#and i dislike this tiny portion of it that i only saw a little bit of but i dont like it and now im scared

[sonicaspeed123]

Oh boy new content for the thing i like

(Adds to filtered tags)

[jedi-order-apologist]

I finished reading Yoda: Dark Rendezvous, and I have to say, I really, really loved it! Everyone who recommended it to me was 100% right - this book is great, and especially great in its representation of the Jedi. I think I like it even more than Shatterpoint, and I really liked Shatterpoint.

There are some weak points - it was a little slow to pull me in, and there’s a couple of Weird Legends Things™ that, with me not being particularly immersed in that continuity, don’t quite fit in with my conception of Star Wars (Dooku apparently having had a Master that was not Yoda; the infamous 13-year-old age limit (though I was at least familiar with that one), the Jedi being so far in the public eye that there exists a famous Yoda impersonator, etc), and I was a little iffy on how it handled the “Jedi shouldn’t be in the war” angle (I’m fine with there being Jedi who think that the Jedi shouldn’t be in the war. I’m less fine with an author deciding that other Jedi can’t find the words to defend their involvement, because that’s a cheap way of framing the argument), and a small moment of the “everyone falls in love” stuff I dislike.

But those were very small aspects of the book, all things considered, and pretty much everything else about this book is really, really good, and very Star Warsy - a very healthy mix of the wacky as well as the philosophical sides of the franchise, which suited my tastes really well. This book is fun - Yoda is the grumpy grandpa that he deserves to be, and spends a good portion of the book disguised as an astromech that gets into all sorts of trouble. Obi-Wan and Anakin have peak sibling energy in the handful of scenes that they show up in - Anakin at one point insisting that a woman would have to be desperate to want Obi-Wan, and only a younger sibling could possibly say something like that with a straight face to a man as attractive as Obi-Wan, as well as Obi-Wan lying to Mace Windu’s face to cover for Anakin and then immediately grumbling about it to Anakin that he doesn’t know why he does these things for him is such an older sibling thing to do.

Where this book really shines, though, is the serious stuff - the philosophy and the dark side and especially grief. What absolutely sold me on this story, and what made me sit up and go “this is going to be one of my favorite Star Wars books”, was the part where Yoda speaks to the padawans and helps them address and work through their grief. It was phenomenal, and beautiful, and absolutely everything I want out of depicting the Jedi - especially in the context that only a chapter earlier, Ventress had been hurling those standard accusations of “the Jedi don’t let you feel”, and this book wonderfully, completely demolishes that nonsense. This section is absolutely amazing:

Yoda set his bowl of gumbo regretfully aside. “Hear it working, do you?”

“Hear what?” Whie snapped.

“The dark side. Always it speaks to us, from our pain. Our grief. It connects our pain to all pain, our hurt to all hurt.”

“Maybe it has a lot to say.” Whie stared at the starscape hovering over the projector table. “It’s so easy for you. What do you care? You are unattached, aren’t you? You’ll probably never die. What was Maks Leem to you? Another pupil. After all these centuries, who could blame you if you could hardly keep track of them? Well, she was more than that to me.” He looked up challengingly. Tear tracks were shining on his face, but his eyes were still hard and angry. “She was the closest thing I had to a mother, since you took me away from my real mother. She chose me to be her Padawan and I let her down, I let her die, and I’m not going to sit here and stuff myself and get over it!” He finished with a yell, sweeping the plate of crêpes off the projection table, so the platter went sailing toward the floor.

Yoda’s eyes, heavy-lidded and half closed like a drowsing dragon’s, gleamed, and one finger twitched. Food, platter, drinks, and all hung suspended in the air. The platter settled; the crêpes returned to it; Whie’s overturned cup righted itself, and rich purple liquid trickled back into it. All settled back onto the table.

Another twitch of Yoda’s fingers, the merest flicker, and Whie’s head jerked around as if on a string, until he found himself looking into the old Jedi’s eyes. They were green, green as swamp water. He had never quite realized before how terrifying those eyes could be. One could drown in them. One could be pulled under.

“Teach me about pain, think you can?” Yoda said softly. “Think the old Master cannot care, mmm? Forgotten who I am, have you? Old am I, yes. Mm. Loved more than you, have I, Padawan. Lost more. Hated more. Killed more.” The green eyes narrowed to gleaming slits under heavy lids. Dragon eyes, old and terrible. “Think wisdom comes at no cost? The dark side, yes - it is easier for them. The pain grows too great, and they eat the darkness to flee from it. Not Yoda. Yoda loves and suffers for it, loves and suffers.”

One could have heard a feather hit the floor.

“The price of Yoda’s wisdom, high it is, very high, and the cost goes on forever. But teach me about pain, will you?”

“I...” Whie’s mouth worked. “I am sorry, Master. I was angry. But...what if they’re right?” he cried out in anguish. “What if the galaxy is dark. What if it’s like Ventress says: we are born, we suffer, we die, and that is all. What if there is no plan, what if there is no ‘goodness’? What if we suffer blindly, trying to find a reason for the suffering, but we’re just fooling ourselves, looking for hope that isn’t there? What if there is nothing but stars and the black space between them and the galaxy does not care if we live or die?”

Yoda said, “It’s true.”

The Padawans looked at him in shock.

The Master’s short legs swung forth and back, forth and back. “Perhaps,” he added. He sighed. “Many days, feel certain of a greater hope, I do. Some days, not so.” He shrugged. “What difference does it make?”

“Ventress was right?” Whie said, shocked out of his anger.

“No! Wrong she is! As wrong as she can be!” Yoda snorted. “Grief in the galaxy, is there? Oh, yes. Oceans of it. Worlds. And darkness?” Yoda pointed to the starscape on the projection table. “There you see: darkness, darkness everywhere, and a few stars. A few points of light. If no plan there is, no fate, no destiny, no providence, no Force: then what is left?” He looked at each of them in turn. “Nothing but our choices, hmm?”

“Asajj eats the darkness, and the darkness eats her back. Do that if you wish, Whie. Do that if you wish.” The old Jedi looked deep into the starscape, suns and planets and nebulae dancing, tiny points of light blazing in the darkness. “To be Jedi is to face the truth, and choose. Give off light, or darkness, Padawan.” His matted eyebrows rose high over his swamp-colored eyes, and he poked Whie with the end of his stick. Poke, poke. “Be a candle, or the night, Padawan: but choose!”

Whie cried for what seemed like a long time. Scout ate. Fidelis served. Master Yoda told stories of Maks Leem and Jai Maruk: tales of their most exciting adventures, of course, but also comical anecdotes from the days when they were only children in the Temple. They drank together, many toasts.

Scout cried. Whie ate. Fidelis served.

Yoda told stories, and ate, and cried, and laughed: and the Padawans saw that life itself was a lightsaber in his hands; even in the face of treachery and death and hopes gone cold, he burned like a candle in the darkness. Like a star shining in the black eternity of space.

I want to show this passage to every hot-take Yoda-critical fan who’s ever leveled that kind of nonsense at him. I want every one of them to read this and still try to tell me that Yoda is detached and uncaring of the galaxy around him. I want every fan who thinks the Jedi are expected to be unfeeling to read this and understand what the Jedi actually say and do and why giving into these feelings is the issue, not the feelings themselves.

The confrontation with Dooku is also amazing. Yoda challenges him to explain why the dark side is so great, and Dooku only gets more and more frustrated as Yoda is unswayed by any of what he tempts him with. I especially love this bit where Yoda lays out exactly why what the dark side promises is false:

“Want something else. Want power.”

“Power have I.”

“Want wealth.”

“Wealth I need not.”

“Want to be safe,” Dooku said in frustration. “Want to be free from fear!”

“I will never be safe,” Yoda said. He turned away from Dooku, a shapeless bundle under a battered, acid-eaten cloak. “The universe is large and cold and very dark: that is the truth. What I love, taken from me will be, late or soon: and no power is there, dark or light, that can save me.”

That then leads into a bit where Dooku has a vision of what a dark!Yoda would look like, and realizes how utterly terrifying that would be.

Dooku also has abandonment issues on full display - lashing out at the lady who had given her son up to the Jedi, getting furious at her on the son’s behalf (but so clearly, his own, speaking of his own resentment towards his parents), and throwing an absolute hissy fit because he’s convinced Yoda likes Anakin more than him. I’m not kidding, he’s so offended by Anakin’s entire existence that just his mere presence in his house is enough for Dooku to stop feeling conflicted about the whole thing and jump right back into the dark side.

And there’s just so many good little moments throughout it all on top of all that. Whie’s dreams - and oh, I knew exactly what his dream of his own death was when he described it to Scout and it hurt at the end when he hugged Anakin while saying “I’m so glad you’re not coming to kill me!”. And Ventress, calling Dooku out on the fact that it’s so obvious that Sidious will end up replacing him (also for a more humorous bit - the fact that she apparently has some petty grudge against Anakin and Obi-Wan for stealing her ships so she goes out of her way to steal their ship at the end), and the droids, and Scout’s cleverness in winning the tournament despite her disadvantages, Jai Maruk’s last stand and refusal to fall when he was at the edge, and...so much, really.

And above all else, the book really latches onto the idea of Jedi as family, and you all know how much I really, really love the idea of the Jedi as a big found family. The idea that they consider each other to be family is driven home again and again, in their words and in their actions, and I absolutely adore this book for that emphasis.

[heli0s-writes]

V. Exhibit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes Summary:  After all your hard work, the day is finally here. A/N: Part 5 of Mystery of Love.

The following month passed by in a hurry, as your thoughts were dominated by the constant thrall of work. One month was truly not enough to prepare, but you knew the implications of waiting until June passed- those positions in the fall would likely not be available; June was late enough.

Tony eagerly sprang into action and helped you transform your guest room into a photography studio, begrudgingly folding to your “outrageous peasant demands” of simple lighting, and two solid backdrops. When it was fully set up, you held a meeting with the team and prepped them over procedure and your proposal. You spoke plainly.

The show to view your work post-travels was primarily a guise to get a glimpse into their lives more intimately; you were under no illusion that it was anything else but 1) a shrewd plan for elites to rub elbows with other elites and 2) an opportunity for you.

Honesty was the best policy, and you knew they would appreciate it.

“If you consent to have your posed portrait taken by me in a studio setting- something we haven’t done before, thank you. If you don’t, I don’t blame you or hold it against you. It can be unnatural, uncomfortable, and I understand. Be aware- these images will be auctioned off. They will not, however, be duplicated. They are single prints.”

“Please make me rich.” Tony grinned as he spun freely in the swivel chair, “I mean, richer. Please make me richer.” After a round of glares from the team, he fessed, “Oh fine. Yes, you’ll receive a portion of the payment. You greedy little assholes.”

It didn’t take much more convincing for everyone to be on board. You were eager to begin and spent the first few days of June taking note of the kinds of images you wanted from each member. You thought about the representation of duality of Avenger and “being” whether it was human, super soldier, or an enhanced- or in Thor’s case, a god. But in the end, you decided on listening to Bucky’s advice and give ‘em hell. They were going to play by your rules.

Halfway through the month, you were so engrossed in the work, you’d barely had time to spend with either Steve or Bucky. They were sweet enough to make sure you had plenty of coffee on your days at the compound and would try to call before bed if you were in the city. Other than the occasional dinners together and their own photo sessions (which you were adamant on keeping strictly professional-save for a very stubborn session with Bucky), you hardly saw them.

Steve was called away on a diplomatic assignment with Natasha in Paris on the 13th. You were happy to hear that he wouldn’t be in any foreseeable danger and a tiny bit glad that he’d be busy doing something other than worried about your sleeping and eating habits. By the 24th, everything was nearly complete, and the only thing left for you to do was buy a dress and set up for the night of. You felt like a pile of wet rags and had even lost a few pounds from the stress and exertion.

-

The morning of the 26th, Steve and Natasha landed at the compound, disembarking from the quinjet. You were taking the day off to find a dress in the city; Tony had given you his credit card. It was a tremendous gesture you wanted to refuse until he reminded you that truthfully, you were doing him just as big of a favor as he was doing you. He had even encouraged you to get a custom gown early in the month and even passed the message along to various designers, but you adamantly refused, reiterating once again that it was not about you. Tony would have to face the disappointment of being the only one in a custom-made ensemble.

At 11, while rifling through a rack of silk and lace beauties, you received a call from Bucky.

“Hey, you,” you smiled. He’d been texting you all morning, updating you on Steve’s jet lag. “Can I come to you for lunch?” You sucked in a deep breath. “Buck, you sure? I’m in Manhattan.” “Yeah. Send me your location.”

There was no arguing with him when he made up his mind.

When Bucky arrived on 5th Avenue, he wore a black long-sleeve and jeans with his usual combat boots. You couldn’t help but smile at the classic cap and sunglasses combo as he plodded through the throng of tourists- looking very much like one himself. His hair was tied back to avoid sticking to his neck in the heat. He kissed your shoulder at the entrance of the store and you grazed his stubbled chin with a finger in response.

The walk to your favorite sandwich shop was relatively short, and Bucky let you lead the way, keeping a hand on the small of your back to keep you close. The two of you sat at the bar near the window after your food arrived and you let him know your surprise at his offer to meet you in the city. He shrugged it off as he took the sunglasses off his face.

“When I was on the run, I placed myself in different locations, but it was often smartest to hide in plain sight. Bucharest has a population of over a million people ‘n they’re so busy they don’t pay attention to much else; I don’t go into the city mostly because I don’t like it, hon’.” He took a bite of his sub and you did the same, snorting in delight when a bit of lettuce hung from his chin. Bucky rolled his eyes and sent you a lopsided grin before closing his mouth again over the sub, muttering. “You’re a punk.”

You felt laughter bubbling up in your chest as he swiped off the lettuce and flung it at you.

This was the Bucky you liked the most- playful, mischievous, still sweet in the center. Not to say there were parts of him you disliked, but you were careful with his more jagged pieces. The Bucky who scanned every room he entered, who always strapped at least three knives to his body, who scowled on impulse, who automatically put himself in front of you in response to loud noises needed more tenderness. The Bucky who texted you at three in the morning “just to see if you were awake” needed more tenderness, too.

The first time you woke up to one of those messages, you joked that he reminded you of a college boy making a booty call. Only after seeing him bleary eyed and on-edge did you ponder more deeply about it and ventured to ask if he had trouble sleeping because of nightmares.

He admitted he truly saw little in his dreams, but felt chasms that threatened to swallow him up, and the terror of that blackness kept him awake. You knew what awaited him in that blackness. Since then, you’ve always kept your phone on loud.

“Stevie got you a dress from Paris,” Bucky mumbled, wiping the corners of his mouth with a brown napkin, hiding the slightest hint of a smirk. “I don’t think it’s your style, though.”

You raised an eyebrow, sweeping bits of crust into the empty wrapper of your lunch. “Oh yeah? Steve picked it out? What’s it like?”

“It’s red. ‘S real nice, but it’s also red.”

You scrunched up your nose in concern. “Oh… I hope it won’t hurt his feelings if I don’t wear it.”

Bucky went to throw both of your crumpled trash piles away and returned with an understanding smile, “Nah. He’s a big boy. Party’s in two days, though. If you don’t find anything you’re gonna get stuck with it, hon.”

Sighing, you stood up and brushed off your shirt, “Yeah. I’ll look some more. I put a dress on hold earlier so if I don’t find anything else, I’ll go back to that one. Thanks for having lunch with me, Bucky.” You pulled absentmindedly on his shirt sleeve and tugged the wrinkles out of the elbow. Bucky took the opportunity to bend down and plant a kiss on your jawline, whispering that he missed you into your cheek.  

“I’m not leavin’,” he said, removing the sunglasses that were hanging from the collar of his shirt, “Haven’t seen you in days, doll. I’m not leavin’ yet.”

The definitive statement was punctuated by another one of his keen stares. You swallowed as his clear blue eyes flitted back and forth between your own, finally settling on your mouth as you nervously breathed out a soft “Okay”. Your heart swelled in your chest as he smiled. You couldn’t help but lovingly follow the sly arc of his lips across and up to those joyful creases you so adored running from his eyes. Happy Bucky was your favorite Bucky. You wanted to make him look like this all the time. You felt so terrible that you’d been so busy and avoiding him.

Impulsively, you reached up and kissed him on the lips.

It was quick, and you stood back flat on your feet, hand shooting up to cover your mouth. Fearfully, you took a chance to peek at him. The two of you stood there next to the window staring at each other for a few seconds before Bucky broke out into a wide toothy grin.

You flushed from head to toe. Your first kiss. In a sandwich shop. The banality of it all dawned on you and before you had the chance to say anything, Bucky broke the silence with a hearty laugh. Soon enough, you joined in, burying your face in both your hands. People were starting to glance over to the window and stare, so Bucky grabbed you by the hand and briskly stepped out into the street. He caught your waist to turn you to face him, pressing your back against the brick wall of the shop. The chatter of Manhattan whipped around both of you in the background, full of footsteps and yelling, honking, dogs barking, construction. Bucky Barnes held tight to your sides as if you might get torn into in the sea of people behind him.

Under the shade of his cap’s bill, you could hardly see his eyes, but the light illuminated his mouth, which was pressed into a thin line.

You squinted as sunlight fell over your face, “Buck?”

The intensity of Bucky crashing his lips to yours ripped the breath from your lungs. He stepped forward into your body, pressing his broad chest against you, flesh hand pushing your torso against his. In the middle of the sidewalk, he erased all the noise of Manhattan. You could only hear his breath on your mouth as he parted and returned again and again. Three deep kisses later, he let you go.

You gulped, heart stammering, lost completely in ragged breaths and desperately trying to ignore the eyes of passing strangers who’d witness your moment of public affection. You had seen this coming for a while now, but it was still a shock.

Ever since the day on the couch, you had been trying to avoid physical intimacy, but it had been difficult to experience growing closer with Bucky and simultaneously disregard his longing for your touch. He was always holding back, like a predator in the tall grass.

“I wanna do so much more than that…” He whispered in your ear. His voice was deep, and you could hear his throat clenching as he swallowed. The sound burrowed its way into your brain, sending currents scampering through your body.

Bucky ran his hand along your jaw, one final kiss landing on the shell of your ear as he muttered, “When you’re ready, I will. Come on, you lead the way.”

All you could do was nod in response as he guided you in front of him, one hand resting again on your back as you tried to stay calm in the crowd. In a few mere minutes, the street changed as you turned a corner. Your heart was beginning to slow down again.

“I’m curious, doll,” Bucky called from behind you, running a finger up and down the small of your back, “What color was that dress you put on hold?”

From the way his words sounded, you knew he was smirking. “It was black.” You swerved to the side to avoid a man pushing a stroller and Bucky followed suit. Craning your head back to see his expression, your heart sped up again either by his tightening grip or his subsequent praise:

“Atta girl.”

-

The last Saturday in June was the 28th. Pepper had demanded that you stayed at your apartment until the evening of, setting you up with a full-day spa appointment on Friday. According to her (and your very exhausted body) you needed rest and pampering before the big night. She also insinuated that Tony was being incredibly high-strung with setting up; he wanted it to be a surprise, and if you’d step foot on the campus before he was ready, he might completely “lose it Bridezilla-style”.

You’d been video-chatting Steve at night on the phone before bed since spending the day with Bucky. He was at first disappointed that you decided not to wear the dress he’d gotten you but ultimately understood why: red was a high-profile color. He sheepishly admitted that he was a bit old-fashioned, and was a sucker for women in red. It was cute. You suggested that he ask Natasha instead.

Your heart swelled any time his face came on the screen and you couldn’t help but stupidly grin every night into the phone. He told you about the trip and his desire to one day take you to the city, glossing over the details of the errand itself. You didn’t mind- it wasn’t your job, and you likely wouldn’t have understood its significance. He brought up how he was concerned at first that the distance would cause discomfort- but perhaps it was the consent to distance that changed the rules. You knew where he was going and accepted it, and so neither of you were pained by the separation.

“Maybe on the more peaceful missions, you might like to come with me? It’d be like travelling again, huh?” You agreed, eager to see another endearing smile break across his face. You loved the way Steve closed his eyes as he smiled, long lashes folding to graze against his raised cheeks- it was a habit of his, and it made you curious to wonder what he thought of during those blissful expressions.

After your long spa day you ended your night with another video call, feeling the excitement growing closer and closer, emboldened by Steve’s encouragements. More changes were coming on the horizon and you felt ready to face them. You were glad to have both men by your side.

 Promptly at 5, Pepper sent a car outside to wait outside your apartment door. The invitation you’d proofread for Tony stated that doors opened at 6:30 with a cocktail hour and viewing period before any announcements were made. You would be giving a talk at 8, unveiling the main auction piece at the end and then there would be a bidding period before the night unwinds with dancing. The event supposedly ended at midnight, but you were sure that was Tony’s way of ushering out the guests. You weren’t going to assume he’d turn into a pumpkin at the stroke of 12.

Blotting on the final layer of your lip stain, you swept over it with a coat of high-shine gloss. Your make up was done simply: filled in, full, arching brows; barely-there contouring to emphasize your bone structure; peach blush; and a single smooth black line over both your eyelids. Your hair was brushed back and tucked behind your ears, flowing over your shoulder in neat waves.

You wanted to be sleek and able to blend in, with just a touch of red-lipped-conspicuous.

Stepping into the lobby, you felt as if transported into a different world. Tony had transformed the chamber into a flawless gallery setting with your photographs, framed and displayed along the perimeter of the open-spaced room. He’d put in wall panels here and there along with several benches where viewers could sit, arranging it perfectly to where there was plenty of walking space and room to mingle. Along the right wall was an elegant backlit bar manned by three sharply dressed bartenders with dazzling smiles. Close by was a stage with a band plucking a lazy acoustic tune in their warm-up routine, accompanied by a harpist. Gorgeous floral arrangements stood tall on pedestals, their sweet scent hanging in the air. Servers wandered casually, silver trays in hand topped with hor d'oeuvres and champagne.

The first few guests were arriving, picking up pamphlets from the stand near the door and meandering through the maze of photos. The team was scattered around the room, dressed beautifully, all smiles. Natasha hypnotized in the stunning red gown Steve picked out. It was striking with an elegant sweetheart neckline and brocade skirt. Pepper wore violet tulle. Wanda was smoldering in a lacy brown long-sleeved dress.

The men were simply dashing, in various dark suits offset by their own choices of silk bowties and shirts. Sam’s collar brooches glimmered- two mirroring silver wings clipped neatly to the points of his muted garnet shirt collar.

Halfway to the bar, you came face-to-face with Steve, who wore a fitted deep navy suit and dress shirt, complimented by a silk burgundy tie. His hair- which had grown longer since you’d last seen him in person was swept back and to one side. He was clean shaven for the event. You realized you were staring, but it helped that he was staring right back.

“You look...”

“Oh m...my” You attempted to finish the sentence for him. Steve laughed, shrugging one shoulder, the drink in his hand sloshing around.

“Not quite what I was going to say- but very close.” He paused, looking you up and down before sweeping you up in a one-armed hug and whispering in your ear “I’ve missed you so much. You look incredible.”

Once back on your feet, you smoothed the front of your black dress and shyly smiled in response, feeling your heart flutter. The snug gown was made of a satin blend, moving and shifting ethereally and just barely swept the floor. Two hair-thin spaghetti straps held it in place, crisscrossing over your back. The neckline was a darting V-shape, stopping just half an inch above Steve’s mark.

You’d convinced yourself to be calm and cool, playing the part of a professional artist giving a talk, but it was hard to not be giddy when Steve looked so damn good. His arms were practically bulging out from the sleeves of his jacket. And the lightly spiced cologne he wore was filling your head up with smoke.

“Where’s um, Bucky?” You ventured to ask, steeling your voice.

“Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.”

Bucky rolled the last ‘r’ into your ear as he placed his cool metal hand on your bare shoulder, middle finger drumming against the thin strap. You stirred at the temperature, burning against your back as he moved to your right side, smirking at Steve. They must have planned this, you thought, or perhaps brevity between old friends was enough to place them on the same dangerous wavelength. You felt like a fresh carcass, exposed under sunlight while two ravenous vultures circled overheard.

He was dressed completely in black, save for a blood-red pocket square neatly tucked into the breast of his suit. His hair was left loose, one side tucked behind his ear, and he donned his signature 5 o’clock shadow. He didn’t bother to cover his metal hand tonight, which made him all the more fearsome-looking. Bucky must have made it his mission to personify the word feral.

Half-lidded eyes drank in your figure, appreciatively scanning up and down before catching on your left bicep. “You’ve covered up your arm,” He noticed. “Why?” The was an edge of hurt he tried to hide.

The offending black cuff glimmered in the light. “Same reason why I didn’t wear the red.” You replied. You lifted your chin to regard Bucky and he raised his eyebrows in surprise at your declaration.

Steve bobbed his head, just enough to share the message that he understood before plucking a champagne flute from a passing server and placing it in your grasp. You sipped and signaled to the entrance of the exhibit with your stiletto-encased foot, where Kristopher Byrne had just entered with a pamphlet and Tony Stark. “I’ve got to go say hi. Thank you for supporting me.”

It was a conclusive statement, and the thanks, although sincere, was a comment of courtesy to lighten the mood. You quickly squeezed both of their arms before stepping away, straightening your back and squaring your shoulders. The show had just begun, and you were expected to be engaged and conversing all night; you couldn’t kick it off with a lovers’ quarrel in the middle of the floor as much as you wanted to resolve the matter. Bucky would have struggled and there were, unfortunately, other pressing concerns.

The band began to belt out a tune, mellow and full of slow, savory notes. The lobby was half-full at this point, and more were waiting by the door. The boys watched you go, exchanging glances. Bucky was scowling.

“Don’t be like that,” Steve warned, “You got to spend all day with her, pal.”

“Don’t wanna talk about it.” He was being petulant, he knew. It was easier to be angry than to admit that his feelings were hurt. “Don’t lecture me, Stevie. Just wanna fuckin’ be with her. I’m tired of all this… shit.”

Steve chuckled into his glass as he took a sip, savoring the taste and looking at his friend through the curved angle of the rim. He’d experienced his fair share of Bucky’s seething tantrums; he knew it’d pass.

“Gotta admit, Buck. I liked seein’ ya miffed. You need a firm hand.”

Bucky scowled deeper at his friend’s cheeky comment as he watched your back make nice with a stranger. The itch inside of him was growing darker with every step you took away. He’d been good, played it safe and slow by your- and Steve’s rules, but every time it felt like you might scratch the surface of his desire, you’d backed off. Seeing his mark covered up on your arm only made it worse.

Sending Steve a pained look, Bucky quietly retreated to the bar.

 Kristopher Byrne was a tall and lanky man with silver hair, fingers studded with multiple rings and designer glasses sitting low on his nose-bridge. The suit he wore matched Tony in embellishments, and it was obvious by that alone that they got along swimmingly. Immediately after introducing yourself to him, his solemn expression softened into an ecstatic one. He kissed your hand, raving about how he’d been a fan for years but that you’d always eluded his grasp. You immediately thanked him and asked if he was ready for a stroll through the displays.

Byrne was very interested in the photos you’d taken in Russia, pausing to talk about the social unrest there regarding sexuality. He applauded your shots in Thailand, complimenting the rich colors of Chiang Mai and the quiet moments you captured.

You spent the next half hour walking through the photos with Tony and Byrne, chatting here and there with other guests who had questions. The information cards next to each picture was brief and explained a little bit about the image but hearing it from your point of view was much more valuable to them.

Tony set up the exhibit to first show your Peculiar Pairs series from the travels before introducing the Avengers photos. The range of colors started at full spectrum and highly saturated with your travels before slowly changing into the black and white portraits you shot of each member.

Upon entering the space of black-and-white portraits, he was greeted with a three-by-four-foot framed photo of Steve in stark lighting. He stood in front of a black background in a white t-shirt, looking into the distance as a bright halo illuminated him from behind, catching the fine contour of his lashes and the tip of his sharp nose. The features of his face were lit by another light in front. His expression was almost angelic with parted lips and the barest hint of a smile.

Byrne’s eyes widened as he regarded it, eager to uncover more information about the man captured in the image. The info card in the corner simply read Steven Grant Rogers.

You watched on as Byrne rotated himself around the frame, pondering deeply at Steve’s aspects. Tony smirked and made a snarky comment about how he hoped Byrne was this excited about his own picture.

“Captain America,” Byrne finally exhaled, “Looks like … someone you could sit next to on the subway. Wow. Fantastic.”

You thanked him. Perhaps it was your bias speaking, but you casually mentioned that it was one of your personal favorites. Tony stifled a barking cough.

Byrne led the way down the path, soliciting your process with each session. You were tight-lipped but let loose of what was necessary to keep him interested. It didn’t take much; there was nowhere else neither he nor any other guest could find a close-up portrait of Natasha wrapped tight in a bathrobe, hair wrung-dry and damp, chin resting on her fist, making such fierce eye-contact as if challenging the gaze of the person who’d caught her in a private moment.

Or Tony, a face well-known to smirk, sneer, and blow kisses, suddenly severe and deep in thought, tinted glasses hanging from his teeth.

Thor grinned behind a half-empty glass of beer in his portrait. Sam was reading a book. Bruce was cutting up a breakfast of an omelet and potatoes.

Bucky’s photo elicited gasps from Byrne as well as the crowd he’d started to draw around him. The session you had with him was rather difficult, since he challenged you at every turn. So many images from your roll you’d deemed too stern, an aspect that you didn’t want captured of Bucky. The Winter Soldier was grim and ominous. Bucky, your Bucky (as hesitant as that statement was), was not. You refused to let him resign himself to the Soldier’s shadowy persona, especially not after knowing just how bright he could be.

It had taken almost two hours of careful conversation for him to let you turn off the lights and put on music. You chose to play one of your favorites- a collection of Bill Withers’ essential hits, letting the suave compositions fill the room. He was ready to argue when the first few notes came on, but you strictly shook your head and brushed out his hair with your fingers before moving on to massage his tense neck. Jagged edges, you chanted in your head, take care of those jagged edges.

It was an intimate moment from anyone else’s point of view- but you were so occupied with ensuring a good photo, you had willfully ignored all signs of pleasure from your subject. He leaned into your touch the harder you pressed, and when you reached down the round collar of his black shirt to feel the muscles of his back, he had started panting hard and fast.

You asked him to freeze and quickly ran back to snap a few shots. Then, certain you’d gotten what you needed, you ushered Bucky out of the room with a short apology before anything escalated.

The resulting photograph was Bucky’s side-profile leaning back on the palms of his hand on a stool, grey background blurred and out of focus. The collar of his shirt was stretched and warped around his neck under dense wavy hair. His eyes were half open, distracted by something in the distance, lips closed, corners turned down in a wanton pout. The muscles in his arms were thick and contracted as he gripped forcefully on the seat. There was a fuzzy shadow cast over him, just enough to obscure a corner of his shoulder and clenched jaw.

The card read, James Buchanan Barnes.

Kristopher Byrne clapped and ran the back of his hand over his forehead.

“This one… just takes my breath away. This is really Sergeant Barnes? The Winter Soldier? He looks so helpless… So unlike the image I have of him.”

You searched across the expanse of the room to find the sergeant in question. Next to him, Steve firmly patted his shoulder as they watched you stand beneath Bucky’s picture. With a slight swing of your hips, you unflinchingly moved on.

-

At 8, the band winded down their percussions and a spotlight found Tony at the center of the lobby, microphone in hand. Guests gathered around as he began to speak. Two workers wheeled out a display that was covered up by a black cloth.

“Everyone, may I please have your attention.” When the crowd settled down enough for his liking, he continued effortlessly. “I’d like to formally welcome you to the exhibition. The photographer of the night is a friend of mine; you might know her as the visionary behind the popular Soulmate Series and the subsequent Peculiar Pairs- wow, what a mouthful, huh?” A round of soft chuckles was raised.

You stood next to Natasha and Pepper, taking a final sip of your third champagne flute before handing it off to a server and thanking him. Your heart was picking up a rhythm in apprehension of your approaching time to speak. Tony was leaps and bounds more charming than you, and you could only hope you wouldn’t trip over your feet on your way up.

“She’s taken the world by storm with her humor, wit, and sensitivity on a subject we’ve all heard before, and continues to shed a novel light on Soulmates. To us here at the Avengers Facility, she’s our lovable Public Relations twerp, near and dear to our hearts.” He paused. You were positive you were tearing up as pinpricks burn your nasal passages.

“Please give a warm round of applause to the one, the only…”

Tony flourished his pointer finger over the crowd before finally settling on you, the spotlight zooming over to shine on the water pooling in your eyes. He finally called out a boisterous thundering of your name as the room erupted in applause.

The room blurred as you stepped towards Tony. Mechanical movements and muscle memory guided your actions when he gave you a loving hug and kiss on the cheek. The microphone was suddenly in your hands and you began to speak, praying for whatever god above (or here- Thor, if this might be your territory) to bless you with grace.

“Thank you everyone for coming out tonight. And thank you Tony and Pepper, who’ve made all of this possible for me.”

It felt like there were half a million eyes staring. You only needed to find your footing in four blue ones. Pressing onward, you continued, hoping the quiver of your throat would flatten itself out as you began to chronicle your body of work. It was a speech you’d given before in multiple interviews, you just needed a lead into the meat of the lecture.

“The photos you see tonight of the Avengers were taken with a simple message in mind: humanity. So often we regard them as these supernatural saviors- which they can be and frequently are; Thor, for one, is an Asgardian god.” The crowd lightly chuckled, and Thor, in the back, raised a sizable glass of wine in the air.

“I didn’t want to create more cults of personality around them, I wanted you to see the parts of them you could identify with, juxtaposing the abnormal with the normal. Your heroes eat breakfast, read books, take baths... just like you.” There was contemplation gazing back at you in the massive sea of unblinking eyes. Some people chewed on their lips pensively. Others were nodding along in agreeance.

“They hurt, like you.” You looked at Bucky, who met your gaze with a silent apology, “They love, like you.” You looked at Steve, who bit his lips in a smile. “They have soulmates, like you. And with that, we come full circle.”

You turned your body to face the shrouded display and pinch the cloth between two fingers.

“I’d like to start the auction period off with piece de resistance. As with all our photos tonight, when you bid on them, know that if won, they will be singularly yours. Forever. No duplicates will be made; the files have been destroyed.” Tugging on the sheet with a flourish, you swiftly pulled it off the polished stand to reveal a framed photo of the Maximoff twins. The discarded fabric tumbled to the floor with a flutter.

Pietro stood shirtless and defiant in the photo, black jeans hanging from his hips, the barest hint of his boxers peeking out. His body was smooth and hard, naturally flawless thanks to his inhuman healing abilities. Next to him, Wanda faced away from the camera in a black racerback, her head turned to regard her twin. Her hand drew a line across his chest, wrist relaxed on his far shoulder, polished black fingernails lovingly twirled a bleached curl. Their Marks were in full view, and the audience collectively sucked in a sharp breath of surprise.

“Wanda and Pietro Maximoff: Avengers, twins, soulmates.”

The room erupted once more in applause. You handed the microphone back to Tony and disappeared into the crowd.

-

You felt ill.

Clutching on the smooth marble countertop, you stared at your reflection in the bathroom mirror. The dim yellow lighting from the shell-shaped wall scone flooded the room and made you look even more jaundiced. You had held it together for a whole three hours but now it was time to dump your entire stomach’s contents into the closest toilet. You barely made it before the champagne and bits of cheese ejected violently from your mouth.

You waited briefly for the nausea to pass and when it didn’t you returned to discharge the rest of your vomit into the bowl. In the stall a few spaces down, someone flushed before cautiously exiting. Three clicks of footsteps closer and there was a very light knock on the door that separated you from them.

Wanda stood over you, eyebrows tightly knitted in concern. She hoisted you up and the toilet flushed automatically upon registering movement. You wobbled to the counter again, opening the various cabinet doors before finding some mouthwash to gargle.

“Can I help you?” She asked, taking a cloth napkin from the wicker basket in the middle and dabbing around your red mouth after you’d spit into the sink. You sighed deeply, holding your hand over your torso. “It’s been a long month… that was actually more cathartic than traumatic.” She nodded in support.

You took the napkin from her and viciously wiped off the lipstick with it, peppermint smell lingering from your mouth. Your eyes began to focus and un-focus competitively and ghostly trails of color floated all around your head. Wanda followed your gaze with her eyes before pressing a warm palm to your temple.

“I can take it away, if you’d like,” she held up a splayed hand, fingers crackling with that ghostly energy of hers. Exhaling, you only nodded as she returned the heel of her palm to your forehead. A rush of tingles travelled up your body and into her hand, and you feel every inch of your skin crawling towards her. You’d forgotten how exhausted you’ve been for the past month as your head throbbed and ached against Wanda’s touch, mumbling what you hoped was a sincere-sounding thanks.  

When she finishes, Wanda lifts up your head with her finger and smiles. “All better, no?” When she walks you into the lobby, you feel yourself renewed with each step.

-

Steve thinks he can find you in any universe out there. Any timeline. Any dream. He’s got the shape of your body branded inside his brain. Every eyelash, every fine line, every damn pore.

When you cross the room with Wanda on your arm, smiling, he notices the lipstick has been rubbed off and your mouth is pink and raw. When you catch sight of him watching, Wanda departs gracefully and whispers into your ear a sweet note, wishing you a fruitful night onward. Your mind stills at her words, and your heart picks up a slow, steady beat when your feet end up in front of Steve at the edge of the room.

Steve knows he can.

He bends over to pull a lock of wavy hair into his hand and kiss it. The room is silent, conversations have long muted because of auction taking place. You’re no longer present, long gone from the party and adrift only in the blue-green sea of his gaze.

Steve allows the strands back onto your shoulder and they cascade over your back. He lets the scent of clean shampoo and something that is purely you wash over him. The crisp smell of seafoam and orange peels, summer rain, warm laundry in the sun. There’s a sheen layer of sweat in the dip of your neck that he’d love to get a mouthful of. The flame in his chest triggers.

He’ll have to thank Wanda later. Your posture is the most relaxed he’s seen you all night. The stiff square shoulders and domineering gait was a side of you he hadn’t seen before, a sight he couldn’t help but feel proud of as you commanded the room. However, he loved the natural you in front of him now most.

He doesn’t have to hear your words to know how you feel, but listens anyway.

“Thank you,” You smile, looking only at him, vaguely gesturing to the room full of people. Your voice has dropped low and earnest and you squeeze his hand just a little bit before anyone else sees. “I... I couldn’t have done this without you. I would have never done it.”

He nods and bows his head ever so slightly, peering at you through lashes. “I’m happy to have helped. You know that, sweetheart. I know you’re capable of so many great things… I’m glad you’re feeling better.” He rubs the edge of your mouth with a finger.

“Yeah.. I guess you’re used to seeing me like this, huh?” You giggle, embarrassed and remembering all the times you’ve thrown up because of his presence.

“I think even then, I had a feeling. Just… too afraid to come forward. After I learned how to use a computer…” He’s smiling at the memory, “..I used to spend all night looking at your photos… trying to find a picture of you somewhere.”

The thought of Steve, back then, already captivated by anything to do with you causes your breathing to pick up. You suck in air through your nostrils quickly as if you might be suffocating. A long moment passes as you pinch your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Honey?” He asks with a smile. He knows what’s coming.

You’re spellbound in his gaze, trapped like a moth, wings already soldered off by the flame. “I’d like to stay the night, I think. With you... and … B-Bucky.”

Steve plucks your hand from your side and kisses each knuckle. “Of course. Tony already said he’ll handle the rest of the show and paperwork. Let me know when you’re ready to go. We’ll take it slow.”

It’s a promise, and he doesn’t have to wait for your next words to know what you want. But he does so anyway. He needs to hear it.

“I’m... ready now.”

When Steve slips his hand over yours and feels the familiar pulse of your thumbprint, he knows. In this universe, this lifetime, or the next, or the next after that, he’d be able to find you. He is yours; you are his. With every step, he lets the fantasies he’s been occupied with disperse, focusing his attention solely on your figure at his side. The hallway muffles the sounds of the party and each step grows louder as you depart hand-in-hand.

 -

In the darkness of his room, your Soulmate kneels and unbuckles the strap of your stiletto, letting his fingers graze over your feet. He’s meticulous as he slips them off one at a time before trailing those calloused palms up your calves underneath the dress. The silky cool fabric brushes his knuckles, a stark contrast to the heat of your skin. You’re trembling against his hold as he continues upward, resting them on the back of your thighs, squeezing gently.

“Sweetheart, you’re shaking.” He presses two kisses to the top of each thigh underneath the dress. His hot breath sends tingles slinking upwards into the pit of your core. “We can stop any time. We can stay in bed together and just sleep. I’d love that.”

You shake your head and place your hands over his, pulling them up even higher, over the apex of your bottom, brushing over your underwear, and catching in the tightness of the fabric. The motion is all he needs, and Steve deftly reaches up to untie the knotted bow at the small of your back.

The satin falls off your shoulders and pools at your feet.

Next Chapter

[reckoningss]

The Shield - Part 7

Summary: Homicide detectives Mia Wallace and Thor Odinson are partners with a reputation for closing the tough cases. Their latest, however, proves to be more difficult than expected as the two contend with a killer with an interesting MO, an overbearing District Attorney, and unreconciled feelings.

Pairing: Detective!Thor x OC (Mia Wallace)

Warnings: Language, Mild violence, discussions of death

Wordcount: 2.7k

“I just... I just can’t believe she’s really gone.” 

Marsha  Peters further crumpled the piece of tissue clutched between her slender fingers to about the same density of a supermassive black hole and dabbed the tiny sodden ball beneath her red-rimmed eyes. The action removed more than a little bit of concealer. She hiccupped another sob. “I keep expecting her to call me over to watch The Bachelorette.” 

Thor pressed his lips into a grim, yet sympathetic, line, and patted Marsha’s quivering shoulder. “I don’t have cable, so we would always have wine and movies at her place and now it’s a crime scene.” 

Mia felt sorry for her too. 

Women like Marsha Peters and Sharon Carter weren’t used to not being so put together. Losing control of their lives wasn’t something that they expected, and so it wasn’t something they could ever truly plan for. But good God, if they didn’t look great when it happened. 

Mia took the thin woman in -- her black hair, still gleaming, but with a little less luster, delicate wisps of it escaping her intricate updo in a way that said “help me” more than it said “hopeless.” Her silk top was wrinkled but expensive, the same as her blue-black pencil skirt. And the dark circles her constant dabbing revealed beneath her green eyes made them appear larger when they sparkled with tears. She sagged pitifully against the frame of her front door.

Everything about her inspired protectiveness, demanding that everyone who saw her give her all the comfort and reassurance they could muster. Mia herself nearly felt like folding the woman into a hug. Nearly. 

They were back at the site of Annette Gordon’s murder, following up with her neighbor and apparent best friend from down the hall. They were all back, Mia reminded herself. Sharon stood between her and Thor, dark eyes bright with interest. Mia was half surprised the DA hadn’t taken out a pad of paper and a pen to take supplementary notes to the ones Mia had already jotted down. 

It had become something of a point of contention in the week since their appointment as security detail -- Mia and Thor conducted their investigation, Sharon took issue with some part of their procedure, and she and Mia would argue while Thor remained painfully silent only to talk Mia down in private later. Wash, rinse, repeat. She was developing a headache from the speed with which they moved through the cycle every day. 

Thor was always quick to remind her that Sharon wasn't the enemy. “We all want the same things,” he liked to say. Mia partially disagreed with that. Sure they both wanted the killer behind bars, but where Sharon wanted power and recognition, Mia’s needs were more simple. At the end of the day, she wanted her partner to be just that -- her partner -- and not Sharon’s arm candy down at city hall. She knew it wasn’t a very generous thought, but the mental image didn’t inspire very many generous feelings, so she wouldn’t fault herself for internal honesty.

“Did she...have any enemies that you know of? Anyone with a less positive perception of her?”

Marsha managed a watery smile. “I wouldn’t know who. Annette was so cordial! You know, she organized the monthly wine social for all the tenants. She said everyone knew everyone in Vermont and she wanted it to be like that here. She missed that sense of community.” Another sniffling sigh. “She invited everyone. Even Mr. Walski upstairs and he’s practically a shut-in. Never talks to anyone, not nicely anyway, and she marched all the way upstairs when he didn’t RSVP to say no and handed him the invitation herself.” She let loose a tinkling laugh that, under any other circumstance, would be infectious. A few more tears slipped down her porcelain cheeks. 

Thor shot Mia and glance overtop Sharon’s head, alarm was plain as day in his eyes undercut by something else -- recognition. They’d met more than one loved one of a murder victim who wavered somewhere between despair and giddy hysteria. No sooner had Marsha started laughing than she sobered again, her mouth shrinking to a thin, pale line, her eyes wide and wet. 

“I won’t pretend,” she began again, her voice quavering, “that everyone loved her. Because they didn’t. She could come on...a little strong. She knew that people didn’t like her -- exes, people at the office. But this? I can’t imagine anyone disliking her enough to do this.” 

Mia scribbled absently on her pad. They’d already checked into Annette’s relations and acquaintances to find little of note, and there’d yet to be any recognizable overlap between her life and that of the killer’s other victims. There just had to be something else. 

“Did you notice anyone out of the ordinary hanging around before that night? Anyone at all in or around the building? Maintenance men or service pro-” 

“Or anyone since?”

Mia bristled at Sharon’s interjection, gritting her teeth and cutting an eye at the shorter woman. She’d intended to ease into that portion of the question.

Marsha’s eyes went wide, thin brows furrowing. “No but- not that I can think of. Should I be worried?” She flitted her frightened gaze between the three of them. “Is he going to come back? Do it again? Here?”

“That-” Mia shot daggers at Sharon before she could open her mouth, “isn’t likely. This guy’s been operating under a pattern. He’ll probably just move on.” 

Sharon didn’t seem to be satisfied with that answer. “Do you have a license to carry?” 

Marsha’s eyes were as big as saucers now. “No. Shoul-” 

“Here.” Sharon whipped a business card out of her purse and scribbled something with more speed than Mia had ever known her to use. She shoved it into Annette’s pale hands, squeezed in next to the crumpled tissue. “When you get one, go here. It’s where I got my pistol. Give them my name.” 

“Yo-you think I’ll need a gun? He’s going to come back here isn’t he?” 

 The back of Mia’s neck was growing hot, anger creeping up to strangle her. She could already imagine the heated remarks she and Sharon would exchange on the ride back to the station, while Thor -- predictably -- stayed neutral and quiet. 

Thankfully, mercifully, Thor stepped in now. “No one’s saying that. This guy hasn’t struck the same place twice since he started and he won’t want to break pattern now.” 

Sharon almost continued, but Thor cut her off. “Your best bet is to look into a home security system. Automated locks and some cameras. I’m sure...”

At the far end of the hall, near the stairs, a floorboard creaked so low Mia nearly didn’t hear it beneath the rumble of Thor’s voice. Her gaze was drawn to the dark stairwell, eyes straining into the darkness of the cracked exit door...when her ears caught the muttered hiss of “shit!” Something gleamed in the sparse light. 

“Get inside!” Mia turned her back on the DA, using her own body as a shield and keeping eyes on the figure disappearing down the stairwell as the door swung shut. Sharon and Marsha both jumped at her hardened tone, and Sharon began to protest, but Mia didn’t care. Turning she grabbed Sharon by the shoulders and shoved her into Marsha’s open doorway. “Lock the door. You do not open until you see either me or Odinson, got it?” 

She didn’t wait for a response. Knowing that Thor would get the two women secured, Mia took off down the hallway at a sprint. She could hear feet hammering against the old stairs as she flung the door open.

“Stop!” Mia unclipped the gun holster beneath her jacket as she ran. “Police!”

Whoever had been watching them, didn’t even break stride. Mia scrambled to the banister and peered over, training her pistol down ahead of her. A figure in black clambered downward, nearly two floors below her now and descending fast. 

“Shit! He’s heading down!” Mia shouted, hoping Thor heard her as she threw herself down the first flight. 

She took the stairs two at a time -- three when speed and balance allowed -- her shoulders slamming into the walls as she hurtled into each landing only to rocket down the next flight. She could barely keep enough air in her lungs, but she knew this feeling -- the adrenaline, the rush. It pushed her faster. Made her sharper. 

Mia flew over the last flight of stairs onto the ground level, boots jarring against the stone floor just as the figure reached the door to the lobby. He was wheezing with the effort, one big hand splayed across the wood of the door and he pushed.

“POLICE!”

Mia leaped. 

The pair of them -- Mia and this fleeing figure -- spilled into the lobby in a grappling, grunting heap. Something black skittered away from them across the floor. Mia straddled the man’s back, grabbing his right arm and wrenching it behind his back as he struggled. 

“Get off me!” 

“Not a chance.” She shoved her knee across the restricted arm, bearing down with her weight to keep it in place. The man jerked back with his free arm, catching Mia’s left brow with a sharp elbow. Light bloomed behind her eyelids, but she shook it off. Cursing, Mia wrestled his other arm down and pressed the muzzle of her gun between the man’s shoulder blades. “Stop. Resisting.” 

The sensation gave the man some pause. He stopped squirming, but  he cut one wild eye at her, pressing his sweaty cheek to the stone as he spat, “this is excessive force!” 

“Uh-huh.” Mia freed her handcuffs from her back pocket and tightened one cuff around the man’s wrist. Sure as day, she could already feel a warm trickle of blood rolling down the side of her face. “I identified myself and gave you a direct order to stop. You ran.”

“I feared for my safety!”

“Was that before or after you hid in a stairwell to eavesdrop on official police business? Hear anything interesting?” Mia clapped the other cuff around the man’s wrist and tightened.

He grunted as she pulled him to his feet, slotting the pistol back into her holster. “Can’t I just be a concerned citizen?” 

“A concerned citizen who runs from the police?” Both Mia’s and the man’s heads snapped to Thor as he emerged from the elevator. He cocked a disbelieving eyebrow. 

The toe of his shoe prodded something as he walked and he bent to pick it up. “What’s this?” 

“That’s private property! MY private property!” The man started squirming again, struggling to get out of Mia’s grip. 

She held on tighter, clenching her jaw. “Calm. Down.” 

Thor lifted the Canon DSLR camera to eye level and inspected it. He shook it at the man. “Catch anything good?” 

“Nothing that’s your business!”

“We’ll let CSIs determine that. Could be evidence.” Thor strode forward and snatched the black ballcap off of the man’s head. He flinched away. “She said. Stop. Struggling.” 

Peering around the (now silent) suspect, Thor caught sight of his partner’s split brow.  A storm front of anger swept across his face and he scowled at the man before slipping his phone out of his pocket and punching at the screen. Mia could hear the faint ring of an outgoing call as he lifted it to his ear, never taking his eyes off the man.

“Yeah, Parker? I’m going to need you to come down to the Gordon crime scene and pick up a suspect. Wallace and I need to secure the DA.” 

The man stiffened in front of Mia. “What? Wait, wait, wait, suspect? Am I under arrest?” 

The look in Thor’s eyes said something akin to ‘are you stupid?’ “Yeah. You are.”

“For what?” 

Mia rolled her eyes at the indignation in his voice. “Resisting arrest, smartass.”

“Assault of an officer,” Thor added, “if you’re feeling lucky.” 

“Wait.” The man craned his neck to lock eyes with Mia, his own huge with alarm. “This is all a big misunderstanding!” 

Mia snorted. It would seem that now the man was trying for some level of cordiality now. Thor only nodded, his feigned sympathy seemed alarmingly sincere. He patted the man’s back like an old friend. “We’ll sort all that out at the station.” 

Right on cue, officers Parker and Leeds strolled through the door, more than eager to take part in the high profile investigation. Mia and Thor passed the suspect off to them for transport back to the station where he’d be processed and put in a room for questioning. Mia took her time, moving toward the elevator as they left, she hoped he waited for hours. 

As they hummed upward in the metal box, Mia was keenly aware of Thor’s eyes on her.

“What?” She tried to squint at him but grimaced instead, reminded of the wound she’d soon be adding to her catalog of scars. 

“Come here.” Thor’s hand wrapped around the back of her neck, cradling the base of her skull as he drew her in. With the other, he skated his fingers along her jaw, extending a thumb to swipe at the trickle of blood drying on her temple. “You ok?”

Mia shuddered despite the familiar warmth. “I’m fine, it’s nothing.” She tried to shrug out of his hold, but Thor cupped her face and dipped his head.

His dark eyes caught hers and searching. “Mi, are you all right?” 

Mia could feel the back of her neck growing hot again, but this time, it wasn’t anger. She quietly prayed her partner wouldn’t feel the flush rising in her cheeks. “I’m fine, Thor,” she pulled away from his caring touch, swatting him with more good humor than she felt. “Don’t baby me.

His blue eyes watched her carefully, though he said nothing. But Mia hoped he couldn’t read what she’d really wanted to say all over her face. 

Part 8

[perspective-series]

Meta Perspective (5)

By: @arc852 and @hiddendreamer67

Warnings: Fear, not listening/being ignored, and being trapped

(Check the reblog for the links to any future chapters)

————————————————————————————————–

Amanda tried not to squirm too much, jostled by Virgil’s movements. She hated to admit the pocket was actually fairly comfortable. It would have made a nice nap spot, if not for the chaos all around her keeping the borrower tense. Every unknown voice set Amanda on edge, knowing that she had no control over making sure she stayed hidden. It was turning out to be quite a stressful day, but something told her it was far from over.

 Virgil had to admit, having a tiny person in his pocket was...nerve-racking to say the least. He found himself highly alert and every passing person, keeping to himself even more than usual. Which was saying something. He let out a small sigh and told himself to relax. Him being tense probably wasn’t helping Amanda to get comfortable.

 “Hey, Virgil!” Patton called out. Virgil looked up to see Patton bounding toward him. He looked in a few directions, making sure no one was close and then smiled. “Did you set up something for Amanda before you left?” He asked, wanting to make sure Amanda was getting the proper rest.

 Virgil bit his lip and rubbed the back of his head. “Yeah...about that…” He trailed off and Patton gave him a head tilt. Virgil sighed. “Amanda is...here. In my pocket.” He patted on the shirt pocket for good measure and Patton’s eyes widened.

 “Virgil!” Patton exclaimed, disappointment in his eyes. Virgil winced. “Yeah, yeah, I know. But she’s stubborn, okay? She would have tried to go back home if I left her alone.” He tried to explain. Patton kept his disappointed gaze on Virgil a bit longer before sighing himself.

 “Well, there really isn’t anything we can do about it now…” Patton glanced at Virgil’s pocket. “Sorry, Amanda.”

“...it’s fine.” Amanda was careful to keep her voice down, knowing that while the fabric muffled her voice other humans might still overhear. Two humans were bad enough. “Just...don’t draw attention to me.”

 “Right, of course.” Patton smiled and then shifted his eyes away from the pocket. “I’d say be careful but I know you.” Patton chuckled.

 Virgil did as well. “Yeah.” Virgil looked a little past Patton when a pair of familiar faces started walking towards them. His eyes widened. “Oh crap, it’s Logan and Roman.” 

 “Huh?” Patton looked behind him and grinned when he saw them, sending them a rather large wave. He turned back around. “Oh! Should we tell them about Amanda?” Patton asked and Virgil winced.

 “Yeah, I don’t think she would appreciate that.” And he also knew how Roman and Logan were. 

Roman kept his gait smooth, his acting background helping him stay casual despite the fact he felt the urge to look at Logan’s bag every few seconds.

“Just act natural,” Roman spoke out of the corner of his mouth, giving Patton and Virgil a wave of greeting.

“I am perfectly natural.” Logan insisted, tightening the grip he had around his bag strap. Logan’s posture was rather stiff, but this was indeed ‘natural’ for him.

 Allison tried to stay as still as possible in the bag, afraid any sort of movement would cause every other human in the room to see her. However, she could help but shift the tiniest amount to stop her leg from falling asleep. She didn’t need that right now.

 She let out a small sigh. What she wouldn’t give to be home right now. But now she was here, captured by these humans. Not to mention, she had never found Amanda either. Allison at least hoped that she was doing better than her own current situation. 

 Patton glanced at the pocket and then at Virgil. “Right.” So, they wouldn’t be telling the others. Oh, but he did hate keeping things from them. This was going to be hard. He turned to Roman and Logan with a grin. “Hey, guys!”

 Virgil nodded in greeting, trying to act casual. “Sup.”

“Salutations.” Logan greeted, keeping his bag more to the side than usual. He had kept Allison contained and securely hidden for an entire period already, he could certainly manage one last conversation. 

“Was your morning...uneventful?” Roman asked, making conversation.

 “Oh yeah! Super uneventful. Right, Virgil?” Patton asked, turning to his roommate. Virgil just nodded. “What about you guys?” Patton asked, turning back to them.

“Well…” Logan paused, wondering what detail he could use to divert attention.  “Roman did eat a portion of my Crofter’s.”

 “Really?” Virgil smirked. “Wow, I’m surprised he’s even still alive.” Patton chuckled at that.

“I apologized!” Roman insisted, looking offended.

“You did not.” Logan raised an eyebrow, wondering where this falsehood came from.

“Did I not?” Roman put a hand to his chin. “I meant to. I guess I just got distracted.”

 “Oh? By what?” Patton asked.

“Oh, just a...small setback.” Roman looked a bit pleased with himself.

“Roman.” Logan gave him a warning glare, his tone stern.

 Allison tensed at that. Oh, please don’t tell your friends about me.

 “Huh, well, in any case, where are you guys headed now?” Patton asked. 

“Home.” Logan looked to Roman, sticking his hand out. “Speaking of, your keys.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Roman rolled his eyes, handing the keys over. Usually, Logan would wait around doing homework until they drove home together, but with the Allison situation, it’d be best to get her home as soon as possible. “Just don’t forget to pick me up later.”

“I shall not,” Logan assured him, pocketing the keys.

“I’ve got to work on my metalsmithing project,” Roman answered Patton’s question. 

Amanda perked up a bit, listening to the human’s conversation. Metalsmithing? Humans did that too? The idea of giant tools working with huge chunks of heated metal was...terrifying. And yet at the same time, Amanda almost wanted to witness it for herself.

 “I’ve got my graphics class that I need to be getting to, actually.” Virgil didn’t want to be late and have everyone staring at him as he walked in. “See ya guys later.” And with that, Virgil left, Amanda in tow.

 Patton waved. “Bye Virge!” He grinned, knowing Virgil would be careful with Amanda and turned back to the others. “I’ve gotta get going too. I’ve got English! See ya!” And with that, Patton was gone too.

 Allison relaxed just a bit more when she heard the two other humans leave. At least she didn’t have to deal with them too.

“Be careful,” Roman warned one last time, giving Logan a wave as he headed towards the studio.

Logan nodded in acknowledgment, heading towards the parking lot. The day had certainly gone smoother than he could have hoped. Logan thought about checking on Allison in the car but figured it would be best to release her in the confines of the apartment. After all, Allison seemed to immensely dislike being manhandled, so Logan planned to do so as little as possible. 

Only in the safety of his living room did Logan finally open the bag up, sitting on the couch. “Are you alright?” He asked, peering down at Allison. It was still strange to think of her as an actual being and not a figment of his tired state of mind this morning.

 Allison tensed as the bag opened, looking up at Logan with a still very clear fear. “...Yeah.” As well as she could be in her current situation, at least.

“Excellent.” Logan nodded, looking pleased. “Then I shall fix us some sustenance. Any requests?”

 “Uhh...I don’t know.” What even was sustenance?

“Very well.” Logan lifted the bag, careful as he brought it over to the kitchen. He set it down, reaching in to grab Allison out.

 Allison let out a squeak of fear as a hand started to reach for her. Of course, she expected it but that didn’t make her any more prepared. She braced herself, knowing she couldn’t stop it.

Logan grabbed her form gently, lifting her up and out onto the counter. There he released her and then began pulling out the ingredients to make himself a sandwich. 

 Allison backed up a step as soon as she was set back down, glad to be back on something solid. She watched Logan warily, as he seemed to be making a sandwich. Oh, so he must have meant food. This guy sure did have a weird way of speaking.

Logan pulled out the peanut butter and crofters, putting some on each bread slice and pressing them together. He cut off a corner, smushing the bread down so as not to be too wide for Allison to consume. 

“Here you are.” Logan presented the sandwich to her, holding it between his fingers.

 Allison flinched, glancing between Logan and the food before taking it hesitantly. “...Thanks.” She took a bite, humming in pleasure. She recognized the Crofters jam along with something else she hadn’t had before but she really liked it.

Logan was pleased to see that his assumption she’d like more crofters was correct. He took a bite of his own sandwich, smiling at the familiar taste.

 Allison finished her sandwich with a small smile. But it soon left her features when her attention was soon turned back to the human. She shifted her feet, afraid to ask but needing to all the same. She took a deep breath. “So...what now?”

“What do you mean?” Logan asked, finishing off his own meal. He grabbed his own dish, turning to the sink. With a sigh, Logan realized Roman hadn’t done the dishes prior, and Logan grabbed the sponge to get to work.

 “Are you...going to let me go?” There, the question was out once again. Now hopefully there would be a different answer.

“Let you go where?” Logan called over his shoulder, acting oblivious.

 “...Home. Are you going to let me go home?” She repeated, she had a feeling, though, that the human knew what she had meant the first time.

 “Well, certainly not right now,” Logan explained. “If I were to release you without consulting Roman I would not hear the end of it, especially given the fact he found you originally.”

 Allison felt herself deflate. Of course. She had gotten her hopes up, even though she shouldn’t have. Geez, why did humans have to be like this?

 ...She could always try to escape. She still had her hook after all. Thankfully, they hadn’t taken it away. But she would have to wait for the perfect moment. 

“However, you are welcome to do what you like,” Logan assured her. “I have some school work I should do, but so long as you stay relatively close you certainly don’t need to stay entertained by astral physics.”

 Allison blinked. Schoolwork...that could be what she needed. If Logan became too focused on school, she just might be able to make her escape. But she couldn’t give any hints to her plan, so she looked down but nodded. “...Okay.”

“Excellent.” Logan dried off his hands, looking around the kitchen. “How do you usually pass the time? Do you require anything from me in regards to entertainment?”

 “Uh...I mean, usually, I pass my time messing with little things I find around...or go for a walk…” Or hang out with Amanda but she wasn’t about to say that. “I should be fine though.”

“Alright.” Logan nodded at this, pulling his homework out of his bag. He set himself up at the dining table so that Allison was still in his line of sight if he looked up. “Just alert me if you become bored or require anything.”

 “Okay.” She answered, at least glad that she wouldn’t be picked up again to move somewhere else. She was itching to make a run for it already but she knew she had to wait a bit longer. For Logan to get really into his studying. In the meantime, she decided to wander around the table. She figured it would be better to be seen as already moving, that way a sudden movement wouldn’t catch Logan’s eye.

Logan sent her one last glance before pouring over his textbooks thoroughly, the page rustling being the only sound in the kitchen for several minutes.

 Allison continued to walk around and after about 20 minutes passed, she glanced in Logan’s direction. He seemed well into his studying and she smiled. Perfect. Now was her chance. She quickly but carefully made her way over to the opposite end of the table and, after one last glance at Logan, unfurled her hook and embedded it into the wood table. She then wasted no time, in starting to climb down.

 Her heart beat rapidly as she fully realized what she was doing, all with a human right there.

Logan paused, spotting movement out of the corner of his eye. Looking up, Logan frowned as he realized that Allison seemed to be descending down a string, likely the one that previously hung at her hip.

“What are you doing?” Logan inquired.

 Allison tensed as she heard Logan’s voice. “...Nothing.” However, her actions contradicted her words as she went from climbing down to sliding down. She winced as the string burned her hands but she made it to the ground much faster. Not having the time to get her hook, she booked it towards the living room and her exit underneath the couch.

“It certainly doesn’t look like nothing.” Logan slid his chair back, taking large strides over to block the borrower’s path.

 Allison’s eyes widened as Logan moved in front of her, blocking the path to the couch, biting her lip, she didn’t stop running but instead turned right and heading for the small hallway. She...didn’t have any exits coming up. But she just didn’t want to be caught again.

“Allison, this is futile.” Logan crouched down, this time sticking out his arm to easily block her path.

 This time, Allison had no choice but to skid to a halt. Though she still managed to collide with Logan’s arm, she quickly took several steps back. She hugged herself. “Please just let me go…”

“We discussed this already.” Logan felt a twinge of guilt. “And where were you even trying to go?”

 Allison didn’t say anything. She couldn’t give up her exits. They’d probably end up blocking them and then she’d be even more trapped.

“...alright,” Logan spoke, finally realizing he wouldn’t be receiving any explanations. He cupped his hands around Allison, lifting the borrower off the ground.

 Allison let out a yelp as she was lifted into cupped hands. She started to shake. Was Logan going to do something to her because she tried to escape?

Logan walked back over to the counter, setting her down on the surface once more.

“What is this, anyways?” Logan asked, pulling out the hook to inspect it.

 Oh, no. She couldn’t let Logan take her hook. “It’s mine.” She said. “P-Please give it back.”

“Are you going to use it again?” Logan noticed it appeared to be some form of climbing tool, useful to get around.

 “...No.” She lied.

“Mhmm.” Logan was unconvinced. He began wrapping it up, shoving the wad into his pocket. “Just to be on the safe side, I’m keeping this.”

 “Wait, no!” Allison watched with wide eyes as her hook disappeared into Logan’s pocket. “I really won’t use it again, just please give it back!”

“I’ll give it back to you in the evening,” Logan assured her. “But for now I think it would be most beneficial to ensure you stay put.”

 “W-Well, there really is no point in keeping it because I could just escape without it anyway!” Allison found herself saying. As soon as the words left her mouth, however, her hand flung to her mouth. Oh...that was not the right thing to say.

“Oh, could you?” Logan looked both curious and concerned. “Then perhaps leaving you to your own devices was not the wisest course of action.”

 Allison’s eyes widened. No, she couldn’t lose whatever bit of freedom she had left! “W-Wait, I-I didn’t mean it like that.” Allison tried.

“Then you’ll stay out of trouble?” Logan asked. He was certainly willing to give Allison the same freedoms so long as Allison didn’t use this time to escape. After all, he could not keep watching her. Logan had textbooks to read.

 “Yes.” Allison lied. She knew the first chance she got, she would try to escape again. With or without her hook.

Logan quirked an eyebrow, not quite believing her but willing to give Allison another chance. “Very well.” He conceded, returning to the table but keeping an eye on the borrower. 

 Allison knew she would probably have to wait a bit longer this time around, knowing Logan was on her. So, she took a seat at the edge of the counter and kicked her feet. She decided to take this time to organize her bag a bit.

“...please be cautious.” Logan murmured, noticing the comparatively large drop beneath her.

 Allison just nodded, despite knowing she was in no real danger. She had done this so many times, and higher up too. She was perfectly fine. And when the time came, she knew just how to climb down too.

Of course, after seeing nothing happen, Logan allowed himself to relax slightly and pour himself back into his studies. For the time being at least, Allison seemed content.

 Allison thought now would be a good time but she still waited an extra 20 minutes to be safe. When Logan hadn’t looked up in a while, Allison slowly started to climb down, turning her body in order to do so. She held her breath as she climbed down, hoping Logan would remain distracted this time.

Of course, no such thing happened. The movement caught Logan’s eye, making his eyes widen slightly. What was she thinking?

Logan got up, making his way over towards the kitchen counter but trying to keep his footsteps light so as not to jostle the cabinets further. He would certainly blame himself if Allison fell now.

 Allison froze as he shadow covered her and, slowly, she looked up and behind her. Logan was there and Allison felt herself begin to shake once more. Well...this could only end badly.

Logan was quick to put a hand underneath her, using the other to grab her tiny form and pluck it off the surface.

 “No!” Allison cried out, struggling in the grip. Why, why did this have to happen to her. “Please, I’m-I’m sorry!”

“It seems you were not exaggerating when you mentioned your abilities,” Logan observed. Clearly, Allison was far too mobile for her own good. She lacked what seemed to be a healthy fear of dropping to the floor, something that Logan had assumed would be a natural barrier. Without this, how could he keep the borrower contained? Logan hummed, looking around the kitchen for a solution.

 “Please, I’m sorry, I won’t do it again. Just-Just put me down.” She squirmed in the grip, scared of what Logan was going to do since he had caught her escaping a second time. 

“Oh, I will, once I find a suitable vessel.” Logan began to dig through the cupboard, pleased when he found a solution. “Ah, here we are.” Logan retracted his arm, a large glass jar cupped in his grip. He set this down on the counter, reaching his other hand inside to deposit Allison at the bottom.

 Allison blinked at the glass now surrounding her. Wait...had Logan just put her in a jar!? “H-Hey!” Allison got to her feet, putting her hands on the glass and looking up at the human. “Let me out!”

“I’ll let you out later in the evening when Roman is home and the two of us can keep a proper eye on you,” Logan assured her. “But in the meantime, I think this is a safe alternative to keep you contained.”

 Allison felt a few tears prick her eyes and she wiped them away before looking up at Logan again. “Why...Why are you doing this?” She couldn’t help but ask, trying to ignore the feeling of absolute helplessness she was feeling.

Logan shifted, surprised by her strong reaction. “It seemed reasonable enough, this way I can focus on studying without worrying about the consequences of your actions.”

 “No! Why are you...keeping me here. When I don’t…” Allison trailed off, bowing her head as he sniffed and tried to hide the forming tears. She couldn’t show weakness.

“...we can discuss this later.” Logan dodged the question, heading back towards the table and his books. The topic itself gave him an unpleasant feeling.

 Allison banged against the glass, somehow, the barrier made her feel a bit braver. “No! I don’t want to be here! Let me out and let me go already!” Allison yelled.

Logan did his best to tune her out, opening up his textbook with a sigh.

 “Logan!” She cried out and then she bowed her head when all he did was ignore her. Her tears fell and she back up, hitting the glass and dropping down to a seated position. She was starting to see, that these humans were never going to let her go.

[imagitory]

D-Views: Mary Poppins

Hello, everyone, and welcome to another installment of D-Views, my on-going written review series where I dive into and analyze movies from Disney’s extensive film library, and even occasionally those influenced by that library. For other reviews in the series for movies such as Frozen, Enchanted, The Little Mermaid, and Lacewood Productions’ The Nutcracker Prince, feel free to consult the “Disney Reviews” tag! And as always, if you enjoy any of my reviews, please consider liking and reblogging them!

Today, thanks to the votes cast by @karalora, @banana-9-pancakes, and @aceyanaheim, we’ll be looking at the story of a magical woman -- one who is prim, proper, and practically perfect in every way...Mary Poppins!

Production-wise Mary Poppins is in some ways the culmination of everything Walt Disney learned in his thirty-year-long film-making career. It adapted a classic, whimsical story as an charming, emotion-heavy screenplay, like Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs -- it featured a fresh-faced, but extremely talented young singer in the title role, like Sleeping Beauty -- it seamlessly combined animation with live action, like Song of the South -- it had state-of-the-art special effects, like 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea -- and it featured music by two songwriters who later went on to write Disney film scores for decades. But all of that started with a tiny, little spark. As a little girl, Walt’s daughter Diane had started reading the Mary Poppins books, and when Walt read along with her, he was absolutely enchanted by them and knew he wanted to adapt the stories for the silver screen. All the way back in 1938, one year after the release of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, Uncle Walt had his first meeting with Mary Poppins’s creator, P.L. Travers, but as anyone who has seen Saving Mr. Banks knows, the two did not see eye to eye. Uncle Walt spent the next twenty years trying to convince Travers to give him the rights to her stories, but unlike in the film where they had a sincere meeting of the minds, Travers recalled their final meeting where she gave him the rights as being more like Walt “holding up a gold pocket watch and dangling it tantalizingly in front of [her] eyes.” Admittedly one factor in the situation was that Travers herself had been having some financial trouble, and Uncle Walt’s payment for the rights to her books, as well as a portion of the gross profits for a film adaptation, was a boost that Travers severely needed. Despite the rights being given to Disney, however, Travers retained script approval rights, and for the next few years of production, she had quite a few complaints about the product. Even at the premiere of the film -- which, incredibly, she had not originally been invited to until she shamed a Disney executive into action -- Travers was very vocal about how much she disliked the film. The animation, done by some of the best in the business? Had to go. The story, which created such memorable and likable characters? Lacked teeth. The score written by the young Sherman brothers, who later went on to win awards for both Poppins and their other works? Left her cold.

Now, here’s the thing...do I agree with Ms. Travers? No. Do I like her as a person? No -- one would be hard-pressed to really admire a woman who decided to adopt half of a pair of twins from a poor family, raise the boy thinking he was her biological son, and then try to prevent her son from seeing his twin when the twin came to see him. (Yes, she really did that.) Do I think she was a malcontent who probably wouldn’t have been satisfied with anything? Absolutely. But at the same time, I must acknowledge, as a writer myself, it can be very difficult to share your creations with others. It can be hard even letting others read your works, given how personal and emotionally resonant the things you create often end up being, but it’s even harder letting others add onto your work. In a way, it’s like giving your child to a babysitter, except that unlike babysitters, most filmmakers who aim to adapt books don’t have a great track record in respecting the author or their vision. And in regards to Walt Disney specifically, his studio has never exactly been very interested in “staying true to the original story” -- the Walt Disney Company adapts the heck out of anything it touches. Even more modern Disney projects based on books like Ella Enchanted and Tuck Everlasting are great examples of this (if you’d like to delve into those films as adaptations, please look up Dominic Smith/The Dom’s wonderful Lost in Adaptation episodes for them -- they’re both fabulous!!). And in a way, Travers never saw her magical nanny as something light and cheerful -- this was an immortal woman who in later books once took the Banks children up into the Heavens on Midsummer’s Eve. Like the famous 1939 film adaptation of L. Frank Baum’s The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, there was definitely some dry wit and edge lost in translation from book to screen...and just like with The Wizard of Oz, Mary Poppins the film has largely taken the place of the original novels in the public consciousness.

But you know something? For what it’s worth...I think that, just like The Wizard of Oz, Mary Poppins succeeds in being a well-written, well-directed, well-performed, classic film, even if it’s so different than the book it was inspired by. And honestly, the world seems to agree. Mary Poppins grossed over $28.5 million at the box office, making it the most profitable film of 1965, and completely won over both critics and audiences alike. Even now at Rotten Tomatoes, it still boasts a rare 100% Fresh rating. It was nominated for 13 Academy Awards and won five (including Best Picture, which made it the first and only film Walt ever produced to win that honor) and also earned both a Golden Globe and two Grammys. Not only that, but the profits for the film were so high that they helped Uncle Walt fund his “Florida project,” which would eventually become Walt Disney World Resort. Mary Poppins later went on to inspire both a Broadway musical and a sequel, Mary Poppins Returns, and even today you can still meet both Mary Poppins and Bert in the Disney theme parks. So yes, “I recognize Ms. Travers had her opinion, but given that it is a stupid-ass opinion, I’ve elected to ignore it.”

PFFT, I’M KIDDING, ONLY KIDDING. Let’s talk about Mary Poppins.

Perhaps it’s appropriate that from the very beginning, the overture embraces us with the melody that will become the story’s main theme, Feed the Birds. The overture, like all the best Sherman brother overtures for films like Bedknobs and Broomsticks and The Sword in the Stone, is just a smooth, glamorous kaleidoscope of music. I also have to applaud the special effects team right off the bat with their overlaying of Julie Andrews as Mary onto the mat painting of London underneath our opening credits -- even now, when one can more easily guess how the trick worked, it’s still rather neatly done.

In this opening sequence, we also meet Bert, played by Dick van Dyke. The character of Bert was actually a compilation of several figures from the books, but that results in a very interesting, almost transient sort of character. This cheery, optimistic Jack of All Trades may have an accent that wouldn’t convince anyone, but is nonetheless unbelievably charming, and van Dyke’s physical comedy is so ridiculously on point. My mum and I have had a soft spot for Dick van Dyke for a long time because my late grandfather, although he was quite a bit older, resembled him quite a bit not just in appearance but also in attitude. Even now I look at Bert and fondly remember going to see the Broadway production of Mary Poppins with my grandparents, who ended up loving it and its music just as much as I did. It all the more makes me lament the end of the Soundsational Parade at Disneyland, which always concluded with a Mary-Poppins-inspired float covered in chimney sweeps and merry-go-round horses, one of which was ridden by Bert.

One of the changes that Ms. Travers was most disdainful of was the idea that the Banks family -- especially Mr. Banks -- had flaws that needed to be addressed and fixed by Mary Poppins. The flaw in the parents’ case is that they’re so focused on their own work and goals that they neglect their children’s emotional needs -- a plot point that would eventually get beaten into the ground in films that came later, but is not done half bad here. After all, the film doesn’t try to frame Mr. Banks’s job or Mrs. Banks’s activism as unimportant or bad in any way -- it’s just that the parents are solely focusing on those things. Mrs. Banks’s activism in particular, which is something that doesn’t appear either in the books or in the Broadway production, is something I really like. Sister Suffragette, which actually helped bring Glynis Johns on board to play Mrs. Banks, is just such a ridiculously fun song to sing. Although I wouldn’t ever say it’s the best song in the film by a mile, it’s still insanely catchy and entertaining, and I sing along to it every single time. WOMANKIND, ARISE!

David Tomlinson, who plays Mr. Banks, is easily the weakest link singing-wise, but fortunately he gives an acting performance that more than compensates for his poor vocals. From the very beginning, he comes across as incredibly pompous, self-centered, detached, and sexist, and yet he’s never shown to be an inherently bad person. He can be very cheerful, and even the way he’s framed makes it clear that a lot of his bluster is a front for his actual feelings, such as the way he falters when he realizes that Katie Nana has left the family. In the wrong hands, this role could’ve been despicable and shallow, but Tomlison handles it carefully enough that one can always see the emotion and suppressed softness in his eyes even long before he has his change of heart.

After an excellently paced entrance that involves effortlessly blowing away the line of nannies outside 17 Cherry Tree Lane, we are finally fully introduced to the magical lady herself, Mary Poppins. It is unbelievable when you remember that this was Julie Andrews’s first film role ever -- she’d previously only been a stage actress, but after finding success in both My Fair Lady and Camelot on stage and being denied the role of Eliza Doolittle in the film adaptation of My Fair Lady (which was later given to Audrey Hepburn), Julie accepted the role of Mary Poppins. Interestingly Julie was the only actor in the movie that P.L. Travers actually expressed some approval for, and honestly, I don’t blame her -- Julie is just flawlessly cast here. The role combines all of her performing strengths -- a great singing voice, expert dancing, inherent charm, sophistication, intelligence, pride, grace, and a touch of sass -- together in a cohesive, memorable character. Mary’s first song, A Spoonful of Sugar, really showcases Julie in her prime, spotlighting her flawless falsetto and precise pitch (as well as her impeccable whistling), and beautifully accompanies some of the at-the-time-revolutionary special effects. Although yes, it’s easy in the modern day to see how the effects were done, they’re never out-of-place or distracting, which is a testament to how much better practical effects can sometimes age in comparison to computer-generated effects. The things that tend to stick out most to my eyes are the green-screened stuff, simply because of how much that particular technique has been used in film and television since Mary Poppins’s release, but the nice thing is that it’s only one of many effects used, which helps in distracting the eye away from getting too used to one effect. Sometimes the effect will be stop-motion; sometimes the effect will be reversing the film; sometimes it’ll be green screen; sometimes it’ll be combining separate shots together. It makes it so that you would have to watch every scene several times and very carefully in order to pick out specific techniques, rather than just being able to go, “That’s fake, that’s fake, aaaaand...that’s fake,” the way you can while watching movies using only CGI.

Speaking of special effects, we have to talk about the sequence that made P.L. Travers the most upset -- the Jolly Holiday segment, set in an animated, living chalk drawing. Not only is the song just excellent, but the colors and energy of the piece are...well, practically perfect! It only serves to plus a song that was already pretty great and turns it into something amazing. Something else I like about Mary and Bert that I actually have to thank P. L. Travers herself for is that they are not romantically involved. Ms. Travers specifically indicated that that should be the case, and for a film made in the 60′s when male and female characters were almost always neatly paired off, it’s really neat that the two characters, despite some faintly teasing, flirty affects, never act like a couple. And really, having had both male and female friends since I was a kid, I really enjoyed seeing an attractive leading woman and man as friends. On the note of Mary, Bert, and songs I love singing along to, I would be very, very amiss if I didn’t also bring up Supercalifragalisticexpeliadocious. It’s really a very short number, but packed into it is so much energy that it feels like it never takes a breath. It’s like a sugar buzz, written into song form -- exuberant and big and loud and energetic...at least until the inevitable decrescendo as the rain wears away Bert’s chalk drawing and Mary, Bert, and the Banks children sadly return to the real world.

Our next adventure with Mary takes us to dear old Uncle Albert’s, where the aforementioned uncle, played by Mad-Hatter-voice-actor Ed Wynn, is rolling in the air laughing. This scene in particular showcases the various practical effects used in the film, whether hanging the actors on wires, putting them on one side of a seesaw, or even flipping the entire set on its side or upside down. Admittedly it’s very obvious that Katie Dotrice and Matthew Garber, who play Jane and Michael Banks, are having a harder time laughing convincingly than Dick van Dyke and Ed Wynn, which honestly is unsurprising given how many times they had to film this particular scene so as to get different shots. One story from the set of this film centers around Matthew Garber, after getting tired of recording the scene, receiving a nickle every time he had to go back onto the wires and in the end earning an “absolute fortune.” For child actors, Katie and Matthew aren’t awful, but it’s fortunate that they’re almost never the sole focus of a scene, as the more talented adult actors understandably overshadow them. And before you try to tell me it’s unfair to hold child actors to the same standards as adult actors, I grant that that’s true, but child actors can still give good performances that make them stand out as individuals...take Georgie Henley in The Chronicles of Narnia or Kirsten Dunst in Interview with a Vampire, for example. And as much as I’ll give Katie Dotrice and Matthew Garber credit for their performances, neither of them quite stands out that way. It’s admittedly a little harder for me to be that critical of Matthew’s performance, though, given that ten years after he retired from acting, he sadly passed away of pancreatitis at the age of 21. It’s very fortunate that thanks to his performance in Mary Poppins, Matthew will be remembered fondly for generations to come.

Walt Disney’s favorite song is frequently cited as Feed the Birds, and honestly, it’s little wonder why. As I touched on earlier, the song sort of sums up what the film Mary Poppins is trying to say -- that the smallest, seemingly insignificant gestures can mean so much. And isn’t that so integral to Disney, or even movies and entertainment in general? We all know of a character in a movie or TV show -- a line in a book -- a song someone wrote -- a simple smile from a stranger -- that somehow brightened up our whole world, that inspired us in ways we could never have imagined. And all of that comes back to sincere, gentle feelings, and how we can share those feelings with others. Mary Poppins, in short, is about compassion...and isn’t it little wonder why such a message resonated with so many people?

After an absolutely disastrous visit to the bank, the Banks children run out into the streets of London alone, where they’re fortunately found and walked home by Bert. Accompanying the jaunt back to Cherry Tree Lane is the Academy-Award-winning song Chim Chim Cheree, which is definitely catchy and, if I may say so, very fun to whistle. I admittedly am a little sour with Mrs. Banks that she doesn’t get a bit of a reality check when she ends up choosing to leave Michael and Jane alone with someone who’s effectively a stranger to her to go help her suffragette friends. It’s just fortunate that the “stranger” ends up being Bert and that Mary Poppins ends up coming back despite it being her day off, as otherwise Mrs. Banks’s negligent parenting could’ve had serious consequences. But the leap in logic does end up leading us into one of the best parts of the movie -- Step in Time!

Step in time, step in time, come on, matey, step in time! Hahaha, yes, this sequence easily has some of the best dancing ever recorded on film, right up there with the choreography in West Side Story and Singin’ in the Rain. It’s especially remarkable when you know that prior to Mary Poppins, Dick van Dyke had had no formal dance training, and yet he keeps up seemingly with ease with dozens of professional dancers. It blows me away every time. And despite the unending repetition of the song, it miraculously never becomes annoying due to the variety of the dance breaks and the high level of energy with which it’s performed. And really, despite the insane length of the song (it running over eight minutes all together), it amazingly never feels like padding. Perhaps it’s because the talent on screen is just so on display and integrated so perfectly with the building orchestrations and well-chosen special effects that it only serves to plus the musical action more and more and more until it finally culminates in the chimney sweeps escaping down the Banks family’s chimney and dancing off into the street.

As fun as everything has been with Mary Poppins and the chimney sweeps, however, Mr. Banks is now in danger of losing his job at the bank, and Tomlinson’s talent is made very evident once again in how, even after seeing all of his character’s mistakes and faults, we still feel very sorry for both him and for his family. Mr. Banks at first feels the impulse to blame Mary Poppins for his change in circumstances, but thanks to some pointed guidance from Bert and some compassion from his children, he comes to see the cracks in the foundation of his world view. And this goes back to the entire family needing help -- Mr. Banks is a very, very flawed man, but at the same time, as Bert brought up to Jane and Michael, he feels he has to handle absolutely everything on his own, and it’s largely thanks to the support of his children that he’s able to face the threat of losing his job with his head held high. Something I love a lot about the part where Mr. Banks makes his way to the bank alone is the Feed the Birds instrumental that accompanies his walk and that comes to a head when Mr. Banks reaches St. Paul’s, only to see the bird woman no longer there. Whether you choose to read it as the bird woman simply having left or having died or whatever else, it’s clear that every opportunity for charity and kindness we are offered is fleeting. Compassion is and will never be a passive thing.

Fortunately everything turns out for the best. Mr. Banks makes up with his children and he, Michael, Jane, and Mrs. Banks go fly a brand new kite in the park, alongside the film’s final song Let’s Go Fly a Kite. Mr. Banks even ends up getting his job back thanks to a joke that he told Dawes, Sr. the night we sacked. Even despite the cheer, however, it doesn’t feel completely saccharine and lacking of substance to me because Mary Poppins does still leave in the end. She doesn’t achieve the same kind of happy ending that she gave the Banks family -- instead she simply takes off into the air, presumably to give some other family help, with a faintly sad smile on her face. It’s remarkably mature of an ending for something that P.L. Travers thought was “all fantasy and no magic.”

Mary Poppins is not that much like the Mary Poppins books originally written by P. L. Travers. Perhaps at some points it sanitizes or misses out on what inspired Ms. Travers to write the books in the first place...but for all that is lost, I’m confident in saying that a lot was also found. There is a lot of heart in this movie, from a family growing and improving through the intervention of a wise, magical woman to finding deeper meaning in the seemingly insignificant things in our everyday lives. This movie is ridiculously fun to watch, but it’s not like the book Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, where there was never supposed to be a point and it was just there to entertain children. There are lessons one can learn here, and they’re not heavy-handed or pretentious in their delivery. One can learn the value of a sunny disposition, resilience, and empathy in less than stellar circumstances and see how a family full of love is the wealthiest and luckiest of all. And the best part? Those are lessons that both children and adults could stand to learn and re-learn through watching this movie for many, many years to come. Mary Poppins is an immortal figure, and even if this film was made by human hands and so couldn’t possible recreate P. L. Travers’s vision of her, the film is just as eternally relevant itself.

[graciebirdie]

It’s Christmas (almost) @thisdiscontentedwinter a gift for the amazing you! I hope you like Peter cooking! (also on ao3)

Peter didn’t consider it to be a character flaw that he was a man in his 30s who didn’t know how to cook. He had a few pretty good reasons why he’d never learned how before he’d reached his 30s after all.

Not the least of which being when he’d been a part of a pack he’d been regulated to hunter rather than chef. While usually hunter just meant he was the one who did most of the grocery shopping he did, occasionally, get to hunt down deer or rabbits for when they had special dinners. That was of course his favorite part of providing for the pack. One of the few times his propensity for violence was not only accepted but also praised.

Now he had been living by himself, surviving on take out and deli made meals.

This wouldn’t be a problem except he found he missed homemade meals with a ache he could physically feel behind his breast bone.

Now he only had two options on how to sooth this newest hurt: he could either ask one of his three pack members if they could cook a meal for him or he could learn to cook himself.

The answer was obvious without even calculating in the fact neither Cora nor Derek lived somewhere with a functioning oven.

So Peter bought a cookbook and figured since he wasn’t completely helpless he would be able to figure out one of the basics of adulthood.

It turned out Peter was terrible at cooking. He could make sandwiches or any kind of egg but anything more complicated than those he always managed to royally screw it up.

He didn’t even know what he was doing wrong that make his pot roast taste like char or his stir fry to be oily when he hadn’t even used oil.

After almost a month of failures he would have given up if it hadn’t started to turn into a point of pride. Stiles had brought roast beef sandwiches to one of the pack meets and he had proudly told everyone that he’d made the roast himself.

If Stiles, who oscillated between having the attention span of a gnat or hyper-focusing to the point of forgetting to breath, could make a truly delicious roast then so could Peter.

So he turned to his last resort: cooking blogs.

One google search for ‘how to actually cook and make it taste good’ later he’d gone through five different blog posts and only learned that for some reason bloggers really liked to talk about their kids and perfect lives. It would have been depressing if Peter actually cared.

After two hours of travelling through homebodies trying to convince him to make everything vegan he found a post titled “Recipes made easy for those who are lazy, have ADHD, no time or alternately too much time, know how to cook but want to learn new things, or people who think they can’t cook but are willing to give it a try.”

What a mouthful of a title that covered all the basics of people looking at cooking blogs.

The whole blog was written in run on sentences that somehow managed to be both amusing and informative, a very narrow line to walk.

Peter might have also fallen a little bit in love with the author who gave such informative tidbits as “Why spring for a colander when you could just slap the lid on a pot and up end it over the sink while praying you won’t drop it and/or burn yourself as you tilt the lid to strain out the water but not the noodles.” and “Seriously just toss all the shit into a crockpot and forget about it for 8 hours, except you probably won’t be able to because you’ll have to keep trying to remember if you actually turned the pot on or not. (I suggest setting up a live stream camera to be on the safe side.)”

Other than an obvious good sense of humor the writer didn’t give any personal information. No name or nickname. Even the profile picture was generic. Peter thought that little touch of mystery just added the the writer's personality.

The third time Peter made macaroni and cheese from scratch – “Just cook some plain old noodles and then toss in a bunch of different kinds of grated cheese and a couple of scoops of sour cream and a bit of crumbled bacon with a little pinch of salt and bake it in the oven for a bit and bam homemade mac and cheese that people will be amazed over.” – he was so proud of his creation he brought it to that night’s pack meeting.

He set the large casserole dish down on Derek’s ridiculous table that only Stiles ever actually used and pointedly ignored the stares everyone was giving him. He settled down in his chair – the one just off to the side of the stairs that faced the door and the whole of the open living room – and pulled out his phone to feigning nonchalance while he waited for the rest of the pack to ask what he thought he was doing.

Of course Stiles was the first one to speak up. “Oh!” he said, sounding excited. “Did you make a casserole?”

He leaned forward over the table to open the dish that had been, very conveniently, placed right in front of him.

Peter watched with a surprisingly strong sense of anticipation as he watched Stiles’ eyes widen and mouth drop open in surprise.

“Is this homemade macaroni and cheese?” he asked, excitement clear on his face.

Peter gave a vague hum of agreement. “I’m trying something new.”

Stiles sprung up away from the table and practically dashed into the kitchen. He came back out only a few seconds later with a paper plate in one hand a plastic fork in the other.

Peter supposed he should be grateful Stiles took out a portion instead of eating right out of his casserole dish.

Stiles scooped up a bite and managed to bring it all the way to his mouth before Scott stopped him with a strangled cry.

“Stiles! What are you doing?!” Scott yelled as he threw himself over the back of the couch he had been sitting on. He raced to Stiles and slapped the fork out of his before Stiles could get the bite into his mouth.

“What the fuck!” Stiles gasped, cradling his hand against his chest and staring at Scott in shock.

Peter found, much to his surprise, that he had both stood up and let his claws out without a thought. He took one long deep breath and slipped his claws away before sauntering over to the table.

He oh so casually leaned his against it, back to Stiles, crossed his arms over his chest and stared Scott down.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the front door slide open to let in Boyd and Erica. The both of them slipped past Scott and behind Peter to, no doubt, stand next to Stiles.

Stiles spluttered and yelled again. “Scott! Peter's not going to bring in poisoned food when most of you guys don't trust him!”

Scott glared darkly at Peter. “Yeah we don’t trust him because poisoning is exactly something he would do.”

“Well yeah.” Stiles said. Peter could practically see him shrug. “Of course Peter would poison someone. But he’s not going to use food to poison the pack.”

Erica snorted loudly and said “Yeah Peter’s devious but he’s not stupid.” there was a pause before she added with her mouth obviously full “And if you paid attention to anything you’d known this mac and cheese is not only totally poison free but also delicious.”

“Hey...” Stiles said sulkily. “That’s my fork.”

Scott’s self righteous expression was replaced with sour resignation. Peter gave him his best fake smile before turning his back on him to look at Erica, who was eating right out of the dish.

Boyd had found another fork somewhere and had stolen Stiles’ plate.

Stiles was glaring at the both of them and Peter felt oddly annoyed.

“You going to share?” he asked Erica who seemed to almost hunch over the dish.

She just smirked at him and pulled the dish even closer to her, effectively blocking anyone else from taking some.

He stared her down intently while Stiles made indignity noises.

Boyd, smart and dependable Boyd, held out his half full plate and a second fork for Stiles who gasped and smiled brightly before scooping up his own bite.

The loud almost pornographic moan took Peter off guard and the sudden quick shot of arousal he felt was even more surprising.

He heard Erica choking on a laugh and sent her his best blank look that the pack had long learned meant he was fighting back the urge to murder one of them.

Boyd, wise and quiet Boyd, had completely given up his plate to Stiles and had instead decided to try and distract Erica with an impromptu fork fight.

Stiles seemed to be having a small spiritual moment. “Do you know what tastes weirdly good in mac and cheese?” he asked suddenly.

“What?” Peter asked gamely.

“Tuna and Peas.”

Peter stared at him while Boyd and Erica made simultaneous noises of disgust.

Stiles shrugged apologetically. “It’s strangely hearty.”

Peter hummed in thought. He was certainly petty enough to make something that only Stiles would want to eat. It’s what everyone else deserved for being rude about Peter’s cooking.

~*~

“Chicken alfredo is so easy. Just cook those wormy noodles for a few minutes and toss in some canned alfredo sauce with baked chicken and bam! Food! Or if you want to get fancy pan fry the chicken before adding milk and actual heavy cream. But who really has time for that? (I do. I apparently.) Here’s how to do it the fancy way if you’re into that kind of thing.”

It continued to amuse Peter how the writer could give easy alternatives and complicated instructions for the same recipe.

His first two batches turned out tasting fine. Not amazing but certainly edible. It was vast improvement from where he started.

He felt an oddly strong urge to both thank the writer of the blog and get to know them better. A combination of emotions he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

This might not have been a problem for him if he didn’t have an strong suspicion he knew who the writer was.

Tiny hints here and there had given it away. He just had to get confirmation.

~*~

After a month of bringing in different dishes to pack meetings Peter had gotten a pretty good handle on Stiles’ likes and dislikes. Considering one of Stiles’ constant likes was Peter’s cooking in general he was confident in his welcome at Stiles’ apartment so long as he came bearing food.

Peter showed up right in time for dinner and Stiles blinked at him before letting him with only a “I’m not going to turn down your cooking, even if it is surprise cooking.”

Peter smirked at him as he made himself at home in Stiles’ tiny kitchen. The size of it certainly explained the latest post “How the hell are you supposed to get anything done in a 3 by 3 space: a photo tutorial by me, not a professional photographer.”

Peter had recognized the kitchen in the pictures from when he had helped Stiles move his (un)surprisingly large collection of kitchen gadgets.

“So what’s the occasion?” Stiles asked as he poked at the wax wrapped loaf of cheesy bread.

Now that Peter had gotten a better grip on cooking in general he had decided to try his hand at baking. He wasn’t very good at it yet but Stiles appreciated bread of all kinds and wouldn’t mind that it was a bit darker in some spots.

“Oh nothing too special.” he said casually. “I just noticed that your newest post got a million hits. Sounds like something that should be acknowledged.”

Stiles jumped and stared at Peter in shock for a moment before he relaxed again. He rubbed the back of his neck and gave Peter a slightly embarrassed smile.

“Why am I not actually surprised you know about that.” he said with a little laugh.

He turned back to the bread, pulling off a piece and inspecting it before spinning back to stare at Peter with huge eyes.

“Oh my god, did you get all those recipes from me?” he asked loudly, excitement obvious on his face.

“Well your instructions are very comprehensive.” Peter said with a casual shrug.

Stiles grinned at him, obviously pleased about Peter complimenting him.

“That’s a really fucking nice thing to say.” Stiles said, grin turning into a softer smile.

Peter shrugged again and turned to start pulling dishes down from the cupboard. “It’s just a fact.” he said casually.

Stiles laughed. “Whatever you say. So what you make me?”

~*~

Stuffed full of the potato soup and cheesy bread Peter was slouched down on the couch and making grocery lists on his phone. Stiles was curled up next to him, half leaning against Peter’s shoulder while half watching Leverage, half reading one of the books Peter had given him.

“Holy shit!” Stiles suddenly yelled.

Peter turned to look at him in interest.

“Are you courting me, Peter Hale?” Stiles asked eyes and mouth wide open in shock.

Peter blinked at him in genuine surprise for a moment before past behavior clicked together in his brain. He couldn’t stop himself from face palming.

Stiles laughed uproariously and leaned harder against.

“This is the best thing ever.” Stiles said breathlessly.

“Which part?” Peter asked through narrowed eyes.

Stiles grinned even harder at him and didn’t answer, just leaned forward to give Peter a soft kiss on the check.

“I’m going to milk the shit out of this.” Stiles said in amusement. "I can't believe I didn't realize sooner! You get so pissy when Erica steals food from me that it should have been obvious."

Peter supposed he kind of deserved that respond if he’d gone around trying to give gestures of romance through food and not even realizing it.

Peter raised his arm and Stiles instantly cuddled himself deeper into Peter’s side, tucking his face against the side of Peter’s neck.

“It’ll be nice not to be the one cooking all the time.” Stiles said quietly.

Peter felt a rush of protectiveness and fought a sneer at the thought of Stiles always having to be the one to talk care of himself.

He turned his head slightly and gave Stiles a light kiss on the temple. “Not just the cooking.” he promised softly and Stiles shivered against him.

Stiles took a long shuddering breath before fully melting against Peter.  “Yeah, sounds good.” he whispered and curled his hand into Peter’s.

Peter wasn’t quite sure how he’d managed to get him and Stiles to this point but there was no way in hell he was going to complain when Stiles was being so shockingly soft with him.

Peter decided that it was immensely satisfying to be the one Stiles felt was providing for him and let himself feel as protective and possessive as he wanted, secure in the knowledge that he had to be doing something right to have earned Stiles’ trust.

[otterandterrierwrites]

{Hungry hearts} V. Polystarch and nerf-burgers

Ordinarily, nothing much went on in the moon of Uoth as far as sentient beings were concerned. The entirety of its terrain was volcanic in nature; the rest was water. Most of the planet’s life forms were aquatic and of little value to the Empire, which meant they never bothered with a visit.

That was their mistake.

Today, there weren’t only birds, frogs and crabs on the ground; there were also rebel soldiers.

Leia walked over the solidified lava that made up the landscape, shaped like soft round rocks here, rising in geometrical pillars there, at once ground, hills, steps, caves. The grey basalt contrasted starkly against the light and deep blues of sky and ocean; that and the patches of white salt, green algae and yellow lichen that coloured it saved the planet from being bleak.

It was beautiful in its own unique way, and Leia would have never visited it, either, if it wasn’t for the war. It was easy to forget the misery in the world, the peril they would face in mere hours, when you stood still and looked at those clear skies and rumbling, white-crested waves.

But, right now, she was allowed to forget about it for a while. Plumes of smoke rose in the breeze a few meters ahead; as she approached Han Solo, Leia heard the tantalizing sizzle of grilling meat. Her mouth watered in anticipation.

Han’s bare torso wasn’t sizzling but it seemed equally appealing, with its gilded, shapely muscles under the sun.

Cheeks considerably warmer, Leia averted her sight, looking instead at the small group of tents erected nearby, next to the shuttle that would take them down to Vangar that night. She surveyed the crew she’d chosen to command for this mission. Apart from her and Han, there was Chewie, of course, presently tinkering with the shuttle. Luke and Artoo (they had decided they could do without Threepio this time) sat near a group of the natural chimney-like structures, overlooking the water. Leia was sure that Luke had taken out his lightsaber and was examining it, as if hoping for answers to reveal themselves if he rubbed it the right way.

She had also chosen Jyn Odan---the woman was like a female version of Han: reckless, agile, a quick draw and more importantly, a skilled smuggler. Even if Han’s professional jealousy insisted he and Chewie were all she needed, Leia knew better. For this mission, she’d needed Odan too. Her black hair shone whenever she cocked her head as she cleaned and checked her weapons. Leia couldn’t hear what they were talking about, but the sounds of her conversation with Croy Winnis carried in the air.

Not having anywhere else to be, she finally walked up to Han and the battered grill he was working.

‘These were a really good idea,’ Leia commented, pushing a multitude of air-swept baby hairs off her face. ‘They’re looking fantastic.’

Han turned to her and his chest immediately puffed up, a hand going to rest on his hip. Leia forced herself not to follow it. ‘Yep. That’s ‘cos I’m an amazing cook.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘If you wanted to show it, you should have picked something that required more than flipping over.’

Waving her off, he turned back to the nerf-burgers, which up close smelled as good as they looked. ‘How was your excursion?’

‘Fine. It’s an interesting place. Anything I can do to help?’

‘You can start makin’ the polystarch, these are nearly done.’

‘Okay.’ Leia kneeled in front of a bag of supplies that sat next to the portable chiller unit and started removing the portioned polystarch powder. ‘That’s the one thing that will be less than perfect for this picnic. Polystarch isn’t nearly as good as bread.’

She immediately regretted voicing her thoughts. Bread? Was she really wishing for bread, when the nerf-burgers were enough of a rare treat as to be luxurious? And to Han, no less. She’d have no right to complain when he treated her as a pampered little princess.

He didn’t seem about to do that now, though. He just kept poking at the coals and said, ‘Can’t argue with that, ‘cept to say if we did have bread, it’d feel too much like a last meal.’

Leia chuckled, feeling her tension ease up. She sat down on the ground next to a tiny folding table and picked up a deep plate, poured the brownish powder from one of the packages and added water. After stirring it briefly with a spoon, the mixture rose and became solid, shaped like a lumpy, round loaf of bread.

‘Right,’ she said. ‘We have to keep it real.’

She repeated the process six times, the bread piling up on the table (she kept checking that they weren’t about to spill over onto the ground). Meanwhile, Han seemed to be doing the same with the burgers, making a heap on a plate that he kept on top of a crate.

‘How many burgers are there for each of us?’

‘Three, and one more for Chewie.’ He finally left the grill alone and came over to her. ‘Give me these, I wanna toast them up a bit.’

‘You think that’ll improve the flavour?’ she joked.

‘A bit.’ He placed them on top of the grill, then bent down to rummage through the bag she’d retrieved the polystarch from. With a lopsided grin, he showed her his prize: a handful of little sachets of condiments. ‘This might help, too.’

A disbelieving gasp rushed out through her open mouth and, before she could stop herself, she said, ‘You are amazing.’

Han looked so genuinely shocked, it took him a full second to say, ‘Been tellin’ you that, Princess.’

Leia rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth turned up as she started to make a new batch of polystarch. She had two more buns ready when Han started taking out the now toasty loaves. He set them all next to the cooked burgers and opened the chiller before laying out another six discs of nerf meat on the grill.

There was a dirty rag hanging from his back pocket; the smuggler took it out and wiped his face, neck and at last, his hands, then he put it back. The motion made her look at his shiny, toned arms. Once again, Leia looked away before he saw, pressing her lips.

It wasn’t the first time she saw him without a shirt; he often took it off to work on the Falcon whenever they were stationed in warm climates. At first, she hadn’t paid it any attention. She hadn’t know Han well back then: she had a strong instinct that he wasn’t all he pretended to be, and that made her hold on to him as a valuable asset. However, his personality had been repellent to her, and so had been the rest of him by association. But as they’d grown closer, developing a physical attraction to him had been inevitable. Sometimes she regretted not kissing him that night on Karinda, as they shared All Hallows’ Eve traditions and chocolate. Maybe it’d be good to have someone she could go to whenever things got too much. When that thought occurred to her, she’d immediately shook it off. No; she was glad they had avoided that. Things would get more complicated than they already were. Besides, it had been him who’d pulled away. So, despite his constant flirting and innuendo, maybe he didn’t actually want to sleep with her. He’d probably like someone more like Jyn Odan.

It was a good thing Han constantly gave her reasons to dislike the whole of him again.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Han now taking a polystarch bun and cutting it in half.

‘Shall we start calling people over?’ Leia asked.

‘No, not yet.’ He picked up a sachet of Bimm mustard and spread it generously on each half of polystarch.

‘So… are you going to start preparing all the burgers then?’

Han gave her an incredulous look. ‘No, I’m gonna have one now. I’ll still be grillin’ while you all eat, so I get a headstart.’

That was partly true: the grill wasn’t big enough to make all the burgers at once, but he could still eat while he checked on it.

Leia scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest after she’d deposited another bun on the tiny table. ‘That sounds like bullshit.’

‘That sounds like you’re hungry,’ Han said with a grin.

‘Of course I am, we all are!’

‘Tell you what, you can have half of mine. C’mon, we’ll just have this and call the others,’ he added when she looked uncertain. She was very hungry, and the burgers seemed like a heavenly meal. If she had to watch Han eating one in front of her, she might jump to his throat. The inside of her mouth felt uncomfortably wet.

‘Fine,’ she mumbled, swallowing as she casted a quick glance at the rest of the team.

His satisfied smile was wide as he speared a thick nerf-burger with his knife and sandwiched it between the two buns. He placed it on top of the crate to cut it in half and offered hers with a sardonic bow.

After weeks of bland rations and mess food, she couldn’t even pretend to slow down: Leia bit her half of nerf-burger and groaned loudly.

‘As good as it looked,’ she said, covering her half-full mouth with a hand.

That made Han break out in a hearty, surprised ‘Ha!’ before he dove into his own burger.

Sitting on the ground, only Han’s legs were in Leia’s field of vision as he stood in front of her, eating. The breeze had picked up and played with her loose strands of hair, which whipped at her face and got into her mouth as she tried to take another bite. Leia tried to push them away but, on top of its comparative blandness, polystarch was also crumblier than bread and threatened to fall apart unless she held it tightly with both hands.

She stiffened as something long---a finger, she realized a second later---hooked the rebellious locks and pushed them up, and then the hand it belonged to stayed pressed against her forehead like a hair barrier.

‘Go on,’ Han said. ‘Can’t let you choke on your own hair, Your Worship.’

Leia stared up at him in disbelief, but he wasn’t joking: he simply stood there, with the warm back of his hand against his skin as if he was feeling for a fever, waiting for her to finish eating.

‘Oi! Coulda let us know food was ready, couldn’t ya?’ Winnis called out suddenly. Leia turned around and saw that everyone had approached when they saw them eating.

‘Sorry folks, we were just quality-testing them,’ Han said, dropping his hand. ‘First round is ready, if you wanna put them together.’

He passed around the tray with the cooked burgers and buns, then threw each of them a sachet of condiment.

‘Can confirm they’re good.’ Giving Leia a wink, he added, ‘The Imps won’t know what hit ‘em.’

[tiny-maus-boots]

War

“Hey Ice Princess.” Aubrey didn’t look up from her clipboard even though she knew Cole was talking to her. She sighed softly, willing herself to calmness as she checked off a few items before signing the sheet. Her current group of executives had done very well in the time management skills portion of their camp experience but they were still in need of some direction when it came to trust building and co-operative skills. That didn’t surprise her in the least given that they were mostly mid-level management. The director of operations for the lodge had asked her specifically to lead the group, hinting that if she handled the group well Aubrey would be directly in line for the newly opened activities coordinator position. It was a big leap from her current position but it left her in direct competition with the only other employee nearly as good as herself.

“Isn’t calling me that getting a little old and sexist?” Aubrey looked up at Cole’s looming figure when he intentionally blocked out the sun. Really she was getting tired of his constant needling but she’d been bullied before, it wasn’t anything new. Her father had always told her that there were two kinds of people in the world. People born to lead, and everyone else. Aubrey knew she was born to lead. She’d already proven that at Barden. True she’d handed the reins to Beca when it came time to win the ICCAs but Aubrey didn’t consider that a fault in her leadership. She considered it a shining moment for herself and one that had ended in a shining moment for all her Bellas. Cole was sadly of the latter.

“How about Ice Queen? That work better for your feminist sensibilities?” Aubrey’s lip curled up in irritation but she smoothed the expression off her face almost immediately. The moment Cole realized he was getting to her would be the moment he would actually gain some footing over her. And that was something that could not be tolerated. God she hated him, likewise he seemed to hate her just as much although for very different reasons.

“As long as you know my place over you, peon.” She gave him a tight smile and shoved past him as her group finally started to drift to their assigned meeting place after lunch. When the announcement had been made about the new activities position the director had immediately set up a series of challenges and tests. There had been six potential candidates to start but in the course of the past two months only she and Cole remained in the game. They were fairly evenly matched and as much as she hated to admit it, he was good. Good at his job and good at winning. But Aubrey was better and far more determined. So Cole hated her with the passion of a severely wounded male ego.

“Yeah I remember you liking it on top.” He smirked down at her and snatched the clipboard from her hand. “I got this.” For her part her hate stemmed from a moment of weakness. One she regretted immediately upon waking in his bed. Aubrey wouldn’t allow herself any excuses. Lonely or not it had been stupid and completely unsatisfactory. She hadn’t expected it to be good exactly, she just expected it to be mind numbing and at the time that was exactly what she wanted. Cole was handsome and clearly interested in her. So she’d slept with him. Aubrey had slipped out of his cabin without a word, leaving him passed out in bed. He had tried many times to get back into her pants but Aubrey rejected him every single time. It had been easier to keep him at arm’s length once she and Chloe had started to talk again but that had only made him angrier and more vindictive.

Aubrey watched him with a narrowed eyes ready to take control of her group once again. “POSEN!” She scanned the area behind her noting the director gesturing from the Round House. Aubrey gave Cole one last look before trotting up to her boss quickly.

“Sir?” The retreat director was a short bull necked man with too much hair on his forearms and not enough on the top of his head. He was hard and she thought he might get just a little too much sadistic pleasure from making them all compete for a promotion but she respected him. Liked him even. Maybe because he reminded her of her father sometimes. Not in appearance obviously but something about his nature seemed familiar. He gestured to the shade of the porch and handed her a folded sheet of paper.

“Cole is going to take over your group for the rest of the day. You two will work cooperatively from here on out to ensure that these guests complete each of the assigned tasks for their session.” Her face fell a little but she managed to gather herself quickly. Sharing with the enemy wasn’t her idea of fun but war was rarely fun. “I’ll be making a decision on who gets the spot after the final challenge this weekend. Those are the details. Family and friends are welcome to attend in a show of support.” Well that seemed…interesting. Aubrey opened the folded sheet and scanned it quickly her lips pulling to the side as she read and reread the only words that seemed to matter. Obstacle course. The director watched her carefully trying to gauge her response to a task obviously more suited to Cole who was physically stronger, taller, and probably faster. Whatever he saw or didn’t see made him smile. “You have the rest of the day off I suggest you use it. From this point out there is no rest for the weary, no sanctuary for the wicked. There’s only one spot to fill Posen, don’t let me down.”

“Sir yes sir!” Aubrey watched him go and then spun on a heel, sprinting for her cabin with sure footed grace. She closed the quarter mile distance, neatly avoiding bear traps along the way and slammed into her cabin without breaking a sweat. It never even occurred to her to call her father. He was busy. He was always busy. And her mother…well. That was best left unsaid. Aubrey flopped onto her stomach on the bed and checked the time. Chloe should be home any minute so she quickly FaceTimed her best friend. The phone rang for a few before it was answered and Beca’s face filled the screen. Both her brows came up in surprise. Had she dialed the wrong person? “Beca…hi? I’m sorry I thought I dialed Chloe.”

“Oh. Hey Aubs. Yeah you did but she forgot her phone this morning. I saw it was you….so…surprise?” There was a moment of awkward silence between them and Beca seemed to hesitate. “Do you want me to hang up so you can leave her a message?”

Aubrey thought about it for a second then shook her head. “No. No actually…it’s good to see you again Beca.” They hadn’t spoken very much since her drunken fiasco at Callum’s but Aubrey was well and truly grateful for Beca’s care with her. Even when Beca had to chase Aubrey around a parked police car for ten minutes the smaller woman hadn’t complained. Much. It was more embarrassment that had kept her from contacting Beca. And Beca seemed to understand that, choosing to let Aubrey dictate when they spoke.

“Yeah. You too Bree. You look good. How are things across the pond?” Aubrey snickered softly and rolled her shoulders in a shrug.

“Not bad. Did Chlo tell you about the possible promotion?”

Beca nodded and quirked her lips into a smirk. “Yeah. It seems…well…a little psychotic but totally your brand of crazy. But I hear you’re kicking ass like we all knew you would.”

Aubrey laughed at that not at all minding the teasing. “We have one last challenge. It’s down to me and this guy, Cole…”

Beca cut her off with a scowl. “Cole? That dickbag.” It was pretty clear that Chloe had been telling Beca about her run ins with Cole every time she came to visit. When he realized he was having no luck getting Aubrey’s attention he had shifted it to Chloe in a very sad attempt at sparking some jealousy. And it had almost worked, just not in the way he had hoped.

“Hm. Yeah.” It was non-committal because the truth was she didn’t really want any one of her friends to know she’d slept with him. They already disliked him and Aubrey felt that maybe they would look down on her just a little. It wasn’t as if she were proud of herself either. Beca squinted at her suddenly blank expression as if she could read every thought tumbling around her in brain so Aubrey changed the subject quickly. “How are the Bellas this year? Chloe says you guys have never sounded better.”

Beca gave her a distracted shrug and sighed. “Good I guess? I mean. Yeah we sound good but I’m…I dunno Aubrey. Picking a set list is one thing, leading a team…that’s. I don’t even know. What if I’m not doing the right things? We won ICCAs last year but how am I supposed to actually get us through the whole year of competition AND win the finals?” It was uncharacteristically insecure for Beca and Aubrey chewed her lip in thought.

“Beca…” When the other woman didn’t look at the phone Aubrey sat up and tried again, her tone more gentle and patient than she had ever been as captain. Beca chanced a glance at the screen surprised by it. “Bec. I left you in charge because I knew you could do this. You’re amazing and I know all of this is new to you but you’ve got Chloe there. She’ll keep you steady, you just have to trust her. And yourself.” The brunette let a tiny smile creep across her face even as a slight flush rose to her cheeks. It had been hard losing Chloe but it hadn’t been hard losing her to Beca. Aubrey let out a quiet chuckle and shook her head. “I trust you Beca. I trust you with my Bellas. I know you’ll make us all proud, and if you ever need me…well I’m right here.”

“Yeah?” Aubrey nodded and offered Beca a smile. “That actually makes me feel better. So. Thanks for all that. I won’t let you down.”

“Impossible.” This time Beca’s smile grew wide and Aubrey felt as though her world solidified a little bit more. Being apart from her friends…her family…had broken more of her than she had realized. The girls meant everything to her and even though she couldn’t be with them this year she still wanted and needed to be a part of them in some way.

“So what’s this challenge thing you have to do?” There was a sound of a door opening and closing before Aubrey could hear Chloe in the background.

“Beca have you seen my…is that my phone?” It took a second before Chloe’s face popped up behind Beca’s shoulder and Aubrey grinned. “BREE! Hey! Oh my gosh I was just about to call you. Tom got married!”

“No way!” Beca looked at Chloe then back to the screen and raised her brows in question and what Aubrey was sure was mild amusement. “To who?”

“Mary Elise!”

“What!?!” Chloe laughed at their simultaneous exclamation and nodded.

“Yeah that was totes my reaction too. Jason Eckmeyer was the best man. Or witness. I guess they eloped. I think she’s pregnant.”

“Wait. Tom…isn’t that the guy that used to ‘accidentally’ walk into people’s showers?” Her use of air quotes left no question about how accidental those walk ins were.

“Eyeah that’s him. Guess he got lucky when Mary Elise didn’t kick him out.” Chloe scratched her nose ruefully and Aubrey laughed. It felt so good to be talking like this, to be close to them. Chloe had been right, she needed this and she was glad that the redhead had been stubborn enough to make Aubrey see it. “So what’s happening over there? Did you get the job?”

“Not yet. I was just telling Beca that the director here is going to decide after our last challenge this weekend. It’s an obstacle course. I’m pretty sure Cole thinks he has it in the bag. He’s being…ugh…insufferable lately.”

Chloe groaned that and shook her head. “I really want you to win. Mostly so you get the promotion but also because that turd deserves to be taught a lesson.”

Aubrey giggled at that. There was something just undeniably cute about Chloe saying ‘turd’. Beca seemed to agree because she gave a grumpy scrunch of her nose. “Why are you so damn cute Beale?”

Chloe shrugged happily and beamed at them both. “Just lucky I guess. So Bree when is the event? Will there be a live stream or something?”

The blonde hesitated a minute and considered carefully before she answered. “It’s Saturday. There’s no live stream that I know of but well there is a family and friends BBQ schedule for after. They’re kind of making a big deal of it since it’s just the two of us now.”

“Good! What time? I’ll go cheer you on!” It was so Chloe to want to be there for her.

“Yeah dude, I’m looking forward to watching you make that prick suck it.”

It surprised Aubrey. She had expected it from Chloe but she hadn’t expected the support from Beca. Aubrey tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear shyly. “You guys wanna come up?”

“Dude. Yeah! I mean as long as there are no snakes, or bears, or large birds of prey. I’m pretty sure I look like a tasty slow moving morsel to anything bigger than a raccoon.” Chloe laughed and shoved Beca hard enough to tip the smaller woman over out of frame of the screen.

“Of course we want to be there Aubrey. You’d be there for us in a heartbeat. We’re family.”

“I’ll email you guys the details. I have to go right now though. I need time to do an evaluation of my readiness and plan out a training schedule.

“Yep. That’s our Bree alright. See you this weekend!” Beca and Chloe waved and Aubrey gave them a final grin before hanging up. As soon as the screen blacked out Beca turned to Chloe and handed the phone over a little sheepishly. “Sorry I answered it. I just thought it might be important if it was Aubrey calling.”

Chloe shifted on Beca’s bed so that she was cross legged and nudged Beca playfully. “That’s okay. I’m kinda glad you did. Did you guys have a good talk?” Beca gave a slow nod and Chloe raised a brow wondering why she was quieter than usual. “Everything okay Beca?”

“Yeah. No. Everything’s…fine. Actually it was nice. I was pretty glad we talked too. I just…I thought she didn’t want to talk to me because of…you know.”

“Because of what?” Chloe had an idea of what but she didn’t want to put words in Beca’s mouth. They were SO CLOSE to crossing that line between friendship and more but Beca seemed to hesitate, pulling back when the change seemed imminent.

“You know. Because of stuff. And…stuff.” This time both brows shot up and Beca sighed rubbing her face with both hands. “Because of the you and me stuff. I thought she might hate me or…”

“You thought Aubrey hated you? Oh my God Beca!” Chloe reached out and grabbed Beca’s hand, holding it in both of hers. “She asks about you all the time. I promise she doesn’t hate you.”

“Yeah. I’m starting to see that now. I just was worried. Before.” Beca let Chloe tug her closer and wrap an arm around her shoulders. Usually she disliked people touching her but Chloe always got away with it. Maybe because Beca not so secretly loved the affection. “I think we should cancel practice on Saturday. We can make a road trip of it with the girls. Cheer Aubrey on or whatever.”

Chloe blinked in surprise glad that Beca couldn’t see it since she was looking down. “You wanna bring the team?” Beca looked up quickly at that and scratched nervously at her ear.

“I mean. Yes?” Beca squeaked out in surprise when Chloe bunched a hand in the front of her shirt and pulled her forward and kissed her hard. There was only a split second of hesitation before she realized what was happening and kissed Chloe back making the redhead whimper just a little. They pulled back and stared at each other for a long second. “Not that I’m complaining here but what was that all about?”

“You’re amazing Beca Mitchell. That’s all.”

Oh. Beca felt warmth creeping up her neck and cleared her throat. “Yeah, um…thanks I suppose? Or…”

“Stop talking and kiss me already.” Yep. She could do that. Beca leaned forward, pushing into Chloe and toppling her back against the bed. They hadn’t talked about this in a while but maybe they didn’t need to. Maybe now was finally the right time for them to see where this was going. Chloe slid a hand up the back of Beca’s tank top, finger tips trailing along her spine just enjoying the feel of smooth soft skin. Beca gave a tiny grunt and deepened the kiss propping most of her weight on the hand at the edge of the bed.

“Oi, you two. Get a room.” Amy’s voice startled Chloe into shooting up straight which made Beca wobble and slip off the edge of the bed right to the floor with an indignant squawk.

“DUDE! We are in a room!” Chloe giggled and leaned over the edge of the bed to look down at Beca. She mouthed sorry and held a hand out to help the brunette up.

“Yeah. Let me clarify. Get a room I’m not currently in.” Amy gave them a knowing look and flopped onto her bed openly staring at them. “It’s about time you two…” She made a complicated gesture with the fingers of both hands and Beca frowned again, sitting up against the edge of the bed.

“I don’t even know what that is but if it’s a sex thing I’m kind of afraid.” Chloe’s breath tickled Beca’s ear as she laughed and Amy gave them a look as if to say ‘sure you don’t.’ Beca’s eyes widened a little and she sputtered. “Seriously I don’t! If that’s some universal code for girl on girl sex…it’s fucking terrifying.”

Amy gave her an exaggerated wink. “Yeah, ‘course. You’re not that kind of girl.” Chloe laughed harder. Beca looked up at the ceiling and sighed dramatically.

“Seriously? Why?” Why did the universe conspire against her?? Chloe leaned over further and kissed Beca on the cheek.

“We’ll finish that talk next time. I’ve got class anyway. See you tonight?” She nodded weakly and watched Chloe scramble off her bed. When she was sure the redhead was at least halfway down the stairs she chucked her pillow at Amy with all her might. Amy deflected it easily and gave her a leer.

“You know what it means.”

“Oh my God!” Not for the first time nor would it be the last Beca wondered how this was even her life right now.

[actuallylorelaigilmore]

A - Z (Fandom ‘Come At Me, Friend’ Meme)

WELL THEN *cracks knuckles* HERE WE GO 

(all 26 letters behind a cut bc this is very long)

A - Your current OTP(s)/OT3(s)/OTX(s)

As of this hour, my top OTPs are Penelope/Schneider from ODAAT and Joyce/Hopper from Stranger Things. But I have endless numbers of them, even within each fandom.

B - A pairing you initially didn’t consider but someone changed your mind

Jean/Alice from TDBM. 

C - A ship you have never liked and probably never will (be nice)

Um…hmm. I’m such a multishipper, I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about my NOTPs. I’ve never been onboard the Keens from The Blacklist, though. Not even a little. I only enjoyed Tom in his original villainous state.

D - A pairing you wish you liked but just can’t (again: be nice)

A couple of my spouse’s faves, I really wish I liked too, especially Sam/Josh and Mal/Simon. I don’t like one of the characters in each very much, so I’ve never been able to get into them–even though I understand them, and have had fun writing them…I just don’t love them too.

E - Have you added anything cracky/hilarious to your fandom, if so, what

Yeah, mostly graphics, though. I don’t think I’ve ever written crackfic. I did New York Times Minus Content edits for TDBM, a ton of those. Also Sext Message Error sets for Lizzington and for Josh/Donna. And Welcome To Nightvale sets for iZombie and Lizzington. And OTP Bot sets for Lizzington.

And this isn’t EXACTLY crack, but my original tumblr claim to fame was this Hamilton/TWW crossover that got reblogged by Lin himself.

F - What’s the longest you’ve ever been in a fandom

Mm, the first time I actively joined a fandom was Buffy, and I was about 14 when that started for me…so as of this year I’ll have been in that fandom for 20 years! But I’ve been a fangirl literally my whole life, I just didn’t really join fandoms before the internet, and I started using the internet more in junior high and HS.

G - Do you remember your first OTP, if so who was in it

Lou/Joey from Brotherly Love, or Claire/Trevor from Cupid (original run), or Dharma and Greg, or Allison/Wade from CryBaby, or Idgie/Ruth from Fried Green Tomatoes. I was a shipping prodigy, and the couples I was obsessed with as a literal child blur together a bit in the timeline, so I’m not completely sure which came first.

H - What is your favorite source text for fandom stuff (e.g., tv shows, movies, books, anime, Western animation, etc.) 

TV shows.

I - Has tumblr caused you to stop liking any fandoms, if so, which and why

The Aaron Tveit fandom made me uncomfortable watching BrainDead before I even had the chance to decide if I liked it or not. Most fandoms I love, though. I prefer to ignore the drama and focus on the people I actually like. 

J - Name a fandom you didn’t care/think about until you saw it all over tumblr

SO MANY. Parks and Rec, TDBM, Stranger Things…a significant portion of my watchlist comes from this hellsite by now–I have friends with good taste.

K -Say something nice about someone in any of your fandoms

@mossdonnatella is in a lot of my fandoms. She is a much better fic writer than she thinks she is!!

L - Say something genuinely nice about a character who isn’t one of your faves (chars you’re neutral on are fair game, as are chars you dislike)

I really ended up disliking Jacob a lot, on Grace and Frankie. But I will say that in the beginning he is very respectful of Frankie’s boundaries and tries to be patient with her, and I did like that.

M - Say something genuinely nice about a ship that you don’t ship (or its shippers, or anything related to you)

I don’t actively ship Jancy on Stranger Things after seeing S1 (I don’t really ship Steve/Nancy either, though…I think I mostly just ship Nancy x happiness) but the moment when her mom knocks on her bedroom door and they reach for each others’ hands instinctively? That is a damn fine understated sweet connection moment and I really enjoyed and believed it.

N - Name three things you wish you saw more or in your main fandom (or a fandom of choice)

Okay since a lot of my top fandoms are for shows that ended a long time ago, I’m going with One Day At A Time. In fic or in canon, I want to see a lot more of Schneider being Penelope’s BFF and her confidant. I want more serious!Schneider moments bc it turns out the actor rocks at them, and I want to see Pen really get to move on from Victor as her kids get older, I want real confirmation that she’s finally past any possibility of reconciliation with him bc she deserves SO MUCH BETTER.

O - Choose a song at random, which ship or character does it remind you of

Randomizing my music gave me “Quiet” by MiLCK feat. GW Sirens and Capital Blend. 

Sample lyrics:

Cuz no one knows me, no one ever willIf I don’t say something, take that dry blue pillThey may see a monster, they may run awayBut I have to do thisI can’t keep quiet, no A one woman riot

Despite the mature meaning behind the lyrics, and probably because I’m watching Stranger Things right now, it reminds me of Eleven, the tiny badass fighting her way to freedom.

P - Invent a random AU for any fandom (we always need more ideas)

Alright, I’m gonna invent one right off the top of my head right here and now since you asked. Um… a One Day At A Time AU in which Penelope meets Schneider not as her landlord but as a patient, once she becomes an NP. Doctor/patient “okay if you won’t stop asking me out then get a new doctor so I can say yes” fluff ensues.

Q - A ship you’ve abandoned and why

Lizzington. I’m technically still writing fic for it bc I have a chapter fic to finish, but I haven’t watched the show in years, I avoid content for it, and have no interest in it anymore besides the phantom limb feeling of having been so invested in a ship for that long and making friends around it.

R - A pairing you ship that you don’t think anyone else ships

Well, since I mentioned it earlier, I think I’m the only person ever to watch the scenes Bud and Brianna have together in Grace and Frankie and think “that should really be a thing.” 

Also…Kate/Donna from The West Wing. Based entirely on one scene.

S - Show us an example of your personal headcanon (prompts optional but encouraged)

I genuinely don’t understand this question, sorry. What’s an ‘example’ of my headcanon, and how does that relate to prompts? If somebody wants to explain this to me, I’ll answer it. 

T - Do you have any hard and fast headcanons that you will die defending, about anything at all (gender identity, sexual or romantic orientation, extended family, sexual preferences like top/bottom/switch, relationship with poetry, seriously anything)

Yep yep yep. Andy was the leak, not Toby, and that is the hill I will die on always. I’m sure I have others, but that’s the big one.

U - 5 favorite characters from 5 different fandoms

Toby Ziegler (TWW), Alice Harvey (TDBM), Lorelai Gilmore (Gilmore Girls), Jim Hopper (Stranger Things), and Spencer Hastings (from what I just saw of PLL with @actuallylukedanes). 

V - 3 OTPs from 3 different fandoms

Luke/Lorelai, Gilmore Girls. Parker/Hardison/Eliot, Leverage. Joyce/Hopper, Stranger Things.

W - 5 favorite ships and 5 kinks you like best for said ships

Josh/Donna (TWW), Donna in control. Matthew/Alice (TDBM), hurt/comfort sex. Alvareider (ODAAT), “whoops are we kissing wait do we like each other?”Jared/Miss Parker (The Pretender), conflicted kisses up against wallsI’m having trouble thinking of a 5th one but I used to really like Lizzington angry!sex bc damn that ship was angsty

X - top 5-10 characters who are yoUR PRECIOUS BABIES AND YOU WILL DIE DEFENDING THEM

Eleven, Toby Ziegler, Schneider, Lena Luthor, Logan Echolls, literally every main character on The Good Place.

Y - What are your secondhand fandoms (fandoms you aren’t in personally but are tangentially familiar with because your friends/people on your dash are in them)

Game of Thrones, Agents of Shield, Doctor Who (though I finally have started this one!), Jane the Virgin, The Worst Witch, and lots more…I like learning about fandoms secondhand. 

Z - Just ramble about something fan-related, go go go (prompts optional but encouraged)

Every single one of these tiny Stranger Things children in S1 is the epitome of epic friendship and I love it. Mike jumps off a cliff to protect Dustin and Dustin’s willing to get his teeth cut out to protect Mike and Lucas offers a sincere apology when he’s wrong, something most adults still suck at, and Will tells Mike the truth even when he would benefit from lying and Eleven chooses death to save them all and they are beautiful and perfect and I love them.

[belleoumoi]

utterly unasked for.

wind whistled past the stairway, which was open to the elements. though her skirt was almost snug, it filled like a sail with the occasional strong gust from below, providing enough lift to make her steps unsteady. she kept a tight grip on the handrail, stepping one at a time, stopping now and then to brush aside the stray hair hanging down her forehead. climbing down, she thought about yoon jungah. she had not been intending to think about jungah, but once the thoughts began, she couldn’t stop them. she can’t meet her crush looking like a mess, and she was sure, if not then, any instance they would meet could be the last as graduation day approaches.

as if on cue, there she stood just across the stairway, likely on her way to the library. it was where she often saw her anyway. chaeyeon liked her books, whether she needed to study or not, and jungah just so happened to have this routine that fit hers. though in the past her mere purpose was to actually read, the time spent there had become divided into ogling the new subject of her interest. the expressions that she would make, or the lack of it; the way she would stare out the window, blankly; how she carried herself, in general. it was not hard to notice but chaeyeon recalled them all with strange clarity, as if whenever she thought of them, they were happening right in front of her eyes.

it finally came time to approach her, just before she slips away to make chaeyeon miss her shot.

“sunbaenim, can i talk to you?” said chaeyeon in an uncharacteristic timid voice.

it was odd, to say the least. maybe it was jungah’s aura that made her this way. she had confessed to someone before, a girl at that. it was nothing like this. it was a casual, ‘hey, i like you.’ kind of confession, to vaguely sum it up. she didn’t like putting herself in awkward situations, so she tried to act cool in every one of them. 

everyone gave her dirty looks regardless. she always was a little different. people disliked her for that. nights spent vomiting everyday and crying, over time she had become desensitized, save for the torture she had undergone that made her reach the point of almost feeling empty. almost. anything after seemed superficial. maybe even this. but it made her nervous either way.

perhaps it was all the insecurities she held deep and never acknowledged. she had no one to talk to, really. no one was warm and open as her family. anytime she was with company, it had to do with business, and any occurrence that led her to believe she could speak her mind, she would be shut down with intimidating silence.

this was a turn in her life, however little the changes were. in this new environment, she was invisible. there were people like jungah who had more rumors up her sleeve. no one cared about chaeyeon. she was known to have no background, and she went along this path for the sake of her sanity. it was better that way.

“can we go inside? it’s cold out here.” she didn’t want anyone to hear what she had to say.

hands curled into fists as she went on walking in front of the other. her eyes were warily shifting along with the slight turn of her head to get a small glimpse of jungah following behind.

it stung a bit when she asked for her name once inside and in a more private space. then again, she was in no place to expect jungah to know her. but what was said after gave her some reassurance. she noticed me, she thought. like a little girl. perhaps she still was at heart. but she couldn’t say that out loud and look foolish. “i’ll do better,” was all she could really say back to her call out.

any window of opportunity she could get at feeling something, no matter how insignificant, she grabbed. it was difficult to face but it was the only way she could have a sense of being. as she spoke, her gaze avoided contact with the female any way they can. it would fixate on the ground or down her crossed hands, on the shelves or down the anxious tapping of her feet.

she recognized the burden jungah was trying to endure all on her own. it was familiar. rather, she knew it all too well. it wasn’t fun, to put it simply. she would never want that for jungah, even though she didn’t know her too well. she wouldn’t want that for anyone. “don’t bear it all on your own if you can.”

she wasn’t trying to tell her what to do. she was implying something more that she couldn’t say outright, for some reason. at least at that very moment. she wanted to say it was possible. that jungah can have someone. her tongue rolls back, consonants involuntarily stumbling. there was a lump in her throat stopping her from saying it. the silence that took over the atmosphere didn’t help with easing the tight, uncomfortable feeling either.

“i’m right here.”

once it was said, she would feel all levels of embarrassment and stupidity. she was asking too much. she knew she did. they knew each other in passing, and any affection she could offer was built on her observing from afar. she was naive for what she was suggesting, supposing jungah got the hint.

she wanted to take it back then and there, clarify that she only meant it all in a platonic way. that she wasn’t a freak or any other offensive word they liked to label her sexuality with. but instead, she received a thank you. for honesty? she never had trouble with it. she was able to chalk up enough courage to stand for herself or speak up. she had a personality that sat on the extreme. after all the people who truly cared to know her and figure out how to handle her, no one ever knew what to do with it anymore. it was saddening to hear someone be grateful for a portion of the human condition’s formula.

the compliment kept her hanging by a thread, but blushing all the way to her ears nonetheless. she thought it to be unnecessary when the obvious answer was no. and she was right about her assumptions. it was hard enough for a relationship out of the norm to happen back home, she expected no less of a country that couldn’t even allow men and women to be friends without putting any kind of malice in their relationship.

“i’m sorry, i hope you can understand.”

the words kept ringing in her head and she felt an ache in her chest. a couple of them. like her heart was getting broken into tiny pieces, all so slowly. in defeat, she asked, “can you keep this a secret?” and sure enough, she had on a smirk on her face as if to tell her there was no need to worry about such a thing. she could tell it was genuine. rumors stayed rumors with jungah for a reason. chaeyeon could learn a thing or two from her.

next thing you know, she was asking for a souvenir. it was out of nowhere, enough to catch chaeyeon off guard. especially knowing then that jungah had no interest in returning her feelings. “souvenir? like a photo?” she asked, unguarded of what was about to happen.

jungah would be leaning in before she could do or say anything but her eyes would close anyway, savoring the soft plush that enveloped her own pair. the warmth it provided had the tiny little hairs on the back of her neck standing. it happened so briefly that she felt regretful when her lips weren’t pressed on hers anymore. it left her in a stupor, eyes crossed once they opened again. 

“no, no. thank you.” she exclaimed a little louder than intended, hopefully expressing how giddy she felt from the brief contact. she blinked the daze away but it left her grinning wide enough that her cheeks puffed all the way to make her eyes seem smaller. the suddenness of it took away all the rationale she had. she easily blurted out that it was fine, that it wasn’t out of line. it probably would have been if it were someone else other than chaeyeon receiving the gesture; someone else other than jungah offering it.

that was the end of it. chaeyeon didn’t know whether she would meet her again, whether the kiss meant anything more than just a souvenir. or if the souvenir meant anything more, period.

she would find that out in a few years.

@pullstrings

[thekillerssluts]

Win Butler on why he ignores the internet, and why he expects Arcade Fire to stick around 

No matter how much professional rock critics and casual cultural commentators may find the Grammy-winning alt-rock act Arcade Fire exhausting, the group shows no signs of fading away. Arcade Fire’s fifth LP, Everything Now, was released a few weeks ago to some of the most negative reviews the band has yet received, with songs slammed for everything from earnest preachiness to clumsily ripping off old disco records. Yet the album still became Arcade Fire’s third straight to debut at No. 1 on the Billboard album charts, with some of the year’s highest sales figures. And after a successful European summer tour (which helped goose some of Everything Now’s initial singles up the charts overseas), the band’s about to begin a jaunt through North American arenas in September.

Days after Everything Now’s release, Win Butler spoke with The A.V. Club about making and marketing the record, as well as Arcade Fire’s fluctuating critical reputation and why he thinks people who’ve already made up their minds to dislike the band may be missing out on the wit, exuberance, and communal connection that fans enjoy.

The A.V. Club: It took about eight months to record Everything Now. How much of that time was spent actively working on it?

Win Butler: Well, we’ve ended up building a studio for every record, so that takes time. The space you make it in ends up being the first step of figuring out how it’s going to sound.

AVC: Wasn’t this one recorded in multiple studios?

WB: Yes, but I would say 80 percent of it was recorded in New Orleans, in our tiny studio. We did some sessions in Paris and a little bit in Montreal, but not too much. Just some finishing touches. Régine [Chassagne] and I moved to New Orleans, but my brother’s in New York, and the rest of the band’s in Montreal, so the guys would come down for a couple weeks at a time and we’d record for two weeks or so. Then they’d go away and we’d listen to stuff. It’s a process.

Every once in awhile you get a gift of something that’s super easy. Like “Good God Damn” is an example of one of the most stripped-down things we’ve ever done. We cut it at midnight, with the guys flying out the next day. I had Tim [Kingsbury] and Jeremy [Gara] play it with me to make a demo so I could figure out what the lyrics were going to be. We played it once and never touched it again. It ended up being this perfect take.

But most songs just take forever, to figure out how the pieces all fit together. It’s historically taken us about a year to make a record. Even the first EP. There’s just certain things that we have to go through.

AVC: Do you do a lot of tinkering with the style and arrangements? For example on the new album, you have multiple versions of “Infinite Content” and “Everything Now.” Is that a common practice for you, to record different styles of the same song?

WB: Sometimes. Part of the idea with “Infinite Content” was that we put a thing online that was just the MIDI files and a score, and we had a bunch of people submit versions. The idea of that was to end up with 150 versions of the same song. A friend of mine who plays in this amazing Cajun band called Lost Bayou Ramblers just sent me a zydeco version of “Infinite Content” in Creole. It’s pretty amazing. I’ve heard a Kraftwerk-type version of it. Pretty all over the place.

AVC: On both Reflektor and Everything Now you’ve worked with high-profile collaborators like LCD Soundsystem’s James Murphy and Daft Punk’s Thomas Bangalter. What do you get out of that process, bringing in someone not in Arcade Fire to work on a song?

WB: It’s mostly stuff we’ve done through friendship. James, we toured with, and we’ve been friends with him for a long time. We were actually talking about working together on Neon Bible, and it never really lined up. Markus Dravs first came in just to help us with our studio. We owned a small church outside of Montreal where we recorded Neon Bible. Markus had recorded Post and Homogenic, and our manager was managing Björk at the time, and Björk is one of my all-time heroes, so Markus came out to help us with some recording and ended up becoming a lifelong friend. Same thing with Steven Mackey [of Pulp] and Thomas.

These people all have just incredible taste in music. I think when you’ve been in a band for a really long time, sometimes you don’t appreciate what’s good about yourself. It’s easy to play something and get too focused on some small detail. It’s helpful to have somebody around who can say, “No, that was good.” Just so you don’t get too lost or forget what you do. You need somebody you really trust who has great taste.

AVC: Do you think that critics read too much into all that? If they find out that you worked with someone from Daft Punk, do they say, “This song sounds like Daft Punk?”

WB: Yes. [Laughs.] One hundred percent. I think probably everyone that has worked on an Arcade Fire record would be just as happy to do it anonymously. Five years from now, it won’t really matter, but during the promotion of a record, when people are writing reviews, I feel like a lot of people don’t take the time to understand it. It’s like people are still writing reviews of Reflektor with our new album. They say, “James Murphy is into dance-y music. James Murphy made Arcade Fire be dance-y.” And what’s funny is that an extremely large percentage of the world’s population has never even heard of Arcade Fire or James Murphy. That collaboration is really only interesting to people who write about music and the small part of the demographic who pay attention to those kind of details.

AVC: It’s not at all uncommon for people who write about music to be “over” a band that a large, large portion of the world has never heard of.

WB: Yeah, but maybe it works in the opposite way, too. If you were a critic when our first record came out, you kind of had to like it. I’m sure there were people who had to pretend to like it because it would’ve seemed uncool not to. It’s a cyclical thing.

So yeah, there’s blowback. But I’ve been experiencing that to some extent since we formed. I remember an early Arcade Fire show, where we played a song called “Headlights Look Like Diamonds,” which is kind of a dance-y, New Order song. It was our first hit, really. We played it, the crowd went crazy, and everyone was dancing. Even these super punk kids were just losing their minds, until like, a week later, when we played again and the context had changed. I saw them lose their shit, and then a week later they were all, “This band sucks.”

And it’s been like that for a long time. It wasn’t very cool to like Bruce Springsteen in the ’90s. When Nirvana was huge, there weren’t a lot of people saying, “You know who’s amazing? Bruce Springsteen.” You know what I mean? It’s very cyclical. And impossible for us to control.

AVC: I’ve had a somewhat different relationship with your band, in that I wrote a mixed review of Funeral and was converted by Neon Bible. More specifically, my mind was changed by your Austin City Limits performance. There was something about seeing the songs from the first two records in a live context. Suddenly, the music made sense. You’ve had a strong reputation as a live act from the very beginning. When you’re working on a record, how much do you think about how the songs are going to translate onstage?

WB: We’re essentially a live band, so they’re completely related. I don’t think about it like, “How’s this going to sound in an arena?” But we’re on our fifth record now, so we already have all the songs we wrote already, and with the songs we haven’t written we’re trying to do stuff that’ll serve a different purpose.

We’ve traveled the world so much and have played our music for so many different cultures and for so many different people. You can really feel how people react differently to different music in different places. Even within Europe, there’s such a big difference between a big French crowd and a big English crowd, or a big Portuguese crowd and a big Spanish crowd. There are different nuances in rhythm, and different feelings and different lyrics that translate differently. If we’re playing Coachella, a song that people are going to be really into isn’t the same song that people are going to be into if we’re playing Port-Au-Prince.

By the way, Austin City Limits is great. I grew up in Houston, and I still remember seeing Tom Waits on Austin City Limits. It’s still what I think about most when I think of Tom Waits. It really felt like he was from outer space. What is this music? Who is this person? I never got super deep into Tom Waits, but it still resonated for me.

I kind of feel the same way about The White Stripes. The White Stripes did a performance on one of Conan O’Brien’s shows, and I don’t even remember what the record was or the song, but Jack White was playing the guitar, and he went over to Conan’s desk doing his guitar solo, and I was like, “I can never talk shit about this band.” That one performance was so great that they could’ve honestly made 50 horrible records and I’d never talk shit about The White Stripes. Because I know they’re fucking for real.

It’s all really deeply related to the live thing, to me. The records and the concerts give each other life.

AVC: You played several of the new songs during the European leg of your tour before the album came out. Have you learned anything from playing them live?

WB: Everything Now is our first album where the songs have been played on pop radio in Europe. Radio 1 and Radio 2 in the U.K., which, it doesn’t really get any bigger than that. And it’s interesting, because when you really know a song, it’s amazing what your mind does. Your mind fills in all sorts of details.

When I went to see Prince play just before he passed, he was doing a greatest-hits kind of show. Like, every single fucking song he played the whole night, you’d heard a million times—and it almost didn’t matter what he was playing, because your mind knows the material so well that it fills in all the details. It’s really different.

So it’s interesting, because we got a really amazing energy playing in Montreal and in Europe, and a really great response. It’s some of the funnest shows we’ve played in a long time.

AVC: Even though the lyrics on Everything Now are often bleak, the music seems more joyous than Reflektor. Is that fair to say?

WB: I don’t know. I think we tried to make a funky record—something that we found satisfying rhythmically. I don’t really think of our band as dance music, although in the U.K., you’d hear songs from Funeral on some clubs’ disco nights, because we’ve always made music that favors four-on-the-floor. That’s one of our go-to things. If you hear the new record through a big system, there’s a lot going on in the low end. A song like “Good God Damn” sounds like a little song, but you put it in a big PA, it’s massive. There’s nothing in the low end fighting for those frequencies, which was something I was a lot more aware of on a production standpoint, just from deejaying and hearing music in different systems. You start to appreciate amplification.

I was deejaying at a party and they had this enormous PA, playing super-banging house music all night. I played “Use Me” by Bill Withers, and it nearly blew out the whole thing, because even though it’s just electric bass and a little bit of drums, the amount of low information in an acoustic bass is actually insane. Same thing with “Iko Iko,” which is someone playing a double bass and someone hitting some cans. Put it in a big system and it’s like, “Holy shit!” What is going on on the low end of these records?

That was definitely something I wasn’t as aware of, like, five years ago. I’d never heard a lot of that music on a real PA.

AVC: As I recall, there was a Rolling Stone magazine article back in the ’80s about the making of Don Henley’s Building The Perfect Beast, where the reporter mentioned that Henley insisted on taking the tapes of the final mixes to his jeep, to hear how they sounded coming out of those speakers. Do you do anything like that? Testing out the different ways an album will sound?

WB: We have a bar in Montreal, a Haitian bar, where there’s a really good sound system—a big, proper, Jamaican-style sound system. I definitely play mixes in there sometimes. Compared to the stuff you’re listening to on your laptop, it’s almost like 3-D versus 2-D.

AVC: The marketing of this record has been unusual, in that you released a new video of a new song every week or two, over a month in advance of the release.

WB: We put out four songs, I think every two weeks. So the whole thing was two months basically, from when we released the first song. And that was probably two months sooner than someone on the label would tell you to do it. But the speed at which things come and go has hit such a point that under normal circumstances a record doesn’t stand much of a chance to have people hear it. Everything seems like it’s around for forever now, but that’s just because news cycles are so fast and so early.

Look at Funeral. It came out in September in the U.S., but didn’t come out in the U.K. until six months later, because we didn’t have a record deal outside of America for those six months. It came out overseas, and we did the whole promotion thing again. Back then we were in a van, with one cellphone, and we didn’t have a manager. I don’t even fully understand how press people got our number. Régine and I did a press tour by ourselves. I think it was our first time to Europe. We thought, “Oh, it’s going to be fancy, and we’re going to get to see all of Europe,” and then it was just, like, traveling from city to city in a room from 10 a.m. until 10 p.m., talking to journalists.

If that happened now, people would be like, “What went wrong?” [Laughs.]

AVC: Was the decision to put out these videos so early all guided by the band?

WB: Yeah, it was just a way to give people a chance to hear some of the record, because once it comes out, it’s like people are onto the next thing immediately. This was an opportunity for people to spend some time with songs they might not have paid attention to otherwise. Ultimately, that’s what it’s about, getting people to hear the music. That’s why you make it.

AVC: Were you tracking the response? Seeing what fans had to say, what critics had to say, how many hits it was getting?

WB: No. I mean, I think the internet is where negativity thrives, very easily. People get an emotional hit from it. It’s unhealthy to worry too much what people think—and particularly what someone thinks who’s just hearing something for the first time and writing a response as they’re listening. That’s not useful information.

AVC: Can anticipating the response affect your creative process? Multiple pop artists lately have put out records that have tried to make a social statement and have been mocked or even pilloried. Everything Now doesn’t shy away from sociopolitical commentary. Did you think about how it might be received?

WB: Whenever you do anything or say anything, you’re opening yourself up to criticism. But that’s okay. That’s part of the deal. We’re a political band. Like, we didn’t expressly make a record about Donald Trump, but I’m not interested in pretending like he’s not the president, or that it’s not an insane cesspool of nightmare reality that we’re all living in, all day, every day.

It’s no accident that Donald Trump is by far the most successful Twitter user in the history of Twitter. He’s the master—the Rembrandt of Twitter. But the hope with some of the social media stuff we’re doing is to work with some really funny writers and… I don’t know, just maybe have people be a little more critical about what they’re reading. It’s meant to be kind of lighthearted, in a somewhat toxic environment.

AVC: It’s not unusual for Arcade Fire to do something lighthearted, because your presentation is so theatrical and theatricality often demands a certain amount of whimsy. The band is often pegged as serious and dour, but do people miss your sense of humor?

WB: I think it’s possible that people miss the point. But what are you going to do?

It reminds me of an interview I read where Sacha Baron Cohen was talking about this insane French clowning school that he went to, to study the tradition of clowning. There was this very serious clown-master, and when people would get up onstage, he had a little bell that he would ring, and the second he’d ring the bell, you were done. You weren’t funny. You were off the stage.

So he’s doing his bit, and the teacher started ringing the bell, and he just kept ignoring him. The teacher got angrier and angrier, and kept ringing the bell more and more, getting more and more furious. He said, “In that moment, I knew what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. The clown teacher yelling at me for clowning, ringing that bell and being furious, is the funniest, highest form of clowning that could possibly exist.”

I find that really inspiring. [Laughs.]

AVC: When a band’s starting out, people try to pigeonhole who you sound like, which means you’ll get questioned a lot about your influences. But you don’t get asked about that as much once you’ve established your own sound, even though your roots can become even more tangled as you evolve—especially if you’re as successful as Arcade Fire. So I’ll ask, have your musical role models changed, from Funeral to Everything Now?

WB: Well, there are different things you look up to about different artists. Look at someone like Tom Waits or Neil Young or David Bowie or even Dylan to a certain extent. They’ve all been so uncompromising. The real question though may be, who would I change careers with? And there’s no one where I’m like, “Man, I wish that was my life.” I’m very proud and satisfied with where we’re at as a band, and how we’ve done it.

Y’know, we’re just still in the middle of this thing. My grandfather was 96 when he passed away, and he was still playing until he was, like, 94, and still recording in the basement. He had ProTools on his computer, in the basement recording himself with an optic pedal on the guitar, making bass lines and shit. He’s my role model.

[firjii]

DAI fanfic: “Brittle Eyes, Brittle Dreams” - part 1

SFW, minor brief language

Ace Solavellan

Words: 2,458

I originally wanted to wait until this was finished because it's not meant to be a book-length thing, but IMO it’s getting too long to be a one-shot item at this point. Any future portions I post beyond this will actually be part of the same extended scene (my writing style just doesn’t have fast pacing).

Angsty/gritty. Set after JoH but before the Temple of Mythal. A mage Lavellan in a state of shock returns to Skyhold after a tough mission. She is straining under crippling self-doubt and a colorful past.

She didn’t waver as Skyhold’s gates opened. Her chin was staunch and stalwart. Her eyes shone, but so did every other soldier’s against the stiff winds. Her hands were quiet fists in bulky gloves, clenched to conserve their warmth as much as to keep them from shaking. One huddled mass looked much the same as another to a tower guard. It was nothing noteworthy. It was nothing strange.

Her shoulders were hunched, as ever, but anyone glancing at her wouldn’t have seen the convulsions. They were disguised too well. She had borrowed another soldier’s armor that very morning, knowing that Inquisition scouts were so prodigious at clearing the mountain paths that she wouldn’t need the best of armor for the final leg of the journey. The set she’d chosen was two sizes too large and made of thick plate, nothing at all like the delicate scales of her favored equipment. The extra metal set a chill in her core, but it almost completely concealed her shaking – and, despite its extra weight, it was stiff enough to keep her standing upright, a proposal which would have otherwise proven challenging.

In the main courtyard, sentries coming and going from watches or missions observed the usual courtesies as she passed by, but she hardly acknowledged them. No matter. Every able body who had managed to return with her was in the same general state of dumbfounded weariness. As she shuffled through the great hall, the lingering smells of a hearty supper only served to turn her stomach further. Each crackle of each inviting hearth and torch only made her twitch and flinch on this night. The vibrant hues cast by the flames did little to brighten her ashen face. Her heavy plate boots – also borrowed, though for the purely practical reason of support for a sprained ankle – imposed a grim, echoing patter through the hall.

She abandoned the idea of scaling her private stairwell in armor when her foot buckled after just three steps. She tugged her gloves off with her teeth, which only made her gums ache when she accidentally bit down on metal instead of leather. Her fingers shakily plucked at straps on the boots, which she heaved against the wall with a clatter when she was finally free of them. The process to remove the remainder of the armor was similarly lengthy. Her face was flushed by the time she completed the ritual. Her nose reddened. She sat in silence, momentarily satisfied that she had at least found a solitary corner to retreat to.

She stayed fixed in place for an hour. Finally craving her quarters and a more hospitable material than ancient stones to lean her head against, she managed to scale an entire flight of stairs before pausing again. She struggled on as far as the forgotten Red Templar banner, the one whose presence utterly baffled everyone in Skyhold, including her. She watched it flutter slightly in an invisible draft, transfixed by the color otherwise absent in the passageway.

Her ankle actively throbbed. She sat again and sobbed, but it gave way to something else when her throat was raw enough.

She slept.

                                               * * *

“There must be easier ways to bring discomfort on yourself.”

She jerked awake and reflexively gasped at the sound of a voice – any voice. She drew a few chaotically rapid breaths before she fully processed the face before her. “Who told you where I was?” she rumbled.

Solas kept a neutral look, though the light in his eyes seemed to shift to something still and careful. “No willing person would choose such a place for sleep without a reason.”

She blinked, slow to realize both the apparent passage of time and her place within it. “And what about you? It’s an ungodly hour for anyone but a bandit.”

He moved his gaze down to his feet as he plucked his way up the steps. “My experiences have shown me that sleep and rest are two very different things.” He carefully sat down opposite her. “No warrior easily finds either after a skirmish, short of complete exhaustion.”

His bright eyes were a mismatch to his serene face. His relaxed sitting posture contradicted his perfectly-squared shoulders, ever assertive. She observed the unlikely combination for a moment. “Even exhaustion can keep you awake if you’re tired enough.”

He watched her stiffly shift against the wall. “You were wounded.”

“Everyone was.” She gestured weakly to her face, to dozens of glancing nicks along her jawbone and a mild burn on an ear. “It’s not bad. Most saw worse.”

“And your ankle?”

She glanced down, slightly sheepish. She shook her head. “I was stupid. I tripped and fell. I wasn’t used to the new stave. The weighting’s wrong.”

“Staying in a cold corner like this one will only worsen an injury.”

She drew a heavy breath. “It’s alright. I’ve had worse. They already did what they could.”

He watched her amicably for a moment. “With your permission – I could do more.”

“No. It’s alright.” She cringed away. “Don’t.”

His eyes flashed. “Do you enjoy letting something blind your judgment?”

She shrugged. “It’s easy to endure pains you can prove.”

“I doubt that the poor in Kirkwall or slaves in Tevinter would say the same.”

She ran a distracted hand through her sweat-dulled hair. “We’re all slaves to something.”

His forehead constricted a fraction, though she didn’t see it. “I know. Let me break those chains.”

“It’s not about my damned foot,” she huffed. Her voice held a strangled quality.

“Then let me remedy it so you might focus on your true problems.”

She held her head as she propped her elbows on her knees. “Alright,” she finally muttered. She straightened. “Fine.”

He removed both layers of her third-hand socks and brushed off the dirt and grime that had somehow snuck into the impenetrable-looking plate boots. He peered at the swelling at length, analyzing each vein and tendon. She cast her gaze away determinedly. “You’re not as hurried as the field surgeons. Were you ever a healer?”

He ignored her at first, too intent to speak. “One who has been out alone in the world must know a little of everything.”

She winced when he checked a bruise on her heel, but his tone drew her eyes onto him. “And what do you know?”

He stopped his work. “We will not stop Corypheus tonight or even tomorrow. You should not try to tell yourself otherwise, especially when you only have one sound foot to stand on.”

In her dazed, pained state – though his quiet magic was correcting the swelling even as he spoke – it took her a protracted interval to realize that the advice was, perhaps, partially a joke. She tried to smile but managed little more than a grimace.

He returned his attention to her ankle. “No wonder. You dislocated it as well as sprained it.”

“I know. They set it back into place.”

“Yes, and then they very likely redoubled the problem by making you walk several miles through slippery mountain passes,” he lilted. His chipper scorn barely aimed past her.

“Mountain fortresses aren’t meant to be found.”

He made the smallest noise of neutral, distracted agreement. A glow slowly formed around his hands, green like the Anchor’s light but somehow less – unnatural. He murmured spell words, though so quietly that he scarcely made more noise than a few random consonants. His eyes narrowed a fraction, peering at her as if unable to see her correctly. His face quietly lit up. “You dislike the damp inside Skyhold.”

“Anyone would. It gets into your bones if you’re not careful.”

“Of course. You are unused to great buildings.”

She snorted. “I’m unused to trekking miles up stairs just to get to my own bed.”

“I have no doubt that any soldier or scout in Skyhold would have lent you–”

“It wouldn’t be any good,” she snapped with a jabbing wag of her head. She closed her eyes and sighed. “It’s as you said. I won’t sleep properly tonight. I only want the quiet. I can’t get that with dozens of people nattering on a few yards away.”

“Adamant upset you.”

She focused her tired face back onto his and frowned. “What’s that to do with it?”

“Everything, I suspect.” He hooked one eyebrow up a fraction as a ghost of a smile tugged at one corner of his mouth, but both gestures soon evaporated. “Since then, you stay outside as much as possible. I sometimes think that you want to be sure that we escaped the Fade by checking if the sky is the correct color.”

Her eyes darkened. “You never say what you mean. Speak your damned mind for once.”

“Would you like to check it again – now?”

“Check what?”

He smiled in earnest and dipped his chin down. “The sky, vhenan.”

Vhenan. The tiny word softened her face, as if it made her remember something equally elusive and reviving. “It’s nighttime.”

“Then it should be all the easier to see if anything is amiss. The raw Fade is vivid and strange no matter the time of day.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“Was that not what you planned to do?”

She rubbed her eyes and huffed, but she considered the offer soberly. “Help me up.” Even without armor, she stood heavily as he braced her lame side. He ably harmonized his sound steps with her timid ones as they ascended the final stairs, even when she abruptly paused several times for breath.

“Are you still in pain?”

“It’s just the memory of falling. It knocked the wind out of me.” She chuckled weakly. “I always remember the way I earned a bruise better than the pain from one.”

They mastered the final stone steps. He spied a multicolored stole on a table – one of many tokens from the Avvar for thwarting Hakkon – and snatched it up as the two tottered past. He opened a balcony door for her, but she suddenly removed her arm from his shoulder and stubbornly limped the few remaining steps to go outside. She clumsily eased herself down against a pillar. He draped the stole around her, taking an unusual length of time for the task. She nodded blandly and tugged the stole tighter. He sat next to her but noted her irregular shaking – which had persisted since she had woken – and thought the better of embracing her.

“The snow has its own glow at night,” she muttered. “I forgot about that.” She chuckled soundlessly and tightly. “Isn’t that silly? We spend half our time in Skyhold, but I still don’t remember everything about the place.”

“We often ignore what is nearest to our faces.”

“Does that make us foolish or stupid?”

“Neither. It only means that we constantly adjust to circumstances.”

She sighed. After a long moment, she leaned against his side – barely. “Everything always circles around on itself, doesn’t it?” she muttered. “Sooner or later, we always find the same paths and the same markers as everyone who came before us. The paths might look a little different, but you can’t avoid them – not really. They’re the only choice.”

A muffled but musical whir of mountain gusts echoed out for a long moment while they both stared at the snow, made all the more brilliant that night by the full moon.

She ground her jaw. “I can’t ignore it anymore.”

Solas crinkled his face at the remark and glanced at her only to find her tired stare fixed firmly on mountain peaks. “None of us can.”

She sneered. “You don’t even know what I mean.”

“I know your frustration. What else is there to understand?”

She shivered and leaned a little harder into his side. “I don’t mind being something different than what I began as. I just don’t want that to be less.”

“You –” He swallowed his words and shook his head gently. “That will never happen.”

“You were there. You heard what Ameridan said.”

“The Avvar siege was the most difficult since Haven. You took his words too harshly in the heat of battle fatigue–”

“He couldn’t even stand,” she cut over him. “You saw him. That’s all that was left. He was alone for centuries. Who knows what he thought while he was there? No one should have to sacrifice so much and be remembered for so little. The world almost lost him.”

“Do you expect to be forgotten after all this?”

Her head lowered abruptly, as if a drug had overwhelmed her waking senses. Her shoulders rounded forward, just as they had done upon returning to Skyhold. “He knew. Things weren’t the same for him, but –” Her jaw clenched. “Everything’s been a blur since this started. Either I don’t know what to do and I need to defer to others or I know exactly what to do but can’t. When I saw him, I saw myself.”

“Is that such an evil thing? He was an honorable man.”

“We’ve recruited dozens of agents and thousands of soldiers. None of them ever made me think about it. When you’re all thrown together because the world’s gone to hell, it’s easy to stop seeing yourself. But Ameridan –” Her lip curled. “He made me look. He made me see it.”

Solas finally stared at her.

Her face was slick. Her chin jittered. Her eyes were cavernous. She didn’t look at him – not even a glance.

His far hand clenched and unclenched. It moved several inches above the ground, but his elbow was an immobilizing splint. He let his hand rest back on the stone slabs again.

A single sniffle escaped her. “It doesn’t matter about being chosen. It matters because everyone will suffer if I can’t get this sorted. And if I can’t, it won’t matter. We won’t matter.” Her face crimped, but her sobs were silent and dragging, like the breath inside her was insufficient for the act.

His far hand conducted the same argument with itself a second time. He looked away and frowned before his head bobbed back in her direction. As if in care of an ancient scroll, he took the closer of her hands in his. His other hand soon joined it. She scarcely reacted. “I doubt that Ameridan’s words drove you here.”

“Why?” Her single word held the stretched singsong of barely-restrained collapse.

“You let the most important ones drift away.”

She set a keen glare on him, but it wavered when he met it with quietude.

“‘Take moments of happiness where you find them. The world will take the rest.’” He squeezed her hand.

She went a long moment without blinking as her mouth curled into a grimace. “It already did.” She limply removed her hand from his.

[violet--minds-blog]

‘The Bold Type’ and Surface-Level Intersectionality

Piper Gibson | July 26, 2017

Long time, no write, I know. It’s hard, as a mentally ill person working and going to school and trying to stay politically aware in these trying times, to update this blog. But I’m back with another post, because I am annoyed.

I’ve caught up with The Bold Type, a new Freeform series which is about three friends who work at a women’s magazine and is currently airing its first season. As I’m writing this there’s four episodes, but each is packed with so much that rubs me the wrong way that I’ve been incessantly livetweeting on my (private) Twitter about it. I don’t even know where to start, so I suppose I’ll begin with a few things I like.

I like that it’s a women-driven show. I like that we get to see women in power and at the top of their game. I like that the side characters are kinda diverse. I like that it passes the Bechdel test in a major, major way. I like that they are at least trying to come from an intersectional feminist perspective. That’s actually why I’m really frustrated with this show, but I’ll talk about that more later.

Firstly. Jane, the kind-of main character (To me, she’s clearly the main protagonist, but it could be argued that her, Kat, and Sutton are all protagonists) is boring. I’m sorry. She just is the human embodiment of plain yogurt. I cannot bring myself to care about her budding career or mediocre hetero love life. I don’t care when she wins, and I don’t care when she loses. I guess to some, her story might be interesting, but I just... don’t... care. I feel basically the same about Sutton, but she’s a teense more likable because the glimpses of her backstory spark an interest in me. For Jane, I think the writers were going for a Gifted-Child-Who-Grew-Up-To-Need-To-Please-Authority-Figures vibe, which I can relate to, except I see basically nothing of myself in her. Maybe it’s the bland cishet girl thing, but she’s not doing it for me.

My main problem with this show is that they focus on Plain Jane (low-hanging fruit, I know, but I had to do it), who has the personality of a lightly-salted potato chip, way more than they focus on Kat, who is IMO the most interesting person on the show. For a series that’s at least kind of trying to be diverse, it’s frustrating to me that 2/3 of the main characters are white and cis and heterosexual, but anyway. They have two cis, heterosexual, white woman main characters and then a black woman main character who is questioning her sexuality. Who do you think a large portion of the viewership for a show that claims to be feminist is gonna gravitate towards? Not the pasty heteros, probably.

Kat is dynamic, and interesting, and good at her job, not to mention gorgeous as all hell. Yet they give her storylines like "Black Girl Who Grew Up Upper-Middle Class Has to Have Poverty Explained to Her by White Girl” and “Black Girl Living In Modern-Day America Somehow Doesn’t Understand Why A WOC Immigrant Might Not Want to Interact With Police” and “Black Girl Who Works at a Feminist Magazine Doesn’t Seem to Know About Bisexuality For Some Reason” and y’all. It’s honestly so tiring. I understand that Kat is the one with the majority of the interactions with Adena to set up the queer romance between them (which I love and appreciate) but this also means Kat is their point-girl to explain xenophobia and immigration issues to the audience. 

I would like that they’re showing interracial ignorance issues, because people of color can be ignorant about and discriminatory towards other people of color, but I don’t think that’s what they set out to do. I think they wanted this to be a cool, hip, intersectional show, so they do a few kind of performative scenes where the Muslim lesbian woman on a work visa explains to another woman of color why she doesn’t take her hijab off or why she ran when the police showed up after a man assaulted her. At one point, Kat’s white boss actually explains to her that Adena ran from the cops because she could’ve gotten deported, which Kat hadn’t even considered somehow. What this actually does is tell the audience that Kat is ignorant on issues pertaining to women of color, and since Jane and Sutton literally never have race discussions beside one throw-away line about the Civil War from Jane, it feels like race is a topic secluded to only a few WOC characters. The women of color do all the literal and metaphorical emotional labor on this topic on the show, and the white women characters don’t have to deal with it. Which, I guess, is realistic to actual race relations between women, but I would like it to be acknowledged on-screen. For Kat to have to be the person with the brunt of the ignorance on xenophobia and queer issues while her white friends don’t have to deal with it is upsetting, to say the least. Because the show doesn’t address it, to me, it feels like them saying that white women are just so much better and more knowledgeable about these things than women of color, which is just... straight up wrong. I’d like at least one scene of Sutton and Jane not understanding something about race and Kat saying “Just Google it, I’m not gonna do the emotional labor for the both of you,” please, for the love of God. 

This isn’t even all of my problems with the show. It revolves way too much around romance and sex for media that seems to say women’s lives don’t have to revolve around romance and sex, for one thing. Both Jane and Sutton’s love interests are white assholes. Sutton’s boyfriend works for the same company as her and as such, is in a position of power over her. At least the show acknowledges that if this were to get out, the high-up board member boyfriend would not be the one in trouble and probably fired. But he’s still touted as this super sweet guy who tries really hard, despite him talking down to Sutton about how young she is and how he “remembers feeling like” there was no time to accomplish things like he’s so much more worldly and intelligent than her. Ew. Dump him, sweetheart.

Jane’s love interest is the. Literal. Worst. His name is like, Tyler or Aaron or something douchey, and he’s my least favorite guy archetype. Tyler-Aaron works for the “rival” men’s magazine about sex and relationships, with stunning article titles like “How To Make Your Girlfriend Fuck Like a Porn Star.” I know. Obviously, White Feminist Jane hates him at first. But I am a smart person, so when I saw them get in a disagreement in which he condescendingly calls her article “cute” and she storms off, I said, “Oh no. They’re gonna fuck, aren’t they.” Because that’s what happens every time a man and a woman dislike each other in popular media. A woman thinks a man is sexist? Yeah, eventually she’s gonna see the error of her ways and they’re gonna have sex.

See, what bothers me about Tyler-Aaron is that they made him a Secret Male Feminist. He tells Jane, “You haven’t read my articles, have you?” after she calls them sexist, and everyone tells her that he’s a pretty good writer and not a bad guy. He told her there’s nothing he finds sexier than a woman speaking her mind, and he wrote one good article about how women feeling like they need to fake orgasms is the fault of men, so he really schooled her, huh? Jane stands there with her mouth agape as Secret Male Feminist struts away smirking, and then within a day or so she’s kissing him. Yawn. Puke. Etc, etc.

This storyline doesn’t work. It doesn’t work because he already was a dick. He already condescended her writing, said she was sexy when she called him out for legitimate reasons, and wrote shitty sexist articles. Him writing one good article or being nice to her now doesn’t change that. And making him teach her something about feminism or prove her ideas wrong is akin to gaslighting. Women are already told every single day that we’re imagining all this discrimination and violence, that sexism is basically over and we need to shut up, that Congress passed X thing or a movie had Y plot so we “won,” and it’s time to move on. We’re told this despite seeing and experiencing this violence on every level, starting with interpersonal and going up to governmental and global. Tyler-Aaron apparently being an okay guy instead of the sexist douche Jane once thought he was (and I still know he is) is basically the show saying, “Hey, crazy feminist, not all men are bad, and some can be feminist, so calm down, okay? Your gut-reaction of a man being sexist and condescending is a fake reaction and you’re just making things up and jumping to conclusions.” It’s gross. And I expect better.

That’s why I dislike the show. It’s clearly trying, at least a tiny little bit, to be feminist and intersectional. It could be a really great, diverse, ground-breaking show. Instead, it is still so limited, racist, and surface-level white feminist-y. Most of what it tries to do, it fails. And, okay, I recognize that it’s important that a show like this, with a large majority of female characters, even exists. But they’re doing a disservice to characters like Kat, a lot of characters are boring and one-dimensional, and they haven’t even mentioned issues like trans or disability rights. It’s just not great writing, folks. Personally, when a show claims to be feminist, I expect it to follow through.

[jsmulligan]

Firebrand

Three figures stood in the Tower courtyard, near the opening overlooking the City.  Two were women and were dressed in full battle gear, minus their helmets.  One was human with long read hair pulled up in two pigtails.  The other was an Awoken, green hair pulled messily up on the back of her head.  The third figure was a red-haired human male and wore casual clothing.  Despite that, he was still noticeably bigger than his armored companions.  Hunter Celeste Etain, Warlock Zillah Arvid, and Titan Claney Beamard had been through quite a bit that day, but more stood in store for one of them.

“See ya, kiddo,” Claney told Celeste.  “If you do end up leaving the Tower, come find me first, okay?”

“You're really going to milk this 'dad' thing for all it's worth, aren't you?” the red-haired women teased.  She gave the man a quick hug, then looked at Zillah.  She opened her mouth as if she was going to say something, but hesitated.  “See ya,” she said eventually, then turned and walked away.

After several steps she glanced back, looking at the other two.  Zillah and Claney had turned away from her and were facing the Traveler, engaged in conversation.  Celeste's brows pulled together and she pursed her lips.  Something about the situation did not sit right with her.  

Claney she had known for years and was family to her.  The only family she had since being revived as a Guardian by her Ghost, Whisper.  Sure, due to the nature of her unusual situation, there had been a few other people that had helped watch her when Claney was on missions, but she had never felt a real connection with them.  The big man had been there when she had been revived, had protected her, cared for her, and helped train her.  Well, as best as a Titan could, anyway.

Zillah, on the other hand, she had only known for a short time.  She had met the Warlock while the Awoken woman was on a mission with Claney. Zillah had been nothing but rude to the both of them for most of the time they had known her.  There was always a bit of a rivalry between Hunters and Warlocks, and the two groups did not always get along, but it went beyond that.  The Warlock had seemed to have an authentic dislike for her and Claney.

Somewhere, though, things had changed.  Celeste had noticed differences in the way the other two spoke to each other and their body language.  Even now, as they stared at the Traveler hanging over the Last City, they were standing close, each seemingly at ease with the other.

It made the Hunter uncomfortable, and she could not quite place why.  Her eyes narrowed, then she shook her head, chasing away the line of thought.  She had left the other two to go visit someone else, and need to follow through on that.  With a last look, Celeste turned and headed for the residential section of the Tower.

The apartment she was looking for was very familiar to her.  She had called it home for a little while herself, and now someone else was having to do the same.  Not long ago, another Ghost had made the same error hers had and revived a Guardian that was too young to be allowed in the field.  Of course, Astrid was even younger than she had been, and had quite a different personality.  

Celeste had bounced around a few homes when she was young, many people not being up to the task of dealing with a teenage with the power of a Guardian.  Finally, she'd ended up with Mr. and Mrs. Anusky, and it had mostly worked.  Having had some success with Celeste, the couple had agreed to take Astrid under their roof as well.  It had not been quite as smooth a transition as everyone hoped, but last time Celeste had stopped by, things seemed to be settling in to some form of equilibrium.  She only hoped it had held.

When Celeste reached the apartment, the man and woman greeted her warmly. Celeste may not have bonded with them the same way she had Claney, but she did like them.  Each time she saw them now, she was surprised to see how much they seemed to have aged since she first entered their home.  In her mind, they always looked like they did when she was brought to their door, the fourth such couple to try to take her in.

After catching up briefly, they told Celeste that Astrid had been invited to sleep over with a friend from school, and that they had reluctantly agreed after much cajoling from the tiny Titan.  They pointed her in the right direction, and the Hunter made her way to the friend's home.  When she got there, she was in for another bit of news when the mother of the friend said that Astrid had told her daughter that she was sick and was not going to be able to come over after all.

“Oh, I'm sorry.  I must have missed the update on that one,” Celeste responded with a smile, trying not to let her surprise show.  “Sorry to bother you, ma'am.”

The door closed, and Celeste spun around on her heels and set off down the hallway.  Astrid had the Anusky's convinced she was with a friend, but told the friend that she was home.  She wanted to be somewhere with no one the wiser, and the Hunter had a pretty good idea where that might be.

When she first met Astrid, she had shown the younger girl every secret place she had discovered among the Tower.  All the ways she had discovered to make living here bearable when everything inside you longed be out doing other things.  One place in particular had seemed to catch Astrid's fancy.

After The Battle of Twilight Gap, much of the Wall had been abandoned, along with the towers that guarded it.  Some had since seen minimal use, including the Bannerfall Crucible field.  As a teen, Celeste had found an old, abandoned tunnel that led to one of the other Towers. These structures were made to be fortifications, so down below the ground, each had a large, very solid bunker built as a last refuge for fleeing civilians.  It was in that bunker that Celeste had practiced and honed her Light away from prying eyes and ears.  Astrid had taken to the place immediately, relishing the opportunity to unleash her abilities.

Celeste picked her way through the tunnel, climbing over some rubble and wriggling her way through other portions while remembering how much easier it had been to squeeze through a few years back.  Whisper flew over her shoulder, illuminating the way and twitching nervously.  The Ghost had never liked her coming here, always concerned that it would collapse and keep them pinned with no way out.

Finally she reached the other tower and climbed down the few flights of stairs to the bunker.  She had anticipated hearing the pop of gunfire, the small explosion of Light fueled grenades, or small, armored fists smashing things, but she heard nothing.  She pushed the door open and found the room empty.  Now that was unexpected.

“Whisper, ping Astrid's Ghost,” she ordered, double checking the room to make sure the younger Guardian was not just hidden away somewhere.

Whispers shell expanded and rotated around his central ball of Light.  Seconds stretched on before he collapsed back into himself.

“Guardian Astrid is not in the Tower.”

Thrall spit, Celeste cursed inwardly, whirling out of the room and heading for the surface.  No need to cross through the tunnel now, she could exit the current tower and search the vicinity.

Celeste stopped only long enough to fire off a quick message to Claney:

Old man,

Popping out of the Tower to track something down.  Should be back soon.  No fighting with the Rainbow Death Squad while I'm gone.

Celeste

That taken care of, she set off to try to find Astrid.  She just hoped the little munchkin had not gone too far from home on her own.  She had Whisper transmat her sparrow down to speed things up.

“Keep scanning for her,” she told the Ghost.  “I don't care if we set off Fallen sensors, but try not to send anything toward the Tower. Don't want them thinking there's a Guardian in trouble and sending anyone else out.”

“Or, maybe we do and someone else deals with the Fallen in the dark?” the Ghost asked hopefully.

“No. We find her on our own and keep it quiet.”

They searched for hours.  She only had to dodge fire from Fallen snipers three times, which seemed like a strangely low number.  She was considering giving up and admitting they might need to contact someone when Whisper finally made contact.

“I've got her.  No sign that she has noticed us yet.”

“Good. Mark her on the HUD, please,” Celeste told the Ghost.  She nodded when the white marker appeared.  The Hunter dismounted her sparrow and began walking.  Behind her, the machine disappeared as the Ghost transmatted back into whatever pocket dimension hoodoo the machines used to store their Guardians gear.

Hunters possess unmatched stealth capabilities among the different classes of Guardians.  Some more than others.  Bladedancers, for example, have cloaking technology allowing them to virtually disappear. Nightstalkers, like Celeste, have a similar ability even if their version is a bit showier in execution.  She threw down a small bomb, the resulting smoke covering her and rendering her practically invisible.  Thus concealed, she sprinted toward the glowing point on her HUD.

She slowed as she drew near, not wanting the sound of her approach to give her away.  Astrid had been moving as well, though at a more leisurely pace.  At last, Celeste drew close enough to catch sight of the young girl.

Astrid was clad in the armor her Ghost had manufactured for her at resurrection.  She had her scout rifle she had brought with her to the Tower as well, though it was currently slung across her back carelessly.  She was walking along the remains of a crumbled wall, placing one foot in front of the other and holding her arms straight out at the side to help maintain her balance.  From time to time she came to a missing section and would hop across, landing on one foot. One jump she seemed to misjudge, but managed to use Lift to course correct and continue on.

Astrid reached the end of the wall, then swung her weapon around into firing position.  Celeste grabbed her Uzume RR4 and aimed through the sight, trying to see what had caught Astrid's attention.  Lined up in a row were several makeshift targets.  Buckets rested on top of smooth, straight sticks.  Brooms, maybe? Below, other things like sticks, rope, or cloth were attached to simulate armor and two arms on each side of the body.  Stick Fallen. Celeste watched Astrid as she aimed and fired, missing with her first shot.

“Thrall spit!” the little Guardian shouted, then fired again.  

This time she managed to punch a hole in one of the buckets, which brought a loud whoop.  The Titan thrust her fist in the air, which caused her to lose her balance.  She steadied herself, then fired off several more shots, hitting more than she missed.  She was improving. Celeste was impressed.

Once the last target was down, Astrid slung the gun back over her shoulder and started to make her way back along the wall.  She turned back toward Celeste and froze.  She stood still for a second, then took a few cautious steps forward.  Moving quicker than the Hunter had ever seen her move before, she swung the gun back around and fired right at Celeste.

Celeste dodged just in time, the bullet plowing into the ground right where she had been laying.  When she looked back up, Astrid had jumped from the wall and was approaching her position, scout rifle at the ready. The Hunter was baffled.  How had Astrid seen that she was there, and why was she attacking her?

“I know you're there.” the Titan muttered to herself, the muzzle of her rifle sweeping from side to side.  “You picked the wrong target, Vandal.”

Celeste accidentally kicked a rock, making a scuffing noise.  The young girl swung to her left and fired off a shot in her general direction.  As quietly as possible, Celeste scuttled back in the original direction before speaking just in case Astrid reacted to another sound by pulling the trigger again.  No need to take a bullet if it was not necessary.  

“Not a Fallen,” she called out.  “I even have the hood back home to prove it.”

“Celeste?” Astrid questioned, lowering her gun.

The Hunter stood with her hands raised and the grenade's invisibility wore off.  When Astrid saw her, she dropped her gun and sprinted toward Celeste with a laugh, slamming into her mid-section and wrapping her arms fiercely around her.  The force of the impact drove them both to the ground.  Celeste had the wind knocked out of her, but when she could breathe again, she laughed along with her.

Astrid suddenly stopped laughing and popped up, before crossing her arms over her chest and sitting forcefully on Celeste's stomach, causing the older Guardian to have to catch her breathe again.  “Why were you going to shoot me?”

“What do you mean?” Celeste gasped.  “You shot at me.”

“No,” Astrid argued, “I shot at a scope glint.  You were aiming at me.”

Celeste let out an involuntary laugh of disbelief.  Astrid growled and raised a fist as if she was going to punch her.

“I wasn't aiming at you,” Celeste got out finally.  “I was looking through the scope to see what you were shooting at.  I thought you might be in trouble.  Nice targets, by the way.”

“Oh,” the Titan said sheepishly after mulling it over for a second, then hopped up.

“Now it's your turn to answer a question,” the Hunter stated as she climbed back to her feet.  “What are you doing out here?”

“Duh. Target practice.  You saw,” the Titan retorted, waving her hand in the general direction of her make-shift Fallen.

“Yes, but why are you out HERE?  Why not just use the bunker or one of the other rooms I showed you?  And why did you lie to the Anusky's about a sleepover?”

“Ugh,” the child moaned, throwing her hands up in the air.  “Because it's sooooo boring in there.  The same rooms.  The same walls.  All.  The. Time.  And I lied to them because they would never have let me come out here alone.”

“With good reason,” Celeste responded.  “You know the Fallen are more active at night.”

“I'd come during the day if I could sneak out of the Tower then,” Astrid grumbled a reply.

“That's... You would... You know that's not what I meant,” Celeste managed stammered out, exasperated.  “You think it was easy for me to stay in there all the time?  I'm a HUNTER!  Everything inside me screams to be out here roaming around and exploring.  But I stayed there because I knew it was what I was supposed to do.”

“Well, I'm not you.”

There it was.  Despite Cayde's hope that the two would get along famously since they were both revived so young, that was the ultimate truth. Despite the one similar circumstance behind their revival, Celeste and Astrid were very different.  

Celeste had no memory of her life before her resurrection, of course, but nothing had made her think she had any history of being a combatant before she died.  She had struggled to learn how to handle firearms. Resisted the idea of her life being war and struggles.  Astrid, however, came with some skill with a rifle.  She arrived with knuckles scarred from unremembered brawls.  She took to combat training faster than a lot of adult Guardians.  Whatever life she had lived before her untimely death, it had not been easy and had left a mark on the young girl.  

“I know that, Astrid.”  Celeste dropped to one knee to get down to the smaller Guardian's eye level and placed a hand on her shoulder.  “I know you see the world differently than I did.  I just don't want anything to happen to you.  Plus, imagine how Mr. and Mrs. Anusky would feel if you slipped out when they were supposed to be taking care of you and something did happen?”

“I didn't think about that,” the tiny Titan admitted.  “Please don't tell them I lied?

“I won't,” Celeste replied, then her voice dropped into a conspiratorial whisper.  “Tell you what.  I've got an idea that we can run by Cayde.  It will let you get out of the Tower, let you get the practice you need in honing your skills and abilities, but it will keep you safe at the same time.”

“I'm listening,” Astrid replied.

…

The next day.  A three versus one standoff just outside the Hall of Guardians.

“No absolutely not!” Lord Shaxx objected strenuously.  This had to be the worst idea he had heard in years.

“Come on, Shaxx,” Cayde-6, Hunter Vanguard, cajoled.  “You know it's safe.  Mostly.  Wild Child here's a Guardian, so we know she has the ability.  Plus, imagine the look on some Guardian's face when they run in to her!”

“No,” the Crucible Handler stated again, crossing his arms over his massive chest.

Astrid jumped up on the table in front of the big man and mirrored his stance, olive eyes boring a hole through his helmet.  The two stood that way for several minutes, seemingly staring each other down, the only change being a narrowing of Astrid's eyes.

“Fine,” Lord Shaxx, almost Iron Lord, hero of the Twilight Gap relented, throwing his hands up.  “She can go in the Crucible.  Once.  Just to see how it goes.  I make no promises beyond that.”

Astrid whooped and jumped up and down, while Celeste and Cayde shared a grin.  Shaxx suddenly pointed a meaty finger at the little Titan, which stopped her jumping.

“One thing,” he stated firmly.  “No crying.  There's no crying in my Crucible.  I repeat, there's no.  Crying.  In my Crucible.”

“Tell the other Guardians that,” Astrid grinned.

…

Later that day.  Widow's Court, European Dead Zone.

The Warlock spun nervously, searching for his target.  He knew he had seen something move, but was detecting nothing.  A laugh from behind sent a chill up his spine, and he whirled around, three rounds leaping from his pulse rifle.  Nothing.  Suddenly, a blur.  Something small dashed around a barricade that was not big enough for anyone to use for cover and clipped his knee.  He crashed to the ground hard. Rolling over, he saw the most absurd thing he could recall ever seeing.  A Titan about half his size was standing over him, a battered Jigoku SR3-SL held near her hip. Bewildered, he could only watch as she cocked back her fist, unleashing a devastating punch with a laugh.

More Guardians took shots and punches directly to the knee that match than in any previously recorded Crucible match.  By the end of the battle, the entire Bravo team was limping and trying desperately to find high ground.  After taking yet another blow to the knee, that Warlock let out a little whimper.

“Yes!” Lord Shaxx's voice rang out,  “Make them cry!”

...

I usually space my posts out a bit more, but since I posted the other Astrid entry, I was getting antsy to share this one too.  I probably should have waited, since I haven’t written in months and am running out of content.

Some explaination: this is a follow up to the last post, “New Kid on the Block”, it takes place between chapters 17 and 19 of my novel length fiction “A Not So Simple Patrol” (https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11990180/1/A-Not-So-Simple-Patrol), and, once again, Astrid belongs to @yourspunkpunk 

[lucier1032-blog]

Baby, I’m Howling For You - Chapter Six

”A wise woman wishes to be no one’s enemy; a wise woman refuses to be anyone’s victim.”

-Maya Angelou

 “Harry! Wait for me!”

“Come on you slowpoke! We’re going to be late!”

“You’re going too fast! Don’t leave me!”

“I’m not going to leave ya darlin!” Harry slowed to a trot, a smile reaching from ear to ear and dimples on both cheeks. His emerald green eyes sparkled in the rare London sunshine as he waited for his best friend to catch up. Pushing his newly wild coffee colored curls from his eyes, he pivoted on his heels to see the flushed brunette finally catching up to him. “You should know better by now.” His chuckles made the young girl illuminate with warmth as she joined his pace, giving the giggling boy an eye roll.

“Why does everything always have to turn into a race with you?” The two slowed to a casual walk along the pavement path, both breathing heavily.

“I like a challenge.” Harry shrugged casually as the pair walked further into the park. The two youthful teens were on their way to their first football match of the season, their identical blue and white jersey’s giving away their agenda.

“Oh, come off it, you just like to win and you know you’ll beat me every time.”

“Hey! I’m just trying to help build up your stamina so you can move up to offense this season!” Harry sent a wink in her direction before she shoved him off the path playfully.

“I don’t know if I’m going to make it past this season.” The tone of their conversation instantly turned discouraging as Ryder shoulders slumped inwards. “My dad doesn’t want me playing, thinks it takes up too much of my time.”

“What else does he think you’re going to do?”

“Couldn’t tell ya, but he’s got some kind of master plan thing he’s always fighting with my mum about. He already has Liam on some ridiculous training regimen; he’s in the gym every hour he isn’t in school. In fact, I’m surprised he hasn’t been pulled from school to follow my dad around at all hours of the day. I barely even see him anymore.”

“So…I take it he isn’t coming to the game today then?” “Nah, as usual he’s sucking up to our father.”

“Always a kiss ass that one.” Harry elbowed the girl in the shoulder spiritedly in hopes of lightening the mood. This is what Ryder loved about their friendship; Harry never pried into her home life and always offered a cheesy smile or silly face to brighten her day. Their budding friendship came so naturally; never forced and never questioned. They had formed a solid bond that you could attribute to shared crayons and peanut butter banana sandwiches. Even at eleven years old now, the two’s likes and dislikes mimicked each other, stitching their paths together for eternity.

When the friends finally reached the football pitch, Harry quickly snatched up a ball and pulled Ryder into a warmup. They joined the rest of their team on the left side of the field, casually kicking the checkered ball back and forth on the dry grass. “Speaking of your dad…” Harry began, but chose his words carefully because he knew how touchy Ryder was with the subject, “Did you ever, you know, find out what his job is?”

“Hi Haz!” A little blond girl with a bright pink backpack half the size of her stood at the edge of the field. Her lemon-yellow rain boots and butterfly hair clips sparkled in the sunlight and rivaled the smile spread across her rosy cheeks.

Harry stopped the ball and rested his foot on top of it as both he and Ryder turned towards the girl. “Hey Quinn. Just go sit over there and I’ll be over in a bit, yeah?” The tiny blond nodded encouragingly, pulling her backpack up tighter on her shoulders.

“Hi Quinn!” Ryder gave her the friendliest smile and a wave. Only to be returned with a scowl and the cold shoulder. The girl turned her back and headed towards the stands without another word. “She hates me, doesn’t she?” Ryder turned back to Harry with a head tilt and a frown.

“She’s just jealous of all the time you get to spend with me darlin.” Harry’s cheeky little grin made the brunette wish she had the ball so she could power kick it right into his stomach. “She’ll warm up to you eventually.”

“I highly doubt that.” The brunette jumped to the side to block Harry’s pass from disturbing the pair behind them. “And to answer your earlier question, no.” She kicked the ball back, quickly trying to force her dark fringe from her eyes. “Liam told me it was none of my business, mum told me not to worry about it and dad told me to stop spending time with you.”

“What?” The boy scrunched his nose in confusion. “What do I have to do with anything?”

“Probably nothing, but you’re always his go to subject change when he wants me to go away and stop pestering him.”

“I am nothing but charming! The perfect specimen of a man to bring home to parents.” Harry tossed his curls around, pretending to model across the grass.

“You’re so cocky!” Ryder hollered before kicking the ball a little too hard towards him. “I can only imagine what you’ll be like when you start dating!” The ball caught Harry on the hip, making him loose his balance and trip over his own feet.

 *****

Hooooowwwwllllll

A loud noise startled Ryder awake sending a jolt of adrenaline coursing through her. She took in a sharp breath, eyes darting open only to be met with the same dark room and ratty old mattress as before. There was another muffled howl on the outside of the door accompanied by loud banging. Ryder sighed to herself, rolling over onto her back but being careful not to move her chained bruised ankle much. The captive brunette was overcome with exhaustion and yet was unable to sleep.

It’s hard to sleep over the sound of your own thoughts.

The Howlers had grown accustom to waking her up with loud noises within minutes of her eyes closing. She was more physically and mentally exhausted than she had ever been in her life. Even worse than the time her father forced her to box with Bauer for over three hours.

In the early days, she tried to maintain some knowledge of time; paying close attention to how long passed between visits from Louis or small portions of food or water being delivered from one of the other Howlers. But as the minutes, hours, days ticked by it became more challenging for her to keep track. With no windows or any glimpse of daylight the time passed freely and on no schedule.

It’s hard to count the days when your buried alive.

She tried everything she could think of to gain some concept of how long she had been held captive. Ryder would pretend to sleep sometimes, hoping that she wouldn’t be woken which mean it was night and everyone else was asleep. But without fail, someone always made noise; she was being watched 24 hours a day. The woman was slowly losing all concept of time, of life outside these four walls. But then again, isn’t that what Harry wanted?

Harry had not made another visit to her after the first night. He laid down the law, pushed fear into her bones and then left her to sink in her own confusion, weighed down by her own thoughts….a dangerous thing. He withdrew himself from her life years ago, leaving the faintest of trails dancing through her shiny black waves. The man left her the good and the bad; their friendship jumping off a cliff only to be met with jagged rocks, tickles of blood filled with smiles and tears staining their clothes. Their friendship would never be remedied and that probably killed Ryder the most. Harry was no longer the boy she knew, the boy who carried her on his shoulders through childhood.

He was now the black coffee before she added the sugar.  The brewing storm before she washed him clean with droplets rain.  The Devil’s venom was slithering up his arms and across his stiff shoulders; its poisonous sting playing into his weakened state; tearing him apart limb by limb, bone by bone, snaking its way into his thoughts. His thirst for revenge becoming a slithering assassin, an all-consuming idea for his own retribution. One shiny bullet shot on command altered Harry’s course, leading him to the life of darkness.

Hell is empty and all the devils are here.

Ryder sought light even in her darkened room though; drawing on the memories of her closest loved ones; swimming in the feelings of happiness, the touch of passion, the sip of sweet wine and the taste of his lips. Perpetually sentimental for the embrace of tenderness and the warm sunshine hopping across her pale cheeks. She refused to play into Harry’s twisted games of revenge, refused to be a victim of the Howlers empty threats.

The woman broke her time into tiny, manageable pieces; for the whole being entirely overwhelming. As exhaustion crept further towards her she drew strength from the knowing feeling that Liam would fight for her. No matter their continued distance in the past years, she held on to the vision of her older brother, her protector, storming through the bolted door and never letting go of her again. She made promises to fulfill once this was over; to be a better sister, a better team player, to stand next to her only brother instead of across from him. Even with her distant, difficult relationship with the men in her family, she knew they would fight for her and that was the best feeling in the world.

If you were to ask what one thing Ryder drew her light from though, you would receive an instant and definite answer:

Niall.

The sunshiny blonde brought hope to her bruised and battered state. With one blink of the eye she saw his face, complete with lopsided toothy smile and glimmering baby blues that put the stars to shame. With one inhale of murky air she smelled the faint mix of laundry detergent and his cologne; as if she were resting her head against his chest in their bed. With one lick of the lips she could taste the watermelon chap stick he always insisted he didn’t like but stole from her the feeling of his soft lips pressing against her neck and across her collar bone. With one moment of deafening silence she could hear his boisterous, full bellied laugh bouncing off the cold walls. She held on to every memory of their existence together, every touch and every laugh, the luxury of having him constantly within grasp. The thought of being reunited rumbled in her chest making her heart ache for the security he provided.

Ryder shifted on the bed again, pulling herself into an upright position and closer towards the edge to allow her ankle the tiniest bit of relief. The banging and howling slowed, fading into the darkness soon after it began. Ryder rubbed her sore muscles and sleepy eyes, stretching upwards to release the tension in her neck and shoulders. It was then that her stomach rumbled, a reminder of the constant hunger that pained her. It was only a matter of time before someone brought her the standard bowl of chicken and rice and a plastic glass of water. Entering the room and leaving without a single word. Harry and the Howlers had cut off all human interaction and communication, they were isolating her even more than being held captive and chained to a bed could do on its own.

The Howler delivering her meals usually changed, Ryder noticing a pattern which meant they were taking shifts watching her. She had seen three men rotate in and out, all possessing unique body structures and tendencies. A bigger man with a permanent scowl usually thumped through the door, throwing her food on the floor and causing it to splatter everywhere. Going down in size, the next was a muscular boy without the height. He carried himself with confidence, shoulders back and head high but weighted with his unruly hair. The last was a much smaller boy, almost looking like the other two’s younger brother rather than their equal. He lurked along the walls of the room, blending into the shadows with his tiny frame and slumped shoulders. He was the most cautious of the three, placing her meal gently on the floor in front of her but never making eye contact before running out. He didn’t seem to fit the typical Howler reputation, which struck Ryder as odd.

As if on cue, the door locks began to click on the other side. Ryder sat up straighter, shoulders back and jaw tense. Four. Five. Six. The door swung open slowly, a bit of pressure released from the brunette’s body as a small figure snuck his way through a barely open door. He held one bowl and one cup in his hands as he slowly moved forward. Ryder watched his movements; his small steps carefully calculated and shaking hands as if he was almost afraid of the chained-up woman.

“What’s your name?” Ryder spoke quietly, not to startle the boy. He looked up to her for the first time, his light eyes soft. The woman let a small smile glide onto her face, an offering of peace, yet the boy remained silent. “Mine’s Ryder…but you probably already knew that.” She folded her arms in her lap as he placed the bowl on the floor in front of her. “Thank you.” She gave him a gracious head nod and he showed the smallest sign of a smile. Ryder knew he was the easiest alley to acquire in this situation. He might not have much pull when it came to the three in charge but it was a start that gave Ryder another glimmer of hope.

“Bug, out now.” A nasty snarl startled the two, sending the boy running out of the room as if he would pay for his mistake later. A breeze of cold air rushed in, sending shivers through Ryder’s exposed skin, but the coldness of the voice shocked her even more. Every muscle in her body stiffened at his shadow in the doorframe, leaning to one side like the cocky man he was now. Ryder stood her ground at the edge of the bed, refusing to cower from him. “Been a few days huh darlin.”

“Just a few, is that all?” Ryder spoke with the same cockiness he exuded. She tilted her head to the side, a clear signal that she wasn’t about to deal with his shit.

“Oh, so suddenly you’re so tough?” Harry moved further into the room, pushing the door so that only a small crack of light shone through it. “Trying to be little miss badass?” He moved through the room, tapping at one of the lightbulbs and sending it swinging back and forth. The light cast shadows across his face as it swung, only giving Ryder more of a reason to stand her ground. His scare tactics were not going to work on her anymore. “You really think you’re going to win this one?”

“I’m sure as hell not going to let you win.” She spit in his direction. “I know this isn’t the real Haz, I know he would never really hurt me.” She tried to play their friendship again, fingers crossed that even an ounce of her old friend still lived. “You can talk the talk but it’s all just empty threats.” Harry stopped in the middle of the room, chest tight and hands balled into fists.

“You think so?”

“My Haz is still in there somewhere and I know he would never, never intentionally hurt me.”

“You don’t think this is hurting you? Chaining you to a bed, leaving you alone for days on end? Slowly tearing away every layer until you’re an empty blank space with nothing left to offer? No emotions, no memories. You don’t realize that I win no matter how this plays out.” Harry’s tone growled with confidence as Ryder stayed quiet. “I’m going to tear you down; break you into so many pieces that you’ll never be able to be whole again.” He took three steps forward. “I’m sending you back to your brother in a hand me down box, an empty shell of a person. See, he’ll never get the closure of visiting your grave; the pain ever so slowly fading with each passing day. No, he’s going to have to look at the face of his sister, to live with the torture every single day; to be reminded of what he did.” The woman couldn’t help the tears stinging her tormented eyes, the lump building in her throat.

“And that boyfriend of yours? You can say goodbye to him.” Harry came closer and closer until he was towering over her, their knees bumping into each other. “Because, let’s be honest here…” He let out wicked laugh, “who’s going to want to stay with someone so damaged? Someone who can barely feed themselves or even take a piss alone. Who’s going to want that responsibility? Who’s going to dread waking up every morning only to have to care for you? You’re going to be left with nothing.” The tears fell freely down Ryder’s dirty cheeks, Harry’s words slicing through her like razor blades. The thought of Liam having to see her shattered porcelain face every day, or of Niall leaving her in search of a new happiness were more hurtful than any physical pain Harry could cause. “But if you don’t think any of that is hurting you, then maybe we should try a different approach.

Ryder didn’t even have time to look up before Harry was pouncing on her and pushing her weak frame up against the wall. A shriek of pain rocketed from her mouth as her ankle pulled at the restraint; the air being stolen from her lungs due to Harry’s sheer force. He braced himself on his knees, using his thighs to hold the girl’s legs still. Ryder gripped at a veiny arm connected to the strong hand that was wrapped around her neck. Harry pressed further into her windpipe as wheezes and gasp for air filled the room. Ryder’s chest grew tight, fighting through the most basic of instincts to breathe. The man’s eyes filled with animalistic hunger when he used his free hand to grab at the collar of Ryder’s filthy shirt. He released her neck but not before slamming he head against the concrete wall.

Ryder scrambled for air, eyes mechanically closing due to the agony of pain throbbing in her head. Harry used her moment of weakness to rip her shirt down the middle, exposing her black lace bra a bruised belly. Ryder was quickly aware of her now exposed skin, her hands hastily pushing against Harry’s chest, trying to create space between them. This only made Harry push further into her. He gripped both her wrists with such force she could have sworn she heard a bone crack.

“STOP! PLEASE! STOP!” Ryder screamed and pleaded, but Harry’s eyes were as black as night; he was gone. “HAZ!” The raw screams only attracted the man to her more, she was now his pray; a true wolf at heart. “NOOO!” He slid her back against the wall until she was pressed into the mattress once again. Harry dominated over her, in both physical strength and mental. “Haz.” She wept a continuous stream of fresh tears.

There was a small moment of stillness between the two, as if for a split second the true Harry had come back. He stilled on top of her, loosening his grip just enough to still maintain control. Ryder’s chest heaved with sobs as she looked up to his olive-green eyes. The brunette froze under him, unsure if what was happening. Harry let go of one of her wrists and the girl surprisingly stayed still. A soft and gentle hand ran across her tear-stricken face, his thumb brushing away a fallen tear. It was almost as if he cared for her again; as if he was trying to comfort her. “Haz.” She whispered, which was a bad idea.

The man snapped, his body stiffening and eyes fading into black. Ryder started to squirm and fight, kicking her legs in every direction but he held tight to her with such malice. He pinned her arm between his knee and her thigh, limiting her movements and allowing his free hand to explore her stomach. Never in a million years would Ryder imagine being in this situation. For one, being held captive and taken advantage of was not the ideal situation for anyone and caused enough PTSD for a lifetime. But here Ryder was, not only being held against her will but being tortured but her once friend now turned foe.

“This is only step one darlin.” Harry gave her a deadly smirk, his touch leaving her bare skin to reach around to his back pocket. Ryder went rigid beneath him, preparing for the worst, but when his hand came back into view her eyes went wide with fear. With the swift flick of the wrist, a visible silver blade caught the dim light. Ryder fought with all the strength she had left as Harry drew the knife closer in towards her bare stomach, making contact right above her left hipbone.

Shrills of pain seeped out of the room and into the hallway, filling the basement with such agony. The remaining Howlers were on the edge of their seats, such discomfort and apprehension swirling in their glasses of alcohol. The screams only worsened as Louis poured himself another drink. Zayn looked up to his best friend with such hopelessness. It was in both of their personalities to run to the aid of damsel in distress but Harry had forged such a rock between the Howlers in the last few days that they both stayed seated and silent. Their friendship being tested repeatedly at Harry’s show of dominance. Louis still withheld secrets from his best friend, but to keep Harry from going over the edge it was about time they had a heart to heart