#I’ve just never seen any other show that frustrates me so keenly because they go: here’s the problem…here’s the solution…anyway moving on

[thats-highly-significant]

It genuinely blows my mind how Red Dwarf has multiple episodes where the problem is that Rimmer has been unloved for his whole life and has a series of genuinely harmful neuroses as a result of his general upbringing. And in one of those episodes (cough cough terrorform) the solution is to make Rimmer feel loved and accepted, and he gets better! And yet! Because it was an episodic BBC comedy from the late 80s they didn’t want to change the status quo too much between episodes so Rimmer just never ever actually gets better. There’s something kind of awe-inspiring about creating a completely insufferable character who usually operates as the punching bag to Lister’s straight man, and then taking a lot of episode runtime to tell the audience in explicit terms that he is the way he is because of a tragic series of life events, and that he could get better if someone bothered to show him some compassion, and then just going straight back to Well, It Is Time to Laugh At Rimmer. It’s like well why don’t you just fucking kill me and be done with it

[aggravatetheaxe]

Hey! Saw your post and saw you said you were upsettie spaghetti so I wanted to cheer you up!

Slashers who stop everything they’re doing because their “My S/O needs me” senses are tingling and go to their rescue to comfort their angry s/o?

I was hoping to come up with A way for you to get your emotions out through your writing- 😅

Hope you feel better! 🖤

I've never done a post in this style before so hopefully I do okay! I think I covered pretty much all the slashers I write for so far (I didn't do Billy Lenz because I still need to read the novelization). I may have gone way overboard, so if I do these in the future, I'll probably just pick a few instead of doing the whole roster 😅 (or you can pick for me). But doing this much work did distract me!

Above the cut:

Bo Sinclair

Vincent Sinclair

Lester Sinclair

Included below the cut:

Michael Myers (OG)

Jason Voorhees

Leslie Vernon

Thomas Hewitt

Bubba Sawyer

Brahms Heelshire

Erik ("The Phantom")

Deacon Billings (OC Ghostface)

Courtney Dwayne Delmont (OC slasher)

Kathleen Montgomery (OC slasher)

Masterlist

***

Bo Sinclair

Despite being autistic, Bo is very in tune with peoples auras and body language. He has to be to manipulate and deceive people with any modicum of success. He's trained himself when it comes to these things; even besides masking or manipulation, he needed to be keenly aware of when his parents were in Bad Moods so he could either avoid them or prepare himself.

The mood he's probably best at when it comes to this, for those reasons, is anger. He can smell anger a mile away. So if you're fuming, you better believe he notices.

At first he's annoyed and will demand to know what your problem is. He's not a very tolerant person, and he can be a bit of a hypocrite. He's allowed to have big, messy feelings, but when it comes to others having big, messy feelings ... he's not so comfortable with that. He gets overwhelmed.

Once he realizes that this is more than an attitude problem, he'll take it much more seriously. And assuming you're not mad at him, he'll want the rundown on the whole situation from beginning to end. He wants all the dirt.

He'll let you rant, and honestly, he'd think you being this angry (when it's not directed at him, but even still sometimes) is kind of sexy. And don't expect him to shut his mouth, either; he'll be ranting right along with you, affirming you and insulting whomever/whatever you're angry about.

He doesn't wanna cuddle. He genuinely thinks you can't cuddle anger away. He'll put on some loud-ass music and let you vent your frustration however you prefer. Maybe suggest a long drive down to the lake or into town or just ... picking a direction and going. He has fantasies of running away from his anger sometimes. He knows how it is.

Depending on what you're angry about, it could definitely get to the point where he's angrier about the situation than you are. And if it really hurt you, he will not let it go as long as he lives. The best he will ever do is maintain a grudging neutrality or distance from the person/situation that made you angry.

He's very protective. If you're angry at someone you need to maintain a relationship with, you're going to have to keep an eye on Bo to make sure he doesn't deliver revenge for you behind your back. If it's something he can solve, he'll do it, so if you don't want him running his mouth, watch him.

Vincent Sinclair

Vincent is in the same boat as Bo when it comes to sensing auras, though his handle on body language and facial expressions is not as keenly honed. While Vincent was not physically abused as brutally or as often as Bo, this wasn't because of some sterling quality he had that Bo lacked. He was always The Good One because he saw what his parents did to The Bad One and knew he needed to protect himself. He tried not to do anything that might provoke his parents.

You can feel anger before a fight like you smell ozone before a storm. Vincent is attuned to the feeling not just because of his parents but because of Bo's temper, too. Because of this, like Bo, he can very accurately sense anger in particular.

His initial reaction is to observe you, gauging if you need time to cool off. If you need space, Vincent is the Sinclair for you. He's used to being quiet and deflecting and riding out anger.

However, once he realizes that your anger is not directed at him or isn't explosive enough to become a problem for him, he's concerned. Rather than asking what happened, he will ask if you're okay, and leave it up to you whether you'll tell him about it or not.

If you vent, he'll sit and listen patiently, maybe even thoughtfully working on a sculpture while you rant. He's not judgemental and he can be very emotional himself, so you could say the most ridiculous, dramatic things and he wouldn't even bat an eye. Let out all your messy, destructive thoughts and feelings. Just try not to throw or punch anything; that's when he shuts down.

If you decide you just want comfort, or decide you need comfort after ranting, art is his first suggestion. It may seem cold to you at first, that his instinct isn't to hold you or kiss you but rather to redirect you to a project - once you got to know him, however, you'd know that's his most genuine way to show he cares. Redirecting to something creative calms him down more than platitudes ever could, and he wants that for you. He's nonjudgmental about the art you create as well, even if it's objectively terrible. It's not about the quality.

He won't turn you down if you need physical affection, however. His twin is extremely tactile, so it wouldn't be the first time he held someone after a breakdown. He prefers to do this if he's certain you won't lash out physically, but if you were in a really bad way and needed to be touched, he'd do it regardless.

Lester Sinclair

Lester witnessed his parents' anger, but it was usually indirectly; if Bo was the Bad One and Vincent was the Good One, he was the Overlooked One. He's not a perfect person, probably not even a good person, but of the three brothers, he's the most normally socialized. He isn't trained to be tuned into everyone's every shifting mood in order to survive.

It takes Lester a little longer to pick up on your anger than his brothers, but not too much longer. It takes him a couple tries at trying to talk to you or get your attention before he realizes something is really wrong.

His first reaction is to get upset. He soaks up emotions like a little sponge, so he's suddenly cranky, too. He also jumps to conclusions and assumes that you're angry with him, and he does not take rejection well. He might be bitter and passive aggressive. You being angry just makes him want to go in another room and not be around you, and yet at the same time, he wants your reassurances. It's messy and sad.

Once he realizes - either through observing you or through you communicating with him - that you're mad at another person or situation, then he'll feel comfortable enough to approach you and ask you about it. You'll definitely need to reassure him that you're not mad at him though.

If you wanna rant, he'll take you on a long drive and let you vent your heart out to him. He won't be quite as aggressive as Bo, but he'll be on your side, frowning with disapproval, telling you "Ya can't fix stupid." If you want only comfort or need comfort after venting, he feels much more equipped for that. He'll put something relaxing in the VHS or let you play his old Super Nintendo, get you a beer, just let you chill out. And he'll let you win at Doctor Mario.

If the situation is something really serious, you best believe he'll be talking to his brothers about it the second he gets a chance. He may be a sweet guy, but he can be real nasty, and he doesn't fuck around when it comes to you. You might have to keep an eye out to make sure he doesn't tell someone off or punch out someone's lights.

Michael Myers (OG)

In 1978, Michael is not very in tune with any emotions besides fear, and even then he only really understands it in an abstract way, as his condition and upbringing haven't really been conducive to him learning about emotions. Unless you're screaming in terror, have tears running down your face, or are shouting angrily, he really can't read your moods. Without any obvious change to how you normally act or look, there's a huge chance he might just not notice if you're angry. He spends a lot of time in his own little world.

In 2018, even though he's spent over 50 years institutionalized, Michael has had time to take in the world, and he's seen a lot more. He understands fear much more than he did when he was 21, but what he understands most of all is anger. His anger fuels him. He would pick up on yours right away and be curious, though he wouldn't verbalize it.

If you tell him how you feel, he'll take note of it. If he witnesses you doing something destructive because of your anger, he'll simply observe. He would be fascinated with this thing you're doing, because it's not something you normally do, and though he might not notice emotions, he certainly notices routine and pattern. Either way, you'll have to tell him how you feel, because he'll simply watch you otherwise.

One thing that can be said for Michael is that he's a good listener. He may not internalize everything you say, but he will remember what he thinks is important. You may be surprised; he may remember tiny little details that seem inconsequential to you but loom large in his mind.

Unless you were caused serious physical or mental harm, he would not be angry on your behalf. He would, however, do nothing to assuage your anger. He thinks it would be kinda neat and interesting to see you snap. He's not 100% sure why you don't just do it.

In 1978, he won't be much help beyond listening to you, but he would be curious to see what you do to vent your anger. You may find him by your side more often, observing you. He may also want to find and observe the object of your anger, especially if it's a person. In 2018, he would, in his own way, suggest you solve the problem by murdering someone/something. He's insatiable, but killing is the closest he's ever come to satisfaction. You should try it.

Jason Voorhees

Out of all of the slashers, Jason is the most likely to actually literally sense your anger, especially if you're psychically sensitive/powerful like Tina Shepard. I'm talkin'—assuming you have a pre-established relationship—he'll be doing something else and just get this itch that tells him you're out there somewhere, pissed off.

Obviously this is untenable. As long as he's not super busy or Pamela has other plans, Jason will stomp his way through the woods to get back to you, regardless of the urgency of your anger. If Pamela doesn't approve, well, he'll let a little anger go and assume you're okay. If he suspects you may be in danger, though, he's sprinting regardless of what Mom says. There's time for both things, Ma!

The first thing he'll do when he returns to you is scan your dwelling, then you, making sure nothing is broken. At that point, you'd probably be able to sense his confusion even without him signing. Jason doesn't experience emotions quite like a human anymore, and he's quite tactile besides, so a lack of tangible or visible clues as to why you're upset would trip him up for a second.

He doesn't want to comfort you at first, he wants to know what's wrong. He'll listen to you vent only long enough to understand the situation and identify his target. His immediate next move would be to eliminate the problem. You'll definitely have to hold him back, and it may take a bit of convincing. Earthly consequences don't really apply to him.

Before comfort comes blowing off steam, for you and for him. His first choices would be mangling some trees (you can pretend it's for firewood) or skipping/throwing stones into the lake. You're welcome to join him if those things calm you down; watching him get his stone to skip like 11 times on Crystal Lake may make you feel better, at least.

You might hang out there for hours before he suddenly decides it's time to go home. He'll do what he can to make your comfortable or stay out of your way while you make yourself comfortable, then comfort you as you please. His go-to choice is always foot or hand massages.

Leslie Vernon

Leslie is extremely observant and surprisingly analytical given how silly he is in the day to day. His intuition makes it pretty easy for him to read people, but especially you, since you two are so close. Especially-especially if you're his Survivor Girl (gender neutral term of course). You two are in sync, so he knows if something's up. Maybe even before you fully figure it out.

God, you're so hot when you're angry, you really are. He almost wants to let you scream and holler and go nuts. But he prefers you only get angry like that at him, especially if you're his Survivor Girl, so his first move is to comfort you or talk you down to a place where you can be comforted. He'll speak to you calmly and rationally, reassuring you and touching you if you wanna be touched—on your upper arms or shoulders or face, or with one arm around your back.

He doesn't just want to comfort you, though, he wants to calm you down enough that you can tell him what happened. Even if you claim you don't want to talk about it, he will coax it out of you eventually. He's gotta know what got you so upset. It's his business to know everything about you!

Assuming you're angry at someone/something that isn't him, he'll talk it through with you. If you're upset about an argument with someone, he has the capacity to see it from the other side, but ultimately, he's there for you. He'll let you bitch as much as you want, still touching you, and he'll be disgusted and/or disappointed with the situation.

Above all, though, what he wants is to see you smile again. The only worries on your mind should be the ones he comes up with, and man, he's not even halfway done grooming the next batch of unlucky teenagers. He'd pat your face or touch your hair and tell you to cheer up, and probably defuse the situation with a stupid quip or joke. Take you out somewhere fun, maybe.

Once you were cheered up, he'd humbly suggest you solve your problem with a little murder. "I mean, I know killing's not really your thing—you're really good at it, though, a talent! You know that..." Pause, considering you. "You want me to do it? 'Cause I can clear my schedule for the rest of the night." If you decline, he'd be like "Suit yourself" but may or may not still murder whoever upset you. If you agree, he'd be super excited to make a romantic night of it. His mind would be going a million miles an hour planning everything out.

Thomas Hewitt

Tommy knows anger when he sees it. Not only does he have loads of internalized anger, he's been on the receiving end of it plenty. He's far too large to be scared of anyone in a physical sense anymore, but he's been shouted at countless times. To know when to shut up and do as he's told versus arguing back, he's learned to gauge intensity and direction of anger, and he well knows that anger can be redirected to him.

So, he instantly recognizes your mood, but it might be a while before he approaches you. When he does approach, he'll let you decide what to do, whether that's throwing your arms around him or banging your fists on his chest to vent your anger. You won't hurt him.

Eventually, once you're all hugged or cried or screamed out, he'll wrap his arms around you and give you a reassuring squeeze. There's no need to tell Tommy what's wrong—he won't ask unless you're obviously in serious distress or injured—but if you decide to speak, he'll listen, brows drawn tightly the whole time. He's thoughtful about the situation.

If you're mad at someone in his family, there isn't much he can do for you besides comfort you and assure you that whoever upset you—Hoyt, probably—didn't mean what they said. If you were hurt physically, it would be another story, but his family gets in shouting matches all the time.

Rather than offering help, he'd wait for you to request it of him. Whatever you ask, shy of hurting his family, he will do. Murder someone? No problem. Make you some food? You got it. Bring you a blanket? Sure. Give you some quiet alone time? That's fine, too.

If you need to vent, he's got plenty of ways to get out your frustration. Plenty of farm work to do, or you could work on something around the house with him. He might suggest knitting or sewing or some other handicraft you enjoy. It always makes him feel better to buckle down and use his hands for something.

If you're still preoccupied/upset by the time you two bed down, or heaven forbid the next morning, then he starts taking it more seriously. Something that disturbs you for that long is bad news. He'll watch you carefully the next couple days to see how you're doing, waiting for you to need him for something.

Bubba Sawyer

Like Tommy, Bubba has been on the receiving end of anger many, many times, so he's familiar with what it looks and feels like. Despite his size, he's still susceptible to physical violence at the hands of his loved ones, so he's very wary of anger.

However, he doesn't have a female presence in his life like Luda Mae, who expresses her anger through passive aggression—so, he's more used to shouting and screaming. If you aren't prone to screaming and shouting, it might take a little bit for him to realize you're not just sad or upset, you're angry.

Bubba will be over you. He'd give anyone else their space because he'd be afraid of retaliation, but you're his special person, and he's pretty sure you're not going to hurt him. He'll touch your hair, your arms, your wrists; he'll babble as he tries to figure out what's wrong. He just wants to comfort you and let you know everything is all right.

If it's too much or you're overwhelmed and you snap at him, he'll ease back. He'll blubber like a kicked puppy, but he won't give up. He'll still try to comfort you, just in other ways, such as getting you a comfort item or article of clothing, or maybe some food. And boy will he helicopter.

There's no need to tell Bubba what's wrong. In fact, it might be better if you didn't; if it's something he can't fix, it would do nothing but majorly stress him out. If it was one of his family members who upset you, as with Tommy, he wouldn't be able to do much. Even if you were hurt, he's just not in a position to stand up for you. That fact would absolutely kill him, though. He'd end up getting even more upset than you.

He doesn't know what help to offer you beyond comfort, but like Tommy, if you requested something specific, he'd try to carry out your wishes. He'll also try to cheer you up with some music and dancing, or just being silly like you like.

Need to blow off steam? He's got plenty of coping mechanisms! Bubba's idea of a perfect de-stress session is turning up the radio and getting lost in crafts. He's got lots of supplies, mostly to create clothing and accessories, and you're special, so you can have your pick. A drive and the radio might be nice, too. If neither of those appeal to you, he'll try cooking or baking with you. He loves sharing the kitchen with someone.

If none of that works and you're still upset, be prepared, because he's gonna be an anxious mess until you're better.

Brahms Heelshire

Brahms is somewhat familiar with other people's anger. He certainly has a whole fountain of internalized anger brewing just beneath the surface, but that's different. He knows that when Mummy is angry, she yells and cries, and when Daddy is angry, he seethes and stews. The former would be obvious to him, but the latter would take him a few minutes to be quite sure about. You're not acting how you usually do. Are you being stern or are you angry? Are you cross with him?

He does not have a lot of empathy for other people, so if your anger gets in the way of his routine or the attention he wants, he'll be irked, cranky, sad. Not necessarily at you—though that is possible—but the situation in which you find yourselves.

Much like Bo, he's allowed to have big, messy feelings, but it makes him uncomfortable and scared when other people have those feelings. He might even hide from you for a while, especially if you screamed and cried.

Once he realizes something is really wrong and you're not mad at him, however, he'll start thinking of ways to cheer you up so things can go back to normal. He hates having his routine interrupted; he's very particular. And he cares for you, so seeing you in distress is very scary and uncomfortable for him.

He'll start by fetching you something you like—something manageable for him like your favorite juice or a sandwich, or if you have a special item or article of clothing, that. He's quite shy, though, and like I said, he'll probably be hiding, so he'll leave it somewhere he knows you'll find it (on the bed, outside your door, on your desk, etc.)

If that doesn't calm you down and your anger is really getting in the way of his routine, or otherwise making him uncomfortable, he'll finally make an appearance. Very bashful and timid at first, using his little boy voice. "What's wrong, Y/N? Did something bad happen?"

If it's something that can't be helped, he'll suggest you do something together to take your mind off it (most likely something he likes to do). He may even be coaxed into taking a walk around the grounds, though he doesn't like to leave the manor at all, so you'd have to convince him. He prefers quiet playtime, maybe some coloring books or loud music to vent your emotions. It would intrigue him to see someone else use his toys to calm down. As long as you recognized he was being very nice, sharing them.

If it was an argument you had with someone, he would want more information. Are they likely to leave you alone, or will they come to the manor? Will he have to deal with them? Because it's scary, but he'll do it for you.

If, for some reason, none of those things work, he may cry or throw a fit. Either way, he'll be frustrated. Adult Brahms may make an appearance and try to help you in more Adult ways.

Erik

Though he lives five cellars beneath an opera house now, Erik hasn't always been entirely reclusive. Even these days, when he can stomach it, he sometimes goes out to see the world. As a younger man, he observed people's lives and moods with a hungry fascination (that has now mostly been replaced by melancholy and longing and bitter anger). Like several of the other slashers here, he's had to train himself to sense fury to protect himself. He's also incredibly wrathful, so you could call him an expert!

He has a very keenly honed sense when it comes to you specifically, since he's watched you so much. He notices the change in your demeanor immediately.

If you know him as the "Angel of Music," his voice will appear to you once you're alone, asking you what's wrong and assuring you you can confide in him—he will insist you tell him, though. "There are to be no secrets between us, Y/N." He will listen without interjection as you vent your heart out, and when you're done, soothe you. Don't let his calming voice deceive you, though; behind that mirror, he's seething, planning to take matters into his own hands.

If you know him as Erik, he will go to you the second he recognizes the shift in your mood and take you from what you're doing, regardless of your wishes. He'll sit you down, kneeling before you with your hands in his, and gaze into your eyes, imploring you to tell him what's wrong. He'll absolutely allow you physical comfort, but he will also absolutely insist you tell. He'll need reassurance that you're not angry at him, because that thought would break his heart.

He will let you vent however you wish. You could have the most dramatic breakdown ever—throwing things, beating your fists on his chest, wailing—and he wouldn't judge you. He would be awfully concerned, though.

Will be 110% on your side. You are his poor little meow meow. "My poor love, my poor Y/N!" He is beside himself with sympathy for you and you only, and is very offended on your behalf.

He will always suggest music as an outlet for your anger, but he will have taken note of your other hobbies and interests as well. He'll fetch your things for you without being asked, as long as it won't separate him from you for very long. If you'd rather just have comfort, that's fine, too. He could hold your hand and caress your face for hours on end under normal circumstances, so no problem there. He may also suggest a little time on the surface, if you normally live in his home. Fresh air will do you both good, he reasons, and he enjoys spending time with you where others can witness it. It fills him with pride and love.

Otherwise, he's at your service for any other soothing activities you need. A calming bath, some sweets, shopping, anything. Perhaps avoid asking for any sexual contact, however. First of all, being asked directly makes him very skittish and nervous; second of all, his method of love-making (when you can coax him) is very intimate and tender, which may be tedious if you're in an angry mood.

Unless the situation is extremely serious or dire, his first priority is making sure you're soothed. Once that duty is fulfilled, however, he is absolutely angrier about it than you are. If it's not that serious, he won't skip straight to killing, if only because he knows it upsets you. He will definitely be writing an extremely strongly worded letter, however. If someone slighted you seriously, they're getting threatened. If someone hurt you physically, they're meeting the Punjab lasso.

Deacon Billings (OC Ghostface)

Deacon definitely knows when people are angry. His step-mom was a passive-aggressive laundry-folder and his dad was a storming out of the house kinda guy; when the two of them were together, they were all hushed but heated arguments at night when they thought he couldn't hear them, or else extremely embarrassing passive-aggressive arguments in public. Growing up, he found himself around a lot of angry people. And there's no shortage of anger in him, either.

So yeah, Deacon knows when people are pissed, and he knows when people are pissed at him. The thing is, he just thinks it's fucking hilarious. He was that kid that would goad peers and teachers just to be an asshole and had virtually no friends as a result. He's a menace on the internet, too: a horrible troll for no reason, stirring the pot even when he doesn't have a stake in the argument. He's trained himself to find people's weak spots so he can strike at them. He does it to make himself feel more in control of his life and his own anger.

So when you're ticked off, he's gonna notice the change immediately. If you made a vent post on social media, he probably knows you're angry before you even see him. He follows all your social media (even if you don't realize it) and checks it constantly. He'd call you out of curiosity to ask what happened. He's open about his stalking tendencies: "I saw your post, babe, who do I need to stab?"

If you otherwise come home angry, he'll be up on his feet, following you around the house and pestering you, trying to get you to tell him what's wrong. If you try to hug him, he won't push you away, but he'll be distracted, trying to needle answers out of you the whole time.

There's no question in his mind as to whether or not you're angry at him. He just assumes you're not; he has a pretty good handle on how you act when you're angry at him specifically.

He'll let you rant all day if you want. You could talk about the shit that's pissed you off for hours and he'd still listen. Outwardly, he might poke you a bit and play devil's advocate for the other side of the argument, if there is one. This is purely for the purposes of being a little shit.

Internally, he's already going down his pre-murder checklist. If it was someone at work, they're dead. Someone in the neighborhood, dead. Online? It'll take a couple days, but they're dead. Even if you're not angry at anyone in particular, just a situation, he'll find someone to menace. He'd walk through fire for your approval.

He's not good with soft, emotional comfort, so instead he'll try to think of something to help you let off steam. His go-to is something competitive, especially if it involves you chasing each other. A Nerf or water gun war, a PVP game with you on opposite sides. He'll put up a good fight, but you always kick his ass.

Once the immediate situation is addressed and you've ranted your heart out to him, he can't keep his hands off you. "Seeing you all pissed off drives me crazyyyyyy." He's grinning, brown eyes sparkling. "Come onnnnn ... I'll get it off your mind!"

Courtney Dwayne Delmont (OC)

Courtney is a hunter of all manner of game, so he's used to interpreting non-verbal cues and body language—when an animal is in distress, when an animal is about to attack, etc. His grandfather was a very angry man, as well, in a simmering sort of way. He would seethe about something before suddenly delivering one decisive strike. Courtney himself is not a particularly angry man, unless some prey is really giving him a hard time, but he can read your body.

If you come home angry, he'll stop in the middle of what he's doing and watch you, still and quiet, just confirming his suspicions. If you leave the room he's in to go collapse on the sofa or something, he'll follow you, looming over you and waiting for you to tell him what's wrong. He's patient.

If you want to vent, he'll sit and listen thoughtfully, doing something with his hands while you speak—probably cleaning his gun or some other weapon. He doesn't look at you. He wouldn't demand greater context to the situation but he would ask "Why?" and "Who?" until he understood Enough.

If you want comfort, he'll sprawl on the couch and let you lay on top of him. He'll probably pull a blanket on top of you to try and encourage a nap. If the nap doesn't make you feel better, he's feeding you protein. Do you like homemade jerky?

Sex is also on the table (not literally ... unless). He's found it's a great way to blow off steam, and he's more than happy to make all worries, troubles, and other thoughts go away for a little bit. Expect that to be the rest of your night, though, because he doesn't do quickies.

Generally, he trusts you to handle your own shit, so he would be more focused on you than whatever made you feel the way you do. However, if days passed and you were still angry/upset/sad, or if it plunged you into a breakdown or was an otherwise extremely serious situation ... just give him a target. It's up to you, but if you tell him to take the shot, it'll be quick and clean. If you're unable to make the decision, he'll decide for you without hesitation.

Kathleen Montgomery (OC)

I'm still developing her so this one won't be as in-depth and is subject to change.

Kath makes it her business to know everything about you. Chances are she's seen you explode screaming while stalking you ... chances are, if you've been in a relationship for a while, she's made you explode screaming. She knows what you look like when you're angry. Besides, she's strong for her size, but she often has to take down people who are much bigger and stronger than her; she uses manipulation and trickery to help ease that divide, so she's good at reading people.

Like Deacon, she also monitors all your social media, so if you made a vent post, she already knows you're in a shitty mood before you come home. Unlike Deacon, she doesn't tell you how she knows, so you're left to assume she's just all knowing. Considering her god complex, that works for her.

She'd probably text you to come home, and she expects you to answer. If you're unable to come home, she'll call you to ask what's wrong.

Once you're together, she wants to know everything about the situation. Even as you're speaking, she's already on her phone or laptop, looking up the people involved. Instead of getting mad on your behalf, she laughs. She's a fan of emphasizing how pathetic or weak the opposition is.

She takes your feelings on the subject seriously, but everyone else in the situation? Insects. Not even worthy of your time or concern, let alone hers. You're obviously in the right here (even if you're not). She'll tell you as much, and say some pretty intense, over-the-line things about whomever/whatever you're angry at.

Overall, however, she's calm and collected about the situation. Your bout of anger is a chance to get you to be reckless with her. She'll do your hair and makeup and dress you up nice, then take you out. Fast driving, drinking, baiting people at bars, menacing neighborhoods ... maybe a little killing, if you'd like.

***

Masterlist

[highonchocolate]

Take Two: The Guardian in Gotham Chapter 14

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I suck at fight scenes, sorry.

---

“Alright, so the rules of the spar are pretty simple.” Diana stood in front of them, arms crossed. She was flanked by Batman and Superman, who waited as she listed out the details. 

“Hits to the face are not off limits, refrain from hair-pulling, no breaking any bones, or causing injuries other than minor bruises.” She paced back and front before them.

“Since you are all heroes, I expect you to fight properly, and not resort to cheap tactics. Are there any questions as to what is allowed and what is not?” 

“Uh, yes.” Ladybug raised her hand, fighting the urge to duck her head nervously when Diana’s gaze landed on her. 

“Go ahead.”

“Is bantering allowed? Because we actually end up doing that a lot during spars.” 

“Bantering is fine. Make sure you tap out when you're done.” She reminded them before standing on the side with the older heroes to watch.

Without further prompting, Ladybug and Chat Noir walked onto the mats. Ryuko, Viperion and Queen Bee stood beside Superman, observing them keenly.

“On my whistle!” Diana called, prompting them to nod in acknowledgement.

Ladybug rolled her shoulders and shifted her weight, sinking into a defensive stance. Across from her, Chat Noir mirrored her stance. He narrowed his eyes in playful anticipation, crouching low to the ground. She lifted her chin slightly in challenge, and he smirked back at her. 

“Ready to get your butt whooped, Alley Cat?”

“You can try, Buggy!” 

Diana's whistle trilled sharply, and the spar began.

Ladybug immediately crouched and swung her leg in an arc. Before her foot could make contact with his legs, Chat Noir was already jumping. He flipped backwards, landing on his feet. There was a dull smack as he landed two quick hits to her ribs and shoulder. She gritted her teeth and punched him in the solar plexus. He sucked in a startled breath, eyes wide. She pushed her advantage, hitting him twice more on the jaw and torso. On her third blow, he brought his arms up and blocked, the punch landing on his forearms. He lashed out, sending several quick strikes towards her face and stomach. She hastily retreated to avoid them, wincing as her shoulder complained. 

“Had enough yet? He teased, inhaling the stench of cleaning supplies as he breathed.

“You're the one panting, not me!” She yelled, launching a kick at his chest. 

He ducked and jumped forward, tackling her face-first onto the mats. She gasped, all her breath knocked out of her. 

“Is that all you got, Bug?” He sat on top of her, one leg in the middle of her back, the other across her knees, grinning cheekily.

She huffed out a laugh, eyes casting about for a way to get out of the pin. 

“Harmless kitten!” She taunted, buying herself time.

“Baby bug!” He called from above her, no doubt wearing a smug smile.

“Scrawny!”

“Tiny!”

“Stalker!” She shot back desperately, trying to get out of his hold.

He inhaled sharply from above her, hands loosening their grip on her arms.

She felt guilt twist in her chest, but ignored it. With a heave, she threw him off and lunged. As he stumbled back, she tackled him, bringing him to the floor with a thud. She quickly pinned him, restraining his arms and pressing him into the ground with her body weight. He didn't even try fighting the hold, simply tapping out the moment she pushed him down.

When she helped him up off his feet, there was no trace of his earlier joy on his face. He looked at her with an unreadable, melancholic expression, before turning away and walking over to the rest of their team. She sighed at his retreating back, feeling guilt twist in her gut, before pushing it away. He would understand, right? She reasoned, It was just a harmless joke to get out of his hold, that’s all. It’s not like I meant it or anything! Right? 

Whatever. She ignored the small voice in her head chanting That was wrong. That was wrong. Walking over to stand beside Queen Bee, she noticed that Chat had stood as far away from her as he could get, in between Batman and Ryuko. She resolved to talk to him about it later, choosing instead to watch as Viperion and Ryuko began their spar. 

---

“Alright, that’s it for today.” Diana announced as Ladybug and Queen Bee stepped off the mats. “We’ve seen all that we need to see, and I believe it’s near noon in Paris, so we’re at a good stopping point for today.”

“We’ll use the information we gained from today to set up a training schedule and regime for each of you, and next time we meet, we’ll formally begin your training.” Batman informed them as they walked back to the room with the Zeta Tubes. 

“Do you know when we’ll be meeting next?” Chat Noir asked. Those were the first words he’d spoken since their spar. 

“Most probably in a few weeks, we’ll need to find a time that works for everyone.” Superman explained, holding open the door to the entrance hall for them to walk through.

“Thanks.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

“That makes sense.” Viperion agreed, standing beside Ladybug as she prepared the portal. 

“Would you like for us to give you times when we are free?” Ryuko asked over Ladybug’s call of “Voyage!”

“That would be helpful.” Diana said, waving as one by one they stepped through the portal.

“See you soon, then!” Queen Bee called before it shut behind them in a flash of electric blue.

They stood there silently, the five of them, on the Eiffel Tower for a long moment before it was simultaneously broken by their laughter. Even Chat Noir cracked a small smile. 

“Oh my gosh, that was totally nerve wracking!” Queen Bee exclaimed, still laughing.

“Right?!” VIperion agreed. “They’re all so intimidating! I felt like they could see all my past sins!”

“What sins?” Ryuko joked, nudging him playfully.

“Guys!” Queen Bee exclaimed, “It’s noon! Let's get lunch!”

“Sure!” Chat Noir agreed from where he leant against one a support girder. “But, ah, you three go on ahead. I need to talk to Ladybug for a sec.”

“Alright! See you in ten?” Viperion checked.

“See you in ten.” He confirmed.

As soon as they’d left, he slumped against the beam, head turned away from her. 

“Let’s talk on the roof.” Ladybug suggested, pointing to Chloé’s hotel.

He followed her without complaint, landing on the roof and detransforming.

He turned away as she dropped her transformation, looking out at the skyline instead.

“Adrien?” She asked, tilting her head curiously. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes!” He snapped, turning around to glare at her. “Something is wrong!”

“Well what is it then?” She crossed her arms, annoyance seeping into her tone at his harshness. “I don't have time to deal with your little temper tantrums!”

“That!” He yelled, gesticulating wildly. “That is the problem! You keep acting like I'm just a stupid sidekick-fanboy hybrid that's obsessed with you! We're partners! Or at least, we're supposed to be! But it's hard for me to feel like your equal when you say things like you did back there! You called me a stalker-”

“Well you are!” Marinette interrupted, anger rising. She waved her arm in the air.  “You have your little...Ladybug shrine or whatever all up in your room-yes, I've seen it!-and you’ve literally sat out on a battle because you were mad that I didn't love you back!”

He threw his hand up in the air, annoyance written on every line of his body. “That was in the past! Newsflash, it isn't all about you! I stopped harassing you to go on dates, and I don't have a shrine for you anymore! I'm aromantic demisexual, and I. Do. Not. Love. You! Not like that, at least!” 

He jabbed his finger at her accusingly. “And stop acting like you're a saint as well! You literally spent your free time stalking me around the whole city of Paris and concocting insane plans to go on a date with me!” 

She took a step back in shock, her feelings jumbling together into a roiling knot of shame and anger at his rage-filled accusations. 

“You had a literal pull down chart of my entire schedule in your room and an entire wall covered in my pictures!” He ranted. “Do you know how creepy that is?! Do you know how unsafe that made me feel?! Knowing that one of my closest friends was obsessed with me? It literally rattled my world! I apologized for what I did to you, all the harassment and ignoring your situation, but you-you just shoved your mistakes under the rug like they never happened! Actually, now that I'm thinking about it, you always try to rationalize a lot of the mistakes you make! There’s always some explanation or the other. And that's just so...argh!” 

He paced around the room, pulling at his hair in anger and frustration. 

“Not to mention, you think your life is hard?! At least your parents loved you! The only person that loved me was my mother, and she fucking died okay? My dad was an emotionally repressed asshole, who knew nothing about showing affection in an understandable way, and he fucked me up! Badly! Like, I’m literally touch deprived. He consciously knew that being alone all the time while dealing with grief can fuck a child up. And he still left me alone! After my mom died, I can count on one hand the number of hugs I’ve gotten in that household. One hand!” He shouted, eyes wild, chest heaving.

She felt herself getting defensive, her anger rising like a tidal wave. “Oh yeah?! Boo-hoo the poor rich baby didn't get some hugs from Daddy. Get over yourself! My friends, who I've known since we were like, five, voluntarily beat me up! Several times! You couldn't possibly know how that feels!”

“You're right I couldn't!” He yelled, face screwed up in anger. “I couldn't because I've never been to school! My entire life is planned and thought out! I have no say in anything, I have literally zero independence! My whole life is in my Father and Nathalie’s hands! So no, I don't know how that feels!” 

“And you know what Adrien?!” She shouted back, not bothering to control her voice.

“My life is pretty hard! I'm dealing with bullying at school, homework, commissions, patrols almost every night, as well as trying to keep my identity secret from my parents, because they like to check up on me!”

“Oh yeah?! Well, guess what?! Your leaving made Lila that much more comfortable with hanging off me! She constantly grabs me, pulls me around, she’s kissed me without my consent! You left, and she didn’t have to restrain herself anymore! And god forbid I tell anybody, because we all know they’re under her spell! And my father?! Hah!” He laughed, but there was no humor behind it.

“He’d just tell me to suck it up! Also, have you forgotten that I take almost all the hits for you?! Because I haven't! I take all of them! All of them!” He whirled around, glaring at her.

“I've died so many times! For you! And I remember exactly what it feels like, because I don't have the luxury of a mind wipe from your magical healing cure! So don't come here saying I don't know what it feels like to be bullied, unless you want me throwing this back in your face too!”

She inhaled sharply, ignoring the pain in her chest from his words. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she pulled out Kaalki’s glasses and prepared to portal back to Gotham. “You know what?! I can't deal with this right now. I'm leaving.”

“Stop running from your problems!” He shouted from behind her, the rest of his words cut off as she shut the portal behind her and collapsed on her bed.

@laurcad123 @liquid-luck-00 @toodaloo-kangaroo @stainedglassm

[hopelesshawks]

Physical Fatality Part 15- Trapped

18+ Hawks x fem, pro hero!reader

Summary: You’re a rising star in All Might’s agency. Hawks is the darling of Endeavor’s. By virtue of your job descriptions, the two of you are supposed to hate each other, or at the very least be cautiously neutral. For a long time that’s exactly what the two of you did. You stayed out of each other’s way and formed little opinion of the other. One fateful night at an HPSC gala changes all that. Based on the album Hopeless Fountain Kingdom by Halsey.

If you don’t want to see Physical Fatality content blacklist #hopelesspf

This story will have multiple NSFW parts so it is 18+ ONLY minors dni

MAJOR WARNING FOR SU*CIDAL THEMES/IDEATION. There are red asterisks indicating where the trigger warning starts. Remember su*cide is never the answer.

Masterlist Kofi

Your body is sore, you’re bleeding in multiple places, and your forearms are on fire, silver veins shining brightly as a warning that you’re nearing your limit. You’ve left a trail of unconscious villains in your wake, but your work isn’t done yet.

You’d manage to get through most of the floors of the building but had seen no sign of the ring leader herself. You take this time to catch your breath as you try to remember the building layout and where she might be hiding. There weren’t detailed specs for it but the building definitely has a basement. You don’t love that you’ll be going in essentially blind but you haven’t got much choice. You’ve made it this far and there’s no turning back, so you steel yourself with a breath and then start making your way down to the basement.

“This is such a fucking waste of time,” Hawks groans. “I agree with bird brain. She’s obviously not still in the fucking building,” Bakugo adds, equally frustrated. He had managed to get in the building just as they went into lockdown but now they’d just been sitting in the lobby for what felt like hours. When Hawks had gotten to the top floor and found papers strewn all over the place but no sign of you, he’d immediately sent out feathers to scan through the floors; however, when he tried to report to Endeavor that you’d already left the building he’d been shut down. Instead Endeavor had insisted they follow protocol and go into lockdown. “No offense Hawks but you aren’t exactly the most trustworthy person on this particular matter,” Endeavor had chided him. Of course Bakugo and Hawks have been all but ignored since. Shoto and Tokoyami had tried to back them up but they were far outnumbered.

“Look every minute we waste here is another minute (y/n) could get herself killed,” Bakugo sighs. “I’m well aware,” Hawks grits back. “Think you could get out and get to her if I caused a distraction?” Bakugo asks him with a raised eyebrow. “Absolutely.” “Good. I’ll have Shoto and Tokoyami help me. You get to (y/n) and we’ll try to get to you two as soon as we can.” “You’re a good friend Bakugo.” “Damn right I am,” he cockily responds back, although his eyes betray his concern. “Get her out safe,” he says, sobering slightly. The two men exchange nods and then Bakugo steps deeper into the crowd of people and starts popping off explosions. “WHAT THE FUCK IS TAKING YOU IDIOTS SO LONG HUH?” he shouts. Soon Dark Shadow has joined the fray under the pretense of stopping him and Shoto similarly joins to supposedly calm down Bakugo. With everyone thoroughly distracted Hawks sneaks out the door and takes off towards the building you’re in, praying he’s not too late.

This is bad.

This is very bad.

You’re definitely moving at half speed but the villain shows no signs of slowing down. “Aww what’s wrong? Don’t tell me you’re getting tired already Artemis,” the woman teases you as she sends a powerful shockwave your way. You quickly dive to one side, using your quirk to grab some of the debris around you and use it as a shield. “I’m just getting warmed up,” you bluff, gritting your teeth as you scramble back to a standing position. “Don’t lie sweetheart. Everyone knows what those silver veins on your arms mean,” the woman taunts. “Handled your goons just fine, even with the silver veins on my arms,” you spit back, causing her to scowl. “I’ll make you regret that,” the villain swears. You move too slowly to avoid the next shockwave she fires off your way, sending you sailing towards the wall. You expect to slam against the hard concrete wall behind you but instead find your fall cushioned by something, or rather, someone.

Before you can fully process what’s happened you find yourself pinned underneath Hawks, his crimson wings spread out protectively over you as several shockwaves crash over you both. “How romantic, the two of you will die together,” the villainess croons before sending out one final, large shockwave. Hawks’ body prevents any of the resulting debris from striking you but by the time it’s eased up enough for both of you to look up, the villain is gone. Before either of you can comment on her disappearance there’s a loud groaning and bang as the ceiling starts to cave in. Both your eyes widen in panic as you instinctively reach out with your quirk to stop the tons of concrete above you from crushing you and Hawks. You cry out at the rush of pain that shoots up your forearms in response and Hawks’ hands instinctively move to hover over you to see if you’re alright. He curses under his breath when he sees the state of your arms, even as he sends out several of his feathers to sweep the perimeter for a way out. “Hurry Hawks,” you grit out but the look on his face makes your heart sink. “What? What’s wrong?” you ask. “There’s no way out,” Hawks admits. “What?” “We’re trapped.”

Trapped.

The thought hits you like a freight train. You start to feel panic creep in but Hawks is quick to reassure you. “Hey, hey hang in there. Bakugo, Midoriya, Shoto, and Tokoyami are all on their way ok? One of them can get us out I just need you to hold on until then ok?” he tries to assure you. “It hurts,” you admit. “I know baby, I’m sorry. What can I do?” he asks desperately. “Distract me?” you offer. “Ok, ok let me think,” he replies as he takes a deep breath to calm himself down. He adjusts so he’s sitting directly across from you, he takes hold of your hands and makes you look him in the eye. “You can squeeze as tightly as you need to,” he tells you before adding “Remember the first night we met?” You nod as you tighten your grasp of his hands. “I think that’s still one of the best nights of my life,” he confesses and you can’t help but snap your eyes to his. “I’ve never felt anything like what I feel with you. I know you and all your friends all hate me, thinking that you’re better off without me, I mean fuck it’s my fault you’re even here in the first place isn’t it?” Keigo laughs joylessly. “We don’t hate you. I could never hate you,” you clarify. “Maybe you should.” “No. No that night was one of the best of my life too.” “Even knowing what all comes after?” “Even then. It was so simple that night.” “Like heaven in hiding, remember?” “Yea I remember. God I full on cried.” “Me too.” “How did we end up so toxic for each other?” The question makes Hawks go quiet for a moment. “You really think we were toxic?” he finally asks. “I don’t know. Maybe we weren’t but everything was so complicated by the end,” you reply. “I hate that.” “Hate what?” “Hate that we never stood a chance because of things that should’ve had fuck all to do with our relationship.” “You know what they say. The good die young. Our relationship certainly did, so it must be better than I think it is.”

******************

There’s a creaking groan as your quirk momentarily slips and the ceiling starts to fall again. You quickly force yourself to stop it again, crying out in pain as your body vehemently protests the action. God he hates seeing you in so much pain and he hates that even once the two of you get out of here it still doesn’t mean a happily ever after. His eyes roam over your face trying to commit every detail to memory. How is he supposed to survive without you by his side? “Stop looking at me like that,” you tell him. “Like what?” “Like I’m the most precious thing in the world.” “Why?” “When you give me those eyes it’s easy to forgive you.” “Well I’m certainly not going to stop now.” “Hawks...” “For what it’s worth I’m really sorry about the fight but you were wrong about me just loving the idea of love. I love you, (y/n). I have since that night in the pool.” “Don’t say that.” “Why not?” “Because it’ll make it so much harder when we get out of here.” “What if we didn’t?”

The ensuing silence is heavy.

“Kei....” “We keep making these little havens where everything is perfect and then we leave and everything goes to shit.” “What are you suggesting?” “What if you just let go?” “I can’t.” “Why not? It hurts right? And I don’t know when back up is coming or if they’ll even be able to find us.” “So you’re just giving up?” “No I-,” Keigo sighs in frustration, scrubbing his hands through his hair before grasping your hands again. “I can’t live without you and I can’t watch you drink yourself to death when the press gives me and the boys the credit for all your hard work and you don’t get your job back. I don’t even know if help will get to us in time. I’m not asking you to give up, but I am suggesting that for the first time in our miserable fucking lives we just be selfish. Like you said, the good die young right?” he insists and there are tears on his cheeks and he can’t believe he’s thinking this way but he doesn’t regret a word of it. He has never so keenly felt the weight of the chains Endeavor and the HPSC and being a hero have placed on him as he does in this moment as he pleads with you to do the unthinkable.

You hate to admit it but you understand where he’s coming from. A very, very large part of you wants to give in. What exactly would you go back to outside? Your friends can’t protect you from yourself forever. Why leave the trap you’ve found yourself in now just to move to another one that would slowly kill you anyway? You could continue to push yourself past your limits. Maybe you hold out until help arrives and maybe you and Hawks get out safe. The two of you try to make it work but you’ll resent him for still having a career while yours is over, watching you self destruct will hurt him, and his continued involvement with you will jeopardize his own career since Endeavor won’t fully trust him.

You think back to that first night in the pool and feel like it’s that moment when the alarms had gone off all over again. Would things be any different now if the two of you had chosen not to evacuate and instead stayed together? Maybe Keigo was right. The only thing leaving your self-made safe havens has ever brought you both is pain. “Do you think things will ever get better? With the press and the feud?” you ask. “Maybe after us they’ll learn,” Keigo whispers. “I hope so,” you reply. “Me too.”

“So we’re doing this?”

“It’s up to you baby. You’re the one holding it all together.”

“Ok.”

“Ok.”

Keigo leans forward, pressing his forehead to yours as his hands come up to cup your cheeks. He places a kiss to each cheek, then the tip of your nose, before finally pressing one to your lips. Your own hands are shaking as you grab hold of the jacket of his hero costume and pull him in closer. When your lips do part Keigo whispers one last request:

“Let go baby.”

So you do.

Author’s Note: SU*CIDE IS NEVER THE ANSWER. Things are never as hopeless as they may seem. If you find yourself seriously considering it reach out to your local su*cide hotline or other resources instead. It does get better. This chapter actually marks the end of the album this is based on itself. The next part is the last one before I put this series to bed. Thank you all so much for your support throughout writing it. It means the world to me.

Taglist [open]: @akkaso @cathy8taffy @eeppff @iikillerkitteh @pixelwisp @pokesosa @lildockel @bread0nhead @lavender-moon13

[aphrodites-law]

A Bit of Clarity 🍂 (11/?) The visions had started last autumn, a year ago now. It had caused a bit of chaos for some, a bit of clarity for others. Two days ago, Clarke Griffin had been perfectly fine managing both her Café and her stress. But now she was curious - so deeply curious about the vision of herself entwined with the aloof Lexa Woods that it was leading her to complete distraction. (ao3)

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7] [part 8] [part 9] [part 10]

Like every autumn in Costial, rain showers overstayed their welcome. Street gutters overflowed and children laughed as they jumped in the growing puddles. With the rain came the storms and lightning; loud cracks of thunder that streaked the moody sky.

Born and raised in California, Lexa couldn’t remember a time her bones had felt this cold. Couldn’t remember it because it had never happened. And she loved Costial - loved every nook and cranny - but she did not love the cold. The umbrella Clarke had lent her had bent in the mocking wind, her scarves were perpetually waterlogged, and her collars drooped sadly. If not currently living through it, Lexa would not believe this capricious weather if she heard about it on the news. It was ridiculous. Borderline maddening.

And yet.

Lexa had never loved a season more.

“Do you know that Wells could walk in any second?”

Lexa nodded against neck and shoulder, her mouth too busy charting a path toward Clarke’s jaw. She had somehow convinced Clarke to show her the cramped room at the back of the café; a perfectly innocent request that, once the door had shut, had ended up with Clarke perched on the desk with Lexa standing between her thighs. And what a fine place to be. Even if Clarke was oddly stiff against her.

“I can go…” Lexa offered, but Clarke dug her fingers in her back and shook her head.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

Lexa smiled, her fingers wandering beneath the hem of Clarke’s sweater.

“Ah! Cold.”

“I’m sorry,” Lexa said as she pulled away.

Clarke grabbed her hands. “No, no, it was good.”

Lexa couldn’t help but sigh in frustration. “This is ridiculous.”

“Feeling me up is ridiculous?”

“No!” Lexa replied, eyes widening. “But my feet are still squeaking in my shoes, my fingers are icicles, and I know you think my lips are freezing because you flinch when I kiss you.”

“I do not flinch,” Clarke denied as she hooked her arms around Lexa’s neck. “I like your kisses. I like them so much I dragged you in here. I just didn’t realize I was dating a refrigerator.”

Lexa did not look amused. “Is it my fault this city turned into the North Pole overnight?”

Clarke grinned. “Oh baby, wait until we get to winter.”

Lexa softened at both the pet name and the implication there would still be a ‘we’ in winter. She’d hoped for it, of course, but they were still taking each day as it came and had yet to define what 'we’ even meant. There was no rush, however. They both knew where the other stood.

“You never called me that before.”

“Well, there was a counter and a tip jar between us before.”

Of course there had been much more than that between them. It was hard to believe Lexa now stood flush against Clarke with their mouths kiss-stained and their hands so eager to touch - even if the cold didn’t help matters. Lexa was still working on her in-depth report on the visions, but in recent nights Clarke had lied awake wondering about the meaning behind them too.

Clearly she had been nudged toward Lexa, and it had certainly precipitated things between them, but would she never have entertained the thought without it? Would she really still be wrapped up in her tepid routine if she hadn’t heard Lexa whispering her name while kissing a path down her body? A part of her wanted to believe she would have had the impulse to speak to Lexa regardless of the vision. Maybe it would’ve made things easier between them; and maybe it would’ve made them harder.

“I should probably go thaw somewhere,” Lexa said with a sigh.

Clarke shook her head. “You need a source of warmth. Why don’t you just have at it?”

Lexa laughed, her eyes crinkling with joy.

“I’m very serious,“ Clarke said.

“I know. It’s why I’m so happy.”

Clarke sat back, casually leaning against the wall the desk was pushed against. “Good. I intend to keep it that way.”

Lexa bit her lip. “Can I pick you up at closing time tomorrow?”

“I wasn’t aware we had plans.”

“I thought it could be a surprise. And I know I promised something upscale on our third date, but I think you’ll really like this place.”

“Third date, huh? I was supposed to assess if you have game by now.”

“And?” Lexa asked.

Clarke was quiet, enjoying watching Lexa stew for just a beat. They were both getting to be experts at this slow, simmering pace.

“You really like me, hm?”

Lexa arched a brow, her hands still dangerously high on Clarke’s thighs. “I’ve never stood in wet socks for anyone else before.”

Clarke laughed. “A yes would suffice, but-“ she sat closer again “-now I’m intrigued. Does this date involve not walking? Because my feet generally do kill me after work.”

Lexa brushed back the strand of hair that had fallen from Clarke’s messy top bun. “That’s fine, I’ll find a pumpkin to turn into a carriage for you.”

“Oh good, there’s still plenty of those at the patch.”

“So it’s a yes?”

Clarke draped her arms over Lexa’s shoulders. “It’s a maybe you can persuade me,” she said, tempting Lexa to make a move with a quick swipe of her tongue against her plump, bottom lip.

Lexa did not disappoint, her hand coming up to cup her cheek before she kissed her. Clarke was keenly aware that each one of Lexa’s kisses lasted longer than the last. Her journalist was hungry for affection, but she was eager to give it too, especially when she was encouraged. Clarke had come to the conclusion after Lexa had spent her time on her neck, adorning it with languid kisses while Clarke had lost herself to the sensation of her mouth against her skin. Yes, Clarke was particularly weak when it came to her neck - not that Lexa had needed the verbal confirmation - and there was more than one tender spot that made her whole body jolt with pleasure. Something about baring herself and being vulnerable. The point being: Lexa was a generous partner.

When she kissed, Lexa was so purposeful that Clarke felt like she was an instrument Lexa had practiced for a decade. She dipped her tongue inside Clarke’s mouth and changed the angle smoothly, leading their little dance with a smile Clarke felt against her own. Hands moved amorously up and down Clarke’s thighs; up and down Lexa’s waist and ass.

Clarke hadn’t been kidding when she’d said Lexa made her feel like a teenager. She hadn’t felt this bubbling giddiness in years, not since first everythings in high school at least, but she was glad for her years of experience when it came to keeping up with Lexa. She would’ve never understood the girl in her arms years ago. She did now - vision or no vision - and it gave her a thrill.

Sometimes Clarke wondered if Lexa was determined to compete with herself. To be better than what Clarke had seen - almost like she was jealous of the woman she’d become. And if she was like this when merely kissing, Clarke had already fantasized that she would be like this in bed, too. Clarke so far had kept the details of her vision to herself, but not out of coyness. How could she explain that she would choose kissing Lexa fully clothed in a cramped space over a thousand more visions? That it was actually feeling Lexa against her; their honesty and vulnerability that had fulfilled the ache she’d felt for years? It was too soon for words like that.

But she could show her. With her entire body tingling, Clarke could do nothing but chase that high. She deepened the kiss, this time the one pushing rather than pulling, the one brushing her nose over Lexa’s. Suddenly it felt like heat had risen in the room and her clothes felt too heavy. She couldn’t remember ever kissing like this before - like she could do it for hours and not tire. But something quickly changed when - unconsciously, she’d swear it later - she spread her thighs wider to wrap herself around Lexa. With her hands on her ass, she pulled Lexa closer, tighter, and when her breasts pressed firmly against Lexa’s, it was the start of something else entirely.

They stayed entwined like this for far longer than was safe in the back of the café. The door didn’t even lock, yet all Clarke could think was pulling Lexa until she was flush atop her on the damn desk. It was Lexa who moaned in her mouth, a sound so deep and sensual it had Clarke’s heart pound in her ears. But Clarke wasn’t prepared for Lexa suddenly grinding against her in a moment of desperation, and if they’d been naked she knew very well Lexa would be inside her by now.

At the mere thought, the jolt of lust through Clarke’s body was so strong she pushed Lexa away. Lexa, slightly dizzy from their kiss, staggered back.

“Um…”

“Oh my God, I’m sorry!” Clarke exclaimed with wide eyes as she sat up. “I - I don’t know why I did that.”

Lexa licked her bottom lip and looked at Clarke, taking in the way she breathed and how she tried to very unsubtly rub her thighs together. She swallowed thickly.

“Are you sure you don’t know?”

Clarke jumped off the desk. "That was- I should uh- get back to work,“ she said, avoiding her eyes.

Lexa stepped aside, waiting for Clarke to follow through. When Clarke finally looked at her, she closed the space between them with a smirk and guided her against the wall. Clarke drew in a sharp breath, her legs so weak she would have slid down if it weren’t for Lexa’s hand on her waist.

"You still didn’t say yes to our date…” Lexa pointed out.

Clarke cleared her throat. “Maybe you didn’t make a compelling enough argument.”

Lexa looked between them and smiled. “This is familiar.”

“The rooftop?” Clarke asked, glancing between Lexa’s eyes and her lips. She could barely think, let alone follow Lexa’s train of thought. God, how was she supposed to go back to work like this?

“The hotel,” Lexa replied before kissing her jaw and then her neck again. “Only, I couldn’t do this back then. Couldn’t have you like this.”

Clarke closed her eyes, each word pushing her dangerously close to begging for release. She knew she was wet; knew today would be more difficult than the other days. It was almost unfair, but a part of her liked the challenge. There was a thrill to it; to testing their willpower.

“I wanted to kiss you,” Lexa admitted, just as affected by their previous kiss. She was breathing hard too; her kisses more like nuzzling now. “I always want to kiss you.”

“We were both drunk. It would’ve been a mess.”

“What if you’d said yes?” Lexa whispered. “What if you’d come with me to the theater that night?”

Here in their little bubble, it was so easy to imagine a different world. A world where Clarke hadn’t said yes to Niylah and a world where Lexa had never been hurt in the past.

“We would have laughed like we did.”

Lexa smiled. “Yes. Then I would’ve asked you to dance.”

“I would’ve watched you play poker and been wildly impressed.”

“Oh?”

Clarke tugged at Lexa’s belt loops to bring her closer. “What can I say? Cards in the right hands get me going. I would’ve asked if we could comp a room in this ridiculously overpriced hotel.”

“We’d get the view on the mountains.” Lexa sighed, as if this fantasy seemed so much further now. “I’d try to give you the best night of your life.”

It was nice to imagine it all, but Clarke realized she didn’t regret it. They’d gone on their own little path. She kissed Lexa sweetly, but not without intent. It was much softer than their last, both of them aware the real world awaited.

"I like this better. I wouldn’t change it for anything.”

Lexa looked at her like she hung the moon in the sky. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” And then, because Lexa was still waiting, Clarke smiled again: “Take me on a date, baby.”

-

[part twelve]

[x0401x]

People keep talking about a hotel scene that was skipped from episode 12, can you tell me what was this scene?

OH, BOY. HERE WE GO.

That scene is one of the best ones between Richard and Seigi and one of my favorite highlights of their relationship because there’s a huge display of trust and love between them in it. But there’s actually a lot to unpack, so for context, I’m going to explain some extra stuff too. As far as I know, though, there’s someone on Twitter who has made a summary of each volume, so they might be more useful for this. I’m not the best person to judge since I haven’t read those summaries, but I saw that the threads were lengthy, so I guess they must be detailed. The link to their Twitter is in my Richard tag!

Warning: this is gonna be long.

All right, starting from the moment Seigi tells Richard he wants to quit. Part of it is because he wants to shield Richard from whatever Hisashi might do if he finds out Seigi works for a filthy-rich foreigner who definitely pays well and treats him to expensive dinners every week. But most of it is because Hisashi brings out a lot of ugliness in Seigi (take almost stabbing Hisashi as an example), and he doesn’t want Richard to see it and be disappointed.

Just like in the anime, Richard accepts it rather easily and invites Seigi for one last dinner together. Seigi complies, because he’s not just planning to quit Etranger; he’s also planning to cut his ties with Richard so that Hisashi won’t go after him, so this is the last time they’ll hang out with each other. He promises himself he’ll make it the best night they’ve ever had, since it’s going to be the last, and honestly, the fact that he doesn’t think there’s anything ambiguous in this thought process says so much about how he is in canon. Meanwhile, just imagining never seeing Richard again is enough to make Seigi almost cry several times.

They go to a high-class hotel for dinner this time. Afterward, they go to the hotel’s bar, and at some point, Richard simply drops this bomb on Seigi’s lap and pulls a cardkey from his pocket while they’re drinking and eating:

“This is so good it feels like a waste…”“I think so too.”“Hm?”“I don’t want to...”“Did you say anything?”“I don’t want to let you go home.”

Seigi actually fucking looks around and asks Richard if that was meant for him.

“Is there anyone else around?”“No.”“Then I would assume it was for you.”“I see.”“Right.”

Harold, they’re in love and also fucking dumbasses. This scene is mad levels of latine telenovela bullshit, except it’s also dumb and awkward 2000′s love comedy bullshit at the same time. I love it. Anyway, since Seigi had already committed to make the best out of this night, he didn’t consider saying no to Richard as an option, so he just asks “what floor”. Boy. Son. Child. When they get to said floor, Richard gives Seigi the key and has him open the door.

Now in comes the scene that everyone was probably talking about. Yes, it does get worse than this. And yes, this scene is pretty long.

Not to transform all this built-up tension into a huge deception, but when they get into the room, Jeff is there waiting for them. It wouldn’t be Jeff with a really goofy introduction, but Seigi is so surprised he almost runs the fuck away, except Richard stops him, brings him back into the room and makes him sit down. Jeff then reminds Seigi that he’d been investigating (okay, he says “legally stalking”) Seigi for a long time and sort of reveals that he obviously knew about the problem dad. He was also the one who told Richard about the whole thing, and I gotta add that it was quite a punch in the gut for him. That’s where Seigi gets indignant at the invasion, and also where Richard tells him “you did not tell me anything either before coming to London”. Get rekt.

Then Richard starts trying to convince Seigi to open up by monologuing about how Seigi is like a distorted mirror to him, as in that they’re opposites but also the same. He grew up hating mirrors because they would make him realize how keenly he resembled his mother, but that wasn’t the case with Seigi. Both of them had lived very different lives, but they basically held the same values to heart. Just like how Seigi went after Richard to help with his family issues, Richard is doing it for Seigi, and now they’re again in a hotel room with one of them talking about how much he likes the other. That’s when Richard dumps the “I like you so, so much that I cannot help myself” line, which the anime thankfully kept. And then he literally goes into “how dare you do not lean on me for help when I’m more than capable of giving it” mode and throws in a “what am I to you”, ‘cause we readers deserve to die. Meanwhile, Jeff leaves the room for a bit.

Seigi still doesn’t want to talk things out because he might’ve been more influenced by his father than Richard could ever know, and he doesn’t want to “taint” Richard with his matters because he deems them as dirty, but in the end, he gives in. Turns out he looked up stuff on abuse because of his family circumstances, and one book mentioned what we all know: boys who witness abuse have more chances of incorporating it and becoming abusers when they grow up. He gives the way he tried to break Richard’s family inheritance as an example of possible tendency to be violent. He also says that his mother probably got him into karate because he had the habit of kicking walls, which got so bad that he opened a hole into one when he was a kid. Basically, he had an understandable amount of pent-up frustration and practiced karate to let it out. It was also to make him realize how much hitting and being hit hurts.

He goes on to say that all he wants is to be seen as a good person in the eyes of who he likes and then off himself into oblivion, because he fears that the other party will realize what kind of person he really is if he stays too close to them for too long. He adds that he’s scared of finding someone that corresponds to his affections, as he’s pretty sure that he’d abuse them. I can’t stress enough how contradictory this feels when we consider his feelings for Shouko, because he tried really hard to be her romantic partner. It’s one of the things that have me pondering if those feelings really weren’t just a glorified friendship, like I’ve mentioned before, and if the one he truly likes isn’t actually Richard. I mean, he keeps telling himself over and over in every single volume that what he feels for Richard “isn’t like that”, as if he’s trying to find excuses not to be romantically involved with Richard despite showing more affection for him than for any other character. Sum that up with the fact he doesn’t want Richard to see the bad in him and it all kinda makes sense.

Richard at some point says that Seigi is doing nothing but hold prejudice against himself and therefore he’s also prejudiced against all other children who are or have been in the same situation as him. He argues that someone who can’t be kind to himself also can’t be truly kind to other people. He then adds that he finally gets why Seigi sees him as immutably beautiful. He doesn’t become used to Richard’s beauty, no matter how long he’s been looking at it, because he always sees Richard from a distance. He doesn’t deem Richard as reachable and refuses to get closer to him, in spite of claiming that he wanted to be closer. He won’t diminish the gap between them and he won’t let Richard reciprocate his affections (again, this brings me back to his feelings for Shouko and how Seigi would probably let her do that).

Richard also tells Seigi about how he hit Jeff back when Jeff betrayed him, and Seigi thinks that’s only the expected. So he begins to wonder if he wasn’t just thinking that this “expected” didn’t apply to himself. He finally begins to conclude that maybe he was just looking down on himself and by default also looking down on people who went through the same as him. Richard then says Seigi should ask for help when things come to this, not only from him but also from other people. All of this seems pretty harsh but Richard was being very gentle while saying it, and he kneeled down next to the chair in the process. It makes Seigi think that they look just like an adult comforting a child, and he starts crying for the billionth time in this volume.

Seigi’s phone then starts ringing, and Richard tells him to answer. It’s Hisashi, saying he’s near Seigi’s apartment. He asks Seigi to come over, by himself. The scene ends with him accepting to go, but as we know, he doesn’t go alone, just like in the anime. Except, in the novel, Jeff jokes before they leave that Richard might look slender and all, but he actually had muscles under his clothes, meaning he was up for a fight if the worst happened. This totally doesn’t sound like Jeff was trying to make Seigi imagine Things. Not at all.

By the way, a bonus: while Richard and Seigi are in the car going to Seigi’s apartment complex, Richard asks how Seigi could’ve been so innocent to agree to that invitation for going to a hotel room with him. He had actually expected Seigi to say no and had thought of a lie to convince him. Seigi says he’d have tried to flee if it were anyone else, but he trusted Richard.

Sorry for taking so long to answer this, but here you have it! As you can see, it’s an awesome scene.

[letterboxd]

Heart Beat.

Minari’s film composer Emile Mosseri (also responsible for the Kajillionaire and The Last Black Man in San Francisco scores) tells Ella Kemp about his A24 favorites, Nicholas Britell’s friendship and the boldest Paul McCartney needle drop in movie history.

What do you think a broken heart sounds like? How about a warm, beating one? It’s something that Emile Mosseri has been thinking about for a while now. The past two years have seen him complete a hat-trick of beguiling, transporting scores for Plan B movies: Joe Talbot and Jimmie Fails’ The Last Black Man in San Francisco, Miranda July’s Kajillionaire and now, the film voted the best of 2020 by our community, Lee Isaac Chung’s Minari.

What binds these scores together is a delicacy that knows when to break free and turn into something altogether spectacular. But on Minari in particular, Mosseri is in full bloom, working for the first time in a way he’d always dreamed about. While The Last Black Man in San Francisco saw him compose to a loose edit, and on Kajillionaire he worked to a locked cut, Chung gave him the freedom to write music directly to Minari’s script. “It was a dream to work this way on Minari,” Mosseri says. “It was so beautifully written and so visceral.”

‘Minari’ composer Emile Mosseri.

Minari is an intimate portrait of a Korean family making their way in rural America, and the composer was interested in “trying to figure out musically how you can feel connected to your deepest childhood memories”. These memories belong, in the film, to David—a tiny king played by eight-year-old Alan Kim—as he comes to terms with his new life on a small farm in Arkansas, as his family strives for their own version of the American Dream.

The Yi family is made up of David and his sister Anne (Noel Kate Cho), their parents Monica (Han Ye-ri) and Jacob (Steven Yeun) and their grandmother, Soon-ja (Youn Yuh-jung). It’s a personal story for Chung, one that Mosseri felt honored to be a part of. “It’s a very intimate story with these five characters, which takes place mostly in this small mobile home—but emotionally, it’s very epic.”

There was something about Chung that had caught Mosseri’s attention early on. “I had met him at the LA premiere of Last Black Man,” Mosseri says, “and I sent him the Kajillionaire score.” Mosseri was already familiar with the filmmaker’s work: “His first film, Munyurangabo, is incredible.” He calls Chung “very open, but also sly” in terms of hitting the right notes and “gently steering the ship”. The partnership between composer and director was about working on “a more emotional level,” Mosseri says. “There was never any talk about what we wanted stylistically.”

The ‘Minari’ ensemble cast.

The result is a film graced with music at once lush and raw, grandiose and vulnerable. Mosseri is keenly aware of these nuances, and always made sure to walk the tonal tightrope in the writing process. “There aren’t sad cues and hopeful cues,” he explains. “Every cue has both feelings. Each musical moment dips in and out of the hopefulness and joy of a family, and then the pain and frustration and dissonance that they hold.”

The way Mosseri’s music swells and flows often feels intangible, magical, even—which comes more from knowing what to avoid, rather than acting with too much forced intention. On his first film, Mosseri brought brass and strings to the streets of San Francisco, and with Miranda July, he worked old Hollywood glamor into the concrete blocks of Los Angeles. Here, we twirl through the tall grass as gentle acoustic guitars and elegant string sections sigh and sway, while the Yi family work through their growing pains.

“We didn’t want to hear Korean music when you see Korean characters, and we didn’t want twangy music when you see an American farm,” Mosseri explains. “We wanted to come at it from the side somehow, in some way that’s unexpected.” ‘Rain’, his collaboration with Minari star Han Ye-ri, which features on the official soundtrack, encapsulates this juxtaposition. It’s an epic lullaby of sorts; Han sings in Korean to a gentle guitar; a pleasing swell of synths climbs alongside her voice. The effect on the listener is as if liquid love is trickling from every vein. “I wanted this score to feel like it had a warm, beating heart.”

Two of your three feature films to date have been released by A24, and so we must ask: what are your favorite A24 film scores? Emile Mosseri: Three come to mind. First of all, Anna Meredith’s score for Eighth Grade. It’s so adventurous and unexpected and fresh and just brilliant. It’s so pure and out-there. It also does this impossible thing of being hip and exciting and deep, but also hilarious. The pool-party scene fucking kills me.

Then there’s Under the Skin by Mica Levi. I remember seeing that at the Nighthawk theater in Brooklyn and feeling like it was the best score I’d heard in as long as I could remember.

And then of course, Moonlight. That film got under my skin in a way I didn’t see coming. I saw it by myself in a theater, after hearing all the hype for months and months. When a movie has that much hype you can get a bit cynical and it can distract you, so I went in a bit guarded, but I left the film destroyed. For weeks and weeks it resonated with me in a way that was so profound, and a large part of that is due to Nick [Britell]’s music. And the film is just perfection.

Scarlett Johansson in ‘Under the Skin’ (2013), scored by Mica Levi.

You’ve been described as Nicholas Britell’s protégé more than once… It’s funny, I think that came from me being a fan of his and saying nice things about his music. I met him at Sundance two years ago when Last Black Man was premiering. I went with my wife and my brother and I was so excited, I’d been waiting for this moment for so long. We walked in and Nick and Barry [Jenkins] were walking in behind [us]. And there was also Boots Riley, Kamasi Washington… all these people I looked up to. I hadn’t considered that I would see this film in the room with them, and it was the first time I was hearing the final mix and just agonizing.

Nick was incredibly generous and said great things about the score and was super encouraging, and he became a friend and mentor. But I’ve never studied with him or worked with him. Although, if you’re a fan of somebody’s work, you’re a student of any of these composers that you admire. Anything you watch and listen to, you absorb.

What was the first film that made you want to be a composer? It was Edward Scissorhands. Danny Elfman’s score was the first one that made me realize that this was a job. I’m always attracted to big, romantic melodies, and over-the-top sweeping stuff—but done tastefully. In that score, he sets the high-water mark for me. It’s so unapologetically romantic.

And then there are other obvious ones like The Godfather. It’s maybe a dorky choice because it’s the most famous movie ever, but it really is the best. And that got me into Nino Rota, and from there I found [Federico] Fellini and all these movies through Nino, the composer. And then I got really into the score for La Dolce Vita and more movies that he’d written for, which are so beautiful.

The ‘Edward Scissorhands’ (1990) score was an early inspiration for Mosseri.

Which films, new to you, blew you away in 2020? Take Shelter by Jeff Nichols blew me away. It unfolded in a way that was intoxicating and really exciting, and it just really stuck with me.

What’s been your favorite needle drop on screen this year? Aside from Devonté Hynes’ score being stunning, there’s an amazing piece of music placed in an episode of Luca Guadagnino’s We Are Who We Are. They use a Paul McCartney song called ‘Let Em In’, and they dropped it in this incredibly tasteful but unexpected way, in a really dark, emotionally loaded scene. It worked in such a beautiful and graceful way. It’s because it’s the most cheery McCartney, it’s full-blown upbeat and poppy McCartney. And this is the darkest-of-the-dark human pain, and it lands in this way that is such a bold choice, such a powerful move.

What should people listen to after watching Minari? One record I’ve been listening to a lot recently is Jeff Tweedy’s Love is the King. It could be a good companion to Minari. I’m a huge fan of his and it’s a gorgeous record. It’s very stripped-down and emotionally raw, and it’s both hopeful and heartbreaking.

Which filmmakers would you love to work with next? I’m always afraid to answer this question because there are so many filmmakers I admire. There are filmmakers I grew up with loving their films—working with Miranda was that for me. Spike Jonze or Yorgos Lanthimos are directors in her world that I also love and would love to work with. But there’s so many others. Derek Cianfrance is amazing and he works with different composers. I love his choice of collaborators musically. I love that he used the late great Harold Budd to do his shows [including I Know This Much is True], and then Mike Patton, and Grizzly Bear… the music is always incredible in his projects, but he doesn’t have a go-to person. His films are so heartbreaking and powerful and really, really raw. He’s fearless.

I feel very lucky that I’ve worked on these three films which are all very much like somebody’s ripping their heart out and putting it on the screen. I feel like Derek Cianfrance does that in his films too, in this unapologetic, super-vulnerable way of just ripping his soul out and putting it out for everyone to see. It’s incredibly appealing to find those projects, because they’re really rare.

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Follow Ella on Letterboxd

‘Minari’ is available everywhere in the US that movies can be rented, and screening in select theaters in the US and other regions. Listen to the official soundtrack and more of Mosseri’s film compositions in the official Spotify playlist via Milan Records. ‘Kajillionaire’ is available on VOD now.

[the-modern-typewriter]

Hi! Could you do one where the villain is totally into the hero's older sister who knows she shouldn't want her back but the villain is the only one who shows her any attention? Bonus points if it's while the villain is seducing her.

“I should go,” Evera said. She had lingered too long already; she should have raised some alarm long ago. She stepped back. 

The villain stepped forward. One of her hands braced against the door, shutting it. The other rose to press against the wall on the other side of Evera’s shoulders, caging her in without touch. 

Evera’s eyes snapped to her. 

“Why,” the villain asked, with a growl of frustration, “do you try so hard to deny yourself what you desire? Do you think you don’t deserve to have what you want?” 

Evera shook her head on automatic. The villain was much too close and not nearly close enough. Her perfume clouded Evera’s senses with every breath. She could feel the warmth of the villain’s arms where they blocked out her exits, focused her. She could imagine how much warmer they would feel upon her skin.

“Then what?” the villain asked. There was a small smirk on her face, belied by the fact that her gaze was quite serious, searching. “I hope you’re not going to try and tell me that you don’t want this.” Her gaze roamed over Evera. “They may not be paying attention, but I am. I’ve seen the way your heart starts pounding when I’m close, the way your eyes light up. I see the way they dismiss you, over and over again, as if there is anything in you worth ignoring.”

“I’m not powerful.”

“You’re quiet. That’s not the same thing.”

“So you want me because you think I’m powerful? Because you think you can use me against your enemies?” Evera pushed the villain’s hand away, an ache in her chest. Because, really, what could it be but those things? The villain might dress it up pretty, might tell her she was beautiful, but those were easy enough lies to tell.

The villain’s hand slammed on the door again. Her eyes blazed. 

“I want you because you’re you. I want you because you’re lovely and clever and creative, and your laugh always makes me want to laugh too. I love you because I think you’re goddamn pretty. I want you because you see me, in a way that nobody else bothers. I mention power only because you think you have none, and I don’t want you to think you don’t have a choice. I’m not going to do anything that you don’t want me to do. If you think I am, maybe we’ve misunderstood each other.” 

“Then take your hand off the door.”

The villain caught herself at that. Her hand dropped where it had slammed, and she looked remarkably sheepish. 

“I’m sorry. Stay, please. I didn’t mean to - I just wish you’d talk to me. You always run away. I know it’s not because you’re frightened of me.” 

No. No, she wasn’t. Evera knew she should be, she knew the villain was dangerous. She knew that the villain’s attention was dangerous. She also knew that it was giddying, and that the villain had been patient, and had never pressed her to do anything that she didn’t want to do. She kidnapped Evera once or twice, for leverage, but she hadn’t done anything to hurt or threaten her. Not really. 

“I shouldn’t want you,” Evera said. It was too much of an admission that she did. It frightened her how much. 

Hope flittered across the villain’s eyes. “It doesn’t make you a bad person if you do.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“Your capacity to love monsters says more about the size and kindness of your heart than it does about your cruelty.”

I don’t think you’re a monster. 

Evera didn’t quite know when that changed, it was what her sibling would argue surely, but it wasn’t true. Her mouth felt dry. 

The villain sighed, shook her head, and stepped back. Evera felt the distance between them keenly, more like a chasm than less than a metre. The villain tilted her head at the door in an indication that she should go, if she wanted to. Her shoulders slumped - it was more human than the charming seductions so far, the roses and the gifts. 

She just looked like a woman, who wanted another woman. 

The door was there. Easy to take. Funny, she’d relied, before, on the villain doing things like blocking the door. It made it less a choice that she had to make - though, she realised, with a start, how carefully the villain must have been tracking her body language. She’d never kept her longer than she wanted to be kept, never pushed too hard, just hard enough for her interest to be clear. 

Attentive.

She should go. The door was right there. 

She didn’t go, 

The smile on the villain’s lips reached their eyes this time, but she didn’t press. She waited. 

“This would be a lot easier if you were as awful as people said you were.”

“Sorry to disappoint. You’re going to have to decide what you want on your own.”

Evera shouldn’t want her, it was a bad idea all around, but they both knew that she did. The city stretched outside the window of her flat. There would be no one to disturb them - nobody who would think to come and check up on her, unless there was some kind of emergency. Except, the villain had come to check up on her. She had noticed when Evera didn’t turn up at work, or when she was sick, and had remembered her birthday. 

Perhaps that was a low bar to set, but the villain made her feel important. Made her feel wanted. Even if it was a lie, even if this was all manipulation, it was such a nice lie to be loved. 

“Kiss me,” Evera said. 

The villain stepped closer once more. She cupped Evera’s jaw gently in her hand, and kissed her softly, sweetly. Evera melted into it, after so long dancing around it. 

“Again,” she whispered. 

Again, again, again. 

Then, blushing, she fled. At least until next time. 

[lligkv]

a starting point, not the sum total

The magazine Harper’s recently published a feature in which a bunch of writers talk about “life after Trump.” They cover various topics: reality, tabloids, movies, relationships, manners, imagination, gold, conversation, punctuation, apologies, golf, literature, and Trump himself. Some of the writers are covering their usual beats: “literature” is covered by the book critic Christian Lorentzen, “movies” by film critic A. S. Hamrah. And some writers cover topics that I know from Twitter they’re already interested in: I’ve seen a number of tweets from Jane Hu, for instance, with quotes on Adorno’s thoughts on punctuation, which also opens her Harper’s piece. Other writers speak to subjects that seem more random, like Liane Carlson’s examination of the decline of the public apology that we saw so often in the early 21st century (with Bill Clinton, Eliot Spitzer, Anthony Weiner, and their like) or Yinka Elujoba on gold: the color, the substance, why it appeals to a certain brand of aristocrat in a certain type of declining empire.

A few of the pieces are inane—showing what can happen when you assemble a piece by giving a bunch of writers a topic to just do whatever they want; different people take mandates differently, and they won’t always be deep—they won’t always be hits. For instance, there’s not much to “Golf” by David Owen. Basically: golf was staid and boring when he first took it up in the early 90s, then it became kind of cool with Tiger Woods’s fame in the late 90s, or at least something people knew about and many people watched, and then all that was undone by Trump’s love of golf the last four years. And that’s well and good, but who cares. Ultimately, Owen’s contribution registers as a marginal blip in the midst of more robust discussions.

But the most inane entry might be Eileen Myles’s contribution to the feature. It’s ostensibly about “relationships.” What it’s actually about is Myles’s feelings. We’ve established before how much I’ve come to distrust writing about how we feel about major developments in politics or about disasters like climate change, rather than the developments and disasters themselves. And at least Elisa Gabbert’s The Unreality of Memory is a genuine attempt to explore something, even if there are moments when the essays in it drift into ponderousness or sentimentality. In fact, I’ve come to feel less harshly about Gabbert’s book as I’ve thought about the pandemic the last few weeks—how unreal a number like 400,000 deaths feels to me, and how I struggle to know whether this is a natural response. Is a pandemic, with its enormous scale of death, a hyperobject, a phenomenon so vast it can’t really be countenanced by a single human mind? Do large-scale tragedies ever feel real and not abstract to those living through them, when they’re this diffuse? Or is this flatness I feel unique, a sign of some special psychic damage in those of us who are alive today, from social media or the ubiquity of news in the times we live in? I’m more willing to grant that this, how to countenance disaster, is Gabbert’s question; she certainly engages it thoughtfully.

Myles is not thoughtful. It’s striking to read their contribution after you read, say, Hamrah’s brief, potent account of the streaming services’ ascendance in the COVID era, now that we’re all stuck at home and at the mercy of whatever pricing schemes the streaming giants want to set for the movies they release if we want any (legal) entertainment, and how this reflects similar moves last century by studios to force theaters and theater-goers to pay for shit movies as well as better ones. Or Mike Jaccarino’s recent history of tabloids: how Trump depended on them to inflate his image in the 90s and aughts, and how the dynamic reversed over the course of his presidential race and term, with the task of tracking changes in Trump’s image now sustaining them—revealing again the inversion of structures like the media over the course of neoliberalism’s evolution and aftermath. Myles’s piece, so focused on them and how they felt about Joe Biden winning the presidency in 2020, is just so narrow by comparison. Even Charles Yu’s account of the damaging effect the Trump presidency has had on (consensus) “reality” is more interesting. It’s flawed, to my eye, because it so often presents what Trump supporters or QAnoners believe as merely an inferior narrative, a fiction they’ve subscribed to at least somewhat consciously and don’t want disturbed, as though they were all ostriches sticking their heads in the sand rather than people inhabiting the same physical space as Yu himself. And you’re never going to succeed at changing someone’s mind if you’re just convinced they’ve subscribed to a false and inferior narrative—because, as Lauren Oyler notes in her contribution to “Life After Trump,” differences in opinion often come down to different interpretations of the same facts. But even Yu’s contribution is interesting, because it’s not just Yu talking about himself as though his own experience is ours.

Myles’s piece, on the other hand, is just “I, I, I, I, I.” “I was crossing lower Broadway to look at a show,” they write: “I’m a fan…of the work of the artist named Sky Hopinka,” “I had allowed that monster”—Trump—“into my body,” “I went inside the gallery,” “I could hear [the spoken parts of the Hopinka exhibition] pretty well,” “I was in Texas during the earliest parts of COVID and I stayed there for a while and I was keenly aware that this was the first true crisis I had missed in New York”—and on it goes.

And Myles is so irritatingly convinced that their “I” is heroic, or part of a heroic “we,” standing in opposition to Trumpists and to the people in Chelsea, bourgeois and apolitical, who aren’t happy when they see a friend of Myles’s, Joe, pumping up the crowd at the election celebration:

He put his Biden-Harris T-shirt on which was brilliant. Everyone cheers when they see him. He’s like a sign. He starts acting like a sign, saying yay to everyone. Women always say yay, some couples won’t. Or they say a little. Not everyone in Chelsea is happy. They’re doing their Chelsea thing. Shopping, getting some food. This is a disruption. It’s like they didn’t even know there was an election.

I’m not on the side of the Chelsea shoppers here. I’m not on the side of anyone who’s indifferent to their environment, or who sniffs at a public display of any kind of emotion, enforcing some arbitrary idea of seemliness. But how radical is an election, really? How much does this one ultimately change? It’s a minor fluctuation in a long interregnum. I see these lines of Myles’s and I think, If you were really radical, you’d know that. You’d know that, and you wouldn’t devote this piece that professes to be about relationships to celebrating yourself and your milieu as though it speaks for the Chelsea shoppers’ or for mine. You’d think about the world you were in. The whole world, not just your part of it.

Some of the frustration of reading “Relationships” in the larger context of “Life After Trump” is the frustration of watching someone practice a mode that’s been outmoded as though it were still revolutionary. It’s part of Myles’s project as a poet to write from their own perspective. And it was likely groundbreaking or at least interesting when they first began writing: a way to speak to the experience and subjectivity of artists and creatives in late 20th-century America and make that real to those who did not know that world. Or a way to speak to those who wanted to join that world. It’s a poor mode now, in this time. Artists have long been integrated into the mainstream and the market—they’re no longer a vanguard. They’re not even people whom the mass media organs of the culture consciously turn to for a reflection of what life looks like now and what it could look like in the future. (Here, I’m thinking Sontag, Mailer, Dwight Macdonald, whoever—a small and biased set of examples, but the ones that come to mind.) The work of artists now feels like just another kind of content you might prefer to consume, just another piece of fodder for an identity (say, “literary person”) that you can espouse—and the presence of even critical artists and creatives is a marginal one that you, again as an individual consumer, can pay attention to if you like or just as easily ignore.

What’s more, in a time marked by widespread use of social media, everyone’s a poet of Myles’s type today. Everyone’s a relentless “I,” broadcasting their feelings and impressions of situations and history, talking about what everything and anything that happens feels like for them and what it means for them. I’m doing it right now! And I read magazines like Harper’s and Bookforum and the London Review of Books and more for a break from that mode—or a practice of it in which the “I” is a starting point, not the sum total. That is, when it comes to writing about the culture, I’m looking for writing that goes beyond the “I” to say something genuine about the world we’re in. Something that helps me understand that world better and then to change it.

[eldonash]

Losing Balance - Fran&Orobas

Happens during and after this. Also Featuring Carrington @carringtonblackwood; @caraitaliadolcemeta Possible TW: Death, dismemberment

Summary: Orobas and Francesca have spent all week looking for Carrington. At the far edges of their emotions, Orobas is lost to anger, and Fran is lost to desperation. The two, usually clear-minded and violent killers, fall into an argument as they are unable to process the hopelessness nor help each other now that it’s gotten this far. Somehow, they find Carrington among the wreckage. 

Fifteen minutes. Francesca had been waiting for fifteen minutes, and if she did any more back-and-forth pacing, there would probably be a hole in the cemented floor right under her feet. Could fifteen minutes make a difference when he had been missing for days now? Fifteen minutes wouldn’t make a difference. Could they? Maybe she should start looking instead of keep waiting for Orobas. He’d probably throw those empty threats at her anyway.

Taking out her phone - with no messages from him, by the way - she shared her live location with the vampire. He could come to her wherever she was at Amity Road whenever he decided to show up. Because sure, Carrington was dead anyway, right? “He fucking isn’t. Lui non è morto!” Francesca exclaimed to herself, getting more and more nervous with the waiting and the wondering and the possibilities. And as a sudden presence made itself known behind her, she spun on her heels, startled, too much in her own head. “Cazzo, Orobas!”

Orobas didn’t feel exhaustion often. It usually happened when he’d battle through crowds of people in the past, to the point Haxian had to drag and carry him out almost limp over the hours of fighting. Now, it wasn’t just a physical exhaustion eating away at his resolve and his temper which was a low simmering frustration like it was warming a blast furnace. It was emotional and Orobas had no fucking idea what that meant. He was covered in blood when she turned around, it splattered up over his face in tiny dots, his shirt half on where a large burn had singed part of his chest and up around his shoulder. The stunning ivory handled knife was in his hand, dripping on the ground and though he was infuriated about everything-- he held no emotion on his face, just this distant stare like he wasn’t all present. He isn’t even sure how on instinct he found her. When she said his name, he glanced up with red eyes, and it took every ounce of his control to not cut her throat open immediately. He couldn’t exactly speak right away, his mind was racing, and he was leaving a trail of blood near Amity Road. “Fran-- cesca,” he mouth was crowded with fangs, and his voice struggle to now sounds demented. “I’m-- on the edge. I’m-- on a dangerous, dangerous edge. If I don’t find him--” 

It was like taking a trip to the past. Back in the eighteen hundreds, she had seen him like that numerous times. Although, for whatever reason, life drew them apart and the sprees weren’t shared anymore, that image would never leave her. Francesca blinked multiple times, trying to make sense of the figure in the of her. Why. “Why did you come?! You’re in no bloody shape of doing anything, I -” Whatever distance there was between them, she ended it in a second, rushing to him to stand in front of him, close enough to delicately pull his shirt and examine the injuries on his skin. “You’ve been walking in the sun…?!” She concluded, taking a moment to stare him in the eye. She was angry, worried. “Why the fuck would you do that?!” Careless to his previous threat less than an hour earlier, her voice was higher than usual, angrier than it normally would be. If he weren’t that terribly hurt, no doubt Fran would’ve shoved him. Both of her hands rested on each side of his face, her hazel, caring eyes gazing in his, trying to have him focus on her. 

“I don’t know why!” He roared at her, the sunken features of his face contorted in a rare show of rage, and his body almost dissipated into a swarm of bats, the sound of fluttering wings echoed in threat around them. Like the shadows of the night wanted to pool around him. Orobas age showed right now, though a ninty or so years off of elder, he could appear so far from human-- sometimes far from vampire when he was at this dangerous point.

“Look at me. You can’t do anything like that. Let’s go home, take care of you - you’ll feed, you’ll heal and we’ll come back. This isn’t a suicide mission. I can’t fucking lose the both of you. Do you understand me?!” That look, bloody and distant, bored and evil. Orobas was certainly moving on his instinct, slaying and hurting whatever came his way. She knew what he was thinking - he was controlling his urge to hurt her too. But she ignored his blade. She ignored his impulses and focused on taking care of him. How could she love a man who had to control himself not to kill her? That was a query hard to answer, yet she was still there for him if he needed her.

His hand lifted and in a frightening disjointed amount of speed, it pressed harshly into her cheeks, covering her mouth from speaking more soft caring words when his emotions felt like a hard strum of a string instrument in the back on his mind. A snarl burned all his eyes to red, the whites dissolving into crimson, unblinking and staring inches from her face. He stepped closer, staring keenly at her face. And then walked passed her, releasing his hold and stepping a few more steps. “Why? I don’t want this anymore. I want to find him tonight. I don’t care the cost.”

She cared. She cared more than she dared to say it aloud. But having his hand grip her face and control her movement, keeping her steady, like a rag doll, that wasn’t alright. No doubt Francesca respected him. He was double her age, about to become an elder and more often than not was caught with a deadly gaze in his handsome eyes. Only someone daft wouldn’t respect that. But she didn’t exactly fear him, for whatever reason. Maybe she should.

Growling quietly when she was released, the brunette exhaled loudly through her nostrils, angry. Angry that he was letting himself get to that point, angry that, through the years, more often than not, took his frustrations out on her. What the fuck was she? “Really? Isn’t it obvious?! You’re severely hurt, you probably haven’t had a shut-eye in days, all that blood there is probably splattered on walls instead of in your lips - how the fuck do you think you got like that?” Keeping her distance this time, Francesca was done being loving. It didn’t make a difference, anyway. “Now, I’m not bloody helping you like that. I’m not going to be an accomplice to your exhaustion just because you got to do every fucking thing your way. You’re always like this, you act like you don’t give a shite, you never call, you let people get out of your life and suddenly you’re putting yourself in harms way to protect them! Do you fucking believe Carrington would want to see you like that? Madonna, look at yourself. You’re more bat than vampire.” Scoffing, she turned around nervously, so angered to the point she didn’t want to look at him. There was more to just worrying for Carrington’s safety in that speech. There was anger about a lot of things. Like he’d often get to where they were now, as if on purpose, as some kind of masochist cleanse? He was hot and cold with her, he treated her bad then good, then carry on acting like nothing. She was fed up with everything, from Carrington’s disappearance to Orobas ways of treating her. “Merda, I’m so done.”

Her words barely got through to him, distorted, echoing. The beastal part of him starved-- hallowing his face, skin paper thin and barely draped over his cheekbones. He knew she was correct in the why he was appearing like this. He hadn’t eaten well as said, he always hacked his victims up over drinking. Francesca knew him for too long. His mind swam in red, like a lapping ocean against his sight, even as he looked out, everything dimmed in darkness less the pulse point of blood vibrated through the air to lure him. Lust suddenly cut into him like a jagged crystal, a hard lump that settled in his throat, a deep thirst he’s not experienced since Haxian locked him in a coffin for ten years. His jaw clenched, teeth sharp, and as she kept telling him off he felt a screech confirming his transformation barely stop from coming out of his mouth. His back to her the entire time, he tilted his head back, looking at her when she spoke the last words. He felt the need to say he ‘wasn’t like this all the time’ when it wasn’t true. He’s done this in the past centuries-- and it never worked out for him. They are all dead less Harsh and Francesca… and now Carrington, who else in the future? When you have lived this long you fell on repeat. A circle of shit that proved it was your core personality over and over. He just looked at her. Barely seeing, barely even knowing it was her. 

“Francesca,” the name came out as it always did, though far from being in control it came out dark, demented like someone else was speaking. He turned to walk back towards her. 

“You of all people know this is me. Mhm? The real me--” his head tilted again, the bones creaking. “I believe I’ve figure it out. For once, I am ready to have a family. I want-- us together and I will do anything, absolutely anything, to have my way. You think all this for Carrington is taking it too far--” he leaned forward, a crooked sharp, monstrous fanged smile. “I’d create an army of spawn to find you if you were in this situation. I’d find the person who hurt you and kill every member of their bloodline-- I will take it too far, because this is what I am becoming. You can handle it and me right now. You are probably the only one in this moment who can. So help me, mhm?”

“Non - non fare così, non ‘Francesca’ mi,” she spoke under her breath in complaint, denying him the right to call out to her. This time she was the one who kept her back turned at him. It was always the same script. He’d call her, call out her name and, somehow, she’d listen. This time, however, she forcefully ignored it, which took her all her strength, to a point where she didn’t notice the change in his voice. Whatever was happening right now, she couldn’t deal with it. Why couldn’t he act rational now, like he always did? Why let himself get to this point now?

As the bones cracked behind her, so close that they snapped in her ears, the woman turned to look at him. She couldn’t recognize him. Why? She questioned herself once more. Francesca shook her head in denial. “You’re going to kill yourself.” Hands turned into fists, arms flat to her sides. That anger grew hotter, boiling inside. She didn’t want to truly burst, not now, not when Orobas was this mess; this handsomely frightening mess. “Yes! Yes, I do think it’s too far! I told you - I’m not willing to lose you. Or him. Much less the both of you, one after the other.” Sappy words, he was just trying to calm her down and have her listen to him, get on board with his plan. But she disagreed with his plan when that could get him killed because he was acting sloppy. “You don’t know what you’re saying. Haxian doesn’t let you stick around long enough to have a family. You’ll leave again.” Her words were cruel, but they reflected her fears. She knew he had always been absent, distant, and now he was with somebody else. She’s smelled her on his belongings a few times when dropping by Bloodhaven. She was willing to accept all that, bury her anger again, as long as he stopped being careless. 

Everything spoken burned through his skull, not understanding why she couldn’t just say okay and do what they always did. “This time I’m not,” he growled, not wanting to believe it. It had been him holding her back from moments like this, toying with her thirst like pulling on pigtails until he had to save them from the mess. Now, it was justified to himself, at least, that was all the emotion is could strongly hold onto right now. The jab at Haxian, at his maker was sharp and she knew it. Orobas didn’t have a choice in that, and worse-- he’s always listen to Haxian no matter what. Rarely has he said no, and even then when comparing someone, anyone else to his maker-- Haxian would always come on top. Too much time together, too much of their conscious bled as one unit. Even now, he could feel him in his mind, urging him to kill more, because Haxian would always have his back no matter how far he took it.

“Ok. I’ll help.” Her response was cold, yet decisive. “Follow me.” And she disappeared, leading the way to a dark alley. From there, in the shadows, the vampire spotted a man standing by his threshold, about to enter his home. Fran appeared right next to him, dragging Orobas along. “Evening,” she greeted the human. A healthy, perhaps a bit tired, adult human. He looked at her, surprised. “It’s a bit chilly outside. I could really use a warm place to wait for my cab. Could you please invite me in?” Eyes locked with hers, the man nodded, saying the words: please, come in, wait inside. Fran passed through the frame along with the man. “Are you alone?” He nodded. “Good. Would you mind inviting my mate inside too? You understand - a woman in a man’s home, all by herself, can be dangerous.” Come in and be with your friend, he said to the vampire standing outside. Francesca broke eye contact with the human, waiting on Orobas. “Eat,” she told him sternly. She was only helping any further if he got himself better. There was no arguing there.

When she kept on urging him to eat Orobas felt conflicted and angry, but when he followed and the man allowed him entrance, he paused on the stoop. The moment the man locked eyes with him fear surfaced, the flush of color raced away from his face, and his pulse ticked faster and faster. Orobas watched the bob of his throat as nerves made him swallow the spit in his mouth, the tendons and muscles ready to scream, and the monster there smirked and in a burst of speed broke the fragile body against the far wall. Suspended in the air, their spine snapped instantly, and all their ribs shattered from the impact. Blood gushed from their mouth as they exhaled the forced shove of air from their punctured lungs and began to gag on it. Their scream muffed in a gurgling sound as Orobas looked them in the eye, there was a second where it appeared like he still wouldn’t feed. The pulse weakening as the limp body was only held up by his hand, but he conceded, the scent too much and bit into their neck, teeth like serrated blades punctured the artery and Orobas drank deeply. Consuming the rest of their blood until the artery deflated from the lack of liquid. He let go, the body crumbling at his feet, the broken drywall bloody from the impact. Orobas let it heal him, and made to unbutton his shirt, tossing the ruined item on the floor. 

His red eyes looked over at her, the blood not enough to quell his dangerous mood, but he looked better. He took a jacket from the human off the wall and pulled it on his shoulders. 

It was unfair that he didn’t even take a moment to compel the man out of his terror. Watching the human stare, completely frozen and horror-stuck, was pitiful. Yet it was understandable. If the circumstances were different… Well, if they were different, nothing would’ve changed. Because that’s how things always played out when the two got together, apparently. There was suffering in every aspect - physical from others and emotional from unresolved feelings from them. Francesca always would put up a fight, treated him coldly, just as much as he’d keep his hot-and-cold thing. They always hurt, cut open, gutted and killed together. It’s always been like this, as if he still could awaken the animalistic side of hers that’s been implanted in her so many years ago by her sire.

The chandelier of the living room shook above their heads as the man’s body crashed against the wall. Still standing on the side, the Italian intently watched, slightly apprehensive that Orobas simply wouldn’t do what she told him to do. It was common sense that he had to feed sooner than later, she couldn’t understand why he was putting up a fight. Was it only because she was the one forcing him to do so, instead of it being by his own will? Nonetheless, he heard her. The temptation was probably too strong for him to resist and persist with his stubbornness. When fangs ripped open the human’s throat, Fran decided to take a seat in an armchair and start thinking what the bloody hell they could do next. Run up and down the bloody place looking for a lead? Find vampires and torture them, wish they knew anything about Carrington and make more enemies in the process?

She realized Orobas had been looking at her, the man now flat on the ground like a sack of potatoes, in a pool of his own blood. Fran stood from her seat, noticing through the layer of blood how there were no more sunburns over his skin. “You’re looking terrible in that jacket.” It was her way of complimenting him, actually, because she was still quite angry - maybe she’d be constantly pissed off for five decades or so. Sadly, he could never look terrible in her eyes in any way. And it only got her all the more annoyed. “Certo. E che facciamo adesso? How can I help?” Finally, she yelled to him. At least he wasn’t that hurt anymore, in spite of the obvious mental exhaustion.

“Should I forgo everything then?” He teased while she yelled at him, unzipping it and depositing it on the ground to walk around the house and find a bedroom. The man lived a boring life, a soul easily forgotten if the lack of pictures of family was to go by. Though of course, he didn’t have any photos of his friends either-- should he? Did their kind do that sorta thing? Haxian and him aren’t in one photo together, no need to pull such old memories when the future was right there. 

He couldn’t possibly be teasing her right now. Hazel eyes squinted at him in response, not really taking the time to lash back at him. But as she carried on with genuine questions to pressing matters, he simply turned him back on her and walked further into the house! Orobas wasn’t taking the piss, after all, he was truly going after the man’s closet to try and find something more fitting to his personality. Why not take a shower while at it? She thought. Maybe put some of his cologne. Mentally drained, Francesca fell in the sofa and rubbed her face, the portrait of frustration. Both of her hands were placed on her stomach as her questioning eyes stared at the ceiling. A crack opened there too when the man’s body hit the drywall. She didn’t know what to do.

A pang of something frustrating surfaced as he found a dress shirt in their closet, and he washed his hands and face in the bathroom. Ignoring her wasn’t entirely on purpose, though on brand for Orobas when she raised her voice at him. He was thinking of a better plan than interrogating people and trying to find out who knew what. There was a bad feeling in his gut that someone knew something, but was keeping quiet for the fear of the label of rat being put on their back. Droplets of water clung to his face, still exhausted, thin and gray. Eyes a deep crimson, he licked his lips, the taste of blood still present and his stomach coiled in thirst for more. Walking out of the bedroom, he gave her a look as if to ask, ‘is this better?’, but was already buttoning up the dress shirt and made to sit with her on the couch. 

“Someone said they could do a locating spell, but it’s going to be too late. I just can’t believe it will work without people bargaining for stuff while we won’t have time,” he scratched at his fang with a nail, lounging back improperly and stared at the mangled corpse. “The person I killed before I got you, said they saw someone on the beach with a truck and swore they took someone from the water. Maybe it’s him, maybe it's just another human corpse. He has to be on Amity Road. I think, the best course is to find the truck. Black, overly large with equipment in the back.” 

Orobas’ return caught her by surprise. When she heard the water running, Fran truly thought he was washing off all the blood. Which wouldn’t have been a bad idea, it just sounded wrong taking a shower when all she could think of was Carrington. When he sat next to her, her expressive eyes were nearly overflowing with water. She quickly sat up and rubbed them, humming in agreement in a weakened voice to the silent question he threw her way. Not really though, he still looked terrible and she still preferred him in his own clothes, but - Francesca cleared her throat, inhaling quietly. The last thing she wanted was for the vampire to notice she was crying right there. The woman who had been quietly waiting for him to finish draining a man from his blood was now crying in his sofa. It was pathetic. She felt pathetic. Yet she couldn’t help it. Fran without her emotions just wasn’t Fran.

“Fine,” almost promptly, the brunette stood up to her feed, running her hand through her dark hair, clearly distraught. Fran, who’s never been patient, now just seemed restless, unable to stay still for too long. “Let’s move then.” 

Orobas sensed the emotion in her easily. Attuned to suffering within people. He stood up and grabbed her hand, and made to look her in the eyes. People crying was Orobas’ greatest weakness. Not in wanting to console them, but to savor it. When someone got to that point of emotion, where it swelled their eyes, and fell in tracks down their cheeks-- it was truly beautiful and distracting. Orobas’ gaze was predatory, but for once he didn’t lash out and make her feel ridiculous, didn’t say something to have her anger rise and to lash out at him. Though he quite enjoyed that too, he felt the heaviness in his chest over the situation. Carrington was making both these ruthless monsters emotional to the point of confusing. He pressed and kiss to her cheek, and walked past her and towards the door. 

“Let’s move then--” 

Orobas darted for a good part of the night, around Amity Road looking for the truck that was scene. It was the only lead they had, and for tonight, it could be the only one they should follow so it didn’t get distracting. He battled the desires for mayhem. His anger at its peak, his concern a confusing anxiety driven reaction, but as they looked, he was thankful he had Fran with him tonight. So they could keep one another in check. As the sun was only two hours away, he finally found it in a parking lot. Looking around nothing really moved, the place quiet as it should be this early in the day. No. “Francesca--” in a dissipation of speed to ran towards him. 

Carrington wasn’t quite sure how long he had been walking. The road seemed to lead nowhere, even though he knew where he was. Didn’t he? Amity Road. Wasn’t it? Had he passed that street already? Was that the same car parked there on the corner? Carrington swiped a hand over his eyes. Surely he wasn’t walking in circles. 

He looked up at the sky. What time was it? How long until the sun came up? He’d need to either find his way home or find shelter. It wouldn’t do to have survived the hell of the last week (or was it longer?) only to perish at sunrise because he couldn’t find his bloody way home. His watch and his phone weren’t working, and there were no clocks or signs to let him know the time. Only sallow, greasy light from the streetlamps, the smell of wet and rot, and the feeling of simply wanting to sit down… just for a moment. To rest. Perhaps he would. 

Carrington stumbled… and fell to the sidewalk. And this time he didn’t get back up. Christ, he was so tired. Lying down wouldn’t do any harm. He would rest. Just for a moment…

That complicity gesture forced her to swallow the lump of sadness that gathered in her throat. Discarding those overwhelming emotions was the only way to focus on what was important: the task ahead. They had to find Carrington, or at least a second lead that got them anywhere closer to finding him. Anything but remaining where they were now.

Whist one would look in the right, the other would sweep the left, going through block by block following the same pattern, covering the area as quick as possible; not exactly together as in side by side, but hardly apart, for with a whisper and the blink of an eye Fran would be standing standing beside him. But nor their speed nor their insistence seemed to matter when that bloody truck was nowhere to be found. Maybe they’d given him a wrong lead just so Orobas would get off their back, somehow believing they wouldn’t end up dead in a ditch after Orobas was done with them after that lie.

Exhausted, Fran was about to give up. She was hungry, the sun would come up in a few moments and they couldn’t find a vehicle that was probably nonexistent or maybe was some type of invisible-kombi from the high-on-drugs-and-seeing-things-that-don’t-exist fae world. 

Turning her back to the vampire, she sighed loudly, a hand on her hip and another on her face. That’s when she heard the quiet call and immediately ran to Oroba’s side. That’s when she saw him. Or was it some drunk, homeless man? He smelled different. Past the dirt, the worn-out clothes and lack of his typical aftershave. Did he drink from someone on drugs? Why was he lying there?! Was he... dead? “... is it… him…?” After a couple of second of uncontrollable first-shock and strong fear, Francesca threw herself to the ground, kneeling and, as carefully as her disperair allowed her, rolled him over. Her hand delicately touched his face. “Carring? You’re fine. You’re fine, we got you,” she tried to sound as confident as possible, but without even noticing, Fran was already silently crying. For a second she looked back at Orobas, wanting to tell him thanks for not giving up on him, for finding the lead to him, for finding him, for getting to that point for him - but no words came out.

Orobas didn’t want to see her despair right now, and her tears-- ever delightful and distracting, almost had him letting them have their moment, but they were all cutting it close, and in the morning-- someone would likely call the police on their bodies. When she looked up at him as he stood there, Carrington starved, wearing clothes not atypical, and his general state in her arms, he grew impossibly mad. It was wildfire, and his gaze didn’t hide it. The frustration of it all almost consuming, because he didn’t know the why, and he wasn’t sure Carrington would even explain. He knew he probably wouldn’t-- if this situation was reversed. His fists curled inward, and Orobas had to calm down or he’d walk away from this. Haxian-- we found him. He felt his master close, not intruding on their hunt, nor helping, but was in their car waiting patiently to be sure they didn’t get caught in the sun. I’m coming. He crouched down, running the edges of his fingertips over Francesca's cheeks, and once more looked at Carrington.

 “Come--” Haxian pulled up fast to the parking lot and the group sped off towards Bloodhaven.

[time-is-a-pain]

Bella Is Not Impressed: Part Two

Previous, Next

“And that’s how I ended up saving a litter of stray kittens from a Southern Smooth snake”

Bella rolled her eyes as the latest of Lila’s tall tales reached her ears from where she was sitting surrounded by her faithful listeners. 

“That’s bull. Southern Smooth snakes are in southern France. It’s literally in their name.”

“I know I’ve already said it a lot,” Marinette started from her seat across the table, “but I’m so glad there’s someone else here who realizes that Lila is lying.” 

Bella shrugged, “Honestly Mari, um, full offence to Alya and the others, but it’s not even that hard to tell she’s lying.” 

Marinette sagged a little and Bella instantly felt a pang of guilt. She hadn’t meant to make her only friend in the country sad. But she was right, the things Lila tried to sell as the One and Only Truth were quite frankly ridiculous and Bella couldn’t believe anyone bought it. 

“I know,” Marinette grumbled in frustration, “no one will notice the glaring holes in her stories and I can’t even get Alya to fact check any of them.” 

Bella was patting Marinette’s arm when Adrien sat down at their table. “Hey, I heard you guys talking about Lila.”

Bella didn’t miss the way Marinette heaved a sigh and scooted away from her crush. Which was weird considering how hyped she’d been at the idea of sitting together in class. Bella also didn’t miss the mumbled “I didn’t tell her.” aimed towards Adrien. 

“You mean the Liar?” Bella asked bluntly, noting with interest the way Adrien flinched. 

“You haven’t told anyone about her lies, have you?” 

Bella shrugged and folded her arms, “I haven’t seen any reason to yet, and quite honestly I have a bet going with my uncle about how long it’ll take before her Faithful Listeners catch on a hole.” 

Adrien but his utensils down, frowning slightly. “You shouldn’t tell anyone about her lies.” 

Bella raised her eyebrows. “No one, not even if I have a good reason to?” 

Adrien shook his head. “If you tell on her there’s a risk she’d be Akumatized, and no one wants that.”

Marinette deflated more and Bella scowled. “No. If I have a good reason to tell on her, be it that her lie is spreading actually harmful information or that her lie is causing someone to feel bad enough to be Akumatized, then I will.” 

Adrien started to argue but Bella cut him off. “From what I’ve seen of Paris, everyone is at risk of becoming an Akuma. Even those of us right here at this table. I will not, enable anyone to be a manipulative bully just on the off chance that they’ll be forced to show their true colors.”

Bella glared at Adrien, daring him to argue. He didn’t. But he did huff and leave the table. Marinette lightly kicked Bella’s leg under the table, pointing to the other side of the room when she had Bella’s attention. Apparently the group had heard at least part of what Bella had said and were staring at them. Bella couldn’t quite read Lila’s expression,  but everyone else’s was clear. They were all confused as to who the manipulative bully Bella mentioned was. 

Bella sighed and turned away. “Just ignore them. If they want to know they’ll have to tear themselves away from their precious darling and ask.” 

Marinette and Bella finished their lunch in silence, keenly aware of the rest of the class throwing puzzled looks their way. Marinette kept Bella in the lunchroom for a minute after the bell rang and everyone had filtered back to class.

“Can I talk to you after school?” 

Bella agreed, wondering what Marinette wanted to talk about. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

After school let out Bella waited for Marinette by the gate. She knew that Marinette’s bakery wasn’t that far from school and the two of them had agreed to talk there during a lull in class. Bella still didn’t really know what Marinette wanted to talk about, but the way she twisted her hands and wouldn’t look Bella in the face made her worried. 

She greeted Marinette’s parents when they got to the bakery and happily munched on the pastry Mr. Dupain had given her on the way up to Marinette’s room. 

Marinette sat in her desk chair, motioning for Bella to sit on the bed. Bella toed her shoes off and sat cross-legged on the bed.

“So, what did you want to talk to me about?” 

Marinette chewed her lip, obviously finding it hard to start. Bella knew what that was like. 

“Does it have to do with what we were talking about at lunch?” 

Marinette nodded and Bella rolled her head back, thinking about which part of their conversation could have sparked this. 

“What’s the biggest word in your head right now?” 

Marinette brought her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. “Butterfly.” 

Bella felt a knot start twisting itself into her stomach. That word and Marinette’s body language were Not Good together. She started to ask another question, but it seemed that was all Marinette needed to get started. 

“I was almost Akumatized. In the bathroom, Lila’s first day back at school.” 

That knot moved up to Bella’s heart and started burning. She had to remind herself to calm down before she got angry enough to attract a butterfly of her own. 

“I knew she was lying, and she threatened me. Said she would take away all my friends.” 

Bella flexed her hands, biting her lip to keep herself from pointing out that Lila had pretty much already accomplished that. 

“Does Adrien know about that part?” Bella struggled to keep her voice even.

Marinette shook her head, “I couldn’t tell him,” she whispered. “Because Lila threatened to take him away from me too. He made me promise not to expose her. Said it wouldn’t be a good example and it was okay as long as we knew and she wasn’t hurting anyone. He said exposing her wouldn’t make her a better person.” 

Bella sucked in a breath. “Mari, I hate to say this cause I know how much you care about Adrien, but that is a steaming pile of bs. It isn’t your job to make sure Lila becomes a better person and all you’re doing by not calling her out is telling her that it’s okay to walk all over you.” 

Marinette curled up tighter, tears welling up in her eyes. “But what about the chance she’ll get Akumatized?” 

Bella leapt off the bed and went to pull her over to the bed where Bella gently gathered Marinette into her arms, rubbing soothing circles on her back. “Just like I said at lunch, allowing and enabling someone to manipulate their way into ruining someone’s life, your life, is in no way excused by the possibility of Lila being Akumatized.” 

Marinette nodded, burying her face in Bella’s neck to hide her tears. Bella rocked them back and forth, rubbing Marinette’s back and humming her favorite tune. Some time passed before either of them spoke again, content to simply rock back and forth. 

“Mari?” Marinette hummed, tickling Bella’s neck. “Mari have you told your parents?” Marinette stiffened and a long moment passed before she shook her head. Bella rushed to assure that it was okay. They sat again for a long while, Bella managing to get Marinette’s promise that she’d tell her parents about Lila and her threats before the week ended. Bella almost called her parents and tell them she’d be having an impromptu sleepover, but Marinette had turned down the offer. 

“Thanks, but I already feel much better. And I have your number if things get bad again.” 

So Bella had instead called her parents to pick her up from the bakery, hanging out with Marinette and her parents until they arrived. On the way home Bella talked to her dad about the best way to collect evidence against a bully. That got her some worried looks, but she was quick to assure them the bully wasn’t hers. 

When they were home and Bella was up in her room, she texted Ley-Ley. In part to vent and part to see what his demonic take on the situation would be.

Bella: Heyyyyyyyyy are you up?

Ley-Ley: Am now, what’s up?

Bella: I need to yell and also I need your demonic opinion.

Ley-Ley: Wait hang on, let me get angel in on this.

Ley-Ley: Okay, yell away

Bella: Okay SO. You remember sausage girl? Yeah she’s a huge liar. Like, first day at school she claimed to know you before you’d gotten popular and you said you’d never met her, plus you’ve been popular since we were tiny babs. 

Bella: So obviously she was lying but I figured, “what the hell, it’s not like that kinda lie would hurt anyone here.” so I left her alone.

Ley-Ley: Uh oh. This is looking bad already

Bella: But then I found out today that my friend Mari has not only been threatened by sausage girl, she was nearly Akumatized because of her. 

Bella: And to top it off, Mari’s crush knows that sausage girl is lying, but doesn’t know that she threatened Mari, and made Mari promise not to expose Liela because “doing so wouldn’t make her a better person.” 

Ley-Ley: First of all, bullshit. Second of all, that’s not your friend’s job? If sausage girl is a bad person then she is gonna have to be the driving force behind being a better person. 

Bella: That’s what I said! And to make matters worse, the teachers at school are all whipped into favoring the bullies. Except Mrs. Mandeliev, but unfortunately we aren’t in her class.

Ley-Ley: WHAT?!? The teachers are supposed to help the kids being bullied, not the other way around!

Bella: I know! What makes this ironic is the teacher told me outright to report if I saw anyone getting bullied. And then she turns around and tells the bullied kid to “be the better person” and keep letting the bully (Chloe) walk all over them. 

Ley-Ley: Angel’s saying we should go to Paris and knock some sense into your school. 

Bella: XD Please

Bella: In all seriousness though, it would be nice if you were here.

Bella:

They know my uncle is one of the most popular gardening blogs in London, but I never told them you’re my uncle and they all heard the story of how Liela met the famous A.J. Crowley before he became a popular blog so having you show up and then deny ever meeting her would also be a good start in tearing her web apart

Ley-Ley: Bella my sweet niece, I would be happy to help you defend your friend. Aziraphale and I will be in Paris next week.

[fallingin-like]

november 12

peu à peu by @zombiesolace​ [requested by @jsteneil]

see which other fics i’m reviewing this month! / my review request post!

this is a really interesting character study on post-canon kevin and how he finds his place within the foxes and deals with the aftermath of the events within the series. this fic has a lot of introspection and does a really great job of unpacking everything.

this is such an intriguing fic to me, i don’t see that many that really delve into kevin and his thoughts. i can’t imagine how difficult of a time he must have, both throughout the series and during post-canon events. this fic really made me better appreciate the struggles that he goes through because it’s really common to have his actions portrayed without any of this explanation or why he acts in certain ways. we always see his single-mindedness with respect to exy and just kind of write it off as kevin being kevin. i think you effectively explored his character and inner thoughts.

some parts that stood out to me:

“it goes like this: they lose.” uhm somehow you were able to break my heart in the first two lines of the fic? i love the simplicity of the way you worded this, it contrasts really well with the significance of what it means, for the foxes, but especially for kevin.

kevin yelling at the team after the loss feels very in character. it reminds me of what he was apparently like when coaching the foxes prior to playing, and we see a little bit of it in the books themselves. it really comes down to the fact that kevin is desperate. for a lot of the foxes, the loss stings, but at the end of the day it’s just a loss. the criticism is harsh and they don’t understand why kevin is so hard on them. to kevin, it’s his life. not just because of the fact that he’s definitely trying to go pro and have exy as his career and not just because the moriyamas are definitely watching over him, but because that’s how he was raised as a child. kevin’s terrible childhood is somewhat overshadowed by the rest of the foxes, but he likely still has trauma from how he was raised in the nest, under the master and riko. so much pressure that it feels natural that he wants to try and regain control in some way.

”they’re a team, they fall together. and yet after each game this year, kevin has found himself falling apart alone. biting shame and swallowing frustration as he tears into each overanalyzed mistake” i find in life it’s so easy to isolate yourself from the people around you. the foxes probably find it hard to be sympathetic towards kevin, but they probably don’t realise that as harsh as he is to them, he is exponentially more critical of himself. in your own head, mistakes can be an unending loop, constant and distracting. this fic is really opening my eyes to what kevin is dealing with and appreciating him so much more.

”their win last year was a fluke. a gift given to them by virtue of the trojans. a simply byproduct of the hardiness of the foxes and the instability of riko’s collapsing domain.” ohmygoodness nooo it’s always so hard for me as an outsider to see kevin (and really anyone) struggle with the imposter syndrome. so many people (including many talented fanfic authors!!) write off their talent, skill, and hard work as fluke or luck as opposed to the many hours spent bettering themselves and practicing.

”it is with an overwhelming sense of dread that kevin thinks of his death. with each day the reality of riko’s loss feels more sure… kevin wishes riko’s ghost had followed. he wishes riko were still alive. he wishes he were alone, he wishes he weren’t.” wow i love the way you wrote this, with his conflicting thoughts. since we experienced the series through neil’s pov, riko’s death feels more like victory and less like a loss. it’s something to be celebrated. but i think it can almost be seen as similar to mary’s death, which neil mourned. both characters were abusive and did things that were wrong. and yet, they were loved. whether we like it or not, riko was kevin’s family and though their relationship was twisted and manipulated, especially as they grew older, riko was the person that kevin was closest to. emotions are so complicated and i bet kevin feels like he can’t discuss this with the other foxes, who don’t quite understand.

”he knows that his commentary is far more nuanced by virtue of being a fox. kevin takes the out and opens the folder he has on the roadrunners.” this is kind of small, but i find it has some significance. it can be so easy to do the thing that you know is self destructive and get caught in a rabbit hole of pages and articles of bad. good on kevin for not doing that.

”the name wymack clings to his tongue. coach sits temptingly at the back of his palette. my dad, his mind whispers, the words clear and intrusive.” ugH it must be so so hard for kevin to work through this. i love these lines.

”andrew pokes his head out of the bedroom. he stares blankly at kevin, his hair mussed… he leaves the door partially ajar. kevin feels something in his chest loosen.” oo i really really liked this part. andrew has his own unique way of showing that he cares and i love seeing the small things that he does.

the whole conversation between dan and kevin is so interesting. the actual information that you’re sharing about exy and the way that they interact. i think you did a great job of showing a realistic back and forth.

”riko was always right there. kevin never had to call him.” these two sentences, and actually that whole section is really just so heartbreaking. you do a great job of making me understand kevin, something i haven’t really done so before.

”that’s not true. he does know. he enjoys having the ability to express his opinion. it’s a novelty he’s still getting used to.” oh, kevin.

”kevin can’t see any of the foxes. they disappeared into the store moments upon arrival and three out of the four are too short to be seen over the aisles.” lol what a mood (i am short)

kevin’s interaction with the fans is so interesting. i wonder if he often dealt with actually meeting fans during his time as a raven. it’s also really interesting to see neil from this point of view, he almost seems… unfamiliar? but not in a bad way. it kind of really brings us into the perspective of kevin.

abby-kevin relationship is so nice. i think it’s great that kevin has a maternal figure that he can find comfort in

the section on kayleigh is just so so sad. it makes me feel grief for someone i never knew. it aches knowing that she was such a wonderful woman, that kevin had her and now he doesn’t.

”’wooo!’ nicky shouts, ‘now that was a wake up call i didn’t need.’” ohmygoodness i love the way that you write nicky! it really lightens the fic a bit more.

honestly the bit about jean being waterboarded is horrifying to me. 

i like that wymack took kevin to riko’s funeral. there’s a sense of closure that has to do with it, kevin being with his real family while saying goodbye to what used to be his family

”he doesn’t recall riko breaking his had. he remembers before, and he remembers after but he doesn’t remember the moment his life changed.” i really appreciate the formatting you used with this, the line separating the first sentence, the way that you broke up the second sentence into two lines. it feels more impactful, more significant.

”he can see nicky and aaron showing off their most ridiculous dance moves in the corner for one another” oh my goodness this is amazing

“he wonders if they’ll call him an ex-fox when he graduates or if he’ll always be labeled an ex-raven. the nest had a quiet energy that fox tower doesn’t.” oh oh i like this a lot

also i like how you broke up the texts with paragraphs of kevin’s thoughts. it shows the gaps between his texts more and i feel his loneliness more keenly. the double-texting with the periods between reminds me of when i am at my loneliest

i love kevin’s conversation with jeremy. he’s known as one of the nicest, brightest characters in the series, but we really see why. how he is able to relax kevin and just speak to him.

your explanation of kevin choosing history as his major is so insightful, i’ve never really considered it, but now i wish i had

”i want andrew to enjoy himself. he does it rarely, kevin, you’re aware of that” renne is just so great.

the part about kevin using twitter, especially as a way to try and connect with thea is so interesting to me.

”’does he know you’re better than he is?’ she’d whispered in his ear” I LOVE THIS LINE what a turning point in kevin’s journey

ahh the part about nicky telling andrew about the conspiracy station, it’s so nice to see the way they are bonding like his

andrew is such a complicated character, i absolutely adore the way that you write him. a lot of the time i read a softer side of him, through the perspective of neil. kevin and andrew have a fascinating relationship, i love seeing it from kevin. “he gives kevin a thumbs up”, “i hear you, andrew says” these are so perfect

wymack giving kevin an extra jacket is peak dad behaviour.

recently i’ve been so fond of seeing authors incorporate the title of their fic into the writing. this is no different, it makes the title have that much more meaning “little by little, the bird builds his nest” i love this. how did you come across this quote? it’s so fitting for this fic

the dynamic between dan, wymack, and kevin is so so interesting. wymack and kevin are so similar that sometimes i guess it causes a distance because they’re not the best at communication. and it must be hard. they’re related, but still have so much to learn about each other. i guess i’ve never though much of how close dan and wymack are. you do a really good job at capturing the tension that exists, the interactions.

”he thinks a lot of people would rather he never spoke again” oh no this hit me hard

the little part where kevin and dan are talking about neil’s shot, i like this little bonding that we see. exy is the thing that has brought them together

”’you’ll make a good wymack,’ he says. dan jerks back, her mouth open, and her eyes stunned.” oh this is so nice

”he wants to say he’s my dad, but he’s hers too; hers more so and that’s dan’s point. what would he know? ‘he saved me too,’ he says instead” oh my goodness i love this so much

sorry but neil and kevin teaming up and nicky and aaron teaming up so that andrew loses is the best part of this fic and anyone that believes otherwise can fight me!!! “when they arrive in columbia andrew makes an aborted move like he will shut neil out of their room and it’s the first time kevin hears something like a laugh from neil.” this is so soft i needed this

go thea!!! thank you for making her so amazing in this fic!!! i like how you write their relationship, it’s refreshing and really interesting, we don’t know that much about thea

THEA TAKING OFF HER NECKLACE WHEN KEVIN CHANGES HIS TATTOO THIS IS THE BEST

there’s so much that you covered in this fic. kevin’s relationship with exy, riko, the rest of the foxes, wymack. i love the way that you worked through everything. the gradual improvement of the foxes following with kevin’s mental health improving. but we can really see how far he has come when they lose and he’s okay with it. you made me feel so close to kevin. your writing is wonderful, so many little details that just build to make this fic amazing. thank you so much for writing this!

[ao3datafan]

Aggregate Data and Meaningful Conclusions: A Response to Fansplaining’s Fandom Study

Before I get into this, I just want to give a quick update on a few things.

1)      I am still looking for a new home for the AO3 DataFan project. Pillowfort may be viable in a few years, but it’s not currently viable as it lacks a lot of the key infrastructure needed to make these posts (and it’s chunky and buggy as hell but that’s a different problem). If you have suggestions, shoot them my way!

2)      WOW Look at all these new followers! Where the heck did you all come from? Oh my gosh! When I started, I thought I’d maybe get around 50 or so followers, most of whom would be acafans themselves or adjacent.

3)      I’m having all sorts of “fun” (read: horrible) times with my current analysis on the taxonomy of Big Name Fans. I knew it would be a tricky question to answer when I started (but honestly, why not try to attempt it anyway?) but I didn’t quite anticipate HOW complicated this would be. Haha! I’m actually working with a non-fandom involved coworker on how to do some *insert technical data science talk here* with the data to see if we can’t get a conclusion from the data we have. However, we’ve both come to a very water is wet conclusion; BNFs are not defined solely by the popularity of the work they create. More on that when I finish the post.

Okay, with the announcements out of the way, let’s talk about data collection and fandom analysis, and why Fansplaining’s fandom study has left me feeling a little let down.

So I could have sworn I’d talked about univariate analysis before, but since I can’t find where, I’ll recap it for you here. Univariate analysis is analysis conducted on a single variable. It’s relatively straightforward (and boring) and it usually lends itself to making pie charts and bar graphs. This has been the prevalent trend in fandom analytics for a few years now. Blogs like fandometrics and projects like FandomStats use univariate analysis to reveal information about fandom on the broad scale. Most often, univariate analysis is preformed on what’s called aggregate data.

The process of aggregating data and performing analysis on that aggregation does have it’s uses, but it’s largely the problem with fandom analytics that I started this project to address. Aggregation and univariate analysis can tell us the “WHAT” of the data, but it can’t tell us the “WHY/HOW.” Take, for example, FandomStats queries.

Above is a query on the “Fluff” tag on AO3. It’s… nice. You can see how authors chose to rate their fluffy works and if you read further down you can even see which fandoms are the “fluffiest” in terms of works. On the surface, there’s nothing wrong with this. It’s a very solid “WHAT” answer to the data. “What are people writing?”

Compare this to my analysis of “Fluff” versus “Angst” tagged works. 

In this post, I used two variables to make a comparison. I tracked an individual work’s hit count compared to it’s uses of either the “Fluff” or “Angst” tag. It’s actually still considered univariate analysis when you do this, but the difference is that it’s performed on non-aggregated data. In this case, you can compare how the tags influence the hit count of a story. It answers a “HOW” question. “How does a work’s tagging effect it’s hit count?”

For an example of multivariate analysis, see also my post on the relationship between the length of a fic and its hit count which attempts to answer “How does the chapter length affect hit count?”

Okay, so what does all this have to do with Fansplaining’s Fandom Study?

As I showed earlier, aggregate data can only be used in univariate analysis. It makes good pie charts and bar charts, but not much else. Aggregate data can tell you “WHAT” something is, but it can’t tell you “HOW” or “WHY” something is. In order to get to the heart of those, you need to know how data points interplay with one another. To do that, you need individual data points. Like an individual work’s metrics or an individual’s responses to a survey.

Which is why I’m slightly annoyed with Fansplaining. Dear Flourish and Elizabeth – you conducted one of the largest surveys of fanfiction reader’s habits with 7,500 individual data points of users ranking their fanfiction reading preferences. I would literally KILL to be able to do that! That is a GOLD MINE of data.

So why the hell did you decide to aggregate it all and only release the aggregated results?

Now I want to be clear that I am not bashing Fansplaining’s study or their thoughtful and well written article explaining their results. They did a decent job even if it is frustratingly banal to someone like me who wants to understand the interplay between data points. It’s especially frustrating that the article itself even asks the kinds of questions that multivariate analysis can answer.

And while mpreg is widely disliked, pregnancy in general is met with a ¯\_(ツ)_/¯—a highly suggestive difference. We’ve got a lot of theories on why, but they’ll need to wait; it deserves a lot more space than we can give it here.

You know what would be a good start to answering this question? Knowing the demographics of your participants. And by demographics, I don’t mean whether they’re male, female, non-binary, black, white, Asian, young, old, etc. (although I would kill to know that stuff too). What I mean is knowing how they answered other questions in the survey. For example, is there a high correlation between people who answered “Yay!” for both mpreg and pregnancy? Did people who enjoy mpreg also tend to enjoy some mpreg-adjacent tropes such as omegaverse? Is pregnancy met with a warmer reception by people who prefer relationships involving a female character (het or F/F for example)? You COULD read any freeform text comments on the survey and attempt to get some answers from that, or you COULD do multivariate analysis. Or, even better, you could use that fancy data science technique called NLP and do both!

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

There’s also some data I would have killed to analyze on a purely selfish level. As a Domme in the BDSM community, I’m keenly interested in the interplay of power and relationships – who has power, how did they get it, and how do they maintain it? – so when Fansplaining reported that “slavery” was an almost universally reviled trope, I really wanted to know more about the psychology of why that is. Again, multivariate analysis could help us identify the relationship between how people feel about “slavery” tags and how they feel about other tags and tropes. For example, people who hate slavery might feel strongly negative towards fics about racism, which can be an indication that they dislike the implications of chattel slavery or that the trope hits closer to home than they want to deal with when they’re enjoying their leisure time. On the other hand, people who like slavery might come it for much the same reason I do – because it’s an interesting study of how people negotiate power and relationships in an inherently unbalanced system. In that case, they may also enjoy omegaverse, prostitution (wherein the power is in the exchange of sex and money), or even teacher/student fics.

(I also really want to know what’s going on with centaurification. I’ve been in the BDSM community for 8 years and the online fandom community for 18 years. I thought I had seen it all, and yet I am completely stumped about what centaurification is.)

Alas, I may never have the answers to these questions. In my professional life, I’ve had clients hand me datasets upon datasets of aggregated data and then ask me to use sophisticated machine learning/artificial intelligence to glean insights for them. I’ve always managed not to laugh in their faces even if my eyebrow is developing a bit of a twinge. Instead, I patiently explain to them what I just explained to you guys, my wonderful dear followers. Maybe if I explain it often enough, someone will gift me with raw, unaggregated data of one of these surveys.

A girl can only hope.

(But seriously, I really would commit murder for a copy of the raw survey results.)

[veinereastath]

FC5 Birthday Bash

Here we go! Today, on 27th March Far Cry 5 celebrates it’s first birthday! I still love this game and try to make new content for it, just like many other people. This one-shot is a present for @unclefungusthegoat <3 Big thanks to @edensgay for having this amazing idea to make gifts for other people in the fandom! I hope that my giftee will like it. As you prefered, here is John Seed x Holly pairing, with drama, angst and more sad and disturbing stuff, as you (and me as well) like ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

I love everyone in this fandom – it’s the best one I’ve ever been in!

Word count: 2075

Pairing: John Seed x Holly (well, kind of). Warnings: Angst, drama, disturbing stuff.

She waited for him where at the same place as always - in the southwest of the ranch, by the river bank. So far away that they would not risk being noticed, yet close enough that they would be able to return or call for support if they encountered a wild, furious animal. John may have been bold and brave, but he was not his big bad brother. Jacob would be able to fight off a cougar or a bear. The Baptist – not really.

He never told his people why he was going there, and they, obedient and believing in his every action, didn’t ask any questions. They could be extremely sensitive to the safety of their herald, but they also believed that the Seed family was surrounded by God's protection and no one could touch them. No one could harm them. No one could kill them.

Maybe they were right.

She heard the soft crackling of small branches and leaves as he approached her. He was careful not to hook his valuable clothes on shrubs; he always took care of his appearance, no matter what the situation was. Holly sat on a large boulder, watching him with curious eyes. The man approached her slowly, with natural and delicate elegance. The right corner of his mouth rose slightly in a charming smile, and blue eyes glittered. The night was extremely bright - no clouds obscured the stars and the moon. Everything was transparent, beautiful, mysterious.

“You didn’t have to wait too long, I hope?”

His voice was velvety, extremely pleasant to the ear. It mixed gentleness and charisma, but all this seemed to be just a cover for the truth - and the truth took the form of a barely audible, though certainly present note of the threat that passed through his tongue like a snake wrapping around a flower twig. She melted whenever he spoke, although it was impossible to say that she actually loved him. Their secret meetings served rather to kill loneliness. Somewhere deep down, Holly was still devoted to her ex-husband, even if at the end he became a monster and she was forced to take his life away in order to save herself. In the beginning, however, it was a relationship formed out of pure love and the woman still clung to this early memory. John was just a sort of escape and relief for her, but nothing more. At least she was telling herself so.

“I didn’t even feel the passage of time, honestly.” She admitted, smiling gently, looking at the calmly flowing river reflecting the light of the stars. This night seemed to be taken out straight from the poetic world, but somewhere deep inside it still carried something disturbing. Holly felt it, but she tried to ignore the strange feeling. “I like this place. It seems to be far away from all the problems.”

John chuckled melodiously and came closer, looking at the river, more focused on the water surface than the woman sitting next to him. He leaned his fingertips against the cold stone, tapping on a specific rhythm, which Holly could not recognize in any way.

“Did anything interesting happened lately?”

The woman shook her head after a brief moment of consideration. "No. My life is usually calm, you know that. I'm..." She hesitated for a moment, her head lowered. "I am far from the chaos that is currently around.”

It would seem that Holly was afraid to mention the situation in the county, especially when John was nearby. And although there was a note of something dangerous in his eyes, as though some negative memory had passed through his head - maybe one, maybe a few - he just nodded his head in understanding. She heard how dangerous his mood swings were, but he seemed to be careful around her. She hadn’t yet had the opportunity to be an actual witness to his anger and sincerely hoped that it would remain so.

"Surprising how just one person can turn our peaceful garden into a war zone, isn’t it?"  The question was rhetorical, so Holly didn’tt answer. She knew exactly what circled John's mind in this moment, and she didn’t want to drill it down. It was pure caution. No matter how well he might look, how charming his smile could be, she knew that he was something more. She just didn’t say it out loud for obvious reasons. Most of the people in Eden’s Gate knew the truth as well – but they were either too fanatical or too scared to do anything with it.

“You okay?” She asked cautiously, looking at him searchingly, but not keenly. John lowered his head and looked at her too. And as usual, all his thoughts and worries were covered by his characteristic, enigmatic smile, combining warmth with something disturbing.

"Just thoughts. They haunt us all at any time. There's nothing to worry about. They're a natural part of our existence." He responded with his typical eloquence, grabbing her gently by the palm of her hand, brushing her skin with his fingertips. She returned the touch with due care, letting out air from her lungs. John gave her a sense of security, letting her forget about everything for a moment - but she never forget who he was and what was he doing. She still heard all those screams of people kept in his bunker, begging for mercy, trying to understand what is happening and where are their families. Holly wanted to ask him multiple times – was it truly necessary? Why did they have to act with such brutality towards other people?

“Something is bothering you.” John noticed, watching her closely, investigating her every reaction. Seeing every flash in her eyes, muscle twitching, unevenness in her breath. He took a step backward, still holding the woman's hand, ordering her to get up. "Is there something you want to talk about? Something to confess, my dear?"

Holly shivered slightly, then looked into his eyes. They almost seemed to shine. A bright blue light that blends in perfectly with the man's characteristic blue shirt. His eyes seemed to flawlessly pierce her through. One look was enough for John to know what the person was thinking about. No one could hide the truth from him.

Well, almost no one.

“You can think about it for a while. Come with me.” His attitude, until now quite tense, seemed to change rapidly. He relaxed, leading the woman to the bank of the river. She felt the cool water on her legs and sighed quietly. John's grip on her hand gained some strength. "This time I want to confess something to you. And to God. Because something is bothering me.” He paused and looked at her. She could swore that for a brief moment she saw something change in him. He seemed nervous. “Will you listen?”

Holly was surprised by this turn of events and needed a moment to speak and whisper a delicate, barely audible "Yes". John smiled subtly at the corner of his mouth - this smile, although gentle and beautiful as ever, carried a note of something unsettling.

"Come."

She followed him into the deeper part of the river, feeling the water wrap her waist. She took a moment to observe the droplets of water, sparkling gently in the moonlight, running down her hand. They stood side by side in silence, until he spoke again. “I wanted to confess this for a long time. It took me a while to realize what is happening with me and what I’m feeling. I had to find a courage to say it out loud. To show it. Because no matter how hard we try to fight our sins, they always come back. It is to be seen either we can fight them off, or are we going to lose.” She listened to him, curious, fascinated by his voice. So silky. Like honey. Sweet, sweet…

Venom.

“Can I trust you?” John finally asked, looking at her cautiously. Waiting for the word he loved so much, the word that was his private bliss. And he heard it.

“Yes.” She whispered, and he ran his tattooed hand over her hair.

“I always loved my family. My brothers.” He started, sighing slightly. He looked dreamy. Peaceful. “Even when I was separated from them, I still loved them, because I felt them somewhere deep inside of me. Yes. I loved them more than anything else; or perhaps I actually never loved anything apart from them. I met many people. I gave them my body, and they were giving me theirs. But it was never out of any feelings. It was just a need. Lust.”

He paused for a moment, running his fingers over the water's surface, painting patterns that lasted no more than a second. “Joseph teached me how to fight it. I confessed all my sins and I atoned for them. Felt the pain that I deserved. It felt so wonderful. I was free. And then...” His eyes glittered and he took a long breath. “And then I realized that I love someone. It took some time. Few years. Everything changed. I love someone who isn’t part of my family. I opened my heart to an intruder, but the price for it is truly horrific. Because my love is unreciprocated love. And I tried to fight it for some time. But I failed. I admit it, and you know what?” John looked at her, and there was nothing mild in his gaze anymore, even though he was speaking calmly, in tthat beautiful manner of his. “I surrender.”

Holly swallowed hard, thinking about what to say. Or should she say anything? Would it be wise? It seemed like John was on the edge of patience, that he might lose the fight with his own anger and frustration. But she found the courage and finally spoke.

“Loving someone is not a sin.” She murmured, trembling slightly. “It’s the most pure thing in the world.”

“My love is not pure, though.” John countered. “It is love born out of hate. It’s not pure, it’s not good. It is the child of wrath and lust. Deep love, but it doesn’t change the fact that it is toxic. Jealous love.”

“And you want to atone for it?”

She was sure what the answer will be. She knew how much he loved this word, he loved how it danced on his tongue, like a ballet dancer on stage.

“No.”

Holly blinked and felt a chill run down her spine. “Then what do you want to do?”

“What is necessary.” He explained, then put his hand on her chest, tracing the line of her collarbone with his fingers. “I need to get rid of everything that makes me feel insecure. I need to focus on the person that is responsible for my torment. You, my dear Holly, know too much about me, and in order of everything to work out perfectly, I need to get you out of my mind.” Her eyes widened as she understood what he was aiming at. Her heart beat harder when fear pierced her body.

“I am sorry. But know that I’m doing it because of love.” John took a deep breath, an then his hand clutched around woman’s throat. “Love for the devil, caged in a body of a mortal woman, that is currently destroying everything my family worked for.”

Oh, sweet Deputy, you broke the first seal, and I’m breaking the second one.

His hand ached painfully on her throat, while the other with a violent force pushed the woman underwater. Holly only managed to moan, then the cold water began to pour into her mouth, depriving her of the possibility of breathing. She grabbed the man by the arm, desperately trying to push him away, or at least dissuade him from the current decision. But John remained adamant and still held her under the surface, ignoring the pain that her nails left, digging into his skin painfully.

Struggle. Splashing water. Silent chaos, fight for survival.

And then silence. Release.

He let her body flow down along the river, watching it for some time, and then left.

When John was standing by the door to his ranch, he heard a loud explosion in the distance. A cloud of smoke was painted on the morning sky. Another silo.

There was only one person brave and stupid enough to do it.

[theinquisitivej]

‘Avengers: Endgame’ – A Movie Review, and a Reflection on Endings

Endings are rarely the definitive final word.

A person’s story can come to an end, but the stories of the people around them and the world they live in carry on, even if that one person isn’t there anymore. That realisation conjures up a whole tangled mess of emotions, but it is the natural way of things. It’s not right to want everything to end with you. In life, we make the most of the time and energy we’re given, and if you make enough right decisions, get lucky, and dedicate enough of yourself, you’ll hopefully get to go with the sense that you did okay, and that those you leave behind are going to be alright. Endings in fiction are as infinitely variable as any other feature of artistic expression, but in narratives with expansive casts or fleshed out worlds, they often leave us with the feeling that we’d only have to stay a little longer and there would be more stories to explore. Just as the real world is bigger than any one lifetime, successfully-established fictional worlds feel much larger than any one set of characters and their narrative.

         For the last eleven years, audiences have enjoyed a series of blockbusters featuring an impressively varied range of stylistic approaches. At their best, these films are deeply satisfying and affecting, delivering poignant moments about characters coming to terms with their own flaws and trying their best to do the right thing. But when considered together, these films have never entirely felt resolved, with each one going out on a lingering note of “just wait for what comes next”. The story was never over for the Marvel Cinematic Universe, because another film was never far away. And now that the grand conclusion has finally come and $2.5 billion worth of us have watched and re-watched it, things are just the same as ever, and yet we’re at a moment that we’ve never seen before and are unlikely to see again for a long time. We’ve reached an ending of the story that begun with Tony Stark and his box of scraps in that cave in 2008. The story is over. But there are more stories to come.

Yes, there will be spoilers ahead. But I say again: this film has crossed over the two and a half billion dollar mark. I’m pretty sure if you’re reading this, you’ll have contributed your drop or two to Marvel’s bucket. So let’s talk about the movie.

         I appreciate the efforts of Christopher Markus and Stephen McFeely as screenwriters, Joe and Anthony Russo as directors, and the input of every person involved in deciding the final shape of Endgame’s story to make its structure noticeably different to that of Infinity War. The previous Avengers film is a constant juggling act, relying on the viewer taking to Thanos as a central thread around which the rest of the film is hung. We’re either seeing the various steps Thanos is taking along his journey, hearing about what kind of man he is and what he intends to do, or seeing characters who are consistently on the back foot as they frantically scramble to strategically and mentally prepare for an opponent they’re not ready for. By this point in the series, we’ve been conditioned to expect to see things primarily from the point of view of the dozens of characters aligned with the Avengers, but Infinity War is messy and fractured when you look at it from the perspective of the heroes. And that’s the point – our heroes are fractured, and so there’s no unified effort against the villain as he single-mindedly pursues his goal with continuous success. The Avengers are a mess, and they lose. Thanos is the one who seizes control of the narrative, undoing the decisions and sacrifices made by the heroes as he dictates what his ambitions are and why they are so noble… and because viewers are susceptible to sympathising with the person who names themselves the hero and takes the reins of the narrative, far too many people bought Thanos’ rhetoric. For a year there, we really were seeing think-pieces that said “maybe the genocidal zealot who emotionally manipulates people is right”!

         But Endgame’s structure deliberately contrasts against Infinity War’s. Whereas Infinity War is about heroes being separated and the catastrophe that follows in the wake of this disunity, Endgame presents its heroes as a group of grieving people who are unified through their shared regrets and resolve to overcome their despair together and work towards a singular objective to try and fix everything. The Avengers are disassembled in Infinity War and reassembled in Endgame. As a result, the structure is comparatively more uniform. You can clearly differentiate the film into three distinct thirds – the five-year time skip that shows life on a mournful Earth still coming to terms with half of life being eradicated, the Back to the Future Part II time-travel mission as characters revisit scenarios from previous films, and the big blowout battle where every surviving main superpowered character in the entire franchise is dumped into one battle for your viewing pleasure. Each third offers something different, meaning you cover all of the ground that you’d want to in a dramatic, energetic, and emotional close to a blockbuster saga with literally dozens of characters who are all key players. Each third is impressively balanced, and they all act as strong supporting columns for the film as a result.

         However, because these thirds are as distinct as they are, it’s almost inevitable that you’ll come away saying “I preferred these two parts over that third part, which felt okay but a little unnecessary”. Personally, I think there are plenty of themes (grief and a desire to revisit the past, putting guilt and trauma to rest, and of course, the strength of unity) and character arcs (Nebula finally choosing to integrate herself into a group of people who value her and literally killing the old version of herself who wanted only to please her abusive father-figure being the stand-out one) which help gel each of the film’s three segments together without much resistance. But I have encountered multiple people who have expressed the sentiment that they really liked two thirds but they could take or leave another third – inevitably, which third is which always varies. I can imagine that, if you’re not getting a lot out of one of the segments, Endgame will certainly make you antsy for the film to return to what you felt it was pulling off more successfully. The three distinct thirds can result in a fragmented viewing experience for some audience members. On the other hand, I felt that the clearer, more focused structure not only made the film seem less jumbled than its predecessor, but also made it a suitable companion-piece to Infinity War and its Thanos-centric structure.

         The emotional response I have to Endgame is not the same electric glee I had from seeing the first Avengers, though moments like Cap picking up the hammer, the cinematic equivalent of a double-page spread of every single MCU hero charging towards Thanos’ army in one image, and “she’s got help” all sparked that feeling off inside me with more intensity than I’ve felt for a long time. No, what I feel more than anything about the MCU right now is a paradoxical sense of melancholic yet nevertheless delighted satisfaction. A part of that comes from the strengths of that first third, which, despite my sincere claims that all three sections gel together successfully, is nevertheless my favourite segment of the film (with the possible exception of the epilogue, but we’ll get to that). In this review’s opening paragraphs, I talked about endings not being the definitive final word as life and the world must always carry on. My reflection on that was primarily positive, but in this opening hour, we see the sad alternative form that this concept can take. Thanos killed half the universe and was killed in retaliation – the conflict ends, as does the hope of repairing the damage done by this tragedy. But the universe doesn’t end even with half of its inhabitants being gone. As Steve succinctly says, the survivors have to keep moving forward, “otherwise Thanos should have killed all of us”. It’s an outlook that Steve encourages, even if he can’t fully believe it himself, because he thinks it’s the best way for people to regain control over their unthinkable circumstances. The setup for Endgame presents us with a universe that died a half-death – everything ended for half its population five years ago, while life for the other half of the population persists, and they are trying their best to make sense of that.

         That struggle with grief, both on a colossal and a personal scale, is what unifies every single character, but the difference lies in how they respond to that grief. Black Widow throws herself into her work to try and keep the good that superheroes can do going, but her efforts feel as if they aren’t enough, being told by Okoye that the natural tectonic shifts she’s reporting on aren’t something you actively address with a strike squad and that you have to “handle it by not handling it”. Hawkeye was always the simple guy involved in the Avengers who was kept grounded by his family. Without them, he has nothing to keep him rooted, no home to return to, so he goes in the complete opposite direction and becomes a dedicated avenger in a literal sense, dolling out punishment fuelled by his frustration without any of the purpose and direction that he gained from his connections to friends and family. Hulk / Banner actually come out of this having made some progress, deciding to meditate on what they learned from their losses and literally come together in their grief to become one being, Professor Hulk. Tony and Pepper make the most of the luck they managed to find together, but are both keenly aware of all those who weren’t so lucky, wanting to get back what they lost but keep what they’ve found, which is remarkably human and understandable. Thor… hm. Okay, yes, Thor is a mixed bag. In all honesty, I loved Thor in this film and was empathetic towards his depression and anxiety attacks. I also love that Thor gets to stay as he is and still be shown that he is indeed worthy to wield Mjolnir and fight in the battle alongside all these other heroes without having to change who he is. But I do acknowledge the issues that numerous viewers have raised about some of the jokes made by the other characters being at the expense of Thor’s weight, and how they found it uncomfortable, and, in instances, meanspirited and harmful. I love the current version of Thor and feel Chris Hemsworth injected even more bubbly charm and infectious spirit to his character while blending it with the genuine pathos Thor was going through with remarkable talent. But the film’s tendency to use the character’s weight as an opportunity to make jokes about him being fat is not ideal. I’m glad to see Thor continue as he is into further movies (though it is possible that they’ll say he lost weight between Endgame and Guardians of the Galaxy Vol.3), but I sincerely hope we DON’T see the fat-jokes continue as they are. The lighting, music, and performances of everyone in the cast all contribute to this palpable sensation of immense loss, which communicates not only what’s at stake in this epic conclusion, but also how each character involved has been changed by what they’ve had to go through since Infinity War.

         But that only touches on the melancholic side of things; why do I also feel delighted and satisfied as I take in these sombre themes? Well, to put it simply, this one sticks the landing by closing the right doors in the most appropriate way while keeping other doors open in a balanced approach that seems so right. Tony Stark sacrifices his life after declaring “I am Iron Man” one last time, putting everything of himself into doing the right thing when so long ago he enjoyed a life of zero-accountability and kept his work on weapons technology at a safe distance. The image of his first arc-reactor in its memento case reading “Proof that Tony Stark has a heart” floating on the water at his funeral destroyed me at both viewings, because not only have his actions proved this fact as well, but we see numerous people all around this site as they pay their respects, showing the hearts of so many characters we care about who were connected to his. And Steve Rogers, the soldier who could never sit down if he saw a situation pointed south, after standing up against a galactic tyrant and his army, first alone and then with the support of countless men and women rallying to him, finally lets himself rest. Not many people have talked about the new horizons Steve takes in in this film; when the surviving heroes take Rocket’s ship to the Garden Planet, the camera makes a point of focusing on an extreme close-up of Steve’s eye as they travel through hyperspace. Even after nearly a decade of familiarity with this new era, the man out of time, a kid from 1940s Brooklyn, is seeing things that he could’ve never imagined. He’s come so, so far. I can think of no better conclusion than for him to return back home.

          But the film’s epilogue isn’t just concerned with closing the curtain on these heroes as they sit down to rest. Just as these stories end, we see hints of what stories are yet to come for other heroes. In the sequence where the camera pans over the countless faces attending Tony’s funeral, it’s fitting that the last hero we see (before Nick Fury steps into frame under the veranda, concealed in the shadows at the very end, much like his very first entrance as a post-credits tease at the end of Iron Man) is Carol Danvers. Having made her debut just months ago, she is the most recent addition to this universe, so her position at the back of the line reflects that. Her placement halfway up the steps she’s standing on suggests that she’s acting as an embodiment for the road to the future – she is literally on the next step for the series of films Marvel will make as they move forward. And she’s not alone, because other heroes will continue to thrive and flourish as their stories continue. Sam is handed the mantle of Captain America, and what’s achingly beautiful about this exchange is the attitude of the two men involved. Sam views Steve as his friend first and foremost, so he is sincere when he says he’s happy for him. But Sam also respects Steve so much as the man who deserves to be Captain America. Much like how Mjolnir can only be wielded by those who are worthy, Cap’s shield becomes a sacred relic that should only be worn by the right man for the job. And when Steve gently encourages Sam to try the shield on, knowing full well what it means to the world and to both of them, he does so as both Captain America finding the right man to fill his position, and as Sam’s friend Steve, telling him with assurance that he really is one of the best people he knows. When Sam confesses that he feels like the shield belongs to someone else, Steve responds with elegant purity “it doesn’t”. Everything at the core of Captain America, the bravery, the conviction to always stand back up and fight no matter how much it pains them to do so, and the responsibility to always look out for the little guy, are all qualities which never belonged to Steve and Steve alone; those virtues can belong to anyone, and Steve tells his friend that he recognises them in Sam. I cannot wait to see the good that Sam will do as he follows his promise to do his best.  

         Tom Holland’s Spider-Man has been developing a mentee / mentor relationship with Robert Downey Jr.’s Iron Man since Civil War, and here it culminates in a bittersweet arc that lays the groundwork for what I expect will be some fascinating and impactful characterisation in Far From Home in a few months’ time. Tony mourns for Peter most of all, viewing him as a surrogate son who has much of the same inventive genius and drive that he has, with the addition of some compassionate heart and level of responsibility that is far beyond his years. Peter has it in him to be better than Tony, and Tony knows this. So it’s understandable why the loss of that kind, youthful spirit and his limitless potential would hurt Tony so much. In Tony’s dying moments, we share Peter’s tears as we see how much this connection means to them both and realise what is being lost. But we know this is exactly what Tony fought for – the chance for the next generation to live and grow. Holland’s performance when we see Peter return to school hints at his sense of disconnection, as his expression creates the impression that he feels like a stranger in a place with which he once felt so familiar. With the support of his friends, especially Ned, he will find his way in the next step of his journey.

          Endgame provides definitive endings for the journeys of characters we’ve been following for more films than we see most actors get to play Bond, but it also manages to cast a hopeful eye towards the future without compromising its position as a neat conclusion to everything up to this point. In fact, its simultaneous handling of reflective closure and moving forward with renewed purpose makes for a remarkably poignant milestone. Stories rarely strike such a balance between meaningful finality and the uplifting excitement of wanting more stories and knowing you’re going to get them. And that probably sounds shallow and frivolous because, at the end of the day, we’re talking about a successful studio delivering a hyped-up film that promises to be a finale but also serves the financially driven purpose of pitching you a dozen other films and TV series. But through the efforts of over a decade’s worth of dedicated storytellers and creative artists, this series has come to mean more than just another substantial drop in Disney’s bucket. It’s become a fictional world that a massive audience has fallen in love with in the same way that people did with Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, Star Wars, The Chronicles of Narnia, Mass Effect, and a hundred other worlds. We’ve rooted for these characters and cried at some of their most emotional moments, and we’ve grown to care so much about the MCU that it represents a living, breathing world for us. And this kind of ending just makes that proximity to reality that much closer. Stories end and lives come to a close, but they often do so in the middle of other people’s lives and stories. After all, Yinsen’s sacrifice in the MCU’s first film, Iron Man is the end of his story, but his death acts as a foundational moment for the man that Tony would grow to be – his ending is a part of Iron Man’s beginning. In Endgame, heroes pass away, lay down arms, or choose to step down from a position they no longer feel a need to hold onto. At the same time, other heroes move onto the next step of their journey, accept new responsibilities, and accept the titles passed onto them from those who know they will do a fine job. It’s a beautiful encapsulation of the natural balance between life and death, between the end of the old and the beginning of something new. It’s the balance that Thanos strived for but never fully understood, as he wanted to cultivate life but in his obsessive crusade ended up sewing nothing but death. It is only right that the heroes are the ones to achieve that balance through their actions and connections with one another.

Final Score: Gold.

Avengers: Endgame is overflowing and self-indulgent, but it has every right to be and more than earned it. There are missteps, and there’s room for disappointment over the direction that certain characters are taken in, most notably the original version of Gamora ultimately staying dead and staying the victim of an abusive father-figure who seizes all agency away from her, or Thor arguably continuing to veer away from where he was at the end of Thor: Ragnarok and his new weight being an excuse to make cheap jokes that feel uncomfortable. But it is also a well-structured film that offers three distinct tones that are all equally engaging, and its delightful moments of humour and momentous action strikes a grand and immensely satisfying chord with its examination of grief and the natural interrelationship of the closing of one chapter and the beginning of another. It is as significant a landmark for this fictional series as any invested viewer could hope for. It’s a hell of a thing to have come this far, and I can’t wait for whatever comes next.

[etherealxch]

crush (n.)

[A/N]: omg bear with me guys, i’ve been having kihyun feels and i had to write it out,enjoy! Ive been so into monsta x lately esp kihyun smh

word count : 2717 words 

I choose a seat by the windows in the library, where there is sunlight streaming through the windows. I sit down and am fully prepared to experience a moment like the ones I've always seen in dramas where the sunshine gently surrounds the female lead and making her look angelic.

What I do not expect as I sit down is this: full blown sunshine coming right at me like I'm in the frickin sunflower. I squint my eyes abruptly as I look upwards, trying to find the strings to pull up the window blinds. A hand reaches from behind me and tugs on the strings. The blinds fall down with a rattling noise and the room suddenly dims a little. I blink to adjust my eyes to the room.

I turn face to face with Kihyun, staring at me amusedly.

“Hey, I thought you had to work this afternoon.” I say in surprise.

“Nah, Shownu said I could take the afternoon of.” He asks, taking a seat across the desk.

“Oh.” I nod. “And you came here because…?”

He leans forward, a glint in his eye. “You know that date I’ve been trying to set up for you? His name is Wonho and he’s a year older than you-Wait, you’ve heard of him right? He’s the guy who dumped milkshake over my-”

“Yes, I know who he is, he’s your friend,” I sigh. “Kihyun, I specifically told you I do not want to go on a blind date.”

“Come on, you’ll only have to have dinner with him next Friday and if you don’t like him, you’d never have to see him again.” He says.

I roll my eyes. “1 hour. That’s it.”

“Great! And maybe Hye Ji and I will go with you guys. Like a double date.” He adds as an afterthought.

“Who’s Hye Ji?” I narrow my eyes.

He smiles abashedly and rubs the back of his neck. “This girl I had a date with last week.”

“Oh.” I involuntarily frown and quickly shake it off, hoping he didn’t see that. “Great.”

Unfortunately, he has a keen eye and catches my expression. “What’s that face supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” I look away guiltily.

“Hey, c’mon, tell me.” He says, tilting his face so he can meet my eyes.

“No, it’s nothing, really.” I shake my head. I give him a reassuring smile. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some assignments to catch up on.” I gesture to pile of papers in front of me. He eyes me suspiciously for a while but takes the hint and nods.

“See you later.” He says, smiling and ruffling my hair like he always does.

“See you.” I wait until he’s out of sight then collapse on the desk with a sigh.

Currently into day 154 of having a crush on best friend: Not doing so great.

“I honestly think you’re doing this just to torture yourself.” My housemate, Mina says from where she’s lying down on the couch in the living room in front of the TV. I bury my head into the cushion pillows with a groan.

“Shut up. I’m already kicking myself for agreeing to this.” I say into the pillow. “I don’t need you rubbing it in my face.”

“See, it’s actually really simple. You just tell him how you feel.” She shrugs.

“Not everyone has straightforward relationships like you and Leo okay?” I turn on my head so the side of my face is resting on the pillow and looking at her. “Do you have any idea what a mess I would be if I told him I like him?”

“Let me guess: You’ll lose him as a friend.” She holds up a finger as I open my mouth to object. “Or, you’ll remain friends but it’ll get so awkward between you guys that you guys gradually grow apart and can’t even be in the same room with each other.”

She looks at me with a triumphant expression. I look at her sheepishly. “How many times have I told you that?”

“Approximately 122 times, but who’s counting?” She gets off the couch and heads to the bathroom. I glance at the clock. 6:32 pm. I’ve got to get ready.

I take a shower, put on ripped jeans and a nice neutral coloured shirt and a jacket. I stand in front of the mirror, adding the only makeup I know, which is eyeliner and coloured lip balm. Trust me, this is me making an effort. I comb my hair, making sure my bangs aren’t all over the place.

“Wow. Coloured lip balm.” Mina says,pretending to be impressed. “You’re making an effort.” I glare at her in the mirror.

“Why are they coming along though?” She asks. “Isn’t it going to be awkward?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never even seen this girl before.” I sigh. “I didn’t even know he was on a date last week.”

“Ae Ra, how long do you think you can keep this up?” She crosses her arms. “You not telling him, I mean.”

“I plan to keep quiet about this until another suitor comes along and sweeps me off my feet and I don’t have a crush on him anymore.” I say. “Then someday then I might tell him and we could laugh about it together.” I put on my ankle boots.

“You are so frustrating.” She says shaking her head.

“I am.” I agree with her. The doorbell rings. My date is here.

“Don’t have too much fun.” Mina deadpans from the kitchen. I shush her and open the door. Wonho stands there looking incredibly sweet, smiling at me.

“Ready to go?” He asks. “The other two are gonna meet us there.”

I nod. “Just let me grab my bag and scarf for one sec.” I reach behind the door and take my bag off the hook and tug my scarf from the coat hanger. “All set, let’s go.”

We start down the street towards the restaurant. He starts conversing with me, telling about what he’s studying and he’s thinking of taking an extra year just to do more research. I find it easy to talk to him and he’s quite funny.

Yet, if I’m being honest to myself, as funny and sweet as he is, I find myself wondering what it would be like to go on a date with Kihyun. I snap back to reality; I’m going on a date with Wonho, not Kihyun, I remind myself sternly.

We reach the restaurant and see Kihyun and Hye Ji, who undeniably looks really sweet and pretty which I have to admit, was not what I was expecting. It’s harder to hate if she looks like that. I mentally kick myself; stop being such a sore loser.

They’ve taken a booth seating, so we both slide in across Kihyun and Hye Ji. Kihyun discreetly gives me a thumbs up and I try to smile back at him.

A waiter comes to take our order and I survey the menu keenly. Ooh, there’s Farfalle with Chicken and Roasted Garlic. I’ll have that. As I tell the waiter my order, Kihyun looks up from his menu and says,

“No peas for her.” The waiter nods and makes a note on his pad. I look at him in surprise.

“Thanks.” I say.

“No problem.” He smiles and goes back to helping Hye Ji with her order. I drag my gaze away from him and remind myself, I may be feeling ridiculously flattered by his action, he only thinks of me as a friend and nothing else. As the waiter leaves with our orders, Hye Ji turns to me.

“I heard you’re going to be on the campus newspaper committee?” She asks. “That’s so cool!”

“Yeah, but I’m not going to write any articles or anything,” I give her a friendly smile.

“Kihyun’s shown me some of your work; I think your writing is really good!” She says enthusiastically.

“Thanks,” I say, surprised that he’s shown her my writing. I turn to him curiously.

“I showed her what you wrote for that state competition last year. I cut it out from the paper,” He explains.

“Oh.” I say, touched. Out of nowhere, he reaches across the table and gently tucks a strand of hair from my face.

“You’re messy as usual.” Kihyun says nonchalantly. But I can feel Hye Ji’s eyes on me and my face heats up, flustered. A silence follows but is thankfully broken by Wonho who starts talking about the story of how he and Kihyun met. I laugh in all the right places but I can’t help sneaking glances at Kihyun, who admittedly looks really good looking with his button up shirt and dark gelled hair.

Our food arrives. Before I even have time to look for it, Kihyun hands me the Cajun red pepper shaker. He knows I like to add chili or pepper flakes in my pasta. I take it from him gratefully.

Dinner progresses on. I finish the last bite of my pasta and reach for my water. Kihyun glances at me and says, “Your chin has sauce on it.” He makes to wipe it for me before I quickly intercept and wipe it with my own napkin.

“Thanks.” I say, avoiding Hye Ji’s gaze. I excuse myself to go to the ladies. I wash my hands thoroughly with soap while thinking over the events of the night. I barely get a thought straight when Hye Ji walks in. Our eyes meet in the mirror and we both smile awkwardly at each other.

“How long have you been friends with Kihyun?” She asks.

“Um, about 5 years.”

She nods. “And how long have you had a crush on him?” I stare at her in shock. How-?

She laughs. “Don’t worry, they’re male. They can’t tell.” I don’t know how to answer her.

“I-I don’t like him, that way.” I say weakly, knowing she won’t believe me anyway.

“I can tell you do.” She says softly. “No hard feelings.”

“I-I’m sorry.” I apologize. She chuckles. “Why would you apologize? C’mon, girl to girl, you like him, don’t you?” I nod.

“And is it anyone’s fault you like him?” She continues. I stare at her uncertainly. “Of course not! So you like him!”

“No, but I mean-“ I stutter. “You guys are dating now.”

“We’ve only been on two dates, including this one.” She shrugs. “Sure I like him, but I’m pretty sure…” She seems to think for a while and says, “You’ve liked him longer.”

“No!” I say too quickly. “I mean, not really. It’s just a crush, it’ll pass. Plus, he really likes you.” I add earnestly. She fixes a long gaze on me and shakes her head.

“Y’know, I’m not really sure about that.”

We emerge from the bathroom 20 minutes later and the guys are waiting for us by the door.

“Are you guys okay?” Wonho asks.

“Yeah.” I nod. “Why?”

“Well, for one, you guys were taking a long time.” Kihyun points out.

Hye Ji laughs. “Don’t worry. It’s just some girl talk.” Wonho and Kihyun exchange looks and shrugs. We all head outside.

“You don’t have to take me home,” Hye Ji says to Kihyun. She gives me an amused look.

“I can take you home. And Kihyun can take Ae Ra home,” Wonho says before Kihyun can object. He turns to me. “Is that okay with you?”

“Uh-yeah, I’m fine.” I say, confused. Hye Ji gives me a hug and whispers in my ear.

“Go get him.” I barely have time to react to that as she walks away with Wonho. Kihyun and I are left on the street, the both of us stare at their retreating backs, equally confused. We both turn to each other awkwardly.

“What was that all about?” I ask him.

He shrugs. “I don’t know.” He gestures that we should walk. After a while of quiet, he turns to me,

“So what did you think of Wonho?” He asks.

“Um, he’s a really nice person.” I nod, smiling.

“Oh, great.” He says, putting his hands in his pockets.

“It was really nice to meet to Hye Ji, by the way. She seems really nice.”

“Yeah, she is.” Kihyun smiles slightly and nods. We both walk along the uneven path, gravel crunching under our shoes. Out of nowhere, a series of hurried rings come from behind us and someone yells at us to move aside. Kihyun pulls me aside just as a bicycle zooms past us.

“What the heck.” He mutters under his breath as we watch the person cycle away. I’m starting to be aware that his arms are around me protectively and my face flushes. I clear my throat and then gesture to his arms. He lets go, as if he might have hurt me.

“You okay?” He asks.

Other than an oncoming fever? Yeah I’m fine. I nod at him.

He scratches the side of his head. “Did…Hye Ji say anything weird to you just now?”

I think back to what she said in the bathroom just moments ago. ‘Y’know, I’m not so sure about that.’ She said that when I said he liked her a lot. What does it mean?

“Why?” I dodge his question with one of my own. “Did Wonho say anything? He was kinda weird just now.” His face changes subtly as he thinks about. He meets my eyes and holds it for a long time. We both lapse into silence.

“She said,” I finally open up. “I mean, she got an idea that I was…” I look at him cautiously. “Into you. Like a crush, or something.” His expression slightly changes again.

“Why? What did Wonho say?”

“He said…” Kihyun starts quietly. “That I seemed to have feelings for you.” I look at him, alert but he looks ahead and not at me.

“I...”

“He also said that,” He hesitates. “Throughout the date, I kept looking after you. I mean, we’re friends right? That’s what I’m supposed to do. Right?” I avert my eyes from his face and try not to let disappointment show on my face.

He truly thinks that we’re just friends.

I keep silent. Should I agree with him?

“The thing is,” He continues quietly. “I think he might be right.” I widen my eyes and gape at him. He sees my reaction and smiles a bit nervously.

“What? Would it be…weird, if I have feelings for you?” He asks.

“I…” My lips are dry. My mind is blank. I don’t know what to say. He leans in and kisses my forehead softly.

“I’m saying,” He looks into my eyes. “I really, really like you, Ae Ra.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and studies my expression.

I am lost right now. He’s saying the things I’ve dreamt he would say ever since I had a crush on him but I can’t quite believe it. Am I dreaming? Or hallucinating?

I pinch myself hard on my forearm. Ow! I jump from the pain. Kihyun, on the other hand looks very alarmed.

“What are you doing?” He asks, concerned.

“Nothing! I was just-“ I swallow. “Checking if I was dreaming or hallucinating…” He smiles amusedly.

“Listen carefully, Kang Ae Ra, because this isn’t a dream.” He says, grinning. His eyes crease slightly in a smile. “I like you.”

I finally break into a smile. “I like you too.” We both grin at each other. He takes my hand in his, stroking my thumb.

“But why’d you set me up on this date if you liked me?” I frown.

“Because I wasn’t sure, if I like you as a friend or more,” He shrugs.

“And setting me up with a date would help you make sure?” I ask.

“Frankly, yes.” He nods meekly. “When I set you up with Wonho, I felt uncomfortable and jealous. That was probably when I realised I had feelings for you…”

“Thank you.” I say softly and kiss his cheek. “Weird and don’t do that again, but thank you.”

“So you like me?” He confirms. I nod.

“Can I know when it started?”

I shake my head, laughing. “You’ll have to find out yourself.”