#When its played this earnestly and straight its more effective to me. Like he’s just a sappy guy. Just a silly little guy

[hylianane]

Congratulations to Taz “Human HeartEyes Emoji” Skylar for charming me into rooting for Sanji in his romantic pursuits for the very first time. Never in my life did I think I’d feel sympathy watching Sanji, of all characters, get rejected by a woman, but he played his little moments with Nojiko and Nami so genuinely that I was like no! Dont feel bad! You’ll get them next time, love!

[thoughtfullyyoungduck]

Scars

Summary: could you do a losers club x reader where she has scars or maybe she’s having a panic attack and basically she just hides it and then the losers find out and comfort her and they find out it’s henry so they all go and confront him

Warning: mentions of scars and low self-esteem because of it

A/N: I hope you enjoy it! Let me know what you think

‘Hey guys, the clubhouse is the other way, or did you forget?’

‘Oh did we not tell you?’ Richie smirks, leaving you to instantly prepare for the worst. ‘Change of plans, we’re going to the quarry.’

For every time the losers go swimming, there’s an excuse to weasel out of it. The first few times the losers wanted to go to the quarry, you simply claimed you couldn’t swim, that the water terrified you with its unpredictable waves that could kill you at any moment if you weren’t considered enough. That excuse lasted for a while, until Richie scoured through your photo albums and found a photo of you as a little girl grinning from ear to ear in the sea near where your old home was. Then the losers started getting suspicious and called you out on it.

You were forced to admit, under rosy cheeks and a heart full of guilt, that you lied to them about not being able to swim, and you were just joking to see how long I would last before they caught on. The reasoning was flimsy at best, and Stan, never one to take bullshit from anyone, saw straight through you but remained silent.

The next time the quarry was brought up, you agreed to go, but canceled with the justification that you were sick. The time after that you were grounded, and after that you had more chores to do then you anticipated and couldn’t finish them in time to join.

You knew time was running out, and that sooner or later the losers would notice that you always and only didn’t show up whenever the activity was swimming. You didn’t back down for anything else, ranging from going to the movies or helping Eddie sneak out of his house at night, you’d be there and you’d do it. And in reality, swimming really didn’t faze you at all. Sure, it was unpredictable and could be potentially dangerous, but you thrived under that. You like the way danger adds a bit of spice to the boring and normal life you would otherwise be forced to live in a small town like Derry.

The water isn’t the problem for you, it doesn’t frighten you the way you claimed, what frightens you is the idea of your friends seeing the remnants of what Henry Bowers has done to you.

The day you moved to Derry, way before Beverly approached you and offered you a spot in the losers club, Henry cornered you outside of Keens pharmacy. You’d picked up some Tylenol to stash in your medicine cabinet at home when Henry, who you had no idea at was an actually psychopath at the time, asked you for your name.

His goons were hidden somewhere you couldn’t see, and fresh with the nervousness of being the new kid in a small town, you had been grateful someone was willing to be friendly and get acquainted with you. The sick grin playing on his features was a cruel taunt towards you having to much faith in your fellow peers. He surprised you with a knife gash to the arm, a probable single for the others to come help him by holding you back by the arms, while Henry quote; ‘Do to this bitch what I couldn’t do the fat boy.’

The name Henry now starkly proclaims what he perpetrated, and it’s the cutting is obvious every time you take your shirt off. It’s a disgusting claim Henry tried to force on you, and you won’t allow it to be seen by anyone, including your friends. And if that meant lying to them about a triviality, then so be it.

The sun glistens on the quarry water as the group arrives, and in a moment of undisclosed frustration, you glare at the water that has given you such a hard time over the past few months. In retaliation, the light reflection hits you straight in the eyes, effectively blinding you for a second.

‘Okay Y/N, time to make a decision, wanna jump from the cliff and get it over with or start slow by walking in? If it makes the choice easier, Eddie’s mom always rolls in.’ Richie says to you, grinning as a furious Eddie throws insults at him.

There’s not a lot of excuses that can be called up at the last moment, but you try to think of one anyway.

‘Actually I don’t feel so good, I think I’m going to sit this one out, but you guys go ahead and have fun.’

‘No, we’re going to help you overcome your fear of swimming today, no more putting it off.’

‘What?’

‘Your fear of swimming. Don’t think we haven’t noticed.’ Bev explains, already well on her way of throwing her clothes in a heap, leaving her in her swimwear. You gulp loudly and hope no one noticed it.  

‘Don’t be embarrassed. All of us are scared of something, but that’s what we’re here for, we help each other, so now we’re going to help you with this.’ Mike’s a sweetheart, all of your friends are, but this issue is for beyond what they think they know.

Richie and Eddie, ever the two amok makers, are in the water up to their waist shoving each other forward without waiting on the rest of the losers. It seems fun, and you really want to join in. You heard all about the water games they play when you’re too busy avoiding getting undressed and admittedly, it always stings. But it doesn’t sting enough for you to get over the weariness of showing the losers what Henry did to you.  

‘We can stay on the side if you prefer that? We won’t go any further than we can stand, I promise.’ The earnestly of the statement is what makes it so hard to decline.

‘Hey guys,’ Ben speaks up after regarding you with peeked curiosity. ‘What if we do something more fun today? We could swim with our clothes on.’

‘Ben I don’t think-‘

‘Actually, that’s a great idea. I’d really like that.’ Getting to keep your shirt on means that your scar won’t be visible, and because Ben suggested it, no one will be suspicious of you.

‘With clothes in the water? Are you crazy? Swimming with clothes increases the percentage of dying by, I don’t even know how much but like 90%.’ Eddie’s hurriedly rushing back to shore, trying to get on dry land as fast as possible. He doesn’t think twice about running over the tiny rocks that he usually carefully avoids, convinced that they carry some kind of decease with them, not when he has a whole lot of information to share. His frantic behavior causes you to chuckle.

‘Eddie-‘ Bev hisses in warning. With her eyes she tries to send a silent message, trying to get Eddie to stop talking.’

‘No it’s okay. Like Bill said, I’ll just stay on the side.’ You smile gratefully towards Ben, who reciprocates almost inconspicuously.

‘Well if your highnesses are finally done chattering our afternoon away, can we now please get on with it? I have an eight o’clock appointment with Eddie’s mom.’

‘Beep beep Richie’, the whole group chants.

As it turns out, you missed out on a lot more than just taking a dip. You forewent hours of playing chicken and sitting on the shoulders of your friends in a battle to push the losers on someone else shoulder off, and dunking Richie underwater once his bravery took over his mouth. You missed out on karaoke from the water, listening to a song on the radio that Mike brought with him from the farm house.

To protect yourself from disappointment, you’d imagined these trips to be the same boring routine all the time, but you had been proven wrong. Now you finally understood why the losers were always so eager to go to the quarry again. It’s probably even better without wet clothes sticking to your skin and the fear that in a play fight your shirt would crawl a little too high to reveal Henry’s signature, but the day you had was perfect none the less.

All the activity has worn you out, especially with the extra weight of wet clothes to drag you down, so you decide to rest up on land, sitting in the direction of your friends who are still going at it. Richie scoop his hands full of water and aims it at Eddie, who screeches and dips him under water for his efforts while the rest of the group shakes their head fondly. A typical day with the losers.

‘I don’t like taking off my shirt either.’ Ben says, spooking you with how close he’s standing suddenly. You hadn’t even heard him coming.

‘Oh, why?’ Ben having very little to no self-esteem isn’t a secret, and you’d overheard enough things at school to figure out why, but you didn’t think that was an issue with the losers, where everyone had their own little quirks and oddities and nobody was made fun of for it.

‘My weight for one,’ he laughs but it’s not bitter, it’s more a self-deprecating laugh, like the idea that he isn’t repulsive is too funny to consider. ‘And the Henry thing.’

‘What Henry thing?’

‘You didn’t know?’ He lifts up the edges of shirt, exhibiting the large letter H carved into the soft skin of his stomach. It’s nauseating, not because it’s ugly, but the fact that anyone, psychopath or not, could do something that cruel to sweet Ben. A realization dawns on you.

‘Henry didn’t like me very much, I think he was trying to do his full name and scare me off but he didn’t get the chance. Anyway it’s fine, I’ve got you guys to make me feel better. I just wanted to tell you so you’d know you aren’t alone.’ He stands up and prepares to dive back into the water, but his braveness has created a path for yours.

‘Ben wait’, you call out, dashing over to his side. ‘He did it to me too’, you say in one breath, afraid that if you think about it to much you’ll back down. ‘Look.’ Your fingers trace over the scare tissue as you raise your shirt just enough so the bottom of the lines are visible. ‘I guess he had more time with me then with you.’

‘Y/N’, Ben exhales shocked. His hand hovers over shirt, unsure if he’s allowed to touch. ‘I’m so sorry that happened to you.’

‘It’s fine, there’s nothing that can be done about it now anyway. I was just embarrassed about it I guess. But when you showed me yours, I finally understood there was nothing to be ashamed of.’

‘Hey shitheads, are you coming back in or what?’ Richie voice cuts through the atmosphere hanging around Ben and you. It breaks you out of your shared world of past grievances and hurt, and back into the new era full of love and a friendship that will never abandon either of you.

‘We’re coming’, you yell to Richie, then look back to Ben. Let’s take our shirts off’, you suggest, waiting on Ben’s conformation or denial. ‘There’s nothing for either of us to be ashamed of, so let’s just do it. Fuck Henry.’

Ben laughs, then nods determinately. ‘Yeah, fuck Henry indeed.’

The both of you run into the water wearing nothing but your swimsuits.

A few days later you walk past the school entrance with new found confidence. Of course the losers had question, but you answered them as best as you could, and it feels like a part of you, a part you didn’t want, has been left in the past while you’ve moved forward.

As you walk past the girls bathroom, you happen to pick up on two girls gossiping to the other, all hushed as if they’re sharing the biggest secret anyone could imagine.

‘Didn’t you hear? Apparently those kids that call themselves the losers club ambushed him last night. They say that Henry never stood a change and that he cried like a baby.’

‘Shoot, I would have payed money to see that.’                                                

You roll your eyes, already thinking of ways to simultaneously kill and thank your friends.

[lord-pigeon]

Ngl I'm like, 70% sure there's some deeplore behind why the Gnosis are referred to as chesspieces and the fact that Yae outright says it connects them to Celestia. Spoiler stuff under the break but that's a given.

Between what Signora said (and given who exactly she is) about the Tsaritsa, I earnestly believed the Tsaritsa is trying to save the fellow Archons by severing their ties to Celestia before she goes nuclear on it. Her domain before it changed was Love, after all, and Zhongli seems to see a lot of similarities between her and Hadria. And if the translation of Ei's background is correct, then her sister died through some crazy shit that went down at Khaeneria's fall that seemed to effect the gods themselves. So what does this have to do with the Gnosis thing I just mentioned?

Well, all the Archons Gnosis being likened to chess pieces I feel is more than a throw away line given how much foreshadowing Honkai had in the early chapters with characters like Sirin and Fu Hua. So here's my current theory:

Venti/Barbatos is the Bishop, mostly in reference to the fact he's the only one with a Not-Catholic church and has a religious-esque following.

Zhongli/Morax is the King, given his place as the eldest and likely strongest of the Archons, having taken out the rest of the gods and probably bullying some back into the Dark Sea. If Zhongli goes down to a threat, then it's very likely no other Archon will survive either, thus leading to a 'checkmate'.

Beelze/Baal/Ei is the Rook, because she is most definitely the powerhouse so far, but is also stubborn and only looks at things from one angle, like how the Rook can only move in a straight line. The Rook is also used symbolically for a watchtower, which is a bit symbolic for her own Tower she vibes in that overlooks Inazuma.

Sumeru's Archon is the youngest by far and is all about knowledge and has room to grow, making him the Pawn. Since there's no real info on him, that's the most I can really provide.

Fontaine's Archon is likely the Knight, because of her stringent belief in justice as a motif and fact she's in a classic French-looking environment. Dainslief also notes a lot of masquerade and nobility antics going on when describing the Fontaine arc, which fits the noble knight atmosphere.

Natlan's Archon is the Queen, given her domain is War. She's most likely the most prone to showing off her full power and sweeping things as she pleases, unlike Zhongli who kind of keeps to himself. Since we don't know much about her either, that's best I can do for her as well.

The Tsartisa is the "Player" who is collecting all the pieces in means to beat the living shit out of Celestia. I genuinely think she's trying to help the Archons and that's why the two oldest, Venti and Zhongli, clearly hold no animosity towards the Fatui. Despite being bullied by Signora, Venti seemed very chill about having it stolen, and if its something of a badge connecting them to Celestia, it makes sense for the freedom-loving bard to want it gone. Zhongli is all about contracts and it was likely part of the Fatui deal at the end of the Liyue arc that had the Tsartisa explaining her motivations to him, knowing he cannot break the contract to explain himself and ruining her scheme. He likely took it because he knew what she was doing and wanted to let her do it.

Yae is much smarter than she lets on and is bit of a troll, so I don't doubt she figured it out herself and wanted to keep Ei safe. It's not like the Gnosis is the root of the Archon's powers, since the Shogun can still fuckin dunk on people even as a puppet, ie F for Signora in the chat.

Since I been playing since launch, I also did the Fischl quest that introduced Scaramouche. I will note that compared to my friend who started later, his introduction is notably different depending. He seems affable and his overconfident self with newcomers, with a title card and saying "Oh great Traveler" (something like it at least). With my account, he walked in with "Of course you found this place, congrats" and looked incredibly pissy. Throughout the cutscene he seemed much more...on edge and typically evil, versus the more flamboyant self he was with the newcomers.

So I feel whatever Scaramouche found with the constellations fucked him up fierce, but he's still very adamantly for the Fatui given he's still working for them despite it. So my theory for that is he knows Celestia is up to some shit, and continues to ally with Tsartisa cause he knows she's going to bring it down.

Not-Kiana, I mean the Nameless God, I feel is going to actively be an antagonist to the Tsaritsa and it'll force the Traveler to choose between the Fatui that they loathe, or the entity that stole their twin.

There's also the matter that the other twin seems to be working with the Abyss, who are the last remains of Khaeneriah. And of course, the fact that Kaeya is a sleeper agent for Khaeneriah that was just given to the Ragvinder's to infiltrate Treyvat. Not sure what's up with those Not-Dwarven Shits but somethings sketchy.

Of course this is all theory crafting but hey, that's part of the fun in the game to me.

[prose-for-hire]

Sweet Tooth

Pairing: Spike x Rosenberg!reader (Willow’s Twin)

Request: I would love to request something. Maybe willow has a sister her age or a year older who likes spike and gets flustered when he flirts but doesnt think he means anything by it. But actually spike is genuinely flirting

Requested by: @thoughtsoftheantagonist​ – hope I did your request justice!

Warnings: None?

WC: 1326

You walked beside your twin slowly, Willow was animatedly telling you something about magic, or hacking computers… maybe it was magically hacking computers? But you weren’t able to listen, you had spotted him a mile away and you were now focusing two steps ahead of you where a leather-clad vampire was stalking towards you. He almost collided with you and your sister as you were on your way to the Bronze.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Rosenberg… the very girl that dreams are made” He said, completely ignoring Willow and just looking at you.

“D-dreams? There are dreams being had? Of me?”

“We’re going to the Bronze, Spike, uh, Buffy might show so – we won’t keep you” Willow explained, hinting for him to go or be on the sharp end of a pointy stick. She was now pulling you by the sleeve as you appeared to have melted into a puddle on the floor at the way he was staring at you. His blue eyes seemed to sparkle in the moonlight, his gaze never moving from you. Not even when your sister spoke. You had a crush on Spike, a really really big one and he didn’t help matters by always flirting with you whenever he got the chance. He had been a lot more flirtatious with you since he had escaped the Initiative, you were starting to wonder if the chip had side-effects.

When you finally got to the Bronze, you were holding the table while Willow got some drinks. You were both characteristically way too early and the band was still setting up. You were people-watching until a figure slid in the seat next to you, a hand grazing your waist as he did. Spike had decided he suddenly really liked the Bronze, even though he had been walking in the opposite direction only a moment ago.

“Spike!” you squeaked, a blush rising up your cheek. Why did he always manage to tint your complexion several shades of pink? He hadn’t even said anything yet and you were already getting flustered. The way he even looked at you made you weak at the knees, “W-what are you doing here?” You managed to rush out.

“Just enjoying the view” He said, his eyes scanning over you slowly before meeting your eyes again. He leaned in, testing the waters as you just continued to stare. He stayed like that, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he watched you give him your undivided attention. When you didn’t say anything, he continued, “No need to be shy with me, pet, we’re just two ridiculously attractive people, in a room together, what’s the next obvious conclusion?” He bit his lip, tucking a strand of hair back behind your ear where you usually kept it. His eyes flickered between your lips and your wide-eyes. He licked his lips slightly, before pulling away. Your sister had sat at the table, giving Spike a wary look and passing you your soda. A satisfied grin on his face at willow’s reaction made you realise he was just doing it for a reaction from the others. It hurt a little, but it made sense. You can’t see what he would see in you if the opposite were true.

Buffy and the others came and Spike appeared to be pushed into the background somewhere. You couldn’t help but feel a little bit lacking without him sat beside you. You felt his eye on you as you laughed with your friends but you tried your best to ignore it, less you turn into a flustered mess again. He caught up to you again when you were on your own, standing against a wall in the corner of the room.

“Dark corners, for dark deeds and, oh, is that… a blush? For me, love? You’re too kind” He smiled, and it could almost be described as soft, before he started to smirk devilishly at the way your cheeks reddened further. He appeared to enjoy the way your cheeks flared just by his mere words. You managed to argue yourself into meeting his brilliant blue eyes again, maintaining eye-contact. Something you regretted when your mouth started to move of its own accord.

“Your eyes, has anybody ever told you that they’re, uh… pretty?” You managed to string a sentence together, mentally chastising yourself for calling any part of him pretty, you’d blame it on the alcohol but you’ve been drinking soda. Spike appeared taken aback at this to begin with, you had never offered him a compliment before. He savoured it, making sure to ingrain every syllable into his mind.

“If you carry on like that, my heart might start beating” He dropped to your ear-level and whispered. He was so close you swear you could almost feel his breath tickle your ear. That was if he had any breath.

“Oh, um, s-sorry I was just, I shouldn’t have-” You trip over your words, you swear you hadn’t always been this tongue-tied.

“Don’t tell me I take your breath away, we can’t have that now can we?” He cut off your babbling, entranced by the way you appeared to be so affected by his words.

“You, uh, should stop the flirting, you know… there are more creative ways to get under everyone’s skin”

“Wouldn’t be nearly as rewarding though, would it, pet?” He looped some of your hair around his finger and you swat him away lightly.

“Look! I mean it now Mr big bad! Stop it!”

“Oh, semi harsh language from Rosenberg, what has gotten into you?”

“Y-you do this thing! You do this thing with your lips and the hair-tucking and it’s too real for me and it’s not right! It’s teasing and it-it’s mean” You frowned at him and wouldn’t look back into his eyes, instead staring at the packed-out Bronze.

“Hello, Evil! But, well, you’re one to talk with the teasing…” He leaned in, but you didn’t look back. His smirk faltered as he realised the frown was for real. You weren’t playing hard to get, you were being serious. And that stung a little, did you really think that little of him? Didn’t you see all his attention was on you when you were in the room? No. You didn’t. He’d have to set it straight.

“Y/n, love, I don’t think I could have been any bloody clearer… I like you, I bloody love you for God’s sake” He mumbled the latter part, but you heard it loud and clear, which was surprising given how loud your heart was beating out of your chest.

“U-um, love? But last year… with the fanginess and the threatening…?”

“A man can have a change of heart, and besides, someone as sweet as you is just asking to be eaten up...” He purred, leaning in and sliding a hand against the side of your cheek. His lips caught yours and his hand weaved between the strands of your hair at the passion of your embrace. Your lips glided over his as if they were always meant to meet. He had expected you to be shyer about showing your affections, especially in public. But you were right there with him. Kissing him back with unwavering passion. You broke apart, you were breathless, the blush still rising in your cheeks as he lightly stroked them, “Go on, pet. Take a chance on me?” he whispered, eyes dropping from yours almost earnestly as he waited for your reply. Could you mean that much to him?

“You mean it? You really meant all the flirting?” You ask cautiously as he nodded slowly.

“What can I say? I have a sweet tooth” He gave you a fangy grin and you giggled softly at this, still trying to catch your breath, “Let’s get out of here, I know a great tomb with a view of the rest of Sunnydale” You nodded as he grabbed your hand and you rushed off into the night together.

[babysizedfics]

Little Accidents, Big Developments

Chapter 2: Nighttime Confessions

[This is an age regression story]

Chapter Summary:

Roman doesn’t like bedtime, Patton and Logan discuss affection, and Virgil wakes up in the middle of the night.

Chapter word count: 5,500

Other chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / bonus

Read on AO3 or below the cut!

oOo

The door to Logan’s room felt unreasonably heavy as he pushed it open with a tired sigh. He did not bother closing it behind him, instead letting it fall shut on its own in favour of immediately flopping face-first onto his bed. The door slammed shut a little harder than he would’ve liked and he winced into his pillow. Hopefully, the sound hadn’t been loud enough to reach either Roman or Virgil’s bedrooms.

 Tonight both boys had been little right up until bedtime and so required both Patton and Logan’s help in getting prepared for bed. As was expected given Virgil’s clear preference for the paternal side, Patton had taken charge of his bedtime which meant Logan was left to handle Roman’s bedtime.

 Hence Logan’s current exhaustion.

 It had taken a great deal of effort to even convince Roman to change into his pyjamas, let alone to stop bouncing around as he rambled about a new idea he had for a game. Logan, of course, commended his creativity, though reminded him that they would have to wait until the following day to put it into practice.

 Roman had not appreciated that. He wanted to play with Virgil at that very moment and was quite disheartened to hear that it was Virgil’s bedtime and his baby brother would be too tired to play with him. Learning that it was also his bedtime had been far more cause for concern for Roman. It had taken a multitude of bargaining on Logan’s part to get Roman to agree to get into bed. Even then, it still took some coercion to get him to stop complaining and at least try to go to sleep.

 Bedtime had been at 10 pm. It was now coming up to 10:45 and Logan had only just been able to leave Roman, who was finally (thankfully) drifting off in his bed.

 Logan flipped over on his mattress, mentally preparing himself to get up again and get ready for bed himself. Though an energetic knocking sounded at his door before he had the chance.

 He lugged himself up from his bed and over to the door, rubbing at his face wearily.

 ‘Roman,’ Logan sighed as he opened the door, ‘if that’s you I don’t want to hear any more whining.’

 Patton stood in his doorway smiling from ear to ear.

 ‘Patton,’ Logan greeted, sure that his relief was quite obvious in the way his shoulders sagged. ‘Is everything alright?’

 ‘Yes, gosh, everything's amazing!’ Patton near-squealed and Logan hurriedly beckoned him into his room. Patton seemed dangerously close to yelling and Logan did not want Roman hearing it and then getting excited himself.

 ‘What has caused you such great elation at this late hour?’ Logan asked, feeling himself smile at the pure joy on Patton’s face.

 ‘You should’ve seen how cute Virgil was!’ Patton immediately gushed, and Logan was glad he had managed to close the door behind them quickly. ‘Oh my goodness, Lo. He was so sleepy and adorable! At first, he was nervous about being left alone, but then I switched on that star nightlight you got him and his face just lit up.’

 ‘Was that a pun?’ Logan narrowed his eyes.

 ‘I don’t even know anymore!’ Patton cried giddily, his eyes sparkling with happy tears.

 Logan chuckled and leaned his back against the wall, sure that Patton was nowhere near finished.

 ‘Gosh, he was so happy,’ Patton said and started pacing quickly around Logan’s room, dispelling his excited energy. ‘Then I just sat by his bed for like twenty minutes stroking his hair and he was so calm then - oh my gosh - then he reached up and held my finger, Lo!’ Patton held up his finger in demonstration, his eyes wide with awe. ‘His whole hand wrapped around my finger, how friggin’ cute is that? Then he told me he loved me and he just fell straight asleep! Ahh, it was so adorable!’

 By the end of his monologue, Patton’s voice had become so strangled and high-pitched that it was barely recognisable.

 ‘That does sound charming,’ Logan agreed, and couldn’t help but feel slightly jealous.

 He was not in any way disappointed that he had taken care of Roman rather than Virgil. He was equally fond of both of them even if Roman did require much more energy to look after. Though Logan wished that Virgil would feel comfortable enough with him that Logan might experience something similar to what Patton had just described. 

 ‘It sounds like a positive bonding experience,’ Logan smiled stiffly.

 Patton’s grin faltered. After taking a deep breath, presumably to calm himself from his excitement, he moved to settle beside Logan against the wall.

 ‘So… How was Roman?’ Patton asked.

 From his careful tone, he apparently knew it would not have been such a simple experience getting the older little to go to bed.

 ‘Next time we’re switching,’ Logan said simply.

 ‘That bad, huh?’ Patton still smiled, though it was twisted by sympathy.

 ‘I… wouldn’t say bad, necessarily,’ Logan said. As much as Roman’s protests exhausted him, there was something in the whole routine that had brought Logan some comfort despite the stress. ‘Though it was foolish of me to believe that Roman could not possibly get more petulant.’

 ‘Poor little guy,’ Patton pouted, then looked to their feet in thought. ‘Do you maybe think his bedtime should -’

 ‘No,’ Logan interrupted. ‘We are not delaying his bedtime.’

 ‘But if he was so upset about it…’ Patton said.

 ‘It was a reflexive response more than anything,’ Logan replied. ‘I think he just wanted an excuse to act childish. Besides, as soon as I read him a story he went straight to bed. He was clearly just reluctant to admit that he really was tired.’

 ‘Aww, you read him a story?’ Patton asked in delight. ‘That’s so cute!’

 ‘It was a purely tactical approach,’ Logan said hastily. ‘Being read to in a quiet, soothing tone can trigger an autonomous sensory meridian response in the listener’s brain. It is a widely used technique to effect deep relaxation in both children and adults alike.’

 ‘Mhm, of course. Purely tactical,’ Patton agreed, though he did not sound convinced.

 Logan’ gaze snapped onto Patton to find a knowing smirk being directed towards him.

 ‘Did you do funny voices?’ The mischievous lilt to Patton’s tone was hypnotising, and Logan could not resist his imploring gaze for long.

 ‘Maybe,’ Logan finally admitted.

 It was impossible to keep a straight face when Patton burst into giggles like that.

 ‘Y’know, you don’t need to do that,’ Patton said after he had collected himself.

 ‘Do what?’

 ‘Pretend you don’t enjoy being Mama Logan,’ Patton said. His hand rested on Logan’s arm gently. ‘I know you love looking after the boys.’

 Logan couldn’t deny it. Though even if he wanted to, the tingling warmth spreading from where Patton’s fingers touched him had rendered him momentarily speechless.

 ‘And the boys love having you as a Mama,’ Patton added.

 ‘Well, let’s not assume,’ Logan murmured. The grip on his arm tightened.

 ‘Logan.’ Patton’s voice was hushed and strained. ‘I’m not assuming anything. I know that they love having you as a caregiver.’

 ‘How do you know?’ Logan asked. The clear desperation in his voice made him squirm.

 Patton’s gaze softened.

 ‘Well, in lots of ways,’ he said. ‘Just earlier, Roman couldn’t stop talking about playing Doctor Who with you yesterday.’

 ‘Yes, he was rather impressed by my Dalek impression,’ Logan nodded.

 ‘He didn’t talk about your impressions, silly,’ Patton chuckled, though Logan could not find it in himself to feel offended. ‘He talked about you. About how much fun it was to run around with you and spend the day laughing together.’

 ‘Oh,’ Logan breathed, feeling his heart swell.

 ‘And I guess Virgil might be a bit of a Papa’s boy -’

 Logan raised his eyebrows.

 ‘Alright, he definitely is,’ Patton corrected, ‘but I’ve seen the way he cuddles up to you when I’m not there.’

 Logan wanted to accept it, he really did. But he could not ignore all of the facts.

 ‘As you have just stated, that is only when you are unavailable,’ Logan said quietly. ‘I fear - I suspect that I am a mere substitute for his one true caregiver.’

 ‘Sorry, Logan, but you’re wrong this time,’ Patton said easily. ‘Do you know why Virgil felt so much better when I switched on his nightlight earlier?’

 ‘Because he is scared of the dark,’ Logan said. ‘They both are. Though I believe Roman’s fear is bordering on nyctophobia.’

 ‘No - well, yes,’ Patton conceded. ‘But Virgil’s salt lamp was already on.’

 Logan frowned, perplexed.

 ‘Why would the nightlight make him feel better if it was not to counteract a dark room?’

 ‘Because it’s from you,’ Patton whispered and nudged his side gently. ‘The nightlight made him happy because it reminded him of his mama.’

 Logan could not respond as his throat felt too tight all of a sudden. A smile tugged at his lips.

 ‘I know you don’t think so, but caregiving comes just as naturally to you as it does to me,’ Patton said. He leaned against Logan’s side slightly and Logan’s breath stalled in his chest. ‘Sure, we’re very different caregivers; you make sure they behave with rules and I probably spoil them with too many sweets. But just because I’m more cuddly than you doesn’t mean I’m a better dad.’

 ‘Thank you,’ Logan whispered, breathing deeply for the first time since the conversation had started.

 ‘Besides,’ Patton added cheerily, ‘you’ve been getting a lot better at showing affection with them.’ He paused, and Logan almost though he had finished speaking, but then Patton added in a more stunted tone: ‘And…’

 ‘And?’ Logan prompted, unable to tear his gaze away from how Patton chewed at his bottom lip.

 ‘With me,’ Patton whispered and met Logan’s eyes earnestly.

 The hand which had been resting on his arm all of this time snaked down to wrap around Logan’s wrist lightly.

 Pleasant shivers coursed through Logan’s veins at the contact and left him stunned. Patton’s fingers had been resting casually on his arm for most of the conversation, but this touch felt different somehow. The intent behind it was suddenly impossible to ignore.

 ‘Oh, shoot,’ Patton breathed, his eyes falling to the ground quickly, ‘I read this wrong, didn’t I?’

 Logan floundered over silent words that would not leave his lips. Patton’s hand hastily snatched off of his wrist.

 ‘I’m sorry, I - don’t mind me,’ Patton chuckled, though it was shaky and forced. ‘I’m just being silly. I’ll leave, don’t worry about it.’

 He had pushed away from the wall but did not get far as Logan hurriedly reached out to grab Patton’s hand. Their fingers intertwined on instinct. Logan’s cheeks heated exponentially.

 ‘Patton…’ he started but no matter how much he tried, he could not force his mouth to form any more words.

 He realised that, for once, language could not effectively express all that he wanted to say. It was terrifying. But as he had taught Roman, sometimes it was more effective to show rather than tell.

 He hesitantly moved forward, glad that Patton did not step away. It did not take much movement for Logan to be stood directly in front of him, certainly violating his personal space. Silence settled in the few centimetres between their faces. Logan thought he might be suffering from heatstroke. His palms were sweaty, his face burning and his head swimming as he impulsively closed the gap between their lips.

 The kiss was achingly short. Patton’s lips barely ghosted over Logan’s own before the logical side was hit full-force with the realisation of what he had just done. He snapped his head back with wide eyes.

 ‘I apologise, I should not have done that,’ Logan blurted, feeling as though his tongue was inexplicably too large for his mouth. ‘I have no idea what came over me to think I could kiss you without asking for your -’

 ‘Logan?’ Patton’s free hand came up to cup his jaw and Logan’s mouth snapped shut.

 ‘Hm?’ he hummed.

 ‘Shut up,’ Patton whispered fondly.

 Logan only had a brief second to see the spark of determination in his brown eyes before Patton pushed up and kissed him again.

 Their lips slotted together so effortlessly, Logan thought they might have been made for each other. He breathed out through his nose, the warm air bouncing straight off of Patton’s skin and back onto his own. The heat was unbearable matched with the burning of his cheeks, but he could not consider pulling back. Patton’s lips were soft and slid against his own in such a mesmerizing dance.

 A low sigh of content sounded in his throat and a muffled hum of agreement came from Patton in response. Logan could not contain a wide smile, and when Patton accidentally ended up kissing his front teeth they both broke down into breathy giggles.

 Reluctantly, Logan pulled away from him by a few inches so that they did not accidentally butt heads in their laughter. Patton’s hand fell to his shoulder and Logan responded by curling his own fingers around the nape of Patton’s neck. Through his fingertips, he could feel the shiver that coursed through Patton’s body.

 ‘That was,’ Logan paused to gasp an inhale, surprised by how breathless he was, ‘highly satisfactory.’

 ‘I’ll say,’ Patton agreed fervently. ‘I wasn’t sure you felt the same way.’

 ‘I am not certain of what “way” you mean,’ Logan said cautiously. He, of course, had his theory but he did not want to risk being wrong about something so significant. ‘Your phrasing was rather ambiguous.’

 ‘Whoops, I guess my brain’s just a bit frog -gy from the kiss,’ Patton said giddily, eyes brightening in the way they always did when he wanted to laugh at his own joke.

 ‘Ambiguous, not amphibious,’ Logan corrected, though he was somewhat glad for the Patton’s relapse into dad jokes. It was familiar and comforting and dispelled Logan’s anxieties about making an incorrect assumption. ‘I will hazard a guess at what you meant and be blunt: I harbour a romantic attraction towards you, Patton.’

 ‘Oh, thank goodness!’ Patton’s breath rushed from him.

 ‘I take it my assumption was correct,’ Logan smirked, but it was quickly swallowed by Patton’s lips.

 They kissed for a long time after that. Logan’s legs grew numb, but neither of them made a move to sit down or change position. They barely allowed themselves to stop for breath, let alone something so unimportant as moving. The only matter of importance to Logan right now was kissing Patton.

 Eventually, they slowed, pecking each other wherever they could reach between hushed words.

 ‘Did you notice Roman playing cupid?’ Patton asked against Logan’s cheek.

 ‘How could I not?’ Logan huffed in amusement. He kissed Patton’s eyebrow. ‘He wasn’t very subtle when his reason for braiding my hair was, and I quote, “to make you extra pretty so Dad will swoon and fall into your arms”.’ Patton snorted, interrupting the kiss he was pressing to Logan’s jaw. ‘I almost wanted to put him in timeout,’ Logan admitted.

 ‘Almost?’ Patton asked.

 ‘Well,’ Logan pulled back and looked at Patton with a smile curling one side of his lips, ‘his plan did work.’

 ‘Oh, I swooned for you long before that,’ Patton shook his head fondly and pushed a strand of Logan’s hair behind his ear. ‘I’m pretty sure Roman knew that already, though.’

 ‘He is frustratingly observant when it comes to romance,’ Logan said, stroking his thumb over Patton’s cheekbone.

 ‘Aw, he’s just passionate,’ Patton defended, then twisted his head to peck Logan’s wrist.

 ‘Even so,’ Logan sighed, feeling a pit in his stomach, ‘I dread the bombardment of invasive questions and interventions he would bestow upon us if he knew what we’ve been doing for the past -’ he checked his watch ‘- twenty-five minutes. Wow.’

 He leaned forward to kiss Patton’s nose but Patton curled back as if burned.

 ‘You don’t want anyone to know, do you?’ Patton asked, and the hurt in his tone was unbearable.

 ‘That is not what I meant,’ Logan quickly corrected. He gently carded his fingers through Patton’s hair as the moral side often did with Virgil and Roman. ‘Please know, it is not that I wish to hide my romantic feelings for you. I’ve hidden them for months and quite frankly I am tired of it.’

 ‘Months?’ Patton smiled.

 ‘Of course,’ Logan said softly. ‘And while this is a welcome development, it is also a significant one that will have a profound impact on the whole household.’ Patton started nodding. ‘Roman will be rather intense in his support, possibly to a fault. As for Virgil -’

 ‘Virgil doesn’t like change,’ Patton finished, sounding resigned. ‘No, I get it. I don’t want to upset anyone.’

 Logan pulled Patton’s hand up to his lips and kissed each one of his knuckles tenderly. Patton's breath shallowed.

 ‘I am certain they will be supportive when we do decide to tell them, but for now,’ Logan sighed gently and lowered Patton’s hand, ‘I believe it will be beneficial to our family dynamic if we maintain subtlety.’

 ‘It’s no problem, Lo,’ Patton shrugged with a smile. ‘I can be subtle, easy peasy mac and cheesy!’

 Logan felt a little put out by how easily Patton had said that.

 ‘Well,’ he straightened his posture and focussed on not letting his disappointment leak into his tone. ‘Don’t sound so sure. It may be harder than it sounds.’

 ‘Nah,’ Patton said flippantly and Logan saw a cheeky smile pull at his lips. ‘You’re not that irresistible.’

 Logan’s mouth dropped open in offence and Patton started giggling under his breath.

 So Logan swiftly ducked to Patton’s lips with the intention of proving him wrong.

 oOo

 Virgil gasped, his upper body flying up from the mattress. His breath came in short pants as he reached out in panic and grasped onto the first thing he could find. He frantically ran his trembling fingers over the object. Soft. Fluffy. Real.

 He clutched Minty to his chest tightly and a shaky exhale rushed from him. He was in his bed, in his room. He wasn’t hurt, no one was hurt. He was safe.

 His heart still pounded against his ribs and his head swam from the violent awakening, but he knew it would get better soon and he would be able to go back to sleep. Then he shifted on the mattress and froze.

 ‘No, no, no, no,’ he whispered in anguish as his stomach sank.

 He hid his face against his toy. He didn’t need to be able to see to know that his pyjama pants and sheets were soaked through. He gritted his teeth against a wince at the familiar feeling of wet cotton clinging to his skin.

 It never got any less upsetting when he wet the bed. He knew how to cope with it, of course. It happened often enough that he had a tried and tested routine that meant none of the light sides had ever discovered his embarrassing problem. He was at least relieved that he had thought to invest in an absorbent mattress protector when he first moved in. It saved him a lot of trouble. Though it didn’t exactly make this habit any less humiliating to deal with.

 Virgil usually jumped straight into action when he woke up to wet sheets, working on autopilot to clean up quickly and quietly. But at that moment he felt stuck. His legs were locked in place and his lip began wobbling.

 ‘Papa,’ he heard himself whimper.

 It was unexpectedly high-pitched and shaky and it jolted Virgil out of his haze.

 He tensed and growled in frustration. What was he doing?

 The hand that wasn't cradling Minty wrapped in his hair and pulled harshly at the locks. He didn’t need his papa, he had always dealt with this on his own. It was bad enough Patton had seen Virgil wet himself in the hallway 3 days previously, he didn’t need to see this too!

 Virgil eased the tugging on his hair and instead started stroking it absently. But when he had an accident last time he got lots of cuddles and kisses and it made it less scary. And the next day Papa said Virgil needed to go and get him if it happened again. Virgil didn’t want to be a bad baby.

 He felt his eyes burn with tears at the thought of dealing with his wet sheets all on his own, not getting any cuddles, and being told off for it.

 No, that wouldn’t happen! Virgil shook his head quickly, trying to make himself a grown-up. Why was he even debating the situation? He didn’t want anyone to know that he wet the bed, that was all there was to it. He wouldn’t get told off for not going to get his papa's help if Patton never even found out about this.

 With Minty still cuddled tightly to his chest, Virgil threw the covers off and stood on shaky legs. He looked down to the sheets. The sight of the wet patch sucked all determination from his body and he started trembling uncontrollably.

 He didn’t know what to do! The bed was soaked, his pants were soggy and cold, his skin was getting itchy, and there was a big, achey lump in his throat.

 He sniffled and brought his thumb up to his lips. He felt yucky. With a gasp, he remembered Papa was sitting next to his bed when Virgil went to sleep. He quickly looked over but the spot was empty now. He turned in a big circle. He couldn’t see Papa anywhere in the room!

 A whimper came from his throat and he hugged Minty tighter. The bright stars on the walls and ceiling made it a little bit less scary, but he still wanted his papa.

 The yellow hallway light shone through the crack under his door and Virgil realised what he needed to do. He needed to go and find Papa all on his own.

 He walked over to the door and opened it carefully, peeking out just in case Papa was waiting outside and wanted to surprise him.

 The hallway was empty. He took a really deep breath. Monsters only lived in the dark so he shouldn’t be scared of the brightly lit corridor. He jumped out from his room and ran across the hall really, really quick.

 He got to Papa’s door and knocked on it. Hopefully, he came straight out and hugged Virgil! He didn’t like standing on his own ever, but especially not in wet pants. They made him feel small and scared.

 Papa didn’t come to the door and Virgil felt a sharp stab in his chest. 

 He knocked again, a lot louder.

 When there was no response Virgil felt some invisible force weigh down his mind so that he felt much more present in his body. Patton was an incredibly light sleeper, the slightest gust of wind would wake him up. Something wasn’t right.

 Virgil quickly pushed the door open and flicked the light on. His eyes searched the couch and bed frantically, finding no sign of Patton. Then with a gulp, he dropped his gaze to scout for any lifeless heaps on the floor. Nothing. Images of Patton having hurt himself or worse during the night quickly dissipated from Virgil’s mind and he sighed in relief.

 Then suddenly his head felt floaty like before, but there was a sinking feeling in his stomach this time. His adult ease was quickly replaced by childish desperation.

 ‘Papa,’ he whined to nobody.

 Tears finally fell to his cheeks and he started sucking on his thumb. There were pacis in Minty’s secret pocket but he didn’t want to drop them everywhere because he was so shaky. Mama always wanted him to use pacis instead of his thumb, though.

 He gasped around his thumb and turned to run out of the room. Mama could help find Papa!

 He hurried to Mama’s room as quickly as he could and reluctantly took his thumb out of his mouth to knock on the door. He wanted to suck on it again but didn’t want Mama to tell him it was bad so he hugged Minty with both hands instead.

 There were lots of shuffling sounds behind the door. For a bit, Virgil thought Mama wasn’t going to open it. Did he want Virgil to go away? He pouted at the thought but then the door was open and Mama was looking down at him with his eyebrows pushed together. His cheeks were pink.

 ‘Virgil, it’s past midnight,’ Mama said. ‘What are you doing up?’

 Virgil didn’t know what to say and bit his lip. Was Mama mad at him? He looked at the ground. He didn’t want to see Mama if he looked angry.

 ‘Are you alright?’ Mama asked, and this time it sounded a lot softer.

 He put his hand on Virgil’s shoulder. It was heavy and made breathing a bit easier.

 Virgil looked up again and Mama didn’t look angry at all, so Virgil wasn’t so scared to respond.

 ‘Papa wasn’t there,’ Virgil whispered.

 ‘Why do you need -’ Mama started asking but then his eyes went down and his face changed.

 Virgil realised he was looking at his wet pants and he quickly dropped his hands to hold Minty in front of himself. He didn’t like it when people looked at his accidents, it gave him so many butterflies that his tummy hurt.

 ‘It’s alright, little one,’ Mama said.

 Then there was a weird squeaky noise from his bedroom but Virgil didn’t know what it was. The words Mama said put a fuzzy feeling in Virgil’s chest that made him feel less scared, but it also made him cry more. It was weird.

 ‘Did you try to find Papa after you had an accident?’ Mama leaned down to look in his eyes.

 ‘N-not in his room,’ Virgil whimpered and tugged on Minty’s tail with the memory.

 ‘Uh, well,’ Mama said quietly. He sounded a bit scared too, but not really the same kind of scared. ‘Maybe he is just… on a little trip?’

 Lots of scary pictures of Papa never ever coming back played in Virgil’s head. His heart jumped really hard and hot tears filled up his eyes.

 ‘I wan Papa,’ Virgil whined. His chest got tight and then a sob hurt his throat. ‘Papa.’

 There was a loud crash behind Mama and Virgil jumped. He saw Mama's closet door had burst open and then someone scrambled out from the shirts.

 ‘I’m here, baby!’ Papa yelled and jogged over to him.

 ‘So much for subtlety,’ Mama said really quietly.

 Virgil didn’t know why Papa was in Mama’s closet but he didn’t care. Warm arms were hugging him and Virgil sniffled and buried his head in Papa’s shirt. The smell made him feel happy and made his head tingle.

 ‘It’s okay, sweetheart,’ Papa whispered and patted Virgil’s hair. ‘Papa’s got you.’

 Virgil cried and held Papa’s shirt tightly in his fingers. He never wanted Papa to leave again!

 ‘Why did you say I was on a trip?’ he heard Papa whisper.

 ‘I panicked,’ Mama whispered back.

 Virgil didn’t want Mama to panic. Panic was really scary. He pulled his head back to look at Papa. He wanted to ask if Mama was okay but he didn’t know how to and he pouted. Words were tricky.

 ‘I’m so proud of you for coming to get Mama when you couldn’t find me, baby,’ Papa said with a smile. ‘Now, sweetheart, can Papa please give you a bath?’

 Virgil put his thumb back in his mouth and laid his cheek on Papa’s chest again.

 ‘It will be nice and relaxing,’ Papa said and his chest rumbled and made Virgil feel sleepy. ‘Then we can get you in some clean pyjamas and then cuddle for as long as you want!’

 Virgil sniffled. It might be scary if Papa gave him a bath because he had to be naked, but he didn’t want to do it on his own and his skin was really itchy and burning now. And Papa said they can cuddle after!

 ‘Yeth peas,’ Virgil mumbled around his thumb.

 ‘Good boy!’ Papa said and it made Virgil’s tummy feel better.

 ‘Virgil, did you have an accident while you were awake or did you wet the bed?’ Mama asked.

 Virgil felt his cheeks get hot and he hid his face more in Papa’s shirt. He wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about his bedwetting. He just wanted Papa to cuddle him and help make things better, he didn’t want to talk about it!

 ‘Honey, I need you to be really brave for me,’ Papa kissed his head and it made a happy noise come from Virgil’s throat. ‘Can you please be a good baby and nod for Mama if your bed is wet?’

 Virgil didn’t want to nod but he really didn’t want to lie, so he nodded. He didn’t like that it was quiet after he nodded. What if Papa and Mama thought he was bad and they didn’t want to look after him anymore?

 He whimpered and hugged Papa tighter.

 ‘Shh, it’s alright, baby,’ Papa said and stroked his hair. ‘Thank you for telling us.’

 ‘Mama is going to make your bed for you, Virgil,’ Mama’s voice said right by his ear.

 Virgil turned his head a bit on Papa’s chest and opened one eye to see Mama crouching down and looking at him. He didn’t look angry or anything, he looked friendly just like normal. But Virgil still felt a bit shy. He sucked his thumb more.

 ‘Do you want me to take Minty and tuck them in while you have a bath?’

 Virgil looked down at the dino squished between him and Papa and thought for a bit. He kind of wanted to take Minty with him but he didn’t want them getting wet. Plus, if he had Papa with him then he didn’t need Minty to protect him anymore.

 He slowly nodded and took his thumb out of his mouth so he could push Minty into Mama’s open hands.

 ‘Thank you,’ Mama said then stood up tall again. Virgil liked that Mama was really tall. It made him feel safe.

 ‘So…’ Mama said quietly.

 ‘Yeah,’ Papa said back.

 Virgil was really confused. The grown-ups sometimes spoke in ways he didn’t understand. He didn’t really care though. Minty was held under Mama’s arm like a basketball and it looked funny. Virgil smiled then reached out to poke their nose. Fluffy!

 ‘Shall we continue our…’ Mama was even quieter now, ‘our discussion later?’

 ‘Sure, later,’ Papa whispered.

 Virgil looked up and saw Papa smiling. He liked it when Papa smiled.

 Mama started to walk away but then he stopped and walked back.

 ‘How could I forget,’ he said then lifted Minty.

 It looked like he was tickling them for a bit but then he held something up. A paci!

 Virgil lifted his head from Papa’s chest. He really wanted his paci. It was way better than his thumb.

 ‘Can you tell Mama what colour this is, little one?’ Mama asked nicely. It made Virgil’s head tingle.

 The paci was dark and it had little glittery bits that were really pretty.

 ‘Sparky,’ Virgil said quietly.

 Papa squeezed him a bit and made a funny sound.

 ‘It is sparkly, you’re right,’ Mama said and then he held it up to Virgil’s lips.

 Virgil opened his mouth for it. When he felt the chewy smooth bit on his tongue he breathed deep in his nose and closed his eyes. Pacis always felt really nice.

 He opened them again to try to say thank you with his eyes but Mama was already walking away.

 ‘Let’s go run you a warm bath, baby,’ Papa said and pinched Virgil’s cheek. It didn’t hurt, it was really soft and kind of tickly. ‘This is gonna be soap much fun! Are you bubbling over with excitement?’

 Papa tapped Virgil’s nose and Virgil giggled and nodded. He wasn’t scared anymore!

oOo

Reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated! ♡

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[herohotline]

Spit Out the Sun (Toshi x You) Part 2

A/N: part 2!!! I might make another part where its the opposite ending, but that probably wont be for awhile.

“What did he say?” 

“He told me he had to think about it.” You look over to Midoriya with a sad smile. “He said we’ll meet up and he’ll tell me tomorrow. And y’know,” you sluggishly shrug, “I get it. You don’t want to just say something in the heat of the moment, only to find out later that it wasn’t true. He’s being careful. It’s just not exactly the answer you want when you confess your literal dying love for someone.” 

Midoriya wordlessly nods, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder that makes you smile just a little more. The two of you are seated at a park near Toshi’s house- color you surprised when the green haired boy had knocked on the door and interrupted your confession. The two of you left together and found literally anywhere that you could sit down after that, since you couldn’t bear being around Toshi after he told you that he couldn’t give you an answer. 

Of course, you felt bad for leaning on Midoriya like this. He shouldn’t have to worry about these petty things with you, but at this point, he was the only one who knew. He was the only one you had. 

“I know it’s not my place,” Midoriya anxiously starts, taking his hand away and putting it back on his lap. “But I really think he does love you.”

You take a slow, deep breath through your nose as you close your eyes. “Thank you, Midoriya,” you release the air just as slow, opening your eyes again to look at the sky. The sun had begun to set, making everything a pleasant and warm orange hue. Breaking out of your daze, you stand up and gesture for the young boy to do the same. “I didn’t realize it was getting late… I’ll walk you home and drop you off.” 

“Are you going to be okay?” Midoriya’s emerald green eyes shine in concern for you and it breaks your heart. 

This kid was way too much like Toshinori.

“I will be fine, Midoriya.” The two of you begin to walk to his home, a respectable distance between you. You try and ignore his gaze when your body shakes, wanting desperately to cough out petals. You suppress the urge with a strong smile- you won’t let him see you break down. 

“I’ll make sure of it.” 

——

You don’t sleep at all that night, but you reason that it’s completely understandable given your situation. You can’t stop worrying about Toshi’s answer. Of course, of course you want him to love you back, but you know that the possibility that he doesn’t still exists. You know that the odds don’t look like they’re in your favor and you might have to get the surgery.

And what would happen to you? The results from removing Hanahaki had wildly different results based on the person. Some grew indifferent, some could love exactly as they could before, and some couldn’t love at all. 

What if that was you? What if everyone important to you just… faded away? 

Your heart aches at the thought of how Toshi would react. The worst part, besides the dying and awful side effects for you, was knowing that Toshi would never forgive himself. You cannot help your feelings- you know that more than most, and you know that he can’t help his feelings either. He would pretend he could, though- just so he could continue to feel awful about it. 

Oh, Toshi… You’re more of a mess than I am. 

You’d love to continue wallowing in bed until the next morning- but a few light knocks on your door breaks you out of your thoughts. You sit upright immediately, looking at your clock with a confused look on your face. It’s almost midnight- who could that be?

“Hold on,” you yell from your room, quickly putting on some warmer clothes and slippers before walking over to the door. You hesitate to open it. What if it was some creep?

Even though you’ve never used it before this point, you look through your peephole. The porchlight glows, being your only source of light in the late hour to see who it is before you rip your door open. “Toshi?!” 

“Um, hello,” his eyes grow wide from you opening the door so suddenly. “Did I wake you?”

“Do you really think I was sleeping?” You give him an exhausted look, sighing deeply and running a hand through your hair. “What are you doing here?” And then as a second thought, you open the door wider. “Come in, the cold air is getting in.”

Toshi quickly shuffles in, the both of you shivering slightly as you close the door and lock it. 

“Well, I wanted to... talk to you. I think I know how I feel- but I didn’t think I would really be sure until I saw you again.” 

Toshi’s eyes are on the floor as he speaks, his hands coming out of his trench coat pockets so he could anxiously play with them. You sigh and reach out, grabbing one of his hands gently and lead him to the couch. You sit side by side as you continue to hold his large hand in yours, looking into his eyes as earnestly as you could. 

“Toshi,” you whisper gently. “I want you to know that I’m sorry for exploding on you earlier. I know you understand why, but I’m still sorry. And I want you to know that it’s okay if you don’t feel the same.” You hold his hand a bit tighter. Your voice is wobbly just from thinking about it, but you push onward. 

“Either way, I’m going to be fine. I’m going to be fine.” You repeat it once for good measure- you don’t know if you’re trying to convince Toshi or yourself at this point. 

There’s a small silence once you’ve finished speaking. When you look up at Toshi, you see him looking back at you with an expression you can’t really name, but it still makes your heart rate speed up. 

He speaks your name, soft and gentle. He smiles, a nervous kind of smile as he wets his lips and creases his eyebrows. And then, finally- “I love you.”

You can’t really describe how it feels. It’s like the moment before fireworks start- everything is quiet and cold, but then the explosions start and everything is loud and colorful. That’s what it feels like in your heart- and also in your lungs. 

“Oh, God,” you choke, and then you’re quickly letting go of Toshi’s hands as you dash to your kitchen sink. A sudden burst of flowers flows out of your throat, sunflower petals covered in your saliva spilling in the sink as you hurl. You had read about a lot of things, but you never read about this. It’s like all the flowers that had been budding and sitting in your lungs were coming out of you all at once now that they had no reason to stay. 

Toshi had quickly followed you into the kitchen, worriedly looking over your shoulder as he rubbed your back as comfortingly as he could. You had to admit that it did help a bit- his hand was naturally warm and felt nice.

You just felt bad for ruining his confession by throwing up everywhere. 

But eventually, it ends, and you can finally breathe again. Suddenly the air felt fresh again. It hadn’t been this easy to simply be since you had thrown up your first flower. Your body relaxes over the sink, and you find yourself giggling quietly as Toshi still stays by your side. 

“Sorry about that,” you croak, your throat sore from doing all of that at once. “I didn’t know that was going to happen.”

“It’s good, though,” Toshi looks at all the sunflower petals and buds in the sink. There’s no blood. “Are they all out?”

“I think so.” 

“...Did it hurt?”

“Oh, yeah,” you chuckle. “Could you get me a glass?”

“Right!” Toshi flusters and leaves your side quickly, opening a cabinet and handing you the first cup he can reach. You thank him quietly and fill it with water. When you drink, it feels so refreshing that you fill the cup up again once you’re finished and drink all of that too. 

You happily sigh once you’re done, standing up straight and looking at Toshi as you smile. “Come here,” you beckon him with your hand and he smiles back as he takes two large steps and then engulfs you with his long arms. And oh, does it feel nice.

“I love you,” you whisper into his ear. 

“I love you too,” he whispers back, holding you even closer as you positively melt against him. Yes, your eyes are wet, but you swear you’ve never been this happy.

And this tired.

“Can you carry me back to bed?” You laugh, and Toshi can feel the vibrations run through him as you do. “I’m... really tired.”

“Of course,” he smiles. It’s a little difficult carrying you since you didn’t want to stop holding him, so he scoops you up from under your legs. 

“Am I heavy?”

“I may be retired, but I’m still All Might,” he laughs through his nose and you suppose that’s true. “You weigh as much as a feather to me.”

“Someone’s bragging.”

“Hmm, maybe.”

At the end of your banter, Toshi has already made it into your bedroom. He sets you on the bed gently, tucking you under the covers with careful hands before you stop him halfway through. “You’re being silly, Toshi,” you glare playfully at him and he flushes. 

“I didn’t want to assume-”

“Do it. Assume. More than half the time, you’re going to be right. I love you, you know,” you smile and scoot over, allowing him room to lay beside you. The hero just laughs under his breath as he worms his way under the covers. “Good job,” you smile as he wraps his arms around your waist without asking. “That was a good assumption.”

“Thank you,” Toshi hums. His hands run up and down your back soothingly as you wiggle into a comfortable position beside him. Once you’re finally relaxed, your body sinking into the mattress, you feel one of his hands slide up your body and gently grab your face.

Lord help you because oh my God, Toshinori is kissing you. 

It’s innocent and sweet, a goodnight kiss at its finest. But it’s your first kiss with him and it still makes you blush as you look up at him with shocked eyes. “Was that alright?” He shrinks a little in your gaze.

“Yeah, it was great,” you smile and reach up, cupping his jaw in your hands as you lean forward to kiss him again. “Goodnight, Toshi,” you whisper against his lips, feeling his body lightly shiver. 

“Goodnight, darling.”

[lemonietrinket]

I’ll Admit ||| Wonpil x Reader

Summary: "I’ll admit, I didn’t think I would ever do all of this under a bed with a cold pretzel, and yet here we are.” Genre: Fluff, humour? Warning(s): 1x Hell (mild cursing), otherwise none Word Count: 4856 Theme Song: Mixtape #1 - Stray Kids; Best Part - Day6; Stay - Ateez AN: a pushed request from @idontknowapil I have no have no short-fic ideas lately ok. I’m here to fill the apparent void of day6 stuffs :((

~~~

To be absolutely honest with yourself, you were beginning to wonder if you’d offended some ancient deity, whose only remaining power was to cause minor inconveniences for a target chosen upon whim, and that you were said victim. 

Because, truth be told, what had you done to deserve being thrown onto the sofa like a sack of potatoes?

You hadn’t intended to get in their way—you weren’t even aware they were chasing each other round the tiny halls of the flat, and you hadn’t the slightest clue as to why either. 

You’d been helping Sungjin cook dinner in the cramped kitchen, effortlessly working around one another in peace as you jammed to the music over the speaker you’d set up.  Neither of you said much, opening your mouths to merely sing the lyrics together, or ask for the flavouring to be passed from the first kitchen counter to its only companion. 

Listening to the man sing in his gritty and soulful voice never failed to settle you into tranquil, even if the words he was singing weren’t exactly what most would define as deep and meaningful.

“I see that I’m icy~”

You choked back a laugh. You would never have noted him as the type to bop to Itzy—and neither did he, usually—but every now and again he seemed to like a rousing pop song, and since it was only you there he didn’t mind letting down his reserved guard and sing along.  It didn’t stop the contrast between his vocals and the tone of the song from being stark, though, and there was something amusing about hearing a mighty voice that was designed for heart-aching alternative songs chant sunnily to a summer pop hit. Still, it allowed you to join in without feeling so out of league like you would have naturally done. 

The heavy thunk however shook the entire block no doubt, and it also stopped your little concert in the kitchen abruptly short. The two of you flicked your heads to where it had somewhat resonated from: the living room.

“What the hell...?” you murmured, your knife frozen against the chopping board.

“Those damn kids,” Sungjin tutted, quickly going back to his work at the pan, “if I get another complaint from that poor elderly lady from downstairs again I swear I’ll...”

You were going to join him in cooking again as you had done before, when a high-toned shriek emanated from the furthest hall. At the sound of it, the leader hissed grumpily into the steam of the half-prepared meal, but you couldn’t help but let your thoughts wander.

There was no plausible owner of the cry other than Wonpil, and that made you worry.  You couldn’t help it. The others may not play often, but when they did it sometimes was a little rough—and this didn’t count the occasionally relentless teasing that Jae and Younghyun could indulge in on a surprisingly regular basis. And Wonpil, bless his heart, was just as regularly the target. He was just so sweet and kind and gentle, and when he wasn’t, he was surprisingly, underhandedly sassy. These were the reasons why you’d fallen worryingly swiftly for the man and his cute habits and neediness, and it was also the reason why he was chosen as the one who got teased; his reactions were normally pretty funny.

But it also had to be said that though Wonpil could handle himself better than many would expect, there were a couple of scenarios where he couldn’t, perhaps. And going by the sudden flurry of footsteps that charged into someone’s bedroom and forced Sungjin to lean against the counter and pull the wide-eyed expression he always made whenever he was considering whipping someone into shape, you deduced this may have been one of those circumstances.

And so, you finished chopping the mushroom before you, dished it out onto the plate for the main chef to use, before throwing, “I’m just going to check everyone’s ok,” over your shoulder and heading out into the hallway. 

Peering both ways you couldn’t see a single culprit or victim, which was unnerving to say the least.

Heading towards where the original thud had originated from, you barely got to the other side of the living room when there was a flash of white and suddenly you were scooped into the air with a yelp.

A victorious laugh that was clearly Younghyun’s tapered off within seconds as you were immediately put back on your feet. “Oh, Y/N, I’m so sorry I thought you were—”

“What the hell are you doing?” you exclaimed, still in shock from your sudden, albeit temporary, flight. 

The handsome smile before you became even more sheepish. “Nothing bad I promise! Have you—”

“Nothing bad?!” you echoed incredulously. “You’ve been lumping around causing an absolute ruckus! If you’ve caused any offence to the other residents up or downstairs I swear I will—”

“—seen Wonpil?”

The sound of his name sucked any threats of spite out of you. He was the reason why you’d risked life and limb by exiting the kitchen. “N-no, but why do you want him?”

Younghyun chuckled at your defensive scowl. “He stole my pretzel and I want it back.”

“I can’t believe you guys—over a pretzel?” You rolled your eyes. “Even if I had seen him I wouldn’t hand over any information, and you know that.”

The man looked mildly panicked as you began to head back towards the kitchen. “Wait, Y/N! It’s a cinnamon pretzel! You know they’re like, really damn good...!” 

You stopped in mere steps as a plan gradually began to spin in your head. You span on your heel, sending Younghyun a sweet smile. “A cinnamon pretzel you say?” 

He nodded earnestly as you slowly drew to the archway where he stood, coming to lean against the arm of the sofa nearest it. “Interesting...”

“Will you help us find him? I’ll let you have a quarter of it!” Younghyun pleaded, pulling the best puppy eyes he could.

“A whole quarter? Wow I am lucky.”

You had to bite back another laugh as you watched him panic again. 

“Because I’ve already made an offer to Dowoon and Jae to help me catch him, ok?” he explained poutily.

You pretended to think for a bit, though your mind was already made up. It was time to put your plan into action. “Fine.”

Relief washed over him as he flashed you that charming grin that made everyone’s hearts flutter. Well, perhaps everyone except you as you’d swiftly rationalsied. Your butterflies only seemed to make an appearance whenever he was around, and as if to make up for their rather useful vacancy in normal situations, they made a habit of appearing at all times when you were with him—which wasn’t as lucky, but what were you to do? Ask him out? Don’t be daft. 

“Ok, good, that’s great!” Younghun sighed, jumping straight in with an outline of his oddly detailed plan on how to smoke out Wonpil from his hiding spot and reclaim his pretzel in an elaborate trap. You weren’t listening, though, and it was rather fortunate really that he didn’t get to continue for long enough to ask you questions that you then wouldn’t be able to answer.

He was interrupted halfway through explaining he was going to head towards Wonpil and Sungjin’s room by another thunder of footsteps wracking through the apartment. A shape that you would soon identify as Jae barrelled right through, in and out of the living room like a lightning bolt, calling, “I see him!”

And unfortunately for you, the image of a sweet, pristine cinnamon pretzel had overcome his senses, and since Younghyun was in the way, he took the fastest option of bumping him out of the way. But this created a domino effect, as in an effort to recapture his balance, the younger had stumbled forward and sent you over the arm, onto the plush cushions with a startled cry.

As you lay squashed on your shoulder and your elbow slotted between the leather you couldn’t help but think about your predicament, yet also your future rewards. 

The plan you had concocted was of the same level as a secret agent’s master plan, you were sure, and you couldn’t help a devilish smirk rise to your lips as you thought it over.

It involved stealth, deceit, smarts, and a good dose of luck.

A double-cross. The ultimate spy-movie-move. And you were going to pull it off to-the-T.

Truth was, if you found Wonpil and hid with him, you were guaranteed to get half a pretzel. Maybe even more, since the man who had stolen your heart so cleanly without even realising most likely, was kind like that.

Ignoring the ebbs and flows of your heart that dictated that you would always take his side over the others’ any day anyway, it made much more sense to bluff.

Not only this, you also had a great advantage over Jae and Younghyun, and that was you knew Wonpil very well. Yes, they’d known him for longer, but you knew him on a deeper level, from all the time you’d spent with him late in the evening and in cafes in the morning and everywhere you went with him. Because you listened to what he had to say, because you cared with your whole heart.  And so it meant that this time round you were going to beat them, and win that pretzel too.

And so, you pushed yourself up—with frankly a ridiculous amount of energy required, because the sofa seemed very keen to grip your hand and pin you down—and slipped in the direction the two had come from, into your room.

As your eyes settled on your bed, there was no chance of you wiping the pride off your face.

Though Wonpil was softer than the others, that didn’t mean he didn’t still have a few tricks up his sleeve; after all, he wasn’t as ditzy as everyone always figured he was.

Your room was in fact the safest option—it was your private space, so the others rarely came in, thus they didn’t know it well at all. The wouldn’t know where to begin. Add this to their discomfort to even being in your room without your permission, let alone scouring their eyes in every nook and cranny, that had origins in your rare but mighty wrath, it all amounted to the best choice. 

On top of this, Wonpil actually did know it well. He was the only one that frequented your room, because the two of you were so close. And though you weren’t as close as you wished to be, he always came to you in the evenings, wrapping up in your blankets at your side and sprawling over your lap, your shoulders, your stomach. 

This in itself made you repeatedly rethink your wishes to finally work up the courage and ask—as what if it ruined everything? And you didn’t like to think down those lines for long, as it made your stomach churn enough emotionally to make you feel physically nauseous. 

But this was why he had an advantage by hiding in your room (as well as why you’d held your tongue for months on end). 

Banking on the fact that you two had a lot in common too, you could certainly have a good guess at where he was, since you knew where you would choose to go.

Lifting the covers that hung like curtains from the edge of your bed to the floor, you found everything in order—the drawer you kept under there still in its place. A good sign.

You made your way round to the other side of your bed.

The drawer did not fill the expanse of it, after all, and left quite a lot of space under there. And since the frame was reasonably high off the ground, this would be the prime spot to hide if you needed to.

Crouching down, you glanced up to the door left ajar as to not arouse suspicion but also maintain some privacy if your deductions were correct. No one there, and no sound of anyone approaching.  Success.

“Wonpil,” you whispered to the carpet, fingers fiddling with the embroidered lace upon the cover, “it’s Y/N. I’m coming under, yeah?”

A series of shuffles was heard while the tiniest ‘hi’ graced your ears. You slipped under the bed on your stomach, hurriedly repositioning the covers to hide your position once again.

Your arm ended up nudging into something soft that then emitted a small hum as a greeting of sorts. “Oh, Pillie, I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok,” he responded meekly, shifting his weight to further accommodate for you, “you’re not searching with them are you?”

You shook your head, coming to settle resting on your elbows. “Nope. I told Hyun that I was though.”

“Y/N L/N, world’s best double agent,” he giggled, and you couldn’t help but smile at him merely being happy. 

You couldn’t see much under the bed since a lot of the light was blocked by the drawer and overhanging bedsheets, but you could just make out the lines of his face and the corners of his beautiful smile. His dark eyes also caught the slivered beams of light that crept beneath the furthest end of the bed, appearing like distant constellations in them. He was a masterpiece, never appreciated fully as he deserved—but for those that did, they would find all his quirks as food for the soul, and as such he rendered you feeling at true peace in his company. You longed to speak out again.

You were brought out of your thoughts by the one who had caught your heart so accidentally holding a soft pretzel towards you. “Do you want it?”

You prayed he hadn’t seen your stare in the dim light. “Hm? Oh, I’ll have any part you don’t want, it’s ok.”

“Well...” he offered the packet to you more insistently by brushing your arm with the back of his hand, until you accepted it. He then rolled over onto his side, settling into the carpet. “I don’t want it, so you can have it.”

You analysed the knot of the pretzel, before frowning at him suspiciously. “You haven’t eaten any of it...? You didn’t drop it on the floor did you?”

“No!” he cried in a whisper that verged on just-a-bit-too-loud. Much as you feared, footsteps came at a slower pace down from the living room, sending the two of you into a bout of silence, hoping that they wouldn’t turn into your bedroom.

To your luck, they continued on into the studio.

You exhaled in relief as you continued with your interrogation over the lukewarm, but still very delicious cinnamon pretzel. “But, Pillie, my Wonpil loves pretzels, especially cinnamon ones! My Wonpil dared to throw a pillow at Sungjin over a cinnamon pretzel! And yet here he supposedly is, handing one over completely untouched? I say, sir, you have been outwitted—now tell me, who are you and where is the real Wonpil?”

Your tone had been humorous, perhaps overly so. You couldn’t help it though; the rush of calling him yours, even with it being uninterpretable to mean in that manner, sent electricity through to your heart and left it thumping against your ribcage. 

Wonpil meanwhile only laughed under his breath softly, his brilliant smile tapering off into a gentler, sleepier one. “I am the real Wonpil, I promise! I just want you to have it.”

“Why?” The word came out of you too fast and before you could even attempt to stop it. You cursed your neediness in your head, shying your head away as you leaned into the scent of cinnamon as a feeble attempt of a cover. 

He shrugged, though it was awkward to see at his angle. “Because you really like them and I’d rather you have it over Jae or Younghyun.”

You snorted. “What did they do this time?”

“They hid my phone!” he whined, a pout clearly on his face in the dark even if you couldn’t see it clearly, “I looked all over the place desperately for like, ten minutes, and then they laughed at me when they gave it back!”

“That’s so mean,” you agreed, “do you want e to kick their asses?”

He laughed sweetly, rolling closer. “Nah, I got the pretzel. That’ll teach them not to mess with Kim Wonpil!”

“The Almighty and All-Seeing,” you finished with a grin, taking a bite into the dough at last. Even though it was a bit cool, it still tasted phenomenal, and you hummed out of reflex and in satisfaction.

“Is it good?” Wonpil chirped, shuffling even closer. He was still merged with the shadows, but you could feel his warmth by your arm. He couldn’t stay away for long, after all.

You nodded assertively, torn between chewing quickly so you could reply and taking it slow to savour the taste. Considering the size of how much was left, you opted for the former and eventually asked, “Where did you get this from?”

“I don’t know actually. I just saw it in Younghyunnie’s bag and took it.”

You couldn’t stifle the chuckle at the image of the man’s devious behaviour, and ended up choking.

“Are you ok?” Wonpil’s voice was concerned, his hand already on your arm, gently rubbing and squeezing the skin there as he waited for you to gather your breath together.

As soon as you erupted into giggles that you attempted to smother as much as you could, he sighed.

“I’m sorry, I just imagined you in full, stereotypical robber costume with the mask and everything, running away with a pretzel and, I don’t know, it just...?” 

Wonpil seemed to not really be listening—not an entirely uncommon occurrence—and instead took the opportunity to wrap his arms around your free one and lean his head against your side.  “I’m so glad you’re ok!” he whispered.

Hearing a clang from the studio nearby you tensed up, but after a few more seconds of hearing nothing, you allowed yourself to pay full attention to Wonpil again. 

“Of course I’m ok,” you said, “why wouldn’t I be?”

“I was worried you were going to die on me, and that just wouldn’t be ideal.” Hearing you scoff a laugh at his terminology, he avidly continued, “Look, we’d have to write on your obituary that you died from choking on a cinnamon pretzel, and then you’d become a cautionary tale for kids, and that’s just not a fate anyone deserves!”  It was then as if his mouth continued without him really being aware of it.

“And if you died, Y/N, then what am I supposed to do? I would be so alone, I don’t think I would—” 

These moments happened to everyone, it was fair to say, though his reaction to his own words as he cut himself short was an enigma to say the least. It was as if he’d said to much of something he’d promised he would never say. 

And then he was quiet. In fact he was dead silent.  Not a Wonpil-thing to do to say the least.

It was good timing however. There was a creak, as another person entered the room.  You hadn’t heard the footfalls, so you weren’t able to work out who it was, until he spoke.

“Y/N?” Sungjin called.

You didn’t respond.  This wasn’t exactly good news.

The chances were the leader would try and catch one of the others and ask them of your whereabouts, if he was searching for specifically you of his own accord. Or worse, he had joined the search—unlikely, but a possibility nevertheless.

After what seemed like hours of waiting, the door creaked once more and you were able to release the air you’d been subconsciously holding. 

Glancing down, you realised you’d better get on with your pretzel. You spoke to clear the silence and anxious energy emanating from the man who was clinging to you. 

“I wouldn’t know what I’d do without you either, Pillie.” Deciding to take smaller bites but often, you began to eat and savour the taste of the stolen delicacy as best you could, while finishing what Wonpil had insinuated in his accidental words. “I don’t think I would cope at all with you gone, too.”

“Really?” 

You imagined his bright eyes wide and gleaming at you in surprise, as you wouldn’t be able to see even if you looked back. “Yeah, my life would be so empty, I think,” you bit down the nerves that began to rise as you spoke, “like a huge part of me and my life would be missing, and I never want that to happen.”

“Do you really mean that?” Wonpil’s voice was so small you could barely hear it, “You... want me here with you... forever?” 

You froze on the spot.

Was this the time?

Evidently, yes.

You let the the pretzel fall to the floor, shifting yourself so you were on your back and able to hold Wonpil’s cheeks delicately in your hands above you, as you had longed to do for months.  “Yes. Without a single doubt, Pillie. I’ve liked you for so long I haven’t been able to say it, but now I’ve... finally kicked myself up the ass and said it,” you chuckled to yourself, watching his glorious smile rise in the dark, “so, Pillie, do you want to be my boyfriend?”

He nodded desperately, coming to rest his forehead against yours.

And it was as if your heart had burst in two out of sheer joy. You could have very much burst into tears right there and then, but Wonpil was not finished. 

“Kiss me?” he requested, in a voice so delicate and sweet that it instantly mended your broken resolve.  

You closed the distance carefully, not wanting to mess up and make a fool of yourself, even though the circumstances really did prompt it. Fortune was on your side though, as your lips found his without an issue.

Threading your hands through his hair, you revelled in the tenderness of his kiss. It felt so right as your heart throbbed, his chest lowering onto yours as he sank into your touch. It was so chaste and impossibly sweet, and yet it carried the weight of the world within it—you hadn’t been the only one waiting. 

As much as you longed to remain there, your beating hearts dictated that you needed to take in air.

He moved away first, his breath tickling your skin as he giggled. “You taste like cinnamon.”

“And now so do you!” You ran your thumb across his temple, unable to contain your smile. 

Overcome with shyness, Wonpil bit his lip as he ducked his head into your neck, mumbling phrases of disbelief into your shirt. 

Stroking the soft tress of his hair you attempted to ease him into more calm. “I’ll admit,” you began, “I didn’t think I would ever do all of this under a bed with a cold pretzel, and yet here we are.”

“How did you picture it?” he enquired, voice still muffled by your neck.

“I don’t actually know...” you answered, pausing to consider what you had originally intended, if anything at all. “Maybe after the cinema? That’s the classic way, right? Wait, no... Probably one time when you come to hang out with me like you always do?”

He lifted himself up, cocking his head to one side. “Why then?”

It was your turn to get a little bashful, “Because you’d be right there in my arms, and it would be much easier than under a bed hiding from the others...”

“Well,” Wonpil reasoned, his voice nothing but a whisper, “I’m here in your arms now...”

You sighed, “I know, it took me long enough right?”

“I could have done something about it too,” he pouted, “so don’t worry about it... and instead, maybe do it again?”

There was no way you could have stifled the chuckle that bubbled from your chest, but it tapered off when your new partner leant in to kiss you again.

Nonetheless, luck is a finite resource, and so it had to run out at some point—and for you, it was at an admittedly unfortunate moment, as it was right there and then.

Light was released from its coil outside as the bedsheets were drawn back and a face appeared in its wake.

“Boom! Found y—Y/N?!” Jae’s voice was way too loud in comparison to the peace, and then it was absolutely ecstatic, “Y/N?! Are you making out with our keyboardist?!”

You were stunned by his sudden appearance as you hadn’t heard a single bit of noise to offer the idea that anyone was nearby. Then again, you were enraptured with the beautiful man before you—there was little chance of you noticing the low creak of a door.

As you floundered however, Wonpil handled the situation instead, unusually disgruntled.

“I asked her to, Jae,” he countered, sending him his best mean look which only really involved a nose scrunch, “now go away and let her continue.”

“Oop—” The eldest disappeared from sight, and darkness returned.

“Now, where were we?” Wonpil hummed, but you were reluctant.

Your inhibitions turned out to be well-calculated too, as you heard Jae, not three seconds later, yell, “Brian! Y/N and Wonpil are making out under the bed, come see!”

You rolled your eyes. “We’d better get out of here.” Confronted with Wonpil’s pout however and your grumpy tone melted. “It’s ok, we’ll continue later, I promise! Just, I have to go kick Jae’s ass real quick too, you know?”

You felt his weight shift from you as he admitted defeat. “Ok, but get him good, baby.”

You choked on air at the sudden pet-name. So many things sounded like pure perfection coming from his lips. Even so, it seemed the term ‘baby’ in reference to you did not share the same effect.

“Eh?”

“What?” he said, confused by your outburst. 

“I think you need to find another pet-name for me,” you explained as you crawled out from beneath the bed. 

“What’s wrong with baby?”

Once you were out, you extended your hand for him. Handing you the pretzel which you then discarded on your bed, he began to shimmy himself out until he could accept your offer, while you searched for a reason other than ‘slightly cringey’. “I mean... I can’t be baby, because you are baby.”

As he got to his feet, he dusted the both of you off shyly. “Am I?”

“Hell yeah you are, baby,” you finished, making your point with added flair as you raised his chin to face you.

His eyes went wide at the touch. “Y-yeah, you’re right.”

“Oh, ew.”

Your eyes rose to the voice to find Jae still standing there, though this time with Younghyun in the doorway who suddenly looked panicked. “Don’t look at me, I’m fully supportive of young love.”

Your gaze focused on Jae, then, who was smiling brightly, though it was turning more and more worried by the second.  “Thank you for reminding me about the other problem at hand,” you chirped, “You get a ten second head-start, Jae, as I’m feeling kind today.”

“It’s because of all that love in your system,” he retorted with a cackle, though he didn’t then waste much time in making a mad dash for the door, shunting Younghyun out of the way once more.

“Kick his ass, sugarplum!” Wonpil encouraged by your side, and you just about hid your wince. Younghyun merely ducked his head out of the doorway to snicker.

“Yeah, maybe not that one either, baby,” you suggested, resting your palms on his shoulders and pressing a kiss quickly to his cheek. “But I’ll make it count, don’t worry.”

He sent you that glimmering smile, this time in the light where you could see, and you stood transfixed for well over the designated head-start. 

“Come on, go!” Wonpil ushered, thriving on the drama. “Avenge me!”

And with his blessing you grabbed your pillow and tore off out of the door.

To see you so smitten was endearing, Younghyun thought. He’d been wondering how long it would take you to finally ask, and was starting to worry a bit. Clearly he shouldn’t have lost faith in you quite that easily.

He managed to avoid getting trampled by you too as you ran out of you room, leaving Wonpil to take in everything that had happened. He’d expected him to gush about it, or have a fit of giggles, but the man just sat on your bed and sighed, looking at a pretzel happily—

Wait, that was his pretzel—

“Hey, that’s—!”

“I know,” Wonpil interjected, scooping it up and offering it to him, “you want it?”

Younghyun eyed him suspiciously. “Who are you and where is Wonpil?”

The younger tutted, rolling his eyes. “I am Wonpil, and I don’t want it, so you can have it.”

Younghyun, after a few moments, stepped forward to claim his prize. Until he had an epiphany.

“Wait, it’s been on the floor, hasn’t it.”

~~~

AN: I feel like I’m gonna hate this tomorrow but oh well. here it is!

and it wasn’t supposed to be this long but oops

(also itzy’s music and lyrics are also obviously not mine—I’m not taking any chances though so, I repeat: I have no ownership of the song, lyrics, etc they all belong to JYPE ok)

Masterlist

[noona-clock]

Making It 🧛‍♂️🎥🎃

Congrats on your milestone my love... you deserve all the support in the world! Could I please request something with Daehyun as a vampire or fluff set around Halloween! Thank you in advance and for all you share with us 💖💖💖

Thank you so much for requesting, @prettywordsyouleft​. I am happy to write anything for you!

Genre: Idol!AU/Fluff

Pairing: Daehyun x You (Female!Reader)

Warnings: None

Words: 2,324

You tried to control your breathing as you ran through the woods, not wanting to risk being heard more than you already were. You were currently barefoot, so you were making enough noise as you stepped on the pine straw and twigs and leaves on the ground beneath you -- any more noise and you wouldn’t be safe for long.

A glance over your shoulder, the moonlight shining down on your face, and you discovered it actually didn’t matter how much noise you were making: he was right behind you, his red eyes gleaming through the darkness and staring at you hungrily.

Your brow furrowed deeply, and you had to tamp down a scream of horror as your heart jumped up into your throat.

Just as you saw him take a step toward you, you turned back around to run. There was no way you could escape him now that he had his sights set on you, but you could try to delay it as long as you possibly could.

But then, before you could even lift one foot off the ground --

“CUT!”

You almost instantly deflated, and the music stopped as your makeup artist scurried over to do touch-ups.

Music video shoots were usually exhausting, but this one was turning out to be particularly long and grueling. You had no one to blame but yourself, of course, since you were releasing a single just before Halloween and had wanted to pair it with a holiday-appropriate video. What better theme than dark forests and vampires?

Speaking of, the actor you’d chosen to play the vampire himself was heading over to you, his smile shy but also quite beaming -- fake fangs included.

“Hi,” he greeted with a soft chuckle, lifting a hand to wave at you as he approached.

“Hi,” you replied with a smile of your own as your makeup artist pressed a powder puff to your forehead. “You’re doing a fantastic job.”

The actor was actually a fellow musical artist, Daehyun. He had quite the prolific career in a six-member group, and you’d been a fan since before you, yourself, had broken out into the music scene two years ago. He had always been your favorite member with his powerful vocals and charming eyes, so when you finally made enough of a name for yourself to start casting actual celebrities in your music videos, you’d requested Daehyun.

And now here he was, standing right in front of you in full vampire attire.

“Oh, thank you,” he replied, nodding at you. “So are you. I honestly thought you were really scared of me just now.”

“You make a pretty convincing vampire,” you said with a soft giggle.

“I think it’s the fangs,” Daehyun murmured, lifting a hand and touching one of the sharp tips protruding from his mouth.

“Yes, definitely,” you grinned. “The fangs and the red contacts. And the cape. And the grayish pallor.”

A smirk tugged at Daehyun’s lips, and your heart repeated its action from just a few minutes ago: it jumped up into your throat.

“Yeah, that would just about do it,” he said.

The director interrupted you then, seemingly appearing out of nowhere (though you figured you just hadn’t noticed him because you’d been too distracted by the handsome vampire conversing with you). “We’ve just got one more shot, and then we’re moving onto the next scene.”

You nodded, and you didn’t have a chance to ask for any more details because the director continued on.

“We’re going to do the part where he catches you,” he explained. “Now, remember, we’re going for a more gothic and romantic feel rather than a horror movie feel, so it won’t be like an abduction sort of scene. It’s almost like you want to be caught.”

Looking at Daehyun listening to the director so earnestly, those plush lips set in a serious line, you knew you wouldn’t have to do much acting in the next twenty or so minutes.

You definitely wanted him to catch you.

“Got it,” you murmured, tipping your chin in a slight nod as the director whirled around and went back to his spot behind the camera.

Before Daehyun turned and assumed his previous place, he whispered a ‘Good luck’ and gave you a thumbs up.

Oh, god, could he be any cuter?

You had to take a deep breath to get back into your ‘I’m being chased by a vampire and I’m scared but also intrigued’ mindset. Your eyes were closed when the director called for playback on your new single, and when he yelled ‘Action!’ your brow furrowed gently as you got back into character.

Your lips began to move, mouthing the lyrics to your song, and you watched with terrified curiosity as Daehyun the vampire smirked wildly at you. Tearing your gaze away from him, you turned and began to run, eventually finding a tree to hide behind.

While you attempted to fit your entire body behind the sturdy trunk, you allowed one hand to slip out into the open as your chest heaved to try and catch your breath.

Of course, as was your plan, your visible hand was an open invitation for Daehyun, and within several seconds, you felt his fingers gently grasping your wrist. The director had reminded you that you almost wanted to get caught, so after the last word in the verse finished, you tugged one corner of your mouth into a smile.

“And cut!”

You let out a breath, and Daehyun let go of your hand before he appeared around the side of the tree. His smile was so wide and beaming that the breath you’d just let out ended on quite the shaky note.

“All right, scene change,” the director announced as the rest of the crew scurried to follow their orders.

“That was really good,” Daehyun praised, and you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling like somewhat of an idiot. Coming from him, someone who’d acted in countless music videos, it was one of the highest compliments you could receive.

“Thank you,” you replied with a shy nod. 

“We’re moving on to the bedroom scene,” the director said then, effectively stopping your heart.

“Excuse me?” you coughed.

“He’s caught you, now he’s going to turn you.”

...Ah. Right. A bedroom scene for a vampire really just meant biting the victim’s neck and sucking her blood. You felt silly that you’d been so startled by the director’s words, but one look at Daehyun told you he had been in exactly the same boat.

The expression on his face right now was, in a word, classic.

About half an hour later, you found yourself standing in the middle of a Victorian-style bedroom, tilting your head as the special effects makeup artist dabbed blood onto your skin with a q-tip. She had just placed two puncture wounds right over your vein, and you and Daehyun were preparing to shoot the scene where he drinks your blood and turns you into a vampire.

...You weren’t going to lie, you were incredibly excited.

“Let’s take our places,” the director said, and the makeup artist quickly poked you a few more times before she dashed off behind the camera.

You shot Daehyun a look, one which clearly said you were more than ready and that he was going to do a great job. The two of you had just filmed the scene where he’d actually bitten you, so now all he had to do was finish the job.

As your song began to play again, you waited for the director to yell out ‘Action!’ before again mouthing along with the lyrics.

Your heart jumped in your chest when you felt Daehyun step right behind you, when his hands gently landed on your upper arms. And when you felt his mouth on your neck? 

Oh, boy.

You knew this was all acting, but...

You couldn’t deny how good it felt.

You closed your eyes, still mouthing along to the song as you felt the fake blood dripping down your skin and over your shoulder. Your head tilted back just a little, allowing him better access, and Daehyun’s hands tightened on your arms. His chest pressed up against your back, and you instinctively leaned into him, bringing one hand up and resting it on the back of his head.

After a few more moments of Daehyun sucking your blood, the director called out to you to open your eyes and stare into the camera. You were a vampire now, and you had to let the audience know.

With just a bit of regret, you lifted your head, though you still kept your hand on the back of Daehyun’s neck. And on the director’s cue, your eyelids flew open and you stared straight into the camera lens. For an added punch, you lifted one corner of your lips into a very satisfied smirk.

“Perfect! Cut! We’ll add the red eyes in later with CGI, and I think that’s a wrap, my friends!” the director called out, smiling proudly. 

You let out a soft exhale as you felt Daehyun step away from you, and the entire set broke out into soft applause to celebrate the end of the shoot.

As you’d done on the sets of your other videos, you made your way to each and every person on the soundstage, thanking them profusely for their hard work and dedication. Even though you and Daehyun were the stars of the video, it wouldn’t have been even remotely possible without the crew behind the scenes.

Once you’d made your way around the entire set, your manager set a warm, fuzzy jacket around your shoulders and ushered you out to your trailer to get changed and ready to leave.

It wasn’t until your makeup artist had removed all the blood from your neck when you realized you had left the set without one word to your co-star. Your eyebrows raised, and you were just about to turn around in your chair and say something to your manager when there was a knock on your trailer door.

“Come in!” your manager answered before you had the chance.

Your eyes were glued to the mirror in front of you, watching the reflection of the door to see who was paying you a visit. Embarrassingly, your heart was racing at the thought of it being Daehyun.

And, almost as if you’d conjured him just by thinking it, there he was, standing in the doorway of your trailer with his own clothes and no makeup on.

Looking like an absolute ten out of ten.

“Hi,” he greeted with a shy chuckle, his lips pulled into a friendly smile. “Sorry to bother you.”

“Oh no, it’s no bother at all,” you replied immediately straightening in your chair. Your makeup artist was still taking the blood off, so you couldn’t turn around to face him just yet. He seemed to understand because he walked over to you and leaned against the vanity.

“I, uh -- I just wanted to thank you,” he said, his expression genuine and earnest as he gazed down at you. “I had a lot of fun. I’ve never done anything like this, and I’m honored you chose me as your co-star.”

You felt your smile curving to match his, and your heart skipped a couple of beats as you looked right back at him. “You’re welcome,” you replied softly. “I’m really glad you could fit it into your schedule.”

The two of you chatted for a minute or two about the video, both expressing your excitement to see the final outcome and your gratitude for the great work of the director.

Just as your conversation about the video came to a natural stopping point, your makeup artist stepped away from your chair and headed into the small bathroom in your trailer. You figured Daehyun would say his goodbyes and leave... but you were more than happy to be proven wrong.

“Listen, I --” he began, shifting a bit uncomfortably as he avoided your gaze for the first time since he’d entered your trailer. “I was wondering... One of my group members is having a Halloween party tomorrow, and I know it’s short notice, but would you --”

“I would love to,” you replied, not doing anything to hide your excitement.

The expression on Daehyun’s face quickly transformed to match your tone of voice, his eyes widening and his smile growing. “Really?”

“Yes, absolutely,” you nodded. “I can just borrow my outfit from the video for my costume.”

“Oh, that’s perfect. I was thinking I would do the same thing and just go as a vampire. And you could --” He gestured to his neck, indicating you should put on some fake puncture wounds and blood like what your makeup artist had just taken off.

Oh. So, he was suggesting the two of you go as a vampire and his victim? Like... a couple’s costume?

Interesting.

“Yeah, yeah, definitely,” you said, trying to hide a sly grin. “But, I mean, that kind of forces us to stay together all night at the party, so...”

Daehyun shrugged, and you could’ve sworn you saw a smirk hidden somewhere in his smile. “Yeah, that was kind of the point.”

Your eyebrows shot halfway up your forehead, and it took everything in you not to laugh with delight.

“So... what time will you pick me up?”

You had been working so hard in your music career for two years now, meeting as many new people as you could and trying to get your face and name out there in the world. And now, after finally “making it,” you had indulged yourself in casting exactly who you’d always wanted to play your romantic interest. Even though he had actually been a vampire in the video, and the two of you hadn’t shared an actual kiss...

Well, I’d say things were turning out quite splendidly anyway.

[adora2723]

Supercorp

It was a precarious situation. Lena wondered how she always seems to find herself in the middle of those. Right now, Supergirl was tied to a wall, barely conscious due to the Kryptonite conveniently placed all around her; just the right amount to subdue her yet keep her aware of her surroundings.

Lena had just come to after being knocked unconscious by Eve in her office. She should have seen that coming, she thought to herself. Her head throbbed in sync to the beat of her pulse. She watched her brother pace back and forth in front of a screen, replaying what seemed like every interaction she ever had with Supergirl on a loop. Something wet and warm trickled down her forehead, and when she reached she found her fingers sticky with red, hot blood.

“Ah, finally! You’re awake. We’ve been waiting for you to wake up for 13 minutes Lena. You know it’s rude to keep people waiting, I taught you better than that. Sit up straight! Respect is built on the foundation of propriety and composure. Show your big brother some respect! Then again, it is not entirely your fault is it? Miss Teschmacher may have been a tad bit... overzealous in her execution.”

“What am I doing here Lex?” Lena bit out.

“Yes of course, straight to the point as usual. You see, I told you, Lena, to always mind the company you keep. And sure, I can disregard many things... you sending me to jail: sibling rivalry. Changing the company name: petulant yet expected. But, working together with that alien scum to take me down is a betrayal I wasn’t expecting from you!” Lex’ voice started out as mild taunting but by the end had been consumed by rage. He was living up to his reputation as a mad man; wildly gesticulating, spit flying everywhere. If he had had hair it would be sticking out in all directions. So much for composure.

Of course Lena knew what this was about. She’s known for three weeks, ever since Lex escaped from prison, that he was going to come after her. She wasn’t really worried about herself; she knew their confrontation was inevitable. Neither could live as long as the other survived. If only her life was as magical as these novels. Unlike Harry though, she was all alone. No dependents who would suffer from her proximity, no family to mourn her untimely and cruel death, and no friends who would miss her during random lunch dates or impromptu game nights. Well, one friend. Kara. Kara was her solace in an otherwise dreary existence. Kara who she had come to care for as more than the best friend she pretended to be. Kara who she should have cut ties with as soon as she received the first foreboding letter. The letter, sent anonymously by Lex, that seemingly was just fanmail by a devoted admirer, sweetly relaying his adulation through Ancient Greek song. Turns out she could have avoided a tragedy, but she was Icarus flying too close to the sun, incapable to resist. She will pay the price for this.

“Let her go. Please! It is me you want. Take me!” Supergirl feebly tried to fight off her restraints. Her voice barely audible, rough and scratchy from exhaustion. Lena admired her perseverance. Supergirl’s sense for justice never seemed selfrighteous, a feat her cousin couldn’t quite pull off. Despite their dissent Supergirl didn’t falter in trying to protect her; maybe in a promise to Kara? Wishful thinking.

“There won’t be much of you left to take, Kryptonian! Besides, you have no value to me, no. This is personal. This time I came here to quench my thirst for revenge. You see, most people think we Luthors don’t have emotions. And usually they would be right in their assessment, however limited it might be. Average brains produce average results. But nothing about us Luthors is average. We are eminent, exceptional, extraordinary. And so are our feelings. And you,” he turned his burning eyes to Lena, “hurt mine. It is not just that. It is a matter of respect, isn’t it. How dare you drag our name through the mud-”

“Me?! I wasn’t the one who went on a suicidal mission-”

“How DARE you use MY company, my brain, my knowledge, my tech for the empowerment of those roaches ?!  HOW DARE YOU. Everything you have is because of me. Everything you built, every business deal you closed, every prestigious award you got, the recognition, the applaud, the esteem. EVERYTHING you are, is because of me. Without me you are nothing. I made you who you are and you go against me.” He closed his eyes and exhaled sharply, seemingly gathering his composure. “How dare you betray me like that, sis?” He turned his back to her. Supergirl was stunned speechless, deliriously following Lex’ tirade. Lena used this opportunity to scan her surroundings. They were being held in what looked like some sort of cave. It was dark and moist, and the air smelled of sulfur. Against the confinements of the cavern Lex had constructed his head-quarters. The only exit was a tight tunnel, pitch-black and not very promising to aid them in their escape to daylight, it was also very inconveniently located on the opposite end of where Supergirl was tied up. And Lena was not leaving without her. Their future seemed dismal.

Lex took a deep inhale. “It is vile. What you did to me... I want you to feel it to. Before I kill you, I will see the same betrayal in your eyes and on your dying breath you will realise, that you were alone all along, just like me.” 

“She is not alone! And she will never be like you. Don’t listen to him Lena.” Lex laughed hysterically. “Oh, that’s rich coming from you, Supergirl. See, I realised some while ago that people with feelings tend to be more concerned about their loved ones. Indeed, they care more about those who are near and dear to them, completely disregarding their own self in the act, which turns out to be the grounds of their demise. And, unfortunately for you, Lena, you are as selfless and tempestuous as they come.” Lex paused for seemingly no other reason than dramatic effect. For a guy so aversed to theatrics he had a flair for ostentatious performance.

He side-eyed Supergirl surreptitiously. “Say, how is that reporter friend of yours? Kara Danvers?” Lex smirked mischievously. Supergirl began fidgeting frantically. Lena’s brain whirred to life. She started working through all the ways that this could play out at a highspeed. “What about her?” She chose nonchalance. She knew she had been putting Kara at risk by befriending her, but staying away seemed impossible. If anything happened to the bubbly reporter just because Lena wanted to indulge in a hopeless little crush, Lena would never forgive herself.

It might have even been more than a crush. Lena remembers the night vividly that she realised she was in too deep. They had known each other for a little over a year by then. Eventhough they were colleagues now (well, technically, she was her boss) the acquisition of Catco brought with it a shitload of paperwork, board meetings, and late-night phone calls that had to be dealt with, and Lena was stretched even thinner than usual. They hadn’t seen each other for a month after their reconciliation, and Lena was just happy to spend some quality time with her best friend who finally seemed to be over her ex. When Kara had initially invited her over Lena wanted to decline. Abstaining that long from Kara’s cheeriness had made her revert back to old customs. Lena had resigned herself to go back to being lonely, writing Kara off as a shooting star that briefly flew by to illuminate her firmament for a precious while, too good to last. But Kara had insisted and she couldn’t resist her pull. 

So she had made herself comfortable on Kara’s couch, dressed down in comfy clothes that no one was allowed to see her in except for Kara. She had ordered Chinese food, knowing Lena’s taste by heart, and while Lena was animatedly telling her about her childhood before she was adopted, Kara not so sneakily stole some chicken from her box. There was nothing new about that; Kara was known to be a voracious eater and often snuck some food in from foreign plates. What she did next, however, was unprecedented: she replaced the chicken with a potsticker from her own plate. She had spent enough time with the Danvers sisters to know that Kara sharing food had near-apocalyptic implications. But for her to do it so casually, while keenly and earnestly absorbing every word of Lena’s most treasured tales, that’s what made Lena’s heart simultaneously expand and implode at once. In the warmth of the fairy lights, lounging on the snuggly sofa, Lena lost her heart to riveting eyes and giddy laughter.

Now, she wished she would have closed her eyes and made a wish. Letting the shooting star take its destined course. Now, that star was gonna crash and burn, diminishing all hope in its wake, all because Lena could not stay away. Because Lena was selfish. “Don’t play dumb now, sis, inanity doesn’t suit you. We all know how you feel about that bimbo. Though I have to admit, you always had a keen eye for beauty. Unfortunately, you never bothered to look beyond what’s on the surface. Well, how do they say? ‘Love is blind.’ Isn’t it right, Supergirl?”

If they weren’t in a situation of life and death Lena would have been petrified. She was very careful to never show even an ounce of her overwhelming affection to anybody. Least of all people who she knew were connected to Kara and might tell her about Lena’s deplorable feelings causing Kara to finally abandon her, kindness be damned. Least of all people who had a unyielding sense of rectitude and might believe Kara had a right to know about what Lena was so desperately hiding. Least of all people like Supergirl.

Alas, she had more pressing matters to attend. “Don’t you dare touch her! You hear me, Lex, you go after her and you will regret the day you were born!” Lex’ grin turned from smug to wicked. “Oh, don’t worry little sis, I won’t even come near her. You see, it just happened to be the case that you, dearest Lena, embraced the provenance of your own demise. It just happens that delay is the deadliest form of denial. And you’ve been in denial for so long. We Luthors, we do feel emotions. Just not all of them, no, only the crucial ones. Avarice, pride, rage, and betrayal. Fuelling our power. And once you feel that betrayal, Lena, you will kill for me two birds with one stone. You will drive yourself to death in your quest for revenge and you will take that pathetic Supergirl with you. Feel the rage Lena. Feel the betrayal.”

Lex turned towards the screens mounted on the cave walls just as Supergirl tore free of her restraints in an anguished scream.                    

[machihunnicutt]

What the Downton Movie Owes Me (but will probably not give me): Some Thoughts on Thomas Barrow

yes...I wrote 1k+ words on this. I’m so sorry.

I’m watching Downton Abbey for the 3rd (4th?) time with my sister who hasn’t seen it. I love this glorified soap opera to death, y’all, with the full acknowledgment that this show does a horrible job with a lot of its plot lines designed to tackle complicated issues: disability (the ableism against Bates via the house that he never gets apologies for, Matthew and his spinal injury/wheelchair that is always framed as life-ending and making him nothing but a “burden”), class (the Branson/Sybil marriage is alright, but there are countless missed opportunities to interrogate the relationship between upstairs and downstairs, particularly Carson’s attachment to a family that monopolizes his life and the lives of all its employees), (I’m going to leave race and gender alone because I think it does a pretty decent job when these issues come into play but feel free to lmk if there’s something I missed!), and sexuality, which is what I want to get into.

So granted, I understand that I’m not the target audience for this show. I understand that Downton’s gay characters were not written primarily to be relatable, multifaceted representations of gay people in a period drama. I get that Downton’s target audience is older, straight people for which representation isn’t super important. But, I have watched this show at least 3 times now and I’m still angry about its treatment of Thomas Barrow, so I’m going to break down why:

1) Things We Know About Thomas Barrow

I really like early seasons of Downton because, for all its drawn out drama and plot twists, it cares a lot about character development and consistency. Many characters (dare I say the majority) do mean and bad things and yet, we are still empathetic because we’ve spent time with them, understand why they make the choices they do, and see them learn from their mistakes (early seasons Mary is an excellent example.)

Thomas Barrow is my favorite Downton character because of the great narrative work they do in this regard. In the first episode we learn several character traits of his that continue to be important throughout his arcs:

- He doesn’t trust easily and has few friends in the house. (AKA, boy’s got a bad attitude. It’s better to act like you hate everyone than give them the chance to reject you.) I found this immediately endearing (because of who I am I guess lol), and though I understand why people don’t like his character because of this, I think it’s a good move for a character you intend to have grow over a long period of time. Opening up, accepting help from others, and showing kindness are all parts of Thomas’ future storylines, actions that show his slow growth from this facet of his character. I also think it’s important to note that when Thomas does make friends he is loyal to them (I’m excepting O’Brien from this category given there’s so much backstabbing between them that it’s a stretch to call them friends) and will take risks to protect them (Examples: befriending Lt. Courtenay and later fighting Dr. Clarkson to keep him at the hospital; befriending Lady Sybil and speaking kindly about her when he doesn’t have nice things to say about anyone else upstairs, later earnestly mourning her death in a show of vulnerability he generally masks; befriending Jimmy and looking out for him when he gets drunk at the fair, going as far to get beaten up to save Jimmy; befriending Andy and helping him learn to read; befriending the kids of the house and saving them from that one nasty nanny who was mistreating them.)

- He’s a romantic. The man wants to be loved and jfc I wish the show gave him a good love interest.

- He’s easily manipulated. (More on this later, but for now...) The Duke plays him, and it’s cruel, but it shows how easily Thomas can be tricked when he’s offered affection and the chance to leave Downton for something better. (Also note: from day one, he’s wanted to leave Downton!)

- He’s the evil gay trope. The gay villain trope has a long and complicated history and sure, you can say Thomas’s sexuality and role as an antagonist aren’t connected, but the show doesn’t exist in a vacuum and it feeds into a long history of villainizing LGBT and LGBT coded characters. The thing I hate most is that they get really close to subverting it in Thomas’ best moments (his work in the hospital during the war, his relationship with the kids, his gradual opening up to people in the house) but alas...

2) Why I Hate The Jimmy Kent Arc More Than Anything

Okay, so it makes sense for Thomas to be manipulated by O’Brien. That’s consistent with his character and I don’t fault the show for melodrama because that’s what it does. What I hate, is that the show depicts Thomas’ attraction to Jimmy as predatory and when he is punished for trying to kiss Jimmy while he’s asleep (which is assault) the house (and I’d argue, the show) frames this as bad only because Thomas is gay and Jimmy is not. In the show’s narrative Jimmy is mad because he’s homophobic, not because he’s been violated. And his and Jimmy’s ensuing friendship would be genuinely sweet if it really was just an issue of homophobia and not one of ASSAULT!

I’d argue, you can’t have it both ways. You can’t portray Thomas as predatory and then brush it aside to make a statement about tolerance, because assaulting people is bad regardless of the sexuality of the perpetrator. You either need to punish his actions for what they are or get better at story telling and not rely on the predatory gay stereotype.

But, secondarily, I’m bothered by this arc because it doesn’t seem in character, to me. I know Thomas does a lot of bad, stupid things, but I don’t think it makes sense for him to be predatory. In his best moments he is protective, romantic, and loyal. Yes, we see him as rash and naive, but his actions never felt right for the character, to me. I just think it’s lazy writing to handle his attraction to Jimmy this way, especially given the development of their friendship afterward. It would’ve been so much more satisfying and narratively interesting for Thomas to express his feelings for Jimmy in a respectful way. Jimmy is the only character we see Thomas have genuine feelings for (not motivated by upward mobility as in the case of the Duke or I guess(?) racial stereotyping in the case of Kemal Pamuk...but lbr his pass at him was mostly a plot device) and I think the arc would’ve been so much more fulfilling if we saw it as Thomas’ attempt to love someone fully and honestly, even if it ultimately doesn’t work out the way he wants it to. And I don’t get why they didn’t do this! Because the Jimmy/Thomas friendship ends up being sweet, and useful for each character’s development. They just had to make it gross by beginning with an assault. Just a huge, lazy, waste of a potentially good idea.

3) The Last Season Was Bad For A Lot Of Characters But They Did Thomas Extremely Dirty

I don’t know where to start with the last season because I think they ran into so many problems because they forgot how to use great characters effectively (Mary is a prime example!!) and started just throwing them into dramatic situations for the sake of plot and not keeping actions consistent with established character.

For example, life at Downton is the roughest it has ever been for Thomas in season 6, to the point where he is alienated by most in the house (I’m not going to talk about how badly Carson treats him and how much of a tyrant Carson is in the last season because again, I think it comes down to the writers forgetting how to use their characters effectively) and attempts suicide. All in all, I just don’t like this because it’s predictable and overdone. Gay people in period pieces almost always have overwhelmingly tragic stories and it’s not fun for me to watch anymore. What most disappoints me though, is that when everyone else is getting paired off in the fan-servicey ending, Thomas’ consolation prize is being the butler??? To a house full of people who’ve hated him??? He’s wanted from the beginning to leave Downton and in the end he doesn’t.

Don’t get me wrong, if the show had shown me his change in attitude and relationship to the house, given me this character development in meaningful ways, and not used a suicide attempt as a half-assed catalyst for change, I would be all for Thomas as Downton’s butler. I think that if they’d done the work of making it a believable and constructive next step for his character, that I’d really like it. I think Thomas’ relationship with the kids (particularly George! I’d watch a whole movie about that!) is well done and I think it echos Carson’s relationship with Mary, but better. But you! have! to! do! the! work! to! get! the! audience! there! You can’t give me a whole season of Downton nastiness and Thomas suffering and then expect me to buy that this is his happy ending.

4) What I Want From This Movie

I don’t think I’ll get it (though a love interest for Thomas via the trailer is encouraging), but here’s what I want:

- Show me why Thomas Barrow as Downton butler makes sense. And if you can’t, let him leave and be happy somewhere else because he deserves it.

- Show me how he’s grown. Show me his relationship with the kids and how he’s better than Carson because I need it!!

- Let Thomas be in a relationship that is healthy and not manipulative or coercive or a plot device for drama.

- Let him be in love and don’t make it a sad story. Please.

I find Thomas Barrow such a compelling character because he isn’t perfect. He makes mistakes. He does bad things. He grows. He changes over the course of six seasons. He’s a gay character in a period drama whose story isn’t about being ashamed of who he is. It isn’t about denial or apologies or pretending he’s someone he isn’t. And I think that’s significant. I just wish they’d done a slightly better job. :)

(Thanks for reading. I’m gonna keep being a Thomas Barrow stan even when no one watching with me thinks I’m valid lol.)

[pigballoon]

Jojo Rabbit

(Taika Waititi, 2019)

Following his pretty triumphantly successful conversion of his stylings to blockbuster cinema, Taika Waititi returns to something more akin to his previous work, just with more Hollywood stars on display as testament to his now having 'made it'.

Jojo Rabbit, like so much of the directors previous work is an off kilter black comedy, the difference here being that in tackling big weighty historical subject matter the movie is put in the difficult position of having to be tactful, to tread somewhat more lightly than its director did when launching himself into the more generalized, fictionalized, but in their own way no less troublesome worlds of child welfare services, or, um, vampires.

For that reason, the need to leap that troublesome boundary, I feel like this is probably the least of Waititi's efforts to date. While his Thor: Ragnarok and Hunt for the Wilderpeople took irreverent, and indirect approaches to tackling serious subject matter, the direct route Waititi takes here definitely seemed to me to throw the whole thing off balance just a touch. Make no mistake, the movie is filled with dark, dark potentially offensive subject matter, from Rebel Wilson's every scene, particularly her final, back slapping, hug encouraging, pin pulling one, to the book our titular hero pens, Stephen Merchant's inimitable appearance, and the portrait of Hitler by Waititi himself, still proving himself one of the worlds better comic performers, but now and then brilliantly blurring the lines, or crossing that line into darkness. It's just out of obvious and not inappropriate respect to the material in which it is dealing the movie is basically as often a drama as it is a comedy, and frankly a lot of the time is probably more effective at being one. 

The lightly sketched portrait of Jojo's home life, illuminated wonderfully by Scarlett Johansson, the arc of Sam Rockwell's character, the movie shaking scene where he follows the butterfly through the street and what comes after, the movie plays these sections so straight and so earnestly, and frankly for me the entire thing felt sort of off because of it. There are very few scenes that blur the lines between comedy and drama, 90% of them are very much one thing or the other, and the film for me never really reconciles the two sides so never proves wholly satisfying as either.

Still, it has plenty going for it regardless. At it's centre young Roman Griffin Davis plays the complications of the character wonderfully effectively and in unison with the ever blossoming Thomasin Mackenzie (most wonderful particularly in her early scenes flitting back and forth from the friendly and vulnerable to the dangerous and aggressive) forges a beautiful little relationship that grows in their faces, their actions, their physicality, even as the majority of their dialogue is very on the nose. Davis forms another tremendous double team with the magnificent Archie Yates, perhaps the greatest scene stealer in the entire film. The aforementioned Rockwell is really good too, so much simmering beneath the surface through the entire performance that the finale makes much more sense than it did in other acclaimed roles he's played lately. Waititi himself as mentioned is really wonderful, and also works really well with his young leading man, the final needle drop (and the first) is outstanding, and most of all is the little details thrown into the screenplay that while maybe a mixed bag overall in its I think mishandling of tone, has winning little lines that say so much, and most impressively of all for me the cigarette offering gag that is one of the few indirect, metaphorical touches of the movie, and the one that proves the greatest aspect of the whole damn thing.

[belphegor1982]

New chapter :o) (I accidentally labelled the previous chapter “5”. It’s fixed now.)

FAIRY TALES AND HOKUM

Summary: 1937: The O'Connells are required by the English Government to bring the Diamond taken from Ahm Shere from Cairo to London. Things get interesting when Jonathan bumps by chance into an old friend of his from Oxford, Tom Ferguson…

Chapter 7: In The Dark (on AO3 here)

Evelyn was surprised to find the door of their house locked when she returned from the Museum of Antiquities with Alex. Surprised, but not worried. Jonathan had told her about his appointment earlier in the afternoon with Tom Ferguson’s superior, and as for Rick… Her husband must have got bored and decided to take a stroll down in old Cairo. That would be very much like him. She imagined him roaming the streets, blue eyes alert and light-brown hair ruffled by the slight breeze, and smiled at the mental picture.

“Mum? Where’s Dad gone to?” Alex came in right behind her, carelessly dropping his jacket on a little piece of furniture near the door.

“Hang up your jacket, sweetheart. You know your father, he’s probably going about the old city. Maybe he’s helping your uncle with my birthday present, like you did yesterday.”

Alex stared at her, mouth slightly open. “How d’you know that?”

“I’m your mum, Alex. A mum knows everything.” That, plus the experience of many occasions when Jonathan had asked his brother-in-law or nephew for help at the very last minute. The nature and quality of the presents was often telling. She smiled shrewdly for effect, and her son’s startled expression turned into a suspicious look.

“Then why did you ask me what I’d done when we got back?”

“I didn’t want to spoil your enthusiasm, dear,” she answered easily, still smiling. Alex thought it over for a second, and then nodded quite seriously.

“Right.”

“Good.” She put a hand on the wall for support as she took off her shoes and put on her slippers. “Now, how did you like the Museum?”

“It’s great, obviously,” said Alex with a shrug, following his mother to the kitchen for tea. “They’ve got some really interesting stuff in here, and there’s so many rooms!”

Evelyn put the kettle on and sat at the table near her son, who had put two teacups in front of them. She knew that tone of voice. It always announced a ‘but’.

“But… It’s not quite as interesting as the British Museum. They have all the neat treasures, and the famous mummies too.”

“The Cairo Museum has been asking for recovery of Egyptian treasure for some time now, you know,” said Evelyn softly. “They claim that the British Museum has no right to keep Egypt’s legacy so far from its land of origin. What do you think of that?”

Alex wrinkled his small, round nose. “Guess they have a point… But then, if they got everything back, the people in London couldn’t see anything anymore – the Rosetta Stone, the mummies, all the sculptures…” Evelyn hid a smile. Alex could spend entire days in the Egyptian wing of the British Museum, and its gigantic library. “But then the people here can’t see them either… It’s a little complicated.”

“Most important things are.” Evelyn got up to fetch the kettle, leaving Alex in deep thought. Just as she turned off the gas, she heard the doorbell ring, Alex’s shout of “Must be Dad! I’m getting the door!” and his hurried footsteps thumping down the hall. She shook her head with a smile. Whatever she did or said about the rule of not running inside the house, Alex had always ran to the door when he expected someone, in particular when his father was due home anytime.

However, as she didn’t hear Rick’s voice, she went to put the kettle away and left the kitchen to join Alex at the door.

“It’s a girl, Mum – she says she wants to talk to you,” came Alex’s voice just as she turned round the corner to the hall.

There was indeed a girl standing in the doorway, a skinny Egyptian girl who appeared to be only a few years older than Alex, looking shy and unsure. Evelyn smiled at her. “Can I help you?”

The girl twiddled her fingers, and put her hand in her pocket. “I think not, but maybe I can help.” She spoke in a fluty, accented voice. “Do you know this man?” And she handed her a leather-bound wallet.

Evelyn took it and frowned. It was unmistakably Jonathan’s. Inside were his identity papers, which had a small photograph and two addresses on it, his London flat and their house in Cairo. When she checked the money, she found its contents intact.

“This wallet belongs to my brother,” she said, mistrust rising. “How did it fall into your hands?”

“Please do not think I stole it!” the girl said earnestly, and Evelyn saw her son’s blue eyes narrow towards her. “But it’s a rather long story. I think the owner of this wallet might be in danger just now.”

Evelyn peered at the girl, trying to decide whether she was speaking the truth or not. At least, she had returned the wallet, and nothing seemed to be missing. This fact spoke in her favour.

What had Jonathan got himself into this time?

“Come in,” she said, still suspicious, stepping aside to let the girl in. Alex stared up at her as she slipped past him like a shadow. “Alex, dear, would you get the tea, please?”

While Alex grumbled his way to the kitchen, Evelyn offered the girl a chair and sat down herself. The child sat there, her hands still twiddling in her lap, stealing glances around her.

“I’m sorry, I forgot my manners. I’m Mrs O’Connell.”

“My name is Satiah,” said the girl, who stopped glancing around to look her in the eye. Evelyn appreciated that. She liked good, frank eye contact in a conversation.

“So,” she said more kindly, as Alex brought the tea tray and came to sit on another chair a few feet away. “How did you find yourself in possession of my brother’s wallet?”

“Well, my father has three camels, one called Djem, and he is my favourite. I often take care of him, and my father had entrusted me today with him to bring some baskets to his cousin in Kerdasa.”

Sensing that Satiah was less afraid than she had been on entering, Evelyn let her talk, interrupting her only to offer her a cup of tea, which she accepted gladly. She sat straight in her chair and spoke very politely.

“Djem is very nice, but he can be silly sometimes, like a very young camel – he will push a person until they fall, and keep them on the ground for a long time. He only wants to play, but this habit of his has already caused us trouble, because people usually do not like camels, even less when they humiliate them.”

A smile begun to pull at the corner of Evelyn’s mouth, in spite of her puzzlement over the whole thing. She could more or less see where this was going.

“Today was no exception: Djem annoyed a man, and I feared that he would be furious, but he was very kind. He even joked about it.” Alex was grinning, the mental picture of his uncle being attacked by a playful camel probably vivid in his mind, and Evelyn gave a warm smile. Her brother could be a scoundrel and a ne’er-do-well, but his heart was still in the right place.

“Later, when I was returning from my father’s cousin, I saw him again from afar. He was talking with two men – one taller, with light-brown hair, and the other broader, with blond hair.”

Probably Rick and Mr Ferguson, Evelyn thought, wondering where Satiah’s story was heading.

“While they were talking, a large black car stopped near them, and three men dressed in black suits got out and spoke to them. They looked odd. And after a few seconds, three other men got out of the car. Then they took out weapons – guns – and pointed them at your brother and his friends.”

Evelyn’s blood ran cold. “Who were those men?” she asked anxiously. Alex’s eyes had widened in apprehension, and she was sorely tempted to send him away to his room – she realised that she ought to have done it much earlier, but she had not taken young Satiah and her news seriously at first. It was too late now, Alex had heard both too much and too little. Besides, Evelyn was fully aware that he would do anything to hear anyway. She’d caught him eavesdropping quite a number of times.

Satiah shook her dark head. “I do not know. They were all European, and wore dark suits and hats, a little like this one.” She was pointing at Rick’s trilby, which he had left on the chest of drawers. Evelyn felt a slight pang of anguish, but she fought it down, focusing on the present.

“What happened next?”

“Well, I was afraid, but I thought I ought to do something, because your brother had been kind to me earlier, and that does not happen very often. So I set Djem on the men with a slap on the backside, and your brother and his friends took the opportunity to run.”

Evelyn let out the breath she’d been holding. “That was very kind of you, Satiah, but it doesn’t tell me how Jonathan’s wallet landed up in your pocket. Did he drop it?”

The girl shook her head again. “No. He ran past me to get into a car, and when he saw me he threw me this thing, saying, ‘Please give that to my sister. Tell her we’re in trouble’. He got the car running, the other two got in, and they drove away with the black car behind them. So after returning Djem to my father, I came to your house. The address was on the papers, but I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to find you.”

There was a silence, and Satiah looked down, her face hidden by her hair. Evelyn tried to swallow the lump in her throat. Something must have happened; otherwise Rick and Jonathan would have got home earlier than Alex and her.

Alex… She looked over to her boy, sitting stiffly on his chair. His little mouth was set, and he was frowning.

“When did that happen?” he asked, his young voice so serious. His mother’s heart melted. Then she shook herself mentally, because this was really not the moment.

“About two hours ago, I think,” replied Satiah uncomfortably. Another silence followed, heavier than the previous one. This definitely settled the fact that something had gone wrong. Evelyn could not help glancing at the hall, straining her ears in the wild hope of hearing the door open and her two favourite men walk in, busy with the usual friendly bickering she was accustomed to.

“Thank you, Satiah,” she said in a slightly strained voice, “for both the wallet and the news. We’re very grateful.”

“It is nothing,” Satiah answered, resting her hands on her knees after having kept her fingers intertwined in her lap for a long time. “I am glad I could help, if I did.”

“You did. I thank you for being so thoughtful – many people would have kept the money in that wallet.” Despite Satiah’s seemingly good intentions, Evelyn was still a little bit suspicious. But there was not a trace of guilt in the girl’s response.

“As I said, it is nothing,” she said simply. “There is no need to thank me, I have hardly done anything.”

Evelyn shook her head with a smile, and stood up to walk Satiah to the door. After having closed the door, she waited a few seconds, her hand on the wall; then she slowly walked back to the kitchen, leaned against the doorframe, and looked at Alex who was still sitting on his chair, his eyes down.

He looked up, and their eyes met. Two chips of bright blue in a still childlike round face, with soft, rosy cheeks, baby fat, and blond hair that was getting a little too long for his mother’s liking. He was so beautiful, so sweet, so brave, so bright – the best child in the world, her little boy was.

Two years ago, her heart had shattered in her chest when she had seen him being taken. She’d distinctly felt it break, an overwhelming pang reverberating throughout her body, and the pain had almost caused her to double up. She had barely felt Rick’s embrace at first, her mind in a whirl over three little words, three terrible little words. My baby’s gone. Her own blood, her very flesh. Eight years, three months and sixteen days of love, joy, wonder, anger, ‘Don’t pick your nose’, playing on the carpet of the living room, afternoon naps, tears, ‘I don’t wanna go to school!’, hugs, kisses, pride, ‘What does that symbol mean, Mum?’…

And now he was sitting there, his eyes silently pleading – no, not pleading. Demanding explanations, answers. Her little boy had toughened up; he was less innocent, more aware of the dangers of this world – and others. He’d had to grow up fast while Evelyn and Rick were out exploring the bowels of pyramids too dangerous for Alex to try his luck inside.

Evelyn did not know how he had reacted to being kidnapped, taken brutally from the people who loved him most, and thrown in a train with strange, scary men in red and a living mummy with otherworldly powers. When this had happened to her, what seemed like a very long time ago now, she had been mortally afraid. Even if she had tried to keep on a brave, undaunted façade for the sake of her dignity, she had never felt more scared in her whole life. At that time, she had been almost certain that Jonathan, O’Connell, the curator and the strange tattooed man had fallen at the hands of Imhotep’s minions, and she had given up on hope. It was only when the motor of the biplane had roared above her that hope had flared up inside her again. Rick O’Connell had not abandoned her.

Yes, for as long as she could remember, Rick had always been the rescuer, her knight without shining armour, and although he had never asked for the part and would have gladly turned it down in other circumstances, it was perfectly fitting. He was her fearless hero with a heart of gold, even with his doubts, his fears, and his grumpy mornings.

She loved him, and if it was her turn to save him from danger, then she was going to do it, no matter her own fears and doubts.

She answered Alex’s serious, inquisitive stare with a smile, a slow, rueful one.

“Mum? Dad’s in serious trouble, isn’t he?”

“It would seem so,” she replied softly, her head still resting against the frame. “But I can tell you one thing. I’m going to do whatever it takes to get him back.”

Alex nodded, his mother’s own newfound determination reflected in his eyes. “Don’t worry, Mum,” he said with a confidence she wished she had too. “Dad’s tough. He can take care of himself, and keep an eye on Uncle Jon, too.”

She gave a smile, and Alex’s face shone from the pleasure of making his mum smile as he continued, “Though it’d be good if we got them out of there quick, before they’re in more trouble.”

This time, she crossed the room and enveloped her son in a fierce hug, her heart swelling. Her darling boy made her proud ten times a day, as much as he drove her mad, but in those particular circumstances she felt even prouder of him.

This lasted until she felt Alex tap her shoulder. “Mum, lemme go – I can’t breathe –” It was untrue, of course, but Evelyn let go of her son, who sat back and straightened his shirt with a dignified air.

When he looked up at her again, she stood up and said, in a firmer voice, “Get your jacket, Alex. We’re going out.”

She went to pick up her own, and marched down into the hall to put on her shoes again, followed by her son who had positively jumped off his chair. “Where’re we going, Mum? Are we gonna help Dad and Uncle Jon?”

“Yes, as soon as we can. For the moment,” Evelyn said, her voice now perfectly steady as she opened the door and stepped outside, “we’re taking a little trip to the Consulate. It’s the last place your uncle went to, after all.”

Who knows… Maybe they’d be able to get a few answers there.

Alex trotted past her, and slipped his little hand in hers without a word. She clung to it tightly as they walked.

.⅋.

“Jonathan? Hey, Jonathan, wake up, nap’s over…”

Someone was poking his shoulder, and he hated that. This was the first thing Jonathan was aware of, and his first conscious act was to will it to stop. His body felt like lead, his head like living hell, and there was nothing he wanted more than to slip back into oblivion.

“C’mon, Jonathan, much as I’d like to throw water at ya, I can’t, so you’ll have to wake up by yourself.”

A hand or two were shaking him now. Would you please be so kind as to bugger off, whoever you are! his hazy mind yelled, but this, unsurprisingly, had absolutely no effect.

Despite his efforts to let go of his grasp on reality, he was slowly emerging, growing more conscious of things surrounding him. For starters, it was cold. Not actually very cold, and certainly not freezing, but the contrast was stark in comparison with the heavy heat of the outside. Jonathan found himself shivering in spite of himself. Great. I’m in one of the hottest countries in the world, and I manage to get myself a cold. Just bloody perfect.

“Hey, buddy, I refuse to let you scare me – now wake up. Please don’t make me slap you, okay? I’d really prefer to leave that to Evy.”

Rick. That low baritone tinged with an unmistakable American drawl could only belong to his brother-in-law. Deciding that perhaps this was worth the effort of opening his eyes, Jonathan proceeded to work on that, all the while trying to gather his fractured memories. What the hell had happened?

When he finally managed to lift his eyelids – they seemed to weigh a metric ton, with a headache in proportion – he could more or less make out Rick’s silhouette, his face a light blur in the dark. He was bent down over him, still gripping him by the shoulders, and Jonathan could see that he was frowning. Looking worried, even.

“Well, never thought I’d think this one day, let alone say it, but it’s good to have you back,” he said, and what was more surprising was that he did seem to mean it. Jonathan’s left shoulder gave a painful twinge, and he winced. Rick automatically let go, although his other hand remained on his other shoulder, the one a scarab hadn’t burrowed its way out of a decade ago. “Dunno what I would’ve told Evy if… Well. Must have been a helluva blow you took, I came round a while ago.”

A blow? Jonathan could remember somebody striking him from behind a few days ago, but it couldn’t be the same occasion now… Besides, he’d been with Tommy when…

Tommy.

The memory of the previous hours came back to him with such force that it felt like a punch in the stomach. The shock of seeing Tom Ferguson aiming a gun at him, after all these years, after all they’d been through in the previous days, after all the laughs and the memories, had been so great that it had left him completely winded, his mind blank, unable to move, unable to think. Absolute terror had sometimes seemed to numb him utterly; he had come to get used to it during the war. This particular sensation, though – or lack thereof – was hardly something he’d felt before.

To be honest, it was the closest thing to what he had felt after reading the letter about the death of his parents. Shocked into total blank.

The world should definitely not be turning so fast. This must have shown on his face, because Rick’s eyes narrowed in his direction. “Hey – you okay?”

“Think I’m going to be sick,” muttered Jonathan, propping himself up on his elbows and turning his head away. Beside the fact that this gave him a good excuse for avoiding Rick looking at him, he was feeling queasy.

“Whoa, easy there. Don’t get sick on me just now, I like this suit.”

Jonathan snorted despite the nausea. If the way Alex reminded people of Rick was unsettling, the opposite was just as true.

As usual, Rick’s actions conveyed more than his words. His hand remained on Jonathan’s shoulder, like an anchor, until the room stopped spinning.

“Better now?”

“Yes, thanks.” Jonathan sat up slowly and gazed around. The cell they were in didn’t look like the average literature dungeon cell with damp stone walls, stone floor, straw mattress thrown in the corner, and rats to gnaw at your feet. The walls were made of whitewashed stone, the floor was quite dry, and even with the massive, daunting door, it looked more like somebody’s cellar than a prison for two people. “What on earth is this?”

“Our brand new apartment for the while, it seems,” deadpanned Rick, following his gaze across the room. Jonathan shook his head, a slight smirk lifting a corner of his mouth in spite of himself.

“Why can’t you bloody Americans say ‘flat’, like everybody else?”

“No way I’m letting myself get colonised,” retorted Rick, his grin flashing white teeth in the dark. There was a short silence, made a little more comfortable by the return of their usual banter. It was familiar, at least, and for a second Jonathan half-expected Evy to tut-tut at them and tell them to behave.

But that was simply not happening. Evy must now be home, with Alex, probably wondering what was taking Rick and him so long, while the two of them were kept in an empty cellar which didn’t even have wine in it. On second thought, though, Jonathan did not really feel like drinking just now. Blood was throbbing against his ears, and he had a feeling the nausea had just gone for tea and might return anytime. Not to mention that his whole head felt rather like a gong.

“Bloody hell. When we get out of here, I’m not drinking for a week. Not risking a hangover after this.”

Rick stared at him, one light-brown eyebrow raised. “Never thought I’d live long enough to hear that from you.” Jonathan gingerly rested his head against the wall, closing his eyes with a slight smile of his own.

“Things do change, my good son.”

“Certainly looks so. If they didn’t, Evy or Alex would have been kidnapped, stuff would have happened with a random object linked with some Ancient Egyptian legend, Ardeth would’ve turned up, and we’d be on our way to save them.”

“That’s summing it up nicely.” Something crossed Jonathan’s mind. “Ardeth did turn up, by the way. We bumped into him yesterday, at the bazaar. Didn’t Alex tell you?”

“Now that you mention it, yeah, he did.” Rick frowned, then nodded with a grin. “He told me that he’d scared the hell out of you.”

“Slander and calumny. I was only a tad startled. So, Ardeth turning up, the diamond stolen… Two down on your list already. If you’re not careful, I’m afraid that you’re going to have to save the world again, my dear brother-in-law.”

“Yeah,” Rick said with a chuckle that shook his broad shoulders slightly, “right.” He looked down for a second, then fixed his eyes on Jonathan curiously. “You know, when I said I never thought that someday I’d say it’s good to have you back, I meant it. And don’t make me repeat that.”

Jonathan gave a tired blink.

“Rick, if you’re going to get sentimental on me, only talk in long, complicated sentences I have absolutely no hope of understanding right now.”

The American let out something that sounded halfway between a snort and an annoyed sigh. “Wiseass.”

There was a silence, then he turned his head to Jonathan and blurted out, “I’m glad you’re not dead, you idiot. You’re family.”

This surprised Jonathan. A lot. Not only what Rick had just said, but also the very fact that he’d actually said it.

It reminded him of something, a conversation with Evy a few months after Ahm Shere. He’d caught a pretty nasty bug at the time that had forced him to stay in bed for a few days, and Evy had been lovely with him, putting him up in his old room at the house and bringing him steaming toddies. So when she’d pestered him about personal stuff, he’d finally answered for once. But as his sister had a knack for prodding where she ought not to prod, especially at barriers a fellow had painstakingly erected around complicated matters, he had tried to keep it as simple as possible.

“Now that you’re cornered, maybe you’ll tell me why you’ve been looking a bit off-colour recently.”

“Mmh. May I remind you why I’m stuck here instead of –”

“Don’t take me for an idiot, Jonathan, I wasn’t talking about your flu. You’ve been looking a bit odd, at times, since we returned from Egypt.” She had frowned. He had repressed a laugh. She always wrinkled her nose when she frowned.

“Is that a sister’s prerogative to persecute a poor chap on his sickbed?” His attempt at a joke failed miserably. Being sick tended to make his standards drop. Evy had shaken her head, completely hermetic to the charms of alliterations, looking almost as determined as she was when about to decipher some complex hieroglyphs.

“No, but it’s a sister’s prerogative to worry about her brother sometimes. So, what’s bugging you?”

“‘Bugging’? This is hardly a choice of words I’d expect from my sweet, innocent baby sister.”

“Knock it off, Jonathan.” That had made him raise his eyebrows. It was rather refreshing, and sounded really funny coming from her. “Is it something I’ve said or done? Or something Rick –”

“No, Rick’s got nothing to do with it. For heaven’s sake, Evy, you’ve no idea how stubborn you can be –” He’d stopped suddenly to sneeze, and then blinked, rubbed his nose, and looked at his sister to finish his sentence, “– and how infuriating it can be sometimes. Well, it’s nothing, really… Only that the three of you do have a knack for making me feel like the fourth side of the pyramid, sometimes.”

Evy had stared at him for a few seconds. The surprised look in her bright eyes softened. He could still remember the smile that had dawned on her face as she said, “Jonathan… There are four sides to a pyramid. It simply could not stand without a fourth.”

He’d just stared at her without a word, rather poleaxed.

Just like he was staring now at his brother-in-law. However, he knew better than to press the matter further.

“Well, thanks, old boy – I’m awfully glad they didn’t do your head in, too,” he said rather uncertainly, risking a small lopsided grin.

And this settled the subject. The two men went back to staring at the door opposite.

Then Rick let out a small laugh. “This just ain’t right. I’m supposed to be the rescue party, not the rescued.”

It sounded so absurd – and Rick was probably quite aware of it – that Jonathan couldn’t help a little sarcasm.

“Who says we’ll need to be rescued? Maybe the creep in chief will simply open the door, tell us ‘Oh, it’s all been a big mistake, I’m terribly sorry’ and kick us out.”

“As I said before,” said the American in a deliberately drawling tone of voice, “yeah. Right.”

His brother-in-law chuckled. Then, without a warning, Rick got up and walked a few steps toward the door.

“You know,” he said, looking thoughtful, “once I read some freaky book about a guy who wakes up one morning, and the police come to his house, and he never finds out why…”

“Kafka? The Trial?”

“Yeah, that’s it, that’s the one. He constantly asks why they’ve arrested him, what he’s done wrong, but nobody will give him a straight answer. The officers are always very polite and everything, but in the end they stab him to death, like, you know, an execution, and he never knows why he’s dead.”

“I’ve read that one, too.” Jonathan shifted uncomfortably. “Not the nicest bedtime story.” Trust Rick to lighten the atmosphere. Now he was getting just a little afraid that their fate might be similar to that poor fellow from Kafka’s book.

Thanks for nothing, old boy.

“What’s that you’ve said, just now?” asked Rick, apparently not noticing Jonathan’s growing unease. “About those guys saying ‘It’s all a big mistake, now get out of here’?”

“What about it?”

“Well, either it’s true, or they’ve finally decided what to do with us. I hear footsteps coming.”

Jonathan stood up as well, and leaned against the wall, holding his breath, while Rick stood near the door, cracking his knuckles.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing?”

“Gettin’ ready. If there’re not too many of them, we can get away by knocking a guy out and using him as a shield. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

“Are you utterly and completely mad?! They’ve got guns, for cripes’ sake! We, on the other hand, do not!”

“Yeah?” Rick gave a shrug, not moving from his spot. “Not really a problem.” So very Rick – an explosive mix of sheer heroism and sheer imbecility.

“Rick, you can’t just –”

They heard the sound of a key turning in its lock, and the door opened – just a tiny bit. Just enough to let in the barrel of a long gun. Which was pointed right toward Rick’s stomach.

Jonathan’s blood turned to ice. I was right. Of course I was right. Bloody hell, why does nobody ever listen to me when I’m right!?

Fury burning in his bright blue eyes, Rick slowly took a few steps back. The door opened, and the man behind the gun walked in, followed by… Tommy.

Something rose from the pit of Jonathan’s stomach, quite distinct from the all-encompassing numbing shock from earlier. It felt like pins and needles tenfold increased, making his hands itch and clench into fists. His head was spinning again, but from an entirely different reason.

Tommy went over to him, avoiding looking at Rick, and stood in front of him, his face pale and sad. “Jon… I’m – I’m so sorry, mate, I’m really sorry… But I didn’t have a choice. I thought –”

“Obviously you thought wrong,” muttered Jonathan through his teeth. For once, only a small part of him was shaking with mind-freezing panic. The rest was entirely taken up by a hot fury such as he’d never felt before. It was a wholly novel sensation.

Tommy shook his head, and took another step forward, his voice pleading. “Please, Jon, you don’t understand… You must let me explain –”

Wham!

Before Jonathan could realise what he’d done, Tommy was sprawled on the ground, dazed, his hair all over the place, and Rick stared at him in a way that was all at once disbelieving, impressed, and amused. Then he felt the cold metal of a gun’s barrel pressed against his temple.

Terror immediately supplanted anger. He squeezed his eyes shut with a grimace, and wished that it’d be quick.

If anything, it was indeed quick. One split second later, he heard someone shout “No!” and the barrel was removed from his head. Feeling that it should be safe now to open his eyes, Jonathan did just that, and saw with a certain amazement that Tommy had sprung back on his feet in a flash and pinned the gunman’s arm to the wall.

There was something he must have missed. Gingerly massaging his knuckles, he stared at Tommy who released the man, looking both shaken and angry.

“Never do that again!” Tommy yelled at the underling in black, who didn’t so much as flinch.

“Sir, he’d just –”

“Never mind that! No harm comes to them, hear me? You know your orders!”

The man looked annoyed. “I just thought that –”

Tommy cut him off with an angry gesture. “Do you really think you’re getting paid for thinking?”

Now the black-clad fellow looked beyond annoyance. In fact, as Rick would undoubtedly have put it, he just looked pissed.

But Tommy didn’t appear to care much. He turned to Jonathan, seemed about to say something, then looked away, rubbing his jaw. The underling, still holding his gun, walked to the door and opened it, a clear signal that they should be going.

Before Tom crossed the threshold, he raised his eyes for a moment to stare at his former friend straight in the face.

“Jon…”

Jonathan just glared back. His eyes were burning and his jaw was clenched so tight that it hurt. Tommy held his gaze for a few seconds, then shook his head and turned away, closing the door behind him without another word.

The silence that followed was thicker than lead. Every muscle in Jonathan’s face relaxed as one, and he looked down, his hands in his pockets and his heart in his throat.

Then there was the sound of footfall, and he found himself looking down no longer at the floor, but at a pair of thick dark brown shoes.

“Well. Uh. That was impressive,” came Rick’s low voice, tinged with something unusual and complicated that he failed to decipher, “for a Brit. Especially a Brit like you. Didn’t think you went in for the old fisticuffs.”

Jonathan didn’t trust himself to speak. He kept his face downcast and didn’t take the bait. Rick’s shoes moved to his left, and his baritone came again, quieter and somewhat warmer than usual. “I mean, there’s some potential in your right, but it could get much better. C’mon, look – hey, look up – yeah, that’s it. I’ll show ya.”

Intrigued in spite of himself, Jonathan lifted his gaze from Rick’s shoes to his face. The latter had raised one fist and now proceeded to demonstrate the mechanics of a haymaker. “Close your fist tightly, thumb over knuckles, otherwise you’re gonna break a couple of fingers and I don’t think you want that. Right,” he said as Jonathan stared at him curiously, “now you got this circular movement from behind to your left. Use your shoulders and punch from your hip. And ya gotta reach really far behind – your hit’ll be more powerful. In the end you aim for a point behind the guy a little bit, and, huh… pray to God you don’t miss.”

Rick finished on a slight grin, and Jonathan nodded again, a small smile pulling reluctantly at one corner of his mouth. It was not necessarily in the middle of a fight that he definitely did not regret having Rick O’Connell as a brother-in-law. The man was truly a decent bloke. That was growing rarer and rarer these days.

“Thanks, Rick. I’ll keep this lesson in mind. It was very, er. Helpful.”

“‘Helpful’?” A light-brown eyebrow shot up.

Jonathan put on his best innocent face. “Yes… ‘helpful’.” There was a rather long silence, then he looked down with a wince. “It hurts, though.”

Rick’s face darkened. “Dunno what to say, buddy. What that bastard did –”

“No, I mean my hand. Hurts like hell.”

“Oh.” An awkward pause. “That’s just ‘cause you’re not used to it. It’ll wear off in time.”

“I suppose so.” Rick was right, of course. But Jonathan had a hunch that it would take a little while to wear off. Whatever he was alluding to.

The two men sat on the ground again, backs against the wall, and silence fell for a long while. Despite the grim situation, the atmosphere was relatively comfortable, and Jonathan had to admit that Rick’s silent presence had a great deal to do with it. He wasn’t sure how, or even why, but his little demonstration had helped lift his spirits somewhat, absurd as it might sound. As he stared at the door opposite, he realised that he was glad not to be alone in this bloody mess. Whatever was in store for them, they would face it together, and he clung to this thought, deliberately ignoring the dull apprehension that gnawed at his stomach.

All the while trying not to think about Evy’s reaction when she found out what had happened.

.⅋.

“You don’t understand – I absolutely must see someone!”

The guard shook his head wearily. “I’m sorry, Ma’am, but there’s nothing I can do – there’s nobody ‘ere but me and the caretaker. Everybody’s gone earlier, it’s Saturday, y’know.”

Evelyn bit her lip. “Look, my husband and my brother have disappeared, and I have reasons to think they might be in danger as we speak. Is there really nothing you can do?”

“No, Ma’am, ‘s much as I’d like to,” sighed the old guard. “I’ve not seen your brother. I take my shift at half past seven anyway. Who was he s’pposed to see today?”

“A man called Hamilton,” Alex cut in with his firm little voice. “And he’s friends with Tom Ferguson, he works here.”

“Hamilton and Ferguson, you said? Sorry, lad, I’ve never heard of ‘em.”

Evelyn opened her mouth, floored, but she pulled herself together swiftly. “Are you quite sure? Thomas Ferguson, broad-shouldered, average height, with blond hair and brown eyes?”

The guard thought for a few seconds, then his eyes widened slightly in recognition. “Oh, I think I see – the day guard, Harry, he told me about a couple of odd things going on ‘ere lately. Helped move in boxes an’ stuff into empty offices, and there was some fellers he didn’ know walkin’ down the corridors. Your Ferguson mus’ be one o’them.”

Odd things going on… Unused offices suddenly filled with boxes… Evelyn just didn’t understand. Who could be influential enough to take all these pains and use the British Consulate that way, just for what appeared to be a front?

“That’s all I know, Mrs O’Connell, ‘m sorry I can’ tell you more about it,” said the old guard sadly. “All I can suggest, if you’ll allow me, is that you get back home with the young lad ‘ere, and wait ‘til morning. At least you won’t be in the dark anymore.”

“Yes,” said Evelyn thoughtfully, more to herself than to the guard, “I suppose I won’t.” She gave him a goodbye smile, and walked off, holding Alex by the hand.

Alex, who still trotted beside her, looked flabbergasted. “C’mon, Mum, we can’t just go home like that! What about Dad and Uncle Jon? There must be something we –”

“Indeed, there must, and I’m sure there is,” replied his mother firmly. “But we’re going home first. You’ve got to get some sleep.”

“‘You’? What d’you mean? What about you?”

“I’m going over to Dr Hakim’s. Something tells me that Rick, Jonathan and Mr Ferguson being taken three days after the theft of the Diamond of Ahm Shere is not quite innocent.”

Alex stopped, and stared at his mother, his mouth slightly open. “Are you sure?”

“No.” Evelyn gazed into space, her anxiousness taking over for a short while. “But I do think it’s worth asking.”

“Yeah, I suppose.” Alex nodded, then pouted. “Mum, I’m not sleepy at all. It’s not fair to send me to bed like a kid.”

“Alex, much as I resent colloquialisms, you are a ‘kid’. And I am your mum.”

“Mum, please, I’m worried too! Come on! I can’t just stay in bed while my dad’s been kidnapped by bad guys! D’you think he would?”

Despite everything her motherly instinct was screaming at her, Evelyn had to admit that her boy had a point. His father would never, ever stay put had a member of the family been taken. She just knew that, if Rick had not been the one in danger, he would have done anything to save them. Just what she had vowed to do, and Alex seemed to take after his father in many ways.

As Alex stared at her intently, Evelyn sighed. This was not going to be easy.

.⅋.

Alex is Evy’s and Rick’s kid – one tough cookie, like my first beta said, and of course he’s stubborn :3 And Rick is much, much more than “an explosive mix of sheer heroism and sheer imbecility”. He’s not a Gryffindor at all, he’s a Hufflepuff. Which is endlessly funny to me, because IMO Evy is a Gryffindor/Ravenclaw hatstall absolutely surrounded by Puffs – Rick, Jon, Ardeth (although a case could be made for Slytherin in his case), and even Imhotep are all different facets of the same house, with loyalty being one of their main defining traits. Alex is defo a Gryffindor, though, and Anck-Su-Namun/Meela is a Slytherin through and through.

[mobydickmusical]

Every book chapter a song is named after: Loomings (Ch 1)

Since most of the (most recent) tracklist is named after chapters of the book, I’m going to attempt to work through the whole of the show this way, talking a bit about my thoughts on each chapter’s translation into a song. Based on the tracklist chronology rather than the book chronology. Skipping the songs we’ve already heard, for obvious reasons.

Also fairly obvious, but even though I’m using the chapters to imagine the songs, I naturally can’t be sure how closely they’ll follow the text of that specific chapter (see, The Pacific, which actually follows completely different chapters). 

TW for brief mention of suicidal ideation 

Loomings is very different from Extracts, in that I can pretty easily envision it fitting into a show of Dave’s, and imagine what it might be like as a song.

This chapter is our first direct introduction to what to expect from the body of this book, and it has four-ish main sections: 

1. Ishmael introduces himself as the narrator recounting this story, and explains his general path in it (going to sea because it’s what he does when he’s exceedingly depressed) 

2. He dwells on mankind’s inevitable attraction to water, and that this is due to how it represents the unknowable to us 

3. He details his reasoning for why he always goes to sea as a simple sailor, as opposed to a passenger or a crew member of higher rank

4. He describes his “choice” to go on a whaling voyage in particular as actually designated by fate. He does, however, then explain his personal attraction to going on the voyage, that could make it appear like free will to him. 

So, there is a lot being set up in this chapter. I can very much feel this becoming my main issue to accept (i.e. get my head out of my ass) with reconciling the adaptation with the book overall - there is so Much in Moby Dick and there is only so Much you can fit into a musical. Even a 4+ hour one. But yeah, that’s seen on a smaller scale with Loomings, in how it sets up a lot of background information about Ishmael and how he thinks, as well as starting some thought process about a number of important themes for the book (fate vs free will, capitalist and power dynamics, the limits of mankind’s knowledge… all that important shit). Where the song draws its focus from will just depend on what Dave chooses to emphasise the most. 

I'll go through the chapter, and mention where I connected things to either comments Dave's already made about the musical, or to his writing in general.

Coming into reading Moby Dick because I knew Dave was writing his musical, and reading the opening paragraph of Loomings where Ishmael introduces himself by launching headfirst into the details his depression, I naturally went straight to “so this is an introductory solo for a character played by Dave”. It’s not only something that leapt out at me straight off the bat, but one of the more ludicrously famous sections of Moby Dick, so I have to imagine it’s likely to make an appearance. 

The further thing I wanted to point out while I’m on this section, is that despite how famous this little piece of Moby Dick which clearly describes Ishmael’s depression and suicidal ideation is, the majority of Moby Dick adaptions have little to no other reference to his depression. Or they just have none at all if they’re really eschewing the narration. I’m not saying that it’s a deal-breaker for an adaption or anything of that kind, but mental illness definitely has a presence and impact in Moby Dick (I’ll just, leave it at that for now) that doesn’t especially get a lot of attention. On the other hand, it’s something that I, personally, will notice and think about. Anyone who’s familiar with Dave, however, knows that his shows almost consistently revolve around mentally ill characters (and what’s probably the most famous solo he’s written is about depression/suicidal ideation), and portray them in ways mentally ill fans relate to and appreciate. If an adaptor was to make a specific effort to earnestly portray Ishmael’s depression, and how that relates to his role in this story, it’d be Dave. (I could potentially even argue that The Pacific and Cetology already suggest ways in which he’s doing this but. Mm.)

But, anyway. I said Loomings is a good fit for that song that can be found in almost any Dave Malloy musical, where everything is just starting out, and someone (who is often played by Dave) sits down to pour out all their frantic thoughts and unstable feelings and draw you into their story - so, how I imagine the song is strongly based off the pre-existing examples of that type of song. Namely, I drift to Pierre and The Astronomer. 

Both songs have aspects I like for an imaginary Loomings. They’re both ruminative, emotive introductions to a character and their brain’s inner workings. They’re both at least somewhat depressed and ranty. I like Pierre for its emotional tumult, its inquisitiveness and desire for something more, its explicit descriptions of the effects of his depression on his behaviour, its moment of curiosity about mankind, and its drama. I feel like Pierre barging his way into his introductory solo, the first time we ever hear him sing about himself, with “It’s dawned to me suddenly, and for no obvious reason, that I can’t go on living as I am...” is not worlds away from how Ishmael can come across. I also like how it’s piano-driven (because I unimaginatively imagine Ishmael as a pianist in the show), unlike The Astronomer, but on the other hand, I prefer the less dense instrumentation of The Astronomer (maybe not quite that sparse though. Intermediate). I also like The Astronomer for its slow-paced style ranting, its dreaminess, its dwelling on Big Ideas, and the way it is more an explanation of who this character is through exploring his beliefs. Which is relevant as Loomings goes on. 

Both songs, particularly Pierre, channel more anger and resignation than is really relevant to Loomings, however. A part of this is that they’re both dwelling inside the emotions of an unhappy/unsatisfying present, describing that to us as who they are, now. Ishmael is outside of his present self because he’s a narrator. Throughout Loomings he is... recounting his past, but also describing the future of and influences on his past self, moreso than his past self’s present or who he was at that particular time. And, from that more distant position, opening these influences up to us, and the rest of the world. Uh. How relevant or sensible this is to point out I don’t know, but it seems like a very different emotional experience to convey. 

The second section of Loomings, where Ishmael discusses water, moves the furthest from talking directly about himself and his story, I suppose, but is a big bit of theme/motif/setting foundation, and is also just very beautiful writing. I love it a lot, and I’d love to hear some of it put to music... A few little quotes from it because I like them:

What do you see?—Posted like silent sentinels all around the town, stand thousands upon thousands of mortal men fixed in ocean reveries.

///

They come from lanes and alleys, streets and avenues,—north, east, south, and west. Yet here they all unite. Tell me, does the magnetic virtue of the needles of the compasses of all those ships attract them thither?

///

There is magic in it. Let the most absent-minded of men be plunged in his deepest reveries—stand that man on his legs, set his feet a-going, and he will infallibly lead you to water

///

Yes, as every one knows, meditation and water are wedded for ever.

///

But though the picture lies thus tranced, and though this pine-tree shakes down its sighs like leaves upon this shepherd's head, yet all were vain, unless the shepherd's eye were fixed upon the magic stream before him.

I also like the abundance of rhetorical questions in this section, and how that invites the reader in as if you were in a conversation. Those could fit well into a theatre song, where you have Ishmael sort asking himself, sort of asking the audience (also a bit Pierre, tbh). This, combined with how much switching up of sentence length there is in this section, give it this lovely gentle-paced, meandering, breathing rhythm that makes me think of it being sung. There’s probably a better, more technical way of describing that, but I don’t know that smartness, so essentially - I can almost hear it simply because of the way it’s already written. 

The conclusion of this section is where Ishmael draws together his claim that the reason we all find water so magnetic is because to us it represents the things that’re unfathomable and unreachable in life:

Why upon your first voyage as a passenger, did you yourself feel such a mystical vibration, when first told that you and your ship were now out of sight of land? Why did the old Persians hold the sea holy? Why did the Greeks give it a separate deity, and own brother of Jove? Surely all this is not without meaning. And still deeper the meaning of that story of Narcissus, who because he could not grasp the tormenting, mild image he saw in the fountain, plunged into it and was drowned. But that same image, we ourselves see in all rivers and oceans. It is the image of the ungraspable phantom of life; and this is the key to it all.

It’d definitely be a way to get us onboard this ship, swept up in this journey, while we’re inside a theatre: “Come along with me, into this huge, intrinsic thing, come, and try to obsessively chase down whatever inscrutable thing is still maddening you in the craziness of the world today!” Mmm. 

A little thing I find interesting, however, is how this little piece, and how it’d be presented in the context of the show, relates to some pre-existing lyrics from Cetology: “And the ocean is too deep for me to fathom/ And life is just to big for me to bear/ But who am I to compare my despair to the shaking of the sea?” These lyrics have no root in the chapter Cetology itself, and I can only assume they’re actually rooted in this section here. The weirdness of that is how Ishmael makes the comparison he lays out in Loomings, but then immediately questions his right to make it. He paints his own personal experiences as insignificant in the scheme of it all, even if he does harbour those feelings about the ocean which are due to feelings about the unknown. Which is intriguing and opens up a lot of shit. There’s a lot going on in Cetology which can explain why he says that in the context of That Song, but it makes me wonder if this claim will appear in Loomings and then reappear later with the catch on the end, or if it’s sole appearance is in Cetology. It shall be seen. And I’ll probably discuss those Cetology lyrics more when I’ve... actually heard Loomings! Or, oh, you know, the full show for legit context. 

The next thing Ishmael does in this chapter is discuss why he makes the choice to go as just a "simple sailor" every time he goes to sea, in doing so telling us a bit more about himself and his opinions. I won’t expand on these hugely, but I do think it’s a fair enough point to say that Ishmael makes statements in this section which could act as starting points for themes that Dave has specified he’s discussing through this show - namely capitalism, democracy and race/systems of power, in this situation. 

One of Ishmael’s reasons is money. He doesn’t have the money to pay to go to sea as a passenger, he needs/wants to be paid for it as a sailor. The actual pay for which, by the way, is really, really not that much considering how dangerous a job he’s signing on for. But we have to survive somehow, we suppose...? And, his opinion on the money-making in general?

The urbane activity with which a man receives money is really marvellous, considering that we so earnestly believe money to be the root of all earthly ills, and that on no account can a monied man enter heaven. 

Another of his reasons is that he prefers not to go to sea in any higher rank because he doesn’t care for the honour attached to these positions, and doesn’t want the level of responsibility involved. He goes on to explain that while it can be unpleasant to be ordered around by one’s superiors, he accepts it, and there’s no sense in striving for superiority when he is in essence no lesser than them, since, he states, everyone is inevitably under the command of someone else. 

With very intentionally provocative wording in the context of a book published in America in 1851.

Do you think the archangel Gabriel thinks anything the less of me, because I promptly and respectfully obey that old hunks in that particular instance? Who ain't a slave? Tell me that. 

He finally says that it’s the ordinary sailors rather than their superiors who get the first, freshest breath of that revitalising ocean air. He then leans deeper into the thought: 

He thinks he breathes it first; but not so. In much the same way do the commonalty lead their leaders in many other things, at the same time that the leaders little suspect it.

Having laid out his justification for this choice, Ishmael moves onto why a whaling voyage specifically. He essentially accounts it to the mysteries of fate - though his desire to experience new, remote things could trick him into exaggerating the role of his free will. 

There’s a part towards the end of the chapter that I specifically wanted to point out, where Ishmael actually uses a piece of theatre as a metaphor for his voyage. It’s not as famous/iconic as some other parts from this chapter but it’s very entertaining in the context of an actual musical, and I’d love if it were referenced:

“And, doubtless, my going on this whaling voyage, formed part of the grand programme of Providence that was drawn up a long time ago. It came in as a sort of brief interlude and solo between more extensive performances. I take it that this part of the bill must have run something like this:

"Grand Contested Election for the Presidency of the United States "Whaling Voyage by one Ishmael

"BLOODY BATTLE IN AFFGHANISTAN." Though I cannot tell why it was exactly that those stage managers, the Fates, put me down for this shabby part of a whaling voyage, when others were set down for magnificent parts in high tragedies, and short and easy parts in genteel comedies, and jolly parts in farces—though I cannot tell why this was exactly; yet, now that I recall all the circumstances, I think I can see a little into the springs and motives which being cunningly presented to me under various disguises, induced me to set about performing the part I did, besides cajoling me into the delusion that it was a choice resulting from my own unbiased freewill and discriminating judgement.”

This little piece fits well with the metatheatricality Dave has said he’s interested in exploring in the show. In terms of this concept, he’s mentioned both Ishmael vs Meville antics, but also broadening the idea of character vs writer with the added layer of him as the composer playing Ishmael. This quote specifically refers to theatre, and referencing one’s own role in a performance, which obviously becomes increasingly funny when you’re a narrator in and composer of a musical based on the book. Pondering over your “shabby part”, and why it was given to you, while you’re existing in theatre you composed yourself… strikes me as in line with Dave’s humour. In the song Cetology, Ishmael already actually laments that “this could be an amazing song...”, in doing so pretty heavily suggesting that he’s self-aware of being in a musical he wrote. So I don’t think Dave using this quote for metatheatre’s sake would be that surprising. 

I also like this quote because of the quite bizarre, almost eerie throwaway piece of modern foretelling we’re given in the layout of performances in the “bill”. It’s interesting enough for a modern adaption to point out as it is, but especially since Dave is highlighting connections between the book and modern America, it feels like something he might reference. 

[iamanartichoke]

Can I still send smth for "i wish u would write a fic where”? Cause I've just seen this on twitter: ✨incorrect thor & loki ✨‏ @wrongbrodinsons "loki: what would the chef recommend? waiter: sir, this is mcdonalds thor: please excuse my brother, he’s not familiar with earth etiquette. what would the McChef recommend?" and absolutely need a fan fic with this convo here lol

Okay, so, I just want to disclaim this particular response by saying that Brodinson silliness isn’t generally my fic forte (much as my shitposting their Midgardian adventures might have you believe otherwise) so … this is just what came out. There’s some angst, some silliness, and a lot of drunk!Brodinsons and it’s super long because I am me, and I apologize. Also, I didn’t really revise this because if I think about it too much, I won’t post it, haha. I’m not super confident in it, but I hope you enjoy it anyway! Thanks for the challenging prompt, I do like to try things outside of my comfort zone. :) 

Word Count: 2485 

It is after their fifth bottle of whiskey that Thor’s eyes brighten with the kind of mischief he only adopts when he’s good and inebriated. Loki groans as he sees the look shift swiftly across Thor’s features. “No,” he says simply, taking another swig from his bottle. The whiskey is not bad, but it is not good either. However, most Midgardian liquors do absolutely nothing for either of them, and the few that do have an effect must be consumed in copious amounts.

It is one of the things Loki misses about Asgard, how sweet wine and mead would flow steadily at feasts and meals or in the taverns deep into the night. He misses the days when he and Thor would share ale over a fire, talking of the day’s exploits and laughing in sync. Once, life had been simple, if not necessarily good.

“What,” Thor says, raising an eyebrow at Loki. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to. I know that look,” Loki points out with a roll of his eyes. He and Thor, in a rare mood that had struck them both after the evening meal, have settled themselves on the back porch of their apartment, their alcohol on a small table between their two chairs. The chairs are something called lounge chairs, which allow them to lean back and stretch their legs out comfortably. It was an undignified way to sit, to be sure, but Loki had to admit that he enjoyed the laziness of it, especially as he felt himself grow more intoxicated.

Thor plays innocent. He takes a long swig, finishing off the bottle he’d been nursing for awhile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Loki. I was just thinking we should get something to eat.”

“We just ate the evening meal about two hours ago,” Loki points out.

“Yes, but drinking always makes me hungry. You know this,” Thor returns. “Anyway, haven’t you ever heard of a midnight snack?”

Loki rolls his eyes. “No, Thor. As a matter of fact, I have not heard of a midnight snack. Why don’t you enlighten me?”

Thor gives his deep, rumbling laugh, which lasts just a moment too long. At this rate, Loki thinks wryly as he brings his bottle back to his lips, he will be pouring Thor into bed within the hour. Loki himself has been going much more slowly, allowing the warmth of the whiskey to work through him slowly and steadily. He is not sober, but nor is he as drunk as Thor. It’s a safe place to be.

“A midnight snack,” Thor explains, sitting up a bit and fixing Loki with an earnest stare, as if he is about to provide him with the answers to the universe, “is a snack … which is eaten at or close to midnight.”

Loki waits for him to continue. When he doesn’t, Loki cannot help his own laughter. Thor is such a dope, he thinks fondly. Loki may be more drunk than he’d realized, because it suddenly seems very funny instead of irritating. “You might have to write that one down for me, brother,” is all he says. “I might not remember your detailed and thorough explanation, otherwise.”

“True enough,” Thor agrees, with another laugh. He picks up a new bottle of whiskey, uncapping it easily as he settles back into his chair. “So, what say you, brother? Do you want to go on an adventure?” He gives a grin and wiggles his eyebrows a bit.

“Hmm. I rather think I’ve had enough adventure to last awhile.” Loki extends the bottle in his hand, swirling it around to determine how much is left. A fair amount, but less than he expected. “Don’t you?”

“Never,” Thor answers earnestly. “As long as I have a heart that beats, it will beat in tune to the battle cry of Asgard, it will echo glory and honor to Valhalla itself, it will -”

“Norns, I’m sorry I asked,” Loki cuts him off. “I used to hate that, you know,” he adds. He feels languid, lethargic, and the words slip from his tongue before he realizes he’d been thinking them. Once they are out, it is too late to swallow them back down again. He sips his whiskey, avoiding Thor’s gaze.

“Hate what?”

Loki waves a hand. “Your … unquenchable thirst for battle,” he elaborates. “I never understood why anyone would willingly seek out battle. Defending yourself is one thing, but …” He trails off, lifts his shoulders. “You never lost that, you know? That battle-lust. You were taken down a few pegs, to be sure, but you seek battle as ferociously as you ever have.” Loki grins, despite himself. “You’re just not so irritating about it anymore.”

Thor tilts his head, his eye flicking over Loki. He does not look unpleased with the assessment, but for a long while, he does not say anything, either. Finally, after a particularly large swallow of whiskey, he says, “I think that’s the most you’ve really said to me at one time in … quite a long time.”

“I speak to you all the time,” Loki reminds him.

“No, you don’t.” Thor adjusts himself slightly, crossing one ankle over the other. “You respond to me. You offer your opinion, warranted or not. Occasionally you make a joke. But you don’t speak to me about how you feel. You don’t speak to me about our lives before … well, everything. You don’t even mention Asgard anymore, though the wound must still be as fresh for you as it is for me.”

Loki does not speak of Asgard because speaking about it will not bring it back. He feels a slight twitch in his chest, where his heart lies. Indeed, the wound is fresh, but that is one of the many differences between himself and Thor. Loki nurses his wounds privately, bandaging them up with silence and repression, while Thor lets his bleed for everyone to see. “It would serve little purpose to speak of,” Loki answers, resting his head against the back of his chair. His face feels warm, which is one of the tell-tale signs that he is growing less sober.

“Perhaps,” Thor agrees, to Loki’s surprise. “But I wish you would try more often.”

A silence falls over them, weighted with all of the things they have not said. Loki takes a very long swallow of his drink, finishing off the rest of the bottle in one sip. He is sorry he said anything, sorry that his words punctured the relative peace that they’d had before. “Okay,” he says, setting his bottle down a bit too hard on the table. “Let’s go on an adventure.”

“What?” Thor blinks.

“I’ve had a change of heart,” Loki tells him, sitting up. His head spins. He was going to be feeling this tomorrow. “Come on, before it changes again.”

At once, Thor’s face splits into his wide, brilliant smile. Norns, but Loki loves that stupid smile. He is inebriated enough to admit to himself, but still sensible enough not to speak it aloud. Thor does not need any more reason to be arrogant. “Rhodey told me of a restaurant,” Thor says as he stands and offers Loki his hand. Loki grasps it, and Thor pulls him up, and they both stumble a bit.

“You big oaf,” Loki grumbles, righting himself.

“Rhodey told me of a restaurant,” Thor continues, as if Loki had not spoken, “where one might find a spectacular midnight snack. I believe he said it’s called McDonalds.”

“All right,” Loki says, weaving carefully around Thor to the patio door. “Is it far?”

“Only a few blocks. Now, brother,” Thor begins, setting his expression very straight, “this is an adventure, a quest, which we cannot fail. It must be treated with the utmost care and precision.”

“I didn’t know you knew the definition of those words.”

“Shut up. We must move quietly, stealthily, lest the others see what we are doing.”

“Thor,” Loki says, growing more amused by the moment, “no one else is here.”

“That we know of,” Thor retorts. He gives Loki a little nudge and Loki rolls his eyes, but he carefully opens the patio door and slips inside. The apartment is dim, but not dark. Thor, practically on Loki’s heels, keeps whispering, “Shhh!”

“I didn’t say anything,” Loki retorts, and stumbles over one of Thor’s discarded boots. “Shit. Thor, how many times -”

Thor clamps his hand over Loki’s mouth, giving him a frown of disapproval. Loki wants to snicker, but refrains. He has forgotten how truly silly Thor can be, when the mood strikes just right. When Thor removes his hand, Loki speaks again, in an exaggerated whisper.

“How many times have I told you not to leave your damn boots around?”

“I don’t remember.” Thor leans over and scoops up the boot, shoving it on before searching for its mate. Loki waits patiently for him. He cannot help a snicker when Thor steps too widely and loses his balance, collapsing onto the sofa.

“What were you saying about stealth, brother?”

Thor shoots Loki a glare, but it does not hold more than a few seconds before his own face collapses into amusement. When he finally finishes putting on his boots, they waste another few minutes searching for their keys, wallets, all manner of trinkets that one must carry everywhere with him on Midgard. Once they have thoroughly prepared for their adventure, they set off into the cool evening, Thor banging the door closed rather loudly behind them.

“You never were very good at sneaking around,” Loki remarks. He wobbles a bit as they begin walking, and Thor must notice, for he reaches out and grips Loki’s arm. Loki responds by gripping Thor back, until they are clinging to one another as if they were mere boys. “Do you remember when we’d sneak into the kitchen after evening meal for pastries?”

“Oh, yes!” Thor seems to have completely forgotten stealth; his voice booms around them, deep and warm. It sends a reverberating shiver weaving through Loki’s ribs. Neither of them are walking in a particularly straight line, Loki notices with amusement. All of this is so terribly funny. “We got caught more times than not, I believe.”

“Yes, because you were utterly incapable of stealth,” Loki reminds him. “You’d crash about, pretend we were sword-ing through dragons and beasts -” He cuts himself off and starts laughing. “Oh my, did you hear me lose that verb? Sword fighting, I meant to say.”

“Yes, hold on.” Thor lets go of Loki enough to bend over, pretending to fumble around on the ground. He comes back up a moment later, victory in his grin. He extends a hand to Loki. “I believe you dropped your verb, good sir.”

“Oh, thank you so much,” Loki says, plucking the empty air from Thor’s palm and making a show of tucking it into his pocket. “I’ll just leave that there, in case I need it later. Thank you kindly, my friend.”

“That is what heroes do,” Thor answers with an exaggerated swagger, which throws both of them off balance. It sets Loki off again, and when Thor laughs with him, his eye twinkles with more than just inebriation. It is happiness, Loki realizes.

By the time they get to the restaurant, neither of them are taking anything seriously. Which is likely a good thing, because Loki is immediately appalled upon entering the brightly-lit building. “Now, Loki,” Thor says seriously as, for some bizarre reason, they approach the counter. It is relatively empty, but the servants on the opposite side of the counter are looking at Thor and Loki warily. “This is not a usual restaurant. We must order and pay first, and then choose our own table.”

Loki looks at him as if he has lost his mind. It is entirely possible that he has. Still, Thor strides forward confidently, leaving Loki no choice but to follow.

“Welcome to McDonald’s,” says the boy behind the counter, his gaze flicking from Loki to Thor and back again. He is practically a child, Loki thinks. “What can I get for you?”

“I don’t know,” Loki answers, glancing at Thor. What kind of place has Thor brought them to? It seems utterly ludicrous. “What does the chef recommend?”

The child blinks. “Um, sir, this - this is McDonald’s,” he responds, as if Loki had not heard him say that very thing just a moment ago. Loki should be very irritated, but instead, he hides a smile behind his hand.

“Please, excuse my brother,” Thor speaks up. “He isn’t used to proper Earth etiquette.” The child’s brow furrows, but Thor goes on, in a very straight voice, “What would the McChef of McDonald’s recommend?”

Loki breaks up, turning his head and pressing it into Thor’s shoulder as he snickers.

“Uh.” The child sounds as if he is already sick of them. “A lot of people like the Big Mac.”

“We’ll have that, then.”

The rest of the transaction goes by, with Loki trying unsuccessfully to stop laughing while Thor takes great care with his words and movements. When they are finished at the counter, they weave around tables and find a booth near the back, where Loki collapses and lets out a breath. “I don’t know why this is so funny,” he admits to Thor, rubbing his eyes. “But the look on that boy’s face -”

Thor is grinning, sliding into the seat opposite Loki. “I don’t remember the last time I’ve seen you have so much fun,” he admits, and picks up a potato stick. “I miss it.”

“Do not get maudlin, Thor,” Loki warns, poking uncertainly at his meal. “Norns, what is this? It looks absolutely revolting.”

“This is the finest cuisine Midgard has to offer,” Thor responds cheerfully. “Or so I’ve heard.”

“All the more reason to flee this wretched realm,” Loki replies. “Will you remind me why we chose this place?”

“Because,” Thor says grandly, “I am king, and I am an Avenger, and thus I am needed here. Where else might we go? Can I really risk our people to the dwarves of Nidavellir? The trickery of the Vanir? The humans are relatively harmless to our people and, thus, we may co-exist for awhile. The Avengers, as well, will always need another pair of - oh, brother, might I borrow that verb?”

Loki rolls his eyes, stubborn smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He exaggerates reaching into his pocket and then extending his palm to Thor. “It is all yours,” he says.

Thor very carefully pantomimes picking up the verb from Loki’s palm. “Thank you kindly. The Avengers will always need another pair of fighting hands. Therefore, this is the correct place to be.”

“I suppose I defer to your wisdom, then, my king,” Loki returns magnanimously. He pokes at his food again. “But the food is still disgusting.”

[aion-rsa]

The Prom: Ranking Every Song in the Movie Musical Soundtrack From Worst to Best

https://ift.tt/3mbeEmh

The 2018 Broadway musical The Prom has always had a somewhat shaky premise, combining a quartet of narcissistic Broadway stars (Meryl Streep, James Corden, Nicole Kidman, and Andrew Rannells) looking for a way to be relevant again with a lesbian couple’s (Jo Ellen Pellman and Ariana DeBose) simple wish to attend their prom in Edgewater, Indiana. The two threads collide when the prom gets blown up into a civil rights issue. However, the stage show reconciled these seemingly disparate elements into a heartwarming tale of self-acceptance for all involved: straight or gay, closeted or out, aging star or varsity cheerleader.

Ryan Murphy’s film adaptation for Netflix, by contrast, is less successful. The awkward space between these two stories is more pronounced, with the Broadway portions plagued by puzzling lighting and editing choices. Combine that with some truly head-scratching casting among three of the four adults, and it distracts from the intent of basically half the soundtrack.

However, when it comes to all things prom-related, the adaptation is nearly as strong as its Broadway predecessor, and in some places utilizes cinematic elements to surpass the original versions of key musical numbers. With that in mind, we’re ranking all 19 songs from worst to best, keeping in mind that the rankings would likely have turned out differently had we been considering the musical itself.

19. Barry is Going to Prom

James Corden was disastrously miscast as gay actor Barry, who removed himself from his parents’ lives as a teenager before they could cast him out, yet is still clearly in need of closure. One can never shake the feeling of watching this straight actor put on queer identity as an ill-fitting suit; there’s more than one “did I just hear that right?” moment of him lisping his way through a scene.

He brings that disingenuously effeminate energy to Barry’s big number, “Barry is Going to Prom,” and tarnishes what should be a triumphant showstopper. Not surprisingly, Corden in a silver-and-aqua tux mincing through a fantasy sequence is so much less compelling than original star Brooks Ashmanskas belting in his pajamas.

18. Simply Love

The second of the two end credits songs seems to be a rejected number for Barry’s reunion with his estranged mother while also advocating for Emma. Despite the feeling Corden tries to infuse into it, emotionally it’s empty. The only thing saving it from rock bottom on this list is that there are no accompanying visuals.

17. The Acceptance Song

The first sign that the Broadway crew have overestimated their star power is when their big “rally” in Emma’s honor gets booked… at the halftime show of the local monster truck rally. They try to sing a song about acceptance, but neither they nor the monster truck enthusiasts are equipped to give or receive the message. It’s a forgettable song, but that’s kind of the point, isn’t it?

16. Wear Your Crown

The first end credits song is so overproduced that I had to look up who sang it—turns out it’s the entire cast, their voices blended into one unnatural warble. The only thing that saves it is that they do the musical credits thing where they match the names with the performances (here, it’s them posing at the prom with superlatives), so you can remember who you did or didn’t like all over again.

15. Zazz

As solo numbers go, this is not Nicole Kidman’s best; but then again, can anything really top Moulin Rouge!? Perennial chorus girl Angie’s ode to making yourself a star is meant to evoke Bob Fosse and Chicago, but winds up resembling a mere shadow of that brilliance. And, unlike how Kidman breaks our hearts with “Come What May,” this ditty could have been sung by anyone.

14. Changing Lives

As opening numbers go, this one doesn’t rank very high, in part because it has to do so much heavy lifting for the less obvious half of The Prom’s premise: Dee Dee (Meryl Streep, unconvincing at the start) and Barry watch their Eleanor Roosevelt musical close on opening night because they are too self-involved to authentically inhabit these historical figures.

Scrolling Twitter’s trending topics for a “cause” that will reverse their PR disaster, they find Emma and automatically decide that they can and will change her small-town baby gay life. With all that exposition, the song’s actual message—that actors and art can change people’s lives—gets lost. What is fun is intercutting the post-show glow with footage of Dee Dee and Barry in costume as Eleanor and FDR on-stage in what feels like a parody of Hamilton.

13. It’s Not About Me

This is a peppier, more on-the-nose version of “Changing Lives,” yet it strikes a bunch of discordant notes, like Dee Dee and co. sweeping into the PTA meeting to rally for Emma but really turn the spotlight on themselves. It’s too much cringe, too early in the story; and worst of all, Streep simply doesn’t seem to be having fun. Instead she looks like she has to force this number out to get on to the more compelling stuff.

12. Changing Lives (Reprise)

The reprise ranks higher than its predecessor because there’s just enough of an ironic twist to signal to the audience that we’re immediately poking fun at these self-obsessed Broadway stars. The line “We’re gonna help that little lesbian / Whether she likes it or not” is unexpectedly hilarious, though the CGI Times Square backdrop is tough to swallow.

11. We Look to You

Perhaps it’s not surprising that all of the songs about the saving power of art are clumped in the same section of the ranking. Perhaps that element of the show translated better to the literal stage, but in the movie these sequences are garish and don’t fit alongside the sweet, straightforward conflict that Emma and Alyssa face.

Read more

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This number does try to bridge that divide, however, with Keegan-Michael Key’s straight ally Principal Hawkins tenderly serenading Dee Dee with memories of her performing. Yet through no fault of his own, they still seem an oddly matched pair, which dampens the romantic effect of the song.

10. Unruly Heart

As Emma’s big number, delivered via humble strumming on YouTube that goes viral by tugging the heartstrings of LGBTQ teens everywhere, “Unruly Heart” felt as if it should have ranked higher. There’s a fun effect of Emma’s bed spinning, making the confines of her room seem bigger as her message spreads to millions of people; it also looks like something out of a Broadway show. But one is left with the feeling that this should be a tearjerker for where it exists in the story. This is likely the biggest casualty of the stage-to-screen adaptation.

9. The Lady’s Improving

This is Streep in her musical element, bringing to mind a mix of the whimsy of “Money, Money, Money” and the yearning of “Mamma Mia.” It’s also got that sharp cleverness that’s all too rare in the Broadway portion of this story, with Dee Dee resurrecting her starring role for a one-afternoon-only, private performance for Hawkins. Wouldn’t you know it, this unapologetic preying on his nostalgic fandom for a fictional character is what actually sells their oddball relationship.

8. Alyssa Greene

DeBose’s bitter defense of staying in the closet starts out as the seemingly low-stakes complaints of a straight-A student afraid to step out of line. But as Alyssa’s refrains keep returning to her mother (Kerry Washington)—complete with flashbacks of earnest Washington playing the helicopter-mom to a tee—it becomes achingly clear just how committed Mrs. Greene is to making her daughter’s life not be “difficult,” at least by her metrics. It’s also clear how much Alyssa feels she owes her.

Read more

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By David Crow

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The best part is that this impassioned “I wish” song is not enough to win back Emma’s trust, and actually leads to their breakup instead. Emotional vulnerability, met with stakes-raising conflict! We love to see it.

7. It’s Time to Dance

Sure, it’s the triumphant final number, but it’s also so much spectacle (mostly with the ensemble’s too-cool-for-school dancing) that it’s difficult to focus on the emotional underpinnings. Reprisals of motifs like “Dance with You” (look ahead) and “Unruly Heart” buoy it up, and of course so does Emma and Alyssa’s big kiss. But this feels like the big shiny denouement as opposed to the less polished but more poignant songs that will stick with you longer.

6. Tonight Belongs to You (Reprise)

Just as “Changing Lives (Reprise)” recontextualizes its predecessor, the reprise of “Tonight Belongs to You” twists the knife: After being humiliated by the school-wide prank of the fake prom, Emma tortures herself with one last reminder that tonight was always about the “normal” kids. It’s the heartbreaking complement to her stalwart sense of self in “Just Breathe” (see below), with Emma confronting the truth that even if she loves herself, her peers and their parents don’t.

5. Love Thy Neighbor

Without a doubt, Rannells makes this song more charming than it has any right to be. You couldn’t have found a better choice than the Book of Mormon alum to point out the hypocrisy in cherry-picking which religious rules to follow. And unlike a lot of The Prom’s other attempts to shoehorn Broadway culture into this small town, the Godspell vibe of “Love Thy Neighbor” expertly gets through to these closed-minded classmates. If Rannells were teaching drama and the Bible to teens like this, it’d go a long way toward bridging that empathy gap.

4. Just Breathe

Pellman is earnestly wonderful even in songs that are duds, but this is the perfect introduction. “Note to self: Don’t be gay in Indiana” tells you everything you need to know about how lovely Emma is: wry and self-assured, secure in both her own identity and in who she loves, even if she has to protect that secret for Alyssa.

Read more

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How Disney Saved Musicals for a New Generation

By David Crow

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Yet this inner monologue of a song is relatable to all adolescents who don’t quite fit into high school’s damning constraints, a keen reminder to just breathe and move past the moment, looking ahead to a place or hopefully someday a world in which they won’t be the odd person out.

3. You Happened

This bubbly number seemingly shouldn’t rank so high in the list, yet it’s the most authentic aspect of the story it’s depicting: Teenagers acting out the epic love stories they’ve seen in film and yes, on the stage, playacting at adult declarations of devotion.

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It’s the classic promposal that teens have swooned over from Laguna Beach to TikTok, but one-upped through boy-band choreography and a built-in chorus of high schoolers crooning “Youuuu happened!” like it’s the big love confession from When Harry Met Sally. Yet these over-the-top promposals don’t hold a candle to…

2. Dance with You

Emma and Alyssa’s sweet anthem has the sweeping strains of a classic love song—old-Hollywood romance that reflects their simple wish to not be symbols of a movement, but to get the same quintessential high school experience as their straight classmates. It’s also one that benefits from the movie expanding the scope of a song, with the young lovers walking hand-in-hand through their empty school and waltzing under ethereally lit pink trees. Every time the motif recurs in later songs (hitting different notes each time), it conjures that same swell of emotion.

1. Tonight Belongs to You

The fact that this song attained number-one despite Corden’s bad performance overshadowing the first verses is a testament to its infectious joy, and to the frankly incredible layers of emotion contained within.

Beneath the giddy veneer of getting ready for prom, there are so many darker aspects: Barry strong-arming poor Emma into a femme makeover in an attempt to live vicariously through the prom he never had. Cheerleaders Shelby and Kaylee singing “One thing’s universal / Life’s no dress rehearsal” as they step into identical limos in their cookie-cutter cul de sac, as if they could ever fathom an experience outside of their own. This entire song claims that the night is about Emma, but it’s about everyone but her, and that is so uncomfortably truthful.

And then… the moment Emma steps into the gym to find that the entire school played a cruel trick on her. Her peers singing as if they’re in the same boat as her, as they sail on to their real prom, leaving her the humiliation of entering the empty school gym, encapsulates the brutality of high school in a single song. They’ve turned the supposedly empowering Act I finale into the ultimate villain song. The Prom is uneven overall, but as enduring musical songs go, “Tonight Belongs to You” takes the crown.

But as with all things prom, every vote counts. How would you rank the songs from Netflix’s The Prom?

The Prom is now streaming on Netflix.

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The post The Prom: Ranking Every Song in the Movie Musical Soundtrack From Worst to Best appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[bipolarblatherings]

Wound me once, shame on you. Wound me 30 times, shame on both of us.

This is all a giant mess.

I find myself amidst a saddening, tortured, infuriating, ridiculous dance of (semi)conflict with a very close friend of mine. She (let’s call her B) is ungodly intelligent and very well-versed in things of the psychiatric nature. I’m a fantastic match for her in almost every way. B has bipolar II. I have bipolar I. We have had many mind-blowing conversations. I haven’t met someone as intelligent and cunning since looking in the mirror. But oh, she sure qualifies.

She twists knives. I hold punches. Stupid, stupid me. 

I should provide some background. I’m obsessing about it, so it’s absolutely been eating me for breakfast, lunch and dinner, but I can’t fault you all for ignorance if I don’t do diligence.

Ahem.

B and I have been friends for, well... over 5 years now. My friendship with her (hold your laughter) started in an outpatient DBT therapy group. We were instantly drawn to each other. I apparently had equated something I was sharing about in group to “rolling a nat 1.” I don’t remember saying this, but this is pretty on-brand for me. Nerd alert! She was sold.

I started playing in a DnD campaign with them in a fairly local gaming store. We would go out for cigarettes and dish about whatever - she and her husband and I, and occasionally others. We bonded. We joked. We shared intellectual nuggets about life, the universe and everything. We pondered serious mental health issues and tried to meet in the middle somewhere between bipolars I and II. Another joke we consistently went back to was me telling her “I don’t know how you do it! I’d get whiplash!” and her countering back, “I don’t know how YOU do it!” 

It’s true. Cursed as I may be, I don’t think I’d opt for the other side of this coin.

Anywho. 

Fast forward through my marriage (to some guy) and a separation which is not a yet a legal divorce because he feels badly for me in that I wouldn’t have health insurance, and we would lack the tax breaks of filing jointly, what with me in my 10th year of college...

B and her husband - let’s call him S - were with me through all of that and then some. Supportive, helpful, welcoming. When she suggested that maybe I should join them in a “thrupple” as their “unicorn,” pansexual, polyamorous, manic me was all in. 

I’m sure it’s no surprise that this went fairly sideways quickly. B and I were, by far, farther along than S and I probably would ever be. There was awkwardness. There was unbalance. There was a solidly manic bipolar human (me) who incidentally fed her hypomania into excess (she). We are both very self-aware in general. I do not know that I trust her to be able to walk away from triggering on purpose. It’s the best worst superpower ever. It’s a drug. It’s tantalizing and dangerous. I should know. I’m high on it practically all the time... 

Fast forward again. 

B and I had a talk the other day after a fairly long and very uncomfortable near-silence. Our last exchange had been awful, and instead of lashing out, I’d gone home and injured myself. Crisis crisis crisisss! We had come to a better place of understanding and calm, and had sensibly addressed it - for about 4.5 straight hours. I’d felt so much better. Vindicated. Validated. I’d really broken through and I was able to show her vulnerability (stupid, stupid me). I told her about what had happened after I’d left the last time. B has seen me naked, in more ways than one. 

Within this conversation, we admitted to each other that the idea of a “thrupple” was, although amazing, absolutely poorly executed in terms of timing and pacing. You take a husband - interested and with good intentions, but very much along for the ride, I expect - and his wife with bipolar II, and then throw in a very heavy pile of this bitch with bipolar I and ... PARTY. Except, duh. This poor guy now has his hands full with two crisis-happy, mostly-manic women. 

OH. AND YOU ALSO HAVE TWO CRISIS-HAPPY, MOSTLY-MANIC WOMEN. And they are depending on each other, crying to each other and fucking each other.

After her admission and going over the Ps and Qs of everything, she’d confided that she and he had been looking online for a better fit for “unicorn.” Far from being upset, my free-loving self told her earnestly that I was happy for them: go get it, girl! B had also proffered a potential less-high-stakes hookup situation for she and he and I that would be “casual.” That word was thrown around a lot. FWB. 

I’d also had a boy on my mind. (I say boy because I don’t want to invest too much in giving a fuck - more on that later - he is, in fact, a man.) I had honestly advised her that I didn’t know what to do about him. That he was tripping me up, as normally I can figure people out in a snap. I have a penchant for frustrating projects; they challenge me and hold my interest. She vibrantly encouraged me to pursue him. 

When he asked me out on a date several days later - even amidst this COVID business - her words echoed in my head and I felt good about accepting. I was happy and I felt I had her support. I messaged her the news joyfully, and without hesitation. 

[I regret nothing about that date night itself. That bit is really fucking complicated. It deserves its own post.]

Fast forward again. Some very good friends from out of state were flying in to visit. I, super duper manic, lost track of days. When B messaged me seemingly in a panic asking for me to immediately bring over our friend’s dog’s crate, I messaged back hastily that I wished someone had let me know (rather than spring it on me last-minute.) I was thrown off. Her message out of seemingly nowhere seemed direct and cold. 

I messaged her back and let her know I would be over with the crate as soon as possible. I was tripping over myself. My INFP-A manic brain and my empathic nature were having a lot of trouble. She was not herself. She was really pissed. Or something. 

I didn’t have to wonder long. After I’d asked her to text my phone directly, she threw out this (very nearly verbatim):

______________________________________________________________

Oh, I get it. You don’t hang out with anyone you aren’t dating or fucking, right?

______________________________________________________________

I was stunned. WHOA. I literally said, “Whoa,” with no real follow-up. I was flabbergasted. Cut deeply. Bleeding. Did our conversation a few days prior mean absolutely NOTHING???? And I’d just seen them! Just those few days had passed. What had I done that was so egregious, except follow her advice to me? I floundered. “Whoa... Not true. Ouch.”

Not an ounce of caring or apology. Hard-line held. 

By the time I’d gotten over there with the dog crate, I’d been informed to text S directly to ask him to come out and get it from me. I did so, and made the exchange shaking and unable to look him in the eyes. I did a lot of mumbling but I remember saying, “I’m sorry. I don’t know why, but I’m real fucking sorry.” 

To which he replied: “I don’t know. Me too.” 

Effectively when I gave him the dog crate and he gave me my last box of shit from my time over there, there remained no ties. No reason for them to come here, and no reason for me to come there as all of the ephemera was in its correct place. 

The days following have been fairly awful. Last night I was encouraged by a friend to feel okay to join the online DnD game that B plays in and S runs. I panicked for the entirety of the time that it took them to get started. We were an hour and a half past normal start. My friend - we’ll call him C - was EXCEPTIONALLY amazing, helpful and calming. It would be alright. He was there. It wasn’t just me and her. There were other people to balance everything out. It would likely be a safe place. 

And it was. It had echoes of normalcy. It’s the only real interaction I’ve had with our out-of-state friends, as they were all four on the same mic, in S&B’s living room. I’d been there so many times, it echoed naturally in my mind. False sense of security?

I’d sent her a message stating my surface-level feels about the situation several days ago, to which I’d not gotten a response until after I left the DnD session a little early (as I was falling asleep). I tire of explaining so I’ll let our words - as already written - finish this out. 

_____________________________________________________________

Me:  I'm just going to leave this here, as I do not want to/am not ready to truly talk about it, and you've got company and other things going on. I feel it was unfair of you to come at me like that. I know you have feelings too, but I can only be sensitive to what I'm aware of. I only really took *the boy* up on it when he asked me out because although I wasn't sure I wanted to pursue anything at all, I felt that you were encouraging and supportive of it and I kind of felt like, "hey, who knows? I might just give it a try."

I'd absolutely be lying by omission if I just said nothing about it.

 And I'd be pretending that I'm not deeply wounded. That is all.

B:  I'm sorry for the late response to this, but I was not feeling that I was in a place where I could effectively communicate with you on this topic. I still do not feel I am ready to do so, but for the sake of E and J being in town, I would like for everyone to feel comfortable, and I know seeing E is very important to you. They would both like to see you very much as well, and for their sake I want to be concise in that I want them to feel like they can feel comfortable visiting with you, or even you coming here to visit with them however you feel most comfortable.

While I don't quite feel like discussing this issue yet, I bear no ill will at all so coming here would be just as relaxed as if we were to come with them to visit you. I've tried to keep everything as low-key as possible (basically just not mentioning anything :P) so that E would not feel uncomfortable or like she has to choose or something silly like that, and even moving forward no matter what happens I would never want her to feel that way at any point, and I definitely know that's not your style either, but I feel it is a huge priority for me to not alter any other relationships no matter what happens, because I think people only get hurt that way. (Although I don't think I even need to say this at all, but I wanted to include it for the sake of concise and effective communication which I know will be beneficial for all three of us moving forward)

For now I am enjoying our company and keeping myself focused and balanced. If you want to try to sort out the conflict here, feel free to let me know when you  are in a place of caring and compassion and even-tempered mindset, and when Anthony and I are also in that place we can certainly approach the obstacle with problem-solving as a focus and repairing our communications.

Stay safe, and keep working towards being healthy, as I know you've been trying very hard to do so to good effect - Hope all is well xoxo

Me:  Thank you. I'm not ready to talk about it either. I appreciate your honesty. 

In regard to E&J: I've been very discouraged because neither they nor you reached out to me at all once they got here (with any indication of plans whatsoever to see me). Whether or not this is the case, it was my perception that I was being avoided and ignored. And that sucks when you (ubiquitous you - and awful English, but whatever) look around your apartment and see your friend's things everywhere, but feel like nobody wants to see you. 

I apologize if this comes across as abrasive. That is absolutely not intended.

I need to communicate that it might be a fairly long time before I can discuss the issue at hand. Especially with all of these dysmorphic days and the fact that I am anywhere from almost done with my manic run to just beginning (dear god I hope not), I am not brave nor strong enough to work through it. I have to protect myself from hurt or I am actually in fear that it may tear me apart. It has absolutely the possibility to be fatal. 

I appreciate that you responded honestly and I feel you also deserve honesty. The above seems possibly to reflect a flair for dramatics, but as they say in the city, I'm dead-ass. 

I do, as always, also hope you are well.   Xoxo

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(Fuck me, right in the feels.)