes sense with what you’ve said about him.”

Well, he had not been expecting that. And now that he had, the idea felt … uncomfortable? He’d spent two years trying to convince himself the guy was just a monster. And yeah, he still was. But the idea that he was a slightly more complicated monster didn’t work well with those thoughts.

But there was some relief there as well.

Maybe I can hate him, and still miss some version of him and not be a monster myself. He thought about how his dad admitted that he had changed, in a tone that sounded so similar to approval that it had actually felt viscerally wrong to hear it come from the man’s mouth. What a mess. He’d have to thank Coby for this later. Again.

“If that’s the case, I bet in his head he’s taking credit for it all” he joked, as much to bring himself out of his own thoughts as anything. “Like threatening to kill me finally made me turn into the sort of son he might have been a little proud of, even though I managed it way too late.”

“Well, if he tries, let’s just ask if he was also responsible for all the whining you did when we got started,” Coby teased.

“He’ll never admit it, but yeah, that was definitely him too,” Helmeppo said with all the mock-seriousness he could muster.

Something crackled and crunched as Coby pushed away from where he’d been standing and walked over to sit by Helmeppo. He felt something press his left shoulder. As he looked that way, he felt a presence on the other. Coby was putting an arm around his shoulders, which was unexpected, but also kinda nice.

“You’ll get him next time,” Cody said with conviction.

“Just gotta make sure I got shoes next time.” Helmeppo said. “That was the real problem.”

“Obviously.”

“Hey Coby?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

“For what?”

Helmeppo laughed at the genuine puzzlement in Coby’s voice, but he didn’t answer. And the silence that fell between them now, as they waited for daybreak, finally felt familiar.

[colossalsummer]

KOTLC book one READ ALONG part 2 of 5

I read the first Keeper of the Lost Cities book and annotated every page. Here are the highlights. (Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3/ Part 4/ Part 5)

Chapter 11

Tiergan: “I’ll see you Tuesday.” This is a weird thing to focus on, but… they have a seven day week like we do?

Soooo okay okay okay why are they giving her a top-level education gratis? Do they plan to use her once she graduates? Nothing in life is free.

Sophie: “What am I supposed to tell my family? They’re not going to let me disappear every day with no explanation.” Alden: “About that, Sophie. You and I need to have a talk.” OH-HO the truth come out

The sorrow in his eyes made her feel like she’d swallowed something slimy. Clearly, it wasn’t going to be a pleasant conversation. Ah—so this is a kidnapping. Cool.

Her registry pendant, Della explained. Everyone had to wear one, so they could be easily found. Oh so a collar. I’ll be ditching that come time for the revolution

Sophie: “But… why does anyone work, then—if they already have money?” Della: “What else would we do with our time?” Sophie: “I don’t know. Something fun?” Della: “Work is fun.” Spoken like somebody who’s never worked retail on Black Friday. Some work is dangerous and boring. Who’s doing that stuff?

Chapter 12

Alden: “Now that the Council knows you exist, they’ve ordered that you move here. Effective immediately.” Oh, I see. A kidnapping.

She didn’t belong in the human world, and she was tired of pretending she did. It feels a little messed up for all these elves to keep insisting that she doesn’t belong with humans. She probably won’t feel like she totally belongs with elves, either, and then she won’t feel like she fits in anywhere. Y’all gonna give this child a complex.

Sophie: “You’re going to kill me off?” Alden: “As far as your family and the rest of the humans are concerned… yes.” IT IS A KIDNAPPING

Chapter 13

Sophie: “I drugged my family.” Fitz: “You did the right thing.” Sophie: “It doesn’t feel like the right thing.” HELLO *looking around fandom* ARE WE ALL SEEING THIS??

To be honest I don’t have a lot of notes for this chapter because it was just so heartbreaking and distressing. Like I have one note at the end of the chapter and all it says is “oof”

Someone protect this child

Chapter 14

Alden: “Fitz can help you get settled in here while we’re gone.” Sophie: “Here? I’ll be living here?” Sweetie, Fitz can’t be your step-brother ’cause then there won’t be a love triangle

Elwin: “Whoa, that is some serious damage. It’s not permanent… And it’s not your fault. Toxic food, toxic water, toxic air.” Fluoride, smallpox vaccinations, 5G…

Elwin: “Now, try not to let this worry you, but your body needs a major detox. We’ll start with these.” …My essential oils

Chapter 15

Alden: They run an animal preserve at Havenfield, so they always have all kinds of exciting things going on.” COOOL

“We’ve even had to collect endangered species—gorillas, lions, mammoths—”  YES THANK YOU SHANNON

“Grady and Edaline train the animals to be vegetarians by feeding them gnomish produce; that way they won’t hunt one another once they’re moved to the Sanctuary.” mmm good luck obligate carnivores

“Another roar interrupted their conversation. Whatever it was sounded like it wasn’t happy about its new diet plan.” It is dying slowly because it can’t produce its own taurine but OK

Hopefully elf veggies are different than earth veggies. That’s just what I’m going to keep telling myself.

The path lead to a wide meadow, where gnomes were using thick ropes to lasso what looked like a giant lizard covered in neon green feathers. UNNH YES I DON’T DESERVE THIS

Also no wonder nobility work for fun, they got gnomes out here doin’ the dangerous jobs

I’m not going to bore you with my breakdown of this dinosaur reconstruction but as a person who worked in a museum as a paleontology educator these bits are the most exciting parts of the book for me. I rate this tyrannosaur 6/10 for scientific accuracy and 10/10 for handsomeness. Shannon Messenger gets 20/10 for popularizing feathered theropods.

…she couldn’t decide if he reminded her more of James Bond or Robin Hood—which felt wrong. He was so unlike her chubby, balding dad she wasn’t sure how to relate. Sophie, meet your new, hotter dad.

Chapter 16

At Sophie’s nod she conjured up a bowl of orange glop and a spoon. Why do elves eat so much goo? This whole time it’s been nothing but goo

Della: “Our world is ‘talent-based’.” AH-HA

Sophie: “Seems kind of unfair.” Yeah, who decides which talents matter and which don’t?

“Get ready to add the amarallitine, Dex.” Oh, I’ve heard of YOU

Grady: “I wouldn’t be surprised if he pushes for you to get transferred to Exillium—and let’s just say it’s somewhere you don’t want to go.” Oh, so there are BAD schools… it all comes together…

So if Edaline and Juline are sisters, is Dex like Sophie’s foster cousin?

Chapter 17

Dex: “The Leapmaster 500. You’re lucky. My parents aren’t nobility, so they’re only authorized to have the 250—it’s missing tons of cool places.” Like bad Netflix. I don’t love that this society limits where poor people can go.

Dame Alina: “First and foremost, whoever put the reekrod in my desk over the weekend will—It’s not funny!” *the camera slowly zooms in on Dex*

A spotlight focused on Sophie. Well, first day ruined. Only took fifteen minutes.

Her name hissed around the room like a viper’s nest. “Ssssssophie.” 

Stina: “You left it open, idiot. I guess remembering to close doors is too hard for the son of a bad match to remember.” Ah wonderful, eugenics. I love elf school

Chapter 18

“Mastering all the elements is one of the steps toward entering the nobility.” Everything changed when the Fire Nation attacked

“Dude.” Is this a human-obsessed thing or is there straight-up an elvish word for dude

Sophie: “What exactly is a ‘bad match’?” Marella: “A couple that was ruled genetically incompatible. Usually that means their kids will be inferior.” THERE ARE SCREENINGS??

Sophie: “What’s Exillium?” Marella: “The school where they send the hopeless cases.” Yep I want to go there

Chapter 19

Telepaths were in high demand. Once she’d proven trustworthy, she’d receive assignments from the Council. OH OKAY so they send her to wizard school and when she graduates they don’t miss a beat, just scoop her on up and enlist her

If a prodigy hadn’t manifested by Level Four, they might be expelled—and even if they stayed at Foxfire, they couldn’t take the elite levels, which meant they’d never be nobility. Most ended up working class.

But once again it didn’t escape her notice that Grady avoided telling her what his special ability was. It couldn’t be something bad. Could it? The man has dinosaurs so if he was going to do something bad I feel like he’d have done it already

Chapter 20

Sophie: “Prentice?” Marella: “Yeah. He was this supertalented Telepath, but he got exiled like twelve years ago.” Oh as old as I am hm how interesting go onnn…

Lady Galvin: “Don’t you know anything about alchemy?” FFFF that’s why I’m HERE you old BAG

Lady Galvin: “Dame Alina probably thinks this is funny, forcing me to teach such basic serums. Well, I won’t have it.” You know, you aren’t getting paid, you can quit. I don’t mind.

“I’m Keefe.” Will this bad boy help us lead the resistance?

Keefe: “Did you do any damage?” Sophie: “Only her cape.” Keefe: “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Do you have any idea how epic that is?” I really like this lil anarchist.

Keefe: “Destroyed Galvin’s cape.” Elwin: “Wish I could’ve seen that!” I’m recruiting this man for the rebellion. Keefe and Elwin get sorted in the Chaotic Good pile for the day of reckoning.

Stay tuned for Part 3.

[invisibleicewands]

Michael Sheen (old) interview

He’s played the prime minister and the messiah – now Michael Sheen is plumbing the psyche of the original man in black. Caroline McGinn asks him about the dark side.                                                                                  

It’s been a big year for Michael Sheen. A lifechanger, in fact. The   42-year-old actor is widely admired for his uncanny ability to play   real-life characters: a Bambi-ish Tony Blair in a trilogy of films that   included ‘The Queen’; David Frost for Peter Morgan’s play-turned-movie   ‘Frost/Nixon’; and most recently, a demon-ridden Brian Clough in ‘The   Damned United’. But no previous role has come close to the Christ-like   leader Sheen played in ‘The Passion’ in his South Wales home town this   Easter: an epic 72-hour piece of community theatre which ended in Sheen being crucified on a local roundabout.

‘The Passion’, a local take on the Gospel commissioned by the storming new National Theatre of Wales, was more than just a play. It was a collective story that Sheen probably couldn’t have told anywhere but in Port Talbot, a town divided by the roaring M4 and dominated by a giant steelworks that was once the largest employer in Wales; a place where churchgoing and storytelling are still alive. It’s also his parents’ home. Sheen was so moved that talking about it makes him choke up. ‘I did this seven-mile procession with the cross,’ he recalls, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. ‘It was boiling hot. There were 12,000-15,000 people. And I was seeing these bare-chested tattooed blokes standing outside pubs with pints, with kids, with tears in their eyes going, “Go on, Michael, you can do it!” It’s quite rare to be in the middle of an experience knowing it is probably the most meaningful one I will ever have in my life. Something in me relaxed after that, I think. I could say, “If I died tomorrow, I did that.”’

Over a glass of red wine in the bar at the Young Vic, where he is about to play Hamlet, Sheen does seem completely relaxed: eager, open and very Welsh, with his squiggle of dark brown hair and his neat, expressive hands. He has a shapeshifter’s face: mobile, not memorable, too blurry and mercurial for a romantic lead. And it is a pleasure to hear his real voice: un-damned by Clough’s nasal, northern scorn or Blair’s prim inflections, it is a gloriously unstoppable lilting flow which seems, to my English ears, to come straight from the Valleys.

Sheen currently lives in LA to be close to his 12-year-old daughter with ex-partner Kate Beckinsale. He is an unlikely denizen of La La Land, with his bike helmet, his puppyish friendliness and his lack of pretensions. His spectacular return to his roots at Easter has, he says, redefined who he thinks he is, and what he wants to do with his work: something which he expresses in probably the longest sentence I’ve ever heard anyone deliver. ‘“The Passion” did for me what I hoped it could do for everyone in the town, potentially, which is to experience your life and your home in a different way, because I think there is a tendency – and I have it, and I notice other people have it too, probably everyone has it but certainly people who come from quite challenged areas – there’s a sense that your life is of no interest, that your story is mundane and there is no, for want of a better word, numinosity, no transcendence, and so to be able to tell a story about the biggest things there can probably be, a version of the “greatest story ever told” in the town that is seen to be the least likely town for that to happen in, then the people in that town, every time they go around that roundabout, which is many times, can go, “Not only is that where I get fish and chips, it’s also where the crucifixion happened,” and the everyday becomes transcendent – to something that is miraculous.’

Thanks to Sheen’s great-grandfather, street preaching runs in the family. But the starry-eyed idealism behind doing a passion play in Port Talbot, to reach thousands of people who would never set foot in a theatre, might easily have backfired. It was an unglamorous risk for a local bloke-turned-Hollywood big shot to take. You can’t imagine the area’s other famous filmmaking sons, ultra-cool customer Antony Hopkins or hard-living Richard Burton, pulling it off – though Burton did enjoy making a splash on the local beach with Liz Taylor and his private helicopter. ‘The Passion’ was supposed to shine a light on the miracle workers who do what Sheen calls the ‘unseemly’ work of care: for the old, the sick, the battered wives and the young offenders. For it to work, its makers had to gain the trust of the town.

‘After the Last Supper, when the Manics played, I was put on trial on the back of a truck and the crowd took over,’ he says. ‘It was at that moment I realised they understood it was their story. It was frightening and exhilarating. We didn’t know what was going to happen. Along the procession route people put photos of things they’d lost. Then, on the cross, I did a litany. Of things I remembered, or that I’d gathered from people, of people and places that don’t exist any more.’ It was Sheen’s epic personal connection to South Wales, where his dad once worked as a Jack Nicholson impersonator, and where his great-grandfather got rich when God told him to buy a tin mine. Sheen’s codirector Bill Mitchell and writer Owen Sheers spent a year getting stories from locals, and fed them into the piece. ‘I was just a participant: we all were,’ he says. ‘My mum and dad said a woman came to their house and told them I’d called her mother’s name when I was on the cross, and it had changed something for her. The need that drama first came from was community, witness, celebration and catharsis. We were trying to find a way for that to happen on a large scale.’

The Port Talbot ‘Passion’ has already gone down in theatre history. So where do you go after scaling the twin messianic peaks of Blair and Christ? Down into the doubt-ridden depths of Hamlet, naturally, the biggest role that a young (or young-ish in this case) actor can play. Judging by Sheen’s wordflow, those famous soliloquies won’t be a problem. After all, the actor made his name on stage: he won his first professional role at the Globe opposite Vanessa Redgrave in 1991 before he had graduated from Rada.

His CV is full of monster roles: Caligula, Peer Gynt, Amadeus (playing  Mozart was his break into Broadway in 1999). Clough, and even Blair and  Frost, creep into that list – though he’s obviously bored of talking  about the factional film roles that made him famous: ‘I’ve done  relatively few characters based on real people,’ he protests, just a  little bit too much. ‘I’ve been working on stage now for more years than  I care to mention.’

‘Project Hamlet’ has been on the cards for a while, but Sheen was waiting ‘for the right director and the right theatre’. Unlike recent celebrity Hamlets David Tennant and Jude Law, he didn’t want to do conventional West End Shakespeare, hence the Young Vic, with its younger, mixed audience and its imaginative approach, which includes – mysteriously – reconfiguring the playing space so that ‘Hamlet’ audiences must arrive 30 minutes early to take a ‘different route’ in. Sheen’s director of choice is Ian Rickson, the ex-Royal Court boss who has helped actors achieve career-defining roles (Kristin Scott-Thomas in ‘The Seagull’; Mark Rylance in ‘Jerusalem’). Hamlet tends to demand something very personal from actors: one reason why so many of them crack up over it, though Sheen seems remarkably unfurrowed by the prospect. ‘It is,’ he says, ‘good not to have to worry about people saying, “He doesn’t sound like Hamlet.” It’s me: I’m not doing a voice or playing a character, so to speak. It’ll sound like me and look like me, a bit of Welsh mixed with a bit of posh.’

Sheen sees ‘Hamlet’ as ‘like a portal. Or a living organism in some way. Other Shakespeare plays don’t have that quality of seeming to change. “Hamlet” works on you and sucks up everything you have. It’s a bit like looking into the abyss. What “Hamlet” makes everyone confront are all the things that are most frightening: irrationality, betrayal, madness and abandonment. It is very, very dark, and it dances along through that darkness.’

Sheen’s prince promises to be darker than most. Not just a mad Hamlet, but maybe even a bad Hamlet. ‘Me and Ian have taken a completely different approach,’ he explains. ‘The most interesting way to approach it is not to trust anything that Hamlet says, to assume that he’s an unreliable narrator. And once you do that, you realise how many assumptions there are about the play.’ Sheen cites Philip K Dick, David Lynch and Edgar Allan Poe as influences. The production will be set in a world ‘that feels as if we’re in some sort of institution’. Madness will be the keynote: ‘I discovered when working on it,’ says Sheen, ‘that it’s the first time anyone used the phrase “the mind’s eye”.’ Horatio says, “A mote it is, to trouble the mind’s eye.” Meaning a piece of grit. It sums up what I think the play is. It’s a bit of grit in the mind’s eye of the Western world. We’ve tried to expel it, by smoothing out its inconsistencies and by stopping it from being irritating. That’s a way to neutralise it and make it safer. But actually it’s the most dangerous of plays.’

Rickson and Sheen have found unorthodox inspiration in anti-psychiatrist RD Laing and G Wilson Knight, the twentieth century scholar who wrote an off-beam but brilliant essay on Hamlet, the ‘ambassador of death’ in the land of the living. ‘Laing said that if you take mad people on their own terms then maybe they’re just talking in a sort of heightened language about their lived experience,’ says Sheen. ‘And our take on “Hamlet” definitely questions the boundaries of what you would consider madness to be.’

So where do you go as an actor, after the heights of being crucified, and the depths of Hamlet’s psyche? ‘The answer to that is that I just don’t know,’ says Sheen. There are a couple of projects: Sheen says he was ‘roped in’ on a set visit to a new untitled film by cinema’s man of mystery, Terrence Malick, starring Sheen’s girlfriend and ‘Midnight in Paris’ co-star Rachel McAdams. And there’s also Wales-set thriller ‘Resistance’, out this month. But he has his heart set on directing a film about Edgar Allan Poe. ‘He was an extraordinary character. Very dark.’ The legacy of this life-changing year is a sharper, stronger passion for a live Welsh tradition: storytelling. ‘I just don’t know where you go after “The Passion” and “Hamlet”,’ says Sheen ‘But I do know that I want to tell stories that are powerful, that can reach people and equate to Greek theatre now. People still do need that. They respond to it. But you have to take risks to find them.’

(x)

[aiiizawa]

Cecilia wondered if it was an extended, bad dream.  The sensation of falling all around them— the bright, blue sky being blinding with interspersed clouds of pure white and the blurry form of buildings flying past them.  They were no stranger to dreams about falling out of the sky, or some building.   Almost bored, they closed their eyes and tried to change the dream to something else, maybe even give themselves the ability to fly.  

…

……

………

That wasn’t working. 

In a flash, Cecilia opened their eyes and tried to look around.  How fast were they falling?  How close was the ground??  How could this happen when they lived on the GROUND FLOOR of a house with NO SECOND STORY— Cecilia was going to scream,definitely, but the sensation changed almost immediately.  What was once the rush of cold air flying behind them was now being shielded, and they gently opened one of their eyes hesitantly.

“Worry not, my young friend!!  I am here!!”

A booming, familiar voice.  This face…. Long, blonde hair…bright blue eyes nearly eclipsed by the strong bone structure of his face.

“ALL MIGHT?!”  The accusation came out faster than their brain could stop it.

“YES!””  His answer, brilliant and shining in the sun, took the wind out of them even further.  They stared up at him, mouth hanging agape as he deftly jumped with them to the ground.  Apparently, not the correct response, as he had a brief look of shock on his face, but it disappeared as fast as it came, so they chalked it up to the brightness of the sun around them and their imagination.  A small crowd had appeared around the two of them as All Might gently placed them onto the floor swiftly, placing both of his huge hands on their shoulders.

“Now, my young friend, as much as life may be hard for you-- or perhaps you were merely experimenting with your quirk-- You must value your life!!  It is not to be carelessly thrown away!”  He enunciated these words firmly, eyes boring into theirs as they blinked.  There was a misunderstanding somewhere there, definitely, but they couldn’t seem to find a moment to interject as he continued his well-meaning lecture.  More than likely, they were in a bit of shock.  First of all…that was All Might.  ‘That’ All Might.  The world’s greatest hero, the symbol of peace.... That is, in their favorite shounen manga.  Undeniably, they could feel his hand on their shoulder and his finger wag as he continued, and the way their neck hurt from attempting to look up to him.  Slowly, they tried to look around themselves.  Aside from All Might (surprisingly in his normal clothes), there were several heroes hovering nearby...even some in the sky.  They could read advertisements on the various buildings and hear the speakers announce clearly.

‘Be Free to Be You-- Unique Styles for your Unique Body Type.’

‘QUIRKS ARE DEVELOPING SOONER THAN YOU THINK.  IF YOUR CHILD SHOWS SIGNS OF DEVELOPING THEIR QUIRK, DON’T BE LEFT BEHIND.  QUIRK COUNSELORS IN YOUR AREA ARE SPECIALLY TRAINED TO MAKE SURE THAT YOUR CHILD CAN GO BEYOND’

‘Attention: those trying to commute to the 4th Ward on the train should make alternative arrangements as a recent villain attack has left the tracks unable to be used.  For the time being--’

As their gaze flickered between the various sights, oblivious to the world around them, All Might continued.  “If you have any other problems, please do not hesitate to take advantage of this country’s mental health services!   You have your whole future before you!  Go beyond!!  Plus Ultra!!”  He took a step back, saluted, and went to leap away.

Away.

Hold on--

“W-W-WAIT, DON’T G--”  Cecilia, finally realizing that he would be their best bet to understand things, reached out to stop him, hand outstretched.

“HA HA HA!!  DO TAKE CARE!!”  In a flash that was more powerful than they had thought, even when he had just saved him, he was gone.  Well, fuck.  Cecilia was frozen in place for just a moment, and then turned their attention to the crowd around them that was already dissipating since the attraction, All Might, had just vanished.  A couple of well-meaning people approached, asking if they needed help to a hospital, to which they firmly denied.  An embarrassed flush came to their face, so they bowed quickly and dodged them, walking in a random direction to make more sense of their bearings.  As soon as they had managed to filter in through the crowd and walk a little bit, Cecilia leaned up against the wall in a nearby alleyway.  

First things first, they needed to take stock of what they had on them.  Thankfully, they weren’t in their pajamas or anything...a blessing, since the last thing they remembered was crawling into bed at a late hour.  Simple pair of jeans (with pockets!  That was epic.) and a comfortable shirt that they recognized from their closet that had flowers decorating the front.  Worn tennis shoes, and...they patted their back pocket firmly.  Yes.  Quickly pulling out their phone, they hoped they’d have some information.  However, quickly running through their phone, it was clear it wasn’t the case.  No apps, except for an unnamed app that resembled the original internet browser and the notepad.  They didn’t think it was possible to have a phone like this; they never messed with it in this fashion.  At first, the thought did come across that perhaps their phone had been switched, but the telltale crack in the screen protector…the case and phone holder that they chose specifically together...there was no way it wasn’t their phone.  Idly, they tried to open the browser, but even then...nothing. ‘BAD GATEWAY’ was written in bold, dark letters each time they tried to reset.  Heaving a sigh, they decided to shove it back into their pocket rather than waste anymore battery.  For now, they’d just have to keep it in case something DID work.  Now...to figure out what to do now.  They didn’t have their purse, so it wasn’t like they could go anywhere with no money or identification.  Even if they did...the currency was a problem.  Cecilia debated about sitting down and just going ‘fuck it’, but in the end, decided on a random direction and started walking.

Even if the circumstances were the absolute worst, they’d always wanted to go to Japan, so they at least took in the sights.  It was really neat, especially with quirks everywhere, it was hard not to stare.  Naturally colored hair in so many fun colors...they frowned briefly at their reflection.  Would it have been too much to ask for some fucking pink hair without effort?  Everything else was the same.

“Um, excuse me…?  Are you alright?”  A young voice called out to them, and they swiftly turned on their heel to answer.

“Ah, yeah-- I’m fine, sorry, I’ll move.”  Cecilia bowed quickly and shuffled to the side.  The young man put his hands out in refusal.

“Oh no!  I just...recognized you from the article.  You just got rescued by All Might, right?  I saw you wandering around and-- Not that I was stalking or following you or anything!!  But you seemed confused and I wanted to know if you needed help to the hospital or anything--”  He stammered as Cecilia stared at him.

Green hair.  Not just any green hair, a very special, curly head of green hair…and freckles…

Wait a minute--  Cecilia recognized him immediately.  It took a minute because he wasn’t in the U.A. uniform, but that couldn’t have been anyone but Izuku Midoriya.  Looking down at his black gakuran, could it be?  Putting the clues from All Might’s appearance earlier, they must have been put in the very beginning of the story.  Made sense.  However…

Cecilia blinked.  If he was right here and wanted to take them to the hospital…he wouldn’t have his interaction with the sludge villain that let him meet All Might.  The thought sent a chill down their spine.  Absolutely fucked, they couldn’t let that happen.  Cecilia needed a plan, fast, and thankfully, there was always ol’ reliable.

Lying.

“Hey, you’re, uhhhhh, Midoriya-kun?  Yes?”  They asked him, tilting their head slightly.  Midoriya blinked rapidly in shock, round eyes widening.

“H-Huh?  How do you know my name?”  He asked incredulously.  He looked a little bit suspicious, but more shocked than anything else.

“I live in your apartment complex!  I’m really new, both to this country and to the city;”  Not a lie.  Technically.  “I didn’t recognize you until just now!   Unfortunately, you’re right.  I am a bit lost, but I just wanted to get home.  Would you mind walking me there?”  They flashed him their best smile, putting forth what they hoped was a trustworthy and slightly embarrassed face.  He thought for a moment, and then immediately nodded.

“O-Oh!  Of course!  I had heard that someone had moved in earlier, what a coincidence!”  He laughed brightly, bowing.  “I’m Izuku Midoriya.  I live with my mother-- Well, you probably already met her already if you know me.”  He stuck his hand out with a friendly smile and they grinned and introduced themselves as they shook his hand.

“Nice to meet you, Midoriya-kun.”  Cecilia smiled, nodding once and then returning their hands to their pockets.  “Lead the way, sir.”

They felt a little bit bad that they were having a child lead them into what they fully knew was danger on a full and blatant lie...but that would be a problem for Midoriya after he had his fated encounter with All Might.  After that...it’d be fine.

Probably.  He was a forgiving child.

“So you just graduated middle school, huh?  Wow, you must be really excited to start high school.  What school are you aiming for?”  They asked conversationally as they walked.  For the most part, even though he was TERRIBLY shy and only called them by their last name despite asking for him not to, he was pretty talkative.  

“I-- I want to go to U.A!  It might be silly of me, especially after everything that happened today, but…”  he sighed.  “It’s all I want to do, even though I’m quirkless.”  Cecilia nodded along.

“Of course, of course.  I get you, Midoriya-kun.  Don’t worry.  I know you’re gonna be a great hero, no matter what.  After all, you saw me lost and approached me.  The kind of person who can’t leave troubled people alone, I think, is a good candidate for a hero.”

They might have been a little biased, though.  He grinned bashfully, happy to be praised by an adult.  “Thank you, Love-san.  I really appreciate that…”  He scratched behind his neck.  “I’ve been feeling really discouraged recently, so thank you for believing in me, even though we’ve just met.”

Oops.  Cecilia laughed it off nervously.  “Well, you know, I’m an American.  We tend to say whatever’s on our mind!”  At that, they launched into a discussion (read: Midoriya infodumping) about All Might’s time in America.  It was very informative, even though it was hard for them to understand a lot of it with how fast he was speaking.  Mostly, he seemed content to have someone listen to him, so they did just that and tried to keep watch on where the sludge villain would finally come.  After the fourth underpass they walked under, they were starting to wonder if maybe their appearance had fucked up the timeline.  Taking a quick minute, they rubbed their temple gently.

Noticing they stopped, Midoriya turned and looked back concernedly.  They opened their eyes to tell him it was nothing, but stopped, suddenly making eye contact with the grate bubbling at their feet.

“Love-san...?”  He asked.  His eyes were so wide, and then, the manhole cover seemed to explode. A disgusting, creeping feeling crawled up their leg.

“Two disguises?  What a wonderful day I’m having, especially after having just run into that man here…”  Disgusting, cold, sticky.  They tried to kick him off but it was no use.  Midoriya ran running to their aid, even as he was also being ‘tried on for size.’

“You’re a little too short, so I don’t think I’ll bother with you...but I can’t have you running off to the cops.”  The viscous, amorphous fluid flowed freely into their mouth, leaving a rancid taste behind.  At this point, they couldn’t even see Midoriya, who was still trying desperately to save them even as his own airway was being blocked.

Maybe it was their karma for lying to him and getting him to follow them?  That sure would be a kick in the head.  Even with their eyes closed, a deeper, darker blackness was coming over them.  They hoped All Might would come here soon, damn it…They didn’t want to die for nothing.

“Have no fear, my boy!”

That voice, once again.  All of a sudden, a huge, unrelenting pressure from a different direction that seemed to force the villain out of their body.  As they sunk to their knees, and then flat on their face, they just barely saw him do the same to Midoriya.  Cecilia had just one thought.

Fucking finally.

It had been a hell of a day.

[mychemicalficrecs]

Frank/Gerard – Cute and Fluffy

publicity stunts by Trojie, 6k, Teen And Up Audiences. The record company thinks a few plausibly-deniable rumours about Gerard and Frank dating would be good PR, but of course, they're not contractually obligated to sleep together or anything. Ahahah.

Frank the crankiest elf by Gorgeous Nerd (gorgeousnerd), 2k, Explicit. There were two things Frank hated: Christmas, and disappointing his mom. Considering his mom's last name had been Claus ever since she remarried, it was a bit of a fucking problem.

Crackle by MistressKat, 1k, Teen And Up Audiences. "What the fuck, Gee?" Frank asks. "Are you actively trying to drown yourself?"

The Kind They'd Like to Flaunt by elfiepike, 1k, General Audiences. When Frank first meets Gee, officially, it's because Ray saw Frank from across the room and put him into a headlock to get him over to his booth.

A Latte and a Cookie by mistresscurvy, 3k, Explicit. The first half a dozen or so times that Gerard stops by the Starbucks closest to SVA, he's so desperate to get the caffeine into his system he doesn't even notice the guy behind the counter. Nor does he pay much attention to the fact that his cup seems to magically refill itself a couple of times while he's hunched over one of the tables and drawing steadily, his headphones on. He's busy, okay — his winter project is due in less than six weeks, and he is screwed. Royally, completely and without question. The cookies, though. The cookies he notices. He just doesn't know what the fuck they mean.

Subterfuge of Tiny Proportions by J (jaywright), 1k, Explicit. It usually takes Gerard hours to wind down from a show.

Fuck the Snow (Repeat as Necessary) by mistresscurvy, 6k, Explicit. "Remind me why we came to New Jersey in January to practice rather than staying in L.A. where it's warm and not, you know, snowing," Ray says, staring out the front door at the white flakes coming down.

Hold This Heart and Tie It Tight by dapatty, samanthahirr, 5k, Teen And Up Audiences. Frank hasn't been tied up in months, and it's driving him crazy. So he attends a meeting of the local rope-bondage interest group, hoping to meet someone to play with or at least get a quick fix. Lucky for him, the group organizer knows exactly what Frank needs--and how to give it to him.

Twenty Percent Down by brooklinegirl, 7k, Explicit. For no_tags 2012: "We're rock stars," Frank says firmly. "We're not moving back to live in our parents' basements." (Prompt #54 Frank/Gerard - House-hunting)

Nerd Perfect by shiningartifact, 10k, Explicit. In which Frank and Gerard watch a lot of movies and have a lot of orgasms. (A long-awaited day off on tour.)

Veins Are Red, Veins Are Blue by dear_monday, 8k, Explicit. There's a little button up at the top of the page, marked "gallery", and Gerard clicks on it. It presents him with a handful of different names, presumably the artists in residence, and he skims down the list until he spots it: Frank Iero (horror/gore, traditional American designs). Iero, Gerard thinks, rolling the name around his head like a rosary bead in his palm. Of course the fucker is Italian, because the world is cruel and Gerard's life is hard. With a deep, tortured sigh, he clicks on Frank's name. In which Frank is a tattoo artist and Gerard is a fearsome and terrifying undead creature of the night. Sort of.

Pleathermouth Vegan Cafe by jedusaur, 6k, Mature and Teens And Up Audiences. Pleathermouth Vegan Cafe, says the sign in front of the next place on Gerard's job-seeking list, and he decides that it may be prudent to finish his cheeseburger before entering.

Camp it Up by rivers_bend, 4k, Teen And Up Audiences. The one where Frank doesn't want to go to music camp, Gerard's an art counselor, and teenage libidos find marshmallows pornographic.

Five Times Gerard Pays For It and One Time He Doesn't by RubyTuesday5681, 23k, Explicit. This story is a cliché rentboy fic wherein Gerard (the customer) falls for Frank (the service-provider) and can’t figure out how to go from paying-for-sex to ‘dating’ or if that’s even possible. Added to the mix are Gerard’s perpetually low self-esteem, Frank’s neuroses, and both boys’ epic communication-fails. Will these two ever manage to get out of their own way long enough to see that they’re meant for each other? With a little bit of help from a meddling younger brother, they just might.

Like a Secret in Your Throat by Gorgeous Nerd (gorgeousnerd), 3k, Explicit. There was a time for cuddling. It was not when Frank was trying to have hot sex with his vampire boyfriend.

Hey Mr. DJ by shoemaster, 6k, Mature. Frank is a late night DJ, Gerard is an avid listener.

For The Night by silentdescant, 5k, Explicit. "I'll do anything, within reason. As long as you pay me for it."

The Bigger Picture by dear_monday, 1k, General Audiences. For a man with a mind so sharp he keeps cutting himself on it, Gerard Way does an excellent impression of a particularly vapid goldfish. A silly little ficlet starring Gerard as the detective and Frank as his beleaguered assistant.

Blueprints For Building Better Boys by dear_monday, Frank/Gerard, Frank/Ray/Mikey, 7k, Explicit. "Eight years ago," Amanda begins, "Dr. Monae and myself began work on the ArchAndroid project. By the time they were ready, we'd designed and tested everything, right down to the cybernetics and the synthetic organs. Two months ago, we switched them on for the first time." Frank, Gerard, Ray, and Mikey are the ArchAndroids. Frank's got a faulty personality circuit, Gerard's primary memory chip is kind of temperamental, there's a bug somewhere in Mikey's speech protocol, and Ray's anger response lags like a motherfucker. They're also the world's most potty-mouthed robots, although with any luck there won't be any occasion for the world's press to find out about that. Written for Bandom Reverse Big Bang @ livejournal.

Witch Verse by kyOMG, 3k, Mature and Explicit. Gerard really, really, really hated cats. Yeah, yeah, he knows—He’s a witch. Cats, witches… they are supposed to like each other, right? Well, Gerard really doesn’t like them. Like, at all. They were whiny and boring and rude. If they could talk they’d probably tell Gerard that he stunk and that he was the worst witch they had ever seen. So what if he didn’t like to shower and his spells usually turned his hair (or Mikey’s) green?

A New Design For X and Y by DeadFreddie, 6k, Explicit. Frank Iero is the frontman in a successful band called Leathermouth, and Gerard Way is a comic writer working for DC. When they meet at one of Frank's shows, their mutual respect for the other's work becomes something a lot more personal. Oh and Frank's a trans guy and Gerard's nonbinary because I'm Trans And I Make The Rules.

Love Every Six Weeks by happilyappled, 22k, Explicit and Teens And Up Audiences. Frank is a full-time accountant and Gerard is the frontman of an international band. They spend long amounts of time away from each other, when Gerard is on tour, but when they’re together, nothing can stop them. [AU, Fluff, Explicit Content]

[unfortunate-stranger-losers]

All Those Things They Couldn’t Say - A Runaway Baudelaires AU

{ao3} {tumblr} {masterlist}

Chapter Forty-Nine - The Snow Scouts hike up Early

“Move, I’m gay!” Isadora shouted, pushing her way through a bunch of hiking children. 

They scattered, confused, as Isadora pushed past them all, the other children racing behind her. Duncan waved an apology as Isadora continued shoving children aside and the Baudelaires didn’t seem to care. 

Violet had managed to use some vines and a stolen fan belt to repair a rollercoaster engine, and after yanking it off the track they managed to get it to run in the dirt as the carnival burnt around them. They crowded inside best they could while Violet got it to run, and once it ran out of power, they hiked the rest of the way. That took up about a day, and they’d finally reached a nearby town and located a sign- “Snow Scout Pre-Camp Campout!” 

Isadora directed them towards the largest tent in the center of the campsite, and pushed open the flap, yelling, “Yo, who’s in charge here?” 

A man, sitting at a table and flipping through papers, jumped, looking up in shock. “What the- who-” 

Isadora walked to the table, slamming her hand down, and the others filtered behind her, crossing their arms and trying to look intimidating- but, honestly, Isadora, who was tired of sitting around on a rollercoaster and ready to find her goddamn brother, was really winning at that. 

“Are you in charge?” she asked. 

The man blinked. “Er, yes. I’m Bruce, are you-” 

“Oh, we’re signing up. We need to be Snow Scouts,” Isadora said, “For you see, this year is a special year! False Spring is coming early!” 

Bruce stared at her. “What?” 

“Yes! We just found out. It’s so new that the Daily Punctilio hasn’t even gotten the news yet.” Isadora grabbed a newspaper from the desk, waved it, and then tossed it behind her. It landed against Klaus’s chest, and he oofed and tried to grab it. “It’s a very special year! False Spring is coming early, if we all leave now we may still be able to make it!” 

“Is that so?” Bruce asked. 

“Oh, yes.” Isadora nodded. “It’s because of the hemisphere and leap days and- um-” 

“Rosh Hashanah.” Duncan added. 

“Yeah.” Isadora said. “Very complicated. Bit hard to explain, but we rushed over here as soon as possible, we wanna be there or Early False Spring. Only happens once a century-ish, you know. Where do we sign up?” 

Bruce shook his head in confusion, but then shrugged. “Well, we were all just learning how to make fires, anyway, I guess. Your parents will have to sign the paperwork-” 

“Oh, they’re getting here after False Spring. Let us take the early bus.” Isadora said. “They’ll take care of everything once we get back, where are our uniforms?” 

Bruce pointed towards a chest by the edge of the tent wall, and as Isadora rushed over, Klaus asked, “Excuse me, is this today’s Punctilio?” 

Bruce nodded, and Klaus carefully put the paper down on the desk, before moving to join Isadora. Concerned, Violet moved beside him. “What’s up?” 

“The date…” Klaus mumbled, as Isadora started digging through uniforms, looking for the right size. “It’s… tomorrow’s my birthday.” 

Violet sighed, and then gave him a side-hug, as Isadora pulled out some coats. “We’re in such a hurry, we may only need coats.” she called to Bruce. “You go get the rest of the Scouts, okay?” 

He stumbled out, still a bit confused, and Isadora threw a coat on. “Alright, so, Duncan, what do you remember about Snow Scout shit?” 

“The pledge, which is written on the back of the coats and means nonsense.” Duncan said, showing them the alphabet pledge. “A couple of survival skills… I swear there was something we forgot about-” 

“Uncle Bruce!” came a familiar shout behind them, as the tent flap was thrown open. “Everyone’s moving and packing stuff up and we have a few more days until- oh, what the fuck!” 

They all turned, and met eyes with a stunned Carmelita Spats. 

“Um,” Duncan said, “Hello?” 

Carmelita froze, and then slapped her forehead. “What in the actual fuck are you doing here?” 

“It’s a long story. What are you doing here?” Violet said. 

“She’s a Snow Scout.” Isadora observed. 

“Yeah, no shit!” Carmelita groaned. She raced over to them, crossing her arms. “Why are you here? You shouldn’t be here!” 

“Uh, we need to get to the mountains.” Klaus said. “So, uh… we’re…” 

“Scouts.” Sunny shrugged. 

“Son of a-” Carmelita shut her eyes. “You need to go. That weirdass Coach Genghis thinks you’re heading here so you should go-” 

“Why would he think that?” Violet asked.

“Because he asked me and I said the first place I could think of, I didn’t think you’d actually be here!” 

“Aw, Carmelita cares about us.” Isadora cooed, putting a hand over her heart and smirking. 

“I do not, I just happen to hate him more! So fuck off, will you?” 

“Can’t. Olaf’s already ahead of us.” Violet said. “You see, he’s in the mountains now, and we’re going to go murder him for kidnapping our parents and their brother-” 

“Oh, great, now he’s got their brother-” 

“-and we need to get to the mountains, where they’re planning to burn a- a place.” Violet did not want to get into a discussion of what VFD was in this situation. “So we’re saying False Spring is happening early to get us up there. Think you can play along?” 

“No! We always camp for a week before we head to the mountains-” 

“Are you False Spring Queen?” Duncan asked. 

Carmelita stopped. “What?” 

“Quigley and I used to have a Snow Scout interest. Are you False Spring Queen?” 

“Of course! I am every year because I’m just that special.” 

“Wouldn’t you like to celebrate that as soon as possible? Wouldn’t that be more fun than just hanging around the camp doing nothing?” 

Carmelita opened her mouth, then closed it, then crossed her arms and huffed. “I mean- sure, I don’t like being here, but it’s what we always do. We can’t just change the way things are.” 

“Inde.” Sunny said. “And what fun is that?” 

Before Carmelita could respond, the flap opened again, and Bruce walked in. “Carmelita! There you are! We’re just packing up- False Spring is early this year, you know.” 

Carmelita flinched as he spoke, glancing back hurriedly, before recovering herself and saying, “Of course I know that! I’m the smartest girl in the world!” 

“Of course you are.” he patted her on the head, then looked at the other kids. “Why don’t you help the others pack up?” 

“We’d love to.” Violet said, forcing a smile on her face. She grabbed Carmelita’s arm. “Carm, you wanna help?” 

“Uh- sure. Whatever.” 

They stalked out of the tent, and as soon as they were out, Violet’s smile dropped. She turned to Carmelita, and whispered, “Do you want us to stab him?” 

“I can handle him.” Carmelita muttered. Then, carefully, she pulled a knife out of her pocket. “Some weird kids at school taught me how to do that.” 

“Well, let us know if you want us to do anything.” Violet said, as they headed towards a tent some kids were disabling. “Because we will.” 

“Don’t doubt it.” 

The Scouts swiftly moved out across the mountains, with nobody really paying much attention to the five new children, one of whom was clearly a toddler. Sunny had been wrapped in the smallest coat they could find, which still went well past her feet, so Isadora carried her most of the way up the hill. The other kids ended up drifting to their own groups to chat with each other, and Bruce remained ahead with the map, so they mostly stuck with each other. 

After a while, Klaus whispered, “Uh, Violet?” 

“Yeah?” 

He grabbed her hand, staring at the ground. “Did… did I do something bad?” 

“What?” 

“With Olivia? I… I killed her. In a horrible way.” he blinked away tears. “And she-” 

“Hey.” Violet squeezed his hand. “I’ve killed, too. And you know what? It-” 

“But Orwell was actively trying to kill us. Olivia was-” 

“She was helping Olaf to kill us. And… you were right.” Violet squeezed his hand once more. “Whether actively or passively… she killed our Dad.” 

Klaus stared at the path. “I… I wanted to meet him so badly.” 

“Me, too.” 

They fell silent again, and then she said, “Let’s think of something else. What’ll we do for your birthday tomorrow?” 

“Kill Olaf.” 

“Sounds good. It’s your birthday so you get to pick a method of execution.” 

“Something fast. So he can’t get away.” 

“Smart.” 

“And so we don’t have time to regret anything.” 

“We won’t.” she promised. 

They looked up, then, as Carmelita stalked over to them from the front of the group. She trailed beside them, before saying, “Everyone up there is boring. So, the hell have you guys been up to?” 

“We’ve killed someone.” Isadora said. 

“Cool! Tell me about that.” 

“Only if you ask nicely.” Duncan said. 

“Not gonna happen.” 

“You wanna be bored?” 

“Not especially.” 

“Then ask.” 

“...please tell me, cakesniffers?” 

“Close enough.” 

They did their best to explain things to Carmelita without freaking her out, and by the time they got to Klaus pushing someone into the lion pit- to which she thankfully only replied, “Oh, epic,”- they noticed Bruce calling to the kids about their stop up ahead. 

“What stop?” Isadora asked. “What stop is he talking about?” 

Carmelita sighed and rolled her eyes. “Every year we go to the same cave and tell Snow Scout Stories and eat marshmallows until our stomachs hurt and camp out until morning- snow gnats are more active at night. We’ve got masks to protect us from them but they’re such a drag to wear, we just let Stephen carry them in case of emergencies. Anyway, the snow gnats hate smoke so our campfire scares them away.” 

“You have a campfire in a cave?” Klaus said. “That cannot be safe.” 

“Hasn’t killed us yet.” 

Violet hesitated, and then tied her hair back. “I bet there’s some kind of device that lets the smoke escape, otherwise it’d definitely fill up the cave. I wonder…” 

“Well, we’re here, so wonder while we’re telling Snow Scout Stories.” Carmelita sighed, gesturing towards a cave before them, where some Snow Scouts were already heading. “I’ve got a very interesting one about the most precious, beautiful, smartest girl in the whole wide school.” 

“Oh, joy.” Isadora said. 

“Have you considered just retelling The Taming of the Shrew as a high school tale?” Duncan asked. 

“No, we’re talking about me.” 

“God.” 

The Snow Scout stories seemed to last forever, but the children managed to distract themselves. Sunny would toddle around behind a rock so the other scouts couldn’t see, dramatically re-enacting what was being told, with the other kids barely stifling their giggles. When Sunny grew tired, they backed themselves into a corner, and Isadora quietly jotted down poetry ideas, while Violet or Duncan would take turns singing quietly to try and lull Sunny to sleep. 

After a while, Klaus said, “I still feel bad.” 

Violet hesitated, and then put a hand on Duncan’s shoulder to quiet him. She turned back to Klaus, and then said, “I… I know. Can I be honest a second?” 

“Of course.” 

She curled up slightly. “I sometimes feel bad about Orwell.” 

“You shouldn’t, she was going to kill us-” 

“And so was Olivia.” Violet turned to Klaus, meeting his eyes. “But I think some part of us is always going to wonder if we did the right thing or the wrong.” she glanced at the ground, then shook slightly. “That must be how our parents feel. Especially now, with… all this happening.” 

Klaus leaned over, putting a head on Violet’s shoulder. “I guess we’re just a whole family of murderers.” 

He jumped as he felt another hand on his shoulder, and turned to see Duncan had moved over to hug him, with Sunny leaning over his lap to grab at Klaus’s coat. Isadora came over, too, and they were soon all huddled together. 

“We just want you to know,” Isadora said quietly, “That whether or not you were right or wrong… we still think you’re noble enough.” 

“Is that even good?” Violet asked, her voice a little choked. 

“It’s the best we can hope for.” Duncan said. 

Klaus and Violet gave the Quagmires grateful smiles, and then Isadora smirked a little. “Besides, Sunny still hasn’t killed anyone.” 

“Penmark,” Sunny said, meaning something akin to, “Don’t be so sure.” 

“What does that mean, young lady?” 

Before she could provide some kind of snarky response, they heard a clatter, and some shouts. They whipped their heads around, staring as some kids ran back to the fire, a masked boy in a tattered coat in tow. 

“We found this kid digging through our supplies!” said Baya, looking peeved. 

“I think that’s our mask, too!” Jaedon shouted. 

“I- I’m sorry!” the boy cried. “I- I got lost and- and you guys had food and I’ve been walking all night and all day and-” 

“Oh, don’t worry, friend!” Bruce waved his hand. “Baya, Jaedon, let him go, it’s fine. He can join the troupe! We’re accommodating! Isn’t that right? Snow Scouts are accommodating, basic-” 

The only scouts who did not follow him in reciting the pledge were Carmelita, who was looking at the boy curiously and hesitantly glancing around, and the children in the corner. Violet stiffened and grabbed onto Klaus’s arm, and Duncan and Isadora, after staring in frozen shock for a moment, slowly and shakily stood up. 

When the pledge was over, Bruce said, “Why don’t you sit down and tell us a story? I’m sure a traveler like you-” 

Carmelita glanced back, and saw the frozen forms of the Quagmires, and then turned back and loudly said, “No! I’m in the middle of my story so I’ll continue!” 

She kept loudly talking, keeping everyone focused on her, as the Baudelaires rose, and the Quagmires stumbled over to the masked boy, who was watching the scouts in confusion. 

Then they reached him, and he turned, and also froze. 

They stood for a long time, just staring at each other. Isadora was close to tears, and she opened her mouth to speak, before Duncan, who was staring ahead, prodded her, gesturing to the scouts. Too many people around. Don’t be direct. 

She turned back, tears still edging from her eyes, to the masked boy. Duncan was shaking slightly, and the boy just stood, hoping they couldn’t hear him cry. 

Then, slowly, Isadora whispered, her voice completely breaking, “Twas brillig and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe…” 

Her voice faltered, so Duncan squeezed her arm, and then continued, just a bit louder, “All mimsy were the borogroves and the mome raths outgrabe…” 

There was a long, cold silence, before… 

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son,” the boy whispered, almost as if he didn’t believe what was happening, what he was saying. “The jaws that bite, the claws that catch.” 

Isadora choked back a sob, and Duncan clung to his sister’s arm, almost falling over. 

“Beware the jubjub bird…” he continued, and now they could definitely hear he was crying, “And shun the frumious bandersnatch.” 

Then they continued to stare at each other for a very long time.

[snowyfrostshadows]

Glass Hearts in Porcelain Towers

In old movies from Earth, it's not unbelievable for a evil branch of government or corporate giant to destroy the life of some average smoe by killing a loved one. The heartbroken underdog then swears vengeance, overthrows the corrupt institution no matter the cost, and saves a million others from that pain.

Put like that, Mark Temple is a hero.

It's as the flagpole is being stained red with blood and the life fades from Biff's eyes that Temple realizes he's in love with his best friend.

Far, far too late to do anything about it, but in his defense, his love for Biff had been such a constant subtle presence in his life, that it had been far too easy to pass it off as something else.

In hindsight, it should have been obvious that the love Temple had felt went beyond friendship, beyond brotherly companionship when Georgiana had entered the picture.

She'd been fine, at first. But the longer she stuck around and the closer she and Biff got, the more he'd disliked her. Only now, with Biff dead in his arms, did Temple realize he'd been jealous.

He wasn't sure if he was pleased to be here instead of Georgiana for his friend's last moments or disgusted with himself for taking any pleasure from Biff's dying breaths.

...

He was....happy.

Not that he was thrilled with the reality of his closest and longest friend dying in front of him, but, it was better that he was here for Biff's last moments and not Georgiana. Georgiana would ruin it.

Fall apart. Be no comfort at all.

But he was so much better than that. Stronger.

Temple grabbed Biff's hand and squeezed it. "I promise. I will make this right."

Biff's fingers gave a small twitch, perhaps as an affirmation of hearing his promise and then he's gone and with him, Temple's whole world.

                                                         ----

In the days, weeks, months following Biff's murder, Temple discovers that as dramatic and meaningful as 'I will make this right' are to say to a dying friend, they don't exactly lay out a guideline on how exactly to do just that.

He wastes countless hours holed up in his room drawing up plan after plan, each more outlandish and asinine than the last. It's not until a couple of years pass that a path finally opens up for him.

It starts, like all great epics, with a news cast.

At first glance, it's a puff piece. A bunch of soldiers receiving medals of great bravery. And then the details break clear like the dawning of a new sun.

The soldiers are a bunch of SIM Troopers like himself and the other residents of Desert Gulch. Unlike them though, they saw through Project Freelancer's games and joined together to bring the whole thing down.

Temple is in awe.

These men were picked up, played with, thrown aside and then fought back and won.

And now, they're pointing out the path he and the others must take.

They did the hard part. They revealed Project Freelancer to the world as the sham it was.

Temple and the others; they can do cleanup. It was the very least they could do.

For the first time in a long, long time, Temple feels alive. Finally he has a way to fulfill his promise and avenge Biff.

He assigns Gene to find and dig up everything he can about Project Freelancer. They discover how vile and twisted the whole project was. How they would set up multiple bases of SIM Troopers just so their agents could come along and toy with them for their own sick amusement.

Hundreds of brave volunteers tricked into being nothing more than glorified, living, training dummies for a small handful of fully funded sadists.

The UNSC itself isn't much better. They knew what Freelancer was doing. Funded them.

It's enough to make anyone's blood boil.

But it's fine.

He has a plan to make it all right. The UNSC can burn right alongside the ashes of Freelancer as far as he's concerned. It is the barest of what they deserve.

The only drawback to his grand plan, is that most if not all of the very top brass, the highest agents of Freelancer, are already dead. The knowage that he will never be able to personally make Biff's murderer pay is crushing.

But it's fine. It's fine.

He'll just make whose left suffer all that much more to compensate.

Loco, genius that he is, comes up with the bright idea of locking their targets in their armor to avoid a fight. Gene expands on that idea of just leaving them in the armor for a slow, painful death with the added bonus of easy transport and cleanup.

Temple can't help loving the idea.

A painful, drawn out death is the closest these monsters will ever feel to the pain they caused him.

So while Surge, Cronut, and Buckey go to recruit all the poor lost souls Freelancer broke and threw aside, and Loco and Gene develop and test their freeze tech on Lorenzo, Temple draws up plans for their new secret lair.

Barracks for their soon to be army, nicer quarters for himself and his team, a lab big enough to keep Loco happy, and, his personal favorite, a nice, big trophy room to entertain his soon to be captives.

Biff would be pleased at their progress.

And then, a year into construction of the new base, Temple receives word that the ship carrying the Reds and Blues to their final retirement has gone down with zero survivors.

It is a devastating turn of events and a disappointing end to his idols' legacy, even if Surge insists a blaze of glory like a ship crash is one of the top five ways to go.

Temple allows himself one day of mourning for their loss before speeding up work and the hunt for former freelancers begins in earnest.

And it's fun.

More fun than he's had in ages.

No matter how many times his team tracks down a former freelancer, nor how many times they insist they're retired or 'didn't know what the higher-ups were doing', he never gets tired of watching them freeze with a simple press of a button. Of hearing their tough guy talk fall into confused pleading.

It doesn't take long before he starts waiting for their target to strike the perfect pose before freezing them. It's the one mercy he gladly provides. If you had to stay in one pose for all eternity, then it better be a good one right? Something bold and action-y, as a reflection of their lives. And well, he'd hate if all his trophies looked the same. They'd be so boring to look at.

His absolute favorite encounter is Agent Illinois.

The man had to have been an absolute idiot who somehow stumbled his way into the program.

Because the first thing he does when he sees a group of angry SIM troopers is not to fight, but to get up and offer them a drink.

It's almost tragic, but the offered glass of alcohol in one hand, the easy, light pace of Illinois's walk is too beautiful for Temple to not press his button. Especially as he's likely to never get this exact position from anyone else ever again.

So he locks the former freelancer in place, laughs, and carries him onto their dropship.

The liquid in the glass quickly spills out, but Temple is quick to reassure him they'll refill it back on base. He is, after all, a very considerate host.

After the initial capture and settling in, however, Illinois loses any charm he had when they first crossed paths.

He doesn't say a word as he's brought into the trophy room. Nor does he rise to any of Temple's jabs of sharing the same fate as his former teammates.

If it wasn't for his armor broadcasting his vitals, Temple would think he was dead after the first few hours.

It's not until day three, the day that death usually sets in for the former freelancers that he even speaks at all.

"Why?"

Temple pauses in his usual idle talk of how things are going on in outside world to stare at his captive.

"Why...all...this?" Illinois rasps, voice weak from disuse and lack of water.

Temple gives him a thoughtful look before shrugging. Why not be truthful with a dying man? This agent has been kinder than the rest, not interrupting him, or swearing that any day now they'd break free and kill him. It's only fair he returns that kindness with a last request of sorts.

"Do you know the difference between you and I? It's really quite funny. One of us got to fight in the actual war and be a big hero and the other? The other got to play living test dummy for the first. And just like a test dummy, it didn't matter if I got hurt or killed if it made you better.

"I'm just cashing in my due. I had to watch my best friend die so now you and all your stupid friends can join him and apologize!"

It takes a moment for Temple to realize the weird wheezing in the room is Illinois laughing.

"I'm sorry...mate...but that's...the longest...go-around...I've heard...for someone...to say... they're a...sadist."

Temple bristles. "Call me a sadist, but I'm fixing this corrupt mess you and the other freelancers started! I'm in the right!"

Another dry, broken laugh escapes Illinois and Temple sees red. Faster than he can blink, he slams the butt of his gun against Illinois's helmet.

"If this was an attempt for me to release you, you sorely miscalculated."

"Hah...hah...haaaaah. Give me...some...respect....We...both...know...you can't...free... someone who's...already...dead...."

Temple doesn't step back from Illinois because he's unnerved by the amused tone from the man. No, that'd be stupid. He steps away because he's done here. And he runs a very tight schedule with the Blues and Reds and their small army.

And he most certainly doesn't bolt from the room as Illinois's broken ghost of a laugh fills and echoes through the room. He's just busy with a lot of other things he has to do.

An hour later, the vitals for Illinois flat line and it's not relief fluttering about his chest but satisfaction. For another monster slain, another Freelancer down, the universe just a little bit safer.

                                                            ----

A couple months pass after that. The hunt for freelancers has hit a dead wall as either the few remaining have gotten wise to something picking them off and have gone off the grid or Temple and his team have killed them all.

Sad, but probably for the best in the long run. There is another, bigger target that he really should be focusing on.

It is on one of the days he's going through blueprints with Loco that Buckey pulls them out of the lab and to a tv. All of Temple's protests die in his throat as he catches sight of a familiar group on the screen.

The Reds and Blues are alive.

Somehow, against all odds, they'd survived the ship crash. And then proceeded to take apart another corrupt organization-this time Charon Industries.

For one, glorious moment, Temple felt that same wave of awe and admiration for his heroes as he did all those years ago when he first came across their story.

And then he sees a very familiar sickening shade of cyan armor among their ranks and the world is turned on its' head.

The Reds and Blues, his idols, his heroes, his very inspiration for everything are friends with Biff's murderer.

'Maybe they don't know what she did' a hopeful part of him thinks. 'But they revealed Freelancer for what is was. How could they not know?'

Eyes still on the screen, Temple turns slightly towards Buckey and growls "Tell Gene to get me everything on the Reds and Blues. There's been a slight change of plans.''

                                                         ----

They're idiots.

A fact that becomes abundantly clear after listening to hours of audio and pouring over page after page of requests, reports, and even notes on the Reds and Blues. And that's not even the worst thing about them.

No, the worst thing is that not only were they favored by Project Freelancer, they were hand-picked to be copies of his team.

Every single one of them has a counterpart similar enough in personality it's creepy.

Even Biff.

All to keep a digital copy of the very head of the whole project entertained.

Temple stews and locks himself in his room for a full week to think over how best to deal with this disappointing setback.

For a long time, he considers just killing them outright.

Theoretically, it shouldn't be hard.

A bullet to the back of the head, replacing one of their own and then slipping a knife through each of their ribs. Hell, he could probably even get all of their food poisoned.

But somehow, somehow, they survived a crash from fifty thousand feet in the air.

A feat no one else on board managed to match.

So chances were, a bullet or knife or poison may not be able to do the trick.

....armor locking might.

They could live forever and still not be able to move a muscle.

It's a brilliant plan and he's so so close to incorporating it into their plans already in motion when a small shred of doubt wiggles itself into his conscience.

These men tore down Freelancer. Started him on his path. Gave him purpose. And he wants to return that goodwill with venom?

...

Everything points to them being idiots, so it's likely they don't even know their 'friend' is a freelancer who kills and ruins lives for fun. And it's because the Reds and Blues are so trusting, that she's alive and practically gift wrapped for Temple to kill her himself.

Ultimately, he decides to offer them an olive branch.

They've done so much for him, it's only fair he offers them something back in return.

                                                        ----

More intel is gathered on the Reds and Blues. If he wants them to accept his offer, join his team, then he is going to stack his hand with every card in his favor.

-He learns they've killed at least four freelancers themselves while still keeping two alive and within their ranks.

-They cared deeply for the Director's digital copy, going so far as to 'save' it multiple times.

-The copy is currently 'dead'; moreso from being an outdated faulty piece of tech than ever actually being 'alive'.

The lack of the digital copy turns out to be their ticket to reeling the Reds and Blues in. With just a little prodding, Loco is able to cut up audio files of 'Church' and formats them into a distress call and then broadcasts it throughout space.

The others doubt the broadcast will work without set coordinates but Temple knows it will. Somehow, the audio will find them and they'll come running and he'll welcome them with open arms and a smile.

                                                        ----

It ends up taking a few months longer than Temple thinks it would. By the time they set foot at his front door, he's nearly done putting the finishing touches on his greatest achievement. A few more days and they would have missed it.

And while he easily wins their trust with a little air show and some theatrics he can't help being... disappointed by who all shows up.

The Freelancers are easily taken care of. And best of all, the Reds and Blues don't even notice they're gone. Proving to Temple they were merely saving them for him and absolutely will join his vendetta.

However, they brought a reporter with them and she won't stop poking her nose in every little thing. And their orange solider, the one he was most curious to meet, seems to have quit.

He can't even dispose of the reporter because every time he tries to, their maroon solider has pulled her aside for yet another interview to complain about the missing orange one.

If it wasn't for his two brand new captives (one of which is Her) to torment and final checks to see through, Temple is fairly sure he'd lose it.

Besides, it'll all be worth it in the end. (Until suddenly it isn't)

The truth comes out and Simmons, Tucker, Caboose, and Donut throw his generous offer in his face and decide to stand against him.

Not even an hour after that little confrontation, Surge alerts him to the presence of an intruder.

Who, on the camera feeds is walking around the base like he knows the place. And even though he knows, he knows Biff is dead, his very first thought at seeing the orange armor is thinking it's his old friend.

But it's not him.

Because Biff would never pause in his duties to scarf down a plate of fish with terrifying speed. Nor would he get the bright idea of suddenly shoving his body into too small a space for absolutely no reason.

Most damning of all, Biff would never tell him to fuck off before he even had a chance to open his mouth. But Grif does. Even after Temple and his men spent so much of their precious time pulling his fat ass out of their vent.

So he drags the Reds and Blues' orange fuckup to join the rest of them. He can't even enjoy watching his captives hope for rescue fall because Tucker's cursing Grif out and Grif is ignoring all of them in favor of trying to pull some touchy-feely crap.

It's sickening.

And he can't help it, really he can't. The betrayal and utter dismissal from his former heroes hurt. And the temptation of hurting them back, ripping their little world apart in kind is too much.

So he indulges. Reveals the message from 'Church' was a lie to trick them to meet him. Pounds it into Caboose's think skull until he gets it because he has the decency to not sugar coat the uglier side of things no matter how stupid his listeners are.

And finally the mood in the jail cells is what he wants.

Crushed. Despondent. Cursing his name because he's won and better than all of them combined.

Temple rides that high as he leaves and gets things packed up. He's not even upset when he fails to get any word from Withers confirming Sarge killed the reporter and her cameraman.

Even if Sarge had a change of heart and went crawling back to his team, it doesn't matter. Temple's done here and ready to destroy the UNSC's base on earth.

There is literally no way anyone can stop or even catch up to him in time.

Except the Reds and Blues do.

Not only do they hijack what was supposed to be a dropship full of the last of his army, they manage to outfly nearly every torpedo he throws at them. And even when they ARE hit, they walk off another crash because apparently, a thousand tons of twisted steel and fire is about as life-threatening as a buddle of wet tissue paper to them.

A part of him wants to stay behind and finish them himself, but he's so so close to finally avenging Biff. So he orders Cronut and Lorenzo to direct the men stationed outside of the base.

Over one hundred men with an abundance of tanks, jeeps, guns, and ammo against a measly seven. It should be an easy win.

Should be if everyone on this stupid fucking island but him wasn't an idiot!

Because just as Loco's finished the machine, Surge comes running in to announce the Reds and Blues have made it into the building.

It becomes a mad scramble after that.

Surge, Gene, and Buckey all head off to separate areas to try and somehow contain this clusterfuck and stop their 'guests' before they reach the very heart of the building and destroy all his hard work.

At best, the three of them with the help of their many subordinates will be successful. At worst, they'll merely be obstacles distracting the Reds and Blues just long enough for Loco's doomsday device to go off.

He doesn't want to take any chances though and heads to the heart himself. He will be the final obstacle that they simply can't get past.

And at first, it does seem to be that way.

Tucker, Caboose, Sarge, Donut, and even the reporter surround him, as if they have any sort of high ground here. As if they can actually win when victory and revenge are so close to his grasp.

But even when he's losing, Temple has a card up his sleeve which he happily plays.

With just a simple press of a button, he has them all frozen in place. Well, those who could be a threat anyway. Caboose and the reporter can still move but the reporter's smart enough not to do anything to escalate the situation and Caboose is too stupid to come up with a plan that won't end with his friends' blood on his hands.

Everything is going wonderfully.

And then, right as he's in the middle of explaining that his hands will forever remain clean because the world, nay, the universe will believe the Reds and Blues, the Heroes of Chorus were behind all of this and everything left of the UNSC will collapse in on itself, he gets interrupted by Grif the lazy, fat one of the group of all people.

He'd be more upset if the disgrace to the color orange didn't fall flat on his face trying to swing in to save the day.

Out of the goodness of his heart, Temple offers him the chance to stand with the rest of his stupid, meddling friends instead of dying by his gun right where he landed.

Only, Grif doesn't....take the easy out.

He rises, focuses a hard look at Temple, and refuses to move.

Even as Temple has his gun pointed at his face, finger tense on the trigger, the two of them standing so close, Grif would never be able to dodge a bullet in time.

It's almost.....noble. Familiar.

'What are you doing, Mark?'

Temple flinches and blinks and suddenly it's not the fat lazy knock off of his best friend looking back at him, but the real thing.

And he can just see Biff's expression behind the helmet. His mouth is turned down slightly like he's looking at a puzzle he's trying to figure out and his eyes are lidded in that way they only get when he's faced with something he doesn't understand.

'We're friends, aren't we? You wouldn't kill me, right? We have each others' backs, we always do. What is this Mark?'

Temple's hands shake and he can feel himself taking a step back when that reporter throws him back to That Day and suddenly his whole body is shaking. He looks away for one second, aiming his gun at her to shoot her first when Biff, no, Grif tackles him to the floor where he loses hold of both his gun and the only thing keeping the Reds and Blues in place.

Then Loco runs into the room calling for Caboose as if they're all friends and the last several hours never happened. And while he can't get the controls for the armor lock again, he does get his gun back just long enough to shoot Loco before he can be tricked into revealing how to shut his machine off.

Because he refuses to lose, to let everything he's worked so hard for go up in flames!

But Loco ends up being his only kill for the day as Tucker turns around and knocks the gun of his hands and kicks him back like a wannabe freelancer. Adding insult to injury is the fact that for whatever stupid reason, Loco decided to make his doomsday weapon into a time machine just so Caboose could say goodbye to an unfeeling computer program.

Any hope he had of things finally going his way die with the revelation that ~surprise~! The reporter has been carrying around an ai strong enough to dismantle a super weapon with no ill effects this whole entire time!

He can't even sneak away when it's all over as Tucker grabs hold of him, only knocking him out because Agent Carolina of all people insists they're too good to just outright murder people.

As if that wasn't a laugh and a half.

His army.

Surge.

Gene.

Loco.

All gone because of them.

It's almost a bitter enough taste to drown out the blandness of the fish the small number of them left get in prison.

Almost.

The only thing Temple really tastes anymore is the ash in his mouth after watching years of hard work and planning go up in flames before his very eyes.

It would have been kinder just to kill him. If the situations were reversed, he would have.

[kalluun-patangaroa]

Suede

SKY magazine, December 1993

written by Simon Witter 

"HELLO! WHAT HAVE WE GOT HERE?!" asks Brett Anderson rhetorically, staring at the fluff he has just removed from his ear. "I haven't taken these earrings off for about nine years."

It may seem an incongruous moment to ask the 27-year-old indie pin-up about his personal style, but hey, that's the kind of guy I am. "Tatty," replies Brett with a wry smile. "I haven't been able to get out and go shopping."

Brett Anderson, frontman of Suede – the British pop sensation of 93 – is hotly rumoured to have a great dress sense. Today however, perched uncomfortably behind an executive desk at the central London HQ of his record company, his head inadvertently framed by a halo of Right Said Fred promotional balloons, he is sporting a navy blue jeans'n'top ensemble he accurately describes as "just anything". Brett has been telling me how he spends most of his time with people who work in shops or are unemployed – "real people, not in the business" – so I presume this boutique bonding provides a clue to his supposed, though temporarily non-evident, style savvy.

"Oh no," he gasps. "Not clothes shops! Most of my friends are in food shops. So I know a good bit of brie when I see it."

The thought of Brett Anderson having, at any point in his life, ever eaten food, conjures images of pigs flapping their trotters as they sail past this second floor window. But we press on with the personal style enquiry.

"I want to change it at the moment," he says. "I'm sick of wearing second-hand things. I used to have a grudge against new clothes because I don't like wearing things that another thousand people are wearing. It's nothing to do with being into clothes from years ago, or tatty clothes at all. I'm quite keen to toy around with my style until I eventually find something, to have clothes made for me. There's never anything, when I go out and look for clothes, that I really love. I've got quite a strong vision of what I want, which would be very, very well fitted things. I don't like baggy things. I like lots of ethnic looks. I really like the Spanish look, that sort of matador thing." By way of explanation, Brett strikes a pose, clicking imaginary castanets above his head. "I like that shape. Prince wears a really brilliant little thing sometimes. When I kept getting my bellybutton out, it was really a desire to achieve that shape more than anything, nothing to do with flaunting my navel."

It's well worth flashing your bellybutton while you still can, I assure him, a rueful hand on my own expanding waistline.

"Yep," he smiles. "Well I can't anymore. Not after that chinese last night."

In May of 1992 Suede released their first single, 'The Drowners'. They had already been on the cover of Melody Maker – before they had a record out – and would grace 18 other British magazine covers over the next year, including the cover of Q on just their second single. Their eponymous debut album, released last March, went straight to No. One in the charts and went on to win the Mercury Prize, and last autumn they released a full-length concert video Love & Poison. At this rate, it will be time for their memoirs by easter.

Within the bizarre, incestuous fishbowl of the British music media, Suede have become almost self-damagingly important. After a couple of wilderness years spent faffing about, finding their feet and being universally loathed, their overnight transformation into the most hyped band in the world was nothing short of miraculous. Yet it created impossibly high expectations of their music. A German friend told me how surprised he was, after long distance exposure to their media glare, to discover how average Suede sounded – a judgment that casual discovery of the first album would hardly have elicited. And while touring America, their support act the Cranberries famously outshone them by an enormous factor when it came to album sales. Yet phase one of Suede's career has been – or appeared to be – so extraordinary, that they are going to be hard-pressed to follow it up with anything similarly momentous.

For now, we have 'Stay Together', a new, epically long single. As a measure of Suede's magnitude in the reality-starved world of British indie pop, I am treated to an absurd preview of the track the day before meeting Brett. Before entering the listening room I am subjected to a bag search to check – I kid you not! – that I'm not carrying a concealed tape recorder.

In LA, the world capital of muso control freakism, I was played U2's Desire, the immediate-follow up to their 15-million selling Joshua Tree album, eons before its release without anyone thinking twice. Yet now, without a hint of humour or irony, I am being treated as if I not only know anyone who cares what the next Suede single sounds like, but would be willing to pay for a tape of it recorded through a leather bag.

After regaining consciousness, I join in the fiasco, insist on a full body search (well, at less reputable establishments you'd have to pay good money for this touchy-feely experience) and am seated. The label boss places two speakers on each side of my head, facing my ears from about 20" away, turns it up LOUD, and begins to do that embarrassing, pseudo appreciative in-chair grooving that only people who work in record companies and recording studios have the gall to indulge in. "It's not pompous," he assures me, "even though it's eight minutes long."

Of course any pop song – as opposed to dance record – that lasts eight minutes is by definition pompous. 'Bohemian Rhapsody' was gloriously, defiantly pompous with a side order of pomposity to go. But, despite the circumstances, 'Stay Together' sounds like a fine, many-hued song, liberally doused with Bernard Butler's life-saving guitar, that is destined neither to win many new fans nor shock the devotees.

"It's about a sense of unrest I feel about the world," Brett tells me the following day, in an ill-advised shot at an explanation. "An attempt to make some sense when everything seems to be going slightly insane. I do get a real sense of impending doom, but not in a depressing way, not like we're all gonna die, let's go and rape people. I feel quite content with it. We're living under some shadow, and I'm not quite sure what it is. It's a bit like the fears I felt when I was growing up, when things were unstable and there was the threat of nuclear war, or the fear that your parents could die of aerosol poisoning."

Brett grew up, together with Suede drummer Mat Osman, in the soulless satellite town of Haywards Heath, between London and Brighton. According to Osman, if they'd been the tea party fops people make them out to be, they would've formed a grunge band. They only wanted to be really glamorous because of their stultifyingly dull working class backgrounds. Some might say that that would lead to the three-Es-a-night, dance-and-forget syndrome, rather than the formation of a glam rock band.

"Hopefully we're not a glam rock band," Brett shudders defensively. "You can escape those surroundings by taking a load of Es and ignoring it. Another way is to create your own myth, to try and become romantic in your own eyes, to create something beautiful out of the rubbish and the shit. It all sounds very Oscar Wilde, but that's the way we did it. None of us were brought up in workhouses, but we haven't had easy lives at all."

Suede claim to be obsessed with fame because they were excluded from it. Yet surely fame is the one classless thing people aren't born into?

"Lots of people are constantly privileged," says Brett, who has clearly spent an unhealthy amount of time pondering the abstract qualities of fame. "If you're born in Soho to rich professional parents, and you've got Jonathan Wotsisname coming round to your house every night to see your father, then you've got this world that you slip easily into. When you're excluded from it there's a desperation, you're desperate to have it. It doesn't come as second nature to you, like professionally famous people who hang out in Beverly Hills. It's not something you're comfortable with, but that mutates it into something far more interesting, a bit prickly and far more creative, because you're not just sitting there lapping it up."

Suede's appearance coincided not unfortunately with the post-Madchester 70s revival. But was their styling something more than just the result of being unable to afford new clothes? Personally, I had thought the emergence of Gary Numan had killed off the idea of anyone ever again wanting to be David Bowie (not to mention Bowie's recent records). Then along came Suede, with their rough guitars, their androgyny and their theatrical singer.

"I never thought of ourselves as '70s," Brett insists. "David Bowie is a genius, but the rest of all that rubbish I always found laughable. As for the clothes, I always thought we looked more 60s than 70s. It's all tied up with this whole kitsch thing, this Magpie and Porridge and rediscovering the culture of British music journalists' youths. Kids of 14 didn't know what anyone was talking about, it was just that the people in power had reached a certain age where they were getting sentimental about their youth and started remembering Magpie. That's all it was, all a complete load of rubbish. As soon as we were aware that this scene was going on, we wanted nothing to do with it."

Brett's voice is a highly variable instrument, perfect and beautiful on slow numbers like 'The Next Life', but occasionally, when he affects that archly operatic Bowie yodel, a whiney, sneering sound like Rik Mayall on speed boring into your brain – absolutely maddening. It goes without saying that his delivery owes much to the most overrated British pop star of the last decade, Morrissey.

"I forced my voice in that way because of how we were born, musically, playing shitholes. It was the only way I could make myself heard. I didn't want to sing in the murmuring way that was the style of the time. I wanted to project my voice, because I was writing songs that I wanted people to hear the words of. I wasn't just writing about fluffy little clouds, which is what everyone was doing at the time. People read into my intonations a theatrical seventiesness, but it was a complete accident."

Overworked as the subject is, it's hard to avoid asking why Brett thinks his androgyny caused such a fuss. It's not the first time it has been done; it's not even the tenth time. Genderless, mincing fops are to classic British pop what hairspray is to American rock, a staple ingredient. Brett, by comparison to most, is pretty tame.

"I don't know," he sighs. "We certainly weren't thinking 'oh let's be androgynous', it's just the way we are. I'm naturally quite an effeminate person – not all the time, I do play on things. I think it was because, at the time, people were so incredibly boring. We had been through five years of the cult of non-personality, and we never wanted to go with the flow. When everyone had their heads down, chugging away, we wanted to twist things a little bit. It's like at school, when you find that something annoys someone, you keep on doing it more and more. And that's what happened really."

A female psychologist wrote recently about the overt sexual expression of pre-pubertal girls at pop concerts, the way in which, amidst the non-contact hysteria of the pop experience, they could sometimes experience their first orgasm. She was, admittedly, talking about a Take That show, but I can't help wondering if it looks like that from the stage to Brett Anderson?

"No, nothing like that," he purrs, "nothing sexual. I always feel like people are putting it on."

Having their first fake orgasm?

"It's a bizarre thing in my head. I know they really like me, but I can't really take it seriously. When I'm onstage, and it's working, I feel like I can do absolutely anything. I feel as though there's no limit, even in the sense that I could fall asleep if I felt like it, because I'm that relaxed. I feel much more comfortable on stage than walking down the street. I could go off into a corner and do a crossword or shave my head. I feel ridiculously relaxed. I really enjoy the power of being onstage. It's to do with the circuit of the flow between the audience and you, when it's an audience willing you to be good. Your own power is an expression of how the audience is feeling, but I can't say I ever feel sexual, even if it looks that way. I think that to call the power purely sexual is to belittle it. When I've been to incredible gigs, it hasn't been a sexual thing, it has been something far more magical than that. "

Brett and Osman came to London in the mid 80s to study, respectively, architecture and politics at UCL and LSE. Suede began after they placed an ad in the NME in 1989, but initial concerts had audiences shouting "Fuck off!", critics calling them effete wankers and record companies running for the hills - a three-pronged invitation to eat shit and die that would have spelt the end for most bands.

"That X factor that made people despise us," muses Brett, "was something we managed to turn around in our favour. It's like being in love with someone, and exactly the same things you adore about them, completely horrify you when you've fallen out of love. We went away and learnt how to write songs, and came back transformed. And those qualities that originally pissed people off, we transformed into something provocative. I think the fact that we went through all that rubbish was a fucking good thing for us. People forget that the Beatles spent five years in Hamburg. No one would touch them in England, cos everyone thought they were an utter load of shit. They spent five years getting it together, suffering a bit and fighting for it."

A typical lyric from those hard years was Brett's line about "shitting paracetomol on the escalator". When they were recently described as chemically saturated, I had assumed more interesting chemicals were involved.

"That's about pure mundanity, being off your face every night and your staple diet coming from your bathroom cabinet. It's a metaphor for a humdrum life, going up and down the London underground, which I spent five years of my life doing."

In many ways this – Suede's poignant soundtracking of new depression Britain – is their strength. But if they are Her Majesty's equivalent of slackers, it hasn't made America any more amenable to their cause. Indeed, despite Brett's avowed loathing of the British character – "negativity, small-mindedness, lack of faith" – there may well be a Britishness about Suede which prevents America from getting the point.

Brett makes the mistake of quoting a Smiths song to me – something about innocence, fragility and trust – forcing me to point out that American audiences don't want to be trusted with something precious, they want to rock out with their cocks out. Evan Dando may wear a dress and pigtails, but the wider American market is notoriously unkeen on sexual ambiguity. Queen were big in America until the early 80s, when Freddie Mercury started appearing in full clone gear. They never toured America again, and didn't have a single hit until after his death (and then only thanks to Wayne's World). In fact, America's association of guitars and manliness make Suede fundamentally unsuited.

"No!" storms Brett. "I don't think we're fundamentally unmanly. All you have to do is come and watch us live. We're about sexuality, power and emotion, things that everybody feels."

Whether or not America is destined to fall for his Morrissey-meets-Larry Grayson stage persona, Brett's much-aired desire to move to America (and less well-known plan to live in Paris) has, for now, been replaced by a much smaller act of bedouinism.

"I've moved from Notting Hill to Highgate," he announces proudly, "from a fashionable place to a place where you're living in the last century pretty much. I was living in a very small flat in Notting Hill and it was driving me insane, I couldn't write and was being bombarded with nonsense all day long. I needed the peace and quiet, and now I have a bigger flat with a studio room in it and I'm writing quite prolifically. It's more serene, there's more space to think. It's quite a beautiful place, but you do feel like you're living in the last century, like you're some sort of oddity, or in a play. You keep going into these odd characters. But it's a great place."

In person, and despite the affectation of much of his thought processes, Brett Anderson is quite charming. An endearing smile – which seems to hibernate when cameras are around – plays constantly around his face, suggesting shared confidences which, to some extent, he delivers. Like so many people cocooned by over-protective minions, he is refreshingly open and approachable. I like him. But he is deeply shocked and incredulous when I paint a picture of the special treatment afforded him by those he works with.

"They treat me with the respect I deserve," he jokes defensively. "I don't have tea with Lenny Kravitz. My best friend works in a chip shop, and that's why I like it, it's a complete escape. One of the beautiful things about being successful is that it can rub off onto your friends as well. Not fame and all that bullshit – the really brilliant thing about being successful is the self-confidence, the sense of life having a purpose, that life is a wonderful thing. You open the shutters in the morning and the sunshine pours through. That sense of vitality about life can completely rub off on your friends. Sometimes it doesn't, it can go the other way, with friends ignoring you cos they think you don't have time for them, but that never happens with your proper friends."

And yet, engulfed in the sweltering perversity of his peer group, Brett has come to hold some pretty crap views, views that seem utterly irrelevant beyond the borders of saddo indie land. He worries about being thought a sell-out, thinks Suede are radically honest because they admit to having ambition – as if people didn't get over all that bollocks a decade ago – and, worst of all, that people don't talk enough about music in interviews. Oh dear!

But, despite all this, Brett's public image remains unshatterably cool. He exudes waves of sultry, sulky hipness. I feel an urge to know what naff items lurk in the corners of Chateau Anderson, his ownership of which will shock Suede devotees to the core. Brett tells me he's been to see Aladdin, listens to jazz music, likes The Orb and Verve and has just bought the new Shamen single. To prove it, he even does his Mr C impression - "Comin' on like a vibe, y'know!". This won't do at all.

"I like Terence Trent D'Arby," he admits, trying harder. "I think he's really good."

It's good, but it's not right.

"I bought Billy Joel's River Of Dreams album. I like that one."

Aha – as Inspector Clouseau used to say – now we are getting somewhere! What about films?

"No, I've got impeccable taste when it comes to films."

No feature length On The Buses video stashed chez Brett?

"No. I have got Crocodile Dundee."

Bingo and Bullseye! So much for impeccable taste.

"Well, my perennial favourite is Performance," he flusters wildly. "I can virtually quote the whole film from start to finish. And there's a brilliant film which I've just discovered called The Shout, with John Hurt, Alan Bates and Susanna York. It's about a man who has spent years in the Australian bush learning the secrets of the bush doctors coming to this ridiculously reserved Cornish village and turning two people's lives upside down. It's like an animal alive within this village, and when he shouts, everyone within a mile radius dies. If Alan Bates' part had been played by Vincent Price, it would've been laughable, but it's incredibly powerful, one of those great lost films."

It's a nice try, but nothing can erase the impression created by Billy Joel and Crocodile Dundee.

[bluephoenixdruidicprincess]

I never read the Shadow Hunter books, and I all I knew from the series was from the movie, wich I saw and didn't like, and because of that pretty much forgot everything about the story. When I reluctantly started the series,out of pure curiosity and because it has supernatural elements,what I liked the most was the relationship between Alec and Jace.I noticed Alec's feelings from the first few episodes, and was actually hoping that they would end up together.When I figured out they wouldn't, ...

2/3 ...I was actually dissapointed, and honestly surprisedthat Alec would end up with Magnus, not only because I'm pretty sure there wasno Malec content in the movie (my only previous source), but also because I sawlittle to no chemistry between the actors from the series. I think Jalec wouldhave been much better (at least cting wise), and honestly, since they changedso much from the books, couldn't they have made that move? I know why theydidn't (business wise), but still, I think it would...

3/3 ...have been more interesting to watch. Itcould have been like an AU from the books (and from what I learned about thestory of the books, the show is pretty much an AU already). What do you thinkwould have been like if Jalec happened on the show? How do you think it wouldhave impacted other characters arcs (Clary's story would probably change a lotin my opinion, same as Magnus)? (Final)

I enjoy the books. I wouldn’t say they’re fantastic and whenI first read them a decade ago, I was completely in love with the series. 10years later, I can see the flaws the books have but for the most part, thoseflaws are really just a product of the time the books were written in and Istill enjoy the books for what they are. The YA genre was a different world tenyears ago.

The movie isn’t the greatest. But I don’t think it’sabsolutely terrible but I do think you have to have knowledge of the books inorder to properly enjoy it. For me, the movie started off good but the longerit went on, it just kept on losing traction. But I could find enjoyment in itbecause I knew what the movie was trying to set up for (because I’d read thebooks). In reality, the first book, City of Bones, is just a really bad book totry to adapt into a movie because so much of it is world-building and the maincharacter just running around trying to understand the world. So much of thatbook is set-up for later books and the movie tried to do the same thing butultimately it just turned into this really boring thing because reading aboutworld-building and having to watch world-building are two completely differentthings and the movie didn’t quite pull it off. Honestly, I’m not too terriblysurprised that the movie flopped. I wish they had continued with making themovies because I guarantee the next book, City of Ashes, would probably haveworked better. The movie didn’t have a whole lot of Malec content but I can confirmthat Malec is one of the main ships in the books. In the movie, it was onlyvery subtly hinted at mostly because it’s an adaptation of the first book whichadmittedly also doesn’t have a whole lot of Malec content. They kind of existmore in the background. Malec, gradually over time, gets more of a focus in thebooks and that’s more of a reflection on what the author was able to get awaywith when publishing under the YA genre over the years. As I said before, theYA genre was a very different beast ten years ago.

And it’s never really bothered me that the show made changesfrom the books, the show just had bad writing and there was definitely achemistry problem with the main ships. And it’s super weird that with all ofthe changes they made from the books, keeping the top 3 ships (Clace, Malec, Sizzy)is what they decided they absolutely couldn’t change? None of thoserelationships worked for me because the actors in those pairings had 0chemistry with each other (and the show was a little heavy-handed in telling uswho we needed to ship). In season one, I could forgive a lack of chemistry. Alot of these actors had never worked with each other before, they’re stillgetting to know each other, I can excuse that. But over the course of the nextcouple of seasons, you can tell that the actors are more familiar with eachother but they’re still lacking that relationship chemistry on-screen andunfortunately that happens sometimes. If you don’t have chemistry with someone,then you don’t have chemistry with someone. No amount of time you spend withthat person is going to make that chemistry suddenly appear. It’s why I’vementioned before that it’s glaringly obvious that no chemistry tests were donewith this cast prior to production beginning. If there were, the showrunnerswould probably have caught on and maybe made some adjustments to who they choseto cast.

But there was a showrunner change in season 2 and ideallyyou would think that as writers invested in the show they’re currently writingfor, they’d say, “you know what, we initially had this plan for Malec beingthis epic romance but they’re just not working on screen, maybe we shoulddiverge a little from the original plan.” But they didn’t. They just kept onchugging away at this couple who has no chemistry with each other and whereas Iwas willing to ignore it for a time, I eventually got to the point that Icouldn’t. It’s not like writers have never changed a relationship focus due tochemistry. That’s why Olicity became a thing in Arrow. Because the showrunnersfound that Stephen and Emily had chemistry they wanted to write a romance for.

I really wish Shadowhunters had decided to diverge from theTop 3 ships and just go off based on the chemistry they saw between theiractors on-screen. Every Jalec scene, despite me not always agreeing with thewriting decisions leading up to it, are just a joy to watch. When you watch aJalec scene, you want to look away because you feel like you’re intruding on aprivate moment. And I love when ships make me do that. I never really shippedJalec on the show because I knew they would never be a thing since the showseemed weirdly committed to keeping the top three relationships intact for somereason. But if I were the writers, I definitely would have shifted from Malecto Jalec. There are of course people who absolutely love the Malec chemistryand they’re free to do so but I’m not one of them. When Matt and Harry are in ascene together, they’re acting just becomes extremely wooden and theircharacters become pale imitations of what they once were. Everything is so forcedwhen they’re in a scene together. Harry and Matt try to make up for it byacting with their eyes and making “heart-eyes” at each other but for me, it’snot enough to overcompensate for their awkward body language around each other.And apart from them having chemistry that just doesn’t work for me, I just didn’tlike their relationship. I don’t understand whar it is about each other thatMalec likes. I have no idea why they’re choosing to stay together, they can’tsurvive a single conflict without their relationship crumbling to pieces.

But thinking about in an alternate universe if Jalec reallywas a thing is interesting, though. If you’ve been following me for a while,you know I love to think about “what if” situations. It obviously would changea lot with practically all of the characters because so much of this show isrelationship based. Like I’ve mentioned before, Shadowhunters is a trash showand only exists to give its audience shipping fodder. And I will say just as ageneral note here that this is completely different from what would happen inthe books. There’s actually a rule in the books that states you can’t fall inlove with your parabatai (bad things will happen and I’ll leave it at that).But just in show context because the show never went into the rules aboutparabatai, I like to imagine that before the show started, Alec and Jace werein this kind of “friends with benefits” type of relationship. It was purelysexual in nature, a way for them to relax after a hard day of hunting and theyjust needed a release. At least, it was like that for Jace. However, Aleccouldn’t quite shake it off. He couldn’t quite just write their relationshipoff as “just sex” and so he decided to end things with Jace because he couldn’tstand the idea of Jace not seeing him as anything more than a means ofrelieving stress. And here is when the show begins. Clary comes into the mixand obviously, if we’re shooting for a Jalec endgame there’s a lot of changesthat have to be made with Clary as she and Jace in both the books and show arethe characters the story centers on. I don’t really want to say that Jace getsinvolved with Clary only to figure out at the eleventh hour that Alec really ishis one true love, that feels a little too juvenile and easy for me, preference-wise,I hate stories that go in that direction, I hate “one true love” nonsense. Atfirst I caught myself thinking, okay, who is Clary’s endgame relationship goingto be if it’s not Jace? And then I realized, does she really need one? I mean,she just found out who she thought she was her entire life is not who sheactually is. When you’re going through something like that, should you reallybe involving yourself in a committed relationship? But I’m not opposed to herending up with someone like Simon or hey, maybe even Lydia (what ever happenedto Lydia by the way? Of all the dumb and pointless original characters the showcame up with, she was my favorite. We never found out if she ever got a happyending. Perhaps ending up with Clary could be her happy ending). We could stillhave a Malec relationship on the show but ultimately, they decide to end thingsas they feel like they can’t overcome the obstacles in their relationship, theystill care about each other deeply but sometimes in relationships, caring abouteach other isn’t enough to make it work. Alec is heartbroken that he had to endthings and he and Jace have a drunken night where they fall into bed again andinto their same old bad habits. But Alec makes it clear to Jace he’s notinterested in continuing what they used to have and because his relationshipwith Magnus made him more communicative in talking out his feelings, he comesclean to Jace about how he really feels about Jace. Jace doesn’t know how torespond so that drama gets milked for maybe half a season and let’s saysomething happens to Alec or Jace is separated from Alec for too long and Jacerealizes how much he does love Alec and the reason he couldn’t say it before isbecause he was afraid to be truly loved by someone. They confess and that’s theirendgame. As for Magnus, there was this original character named Raj that theshow just wrote off as xenophobic and an overall scumbag but when he was firstintroduced, I thought he was in the closet and was secretly crushing on Alec.

So for the purposes of this new narrative, let’s say he’s secretly crushing onMagnus and after some time of them being kind of aggressive towards one another,they realize they’re interested and a relationship blooms from that.But that’s the current mental picture of a “whatif” Jalec endgame that’s in my head right now. This would need way more time tothink on but as a story base, it’s not too bad. And actually, now I’m superinto the new Top 3 Ships being Jace/Alec, Magnus/Raj, Clary/Lydia.

[patchworkofstars]

Salted Caramel

Chapter 3: The Knight and the Coward

AO3   Chapter 1  Chapter 2  

Relationships: Royality, Analogical mentioned, platonic Logince

Chapter synopsis: Group work quickly turns into a nightmare for both Roman and Patton.

Word count: 2,704

Warnings: Brief mention of food, crying, verbal bullying, some swearing, and one use of “autistic” as a slur (by an OC, not our boys, and I specifically picked that word because I’m autistic myself).

Notes: Thank you so much to everyone who left comments last time, I loved them all and they mean a lot to me! 💖💙

The following few days passed uneventfully. Roman pushed through them in a daze, his mind and spirit trapped within a grey fog of despondency even as outwardly he continued as usual. He went to lectures, walked home, exchanged a few casual barbs with Virgil, or chatted briefly with Logan, summing up the events of the day while failing to mention the hollow emptiness he felt inside.

He jotted down scraps of ideas, some of them not at all bad, but just the thought of trying to write them out into proper stories or poems made him feel nauseous. Instead, he focused on studying, dragging his eyes over page after page of text from which he retained perhaps one fact in twenty.

Then he would shower, throw himself into bed, and try to imagine himself somewhere else, as someone else. Someone heroic, living a life of adventure and meaningful activity. Someone less alone. Someone happy.

For six or seven hours he would dream himself away into a better, more exciting life. Then his alarm would wake him with Ride of the Valkyries and he’d roll out of bed to meet the harsh light of another morning.

*****

He threw on his dressing gown and stumbled into the living room, flinging himself headlong onto the sofa and burying his face in a cushion. Roman was many things, but a morning person he most certainly was not.

Logan, on the other hand, had the frustrating trait of being an all day person, seemingly wholly awake and alert from 6 am when he emerged from his room to 10 pm when he disappeared back into it. He claimed it had something to do with "maintaining a good circadian rhythm", but Roman had never had one of those in his life, and he wasn't about to sacrifice valuable writing and stressing time to get one now.

Roman raised his head when he heard the welcome hiss of the kettle boiling, and found Logan looking at him with one eyebrow raised and just a hint of smugness in his expression.

“Tea?” he asked simply.

“Please”, Roman grunted, laying back down.

“You should eat something, too.”

“I will when I’ve had my caffeine”, Roman’s voice told him, muffled by the cushion and still rough with sleep.

Logan brought over the two steaming mugs and tapped him lightly on the shoulder, then stepped back out of the way as Roman rolled over and swung his legs off the sofa, leaving the other seat free. Logan sat down and handed over the red mug of English breakfast tea, his own mug giving off a distinct aroma of peppermint.

By the time his tea was half gone, the heat and caffeine buzz had done their magic and Roman felt somewhat human again. He sighed deeply, stretching his legs out in front of him to get the circulation flowing.

“I take it you have an early lecture, and this isn’t the start of an improved daily routine”, commented Logan, his voice tinged with amusement.

Roman grimaced. “Hardly. I have a 9 am practical class. Hopefully, we'll actually get to do something to keep me awake.”

Logan wrapped both hands around his black mug with the NASA logo, sipping his tea slowly and savouring it as he always did. Roman watched the slight crease of his forehead, the gentle slope of his eyebrows, the way his breath gently disrupted the rising flow of steam.

“You’re staring again”, Logan observed.

“Well, you’re hot when you’re thinking!” Roman bit back, then flushed red as a wave of instant regret crashed through him. Damn it, Roman! Try being subtle sometime!

Logan looked at him through half-fogged lenses and sighed. “Loath as I am to suggest romance as a solution to anything, you need to find someone more suitable to gawk at. Virgil has complained. I don’t think he believes your professed lack of interest in ‘nerds with glasses’.”

Roman rolled his eyes. “Ugh. It’s not as if I’d steal you away from him even if I could. I’m waiting for my perfect man to come along; someone who’ll make me feel butterflies in my stomach and sunshine in my heart! Someone who’ll inspire me to write epic love poetry, and who I can devote myself to for the rest of our days!”

Logan shook his head. “Real life isn’t a fairytale, Roman. Love is about mutual compatibility and slowly-developing affection, not fireworks at first sight and living happily ever after. You’re not going to meet some attractive knight, who’ll sweep you off your feet in Tesco by rescuing you from a dragon in aisle three.”

“Hah!” Roman scoffed. “I’ll have you know I’d be the one sweeping him off his feet by saving him!” He smirked. “And besides, a dragon would be more likely to terrorise aisle four, where the meat and fish are.”

Logan shrugged, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "It might be a vegetarian dragon, like Virgil”, he suggested, “Victimised for its intimidating appearance when in fact it just wants to be accepted and loved. You should try being nice to him sometime, you might find you have more in common than you think."

“Oh, shut up, nerd”, Roman huffed.

Logan drained the last of his tea and stood up, pausing to rest a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Eat some breakfast”, he advised, “And try to start getting more sleep. It will improve your cognitive function, and hopefully your debating skills.”

*****

A chorus of weary sighs spread through the room as the lecturer announced the class would spend their practical lesson working in groups, making posters to summarise the topic they’d spent the past few weeks studying. Just the thought of it summoned clouds of boredom to threaten the edges of Roman’s mind, but at least it was better than sitting taking notes on a lecture. And, since they could choose their own groups of three or four, he, Mike, and Donny could stick together and do the bare minimum.

He let his eyes drift around the room, idly watching the other students organise themselves until his gaze unconsciously came to rest on Patton. He sat hunched in his seat a couple of rows ahead, his shoulders pulled up almost to his soft curls of lavender hair. He was staring fixedly down at his desk, but his head shot up with a panicked jolt as the lecturer called his name.

“Patton Knight? If you’re on your own, you can work with Roman’s group. Perhaps they’ll pick up some of your work ethic.”

As Patton turned, Roman met his eyes and found his own panic reflected there. He swallowed. This was going to be a disaster, he just knew it.

An exaggerated sigh to his left made him turn, and his feeling of dread intensified as he saw the looks on his friends’ faces.

“Great”, Donny muttered sarcastically, “We get the autistic loser. Ter-fucking-riffic.”

*****

They didn’t insult him to his face. Roman tried to be thankful for that small mercy, but it wasn’t easy when every time Mike and Donny deigned to speak to Patton they were so sickly-sweet patronising that it made him wince.

At one point when they weren't looking, he tried to give Patton an encouraging smile, but the lavender-haired man seemed to look right through him, his face showing no acknowledgement, no trace of the friendliness that had always brightened it before. Instead, he hung back from the group, speaking quietly only when spoken to, meekly letting the others make every decision without him.  

He seemed to have shrunk in on himself, his bright, cheerful spark dimmed to a timid ember. And, afraid as he had been of the usual Patton exposing his secrets to the world, Roman found an unexpected loneliness pooling in his chest, along with a leaden sense of guilt. The helpless, joyless expression looked so wrong on the man’s face that Roman couldn’t help feeling protective towards him.

But Mike and Donny were his friends, his squad, and he needed them as much as they needed him if they were all to keep their classmates’ respect. Trying to defend a loser against them would cause more trouble than it was worth, so he kept a bored look on his face and settled for changing the subject whenever the others tried to talk to Patton about anything other than the work.

*****

The class felt much longer than the assigned two hours. When it was finally over, the students filed out into the concourse, some wearily and others with a new burst of enthusiasm now that it was over. Mike and Donny lingered just outside the classroom, trading jokey mocking of Patton.

“Did you see the way he kept fiddling with that stupid cardigan? What the fuck?”

“Can’t he even think for himself? Why did we keep having to tell him what to do?”

“Who cares about that dork?”, Roman interjected, “Are you guys going to the club later?”

They just shrugged and then carried on talking.

Roman grabbed a cup from the nearby water fountain and pretended to focus on getting a drink, but his eyes kept drifting back to the classroom doorway, worried that Patton would hear them when he came out. But the minutes ticked by and he still didn’t emerge. It gnawed at Roman's attention, and when Donny finally suggested they head to lunch, he made an exaggerated show of patting his pockets and announced he must have left his phone in the room.

"You go on ahead", he told them, waving a hand in the general direction of the cafeteria, "I'll catch up with you later." Mike shrugged, and Donny rolled his eyes, but neither of them argued. Roman watched them walk away, then, when he was sure they wouldn't turn around and come back, he stepped through the doorway.

Patton was still in his seat, his head in his hands and his back shuddering with silent sobs. Roman didn’t even think. He crossed the distance between them in an instant and lightly touched the other man’s shoulder. Patton froze, then slowly lowered his hands and looked up. Roman’s heart ached at the sight of his face, flushed and tear-damp, and at the frightened look in his eyes.

“I’m sorry.” The words bypassed all thought and fell from his lips of their own accord.

Patton shook his head. “Not your fault”, he managed to choke. “You didn’t do anything.”

Roman pulled out the seat beside him and sat down, looking him straight in the eye with fierce intensity. “That’s precisely the problem! I should have said something, done something, but I just let it all happen! I didn’t even try to defend you!”

Patton tensed for a moment as another shudder wrenched through him at the memory, but then he wiped his eyes and attempted a watery smile. “You came back though”, he said hoarsely, barely above a whisper.

“Not good enough!” Roman almost shouted. He took a deep breath to compose himself before continuing more quietly, “I try to model myself on heroes like Prince Namor, yet when faced with the chance to protect someone in need, I stood by and did nothing. And why? Because I was afraid of what people might think.”

“You’re still a hero to me”, Patton told him quietly.

“Why?! Just because I came back?”

The light that had returned to Patton’s eyes seemed to fade once more. “No one else did”, he pointed out.

“I’m sorry”, mumbled Roman, mentally cursing himself. “Look… I don’t know if you feel like talking about it, especially to me, but if you want to-” He took a deep breath “-I’m here for you.”

Patton blessed him with a tiny smile. “I’d like that”, he said softly.

“Are you sure?”

Patton’s smile grew. “I’m sure. I- I’d like to, as long as I won’t be a burden? The only person I can talk to about things is my housemate, and I don’t like to keep bothering him, so mostly I just smile and pretend everything’s okay.”

Roman frowned. “Is that why you’re always smiling on campus? Even though...” He broke off.

"Even though nobody likes me?" Patton said it in such a matter-of-fact way that it stung Roman to the core. “You can say it, I know what they all think of me. I hear what they whisper behind my back. They think I don't, but I'm not deaf and I'm not as stupid as they think I am. That’s why I always arrive early to lectures, so that I can get a seat before the room fills up. I know no one wants me to sit next to them, so it gets awkward if I arrive with everyone else."

Roman was silent. There was an uncomfortable ache in his chest and he had to fight the urge to put an arm around the other man, to comfort him in some more meaningful way, but he didn’t dare ask if he could.

A small voice at the back of his mind kept trying to remind him that this was Patton, the dork he supposedly didn't even like, but he ignored it. For the first time, the awareness permeated through him that he definitely didn't dislike Patton.

He racked his brain for something to say, but he couldn't think of anything, and he still couldn't shake the clawing guilt that he'd contributed in even a small way to the man's suffering. Before he could find the words, Patton spoke again.

“I’ve always tried to be friendly, but whatever I say they either ignore it or look at me like I’m crazy and then walk away.” He gave his head a small, helpless shake. “I just wish I knew why, and how I could make them like me.”

Roman looked down at the desk before him. He knew very well that their coursemates saw Patton as childish and silly, with terrible dress sense and a pitiful lack of social awareness. But would telling him that really make him feel better? It was more likely to make things far worse, and Roman didn’t want to take that risk. And besides, now the others had decided that Patton was a target, a worthy victim, even if he changed himself it wouldn’t change their minds.

Still, there was one question burning the edges of his mind.

“Why do you always wear that cardigan around your shoulders?” he asked, keeping his voice casual. “It’s, um, an unusual fashion choice for a student. If you want to keep it with you for when the temperature drops, why not tie it around your waist instead?”

“Oh, this old thing?” Patton smiled happily and flapped the dangling cardigan cuffs with his hands. “I just find it comforting like this, ya know? It’s like getting a big warm hug from someone. I feel safe and secure when I have it on.”

Oh. Wow, Roman thought. In that case, there’s no way I’m telling him people think it’s ridiculous.

“I see”, he remarked aloud. “Well, that’s good to know. I’m glad it helps you to feel better.”

They sat in awkward but companionable silence until the swell of student voices alerted them to the fact that the lunch break was ending. Patton sighed and rubbed his face with his hands.

“I have an Iron Age Societies lecture to get to”, he said, standing up. “I’d better go.”

Roman felt a sudden urge to offer to walk him to the lecture room, but he bit it down. While he knew neither Mike nor Donny took that module, there would be plenty of other students there who knew him and would definitely talk if they saw him arrive with Patton.

“You should probably stop off and wash your face first”, he suggested instead. “They’ll be able to see you’ve been crying.”

“Mm”, Patton nodded, “I will. And thank you again. For staying, and for listening.” He smiled at Roman with a warmth that ignited an unexpected glow in the writer’s heart.

“Not at all!” Roman replied with false joviality, hoping the blush he felt suddenly heating his face wasn’t enough to be noticeable. “After all, that’s what friends are for.”

Tagging my own list plus some people who reblogged chapters 1 and 2

@fandersfic-royality

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