#Yes this was inspired by one piece film red and the rise movie

[ladychandraofthemoone]

ᚷᚨᚺ ᛉᚨᚾ ᛏᚨᚲ ᚷᚨᚺ ᛉᚨᚾ ᛏᚨᛏ ᛏᚨᛏ ᛒᚱᚨᚲ ᚷᚨᚺ ᛉᚨᚾ ᛏᚨᚲ ᚷᚨᚺ ᛉᚨᚾ ᛏᚨᛏ ᛏᚨᛏ ᛒᚱᚨᚲ

So uh listening so many folks Verison of Tot Musica which rock btw, it’s fits very well with Kyle ,

it’s resonates with his resolve m, his determination, his desperation to give everyone peace and hope, a world where no horrible things happen (he was involved in a war and it costed him his life and humanity now he’s a ghost yet at the same time a godhis only regret was that he failed to reliever the supplies to those in need and that he didn’t get to say goodbye to Stanley) since he could bring a little luck with his lamp a prison

and has to deal with the fallout from those who aren’t please cause man trying his hardest he can’t be everywhere at once, him being only known as the lucky lamp or proteus and not reaching other folk’s expectations disappointing them and his mental toll on his sanity and health as he’s unable to communicate with the living for 50 years,the lamp not gotta let him go too easily folks with malicious intentions attempts to bring harm to him due to his abilities and others close to him among other things

This would all come crashing down and give Kyle a breaking point sooner or later cause man is gotta snap and he’s gotta go haywire, with gold dust arms, tears glowy eyes and summoning creatures of his own creation you name it he’s gotta be like Uta

[insanityclause]

Guillermo Del Toro is no stranger to widespread acclaim, especially from his ride or die legion of fans. Pan’s Labyrinth, the Hellboy duology, the list of genre-bending, timeless masterworks goes on. Coming off his 2 Oscar wins for The Shape of Water in 2018, and moving into finally releasing his animated Pinocchio film from the pits of development hell along with an adaption of Nightmare Alley next year, this couldn’t be a more thriving time for the Mexican auteur. Though amongst all the praise and glory, something has still felt missing these last handful of years. Besides his Oscar-winning film, Del Toro’s works prior to the 2010s are what generally buzz conversations of his genius. Those aforementioned films did, after all, skyrocket his name to fame. His titles from the last decade, however, are just as crucial to the Del Toro canon and emphasize his greater influence as a filmmaker. One, in particular, has seemingly gotten by in its young life at the hands of few. But now that Crimson Peak has officially turned 5, it’s time to turn that few into many.

Del Toro’s trifecta of the 2010s (not counting his work on television) stand out vastly from one another. Pacific Rim, Crimson Peak, and The Shape of Water: all love letters penned from the ‘nichest’ corners of his mind. These 3 arguably boast more diversity in genre than Del Toro’s 5 films of the 2000s (3 comic-book adaptations and 2 Spanish-set fantasies). Not a criticism, as established, those films now flaunt an immovable place within the cultural zeitgeist. Though with a career notoriously marked by a slew of unrealized projects (more on this later), it’s not often recognized how the ideas that did make the cut still lead a crystal clear trajectory in Del Toro’s growth as a storyteller. In the eyes of many, Del Toro pulls ideas out of a hat and gambles on which one actually sees the light of day. Humorous sure, but this is far from the truth.

Each Del Toro project feels like a pivotal step for what would come later, take his work on Trollhunters paving the way for his upcoming first animated feature for instance. Despite this trajectory, Crimson Peak feels criminally unsung 5 years later. Pacific Rim continued its life with a sequel and more planned spin-offs. The Shape of Water literally set a new bar for the Academy. This leaves Crimson Peak feeling like the pushed aside middle child of this trio. This isn’t a call for a sequel, and ‘underrated’ gets tossed around very loosely in modern film discussion. But for cinema as quintessential as Crimson Peak, it just doesn’t feel like it gets enough recognition – especially when the current film industry is seeing less big-budget, R-rated projects heavily steeped in genre.

You can easily trace Crimson Peak‘s short-lived spotlight back to its marketing. The timely October release and scare-heavy trailers sold a classic ‘Haunted House’ horror, when in reality, Del Toro’s film is a Gothic Romance. Set in the early 1900s, an aspiring American writer, Edith Cushing (Mia Wasikowska), is swept away by a promising English baronet, Thomas Sharpe (Tom Hiddleston). They discover true love and marry, leading the young newlywed to her husband’s decaying mansion in the English hills. The age-old manor is slowly, but surely, sinking in red clay – the very source of Sharpe’s wealth. Here Edith is forced to live with her new sister-in-law, Lucille Sharpe (Jessica Chastain), a reserved yet commanding force who works to hide the true nature of the house and its endless secrets. Mystery lingers as untamed lust, envy and greed unfold between the mansion walls, not leaving enough room for the restless red-colored spirits who haunt them. When it snows on this cursed hill, the clay surfaces, making it seem as if the land bleeds. Given more than just red clay rises from beneath, a deeper meaning is given to the place locals call ‘Crimson Peak’.

Just like the clay at the center of its mystery, Crimson Peak is an amalgamation, but of genre. It would be novice to expect anything less from Del Toro. The Gothic elements call back to many classic tales, such as Alfred Hitchcock’s adaption of Rebecca and, of course, Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre. On the horror side, homage is paid to Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining and Jack Clayton’s The Innocents. It’s a devilish blend that only this filmmaker could pull off so beautifully. And oh is Crimson Peak so god damn gorgeous. To contrast common period pieces that go for muted or sepia-toned color palettes, Del Toro turns the saturation on high. The result is an eye-popping picture that heightens the core emotions at play: fear, pain, and more importantly, love. Simply mesmerizing, avid fans will be quick to recognize the same shades of golden yellows, sea greens, and ruby reds found in Del Toro’s other works. It feels right at home in his filmography visually, while packing its own unique punch.

Red, a color mainly associated with passion, here instead intricately represents endless bloodshed. A twist that would suggest Crimson Peak is just as equal a horror film as it is a love story. Regardless of what might have been initially marketed to audiences in 2015, this film is a Gothic Romance from start to finish. Del Toro himself made this distinction clear to the studio from the get-go and repeatedly draws the line whenever given the chance. Yet, much like the rest of his repertoire, Crimson Peak utilizes horror not as a means to an end, but as a means for introspection. Yes, there are classic horror conventions such as jump scares, but it couldn’t be more obvious that Crimson Peak isn’t trying to evoke the same kind of high and dry fear other films heavily rely on. Del Toro is actively trying to get under your skin to achieve a hell of a cathartic viewing experience.

The ghosts of our past and how we let them define us is a core theme in Crimson Peak. The film opens on a flashback in which Edith is visited by the charcoal black ghost of her recently deceased mother. The nature of this visit sets the groundwork for the rest of the narrative. Mother Ghost, dreadful in appearance, doesn’t necessarily come to haunt her child, but to warn her. “Beware of Crimson Peak,” she says. The way Edith takes in this otherworldly occurrence, and those that follow, sets her apart from everyone else in the film. Wherein others flee from or lock away the ghosts of their past, she learns how to wear them on her sleeves – reaching out to the dead multiple times in the story, each attempt more confident than the last. Not too dissimilar from what Del Toro was playing with before, Jaeger pilots confronting past trauma in their quest to defeat Kaiju. At the same time, the transformation that occurs in Crimson Peak when neglected demons consume you from the inside – humans becoming the true monsters of their supernatural tales – would only be amplified in Del Toro’s next film.

Every minute detail coincides with this strategized, therapeutic use of horror. And to the everyday moviegoer trained by common tropes, Crimson Peak is quite deceptive. Just like Mother Ghost at the beginning of the film, the red spirits never manifest with the intent to cause physical harm, but instead to give messages and guide. Red clay seeps down the walls and the mansion ‘breathes’ as the country winds burst in. The house feels alive in the most cinematic sense possible, but the case as to it being ‘horrifying’ is not so black and white. Expertly designed to every inch, there is plenty of beauty to be found in the manor. Much of it has just been corrupted by a debauched affair – keeping this story rooted as a Gothic Romance. Subversion has always been the name of Del Toro’s game, and it’s within Crimson Peak that he uses it to mix genre so well while still staying true to his vision.

Though Crimson Peak saw Del Toro take subversion to a new level, notably with his main character. This film is a key chapter in his overarching legacy; not the first of his works to be lead by a defiant woman, but the first to have the female hero entangled in an unabashed love story. Effortlessly played by the brilliant Mia Wasikowska, the not so damsel in distress at the center of Crimson Peak is one of the most significant characters of Del Toro’s career. In discussing Gothic Romance with The Mary Sue in 2015, Del Toro explains: “This is quintessentially a female genre, that was written with characters that were very complex, very strong. I wanted to make a movie in which to some degree I recuperated and, maybe if possible, enhanced all that.” And enhanced he did for every central male character acts in more distress than Edith ever does, even when she is literally at the edge of death. A more than welcome change of pace that makes for a more resonating film.

Edith’s willingness to tackle the unknown is captivating and her vigor inspiring. But she isn’t absolved of frailty. For someone who comes to terms with facing the dead, her sheer vulnerability to heartbreak and suffering brings great humanity to the role. Hardly recognized, but Edith is one of Del Toro’s most self-reflective protagonists. A marginalized writer, inspired by the great Mary Shelley no less, in the midst of drafting her magnum opus, she immediately faces backlash from her novel’s inclusion of the paranormal. “It’s not [a ghost story]. It’s more a story with a ghost in it. The ghost is just a metaphor… for the past,” she says – giving Crimson Peak a rare Del Toro tongue-in-cheek quality that he utilizes until the credits roll. Meta enough given that the crimson ghosts Edith later encounters are, in fact, echoes of the past, but when looking back on the public’s initial perception of the film, it creates a charming, albeit ironic, wit only found here.

Additionally, when tracing back to Crimson Peak‘s pre-production days, you’ll find something even more profound. Penned by Del Toro and an old collaborator, screenwriter Matthew Robbins; this was the first script completed after the release of Pan’s Labyrinth in 2006. The two first worked together an entire decade earlier on Mimic, which has now gone down as the only film Del Toro has truly lost to studio interference. Del Toro was supposed to direct Crimson Peak in the late 2000s, but along came Hellboy II and his involvement in launching The Hobbit (another R.I.P). Through this hectic time, Del Toro would reunite with Robbins in writing 2010’s Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark, directed by Troy Nixey. However, the two also spent time together writing something else: an adaptation of H.P. Lovecraft’s At the Mountains of Madness.

For those unfamiliar, At the Mountains of Madness is by far one of, if not, the most tragic of this filmmaker’s unrealized projects. After spending years trying to get this dream off the ground, Del Toro had the following to say to Empire in 2010: “It doesn’t look like I can do it. It’s very difficult for the studios to take the step of doing a period-set, R-rated, tentpole movie with a tough ending and no love story.” The payoff of Crimson Peak being a period-set, R-rated, tentpole film only 5 years after that statement couldn’t be sweeter. In the film, Edith is told to insert a love story for the better of her novel. Del Toro is obviously commenting on expectations tied to gender here, but you can’t help but wonder if he’s also referring to one of the biggest thorns in his own writing career – one that also ties back to writing partner Matthew Robbins.

When faced with the question, Del Toro has consistently said that all of his films carry an inherent Mexican touch just from the utter fact that they come from him, and Crimson Peak is no different. Whether if deriving from his personal experiences with tackling genre, both on and off paper, or from actual events tied to his life – Del Toro reimagines two separate ghostly encounters experienced by him and his mother through Edith – this film beams with the very essence of Del Toro’s soul. Perhaps most personified when the marginalized writer gets bloody and fights back with nothing but her pen, a visual that cements this as an important stepping stone in his career. It’s a fascinating through-line, connecting to very different segments of his canon while still defining a clear path. The mending of our wounds and subversion of gender roles is continued from Pacific Rim, while setting a bold new course for delving into unfiltered, mature romance in The Shape of Water.

This is only a fraction of what makes Crimson Peak quintessential Guillermo Del Toro. Gothic Romance has long been part of this auteur’s framework, and you would be remiss not to indulge in all of its glorious melodrama. Even if it isn’t your cup of tea, Del Toro will make it so. Reaching its 5-year anniversary, the film hits stronger than before. The intricate motifs, compelling use of practical effects (complete with the involvement of Del Toro veteran Doug Jones), and cathartic use of horror make for something that has yet to be replicated by a major studio. Its lacking box office performance suggests that maybe the world merely wasn’t ready for this masterwork? But just like its characters, we hold the power to define what comes next. Del Toro himself has previously ranked Crimson Peak as one of the 3 best films he’s ever made, and straight-up called it the most beautiful. Take his word and dive in no strings attached, because who knows when we’ll get another large scale, unapologetic Gothic Romance with this much grandeur.

[carewyncromwell]

Anybody want some more POTC AU? Well, this time we’re getting some focus on our Davy Jones (Finn McGarry @theguythatdraws, based on this concept) and our Commodore “Carey Weasley” (Carewyn Cromwell)! In the original films, their respective roles are on opposite sides of the fence (hell, Davy Jones kills Norrington in the movies damnitDisneyNorringtondeservedbetter >>), and even in this AU, Davy!Finn has some history with Carewyn’s brother Jacob...so how will they interact, when they collide? We’ll just have to wait and see...

17th-18th century pirate ships were -- in a bizarre way -- tiny, floating representative democracies, about 50-60 years before the American Revolution. In a world where nearly all European countries were run by kings chosen by “divine right” and one could usually only “rise above their station” through fighting in wars or through marrying someone of a higher class, pirate ships operated under the idea of “one man, one vote” and their captains both were chosen by popular vote and could be replaced at any time, oftentimes rather peacefully. The Age of Enlightenment sparked by thinkers like John Locke started in the midst of the Golden Age of Piracy and really kicked off as soon as it was over, circa 1730. Those same ideas ended up inspiring both the American and French Revolutions in the later 18th and early 19th centuries...so yeah, in a weird way, you could draw a direct connection between the values and grievances against the monarchy expressed by pirates to the ones expressed by America’s Founding Fathers and the figures of the French Revolution!

Previous part is here, whole tag is here...and I hope y’all enjoy!

x~x~x~x

When the Flying Dutchman returned from Tortuga, the brig was stuffed to the brim with about two hundred prisoners -- and yet, even with that, Cutler Beckett was not pleased. None of those captured were particularly well-known or wanted pirates: instead the group largely consisted of retired pirates, pirates’ families, or other such refugees from the law who hadn’t committed any crimes except through association.

“The pirates refused to be taken alive, Beckett,” spat Jones impatiently. “All of the ones we captured fought to the death rather than be imprisoned.”

“Admirable excuse, Jones,” said Beckett airily, “but at present, we need prisoners to interrogate -- and although you may be comfortable dealing with dead men, they don’t do much good for us that way. Unless you can give us the location of Shipwreck Cove yourself?”

Jones’s eyes flashed dangerously. Alas, he couldn’t answer that question -- and so Beckett railroaded him.

“I’ve come to the conclusion that you need some oversight, Jones -- so from now on, Commodore Weasley and my associate, Patricia Rakepick, will remain on board the Dutchman...just to make sure things run smoothly.”

Jones watched as a line of soldiers escorted the Dead Man’s Chest on board his ship. He had felt the presence of his heart earlier, but it being so close made his chest feel like it was on fire, blazing with wild, storm-like emotions he hadn’t felt in years that made him want to hit something, scream in pain, and burst into tears all at the same time. It was agony, after so long, and it made Jones whirl on Beckett with a murderous expression.

“I will not have that thing on my ship!” he snarled.

“Perhaps you will not, but I will,” said Beckett.

He glanced at Rakepick. “Did the key Jones handed over work?”

Rakepick dangled the key to the Chest off of her finger with a smirk. “Aye -- I checked it before we brought it over.”

“Good.”

Beckett returned his gaze to Jones.

“From here on out, you shall answer to the Commodore and Madam Rakepick for your orders -- all orders, naturally, that come directly from me. Should you not, they will have the authority to discipline any misbehavior.”

Jones’s gaze flickered over Rakepick and then over to the shorter Navy-dressed officer standing perfectly straight beside her.

The Commodore -- yes. This was the one called “Carey Weasley” -- Black Jack Roberts’s younger sister and, as per Jones’s deal with Jack, his future crew member, Carewyn Cromwell. She truly didn’t resemble her brother much at all, Jones thought: it was little wonder no one had made a connection between her and the infamous captain of the Tower Raven. And Jones thought, it was irony at its finest, the thought that one of the people Beckett was using to restrain him was in fact destined to scrape before him instead, within the next two months.

Jones’s gaze returned to Beckett pretty quickly. He snapped his claw at his side as he loomed over the much smaller man.

“The Flying Dutchman sails as its captain commands,” he said fiercely.

“And its captain will sail it as he is commanded!” Beckett shot back, his usually detached and arrogant voice betraying some real aggression for the first time.

Jones’s crew muttered among themselves, both shocked and a bit intimidated. The leader of the East India Trading Company took several steps forward, his eyes boring into Jones with pure contempt.

“I already disposed of your pet,” he said softly. “I would hate to have to also dispose of you so quickly, when you might still have some use.”

Despite saying this, it was clear that Beckett felt no compassion for Jones’s life at all.

“This is no longer your world, Jones. There’s no place in this new world of ours for the immaterial. In short, the immaterial...has become immaterial. Best you learn that quickly, and fill the new role you’ve been dealt.”

Jones loathed having the two red-haired women and their battalion of Navy soldiers aboard. Although a lot of the time neither of them spoke to him, he hated having their eyes on his back and hated knowing that they as agents of Beckett’s were there to be his “leash.”

Rakepick flaunted her authority noticeably more than Carewyn did, dictating their course and openly contradicting Jones’s orders. About the only time Carewyn seemed to speak up was in response to the treatment of prisoners -- while the Flying Dutchman sailed back toward Port Royal, the Commodore frequently checked on the condition of the prisoners in the brig. One of Jones’s sailors even reported to him that he’d seen her bringing one of them a Bible on request. It was odd, considering that every single one of those prisoners was going to hang as soon as they arrived in Port Royal, unless they had “valuable information” to give. Unfortunately the only valuable information that Beckett wanted were the identities of all seven Pirate Lords, the significance of their “Pieces of Eight,” and the location of Shipwreck Cove, the last secret pirate haven on Earth -- and, to every prisoner’s credit, if any of them did know the answers to those questions, they refused to say...perhaps because they knew that it’d be the place the pirates who were able to escape the Dutchman’s attack would go.

Carewyn escorted the prisoners on shore to Port Royal, while Rakepick stayed behind with the troops aboard the Flying Dutchman. When she arrived, she met up with Percy, who had been in charge of the fort in her absence. The hangings started the very next day. A long, long line of prisoners all locked in irons pooled out of the brig and were walked one by one closer to the gallows. In groups of seven, they were sent up to the hangman’s noose -- men, women, even children -- all without trial and without any chance for mercy...all thanks to Lord Beckett, and by extension the King of England who had given him that power. It broke Carewyn’s heart standing on the sidelines with Percy, unable to do a thing to stop it.

Cutler Beckett arrived in Port Royal in the midst of the executions, looking incredibly smug. It took everything in Carewyn to not yank out her pistol and stick in his disgusting, weasel-like face...especially when he brought her and Percy away from the gallows to speak to them privately.

“I admit, Commodore...your plan has not produced the intelligence I wished for,” said Beckett as he considered the map in front of him. Once again, he was playing with a silver piece of eight absently in his right hand. “But it has been a very effective showcase of the British Empire’s new position on piracy. My proclamation would’ve lacked the proper teeth, without such a visible display.”

‘You’re despicable,’ Carewyn thought, hatred pulsing through her heart as a tiny boy was placed up on a barrel at the gallows.

“Thank you, sir,” she said lowly.

Percy glanced at the gallows too, and he winced at the sight of the boy standing on the barrel.

“It’s unfortunate that the information they offered was not useful to you, Lord Beckett,” he said, his voice betraying some hesitance. “I thought that the locations the boy provided for where the Dennis and the Andromeda make berth and the routes the Blackbird uses to plunder ships seemed promising...”

“You think too small, Captain,” said Beckett.

There was a rather arrogant gleam in his eye as he glanced from Percy to Carewyn, the piece of eight lingering between his pointer and middle finger.

“Chasing pirates one at a time would take up more resources and time than I have a desire to use. What I want is to bring order to this world -- and to do that, all pirates must be dealt with...either by being brought into line to serve our interests, or by being disposed of. And to do that, the pirates’ spirit must be decisively crushed.”

He glanced at the piece of eight between his fingers.

“...How much do you two know about the Pirate Brethren Court?”

Percy turned to Carewyn. Her eyes narrowed slightly.

“I’ve heard of it, but I’m afraid I don’t know much.”

That was a bald-faced lie. Charles Cromwell himself had been one of the original Pirate Lords ages ago, before the curse no doubt interfered with his old duties and the Mediterranean was taken over by someone else.

“They are -- from what I understand -- representatives, who only gather whenever pirates as a whole need united leadership,” said Beckett. “They are a Parliament for piracy -- one that selects a ‘King’ to represent them all, in times of crisis.”

Percy frowned in confusion. “A King chosen by the people? I’ve never heard of such a thing...”

“Pirates do not believe in divine right,” Carewyn explained. “Even when it comes to their captains, the crew can vote to replace them at any time.”

Percy turned to Beckett. “...Then do you think the pirates will attempt to convene this ‘Brethren Court,’ in response to the attack on Tortuga?”

‘That’s definitely what I hope...’ Carewyn thought to herself.

Beckett nodded. “I am assured of it.”

Carewyn’s eyes drifted away, back up to the line of chained prisoners still being forced up onto the gallows.

“If they were to convene this ‘Court’ of theirs and select a King, my Lord,” she said softly, “it sounds like they could be a greater threat than ever. Individual pirates might be more expensive to chase one at a time...but if they were somehow able to unite, they could create a formidable army.”

Beckett raised his eyebrows. “I did not think you would fear a War, Commodore.”

“Not at all,” said Carewyn. “If the British Navy could stand toe to toe with the Spanish and French, we should more than be a match for a smattering of rag-tag galleons -- especially with the funding of the East India Trading Company behind us...”

Her eyes narrowed a bit more as they swiveled over to Beckett’s face.

“...But...if you were to advocate such a mission, you’d be at the head of the charge for it. Its success or failure would rest on your head more than any of ours...regardless of any efforts we might make to protect your reputation.”

Beckett’s lips curled up in a smile that held no warmth.

“Your concern is appreciated, Commodore Weasley,” he said, and his eyes seemed to gleam upon her. “But I assure you...I’ve waited long enough, to get the revenge I’m owed...”

He turned his focus to the piece of eight coin in his hand.

“After the injuries I’ve sustained, thanks to one of these ‘Pirate Lords,’” he said in a very soft, cold voice, “I have no intention of letting them live in peace. Wherever they decide to make their final stand...I shall be there to meet and destroy them.”

He slammed the coin down into the table with a slap of his hand, making both Carewyn and Percy flinch despite themselves.

After the hangings were complete, Carewyn returned to the Flying Dutchman, once again leaving Percy in Port Royal. The youngest Weasley brother was troubled by the thought of Carewyn being on board Jones’s ship, and she tried to reassure him as best as she was able.

“Captain Jones has to follow Lord Beckett’s orders just as much as we do,” she said softly. “Regardless of who he is, he’s been impressed into our service...it wouldn’t be in his best interest, to fight against that.”

Percy, however, didn’t look very reassured. His gaze kept flickering up to the Dutchman, even though he tried hard to look Carewyn in the face.

The Commodore offered her surrogate younger brother a smile, resting a hand on his shoulder and giving it a squeeze.

“It’ll be okay,” she reassured him gently.

Percy stared at Carewyn for a long moment, his brown eyes dark with emotion. Then, very abruptly, he actually threw out his arms, grabbing hold of her and pulling her into a full hug.

“Percy?” said Carewyn, completely taken aback.

Percy didn’t say anything -- instead he just gave her a squeeze, his chin resting on her shoulder. Although he was facing away from her, Carewyn could hear a faint shakiness in the breath he took.

“Come back safely,” he mumbled, his voice harsher than normal as he tried to keep his composure. “You hear me? Come back just as you are now.”

Carewyn’s blue eyes filled with pain as she realized what was going through Percy’s head. Yes, he was scared for her safety, but it wasn’t just because he cared about her -- it was also because, with the loss of Charlie and Bill, his real brothers...she was the only family Percy had left, here in Port Royal. The only sibling he could rely on, for emotional support.

Her heart filling with compassion and affection for the young Captain, she brought her arms around Percy tightly in return, resting a hand on the back of his head and cradling it as though she were his mother.

“We will see each other again soon, Perce,” she murmured in his ear. “I promise.”

After she and Percy parted ways, Rakepick met Carewyn at the top of the ramp heading up to the deck of the Flying Dutchman. The older woman gave Carewyn another long, analytical look as she came up on deck, which Carewyn returned with a much shorter, faintly suspicious look. She didn’t like how Rakepick looked at her. It just made Carewyn feel like she knew something...but Carewyn frankly had no idea what that “something” was. One thing Carewyn did take note of, however, was the chain she wore around her neck and tucked under the low collar of her red jacket -- the chain that no doubt held the key to the Dead Man’s Chest.

That night, after all of the officers went to sleep, Carewyn entered the Dutchman’s captain’s cabin and ordered one of her lieutenants to send Davy Jones to her. Jones was not pleased to be summoned to his own cabin, least of all by the Commodore Beckett assigned to “watch” him.

“I cannot be called like some mongrel pup,” he snapped.

“Yet you came,” said Carewyn coolly. “I appreciate the promptness.”

Jones looked incredibly surly. The ginger-haired Commodore looked at her lieutenant, who was trying hard not to cower in Jones’s shadow.

“Go ahead and return to your patrol down below with the Chest, Lieutenant,” she told him. “I’ll take it from here.”

The scared young man gave a salute and then quickly left the room. Once the door was closed, Carewyn turned up at Jones with a much grimmer look on her face, her arms crossed behind her back in standard “Naval” fashion.

“...Captain Jones...Lord Beckett has ordered that we seek out Shipwreck Cove.”

Jones’s lip curled. “I believe I’ve already made it clear that I don’t know where the damned Brethren Court meets.”

“I know you don’t. And I’m glad for it.”

Jones’s eyebrows knit together suspiciously. Carewyn’s eyes flickered absently over to the door as she listened for a moment to make absolutely sure no one was listening it.

“...I don’t want Beckett to find Shipwreck Cove,” she said lowly. “I don’t want him to send Navy ships after us once we’ve found it and destroy it. Just as I frankly don’t want you under Beckett’s rule at all.”

Jones gave a loud snort. “Haha! And I suppose this is all out of the goodness of your heart, this...sympathy you deign to spare such a pathetic wretch as me?”

His eyes hardened as he bore down on her, dwarfing her with his height.

“I don’t need your pity, Carewyn Cromwell,” he said very coldly.

Carewyn was visibly taken aback.

“Oh, aye,” said Jones with a smirk, “I know your name. A ferryman of the damned knows everyone’s true names.”

Despite how taken aback and faintly disconcerted Carewyn was, however, she didn’t seem intimidated. Instead she kept her posture straight and tall and looked Jones straight in the eye.

“Then you know why I don’t want Beckett to succeed,” she said seriously. “A lot of people I love are probably on their way to Shipwreck Cove right now. As much as I know a battle will be imminent, I want them to initiate it. I don’t want Beckett to get there before they’re ready.”

“So you aim to make a deal with me, then, Miss Commodore?” asked Jones, raising an eyebrow in amusement.

“No,” said Carewyn firmly. “I just want to set you free.”

Now it was Davy Jones’s turn to look startled.

“I don’t believe in anyone being impressed into service against their will -- least of all by a captor as cruel and despicable as Cutler Beckett,” the Commodore said, feeling glad to finally let loose her bile a bit. “And if getting your heart back to you so that you can do as you please makes it that much harder for Beckett to destroy Shipwreck Cove...all the better.”

“Ah...so you think to trade my assurance that I won’t attack Shipwreck Cove for your services,” said Jones coolly. “Well, I hate to break it to you -- but I have no love for the Brethren Court myself, since they took all ownership of the seas for themselves. I daresay your dear granddaddy told you all about that...”

“‘The seas be ours and by the powers, where we will, we’ll roam’ -- yes, I know the song,” said Carewyn. “But that doesn’t matter. I’m not asking you to help the Brethren Court. I’m not asking you to help me with anything. I plan to set you free whether you want to be nice to me or not.”

Jones’s eyes narrowed as they flickered over Carewyn’s face, analyzing her critically. At last he raised his claw the way a man might raise a hand, but its size made it so it came within inches of her face.

“...Let me make sure I have this right, missie,” he said lowly. “You’re offering your assistance in restoring my heart to me...without making any sort of deal with me that benefits you?”

Carewyn nodded, not flinching at all in response to Jones’s claw getting into her personal space.

“Because you being free helps me, as it is -- by making things harder for Beckett.”

Jones considered Carewyn for a long moment. Whatever he had been expecting from the sister of Black Jack Roberts, it certainly wasn’t this. Even from a sanctimonious Navy officer, he didn’t expect this level of...well, for lack of a better word, decency...especially for someone who had showed her no kindness and she owed absolutely nothing to. He never would’ve admitted it aloud...but it impressed him.

‘Seems a bit of a shame that such a decent person should be fated for a lifetime of service aboard my ship,’ Jones thought to himself.

Perhaps because his heart was so close to him, the thought made some reluctance and guilt pick at the inside of his chest.

Pushing the feeling aside, the captain of the damned lowered his claw again. Then very, very slowly his tentacled face spread into a fuller, brighter smirk.

“...What do you have in mind?”

[jojoreadwhat]

Don't build me up just to let me down | b.h. x fem!reader

a/n; okay so this isn’t this preview I posted about (still working on it but I keep getting other ideas for more pieces) I wanted to give you something to keep you on your toes. I tagged as many (tumblr has a limit, sry) from my last Ben teases as a thank you for being supportive, even when I’m all over the place. y’all are amazing ✨

prompt; fem!reader is in love with Ben and hes blind to it.

words; 2k

mentions; joe mazzello

this tale includes foul language, angst, which may lead to kisses and fluffiness.

inspiration;

You sat in the back of Rooney’s, about a block away from work with your best friend, Ben. Talking over drinks while waiting for your food to be prepared.

Venting about the three days of work you’ve endured, “I swear, if Elizabeth places another assignment on my desk. My face is going to be on the news.” You harped, taking a sip of your soda pop.

Ben chuckled at you, flashing his pearly whites behind his plump smirk. “Says the girl who can barely kill a spider.” You stuck your tongue at the stunning blonde fellow sitting across you in the booth.

“I can be a tough gal when I want to be!” Defending yourself, “Sure.” He winked at you, rolling your eyes to his words. “Just wait till 11pm, I’ll prove you wrong, alright.”

Ben nodded his head, reassuringly with sarcasm spread across his face as he reached for his phone next to him on the table, passing some time.

You and Ben have been known each other for about three years now. The both of you met during a gallery opening for a mutual friend of yours. Since then you were inseparable, especially when your schedules were obliging. Whenever Ben was back from filming movies, you were around each other. Lunches together, were hanging out, texting non-stop and even being each other’s date to any event either of you had. You went to each other for everything, talked about everything to anything. You were pretty lucky, who knew a comment on a photograph would give you, your best friend.

Still waiting on your food to be brought out, you noticed Ben was up to something as well. His plump pink lips, curling upwards as his tongue poked a bit, grazing against his top lip, making it glisten.

“And what are we smiling about Benjamin?” You broke his distraction, his green eyes meeting yours as you wiggled your eyebrows, tauntingly.

Ben’s cheeks turned a shade a red, rolling his eyes before they found yours again. “Cecilia.”

Cecilia? A new girl? You thought first.

What about Annie?

Since you’ve known Ben, he’s had a little track record for being a loose cannon. When you met, he had gotten out of a long term relationship and hasn’t had a proper girlfriend since.

In a way you were kinda okay with that, because selfishly, you were hoping it would be you.

You have a weak smile, “Ah, she sounds pretty.” Trying to keep the conversation going, hoping he wasn’t noticing the knot twisting in your stomach by the look on your face.

From the beginning, you always had feelings for Ben. You thought you were going to start dating by the way things were. That was until he opened up about his last relations and his want to stay single for a while. You respected that and that’s how the friendship came more into view.

Of course, you became too close for comfort, many would say. You had no problems with cuddles, staying each other’s beds after late nights of drinking or binge watching movies and shows. At first it was just friendly, how you guys worked. Shortly when you noticed your feelings weren’t so platonic, you didnt say anything about them, you didn’t put an end to the currents. You kept the little perks going because it made Ben feel like more than a friend.

Ben went on about Cecilia, how they met, what she looked like as he flashed his phone at you. She was pretty, just like you said about her name. All common talk and you took it as the good friend you are, listening to him gush.

“She’s really nice,” looking down at his phone, locking it up. “We have a date on Saturday night, it’s our first.”

That’s when you weren’t okay with it anymore. That same knot pulled to its limits within you. Ben and you were supposed to go out on Saturday night. He was going to be your date.

Caught up in your thoughts, your feelings, you didn’t realize the blonde fellow was still talking to you. “Y/N?” He called, looking at you weary.

“Hm?” You hummed.

“You alright, love?” Ugh, he was only making it worse. Slowly you nodded, “Yeah, um. Go on?”

He was still peering at you, strangely. “Any advice?”

He was asking you advice on his date? He never did this before, ever. What was going on? You felt overwhelmed.

Shrugging, “Just be yourself.” not sure what else to say except what you should’ve told him from the beginning. You looked down at your phone, a clear screen but it was quickest get away.

“I’ve gotta go. Elizabeth needs me.” You announced, standing up from the booth. Ben squinted his eyebrows to you, “is everything alright? Our food hasn’t come yet.” Sincerely worried by you.

You shook your head, grabbing your coat, fumbling through your purse for a few dollars. “Lunch is on me, I’m sorry, Ben.” Placing the bills on the table before you shimmied out of the booth. Without a goodbye.

“I’ll text you.” You heard Ben yell as you reached the door and on to work you went.

+

It’s been a week since Ben has heard from you. He’d text you, in the beginning he would get one worded replies to then nothing. He called you, going straight to voicemail. He drove by your apartment and no answer. Your work wasn’t much help either, saying you in meetings and such like you told them to do. He was really worried about you.

Ben sat on his sofa with a beer on the coffee table and a controller in hand as Joe and him played FIFA.

“So a week?” Joe questioned, his eyes still on the tv. “That’s really unusual of y/n.”

Ben nodded, leaning to grab a sip of his beverage, “I don’t know what happened. I last seen her for lunch and she left abrupt because of work”

Joe knew you the same amount of time Ben did since Ben introduced you two. Unlike Ben, Joe was quite aware of your crush on Ben. He had found out at a party way back when, the stares you gave Ben were a dead giveaway. He wasn’t going to let you live it down until you told him that Ben didn’t know and this was “something you needed to work out on your own.” You quoted to him.

He paused the game, “Alright?” Ben raised a brow, looking at his red headed friend for explanations.

“Let’s figure this out.” Joe said, clearing his throat after a swig of his beer. “What happened during lunch?”

Ben sat up straight now, his hands meeting in the openness of his lap. Trying to think back to the last Wednesday he seen you.

“Ehm, we talked about her job. Elizabeth was putting a lot on her plate.” He began, Joe listened carefully. He knew that wasn’t a culprit. “Go on.”

Ben closed his eyes for a second, “oh” he spoke, “I talked about an upcoming date with Cecilia.”

Joe smiled, toothlessly. “Bingo.”

Ben looked at him, confused. “What do you mean “bingo”?” Joe then placed his hand on his friends shoulder.

“It’s not for me to explain. But I know that’s a reason why she left in a hurry.” He explained, “She and I quote, has something to tell you that she needs to tell you herself. Go try and see if she’s home again.”

+

After the confusing conversation with Joe, Ben jumped into his car and headed to your apartment. Still trying to figure out what you had to explain, it was eating at him but he wasn’t going to let this go. He needed to know what was going on.

You were cooped up in living room, snuggled in a plush throw, eating popcorn and watching a marathon of the office by yourself when you heard a banging at your door. 

Spooked, you muted your tv and rised from the sofa. Slowly making your way to the door and picking up a vase.

“Y/N, open up!” It was Ben, “I know you’re in there.”

You sighed to yourself, placing the vase back where it was before heading to the door and unlocking it.

The blonde, dressed in grey joggers and hoodie that match with slippers. Stood on your front step, staring at you with his green eyes almost glowing from the little light hanging above outside.

“Hi?” You greeted, not knowing how to exactly redeem your week absence. Ben’s brows raised, like he was surprised to even hear you speak, let alone answer the door in the first place.

“Can I come in?” Asking, you looked at the ground before you nodded. Backing up with the door in front of you as he let himself in.

You closed the door after he had entered, following him to the living room. It was quiet for the most part, watching Ben looking over the screen of the tv and the current state of your living room as you were cozied up for a night in.

“Do you want something to-”

“An explanation, yes.” He commanded, then. Looking right at you now, you folded your arms in front of your chest. Closing your open sweater, tighter to you.

“There’s nothing to explain? I’ve been busy, I guess.”

Ben didn’t by it for a minute, looking at you dumbfounded, briefly. Knowing you well enough to know you were lying. “Bull shit.”

Your eyes shot up at him from his words, Ben had a potty mouth but nothing ever directed towards you. “What’s going on? Everyone seems to know more than I do.”

Raising your brow, “What do you mean?” You asked, trying to figure out what was going on compared to what you thought he was here for.”

“Joe told me you had something to say to me that needed to come from you.” Your mouth dropped, you were going to kill Joe the next time you seen him.

Immediately you pushed back your hair, stressed out by being put on the spot. “So what’s going on?” He repeated.

You bit your lip, looking down at your feet before looking up at him again, his green eyes searching every inch of you for answers through your silence. Sighing, you rolled your eyes.

“I was mad.” You began, folding your arms across your chest again, standing at the end of your couch as Ben stood almost in front of you, near the coffee table. His brows furrowed, “Why?”

“Because of your date. I didn’t want it to happen. You were supposed to hang out with me that day.” Feeling the brim of your eyes becoming moistened. Ben still had a confused look on his face, “Is that it?” His deep raspy voice asking.

You looked to the ground between you, shaking your head. “No,”

“I was more upset because it wasn’t me.” You admitted, “I wasn’t Cecilia. I wasn’t the ‘date’ you were gushing over. I’ve been pissed at every date you have,” you felt tears steaming your cheeks now, looking up at him.

“But I’ve been so in love with you, that I’ve allowed it to just hang over. Then you asked me for advice and you never do that. I knew this girl was going to be something for you if you were going all that length to impress her.”

Your hand met your mouth now, feeling the wetness of your face from crying as you spoke. Feeling relieved, scared, in disbelief that all of those words hit the air finally.

Ben didn’t say anything, he didn’t know what to say because he wasn’t sure how to explain that he’s been waiting to hear you say that all this time. He was just as in love with you, maybe even more than you could imagine. He wanted nothing more than those girls to be you, some of them were just dinner dates because his feelings were too unbearable to want to be with anyone else. So unbearable that he called off the date with Cecilia moments after you walked out of the restaurant.

You stared at Ben gazing right back at you. You thought your heart was going to explode by the minutes passing in silence. You couldn’t tell what he he was thinking right now but it was eating you alive.

“Please say something.” You muttered, still searching him. You watched as his face straightened, shaking his head. “No”

You felt your heart drop to your feet. “No?” You questioned, he gripped his bottom lip between his teeth.

“No.” He said again, getting closer to you as your eyes never left his. “Because I rather do this.”

Before you could register what he meant, Ben wrapped his hands around your face and crashed his lips upon yours. You didn’t kiss back right away, but when one hand slipped to the middle of your back. Your lips moved in sync of his, feeling warm, soft against yours. Reaching up with your hand to his neck and fingers wrapping themselves in his golden locks as your lips swell under his. Completely lost in your sense, trying to realize this wasn’t a dream you were experiencing.

Ben pulled away, still close as you felt his breath featherlight as your lips as you caught air. “You alright?”

You nodded, your hands still in his hair as you looked in his eyes, still feeling like a dream.

“As long as you keep doing that. I will be.” Ben dropped his head slightly, chuckling at your breathless words, meeting your eyes again. Before his lips met yours once again.

tag list - @chocolatekisses8 @onceuponadetectivedemigod @blitchen @fairestkillerqueenofall @deakydeacs @bamfkurt @queen-turtle-boiii @bashfulshy @prettylittlegoldfish @spicyarreagaa @jonesyaddiction @strawberry-blondie @m90schick @deadlyaffairs @ihatethespacebars @rocknrollqueenie @winters0ul @grapesondolan @chubbybunnybenny @borhapwifey @pamacs-macs @rogerinahardy1 @gaycarolz @slytherinxval @crazylittlethingcalledtina @oxuminaa @mrsobrien-stilinski @the-southernbelle @rogerina-hardy @verar1 @flapjackjackass @oofsweetgg @jessicaa-the-weirdo @shi-tmp3 @sunflower653348 @michael-is-bae @cupcake09cup @randomfandomshitposts @ashadoresbenhardy @lilpxnda @muscleshirtgamewasstrong @coincidence-ithinknots-blog @choc-chip-chick @roger-taylors-drumsticks

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Rumor Has It {7}**

Chris Evans x Famous Reader Uriah “Riah” Tyler

Warning: Plot, Cursing, Mentions/talk about miscarriage, HEAVY Angst, Moderate SMUT, Grief, Slight NSFW

Word Count: 7.1K

Summary: You and Chris have been married for four years after a whirlwind romance. You are both happy and trying to navigate marriage in the public eye while balancing your successful careers. In the entertainment industry, not everything is as it seems, the flash of a camera lens impairs vision. As scandal and flashing lights put a strain on your once fairytale marriage is it possible your Hollywood marriage can stand the test of the rumor mill?

**Inspired by a video seen of Chris and his co-star Ana De Armas on their press tour for Knives Out at TIFF where she kept touching his chest and face standing about five inches apart.

**Loosley Edited/Proofread**

**Very Interactive**

Thank you guys for reading!!!! If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG. 😊 ❤️  ❤️

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

How do you sleep when you’ve single-handedly destroyed your marriage? You don’t. You wander aimlessly around the house thinking of should-haves and could haves. You think of every little thing that you did that was not right. You worry that because your hair is brown, and your man likes redheads that you were doomed to fail. You worry that you are the root of your problems and you worry that you’ll wake up to hear that your husband had driven into a light pole and died because of you.

  So, what did you do? You called him every thirty minutes but every time you called the response was the same, radio silence. He didn’t reject your calls; he simply just didn’t answer them. To you that was worse, it meant he saw your calls coming in but chose to ignore you. You found his secret stash of weed and decided you’d use it to mellow you out. You only meant to smoke one joint, but by the time nine rolled around you were on your second one and watching reruns of The Cosby Show.

   “Why can’t I have a marriage like the Huxtables?” Your cell phone rang, and you jumped from the couch and frantically looked around for where you could have put it. You looked in the kitchen, the living room, the hallway, and still no phone. By the time you found it in the bathroom on the sink, you’d missed two calls. It rang again, and you quickly answered it.

“Hello? The sound of your agent’s voice came through over the phone, and you groaned.

   “No, Shane, it’s fine. No, I--fine. I’m in Boston, so send it to this fax. Okay.” You hung up the phone and groaned. You’d been on go for months, and right now you just wanted to shut everything and everyone down. The last thing you wanted to do was look over yet another prospective script that would sign you to a movie that would take you away from your marriage, or what was left of it. You could hear the fax machine going off and dropped back onto the couch and back to your depressive thoughts and your tears.

  Without knowing you dozed off and woke up to your phone ringing. As quickly as you could, you eased onto your elbows and answered your phone without checking the ID.

   “Hello?”

   No voice came through. It was dead silent, so silent it made you think it was either spam or a bad connection. “Hello?”

   Then you heard a sigh. “It’s me.” You sprang up to a seated position and pressed the phone to your ear as if that would improve things. Relief flooded through you. Relief that he was okay, relief he didn’t sound infuriated like last night. You didn’t dare speak. You didn’t know what to say, and you were afraid that if you said anything else, it would set him off. You knew you were on thin ice. “Can you meet me somewhere?” His voice was low, raw and gruff. He sounded like he did when he either hadn’t slept or had just woken, the deep voice that always made you shiver. He sighed again. “Uriah.”

   “Yes, yes, anywhere.” Chris took a deep breath then released it and recited an address that you jotted down. One that was no familiar to you. “Where is this?”

   “Pack a bag.” That was the last thing he said before he ended the call. You sat there staring at the address you’d written that you knew was at least thirty minutes away. You were confused, and for a split second, an irrational fear filled you. Pushing it to the side you went upstairs to pack a bag which consisted of a few changes of clothes, your toiletries, and everything you needed your hair, face, and body. By the time you’d packed, taken a quick shower and dressed thirty minutes had passed then you were off.

   After fifteen minutes of driving, you realized you were leaving the hustle and bustle of the city and its closest neighboring towns and your interest piqued further. Once you got on the freeway you were confused as to where in the world the GPS was leading you. Traffic wasn’t bad, and you were grateful for it, you hated being stuck in traffic which is why most of the time you had a driver driving you. As you looked around at the other drivers each lost in their own thoughts and current situations you missed the simple life. The life you led before you got discovered and signed to Elite. You used to be able to walk around the city no hat, no sunglasses and just walk through the crowds with no one stopping you or snapping your picture. You used to take the subway and the passengers pressed into the overcrowded train like sardines in a tin would be none the wiser because you were just a regular girl. Now all that was different and with your rising star came a slew of other challenges.

   When you’d met Chris, you were in your third year with Elite and had just premiered your breakout role in your first big-budget film. You were in Paris for the Victoria’s Secret show where you killed the runway the night before. You saw him across the restaurant gleamed in candlelight and his beard and hair looked auburn. You found yourself mesmerized by the way his eyes uniquely shone. When his eyes met yours, you almost choked on the white wine you were sipping. Everything and everyone around you faded away, and you lived a lifetime in the seconds your eyes were transfixed on each other.

   Your attention was drawn from him, and for the remainder of the dinner with your respective parties you both occasionally glanced at each other and smiled whenever your eyes met again. You were the first to leave. The following day you saw each other in the market. You were deliberating between a bouquet of lavender or bunches of pink tulips, and you saw him across the flower cart inspecting some sunflowers. He hadn’t noticed you yet, and you took the opportunity to get a good look of him in daylight. You immediately thought he was gorgeous. You saw him smiling and wondered if he knew you were gawking at him, so you busied yourself with making your decision. His proximity was hard to get over. By the time you looked up he was gone. The flower cart owner handed you a perfect, pink Peony then nodded off to the side where he was standing. You took the flower, smelled it and nodded your head then walked off, away from him.

   A week of chance encounters ensued, and every time you were sent a perfect pink peony. You began to wonder if he just walked around with one in case he saw you. Every time you got a flower you always walked off. By the end of the week, he finally approached you in the open field that overlooked the Eiffel tower carrying a full bouquet of peonies and a core melting smile. By the time the sun rose the next day the two of you still had yet to go back to your hotels or tire of each other. Instead, you sat on the steps of one of the many bridges in Paris and shared a box of macaroons. Two days later, the two of you were in bed together, and two days after that you were off exploring every island and almost every country in Europe, Asia, and the Caribbean.

  He’d asked you to marry him in Paris at the same restaurant you’d first laid eyes on each other and the next day married on the Eiffel tower with the perfect view of the sunset, precisely four months to the day you first saw each other. It was perfect. Love, at first sight, was possible, you lived it. A loud honk broke you out of your memories. You saw a long stretch of road before you; you were holding up traffic. Quickly you continued on your route and tried not to worry that you wouldn’t share any more days of happiness with him.

   Another twenty minutes passed, and you were surrounded by trees that were lush with leaves that were changing between green, orange, and red. The way the sun caught the foliage made your breath hitch. You loved the countryside. When you turned onto a stretch of land that was surrounded by nothing but trees and wood you began to worry. Had he brought you all the way out here so your screaming wouldn’t draw prying eyes? Did he bring you all the way here to serve you with divorce papers? Could he have had them drafted up that quickly?

   “You have arrived,” the monotonous sound of your GPS announced. Before you was a jaw-dropping house dropped in the middle of the most beautiful piece of land you’d seen in a long time. You slowly approached the house gaping at its beauty, from the way it was built it looked like a farmhouse. About twenty feet away was a huge barn and miles of land. As you rolled to a stop in front of the house you stared out the window to the left out to the property, it looked well maintained and so peaceful. After killing the engine, you stepped out as the breeze picked up. You took a deep breath and enjoyed the smell of country air. You slowly walked along the dirt and gravel path and remembered a conversation from long ago.

   Chris’ voice started the memory; “Dream house, and go, don’t leave any detail out.”

   “Okay, no detail left out. No one around for miles, I want to scream your name as loud as I want without neighbors wondering what is going on.”

   “Or wondering how I’m ruining your cervix.” The two of you giggled like school children who were doing something naughty in secret.

   “Okay, no one around for miles. What else?”

   “Um, trees, lots of trees, lots of green as far as the eye can see.”

   “Uh-huh, so seclusion. Next?”

  “A dirt and gravel driveway. I don’t know why just something about it screams traditional.”

You were standing there staring at the dirt and gravel driveway completely lost to what was happening around you. You spun around to gaze out to the open view and all the trees you could ever want, and there was no one within eye view. Pressing your fingers to your lips you heard the trunk shut. Chris stood there in a pair of worn dark jeans that had patches of paint, a worn blue t-shirt that hugged his biceps like a second skin and boots that looked to have been put to the test to see if Timberlands were the most durable as they claimed.

   From the corner of your eye, the flower bushes caught your eye.

   “Huge flower bushes in every color imaginable, pinks, blues, purples, reds, flowers everywhere.”

   Your eyes scanned the exterior of the house, going over every detail. As you did your voice from your memory rang out as it listed every detail that you wanted. Every single one of those details your eye fell to and you became weaker and weaker by each one. You pressed the palm of your hand to your stomach and tried to calm the butterflies.

   “Wh—Wha—What is, what is this? Wh-where are we?”

  He didn’t answer; instead he nudged his head as if to say come on then walked ahead to the smooth terra cotta stone walkway that led to the double French doors. You almost fell to your knees and bawled. Chris opened the door and walked inside, but you stopped at the threshold complete frozen with the sight before you.

   “What else?”

   “Dark wood floors, floor to ceiling windows everywhere, twenty-foot-high ceilings. An amazing stone fireplace, wood beams.”

   You slowly walked inside and looked around at everything you wanted. When you got to the living room, you were floored staring at the stone fireplace. The stones went from the beautiful dark wood all the way to the high ceiling where you saw wood beams that matched the floor. On the ledge of the fireplace were two blown-up pictures, one a photo of you and Chris from your wedding in Paris and another from your wedding in Boston. Fresh tears sprang to your eyes as you stared at the documentation of the happiest days of your life.

   When you turned, you were alone. You walked out the room and marveled at everything you saw, pictures and paintings lined the walls to give the home the lived-in cozy feeling despite its grandiose size. You stopped unfolding the kitchen before you and what a kitchen it was.

   “I want windows everywhere to look out to the view of the beautiful land that isn’t populated. I want to feel the peace from the outside in.”

   You gasped sliding the door and stepping out to nature itself. Fall was quickly approaching, and this view and this house fully embraced it and gave you every advantage to really enjoy it. You glanced around at everything from the eight-burner stove, to the butcher's block island and the booth like seating in the corner. It was perfect, everything you’d wanted.

   Over the next twenty or so minutes you took in every room of the house slowly marveling at everything you saw. Every detail was as you’d described to him years ago down to the paint color on the wall and even the balcony in the master bedroom and the tub in the master bath. As you scanned the upstairs, you noticed a piece of paper on four of the doors. The first was labeled with “little princess #1”, then the second read “little princess #2”, the next said “little prince #1”, and the fourth said “little prince #2”. You both had said you wanted at least four children and you’d call them little princesses and princes.

   “You’re my queen Dragonfly, of course they’ll be princes and princess.”

  You hugged your midsection again and realized why you’d done it so often over the last months. You were missing a piece of yourself. Leaning against one of the walls, you allowed yourself to cry as quietly as you could. You’d pushed it aside for months refusing to acknowledge it, refusing to let the grief consume you. You’d been successful and had been able to work through it, but now you saw you hadn’t worked through anything. After drying your eyes, you continued walking and saw another door with a sign on it that said, “Oops prince/princess #1”, and a door across from it that read “Oops prince/princess #2”. You laughed through the tears.

   “I can assume there will be at least one surprise baby, I mean it’s us,” Chris joked.

   By the time you made it back downstairs, and to the backyard, you were sure you were going to pass out. You stood there staring out to the greenhouse that was perfectly set up. He knew you had a knack for gardening when you had the time, and you’d said you wanted a space for it that the cold Boston winter wouldn’t ruin. You closed your eyes and took several relaxing breaths. By the time you’d found some semblance of calm you felt him behind you and every nerve in your body fired off.

   “I promise Dragonfly. I will give you everything you want and more.”

   You found some courage and turned; he was leaning against the stone of the house and looking out to the distance with his arms crossed before his chest.

   “What is this?” You knew, but you kind of didn’t know why.

   “It was supposed to be a gift.”

   “My birthday is not for weeks--.”

   “I know it wasn’t meant to be for your birthday. It was supposed to be for the day we found out we were going to be parents. It was going to be a gift for that.” You felt even more horrible. It was your fault he didn’t have the baby he could see in one of those rooms. You looked down and tried to avoid his eyes.

   “Chris, I’m sorry, it’s my fault--.”

   He quickly closed the distance between you and wrapped his arms around you in a comforting embrace. You sighed out and instantly felt as if every piece of stress and worry melted from your being. You were reluctant to touch him afraid that as soon as you tried, he’d move. You inhaled his masculine scent that reminded you of all the best parts about fall, apples, leaves, pumpkins, and spices. He also smelled of the cologne you had made especially for him last Christmas. You nuzzled your cheek to his chest and wanted to stay there forever, no need to food, water or anything else.

   Chris pulled away, then sighed out. “Let’s talk.” He walked further out onto the back patio, and he sat down and waited for you. It was time to face the music, time to bear your heart and soul to your husband. Taking a deep breath, you sat in one of the rocking chairs, rocking chairs you’d specifically said you’d wanted on the back patio to look out to the beauty that mother nature gifted. You didn’t know how to start, didn’t know what to say, didn’t even know if he wanted you to say anything.

   “You could have told me, Uriah. You didn’t have to go through that alone. You shouldn’t have gone through it alone.” The gentleness of his words brought the tears, and there was nothing you could do to stop them, so they fell freely. It was hard. The first week was the hardest. Your doctor had told you there would be blood, but you weren’t prepared for how much blood there was. Then when the clots began passing you lost it and cried for days without getting out of bed. The memories flooded you, and you did your best not to bawl out loud. You cleared your throat and blew out the breath you held.

   “I should have told you; I know. I’m sorry. It broke my heart, and I only wanted it for a few hours. You’ve wanted this for years. I thought if it broke me, then it would do far worse to you.”

  “What’s the rest of it?” You scoffed; he knew you well.

   Taking a deep breath, you looked to him and saw he was already watching you with a solemn expression. You knew he was holding back his grief trying to be there for you. You fell in love with him because of his compassion for others, how he always put others before him. You wanted to be open with him, wanted to trust in the possibility that he’d married you for more than the prospect of children, and that if you couldn’t give them he wouldn’t leave you. As you opened your mouth to confess it all the thought flashed into your head that he might very well blame you for the miscarriage. He might grow to resent you for it. You knew you already blamed yourself.

   “I didn’t want you to look at me differently.” It was a half-truth.

   “Different? How?” His full attention was on you now with his body turned as well.

   “I don’t know Chris, just different. I don’t know what I was thinking then.” Chris sat quietly studying you. You felt as if any second he would see through you and call your bullshit and the end of your marriage. You knew how much he valued truth, and honesty and you’d fucked that up several times. You knew he was at his wit’s end with you.

   Sighing you took it there; “I didn’t want you to blame me and hate me for it.” Chris quickly crossed to you and sank to the floor before you, clasping both your hands in his oversized ones.

   “Blame you? God Riah how could I ever blame you for this? You didn’t do anything for this to happen. Look at me, Riah.” You lifted your head and glanced into his eyes that were filled with so much emotion. Fresh tears rolled down your cheeks, and Chris quickly wiped them away. “I don’t blame you. I’m angry that you didn’t tell me. We’re in this marriage together, we both said vows before God, we made promises to each other, and I meant them with everything in me. I love you dragonfly.” Your nickname made more tears flow, and a sob escaped your throat.

   “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” the words spilled out of you amidst your sobs. Chris pulled you into his strong arms. You finally released all the pain you’d held in over the last month and a half. He didn’t speak or move; he just let you cry, and it was what you needed.

   Twenty minutes later, Chris’ shirt was soaked with your tears and snot, but he didn’t seem to care. You pulled away from him, your body finally free of the violent spasms from your sobs. You wiped your face then sunk your hands into your hair and held it down then stood and stepped away from him. “I’m gonna clean myself up.” Without another word you walked inside to find one of the bathrooms. Once inside the half bath in the hall your reflection scared you. Your eyes were red and puffy as was the majority of your face and your nose had trace smears of snot. After you washed your face with cold water you used one of the hand rags and did your best to make yourself presentable again. Instead of walking out after you’d finished, you just stared at yourself. There were close to a million things running through your head, so many feelings and thoughts you had no idea how to tune them out. You looked around the bathroom for the first time and smiled remembering what you’d told him.

   “I want one of the bathrooms just to be pure ridiculousness, it has to be a guest bath. It would be the funniest thing; they would think we were the most ridiculous couple.”

   Yours and Chris’ laughter echoed in your head, and you began to laugh as well. The intricate gold branch and leaf wallpaper was beautiful, but it was bold and way more luxurious than either yours or Chris’ taste. As you spun around the room you fell more in love with it. He did amazing, you thought. You walked out and to the kitchen where you heard clattering. Chris was there in his white undershirt cooking.

   “When did you buy this place?”

   “Two years ago. It was an old rundown farmhouse ready to be torn down, but the land was perfect. So, over the last few years, we’ve been rebuilding.”

   “We?”

   “Me, Scott, my dad, some friends, and some work crews.” Your jaw dropped.

   “Don’t look so surprised, you know I’m good with my hands.” He smirked your way, and you blushed. He continued doing what he was doing, and you looked around the kitchen once again. It was your dream kitchen; everything was how you wanted down to the color of the backsplash.

   “Who knew you listened to me and remembered that far back.”

   “I listen to everything you say, and I remember everything.” A few moments passed with the two of you staring into each other’s eyes before Chris looked away and back to the vegetables he was chopping.

   “Do you like it?”

   You scoffed because he had to be kidding. This place was amazing, and your dream come to life. It was everything you’d ever wanted.

   “I love it; every single inch and square foot is incredible. You guys did amazing.” He smiled and nodded.

  “You can keep exploring around there is still plenty to see, or you can come be my sous.”

   You smiled. In the early days, months, and years of your marriage, you always cooked together. It became tradition to prepare dinner together if you were together and it always proved to be a good time for you to talk, laugh and just be silly together. It had been almost a month since you’d done it. You took off your long cardigan and walked to the sink to wash your hands. When you turned to him ready for instruction he smiled. “Where do you want me?” Chris stepped to you.

   “Forever and always by my side dragonfly.” Your heart raced, then he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before he turned away and went back to work. He gave a few instructions, but you didn’t hear them, all you heard was the pounding of your heart in your ears.

   Cooking together was just as great as you’d remembered it to be. After him showing you around the kitchen and where things were, you moved together with ease. While he worked on the vegetables, you began on dessert, surprised to see the fridge was stocked. He told you about the process of building, how much he enjoyed getting dirty with it and doing all the construction stuff. You saw small inspired smiles on his face and enjoyed listening to every detail of how he’d orchestrated the build and keeping it from you. As you talked, some normalcy felt to have returned, but you could feel the talk that still had to be had weighing on things, and you knew he felt it too. Neither of you pushed the other to speak before they were ready, and you were grateful he was being so gentle and understanding about things. It was a drastic one-eighty from last night and the days you’d been at odds.

   By the time the two of you sat to dinner in the booth seats you, the sun had set behind the trees bathing the entire sky outside the house in a beautiful magenta. You knew why he’d chosen this land. You ate quietly just watching the beautiful colors of the sunset and the backdrop that nature provided. It had been months since you’d felt anything close to calm and this was the first time.

   “Thank you. This is—more than I can could have ever dreamed up. I love it here.”

   He gave you a small smile and nodded as he finished his beer. “Me too.”

   You sloshed around your wine in the glass and watched the candlelight reflect through the pale gold liquid before you gulped the remainder down. When you put the glass back to the table, Chris raised the bottle and refiled your glass. As he poured you watched him. “Do you want a divorce now?” Chris’ actions stilled.

   He held the bottle in midair and watched the liquid empty from the bottle before he slowly put it to the side. He took up his napkin and wiped his mouth, then put it down onto the table. All his movements were slow, methodical as if they were actions, but he was using the time to properly formulate speech. Each second that ticked away that he didn’t respond your mind crafted some horrible future where you were a divorcee, and then Bravo or VH1 would approach you with some offer to be on the next season of Ex-wives of Hollywood. You’d no doubt be the ex-wife who was secretly bitter and depressed and lonely because she didn’t want the divorce, but she had no one else to blame but herself. So, during the day she’d play the badass boss bitch, and at night she’d cry in bed in her negligee and fur heels and six to nine bottles of wine. It was almost certainly your future; you could see it.

   The sound of Chris clearing his throat was what snapped you out of your Ebenezer scrooge ghost of futures to come vision. His fingers were steepled underneath his chin, and he was just staring at you with a very unreadable expression on his face. “Do you want a divorce?”

   You felt like you were going to throw up the dinner you’d just had then pass out in the vomit. Part of you said to play it cool and not show how scared you were, but the other part said throw everything out on the table. The pounding in your head made it impossible to think or focus and you decided to listen to your heart and just speak. “Of course, I don’t want a divorce. That is the last thing in the world I want. I love you so goddamn much, but—but if you want a one then I will respect your wishes and give it to you.” The words made you sick. It would kill you, but you’d do it.

   “When I asked you to marry me, do you remember what I said?” You took a shaky breath and held it before you nodded.

   “Tell me.” Tapping into that strength your parents said they saw when you were a child you forged ahead.

   “My life—your life has become exponentially better since meeting me; you’d never been happier and never met anyone like me and had never felt that way about anyone in all your life. You don’t know how you made it through life without me and now that you have me—you can’t imagine ever spending one more day without me in your life. You want to grow with me, build with me, fall even more in love with me and grow old with me surrounded by our four planned and two accidental children. Will you make me the happiest, proudest, most grateful man in the world and spend the rest of—our lives with me?” you dabbed the back of your hand at the tears that spilled out. He nodded.

   “I meant those words and nowhere in them did I say spend four years of our lives with me. I said the rest of our lives. Four isn’t nearly enough, dragonfly. So no, I don’t want a divorce. Hell, even if you wanted one, I would fight with everything in me for you—for us.” You covered your mouth as relief washed over you. “Divorce is not the answer for me—it’s never going to be the answer Riah. Do you understand? When I said till death do we part, I meant it, and nothing is going to change it.” Sniffling, you nodded and wiped your tears away and tried to get a hold of your emotions. Silence filled the room, and neither of you moved, or even continued to eat the scraps on your plate.

   After a few minutes, he stood and took your plates and busied himself with the after dinner clean up. After a few minutes of watching his movements, you got up and walked around the property taking everything in. Although it was now night and darkness took over the entire property was bathed in the light of hanging lanterns and draped pepper lights and it gave the most romantic glow. You saw a lake and smiled.

   “I want a lake; my very own lake and I want a pretty deck that has enough chairs for our umpteen-‘leven kids, and we’ll all sit out back on summer nights, and you’ll teach them to fish.”

   The deck as you wanted was right there, and you saw plenty of seats just waiting to be sat in. Turning to the right you saw a beautiful cherry tree and a hanging swing. You smiled and walked to it, the final piece falling into place.

   “There better be a swing that overlooks this lake so we can watch the sunsets when we’re seventy thinking about how perfect our life together had been.”

   You sat down and felt as if you’d finally come home. You watched the water dance and got lost in your feelings and thoughts. Your father did say he was a good man; you knew that or else you wouldn’t have married him. Your mind flitted to the conversation you still had yet to have. Closing your eyes you took a deep breath, held it and smiled sensing him.

   “I see you found the piece de resistance,” Chris said as he sat beside you.

   “Oh yeah and what a piece de resistance it is.”

   “Is it as you imagined?” You looked at him and bit your bottom lip.

   “No. It’s so much better.” Chris looked to you and smiled that smile that always made your stomach do loopy loops.

   “What’s the answer?” He nodded fully understanding your question, then looked back out to the lake. He didn’t speak, and neither did you for a long while.

   When the air grew colder, and the breeze picked up the two of you made your way back to the house. Chris locked up, and then the two of you slowly walked upstairs. Once outside the master bedroom, he opened the door for you so you could walk inside. You walked to the balcony that overlooked the lake and sighed at how beautiful and peaceful it was.

   “I’ll um—I’ll give you the bedroom, I can take one of the other rooms.” Your stomach sank. In all your years together, you never slept apart when in the same city. Last night was the first time, and you didn’t want to do it again. You were disappointed and hurt that he wanted to. You looked down and nodded then turned your back.

   “Goodnight,” you responded. Soon after he repeated the same and you heard the door close. Trying your best to stifle your cries you hopped in the shower and took a quick one. Once you climbed into bed and laid down the moonlight bathed the bed and you laid there mesmerized by its beauty. You couldn’t help but feel incomplete. You looked beside you to where Chris should have been and missed him. You walked to the French glass doors that separated outside from in and put your forehead to it. The cool glass helped to slow your racing thoughts. You felt like some innocent teenager who was scared to say what she wanted and go after it. That wasn’t you; it had never been.

   “Riah.” You spun around at the sound of Chris’ voice. There he was in a pair of sweats, and a white undershirt and even that made your heart race and your belly flutter. “Sorry, I didn’t knock.”

   “Why do you need to knock it’s your room too.” He nodded and looked down.  

   “Earlier, did you not want me to sleep in another room?” You bit your bottom lip again then found the courage.

   “We don’t sleep apart. Remember?” Chris nodded then rubbed his head, sending all his luscious locks in disarray.

   “I remember, I just thought you’d want your space after everything. I didn’t want to crowd you. I want to—give you what you need—be how you need me to be right now.”

   He meant well, you knew it. You didn’t know what to say to him about anything and didn’t know what to do. You knew one thing, you needed him.

   “Come to bed?” He studied you trying to grasp your meaning. After a few moments, you walked to him, held out your hand and waited for his decision. Without a thought he took your hand, and you led him to the bed.

Once there, you lifted up the hem of his shirt, and he allowed you to pull it off. After the first time you’d seen him shirtless in person you always thought he should just remain shirtless. He was beautiful to look at. You traced your hand down his chest to the waistband of his sweats. As you hooked your finger in you took notice he wasn’t wearing any underwear. Glancing back up to him you noticed his eyes hadn’t left your face. He just stood there letting you take the lead. You pulled his sweats from their precarious location on his hips and kneeled on the bed taking his hand to lure him to follow. He didn’t object and took his place before you. His hand cupped your cheek and softly caressed your cheek.

“I love you, Uriah.”

   “I love you too.”

   You loosened the ties of your robe and let it fall from your naked body. The two of you kneeled on the bed before each other with the moonlight casting a milky glow over your bodies. Neither of you moved or spoke; there was no need for words. Slowly you traced your hand over his chest taking in every ab indentation and each definition of his pec muscles. Once you made it to his face you reveled the feel of the softness of his hair, then the smoothness of his bottom lip and the slight wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. Chris took your hand and kissed your palm before he placed your hand back on his cheek.

   You brought his face to yours and softly kissed his lips. The kiss was not one of passion or yearning. It was a kiss of gentleness, one that said how much you missed him, and it was a sentiment he returned. You could feel his pain in the kiss. A pain you shared. Chris deepened the kiss and pulled you flush against his body and wrapped his hands around your waist. You tasted salty tears and sunk your fingers into his hair and gripped his strands. For the first time, you realized that the pain you’d tried to push down these last weeks was a pain he was feeling now. He was grieving right along with you.

   You lied down on onto your back and looked up at him. Chris slowly looked over your body. You opened your legs, and he settled between them as he hovered over your body. You reached up and wiped a rolling tear. He turned his head and kissed your palm again before he dipped down and claimed your lips again. This kiss was an urgent one tinged with something else. You pulled him close, and he buried his face in your neck and cried. Holding him to you, you allowed your tears freedom and cried with him.

   “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, dragonfly. Forgive me.” Chris kissed your neck, then your collar. His lips moved to your chest, and down to your breast, his tongue lazily circled your nipple and awoke a gentle heat within you. He pulled his head back quickly and searched your eyes. You knew what he was asking. Nodding your head, he kissed you again and returned his lips to your breast. He brought his mouth lower to your belly, and he stared at it. His hand possessively circled it before he kissed around it. Your tears streamed form your eyes, and a strangled cry escaped your throat.

   Chris moved lower and kissed your sex before he began slowly pleasing you. Your back arched and your fingers dug into his hair holding on to him praying to God that you would be able to come back from this. The pleasure he brought you felt different than all the times before. Before it was an unquenchable fire that consumed you and never relented, now it was a slow burn that comforted while it maddened. You gasped loudly and pulled at his hair feeling your orgasm rage through you. Again, Chris nestled between your legs and slowly connected your bodies. Both of you sighed feeling your connection strengthen. He didn’t move; instead he stared deeply into your eyes and rocked you to your core with how much you saw hidden behind his blue orbs.

   When he began rocking into you, your skin peppered with goosebumps and the tightening in your belly was another sign you were close to claiming your pleasure. Chris pressed his body to yours, and you took the initiative to roll onto him. Once you adjusted you rotated your hips to the motion of the letter “c” and then rocked back and forth. Chris’ hands flew to your hips and squeezed then rocked you to the pace he wanted. Throwing your head back you tried to focus on the sensations he was giving you. You tried to equally allow all you were feeling to come through. When you looked back to Chris you could tell his complex emotions were warring as well. You lowered your body to his and buried your face in his flesh and inhaled his scent--a scent you loved. Without knowing a sob escaped you and Chris’ arms wrapped around you.

   “It’s not your fault Uriah.” Those words felt like permission to let it all go, approval and reassurance all at once. Your crying became louder until Chris rolled you back onto the bed and wiped your tears as he stroked the fire within your veins to a blazing inferno. You dug your nails into his skin and held on to him as his movements became less controlled and more desperate. Chris’ grunts and moans were soft. You bit your bottom lip and let out a high pitched wine when he sunk into you to the hilt and broke the dam of your orgasm. The two of you clung to each other as your bodies shook from the power of your release and what you’d just shared together.

   After several long moments, Chris rolled off of you onto his back and the two of you laid there staring at the ceiling in silence each trying to catch your breath and lost in your thoughts. Chris pulled you close to his side, and you nestled your cheek onto his chest as you’d done thousands of times. You could head the rapid thumping of his heart and closed your eyes as you focused on it. Chris’ fingers languidly drew patterns on your cooling skin breaking you out in goosebumps everywhere he touched. The intimacy of the moment made you feel closer to him. A closeness you hadn’t felt since the night in Australia where you finally decided to start trying for a baby. You were so lost in the quiet of the moment and your thoughts that you didn’t hear Chris say your name.

   “Uriah?” You opened your eyes and sighed. “Hmm?”

   “Let’s go to therapy.” Tilting your head up to meet his eyes, you listened with your heart to everything his eyes said. You nodded.

   “Yeah.” He released a relieved sigh then kissed your forehead, and the two of you fell into a comfortable silence as sleep finally washed over you.

~~~~~~~~~~~

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[dreamsofthescreen]

How Godard Broke Our Hearts in Le Mepris - Analysis & Review

The 1963 classic French-Italian drama serves as a masterclass in impactful filmmaking

Brigitte Bardot & Michel Piccoli in ‘Le Mepris’

Expert director Jean Luc Godard’s films are considered pieces of art for convincing reasons, and 1963 classic ‘Le Mepris’ (Contempt) is a masterful example of this. It’s stylistic choices reflect the sombre, but beautiful & hard hitting story of a marriage turned bitter. It is the cinematography, writing & somewhat clean-cut, French directing style that livens the plot. With reference to cinema & the connection with life that it shares, the emotional bluntness of the New Wave story makes it all the more impacting. 1960s stars’ Brigitte Bardot, Michael Piccoli & Jack Palace all add to the heart of the Eurocentric film, their sourness becoming a point of interest in the plot. Colour, light and contrast all are significant points in this perfectly painted film.

Rising to prominence in the New Wave period, French-Swiss director Jean-Luc Godard is known for his colourful, sharp & artistic European projects, expertly executing any romance or drama in a beautiful way. ‘Le Mepris’ is an adaptation of Alberto Moravia’s 1954 novel, II disprezzo (A Ghost at Noon). The story goes as American producer Prokosch (Jack Palance) casts Paul (Michael Piccoli) to write a screenplay for Homer’s ‘The Odyssey’. This intake of work on film & challenging of his artistic values from Prokosch turns his marriage with Camille (Brigitte Bardot) on it’s head. Sticking to well-known themes in a drama such as tragedy, romance, infidelity and change, ‘Le Mepris’ breaks our hearts by touching on the beauty of a classic.

Godard’s distinctive style is prevalent in the significance of the story, as the way in which the film is both written & directed is in touch with each emotion & colour throughout. The rocky marriage between Camille & Paul on the backdrop of a film set actually reflects Godard’s personal demons - his struggling marriage and dissonant relationship with Hollywood at the time. Bold blues, reds, whites and yellows colour the film, which is something rather ironic, as emotion can be seen as something badly represented with such uplifting tones remaining in a heartbreaking scenario. Yet, this is all apart of Godard’s wonderful filmmaking. As a directer and writer, he brings realism to the table, where most romance pictures don’t. As the anguish of love decaying is on the forefront, Godard’s style still remains throughout, showing that although emotions change, the world around us really doesn’t. However, Godard also utilises these colours as a means of drama, the sultry opening scene with a naked Bardot & Piccoli soaked in an erotic red. Colour and costume is a hugely recognisable feature of the New Wave Era, as the 1960s began to explore aesthetics more freely. With Tanine Autré as the leading costume designer, the clean-cut & artistic costumes all sit well with each beautifully painted scene. Stripes and colour-blocking in the summer style are all reflective of the New Wave Movement. Even the 1960s interiors that Godard chooses reflect his storytelling style. Modern buildings, references to art and the human figure is relevant, as for a film about love, the male gaze is utterly, yet tastefully focused on French bombshell Brigitte Bardot. The visual spectacles are phenomenal, but still have meaning. As Godard focuses on realism, classism and a very Eurocentric story in ‘Le Mepris’, this can be seen as him even mocking Hollywood’s growing commercial and idealised storytelling at the time.  

By connecting cinema with life, striking reference is made to many emotions & creates space for a beautifully relevant drama. For a movie about movies, when art and love mix, disaster strikes. Scorsese quoted Contempt, saying ‘it’s one of the greatest films ever made about the actual process of filmmaking’ & named it as “brilliant, romantic and genuinely tragic”. Godard filmed a variety of scenes with tracking shots, in a natural light & near-real time. He too focuses on the beauty of Capri & the settings of the characters, rather than the characters themselves. The cinematography celebrates film itself, relevant to a storyline focusing on movie-making. With a painfully moving, stringed soundtrack and sweepingly romantic landscape wide shots, audiences can feel as though they are watching the film being made by Prokosch & Paul. Even the dialogue is reminiscent of the film, cleverly making connections between the project being made and the drama in Paul’s marriage. As Paul & Camille discuss ‘The Odyssey’, Paul states, “I agree with Prokosch’s theory. That Ulysses loves his wife, but she doesn’t love him”. Camille has no reaction to this comment, but we as audiences know that Godard is linking ‘The Odyssey’ with Paul & Camille’s fading love. Furthermore, Paul states that he is to “walk back with Mr. Lang (the director) to discuss the Odyssey.” This is followed by a comment by a crew member on set who comments, “I should have done a scene at the beginning, in which the Gods discuss the man’s fate, in general & the fate of Ulysses in particular”. It isn’t hard to see the comparison made between Paul and Ulysses’ romantic situations, one a Greek king & the other a script writer, yet still both are relevant & though contrast vastly, are mighty men. Both wonder about their fate. This is the great connection between the two storylines - the beauty and pain of cinema & how it all too often relates back to our own demons, so gracefully presented in ‘Le Mepris’.

Brigitte Bardot in ‘Le Mepris’

Godard’s clean-cut directing & blunt writing style, along with the impressive acting are all successful in presenting a widely emotional drama. Set in the outstandingly beautiful Capri, melancholy and mourning is mixed with the sunlight and dreamy landscape of the island. As Godard worked with cinematographer Raoul Coutard, he contrasts light and dark, showing the unexpected nature of life - where love can grow in a beautiful area, it can also be killed. We associate colour and light with positivity, yet the fact is that however life changes, the world around us does still remain the same. This is reflected in the writing of the film, as Godard’s straightforward dialogue hits hard. Rather than creating a falsely dramatic ‘movie magic’ script, there is no drama in the very real & blunt adult conversation that characters’ Camille & Paul have in establishing their feelings for one another. As Paul questions as to why Camille has been acting so distant, she simply replies with, ‘it’s true. I don’t love you anymore’. Paul asks, ‘you still loved me yesterday?’ & Camille replies with ‘yes, very much. Now it’s over’. With statements along the way from Camille like ‘that’s life’, there is melancholy reality, which is beautifully French in comparison to the excessive, long-winded scenes we see in todays writings. Yet the film seeps in elegance through it’s script, as when any words are spoken, each is valuable. As Camille reflects on the breakdown of her marriage, she metaphorically states, ‘We used to live in a cloud of unawareness, in delicious complicity. Things happened with sudden wild, enchanted recklessness’. Character Prokosch brings statements like ‘I don't believe in modesty. I believe in pride! I believe in the pride of making good films’. Furthermore to this, it, again, is the realism that breaks our hearts through the masterful filmmaking. The acting in ‘Le Mepris’ is very real, as Godard had the actors improvise lines in the moment. When asked about this, he stated, ‘I need them, just as I need the pulse and colours of real settings for atmosphere and creation’. Godard’s focus on realism is great as it is something so sincere and authentic. He also rather fitted the character of Camille to Bardot herself, rather than having Bardot act as Camille. This too made for an authentic script, as Bardot’s supposed acting ability shone through, bluntly delivering bold lines & somewhat rising above the typical sensual blonde that she was used to playing, as she had a voice. Godard’s writing brings in slices of poetry to inspire us & add to the artistic nature of the cinematic experience.

The Guardian’s description of it as ‘poetically sour’ encompasses the beauty of 1963 classic ‘Le Mepris’, as iconic director Jean-Luc Godard creates a heartbreakingly real tale of love lost. Through the recognisable New Wave style of the early 1960s that Godard helped define, the significance of ‘Le Mepris’ is made through it’s visuals and aesthetics, that we as an audience can recognise and appreciate. The beautifully artistic and European summer drama shines through with it’s ability to challenge everyday filmmaking. Godard hits the nail on the head with every emotion throughout, presented through not only dialogue, but the ravishing soundtrack, cinematography, set design and overall disposition. ‘Le Mepris’ remains a wonder that inspires and transports us to a world that, through it’s passion, seems all to familiar for some.

Stars Out of Five: 5/5

[practicallynonsensical]

Let’s talk about the absolute drug-induced fever dream of metal that was Bliss. Now when I chose to watch this, it was only after watching the trailer, I had no other context, no summary, no nothing, so when I got into the meat and grime of the story I was really LIKE WHOA. If possible, I recommend going into this movie blind and unspoiled.

Bliss opens with bright, florescent, and disorienting title cards. Like colorful, moving, graffiti art flashing violently. This is not for the photosensitive viewers, and honestly, this movie may be an entire skip it for the photosensitive folks.

Enter Dezzy, a moderately famous artist, who is beautiful, and very stressed. We meet her as she is behind on her rent and at a loss with her art.

Within the first 10 minutes, she is fighting with her boyfriend, landlord, agent, and well, is being dropped by said agent, who we immediately know is massive jerk trash by his greeting.

In her agitation, she visits dealer and friend, Adrian, whom she hasn’t seen in a while as she had been staying away from hard drugs.

She’s here looking for some “inspiration,” and Adrian has just the thing, and its name is Diablo. He calls it the best bliss in town. He tells her only to do a little. She, of course, does a lot. As soon as she does a large line, she is transported into a visual trip of moving colors and transcendent beauty. Her inspiration seemingly returning. We realize she blacked out for hours.

Naturally, she does more drugs; we meet her friend Courtney, and her man, a blonde guy with sunglasses, played by our favorite Purge villain. This drug-filled night culminates in an extended scene of a threesome that was honestly beautifully shot.

When Dezzy awakes again, she feels overcome with inspiration to paint. And when she snaps out of it, she does not know where this is coming from, but she loves it. She feels odd, sees something on her neck, and hallucinates herself covered in blood.

We follow Dezzy through what seems to be the symptoms of withdrawal. She is in a bad way. She doesn’t know if it is that Diablo stuff or something more insidious going on.

When she goes out that night the pieces begin to make sense once she runs into Courtney. Her friend is unfazed by the behavior and knows just how to make this go away, a cool and refreshing splattering of blood.

An unsuspecting girl in the bathroom is subject to Courtney’s calming technique. Dezzy drinks, has a great night covered in blood, paints, and then blacks outs again. This time waking up and feels paranoid and worse than ever, fearing that Courtney dosed her. She is confused about whether or not the night before even happened the way she remembers.

She does know one thing, she is craving blood in the worst way. And goodness gracious, her first kills are brutal.

In desperation, Dezzy goes to see her friend Adrian, and after a mishap that leaves him bleeding, she is unable to control herself, she annihilates him and everyone else in the home. It is a terrifically gory scene that leaves Deezy driving through LA in her convertible with a blood-covered face and a smile. Beautiful.

After days of trying to find Courtney again, we finally get confirmation, this is a true blood-red cloaked vampire story, and oops, sorry Dezzy, there is no cure, this is forever. Courtney sends Dezzy on her way with no real answers, just a promise that she will enjoy this gift she has given her.

Dezzy tries to resist the urges, but those horrid withdrawal symptoms once again  to plague her.

And man, this is where the blood gates OPEN. My girl starts up with the bloodshed and does not let up as she gets more and more of her painting done. She is obsessed, now with her career back on track, she believes this to be her masterpiece, she is willing to kill or die for it.

Clive, her boyfriend or FWB’s, death was particularly brutal as he came by her apartment because he was genuinely worried. She murders him with this gnarly neck snap that left his neck gushing like a fountain to quench her never-ending thirst. Literally bleeding him dry.

Post-snack, she hallucinates that he comes after her and calling her a murderer.

She tries to kill herself to no such mercy. She is devastated but feels calm once she sees her painting near completion.

Clive is back! The now vampire, Clive, is back because, apparently, she turned him  accidentally instead of killing him. He feels she did this purposely, Dezzy does not seem to agree, he gets aggressive, and then Dezzy is saved from another violent breakup by Courtney, who drives a SWORD?!?!? through his heart.

Courtney has come by because she is angry at the bloodbath Dezzy has left around town. And now Courtney decides that Dezzy’s blood would be the perfect meal.

The vampire ladies battle to some metal tune with Dezzy’s painting looming in background. Dez stabs Courtney in the heart, and just like with Clive, we see this excellent melting effect of the dying vampires.

It is a really awesome looking practical effect! It looks like a doll that was melted and then sped up. Maybe a metaphor for the plastic/shallow folks dying in their hedonistic pursuits of power and well, in this case, literally blood.

More heavy metal plays, Dezzy dances wildly, and she paints with a singular purpose. Covered in the blood of her friends, she steps back to look at her finished painting.

She again hallucinates all of her victims, reaching for her desperately. This scene mirrors her masterpiece, now completed, soon after all of the screams and hallucinations fade away. She has created something that will live on forever, and forgotten are those she hurt to get here, to this moment of absolute bliss.

The sun rises, and she explodes with the light of a new day.

What I liked: This was an absolutely grimey, 80’s nostalgic, stylish, heavy metal, stress-filled joy ride. It was a fresh take on the vampire genre for something jammed packed with nostalgia shots, and grindhouse feels. I loved the subtleness of the classic vampire lore. No sun, stakes through the heart very bad. We see that narcissism of vampires that we love heightened through the lens of the LA art scene. Instead of making dying for your art romantic, soft, and beautiful, the filmmaker made it violent and a bloodbath. Sidenote: Which I think needs to be seen more, let’s chill with the idea that we need to kill ourselves to be creative. The main character was not likeable, she was talented but really lacked any personage beyond her art and drugs. You can live for your art too.  Another big up, the practical effects were incredible. Something additional I loved was this realistic look into the inescapable feeling of addiction. I think the film really used its story matter to advocate how powerless addicts can be in the throes of their illness. This movie does not glamorize drug use, it makes it look bloody disgusting.

What I disliked: As i mentioned above, the characters were not really likeable. Which I guess is fine and reminiscent of old horror movies.. Most characters we are introduced to are just there to boost the final body count, but I really REALLy, wanted to like Dezzy, because Dora Madison is absolutely incredible in this movie. She was sorely underused in the episode of “Into the Dark” i saw her in, because she brought an excellent physicality to her movements in this film, especially when she was supposed to be blacked out. When she was disorientated, so were you, and that is due to the amazing camera work and her captivating performance. The writing did not flesh out her backstory or really her story other than the surface or maybe enough for me to be gung-ho for this character. Most of the time, I was really fine if she died. Which sucks because the acting was great, but that goes for most of the characters. But if we are going by old school horror rules, I must get over it, cause everyone sucks, so by proxy; they must die?!? I guess.  My bad for wanting to root for someone.

Should you watch it: If you are a metal fan, vampire fan, or horror fan, I recommend it. This is like our Uncut Gems. Yes, I said it. Bliss is the Uncut Gems of horror. Feel free to @ me. This film is purposefully disorientating, non-stop, and will stress you out. The main character stresses you out, and you TRULY wish they made better life choices. The camera work is incredible, and you can tell this was shot with care and edited with love for the genre. Joe Begos, the director, is a horror pro, and I am excited to work my way through more of his work. So yeah, it is on the streaming service Shudder now. Watch it.

[heechulhamster]

Flawed Humans - Kim Jongin (Kai)

KIM JONGIN x Reader

Angst, Husband!Jongin AU. 4162 words.

Warnings: Mentions of sex and infidelity, and lots of angst. (I hate the fact that I can only write angst, it seems like I don’t have any sweet bones for a fluff) 

   You two are just humans, flawed and imperfect. Humans that were susceptible to mistakes and to break promises. He was fragile and you’re unforgiving. Jongin was too malleable and you were too stubborn.

(Inspired by the song  Humans by The Human League. One of my favorite 80s songs :)

+++

A glimmering color of gold, that was supposed to be the symbol of the love that never fades. The shape of a circle that emphasizes the infinite amount of time you were to spend with each other. And both of your initials symbolizing that it was something you own, whether that ownership be regarding the mere exorbitant jewelry lying in front of you, or the person whose other initial engraved upon it belongs to.

You stare at the wedding band you absentmindedly placed over the glass table, keenly examining all its features. And it was when you wonder, how a miniscule object can hold a boundless amount of sentiment attached and ordained by its owner. To others, it’s just an expensive metal forged into a piece of jewelry - a symbol of luxurious commitment. But to you, it is a metal that gave your life further meaning. It felt as if an extension of your existence, a portal from your ring finger to another person’s life - to his life. Well, it was.

You removed the ring for a reason.

There was always a restless feeling whenever the ring didn’t made contact on your finger. And you’ll typically be in a rush in search for the connection once more. But now, the skin that touched the jewelry itched, stinged, burned. Like a sore reminder of a relationship that turned sour, a promise that was broken, and a heart that was ruined - that he ruined.

So now you sit in isolation on the long dining table, your back facing the entrance that he could emerge from an any time now. All of your luggages are now packed and sealed in your room, ready to be picked up once the conversation you were dreading to engage in is over.

Then you hear the opening and shutting of the door. Your mere knowledge of his presence made your stomach turn a random degree, in pain, in disgust, in sadness. Your senses told you that he was approaching your place, and you breathed deeply. This is it.

You couldn’t even bring yourself to look at him as his large hands started to envelop your torso from the back of your dining chair. His smell still that familiar musk that you love - yes, present tense, despite all the torment it stirs in your bones. You feel his lips on your cheek as his embrace around you tightens.

“What are you doing here all alone? I hope you weren’t waiting for me.” Jongin said with a chuckle before he lets you go and makes his way around the table to grab a cold drink from the refrigerator.

You swear you practiced the parting speech you were supposed to give. A rough explanation on why you’ll leave, a summary of his infidelity and how he broke you - and how much you’re unable to heal afterwards. But now like a dagger in your throat, your words were stuck and left silence on the thin air that enveloped the both of you.

“Work was a chaos today, Sehun kept on messing his lines up and we did a ton shit of retakes. Ah, the pain of the ass that boy is.” He started rambling regarding his job, his dream, his passion. The profession where you met him.

Jongin was just a simple production assistant when you met him, and you were just starting your way up an endless ladder of show business and landed a small role as a friend of the sister of the lead character. It was far off from your dream of formally acting and starring on the big screen but it was a start. You met him on set, the charismatic and promising crew member that was on one of his stepping stones to become an actual director.

You found yourself during the breaks in between takes with him hanging out in the back of a trailer truck. Sipping the much needed coffee for the shoot that transpired the whole night till the sun rises again. Chatting over the parts of your lives that you still didn’t know each other, seemingly catching up to the times that was before him and his life before he met you - as if the information would be useful as you’ll be spending the future together.

Maybe it wasn’t wishful thinking, as he asked you out after the production - not wanting to end your connection the same time the reel of the film ended. And two years after that, you gave your vows in front of your family and gave the promise of being together as long as your breaths are in the same rhythm as the other. And stand together as long as your heart beats the sound of his name and his bled yours in capital letters.The very same vow that he broke.

You decided to give up your futile dream of being a movie star not long after. Realizing that you just weren’t suited for the job, as the glitz and the glamour didn’t fit you nor satisfy you. You realized that the entertainment business was less of the art, and more of the business. An industry built on the capitalization of glamorous people to market them as what the society wants to be like. You deemed that as preposterous, you saw acting as a form of expression and art - and it just wasn’t it. So you shifted to the officework that most would say was legions of degrees more boring and black and white that the industry you used to be in. But you actually found happiness in the isolation and quietness of it.

However, Jongin is persevered to reach his lifelong dream of making art and imaginary universes on screen. To breathe conceptual characters unto life, making the ideas of writers translate onto screen and the audience. Which he actually reached, and became the wick of the time bomb that was your marriage.

It was inevitable for Jongin to meet a handful of astonishing, tempting, and young women who were eager to seduce him in their way up the industry ladder. You knew the hustle, it was dirty play but it’s how it works. Two years into your seemingly perfect and happy marriage, a promising young actress wannabe seduces your husband, the dashing director, her way into the lead role.

You weren’t supposed to find out. You sometimes wonder if you didn’t drop by on the set on unholy hours of the night. You drove 4 hours into the remote location they needed for the beach setting of the movie. Jongin has been gone for the better parts of the week, and besides for the natural longing for your husband, you wondered if he was resting enough to at least be at a functioning state or overworking yet again like the workaholic that he is. If you were to be honest, a peculiar intuition also fueled you to go there. A noticeable influx of texts from an unlabelled workmate flooded his phone during the few times that he was beside you when his new project started. He would usually be enthusiastic to tell each and every detail of an undergoing production but those past few days marked a decline in the information he gave. As if he was trying to hide something from you.

The hunches that you felt almost screamed at your face when a few of his crew looked as if all blood left their body when you appeared on the set. You just knew something was happening, but you were too afraid to conclude. It would be instinctive of you to crash on his trailer and catch him on the act, red handed. But what would that benefit you? An image to fill your nightmares with? A photographic memory of your husband, the love of your life, your Jongin, fucking a younger, sexier, and prettier starlet with the wide hips and small frame you could only be in memory. You’re sure you wouldn’t be able to bear with that memory, that image, ingrained in your mind for eternity so you faked a smile to his production assistant.

“On a break?” You tried to fake innocence, the image of a wife that was only here to see his husband - not catch him cheating.

Donghyuck, his young and loyal assistant was only able to nod. You see his tent illuminated from the inside, so you gestured that you’ll be on your way there. He opened his mouth, as if to warn you or hold you back from the nightmare that you’re imagining. It was rather a confirmation that your thoughts were real and God knows what’s happening inside that tent.

“Don’t worry, I’ll wait for him outside.” And you smiled with a paint of reassurance for the young man. A face with the underlying image of pain, and a pair of eyes that was only a blink away from shedding tears.

And there you stood outside the tent, and it took all your willpower to not go inside and pull the homewrecker by her hair. Or kick Jongin by his dick that was probably engaged in a heated activity inside another woman. The sounds gave off what exactly has happening inside, it was the shattering of a vow, the destruction of your heart, and the invalidation of the future you planned for the both of you.

All for what? A steaming sex inside a collapsible tent with a woman with the body proportions of a goddess, the lips of a devious seductress, and the eyes of a feline.

Yes, that was all it took for him to ruin everything.

Maybe her image spoke of the way you did look like when you first met? Young and fresh and new, maybe that was he was looking for. Maybe Jongin was tired of the same old you that didn’t see proper taking care of the past few months because she was too busy for her office work.

After what seemingly took forever of you waiting outside the dreaded tent, two figures emerged from the flaps of the exit. One of a breathtaking homewrecker, and that of a cheater of a husband.  Both sweaty from what just took place, and Jongin was still buttoning his shirt when his eyes caught yours. His face turned from lust to an insurmountable amount of shock.

That was the last thread that was holding the floodgates from your eyes.

The first tear shed as you caught the other pair of eyes. You weren’t sure if she was just shocked, but she surely wasn’t apologetic. Damn, you couldn’t even pin a name on the slut that destroyed your marriage. A lame excuse of an artist who was willing to ruin a marriage in exchange of fame, or maybe she really lusted after your husband - the one labelled as the hottest director in the industry as to date. One who looked like he belonged more in front of the cameras rather than giving instructions behind it. You wouldn’t be able to blame her then, who could help themselves from wanting a taste of Kim Jongin?

But that Kim Jongin was yours, that taste was only yours for the taking.

Your eyes wandered back to Jongin when he spoke of your name. A bitter taste flooded your mouth in the thought that he still had the audacity to call you after what had transpired moments ago. You tried to win the situation and keep your calm, be the classy and mannered wife in front of the other woman and your cheating husband. With a small smile forming on your lips, your eyes wandered on his left hand. And there you saw the familiar shimmer of gold, a band of metal that’s full of promises and a future that can now be considered tarnished or obsolete.

“You didn’t even bother removing your ring, I see. That excited?” You said sarcastically.

“It’s not-” Jongin started as he took steps to you. To which you cackled a small amount of laugh at, he wasn’t actually trying to lie out of this wasn’t he?

“We both know what this is, Jongin.” You turned your head back to her. “I don’t usually have a knack for sharing, but it looks like I didn’t have control over the situation. It’s not my choice that my husband wanted to be shared.”

Jongin’s warm hands held your elbows, a usual gesture that you should be used to but now disgusted at. His warm brown eyes pleading for you to listen, or maybe for forgiveness as he accepted his defeat that he cannot be acquitted of the situation. So you just let your guard down and your tears fall, maybe it would break him to see you in pain if his love and care for you still existed in the deepest chambers of his heart.

“I hope it was all worth it, Jongin.” With that, you struggled out of his grasps and back into your car. It was blurry how you managed to get home with all the noise that occupied your mind - but you managed to go home safe, and it was needless to say that Jongin came barging in a few hours after begging for your forgiveness.

He promised a lot of things, that he would change for the better, that he would try and make things right, that he’ll never look the other way again, and that he would make it up to you. But were those band-aid solutions enough to mend the ruins that was left of your heart? You agreed to try again, still too stubborn and dumbly inlove with Jongin to let him go. You don’t know if you could start your life from scratch so you agreed to stay and maybe rebuild the things he broke.

And he indeed changed, he would always come home no matter how late the production ends and no matter how far away the locations were set. He always updated you on everything, as if he could lessen or eradicate the doubts that were bound to fill your mind when he was away. Jongin always let you meet the new actors he was working with and always introduced you as his loving wife, the love of his life, his everything. And maybe you would believe that he really viewed you that way. That if he labelled himself as taken and committed to a wife that waits for him at home, you’d be assured that he’s sticking to your vows that it was just you and him for better or for worse.

But for you, it was never the same. It’s unfair, for sure. But then again, he was the one who ruined the trust you built for him. Every flower he sends, you think that maybe he’s covering up for another mistake. That every call you get late at night was a facade he uses to hide his wrongdoings. And everytime he touches you, when his lips touch yours, you can’t help but remember that you’re not the sole body he made contact with even if you were already bound and tied by marriage. He tried his best but you were to ruined to take notice, too much of a mess to even build yourself back. You can’t even fix yourself at this point, what more your marriage?

And there was his damn ring that was a splitting image of yours, only a few sizes larger. You’ll never forget that he was able to cheat, to touch another, to break you, wearing the ring you put on him on your wedding day along with all your promises and dreams. It was a sore, painful, insult that the ring that meant so much to you wasn’t able to remind Jongin of the promises he said in front of your family and friend, the promises he made for you. That it will always and only be you.

And that’s why your own ring sat on the table and not in the middle of your fingers.

Jongin saw the blank stare of your eyes, either wanting to tell so much that it wouldn’t come out or just a space of nothingness. So you proceeded to talk,

“I’m leaving.” Was all you muttered to say of all the pieces of speech you prepared the past few days.

“Where are you going? We could take a vacation right after this production we’re only two weeks away from finishing-” You cut him off. There was a rushed sense in the way he spoke so you knew that he was aware of what you were actually pertaining to.

“I’m leaving for good, Jongin.” Your eyes met his warm gaze, his face painted of confusion and pain. “My bags are packed upstairs, I just wanted to tell you formally so I waited for you.” You tried to smile as if it would lighted the burden of the situation.

“Why?” Was all he muttered to say, a contrast of the man he is with his way with words. All he was able to matter was a three letter word that he already knew an answer to.

“You know why, Jongin.” It was already a good four months after that night but you came to a resolution that everything was never going to be the same for the both of you so you came to this conclusion.

“I thought we were doing great, I thought we were being fine? I told you I’ll make it up.” He was a mess in front of you, the way his fingers rattled as he took the seat opposite yours and clasped your hands on the table. The way his words were a rattle rather than a concrete sentence. You couldn’t bring yourself to hurt him, to hate him, you still loved him so much. And the sight before you still brought a pang to your heart despite everything that happened.

“Was it not enough? I swear I’ll spend more time with you. After this- after this, I won’t take in projects to spend more time with you. Just don’t leave, don’t leave please. Let me fix this. Let me fix us.” Jongin put your hands on his cheeks and pressed lousy kisses on it as small drops of tears escaped his face which led to your own falling too.

“I’m sorry but I just can’t look at you the same way as before. I don’t know how to meet your eyes without breaking my heart. How to trust you when you’re away. How to accept your touches without ever thinking about how you touched her. It’s just not the same.” You explained. His hands still clasping yours as he sobbed on them.

His eyes trailed to the gold band on top of the table, one hand letting go of yours as he picked up the ring. “Why would you take it off? We’re still married, please put it back. Please, Y/N..”

A sudden surge of displeasure flooded your palate. “How could you be the one to remind me that we’re still married? I know, Jongin. I know very well. Weren’t you the one who purposefully forget that even if you still wore a fucking ring?” You stood up in disbelief.

“It was a mistake! It was a mistake that I fucking regret everyday. Are you just going to hold it against me forever? I’m trying to fix this -” His hands waved all over the place as he tried to make a point. “I’m trying to fix us! But you’re unfair and you’re not giving me a chance!”

“I’m unfair? I’m the one who’s unfair, Jongin? It’s not my fault I can’t trust you anymore. How can I? How can I trust you when you were the very person I dedicated my life to but disregarded that by fucking some starlet for her big boobs and tiny waist?” You were never fond of profanities but there was no other way for expressing the pent up anger and pain in your heart.

“And mistake? It was never just as simple as that, Jongin. It was a group of decisions you’ve made, choices you’ve taken even if you knew how much it would break me, how much it would destroy me, how much it would break us. And the fact that you still went for it like an excited teenage boy just destroys every piece inside me that makes me want to make amends with you. Because how could I live with the knowledge that you chose to ruin our marriage over something as shallow as sex?”

All he was able to do was stare at the floor, on nothingness.

“You know what? That’s the most optimistic point of view I had in the situation. At least you were still thinking of me. But sometimes I think maybe I was completely absent from your mind, that you don’t think of me anymore that’s why it was so easy for you.” The last strands of your strength just crashed. After all these time, this marked the first time you opened up about what he did. Because there was a silent agreement between you two that if you didn’t talk about it, it would feel as if it never happened. That his infidelity never existed. That she was just a speckle of imagination and the two of you were still the perfect couple you once were. But tonight, the front is dropped and the truth is told. That neither of you have healed from the trauma, that he’s still guilty and he’ll always be, and you’re still hurt and you don’t know if it will change.

“I love you, I love you so much, Y/N. I was wrong. I was so wrong, and I know that nothing I say would make it alright, that I couldn’t change what I’ve done. But believe me that I’m still mad at myself for hurting you, for ruining us. I’d do everything, fuck, anything to keep you here. Please.” Jongin is now kneeling in front of you as he clasped your knees, begging you to stay as he sobbed greater than you’ve ever seen him cry before.

“I can’t stay. I love you but I can’t stay. I’d only be fooling the both of us if I stay.” You also kneeled and put your hands on the either sides of his face as you asked his eyes to look back at yours. His handsome, ethereal face already scrunched up from all the crying and screaming. It broke you to see him like this.

You want to forgive him, to forget everything and start anew. But you just couldn’t do it, not right now, not this way when everything just brought you back to the pain.

“Just come back, please. I don’t know what I’ll do without you. I don’t want to live my life without you in it. I don’t want it. Please come back, please.” He was a mess. Jongin is just an apologetic mess in front of you.

“I just need to leave to fix myself. And when I come back, then we’ll fix us. I just can’t be here and hope to fix our marriage when I’m a ruin inside. We should take the time off, reevaluate, maybe miss each other so when we see each other again we’re excited. Damn, I love you too much, Jongin. I don’t want to be away, but we need this.” Your foreheads now rested against each other. It was a blind promise, you don’t know how long healing would take you. But you knew you wanted to come back.

He let you go, physically that is. Jongin even helped you stack your luggages on the back of your car. But he didn’t let you go away without planting a kiss on every visible nook of your face, and without you promising that you’d come back.

Most people would consider you stupid for still wanting to come back, but back when you said in front of all the important people in your life that you were to love Jongin all your life no matter what - you meant it a little bit too much. And he already regretted the poor choices he made, you already saw how broken he could be if he loses you in his life. You’re just two shattered pieces that want to fit together again, but you know that won’t happen if the shattered pieces of your own beings aren’t even fixed.

You two are just humans, flawed and imperfect. Humans that were susceptible to mistakes and to break promises. He was fragile and you’re unforgiving. Jongin was too malleable and you were too stubborn. Two imperfect humans that felt whole when they are together.

So maybe when the downfall subsided, when the shrapnels start to fall back into its rightful places, and the heart he so rightfully owned started beating the right rhythm again - you’ll find your way back to him.

[addermoray]

When asked how I would follow up The Last Jedi

This isn’t a proper blog post by me. Just a snippet of a conversation. There’s nothing in here from Rise of Skywalker, though the question arose due to discussion of it. You’re welcome to read it, if you like. And more than welcome to offer your thoughts:

Movie opens with the Falcon and a couple of other disparate ships all looking significantly worse for the wear, clearly having been in a few scrapes, taken a few small victories and survived. Crew's grown from where it left off which is why they're spread across three or four retrofitted pieces of junk instead of just the one. And yet, there are some familiar faces missing. Despite their luck so far it looks like they've finally been pushed into a corner with a medium sized First Order retinue having pincered them in. It's looking like a last stand, but despite that no one's looking hopeless. And just as the fighting breaks out, boom, the First Order's flagship takes fire. Their sensors light up with more ships emerging from a nearby nebula, or particularly electromagnetic asteroids, or whatever negative space wedgie is needed to justify their not having been picked up. None of them look the same. Some of them seem like they're top of the line, others look old and busted, all of them seem to come from all over the galaxy piloted by humans and non-humans alike. Those missing familiar faces in their own ship. It's not an easy victory, but it's a victory none the less and more FO tech to scuttle.

The Resistance has been building itself back up, the people of conquered worlds seeing them as a last beacon of hope and seeking them out, escaping from the First Order to bring what they can to the cause. They aren't nearly able to defeat the First Order in their current state, but they've been bloodying noses aided by a growing schism in the leadership of the FO. Kylo Ren's growing erratic behavior seeding dissent in what were once ordered ranks, reigned in only by fear.

Yadda yadda golden opportunity to decapitate the order presents itself, yadda yadda desperate push to a particular goal, shedding friends and allies who stay back to fight, yadda yadda Finn reaching some of his fellow troopers, etcetera etcetera war is won under incredibly improbable, but by no means implausible, way. As is generally how these Star Wars are won.

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I was further pressed to detail what the characters would do in the film, not just the flow of the plot, To which I responded:

---

Rey: Figure out her place in the universe now that she's no longer worrying about who she came from and create her own legend to inspire those who come after her just as Luke did.

Finn: Reach out to his fellow Storm Troopers, pull them out of the life, like he got out, and help them find themselves within the fight, at the fringes of it, or outside of it entirely. He leads his own strike team of former troopers and we see him checking in on troopers who have found peace in doing other jobs outside of combat in the resistance. As my own little sense of call back and flare, I’d like to imagine Finn’s combat unit all have a red hand print or hand prints from one of their teammates somewhere on their gear. They don’t get it for just being on the team, they get it when they earn someone’s respect, trust, or love.

Poe: Lead the Resistance with a new sense of purpose. Organize and Co-ordinate hundreds of people from dozens of worlds, including hotshots like he was not too long ago who are used to leading their teams themselves. He’s getting good at the whole diplomacy and delegation thing and feeling less and less need to go out into combat in a ship of his own. He’d get a good moment towards the latter half of the middle of the film to show he can still do it with the best of them and spend the end of the film working from a command position.

Kylo: Crushings worlds beneath his bootheel in ways the Empire was wise enough to not pursue. His insecurities and need to prove that he is a greater leader, and greater dark lord, than Snoke, Palpatine, and his grandfather only having grown more severe over the intervening time. His actions putting him at odds with FO leadership, but his sinking fully into the dark side, making his power that much greater. All the while he is secretly battling the ghosts of his past, figurative and literal

Rey in searching for who she wants to be walks a path to the light different from the Jedi who were, as Luke says and the prequels demonstrate, wrong in the end. She doesn't abandon their teachings entirely, but she comes to understand that letting the force guide you doesn't mean cutting yourself off from your emotions. Hiding from the darkness only makes you more vulnerable when it finds you. You must accept who you are completely. Face the darkness and turn it aside instead of turning your back to it. If fear is a path to the dark side, then fear of the dark side is no less a path.

Likewise, Kylo walks the path of the dark side deeper than Palpatine or the Sith ever dared probe. For all their preaching of the power of the darkside and passion, they were all so very... limited. Vader served Palpatine instead of simply overthrowing him. Palpatine planned and puppet mastered to get what he wanted, yes, but that took restraint and temperance. The Sith as a whole, fearing their own destruction established the rule of two instead of allowing power to do what power will. Kylo has no such limitations.

As the representations of these new philosophies, their confrontation is inevitable.

[beca-mitchell]

show me where my armor ends, chapter 1/7

ch. 1 | ch. 2 | ch. 3 | ch. 4 | ch. 5 | ch. 6 | ch. 7

Summary + a/n: Here is my Bechloe week submission! It will be a seven-chaptered fic, detailing Beca and Chloe’s relationship in this famous!au I’ve constructed for them.

Beca and Chloe are both famous in their own right: Beca is an up and coming musician. Chloe is an adored movie and television actress. They meet one day, by chance, and find themselves very attracted to each other.

Also on AO3

Day 1: Accidental Kiss

Word count: 3,202

Chapter 1: high hopes

Beca Mitchell enjoys a love-hate relationship with the press.

On one hand, she knows it’s necessary for her career. On the other, she never quite knows exactly how to interact with interviewers - or at least, how to be particularly charming.

Despite her general lack of propensity for the charm and interview etiquette, she somehow manages to make it through her day-to-day responsibilities without too many hiccups. She enjoys that her publicist leaves her alone for the most part. She has a few rules here and there, which really, aren’t too bad because Beca kind of just wants to keep her head down anyway.

Something that Beca can say she loves about her career, however, is the sheer amount of attractive people that she meets on a day-to-day basis.

She’s had her fair share of celebrity crushes, but more importantly, they’ve been reciprocated more often than not.

Unfortunately, it would appear, to her publicist, that it is in her own best interest to keep her relationships underwraps, so Beca chooses to just enjoy the fact that she’s single, as far as anybody’s concerned.

Beca can’t believe how many people equally want to keep their dating history and/or sexualities under wraps, but she’s not really complaining. It gets her through the day.

It’s something that isn’t a necessarily a problem for Beca, that is, until she meets Chloe Beale.

Beca has never been quite so attracted to somebody before and the fact is, they just click. They meet at an afterparty for the Golden Globes for the first time and Beca thinks that Chloe might be flirting with her, but under the haze and dim lights, she’s not quite sure.

They share one dance, alcohol and adrenaline making their bodies move a bit more sensually than what Beca might deem appropriate for public appearances, but at that moment, with Chloe, she doesn’t necessarily care. She feels like she can breathe for the first time in years, since entering the hellhole that is Hollywood and the entertainment industry.

When it comes time for Beca to leave, lest she does something she knows she’ll regret like...kiss Chloe or something, she does so with a squeeze to Chloe’s forearm and an apology on her lips.

To her surprise, Chloe pulls her into a hug.

“Nice to meet you,” Chloe murmurs, tightening her grasp. “I’ve heard so much about you. I’m happy to meet the face behind the name, finally.”

Beca almost wants to ask what Chloe has heard exactly, maybe something along the lines of whether Chloe has heard only good things, but-

“Oh,” she replies articulately, when she pulls back. “I, uh, same,” she manages to say. She has never noticed quite how blue Chloe’s eyes are, and all she can do is stare for a few seconds longer than strictly necessary. Chloe’s bone structure is crazy. Beca kind of wants to touch Chloe’s face or something. She chalks it up to the alcohol.

Chloe kisses her on the cheek, letting her lips linger - or maybe Beca’s mind is working in slow motion.

She does find Chloe’s number tucked into her clutch, written on a piece of paper with a smudged lipstick kiss at the corner.

Understandably, it all spirals into a fast friendship from then on.

Chloe Why are you so talented?! I’m just casually texting my radio station to request your song again. Just once more should do it.

Beca I swear you single-handedly sent me to #1 lmaooo

Chloe What can I say? I have good taste.

It makes sense in some respects - Chloe is an actress, starring in some popular Netflix series - one that just picked up a couple Emmy nods and Golden Globes over the award season. Even though she’s just part of another prong in the industry, Beca supposes they would have worked professionally together in some aspect sooner or later since she heard that Chloe has dabbled in singing from time to time.

Prior to the Golden Globes, Beca had heard of Chloe, vaguely, but never had the chance to interact with her. At least, not in a professional sense. That is, until the director for her upcoming music video informs her that they’ve decided to cast Chloe.

Beca approves in a heartbeat because she has been dying to see Chloe in person again, but their respective schedules just mean that they haven’t had time to hang out. Chloe is so pleasant and fun to talk to via text message and sporadic phonecalls, but Beca craves something a little more physical. Besides, Chloe is pleasant, talented, and, well, Beca has eyes.

Chloe is attractive as hell.

She’s kind of excited to see her again in the daylight.

“Hi,” Beca greets, shaking Chloe’s hand once she arrives on set. The California sun bears down on them unforgivingly, but Beca thinks Chloe looks beautiful, a little flushed, but dressed casually in jean shorts and a red and blue t-shirt. Her eyes light up when she takes in Beca, unabashedly giving her a quick once-over.

Chloe laughs, light and pleasant. “Come on, Bec. I don’t do handshakes. Hug?” she asks. Beca only laughs and meets Chloe halfway, allowing her to pull their bodies together in a warm embrace.

“How have you been?” Beca asks, quickly stuffing her hands in her pockets when she finds that she doesn’t want to let go of Chloe’s waist.

“Good, just working here and there. I had my agent put my name down for this shoot when I first heard about it. I hoped name-dropping you would bump me to the front of the list.”

“That eager to see me again, huh?” Beca replies quickly, finding her tongue suddenly unstuck.

“Well, I mean, you weren’t going to ask me to hang out, so…”

It makes Beca take pause, because Chloe’s tone is flirtatious if she has to describe it. “We’ve both been busy!” Beca exclaims, letting out a laugh.

“Yeah, sure, tell yourself that.” Chloe smiles, however, to let Beca know she means it all in jest. “I’m actually really excited we’re going to work together, finally. You’ll have to let me know if the acting bug ever comes to find you.”

Beca shudders at the thought. “I absolutely don’t think that’ll happen in this lifetime, but how about you keep me in mind if you want to work on a song together one day? I heard that one musical movie you were in. I like your voice.” Beca forces back her own blush at how absolutely nerdy that sounded.

Chloe’s smile is warmer. “One day. I like the sound of that.” She stares at Beca for a moment longer. “Well, I’m going to go finish my make-up, but I’ll see you in a bit!” Chloe giggles. “Also, I’ve never been to Disneyland before, so this is a treat.”

Chloe’s laugh still rings in Beca’s ear that it takes her a while to respond. “You’ve never been to Disneyland?”

Chloe’s voice echoes back to her as she walks backwards, still grinning radiantly at Beca. “There’s a first time for everything!”

Beca can only laugh disbelievingly. She’s still not quite sure what she did to be blessed with Chloe’s presence in her life.

PEOPLE Magazine

Chloe Beale and Beca Mitchell are FRIENDLY on the set of a new Music Video!

Shooting Mitchell’s new video last Friday, the two were seen hanging out during a lunch break at Disneyland to a lot of fanfare. They took photos with a few groups of fans before grabbing food to go. Eyewitness accounts say that the two were friendly, immersed in their own conversation.

Beale is known for her starring role in Netflix’s The Boss, which recently picked up five Emmy Award nominations and two Golden Globe wins. Mitchell is working on her second album, working off the success of her first album. Her single “FRIENDS” is her latest release.

The two were first seen together about six months ago during a Golden Globes after party.

See photos from Mitchell’s Disney-inspired music video set here!

Chloe So, we’re gonna do that again, right?

Beca Do what? Disneyland?

Chloe Yes, but this time, without the cameras. I want the full experience!

Beca It’s a d-

Beca bites her lip, quickly slamming the backspace key.

Beca you’re on, beale.

They do end up hanging out again, now that their schedules are a little less hectic. Chloe primarily films during the summer and beginning of fall more rigorously than she does the rest of the year. Beca isn’t really focused on much except the finishing the touches to her album.

They’re not...dates, per se, but they’re verging just beyond friendship. Beca enjoys spending time with Chloe, but she’s conscious of her publicist’s instructions that she keep everything tigh=tlipped and outside of the public eye, particularly since she’s still working on her own blossoming career.

All Beca hears is “stay in the closet” and it makes her hackles rise.

Still, she enjoys hanging out with Chloe - Chloe who has always lived a very public, carefree life, under the media microscope.

Chloe has become one of Beca’s closest friends, and with the speed at which Hollywood moves, Beca’s sure that Chloe is her best friend at this point. She finds herself texting her nonsensical things about fame, being a celebrity, and bounces song ideas off her. Similarly, Chloe texts her the latest updates about drama on set, her arguments with her director, and crazy fan encounters.

Above all, Beca thinks that it’s nice to share her life with somebody, even if it is in a friendship capacity. She tries not to let her mind wander too far.

Now, they’re sitting in a quiet corner at a cafe near Beca’s house. It’s a quiet Thursday afternoon, therefore there is less foot traffic.

Beca grumbles at small blind item on a gossip rag website that seems to be directed at her-slash-is about her.

She thinks that her sexuality isn’t too much of a secret, but she is careful to ensure that nothing ever really gets out because she’s still concerned with her own image as much as the next person.

It oddly feels like she’s in high school again, or even university. Where she was so concerned with what her own father thought about her choices and how she presented herself to her peers and community.

Becoming a famous musician was never really in her books, especially not with all the discouragement she received growing up, but she supposes stranger things have happened.

“You shouldn’t care so much about what people think,” Chloe murmurs, stirring her tea slowly. She watches Beca carefully.

“Not everybody can live like you,” Beca says before she can help herself. Chloe’s long history of dating flashes through her mind.

Chloe scoffs. “It’s just part of the job, sometimes. You know how it is. I just try to be as transparent as I can.” She looks concerned, then. “I’m just worried about you,” she says quietly. “You seem really...sad, sometimes and I don’t know how to help you.”

“You can’t help me,” Beca says quietly. “I don’t need help. I’m fine, like this. I can leave a perfectly fulfilling life.”

Chloe pauses, like she’s afraid to spook Beca if she speaks too quickly. “Then...why haven’t you asked me out?”

“What makes you think...I would...ask you out?” she asks, stiltedly.

Chloe blinks, like she’s surprised at Beca’s reaction. Like she’s surprised that Beca would have had any other reaction than passive acquiescence.

Beca hates simultaneously how calm Chloe is and how right she is in assessing Beca’s attraction to her. She bristles under how easily Chloe can read her, even after such a short period of time. Some of her own friends and family still struggle to break down her walls.

“Do you want me to ask you out?” Chloe asks, after a long silence.

“No! I don’t...I can’t,” Beca mutters. She pushes her mug away, not feeling like drinking coffee anymore - not when her entire body is thrumming. “You know I can’t date you publicly,” she mumbles.

Chloe looks down, a brief sadness passing over her face as she contemplates Beca’s words. “I don’t mind keeping it a secret,” she says quietly. “For you, if that’s what you need.”

It occurs to her then that Chloe legitimately likes her for some reason that Beca can’t fathom.

Another thing that flashes through Beca’s mind is how terrible it would be to keep somebody as beautiful and precious as Chloe a secret.

Still, her mind flashes to all her work, down the drain, because she believes the world isn’t ready to see that on some level.

“I don’t date, you know I don’t,” Beca says, defenses rising.

“I don’t care about your history, Bec,” Chloe says patiently. “You know that.”

“Who said anything about my history?”

Chloe glances away. “I’m sorry, forget I said anything. I didn’t mean to bring it up.”

Beca’s not exactly sure that she can believe it was an accident, but she’s a master of leaving everything as buried under the surface as possible, whenever she can.

It’s how she’s always lived; it’s how she has always been told to live.

Chloe I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m really sorry.

Beca Yeah. I’m sorry for freaking out. That’s just how I am.

Chloe I’m not going to force you into something you’re not comfortable with. That would be wrong of me. I hope we can still be open with each other, though.

Chloe ...still friends?

Beca blinks. She can’t imagine not having Chloe in her life, after everything.

Beca yeah. Friends, Chlo. Always.

They don’t talk as frequently after that particular day, and they definitely don’t see each other in person again until the People’s Choice Awards in November.

Beca is attempting to follow her interviewer’s line of thought - some question about her album release date and potential tour - when she’s distracted by Chloe’s presence. Immediately, she hears the fans screaming for Chloe’s name and she wills herself not to turn, but she smells her, which only makes her groan at how big her stupid crush is.

“Hi!” Chloe says from behind her. “Beca,” she greets. Beca smiles at her interviewer before turning to greet Chloe with a kiss on the cheek or some other formal red-carpet greeting when she meets Chloe’s lips...with her own.

Her entire brain short circuits.

She is aware of two things.

First, that Chloe’s lips are impossibly soft and gentle and slightly parted, like she was going to live a slightly open-mouthed kiss on Beca’s cheek.

Second, that she responds almost instinctively and Chloe equally seems like she isn’t keen to immediately pull back.

Beca does, however. She jolts back and lets out a short laugh to cover up her shock.

Her publicist looks like she’s torn between looking shocked and furious.

There are cameras clicking all around them.

“Oh my God,” Chloe says immediately. She looks stricken and apologetic, before her face morphs and she’s immediately laughing it off, and tugging at Beca’s hand like they’ve been friends for years. “I can’t believe that happened!” she exclaims, turning towards the interviewer and camera to play it off. “I - I’ll see you inside, Bec.” She squeezes Beca’s hands once, in reassurance.

Beca exhales, trying to force a semi-believable smile on her face.

“So,” the interviewer begins. “You and Chloe are friends, huh?”

God, where does she even begin.

Beca finds Chloe in the washroom during a commercial break. She had been keeping an eye out, meticulously (and as surreptitiously as possible) scanning the crowd and rows of audience members. She ignores the persistent buzzing of her phone, likely texts from Jennifer, pushing into the bathroom with shaking hands.

“Hey Beca,” Chloe says, catching sight of Beca through the mirror. Her casualness and friendliness throws Beca off. “Congrats on the nomination. I didn’t get to say so earlier.”

“You too,” Beca says distractedly. “Okay, we’re not going to talk about how you kissed me, then?” Beca asks, trying to keep her tone light.

Chloe laughs, drying her hands. “You mean how you kissed me? In public of all things.” She grins, a little wryly. “I thought you weren’t about airing your personal life in public?”

“Okay, first, you definitely kissed me,” Beca says, unsure why she’s making such a huge deal about all of this.

She feels odd, like something in her is clawing, trying desperately to get out.

Chloe sighs, turning softer eyes towards Beca. “It was an accident, Bec,” Chloe says gently, tilting her head. “I didn’t mean to startle you and you just happened to turn your head when I was going for your cheek. I’ll settle for a hand on your shoulder next time, I promise.” She puts her hand on the door, intent on pushing it open. “For the record though, you definitely kissed me back, but I’m willing to forget about it if you want.”

“Chloe, wait,” Beca starts, immediately feeling regret rush through her. “I’m sorry, I-”

She’s not sure where that sentence was intended to go. She’s not sure what’s going to happen in the next few moments.

She’s sure that she wants to kiss Chloe again.

Maybe it’s something in her eyes, but Chloe beats her to it - or maybe she read Beca’s mind. She cups Beca’s cheeks and presses their lips firmly together, like it’s the most natural thing in the world for them. Like it’s the culmination of this little dance they’ve been doing around each other for the past year.

Chloe smells vaguely of strawberries and her lips taste sweet, like peaches. Beca tilts her head, hands moving to Chloe’s waist, touching soft silk and bare skin. She feels like she’s kind of memorizing these little parts of Chloe, even if she’d like to deny herself the opportunity in the future.

Still, this is now and now, Beca’s focusing on the soft touch of Chloe’s lips against her and the gentle pressure Chloe exerts.

Beca isn’t sure when her eyes fell closed, but she’s just hoping that this isn’t some kind of fever dream because kissing Chloe is everything she imagined and more.

“Oops,” Chloe says softly, just as Beca’s eyes flutter open.

“Was that another accident?” Beca asks quietly, reaching her hands up to hold Chloe’s hands in place against her cheeks. She likes how secure she feels in Chloe’s presence.

“If you want it to be.”

Beca figures that accidents can happen in threes, as she leans up again.

Entertainment Tonight

Exclusive: See this video of Beca Mitchell and Chloe Beale kissing on the red carpet! The two stars accidentally lock lips at the People’s Choice Awards. They laughed it off as friends do, afterwards.

tbc / happy bechloe week! @bechloe-week

[tomhollanduniverse]

Blood [Tom Holland Oneshot]

Pairing: Tom Holland x Female Reader

Word Count: 1,817

Warnings: Fluffy fluff, mentions of blood, someone getting seriously hurt, maybe cursing? I can’t remember.

Anon requested this prompt for my 1.5k Celebration: Could you please write a tom x reader that they are filming 'spiderman homecoming' together and he ends up accidentaly hurting her very serious and there's a lot of blood and maybe she fainting in the set?

Hope it’s what you wanted. Let me know what you think! You guys have no idea how hard it is for me to write an action scene, so bear with me. I tried my best. But my requests are open, if anyone would like a oneshot, imagine or blurb!

Candice’s 1.5k Celebration

The sun was rising, as I pull onto the set of “Spider-Man: Homecoming.” I rub the sleep from my eyes, trying to wake myself up a bit because I knew it was going to be a really busy day with stunts. I take a swig of my large Starbucks, hoping it would magically calm my nerves. It was just cool enough to drink, the coffee burning my throat a little on the way down. I was extremely nervous, my stomach doing flips, adrenaline pumping through my veins. It wasn’t like I had never done stunts before but it was always different when other people were involved. Especially since that person was not only Peter’s love interest in the movie, but she was also my love interest. I pull my script out of my bag, scanning it for the thousandth time, checking over everything. It was the day we were filming Peter Parker saving his love interest’s life from a collapsing building. Y/N was offered to have her stunt double perform it, but she wants to be involved in as much as she could be. She was brave, I’ll give her that.

 I scan the parking lot to see who was here already. I swallowed hard, noticing Y/N’s car just adjacent to mine. She must have pulled up when I was distracted by my reading. I could see her script in her lap, pink and yellow highlighter streaking the pages. Her mouth and hands moving, not noticing me watching her. I take a deep breath, opening my door. I sneak over to her car, tapping on her window. She jumps, I notice some red spreading across her cheeks. I laugh at how adorable she is, as she opens her door.

 “Well, good morning. Are we a bit jumpy, today?” I ask, shit-eating grin on my face.

 “You ass. You already know I’m nervous about today.” She huffs. She grabs her purse out of the passenger seat, and slides out. Her eyes glow, looking at me. It was amazing at how beautiful she was without makeup. Not many girls could pull off the no-makeup thing as well as she does.

 “Why ever would you be nervous about today?” I ask nonchalantly, leaning against her car, crossing my arms. Her face drops and she rolls her eyes.

 “I wonder!” she says, sticking her open script in my face. “Let’s go get this day over with. I want to get scene 23-33 done, today.” she throws her purse over her shoulder.

 “That’s a pretty tall order. It might run into tomorrow.” We start walking toward our trailers, her hair blowing in the morning breeze. We stop and face each other.

 “Not if we’re actually serious about it, unlike you Mr. Blooper.” she pokes my chest hard. I flinch, grabbing my chest.

 “Owww…hey now. That hurt!”

 “Save the dramatics for filming, you wuss.” she lets out a breathy laugh.

 “You’re so mean. I think I’m bleeding.” She stops dead in her tracks.

 “Oh God, I hope not. Just the sight of blood makes me woozy.” I look at her in disbelief.

 “You do know it comes with performing your own stunts, right?”

 “Nothing has happened, yet.” she shrugs.

 “It’s going to be a long day. I’ll make sure the medics are on stand-by just in case.” biting my lip, struggling to hold back my smile. She rolls her eyes.

 “Just go to your trailer and get ready.” she says, evebrows furrowing, smiling. I sigh, watching her walk away, my eyes falling to her bum. I didn’t mean to be a perv but I could swear she was doing it on purpose. I shake my head, and walk into my trailer.

  I hid my nervousness well, but my heart races in anticipation. Especially when I watch Y/N walk out of her trailer, her clothes torn for the scene. I was in my Spiderman costume, keeping the suffocating mask off until the scene began.

 “Okay, attention people. Today, we will be performing one of the most dangerous stunts in the whole movie. Please do your exercises to warm-up. The last thing we need today is getting hurt or pull a muscle.” I look over to Y/N and her breathing was irregular. She catches me staring, her expression immediately softening. “We will be doing scenes 23-30, today. 27-30 will consist of Spiderman swinging in and saving Y/N’s character from the crumbling building. You two come with me, and we will get you tethered.” She hesitantly walks over to the director, I follow suit, she smiles as I get closer to her.

 “You ready to do this, Tom? Because I’m not.” I slide the mask over my face, grinning at her before slipping it over my head.

 “Who’s Tom? I’m Spiderman.” I leave my mouth and nose uncovered. She lets out a giggle, facepalming at my attempt at humor. I was actually attempting to calm both of our nerves: Her smile calms me down and my humor calms her. We start walking to the studio to get the hardest part out of the way, first.

 “Listen, I’ve been meaning to ask you--” she starts but hesitates. “Would you like to go to dinner with me tonight, if you’re not too busy?” My breath caught in my throat at her question. She looks down at her feet, as we’re walking to the set. The director looks at me out of the corner of his eye, grinning wide.

 “Uhh--” I clear my throat, realizing I look like a total idiot with my mask half on. “--Yeah of course. Yes.” I stammer. Her head shoots up to me, eyes gleaming. Even through this uncomfortable mask I could still see how beautiful she is. I couldn’t believe it.

 “Well, since you two have inspiration to get through this day in one piece and quickly, let’s get this started.” The director laughs. “In this scene, Y/N will be lying on the ground, on her back, unconscious. As she wakes up, she realizes the office building is crumbling above her; Spiderman swoops in from the side, and gets her out of the way just in time, gliding just over the surface of the pavement.” The director demonstrates with a series of drawings. “The dangerous part of this is being so low to the ground, with rough debris on the ground. Not only that, but if the cue is missed and Tom swoops in too hard it could sent Y/N sliding across the floor into the wall. We have cushions against the wall but hitting it at a high speed will hurt terribly.”

 “Oh--is that all?” Y/N laughs, her eyebrows raising.

 “It’s not too late to have your stunt double do this.” I reassure her. She immediately shakes her head ‘no.’

 “I want to do this.” she says confidently. “Let’s get this over with.”

 “Okay, let’s get set up!” the director smiles. The crew teathers me up and raises me about 30 feet into the air, to the top of a “building.” Y/N looks up at me, waving, as she was getting her makeup done. She seems pretty calm for a dangerous stunt like this. Although, her asking me to dinner earlier in front of an audience was a pretty gutsy move. She definitely was a brave one and I admired that about her. Bravery would take her far in this business.

 “Quiet on the set!” assistants screamed. “Everyone get ready for your cue!”

 “And…ACTION!”

 Y/N’s character slowly woke from her unconscious state, looking around at the falling objects around her, speaking her lines flawlessly. She suddenly looks up as a crumbling piece of the roof falls toward her, and she screams. That was my cue to jump but I had forgotten to pull my mask the rest of the way down. I yanked the mask down and jumped toward her, missing the cue by a whopping 3 seconds. Not to mention, I jumped with too much force. I knew from the second I jumped that I would regret it. I swing toward Y/N, holding my arms out to catch her. Instead, our greatest fears were brought to life. We collided, sending Y/N sliding across the floor. She violently rolled over the debris and hit the wall with enough force for the collision to echo through the whole building. I unbuckled myself, as everyone immediately ran to see if she was okay. Miraculously, she stands up, using the wall to steady herself.

 “Y/N! Are you okay?!” I scream. She turns to face me, her nose is bloody and a few cuts were visible on her arms. Some were bleeding and some were minor. She held her side, trying to catch her breath. As I reach her, she wipes her nose with the back of her hand. When she sees the blood, she looks up at me and her head goes limp, her legs give out from underneath her. I immediately remember her telling me earlier about how she was sensitive to the sight of blood. I catch her just before she hits the ground and I cradle her in my arms. “Y/N, darling. Can you hear me?” I say, tearing the mask off. The crew runs up to us, handing me a cool, wet wash cloth. I gently start wiping the blood away from her nose, being careful as to not cause her anymore pain than I already have. Her eyes flutter open, her mouth open, breathing raggedly.

 “So you miss your cue by a few seconds, but you happen to catch me before I faint from seeing blood?” she asks, smiling through the pain. She grabs her side where our bodies collided, wincing in pain. “You’re unbelieveable.” She was able to crack a joke, no matter what the situation was.

 “I know I am.” I gently tuck a loose strand of her hair behind her. “Does this ruin my chances of that date we’re supposed to go on, tonight?” She bursts out laughing.

 “Like I said, Tom. You’re unbelieveable!”

[aion-rsa]

DC’s Wonder Twins Have Always Been a Joke. That’s a Good Thing

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Warner Bros. is making a Wonder Twins movie for HBO Max. Yes, you read that right, the Wonder Twins. As in, the two purple-clad alien teenagers who can shapeshift when they touch hands and shout “Wonder Twin powers, activate!” Of course, their shapeshifting is somewhat limited as Jayna can only transform into animals and Zan can become water…as in liquid, solid, or vapor. Basically, they’re just useful enough to be the equivalent of interns with the Justice League without overshadowing any of their more traditionally superheroic teammates.

They seem like an unlikely pair of candidates for a superhero movie, don’t they? Adam Sztykiel is writing and directing a film that will go directly to HBO Max, and the studio has tapped KJ Apa (Riverdale) and Isabel May (1883) to play Zan and Jayna. For ’80s kids, the Wonder Twins are almost synonymous with their early experiences with the DC Universe. For everyone else? Well…

So how can “form of/shape of” curious folks learn everything they need to know about these fairly obscure DC heroes? Well, for one thing, every episode of Super Friends, where they were first introduced, is currently available on HBO Max. If you need your Wonder Twins fix, they appear in the seasons The All-New Super Friends Hour (season 2 on HBO Max), The World’s Greatest Super Friends (season 5 on HBO Max), Super Friends (season 6, 7, and 8 on HBO Max), and Super Friends: The Legendary Super Powers Show (season 9 on HBO Max). But honestly, unless you grew up with these shows, they might not connect for a modern audience.

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But the real place to start for modern audiences, and the piece of DC history that feels like it’s most likely to influence the movie, would be Mark Russell and Stephen Byrne’s brilliant and thoroughly hilarious Wonder Twins series from DC Comics, which more explicitly outlines their roles as Justice League interns while also exploring the “reality” of two alien teens trying to have a normal high school existence. Imagine something as irreverent about its place in the DC Universe as HBO Max’s Peacemaker or Harley Quinn shows (albeit far less filthy and violent) and that is packed panel-to-panel with background gags and jokes that enrich its storytelling world, and you’ll start getting an idea of what’s in store for you there. The Wonder Twins movie would do well to draw inspiration from this comic.

“Their super powers are so limited, and minor, means they’re not the people you’ll call when there’s an asteroid hurtling towards the earth, or when Doomsday is attacking,” Wonder Twins comic writer Mark Russell told us in 2019. “They’re the people you’ll call to break up a forging ring, or shoplifters, or something small.”

As a result, this comic features Zan and Jayne squaring off against primarily annoying bad guys like Drunkula and Red Flag, whose codenames may seem self-explanatory, but whose jokes never get old on the page. In fact, perhaps the closest parallel to how this particular Wonder Twins series portrays the DC Universe isn’t in the comparisons to those aforementioned HBO series, but rather in the way The Venture Bros. so effectively deals with the mundanity of superheroics and supervillainy. And it’s every bit as funny, too. The series has been collected as two volumes, Wonder Twins Volume 1: Activate! and Wonder Twins Volume 2: The Fall and Rise of the Wonder Twins. The entire series is also available on DC Universe Infinite.

There’s no release date yet for the Wonder Twins movie, but it will probably arrive on HBO Max in 2023.

The post DC’s Wonder Twins Have Always Been a Joke. That’s a Good Thing appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[gabriel-gabdiel]

Keit-AI! Tomoyuki x Seiko Chapter 21: Reversal of Fortune

The Akira Fubuki arc finally ends. Also, Tomoyuki joins the Literature Club.

The rest of the chapters of my original story based on a plot from 4chan are available here. Enjoy.

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After staking out (or perhaps outright stalking) Class 1A for a little while after dismissal time, Tomoyuki Yamamoto found who he was looking for: Akira Fubuki.

Looking at him up close, the Cherry Boy was surprised he wasn't able to piece together earlier that the Younger Fubuki had actually catfished him by pretending to be his own sister.

Aside from the hoodie, the earphones, the emo hair, and the smartphone that doubled as his music player, he really did look like the fraternal twin of Aya Fubuki.

A short-haired, flat-chested, male, and gloomy version of Aya, to be exact.

"Hey," Tomoyuki greeted Akira.

"...."

Emerging from the classroom, the male Fubuki picked up his pace and walked away from his sister's stalker, but as expected of the creep, Yamamoto ended up matching his pace as he followed him all the way to Maehara High's exit gate.

Akira gave Tomoyuki a sidelong glance and mumbled, "We have nothing to talk about," before giving the Cherry Boy a glare that would've made Aya proud.

The Cherry Boy stopped cold in his tracks, but then said, "Yes, we do, Fubuki-kun."

"Leave me alone or I'll publish that picture of you and the Amazon Queen all over the Internet," Akira threatened, the volume of his voice rising slightly, his eyes darting left and right at his classmates who were walking around him.

"Go ahead," Tomoyuki called his bluff. "That's fine. The only one whose opinion I care about will understand the meaning behind that picture."

"I-I ain't kidding, Ch-Cherry Boy," stuttered the kid. Akira really was completely different from his outgoing crossdressing persona. "Your delinquent classmate will totally beat you up over it!"

Surprising even himself, Yamamoto grabbed hold of Fubuki's thin wrist and said, "If you want, I'll send the photo to the net myself."

The girly boy pulled his hand away from the Cherry Boy. Rubbing his wrist, he relented, asking, "W-Well? What do you want?"

***

Keit-AI! Tomoyuki x Seiko

An Anime-Inspired Original Story from 4chan's /a/ Board by Abdiel

Original Idea by Hataki.

For once, Tomoyuki explores his own passion and dreams in order to keep up with the brilliance of both Seikos.

Disclaimer: This work may reference copyrighted material, the use of which has not always been specifically authorized by the copyright owner. It is believed that this constitutes a fair use of any such copyrighted material as provided for in section 107 of the US Copyright Law. All copyrighted material referred to in this work belongs to their respective owners. All rights reserved.

***

Chapter 21: Reversal of Fortune

***

Alternate Universe (AU) Seiko Okamoto just texted Tomoyuki Yamamoto a message prior to his confrontation with Akira Fubuki.

"Cherry Boy loved the trailer of Kagemusha you sent me, AU Cherry Boy! The one that starred Zatoichi! Thanks! You're the best! You know yourself like the back of your hand, ya movie nerd!"

Ugh. What bad timing, AU Amazon Queen!

Tomoyuki wasn't in the mood for this. If it were any other time, he'd be ecstatic about the news. He had a lot in his mind right now. Like how he was supposed to approach the aloof Akira, the brother of Aya who catfished him.

The AU Amazon Queen then sent Tomoyuki a flood of messages, oblivious of the fact that he had no intention of replying to her for now.

"He thought at first it was an edited fake trailer using Zatoichi clips you see all the time on YouTube! But he then saw every last Zatoichi film and he couldn't put his finger on where the clips came from. Hehehe."

"Won't we get into trouble if he learns the truth that the trailer was from an alternate universe? Won't that blow his mind? It's still kinda awkward being around Miku-chin, though. I never thought she'd get this upset about my gift."

"If only they were just best friends like you and AU Miku-chin are back in your world. What should I do? Help me, AU Cherry Boy!"

Tomoyuki wanted to pay no heed to the messages, but he couldn't take ignoring the love of his life for too long, especially when she was asking for his help. So he messaged to her the following half-joke:

"Maybe you should broach the subject of alternate universes somehow within Machida's earshot. If your Machida is anything like our Machida, she'll definitely geek out."

Then, as Yamamoto holstered his keitai denwa (mobile phone) into his pocket, something else occurred to him.

Something about how the Akira Kurosawa movie "Kagemusha" had parallels with his current predicament with Akira (not Kurosawa) Fubuki.

***

At a park near Maehara High...

The two former students of the same middle school sat on a bench in silence. Once he was done texting with his transdimensional not-girlfriend, Yamamoto decided to talk.

"Your name's Akira, huh? Your name reminds me of my favorite movie director, Kurosawa Akira. Japan's own world-famous director. You two have the same name," was Tomoyuki's lame attempt at an ice breaker.

Had it been Machida, she would've compared Akira's name to the famous anime and manga "AKIRA" by Katsuhiro Otomo. Or Akira Toriyama, the author of Dragon Ball.

"...A-Akira's a common name, dude. It's no big deal."

The Cherry Boy cleared his throat. "Speaking of which, have you ever heard of Kagemusha? That's one of my fave films from Kurosawa."

Akira just stared at Tomoyuki. "I-Is that an old black-and-white film? W-What does that have to do with anything?"

Yamamoto caught himself from falling face-first into the asphalt in dismay. Jeez, young people had no appreciation for classic Japanese cinema!

"I'll have you know that it's a Kurosawa jidaigeki (historical) film about a thief turned political decoy of Takeda Shingen. The imposter took over Takeda's empire right after Takeda's death."

"I-I never watched it," said Fubuki before muttering, "W-Who cares about some old-ass movie anyway..."

Yamamoto then looked the crossdresser straight in the eyes and said, "The Kagemusha reminds me of you."

"I-I don't follow," mumbled Akira, looking away from Tomoyuki.

"You totally do. Like a mix between him and Shingen's brother Nobukado, who also served as his double. Even when it was for the sake of a prank, you still looked exactly like your sister whenever you crossdressed."

"O-Oh. I see." Akira stared at Tomoyuki with half-lidded eyes and an impish smile. "W-What's the matter, Cherry Boy? Are you frustrated I-I made you date the Kagemusha of my sister instead of my actual sister?"

And there it was.

Akira finally addressed the elephant in the "room" (or in this case, park), much to Tomoyuki's chagrin.

Fubuki smirked and guffawed. "You're so hard up to get a girlfriend, you couldn't tell when you're dating a boy!"

Ouch. That mostly hurt because it was true.

Aya Fubuki's younger brother probably saw Yamamoto as some sort of perv who stalked his sister and had bad intentions for her altogether.

Rumors of the legendary Cherry Boy and his "Nice Guy" exploits had spread beyond his first year class and into the whole Maehara High campus, particularly with how Yukari Goto messaged him a love confession by accident and he immediately believed she'd actually fall for a guy like him.

Embarrassing.

Still, Tomoyuki had a sneaking suspicion that this wasn't enough to warrant an outright catfishing expedition, or at least catfishing to the extent that Akira went through.

Pretending to be the opposite gender over the phone or through an online chatroom was one thing. But Akira apparently hated him enough to go a step further than that. The extra mile, even.

"Any reason why you catfished me?" Tomoyuki probed, finally getting straight to the point.

"I-Isn't it obvious? I-It's because you're a creep and you've been stalking my sister all this time. I-I wanted to teach you a lesson!"

To Akira's surprise, Yamamoto then bowed and asked for his forgiveness.

"I'm really sorry for troubling your sister like that. She doesn't like me anyway, but I pushed the issue."

Akira rolled his eyes at Yamamoto. "A-Apologize to her, not me."

"I already have," said Tomoyuki. "I wanted to apologize to you personally."

"Y-You're the one apologizing to me? Ha!" scoffed the introvert. "T-That's rich, coming from you!"

"Yeah, I guess it is," said the Cherry Boy, who gazed towards the orange and red sky with a wistful sigh.

"I-Is this reverse psychology or something?" Akira asked. "I'm t-the one who catfished you, after all."

"Yep. You got me real good." Yamamoto chuckled, which made Fubuki frown.

"S-So what are you apologizing about?" asked the younger brother of Aya. "Y-You're going to play it off as a joke to save face or something?"

Tomoyuki's mouth went from a smile to a thin line, his lips moving inwards into his mouth. "I'd complain about how badly you think of me if you weren't completely justified to think that way."

The Cherry Boy heard the kid audibly gulp and saw him grip the edges of the bench's seat hard until his knuckles turned white.

From there, Yamamoto finally dropped the bombshell.

"I'm also sorry for punching your face back in grade school. It was supposed to be payback for when you punched me first, but I deserved that punch anyway."

Through grit teeth, Akira asked, "So you remember me after all, Yamamoto-sempai?" With nary a stutter.

***

About a couple of years ago, Kanemoto, Fubuki, and Yamamoto went to the same junior high.

Once upon a time, Kanemoto got lightly teased by his classmates, pairing him up with a girly kohai (underclassman) of theirs after he ended up near him during the school assembly. That kohai was Akira.

The thing about that was they had no girls in their junior high. It was an all-boys school.

Their junior was a boy who looked and sounded like a girl. He was like the little sister instead of little brother of his big sister Aya, who was attending an all-girls school at the time.

In Tomoyuki's desperation to fit in, he joined in on the teasing but laid it a little too thick, which led the popular pretty boy to put him in his place.

To be more specific, the jock told the nerd that he was a loser with no real friends and his greatest claim to fame was attempting to bully someone better than him.

Soon after, it was the Cherry Boy who got picked on by his classmates. It was karma in action, pure and simple.

But even before the well-deserved bullying, Tomoyuki got punched in the face by the same girly male kohai whom he also made fun with his teasing of Kanemoto.

This made the Cherry Boy's nose bleed, necessitating a visit to the nurse station.

A few days later, a "fight" between them ensued, with Tomoyuki hitting a punch at the kid before wimping out and covering his own face up with his hands to prevent getting punched back in return.

It was the lamest ending to a fight since, well, the Mayweather versus Pacquiao fight.

Never in the Cherry Boy's wildest dreams did he imagine that the kid he fought would end up being Aya Fubuki's younger brother, Akira.

Yamamoto was such a doofus try-hard when he was younger. Or maybe he was still one after all this time. He hoped this wasn't the case.

***

Back at the park...

The two boys went silent again.

Yamamoto stared at his shoes, examining its plain design like they were a magic eye picture instead. He couldn't bring himself to stare back at Akira.

"I'm really, really sorry about what I did to you before. I did you wrong and I can't apologize enough for it. I was such a shithead to you, Akira-kun."

"Don't call me that."

It was Yamamoto's turn to stutter. "A-Alright then, Fubuki-kun!"

Akira sighed then smirked, his upper lip quivering. "S-So you really did forget who I was up until recently. W-What traumatized me for years was just another day for you."

"It wasn't."

"H-Huh?"

"I remember it like it was yesterday. It was also one of the worst days of my life, getting beaten up by a kohai. How can I possibly forget that?"

Akira had a chuckle out of that one.

Yamamoto then confessed, "I know my apologies sound empty to you. I've been apologizing for my past actions so much that people are starting to not take any of them seriously. I wasn't teasing you, I was teasing Kanemoto, but when he bullied me back, you and I somehow ended up fighting instead. I...!"

The Cherry Boy stopped short when he saw the crossdresser raise his hand up. "Enough. I've heard enough," said Fubuki.

Tomoyuki sighed and nodded. He did his best. He knew that he wasn't about to be forgiven easily.

"I-I know you were teasing Kanemoto-sempai, not me."

Oh. He was angry about that. "Oh, so that's why you punched me on the nose."

"Yup, and you deserved it too, like you said," rejoined Akira, his raven hair glistening gold from the rays of the setting sun.

Yamamoto didn't know where to look, his cheeks getting warmer from the sight of the girly boy. "Sooo, you really had feelings for Kanemoto, huh?"

The crossdresser stared at the Cherry Boy's twiddling hands. "He didn't return my feelings," he mumbled softly.

"I am so sorry..."

"I-It's water under the bridge," said Akira. "S-So stop apologizing, it's getting annoying."

"So you forgive me?" asked Yamamoto hopefully.

The younger Fubuki chuckled. "M-More like I already got my revenge. We're even now, okay?" Akira then asked Tomoyuki, "So I'm Neechan's (Big Sis's) Kagemusha, huh?" while looking at the unseen horizon surrounded by golden buildings.

The afternoon sun acted like a Midas touch to everything its rays touched, turning them gold.

The Cherry Boy backpedaled from that thoughtless comparison. "Please don't take it the wrong way, Fubuki-kun. I didn't mean anything bad about it."

To Tomoyuki's surprise, Akira said, "I-I know. I-I've heard my fill of your stories when we were 'dating'."

Oh yeah. Right.

Tomoyuki told "Aya" everything about his dreams of becoming a movie director back during their "dates", as embarrassing as they were in retrospect. He made movie comparisons about everything as part of their small talk.

Smiling, Yamamoto shared, "Oh, did you know? Had Zatoichi's actor not taken the role of Kagemusha, it would've gone to Nakadai Tatsuya? It blew my mind when I first heard it! Imagine if Katsu Shintaro were fired from production. We would've gotten a totally different Kagemusha film altogether!"

"...And there you go again with your stories, Yamamoto-chan."

Akira then gave Tomoyuki a smiling, pensive look that made the Cherry Boy forget he was talking to a boy instead of a cute, short-haired girl.

Just like old times. This was the "Aya" that Tomoyuki fell for last year, lies and catfishing be damned.

Forgetting himself for a second, Yamamoto asked Fubuki a question he was meaning to ask AU Seiko.

"Let's say that in two parallel dimensions, one Kagemusha was portrayed by Katsu Shintaro and another was portrayed by Nakadai Tetsuya. Which one of them is the realer Kagemusha?"

The younger brother of Aya pursed his lips to a pout before it became an outright frown.

"W-Who cares? They're both fake," he said with a deep voice, shedding his female mask. Or perhaps he put on a male mask over his feminine self? "I- It's like me. E-Even in an alternate dimension, I could never be like Neechan. I could never be a real woman. No matter what version of me we're talking about."

The gazes of Tomoyuki and Akira finally met eye-to-eye as the Cherry Boy said, "Yes, you can never be Fubuki Aya, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. Even if you're twins or the same people from parallel universes, you two are different in many ways, and that's okay."

"Y-Yamamoto-se..." Akira looked like was about to add a "sempai" suffix there but caught himself at the last minute.

Yamamoto stood up from the park bench and bowed at his kohai. Akira looked like he was about to bow in return, only for the cheeky brat to give him a kiss on the lips instead.

"AH!" yelped Yamamoto, who jumped back.

Akira chuckled, stuck his tongue out, and winked at the Cherry Boy. "Okay, even though I'm still a little mad, now I forgive you."

The kid then rose, put his hoodie on, and gave a sideward glance at the flabbergasted Tomoyuki while squeezing his earphones into his ears.

"Later."

The Cherry Boy touched his lips, chuckled to himself, and turned around to literally walk into the sunset, only to come face-to-face with the slack-jawed expressions of Aya Fubuki, Yukari Goto, Miku Machida, and Seiko Okamoto.

His Friend Zone Harem (most of them, anyway) had seen that last exchange.

'Goddammit, Fubuki-kun.'

***

A little later, Tomoyuki texted the Seiko from another universe about Akira, asking her about him, only to get this response.

"Fubuki Aya-chin's little brother? No, she has a little sister here. They're practically twins. Is Akira-chin a guy in your own universe, Cherry Boy?"

Whoa. Mind blown.

***

Usually, with Tomoyuki's luck, he'd have rumors flying around Class 2B or the whole Maehara campus about him being gay for Aya Fubuki's little brother, Akira.

And as expected, that was exactly what happened.

Oh well.

In light of the things Tomoyuki did to Akira and Aya, maybe he deserved being caught red-handed with that one last fake kiss to the lips in front of his not-girlfriends.

It was all a misunderstanding of course, but how was he supposed to explain what happened?

His so-called Friend Zone Harem (or rather, Sugata's Actual Harem) had been treating him weirdly ever since they saw that last exchange between him and Akira.

For example, he was greeted by a glaring Aya with, "I WILL NEVER ACCEPT YOU AS A BROTHER-IN-LAW, YAMAMOTO!" that fine Monday morning.

She seemingly forgot that same-sex marriage wasn't legal in Japan (although, in fairness, she might have also probably forgot that Akira was her little brother instead of little sister).

Also, she forgot one other important thing.

"...Shut up, Fubuki. I don't swing that way," he said to her under his breath. "Stop talking! I don't want people getting the wrong idea!"

"C-Congratulations, Ch-Cherry-kun," said a glassy-eyed Yukari, who walked towards her male best friend in a stilted, robotic fashion.

In turn, Tomoyuki cried out, "For the love of Kami-sama, your congratulations don't make me happy at all! Don't congratulate me over weird stuff, Goto!"

Meanwhile, the girls of Class 2C ended up milling out of the door, squealing (or "squeeing", as the Class 2B Rep would say) left and right over the new prospective coupling of Akira and Tomoyuki.

"EEEEE! The Cherry Boy is actually in love with Iincho's little bro?"

"I support your gay love for Fubuki-kun, Cherry Boy!"

"It finally happened. Cherry Boy has been rejected by so many girls he ended up dating a dude!"

"It's so romantic! A true sempai-kohai (upperclassman-underclassman) love affair!"

"Do you think Akira-kun will end up popping Cherry Boy's cherry?"

"KYAAAA!"

They were certainly more supportive over Yamamoto becoming a couple with the younger Fubuki versus him ending up with an actual girl, the idea of which seemed beyond creepy for these... fujoshi (rotten girl, otherwise known as a boy's love or BL fangirl).

'Oh no, not the fujoshi!'

The Cherry Boy turned towards his classmates at Section 2B for refuge from the madness that was Section 2C, only for him to end up face-to- face with a flush-faced and heavily breathing Miku.

Uh-oh.

Tomoyuki made an about-face as soon as he saw the look in Machida's face. He could practically see Valentine heart shapes on her irises.

"AH! Yamamoto-kun! Don't turn away! We need to talk about you and your new romance!"

"Get away from me, Machida! I'm not gay!" he said as he ran away from Machida and the rest of the rotten girls of Maehara.

"But it's not gay to fall in love with onnanoko (girly boys)!"

"SHADDAAAAAP!"

A teary-eyed Tomoyuki ended up bumping into Seiko.

They stared at each other for a little while before the Amazon Queen guffawed and joked, "If you're not gay, then why are you running away from all those girls, Cherry Boy?"

A despairing Yamamoto cried out, "Not you too, Amazon Queen!"

***

A weekend later, about five days removed from Tomoyuki's birthday...

Thankfully, Yamamoto's nightmare from last night where he was labeled as gay for Akira by the entire student body never actually transpired in real life.

If things had escalated that far, then the Cherry Boy might've been rumored to have a male gay version of his "Friend Zone" Harem composed of Sugata, Matsuda, Ishiguro, Kanemoto, and Fubuki.

His female heterosexual Friend Zone Harem still treated him rather weirdly though, but otherwise nothing too over-the-top happened to him. The girls kept that little exchange between him and Akira to themselves.

For example, he could still greet Yukari like before, but whenever he attempted to bring up Akira, she found a way to change the subject.

"Hi, Cherry-kun! Good morning!"

"Oh, hi Goto! About what happened last Friday...!"

"Oh, speaking of Friday, K-On's last episode happened on Friday! Such a beautifully made anime! Season 2 when, amirite? I can't wait to talk to Miku-chan about it, even though she only likes gay stuff... er, not that there's anything wrong with gay stuff! Oh look, there's Aya-chan! HI AYA-CHAN! Er, I gotta go, Cherry-kun!" she said in one breath.

"...."

As for Aya, she was the opposite of what she was in his nightmare. She was kind of worse.

"I hope you make Akira happy."

"N-No offense, Fubuki, but please shut up. I beg of you."

"Aw, you even stutter like him too!"

Ugh. He then cringed when from behind him, Aya whispered, "Break his heart and I'll break your fingers."

He then hissed, "I have no heart of his to break because he likes some other dude! His heart belongs to another!"

Fubuki blinked. "Who else would it be? He kissed you."

"SSSSSSHHH!" he shushed.

No need to start a new rumor about him. He'd rather be the Virgin King than have people think he swung for the other team or however the turn of phrase went. "He was just pranking me! Your li'l bro is about as in-love with me as you or Goto are with me!"

In the background, Yukari choked on her spit.

Aya then raised an eyebrow. "Or as in-love with you as Machida Miku is?"

He shrugged. "Sure, fine. Let's go with that."

In the background, Miku choked on her spit.

Speaking of Miku, the choking Class 2B iincho had her nose in her notebook for some reason when Yamamoto entered Class 2B and literally bumped into her, which blindsided her and made her drop the object of her attention.

Miku was actually hiding a drawing of what suspiciously looked like Tomoyuki and Akira kissing. And naked. And... for lack of a better term... "sword-fighting".

It was a pretty well-done drawing, if unnerving to the Cherry Boy. Like a detailed oil painting of hardcore porn (a description that covered a disturbing amount of medieval paintings).

"...." chorused Miku and Yamamoto.

Apparently, she took the kissing scene between the Cherry Boy and the Lady Boy as well as Yamamoto expected, knowing her. As expected of the Fujoshi of Class 2B.

The Class 2B Rep immediately scrambled for her lewd materials, her face as scarlet as the setting sun or the circle on the Japanese flag that also represented the setting sun.

"Et tu, Machida?" asked Yamamoto, who looked and felt like he was about to melt.

"I'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorry...!" Miku apologized, bowing at the Cherry Boy repeatedly.

He then ran away from his so-called best friend, feeling a sense of déjà vu as he did so.

The teary-eyed Tomoyuki ended up bumping into Seiko.

They stared at each other for a little while before the Amazon Queen guffawed and joked, "If you're not gay, then why are you running away from all those girls, Cherry Boy?"

A despairing Yamamoto cried out, "Not you too, Amazon Queen!" only for him to blink and realize that out of all the scenarios he had in his dream, only the one involving Seiko came true.

Huh. So she really was the girl he knew the most among all the girls he'd ever wooed. Or failed to woo.

Or maybe he knew her AU self like the back of his hand and at times, he ended up guessing what the Seiko in his world would say because of how similar the two versions of her were.

Seiko grinned and laughed in that tomboyish, brusque way she usually did, which made Tomoyuki's heart break a little more.

AU Seiko used to be the closest thing Tomoyuki had to getting the object of his affection in his dimension, only for him to fall in love with her instead.

Now the Seiko of his dimension was the closest thing he had to getting AU Seiko.

However, the gulf between him and this dimension's Amazon Queen was about as insurmountable as the gulf between him and her AU counterpart that didn't even exist in his reality.

That gulf between them even had a name: Kazuhito Sugata.

Speak of the devil, Sugata decided then and there to pop out of nowhere.

"You're calling Cherry Boy gay? That's rich coming from a closeted lesbian like you, Okamato!" chided the blond-haired delinquent, making a pun using Seiko's surname and the word okama (transvestite).

From there, Seiko did a German suplex on her so-called childhood friend.

"OW! You're just proving my point, you stupid man-girl!"

"What's that? You want another suplex, Furyou-kun? Okay then!"

"GAAAH! LEGGO, YOU CRAZY BITCH!" yelped the Yankee. "Why are you doing wrestling moves when you're the Karate Club Captain? OOF!"

So far, Tomoyuki's Sugata Harem Extermination Plan (or whatever it was called, its title was a work in progress) had been rather successful in spite of himself and his social awkwardness.

Yukari Goto no longer pined for Kazuhito and neither did Aya Fubuki. Sure, Akira Fubuki wasn't part of Sugata's Harem, but Yamamoto was glad all his issues with both Fubuki siblings had been ironed out.

As for Student Council President Mana Otonashi, even the normally dense Tomoyuki could see that her interest with Kazuhito was only skin deep at best.

Besides which, he'd been hearing rumors of her possibly having a romance with the 2B heartthrob and Judo Club Captain Kanemoto instead. Maybe.

So at the very least, he didn't need to do much in order to bring Mana's crush with Kazuhito to an end. It was over before it began.

Although it did help out how Yamamoto had cut Sugata's (Actual) Harem down to size, seeing that the manipulative student council president had been using his harem against him.

Also, both Sugata and Machida were getting along splendidly. Soon enough, like in the case of his other childhood friend Megumi Minagata, the Yankee might end up dating Machida instead of Okamoto.

An ultimatum might finally be reached.

But even if Sugata broke Okamoto's heart the same way AU Sugata did AU Okamoto, would that be enough for the Amazon Queen to give the Cherry Boy a chance?

Tomoyuki gulped, unable to voice out the feelings bubbling inside him.

Even this far into his Anti-Harem Plan, any number of things could go wrong.

Machida and Sugata could end up incompatible since Kazuhito broke up with Minagata herself. Okamoto could somehow confess her feelings to the Yankee and then have them reciprocated. Or vice-versa.

The main problem with the Cherry Boy's harebrained plan was that, like everyone in his Friend Zone Harem... Goto, Fubuki, Machida, and Otonashi... the Amazon Queen only saw him as a friend and nothing more.

He had already pushed his luck by hinting to her that he still loved her (or at least another version of her) before "Aya" revealed himself to be "Akira" instead.

Besides which, didn't he already confess to her and got shot down?

Sure, his confession was done under the mistaken impression that Seiko confessed to him first, but that was a typical confession from him to be honest, as evidenced by his failed love confessions with Yukari, Aya, Mana, and Miku.

The two childhood friends from Hiroshima bickered, as usual. Like a married couple. While the Cherry Boy pined for the Amazon Queen in the background.

Has anything really changed in the end? After all this time? After all the progress Tomoyuki had in improving himself and his relationship with his failed not-romances?

Besides which, did he really deserve to woo someone like the Amazon Queen in the first place, whose specs were too high for the lowly likes of him? Much less her AU counterpart that was in love with him (kind of) but was a world away. A whole universe was between him and her.

She was such an athletic prodigy that she could join any sports club in Maehara and end up becoming the team captain there. She shone bright like the sun and Tomoyuki was the Icarus with waxen wings getting too close to her.

Maybe she deserved someone like the delinquent, who was at least a tough guy who knew her since childhood and could handle her strong personality.

"Hey, Earth to Cherry Boy!" greeted Seiko while gripping a blue-faced Kazuhito tight in a headlock, "What should I do with this stupid Yankee? Another German suplex? A crossface submission move? The Figure Four? A Scorpion Death Lock?"

Oh, he knew the answer to this one. "Emerald Flowsion?"

"All right! Emerald Flowsion it is... Wait, what?" The Amazon Queen's jaw dropped.

Regardless, she did the sit-out side slam regardless while never breaking eye contact with Yamamoto the whole while.

"Hey! SERIOUSLY!? H-Hey, Seiko-chan, don't... OOOF!" oofed Sugata.

Actually, it was the finishing move innovated by the late Mitsuharu Misawa, a pro-wrestling legend who recently passed away back in June 13 in both the universes of Tomoyuki and AU Seiko.

He died from what the police suspected was internal decapitation followed by a heart attack during a tag team match.

The other Seiko wouldn't stop crying about it. Misawa was her wrestling idol for the longest time. The Cherry Boy remembered because it was one of the few times when a celebrity death in the AU Amazon Queen's universe coincided with his universe.

"How do you know that move?" asked a bright-eyed Seiko who invaded Tomoyuki's personal space in her excitement. "Are you a pro-wrestling fan too?"

As though he were avoiding the blinding rays of the sun, Yamamoto's eyes darted away and gave a side glance at Okamoto and her huge, bouncing chest. "N-No, of course not. You must've mentioned it to me a while back."

Seiko scratched her chin and grinned. "Yeah, I guess so. Maybe it was during one of our practice sessions for the Sports Fest, right? Maybe."

Tomoyuki gulped and nodded. He winced at the careless smile the Okamoto of this world gave him, reminding him of the smile he always imagined the Okamoto from beyond this world would have shown him whenever she texted or called him.

"Then again, I don't recall ever mentioning Misawa-san's finishing move before. You've must've done your research on EBO again... Haven't you, Cherry Boy?"

Yamamoto cringed, looked even further away, and cleared his throat, remembering how his incomplete information about sports and whatnot made him look lame in front of Seiko.

"Like I told you before, you don't need to force yourself to like what I like, dude," said Okamoto.

Not quite looking her way, Tomoyuki muttered, "No, I'm not interested in pro-wrestling at all, but when you talk about it, MMA, boxing, or any other sport, you make it sound like the most interesting thing in the world."

Agh! What was he saying? He sounded so sappy! He wasn't going to earn brownie points from the Amazon Queen this way!

Afterwards, Yamamoto and the supine Sugata's eyes then met. To the Cherry Boy's surprise, the Yankee nodded to him as if agreeing with what he had said. 'The hell...?'

Huh. So even Okamoto's childhood friend who always acted like he was so unimpressed with her also saw her in the same light as the Cherry Boy did.

Tomoyuki didn't know what to think about that.

Maybe Kazuhito really was in love with Seiko after all. All it took was one more push and they'd be together at last, despite both of them playing hard to get.

And the realization shook Yamamoto to his core.

How could he compete against the Yankee if there was a possibility that he was still in love with the Amazon Queen? Even the AU Amazon Queen could end up with the AU Yankee had he not stayed in Hiroshima with AU Megumi.

He might as well give up. Right?

But Tomoyuki couldn't quit her.

Even if he didn't deserve the love of someone like (AU) Seiko Okamoto, he couldn't give her up.

Their science teacher, Miss Sakuragi, then entered the classroom, which made the students of Class 2B scramble back to their seats.

"...How do you do it, Cherry Boy?" Tomoyuki heard Seiko whisper behind him.

"Do what?" he asked, turning towards her and finally making eye contact.

"You went from not knowing what to say to me to knowing exactly the right thing to say to me every time. What's your secret?"

Before Yamamoto could answer, Okamoto already returned to her seat without waiting for his response.

"Uh... uh... S-STAND UP!" stuttered Miku as she hid her notebook full of boy's love drawings of Tomoyuki and Akira she had commissioned one of her artist friends to draw.

"Good morning, Miss Sakuragi!" everyone greeted.

"Good morning, class," the science teacher said. "Take your seats."

"Sit down!" ordered Machida, who had finally regained enough of her composure to sound more like a proper class representative.

***

During lunch break, Tomoyuki finally had his chance to talk to someone he hadn't had the opportunity to message in a while.

"So y'all finally gave up on that stupid harem plan thingy? It's 'bout time, City Slicker," texted Megumi Minagata, the ex-girlfriend of Kazuhito, to the Cherry Boy.

"Yeah," Yamamoto finally responded after editing his message over and over, with several of his unsent messages reaching the character limits of his phone.

He then explained, "Your ex's harem girls are dropping like flies. But even if he dumps Okamoto, I think I still won't win her heart. She just sees me as a friend."

"That's what y'all get for trying to do shady things to her instead of actually wooing her directly," she texted back. "She don't like that roundabout crap. Be straight with her."

He wanted to retort something back to Megumi, but he got nothing to reply with.

She was right. He had spent too much time falling in love with Seiko's AU version to woo the crush he could actually, physically interact with.

But maybe he was merely spoiled by AU Seiko. She was the Seiko that was already in love with him by default and by no "fault" of his. She wasn't even really in love with him either, but instead with his alternate universe counterpart.

"So? What's your master plan now?" asked Minagata.

He couldn't answer that either. Instead, he replied about something else entirely. Something that had been bothering him since the Sports Fest Volleyball Tournament.

"Okamoto is pretty amazing, isn't she? In our last Sports Fest, she was the MVP of Class 2B. She won the relay even after Machida tripped in the middle of it, and she almost won the volleyball tournament in spite of me being part of the team. Had she not spent her energy on the relay, she would've creamed 2A on her own. Was she always this amazing?"

"Hey, don't change the subject," came Megumi's first message, followed by, "Yep, that sounds exactly like Seiko-chan, all right. You just can't stop her when she gets going. She's stubborn to a fault but that's part of her charm."

"Right? As expected of the Amazon Queen," he wrote, adding, "I can't explain it properly, but anything she does becomes fun for me too, even things I'm normally not interested in. I don't even care about boxing, pro-wrestling, or MMA, but when she talks about those topics, I can't help but get hyped. Know what I mean?"

"Oh, absolutely," Minagata replied, adding, "She has always been an overachiever since I met her. We can barely keep up with her, Kazu-kun and I. It's almost like she's in another dimension, sometimes. A true alpha."

'Tell me about it. Both versions of Seiko-chan are like that,' Tomoyuki thought before texting back, "I want to keep up with her. I want to exist beside her. I want to live life the way she does. To the fullest."

"Hey," began the country bumpkin from Hiroshima, "You're starting to sound like someone I used to know. Watch yourself."

The Cherry Boy didn't heed Minagata's warning.

Instead, he took a picture of a poster he saw on the bulletin board regarding a certain club looking for new members. For future reference.

***

At dismissal time, near the exit gates of Maehara High...

"Cherry-kun! Nice timing! It's time for us to go to the Go Home Club!"

Tomoyuki heard Yukari Goto jokingly greet him, referring to the "club" that students who had no clubs belonged to, such that when it was dismissal time, they tended to "Go Home" instead of attend to club activities.

"You're going straight to work at that convenience store gig, right? Come on, let's go!"

Yamamoto stared at Goto blankly before stating, "Um, I'm actually part of the Literature Club now."

"Say whu...?" asked Yukari, doing a double-take. "Since when!?"

The Cherry Boy scratched the back of his head. "Would you believe since now?"

"You... You... YOU JERK! Every time with you! TAKE THIS! My love, hate, and all of my sorrow!"

"OW! What gives? What'd I do this time? And how'd you do that thing with your twin tails? OW! STOP IT! MY EYE!" screeched Tomoyuki as he cringed from the wrath of Yukari whipping her long twin-tailed ponytails back and forth at his face.

***

So two things happened.

Tomoyuki joined the Literature Club and scored pretty high on the initial test for it, much to the delight of the teacher heading the club, Miss Juri Kitamura. Yes, the same advisor and homeroom teacher of Class 2B.

All newbies had to take an English and Japanese language proficiency test to see how well they'd score and what level of reading they could handle.

He felt a little proud in crushing both tests.

There weren't many things he was actually good at, so being a little good at reading, writing, and language boosted his ego just a tiny bit.

Also, as a side note, Miku Machida was the class president of the Literature Club.

Well, okay then. Sure. This was yet another thing she was good at.

Yamamoto considered going to the Drama Club instead, but he didn't know how to act. At all.

There was also the Anime and Manga Club, but he had no idea how to draw either. Not to mention, it was a total sausage fest of lonely male nerds in that club, with it mostly being composed of sophomores from Class 2D.

Furthermore, there was no such thing as a Movie or Film Club in Maehara High. This was the original reason why the movie fanatic Tomoyuki never bothered joining any clubs. None of them matched up with his deep-down passion and interests.

The only club that usually filmed anything in the school was the Drama Club.

They recorded all of their theater productions on video, but from time to time they tried their hand at making actual films rather than just filming what happened on stage. They made use of the Audio-Visual department of the school every time they did so.

Therefore, it was indeed a shame that he couldn't end up in the Drama Club instead because he had for the longest time loved the art of filmmaking and appreciated the worldwide masterpieces of cinema.

He couldn't exactly write a script for the theater geeks to adapt either, since they usually just went with the classics of Shakespeare or Noh Drama.

Then again, he was kind of glad he had a familiar face with him in the club he ultimately decided to join.

To be honest, Tomoyuki expected Miku to be part of the Anime and Manga Club herself, what with her doing things like making doujinshi manga (self-published comics) that she sells at Comiket (Comic Market, a comic book convention that occurs twice a year).

She was friends with fellow fujoshi that drew the type of lewd doujinshi she wanted to make on the down low (since she couldn't draw herself), buuut that wasn't enough incentive for her to join the "creepy" Anime and Manga Club full of lonely nerds regardless.

Full of thirsty "Cherry Boys" like himself who wanted a girlfriend that was also interested in nerdy things.

Wait. Come to think of it, why were Tomoyuki and Miku best friends again?

Oh right. The moment that he swore never to attempt to woo her again, Machida was content to put him in the Friend Zone.

Like deep in the Friend Zone. Not the Ross and Rachel from "Friends" kind of Friend Zone. More like the Ross and Phoebe kind of Friend Zone.

Also, he wasn't that big of an anime maniac as the people from Class 2D. More like most of his knowledge of anime and manga was from the Class 2B Rep herself.

But at least with her rejection of his romantic advances, she kept her word that they could still be friends. Unlike that bitchy Student Council President Mana Otonashi, who screwed with him every chance she got.

Even though he barely read any worthwhile English, Russian, French, or local Japanese literature, he had a decent grasp of the language and he could use his movie knowledge in the Literature Club instead, particularly the films that were based on books.

Like "Lord of the Rings" by Peter Jackson. Or the "Harry Potter" film series. Or "Of Mice and Men". Or "Lord of The Flies". Or "Hakuchi (The Idiot)" by Akira Kurosawa. Or even "The Ring" horror film series.

These were all based on novels of some sort.

Actually, things went swimmingly well with the Literature Club. Surprisingly well. As if it were a club that fit like a glove in accordance to his needs and interests.

The only thing he was afraid of was him losing his part-time job over his decision to join a club. But he wasn't quite sure about how serious he was about either the Literature Club or his cashier work.

Every day, they were assigned books to read and reports to submit, just like in the case of their school work. And every day, he received praise for his work on every activity, which motivated him further and reminded him of why he joined the club in the first place.

For once, he felt like he was doing something for himself instead of trying desperately to seek approval from others.

Then, one day, after he played the trailer to Ran by Akira Kurosawa on his cellphone for the thousandth time to strengthen his resolve, he made his decision then and there.

It was a trailer to a movie that existed in a parallel world, starring Tatsuya Nakadai: The same actor who played the titular character in Kurosawa's Kagemusha instead of Shintaro Katsu, who was the Kagemusha in Tomoyuki's universe.

He still couldn't help but get misty eyed every time he watched this "lost work" by Kurosawa.

Once he had gathered enough confidence and courage from all his initial club activities, he soon wrote the first few words of his own short story.

It was all thanks to this birthday gift sent to him by the other Seiko.

***

Apparently, Tomoyuki was more motivated about his Literature Club membership than even he realized. Even though he ended up keeping his convenience store clerk job, he found himself scribbling on his notebook or saving notes on this cellphone in between breaks.

It'd been a long time since he felt passionate about something other than trying to get a girlfriend then failing in a spectacular and cringe-worthy fashion.

Like he was living the kind of life Okamoto had been living as this sports goddess oozing with pure talent, potential, and athleticism.

It was even enough for him to ignore whispers from his clubmates about him being a try-hard teacher's pet because he kept acing all of the tests and activities given to them by Miss Kitamura.

All the same, back at their clubroom, Tomoyuki wrote and wrote. He fulfilled more and more of the requirements of the club, such that he was even giving Miku a run for her money when it came to scoring high with their club activities.

"Very good, Yamamoto-kun! Aside from the purple prose and run-on sentences, you're getting the hang out of essay writing. Have you ever written anything else before? Like short stories or something?" asked Miss Kitamura to Tomoyuki after handing him his graded test paper.

Scratching his cheek while his eyes darted away at his buxom teacher, the Cherry Boy gulped and said, "N-No. I haven't... written anything serious or... anything. Just small stories and... terrible-looking doodles for manga."

His homeroom teacher for Class 2B chuckled and winked. "Well, you're a little diamond in the rough, methinks. Maybe you might even have talent for it. Keep at it."

He smiled back at her words of encouragement, bowed, and went back to his seat as Miss Kitamura called on the next club member.

His heart raced from acing yet another activity. It made him feel... things in ways reminiscent to when AU Seiko first confessed her love for him over the phone. Like he felt appreciated and loved for being him.

He never felt more alive in all his life. Was this the kind of rose-tinted life he would've been leading had him and AU Seiko lived in the same universe?

"How's your new story coming along?" whispered Machida after taking a peek at the notebook of barely legible handwriting from Tomoyuki. "Have you finally gotten off of your butt and started writing that romance of yours about lovers from different dimensions?"

"No, that's different! Also, if you want me to show mine, you better show yours too!" teased Yamamoto back.

A blushing Miku covered her face with her own notebook full of scribbles and notes right after impudently sticking her tongue out at her fellow... writer, was it?

Yeah, Tomoyuki was kind of a writer now, wasn't he? Even if he was an amateur at it. 'Ain't that a kick in the head?'

Speaking of which, he shouldn't get ahead of himself. All he was doing was making a rough or even sandpapery draft of a story.

But he did have fun exchanging story ideas and getting feedback from the Class Rep. Even though despite her cheery demeanor, she was stricter than even Miss Kitamura in pointing out the grammatical and continuity errors of his work.

He gave her feedback in kind though for her stories too. Although he didn't really care for any of her boy's love or young adult romance ones.

He also outright turned down reading any stories featuring him and Akira Fubuki. Or Kazuhito Sugata. Or Kanemoto. Or especially Ishiguro or Matsuda. Seriously.

He also thanked his lucky stars that Machida was embarrassed and self-aware enough to not share with him any of her, uh, more mature BL stories and outlines for her erotic doujinshi manga for feedback purposes.

She finally got the hint that he had no interest in discussing which guy should be seme (on top) or uke (at the bottom) in a pairing she made up for original stories or her fan fiction.

To Miku's chagrin, Yamamoto quite frankly skewered all of her literary work and outlines for the club, taking note that they all followed the same tired clichés of misunderstandings, arguments, and forgiveness. Rinse and repeat.

"But that's how all shojo manga (girl comics) stories ended! Don't knock 'em all down for following the same formula!" she'd complain.

"Yeah, sure, but... surely you can come up with some new and interesting twist on the formula, right?" he'd point out. "So that it doesn't come off as derivative."

To her credit, although she hated him for his devilish frankness, she didn't want him to pull his punches on his critiques either, especially since whenever he did offer praise she appreciated it doubly so.

That was also the way he liked his constructive criticism from her. She even quickly corrected many of his run-on sentences, repeated phrases, mixed metaphors, and purple prose as though she were an advanced version of a cellphone autocorrect.

She'd make a great editor for a book or manga publishing house someday.

What frustrated Yamamoto about Machida's otherwise excellent, detailed, and mostly grammatical feedback was when she said his stories were "okay" or "fine" plot-wise but said nothing more about them.

He didn't know how to improve upon "okay" or "fine".

"There's nothing wrong with the story, Yamamoto-kun!" Miku would insist.

"Buuut...?" Tomoyuki would then prod.

"'But' what? 'But' nothing! I just said the plot is fine! Jeez, Cherry Boy," she'd then say with enough exasperation for her to forget how embarrassed she'd normally be when calling Yamamoto the slang term for "male virgin".

Regardless, he was so inspired by the progress of his writing and the high scores he'd been getting from his club activities that he even began writing the first page of a long-form story with a premise that didn't conclude after 4,000 words.

In a few hours, one page became 10 and 10 pages became a chapter. That chapter then turned into 3 chapters. Then 9 chapters.

In just a few days, he was churning out chapters and word counts that would've taken him the better part of three months to produce. Like he'd suddenly been possessed by hypergraphia or the intense desire to write or draw.

As though he were a man possessed. He was on a roll. The scattered puzzle pieces in his life had started to finally falling into place.

***

"Wow. You joined the Literature Club? Good for you," said AU Seiko after updating Tomoyuki about how it went with her love triangle with AU Tomoyuki and AU Miku.

As a by the way, AU Machida did geek out about the prospect of alternate universes after AU Okamoto broached the subject jokingly while discussing the possible origins of the Kagemusha Trailer (from Yamamoto's universe) sent to AU Yamamoto for his birthday.

This distracted the previously upset AU Miku—who in their dimension had a closer relationship to AU Tomoyuki—over not giving the object of their affection a better gift than AU Seiko had.

As a downside, she wouldn't shut up about the Multiverse Theory the whole time they were together.

"The Literature Club is actually the perfect fit for you. You were always the creative type. I mean, judging by the Cherry Boy in my world."

"Thanks a lot, Amazon Queen," said Yamamoto, who couldn't stop smiling after revealing his decision to join a club for once. As though he felt somehow closer to the AU version of his crush by doing so.

Or at least worthier of her love.

It was as though he could see her back as he raced with her in his imagination, like he was about to catch up with her as she shone brightly as always did like the shooting star that she was.

"Come to think of it, our Cherry Boy... my Cherry Boy... the other you... is part of the Film Club."

He chuckled and rolled his eyes. "Of course you'd have a Film Club in your universe. That's how it always works, doesn't it? What we have, you don't have, and vice-versa."

The Amazon Queen giggled in return. "I'm just glad you're seeking your own passions outside of all this love business. But don't get too distracted by your club and forget about wooing the other me or anything."

Thoughtlessly, the Cherry Boy reassured, "The reason I joined the Literature Club is to impress the other you. Kind of."

"...Wait, what? How does that work?" AU Seiko asked in a... questioning(?) tone that took Yamamoto aback.

Did he say something wrong?

***

Back at the cafeteria, while Miku and Tomoyuki ate their bento and discussed their activities at the Literature Club, two familiar figures approached them.

"So the rumors were true. Yamamoto has left the Go Home Club and joined Miku-chan's Literature Club instead," said a smirking Aya from Class 2C.

"I-It's not my club! Jeez!" replied Miku with a sigh before munching on an egg roll. "A-And Yammamoto-kun is doing excellent work at our club, for your information!"

'Gee, I wonder how the news spread so fast,' thought Yamamoto before sparing a glance at Yukari, the girl beside Fubuki who couldn't meet his gaze "for some reason".

Making an apologetic chopping motion with her hand once she mustered the courage to look him in the eye, Goto asked, "Can we join you?" before sitting down anyway and not waiting for a response.

Huh. Even the aloof Aya followed Yukari's lead this time around and sat down with them on the same table. They didn't normally eat around Miku when he was around.

Him joining some club wasn't that newsworthy.

Miku and Tomoyuki sat opposite to each other, so the Class 2C girls ended up sitting together with each of them, with Aya sitting beside Machida and Yukari sitting beside Yamamoto.

"Congratulations, Miku-chan," said Yukari with a wide grin while covering her guffawing mouth, which prompted the Class 2B Rep to shush her with a blush.

"Don't congratulate me! Jeez!" the bespectacled girl pouted at the twin-tailed girl. "Congratulate Yamamoto-kun!"

"Stop bullying her," reprimanded both Aya and Tomoyuki in unison at Yukari in that familiar parental way they'd tell off a misbehaving child, much to their surprise.

Fubuki stared at Yamamoto for a hot minute with a blank expression on her face before turning her attention back to Miku and Yukari.

'Whew. I thought she was going to be mad,' he thought.

"Bullying her? Stop bullying me!" said Goto with a sniffle and wide deer-in-front-of-headlights eyes.

"Now, now! Let's not fight over something trivial!" said Machida, who took on a motherly role as she patted her friend's head.

Once everyone settled down, Yukari asked, "What have you two lovebirds been up to in your little club anyway?" before munching on some convenience store steamed meat buns herself.

With a "playful" kick to Goto's shin from under the table, Miku said, "We're in the middle developing our individual writing style, so I was concerned that Yamamoto-kun couldn't keep up. But it turns out he's a natural at writing. I'm so proud of him."

Tomoyuki nodded. "And I've been recommended several books I haven't read to help me find 'my voice' or something. The club members there are really friendly and nonjudgmental about book choice. Some of them even cover light novels, like Slayers or Suzumiya Haruhi. It's pretty... comfy going there, to be honest."

He then saw the Class 2B Rep giggle, which made him inquire, "What?"

"Oh, nothing. It's just that all our classmates in the club call you the Film Snob," said Machida. "All your book recommendations were made into films one way or another."

The Cherry Boy palmed his face in embarrassment. "Aw man. Fine, I don't read many books that aren't films! Jeez, they're the ones being snobs!"

"Your new nickname is at least less embarrassing than your current one, Cherry-kun," quipped the bouncy Yukari.

Aya took a sip of her bottle of iced tea then asked, "So what does Seiko-chan think about you joining the Literature Club, Yamamoto-kun?"

"Huh? Er... Pardon?" asked Tomoyuki, feigning ignorance. Internally, he groaned.

Ugh, this again. Both AU Seiko and Not-AU Aya should mind their own business it came to how he went about wooing Not-AU Seiko.

What was up with those two anyway? 'It's not like I abandoned wooing Okamoto just because I became a member of a club. It's actually quite the opposite.'

Fubuki smacked her lips, thought for a minute, and said, "Just curious what Seiko-chan thought about you getting a club after all this time. My little brother told me you two have become quite close, so I'm wondering if you had asked her what she feels about it."

Tomoyuki cringed, recognizing what Aya implied even as both Miku and Yukari tilted their heads inquisitively at the both of them. "She's... fine with it. She thought it was cute and the perfect fit for me."

Oh man. And here he thought now that the whole stalking jig was up with Akira crossdressing as Aya, the Elder Fubuki would let up on him a little bit. Be nice to him for once.

But old habits die hard and one of the girls that made him infamous among the girls of Maehara was now putting his feet on the fire once again.

So that tattletale Akira told his big sister about the shenanigans they were up to at the hotel. Man, that sentence sounded so wrong and naughty in his head.

Then again, did the Fubuki brother also confess to the sister about how he was disguising himself as her in order to pull a prank on the Cherry Boy? Maybe he merely came clean to her and all, confessing everything.

Wait. Aya already knew about his crush on Seiko, didn't she?

Well, yes, of course she knew that he had a crush on (Non-AU) Seiko! The Maehara High grapevine was thick and accommodating of various grape pickers.

However, what must've sealed the deal for her was seeing Okamoto act all weird after she played his fake confession to Miku on her phone.

He knew better than to be presumptuous of the Amazon Queen's intentions, but for all intents and purposes, he interpreted the way she acted as... jealousy. Or maybe he hoped it was jealousy on her part.

Miku then asked Aya, "Oh really? What happened between Yamamoto-kun and Seiko-chan?"

A cold sweat dripped from the nape of Yamamoto's head as Fubuki's stare traveled back and forth from him to Machida. She then said with a cattish grin, "That's a secret."

The clueless Machida then told Tomoyuki, "But still, you and Aya-chan are closer together now than before, right? I'm so happy for you two," without a hint of jealousy, irony, or sarcasm from her sweet voice.

He hoped this clued Yukari in on how the bespectacled Class Rep really felt about him romantically.

***

To Be Continued...

It just occurred to me that Tomoyuki Yamamoto is kind of like the infamous Christian Weston Chandler or Chris-chan, complete with his "Sweethearts" or his version of the "Friend Zone Harem".

Also, his dream of making his Sonichu webcomic a serious thing even though it was just him plagiarizing existing content and lazily fusing them together is also reminiscent of Tomoyuki's obsession with Kurosawa's Kagemusha.

How about that?

Farewell, Abdiel

[jeon-jungkxook]

I Choose You | Part 2

Jimin x Reader

Genre : Angst, Fluff, Smut

Part 1 | Part 2

Summary : At age ten, you met Park Jimin. At age thirteen, you had your first kiss. When you were fifteen, you fell in love. At the age of sixteen, you made love, and at eighteen; you experienced heartbreak.

Author’s Note : Requested by @therecomespringday.

Inspired by Seventeen’s “Don’t Wanna Cry.”

“I’m going to miss my (Y/N) so much!” Seokjin smiled sadly as he embraces you, burying his nose in your hair. You were fifteen now, and he was eighteen - meaning he was beginning college. However; he was moving to Seoul, since he was offered a four-year scholarship there.

Tears spilled on to the apples of your cheeks as you wrapped your arms around his waist, pulling him closer to you - and you nuzzled​ into his toned chest. “Promise me that you’ll visit sometime? I can’t live without you,” you sniffled.

“Of course I’ll visit you!” he beamed, although sadness lurked in his chocolate brown orbs as well. “I made sure to tell Jimin to take care of you while I’m gone.”

The hug between you and Seokjin lasted for what seemed like a few of seconds, and the older hesitantly pulled his body away from you and grabbed his luggage. “I have to get going now, or else I will miss the train. I’ll call you later on when I arrive.”

You nodded your head furiously, giving him one last breathy ‘goodbye’.

With that, he was gone.

For the rest of the day, you stayed over Jimin’s house - both of your parents were on a double date, leaving you and Jimin to spend time alone. The two of you layed on the couch, the boy’s muscular arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him - and you rested your head on his chest.

What was supposed to be movie night quickly turned into ‘make out night’. It all started when the female character in the film confessed her love for her best friend, and she learned that he loved her too. They new couple locked lips, and as they moaned and groaned erotically, you tilted your head up to peer at Jimin - who already had his eyes on you.

“(Y/N),“ he said in a low growl - and before you could even reply, his soft, plump lips were on yours. You let your eyes flutter shut as you melted into the kiss, moving your lips along with his - and you soon felt his wet muscle swipe across your bottom lip, silently asking for entrance into your mouth; and you obliged.

Jimin placed both hands on either side of your cheeks, pulling you closer as his tounge explored your mouth, leaving nothing untouched. Once the boy’s sinful muscle slid over your teeth, you took the chance to suck on his tounge - earning you a soft moan from him.

Jimin was the one to back away from the kiss, his hands still cupping your face - and he gave you one last peck on your now swollen lips before flashing you a wide smile.

”(Y/N)“, he whispered. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Park Jimin.”

“I really love him, you know?” you said. You we’re currently on the phone with your best friend, who - like he promised, called when he arrived in Seoul.

“If you love him, then what’s the problem?” he asked, and you could see the confusion in his face just from hearing his voice.

“What if he leaves me? He always says he wants to be a producer, singer, or dancer - and of course he’d go to Seoul for that. I already lost my best friend; I can’t loose the love of my life either!”

“Wait,” Seokjin said. “You didn’t loose your best friend, (Y/N). Just because I’m in another location doesn’t mean anything - we have a friendship that not even Kim Jung Un can ruin!”

You chuckled at his sad excuse for a joke, and you grinned at hearing his laughter - which sounded similar to a windshield wiper, on the other end of the phone.

“Plus,” he continued. “Jimin won’t leave you, not if he really loves you; trust me.”

“Okay, you’re right. Thank you, Oppa!”

“No problem. Hey, I’ve got to go now but I’ll try and call you tomorrow. Love you!” he beamed.

“I love you too, bye!”

And with that, the phone disconnected.

“Park Jimin is not going to leave me,” you thought. “And I will not leave him, no matter what!”

No matter what; The words you mumbled to yourself when you were fifteen years of age. My, how people change…

You we’re sixteen when you made love for the first time. It was your sixteenth birthday today, but you didn’t bother having a huge party - like most people your age do. No, you spent the night out with your boyfriend, Jimin. You went out to the movies - you watched a romance film although Jimin hates those cheesy movies, then you went to your favorite restaurant downtown, and then he drove you home. Your parents were out for the night, do Jimin stayed with you in your home.

Walking into your kitchen, you find a decent sized cake sitting on the countertop, creamy white frosting swirling around the cake while roses made of Ruby red fondant decorated the perimeter of the desert. “Oh, Jimin! This is so pretty, did you do this?” you asked, snaking your arms around his waist and pulling him in for a hug.

“Yup,” he grinned - clearly proud of his achievement. “Enough of admiring the cake; let’s eat it!”

With that, the boy made his way towards the cake, grabbing a knife and slicing a piece before handing it to you. You noticed that Jimin look quite focused while cutting the cake, as if the slices had to be perfect.

After Jimin got himself a piece, you both headed to the living area and lounged on the couch, his arm slug around your shoulders as you nuzzeld into him - taking your first bite of the cake. The sweet, sugary frosting hit your tounge like a wave of pleasure, and you sighed in satisfaction.

It was amazing, and you were soon shoveling more of the desert into your mouth. However, you soon stopped your chomping when you felt your teeth bite against something that felt similar to metal. Furrowing your eyebrows, you use your free hand and pick whatever object it was that was in your mouth - only to come face to face with a stunning Sterling silver DiamonLuxe ring.

“Happy birthday, love,” you heard Jimin say. “I hope you-” he began, but you wouldn’t let him finish.

Dropping your plate of cake, you wrap your arms around Jimin’s neck as you crash your lips onto his soft ones. Jimin was caught off guard for a second, however; he soon got a hold of himself and kisses you back, moving his lips along with yours.

Jimin’s right hand found its way under your shirt, and he pinched the skin near your naval - earning him a gasp from you; and he took the opportunity to sneak his wet muscle into your mouth.

His tounge swept over your teeth, then your inner cheeks, and soon enough - both of your muscles were in a battle for dominance. Jimin won, of course, by simply biting down on your bottom lip - which caused a breathy moan to escape your now swollen lips.

Jimin soon broke the kiss, leaning away and staring at you with blown out pupils. His grip around your waist never faltered as he leaned into you, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

“Are you ready to take this to the bedroom?” he asked in barely a whisper, and you shivered at the question.

But, you were ready; you knew that much - and you wanted your first time to be with Park Jimin, so why wait any longer? You loved him and he loved you, so this would just be another way to show your love for each other.

“Yes, Jimin. I’m ready, make love to me,” you moaned, and - as if that was all he needed to hear, the boy was hoisting you up, gesturing for you to wrap your legs around his waist, and he supported your weight by holding your thighs as he made his way to your bedroom.

Once he reached his destination, he gently placed you down on the matress before diving back in for another kiss, however - he kept this one short. For, he had another idea in mind; one that would show all the other boys in school who you belonged to.

Unbuttoning your shirt, Jimin helped you get your arms out of the blouse before tossing it to the side of the room. He then latched his plush, pink lips onto the sensitive skin on your neck - and you moaned when you felt him nip your skin before swiping his tounge over it as if to sooth the pain (although it was pleasurable at the same time).And he continued that pattern for who knows how long?

After completing his ministrations on the crook of your neck, Jimin trailed kisses down your chest before meeting your bra, to which he discarded as quickly as he did your blouse. He then continued with his open-mouthed kisses, this time kissing down the valley of your breasts all the way to your stomach.

You watched Jimin silently, safe for the low whimpers of pleasure you let out every so often - and your cheeks flushed a bright pink when he snapped his gaze back to you. Now, he was back at your chest area, one of your breasts in his right hand while he sucked on the sensitive bud of the other, toying with it between his teeth just to hear your breath hitch on your throat every now-and-then.

You enjoyed the way Jimin kissed down your body, but that just wasn’t enough. He was still fully dressed while you were half naked, he wasn’t going to be the only one admiring a body; you wanted… No, you needed to take in as much of his well-built chest as possible.

Slipping your hands under the hem of his shirt, you lightly pinch at the skin of his abdomen, signaling that you wanted his shirt to be taken off. Rising from your chest area, Jimin stood and practically ripped his shirt off, tossing the clothing behind him carelessly.

Next, the boy unzipped his jeans and hopped out of those - placing them next to his shirt. He then went on his knees before sliding your shorts down your legs, eyes widening at just how wet you were from just kissing. He took the shorts and slid them to nowhere in particular, and then he was trailing butterfly kisses up your legs - licking the skin periodically.

Heat pooled in your stomach, shooting to your aching core - and you sat up on your elbows in anticipation to see what Park Jimin would do next.

Jimin was now face-to-face with your clothed sex, and he scanned your entire body - a smile playing on his lips. You suddenly felt small under the boy, and you shifted - trying to cover as much of your skin as possible.

“Don’t hide from me, love. There’s no need to be shy,“ he grinned soothingly, taking a hold of your wrists and placing them on the matress. “You trust me, don’t you?”

“Yes”, you breathed. “Okay, I’m ready to go on.”

With that, Jimin dragged his hands towards the hem of your panties slowly and sinfully, peppering kisses on your lower stomach as he did so. Soon, your last article of clothing was piled with the rest of your outfit, and Jimin slid his index finger up your slit - making you jump in a mixture of surprise and pleasure.

“Fuck, (Y/N). You’re so wet for me,” he growled before leaning into your core, flicking his tounge around your bundle of nerves. “Shit,” you moaned, a sudden need to hold on to something over taking you - and you reached for the first thing that popped up in your mind; Jimin’s hair.

The boy then took hold of your legs, spreading them out so he’d have more access to your heat - and then he was diving into you, his sinful muscle swirling around your clit, sucking on it every so often. “Fuck, Jimin,” you whimpered, and you felt your boyfriend smile against your sex.

You held onto his hair as if it was the only thing keeping you alive, moaning, groaning, whimpering, and nearly screaming as he continued ravishing your body.

Soon enough, Jimin backed away from your needy core - but only to give you a chaste kiss, and you moaned when you tasted yourself on his lips. “What I’m going to do next shouldn’t hurt or be uncomfortable, okay? I’ll be as careful as possible,” he whispered against your mouth, and you nodded slowly - eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

Jimin receded back down to your dripping sex before slipping his middle finger into you, earning a gasp to rip from your throat. The boy’s finger inside of you felt awkward, yet pleasurable at the same time, and the awkwardness quickly subsided once he began moving it and his lips were back on your nub.

Jimin’s tounge licked and swirled at your clit while he added another finger inside of you, and he curled his fingers everytime he thrust them back into you. “Ah- oh my god, Jimin- fuck!” you screamed as you felt a strange knot build up in your stomach, one that said it might snap anytime soon.

“Shit, (Y/N) - you sound so fucking hot,” Jimin moaned, thrusting faster, and you arched your back off of the bed, gripping and pulling at his dark brown locks. “J-jimin, shit. Don’t stop,” you whimpered, rolling your hips onto his face. However; you soon felt an emptiness in your lower area, and you huffed in annoyance as you gave Jimin a ‘what the hell’ look.

The boy was now towering over you, his arms on either side of your body and he gave you a peck on your lips. He then took your hand in his, placing it on the strap of his boxers, and you immediately got the silent message he was sending you.

Your eyes scanned his lower body, stopping at the very obvious bulge - and you made haste as you slid the cloth down his toned legs. Jimin was quick to step out of them, kicking it behind him - and you watched as his hard member sprang free. You suddenly felt anxiety wash over you. Jimin was pretty… Big - for lack of better words, and you wondered how the hell that would fit inside of you.

Jimin must’ve sensed your hesitance, because he was stroking your arm and flashing you a reassuring smile. ”(Y/N), I will tell you that it is going to be uncomfortable at first, but you’ll feel really good after you get used to it. Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you - if the pain is too much for you to handle or I do something that you don’t like, just tell me, okay?“

“Alright,” you nodded.

Jimin then stood up to his full height and strode over to his jeans, plucking a foil packet from his pocket before returning to his previous location. With his teeth, Jimin ripped the packet open and slid on what you assumed to be a condom.

The boy then aligned himself up with your entrance, giving you a glance before pushing himself into you.

Jimin let out a low moan, but he stopped himself from moving despite his need for more, and he looked at your face - which was twisted into pain, but he didn’t think it was that bad since you never told him to stop. After about a minute you said, “Okay, you can move.”

Jimin began to move slowly, his pace steady and, although he wanted to pick up the pace a bit, he waited for your okay which came in the form of, “Faster”.

He began snapping his hips into you with more force and speed, and you moaned when he leaned in the junction between you neck and shoulder, nipping and sucking at the skin. “F-fuck, (Y/N) you’re so tight,” Jimin growled, and you whimpered at his lust-filled voice, low and husky.

You threw your right leg around his waist, allowing him to burry his member into you deeper. Jimin’s thrust became needier by the second and he soon pulled out of you - safe for the tip of his cock, before pushing back into you, a scream coming from you and a muffled moan coming from him.

“Fuck, J-jimin!” you yelped as he hit that one spot that had you gasping for air. The familiar knot formed in your lower stomach once more, and with one final thrust, the know snapped and your body went limb as your strong orgasm washed over you.

Jimin continued his thrusting, helping you to ride out your high while he chased his own. Your violent convulsions allowed Jimin to reach his own climax faster, and he soon stiffened as his cock twitched inside of you, his seed pooling into the the condom. He then let his body fall on top of yours, pecking your cheeks and neck as he flashed you a breathtaking, yet tired smile.

“Jimin,” you breathed as you toyed with his locks - which were wet at the tips. “I love you.”

“I love you too, (Y/N).”

“Please don’t leave me, please don’t find someone else, please don’t leave the city, please stay with me for the rest of our lives,” you whispered as you twirled a strand of hair in your hand.

Jimin then sat up, hands on either side of you, as he gave you a quick yet satisfying kiss.

“(Y/N), he began. “I choose you, and I’ll keep chosing you; over and over. Without a pause, without a doubt, in a heartbeat…”

“I choose you.”

[ranger-of-estel]

Scars to your Beautiful

A little GoldenVibe comfort/Fluff inspired by the song of the same name by Alessia Cara.

Pre-Relationship

Read it on AO3

But there's a hope that's waiting for you in the dark You should know you're beautiful just the way you are And you don't have to change a thing, the world could change its heart No scars to your beautiful, we're stars and we're beautiful

               Cisco had long become used to finding Lisa curled up on his couch, or making something in his kitchen when he returned home from S.T.A.R. Labs. So the fact the woman was currently sitting in the floor with her back to the couch and a corded PlayStation controller in hand was not a surprise.

               “Hey Lisa,” he calls, shrugging off his jacket and stepping out of his shoes.

               “Just a second Babe,” she replies, “Can’t-“

               “Save during a battle, I know.” He chuckles, grabbing a soda from the fridge before plopping into the floor next to her. “Spyro, good choice.” He comments, watching as she deftly maneuvers the little dragon across the screen.

               “Mm, Lenny got if for me when we were kids. Never got around to finishing it though.” She completes the level, watching as the brightly colored jewels count up and it saves. She turns, smiling at the young man, “How was work?”

               “The usual;” he shrugs, “stopped a couple metas, saved a few damsels, listened to Harry complain.” He leans his head back against the couch, “You hungry?”

               “Pizza?” she asks, head tilting slightly.

               He grins, “Absolutely!” She’s up first, grabbing his cell from the table and the takeout menu she knows is stashed atop the fridge. He shifts up onto the couch. Watching as she paces the kitchen like a cat, all grace and power. Absently wondering how it became his life to have this beautiful woman ordering pizza and playing video games through the night with him.

               She walks back over, “Said it will be thirty minutes or so.” She looks down at him, smile tugging at her lips. “Hey, earth to Cisco,” she snaps a finger before him and his attention is drawn back up to her as she laughs.

               “What?” He frowns, realizing for the first time that she’s still in her leather jacket. “Are you cold?”

               “No,” her brow furrows, “Why? Are you?”

               He shakes his head, rising to his feet. “No, but you’re still wearing your jacket.” He moves as if to slide it off her shoulder and she steps away.

               “It’s nothing,” she shrugs, “I was doing laundry, only top I had is a tank top.” She tugs at the material.

               He frowns, “Lisa, modesty has never been one of your virtues.” Heaven knows those skin-tight jeans were anything but. He steps closer, this time keeping his hands at his waist. “Are you okay?”

               She nods “I’m fine Cisco, really.”

               He continues to frown, but doesn’t press. “You thirsty?”

               She nods, “Yeah, I could go for a drink.”

               “Alright,” he motions to one of the shelves against the wall, “you pick the movie and I’ll get drinks?”

               She nods, moving toward the shelf while he goes to the kitchen. Soon they are on the couch, her head resting on his shoulder, knee bumping lightly into his as they watch the film. The doorbell jars them both, and laughing quietly he makes his way to the door. He thanks the man, taking the boxes after handing him the money and moving to the kitchen table. “How many pieces you want Gold?”

               “Two, and a breadstick!” she replies, eyes never leaving him as he returns with a plate in each hand. They eat in comfortable silence aside from the occasional dramatically mimicked line from the film and laughter.

               As the credits roll he turns to her, hands reaching over to gather her own. “Hey…I just wanted...I mean you realize…” he sighs, and she tilts her head but waits patiently. “You know I don’t care about your scars right?” She frowns but he pushes on, motioning to her jacket. “I mean, that’s what this is about right? You don’t want other people seeing them?”

               “Cisco,” her voice is a whisper, and for a moment he thinks she might bolt.

               “I mean, if people are going to dismiss you for a past that you couldn’t control…they don’t deserve you anyway.” Now that he’s started the words tumble out of him, “You’re beautiful Lisa, nothing could ever change that.” He runs a hand through his hair, “And I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to…just.” His voice softens, eyes meeting hers. “Just don’t feel like you have to cover up for me, okay?”

               There are tears in her eyes, “But –“

               He frowns, “No, no buts.” He motions to the door, “You don’t need to pretend everything is perfect for them, if the world can’t see how amazing you are then it’s their loss.” He gathers her hands in his. “You will always be good enough for me Lisa,” She sniffles, a few tears running trails down her cheeks and he tenses up, reaching out to brush one away. “No..no, no, don’t cry..I didn’t mean, that’s not what was supposed to happen.”

               She laughs, watery but real as she reaches up to catch his wrist. “It’s alright Cisco,” she smiles at him, small and fragile and genuine. “I’m just not used to people seeing it that way.”

               “Now there’s a crime,” he mutters, grinning as her own smile widens. “That’s better.”

               She pushes forward then, mouth colliding with his as she pins him against the couch. At first he flails, unsure how to react or what do with his hands. But then he’s kissing back, one hand at her waist as the other moves to her shoulder. He hesitates there, and as they break for air she nods, shrugging the jacket down slightly before nuzzling against his neck.

               He pushes the material off, revealing the dark red tank top beneath. She tosses the jacket aside and he pulls her down onto his chest, arms resting gently across her back and waist. “Better?”

               She leans up, arms crossed on his chest as she looks down at him with bright eyes. “Much,” There’s another flash of sincerity in her eyes, the usual playfulness gone from her voice. “Thank you,”

               He shakes his head, reaching up to push hair behind one of her ears, “You don’t have to thank me,”

               “Yes I do,” she replies, resting against him once more. “You treat me like I’m…special.”

               “Because you are,” he’s twirling a piece of her hair around his finger, “But stars don’t see their own light.”

               “Really?” she laughs, looking up at him again. “Did that sound less cheesy in your head?”

               “Mayybee.” He grins, “But you like me anyway.”

               “That I do,” she hums, shifting so she’s curled into his side, her back against the cushions.

               “Hey!” he throws an arm out to keep from falling off the edge, “quit hogging the couch,”

               “But I’m comfortable,” she whines, one hand moving to lay over his chest.

               He sighs, shaking his head at her. “Thief,”

               “Hero.” She smirks.

               In the end he doesn’t move, and they spend several more hours this way talking. About movies, games, her first heist and the pranks he’s played. Cisco eventually falls asleep, and she manages to get off the couch without waking him. She gently spreads a blanket over him, pulling a pen and paper from a drawer before writing a quick goodbye note. She pauses at the window, turning to watch him sleep a moment longer as she slips her jacket back on. She’s not ready to stay, to let her guard down so far as to stay with him through the night…but after this…well just maybe she’s finally found someone who’s worth sticking around for.

[lyricalive]

If you're an Ace Attorney fan and haven't seen the 1950 Akira Kurosawa film RASHOMON, you're missing out on something very relevant to your interests. It's a gripping tale of murder, contradictions, samurais, and spirit mediums... seriously.  Here it is on public domain.

By the way, because it's so relevant, I wrote a dumb fanfic that reinterprets the story of Rashomon using the characters of AA.

Two men took their seats in a cramped sideroom on the Global Studios set.

An uneventful silence persisted between them… until a bright and rosy figure sprung abruptly from behind their folding chairs.

"BOO!"

"Maya–!?"  The man in blue jumped at her sneak attack.  "What are you doing?"

"Haha!  Why so shocked, Nick?  Didja think I was a ghost?"

The suggestion was enough to send him into a cold sweat.  "Don't joke about that, Maya.  Sometimes you are a ghost."  Turning his attention back to a thick stack of paper he held in his hands, Phoenix Wright furrowed his jagged brow.  "I'm still not so sure about this movie thing.  I've only read halfway, but this script hits scarily close to home…"

"You're lucky, then!"  The girl in the pink costume clapped her hands together with delight.  "You’ll be a natural for the part!  No need to rely on the acting skills you don't have."

(I resent that!  Bluffing could be considered a type of acting.)

Brushing off his indignance, Phoenix continued.  "What kind of story is this even supposed to be?  Isn't it a little serious for a kid's show?"

Maya shot back, "Get with the program, old man!  Everybody loves it when TV shows get a little darker and edgier."  She whirled to face the other lawyer seated beside him. "You agree, right?  Don't you like things edgy, Mr. Edgeworth?"

"Mm…"  Choosing to pardon the pun, Edgeworth agreed.  "It is an interesting choice to base the plot on an old cinematic classic.  I can commend the franchise for being willing to take risks in a direction that appeals to more mature viewers peripheral to its target demographic."

"…Excuse me?"  Phoenix threw Edgeworth a baffled glance, having hoped his old rival would support his argument just this once.

With unwavering eyes, the prosecutor clarified, "I'm only speaking from a marketing perspective."

"Anyway!" Maya interjected.  "How often do commonfolk like you actually get to guest-star in a real Steel Samurai special?"

Phoenix protested in vain, "Commonfolk like me? What about y–"

(…Oh, right. You're a little too unique to be called "common.")

His assistant grinned smugly. "That’s right, I was already a shoo-in to play the character I inspired, after all!  I told the director I'd do it only if my friends could be in the movie, too.  You should thank me for this opportunity!"

"J00 4C70RZ!"  The jarring voice of the director called out from the neighboring studio.  "R U rE4dy 2 m4Ke dIs m0V13 h4PPen?"

"…"  The lawyer’s most crucial objection to participating in this project was the idea of having any further involvement with the greasy criminal accomplice whom he had the displeasure of meeting two years prior.  However, his objection was overruled by the unboundable excitement of his young friend.

Rising from his seat, Phoenix sighed and resigned himself to fate.

"5c3N3 0n3!!!1"

Slow pan.  The courtroom is hushed in anticipation.  The entire gallery is so silent that one can clearly hear every drop of rain that splashes on the cold ground outside.

At once, the silence is broken by the slam of the courtroom door.  The attorney barges in, panting, in the middle of this important case.

All others hardly stir.  The only response from the prosecutor is a subdued mutter.  "I don’t understand," he is repeating, angst dripping from his words.  "I don’t understand."

The latecoming defense attorney understands even less.  "What is it?  What don’t you understand?"

"This entire case, which I should have easily solved in your absence…  It makes no sense at all."

The attorney sheepishly scratches the back of his head.  "Oh, come on.  A famous prosecutor like you, and our wise judge here– you've surely heard every story in the book."

"No," says the latter from atop his golden bench, stroking his silver beard.  "Not even the wise judge has heard a story quite like this."

"Here in the courthouse garden," the former somberly explains, “a man has been murdered.”

There is a brief beat.

"…I-is that so?”  The attorney fails to convey the proper level of concern.  "It's awful, but I mean, we've had murders inside the courthouse too."

"Of course, I've seen plenty of murders myself, but this…  This is beyond any crime and any disaster."  The prosecutor lowers his heavy head.  "Worse than fire, famine, or earthquake."

The tension is palpable.  What could possibly be as devastating as all that?

"Three days ago, the Steel Samurai himself… WAS ASSASSINATED!"

Gasps!

Dramatic close-ups on horrified reactions!

The prosecutor slams one hand on his desk to silence the riot.

"You there!"  He thrusts his index finger toward a certain person seated along his side of the courtroom floor.  "I'm calling you to the stand!  Summarize the case thus far."

The person nods vigorously.  "You've got it, pal.  It's not like I have anywhere else to go.  The rain doesn't seem to be letting up anytime soon…"

-TESTIMONY-

It was three days ago, pal.  I was on my way out from attendin' to business in this court.

Out in the garden grove, a bunch of strange-looking things were scattered around the area.

Like a trail of evidence, it led me right to the scene of a crime I never expected to see:  the cold corpse of the old samurai!

When I saw the body...  Naturally, I let out a yell and ran as fast as I could to go get the police!

"HOLD IT!  ...The police?"  The prosecutor narrows steely eyes at his subordinate.

"I mean... to go get backup, pal.  Heh-heh."

"Please elaborate," he instructs.  "What sort of strange evidence did you see?"

"Sure thing.  A detective's eye, you know, always noticin' stuff."

First, there was a long pink veil caught in the bushes.

A little closer to the body, there was some sort of talisman case with red lining.

Finally, next to the body, there was a cut-up piece of rope, pal.

(Interesting. I should jot this down in the court record.

...Wait, I almost forgot this isn't a real trial.)

The judge interrupts with a loud sigh.  "And to think, Mr. Prosecutor, you and I had both caught a glimpse of this man, healthy and well, out in the grove mere hours before his death."

"That's right," the prosecutor responds.  "I recognized him by his iconic mask, and armed with his iconic weapon, the Samurai Sword.  He was escorting a woman in striking pink armor-- but the woman had a veil, so we couldn't see her face."

"Uh, can we cut for a second?"

"CUT!  ...Wut U w4nT?"

"Well, if the samurai also had his face under a mask, I don't get that last statement.  How could you be sure it was him, yet doubt the woman?"

"Duh, Nick.  Everybody knows that the mask is part of the Steel Samurai's identity.  It would  only be weird if he didn't have it.  On the other hand, at this point in canon the Pink Princess isn't well known outside of Little Olde Tokyo.  Her outfit wouldn't be enough to give her away."

"Yeah, but--"

"OK!  4C710N!"

"But the samurai..."  The prosecutor solemnly shakes his head.  "I didn't expect that would be the last time I'd ever see him alive.

"Ah yes," the judge muses.  "Even for such a brave warrior, life is as frail and fleeting as the morning dew."

The policeman scratches his chin.  "Well, we actually found him toward the afternoon, pal."

The judge's eyes widen. "Are you suggesting that the morning don't?"

"So..."  The defense attorney takes the chance to speak up. "Do we have a suspect or a murder weapon?"

"You bet, pal!" The answer is delivered with a hearty salute.  "In fact, the person we caught is none other than the notorious criminal everyone's been buzzin' about!  The new heir to the line of EVIL NINJAS that've long been terrorizin' the Steel Samurai's regime!"

Bursting through the door, a bailiff drags in the struggling prisoner-- a feisty female ninja with raven-black hair. Her garish clothes drawing the attention of every eye in the gallery, she violently kicks the air.

“Lemme go!”  The young ninja rips her arms free from the bailiff.  “Lemme GO!”

"When we caught her, she was carryin' the sword you see here..."  The policeman raises the relevant evidence from the stand in front of him.  "None other than the legendary Samurai Sword!"

"I understand," says the prosecutor.  "The day after the murder, she was found passed out by the side of the river, evidence in hand.  Presumably, she was caught in the act of theft, and killed him to escape.  Then, exhausted from the struggle, she fell asleep by the waters."

The suspect, who had been listening to the charges, begins to laugh hysterically.

"Come on!" she squawks.  "There's nothing wrong with a little nap."

"You didn't say anything about the murder.  To what part of the accusations do you object?"

"Listen, I'm a ninja with honor.  The only thing I ever steal is the truth!  Naturally, that means I have nothing to hide!"

(Who even is this?  This character is awfully suspicious, down to the actress herself.)

"So then, motives aside, do you confess responsibility for the fate of our samurai?"

Her maniacal laughter rings out again.  "...That's right!  I did it!"

"What!?"  The prosecutor is aghast.  "With such insolence?  How dare you!"

"Oh, the wind carried me into flight... but I struck with my own wing."  She inhales deeply.  "Here's exactly what happened..."

-THE BANDIT'S STORY-

Three days ago, I was napping under a tree in the grove, drifting in and out of dreams.

So I thought it was a dream when I saw him...  Coming down the path, that goody-goody Samurai escorting this woman in pink.

She had a veil as a disguise.  Probably some damsel in distress he was saving.

That's when... the fateful wind lifted her veil, revealing a glimpse of the rosy face beneath.

It was only then that I snapped awake!  This was no dream, and this was not just any woman.

This was the Pink Princess of Little Olde Tokyo-- getting all cozy with the Steel Samurai!

I thought, this was my chance.  I could get to the Samurai by striking at his heart:  his precious Princess.  I couldn't take him down alone, but if I could get her to join me instead of him, he'd be at my mercy!  Persuasion is a specialty of my clan, you know...

I set my plan into motion.  While the Princess was off gathering water at the river, I snuck up on the Samurai from behind and used my handy stash of rope to tie him up to a tree.  It happened so fast and so easily that I was surprised at my own strength!

With the Samurai out of my way, I went back to find the woman.

We met eyes through the branches.  "...Samurai?" she questioned me.

"Nope, I'm a ninja.  You can tell by my trademark shuriken!"

"Very funny.  I mean, where is my Samurai?"

"Oh, him?  I saw him resting over by a tree.  I think he might be sick."

"Sick...?" There was such sappy emotion in her voice.  Like, did she really care that much about him?  All I could think about was showing her how pathetic he looked tied to that tree.  Then she'd definitely wanna side with me!

Now, again, I'm stronger than I look.  I scooped her right on up, Princess-style, and ran.

(What kind of mutant strength does this teenage ninja have!?)

Her veil caught on a stray branch along the way, and I could see her shocked face.

"Evil Ninja!" she gasped.  "It's you!  What do you think you're doing!?"

"I'm taking you to the dark side, Princess!  You'll have no choice but to join forces with me instead!"

I set her down to see her helpless hero.

This is where things got weird...  She looked at him, then back at me...

Suddenly, that innocent expression turned fierce, as she drew her rapier from her armor's sheath and started slashing at me!

Whoa!  She really had me fooled with her goody-goody act!  I laughed out loud, 'cause now I wanted her on my side even more.  It was like a game as I danced around tree trunks, avoiding her swipes.

"Join me, and we could take down that stupid Samurai together!"

The rapier dropped slowly out of her hands and her face went dark.  She repeated in a whisper, "Take down... the Samurai..."

"HAHAHAHA!  My plan was a total success!"

SLAM!  The prosecutor furiously pounds a hand on his desk.   "Villain! You corrupted the pure heart of the Pink Princess!"

"Eh...  It didn't last very long though.  That heart of hers is weaker than a twice-picked lock."

She snapped out of it as easily as she'd snapped in.

"What am I saying...? I've dishonored both our states by even considering betrayal."

She gave me her rapier to cut the samurai's ropes.  "You two worthy opponents must fight.  I'll have no choice but to go with whoever survives."

And so, we faced off.  I even waited for him to strike first!  I may be a ninja, but I'm also an honorable gal.

I used the princess's skinny rapier to counter his legendary Samurai Sword.  My skills are so great that I wasn't even at a disadvantage.  We crossed blades twenty-three-and-a-half times.  I remember because I was so impressed.  No one's ever crossed me more than twenty!

THEN I GOT HIM!  BAM!  Right in the chest!  I defeated the Samurai, fair and square!

When I turned around, the Princess was gone.  The fighting must have scared her away.

I wanted an ally with a fierce spirit, but after all she was just a loser who couldn't handle a fight!  So I wasn't interested anymore...

Still, while I claimed his sword as a victory prize, her rapier was probably just as valuable. It was pretty dumb of me to leave it behind!

"OBJECTION!  ...Didn't you say you don't steal anything but the truth?"

"Uh...  Right, yeah, of course.  Hahaha."

SLAM!  The judge strikes his gavel on the bench.

"Prosecutor, you have a suspect who has directly confessed to the crime.  Isn't this all the deliberation we need?"

He shakes his head.  "Your Honor, as much as I wish to see justice done for our samurai's true killer...  It is for this very reason that the trial must go on.  We will hear the accounts of all possible witnesses, including the princess herself."

SLAM!  The attorney shields his ears from all the clatter.  At that moment, the courtroom door gives another dramatic burst.

The edges of the doorway shine with a hopeful light.  From behind the barrier, a perfectly poised woman in pink makes her appearance on cue.

"Indeed!  Though my lord's spirit is gone, long live the spirit of justice!"

"Princess!" the gallery cries.  "It's the Pink Princess!"

With no veil to hide her painted face or her flowing hair, she confidently takes the stand.  "People of the court...  As much as it will pain me to do, a true account is exactly what I intend to give.  Or my name isn't the Pink Princess, Warrior of Little Olde Tokyo!"

-THE WOMAN'S STORY-

That terrible ninja...  I would never dream of betraying my dear Samurai!

She was certain that she could sway me, bragging about what a great bandit she was.  "I can even steal people's hearts!"

I tried to run to his side, but I became dizzy and fell to the ground, such that my veil came tumbling off.

I may act strong now, but the truth is...  In the moment, I failed.

The bandit attacked the Samurai, but unlike in her grandiose tale she was unable to finish the job. She ran away in the middle of the fight, dropping leftover pieces of rope like a trail behind her.

When it was safe, I finally rose and made it into the samurai's arms.  But... the look I saw in his eyes chilled me to the soul.

It was neither anger, nor sorrow... but the cold light of pure hatred.

"Have I dishonored you, my Samurai?  Don't look at me in such a way!  It's the cruelest punishment I can imagine!"

But his steely gaze held steady, almost as if in some sort of trance.

I held out my rapier as an offering to him, resigned to my fate.  "Kill me if you must!  Preserve the honor of your name!  Just stop with that cruel look in your eyes! I can't take it!  Stop, stop!"

"Maya, please...  Wasn't she just looking at the face on his mask?"

"Nick, it's not your line!  Have you no tact?  Let the Princess mourn!"

"But I mean..."

"4C710N!!!"

And that was it.  I must have fainted after that.  When I came to, and looked around...  There it was.  My own rapier, stuck in my own dear lord's chest!

"A tragedy indeed," the prosecutor laments.  "But does this mean you are unclear about the actual moment of the murder?"

I refuse to accept the ninja's victory with honor.  I know not what happened, whether she returned to catch him in a weaker state, or whether another person entered the scene.  But I can certainly say that his demise was the doing of a coward.

"Oh my."  The judge looks troubled.  "The more we hear, the less clear it gets."

The policeman waggles his heavy eyebrows.  "You know, pal, it's funny.  Since the suspicious bandit was found with the Samurai Sword, we would've thought that was the murder weapon."

"Hm, why yes.  And yet both witnesses have testified that it was the Princess's rapier."

"The rapier itself wasn't found at the scene.  I wonder where it is now, pal!"

"In lack of evidence," the prosecutor speaks, "these words are everything.  Unfortunately, everyone inevitably holds a biased account."

"You're right.  What can we do, sir?"

"...HOLD IT!"

(Finally, I get a line in somewhere!  And one I've practiced so much.)

In an instant, all eyes converge upon the source of the shout.

"I have an idea," the attorney speaks, "if the honorable court would hear out a commoner's plan."

(Though I could do without the excessive humility.)

"Very well," the judge graciously agrees.  "What are your thoughts?"

"Well, we've heard from all the witnesses.  I would say that the only thing left to do... is to hear the tale from the man himself."

The courtroom gallery buzzes with confusion.  "Huh?  From the Steel Samurai?  But how?"

"I happen to know a spirit medium, who can communicate with the spirit of the deceased."

"So even if he's gone, we can hear his story..."

The camera pans down, down, down.  A petite body draped in light purple robes peeks out from her hiding spot behind the defense's bench.  The extra small medium speaks in an even smaller voice.

"H-hello.  I am a channeler of the dead.  I will do my best to shed a shining light on the true purr-pa-traitor."

The judge's eyes widen.  "This is madness!  A spirit medium?  We haven't used this technique in years, since the fall of the last regime..."

"And yet," the attorney insists, "it may be the most reliable method there is.  After all, why would a dead man lie?"

The lights dim.

From the orchestra, a heartrending ballad pours out to fill the ambience of the fallen hero's scene.

From the center of the room where the spirit medium stands, a strong and familiar voice resounds, a voice that is not her own.

"It is I, the Steel Samurai!  I am now suffering in the world of darkness, where I can no longer protect the people who rely on me."

(So in this movie, when a medium channels someone, only their voice comes through.  Considering the true face of the victim, that's a relief.)

"...Sniff."

(But, poor Mr. Powers.  Cast down to a voiceover role.  I can hear him sniveling between lines.)

"Ahem.  It is a dark day for Neo Olde Tokyo.  But someday, surely, the villain too will fall.  When that day comes... I'll see you in hell, Evil Ninja."

"Worry not, my lord," the prosecutor asserts.  "Justice will be served in your honor.  Simply tell us the legend of your final moments."

-THE SAMURAI'S STORY-

It hurts, my dear Princess... to hear you testify that my death was the work of a coward.

Every action I took was to ensure the very opposite.  Allow me to tell my own tale.

After the bandit attacked the Princess and left her full of shame, she then preyed on these emotions.

"Now that you've been tainted with traitorous thoughts, why not join me once and for all?"

The way the Princess looked at that moment... it was no ordinary look, and it was certainly not my Princess's face.

On my honor, she was bewitched!  It was the ninja clan's devious power of mind control!

"I'll join you," is what she shockingly replied.

"Now that we're on the same side, we have to take out the samurai!"

"Yes.  TAKE OUT THE SAMURAI!"

Even the bandit turned pale at her fierce, frightening words.  After regaining her composure, she addressed me with a scoff.

"Are you hearing this, Samurai?  How do you feel about your traitorous Princess?"

Waging a battle of will against the ninja's tricks myself, my head was spinning and the conversation around me grew faint.

All I could muster was, "Princess, snap out of it...  Save yourself..."

Soon, I was relieved to hear her footsteps as she obeyed and escaped into the woods.

The Evil Ninja turned to me once more.  "Oh, she got away.  I guess I have to deal with you myself."

The ninja readied the rapier that she had stolen from my Princess, and approached me.

In one swift motion, I took the weapon from her hands... and I killed myself with it instead.

That is the one and only truth.  After all, that's the only honorable way for a samurai to go...

"...OBJECTION!"

The outburst erupts from the prosecutor's bench.

"My lord!  I am loath to oppose you, but I cannot stand for these lies any longer."

"Prosecutor, what do you mean?"

"The rapier, as everyone mysteriously insists, was not the murder weapon.  This man was killed by the sword!"

The judge thoughtfully strokes his beard.  "I see, and...  how are you so sure about that?"

"Because I...  I was there."

Gasps!

"Prosecutor...  You saw the whole thing, didn't you?  Why didn't you tell the court?"

"I wished not to get involved. Of course, now there doesn't appear to be much of a choice.  I will add my own testimony."

The man in red, with piercing eyes that could slice through wood, nobly takes the witness stand.

-THE WOODCUTTER'S STORY-

This courthouse is a second home to me.  Of course I was nearby.

I first found the pink veil caught on a branch in the grove...  At the same time, I heard the sounds of voices.

Peering through the foliage, I witnessed the Samurai tied up, the woman on the ground sobbing, and the bandit gloating.

I didn't only see him before and after the crime, as I earlier claimed.  I saw the scene of his very death.

"Come with me!" the bandit crowed to the Princess.  "You and I together will take down the Samurai!"

"Take... down..."  Tears filled her eyes and choked her words.

"Eh?  I can't hear you!" the bandit demanded.  "Quit crying and answer!"

With that, oddly, her crying stopped on a dime.  "Hmph. Impossible.  How could I, an innocent Princess, make such a decision?"

The newly articulate woman approached the Samurai, and with her rapier swiftly cut the ropes that bound him.

"Go ahead, take him down yourself.  If you can't, you're not a real ninja!"

"This... can't be my Princess," the warrior lamented, and I thought the same thing. "This must be mind control!  Her love isn't this weak!"

The Princess broke out into laughter.  Getting a better look at her face, unobscured by crocodile tears, I saw that it had completely changed.  "Oh, Samurai...  A famous writer once said, 'A woman loves a man who loves passionately.'  Your love is that which needs to be tested."

They were finally motivated to fight.  The Evil Ninja seized hold of the Samurai's sword, and the Samurai was left with his Princess's rapier.  Even with this advantage, she didn't put up nearly as impressive a fight as she would have you believe, I assure you.

The Samurai valiantly blocked each of the bandit's thrusts, one by one.  The sound of metal against metal echoed through the grove.

Suddenly, the Princess swooned backwards, reeling from her seeming trance.  In this brief moment, the Samurai was distracted by her fall, and it was only then that the ninja managed to land one lucky strike... or rather, a fatally unlucky one.

The deed done, the great Steel Samurai sunk to his knees.  The bandit, in pure shock, withdrew the sword from his body and stared down at it.  Then she decided to replace the rapier instead into the corpse's chest, running off with the sword as her trophy.

"So this is the real story...?" asks the judge. "Then why wasn't the rapier found at the scene of the crime, I wonder?"

"That is, er...  TAKE THAT!"  With a sweeping gesture to the court record, the prosecutor reveals his possession of the rapier all along.

"Sir, you withheld evidence!?" the detective roars.  "But how can we trust you then?"

"Admittedly irrational in the moment, I removed it in a vain attempt to help him, though he was already gone...  Then I confiscated it as evidence.  I waited for the right time to present it, but at every turn it made less sense..."

"Feh!" the ninja girl scoffs.  "Are you sure you didn't just want a souvenir, samurai fanboy?  And you all call me the bandit."

All around, each person in the courtroom is eyeing one another with suspicious disbelief.

The judge somberly shakes his head.  "Human beings who can't trust each other...  What has my job come to?"

(That's how your job has always been, Your Honor...)

SLAM!

"Let's take a moment and think about this," the judge continues. "The Bandit, the Woman, the Samurai, and the Woodcutter.  Out of these four contradicting stories, whose is the most believable?"

"Hm...  I still say the victim's firsthand account should be the most believable," the attorney insists.  "Again, why would a dead man lie?"

"Mister Attorney..."  The young spirit medium suddenly speaks again, the sound of her shy voice a quiet surprise.  "Isn't that a great question?"

"Huh?  What do you mean?"

"The spirits told me... that's the question you should be asking.  After all, Mister Attorney, that's your doo-dee of juzz-tizz!"

"..."

Struck with inspiration, the attorney at last raises a confident finger.

"That's right...  People of the court, there may be justice yet!"

-CROSS-EXAMINATION-

It's time for a turnabout!

Instead of looking at the suspects' motives to kill, why not look at their motives to lie about killing?

The bandit... would lie to claim the honor of defeating her clan's sworn enemy.

The samurai... would lie to preserve that honor, and to protect his beloved Princess from suspicion.

The woman...  Her motives, between her strange behavior and hazy memory, are the most unclear.

Her changing face... the so-called mind control...  It's all coming together!

The judge appears captivated and excited.  "Enlighten us, commoner!"

"Well... We still don't know the culprit, but we may have another character involved that may make the accounts we have more compatible to judge.  The presence of a fifth party is based on reasoning that is difficult to prove, yet we have proof in the very courtroom: spirit mediums.  And, if my hunch is correct, not just the little one."

The Pink Princess steps gracefully forward.  "An astute observation, Sir Attorney.  Indeed, I hail from a royal bloodline of strong spiritual power."

"I see..." murmurs the prosecutor.  "This could be the key to understanding her strange behavior.  She never betrayed our lord after all."

"And maybe, the long arm of justice will have to reach somewhere beyond!"

"...MY PRINCESS!"

With a dramatic slam, more dramatic than any other, the courtroom doors burst open one last time.  Trumpets flare with a familiar melody.

"Wait, what?"

"I thank you, commoner.  My Princess is purged of her dishonor."  A deep masculine voice rings out as once before, but no longer from the spirit medium's position.  "I too, will reclaim my honor and together we will return to our rightful service."

Standing proudly between the courtroom doors, a tall and muscular figure is drenched in the rain that continues to pour outside, which only makes his steel armor glisten all the more with the impending hope of the rising sun.

Here before everyone stands...  the Steel Samurai, well and alive!?

"…Wait!  No!  HOLD IT!  This is definitely a contradiction!"

"Nick!"  The princess puffed out her rosy cheeks.  "An actor must always keep in character!"

"I am my character!  And I don’t think he would stand for this."  Phoenix turned, troubled, to the grubby little director.  "The medium couldn’t have channeled the samurai to testify if he wasn’t actually dead.  If that’s the case, this whole story doesn’t hold any water."

"Hm," the prosecutor mused.  "Then again, are irreconcilable contradictions not the very theme of the original film?"

(Edgeworth…  Tell me you're not praising the writing for being purposely bad.)

"…It is clever," he shrugged with a smirk, "though I don’t believe in irreconcilable contradictions."

“L0L.”  Not actually laughing at all, the director stared condescendingly at his blue-suited actor.  "D0 j00 7h1nk 1’m 5700p1D 3n0ugH 2 fR4G t3h 5733L 54mur41?“

"Obviously, the face of the franchise can't die!  Just be patient and it’ll all work out in the end," Maya confidently asserted, as if she were the one running the show.  "We still haven't gotten to the part about the Iron Infant!  Where they all discover a reason to restore their faith in humanity– and get back to fighting Evil, of course."

Phoenix opened his mouth to object to absolutely everything, but, much like his character, he had no answer to these contradictions.  Unlike his character, his faith in humanity was anything but restored.