#and then youre on the fourth one and the plot kicks in out of nowhere

[dappersautismcreature]

hey sorry this is super outta nowhere but i was scrolling thru the mcytconfessions blog n saw you saying youre a wilbur hater and im genuinely curious as to why?

this isnt me waiting to like. white knight him and bite your face off btw. i like wilbur but this *is* genuine curiosity pls dont be afraid lmfaoksdsdfkhf

ah yeah, sorry nonnie, and no worries. sorry for the rant ahead i just wanna lay it all out.

listen, its pure vibes, i dont really have an explanation for it. i liked him just generally for a while, but i watched a video where he talked about american gun control and it just came off super uck to me. like, a lot of british lefties have this weird thing where they will assume americans are all stupid just for kicks when we've actually been indoctrinated to think the way we do. i guess i just dont like seeing brits have political takes that are just pure "america needs to get its shit together" cause yeah bro we know, focus on whatever the fuck is up with ur government please. I feel like if i talked politics with wilbur soot he would be condescending as shit and basically explain to me what socialism is or whatever when its like, dude,, please. british lefties think they know more than the average young american, which is most of the time not true, or not something to insult someone over. (this is also because he reminds me of a shitty ex friend who was in the states for AMERICAN STUDIES but would just talk on and on and on about how dumb americans were -___-)

and its more than that, i never get idolization of people, like, online people. the closest ive come to it was technoblade maybe? gtws is pretty awesome too, bbh is low level idolization maybe. so it weirds me out when people are just in awe over him, makes my instincts go wild. im really not accusing him of anything, i know this is just the silly brain reacting silly. it just weirds me out. his fans do not know him, nobody's fans know the person, and yet they act like they do, and like he's gods gift to leftism and queerness when he is,, a cishet maybe-aro upperclass man from britain. nothing against him really.

oh, and his fans tick me off because theyre ALWAYS inserting him into things and just. listen, i dont like having to scroll through tons of wilbur fics in the qsmp tag when im just trying to get to some badboyhalo or etoiles centric fics. the man has been on the qsmp for like less than a week of playtime and he's the fourth most tagged character on the qsmp ao3 tag.

not to mention he gets dragged into other plots like "what if this actually happened to wilbur!" or "yeah but what if wilbur was there!" or my most hated "cant wait till this character meets wilbur because i cannot enjoy this media (which is about finding and enjoying a bunch of ccs) if it doesnt have my guy in it!" like i get it, you have a hyperfix or a special interest, ive been there, but maybe then go watch stuff he's actually in, instead of forcing him into a plot he really isnt that big a part of anymore.

people also praised his dsmp writing when it was,, average at best. honestly i think bbh's and the eggpire's writing did way more for the dsmp because they actually tried to include other people in the plot as much as possible, instead of just writing for you and a few of your friends. imo, c!wilbur was an ok character, like, nothing bad, but nothing extraordinary for me. utah is death, ok buddy got it, wow, insane. yeah yeah we've all been to the soul sucking pit of utah, haha i get it. << this is just pure salt ignore that lmao

oh and lovejoy didnt fuckin invent political indie rock, people need to get over themselves on that one.

so yeah, its just a thing of, i cant really bring myself to like him. the brain goes wonky when he's around. kinda wish i didnt like, get angry when he's on screen but idk i cant really stop myself. nothing againstt you if you like him, ill usually tag anyy wilbur neg with #wilbur crit so if you wanna mute that tag. i dont post it too often tho.

[fzzr]

I Can't Stop Comparing Things to How to Raise a Boring Girlfriend

Starting in August 2022 I began a long marathon of catching up on my anime backlog. The second show I watched was Saenai Heroine no Sodatekata (How to Raise a Boring Girlfriend, henceforth Saekano). At the time, I had only watched the first season, so this was me re-watching that and catching up on the rest. I was not ready for what happened next. A saucy show about making a visual novel while surrounded by hot chicks made a sudden turn into an emotionally devastating story about growing as an artist and how easy it is for people to hurt one another and much more. It was powerful. It both made me need to stop and take a look at myself and stay up until 2AM to finish it. I need to talk about it.

A note on the title: "heroine" here is officially translated "girlfriend", but a more useful translation would be "main female love interest".

Summary

Our male viewpoint character, Tomoya Aki, has a fateful encounter with a girl that inspires him to create a galge around her. He recruits his two very talented classmates, artist Eriri Spencer Sawamura and writer Utaka Kasumigaoka. When he realizes that his muse is actually the hopelessly normal Megumi Katou, he resolves to bring her into the circle anyway.

With this premise out of the way, the show kicks off a harem story. The core plotline keeps the count of ladies stable at three. When a fourth is introduced as his cousin late in season 1 and the OH NO alerts go off, don't worry - this has not become an incest anime, she's just here to help with the actual plot. The amount of fanservice is significant, but it's not the sole focus of the show. Had it continued like this, it would have been a well-executed example of the genre and probably sat at 8/10.

But then season 2 happens, and the game comes out in time for Comiket... barely. Things didn't go as well as they could have, and not everyone is quite satisfied with the result. There were even some emotional bruises along the way. Tomoya resolves to give it another shot. At this point... well I don't want to spoil things in detail. This is the moment where Saekano takes a hard left turn into drama. It starts artistically managing the viewer's understanding of each character's point of view. It uses indirection and suspense to build up to one emotional gut punch after another. It allows the characters, and you, to wallow in the impact of what happens. It moves the theme of artistic fulfillment from background to front and center.

From here, I went from merely enjoying myself to absolutely hooked. In many harem shows you can find yourself writhing in pain as it draws out every possible step of progress and then snatches them back. In Saekano, you instead feel genuinely worried, deep down, that things will not work out at all and everyone will be left broken into pieces or incomplete. There are twists - but they're not bullshit romcom twists to make things worse for no reason. Characters hurt each other, unnecessarily and unintentionally but sometimes necessarily and knowingly. No one is forgiven for free. When things do get better, they leave scars. There are antagonists, but even characters who act like heels get empathy and you come to understand them, if not agree with their actions.

Wait, I need to talk about the characters more.

Tomoya enters the picture as the character for the male target audience to imprint on. Eriri is a tsundere with all the option boxes checked - twintails, S-class absolute territory, relatively short, modestly endowed. Utaka is cool, collected, cunning, and cutting. You know the type, she never forgets a slight and makes sure you don't either. Megumi is... um. Megumi is... well she's uh... huh. You riffle through all your binders full of women and she's nowhere to be found. Dandere? No, she's plenty willing to speak her mind when needed. Kuudere? I mean sorta, she knows how to deploy sarcasm, but it's not like she's an ice queen.

No, Megumi, as introduced, is a nothing in particular. How can you base a story on a character without a trope to use as a foundation? Tomoya is at a loss, and if you are used to nothing but remixes of *deres in assorted hair colors and slightly different school uniforms, you are too. I guess instead of stamping a label on her, you're just going to need to get to know her. So let's try.

In many stories, you get to know a character and then you get to see them change. Indeed, that's what happens with every character in Saekano - except Megumi. Eriri has trouble drawing her, because you can't see all of her at once. Instead, like the characters in the show, you have to pull together what you do see and create an image of a complete whole in your mind. You turn to compare your model to the original and... it's a bit off. She's changed. Indeed, she has been changing since the beginning. Even your starting snapshot is a bit blurred. Megumi doesn't move too fast to catch up to - but she is always moving, so you can't quite hold on to what you catch.

Megumi is nothing in particular. Instead, she's herself. Kind but not endlessly selfless. Tolerant but not without limits. Influence from others doesn't fill her like some empty vessel, it just adds to what was already there. Neither clay nor brick, neither water nor ice, not a mere object of affection nor a prize to be won. Megumi Kato is nothing in particular, just like you and I aren't anything in particular either. We're just people.

What is love?

Saekano doesn't believe in love at first sight. You aren't destined for someone just because you saw them from the bottom of a hill. It then spends two seasons and a movie teaching us, and its characters, what it thinks love actually is.

Saekano says love isn't an event, nor a straight road from one place to another. It's not even a maze, with many branching paths but one entrance and exit. Life is a forest, and everyone stumbles through the forest in their own way. You may walk together with someone for a time - but when your paths diverge you will find that love is more than being together. Love is when you change your paths and come together. Your paths are still your own - but you stay close enough to hold hands. Love is knowing whose hand you want to hold.

Conclusion

Saekano is not perfect. There are some weak points, even once the fanservice mostly ends in favor of drama. There are a couple of potentially heart-wrenching twists that turn out to be joke setups, which can hurt your trust a bit. The big theme of personal growth in your art does tie into the romance plot, but they don't blend entirely seamlessly. Early on Tomoya does fulfill some of the tropes of "why does anyone like this guy in the first place," which can be off-putting if your tolerance for that kind of shitty protagonist is low. I assure you that this time, the reason he starts low is to give him room to grow high, and that he does.

But... If you're an artist (by which I mean you express yourself in any creative medium, including writing, music etc.) you should probably watch it. If you've ever burned yourself out, created the best work of your life, and then wondered if it was worth it, this is something you should watch. If you have ever wondered if you've plateaued and had to rediscover your motivation to improve, this show is for you too. Likewise if you've ever hurt someone unintentionally and had to earn back their trust. Or if you've had to hurt someone because the alternative was losing a part of yourself. Or if you've been hurt in that way, and needed to pull yourself back together. If you have ever felt like you were accidentally abusing someone's feelings for you, or allowed your own feelings for someone to be abused, or or or or...

Score: 9/10. It tried to do a great many things, and it did those things. It wobbled a bit getting there. This is almost as close as you can get to a 10 without being there.

Recommendation: Power level requirement is fairly high, so I can’t hard recommend it to everyone. It has a lot of anime tiddy early on, the protagonist starts out as a bit of a shit, and you will miss some things if you're not deep enough in anime culture. Out of the gate it wears the same hat as a harem anime. It does pull troll tricks maybe one or two times too many. If you can, I urge you to look past all that. Just... watch How To Raise A Boring Girlfriend.

Final Thoughts

Oh right, I should explain the title. At the time I finished Saekano, I was maintaining that there could only be one 10/10 anime, and it was Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagann: Lagann-hen. Saekano was so good I had to go back and watch my top rated shows again to compare. This started the train of thought that led to On Rating Anime, and "Perfection" and caused me to re-rate Toradora and Angel Beats up to 10. For the rest of the marathon, I found that something in almost everything I watched caused me to think of Saekano, so it led me to start comparing anime to similar ones... particularly Saekano. At this point it's become a personal meme to find a way to compare things to it, in at least some small way.

[darkdreamtheorist]

Joan’s Parck: Laugh of Leisure (Sling_Set Sep.8.93 AC)

Plot: Haida’s Walking Wild after a spill in Benton-Night’s supply room leaves him on fours recuperating at his aunt’s place while her pet Taz Tony tries to throttle him out of top bunk.

I’ll admit to being a touch guilty for this whole episode. Ida known to get the paperclips before heading to the 3rd FL w/a cart full o’ stationery & snacks if Haida hadn’t freeclimbed the supply rack. I just assumed a feral animal broke in to the building!

Just as I heard pained howls from the 2nd FL closet, Haida was nowhere in that abyss ‘til I saw those ashy paws step in to the light w/a gnarled snout frothing and baring craggly teeth, eyes gleaming bright and furious as if I invaded its quarry. I pounced onto some boxes as I slam the door shut with my hind paw, hiding from the feral scavenger. Thanks to Tom & Jerry cartoons, I trapped that bastard! It’s amazing what a cat-and-mouse show can inspire survival tactics from an unused mop bucket and your own tail. Thank The Ol’Man I have a tail for all trades. Good Job,Slink! :3

Wasn’t after turning on the lights back on do I finally see Haida, completely nude and on fours, whining how he got the tin pail on him. I told him my sorries assuming he was a beastie in the building. No prob on his count as he hands me the box of clips on my pawlm. Just as he stood back on his hind legs to redress and we were heading back to work tho, a shooting pain erupted from behind, each step ached him to his core then back on fours once more. The lit closet showed his clothes on the floor, shoes and socks too, but why?

Ashamed, Haida confessed he clambered onto the rack barefoot getting those clips for me. Slipped out his footwear before climbing for a firmer grip on the iron tower. When he got that box on the fourth shelf, tho, he fell down on his back, just as the rack lurched towards him and a mess of hard office supplies slid down punting his lower back, then the lumbar. When he came to, his wild side musta kicked in and ripped his clothes off clean, made the closet his territory, killing anyone who would go near him.

“That rack was already unstable”, I tell him. “One leg from the set was shorter than the others, made it real top-heavy; the exceeding weight could topple the whole kitten caboodle if some dingus tried grabbing something from the upper racks like you did. There’s a reason we called it Mt. Kilamandril. The monkey that sent it conked out 14 business days after assembly. We didn’t know about the stumpy leg til after Ms. Frisk requisitioned a step ladder to the inventory so we could safely reach the upper shelves”. As I mention our HR supervisor, he was screwed. “I can’t let Aunty Mo see me like this”, he whimpered as he trodded around with an anxious smirk, chuckling in angst, tears rolling down his face. “She sees me naked on fours, she’ll knock my spots off! I’m already reprimanded for scratching my ear with my foot, I don’t want to trod back to the zoo like a common animal when I’m fired!”

He’s not wrong. Walking Wild, in New Gaean parlance, was against Benton-Night’s code of conduct. Any act of instinct or indecdency would cost you your career; you either lived like a human or stay in the woods. I was given an exception for not wearing shoes to work since my sensitive hind paws make it hard to wear heels like my twin aunt Jane, and I can use Slink as a cane when I don’t have Gene’s Spectra-Goggles for my hazy jade eyes, but while browsing the Benton-Night handbook under the Humane Resource Policies, I found a Natural Zoning policy that allowed one spot to be designated as a rec room for our animalistic sides. It was enlisted back in the early ‘70s when workers demanded these hourly breaks to “tame their inner beasts”, a means to curb hostility towards prey and predators for max cooperation, work ethics and workload ouput. Most of our staff are a mix breed of Barban and Narnian, coming from either the zoo, the adjacent park, or living in a Barban or Mobian household as a pet thru adoption licenses. Slap a halved Circene patch on their nape or chest and we’re working class citizens. Narnians would need an ID collar or chip to even get a job, much less walk around on fours in society or be pets, or carry a license to prove their condition for benefits like housing and federal aid. Some, like Ernest the Stimpyesque beaver, are Toons, hybrids born from a Mobian mating with a Narnian or Barban, their offspring come out with five digits or a non-talking animal, sad really.

In any case, I couldn’t stand seeing my coworker break down in such an undignified state. As a first year Intern under HR supervision and acting therapist for the entire Benton-Night Distributing staff, I took a vow to keep the working animal calm, cool and collected to carry on their duties, whether by talking out their pains or taking in the methods my late therapist Dr. Lau Fing implemented on me by speaking to their inner child or letting loose their beastly behavior. I just wish I didn’t have to rub his belly to calm him down offering treats if he was a good boy like aunt Jane does to her adopted daughters Rena and Fico. Embarrassing, I know. Not as awkward as seeing our red-blazened supervisor tap her heeled foot over the mess he made. He tried to stand and get his clothes back on, but his back pain was firmly established. And while she doesn’t want the rest of our staff to wild out, with Haida, she strips down and shifts to a feral stance, nipping his nape to hold him down as we head to HR. She called Dr. Shale for a house call back at the zoo’s Hyena Habitat, requesting her nephew take an off-day from work.

I was in the break room, perched like a lion on a rock, bummed I sent Haida off work I break down the moment with the current occupants partaking in their unnatural habits au naturale: Ned the squirrel opening acorns with his feet by the sink, Ernie the beaver rubbing his weird Stimpy body all over the carpeted floor, and Nora Pinoir, a papillion whose full name I already know, acting as her pet self Princess Piddle, complete with a fancy rosé rhinestone collar, marbled bowls full of mineral water and fancy wet food.

Next day, I carted my lasso-tailed ass to his aunt’s place in the habitat, and lend my best paw to help comfort my crippled coworker.

I’m thankful with some first aide from head of HR and his aunt Moira Frisk, her witchy but caring brown hyena mother Great Aunt Melia, his cousins Wiley and Marcia, and Melia’s husband/pet Pete and his son Jeik Thunderpaw. We also has a surprise visit from the hyena trio from the outskirts of the Pride Lands, Shenzi, Banzai & Ed, and other in-laws they could invite for Step-Tember at the zoo. (species in hyena habitat: 3 spotted, 1 brown, and a mutant striped hyena that’s more a giant Fluppy dog mix of Barkley, Runt & Ushio’s Tora demon w/ two bearcats). […]

[foxstens]

oh

oh this is g o o d

[lumosinlove]

Day Four: 12/17/20

On the fourth day of Ficmas, Hazel gave to thee, Sweater Weather behind the scenes!

Sweater Weather Outtakes. Sometimes I changed it because I feel like the pacing was off, which is the case in the first big chunk, and sometimes I changed it because I just wanted the plot to be different. I wrote a lot of the end of Sweater Weather in the very beginning before most of the fic was even written, just musing to myself about my boys winning the Cup. Enjoy!

TW: Mentions of being outed.

(This takes place right after they were outed.)

Sirius was doing something wrong, and that was not calling Remus for two days.

Sirius stood. “So, we’re settled.”

Alice nodded. “We have our plan. Now, as Arthur says, we just have to wait for a few punches. Good thing you’re familiar with those.”

Arthur stood, too, and slapped Sirius on the back. “I’m proud of you, kid. You’ve let no one own you, and that’s hard for someone in your position. You’ve come a long way. See you on TV, eh?”

Sirius glanced at Remus, who was talking to Alice as they walked out of Coach’s office and into the hallway. “It hasn’t been without help. Merci, Coach. For everything.”

Sirius ducked out into the hallway, half expecting to find Remus gone, disappeared, to find all of this not real. He felt like he was floating above everything, dreading the comments that he knew to expect from others, kicking himself for running, fighting to be brave about it all.

Sirius had a lot of people making decisions for him.

This one was for him to make.

There Remus was, back turned, watching Alice disappear back into her office.

Sirius’ heart pounded as he reached out and lay a gentle hand on Remus’ back. He felt like he was going to collapse with it, with wanting to be alone with him, to say he was sorry, to say how thankful he was to have him. Remus turned and looked at him, face soft. He looked as tired as Sirius felt.

“Come with me?” Sirius asked.

Remus nodded hurriedly and Sirius followed Remus towards the quiet room, where they seemed to be just making memory after memory. Remus shut the door and stayed against it for a moment, hands on the smooth wood.

Sirius took a few quick, nervous breaths. Looking at Remus, he was done trying to protect the both of them by pushing him away. He hurt without Remus and, by the set of Remus’ shoulders, he felt the same.

“Remus,” Sirius stepped forward, and Remus turned.

“I don’t care if I get fired,” Remus said suddenly, all in one breath, back against the door. “I want you. I care about you. Sirius, do whatever you need to, just talk to me about it so I can do what I need to—”

Sirius strode forward and took Remus’ face in his hands. Remus sank into his touch, like it pulled the tension coiled in his muscles. Like it was all he needed.

“I’m scared of a lot of things right now,” Sirius whispered, thumbs stroking across Remus’ cheeks. “But I’m the most scared of losing you.”

Remus’ lip shook, and he brought his hands up to hold Sirius’. “You are?”

Sirius hated that Remus even questioned it. He couldn’t seem to get close enough, pressing them together, feeling Remus’ warmth through his t-shirt.

“Remember what you said? What you said about people who told me I wasn’t good enough?”

Remus’ hands tightened around his wrists, eyes filling. He nodded. “I’d make you forget.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Sirius said softly. “But I didn’t need you to make me forget.” He stroked his thumbs through the slow tears that blinked down Remus’ cheeks. “I needed you, so I could see that they were wrong.”

Remus let out a tear filled breath, curving a hand around the back of Sirius’ neck.

“Re,” Sirius whispered, brushing their noses together. “I see now.”

Remus let out a laugh, half sob. “C’est l’heure?” He twisted his wrist, making his watch flash in the dim light. It’s time? he had asked.

Sirius smiled, tears in his throat, relief in his chest. “Oui, mon vœu.”

Remus pressed up onto his toes and kissed Sirius hard, breath hitching. Sirius let Remus clutch him close, craving the feeling of him after what felt like so long. He wrapped him up, his strong shoulders and slim waist, and buried his nose in his hair, breathing in.

They stayed like that, kissing and close in the semi-darkness. It didn’t matter if anyone walked in, Sirius suddenly realized with a thrill. It didn’t matter at all. He could hold Remus like this in the middle of the street if he wanted. His mother’s face flashed in his mind. The image of a burning jersey, his burning jersey. A chill crept in, but he pushed it back, holding Remus’ warmth closer. He was leaving tonight. He needed all the warmth he could get. It was as if Remus remembered, too, because then he was pulling back and pressing kiss after kiss to Sirius’ mouth, to his cheeks and jaw.

“I’ll miss you,” Sirius whispered. “I wish you were coming with me.”

Remus tucked his face into Sirius’ neck, hands locked around Sirius’ waist, resting at the base of his spine. “Me too.”

“My mother will be there,” Sirius’ voice shook despite himself. “Because my brother.”

“Maybe…” Remus pulled back just enough to look at Sirius. “Maybe it will help to see her. To talk to her. Maybe it will show you that she really has no say in your life. Not anymore.”

Sirius nodded. “I think, maybe, but I also…When I see her, I can’t help it, I get all…”

“Aw, baby,” Remus sighed and pressed his cheek to Sirius’ chest.

“What about you, your family? Have you talked to them?”

Remus made a guilty noise. “I texted them…I don’t know why, I just—I wanted to sort things out with you first. I couldn’t think about anything but you.”

“Remus,” Sirius sighed. “Merde, you’re so…this happened to you, too. How are you, mon loup?”

“Worried about you,” Remus laughed and then pressed his forehead to Sirius’ chest before looking up at him. “I’m…I’m actually okay. This isn’t how I wanted to tell my family but, when I talk to them…I get to talk about you, too.”

Sirius stared at him, smile slow. “Jules.”

Remus laughed again. “Oh my fucking god. I think he’s going to pass out.” He groaned. “God, I hope he didn’t see those pictures, though. That’s…I don’t know. I wish we could have surprised him, or told him together.”

“Maybe he doesn’t know yet,” Sirius offered. “Maybe we can.”

“Maybe,” Remus said, then reached up and wrapped his arms around Sirius’ neck, pulling him in for a kiss. “I’ll call them tonight.”

“Text me so I can call you when I get to the hotel?” Sirius asked hopefully, and Remus nodded.

“You better.”

“You wanna come over and help me pack?”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “You sure you’re gonna get any packing done with me there?”

Sirius shrugged, ducking to brush their mouths together. “Maybe a little.”

Remus kissed him, and they pressed together for a few minutes, mouths hot. Remus laughed breathlessly as Sirius leaned against him, their kisses turning deeper.

“This sounds crazy, given everything,” Sirius said, dragging his mouth across Remus’ jaw. “But I feel—I’m relieved. Are you?”

“Yes,” Remus whispered, tilting his head back so Sirius could kiss more of his neck. “I can have you.”

“You could always have me.”

“Yeah,” Sirius could hear the smile in Remus’ voice. “But now I can have you wherever I want.”

Sirius grinned, biting gently on Remus’ jaw. “I’ll take you back to Sid’s and you can wipe food off my face all you want, cameras be damned.”

Remus laughed out loud. “My dream.”

“Should we get out of this dark room?” Sirius said softly after another lingering kiss.

Remus smiled and nodded.

Here’s a really early piece of dialogue I wrote where the team finds out about Sirius and Remus on the ice after they win the Cup:

“Holy shit,” Finn said tearfully. “You and the fucking Captain. I didn’t even know who I was talking to, did I?”

“No,” Remus laughed, and Finn kissed him right on the cheek.

“Jesus Christ, Loops, we’re in love and we have a Cup.”

“We really do. Proud of you, Harzy. All of you.”

~

“I love you.”

It came out of nowhere, slammed into Remus like a check to the boards, like a gust of pure, clean win across a frozen pond. He was blissful and awake with it.

“I love you,” Sirius said again, whispered against his skin. “I love you, Remus, je t’aime, je t’aime, je t’aime, mon loup, Remus…”

Sirius was gasping with it, as if the words were air themselves.

Remus clutched him, hands fisting his jersey. “I love you. God, of course, of course I love you, too.”

And here’s me almost giving Pascal a career ending injury during the playoffs, which Sirius and Remus overhear the Cubs comforting Logan about. Just incase the discord wants some angsty roads to go down :)

“Oh, sweetheart,” Leo’s voice came gently, followed by a low sob, probably from Logan.

Remus and Sirius looked at each other. Sweetheart Sirius mouthed, and Remus shook his head.

“I’m fine,” Logan said, voice thick. “I’ll be fine, let’s go, we need to play.”

“You’re not fine,” came a third voice, Finn’s, Remus realized. “And you don’t need to be. Lo, c’mere, please let us be here for you. C’mere.”

There was the unmistakable sound of a short kiss, and with that, Remus grabbed Sirius’ arm and pulled back back down the hallway as fast as he could. They ended up in Remus’ office, staring at each other.

“I…” Sirius began. “Okay, I don’t know what we just heard, but…”

“He’s being comforted by his—friends,” Remus said. “That’s all we know because…”

“They haven’t said anything yet.”

[youbloodymadgenius]

Happiness is Everything (Modern!Ivar x reader)

A/N: This wasn’t requested; I needed to give my boy some love, and a strong bond with Hvitserk. It’s nothing but a silly comfort fic.

@geekandbooknerd​ - Thank you for beta reading this for me 💖

@zuxiezendler​ - Thank you 😉🌸 (and you know why)

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

Summary: Ivar doesn't want any more set-ups. Hvitserk’s stubborn girlfriend disagrees.

Warnings: a tiny bit of angst due to Ivar’s temper and insecurities; an obvious lack of plot; lack of creativity; fluff+++.

Words: 2575

Stifling a hiss of pain, Ivar flops down on the couch, leaning his crutch against its armrest. 

 "Here." Hvitserk joins him, handing him a beer before gulping a long sip of his. "So, brother," Hvitserk's face is slightly crumpled as he looks at him, "There's a last-minute change." 

 With a tight-lipped expression on his face, Ivar frowns. He hates last-minute changes with a passion. "What are you talking about, Hvitserk?" He asks curtly while massaging his right thigh absently. 

 "Thora will be with us tonight." Hvitserk shrugs, his discomfort obvious. 

 "Okay." Ivar tilts his head, confused. Every Thursday night, he and his brother spend the night together. Usually at Hvitserk’s place, eating frozen pizzas – a lot of them, Hvitserk being Hvitserk. Most of the time, Thora, who enjoys spending time with her friends, leaves them alone. Sometimes she stays home though, and honestly, it's fine. The truth is, he likes Thora. She's smart and funny, and uncomplicated. Sure, he didn't warm to her right away. It took time. But now, it's okay. He probably won't say it out loud, but yeah, he likes her.

 "So…" Raising a brow, Ivar takes a sip of his beer, "It's no big deal." As Hvitserk keeps silent, Ivar scrutinizes him. His brother is clearly nervous and not at ease at all. Ivar slowly licks his lips. "What are you not telling me, brother?" He knows he's right when Hvitserk lowers his gaze.

 "Well…" Hvitserk clears his throat, "She won't be alone."

A wide-eyed look on his face, Ivar snarls, pursing his lips. "What does that mean, Hvitserk?" The icy cold tone of his voice matches his hard stare, his knuckles turning white as he clenches his hands into fists. 

 Hvitserk winces, "You know what it means, brother," before taking a seat in the armchair across from Ivar, the small coffee table between them suddenly highly appreciated. One can never be too careful when facing Ivar's anger. 

 "Are you fucking kidding me?" Clenching his jaw, Ivar bangs his fist on the table, and Hvitserk immediately leans forward, catching his brother's beer just before it falls down. 

 "I'm not, Ivar. Listen, I'm sorry but Tho–"

 Ivar cuts him off, running nervously his hands through his hair. "I can't believe it! Remember the fiasco with Thora's cousin? And then with her colleague? What was her name? Livia? Lisa? See, she didn’t even stay long enough for me to remember. Anyway, I thought I was pretty clear after that, wasn't I? Maybe you and your girlfriend should go and check your hearing, what do you think, hm, brother?" His voice dripping with sarcasm, Ivar gives Hvitserk dagger eyes, his pointer finger tapping the side of his head. "No more set-ups. That's what I said, right? Sounds pretty clear, huh? Do I need to tell it again, brother? Look at my mouth, I wouldn't want you to miss it this time,” He points to his lips then in a sarcastic manner, “No. More. Set-ups. No. More. Blind. Dates." Bottom lip quivering, Ivar, who's boiling mad, struggles to hold back his anger.

 "I know, brother…" Hvitserk swallows, rubbing his hand over his face, "but you know Thora means well, don't you? I briefly met Y/N once and honestly, she seemed nice enough. Plus, Thora's not really setting you up. We'll be together, the four of us, here, just eating pizza, it hardly counts as a date, don't you think?"

 Disgruntled, Ivar heaves an exasperated sigh, his nostrils flaring. "Stop playing dumb, Hvit, and don't tell me you've never heard of double dates!" He stares at his brother, his pupils dilated, shading his eyes darker blue. "Anyway, it doesn't matter." As he reaches for his crutch, a scowl on his face, Hvitserk stands up, his brow furrowed. "What are you doing?"

 "Isn't that obvious?" Ivar mocks him while adjusting his legs in front of him. "I'm leaving!" Shifting his butt forward, he laces his left arm through the metal loop of his crutch, places his right hand on the coffee table, and then slowly hauls himself to his feet, grunting and swearing under his breath. He has a false start, where it seems he's going to fall right back onto the couch, but Hvitserk catches him skilfully, gripping his upper right arm. As soon as he's sure his baby brother has found his balance, Hvitserk releases his arm and Ivar gives him a tight, thank-you smile. 

 Hvitserk barely nods, as if nothing happened. And gosh, Ivar may be mad at him about this stupid set-up-non-set-up thing, but right now he's feeling mostly grateful. His brother not making a big deal out of his struggles never fails to amaze him.

With any other of his brothers, it wouldn't have been the same. 

Bjorn would have looked at him as if he were an utter failure, and then maybe helped him – out of pity, Ivar is sure of that – but not without paternally patting him on the shoulder; or even worse, on the head. The thought makes him cringe and he shakes his head, chasing it away. Bjorn is no longer around anyway, busy traveling around the world with his fourth wife. Or maybe it's the fifth? Ivar lost count a long time ago. 

 Sigurd would have kicked his crutch out from under him while Ubbe would have forced him to sit down, hovering beside him for far too long, afraid he would slip or stumble, or break a bone. Between Ubbe and Sigurd, between plague and cholera, Ivar is honestly not sure which one is better. Or worse. After all, it's all a matter of perspective. 

 Fortunately, Hvitserk – his favourite brother, and it is no coincidence – never treats him differently; never belittles him; never mothers nor smothers him. With him, Ivar feels like he's normal.

 Gratefulness flooding his mind, a pang of guilt suddenly hits him. He knows that if he leaves, he will put his brother in a difficult position. Though his resolve remains unshaken, Ivar puts a hand on his brother's shoulder, and when he speaks again, it's in a softer voice. "Listen, brother, just tell them I cancelled because I wasn't feeling well, okay?"

 Technically speaking, it's not even a lie. Today has been what his beloved mother would have called a 'bad leg day'. The pain coursing through his lower limbs worse and the muscles stiffer than usual, his right leg barely moving due to its swollen joints, he had taken a double dose of painkillers earlier, regrettably with little to no effect.

 "Well, brother," Looking out of the window, Hvitserk grimaces, an uneasy grin on the corner of his lips, "I'm afraid it's too late." 

 As if on cue, the door busts open and a girly chuckle can be heard. Ivar clenches his jaw and tightens his grip on the handle of his crutch. As you and Thora take off your coats and shoes in the doorway, Hvitserk mutters, his mouth on his brother's ear, "Behave Ivar, please. For my sake." 

 Ivar snorts, exhaling deeply. "I'll try." He closes his eyes and, shaking his head, he mumbles, fighting a lump in his throat. "It's… It's not that easy. Fuck Hvitserk, you don't even know…I wish I wasn’t so angry all the time. I… I might have been happy." His voice, barely a whisper at this point, cracks at the end, and he hates himself for that.  

 Astounded, Hvitserk isn't even sure he heard right. There's no time left to ask Ivar to repeat himself though, so he somewhat haphazardly decides to comfort him, nevertheless. "You'll get there, brother." He eventually breathes, still stunned by his brother's unexpected admission.

  "We're coming!!" Unaware of the tension in the room, Thora shouts enthusiastically before crossing it in two long strides. All smiles, she joins the brothers, winking at her lover and squeezing his hand, and gives Ivar a peck on the cheek followed by a wholehearted hug. She then steps away, gesturing toward you as Hvitserk wraps his arm around her shoulders. "Ivar, this is Y/N."

 Reluctantly, Ivar looks in your direction and the moment he sets his eyes on you, his breath catches in his throat and he knows he's screwed. Already smitten. Gods, you're glowing and insanely beautiful. He barely hears Thora's next words. "And Y/N, this is Ivar, Hvitserk's little brother."

 A beaming smile on your face, you wave at him before taking two shy steps forward. "Hello, Ivar." Even your voice is wonderful, sweet, and silky, and he can't help but smile back at you, annoyed with himself for being so weak. 

 Even if he can see the sparkle in your eyes as you look at him, even if your smile is devastating, he knows better. 

 It won't last. It can't.

 For now, standing tall in his brother's living room, he's aware you surely find him attractive. With no false modesty, Ivar knows about his good looks, his huge blue eyes his greatest asset. Of course, you must have noticed the crutch, but the crutch per se is barely a turn-off. You can't see his titanium leg braces, which he stubbornly wears under his pants, even if they often bruise the thin and delicate skin of his calves. You can't see his crippling pain, his struggles. You can't see his distorted bones and his hideous legs. You can't see how disabled, how crippled he really is. But he knows that as soon as he takes a step, you'll get a small glimpse, and then the sparkle will leave your eyes, replaced at best by polite indifference, at worst by pity and disgust. 

 Yet, there's nowhere to hide from the inevitable. So, he decisively closes the gap between you and him, leaning heavily on his crutch, dragging his useless right leg behind him, and eventually standing right in front of you, he extends his hand. "Nice to meet you." His gaze never leaves your face, Ivar awaiting for you to avert your eyes, but you surprisingly don't. And as you reach out and offer him a firm handshake, your smile never falters, the sparkle still dancing in your eyes. 

 *** One year later ***

 You stir and turn toward him, your hand searching and finding his chest, and then lay your head on his shoulder. Groggy with sleep, you just mumble his name, eyes still closed, before letting out a content sigh and Ivar can't help but smile; you're so adorable.  

 Wrapping his arm around your waist, he draws you closer, running his fingers along your back and pressing his lips to your head. Rewarded by kisses in the crook of his neck, his free hand settles on your hip, your skin warm and smooth under his fingertips. "Hi," he greets you and buries his nose in your hair, deeply inhaling your scent.

 "Hi." You eventually mumble with a raspy voice, now peppering light kisses all over his broad torso. "What were you doing, my love?" Your eyes flutter open and, propping yourself up on your elbow, your other hand flat on his chest, you offer him a warm smile. There's so much love in your eyes, it takes his breath away. 

 "I was remembering." Ivar smiles fondly at you, grabbing your hand and bringing it to his mouth. "Do you know what day it is?" He asks, gently kissing your knuckles one after the other. 

 "How could I have forgotten?" You scoot even closer, your breast against his chest, your mouth barely an inch from his. "Today is the anniversary of the day we met, my love. That's what you were thinking about?"

 Ivar nods before laying you down on the bed tenderly. He then sits up, running his hands through his hair. "I remember as though it were yesterday, you know? I still can't believe you didn't run away." Sitting behind him, you wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his shoulders, trapping him in your embrace, in your love. "You stayed…", his voice trembles as he gestures to his legs, hidden under the sheets, "… you stayed in spite of… of them…" He swallows loudly and your heart aches.

 Resting your head on his left shoulder, you shake your head. "No, my love, I didn’t stay in spite of your legs, but because of them." 

 Ivar is looking downward but as soon as the words escape your lips, he snaps his head to the side, a frown flitting across his face, and gives you a confused and slightly upset look. "What do you… What do you mean?" He stammers, suddenly tense.

 Shifting in the bed, you carefully straddle him, tilting his chin with a curled finger and forcing him to meet your gaze. "Don't get me wrong, Ivar. I'm not especially attracted to your legs. It's not some kind of weird fetish. I stayed because of what is in here." You put your finger on his forehead, and then over his heart. "And here. But your legs made you who you are. And you're different. A good kind of different. You don't think like other men. That's what I love the most about you. You're unpredictable; you always surprise me. You wouldn't have been who you are without your legs." A gentle hand sliding under the sheets, your fingers graze his scarred skin. "With two working legs, who knows what you would have been. You probably would have been a presumptuous womanizer like Bjorn. Or you might have been as boring as Ubbe; as careless as Hvitserk; as annoying as Sigurd. You are who you are, infuriating, smart, and stubborn, and, I must say, breathtakingly handsome, and I love you exactly the way you are." 

 Ivar just looks at you for a long time, a small smile playing on his lips. Raising his right hand, he cups your face. "Never stop telling me you love me, Y/N. Please..." You never saw him so willingly vulnerable before, and it breaks your heart – you never want him to doubt himself – as much as it fills you with joy – he trusts you enough to share his insecurities with you. 

 You answer him without missing a beat. "I won't. I love you more than my own life. I love you bigger than the sky and its stars, I love you to the moon and back. I love you like I never thought I could. Loving you is a blessing, a precious gift, the meaning of my life. I love you and only you, Ivar Lothbrok."

 Blinking a few times, Ivar heaves a shuddering breath. Tears come to his bright blue eyes and the expression on his face is unreadable; fragile and strong all at once. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but then closes it. Staring into space, he seems lost.

 Stroking his cheek, you bring him back to the here and now, back to you, kissing his earlobe, his jaw, his neck, before returning briefly to his mouth. "What is it, Ivar?"

 Your lover shrugs, "Nothing, really," and pulls you closer, his hands on your back, his breath on your face, his manly scent enticing you. "Or more accurately…", he whispers in your ear, "… Nothing, yet everything." 

 Not understanding what he's getting at, you keep quiet, just staring at him, confusion obvious in your eyes. He then offers you a mind-blowing smile, and your heart nearly jumps out through your mouth at his next words. 

 "I may be happy. Actually, I think I am."

 🛡⚔️🛡

@honestsycrets​ @lisinfleur​ @waiting4inspiration​ @saldelys​ @gearhead66​ @inforapound​ @readsalot73​ @milkkygirls​ @xbellaxcarolinax​ @shannygoatgruff​ @zuxiezendler​ @a-mess-of-fandoms​ @hecohansen31​ @lonewolf471​ @ivarthebloodyking​ @fuckindiva​ @tgrrose​ @didiintheblog​ @peachyboneless​ @funmadnessandbadassvikings​ @ethereallysimple​ @destynelseclipsa​ @coco2315​ @mlchael-guerin​ @pieces-by-me​

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Annette: The AD Devotee Review

So I saw Annette on its premiere night in Cannes and I’m still trying to process and make sense of those 2.5 hours of utter insanity. I have no idea where to begin and this is likely going to become an unholy length by the time I’m finished, so I apologize in advance. But BOY I’ve got a lot to parse through!!

Let’s start here: Adam’s made plenty of weird movies. The Dead Don’t Die? The Man Who Killed Don Quixote? There are definitely Terry Gilliam-esque elements of the unapologetically absurd and fantastical in Annette, but NOTHING comes close to this film. To put it bluntly, nothing I write in this post can prepare you for the eccentric phantasmagoria you’re about to sit through.

While the melodies conveying the story – at times lovely and haunting, at times whimsical, occasionally blunt and simple – add a unique sense of the surreal, the fact that it’s all presented in song somehow supplies the medium for this bizarre concoction of disparate elements and outlandish storytelling to all coalesce into a single genre-defying, disbelief-suspending whole. That’s certainly not to say there weren’t a few times when I quietly chortled to myself and mouthed “what the fuck” from behind my mask when things took an exceeding turn to the outrageous. This movie needs to be permitted a bit of leeway in terms of quality judgments, and traditional indicators certainly won’t apply. I would say part of its appeal (and ultimately its success) stems from its lack of interest in appealing to traditional arbiters of film structure and viewing experience. The movie lingers in studies of discomfiture (I’ll return to this theme); it presents all its absurdities with brazen pride rather than temperance; and its end is abrupt and utterly jarring. Yet somehow, at the end of it, I realized I’d been white-knuckling that rollercoaster ride the whole way through and loved every last twist and turn.

A note on the structure of this post before I dive in: I’ve written out a synopsis of the whole film (for those spoiler-hungry people) and stashed it down at the bottom of this post, so no one trying to avoid spoilers has to scroll through. If you want to read, go ahead and skip down to that before reading the discussion/analysis. If I have to reference a specific plot point, I’ll label it “Spoiler #___” and those who don’t mind being spoiled can check the correlating numbers in my synopsis to see which part I’m referencing. Otherwise, my discussion will be spoiler-free! I do detail certain individual scenes, but hid anything that would give away key developments and/or the ending.

To start, I’ll cut to what I’m sure many of you are here for: THE MUSICAL SEX SCENES. You want detailed descriptions? Well let’s fucking go because these scenes have been living in my head rent-free!!

The first (yes, there are two. Idk whether to thank Mr. Carax or suggest he get his sanity checked??) happens towards the end of “We Love Each Other So Much.” Henry carries Ann to the bed with her feet dangling several inches off the floor while she has her arms wrapped around his shoulders. (I maybe whimpered a tiny bit.) As they continue to sing, you first see Ann spread on her back on the bed, panting a little BUT STILL SINGING while Henry’s head is down between her thighs. The camera angle is from above Ann’s head, so you can clearly see down her body and exactly what’s going on. He lifts his head to croon a line, then puts his mouth right back to work. 

And THEN they fuck – still fucking singing! They’re on their sides with Henry behind her, and yes there is visible thrusting. Yes, the thrusting definitely picks up speed and force as the song reaches its crescendo. Yes, it was indeed EXTREMELY sensual once you got over the initial shock of what you’re watching. Ann kept her breasts covered with her own hands while Henry went down on her, but now his hands are covering them and kneading while they’re fucking and just….. It’s a hard, blazing hot R rating. I also remember his giant hand coming up to turn her head so he can kiss her and ladkjfaskfjlskfj. Bring your smelling salts. I don’t recommend sitting between two older ladies while you’re watching – KINDA RUINED THE BLATANT, SMOKING HOT ADAM PORN FOR ME. Good god, choose your viewing buddy wisely!

The second scene comes sort of out of nowhere – I can’t actually recall which song it was during, but it pops up while Ann is pregnant. Henry is again eating her out and there’s not as much overt singing this time, but he has his giant hands splayed over her pregnant belly while he’s going to town and whew, WHEW TURN ON THE AIR CONDITIONING PLEASE. DID THE THEATER INCREASE IN TEMPERATURE BY 10 DEGREES, YOU’RE DAMN RIGHT IT DID.

Whew. I think you’ll be better primed to ~enjoy~ those scenes when you know they’re coming, otherwise it’s just so shocking that by the time you’ve processed “Look at Adam eating pussy with reckless abandon” it’s halfway over already. God speed, my fellow rats, it’s truly something to witness!!

Okay. Right. Ahem. Moving right on along….

I’ll kick off this discussion with the formal structure of the film. It’s honestly impossible to classify. I have the questionable fortune of having been taken to many a strange avant-garde operas and art exhibitions by my parents when I was younger, and the strongest parallel I found to this movie was melodramatic opera stagings full of flamboyant flourishes, austere set pieces, and prolonged numbers where the characters wallow at length in their respective miseries. This movie has all the elevated drama, spectacle, and self-aggrandizement belonging to any self-professed rock opera. Think psychedelic rock opera films a la The Who’s Tommy, Hair, Phantom of the Paradise, and hell, even Rocky Horror. Yes, this film really is THAT weird.

But Annette is also in large part a vibrant, absurdist performance piece. The film is intriguingly book-ended by two scenes where the lines blur between actor and character; and your own role blurs between passive viewer and interactive audience. The first scene has the cast walking through the streets of LA (I think?), singing “So May We Start?” directly to the camera in a self-aware prologue, smashing the fourth wall from the beginning and setting up the audience to play a direct role in the viewing experience. Though the cast then disburse and take up their respective roles, the sense of being directly performed to is reinforced throughout the film. This continues most concretely through Henry’s multiple stand-up comedy performances.

Though he performs to an audience in the film rather than directly to live viewers, these scenes are so lengthy, vulgar, and excessive that his solo performance act becomes an integral part of defining his character and conveying his arc as the film progresses. These scenes start to make the film itself feel like a one-man show. The whole shtick of Henry McHenry’s “Ape of God” show is its perverse irreverence and swaggering machismo. Over the span of what must be a five minute plus scene, Henry hacks up phlegm, pretends to choke himself with his microphone cord, prances across the stage with his bathrobe flapping about, simulates being shot, sprinkles many a misanthropic, charmless monologues in between, and ends by throwing off his robe and mooning the audience before he leaves the stage. (Yes, you see Adam’s ass within the film’s first twenty minutes, and we’re just warming up from there.) His one-man performances demonstrate his egocentrism, penchant for lowbrow and often offensive humor, and the fact that this character has thus far profited from indulging in and acting out his base vulgarities.

While never demonstrating any abundance of good taste, his shows teeter firmly towards the grotesque and unsanctionable as his marriage and mental health deteriorate. This is what I’m referring to when I described the film as a study in discomfiture. As he deteriorates, the later iterations of his stand-up show become utterly unsettling and at times revolting. The film could show mercy and stop at one to two minutes of his more deranged antics, but instead subjects you to a protracted display of just how insane this man might possibly be. In Adam’s hands, these excessive, indulgent performance scenes take on disturbing but intriguing ambiguity, as you again wonder where the performance ends and the real man begins. When Henry confesses to a crime during his show and launces into an elaborate, passionate reenactment on stage, you shift uncomfortably in your seat wondering how much of it might just be true. Wondering just how much of an animal this man truly is.

Watching this film as an Adam fan, these scenes are unparalleled displays of his range and prowess. He’s in turns amusing and revolting; intolerable and pathetic; but always, always riveting. I couldn’t help thinking to myself that for the casual, non Adam-obsessed viewer, the effect of these scenes might stop at crass and unappealing. But in terms of the sheer range and power of acting on display? These scenes are a damn marvel. Through these scenes alone, his performance largely imbues the film with its wild, primal, and vaguely menacing atmosphere.

His stand-up scenes were, to me, some of the most intense of the film – sometimes downright difficult to endure. But they’re only a microcosm of the R A N G E he exhibits throughout the film’s entirety. Let’s talk about how he’s animalistic, menacing, and genuinely unsettling to watch (Leos Carax described him as “feline” at some point, and I 100% see it); and then with a mere subtle twitch of his expression, sheen of his eyes, or slump of his shoulders, he’s suddenly a lost, broken thing.  

Henry McHenry is truly to be reviled. Twitter might as well spare their breath and announce he’s already cancelled. He towers above the rest of the cast with intimidating, predatory physicality; he is prone to indulgence in his vices; and he constantly seems at risk of releasing some wild, uncontrollable madness lingering just beneath his surface. But as we all well know, Adam has an unerring talent for lending pathos to even the most objectively condemnable characters.

In a repeated refrain during his first comedy show, the audience keeps asking him, “Why did you become a comedian?” He dodges the question or gives sarcastic answers, until finally circling back to the true answer later in the film. It was something to the effect of: “To disarm people. It’s the only way I can tell the truth without it killing me.” Even for all their sick spectacle, there are also moments in his stand-up shows of disarming vulnerability and (seeming) honesty. In a similar moment of personal exposition, he confesses his temptation and “sympathy for the abyss.” (This phrase is hands down my favorite of the film.) He repeatedly refers to his struggle against “the abyss” and, at the same time, his perceived helplessness against it. “There’s so little I can do, there’s so little I can do,” he sings repeatedly throughout the film - usually just after doing something horrific.

Had he been played by anyone else, the first full look of him warming up before his show - hopping in place and punching the air like some wannabe boxer, interspersing puffs of his cigarette with chowing down on a banana – would have been enough for me to swear him off. His archetype is something of a cliché at this point – a brusque, boorish man who can’t stomach or preserve the love of others due to his own self-loathing. There were multiple points when it was only Adam’s face beneath the character that kept my heart cracked open to him. But sure enough, he wedged his fingers into that tiny crack and pried it wide open. The film’s final few scenes show him at his chin-wobbling best as he crumbles apart in small, mournful subtleties.

(General, semi-spoiler ahead as to the tone of the film’s ending – skip this paragraph if you’d rather avoid.) For a film that professes not to take itself very seriously (how else am I supposed to interpret the freaky puppet baby?), it delivers a harsh, unforgiving ending to its main character. And sure enough, despite how much I might have wanted to distance myself and believe it was only what he deserved, I found myself right there with him, sharing his pain. It is solely testament to Adam’s tireless dedication to breathing both gritty realism and stubborn beauty into his characters that Henry sank a hook into some piece of my sympathy.

Not only does Adam have to be the only actor capable of imbuing Henry with humanity despite his manifold wrongs, he also has to be the only actor capable of the wide-ranging transformations demanded of the role. He starts the movie with long hair and his full refrigerator brick house physique. His physicality and size are actively leveraged to engender a sense of disquiet and unpredictability through his presence. He appears in turns tormented and tormentor. There were moments when I found myself thinking of Conan the Barbarian, simply because his physical presence radiates such wild, primal energy (especially next to tiny, dainty Marion and especially with that long hair). Cannot emphasize enough: The raw sex appeal is off the goddamn charts and had me – a veteran fangirl of 3+ years - shook to my damn core.

The film’s progression then ages him – his hair cut shorter and his face and physique gradually becoming more gaunt. By the film’s end, he has facial prosthetics to make him seem even more stark and borderline sickly – a mirror of his growing internal torment. From a muscular, swaggering powerhouse, he pales and shrinks to a shell of a man, unraveling as his face becomes nearly deformed by time and guilt. He is in turns beautiful and grotesque; sensual and repulsive. I know of no other actor whose face (and its accompanying capacity for expressiveness) could lend itself to such stunning versatility.

Quick note here that he was given a reddish-brown birthmark on the right side of his face for this film?? It becomes more prominent once his hair is shorter in the film’s second half. I’m guessing it was Leos’ idea to make his face even more distinctive and riveting? If so, joke’s on you, Mr. Carax, because we’re always riveted. ☺

I mentioned way up at the beginning that the film is bookended by two scenes where the lines blur between actor and character, and between reality and performance. This comes full circle at the film’s end, with Henry’s final spoken words (this doesn’t give any plot away but skip to the next paragraph if you would rather avoid!) being “Stop watching me.” That’s it. The show is over. He has told his last joke, played out his final act, and now he’s done living his life as a source of cheap, unprincipled laughs and thrills for spectators. The curtain closes with a resounding silence.

Now, I definitely won’t have a section where I talk (of course) about the Ben Solo parallels. He’s haunted by an “abyss” aka darkness inside of him? Bad things happened when he finally gave in and stared into that darkness he knew lived within him? As a result of those tragedies, (SPOILER – Skip to next paragraph to avoid) he then finds himself alone and with no one to love or be loved by? NO I’M DEFINITELY NOT GOING TO TALK ABOUT IT AT ALL, I’M JUST FINE HERE UNDER MY MOUNTAINS OF TISSUES.

Let’s talk about the music! The film definitely clocks in closer to a rock opera than musical, because almost the entire thing is conveyed through ongoing song, rather than self-contained musical numbers appearing here and there. This actually helps the film’s continuity and pacing, by keeping the characters perpetually in this suspended state of absurdity, always propelled along by some beat or melody. Whenever the film seems on the precipice of tipping all the way into the bleak and dark, the next whimsical tune kicks in to reel us all blessedly back. For example, after (SPOILER #1) happens, there’s a hard cut to the bright police station where several officers gather around Henry, bopping about and chattering on the beat “Questions! We have a few questions!”

Adam integrates his singing into his performance in such a way that it seems organic. I realized after the film that I never consciously considered the quality of his singing along the way. For all that I talked about the film maintaining the atmosphere of a fourth wall-defying performance piece, Adam’s singing is so fully immersed in the embodiment of his character that you almost forget he’s singing. Rather, this is simply how Henry McHenry exists. His stand-up scenes are the only ones in the film that do frequently transition back and forth between speaking and singing, but it’s seamlessly par for the course in Henry’s bizarre, dour show. He breaks into his standard “Now laugh!” number with uninterrupted sarcasm and contempt. There were certainly a few soft, poignant moments when his voice warbled in a tender vibrato you couldn’t help noticing – but otherwise, the singing was simply an extension of that full-body persona he manages to convey with such apparent ease and naturalism.

On the music itself: I’ll admit that the brief clip of “We Love Each Other So Much” we got a few weeks ago made me a tad nervous. It seemed so cheesy and ridiculous? But okay, you really can’t take anything from this movie out of context. Otherwise it is, indeed, utterly ridiculous. Not that none of it is ever ridiculous in context either, but I’m giving you assurances right now that it WORKS. Once you’re in the flow of constant singing and weirdness abound, the songs sweep you right along. Some of the songs lack a distinctive hook or melody and are moreso rhythmic vehicles for storytelling, but it’s now a day later and I still have three of the songs circulating pleasantly in my head. “We Love Each Other So Much” was actually the stand out for me and is now my favorite of the soundtrack. It’s reprised a few times later in the film, growing increasingly melancholy each time it is echoed, and it hits your heart a bit harder each time. The final song sung during (SPOILER #2), though without a distinctive melody to lodge in my head, undoubtedly left me far more moved than a spoken version of this scene would have. Adam’s singing is so painfully desperate and earnest here, and he takes the medium fully under his command.

Finally, it does have to be said that parts of this film veer fully towards the ridiculous and laughable. The initial baby version of the Annette puppet-doll was nothing short of horrifying to me. Annette gets more center-stage screen time in the film’s second half, which gives itself over to a few special effects sequences which look to be flying out at you straight from 2000 Windows Movie Maker. The scariest part is that it all seems intentional. The quality special effects appear when necessary (along with some unusual and captivating time lapse shots), which means the film’s most outrageous moments are fully in line with its guiding spirit. Its extravagant self-indulgence nearly borders on camp.

...And with that, I’ve covered the majority of the frantic notes I took for further reflection immediately after viewing. It’s now been a few days, and I’m looking forward to rewatching this movie when I can hopefully take it in a bit more fully. This time, I won’t just be struggling to keep up with the madness on screen. My concluding thoughts at this point: Is it my favorite Adam movie? Certainly not. Is it the most unforgettable? Aside from my holy text, The Last Jedi, likely yes. It really is the sort of thing you have to see twice to even believe it. And all in all, I say again that Adam truly carried this movie, and he fully inhabits even its highest, most ludicrous aspirations. He’s downright abhorrent in this film, and that’s exactly what makes him such a fucking legend.

I plan to make a separate post in the coming days about my experience at Cannes and the Annette red carpet, since a few people have asked! I can’t even express how damn good it feels to be globetrotting for Adam-related experiences again. <3

Thanks so much for reading! Feel free to ask me any further questions at all here or on Twitter! :)

*SYNOPSIS INCLUDED BELOW. DO NOT READ FURTHER IF AVOIDING SPOILERS!*

Synopsis: Comedian Henry McHenry and opera singer Ann Defrasnoux are both at the pinnacle of their respective success when they fall in love and marry. The marriage is happy and passionate for a time, leading to the birth of their (puppet) daughter, Annette. But tabloids and much of the world believe the crude, brutish Henry is a poor match for refined, idolized Ann. Ann and Henry themselves both begin to feel that something is amiss – Henry gradually losing his touch for his comedy craft, claiming that being in love is making him ill. He repeatedly and sardonically references how Ann’s opera career involves her “singing and dying” every night, to the point that he sees visions of her “dead” body on the stage. Meanwhile, Ann has a nightmare of multiple women accusing Henry of abusive and violent behavior towards them, and she begins growing wary in his presence. (He never acts abusively towards her, unless you count that scene when he tickles her feet and licks her toes while she’s telling him to stop??? Yeah I know, WILD.)

The growing sense of unease, that they’re both teetering on the brink of disaster, culminates in the most deranged of Henry’s stand-up comedy performances, when he gives a vivid reenactment of killing his wife by “tickling her to death.” The performance is so maudlin and unsettling that you wonder whether he’s not making it up at all, and the audience strongly rebukes him. (This is the “What is your problem?!” scene with tiddies out. The full version includes Adam storming across the stage, furiously singing/yelling, “What the FUCK is your problem?!”) But when Henry arrives home that night, drunk and raucous, Ann and Annette are both unharmed.

The couple take a trip on their boat, bringing Annette with them. The boat gets caught in a storm, and Henry drunkenly insists that he and Ann waltz in the storm. She protests that it’s too dangerous and begs him to see sense. (SPOILER #1) The boat lurches when Henry spins her, and Ann falls overboard to her death. Henry rescues Annette from the sinking boat and rows them both to shore. He promptly falls unconscious, and a ghost of Ann appears, proclaiming her intention to haunt Henry through Annette. Annette (still a toddler at this point and yes, still a wooden puppet) then develops a miraculous gift for singing, and Henry decides to take her on tour with performances around the world. He enlists the help of his “conductor friend,” who had been Ann’s accompanist and secretly had an affair with her before she met Henry.

Henry slides further into drunken debauchery as the tour progresses, while the Conductor looks after Annette and the two grow close. Once the tour concludes, the Conductor suggests to Henry that Annette might be his own daughter – revealing his prior affair with Ann. Terrified by the idea of anyone finding out and the possibility of losing his daughter, Henry drowns the Conductor in the pool behind his and Ann’s house. Annette sees the whole thing happen from her bedroom window.

Henry plans one last show for Annette, to be held in a massive stadium at the equivalent of the Super Bowl. But when Annette takes the stage, she refuses to sing. Instead, she speaks and accuses Henry of murder. (“Daddy kills people,” are the actual words – not that that was creepy to hear as this puppet’s first spoken words or anything.)

Henry stands trial, during which he sees an apparition of Ann from when they first met. They sing their regret that they can’t return to the happiness they once shared, until the apparition is replaced by Ann’s vengeful spirit, who promises to haunt Henry in prison. After his sentencing (it’s not clear what the sentence was, but Henry definitely isn’t going free), Annette is brought to see him once in prison. Speaking fully for the first time, she declares she can’t forgive her parents for using her: Henry for exploiting her voice for profit and Ann for presumably using her to take vengeance on Henry. (Yes, this is why she was an inanimate doll moving on strings up to this point – there was some meaning in that strange, strange artistic choice. She was the puppet of her parents’ respective egotisms.) The puppet of Annette is abruptly replaced by a real girl in this scene, finally enabling two-sided interaction and a long-missed genuine connection between her and Henry, which made this quite the emotional catharsis. (SPOILER #2) It concludes with Annette still unwilling to forgive or forget what her parents have done, and swearing never to sing again. She says Henry now has “no one to love.” He appeals, “Can’t I love you, Annette?” She replies, “No, not really.” Henry embraces her one last time before a guard takes her away and Henry is left alone.

…..Yes, that is the end. It left me with major emotional whiplash, after the whole film up to this point kept pulling itself back from the total bleak and dark by starting up a new toe-tapping, mildly silly tune every few minutes. But this last scene instead ends on a brutal note of harsh, unforgiving silence.

BUT! Make sure you stick around through the credits, when you see the cast walking through a forest together. (This is counterpart to the film’s opening, when you see the cast walking through LA singing “So May We Start?” directly to the audience) Definitely pay attention to catch Adam chasing/playing with the little girl actress who plays Annette! That imparts a much nicer feeling to leave the theater with. :’)

[centrally-unplanned]

Haruhi Suzumiya’s Limited Shelf Life

The Melancholy of Suzumiya Haruhi, an adaptation of a light novel series of the same name, is a 2006 anime who’s ascent into stardom occurred with unmatched speed, but in my opinion its staying power as a “relevant” anime experienced an equally rapid descent. Most people would point fingers at the legendary - just unparalleled in its audacity and “fuck all y’all” vibes - Endless Eight arc of its second season. Others, such as this quite fun video essay on Endless Eight which partially inspired this essay, point to the lack of light novel source material dragging down the possibility of more content to keep up momentum. I’m not going to make a numbers or data-based argument on how the Haruhi franchise actually performed; instead, after rewatching the Haruhi anime recently I feel the show itself was built to have a limited shelf-life from the get-go, and its decline should be no surprise.

Haruhi, to briefly summarize, is the story of Kyon, a witty-but-average highschooler who gets tsundere-roped into being the assistant to the titular Haruhi Suzumiya, a bored maniac constantly trying to drum up paranormal hijinks for kicks who is, unbeknownst to herself, secretly God who’s boredom if left unchecked will destroy the universe. That might sound like a pretty zany plot premise, but it has nothing on the presentation of the show itself. The ‘first’ episode of Haruhi aired, with no context or lead in, as an obviously garbage-tier magical-girl show ‘home-made’ by the actual characters in the show, with fourth wall-breaks and editing mishaps aplenty. And while the next episode proceeded to be the proper episode 1, the whole show airs entirely out of order, with characters referring explicitly to past events that the audience has not seen. Which all leads into the final episode of the first season being chronologically...episode 6. Pieced together afterwards, the show has a complete arc from the episodes 1 to 6 that were peppered throughout the broadcast order, and episodes 7 to 14 are one-off stories that enhance the characters and showcase the (subtle) changes resulting from that original arc.

This presentation was a *huge* part of the success of the show, primarily because it contributed so much to the Drama of it all. Love it or hate you had something to talk about, and the puzzle of what was actually going on - particularly after the first episode - pushed the 2ch thread comment counts into the Haruhi-blessed heavens. It wasn’t just a gimmick though - what it did was make a good show out of, well, not-very-good source material. 

Haruhi in broadcast order presents a sort of arc mystery in that how you see Kyon & Haruhi act around each other changes as the timeline jumps around, and that answer to “why?” is slowly revealed to you (spoiler alert, it's fundamentally romance, but it is well done). It gives that finale a ton of impact, and given how well you know the characters means you are really invested in their relationship at that point. But in chronological order...well that conclusion is a bit rushed, isn’t it? 6 episodes to care about a romance, half of the run-time of which is spent on the 3 other main characters besides Kyon and Haruhi? And then those later episodes, more than half the season, are just one-offs with no narrative. Airing chronologically would be a bad way to structure the show, for sure - but that is exactly how the books go! They are decently executed but jeez are they fluffy beyond the first novel, which tells that tight 6 episode starting arc. 

The show’s first season even acknowledges this, even in its later filler, by jumping around in what they actually adapt. One of Haruhi’s best episodes is episode 12, “Live Alive”, which features the stunningly-animated “God Knows” musical performance, but also ends on an intimate moment between Haruhi & Kyon where Haruhi lets slip a bit of growth in seeing what emotional value doing things for others can hold over always chasing her own myopic desires. It’s a great way to set up her slow-burn evolution, so it works well as lead-in to the finale (which is when it broadcasts). That is why Kyoto Animation chose to adapt that scene... from the depths of Book 6!! They skipped over several novels of content to pull that story out, because they needed it - as the rest of the source material is often filler.

Even the comedic chops of the show, its other strength, often exist in the first season despite the source material, not because of it. The seams actually start to show in season 1 itself, which has a few clunker episodes in its runtime. One of the comedic underpinnings of the show is how it parodies sci-fi anime & light novel elements, making fun of how esoterically nonsensical they can get. In one of the early episodes, when one of the crew - Mikuru - reveals herself to be a time traveller sent from the future to ‘protect the timeline from Haruhi’s power’ or whatever, her explanation is just completely skipped over by our point-of-view character in Kyon, with every other word bled together in a montage sequence as the camera spins around the scene, to highlight how silly the *mechanics* of the powers of these characters are to think about. It's definitely a great gag - which makes it very odd when, in episode 7, the characters spend, and I counted, *4 minutes* explaining over static shots of the characters how the mechanics of the paranormal villain-of-the-week operated. Its has a wider point, the show isn’t incompetent, but its jarring given how earlier the show told you so stridently that these kinds of details won’t matter. But that story is from book 3, it's what the source material becomes, so they can only go so far to fix it.

All of these problems just compounded on themselves when they made additional content, as at that point they had already mined the source material for the arc-nuggets it had and only the detritus remained. Remember that hilariously-bold opening episode, of a magical-girl homemade trainwreck of a film I mentioned? The one that is so funny precisely because you have no context for it, such that your confusion just heightens the humor while you also somehow learn so much about the characters you have never met via the bold characterization? Want to watch *five episodes* about them making that film, which you have already seen and is in the end nothing but a punchline? No? Then 30% of season 2 won’t have much to offer you, since that is what they did - because that smash-cut opening gag doesn’t exist in the source material, it instead gets a whole book devoted to it. For sure other stuff happens in those episodes, it isn't terrible - but it fundamentally lacks the stroke of genius of that season 1 opening, to trust in the audience the way they did to go along for the ride.

Endless Eight obviously didn’t help the show maintain popularity, and the movie is pretty decent, but there was no escaping the fundamental problem; namely that everything after Season 1 is fundamentally niche. It appeals if you like this specific genre of show, and these specific characters. Which is fine, but that can never be the Most Popular Show around, that market size is capped. The moment Haruhi the show had to keep going beyond that first season, it had nowhere to go but down. 

[criminalminds4days]

Family Matters | Chapter 10: Believer

Hello everyone!

I apologize for my lack of posting. I have barely survived midterms and I have found myself with a writers block once more. I am hopefully going to be able to give myself a little break between the end of the semester and after finals and the beginning of my summer courses. Thankfully I only have 2 summer classes so hopefully that will make it easier to post. 

I have some announcements coming up soon and I will hopefully finish writing the missing chapters for this story and only have to post and edit. So far, I have not been able to edit anymore so I apologize for any grammatical error. 

I really hope you are enjoying reading the story because I had a really great time writing it. Hope you have a great weekend!

I apologize for constant flashbacks but they are important to the plot, I promise!

Warnings: Swearing, sexual references, violence and murder references, public embarrassment, and very bad jokes!

Word Count: 4k

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Tag list: @mcntsee @lets-be-gay-for-the-angel @evelyncade @haylaansmi @paulaern @myfandomlife-blog​

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(This gif is not mine)

Chapter 10: Believer

"Very well, this seems like a good start." She said as she finished reading his confession. She moved towards the camera and turned it off, signaling that she would be taking the paper and would adhere to her part of the deal.

"What is she doing?" Spencer whispered to Emily. "Without a video confession, the written one can be considered coerced. We would be back at square one."

"There is the surveillance camera, genius."

"Of course she has a backup plan." He looked at the black camera, smiling at the knowledge.

"Now tell me, who left you, was it, mom or dad?"

"My dad." She readjusted in her seat. "How many victims did you kill total. We've found five, but it seems to me that is a low number for someone as angry as you."

"Fifteen, some of them are lost in the desert, some are by the arches, they should be found fairly soon." He shrugged and continued to look at her. "Why did he leave?"

"My mother got pregnant when she was young. It was a mistake, they didn't love each other. They married because of me, so it was only a matter of time before they broke, and break they did." She fought the urge to look back, hoping that nobody aside from Hotch would review the security tape. "Did you kill your father?"

"First one. He's in the arches, his favorite place in the world."

"Did your mom not accept his apology?"

"Well, he didn't really apologize until I had a gun to his head, but my mother was always kind, so she forgave him."

"Why did you kill him then?"

"I didn't forgive him." He winked at her. "Did you look for him?"

"I did."

"And?"

"That's your fourth question."

"I don't care, I want to know."

"He is dead. As dead as can be." She said out loud for the first time. "I hired a private investigator and found he crashed his car two years after he left us."

"Karma is a bitch."

"Why keep killing if you got rid of him?"

"For the same reason, you joined the FBI." He smiled at her, "to show my dad that he wasn't gonna dictate my life. That I was not going to let him be my end goal."

"It seems to me he is. You tracked him down, killed him. For some that might be enough. But you never got closure so you decided to pray on people who made mistakes. Where did you find them?"

"I worked at a counselors office."

"Well, that is rather obvious now. Maybe you should have gotten some help yourself." She stood, ready to leave the room, "hope you enjoy prison." She turned to exit the room.

"My final question, if you had found him, what would you have said?"

"I don't know." She responded.

"Bullshit."

"Well, I couldn't  ask him why  he left because I already know that, so I don't really know what I would have said." She turned to him, "what did you tell him?"

"I told him trousers weren't his thing." He stood, the handcuffs falling from his hands as his smile grew wider. "You should really be more careful with what you leave laying here, doctor."She reached for her gun but everything happened so fast she had no time to fire it. He seemed to run into the wall, only this one was not as hard as it seemed and a giant chunk collapsed as he made his way through, and just like that he had exited the station. Prentiss and Reid rushed in and through the now giant hole in the station but the man was nowhere to be found. Lucas Heavensbee had just vanished on her watch.

"Fuck!" She yelled and made her way to the office, the team was now making their way to the interrogation room but stopped in their tracks as they saw her approach. "I need access to the security cameras, now." She moved towards the security office and asked for the feed of the last couple of weeks to be played, there she found there were about three days missing. "He planned this, and someone helped him. He knew exactly what he was doing. That bastard played us!" She rushed out and into an SUV, driving directly to his house that was now under surveillance. She looked around, looking for anything that would indicate he had been there. It was fast to spot it, he had managed to slide through the police cars and left a note for her.

I just wanted to make sure you knew this had nothing to do with you doctor, but I simply can't let my father win. I am sure we will hear from each other, and then we can converse from one orphan to another. Until then.

She was ready to show the note to them, as Emily Prentiss and Spencer Reid made their way through the house. The note was still crumpled in her hand, but as the local police entered she decided against it. The two agents were the best people she had ever met, she knew it since the moment she joined the FBI, and she knew they were trying to make her feel better about the whole situation, but there were some things she couldn't get past. This man had killed fifteen people and kidnapped so many more and he had slipped right through her fingers. He had made a fool of her, and she would be damned if she didn't catch him. Telling Emily and Spencer would worry them, and they would be on her case about it becoming an obsession, just like she had done after their first case.

One year ago (I think?)

Her leg bounced as she drove with the social worker and two of her co-workers. This was her first big assignment, and she wasn't sure she would measure up. It was also important to note that while Emily and she tended to get along well, Spencer and she hadn't spoken almost at all since the sweater incident.

"Should I introduce you as FBI agents?"

"No, I think it's best if we come as social workers, there is less hostility." Prentiss' said as she gave both Reid and her their fake badges. She placed her FBI ID inside her bag and took a deep breath, it was a simple mission, they would be in and out.

Never, and I mean never, say something will be easy, as this almost assures you that is not the case. The social worker, whose name was Daisy, had been shot and was now dead. They had become trapped in the middle of a war between the cult leaders and the local police. It's as if the universe wished to remind her just how much bad luck she could have.

She heard them talking to the FBI, and food had been delivered so she assumed they had implanted microphones. Now they had to find a way to communicate with them and let them know what they had concluded.

"Which one of you is it?" The man said as he pointed a gun at them.

"Are we playing tag?" She asked stupidly, earning a glare from her partners.

"Do you think this is a joke? Which one of you is the FBI agent?" She turned to look at the woman and man, trying her hardest not to freak out.

"What are you talking about?" Spencer asked, clearly nervous.

"I will ask you one more time, and if none of you tell me I will not hesitate to shoot all three of you. Which one is the FBI agent?"

She saw Emily stir and knew she had to act fast if she wanted to save her. "I am." She said before either of them could stop her. "I'm the FBI agent. Though I'm fairly new so I don't really have that many secrets to tell. I was barely cleared to be on the field. If you really think about it, I'm not very helpful, so I think maybe if you let it slide I could-" she felt a fist connect with her right cheekbone, silencing her.

"Take her to the back." He instructed one of the men. She gave one last reassuring glance to her teammates, hoping this wouldn't be the last time she saw them.

After what seemed like an eternity of silence, the door to the room she was in opened and Ben came in. You would think that having a name like Benjamin wouldn't exactly command respect, but she wasn't one to judge cults.

"Why are you here?"

"Because you told your men to lock me here." He slapped her across the face.

"Who sent you?"

"My boss?" Her response was received with another slap.

"Do you think this is a joke?"

"I think that you need to feel powerful because a part of you knows you're not enough." She spoke hoping her team could hear part of their discovery, even if she was receiving punches from the man as she continued. "You think you can get away with stuff because you prayed on the week, but deep down you know that there are people here who could stand up to you, and if they did you would be done for." She felt a warm liquid fall from her lips as he continued to beat her. "I know you pray on young girls. You're nothing more than a pedophile that uses the bible as a way to manipulate women to give their children to you." As she fell he started kicking her and she tried to avoid making noise, but the pain was too much. "This is nothing, I've dealt with worse." She spoke, hoping they would understand. "I've dealt with much worse, this is nothing."

"Who do you think you are?!" The man said, enraged at her defiance.

"Nobody, just the one person that knows you better than you know yourself." That earned her the hardest hit, and she knew she wouldn't be conscious for much longer, she had to let them know. "Your suicide won't work, there are people that are skeptical and you know it. This isn't about God, or even your preferences, this is about you Ben, and how you are so terrified to go back to prison you are willing to kill your followers to avoid it, because you know they would see right through your act, you are nothing but a coward." The last kick took place and the man left the room. "Don't change the plan, I'm okay." She whispered, hoping they could hear her, wishing that even if she died right then and there, they could save the people trapped in this church.

When she woke, a woman was there tending her wounds. "Be careful, I think you might have some broken ribs."

"Don't tell Ben, he might come and finish me off" she joked, but the woman gave her a pointed look as if letting her know that was a possibility. "How long have I been unconscious?"

"I don't know, maybe a couple of hours. They will come and get you for the ceremony, use you as an example."

"That's okay, I've always wanted to be one of those."

"This is not a joke girl, he's dangerous."

"I know. The trick is to have nothing to lose."

"Well, I have a daughter."

"Ben's wife, right?" The woman flinched at the mention. "You're not okay with that, are you?" And then, the pieces of the puzzle fit together. "You made the call, didn't you?" Before the woman could confirm her suspicion, a man entered and pulled her up, not worrying if her body ached, and took her to the church. She used the door frame to help her stabilize herself and took in the sight before her. It was still light, but with the time she lost she couldn't be sure how much time they actually had left. Emily and her locked eyes and she approached, her eyes full of worry, but her facial expression was one of pure anger and hatred. "On a scale of one to ten, how much do you hate me?"

"How could you lie to us?" She asked, and as the men made their way to the front, her tone didn't change, but her questions did. "Are you crazy? Why would you do such a stupid thing? They could have killed you."

"I know, but it was either me or all three of us. Besides, I'm fine. We need you and Reid on the inside."

"This is reckless behavior."

"I know, but you were about to do the same."

"I have experience."

"Exactly, I can be a scapegoat."

"You are the most stubborn person I have ever met."

"I know, it's a gift. Now listen, I think there are mics, in the food, and if I'm right, I think I have been able to feed some information to the team, but we need to figure out when this massive suicide will take place."

Emily nodded and gave her an apologetic look before shoving her harshly. She fought the urge not to wince but it was almost impossible with her broken ribs. "You are a disgrace to this country, and I hope whoever you work for knows that they will not get away with it."

Ben looked over and stared at her, and despite her pain and the fear of another beating, she stared him down, letting him know that he would not get the best of her. She was gonna save as many people as possible and he could suck it. He was just another man who thought they were invisible because they weren't afraid to beat you up.

Spencer observed the interaction and the defiance she had amazed him. Despite the bruises and the swelling of her eye, not once did she lower her gaze or show any sign of weakness. Never in his life had he felt so attracted to someone as he did right then and there, but now was not the time to daydream of your coworkers, especially when they could be on the verge of dying.

As the day progressed, she continued to look for ways to tell the team, finally resorting to using the window to write a message. When she was younger she used to huff into a window to create fog and used it to write, so she did the same, letting the team know she could possibly convince some people to exit and they could come in after.

"What are you doing?" The woman from earlier spoke as she entered the room.

"If I'm gonna die, I might as well go doing something I like. Fog drawings." She said and covered her work. "Listen, don't ask me how I know this, but the FBI might strike tonight and if they do, he's not gonna cooperate, we need to get as many people as possible out."

"No, I can't do that."

"Please, I know you're scared, I'm terrified right now. I might have peed my pants earlier today, but that's not the point. The point is we need to save as many people as possible. Please help me get them out." Through the window she saw a figure, holding three fingers up. She nodded and turned back to the woman.

"Three a.m.?"

"You saw him too?"

"Yeah, one would think the FBI would be a little more discrete."

"We have our moments. Now please, make sure to get everyone out before then." The woman sighed and nodded, agreeing to the plan. "And one more thing, the people I came with, how are they?"

"Are they also agents?"

"No, of course not. I just dragged them into this and feel responsible for them. They are good people."

"The man seems to be fascinated by Ben, and vice versa. The woman keeps pacing around as if hoping for enlightenment. She has talked to some people though."

"Okay good. Please make sure to get them out too." After she left and closed the door, the woman sat down, her injuries making it hard to breathe. "I don't know where I am, or how to get out, but that will not change the plans okay? I need to make sure all these people are safe."

She wished she could hear someone ensuring her that would be the case, but there was no answer. She felt herself get dizzy and knew there was definitely internal damage that would take time to heal. Turns out her mother was wrong, money couldn't get you out of everything. It felt like an eternity, but she knew the time was approaching. She saw and more and more dark figures gathered around the church. She even caught a glimpse of Derek, who seemed to be looking around, as if hoping he could find her. She huffed one last time and wrote a message to him.

The door opened and nobody came in. She knew what it meant, so she gathered her remaining strength and walked out. Everything was dark and she could hear Spencer's voice coming from the main room. She followed it and stopped as she noticed him trying to talk a man down from placing explosives. She cursed under her breath. She stepped forward only to be pulled back by someone.

"Don't even think about it." The man said.

"Derek, we need to help him."

"I know, I'll go, join the rest. Everyone is already out."

"But-"

"Go!" She began walking out before it all happened. Reid ran towards them and Derek pulled the both of them to the nearest and hopefully safest area before a sharp pain on her head made her vision blurry and soon after she lost consciousness.

"I think she will appreciate it if you showered." She heard someone say, once she finally regained consciousness.

"Well, then she can tell me that herself." Another voice responded.

"Emily, you and Spencer have been here for a week. You need to go to the hotel and rest. At least the kid has been using the shower."

"I am not leaving until she wakes up. That includes leaving to bathe."

"Neither am I." A third voice added to the mix. "Though I can't say the same thing about avoiding water."

"How am I supposed to leave if I can't trust the two of you to take care of yourselves?"

"Easy, your flight leaves in less than an hour and you are still here. Unless you want to be paying fees you will get out of here."

There was a sigh of resignation before the voice spoke once more. "Reid, you're in charge until she wakes up. Then she's in charge."

"You're gonna put the one of us that was hit in the head 'in charge'? What does that even mean?" The female voice complained.

"I have made my decision. Maybe if you showered, things would be different." The voice faded, and the steps of the person became less clear, so she assumed the person was leaving.

"I think Morgan is right, you should take a shower."

"Don't make me hurt you, Reid."

"It was just a suggestion."

She didn't want to interrupt their banter, but her urge to sneeze was bigger, so she let her body do its thing. Though it is important to let you know that sneezing with broken ribs is horrible.

"She's awake!" Emily screamed and launched herself onto the bed. She started crying from pain after the action. "You're so happy you're crying!"

"Prentiss, that might be because you just jumped on her ribs." The man clarified as he stood, placing his hand on hers. The feeling was foreign, but she could let it slide once.

"I am so sorry! But I am so happy you're awake."

"What happened?"

"After the explosion, you hit your head, and because you already had injuries your body gave out, exhausted. Thankfully the ambulance was already there and we could rush you to the hospital. You've been sleeping for a good week." He explained.

"Well, then I don't get a lazy day for another three months." She joked and the two joined her. "How are the believers?"

"They're all safe and accounted for. Sadly we lost Ben's wife."

"Does her mom know?"

"Yes, but she wanted me to tell you she doesn't blame you and hopes you do get better." There was a moment of silence, as she processed the message, as well as her guilt.

"And I want you to know I ate your Jell-O." This caused her to laugh again. No matter how painful it felt, she was glad to be alive.

"Remind me to never get stuck in a hospital under the care of Spencer Reid. He'll eat my Jell-O."

"Let's make it a no trip to the hospital policy."

"Do I need to remind you where we work?" The woman shook her head, and both of them looked at her with a heartwarming smile. "I hate to break this moment, but please go shower, Prentiss."

"Ugh, fine." She placed a kiss on her forehead and moved out. "Reid, if anything happens, call me. I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Got it."

She walked out and the two remained silent for a couple of minutes. Their hands were still together and she squeezed it to get his attention. "How are you doing? I wasn't the only one that got caught in the blast."

"I'm good. Morgan and I barely had a scratch, they cleared us that same day."

"That's good. What about the rest of the team?"

"They are all good. They wanted to stay but they had another case, Hotch said your family was out of reach so Emily and I refused to leave. Morgan also stayed behind but they called him up today, without three agents they needed all the help they could get."

"You guys didn't need to stay." She assured him. His grip on her hand tightened, enough to let her know he wasn't letting go, but not enough to hurt her.

"You could've died. Because of me."

"That's not true and you know it."

"I should've said I was the agent."

"We both know the reason he didn't kill me was that I'm a woman. You wouldn't have been so lucky."

"Still."

"Reid, listen to me. This is not your fault, and this is not Emily's fault either. I knew what I was getting into, and I would do it again in a heartbeat."

"You are one stubborn woman."

"I know." She smiled at him, "now please go find me some Jell-O."

He laughed, but nodded, letting go of her hand. Just before he exited the room he turned and gave her the most endearing look she had ever seen, "thank you, for saving our lives. I'll never forget that."

"Good, that way I can ask for favors at any time." They both chuckled and he left the room hunting for the dessert.

The reality in her brain, however, was not as calm as she portrayed. For months she had obsessed over what she had done wrong, and she had spent sleepless nights thanks to her recurring nightmare, in which Ben didn't hesitate to pull the trigger, and as she watched Spencer and Emily's bodies lie in a pool of blood. This alone was enough to make her train and perfect her skills, to the point of complete exhaustion. She wasn't going to fail, not again.

That was until Lucas Heavensbee had brought her right back to her dark hole.

[dirtydobrik]

fractured ankle - j.w.

plot: you break your ankle while on a hike with your boyfriend jeff and he wants to take care of you

word count: 1830

author’s note: sorry for not posting lately, i’ve had such bad writer’s block and didn’t like anything i was writing about david, so i decided to try something new and write about jeff! 

masterlist

“Baby, get up,” Jeff whispered, nudging you softly. He was standing over you, already dressed for the hike he wanted to take you on.

It was still dark outside and you blinked rapidly as your eyes adjusted to the light of the bedside lamp Jeff had just turned on. You gave him a quick kiss and got out of bed, heading into the bathroom to get ready. You splashed cold water on your face to wake yourself up since you were never up this early, and the only reason you were was because Jeff had been begging you to come on an early morning hike to see the see the sunrise for a while now.

You brushed your teeth and changed into leggings and a sports bra before meeting Jeff in the kitchen. He was filling water bottles and gave you a small smile before tossing you a protein bar to eat before leaving. Jeff tossed the water bottles and a few other snacks into his backpack before glancing at the time on his phone and insisting that you had to leave in the next few minutes. You sat on the floor near the front door and tightly tied the laces of your sneakers, reaching your hand up for Jeff to help you up. He rolled his eyes at you, but took your hand in his and pulled you up.

You followed him downstairs and hopped into the passenger seat of his SUV. The roads were empty as darkness still covered the city. Jeff placed his hand on the gear shift and you rested yours on top of his. The stillness of the city was something you hardly ever saw, but it was comforting.

After a short drive, you pulled into the parking lot of the trail Jeff wanted to take you on. You got out of the car and followed Jeff's instructions of basic stretches to do to warm up before hiking.

Much to your dismay, the hike was a lot harder and steeper than Jeff had promised it would be. The path was windy and the plants were overgrown, leaving it narrow and difficult to navigate in the dim light.

Jeff was walking in front of you, and you carefully followed his steps. The steep dirt path had many large rocks that seemed to appear out of nowhere. You tried to focus on following Jeff's exact steps to avoid the rocks, but you lost your footing trying to avoid one. You stumbled backwards and fell over the large rock you had tried to avoid a few moments ago. Your left ankle got caught underneath you and you heard a loud snap as all of your body weight landed on your ankle. You yelped in agony as you tried to stand up before collapsing back on to the ground and grabbing your ankle in pain. Jeff was a few feet in front of you, but your screams gained his attention.

“Baby, are you alright?” Jeff asked, concerned as he sprinted over to you. His face went pale as he noticed the swelling around your foot. You clutched your ankle, sobbing from the immense pain.

“It hurts,” you whined, tears streaming down your face. "It really hurts."

“It’ll be okay,” Jeff promised, untying your sneaker and pulling it off. He pushed the hem of your leggings up to expose the ankle. You took in a sharp breath and felt nauseous looking at the bruising around your foot.  

He searched through his backpack for an ice pack or an elastic bandage in his first aid kit, but had neither. He handed you a water bottle that had ice cubes in it and told you to take them out and wrap them in his t-shirt to hold against the swelling.

“Do you think you can walk?” he asked, even though he knew it was most likely broken. You shook your head, knowing you couldn’t, or shouldn't, put any weight on it.

Jeff paced back and forth, wondering what to do. You were nearly to the top of the hill, and the path was too steep for him to carry you down and too narrow for him to help hold you up as you hopped down.

It was still early so the trails weren't busy, meaning you probably wouldn't run into another hiker to help you out. Jeff picked you up and moved you off of the path, so you wouldn't be in the way if someone did happen to come up.

After half an hour and many failed calls from the lack of reception, Jeff decided he was going to have to carry you down. He had you put his backpack on and you managed to climb on to his back. You clung tightly to him, scared that he was going to drop you. When it got too steep, he had you stand on your good ankle and he would lift you from one clear spot to another.

You eventually made it back to the parking lot, and Jeff had you sit in the backseat to elevate your ankle. He drove you to the nearest hospital, stopping at a CVS to pick up some painkillers since you didn’t know how long you’d be waiting to see a doctor.

You draped your arm over his shoulder and hopped into the ER. Jeff helped you sit down before going to check in with the front desk. He returned with a clipboard of paperwork for you to fill out and a cup of coffee.

"You doing okay, baby?" Jeff asked, kissing your forehead. You nodded, even though the pain was insufferable.

After about an hour of waiting, you were brought over to an empty bed. The nurse checked all of your vitals and a little while later, the doctor came in.

"Well, it's definitely broken," the doctor said, pointing to the clean break in your bone on the scans. "You'll need surgery to realign the bone," he continued, and Jeff reached over to hold your hand as the surgery was explained to you.

Jeff promised he wouldn't go anywhere and kissed the top of your head before a team of nurses wheeled you off to prep you for surgery.

You woke up in a hospital bed a few hours later and Jeff was sitting by your side. Your leg was elevated and you had a cast around your ankle. A nurse came in to check on you a couple of times before the doctor came in to say they wanted to keep you overnight to monitor you post-op.

A few days after you were able to leave the hospital, you and Jeff were cuddling in his bed in his apartment. The contents of the suitcase you were now living out of were scattered across the floor of his bedroom. Jeff had insisted that you stayed with him, at least until you were confident using the stairs with crutches, since your apartment was on the fourth floor and your building didn't have an elevator.

“What are you doing?” you asked as Jeff pulled away from cuddling your to riffle through the drawer of his bedside table. A few moments later, Jeff revealed a thick black sharpie. He uncapped it and motioned for you to move the blanket so he could draw on your cast.

Your rolled your eyes at his childish behavior, but pulled the blanket off. You positioned yourself to be propped up against the headboard, placing a pillow under your cast. Jeff was on the other end of the bed, hoovering over your foot as he doodled mindlessly on the plaster.

You took your phone out to capture this moment, adding the picture to your Instagram story to let everyone know that you were in good hands with Jeff.

After a while, your cast was covered in small pictures and short notes. There was little room let for anyone else to write on it, but Jeff was pleased with his work.

 You were restless all night, constantly tossing and turning, hardly able to get any sleep. Even though it was still early, you were wide awake and decided to try to make yourself breakfast. You swung your legs down, using the nightstand for support as you balanced on one foot. You reached for your crutches, determined to master using them today. You were tired of relying on Jeff for everything and wanted to be able to do things on your own. Your goal was to get from the bedroom to the kitchen without getting caught on anything or stumbling.

You let out a frustrated groan and threw one of your crutches on to the ground after the bottom of the crutch stuck to the wooden floor and you pushed yourself forward without having the support following you.

“What’s goin on, baby?” Jeff asked, stumbling out of the bedroom, still half asleep. He was holding a white t-shirt in his hands and was only wearing the pair of boxers he had slept in.

You were standing on one foot, the other kicked up behind you, holding on to the counter top for stability.

“Nothing,” you muttered, turning around and attempting to hop to the fridge so you wouldn't have to put any weight onto your ankle. Jeff sighed, knowing you were lying. He swung the fridge door open and took out the carton of eggs he knew you were reaching for. “I don’t need you to do everything for me,” you snapped, not realizing how aggressive or angry you sounded. Jeff’s eyes widening at your remarks.

“I’m just trying to help out,” Jeff said quietly. You really did appreciate his efforts, but he was driving you crazy. He was constantly around and practically refused to let you do anything by yourself.

"I know you are, but I don't need to be babied, Jeff," you insisted, and he nodded. He understood where you were coming from, but that didn't stop him from leaning down to pick up the crutch you had thrown on top the floor. You shot him a death glare since you easily could've picked it up yourself, but you still took it from him.

"I'm not babying you. I'm just taking care of you. You should be focused on physical therapy and walking with the crutches, you shouldn't have to worry about anything else."

"But how am I supposed to do that when you hardly ever let me get out of bed?" you argued, making a point. Jeff didn’t have a comeback, instead he just apologized for being overbearing and overprotective, promising to let you do more from now on. "It's okay, Jeff. I love you anyways," you smiled, watching Jeff's face beam at the words you had just said. It was the first time either of you had said them aloud, even though you had both been feeling it for a while.

"I love you, too," he grinned, wrapping his arms around your waist and giving you a soft kiss.

[bokunoheroanalysisforthefuture]

Horikoshi: This will probably not be super popular, but it’ll be fun!

Us: Oh, well that sounds nice!

Us, 290 chapters later: This Isn’t Fun Anymore Horikoshi

Horikoshi: :)

Anyways, welcome to the beginning of - hopefully - a long term and engaging project. I am basically aware of all of canon, and am up to date with the manga, but I haven’t actually read from the beginning of the series, and I’ve only watched the series up to the Deku v Todo fight in the sports festival. However, I’ve been curious as to how the manga portrays stuff that I’ve seen in anime gif form, and so I figured, hey, make this a project!

If you have questions or anything, the ask box is open for now. Meanwhile, I am going to head into the first chapter proper!

[No. 1 - Izuku Midoriya: Origin]

Wow, you’d almost think this kid would grow up to be a villain or something, with that kind of attitude, huh? No way that this kind of attitude would ever come to bite him in the ass and force him to reevaluate his entire character and kickstart his character development.

(Before you say anything, I like Katsuki as a character, but DAMN did he have to do a lot of growing up. I suppose when one is at the bottom, the only way to go is up… unless you have a pickaxe.)

One thing I actually noticed right away, and I dunno how much it’s used in other manga (seeing as I currently am not reading any other manga and the last ones I read were… a long while ago…) is the shape of the text boxes in order to convey emotion! It’s actually hella neat and a little detail I wouldn’t think about adding if I were in his position (not that I can draw all that well, but that’s not my point). You can practically hear the warbling in Izuku’s tone and the rougher edges in Katsuki’s!

(Also, question for the English sub while we’re at it, why the fuck does Katsuki sound like he’s a goddamned adult when he’s fourteen. What the fuck.)

Interesting little thing here, Katsuki not actually using his quirk here against Izuku; his hand is trailing smoke from his explosion, but it’s not a direct burn wound. Not that he should be doing this at all, but with the number of fics I see where Katsuki literally gives Izuku second or third degree burns, I think this is a reminder that canon Katsuki has some modicum of restraint, even this early.

Before I forget, hello winged kid who definitely has no plot significance whatsoever. No siree.

(If you are new to the manga/show and are reading this as among your first introductions to the fandom, first off, I am so sorry. Secondly, expect me to be… definitely making a lot of sarcastic quips to things in the future.)

Onto the second/third page, which is supposed to be a full spread, but is split up into two pages on the online reading site. RIP, but I will not complain about free access to the whole manga. 

Lookit this green bean. I love him so much. I can’t wait for him to suffer.

Izuku: wait, what?

Anyways, a few things to note:

Who the fuck is this guy? I looked into the wiki but he apparently doesn’t warrant a page or even a mention as one of the background faces of the series, but look at that fucking claw, man! And those boots and jets! He’s very obviously themed after a baseball catcher, so I’m going to guess that he has some kind of quirk that deals with either drawing projectiles to him, or perhaps in throwing projectiles… in either case, it’d be something like Snipe’s quirk, so maybe this is his less howdy-happy sibling.

Oh right, the chapter. The other heroes we see on the scene in this two-page spread are Death Arms, Air Jet, and Kamui Woods. 

Also, something I want to point out that I’m sure others have but just struck me while looking at this spread - multiple people are recording / taking pictures of this. I wonder if part of the reason for the villain industry to be as strong as it is is because the villains, even if they know they’ll lose, still get their own sort of fame in being in the news? That… might explain a lot about how there can be enough villains to even run an entire damn industry.

(Well, that and a lot of sociopolitical commentary on BNHA society, but we don’t need to get into that now. Maybe wait two hundred or so chapters first.)

Not gonna lie, I had to double take because I was like ‘wait, what is Ochako doing here?’ but then I realized it was just a random civilian; she doesn’t have those side bangs Ochako does. But now I almost wonder what sort of world we could have had, if they’d met a bit earlier.

Onto the fifth page (fourth is just a filler page, nothing on it), and we get treated to this gem:

Tag yourself I’m the guy who’s slackjawed because his kid is fucking glowing.

The first four examples of quirks shown in this flashback are the luminescence, telekinesis, ice, and that flame-headed(?) mutation. Of them, we actually see hints to the fact that quirks have drawbacks, as the girl with ice is drawn with the same frostbite backlash as Shouto, while the flame-headed kid is… well, I have no idea, but they do not look to be happy.

Also, I love the nod Hori does to the heroes of our era as silhouettes! This is just more evidence to me, along with the fact that the first quirked kid is born and presented in a modern hospital, that this series takes place sometime in the future. I… even calculated the years it could technically be, based on information we get in a few chapters, but I’ll save that for then.

Onto the sixth page! A nice shot of Kamui Woods getting into position, and man is that giant quirk unnerving.

What the fuck is with those feet, Hori. Those aren’t feet.

Next we see how the crowds are reacting, basically with no panic or concern. One guy is just casually letting his boss know he’ll be getting in late. And Backdraft! That is some serious water manipulation, but it seems like it has to be the water they’re in contact with? Also, is it just me or is that a portable pressure hose on their back?

And of course, Izuku being excited over hero stuff, as one does. He’s so babey faced, going back to current chapters after this is gonna be fucking wild.

Onto the seventh page, and here we are with the ‘you’re pure evil’ speech to someone who’s… just a robber. Seriously, dude? I get that you’re still fairly new to the scene (I think he might not be from a hero high school, but a late join program, but that’s another post), but like. You can’t just call random people ‘pure evil’ and correlate petty crime with like, actual mass murderers, or else people might start to see things in black and white and, you know, create the idea of ‘villainous people’ and so push even more innocents down the path of desperation and criminality.

Wait, sociopolitics later. Izuku being a hero fanboy now. Even able to utter Kamui’s attack call as he’s calling it out, with some seriously cool visual effects-

And on the eighth page, we have Mt. Lady crash the scene. Literally. She just fucking shows up outta nowhere and fucking leaps up and delivers a kick right to the villain’s chin, throwing him back through the train bridge wall and sending debris down to the ground below. Sure hope there weren’t civilians there!

Also, hello to that random guy on the roof watching this. I think in Smash they made that guy her manager or something.

I love how Izuku and the other guy are like ‘what the fuck’ while the press just shows up out of nowhere and is like. Hyperfocused on her. (I’ve heard some issues with the portrayal of media/reporters in the series, but since I have no experience with that sort of thing, I can’t say much on it.)

The last panel of this page shows that, fortunately, there were no civilians on that part of the street (even though it being rush hour and the huge crowds on the other side of the bridge should have suggested otherwise… but what do I know?)

With page nine, we get to see our first case of villain apprehension, which to note does not include any sort of quirk suppressors. Because those don’t exist. Otherwise Aizawa and the Eight Precepts’ erasure bullets would not be such huge deals to everyone. I mean yikes, though, the guy is fucking muzzled. And you can see the damage done by Mt. Lady in the background, both physical and emotional. Not to mention…

What the fuck is that face.

But yeah, this notes that performance in heroics determines not only what they’re paid by the government, but also how much fame they get. No way a system like this could backfire in any capacity, right? Right? (cough).

I love how Hori uses Izuku’s muttering habit as the border for the text bubble when the kid zones into his little world. Also, gigantification is noted to be a common and strong quirk, so we really should see more OCs with size altering quirks in fics in the future, you hear me? Honestly, with it being common, I would almost expect there to be entire buildings, or maybe even neighborhoods / blocks dedicated to catering to size shifters… wonder what those places look like.

Also aww, the guy saying good luck on the heroics dream to Izuku and Izuku just sparkling. What a cutie. Can’t wait for him to suffer. :D

Izuku: No seriously, what-

Anyways, I’m cutting off here since we then transition into the next ‘scene’ and this is a long chapter - 55 pages! Besides, this has already surpassed 1700 words, I don’t need to ramble on too long in one post. 

Lemme know what you think, and I’ll be back with more soon!

[twixtandshout]

Tagged by @pidgeonpostal! And not tagging anyone else because I have SOILED the original template (soiled it!!) in deference to my [brushes off skirt] mostly clean public-facing appearance.

...I’ve been making a lot of Spongebob memes lately for someone who has not seen Spongebob.

How many works do you have on AO3?

71!

What’s your total AO3 wordcount?

...306,834. Jesus.

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

Uh. Many! I do a lot of one-offs (and/or start long things I never finish) in many different places. My top three fandoms by fics written are RWBY (29), Undertale (25), Gravity Falls/Transcendence AU (4).

Bet you can’t tell where my hyperfixations have fallen. 

I’ve also got some Pokémon and Sonic the Hedgehog fics back on my ff.net account, or I think I still do, anyway, but let’s never go back there pls

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1. Sweeter Than Honey (Undertale): Taking a Completely unsurprising first place, with over 600 more kudos than the runner-up, the haphazard Underswap fic featuring a post-college self-insert I wrote just after high school! I shake my head some at how overblown and ridiculous the gap between this and all my other stuff is (c’mon, guys, I’ve written way better fics), but this is also the fic which prompted me (and at least one other person!) to start using they/them pronouns. I’ve gotten a lot of really sweet comments about how seen and appreciated it’s made people feel, so I can’t get down too far about it.

2. To Be A Hero (BNHA): I don’t count myself as part of the BNHA fandom, for a number of reasons, but for something that’s arguably the main motivation for the entire plot, Midoriya’s quirklessness is something I’ve never thought has been handled well. This fic marked the first time I (somewhat tentatively) claimed the disability label (thanks again to Sweeter Than for prompting that realization) to hold that lens over canon. It also really shot up my chart, dang! It’s the only thing here I’d consider “recent.”

3. Three-Sentence Shipping (Undertale): Self-explanatory.

4. Brothers Beyond Bonedaries (Undertale): Ah, the way-overcomplicated AU³ I got nowhere close to finishing. One of the things I really like about Undertale is the interface screw, how Toby Fox uses the medium of the video game to pull off crazy things and enhance his game, but most of the fic written for the fandom seems dedicated to explaining it away, grounding it, rather than taking it to the next step and messing with the medium of fanfiction when you keep the story going. I tried to do something cool like that here, playing with questions like narrator and authorship and breaking the fourth wall, even taking the “final boss” fight to a “totally separate” fic reached through the first by link – but, well, then I never finished it, which probably didn’t make anything less confusing for the poor folks who missed the intent.

5. Spirit and Such (Gravity Falls: Transcendence AU): A whole fic written to line out a particular image I had, which, naturally, never made it to the page. I consider it a bit of a cautionary tale for myself when it comes to writing (near-)original content; there’s a lot I look back on and cringe. I still love the characters, though – well, the important ones – and I think just stepping away from the tried-and-true Mizar formula nets it a star sticker here.

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

>w>; I try, but a lot of the time I just don’t have anything to say? Like, oh, you liked it? Neat. There’s not much to respond to in comments like that, and then I’m weighing falling down on an ~obligation~ to respond to every message in my inbox vs annoying people with copy-paste fluff responses all down the page. Plus I know I make more of an effort to comment on things that didn’t get the attention I feel they deserve, so if I’m driving up my own comment count with nonsense, am I preventing myself from being in a position to receive more comments later? And then if I do comment, am I being too effusive or running people’s ears off explaining things they don’t actually need to know? Sometimes people just want to express interest or admiration and don’t necessarily want a whole peek and guided tour behind the curtain.

Can you tell I have anxiety? x3;

Anyway, I do respond when I can. And I keep most of the comments I’ve gotten to go back and reread. 

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

Hm, hmm. Lots of stuff in the TQ Nonsense series would probably qualify! I’m thinking of Unfixable, Wolfsong, and Ethanol. And there’s Bursting Through A Blood-Red Sky (I Can Live, I Can Breathe), of course, but that was always intended to have a fix-it epilogue. It’s just that I wrote it in a couple of hours day-of, stared at it, and decided I didn’t wanna just then. But now that’s As Long As You’re Still Burning Bright (I’m Still Awake), and that’s probably the best romance I’ve written, so that one worked out.

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

Now and then! When the urge strikes. Uhhh, I’ve got a series of Doctor Who x Undertale crossovers I actually made a whole dang verse for that never made it to print. Get a couple great comments on that every few months or so. I think the World Trigger x Undertale crossover is probably weirder, though, by virtue of WT being a very small fandom. My enthusiasm kinda sputtered out on that one.

Mostly I just daydream crossovers with whatever happens to catch my eye at any given moment. I have a lot!!!! Though odds are out on whether I manage to remember any of them once the initial thought’s passed, lol.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Gotten a couple eyebrow-raising comments, but I think mostly I’m just too small a writer to draw that kind of attention.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I don’t? think so? Think my tastes are a little niche for most people to bother ^^;

Have you ever had a fic translated?

I had someone apologize once for any language mistakes in their comment cause they had to run it through a translator! That’s not what you asked (the answer is no), but it’s very flattering to think that someone liked my fic enough to read and comment despite the language barrier.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes! :D @pidgeonpostal was gracious enough to agree to co-write Five Nights at Denny’s with me off an idea about shoes. This has fulfilled a long-held dream of mine (collabing with someone, not the shoes) and also introduced me to some lovely people.

What’s your all time favorite ship?

Who has time for just one? ;3c Honestly, I care more about the characters and how the relationship – any relationship – between them changes them than I do about ~A Ship~ as a solid, bounded noun-object. I’ve got characters I like more and less and feelings about who does and doesn’t have chemistry in which directions with whom, but finding anything that agrees with those preferences is hard, harder when you take alloromanticism into account. I’ll play in any sandbox with cool toys, especially if other folks have already built sick sandcastles there.

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

[kicks every single unfinished fic further under the bed] What nooo no WIPs here, everything on my account is either finished or does not exist

I’ve got a couple extra chapters of Sweeter Than floating around unposted, but 1. that fic’s a mess 2. high school Twixt and post-college Twixt are different people and trying to contort myself into three other me-shapes just cause people Like this fic is not something I’m super interested in 3. it’s headed for an emotional dip and I’d rather leave it where it is than post two chapters, stall out again, and leave folks with a bad end.

As for other fics... it’s looking more and more likely that v7 of my Yellow Brick Road AU will never actually make it out. >w>; I’ve got some really great ideas, but not enough to make me feel like I know what I’m doing, and that’s a big roadblock. Plus trying to engage with RT’s Atlas-Mantle worldbuilding in any serious capacity is... a headache. I can’t recommend the Happy Huntress Cinematic Universe enough, but it leaves some pretty big shoes to follow! And I’ve got small feet. <w<;

What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue’s fun, probably as an extension of characterization. I love tearing into what makes people tick, especially against the backdrop of their environment, the story they’re in, and the people they’re up against. Voice is a double-edged sword; I’ve been told my writing is really recognizable and individual, but on the other hand, I’ve been growing frustrated with with the limits of my narrative ability. There’s a strong rhythm I keep when I write (you might notice it here, even) but that leaves me feeling predictable and stale. I’m not sure I’m great at setting as a matter of course, but I’m pretty good at describing setpieces where the need comes up; that comes from my background in poetry, as does the fun I have with sublimating and abstracting complex imagery. And I think I bring some needed nuance to the universal. For good or ill, I don’t do what “everyone else” is doing.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Well, writing, for one thing. If I don’t know how something’s going to go and don’t have the urge to write it, it isn’t getting done, which means there’s a billion things that will never see the page and a few hundred more that are never getting finished. I lose momentum easily and have a hard time getting started, and I put way too much standing on finding a foothold with other people; as critical as I am of my work, I have high expectations for the stuff that passes muster, and it never seems to measure up. I’m also really uncreative. Yeah, I can mix up elements and extrapolate events, but coming up with things wholesale is really hard, which is why I avoid it wherever possible and steal/reskin stuff from other places instead.

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

Something along the lines of “Hoo boy, I am Not qualified for this but hopefully it’s decent anyway.” Maria’s Spanish lines haven’t been a big deal – I’ve used it sparingly and, as a Latin language, it should be easy for English-speaking audiences to pick up on the gist – but I’ve had a harder time with Tai’s Chinese, both because I have Even Less background there and because it is, of course, an entirely different language system. If I write it out in English or Romanized italics, am I colonizing it or changing the meaning? If I write it out in the presumed-original characters (presumed because it’s Google Translate and who knows if I’m even barking in the right forest), am I confusing or alienating my presumed-majority-English-speaking audience? Where should I put the translations? Should I put the translations? And for Frisk’s sign language, thinking back, are the brackets I used instead of quotes alienating/infantilizing? I like that different characters give the text between a different feel, but I’m not an ASL speaker – and I’m pretty sure the word is “speaker,” which would only reinforce that that demographic would rather I didn’t do that. It’s important for all these characters, I think, that they use non-English language where it makes sense; it’s part of who they are. But as a white monolingual English-speaker, I don’t think I can really weigh in.

What was the first fandom you ever wrote for?

Thaaaat’d be Pokémon, followed closely with Sonic the Hedgehog. Whether those fics are still on my ff.net account or not (pretty sure I’ve purged them, but you never know) I’ve still got a couple saved to a folder on my current laptop, ostensibly so I can look back and see how far I’ve come and more practically to allow for the possibility of furthering group cohesion through public shaming.

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

I still like the idea behind The Man Who Is Atlas, and Burning Bright (Still Awake) gets props for being my current fic, though it’s currently in that spot where I’m excited to get new chapters posted but also quietly marking everything up in red pen. I think Harbinger gets the crown here, at least for now.

[karmathecat]

Firewhiskey is not the best mixer.

So I actually wrote something for the first time in years? Talking on Jily discord about the dream of Lily Luna and the gang meeting her grandparents. So I wrote the possible first bit of a time travel fic!

Lily Luna Potter stood, hands on hips, glaring across the room at her unsuspecting brother. In the centre of the dance floor, she had an interrupted view of her brother’s bent head discussing something with her cousin Fred. She swung her head from side to side, attempting to get a better view of him between the crowds of dancing people surrounding her. Her snooping was interrupted by a well wisher touching her shoulder and thanking her and her family for coming to the event, she forced a smile at the ministry official she was sure she was supposed to recognise, and by the time she turned her attention back to her brother, he was gone. Sighing in annoyance, Lily made her way towards to drinks table where she could see Teddy stood surveying the variety of chocolate cakes with an interest that was better placed combatting a difficult crossword.

“You haven’t spotted James plotting have you?” Lily glanced to her left to see Teddy smirk before consuming an eclair in one bite. He swallowed before looking at her directly.

“You know I want nothing to do with this ridiculous feud the two of you have started right? I stated that from the beginning.”

Despite his statement to the contrary, Teddy has actually been directly involved in the prank war that the Potter siblings had started since Lily had arrived home Hogwarts for the Christmas holidays four months ago. James had decided to continue the feud with increasing escalation with every passing incident that didn’t leave Lily humiliated to a level that satisfied James’ mischievous streak. This increasing escalation meant Lily was constantly on high alert, knowing her brother’s whereabouts within three feat at all times.

Realising Teddy was going to be no use, traitor, she filled her cup with punch and walked to the entrance of the Great Hall. Tonight was the annual victory ball for the Battle of Hogwarts, meaning that the Great Hall was filled to the brim with students, ministry officials, old Order of the Phoenix members and DA members. The theme this year was “unity” and attendees had been encouraged to be clad in the colours of another Hogwart’s house that was not their own.

Smoothing her knee length emerald green dress, she spotted her father, dressed in navy, surrounded by a number of stuffy looking ministry officials. Harry caught her eye and winked at his daughter, pulling a face that made Lily giggle. Her mum was nowhere to be found, but this wasn’t surprising, if anyone hated these functions more than her father it was her mother. Both Potter parents supported the cause more than anyone, having the highest stakes in the outcome for the victory the ball celebrated. However, Lily had listened to her parents complain on numerous occasions that events such as these were not to celebrate the victory over Voldemort, but to kiss her father’s arse and gain political power. Therefore, it was unsurprising that after showing her face, Ginny Potter tended to disguise herself into the sea of Weasley redheads.

At 15 years old, Lily had experienced many of these balls. They were insufferable, everyone felt like just because her surname was Potter it meant that they could know the ins and outs of her life, private and otherwise. Tonight alone she had had three elderly women ask after her betrothal status, stating that their dashing grandson was looking for a beautiful young woman such as herself to have on their arm. These suggestions had started shortly after her thirteenth birthday, the first instance had caught her so off guard she had laughed in the ministry woman’s face so hard that her dad had to apologise so profusely when the woman started shouting about her indecent behaviour. However, Harry had later learnt the nature of the conversation and had congratulated Lily on not pulling her wand instantly. The requests had continued despite her father’s general aura of disapproval whenever an older woman approached her, however Lily’s ability to tolerate these encounters had surprisingly increased. Well, Lily mused, not completely unsurprising since Rose had informed her of her method of dealing with these types of awkward encounters. Seeing another elderly woman making a direct line for her, Lily turned her back and tipped a healthy portion of her “method of dealing” also known as Firewhisky into her glass of pumpkin juice for the fourth time that evening.

Lily looked around her, and short of darting directly out the doors behind her, she had minimal escape routes, she also didn’t trust her tipsy legs in the heels she was currently wearing to hold her up reliably as she ran. So she forced a smile as the woman approached her with a look of determination. Before the woman reached her, however, Lily felt two strong sets of arms loop around each of her arms and drag her back through the Great Hall doors. In a moment of panic, she started kicking out and before she could scream a hand grabbed her around the mouth. She was dragged out the entrance doors and into the chilling summer air, coming face to face with her two grinning brothers. Damn. Focusing on the approaching woman had left her vulnerable to her brother’s antics.

James Sirius Potter stood, head to two in a set of deep midnight blue dress robes to match their father’s, grinning like an idiot for having panicked his little sister to point of losing her composure. Lily glared causing him to only grin wider. Her glare darted to her left, eyeing her other brother with betrayal. Albus had not been involved in the prank war that was raging in their household, but tonight he had clearly picked a side. The traitor looked dashing in his deep maroon muggle suit. He still had his arms locked around hers forcing her to look into James’ eyes.

Lily rolled her eyes. “Has this not gone a bit far Jamie? If dad saw me getting dragged from the hall, we know for a fact he’d go into full Auror mode before you could blink.”

“You’re only saying that because you’re about to lose this war, oh little Lilykins! Besides, I made sure dad was thoroughly distracted before I grabbed you, I’m not stupid!”

Lily snorted, “Oh yes, James not stupid, how silly of me! Come on Al, you know you’ve picked the wrong side in this, let me go and we can get a thoroughly good prank on good old Jamie here.”

“Oi! Find your own ally! Now, onto the master plan!” James produced a small vial from his pocket and shook it in Lily’s face. “Do you know what this is my darling sister? This right here is an de-ageing potion, you thought you were so funny trapping my naked on the roof last week, well, let’s see how funny it is when little toddler Lily Luna goes running into that ball crying for her mummy and daddy!”

James was cackling, and lily had to admit that it was pretty funny if the person being pranked didn’t happen to be her. She was going to have to think of something amazingly embarrassing after this, he would rue the day!

“So open up Lilykins!” Lily rolled her eyes and accepted her fate, knowing they would not release her without taking the potion. With a sigh opened her mouth and allowed her brother to pour the contents into her mouth.

No sooner did the liquid touch her, did she experience the most painful burning of her life, coughing and spluttering.

“Shit James what was in there? Grab her some water!” Al let go of her arms and spun to face her, standing next to James.

“There’s some pumpkin juice in a flask in her pocket there. Open up Lil!”

Lily thankfully accepted the juice, to only realise it was her secret stash of Firewhisky. The combination of the burning potion still in her mouth alongside the burning of the Firewhisky, Lily spit the contents of her mouth, completely covering herself and both her brothers. She would have laughed if she wasn’t convinced her whole body was being set on fire.

The last coherent thought running through her mind, was how strange her brothers looked coated in a bright blue light.

[georgemackayhey]

Rules For Falling In Love: #3

summary: In which George wants to get married. But… you’re not dating. Why should you say yes?

a/n: So sorry I've been MIA! Here's the news. There are only two chapters left of this fun little story. And something else is in the works for which I'll be posting a sneak peek of very soon (bet ya can't guess what it is!) I hope you're all still just as in love with this plot, though, because I know I am. Let me know your thoughts as always, dudes

w/c: 3k

───※ ·❆· ※───

"What the hell are you doing?" You hissed through your teeth at your very own reflection. You were dressed for any imaginable occasion. If folks noticed you waltzing down the street, they might assume you were on your way to lunch with friends. They might think you were headed to the market, or to the movies, or shopping around. But they most likely wouldn't imagine you were on your way to get married. But you were.

You perfected your lipgloss and fixed your hair, and when there was nothing left to primp, you stood there, still, waiting for the girl on the other side of the glass to reach through, grab your shoulders and shake some sense into your head. But she didn't.

///

"That's it? We're done?" You asked in a stunned breath. The cheery old fellow who'd walked you through the process of signing a bunch of papers and reciting a few promises smiled, but studied you for a beat before nodding.

"You're married, now. Congratulations!" He escorted you and your group toward the door, waving a bony hand from the entry before slamming the old wooden door shut, abandoning you in the massive marble halls.

"Oh, that's absolutely not it." George's sister whined. The girl yanked you and her brother out into the warm sunshine. She shoved some wildflowers in your hands, forced you to stand in place, and shoved her brother to your side. George draped an arm around your shoulder as you both grumbled for the girl to stop making such a fuss.

"Just think of all the things I was talked out of doing. The party I could have- no, should have thrown. Now smile!" She rose her phone camera and snapped a few shots, humming with satisfaction when she was decidedly finished. Bless her, she really did only want the best for the two of you. And you and George were due for some new photos besides the ones snapped of your forced smiles at the latest award show.

"Well, I forgot to bring cake as promised, but let me take you round the cafe uptown to kick off my stress eating. " Dean sighed as if someone was making him pitch the offer.

"Sounds like ya need it." You jested. Dean rolled his eyes and gave you a real, soft smile. George's sister left with a big wave and a dramatic congratulations.

Dean was excited to choose your celebratory treats himself, and was the first to dart inside the posh cafe when you arrived. You and George followed, laughing about how your friend had transformed into the classic "kid in a candy shop." You lost Dean to the winding line and moved to find some big comfy seats in the busy shop.

The reality of your latest achievement hadn't quite set in yet. George's laughter was such a familiar, comforting sound, as you settled beside him on some ridiculously oversized ottoman. Today was just... another day.

"Please tell me that what Dean just told me is a big fat joke." A familiar lilt pipped up from the other side of the paint chipped coffee table in front of you. George's agent was stood, slack-jawed with a big, whip cream filled to-go coffee in hand. How funny she happened to be here, you thought. Only her surprise greeting was much different from the times you'd bumped into each other and chatted in line at the markets, before.r

"It's nice to see you too, Donna." George laughed, watching as she set her drink down and moved to sit in the claw foot chair at your side. The woman reached for your hand in a flash, focusing on the ring you'd grown rather attached to over the week.

"Surprise?" You laughed, a twinge of worry settling in your stomach as the woman glanced up to you, eyes full of shock.

"Why on earth did you get married?" She asked in a slow squeak, turning to George as you drew your hand out of her clutch. "More importantly why haven't you told me?"

"Well, it's only just happened. Like half an hour ago." George looked to you, then back to his agent. Donna let out a laugh, and you understood her shock, but her reaction was a bit unnerving. She continued to ask a string of rhetorical questions, how, why, where, why, why?

That was about the time Dean emerged from the line that was now flooding out of the doors and around the building. Was it filling up in here, or was the place closing in on you? A nagging unease settled at the base of your lungs as George told Donna some of the things you'd discussed and what led you to signing some papers, together.

Your favorite third wheel plopped down a tray of little bite-sized cakes, decorated in different shades of pretty pastel icing. They reminded you of the macaroons George brought home from the last award show after-party, and never shared.

"Care to join in the celebration? Tea is on it's way." Dean spoke in Donna's direction before casting his gaze to you, sitting across the way.

"Unfortunately, I've got to get going, but I do wish we could continue discussing what the hell you two have gotten yourselves into." Donna stood, with a wavering smile, grabbing her condensation covered to-go coffee, and spinning toward the door to the tune of your crew's goodbyes.

You glanced down to the cakes Dean had picked out, as he piped up to explain their fillings and flavors. George reached over to place a hand on your knee, as he nodded along to his friend's excited dessert-themed rambles. All the worry that had sprouted at Donna's confusion was swiftly put at ease when you noticed the ring on George's finger. This was your decision, together. You'd talked it all the way through and back. Anyone else's worry over the matter didn't hold value over that fact.

When your tea came, you had managed to ask Dean about the girl he'd been seeing. The three of you noshed on divine desserts and listened to your friend gush over the girl he'd taken on a fourth date, just the night before last. His eyes sparkled and you couldn't help but smile when he paused to think up just how to describe his new beau. He was lucky to have found someone who brought a blush to his cheeks at the mention of their name. Hers, was Claire.

You'd been enraptured by Dean's rose-colored chatter, so much so that your phone's sudden rhythmic buzz in your pocket made you gasp aloud.

"Oh shit." You muttered, past a bite of cake. "We're gonna be late for that thing." You turned to George whose face lit up in recognition. He had an interview today, one for a late-night talk show that would be on air long after you'd settled in for the night.

George thanked his friend for the desserts and for being there today, for the both of you. You knew George meant it, you knew how important it was to him. But to hear his genuine appreciation in his goodbye to Dean made your heart lurch.

"I know I've been giving you both a hard time about this, and I'm still a bit confused by the whole thing, but honestly, I'm happy for you both. And I'm glad you let me come along today." Dean shrugged as you all stood to head your separate ways. Now your heart was a puddle, as you flung yourself to the fellow, wrapping him in a hug and thanking him for being too good a friend. You were lucky too, you figured.

///

It was almost actually funny how uncomfortable these things made George. He was so keen to be a movie star, in the most romantic sense, of course. He could go on for days (months, even, you suspected) about the magic of storytelling and all the lessons to be learned from his chosen career.

But promoting his works, promoting himself, wasn't something he was fond of in the very least bit. So once, you tagged along to some garish dinner party that was really just a competition for best dressed, in disguise. He mingled with the people he knew, and the people he was meant to know, trying with all his might to make genuine connections because if he'd failed to learn at least one person's life story on a night out, he considered the evening wasted. And when they asked about him, he'd get it over with in a flash before turning his attention to you, introducing you, asking you to tell that one story. And when you were left alone to await the next celebrity encounter George begged you with his hands clasped together to come along with him to all of the ridiculous Hollywood shindigs he was ever required to attend. And of course, you couldn't tell the boy no.

So tonight was another one of many. You went home, tossed on a dress, and spun out of the door again without a second to breathe. All your focus was spent reminding George that this would all be worth it in the end. How selling his latest film to millions of viewers would ensure the story he was so proud to have been a part of would effectively become dear to most everyone who tuned in to hear his interview.

When you crept through the studio doors, hand in hand, the welcome George received was perplexingly warm. Interns offered both of you snacks and drinks, directors passed through the green room doorway with beaming smiles, and instructions for George to follow. Writers breezed in, covering the last of the bases, and a friendly old makeup lady fussed over his look just in time for George to float to the stage. When he did, he dragged you along with him. You let go behind all the cameras, promising you'd be near the door's he was meant to exit- near enough to give him the odd thumbs up and dash away when it was all said and done.  

A small audience murmured as the set changed, and cameramen fluttered about. And then it was off. A man in a casual suit sped through a nauseating, over-rehearsed introduction and you wondered how many of the audience members were laughing for real or because they'd been told to.

And then, out of nowhere, without any warning, the interview took a turn you hadn't prepared for in the least. After the usual quick nice to see you again greetings had been passed back and forth, the host asked George a question he already knew the answer too and presented a photograph you hadn't even gotten the chance to see yet.

It was the one his sister had taken this morning, with the wildflowers, out in the midmorning sun. She'd posted it to her Instagram, tagging you in the caption that featured some long-winded sentiment. And you knew that the girl only had you in mind. She probably wasn't dreaming of George's next interview when she uploaded the photo for the world to see. She most definitely probably wasn't thinking of a moment like this coming true, and how her brother would hate it. In the blink of an eye, you envisioned George angrily phoning his sister and her dramatic defense, and a big unnecessary row breaking out.

But then you zoned back to life and watched George answer the interviewer's question with a small smile. He confirmed that he was officially married, and glad to be. George swiftly moved the conversation toward the film he was meant to prompt, which didn't sway the host on a strict schedule to cover all sorts of topics in the next three minutes. But George wasn't dismissive of the subject. He didn't squirm when the aspect of his personal life was spoken aloud to a room full of strangers. He smiled and caught your eye from the stage. You were too stunned to give him the usual thumbs up from where you waited, you just watched as he grinned, and nodded when the host offered his congratulations.

Then it was over, and the audience flooded away, and you and George hurried to collect yourselves and leave in as big of a hurry as you could without seeming rude. He held your hand like a vice, and you led the way out of the exit, toward the car park.

Before you could reach sweet freedom, a small crew of George's fans had been waiting near the back, with hopes of catching a moment of the guys time they'd come to watch get interviewed. The three young girls held out a marker and asked for his autograph in a shy manner. You noticed most of the fans George encountered over the years were just as meek and mild as the guy himself.

So he smiled and agreed with pleasure, as you awkwardly shifted on the sidelines, unable to flee to the car across the way because he had the keys.

"We're really happy for you, by the way." One of the girls piped up, facing you. "You guys have like, always been our favorite couple."

"You restore our faith in love." Another one of the girls giggled, approaching George with movie posters in hand.

All the complex feelings in your gut the rose at the girl's comments didn't matter. It was entirely too sweet of them to say something. So you thanked them with a smile, and waved goodbye when the last of them had their selfie with George. He said goodbye and turned toward the car with a sigh. You could practically see the weight of the evening's events fall off of his broad shoulders.

You piled into the passenger seat, debating on what to have for dinner, already knowing he dreamed of nothing more than a self-indulgent end to the long night. When you both agreed on what to have, a silence fell over the two of you for the first time all day.

It was heavy with different versions of the same question, the same subject. You'd woken up in one era, one that ended around ten this morning. And neither of you had much of a chance to talk about the fact that you were married now.

"Are you... happy?" You spoke up, at last, watching the world float by on your drive through the city.

"I am. Are you?" George smiled, turning to catch your eye, glancing back at the road ahead a couple of times.

"Yeah." You laughed a little. You wouldn't have agreed to any of this if you weren't dead sure you'd be at peace when the decision was made. And you were filled with that same calm that filled you in the cafe, this morning when George rested his hand on your knee. You'd made the right decision for the both of you, and you were very glad for it indeed.

///

Three months had passed. They were quite busy, and filled with all the usual stress that any typical trio of months held. But as the days passed by, you found George was right, somehow. Things... were easier. Maybe you'd talked yourself into believing so, but you noticed celebrities had stopped leaving you out of chit chat when they breezed through after-parties. You notice stranger men had stopped pestering you at the bar, half of the time. And when you met new people and wound up in new places, you didn't have to go through the long spiel of who Geogre was to you, and why he was always around. He was simply your husband, now.

It was strange to get used to the tile at first, but by the time you'd made it to month four, it rolled off your tongue like melting butter. George seemed most keen to use your unity to get out of other plans.

"Sorry I'll have to miss the next gala, my wife wants to go kayaking." You'd never kayaked. You didn't know how, and you'd never brought it up.

"Ah yes, I am that guy from that one movie but sorry I can't come back to your motel, I've got to help my wife pick out dinner." He had rushed you along grocery store stalls in a hurry to escape the odd, unnerving encounter.

That's how your week started, avoiding the scary fan who kept stalking through the market, stopping George with strange questions around too many corners. It wasn't his most unsettling encounter, but one that left the poor guy on edge for another day or so. You'd get home after fifteen-hour shifts, too tired to talk about it. Too tired to ask what he'd been up to all day.  

By the end of your week, you'd barely seen George, and he'd been just as busy. You ended your last, hellish never-ending shift with tears in your eyes from the thousands of little things that had piled up and left you stressed till it was time to clock out.  

You got home to find George in the living room, reaching for the remote. He left the thing on the coffee table when he twisted to see you in the doorway, worn down, strung out, over it. He asked if you were alright as you kicked your shoes away and hung your coat up in a hurry to decompress.

You demanded George wait to watch whatever film he had in mind for you to join him. You desperately needed to shift your focus from your own worries to an unrelated fictional realm. In a hurry, you showered the day from your achy body and slipped into your comfiest nightclothes.  Then you piled up your best blankets on the sofa, using a couple as faux pillows while you and George shared one big, massive quilt, and flipped on the film.

"What'll be tonight then?" You asked, sinking into the cushions at long last.  

"That one my mum won't shut up about. About that couple who gets divorced? WOn a bunch of awards." George muttered, clicking on Netflix. He'd always made it a point to watch the films the public raved over, to find out if the fuss was worth it.

"What if this kick starts our own divorce." You joked, the thought escaping your lips as soon as it passed through your head. Regret might have seeded itself in you if George wasn't so quick to laugh.

"I solemnly swear I will not let a fictional couple's marital issues affect my promise... no, my genuine desire to continue working at being with you for better or for worse."

Where the hell did that come from? You gapped at George as he queued up the film.

"Damn. You're getting good at this whole husband thing." You let out a small, stunned laugh. It made the dull ache in your head hammer. George noticed as you drew a hand to your brow, waiting for the thrum to settle.

"I'm sorry you had another bad day," He whispered.

"Thanks, You softened, knowing he truly empathized.

George lifted his arm and bobbed his head, beckoning you closer. You took the invite to curl into his side with a sigh. He was warm, and comforting, and his bicep was the perfect pillow. You relaxed for the first time in forever, it seemed, closing your eyes in to soak up the calm, quiet evening. The sounds of the film faded as you fell into an accidental nap.

You were jarred awake by a dreadful buzzing coming from the coffee table. George's phone was ringing, and when he twisted too slowly to reach for it, you realized he'd fallen asleep too. You noticed Dean's name flash across the screen as George answered, lackadaisically holding the cell in the hand that wasn't still closely wrapped around you.

"You're on speaker," George warned, as you stayed lethargically content at his side.

"Good! I have a question for both of you." Dean 's voice crackled through the telly. His assumption that you were already wherever George was, made you chuckle.

"Claire and I are staying in that quaint little seaside town, this weekend. Fancy coming along? In fact, it was her idea to invite you both to join us." Dean explained, it sounded as though he was walking through the city, shouts and clangs passing through the call.

You glanced up to George from where your head still rested near his shoulder. Neither of your expressions held signs of disinterest so when George carefully responded to Dean that the idea sounded nice, and asked for more details, you grinned and relaxed back into place.

Dean listed off some more information as George hummed and murmured in response. When the call had ended and new plans were made, George tossed his phone back on the table, and settled deeper into the sofa, shifting the weight of his arm beneath you, but hardly disturbing your peace a bit. The sun was peeking through the cracks of your curtains, and the movie must have been nearly over. You both drifted back asleep without another word, and all seemed well. It must have been.

You and George were closer than ever before- and you had already been classified as inseparable. But you'd hardly gotten to enjoy each other's company since making whatever you had official. Rule number three of this marriage enforced you must take every opportunity to for a bit of fun, as possible. It was time for a small getaway. A peaceful sleep would have to do, till then.

───※ ·❆· ※───

taglist: @whenthe-smokeisinyoureyes​ @andux @imaginationandlove @velvetgoldsilver @queen-bunnyears @maria-josefin @dearevansamham​ @belledamsceno @nilletellsstories @loulouloueh @visionsofmelodrama @haileymorelikestupid

[twisted-tales-of-all]

The Inspiration You Needed

Idol!Kim Hongjoong x (Gender-Ambiguous) Fanfiction-Author!Reader

Summary: When you experience writer’s block on a piece about your boyfriend, he decides to take the day to help inspire you.

Word Count: ~2.2K

Warnings: So much fluff

"Do you like it?"

You lift your head from your current project to see your boyfriend with his stylist behind him, both sporting nervous looks of anticipation. You find his new hair color - white to violet ombre - absolutely adorable, but know that they want a more "sophisticated" answer. He brought you here for critiques, not to swoon.

"I like the idea. It looks good, but what about full lavender hair with violet underneath? I think it'll look better for your softer concept."

The hairstylist looks over the ombre hair again, mentally envisioning the look you suggested. Ultimately deciding that, since the test colors can wash out with water, she would try it. She drags your boyfriend back to the other room, so you turn back to your work.

Although only a hobby, you love to write and seem to more effort into it than you do at your day job. It does bring in money, but nowhere near enough to quit your boring secretary job. You never expected to garner any attention when you started your fanfiction blog, but you quickly gained a following. After only two years, your blog accumulated nearly 3000 followers. You receive plenty of requests, one of which you were currently trying - and failing - to progress on.

See, none of your followers know that your closest friends and your boyfriend all happen to be idols, so requests stump you when they include people you know, especially when you can't imagine the scenarios happening at all. For this request, you needed to write about how Hongjoong would help his significant other with work-related stress. While your boyfriend has helped you relieve stress plenty of times before, the real Hongjoong serves as a bad example for a good fanfiction. The real Hongjoong sits silently in the room unless you ask him for something, knowing how you enjoy your space. You certainly don't believe that idea would work for your readers, most of whom probably expect sweet Hongjoong to help with cuddles or singing to his partner.

"Earth to Y/N!" You hear the stylist call you again, so you look up from your notebook once again. "Finally. Here's the lavender Hongjoong look. I do agree with you. This fits their concept a lot better. Thanks for suggesting it."

"That's why I'm here, after all. I prefer this look, that's for sure."

You catch the nervousness in Hongjoong's smile melt away after hearing that you like the look. Despite having to go back to get the true dye job done, he much prefers you here to help. You have the fan's point of view: you knew the group since pre-debut, KQFellaz, days, followed each comeback and all the chaos it caused in the fandom, and kept up with a handful of theories that arose. After all, they haven't told you any secrets despite being close friends, so theories are your lifeline, just like any other fan.

"Oh, Y/N! You're here?" Once again raising your head from the paper, you meet the face of another friend.

"Hi, Yeosang! Are you doing your hair next? Hongjoong should almost be done." You shoot him a smile as he settles by you on the couch.

"I'll wait here then. What are you working on? Another piece for your blog?"

You nod but add, with a sigh, "It's another ATEEZ request that I can't figure out. Why can't Hongjoong be a typical boyfriend that I can use in my fanfiction?"

Yeosang scoffs at your whine, "You don't want him to be like a fanfiction boy. You and I both know that."

"You're right. I would get sick of a real-life fanfiction boy. Hongjoong is perfect now. I just wish I could write requests for you guys easier. It's hard to imagine a lot of things people want ever actually happening in real life."

"Then, let's try doing things the fans want to read." You and Yeosang both shoot shocked looks to Hongjoong, who emerges with his new pastel hair job completely finished. "Your turn, Yeosang. Thanks for keeping my love company for a bit."

"Good luck, Y/N. I hope you figure things out." Yeosang winks at you before pushing himself off the couch and heading into the room Hongjoong came out of. Almost immediately, you hear the stylist's laughter booming, making you roll your eyes at Yeosang's antics.

Hongjoong laughs at your reaction then holds his hand out to help you off the couch. You place your notebook and pen in one hand and accept his gesture with your now-freed hand. When you stand, he takes advantage of the situation and pulls you in close for a quick peck on the lips.

"How's that for your fanfiction?"

As embarrassed as the situation makes you, his proud, corny smile only lets you send a smile back. He hardly does sappy, fanfiction-worthy things, so the few times he does - even jokingly - make you gush to extremes.

"Let's go be a fanfiction couple for the day. What a perfect way to celebrate our 100 days. I'll gladly help you with inspiration for your request."

He doesn't let you respond as he walks back to the entryway, dragging you roughly behind him, only to be met with a crowd of fans - something you note after dating him this long is easily avoided and simply used as a plot point in writing. Although Hongjoong clearly announced his relationship status on "Knowing Bros" after Kim Heechul asked him for a kiss on the cheek, nobody has seen his so-called "partner" before, so many still search desperately for proof. This reveals any proof they need, even if they can't get an identification on who exactly you are.

At this exact moment, you're exceptionally glad that you haven't revealed your face on your blog. You know that someone will catch a picture of your face despite hiding it the best you can. As you keep your face down, you follow your boyfriend's pull on your hand. He suddenly stops, but you don't catch it in time, slightly bumping into him. He rubs his thumb over your hand as he clears his throat. You slightly lift your head at him, seeing him smiling and waving at the fans.

"Hello, everyone! Didn't know you would be here; what a nice surprise. I would like to finally introduce you to my partner. They're a little shy. You guys were starting to wonder whether they were real, right, ATINY?" With a laugh, he lifts your chin and gives you a look that assures you it'll be okay. As you send a smile out to the fans, the mixed reactions bring a weird sensation to the pit of your stomach, partially from nervousness and partially from unexpected acceptance.

Most of the reactions, surprisingly, implied acceptance and even happiness. You hear a fanboy in the front row say that you complement each other well, which definitely sticks in your mind and brings a smile to your face. The two of you stick around for a bit, talking with fans and answering simple questions they ask.

"Okay, everyone! I think it's time for us to go. It's our 100-day anniversary, so I have to treat them even better than usual, and I'd like to use as much time as possible. You guys are all so great but don't forget to take care of yourselves! Don't sit out here all day!"

With Hongjoong's heartfelt goodbye, the two of you walk off, hand in hand.

"So, Joongie, where are we going?" You ask after around ten minutes of following his lead.

"There." He points in front of him with a smile. As you follow his finger, your eyes land on your favorite arcade. He watches as your smile grows wider.

"Time to kick your butt again?" You joke, even though you usually have close games. He laughs but says nothing as he leads you to the arcade, holding the door open for you.

Instantly, you head to your favorite game. He pays for the game credits before finding you exactly where he expects you. He jokes about your predictability and hands you the card, reloaded and ready to use. He lets you play this game alone, admiring you and taking photos of your focused form.

After an hour of playing games, you guys dry out the credits and decide to head out instead of reloading them again. He brings you across the street and to the fourth floor of the building, to a sweets shop. You sample a few before deciding on your favorite, which he buys for you both to share.

As you guys walk through a beautiful tree-lined street, your happiness makes all thoughts leave your head. You don't even notice that he's brought you to a high-class restaurant until he opens the door for you.

"Hongjoong, do you have a reservation?" You ask, nervously shrinking in on yourself since you feel out of place.

He ignores the question and walks to the bar, sitting directly in front of the barback polishing glasses. You can't hear the conversation but clearly see the man give Hongjoong a black paper bag. You follow Hongjoong out of the restaurant, your thoughts hyper-focused on the paper bag. Before even realizing it, you're at the apartment complex you live in. As you unlock the doors and head inside your apartment, you register your boyfriend's voice for the first time since the restaurant.

"You want to see what's inside, right?"

He holds the bag out towards you without waiting for your response. When you look inside, you feel the curiosity fall away, defeated by the simple object in the bag. You pull out the box, wondering why the man would give Hongjoong an ATEEZ album.

"Open it. I've had this in the making for a bit now, so don't you dare claim that I'm not fanfiction material."

As you open the album case, you find the typical photo book replaced by one titled "An Image Worth 100 Words." As you flip through the book, you find a collection of pictures of yourself. Most of them are ones you never knew he captured, with you focused on working on various writing projects. Next to the photos are short writings. As you continue to flip through the book, you realize that the writings form a full song that you've never seen before.

He watches your reaction as you read the song. As you finish, you can't help but hug your boyfriend in glee and praise him for his hard work. As usual, he blows off your praise by saying that it wasn't much and that you're worth so much more, but he also tells you to put the disc into the computer and play the contents. As it starts, you realize that he wrote and composed this whole song for you. You laugh when you hear some of the other members' voices in the song, meaning that he got them involved as well.

Shyly, before you even ask, he admits, "They didn't want to be left out. They said that our 100-day anniversary also equals 100 days as best friends with you."

You laugh at the boys' antics, knowing full well that they probably just wanted to annoy Hongjoong by forcing him to let them join. They probably won't even bring it up to you at all. Regardless, you do enjoy that they joined. It somehow makes the "album" feel less cheesy and more real.

You leave a quick peck on your boyfriend's lips before walking to your desk and grabbing a box that was sitting on top. As you hand it to Hongjoong, you admit, "It's not as good as your gift to me, but I know you'll appreciate it nonetheless."

You watch nervously as he opens the box and pulls out the notebook. As he flips through the pages, you see his face perk up.

"How long have you been writing this, Y/N?"

"Probably close to three months. I know you said you loved my writing, so now you have a story that's only for you. It won't be posted, and I haven't shown anyone else."

At this moment, an idea finally comes to mind about the request you had. Seeing this, Hongjoong motions for you to write it down before you forget it.

On a random paper, you scribble the words "soft subby Joong" and smile at it. As Hongjoong looks over your shoulder at the idea, he pouts, "I'm not subby."

"I know, Joong. Trust me, I know. But sometimes the readers just need something soft. This is the easiest way to write it since I'm very kind to you when I'm in charge."

"That is true. Well, happy 100 days, my sweet love. I'm glad I helped with your writer's block, and I can't wait to read the story you wrote for me."

"Happy 100 days, Hongjoong. Thank you so much. For everything."

[lazywriter7]

Five Bells

Written for @lightsonparkave prompt one and two. Cheers to the delightful @firebrands for all her words of encouragement.

Summary:  

After returning the Stones, Steve takes a detour through time.

First few lines of dialogue taken from Avengers: Endgame. All other lines in italics, as well as the title, are taken from Kenneth Slessor’s Five Bells.

________________________________

“How long is this gonna take?”

“For him? As long as he needs. For us? Five seconds.”

  Time that is moved by little fidget wheels Is not my time

the flood that does not flow.

 I have lived many lives, and this one life

  “You know which bagel,” Steve says – mostly distracted. Cross-legged, notepad on thigh, he is drafting new training plans for the team; Pietro is proving to be a unique challenge.

“I do?” Tony queries, standing above his shoulder. The couch is low and he towers over Steve. “I don’t remember that being covered by the history books… unless I’d fallen asleep, of course.”

Steve freezes. No, no, he stills. The setting sun angles over Tony’s cheekbone, a deep, burnt red.

Steve lowers his gaze, his skin shivering with the afternoon chill. “Sesame seed, please.”

  Why do I think of you, dead man

 You have gone from earth,

Gone even from the meaning of a name;

  It is in the little things. Natasha’s surprised blink when Steve brings her a peanut butter sandwich, the hollow silence when he curses on the comms and no one chimes the L-word back at him.

It is nothing. It should pale before the face of the big things, the earth-shattering, the miraculous – the reality of getting to hear their voices, see their faces, unblemished, every day.

Even Christmas. Clint snags a thumbnail under the wrapping paper and peels it open from the middle; lifts the box set of Jurassic Park colouring books in the air and shakes it. “Right, ‘cause I’m the toddler of the team, I geddit. Thanks, Cap.”

It’s for Cooper, Steve thinks; it’s dumb, I couldn’t help myself, you haven’t told us and I’m so sorry–

“Did you not have presents in your time?” Tony asks, part snark and mostly befuddled, the multicoloured gleam of fairy lights dappled in his hair.

I didn’t have you in my time – and. And. It is in the little things.

  Yet something's there, yet something forms its lips

And hits and cries against the ports of space,

Beating their sides to make its fury heard.

  “They’re shiny. Silver.” Tony says, bruised eyes, dim with a kind of terror Steve has lived through first-hand. “These big, heaving whales in the air… and everything else is dark. All of you are dead.”

It’s been twenty-three days since Steve told him about December 16, 1991. New traumas evoking older nightmares.

“And I’m alone.”

It wasn’t real, Steve should say. That is the correct response to a nightmare.

It was real, in another, deliberately forgotten lifetime. Five years, and they weren’t even the worst of it.

“We can prepare,” Steve fists his hands by his sides, so as to not reach for Tony’s trembling ones on the kitchen countertop. Everything around them is night and still, but for the flickering of the bulb overhead. “We’ll be ready for them when they’re here.”

It’s like a face shifting from the shade into the light; the gratitude moving over Tony’s features.

The kettle whistles, Tony pads over to the stove – and for an instant, it’s as if a cloud passes and Steve is convinced this is a BARF memory. There by the corner, the real Tony stands with shoulders curled in – gaunt, emaciated, mouthing words.

Liar. Thief. Liar, liar.

  Are you shouting at me, dead man, squeezing your face

In agonies of speech on speechless panes?

Cry louder, beat the windows, bawl your name!

  Tony, Steve breathes – and Tony catches it on his lips.

This has never happened before. Steve has no memories to compare it with, and catalogues every detail to add to a rolodex of sensations, for safekeeping; Tony’s eyelashes fluttering against Steve’s skin, the way the callus on his thumb digs into Steve’s chin when he’s holding it steady, the soft skin in the crevices between his fingers as their hands wound tighter together, the happiness of an impossible moment.

Tony pulls back, smiles softly.

Steve closes his own eyes, brushes his mouth over the corner of Tony’s, where the wrinkles begin – the place missing just a few extra lines.

  But I hear nothing, nothing...only bells,

Five bells, the bumpkin calculus of Time

Your echoes die, your voice is dowsed by Life

  “I have… Arlington.” Steve awkwardly presses himself against the wall of the overfull coffeeshop, paper cup oozing warmth through to his palms. Sometimes, if he lets himself forget, the crowds piling through the street and bustling indoors can still stun him. “There’s a memorial there, I mean. But if I could pick, after I eventually… Brooklyn, probably. In the Barnes family plot, if they allow it.”

“What,” Steve asks – turned morbid by the laughter and press of people around him. Fifty percent. It never happened here. “What about you?”

Natasha looks at him, brow crooking high enough to reach her hairline. Steve used to think that blistering colour came from hair dye, but he knows better now.

“Where I’d want to be buried?” She summarises bluntly. It’s like a wound getting cauterised – relief and pain making everything insensate.

The answer is a farm that isn’t supposed to exist, in the middle of nowhere. “Minsk,” Natasha says instead, and it doesn’t sound like a lie he’s heard before.

  Nothing except the memory of some bones

Long shoved away, and sucked away, in mud;

And unimportant things you might have done,

Or once I thought you did; but you forgot,

And all have now forgotten

   “Happy Sputnik Day!” Tony choruses, Thor’s deep base rumbling alongside his. Bruce is in the attached kitchenette, peering at jar labels in the shelf; Clint and Natasha playing Borderlands on the couch.

Steve comes further in from the doorway, gaze flitting incorrigibly from person to person. “What?”

“You know, Sputnik. The day all of humanity became a little cooler, and the Russians successfully launched the first satellite into orbit, driving the Americans insane.” Tony springs to his feet, wide grin approaching for a morning kiss. “October fourth.”

He barely catches Steve, fingers clamped about the arms, just as Steve pitches into the floor.

One year, one year one yearoneyearone –

Past, present, future swirls together in his serum-perfect brain, gibbering over two words, a fact so carefully forgotten; his breaths grow shallower and shallower, pain shooting through his chest with every hitch, black-spots-inverse-stars shimmering in his vision–

“You’re dead.” Steve rasps out, Tony’s face shuttering in confusion. And there’s nothing anyone can do about it. “You’re dead.”

  Where have you gone? The tide is over you,

The turn of midnight water's over you,

As Time is over you, and mystery,

And memory, the flood that does not flow.

  He’s curled on the couch, apostrophe-like; dry-mouthed but breathing slower against Tony’s denim-covered thigh. Tony drags blunt nails over his scalp, quietly humming under his own breath.

I’ve watched you, Steve thinks hazily – watched you raise a child, watched you be blissfully married, watched you speak to Howard, father to father, and dole out more understanding than he deserved, and let me walk you away from your pristine life and give me more trust than I had ever earned. I watched the silver grow from the temples of your head to the longer hair-strands, to the scrub of your goatee, up to the fleck of your brows. And the longer I keep watching you now, the more I know I’m watching someone else.

“Was so sure,” He can hear his voice reverberate off the floor, more of a croak than anything– “tha’ I wasn’ gonna leave you this time.”

Tony regards him, hum falling silent. There’s a dam there, in those eyes, holding back a wave of slowly stirring anger and injury that Steve fully intends to weather – but is leashed now, for some reason.

This Tony doesn’t have grey in his beard yet, but even as his lips move and Steve braces himself, he says–

“I’ll forgive you.”

  The night you died, I felt your eardrums crack,

And the short agony, the longer dream,

The Nothing that was neither long nor short;

But I was bound, and could not go that way,

But I was blind, and could not feel your hand

  After he’s said his goodbyes, Natasha follows him back to his room.

“Is he still in the plane somewhere?”

Back at the beginning, when he’d been dropping off the Tesseract at Camp Lehigh – he’d briefly considered it. Dropping off an envelope on Peggy’s desk with the coordinates of the Valkyrie, so that the other him could find… something. Maybe a happy ending, maybe just a chance. But all of time and its knowledge had been laid out before Steve, and he hadn’t resisted one extra indulgence.

It was only time before he met Scott, after all. One extra Particle than he had, one trip to the forties and back – and his self could be spared the pain of thirty years in the ice.

In twenty-twelve, Steve changed the course of history merely by showing up; all deep sea vessels, search parties in the Arctic called home. Captain America was alive and well.

“Seventy five, point two three zero six north, ninety nine point one one three zero west.” With every blink, Steve can see her memorising the numbers. “Find him, kick his ass into gear. Don’t let him run.”

She nods, and remains waiting in the doorway. Steve is motionless on the bed, the looming weight of the future wrapped around his wrist.

He looks at her. Natasha’s lips curve straight up, soft and reassuring.

“See you in a minute,” Steve whispers, and disappears.

  If I could find an answer, could only find

Your meaning, or could say why you were here

Who now are gone, what purpose gave you breath

Or seized it back, might I not hear your voice?

  Back on the platform, Bucky runs to him first. His brows are furrowed with faint surprise.

In that other past, and now that was The Other – Peggy had set him free in the seventies, aided by information that Steve left behind. When Steve re-emerged in twenty-twelve, he had no idea where Bucky was and how the years had passed for him – fettering his impulses in steel, and letting it remain that way. His interference would accomplish little, and Bucky had always managed on without him.

Or maybe that had just been easier for him to believe.

“Not the end of the line just yet,” Steve says.

The surprise smooths out of Bucky’s features, so does the staidness; he squeezes Steve’s elbow once and for a second, that grin seems alive.

“I hate running alone,” Steve tells Sam, who’s standing but two paces behind. He strides forward to catch up, reaches out and wraps Sam’s solid fingers over the strap of the shield in one motion. “Hold this for me, will you? Be back soon.”

He turns and walks. It’s a short one – the lakehouse property isn’t really big. There’s grass everywhere, and dandelions, and no headstones.

Just a tall, stately oak towards the side – foliage in full summer splendour. There’s already a circle of dropped acorns around the base, ready to sprout into a hundred, newer lives.

“Hey.” Steve strokes his fingers over the burnished bark. “I’m back.”

 I have lived many lives, and this one life

 Time that is moved by little fidget wheels

Is not my time, the flood that does not flow.

  Outside the lakehouse, Laura is bundling the kids into a van. Clint steps down from the porch, murmurs something to her, then jogs over to where Steve is watching, arms folded.

“She did have family,” Clint says, almost as an aside. “Sisters, a few others.”

Steve breathes the news in. The scent of summer is strong in the air, lilacs and crabapples and the soil itself.

“I have a few of her effects. They must’ve heard, already, but someone should tell them in-person.”

“I’ll find them.” Steve affirms. Clint nods, and walks back to the van, where Cooper sticks his head out of the open windowpane and gets his hair ruffled teasingly for his efforts.

Steve watches, the warmth of the sun beating down his arms and back. He has a feeling Minsk is pretty nice this time of year too.