#and we know from his failure story that he is the one holding those parties because ran gets his beauty sleep

[sergiopolis]

since we're on not-green flags, i need to talk about rindou😟 ik the fandom took wakui's "tenjiku's best boyfriend" ranking and RAN but guys..... this applies within the tenjiku members only.... kakucho is a sweetheart but the rest are just the less horrible of them all😭 in third position we have kokonoi who didn't got over akane until his talk with inui and kissed the latter because "he reminded him of his sister and they were in the same place where he almost kissed her so hey!! oh well yeah lets just kiss him!!"

we're not working with great bf material here(*꒦ິ꒳꒦ີ) do i need to remind you that rin is canonically a dj which is in the japan lovemarket the thing right above hosts!! according to people who live in jp +a gymbro... and lowk an alcoholic who gets drunk with homeless strangers on the streets💔 and on top of that a gang member delinquet charged with murder like??? fangirls&fanboys i mourn with you the loss of your soft bf rindou because at best you have a cowardly player right there

[the-stars-in-between]

Conclusion after my first Whumptober participation: 11 stories. Not too bad, more than I expected, but the moment I realized I was allowed to sleep instead of continuing to write it was over for me. Overall it was a fun experience — for me, not for the characters — and the prompts gave me ideas I never would have thought of without it, so thank you @whumptober.

However! I will finish this challenge whether it is finishing the stories I already started or those that are not yet written. I am not giving up. My goal is to finish by the end of January considering that I have a big break for Christmas but nothing is guaranteed.

I leave you now the links of the stories that are already posted and I will update each time I post a new story.

DAY 1 & DAY 19: Every Day You Fight Like You're Running Out Of Time (Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester)

Sam gets lost in the forest. This action has consequences.

No. 1: RACE AGAINST THE CLOCK Search Party | Panic Attack | "If only we could hold on.” (Icysami x Renegaderr, Strangers.)

No. 19: BLOOD TRAIL Abandoned Cabin | One Way Out | "Is there anybody alive out there?" (Bruce Springsteen, Radio Nowhere)

Luffy relives the worst day of his life, over and over again.

DAY 2: Again. (Monkey D. Luffy)

No. 2: ALTERNATIVE  Time Loop

Dean is going to die, Sam doesn't know what to think about it.

DAY 3: Did You Bring Me Some Pie? (Sam Winchester)

No. 3: SET UP FOR FAILURE Fingerprints | Wrongfully Arrested | "I warned you."

Law can't escape, even in his dreams. Especially in his dreams.

DAY 4: A Good Night's Sleep (Trafalgar D. Water Law)

No. 4: HALLUCINATIONS Hypnosis | Sensory Deprivation | “You're still alive in my head.” (Billy Lockett, More)

Luffy can stretch and stretch, but he can't escape his pain.

DAY 5: If My Pain Will Stretch That Far (Monkey D. Luffy)

No. 5: SUNBURN Healing Salve | Heatstroke | "If my pain will stretch that far." (Lottery Winners, Burning House)

Bobby is bleeding out, but family doesn't end in blood.

DAY 6: Blood On The Car Seats (Bobby Singer)

No. 6: NOT REALIZING THEY'RE INJURED Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms | Healed Wrong | "It's not my blood."

The heart of a demon, willingly given, is a powerful weapon for the one who wields it.

DAY 7: The Heart of a Demon (Crowley)

No. 7: ONLY FOR EMERGENCIES Unconventional Weapon | Magic with a Cost | "It's us or them."

Zoro can't sleep, ghosts come to keep him company.

DAY 8: Nightmares Don't Sleep (Roronoa Zoro)

No. 8: SLEEP DEPRIVATION Isolation Chamber | Forced to Stay Awake | "Leave the lights on." (Coldplay, Midnight)

Castiel is learning to be human. It hurts. In more ways than one.

DAY 10: Did It Hurt When You Fell From Heaven? (Castiel)

No. 10: BLOW TO THE HEAD Slurred Words | Passing Out from Pain | "I can't think straight."

No. 11: SEEING DOUBLE Convenience Store | Loneliness | “Leave no trace behind, like you don't even exist.” (Taylor Swift, Illicit Affairs)

DAY 11: Fade Away Into The Sunset (Sam Winchester)

No. 12: STARVATION Underground Caverns | Cannibalism | "Just a little more."

DAY 12: (Nico Robin)

The end of a crew. The end of a legend.

DAY 13: Till Death Do Us Part (Straw Hat Pirates)

No. 13: TEAM AS A FAMILY Familial Curse | Multiple Whumpees | "Death will do us part." (Set It Off, Partner's In Crime)

No. 14: LEFT FOR DEAD Hunting Gear | Blackmail | “Because I want you to know what it feels like to be haunted” (tiLLie, kooL aiD mAn)

DAY 14: (Shanks)

The cycle repeats itself.

DAY 15: The Father's Mistakes Fall on the Son's Shoulders (Dean Winchester, Jack Kline)

No. 15: CHILDHOOD TRAUMA Painful Hug | Moment of Clarity | "I did good, right?"

No. 16: NECROSIS Swamp | Wound Cleaning | "No, I can't feel anything."

DAY 16: Where Dreams Go To Die (Sanji)

No. 17: NOWHERE ELSE TO GO Ruined Map | Shipwrecked | "We had a good run."

DAY 17: In the Dark You Can't Tell Ink and Blood Apart (Nami)

No. 18: REVENGE Unreliable Narrator | Loss of Identity | “I see what's mine and take it.” (Panic! at the Disco, Emperor's New Clothes)

DAY 18: (Sabo)

No. 20: EMOTIONAL ANGST Shoulder to Cry On | Giving Permission to Die | "It's not your fault."

DAY 20: (Charlie Bradbury)

No. 21: BODY HORROR Body Horror | Tattoo Gun | Spirit Possession | “Let the bedsheet soak up the tears.” (Apparat feat. Soap & Skin, Goodbye)

DAY 21: D.E.A.T.H. (Trafalgar D. Water Law)

No. 22: BLEEDING THROUGH BANDAGES Tourniquet | Reopening Wounds | "Oh that's not good."

DAY 22: (Jack Kline)

No. 9: OBSESSION Broken Window | Bruises | “Frame me up on the wall, just to keep me out of trouble.” (Fall Out Boy, Irresistible) No. 23: FORCED CHOICE Public Display | Broken Pedestal | "I'm doing this for you."

DAY 23 (+DAY 9): The Hand That Saves Is The Same As The Hand That Wounds (Gabriel)

No. 24: RADIATION POISONING Collapsed Building | Equipment Failure | “I never knew daylight could be so violent.” (Florence + The Machine, No Light, No Light)

DAY 24: Embracing the Sun (Portgas D. Ace)

No. 25: SURGERY Stitches | Being Monitored | "It's for your own good."

DAY 25: Grit Your Teeth, Everything Will Be Fine (Sam Winchester)

No. 26: NIGHTMARES Breakfast Table | Parting Words of Regret | “I'm haunted by the lies that I have loved, the actions I have hated.” (Poe, Haunted)

DAY 26: (Claire Novak)

No. 27: VOICELESS Laboratory | Muzzled | “I have no mouth and I must scream.”

DAY 27: EX-FL02 (Portgas D. Ace)

No. 29: FATIGUE Labyrinth | Burnout | "Who said you could rest?"

DAY 29: Run Rabbit, Run (Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester)

No. 30: RECOVERY Hospital Bed | Holding Back Tears | "What have I done?" No. 28: ALTERNATIVE  No-Holds-Barred Beatdown

DAY 30 (+DAY 28): When the Sun Dies, the Stars Go With It (Portgas D. Ace, Sabo)

No. 31: ASKING FOR HELP Therapy | Making Amends | "I'm alive, I'm just not well." (Elliot Lee, Alive, Not Well.)

DAY 31: The Hardest Things To Say (Dean Winchester)

[ask-de-writer]

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to Science Fiction

SUBMARINE! 1812 an Alternate History

Chapter 6 : KRAKEN

(Part 1 of 5)

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

5462 words

© 2023 by Glen Ten-Eyck

All rights reserved.

This document may not be copied or distributed on or to any medium or placed in any mass storage system except by the express written consent of the author.

TUMBLR EXEMPTION

Blog holding members of Tumblr.com may freely reblog this story provided that the title, author and copyright information remain intact, unaltered, and are displayed at the head of the story.

Fan art, stories, music, cosplay and other fan activity is actively encouraged.

~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

KRAKEN-

Anchors were dropped with a rattle of heavy chain, followed by the hiss of heavy cable through the hause-pipes as the hooks sought and found purchase in the bottom of Hampton Roads. We were home at last.

The seaman beside me was precariously standing on the rail of the Maryland, one hand on a line for balance, the other waving enthusiastically at the small boats approaching from shore. “I got me more than two thousand gold Continentals in prize money to blow,” he confided to me. “I’d ha’ stayed out longer, iffin’ I was the Commodore. We chewed ‘em up and spit ‘em out so good.”

“Indeed we did, though I was one of those who said that we should return,” I replied.

“So why’d we come back? You got the inside skinny?”

“Only part of it. If it helps any, even Commodore Marks shared your view. We had two attack boats damaged in loading accidents there at the last. Shark lost her mast and a tackle failure caused Polliwog serious damage to rudder and diving planes. We had not the facilities to refit the Shark. Still, we were willing to continue, with altered raising tackle. There was something in that last messenger packet’s dispatches that changed The Commodore’s mind. What that was I do not know.”

“What’s up? Green Jackets in boats is turnin’ back the harbor boats...” The shrill of the bosun’s pipe sounding assembly interrupted him. He leapt nimbly down to the deck and ran aft with the rest of the crew. Commodore Marks was standing on the poop deck, ready to address the crew.

“Men,” he cried, “you have done what no nation has ever done before. You have humbled the Beast of Britain on her home seas. Even the least among you has enough prize money to buy a decent farm. Our holds bear a secret and that secret is the rocket, nothing else. If any man or woman questions you about other weapons or even the submarine boats, what do you do?”

There was a pregnant pause, followed by one man saying, “Report ‘em!” Suddenly the whole crew caught it. “Report ‘em!” they thundered as one.

“That’s right! Report ‘em! There are no submarine boats! Anyone who says that there are is a liar! An arrested liar at that! It’s rockets that sent the Brits to the bottom! Is every man here clear on that?”

“Aye, Sir!” they responded.

“Signal man! Clear the boats to approach us! Bosun Harding has the harbor duty assignments. Those not on harbor duty may go ashore and God go with you.”

Bosun Harding read off a dozen names and was met by as many groans of disappointment.

The many small boats swarmed like a gaggle of geese about our ships. Many were carrying liveried servants from great houses, and at least as many more were carrying ladies. They all were bearing invitations to come to parties being held in the honor of our deed. The servants wanted officers, or at least the highest ranking men that they could get for their master’s “rocket parties.”

The ladies were mostly less discriminating. They were there to invite any man that they could get to come to their ‘parties.’ Some of those parties were very private and some were open invitations from the brothels of Norfolk.

One boat cut through the swarm and all made way for it. It bore the ensign of the Office of the President of the Continental Congress. Riding stiffly erect, in his fine coat of green broadcloth with red and gold trim, was the President’s personal aide, my grandfather, Tall Bear. He had three eagle feathers in his braid. The bosun piped him aboard.

In spite of his age, he climbed the ladder easily and swiftly gained the deck. That he saw me in his brief glance about the deck, I was sure, but he went straight to the Commodore and they went into his cabin. Whatever the discussion was, it was brief. They emerged moments later, and he strode gravely across the deck to me.

He looked me up and down, quietly. “You have done well. We have read every dispatch and all of your letters too. It would appear that all of your devices have done as well or better in real action than we had hoped.

“Your mother, Sun on the Cloud, misses you. Also your sister, Cornflower, wishes you to meet her new husband.” Here he at last grinned and clapped me on the arm and thrust a letter into my hand. “Harvest Moon wants to see you, too. Most urgently. When are you two going to settle down together?”

“I don’t know, Grandfather. When the war permits. I, too, wish to see the forests and lakes of home. I will come home as soon as I can find the time. I have missed you all.”

“It will have to wait a bit longer. I bear an invitation from your Uncle, President Arnold. All of the principal officers and you submariners are to go to Philadelphia for a special reception at the Presidential Mansion. Something big is in the wind. That is all that I can say about it here.”

“May I come with you, Grandfather?”

“I fear not, Tecumsah. I have a number of errands to accomplish yet. I will not get back in time to be at the fete. Smollet will be there.”

“Mister Smollet! I haven’t seen him for ages! What is new from his workshops?”

“I cannot say. I am sure that he will tell you himself. You two always did understand each other better than any two men ought. Now, I must go.” With that, he strode across the deck to the ladder and the bosun piped him off the ship.

To be continued

NEXT==>

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to Science Fiction

[senjuushi]

Siegblut Card Info

“Be Ruthless”

Soul Gun: Piled-Up Corpses, Show of Strength

Inflicts 4.2x (Max. 6x) damage to a single enemy. 

Skill: Irregular Fire

Inflicts 2.1x (Max. 3x) damage to a single enemy. 

Trait 1: Battlefield Aptitude: DE

When the battlefield is in Germany, Attack increases by 11% (Max. 20%), and Defense increases by 11% (Max. 20%).

Trait 2: Overflowing Emotions

Soul Gun damage is increased by 27.5% (Max. 50%). 

. . .

“Alone, the Fate of Ruthlessness”

Soul Gun: Piled-Up Corpses, Show of Strength

Inflicts 4.8x (Max. 6x) damage to a single enemy. 

Skill: Irregular Fire

Inflicts 2.4x (Max. 3x) damage to a single enemy. 

Trait 1: Battlefield Aptitude: DE

When the battlefield is in Germany, Attack increases by 11% (Max. 20%), and Defense increases by 11% (Max. 20%).

Trait 2: Overflowing Emotions

Soul Gun damage is increased by 27.5% (Max. 50%). 

Commentary

Card Commentary: 

This is a fragment of a distant memory. A prequel to their story in Germany. Aimlessly wandering the streets, alone with his rage and despair, Siegblut shouts into the night. There’s no one who will help him now. 

“I don’t know anyone like that. I—”

Soul Gun Commentary: 

I didn’t know. I just wanted to be useful. 

—in the battlefield and in life, luck is the last thing that makes a difference. And... this gun has ruthlessly awful luck.

. . .

“Rosy Wish”

Soul Gun: Gratitude is a Full Course of Battle Results

Inflicts 4.32x (Max. 5.4x) damage to a single enemy, and decreases the target’s Attack by 10% (20 sec). 

Skill: Irregular Fire: Zwei

Inflicts 2.4x (Max. 3x) damage to a single enemy.

Trait 1: Roses and Wishes

When the battlefield is in America/Germany/Belgium, Attack increases by 10% (Max. 20%), and Defense increases by 10% (Max. 20%).

Trait 2: Defensive Stance

When HP is less than 50%, Defense increases by 22% (Max. 40%).

Commentary

Card Commentary: 

The Noble Musketeers hold a party to express both their hopes for the future and their gratitude for everything up until now. The door that they and Master will pass through together— what could be waiting on the other side?

Soul Gun Commentary: 

A new tale awaits on the other side of the door. There may be both joyous moments and painful ones, but let’s open the door together with those we hold dear. What’s for certain is that an unforgettable story awaits you there.

. . .

“Sunset Splash”

Soul Gun: OVERHEAT/LIMIT!

Inflicts 8x (Max. 10x) damage to a single enemy, and decreases own Defense by 30% (20 sec). 

Skill: This isn’t too much! 

Inflicts 2.4x (Max. 3x) damage to a single enemy. 

Trait 1: Battlefield Superiority: DE

When the battlefield is in Germany, Attack increases by 22% (Max. 40%).

Trait 2: Hidden Strength

When HP is less than 30%, Attack increases by 55%, (Max. 100%). Remains standing with 1 HP when receiving an attack that would be a knock-out (once per battle).

Commentary

Card Commentary: 

He refuses to say he’s weak to the heat. As if to punish himself for his failure, he threw himself into the red-dyed sea. 

Soul Gun Commentary: 

Heat. The flaw that had me deemed a failed work. I thought it was an obstacle that I had to overcome on my own, but... denying reality’s just stupid, ain’t it? 

—I’m grateful to you guys.

. . .

“Blood-sucking Demon Sword”

Soul Gun: Blazing, A Demon Sword

Inflicts 6.4x damage to a single enemy.

Skill: Irregular Fire: Moonflower

Inflicts 2.4x damage to a single enemy, and increases own Attack by 10% (10 sec.)

Trait 1: Battlefield Aptitude: DE

When the battlefield is in Germany, Attack increases by 11% (Max. 20%), and Defense increases by 11% (Max. 20%).

Trait 2: Flourishing Morale

Attack and Defense increase by 2.7% for each enemy defeated, Max. 5 enemies. 

Commentary

Card Commentary: 

This is the story of the time before his fate intersected with that of the cadet. The lone guns from East and West have a chance meeting in the season of snow. An awkward fellow has a destined meeting with his small friend. Siegblut peacefully closes his eyes. 

...I’d be glad if we could meet again, as happily as this.

Soul Gun Commentary: 

The moment we met, I thought we were similar. Those eyes staring at the group from afar look just the same as someone in the mirror. And yet, as we spent time together, I understood. 

...you’re nothing like me, little guy. 

[szottesfolditanyak]

Belebotlottam ebbe:

"It is my belief that all presenting problems and symptoms are really metaphors that contain a story about what the problem really is. It is, therefore, the responsibility of the therapist to create metaphors that contain a story that contains the (possible) solutions. The metaphor is the message… Hypnosis is, in and of itself, a metaphor within a metaphor…" — Steven Heller, Ph.D.

"ILLUSIONS Las Vegas, Nevada. The lights are bright, a feeling of excitement hangs in the air. A young couple, on their first trip, looking forward to learning and playing blackjack, walk into a beautiful casino. They see a player sitting at a blackjack table with thousands of dollars in one hundred dollar chips. They watch and listen with fascination. The player is betting three or four hundred dollars a hand, winning and losing. They study the player's method, see his playing style, until they grasp it all, "knowing" with that much money in front of him he has to be an expert. They take their limited funds, sit down, play and lose everything. They then decide there must be something wrong with them if copying an expert leads to such failure. If only they would talk to the casino manager, they might learn that the "expert" is really the pizza king of Chicago. He knows everything about pizza and nothing about blackjack. He has enough money to buy large sums of chips and appearances are deceiving. Even a monkey will get dealt a winning hand from time to time. The couple's mistake was to assume based on appearances.

Once upon a time, there was a little boy and girl who heard some adults use big words, and saw them do amazing things: drive a car, vote, fight, and much more. The little boy and girl assumed that since they "knew" such things, they must be experts at life and parenting. The little boy and girl set out to copy the adults only to suffer pain and frustration. Those adults were experts at pizza, but the children were too small to look beyond appearances.

WAKING HYPNOSIS One evening, a group of friends and I were having dinner at a local restaurant. Our waiter was very distracted and he appeared to be agitated and depressed. He was abrupt, slow and unfriendly. As a result, our service left a great deal to be desired. Since I wanted to have an enjoyable evening, I decided to "talk funny" to him in order to help him feel better. As he walked by our table holding a coffee pot, I touched his arm and said, "I'm sorry that you forgot that special night...with that special person...those exciting things that happened...those very warm feelings that would embarrass you to talk about...since we are all strangers." For a moment his face went blank; he looked up to his left; his face then lit up and he said, "How do you know about that?" He then smiled and began to laugh, and his whole attitude changed as if by magic. He said, "Wow. That was some night. I don't know how you know about it." The next time he came to our table, I said to him, "Wasn't it simply amazing that when you remember those happy, warm feelings, your attitude continues to change, and you continue to feel even better?" We received delightful service throughout the rest of the evening. What was even nicer, was that as we left he told us that we were one of the nicest parties he had ever waited on. He also asked us to be sure to ask for him whenever we returned. Now, I have absolutely no idea as to what he hallucinated, but my communication resulted in his going back into his own history. He then found an experience that filled in the blanks, and that memory helped him to change his whole attitude in a matter of seconds. Of course, there's no such thing as hypnosis, and if there is, he should have gone deeper and deeper into a trance.

HYPNOTIC TRANSACTIONS One classical definition of hypnotic suggestion is: using words that cause the subject to go back in time and recover a memory that causes an emotional affect. If we accept that as a definition of hypnotic suggestion, then my communication, and the waiter's response, would fit very well. My communication left him with basically two choices: to ask me what the hell I was talking about, or to respond just as he did. I believe that these types of hypnotic transactions occur much more often than most people would believe. They (hypnotic communication and responses) are even more common in an emotionally charged environment. The therapy arena is one such environment.

HYPNOSIS AND LIFE SCRIPTS "TA" (Transactional Analysis) therapists follow a concept they call "Life Scripts." They believe that individuals are given a "script" to follow, that, if painful and not changed, will cause that individual to act in ways that are self-defeating. "You can't drink kid, you can't drink until you are a man." That kind of message can translate unconsciously into: "To be a man, I have to drink." Here is the implantation of a suggestion that may take such firm hold that the individual ends up an alcoholic. In fact, the "TA" people contend that this is not uncommon. Another way of looking at this example would be: The words used caused the individual to fill in his own meaning. This meaning became a post-hypnotic suggestion, which he later carries out successfully...by becoming a drunk. ...

Before we go forward, I would like to take you back...to our friend, the waiter. Several months after the incident I described, I returned to that restaurant with several friends. As fate would have it, we were given a table in his section. When he came to get our order, he stopped, stared at me, and said, "Don't I know you from somewhere?" I replied, "I came here often in the past." He accepted this explanation and went about his business. I explained to my friends what I had done with him in the past. We all agreed he was a friendly and cheerful person. Toward the end of our meal, he came by and asked us if we wanted anything else. Several of us ordered coffee. He returned holding the coffee pot, stopped, stared, smiled, and said, "Now I know who you are. I still don't know how you knew about all of that." With that he sat down in an empty chair and began to tell us how I had reminded him of a certain girl, and now they were engaged. After he finished, I attempted to explain to him what I had done, but he wouldn't believe it. He continued to insist that I had inside information.

Remember now...that when I had "talked funny" to him, he was holding a coffee pot in his hand. Part of what I had said involved the feeling of warmth. In a way I could have never predicted, his mind had made an instant connection to the coffee pot, the incident, the feelings, and me. In short, a one trial learning experience. Seeing me only triggered a small part of the experience. The coffee pot triggered the whole thing. We could call the whole transaction a learning experience. It may have been a weird one, but a learning experience nonetheless. As a point of fact, there are many hypnosis researchers who contend that all learning takes place in a state that is very much like a hypnotic one. Some would even say that learning and hypnosis are merely two different words that describe the same thing.

2 + 2 = HYPNOSIS Now, if someone were to ask you to add 2 + 2, I am confident that you would respond with the correct answer. If you were asked how you knew the answer, you might reply that you learned it as a child. In other words, the question itself caused you to go back into your personal history and find the "proper" associational connection. You would have done that instantly, without conscious awareness of the process. Another way of stating the 2 + 2 example might be as follows: When you were a child, an individual who was an authority figure—called a teacher—stood in front of your class. S/he wrote on a blackboard 2 + 2 = 4, and verbally repeated that information many times. In addition, s/he asked the class to remember the answer so that when you were asked to add 2 + 2, you would automatically respond, 4. We might agree that the above transaction could be given the labels: teaching and learning. If we examine the transaction more carefully, and from a different perspective, we might also agree that it bears a striking resemblance to the classical definition of "hypnotic suggestion" and "post-hypnotic response." Now,...think about the waiter and his pot of coffee and his response. It is as if the pot of coffee had become the trigger (just like the question about 2 + 2) which caused him to go back into his personal history and find the answer." In this case, the answer was to respond to me with full memory, etc.

Now, speaking of stage hypnosis, a volunteer is brought up on the stage and put into "that" state, and told repeatedly that when s/he hears the snapping of the hypnotist's fingers, s/he will respond by singing Dixie. The hypnotist then snaps his/her fingers and the subject responds with the "right answer" by singing Dixie. Ask yourself...NOW...other than the shorter time factor involved, what is the difference between "learning" 2 + 2 = 4 and the transaction between the stage hypnotist and the subject?

...

In addition to the definitions of hypnotic transactions and communication you have read thus far, I would like to add: hypnosis is a form of education. Ideas, beliefs, possibilities, fantasies, and much more, may be "suggested" and, if accepted, and acted upon several times, they may become a conditioned part of your behavior. In addition, under certain circumstances, a conditioned response can be established in one trial without repetition, and without "practice." Again, think about the waiter. We never "practiced" his response, or my "suggestion," and yet months later, he responded. It is my belief that all behaviors, useful or not, are learned via some kind of hypnotic transaction."

[anhttydbookfan]

#*grabs you by the collar*#MORE INFORMATION???? PLEASE????#httyd books#httyd films

@2-late-2-the-party Yes! Under the cut!

So! Last I left our two Hiccups, "Rider the Red" is in Not-Berk finally getting some rest and being ever-so-slightly haunted by the ghosts of his failure, and the Dreamworks Gang are all various degrees of suspicious of him, but all of their suspicions as to his name being fake and his reticence to reveal his past is overshadowed by the fact that he is clearly a very traumatized child who they chased practically to the ends of the earth and back because of a basic misunderstanding that simply stopping to talk to him for five seconds would have resolved. And also he can apparently talk to Dragons??? But only his own??? What's the deal with that and also can you teach it to us? (Well really only Hiccup and Fishlegs are interested in the 'can you teach it to us' bit) Hiccup doesn't know what the deal with that is, but he can teach it to them, and so they do some bonding over language learning.

(“Excuse me,” Rider asked Hiccup as they were making their way to the Great Hall, “But I couldn't help but overhear your friends call you Hiccup. You wouldn't happen to be Hiccup Horrendous Haddock The Third, hope and heir to the tribe of Hairy Hooligans, Son of Chief Stoic the Vast, O-Hear-His-Name-And-Tremble, Ugh Ugh, would you?”

Hiccup's eyes widened the more Rider added to his name. “That's... a lot of titles. Just Hiccup is fine by me.”

“I'm sorry, hope and heir to the tribe of the tribe of what now?” Ruffnut asked.

“I was told that Berk's where the Hairy Hooligan tribe lives,” Rider explained.

Snotlout laughed, “Who told you that, Dagur the Deranged?”

“What kinda tribe would call themselves that anyway?” Tuffnut said. “The Hairy Hooligans. That's like calling yourselves the Ugly Thugs or the Kooky Dirtybeards.”

“'Hairy Hooligan' is a perfectly fearsome viking name.” Hiccup protested. “And any self-respecting Uglithug would cut your tongue out if they heard you comparing-- Making that comparison.”

“Hold on, are you saying the Ugly Thugs are real?”

“I'd hate to be the mother of the guy who earned that name.”

“So,” Astrid pulled Hiccup away from the Twins. “What tribe are you from?”

“Well... You know the Meathead tribe?”

“Should I?”

Rider shrugged, “Probably not. They lived on two small islands between the Sullen Sea and the Sea-Known-as-Woden's-Bathtub.”

“I've never heard of any of those places.” Hiccup said with wonder lacing every word. “How far out did you fly before we found you?”

Rider shrugged again.

“You seriously call yourselves Meatheads?” Ruffnut snorted.

“Thor's beard no,” Hiccup said immediately. It was stupid, he knew. He could have said yes. Maybe he should have. But. “My tribe lived on the island next door. The Meatheads are alright, really. The Chief's son Thuggory has a good head on his shoulders when he doesn't use it as a battering ram, but our two tribes don't always get on well with each other.” The one library in the entire barbaric archipelago crossed his mind. He banished it as quickly as it came. Furious had probably burnt it to the ground by now. He needed to change the subject. “Anyway, Just-Hiccup, what happened to you?”

“What?”

“You were banished, last I heard. From Berk, from the mainland, from Bog-Burglar Island, from Murderous Island... everywhere, really.”

“Well this is the first time I've heard about it. Why exactly was I banished?”

“You don't think it could have anything to do with that stunt you pulled with Hookfang?” The-boy-who-looked-like Snotlout asked.

“What are you talking about, what stunt?”

Astrid tapped the-boy-who-called-himself-Hiccup on the Helmet, “Last day of Dragon Training ringing any bells?”

“Oh that stunt! Well you don't have to worry about that, it was all just a big misunderstanding, everything turned out alright! No banishments for anyone. Except I guess for my Leg.”)

Unfortunately, since this is a story, and since the passage of time is as relentful as it is caring, things cannot be alright for them forever, and if one group of people from the book universe crossed the which way between realms, it stands to reason that another group can as well.

Enter the Alvinsmen, and Thuggory the Meathead.

One night, when all the Dragons are asleep, a strange ship arrives on Berk's shores and starts nailing wanted posters on every available vertical surface.

I'm not entirely sure how it happens, but Thuggory and a crew of more diehard Alvinsmen (mixed in with those who would eventually become Dragonmarkers) begin talking to the two Hiccups. Somehow, the two hiccups are left alone. Somehow, they do not have their Dragons to help them.

"We're looking for the Outcast. Wanted for the aiding and abetting of Dragons and crimes against the throne. Answers to the name of Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third."

Or perhaps Movie Hiccup wants to see why these strange new vikings are here, and perhaps he wants to show them that dragons are not evil. That they do not need to be fought and killed. That they can be befriended. (They tried it already. They'd tried it for hundreds of years. Look how that worked out for them) (They'd tried Yelling At It. Which wasn't the same thing.)

Perhaps Book Hiccup knew that Movie Hiccup would want to do this, and knew how that would turn out for him.

Either way.

"That's me," Hiccup says, and steps forward. "I am Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third." "But Just Hiccup's fine." Movie Hiccup continues. And then, "What? Rider, you can't--" Book Hiccup starts talking over him. "I nominate myself as Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third, the Outcast. I'm the one you want." "As touched as I am that you'd cover for me, Rider the Red, This really isn't a good time." The book-vikings who aren't thuggory are confused. Obviously there can only be one Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third, but these two kids are both wimpy-ish largely unimpressive-to-them viking specimens with big black riding Dragons who call themselves Hiccup. They could bring them both, but nobody really wants to be on the wrong end of the Stormblade when Alvin realizes they don't actually remember what the Outcast looks like despite the fact that literally all of them had seen him before at Flashburn's school of swordfighing. (They needn't have been. The Stormblade's weilder would have happily cut through both boys-who-call-themselves Hiccup without a second thought to the ones who brought his Hiccup to him)

"Hey Thuggory, you've seen the real Hiccup, right?" one of the Other-Book-Vikings says to Thuggory, who hasn't said a word this entire time. "Which one of these blokes is it?"

Thuggory begins to speak.

"Yes, I knew Hiccup. I even considered him a peer before he became an Outcast. So, Hiccup." He bares his teeth in what might once have been a smile, steps forward, and places his hand on Movie Hiccup's shoulder, "How have you been? We have a lot to catch up on, in the few months since we've last seen each other."

Book Hiccup is almost too shocked to see Thuggory turn to him ever-so-slightly, and wink.

So my own HTTYD books-movie crossover has still been living in my head rent-free so have a little snippet between movie Hiccup and Thuggory the Meathead

Thuggory closed the door and stared at Hiccup, considering. “You took his place.”

Hiccup's face gave nothing away. “You let me.”

Thuggory conceded the point with a slight hum, and sat across the table from him. “What's your real name?”

“Hiccup Haddock. And I guess I'm technically the third but that's mostly for official son-of-the-chief stuff like official decrees and things that require the great hurdle of knowing how to read to understand, so I don't think a lot of people noticed.”

“Are you sure?” Thuggory asked, “It's dangerous to be a Hiccup these days.”

“I think the chains around my wrists have made that point pretty obvious."

The Hope and Heir to the Meathead tribe laughed.

[hiddenlife-manager]

Hi! Can you do the whole nsfw alphabet for Chuuya??❤️

Chuuya NSFW Alphabet

Buy me a Coffee

I hope you enjoy this!

I feel like we can all agree Chuuya is a switch hard to make him submissive but he is a switch end story.

A = Aftercare (After those moments how are they)

For a guy who wants to be tough, he isn’t the worse at it. He’ll stay in bed with you while cleaning you up. He’ll fix up your hair while you do the same for his. The silence between the both of y’all is nothing but comfortable.

B = Body Part ( Favorite body part from them and you)

Seriously I see him as a tits man where he wants to suck on the nipples and touch them while giving them hickies. That is all he wants. To touch the tits and move them and be in them.

For himself, that man is proud of one thing only. His dick the fact that Dazai has said before that his height went somewhere else is pretty accurate.

C = Cum (How much do they cum, headcanon of their cum, anything!!!!)

Okay, he cums quite a bit around 4.45 ml of cum the taste is bitter at first then it leaves an aftertaste of sweetness. He definitely loves to cum in you he thinks the way you grip him is amazing. But it doesn’t mean he won’t cum on your tits because that is what he enjoys so much.

D = Dirty Secret (Something no one else knows but them)

He once dressed up as a bunny for your birthday and was fucked from behind with the bunny anal plugin you. He admits he would never do it again and disliked being fucked from behind but ever since that day he has thought about how it would feel to do it again.

E = Experience (What have they done before you? Do they even know what they are doing?)

Virgin. That is it he is nothing but a virgin. Anyone who tried to make their feelings known to him did not succeed. Light flirting never gave him the hint so his experience with anyone was lacking. So when you told him straight forward that you liked him at a party that day you two fucked. He naturally took the lead.

F = Favorite Position (self-explanatory)

This man has to admit your eyes are something he can stare at while fucking you or him riding so positions that help that are amazing or positions where your chest is close to him. Meaning The Face Off is his go-to almost always

G = Goofy (Serious during it or maybe be cracking jokes midway)

I see him as trying to be serious and I am sorry if this isn’t like you but every time he tries to be serious you crack the jokes causing him to chuckle while holding your hair tight and fucking you harder so the only words coming out of your mouth is how close you are and his name.

H = Hair (Are they clean-shaven, taken care of, length?)

MAN IS WELL KEPT! He always trims, in fact, he goes bare one because his hair if not bare is read, and is scared you’ll say something extremely weird about it. Two because it isn’t comfortable to have the hair full out. It is itchy and should be shaved all off. He takes care of his hair if it is trimmed, meaning he hasn't had time to shave it. His hair barely grows which would mean it isn’t a lot of work for him.

I = Intimacy (In a romantic view how are they during it)

Struggles just a little bit. Who am I kidding? He struggles a lot. This man puts a lot of effort into trying to be romantic but every time he tries it ends with nothing but failure. He once tried candles that burned the bedsheet causing a fire and you have to stop it completely ruining the mood. He tried roses and the thorns ended up on the bed stabbing you. He tries but at this point has given up on it.

J = Jack Off (A headcanon of them)

He jacks off as a normal man could he would jack off with your nudes on his phone. The setting is almost always a normal thing. He does it with you so he can relieve himself from the pain of his boner. At this point, you have set photos for him whenever he asks.

K = Kink (Things they are super into, maybe even more than one)

Freaking pet names he loves them having you call him daddy. Him calling you darling or anything else. He thinks pet names are the hottest thing he has ever done. Almost always he fucks you with such tenderness when you call him daddy doing whatever you beg.

L = Location (Where would they do it)

The basement of your home. The darkness of it and the gentle circle couch he bought you. He thinks that the dark environment can cause the perfect mood. He really enjoys all the space and how cold it is to keep the temperature between your body and him from getting too hot.

M = Motivation (What is getting them in the mood)

His motivation is that he is always in the mood unless he is meeting with people in the Port Mafia. Otherwise, he would always want to fuck you whenever he is free. This means he just sees you and will always want you when you are wearing your work uniform.

N = NO (Would not do at all no matter what, or like a complete turn-off.)

There are some things he isn’t fully into. Strangely enough, he dislikes being tied up he doesn’t allow himself to be vulnerable with you if he cares for you. The idea of being tied up. That one is a no from the start while others can be adjusted to fit him better.

O = Oral (Enjoy it, giving or receiving. Skill, or even headcanon of it)

In a past post, I said he loves oral both ways. Him having control if you can cum or not with his tongue going slow or fast. He enjoys oral a lot but there is something else he enjoys face fucking you. Where you have no control while gagging hard.

P = Pace (How fast are they)

In a past post, I said he is in the middle. Now it is time to face a problem time. He will fuck you slow enough to make you feel love but not too slow that he won't be able to finish one round. He has to manage his time well for you and he sees that you are left behind at the end. His pace is enough for you and him until you don't enjoy it he will keep the pace the same.

Q = Quicky (Would they do it or nah. How and more)

He loves fucking you anywhere and that being said he has a dilemma. He wants to fuck you anywhere quickly with that could show he doesn't care for you. He doesn't want you to feel like some slut on the side so anytime he fucks you and then ends quickly he will embrace you and tell you that you were amazing quickies are the only time you see the side of him.

R = Risk (Are they okay with something new, would they take a risk)

He will take as many risks as he can to spend any inch of time with you. He seriously will fuck you anywhere his go-to is the basement but he needs pleasure. He wants to spend just enough time for you. That being said trying kinks or positions are also allowed as long as you are willing.

S = Stamina (How long can they last? How many rounds?)

1-6 This man has a lot of stamina. Chuuya loves going as many rounds as he can. The problem with it is time he is almost always horny for you but time is a struggle for him to manage any time for that many rounds. The only time is when Mori is kind enough to give him a break for his anniversary and it is often he is called in the same day. Work before you, so back to the focus he has a lot of energy to go many rounds. He just never has time.

T = Toy (Do they use them, have them. Use them on themselves or partner?)

I once stated in another one that he is into toys being used on him and you. I stated that he would refuse on a lot of levels and that is right but considering how often you have him begging he can't refuse you. He has started using them without you begging just to cum and he always hates that you were right about them.

U = Unfair (Do they tease and how much.)

This man is extremely unfair in bed teasing you. About how much you want him, to teasing you about how you probably have done it so many times. He loves getting you flustered while also being pleasured it is quite a view to him. Now here is the thing that comes not just him but you as well tease him and every time he is a sub he is teased so much that he will make it worse when he is back on top.

V = Volume (How loud are they?)

Man wants to moan Chuuya tries super hard to keep his moans down below but when you are going from behind then he can't help but slip a low moan here and there. He just tries so hard and sometimes you can get him to moan but yeah typically he is silent or would kiss you so he would shut up.

W = Wild Card (Something shocking or random about them)

He once saw his dick bulge in your stomach or what he thought was s bulge. At that very moment, he couldn't help but cum inside you. He treated you to ice cream and birth control after so you could forgive him for finishing so quick of course after 2 - 3 rounds.

X = X-ray (What is down there?)

I have stated before his height went somewhere else and where that height went was to his dick. He is a soft 4'4 inches and when hard he goes to the brink of almost 7 inches. This man is impressive with his size. The girth though is lacking quite a bit only being 2'9 inches below the average. But length is what overcomes the girth in this case.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive)

He wants you a lot a little too often than most. He wants you so often that when he sees you around the building he is visiting he can't get his hands off of you. Most of this though is kept hidden from all and he has gotten good at doing secretly. He just wishes he could spend a longer time with you but he never has it.

Z = ZZZZ (How fast do they go to sleep afterward?)

He is so used to being in the Port Mafia that in reality, he doesn't feel the safest sleeping ever. This isn't just you, this is normal sleep for him. He struggles a lot. I think most of the night after the deed he will lay there holding your naked body close while trying to doze off and just can't. Sometimes he might be able to sleep for 30 minutes before waking up once again.

[myonepiece]

Kid, Shanks, Ace seeing S/O as he (character) dies

I’m watching doctor sleep and sobbing at all the death bc I’m in a wierd lovey-dovey shitty place mentally rn so heres this:

Description: while he lays dying during a battle, he sees his s/o fighting on the battlefield, kind of like a last thoughts drabble

TW- death

Shanks & Ace under the cut

The blood was soaking through his clothes, far too much in quantity for him to be okay. But Kid is rash, strong, he wouldn’t die like this. He tried to get up, again and again, until his eyes caught sight of you. Tearing down enemies left and right with their blood soaking you, not your own. Kid lay back but kept his head up so as to watch. As much as he denied this would be his dying day, somewhere deep down he knew it, and he didn’t want his last moments to be wasted. 

Sure in this moment he could mull over his regrets, over his failures- how he didn’t keep his feet on the ground, how he didn’t lead his crew to victory, how he didn’t become pirate king, though more painfully how he didn’t protect you till his dying moment, how he didn’t get to witness your smile as you watched him claim his title of pirate king, how he didn’t get to see you adorn the ring he kept hidden away in his coat.

Sure Kid was afraid to lose you, afraid to watch you die and utter your last words before your eyes fluttered shut forever- but never once had he dreamed of him being the one losing his life. Kid had never fully understood the true meaning of pain, the true meaning behind the saying “parting is such sweet sorrow”- as he had heard you say while telling him about your latest read. But in this moment he would say that is what he felt, a sweet sorrow aching in his every vein. 

No longer would he get to hold you, to feel your soft skin under his calloused touch, to feel your heartbeat against his ear, to watch as you unraveled beneath him. He would not be able to hug or kiss or play with you again. Fuck you had made him such a softy. 

But with pain of course there was a soothing feeling that aided him. He would not part from you, not now, not ever. He would still be able to gaze upon your every detail, watching as you took down crew, burned cities to the ground, left bodies in your wake. Kid would be able to watch as you stood by the ship railing, watching the sunset with tear filled eyes as you relived the memories of you time together in your imagination. He could watch as you took the throne, witnessng the moment you would claim the seas as your own, thanking him under your breath. 

Kid smiled sweetly as he watched your eyes land on his limp form, his chest heaving with every raspy breath he captured in attempt to stay longer. Oh dear how you looked so beautiful covered in the blood of your fallen enemies, but that bitter look on your face as you dropped your sword and ran towards him. You idiot you’re too far away to reach him before he’s gone. And so Kid’s eyes fluttered, the lights inside flickering as his strength abandoned his body. He lifted his hand, weakly waving in in attempt to let you know he was leaving, and the widest smile overtook his features. Such a bittersweet sight.

Shanks did not struggle, he did not attempt to get up only to leave sooner, he knew what was happening. The multiple blades implaing him left no room for confusion or doubt, from anyone’s end. He had no regrets, he had lived a good life, he had an amazing crew, rich adventures, more journeys than one man would normally take in two lifetimes- and he had the most wonderful partner in crime, a lover so wonderful Shanks swore you to be an angel. 

He watched leaning against a wall, as you fought side by side with his crew, aiding their fight to claim victory. There was no doubt in his mind that Shanks had chosen the right path. The moment he met you he knew he wanted to grow old with you, and though now it would seem he would not get to do that, he would. No not by your side in person, but wandering through the atmosphere observing from above the ground you stood on. 

He would be there to create the luminescent apparition that scared away any nosy people threatening you while your back was turned, he would be there to splash the waves into your face while you stood on the ship deck, he would be there to carry the florwers into your hair only for you to laugh it off as the wind. When you speak into the air to him, not knowing he is sitting in the corner with ghostly tears running down his cheeks.

And many years from now, when it is your time, Shanks will be waiting right at your side on your deathbed, waiting with open arms and an eager expression to embrace you once again. 

So now as he sits against the wall, he simply smiles and lets the tears fall. He does not worry about the looks from his crew or his enemies, he only worries that you will not see how much you mean to him. This, is when the fear reaches him. Perhaps.... Shanks does have one single regret? Did he tell you he loved you enough? Did he tell you that you hold his whole heart in your hands, that if you told him to. He would bring the world to its knees, he would steal the stars from the heavens and the fire from hell if you asked. 

Shanks sat against the wall in a puddle of his own blood, the serene expression on his face was a terrifying sight to you. He looked too calm, even for him. And as you slowly made your way towards the red haired man, you knew it was happening. Shanks watched as you dropped your weapon and began taking slow fearful steps in his direction. You looked so beautiful, so amazing. He grinned.

He was contempt in dying now, yes there may be things he never found, or achieved, or owned, but at the end of his life, those things didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he had you and you had him, he had found a heart to love him- and now... it would miss him.

Fear and panic gripped at Ace’s heart as he gasped for breath, the multiple holes in his body making that task quite excruciating and near impossible- but he would not leave you alone. No matter how bad his wounds are, he wouldn’t leave you. He tried to get up, he tried he swears. He tried and tried until the sight of you made him freeze in his actions. 

He had heard of people talking about how their life flashed before their eyes, and now he experienced it. A summary if you will, of your love story. From the moment you met, the first date, the first kiss, your first time together, and the moments in between. When you would sneak into the kitchen at night to steal food, only to blame him when Thatch caught the two of you in the act. When you would run to him in the night when the stormy waters and crashes of thunder sounding through the sky like bombs scared you half to death and you only longed for his embrace. When you would lay face-to-face at night and Ace would get lost in your eyes that reminded him of the starry sky, carrying just as much mystery and beauty.

When you would sit in his lap while the crew danced and partied and drank, when you provided safety in your arms when the fear struck Ace down as well. He would laugh with you in the worst and best moments alike. 

He laughed at the looks of envy he recieved from the crew when the two of you would sit together and stare at each other like their was no one else in the world, how they wished they could have someone who looked at them like that. They would all congratulate him on finding someone like you, someone who loved him with all their little heart- that was when Ace would run back and tell you about their praises while clinging onto you and thanking you for letting him love you.

Remember when he proposed with the biggest shiniest diamond ring he could find in the looted treasure? Because that was exactly what you deserved, the best. When the Whitebeard crew had held a wedding for him, and he sobbed as he watched you walk down the makeshift isle. 

He had fell in love so deeply that he could not climb back out, though he never tried. “Love me until my dying day” you had said, and Ace had agreed with every intention of doing so. He wanted to share every step and accomplishment with you, he wanted to go to the ends of the earth and back with you. He wanted to hold your hand when the both of you are on your deathbeds, he would look to you and say- he would say “We made it”.

His plans were not tarnished now though, he might not be able to be with you in person but his spirit would cling to every second. The coldness you feel on your hands at night in the warmth of your room, that’s Ace trying to show you he’s there. The wind that messes up your papers and spreads them across the room, that’s Ace’s attempt at making you laugh. And when your time has finally come, after many more adventures with the crew, after many more years filled with happiness and laughter, when you are on your deathbed, when the light is gone from your eyes, Ace will be there, holding your hand, and he will tell you “We made it”.

You spot Ace from across the battfield, Thatch is holding him against his chest but Ace is staring at you, he’s sobbing. He wears the most lovesick grin, you could ever imagine, as if he’s trying to telling you he loves you with his expression alone. That is, in a sense, what Ace is trying to do, as he no longer has enough breath to say anything. 

[tanadrin]

Dev Patel and the Green Knight

I finally got around to seeing The Green Knight. Overall, I enjoyed it--David Lowery does a good job capturing the essential weirdness of the tale, which is very much about taking a mundane circumstance (a Christmas feast) and suddenly catapulting the reader into a mythic otherworld through the intrusion of the alien and monstrous, and the fantastical costumes, dramatic lighting, and dissonant score all contribute very well to a sense of otherness that permeates the original story.

But I find it interesting--and, I'll admit, a little frustrating--that no modern film adaptation of medieval literature is really capable of taking the story it's adapting on its own merits. This isn't an objection to modifying the source text, or taking it in new, non-literal direction. I can think of plenty of adaptations of work that play with the source material in interesting ways, and are better for it. Even very faithful adaptations like Peter Jackson's Lord of the Rings are inevitably going to alter the source based on the need to adapt it for the screen and the whims of the director. But when it comes to medieval classics, texts like Beowulf or Gawain and the Green Knight are always held at arm's length. An ironic layer is always interpolated into the original story, and even in modified form the story is never allowed to stand on its own.

Contrast, for instance, modern retellings of Arthurian legend; or Wagner's Nibelungenleid; or something like Neil Gaiman's book of Norse mythology. These are all adaptations of much older stories, all medieval; and the authors typically happy to let the stories operate on their own terms. In fact, that is often a selling point: dipping into these tales is a way of sampling an alien culture, one that is remote from us in time rather than space, and part of the sense of heightened drama is the understanding that these stories do not necessarily depict the world in the same way that modern realist prose does. They are fairy-stories, in the Tolkienian sense, and something not quite even like "high fantasy," which, although it is a genre which owes much to the mythic tradition, is usually *told* in the same manner as other realist fiction. And you could take these stories and re-cast them in a realist mold--that's definitely been done with Arthurian legend, either via anachronism or trying to place them in an era-appropriate historical context, and even that yields something quite like the original in tenor, even if the language used to relate the story is often very different.

Watching this movie, I was *strongly* reminded of Robert Zemeckis's Beowulf, in that this did not feel like an attempt to adapt Gawain and the Green Knight for the screen. It felt like an attempt to tell a story *about* Gawain and the Green Knight (the text), a story which does not stand on its own. You don't have to have read the text to understand the movie (although I think some directorial decisions would be a bit mystifying if you hadn't), but the movie definitely situates itself *as a response* to the text. Which is an odd choice! Actually, another good point of comparison is Spike Jonze's Adaptation. It started life as an adaptation of Susan Orlean's The Orchid Thief, but Charlie Kaufman sort of gave up writing that halfway through and wrote a movie about the difficulty he was having writing *that* movie, and the result is something very weird (and very good) that is full of metafictional elements that depend on the existence of this other work, in a way that a straight retelling of The Orchid Thief for the screen obviously would not. And while The Green Knight isn't that extreme, it is definitely playing on the structure of the medieval poem, and replying to it.

The core of the movie (as I understood it) is a tension between young Gawain's aspiration to knightliness, his ambition which is born at least in part from his mother's encouragement, and his own failure to live up to the heroic ideal of greatness. Not chivalric--this is a movie in which the ethos of chivalry makes not even the briefest of appearance, which is weird given that it's nominally an Arthurian romance, and that the chivalric ethos is extremely important to the original text. Instead we have a generic greatness being described, one which is associated with renown, with taking part in mythic events, and with achieving high rank and honor. In the service of seeing her son obtain all this, Gawain's mother seems to cast some kind of spell, whereupon the titular Green Knight appears at Arthur's Christmas-feast; and as in the poem, a game of beheadings is proffered. Gawain accepts the challenge, beheads the knight, and the knight rides away, promising he'll meet Gawain a year and a day hence at the Green Chapel. So far so straightforward. When Gawain sets off a year later to meet the knight, his mother gives him an enchanted belt to keep him safe from harm. Gawain goes on to have a couple of side-of-the-road adventures and mishaps, the kind of thing that's par for the course when you're telling an Arthurian romance, until he arrives at the house of a mysterious benefactor, just about a day away from the Chapel, who grants him hospitality until the day of his challenge.

Now, in the original story, this is where Gawain gets the magic belt, and it's hugely important: Gawain and his host promise to exchange anything they might receive at the end of each day, when the host has been out hunting all day and Gawain has been in the house recuperating from his travels. During this time, the host's wife repeatedly tries to seduce Gawain; and Gawain is trapped between the imperative not to sleep with his host's wife (a major violation of the rules of good chivalric conduct!) and the imperative not to offend the woman (also a violation of those rules). He succeeds, for the most part; he is forced at one point to give his host a kiss at the end of the day, since the wife kissed him; this is shown as him holding nothing back and acting in good faith on the vow he made to his host. When Gawain finally rebuffs the wife for good, she insists that, even if he won't sleep with her, he should at least take a magic belt she has woven that will keep him from harm. He does; but he does *not* give this to his host. When he finally goes to the Green Chapel, the Knight returns the original blow as promised--but only nicks Gawain lightly. He reveals himself to be none other than the host who was sheltering him; the nick was his reprimand for withholding that final gift, but because of his good conduct he is otherwise left unharmed. The whole thing was a test of sorts, one which Gawain passed. Despite flinching at first from the blow, and keeping the belt secret, he shows himself ultimately to be a man of good (albeit not perfect) conduct, and *that* is why he wins honor from the whole affair.

The movie takes this basic narrative and alters it in key places, completely changing the valence of the whole thing. First, Gawain gets the belt at the beginning of his quest, as mentioned; he loses it on the way, but when he reaches the castle, the wife of his host (who succeeds in seducing him with a handjob) presents it to him as if she had woven it herself. He does not actually engage in the game of exchanged with his host, who is *also* not the Green Knight. And we're treated to a monologue about the color green from the wife that feels beat for beat like it's been ripped off from someone's undergraduate essay about Gawain and the Green Knight, which is a little weird even in the context of the rest of the movie. Finally when Gawain reaches the chapel, the knight goes to return the blow--and Gawain completely chickens out and flees. We are then treated to an extended sequence of Gawain returning home; being feted as a hero; earning his knighthood (presumably by lying about what happened); succeeding Arthur as king; him abandoning his low-class beau once she bears him a son, and marrying a princess; going to war; his son dying in a war; and finally, as an old man, being trapped in his throne room as a besieging army breaks its way inside. Just before they do, he removes the magic belt from around his waist, his head fall off, and bam--we're shown this has been an Occurrence At Owl Creek Bridge thing this whole time, and the Green Knight has not yet landed his blow.

Gawain finally takes off the belt, throws it aside, and tells the knight to go ahead--and the knight bends down and congratulates him. In context, the reading seems to be this: the belt is a talisman of Gawain's mother's influence, of external expectations for what kind of man he is. The Knight is Arthur or perhaps an agent of his, and the test in *this* case is whether Gawain can be his own person. All the events leading up to this point are perhaps a part of the original magic Gawain's mother cast, an effort to Lilith Weatherwax her kid to greatness by putting him into an epic story. Implicitly, then, the Gawain and the Green Knight we all know is the false version of the tale, the tale as Gawain's mother would have it told.

This is all very clever. But I'm afraid it's so clever it falls apart in the end. Because the structure of the original story that this depends on is dependent in turn on taking the whole notion of chivalric virtue seriously, which this movie plainly does not. Gawain is shown as irreverent and lustful and a bit of a party animal--lovable and good hearted fundamentally, but definitely not an Arthurian hero. That's fine, but that's a very modern sort of character, one that feels out of place in a movie that is trying very hard also to be tonally unmodern, firmly embedded in a mythic otherwhen of Arthurian legend. Moments of slice-of-life mundaneness, while charming, strain mightily against the epic tone the movie tries to take in other places, and strange events like a ghost seeking her lost head or immense giants striding the landscape. We are jostled: are we in the land of myth? Or are we in historical Britain? We cannot be in both!

And this is a movie that was definitely made by people who had read the original text; not just the original text, but also a great deal of criticism *about* the original text. The movie namechecks the theme of fivefold symmetry that's incredibly important to the structure of the poem; there's the aforementioned undergrad essay about colors about 3/4th of the way through; and there's the fact that the structure of the original plot (down to Morgan LeFay in disguise as an old woman in the host's castle) is present in altered form in every detail. But none of these details add up to much. There's a weird homoerotic kiss with the host that implies that in fact *he* wanted to sleep with Gawain, in addition to his wife; the ghost Gawain encounters early on tells him the Green Knight is in fact someone he knows (and therefore *can't* be the host; I think it's implied to be Arthur, like I said, but this is never quite confirmed), and while all these things *about* the original poem are shown, none of them ever get integrated thematically into the plot.

I think as a result, whatever Lowery was going for, the whole movie kind of falls apart in the end. And that's a pity, because somewhere in there is just a really weird, visually striking, really gripping, embellished-and-polished-for-modern-sensibilities-but-also-thematically-true-to-the-source retelling of Gawain and the Green Knight. And that would have been a much better movie! What are we to make of this, a movie that purports to be telling a story-behind-the-story, but one that leaves no room or context for the original? After all, Gawain in the end does *not* flee, does not return home a coward and a liar; presumably, he earns his honor, and can be honest about what happened. But if he is honest, none of the rest of what we have been shown makes a lick of sense, or has any point.

One feels a bit as if modern directors, when confronted with medieval texts being a bit weird, a bit alien in their worldview, instead of realizing that's actually something people like some of from time to time, feel like they have to construct an artificial bridge between the Middle Ages and the present day. But because it is invariably metafictional and self-referential, as if to say "don't worry, we know nobody REALLY wants to watch a bunch of boring medieval shit played straight," it comes off as cringing and ashamed of its source material. This isn't a plea for historicity! Gawain and the Green Knight is not history. But one does occasionally want to see an adaptation of one's favorite works without directors being ashamed of the text they are adapting! And since most people will not have read the original, I am rather confused about what the director intends for the audience to get out of all these references that are dependent on it, but don't stand on their own merits within the narrative of the movie itself.

The acting was good, the set design and costumes were terrific, I loved the slow and measured pacing and the weird score, and the design of the Knight himself, and the landscapes and almost everything else about the movie. So I don't think it's a waste of time, especially if you have read and enjoyed Gawain and the Green Knight, in the original or in translation. But it's definitely a pity to see a movie that was, well, *almost* great, but ended up merely OK.

[backtobackbakubabe]

Speak Easy Part 11

Dabi x Reader , Bakugo x Reader

Words : 4125

Masterlist

Reader has a siren quirk and has spent the past several years of her life as a captive being experimented on by “heroes” Now that she’s out she needs protection and safe place to heal. Who will be the one to put her pieces back together.

Words with ‘this’ is dialogue written in her journal rather than said out loud and and words with ~this~ is dialogue said in sign language rather than out loud.

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

The longer you sat in the car the more uncomfortable you got. You knew you looked like a mess, and by the way Dabi was trying really hard not to look at you, it must be really bad.

“I’ve had worse.”

“I’m sure you have… doesn’t make me okay with it.”

You would have rolled your eyes if you didn’t think the action would hurt your head. “I’m fine. You’ve literally stabbed and drowned me before.”

His grip tightened on the steering wheel. “How long are you going to throw that in my face? They were both in your best interest and I’m done apologizing for them.”

His anxiety and anger were written all over his features from his tense shoulders to his cold stare at the road in front of him. You reached over to run your fingers through his hair, knowing the simple action would help ease his nerves. However, your sore muscles and possibly bruised ribs throbbed in pain and made you hiss through your teeth and your hand ended up gripping his elbow instead.

“What was that about being fine?” His tone wasn’t as antagonistic as you had thought it would be. Instead it sounded a little distressed.

It finally clicked why he was so upset. He had told you before you left that he would keep you safe. In his head he failed. You knew he had a rough time coping with failure thanks to Endeavor’s less than ideal parenting. Dabi can pretend that his childhood doesn’t affect him anymore all he likes, but you saw through it.

“None of this was your fault. You know that, right?”

The car remained silent as he continued to stare ahead.

“I’m serious. I’m not just saying it to make you feel better. If anything, it’s my fault. I let go of your hand after you asked me more than once not to. I froze when he attacked me.” Now you were just working yourself up. “And holy shit was I rusty with my quirk. Like I may as well have not used it at all. He was able to shake out of my word binding like it was nothing.”

Back in your prime you would have been able to take a guy like that down with little to no effort. You looked down to your scraped hands and knees. Felt the pain in your ribs with every breath you took. And you knew there was a decent chance you had a concussion. “How did I manage to slip this far?”

Now it was his turn to reach out and put his hand on your thigh. It was almost humorous how quickly he could shift moods when he thought you needed him. “Just a small hiccup. It was your first real fight in years. That guy was a trained assassin, and you still managed to incapacitate him. Next time you won’t hesitate. We’ll work on it at home, if it makes you feel better.”

You intertwined your fingers with his and nodded. “I think I’d like that.”

The rest of the car ride was quiet as you both let yourself stew in your own thoughts. Your thoughts were a dangerous place to be. Not only where you having a minor melt down about your recent fight, but you were still trying to cope with the fact you just watched Dabi murder someone.

As a hero that was something that was a massive taboo. You only did it if you absolutely had to and even then, you were still scrutinized. The man was paralyzed and couldn’t mood. You could have called one of the guys to come pick him up. Dabi insisted that if you let them put the man in prison, it would just be handing him over to the same people who were looking for you. Right now, no one knows that you’re with Dabi. That kind of information would be invaluable to both heroes and villains who were currently looking for you.

There was a sick feeling of despair that was settling in your stomach as you started to realize that Dabi might have been right. You didn’t want to accept it though. Your whole life you were trained to value human life, even if that life belonged to a bad person. But at this point you couldn’t figure out how much of your life as a hero was even real. How much you still agreed with. You were finding it was hard to even differentiate who was bad and who was good. It was enough to make your head spin.

Closing your eyes, you leaned your head on the cold glass window as the spinning only seemed to increase.

“Hey… Hey don’t do that. Keep your eyes open and stay awake. You probably have a concussion.”

“If I keep my eyes open, I’m going to throw up. My head is spinning.” You put your head in your hands and rubbed your temples.

“Okay… so you definitely have a concussion. Hold on we’re almost home.” You didn’t open your eyes, but you could feel the car pick up speed. For a while the only sound in the car was the low hum of the engine as Dabi sped home. He knew it’d be easier to calm down once you were safe within it’s walls.

Before long the car slowed down as it approached the garage. You kept your eyes closed as you listened to Dabi’s quick steps around the car. He opened your door gently to keep you from falling out of the car. You heard his breath catch and you wondered if you really looked that bad.

“Let’s get you inside and cleaned up.” Out of instinct, you reached your arms up to him just like you did when he carried you everywhere. Without a moment’s hesitation he slotted his arms under your knees and behind your back and pulled you out of the car. It sent jolts of pain through your ribs, but you bit your lip to keep yourself from making a sound.

The trip from the garage to the bathroom was shorter than you would have liked. You were enjoying the feeling being caged in his strong arms, snuggling into his warm chest. He gently set you on the toilet, brushing some hair away from you face, careful to avoid any area that might be bruised or bleeding. “I’m going to turn the water on, but real quick, while the water heats up I’m going to go get the groceries out of the car.”

If your eyes were open, you would be narrowing them at him right now. “…You’re worried about the ice cream aren’t you?”

There was a moment of silence that just confirmed it. “Shut up…Don’t pretend you wouldn’t be sad if you couldn’t have ice cream after the shitty day you’ve had.”

You snorted, “I’d rather have a shot… but I have a feeling you won’t let me because of the whole mild head injury thing…. So…” You opened your eyes and waved towards the bathroom door. “Go get it before it melts. I can take it from here.”

He sprinted out of the bathroom yelling “Don’t fucking move until I get back!” as he left. He said not to move, but you could at least try to start undressing yourself. That shouldn’t be too hard.

You started with your shoes. Easy enough, just kicked them right off with no problem. Now it’s time for your dress. That was a whole different story. You tried several times, but you couldn’t seem to be able to pull past your chest without some part of you hurting.

You desperately wanted to get undressed and into the shower yourself. There was probably some part of you that was still feeling a little defeated and insecure after your fight. You had this weird need to prove you could do it by yourself even though realistically you couldn’t, and not only that you didn’t have too.

You knew Dabi would help, hell he would probably be pissed if you tried to do this without him. Just as much as you wanted to do this alone, he wanted to take care of you probably even more. He was also still feeling the sting of perceived failure. So, what were you going to do?

You surprised even yourself when you sighed and leaned back deciding to wait for Dabi. Logically you knew the only you were going to do this without hurting yourself further was to let him help. It was what was physically best for you. It also would help him get over his own pity party, so in a way it was what was best for him too.

“Oh wow… you actually listened.” Dabi was back and making his way towards you with a first aid kit that looked like it had seen some shit.

“Not on purpose. I tried to get my dress off… but it just hurt, so I gave up and decided I’d wait for you to do it for me.”

He placed the kit on the counter and squatted between your legs. “I’m about to say something that I know you’ll think is sarcastic, but I promise it’s not… Thank you for giving up.” He gently pulled the hem of your dress up until he could pull it over your front. If he was affected by the fact that you were sitting in front of him in only a pair of underwear, then he didn’t show it.

He quietly appraised your injuries with a serious face. “Other than your head and your ribs does anything stand out at overly painful? Can you rotate and bend all of your joints?”

One by one you checked your wrists, shoulders, ankles, knees, and lastly your neck. “I think they’re all fine. Sore in some spots, but nothing too bad.”

He nodded as he started to clean the dried blood off of your forehead. “You have a lot of scrapes, but those will be fine. I just want to get this nasty cut on your forehead cleaned up.” He bit his lip, “I don’t have a fucking clue what I’m supposed to do for your ribs though… or what you’re supposed to do for concussions.”

You winced as he pressed a little too hard onto the gash in your forehead, “It’s fine… that’s what Google’s for right?”

He apparently didn’t think that was very funny. He just grunted as he continued his dabbing. When he considered himself done, he put a bandage over it. “I was kinda hoping you could show off your surgical staple skills. We could be twins.”

“That’s not funny.” His blue eyes fixed on you, you could see something cracking in them. “Okay maybe it’s a little funny… I might laugh about it tomorrow… but right now… not funny.”

He reached a hand into the shower to test the temperature. “Alright, let’s get you cleaned up. We just need to try and keep your bandage dry, if that’s even possible.”

He was helping you stand up to get into the shower, but you stopped him right before you got in. “I’m sorry… I feel like ever since I got here all you’ve done nothing but take care of me.” You took a step into the shower. “I promise I’m capable of taking care of myself.”

He quickly stripped out of his clothes and got in behind you. “Stop with that shit. It’s like I said earlier today, just because you can doesn’t mean you should have to.” His fingers started massaging into your sore muscles in your back, “I promise I don’t mind. I know you’re a big girl, I know you’re capable, but you’re also mine. And I take care of what’s mine.”

His fingers moved to base of you scalp and started rubbing firm circles, and you practically purred at the action. It felt so damn good. He leaned over your shoulder and pressed a kiss just below your ear. “I know you got a little beat up today, and I know you’re a little disappointed, but at the end of the day you’re the one who walked away. I’m still proud of you. You fought hard against someone who has been trained to kill top ranked heroes. Next time I’m sure you won’t even need me.” He kissed your shoulder and his hands ghosted around to your hips. His fingers so soft you almost couldn’t feel them. “I’m going to start training with you.” His fingers brushed up your sides, his thumbs brushing the sides of your breasts. “We’re going to turn you into someone they wouldn’t dare fuck with again.”

His hands heated up slightly as they very gently hovered over your ribs. The warmth felt great against your aching bones. You closed your eyes and leaned back against him and let him take his time rinsing all the blood and dirt from your body. Every once in a while, his hands would linger, rubbing small circles or massaging your sore muscles.

When he turned the water off it felt like it had been hours since you stepped in and your limbs felt like jelly.

That’s how you ended up wrapped in a fuzzy blanket, lying on Dabi’s chest with his arms around you. You don’t know when you drifted off but thankfully there were no bad memories waiting for you when you did. You slept deeply and soundly, making up for the restless sleep you had last night. When your little mid-day nap ended you woke up still feeling sore, but well rested.

You stretched the best you could, before blinking your eyes open. You had expected to see Dabi curled up next to you, but was surprised to find an empty bed.

He better not have snuck out again to track people down. You weren’t in any shape to take care of him if he came back hurt again.

Something felt weird as you sat up, there was a weird pressure on your neck, almost like you were wearing a heavy necklace. Your fingers flew up to find a collar and your eyes immediately welled with tears as the memory of have having the medical collar on in the lab pushed to the front of your brain. Your fingers dug into it trying to rip it off, but you couldn’t. In your panic your nails dug into the skin of your neck. There was no latch that you could find, and it was leading to a gnawing fear in the pit of your stomach. “DABI!!”

Your voice sounded hysterical and terrified even to you. But you couldn’t help it.

The door to his room slammed open a few seconds later as he ran inside. His eyes assessed the situation and settled on the source of your panic. His hands replaced yours pulling your nails away from your neck. “Hey shhh, calm down. You’re safe. Just breath.”

You tried to do what he said, but your breathing was getting tighter. “I-I need it off! I cant- I cant breath!” You felt a tear slip down your cheek. “Please! Dabi get it off of me!”

His hands came up to cup your cheeks, forcing you to look at him. “No… no you are stronger than this. It’s just a glorified necklace. It can’t hurt you. Look at me y/n!” Your eyes met his cool blue ones. “It’s just a pretty collar for my pretty girl. I told you earlier today if you let go of my hand again, I’d put you in a collar. You did, and it ended up in you almost getting kidnapped.” His thumb rubbed your cheek, soaking up some stray tears you weren’t aware you had shed. “I don’t make idle threats… and besides if you let me show you, I think you’ll actually like it.”

Your breathing slowly started to even out as your eyes started to look more focused. “Good girl. See there’s no danger here.”

When you felt yourself come back to reality you slapped his chest. “Asshole! You had to have known that wasn’t going to go well! You should have asked first!”

He grabbed your hand before you could slap him again. “I mentioned it earlier and you didn’t say anything. If anything, you looked turned on… so sue me.” He took your hand and led you over to the bathroom.

He placed you in front of him so you could see. It was a pretty shade of pink with a metal heart looped in the front. From the heart hung a tiny Sakura flower. It really was pretty.

“It’s not just a fashion statement okay, it’s functional. Consider it support gear. It has a chip in it that can only be tracked if you turn it on and only by people that have the code. Don’t worry it’s currently turned off.” He pointed to a little metal button on the side. “There’s another button over here that lets you record something and then play it back louder so it reaches more people. It also acts like a communication device. You can connect with me, Minimight, Squirt, and the angry Pomeranian. It’s voice activated.” He tapped the button and held it down until you heard a beeping noise. “Call backup plan.”

You heard a ringing before an angry Katsuki answered the phone. “Who the fuck is this?”

“Hey! Lose the tude it’s just me!”

Before he could answer you, Dabi cut him off. “It’s her new com device. Save it.” Then he clicked the button ending the call.

He looked smug. You’d have to figure out how to reprogram the names later. “It also can track your vitals, but before you give me the look I know you’re going to give me. It only sends updates to the people you have programmed into it, and only if it registers that you are in critical or life-threatening conditions.”

Your fingers came up and touched the flower that dangled from it. “Ok… but how do I take it off?”

Happy you were warming up to the idea of it, “Voice command. Just push the button and say ‘naked’ and the latch will open. You can also say ‘attack’ and some pretty little spikes come out, keeping anyone from putting their hands around your neck. Pretty cool right?”

You sighed, “I can admit it’s cool… but can you please admit you should have asked first? I had to wear a collar for years in the lab… it’s what kept me under their control.”

He couldn’t take his eyes off the way you looked in the mirror. Totally naked other than the collar. His eyes looked practically feral. “I regret that it scared you. But I warned you and you didn’t tell me it was a limit. That is due to a lack of communication on your side.” His hands slid around to your front pulling your back against him so you could feel how hard he was through his pants. “God you look so fucking hot. Bruises and all.”

He began to grind against your ass, and you found yourself leaning over the sink and pushing back into him. You knew you were already wet, and you needed some friction to relieve the ache between your legs.

“Oh fuuuuck baby girl. You want it? You want me to bend you over this counter and take you?”

You whined and pushed back into him harder, “Please… but- but.” You groaned as his hand came up to tweak your nipple.

“What was that? Come on use your words.”

You arched your back, pushing your breast further into his hand. “Be gentle...”

His lips found your neck, “Of course baby. I’m not a monster.”

You felt him push his shorts down to his ankles and moments later you felt the head of his cock teasing your entrance. “You’re already so god damn wet.” He pushed into you slowly. Almost too slowly. It took everything in you not to shove yourself back onto him. You had asked him to be gentle, and that’s what he was trying to do.

You let out a moan of relief when he was fully inside you. His chest pressed tightly against your back his hands reaching out to yours and lacing your fingers together.

It was slow, it was slow and sweet. You thought at first it would drive you crazy, but you were eventually overwhelmed at the intimacy of it all. He wasn’t just fucking you. He wasn’t just chasing his own high. He was gentle, and loving, and every stroke felt like a promise. His lips were kissing every part of you he could reach. Your temple, your cheek, your neck, your shoulder.

“So perfect.” He groaned at the effort it took to keep his hips from picking up their pace. “Such a perfect girl for me. So fucking pretty and strong. Ahhhh” His hips stuttered just slightly. “Fuck baby, you have no idea what you do to me.”

You tried to control it, but it was almost impossible. Your quirk activated. Your feelings spilled over through your touch. His gasp got stuck in his throat. “I’m sorry I can’t control it right now. I just feel – ah- so fucking good.”

You were both sweaty messes at this point, practically glued together. “Shit don’t apologize. It’s crazy how much I love that. I love making you feel good, show me how good I make you feel.”

You hummed at the pleasure that was singing in your veins. You were so close and Dabi could feel it. Both through your quirk and the way your walls started to flutter around him. You were about to beg for him to let you come when a beeping sound came from your collar making him slow down nearly to a stop. “Fuck.. no no no. I was so close, please.”

Dabi chuckled. “Someone’s calling you, say hello.” Your eyes bulged open as he hit the button to answer the call.

“Uh.. hello?”

“Y/n? What the fuck was that earlier? Did staple dick get you a phone?” This was not good. You looked at Dabi’s devilish grin in the mirror as he slowly started thrusting into you again as he mouthed, ‘talk to him’

You bit a moan back absolutely mortified. “Hey Kats. Something like that.” Dabi’s hand wrapped your long hair around his hand and pulled to make you look at him through the mirror. His pace picking up. You could hear your breath begin to sound labored and you knew it wouldn’t be long before he pieced it together. “Now’s not the best time, can I call you later?”

“Y/n… are you okay? You sound like you’re out of breath?”

You coughed in an attempt to cover up one of your moans, “I’m fine, just tired. Dabi and I are… training.”

There was a beat of silence on his end as Dabi continued his hard, slow thrusts into you. “Training my ass. Call me when you guys are done fucking… The mic on whatever you’re using is really good. I’ve already heard more than I want too.”

You went to hit the button to end the call but Dabi grabbed your hand and put it back on the counter preventing it. “Ah- Sorry Kat-SUKI!” Dabi pinched your clit with his other hand causing you to moan in response. Your face turned a dark shade of red at the fact that Katsuki had just heard that.

“Dabi… I know you’re listening and you’re a fucking asshole.” You sighed in relief when you heard the sound signaling that he had hung up.

Dabi started laughing loudly as picked up his pace just slightly. “Teach him to want what’s mine.”

You felt tears start to leak from the corners of your eyes as your orgasm built to its breaking point. “DABI! I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum. AH!”

You felt your orgasm rip though you and it was intense. Dabi cooed praises in your ear that you couldn’t quite hear as he continued to ride you though it. “Good giiiiiirl!”

“I’m close doll, where do you want it?”

Your eyes almost rolled back, “Inside. Cum inside me please.”

“My baby girl want’s my cum. Of course, she does. What my girl want’s she gets!” He slammed into you a few more times before you felt his hot ropes coating your insides. “Gonna bread my pretty girl one of these days. Gonna put a fucking baby in you.”

He collapsed but managed to keep his weight off of you. After a few moments of the both of you panting he sat up, pulled out of you and kissed the back of your neck. “God I love this collar.”

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

Tags: tags: @falling4fandoms @wifunozomi @here-in-never-land @whore-for-anime @klecksstorys @aurorahoneybuns @theunknownrandom @insane-without-delirium @frenchsfryys @officiallydarkgeek @neofixcs @music-is-all-i-need @katsuki-bakubabe@unadulteratedtastemakerpoetry@dabislittlemouse@aimee1602@pinkhatlizzy @kunaigirlx44 @nii-sanfucker@bestgirlb @silver-stardrop@bakubby99

[extremelyblackandwhite]

innocence - 30

PAIRING: bodyguard!bucky barnes x innocent actress!reader

WARNINGS: angst, panic attack

A/N: all i can say is enjoy it before it goes completely downhill xx

NEXT CHAPTER

   - Marry me, Y/N. - she looked at him in disbelief, lips slightly parted as she wondered if she had heard him correctly?

   - What? 

   - I ... hm ... would you consider being my wife at some point in the near future? 

His father had once told him the moment between the proposal and the answer is the longest moment he’d ever go through. Bucky knew long, he knew long times, he was 106 after all but this moment seemed to last three centuries. She stared at him as if she had merely imagined those words. His heart beat against his chest like a drum, as she opened her mouth. She was going to say no. Why would she even say yes? She was so sweet, so beautiful, so full of a  sweet loving innocence which just  made her endearing to anyone and everyone who met her. He is not the type of man that ends up with a girl like her. No, he’s the type of man who she dates as a mistake, the one she dates before she meets the one and Bucky was constantly waiting for the moment she realised he was a monster.

  - Yeah. - she smiled, the type of smile which easily brightened up his day. She moved from her spot in the bed, sitting on top of his lap to wrap her arms around his neck. - Yes, I will marry you. 

  - What?

  - Yes. - she leaned down to kiss him. - I will become your wife at some point in the near future. 

  - So, just to be safe, you are agreeing to marry me? Me? - he was still in shock she had said yes. Those words, that question, it was just came out of his mouth like crazy ramblings spawned out of his desire to have a family with her. He just didn’t expect her to say yes. He didn’t expect her to be sat on top of his lap, smiling at him having said yes. - Doll, I ... Fuck, I don’t have a ring. I can’t believe I just proposed to you without a ring.

   - That’s fine. I love you and you love me. I don’t need a ring. - she cupped his face, kissing the tip of his nose. - Just us. 

   - Just us. - he leaned towards to capture her chapstick covered lips into a soft kiss. - I like that, princess. Just us. 

   - Yeah. - Y/N shyly smiled, leaning against his shoulder. - You make me so happy, Buck. You don’t even know how happy you make me. 

Bucky didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what to say, what to reply to her so all he did was just look at her, head tucked on the shoulder, the metal shoulder with such confidence and such care. She did not believe he could hurt her and she loved him. There were little moments in his life which had made him want to cry, he had refused to cry many times, but having the woman he loved tell him she loves him, she cares for him, she’ll marry him ... the same woman telling him he makes her happy, not just any woman, the woman he loved ... gosh, it was too much. All he could do was kiss her scalp, hold her close to his naked chest which in any other time it would’ve turned sexual but now, now it was just a candid moment, a moment he wanted to hold close to him for as long as he could leave. He refused to forget the feeling of her hair strands against his shoulder, her warm hand against his chest.

The rest of the holidays were as eventful as it would be. Y/N had decided to only tell her parents about the engagement, keeping her extended family and siblings outside the news merely to keep the event away from the media. She didn’t want it publicised and neither did Bucky. Her parents were overjoyed, with her mother wanting to take photographs of them to put on the family album while her father just gave him the look he would’ve given to his sister’s husband had he been ... well, there. All good things come to an end and that end was very close as the two of them were supposed to fly back to New York for Y/N to attend the New Years’ Eve Vanity Fair gala. 

     - I wished we could stay for longer. - Y/N groaned as she stuffed more clothing into her luggage. - Last thing I need is a gala.  

     - It’ll be okay, princess. - Bucky came up from behind her, resting his chin against her shoulder. - We can return when you have another free time slot.

     - I never have free time. 

     - I’ll steal you away if they overwork you. - he bite her shoulder playfully. - What’s the sad mood really all about? Don’t tell me it’s about missing Colin calling me a 200 year old. 

      - It’s silly. - she shook her head, folding more of her clothing to put with the rest of it. 

     - I know that face. - he turned her so she was facing him. - What is it? Is it your parents? Do you miss your parents?

     - No ... I ... uhm, remember the Halloween party you and I went to?

     - Yeah, what about it?

     - I met some people from the RSC and they said if I ever was in London, I should try and audition for their West End run of Moulin Rouge. I got this e-mail yesterday, auditions are in like an hour and I don’t know ...

     -  Do you wanna do it?

     - No, I mean ... I can’t, my contract says they’ll pick the opportunities for me and it’s London and I’m in New York. Besides, we leave in two hours.

     - They don’t need to know. 

     - Bucky ... - she was about to argue with him but he interrupted her, kissing her sweetly. 

     - Do you wanna do it? - he looked into her eyes. Bucky could always tell when she was lying by looking into her eyes; she would always divert them away from the person standing in front of her, normally to the right, chin tucked into her chest, gaze up. 

     - I ... I do but ...

     - We can make it. Your agency does not need to know and it’s not like it’s a done deal. Princess, if you wanna do it then do it.

     - Buck, it’s not that simple. 

     - It is that simple, doll. I can get you wherever you want without anyone knowing and we’ll still make our flight.

     - Bucky, I’m not gonna get it. - she sat on top of her bed. She didn’t know if she was gonna get it and it wasn’t that she was afraid of failure or rejection, god she knew both too well, all she was afraid of was if they discovered. She was under a tight contract but those words, that invite to her during that party, it just pulled at her conscience. Bucky was much too familiar with her to know exactly what was going through her mind. 

      - I’m not gonna let anyone touch you. - his fingers hooked under her chin, turning her face towards him so he could lean his forehead against hers. - They won’t know.

    -  Bucky, they always know.

    - You don’t get to be called a ghost story if you’re not good at being a ghost, princess. If you don’t want to do it then it’s okay but if you’re not gonna do it because of what your agency thinks ... 

    - You’re sure no one will know?

    - Well if they do, we can always get you plastic surgery. - he lightened up the mood making her look up at him, her chin tucked in her chest as she lightly giggled, rolling her eyes at him. - You’ll be fine, princess. 

She was nervous as the taxi pulled in front of one of the theatres were the auditions were happening. Looking at her watch, exactly an hour before they had to make it to the airport, check in and get to their gates. Maybe this was a mistake, how was she supposed to feel? The agency had given her a shot at a career in the States, everyone wants a career in the States. She should be happy, she should be so happy but how happy could she feel about being back if thinking about stepping into that plane destroyed her heart into a million pieces. Looking to her right, Bucky was smiling at her, always blindly believing her even if she led him directly into the fire, but he was there. He kissed her temple as she left the car and rushed into the theatre before anyone could show. 

She had been to so many auditions before, she had felt her body shake so many times when her name was called out after signing a non disclosure agreement as it was usual for popular shows. This time it was different, this time the light seemed brighter, illuminating each of her features and almost illuminating the sweat starting to form on her forehead. She stood tall, almost like a woman in a panting with hands resting against the beginning of her skirt, one foot in front of the other. 

    - My name is Y/N Y/LN and I’m auditioning for the part of Satine. - her voice even wavered as she struggled to do something she had been so used to doing since she was young. 

    - What will you be performing, Miss Y/L/N?

    - If It is True from My Life with Albertine. - she looked over to the pianist, signalling him to start.

Her heart was beating so fast and she could feel her whole being shaking as she wondered what Miss Olson would do to her if she even suspected she was doing an audition outside of her contract. She ended up missing the first bars, looking down at her feet as she thought back to quit until she saw him sat down in the further back of the theatre. Cap on, almost covering his whole face but she could see his eyes, she could see his blue eyes just like she could see them every morning  when she woke up. 

    - If it is true, you love me. If when at night dreaming you dream of me then I am luckier than the king who rules the sea. - she decided to sing for him instead, blurring everything except for his almost blended figure in the back. Her hands touched the pearls laying against her neck as she cocked her head to the side, small smile on her lips. - And if I die a sudden death for reasons why I do not know. But if I die a sudden death to live forever in paradise, I will not be as happy, in all that time, as I have been with you. If it is true, if it is so, you love me. If it is true, and I have heard you then I am wealthier than a queen with love of you, I am wealthier than a king with love of you.

The bars ended and she returned her gaze to the board of the directorial team which gestured for her to leave and someone else to enter. She left through the backstage, meeting Bucky just at stage door, who wrapped his arms around her, twirling her before kissing her lips and nose.

    - You did so great, princess. It’s almost unfair for the other people auditioning.

    - We need to get going or we’ll miss our flight. - she avoided another one of his kisses, her watch shining brightly with the hour. - C’mon. 

    -  It’s gonna be fine, princess. We’ll make it.

Once again, he was right. How could he not be right? When it came to time management, Bucky seemed to be almost too good at it, almost too good for someone who had so much time. Nevertheless, they were inside the plane again, the time when they had left New York now so behind them as they returned to his birthplace. She leaned against him arm, not caring it was made of metal, it was him and that’s all it mattered to her. Y/N was innocent enough to believe she could do  whatever she wanted while in London, while in the airplane but she knew the moment she stepped foot on American soil she was back to being property of her agency. Back to the parties, the gowns and the constant filming. She loved her job, she really did but things pilled up so easily and she felt locked inside a cage, slowly suffocating. 

She did not want the plane to land, she did not want to be in the present of her situation but it did and during the early hours of the morning both her and Bucky were going down the stairs of the plane and onto the sleeve which lead to the baggage claim area. Bucky immediately went in bodyguard mood despite the fact the airport was very much empty but no him no amount of care was too much and until they got inside the taxi, he cut through people with precise ease, yet held her hand like any boyfriend would. The ride home was silent, neither Bucky or Y/N liked to discuss their matters in front of people they did not trust. The walk up to his apartment was equally silent, with the both of them basking in their own comfort until they reached the door. The two walked in hand and hand before throwing the bags to the side.

    - Home sweet home. - Bucky kissed the side of her forehead. - So, what’s the agenda for tomorrow?

    - Boring. - she groaned, sitting down on his couch. 

    - You get to eat for free, how boring can it be?

    - Those 40s habits sure die hard, don’t they? - she smirked. - I need to get to my apartment at 4PM to get my makeup and hair done, put the dress on ... PR shots and so on. 

    - Your apartment?

    - I know what you’re thinking, Buck. - she tilted her head slightly to the side.

    - I am not thinking anything.

    - Please. - she crossed her arms. - You’re thinking it’s not safe.

    - That’s not what I’m thinking. - he walked up to her, wrapping his arms around her waist. - I’m thinking it’s not safe to have that many people in an unsafe apartment without me around.

    - You’re not gonna be there? - she was taken by surprise. Bucky was always around, even when they weren’t dating. 

    - Ms. Olson said I can’t be there. Might spoil something ... whatever that means ... but I’ll escort you to the venue and stay with you from then onwards.

    - You’re not gonna be far, are you?

    - I thought you knew what I was thinking, doll face. - he leaned his forehead against hers, teasing smile gracing his lips as those words left him. - You think I’d let you be alone with those people far away from me? No, princess, I’ll be around. 

    - Good. 

Y/N did not enjoy the parties she had to attend as a member of her agency. Everything was highly planed, too planed even and so was this day. She entered her old apartment and a swat team of people were already waiting for her, she smiled at them, grabbing the letters which had started to pile up on the floor ever since she left to stay with Bucky, until Ms. Olson grabbed her arm and pulled her into her bedroom where the hairstylist and makeup artist were waiting for her. Her assistant’s hands pushed onto her shoulders to sit her down in the chair. Y/N started to go through her letters, most were Christmas postcards, bills, letters from several companies and none mattered much except for one in a brown envelope. She furrowed her eyebrows at the lack of sender name or even her own name or address in the envelope. As the hairstylist started to style her hair, she opened the envelope, a few photos of her falling on her lap. A breathe got stuck in her throat as she saw her own eyes scratched out with crosses over them. 

   - What is that? - Ms Olson took the photos off her hands. - Why is this still happening? Last thing we need is crazy stalker PR.

   - I .. I don’t know. - she shrugged, not knowing why she felt so guilty. It wasn’t her fault. Right?

   - Right, I’m sending this to Mr. Hawthorne, he has a friend in the government, and you ... you better not get into any trouble tonight, Y/N. Are we clear?

   - Yes, Ms Olson.

   - Good and try to smile a bit more for the photos. 

Her ears filled with a static buzz and although she could see herself in the mirror and her surroundings, she felt she was laying on the floor of a dark room with dead eyes. Motionless, she remained motionless staring at herself in the mirror yet not understanding the image she could see. She wondered if she had fallen too deep into the industry to be rescued and suddenly that black dark room was filling with water and she just let it happen. Y/N just laid on that metaphorical dark ground, floating in the dark water which kept entering her lungs until she couldn’t bring anymore.

   - You’re ready. - she had been so lost in her own mind she did not realise she was fully dressed, hair ready and makeup done. It was pretty subtle, she thought, small black dress falling pretty much looser with tussled hair and skin toned makeup. It was something she’d pick for herself ... maybe the agency did knew her better than she did. 

They did the same thing they always did, some shots some not candid candid moments for social media and the good old fake champagne shot. She never really enjoyed champagne, she found it quite bitter even sour but it was prestigious. She guessed somehow it correlated with how she lived now, or how she was portrayed. She was ushered into the limo to Bucky, her Bucky yet she couldn’t really say anything until it was just her, Bucky and the driver. Once they were at least 10 minutes, it felt like the air she was holding in finally came crashing and she was pushed back into her own reality.

   - Y/N. - Bucky only spoke her name, not touching not do anything. - I am here, you are safe.

   - What? - she looked his way before smiling. She was an actress after all, but he was a former spy assassin. 

   - You are safe. - her features relaxed and she didn’t say a thing, instead marinating in her own thoughts. - I am here, you are safe.

   - I don’t wanna go. - she let it out, her face coming to the realisation of what exactly this meant. She knocked on the partition. - Stop the car.

   - What? - the driver was as confused as Bucky was. 

  - STOP THE CAR! - she yelled out and the car came to an abrupt end. She opened the door and like a mad woman she walked out into the first alley she saw, leaning against the wall with her hand pressed against her chest. Bucky went after her, stopping after he saw her leaning against the brick wall, hand over her mouth. Bucky knew panic attacks when he saw one and this was one of them. 

  - Princess ... - he walked up to her, trying to hold her but she stopped him.

  - I’m not going.

  - Okay, we’re not going. - he took off his gloves, raising his hands in the air. - Look at me princess, it’s me okay. It’s me, just me. Just us. 

   - I can’t do this anymore. 

   - Can you breathe in for me? - Bucky managed to finally hold her once her defences were down. - Count to ten in your head and then breathe out. 

Y/N breathed in, her head going immediately to count sheep, specifically 10 sheep. It was childish and she knew it was childish but she always did that whenever she needed to recover from feeling anxious. She let the air out before repeating again for what felt like a hundred times and things seem to calm down. However, peace and quiet wasn’t in the cards for her.

   - Just what in the heck do you think you’re doing. - Ms. Olson’s high pitched voice made her flinch. - You are not important enough to win the privilege to be late. 

   - Keep it. - Bucky warned, giving her the look no one wanted to receive. A look that was more Winter Soldier than Bucky Barnes.

   - You stay in your lane. - she pointed her pen at him. - Get in the car right now, Y/N. I do not have the time to deal with whatever childish diva tendencies you’re developing.

    - Not now, let her be.

    - Y/N. - she tried to grab Y/N’s arm but Bucky got to her before she did, twisting her wrist with his metal arm before he could even realise what he was doing. He let go of her wrist, but still looked at her as if he was ready to kill her. Instincts die hard. - You are going to regret this, Barnes. And you, Y/N, get in that car now.

   - No. - she meekly perked up.

   - Excuse me?

   - No. - she spoke out a little bit more strongly, forcefully grabbing her purse. - I am not going. 

   - You don’t get to ...

   - Yes, I do. - she interrupted him. - I did not sign a contract which specifically mentioned what events I need to attend, just how many. As such, I am not going and if you try to stop me or try to touch me without my permission ever I will sue you for harassment and I don’t think having an affair with Mr. Hawthorne pays for the legal fees you’d have to pay.

   -  You will sue me? - she almost scoffed at the not so meek actress. 

   - My dad is a barrister and my siblings are all lawyers. I have more knowledge of law and suing than you ever did and ever will. 

   - You wanna call the shots now, tots? - she rolled her eyes before stepping back. - Okay. 

Y/N remained behind suspicious of why it had been so easy to get rid of her but decided not to dwell on it. Bucky too was unsuspicious but was more worried about Y/N. She wrapped her hand against his, kissing his shoulder as the two watched Ms. Olson’s car leave along with her car. Typical. Of course she took her car. 

 - It’ll be fine, right? - she questioned looking up.

 - If everything goes to hell, we’ll move to a private dessert island and start there.

 - Let’s just go home. - she breathed out. - Let’s just forget new year’s eve.

 - It’s a lousy date anyway.

 - Yeah. Why are we celebrating the sun rotating a full turn around Earth? It’s ridiculous. 

Bucky was always happy to spend alone time with her and while part of him wanted to ask what had triggered her panic attack, he let her have her space. The two of them just sat on the couch, his head on her lap as she played with his hair, some old movie he liked to watch back in the 40s. The year went by and a new one began. At the beginning of the year, he wouldn’t have believe he’d end up here, with her, with the woman he loved, engaged. It was almost too good to be truth and sometimes Bucky wondered if he had been knocked unconscious during a mission and this was all his mind giving him what he always wanted. She had fallen asleep, having laid down next to him. 

The morning peeked into his apartment and as per usual he was the first one up, tidying the place up and even putting some flowers up for when she woke up. Y/N loved flowers and so he had made it his mission to ensure she always woke up to new ones. “This is going to make you broke” she would tell him, but he didn’t care. If he had to spend his last days buying fresh roses every morning for the woman he loved then he was going to do it. He leaned against the fridge, drinking his coffee as he did each morning until his phone rang. He clumsily tried to answer it before it could wake up Y/N. Damned IPhone and damned Sam Wilson who made him switch from his razor phone.

    - Barnes. - he answered.

    - Mr. Barnes, it’s Agent Cox. We have an assignment for you.

taglist: @disasterbii​ @lookiamtrying​ @buckysteveloki-me​ @americasass81​ @jamesbarnesappreciationclub​ @lostinthebeans​ @mariahthelioness29​ @bbabysbaby​ @peaches-roses-sins​ @theadorasabditory​ @sipsteacasually​ @saiyanprincessswanie​ @booktease21​ @noiralei​ @learisa​ @everythingisoverratedbutgreat​ @uglipotata72829​ @naturalthrone22​ @husherstan​ @mandiiblanche​​ @vicmc624​ @newyorkgoddess​ @itsallyscorner​ @chipilerendi​ @emzd34 @writerwrites​​ @bluevxnus​​ @that-girl-named-alex​​ @captnrogers​​ @nsfwsebbie​​ @sarge-barnes-sir​​

[nxrthmizu]

love in bubble wraps.

fandom | haikyuu!!

pairing | kuroo tetsurou x reader

genre | fluff

w.c | 1.9k

author's note | based on a real life experience... :)

Love, you think, comes in many forms. Sometimes love is a warm, home-cooked meal that is now cooked at least once a week because you told your mother you liked it. Other times, love is laughing and crying alongside the friends you’ve known since pre-school because everyone passed their highschool finals with flying colours. Throughout our lives, we gradually come to meet the different forms of love, because it comes in all shapes, colours, and sizes.

First, we learn that love is a roof that you can always turn to when a storm blows in. Then, we learn that love is knowing that there are people who will drop everything to help you when your car breaks down in the middle of nowhere. Lastly, we learn to interlock our fingers with the one we wish to walk to the end of time with.

Then again, love varies from person to person— Just like how the goddess of love, Aphrodite, looks different to every soul that sets its sights on her; Beauty truly lies in the eye of the beholder. For some, love comes in the form of a warm body to cuddle next to on a rainy day. For others, love comes in the form of a jewelled ring. For you, love comes in the form of a 6’2 man who still doesn’t know how to tame his bedhead.

Tetsurou is often too busy for his own good, always running around here and there to secure contracts, ensuring that Japan can make a name for itself during the Olympics. He books train tickets to opposite ends of Japan at least once a month, leaving before the sun rises and returning after it sets. The sun never dictates his work day, because while his coworkers work from nine to five, Tetsurou works until he finishes his tasks.

Okay, so your husband is a bit of a workaholic. And maybe not just a bit.

“L/N-san,” Your colleague asks one day out of sheer curiosity. A group of women are gathered around the snack station, sipping on cheap, machine-produced instant coffee as they gossip about their marital lives instead of working. “Now that I think about it… I’ve never met your husband, have I?”

“Ah,” You sweat-drop nervously at this. Wonderful— Your parents are already pressuring you about how Kuroo rarely visits with you— And now your coworkers, too? “He’s quite busy. He works very hard to make sure that we’ll be well-off in the future.” You respond, knowing that your reply is just a thinly-veiled way of saying ‘He’s rarely home,’.

“Oh, that’s awful,” Wherever you go, there’s always a middle-aged lady who has nothing better to do than to prey on the weak spots of your life, “It must feel lonely. You must feel so sad when you see my husband pick me up from work.” A smirk dances up her lips as she waits for you to walk into her trap, smiling as widely as a spider watching its incoming meal.

“Not really,” A practiced smile counters hers as you take a sip of your coffee. “I know Tetsurou loves me— There’s an unbreakable trust between us. He might not be home often, but I know that he’s working hard so that we can have a better tomorrow… And that’s sort of comforting, in a sense. Knowing that Tetsurou wishes for a future where we’re financially stable, where we can just spend a whole day doing nothing in each other’s presence…”

A chorus of ‘awws’ makes you blush. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the middle-aged coworker huff in failure. You mentally fist-pump the air at your victory.

“Anyway, I heard that you got engaged last weekend, Shiho-san,” Changing the topic quickly, you smile when the attention of all the ladies instantly redirects to the said woman, who blushes fiercely as they all coo at her ring. “Congratulations!”

“Oh my! He bought you such a beautiful ring… Ah, Shiho-san, you’re so lucky!”

“My husband also bought me a new bag last week,” The middle-aged woman chips in proudly, cocking her head towards her cubicle, where the leather handbag sits atop a tower of documents. “It’s very expensive.”

“That’s nice of him! It’s been forever since my husband bought me something.” Sighs another lady. Most of the group hums in agreement, sharing sympathetic looks with those that share the same fate.

“At the beginning, when we were still dating, Hayato used to buy me so many things, now…” The coworker that brings homemade cookies every New Years’ party says, looking dejected. “It’s like once we’re married, they don’t have to worry about making us happy anymore…”

“Ah, what about you, L/N-san? Does your husband buy you things often?”

You groan internally when the attention shifts to you once more. Honestly, you’re just there to listen and enjoy your coffee— Must you keep getting dragged into the conversation? “Well, personally I don’t really need my husband to buy me things to keep me happy, but… He does bring back trinkets whenever he travels.” You think about it for a while, then brighten when you remember the latest thing Tetsurou brought back for you.

“What is it?” Your change in expression isn’t missed by your coworkers, who preen with curiosity, excited to know what made you brighten up.

“Ah, it’s nothing… I promise, you’ll be disappointed if I tell you.” You chuckle.

“Come on!” “Be a good sport, L/N-san!” “We’re curious now, you can’t not tell us!”

“Oh, fine.” You sigh, “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

[ Three days ago, Saturday ]

You were on the couch, binge-watching Grey’s Anatomy with the Netflix subscription Tetsurou got for you to occupy yourself with while he was out of town. Your cat, Kazume (nicknamed after your husband’s best friend) lazed on your lap, yawning once in a while and swatting at the stray threads from your sweater.

Somewhere in between your fifteenth and seventeenth episode, the front door chirped with the sound of someone inserting a key into the lock. You perked up at the noise, Kazume yelping in protest as he almost slipped off.

“Oh, sorry Kazu.” You said quickly, a smile widening your lips as the front door opened.

“I’m ho—” Before your husband could finish his sentence, you were already at his side. Kazume meowed loudly from the couch, complaining about you abandoning him for another man. Tetsurou’s eyes softened, the edges of his hazel irises worn down by exhaustion. You took his laptop bag from him, as well as the folders he has in hand, balancing them like how you would balance your three grocery bags when Tetsurou wasn’t around to help. “I missed you too, but are you sure you can carry all of my files with one hand?”

“Yes!” You replied confidently, showcasing your balance as you wobbled through the living room with all of your husband’s stuff. Tetsurou’s laugh echoed through the apartment as he followed you, his reflexes coming into play as he dived for a falling file. “Oops.” You giggled, helping him up after he practically hurled himself at the floor.

Tetsurou shook his head, sighing fondly while he hugged you from the back, taking comfort in the familiar smell of your hair shampoo. “I missed you.” He mumbled.

“Me too.” You hummed, reaching back to stroke your hands through his still-untamed bedhead.

“Oh, before I forget,” Tetsurou leapt up suddenly, chucking his backpack onto the ground. “I brought back something for you!”

“I already have like, twenty-five keychains from Hyogo,” You reminded him, “Please tell me it’s not a…” Your voice trailed off when Tetsurou proudly whipped his gift from his backpack, hazel eyes shining for your reaction.

“... So?” Tetsurou grinned widely, like a five-year-old child holding up his drawing for his mother to critique.

“Oh my god, I love you.” You declared in your 80 sq ft kitchen, grabbing the gift from him. “I’ll clean up your stuff, go take a bath and we can have dinner while watching the…'' You pursed your lips as you try to recall the information that kept evading you like an annoying fly. “... 15th? 16th episode of Grey’s.”

“You started that without me? I said I wanted to watch that.” Tetsurou pouted petulantly like a child.

“I finished all the other stuff I wanted to watch,” You told him unapologetically. “And Kazume wanted to watch it too. Now hurry and take a bath or I’m starting without you.”

Twenty minutes later, you were cuddled up to your husband, who did not bother to comb his hair (“It’ll just be messy later anyway,” His reasoning was). Every few seconds, he would scoop some cold mash potato out of the giant bowl (The two of you were too impatient to heat it with the microwave) and feed you. All throughout the episode, there was the constant pop-pop-pop of you working your way through the giant piece of bubble wrap Tetsurou had brought home for you.

“You know, I was thinking,” You hummed as Tetsurou pressed ‘Next Episode’. “If It were any other woman, they might have slapped you for bringing just bubble wrap home after a whole week away.”

“Well, then I’m lucky that you aren’t ‘any other woman’, am I?” Your husband smiled, pressing a gentle kiss onto your lips before picking up the mash potato bowl again. “Are we just going to have mashed potatoes for dinner?”

“I bought spicy instant noodles yesterday, we can have that later if you want.”

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

[ Present, Tuesday ]

“That’s actually so sweet of him!” Your colleague coos as you finish your story. “Wish I had a husband like that…'' Even the middle-aged lady begrudgingly nods in agreement. For a moment, you feel a surge of pride— It was your husband they were talking about— Your sweet, hardworking, dork of a 6’2 bedhead.

“You wouldn’t be able to survive.” Another lady snorts. “That guy is away for weeks at a time.”

You hum. “Well, at least he calls back every night, regardless of how tired he is.” In the corner of your mind, you remember that he makes sure to call his grandmother every weekend, and that he sends his parents (and grandparents) money every month, that he visits your parents the first Sunday after he’s back from his trips— Not to mention that he always brings a gift of wellness products (The most recent one was a box of abalone).

The group of women swoon once more.

“Well, I guess we should get back to work,” You dispose of your paper cup in the trash, brushing your hands off. “See you ladies later.”

The moment you’re back at your desk, you take out your phone to text your husband, who is, no doubt, going to be very, very confused.

[ y/n ] 2.37pm

— we have a problem

[ tetsu <3 ] 2.39pm

— what’s wrong???

[ y/n ] 2.38pm

— i may have accidentally caused 20 women in my office to fall in love with you

[ tetsu <3 ] 2.38pm

— what ???

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

you know it's love when your dad comes home with this giant piece of bubble wrap and your mom literally squeals and snatches it to immediately start popping it on the couch while browsing facebook on her ipad

[sebstanseabass]

Afterglow (A Bucky Barnes AU fan fiction) - Chapter 17

Afterglow chapters

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

One of the advantages of being a photographer — or a self-taught photographer in your case — is having the ability to acquire an eidetic memory. You remembered the hat that the little bitch (a four-year old) was wearing when she pushed you off the swings in daycare, or the little stain on your father's doctor's lab coat when your family had to rush him to the hospital, or what Peter was wearing the day you guys first met (some oversized flannel he borrowed from Bucky), or the look on your ex-boyfriend's face when you punched him in the face for cheating on you.

The attention to every pretty little detail is, and always will be, a must, and so not remembering where you had seen Bucky before killed you, or rather, was killing you.

It was a normal morning, well, better than your normal mornings to say the least, with Bucky spending the night in your bed. This time, you woke up first, all wrapped in nothing but sheets and Bucky's arms just like yesterday. You rolled over to his side and admired him in his sleep. Then, sudden flashes of Bucky's face from before flooded your memory. You didn't know when exactly was before. It felt like a kind of a deja vu moment.

While eating Bucky's homemade breakfast, in your mind, you listed all the possible places where you could've seen him before: a café, a bar you once went to in college, a bookstore, a museum, a convivial gathering, a convenience store, and any other places you could've bumped into him.

The morning grew unusually quiet and clouded, eliciting concern from Bucky.

"You seem awfully quiet this morning." He observed. "Are you alright, doll?"

"Y-yes, I am."

"Uh-oh, was the sex not great last night?" He joked, nudging his elbow against yours.

You shook your head, trying to smile a little. Thankful that Bucky was trying to keep everything light. "No, no, it was great. You were great. It's just... I'm just quite anxious for today."

Today, you were going to Sam's office and to his store on Fifth Street, to discuss the details about the project. It wasn't what you had in your mind this morning but as you told Bucky about it, you realized you really were getting a bit nervous about the meeting. It was a big deal, after all.

Sam's business, The Falcons, was getting more recognition than you thought. He was now in near competition with Nike and Adidas, especially with the rumors of him releasing brand-new footwear, that could — and you quote one of the articles you read while on break — “overthrow the big leagues.” That alone, already put you in the spotlight. So, whatever you put out there should only be a success, and not a flop; because if it were a failure, you wouldn't only be humiliating yourself, but Bucky as well.

"You're gonna do great!" He assured you. "Plus, it's just a meeting. You two already seem to have a grasp on the project, anyway."

"Yeah." You sighed. "You're right."

You wanted to ask Bucky if you had ever, ever, met each other before — perhaps during a party where you’ve rescued Peter before? — but you bit your tongue to stop yourself. You already did when you met, anyway. And everything was going great between the two of you — whatever the hell this was; besides, labels are overrated nowadays — and you didn't want to say anything or do anything that could potentially ruin it. You were beyond happy in your little bubble, and you could tell Bucky was, too.

You brushed all those thoughts at the back of your mind as you and Bucky strolled through Sam's building's hallways, ironically telling yourself it was all just in your head, that you were just quite edgy about this damn meeting, that you were just thinking about Bucky all the damn time; and the more you told these things to yourself, the more you believed it, and the more you hoped you would never have these thoughts again.

Today, you wore something a bit different than what you usually wore down at the bar. A blazer and pants set, adorned with black and white stripes, a tube top inside, and a white belt that kept the blazer on your sides. You got the set when you and Bucky were out shopping on Monday, of course, Bucky paid for it no matter how many times you refused. Your hair was let down, all the ends flowing down your shoulders until the bottom of your breasts. Lips painted bright red (which Bucky really, really liked). A bit of shimmer on your eyelids as well.

Today was a huge deal and you wanted to look your best.

Bucky kept his hand on the small of your back the whole time you walked, giving a sense of comfort and familiarity you now learned to be fond of. He told the story of how he met Sam (at a bar, where else?), how he had seen him grow in the industry (all the ups and downs), and also how they've always supported each other — the three of them.

"Wait, the three of you?" You asked. "There's another one?"

Bucky almost wanted to stop in his tracks but decided against it. He avoided your gaze, his eyes straight down the hallway. "Yes, but we've fallen apart." He said. "He has his own thing now. Anyway, let's not talk about it. We have more important things to deal with today."

Before you could even ask what the name of this third friend was, Sam appeared at the end of the hallway, with his arms wide open, like a king opening his arms to his heir. Bucky, without leaving your side, proceeded to hug Sam only using his free arm, "Hey, man," he said, and retreated back afterwards.

On the other hand, you shook Sam's hand and gave him a smile.

"Hi, Sam." You greeted. "Nice to see you again."

"You too... y/n." Sam replied, hiding a smirk you knew he was itching to show, hiding the fact that he wanted to mock Bucky by calling you "babydoll."

"You guys made it in time." He said. "Come with me to the conference hall."

Sam led you to his right where a white long table stood in the middle with a bunch of vacant office chairs around. A projector sat on the center of the table, a series of displays of sports apparel lying around, perfectly organized by color. A blonde woman had her back on you, flipping papers on a clipboard. Once she heard you come in, she swiveled around and put the clipboard on the table.

"Y/n, this is Sharon Carter, my assistant and the project manager assigned for this new release." Sam spoke. "She knows everything there is to know about how my business works, all the ins and outs. And if in any case I won't be around, you can always rely on her."

"Hi, nice to meet you." You said.

Sharon Carter, instead of answering verbally, just offered you a smile and a small nod. Her gaze shifted towards Bucky, and then Sam. "Mr. Wilson, does he need to be here?"

"Always a pleasure to see you, Sharon." Bucky chuckled.

Sharon ignored him and continued to talk to Sam; well, tried to. "All the details in today's meeting are confidential and he — "

"He's good, Sharon." Sam cut her off. "I doubt he'll be interested in this, anyway. He's just here for his... doll." Sam chortled and Bucky winked and clicked his tongue in response. "Besides, he's the one who introduced me to y/n."

Sharon sighed in defeat and tried to smile at her boss. "Very well then."

"Please, take a seat." Sam offered, leading you towards the vacant chairs.

While walking towards the chairs, Bucky bent over on your side and whispered: "Don't worry, she's usually like that" which gave you relief.

"Good," you whispered back, "for a moment there, I thought she hated my guts."

"To be fair, she usually hates everyone's guts. Especially mine." Then, he placed a small kiss on your temple before pulling out a chair for you. "You'll do great, doll."

"Alright," Sharon started, glaring at Bucky, "shall we begin?"

The meeting lasted longer than you had liked it to be, and for a little while, it suddenly became an understanding of the difference between working with small, independent businesses and big businesses such as Sam's. Usually, you had a lot of artistic upper hand when it came to the small ones, seeing as they were still starting — and it was also where your college degree came in handy. You would talk to them about advertising, and marketing strategies through product photography. And that was that. But Sam's business already had something to start with.

Something already big.

In the middle of the presentation, Bucky reached for your hand under the table (which took you by surprise), hooking his pinky into yours.

"Just hold my pinky like this if this is too overwhelming for you." He whispered.

"Why the pinky?"

He just shrugged in response, a smile playing on his lips.

Sharon walked you all the way through it, careful not to miss any kind of detail, small or big: from the moment the business started (Sam working in retail, then reselling clothes, then making streetwear designs of his own until he landed on sporting apparels), and to what made the business grow what it is right now.

"Inclusivity." She continued, clicking on the next slide, "This is what The Falcons is going to be all about. Plus-size workout clothes, a huge array of colors suited for every skin tone — literally any color you can think of. We also have workout clothes and streetwear in one which means new designs and new materials. And of course, the new footwear. Bringing the light in speed, bringing new comfort, a new aesthetic, footwear for all. Again, inclusivity. Right in front of you," she pointed to all the sports apparel lying on the table, "are the new designs. We just received the first batch yesterday and we're expecting the second and last one hopefully this weekend just in time for the photoshoots any day next week."

"Me and the marketing team haven't actually discussed the photoshoot details, but they've had that with Sharon, seeing as she's the project head. All I have to do is approve it," Sam said, looking at you, "with you here, of course."

You nodded in agreement, then looked at Sharon. "Will we discuss, perhaps, half of it today?"

"Oh, I can discuss all of it." Sharon smugly replied. "I have a very promising proposal right here." She clicked the next slide, showing photos of various known models. "Let's start with the models. The new faces of the Falcons — "

"Hi, sorry. Can I weigh in on this one?" You interrupted as you scanned the faces of the models in front.

"I haven't finished yet."

You looked at Sam, who had his finger on his chin (assessing the situation), pleading with him with your eyes. "Go ahead, y/n." He said, nodding.

"Thank you, Sam." You replied then went back to the screen. "If I'm not mistaken, that's Kendall Jenner."

"Yes, it is."

"That's not exactly a new face." You argued. "And isn't she already an ambassador for Adidas?"

"It is a new face of The Falcons." She answered. "And she's actually ending her contract with Adidas. Something about breach of contract or some sort that I cannot legally discuss with outsiders."

"Where are the plus-size models?" You asked.

"I was actually getting to it." She clicked the next slide.

"Ashley Graham?"

"Yes, her. She's the perfect candidate."

You bit your lip, leaning forward on the table and unhooking your pinky with Bucky's. "Look, all of these models are gorgeous and handsome and good models but they're faces you see every single day on billboards — "

"Exactly. They're faces you see every single day." She repeated. "That means that these faces sell. And that's what we want for this release."

"I thought what you wanted was inclusivity." You frowned. "We should get people who are real athletes and models from different races, colors, and sizes. Real people, not these people you see every day on your phone or everywhere you go. These models are overrated, anyways." You faced Sam, who was listening intently. "Let's not get faces but stories instead. I believe that's what will separate The Falcons from these huge brands. It's a new release, right? Might as well make everything new."

Your words hung in the air, rendering the whole conference room quiet. Until Sharon broke it off. "Business doesn't work that way. I went to business school. I know how the system works."

You chuckled. "I majored in business and finance. Trust me, I know everything there is to know about business, not just you."

She was dumbfounded but tried to hide it, anyway. "But this is my proposal. You don't have a say on who we should get. You don't work for The Falcons."

"I know." You sighed. "But I'm working with you, and I have a say in this as much as you do." You glanced at Sam who was deep in thought. "But of course, Sam will always have the last say."

You leaned back in your chair, your chest heaving. With your eyes straight ahead, you grabbed Bucky's hand and hooked your pinky with his.

"Sharon," Sam started, "that was an excellent presentation and I humbly appreciate it but y/n does have a point. I wouldn't want these people representing The Falcons. I want people like me, people with stories to tell. Inclusivity isn't a marketing strategy, or a statement. It's what I believe in. And you," he swiveled his chair in your direction, "made a good case out of it."

You broke out in a smile, glancing at Bucky who also did the same. He now intertwined his fingers with yours, squeezing your hand three times.

"Sharon, find new models and athletes and have their profiles by next week. Let's think of it like... Kind of like a casting call." Sam said, standing up. "Now, let's dismiss this meeting 'cause I am starving."

-

"You have got to get a new assistant, Sam." Bucky groaned as you got inside Bucky's limo. You had lunch at some fancy restaurant in Manhattan before Sam showed you around the main store down Fifth Street.

You laughed, greeting Howard who gave you a smile through the rearview mirror. "She's the best assistant I could ever get."

"Please." Bucky said. "You could have better. She's just, ugh, I don't know, what's the word for someone who thinks she's better than everyone else in the room? Who hates practically everyone but goes to great, great lengths just to kiss your ass — "

"Alright, alright!" Sam cut him off, laughing. "I get it, man. But y'know I can't afford to lose her. It took me months to get a loyal and honest assistant."

"Ugh, fine."

"You just want her out because you're protecting your little babydoll."

"Jesus, Sam." Bucky said. "Stop calling her that."

"Yeah, stop calling me that." You frowned, leaning on Bucky's side and wrapping your hand around his muscular arm. "Only he gets to call me that."

"You guys make me sick." Sam joked.

You turned towards Bucky who had the end of his eyes, crinkled, and nose, scrunched. "Hey," you said, grabbing his attention, "did you get a text from Parker last night?"

His expression became relaxed, and looked at you. "Yes, actually. Something about a kid named Schmidt."

You chuckled. "Yeah, he's kind of a bully. Remind me to beat his ass when he comes to the bar. You won't miss him. He's got way too much gel in his hair, and too much of a know-it-all, kind of like, Ross Geller."

"Oh, I'd like to watch you beat someone up." Sam nodded, smirking. "You know what, I'd pay you to punch Parker."

"Oh come on, Sam." Bucky laughed.

"Nah, I'm kidding. I love that little kid. Speaking of Peter," Sam cleared his throat, "what are you guys gonna do when he gets back?"

You and Bucky fell silent, hooking your pinky with his once more. "We, uh," you glanced at Bucky who had his eyes on his shoes, "we haven't talked about it yet. But we will tell him, that's for sure. Right, James?"

His eyes shot up to yours, then at Sam. "Yes, yes, of course. I mean it's Peter. Of course, we'll tell him. Just not right away."

"What do you mean not right away?" You frowned.

"Well, we can't flat out tell the guy we're dating the moment he comes back. I don't want him to have a heart attack." Then, he bent down a little, leveling his mouth on your ear. "We are dating, right?"

"Well, we haven't talked about it and we're certainly not talking about it in front of Sam." You replied, glancing at Sam who was just staring at the both of you.

"We're here, Mr. Barnes." The partition pulled open, revealing Howard's voice. The three of you got out of the limo, the bar right just right in front. Before we even got to enter the bar, Sam tapped your shoulder and called out to Bucky.

"Do you mind if I borrow your girl for a moment? I'll just have to discuss something work-related."

Bucky turned around and glanced at the both of us. "Yes, sure." He pecked you on the lips then turned around to enter the bar.

"This is actually about Bucky." Sam said.

"Oh." You said. "Okay. What about Bucky?"

"I have to say, I haven't seen him that happy."

"Uh, isn't that supposed to be a good thing?"

"It is, it is! And I'm glad he has you."

"But?"

He sighed. "But just be careful with him. Look, y/n, he's a good guy and all; we're practically brothers... But he's a child. I've known him since we were teenagers. He's almost forty and not once has he had a serious relationship."

"What are you trying to say, Sam?"

"You've only known him for, what, a couple of weeks? Don't you think this is going a little too fast?"

"I like Bucky." You replied. "I genuinely do and what we do or how we do is honestly none of your business. It doesn't matter how long I've known him. I appreciate you looking out for Bucky, but Bucky's an adult. We're all adults here. We can handle ourselves."

"Just promise me one thing."

"Sure."

"Don't hurt my friend." He said. "He may act like this rich bitch just parading around town, getting by with his manly looks and shit, but he's a child. He doesn't know what he wants. If you hurt him, you'll also end up hurting yourself. So, be careful, alright? Think this through, and talk with him."

Silence.

"Promise me, y/n."

You nodded. "Yeah, I promise."

"Good. Now let's head in there, I need a drink."

"Wait, Sam." You said, making Sam stop in his tracks. "Do you think Bucky likes me as much as I do?"

"I can't say for sure." Sam replied before walking inside.

You leaned your back against the brick wall, hitting the back of your head. You closed your eyes, letting all your thoughts rush in.

Still feeling a little bit light-headed, you went inside (which was still empty except for Nat, Sam, and Bucky) and as soon as Nat's eyes landed on your figure, she whistled. "Oh wow, Mrs. Fancypants!"

You chuckled, removing your blazer, revealing the tight black tube top as it was getting a bit hot. "Shut up, Nat."

"Woah, somebody call the fire department 'cause it's getting hoooot in here!" Nat continued then tilted her head towards Bucky. "Hey big guy, if you're not gonna hit that, I will."

You rolled your eyes, chucking the blazer to her face. You turned to Bucky who was sitting in the usual booth with Sam. "She said the same thing to me about you."

"Don't expose me like that, y/n. Not. Cool."

You giggled, sliding in the booth and greeting Bucky with a kiss on the cheek. "Hey, you."

"Hey, doll." He smiled, placing his hand on your thigh and pulling you closer. "We were just talking about you."

You glanced at Sam, who was smiling at you. "Oh, really?"

"Yeah." Sam nodded. "Don't worry, it's all good. And, y/n... That thing we talked about earlier."

"What about it?" You asked.

"We're good." He answered. "And to answer that last question, he does."

You beamed. "Really? He does?" You asked, as if Bucky wasn't even in the room.

"Yes, he really does."

"Hey, what are you guys talking about?" Bucky asked out of curiosity.

You glanced at Sam, smiling, "Oh, just this model I want for the shoot," and then you looked back at Bucky, "I was kind of having doubts for a hot minute over there about him, but, everything's fine. Everything's good."

"Good." He kissed your temple softly, making your heart flutter. "It should be."

[whitehotharlots]

A true story about rehab from 2007

Names and places changed, dates slightly fuzzy, yada yada

This all starts with Chris.  Chris might be a good example of how things are objectively broken.

Two summers ago, Chris and his girlfriend moved from everyone's old hometown, Alton, to everyone's current home, Garden City.  I had known Chris briefly when I still lived in Alton, which was up until about 8 years ago.  In high school he was friends with my sister, a year behind her, I think, only he had some legal trouble and didn't graduate until two years after her.  The first arrest came during his junior year, when police found some marijuana in his car while he was in class.  "Apparently Alton is a utopia," he said years later.  "No robberies need solving, no cars need ticketing, no fences need mending, fuckit nobody's house must've been dirty because if there was anything else even remotely worthwhile that those cocksuckers could have been doing they wouldn't have taken a drug dog through the high school parking lot."  

The ironic part was that he was, honest-to-god, holding it for a friend.  Hadn't touched the stuff until then, hadn't even drank more than a beer or two.  Cops came in and pulled him out of class.  Cuffed him right there in class, in front of everybody.   From what I've been able to piece together that marked a very strong loss of innocence for young Chris.  No rules were worth following, after all, if The Bastards could punish you for nothing.  This was greatly exacerbated by the fact that, according to several of the best lawyers Alton had to offer, the search of Chris' car was unconstitutional as it was not actually parked in the school parking lot, or even on school grounds, at the time of the search.  The juvenile court judge would hear none of it though—all the police had done was break Chris' constitutional right to privacy.  He had committed the much greater crime of having an eighth ounce of marijuana in his glove compartment. 

His claim of having his rights violated incensed the judge, who sentenced our poor Chris to 72 hours in county jail and 12 weeks of rehab.  Were it not for his successful, stable family, he would have been sent to juvie. 

It was his first offense.  He was 16. 

Jail, he said, wasn't that bad.  He got to do it over a weekend. The guard was an old lady and even though she was kind of a bitch she let him bring in his homework.  She said she was surprised to see someone his age in here, with the adults, but whatever he had done it must have been pretty bad or else he wouldn't be here, would he?  They kept him away from the drunks at night and the only other people who came into the "pen" (his word, not mine) were guys who got bailed out within a couple of hours and were too pissed off about their own bad luck to give him any shit for his. 

What really fucked with him was rehab.  It didn’t matter that he'd never smoked a single joint (or even a cigarette) at this time:  he was an addict and by gum he had to admit to being an addict before the obese, shit-smelling overseer would sign the form saying that Chris had attended his sessions.  Every weekend for three months he was legally forced to lie.  Yes, he said, he was an addict.  Yes, even though it made no sense in any grammatical or even symbolic context, he was forced to say "my name is Chris and I'm a narcotic."  His personal habits were picked apart—why was his hair so long (it wasn't that long, really)? Why did he wear the same pants on Sunday that he wore on Saturday?  Who were these "Dead Milkmen" that his T-shirt spoke of?  Ohh… and surely this is a good-tempered, Christian punk band, right?  No?  Well you see right there that's a part of the problem.  Have your mother sign a note saying you've thrown out all of their CDs and any other enabling you might own.  No—you can't sell them, you must throw them out. 

"We had to go in a day and a half every weekend.  All day Saturday and then Sunday from noon until 4.  It took me five weeks, when I was starting to get comfortable, before I asked if I could come in Saturday afternoon and all day Sunday.  It worked out better for me that way, since the place where I worked wasn't open Sundays.  The fat guy just opened his mouth and would not close it.  'When would you go to church?'  he said. By then I knew enough to laugh and say 'oh yeah what was I thinking.'"

A few of the people had actual problems.  One guy got caught with meth, was beating the shit out of his wife and his two little girls, and seemed genuinely remorseful.  Another guy had to drink a sixer every morning or else he'd get the shakes so bad he wouldn't be able to drive to work.  But most of the people there were more or less normal and had either fucked up once or else been fucked over once—got into a bar fight while legally drunk, blew .02 over the legal limit at a roadblock, smoked pot once every few weeks and got narced on by a snitch, that kind of stuff. These people were split over how much they believed the bullshit they were being fed.  Those who believed, as the official literature did, that being hungover once in your lifetime or ever drinking more than 4 beers in a sitting two or more times in a month are both signs of hardcore alcoholism, they became repentant and preachy. 

One such lady was a thin, tan, well-dressed soccer mom who would snitch on the others when they didn't pay close enough attention to the instructional videos or else would appear in any way to not be taking things seriously enough.  If you were bad you got demerits, credit card-sized pieces of construction paper upon which frowny faces and intimidating biblical verses were printed. The overseer would also scribble something down in his notebook, which must have had some kind of official weight because it was on his person at all times.

Most people have an innate desire, however illogical it might often be, to please authority figures, and so Chris and the rest of the doubtful "addicts" thought the embarrassment of getting their reprimand literally handed to them was punishment enough for resting their eyes or letting a stray giggle break loose when the acting in an informational film was especially bad. Chris made only one such mistake.  During a lecture, the overseer kept making the point that it wasn't the drugs that people get addicted to—oh no, it's the high that keeps you coming back.  Chris smiled—remember at this point he still probably hadn't ever been high, not in his whole life—because it seemed like such a stupid, nonsensical thing to say, because even though he was only 16 he could appreciate moments like this, when the moronic essence of a big, scary process could concentrate itself into a single sentence. 

"It's not the drugs:  it's the high," the man said.  He was very clean shaven, dressed like a detective in a 70s cop show, his hair was combed so straight it was like wire, his glasses were round and cruel looking and he had this, this look on his face, this air about him like he thought he was a genius.  He nodded a little bit after the repetition of his idiotic point. Proud—he was actually proud of the things he was saying, proud of his position, proud of getting to fill the heads of desperate or else unfortunate people with nonsense.  And this made Chris smile—not laugh, just smile, and the soccer mom pulled on his ear really hard, so hard it made his eyes water, and then she raised her hand to snitch on him.  The proud overseer was still proud, looked like a king in an old movie, and with the most serious air Chris had ever seen, the fat man called him up before the entire room.  His eyes were still watery from the shock of having his ear nearly yanked up and so he looked down, towards the ground, so people wouldn't think he was crying.

"You ashamed of something," the fat overseer asked.  Chris didn't say anything. "Look up," said the overseer.  Chris kept looking down.  His chest moved in and out heavily and his fists were clenched, and he wasn't sure but he may have been crying normal tears by this point, but they were out of rage, not sadness.  Or—no…really what's the difference between those two, and it's impossible that the immense hopelessness of his situation and the utter retardation of his surroundings hadn't saddened somewhat.  If it were just rage making him cry then he would have also lashed out, punched the overseer or at least called him a name. No. No, the hopelessness must have stung enough to make him sad.  But his tears were out of rage primarily, and out of nothing even close to shame.

"Look up.  Now."

He did.  His jaw was clenched and his eyes were tightened into red little slits but he looked more defeated than mean, more helpless than threatening.

"I want you all to look at this face.  Soak it up.  Take it all in.  Done?  Give you another second.  Okay, now you're done.  This, people, is what failure looks like.  Some of you will see it again, right here.  This is what it looks like when you don't take yourself seriously, when you don't care enough about yourself to appreciate the chances that are being given to you."

He extended a demerit card towards the Chris’ face.  It was accepted without a whimper.

Weeks later, it came time for Chris and the gang to "graduate" from their classes.  By this point, Chris had gotten drunk several times (even puked, once) and tried to smoke pot a few times but it hadn't done anything to him.  Maybe he was just too drunk to feel it or he wasn't inhaling right, who knows.  Anyhow he figured a few bong hits wouldn't hurt before he had to show up to the ceremony, right, since he hadn't felt anything yet.  And, man, it was a blast because he was high as a fucking kite at the graduation, must have shoved 20 inches worth of the party sub into his mouth and downed at least 7 flutes of sparkling grape juice.  

His mother and stepfather—both stinking rich, by the way, disheartened by the lad's sudden fall from grace and more than a little pleased to see him making such a fast and exemplary recovery with the aid of such a caring and competent program—were dressed to the nines.  His mom was making time with the addicts.  This was her wont, the irresistible, flirty friendliness that drove her from the dregs of society (Chris' biological father) all the way to where she was today. While this was going on, Stepfather gracefully let loose to the riffraff around him all those little signs that showed that he was a kind man, but of great consequence.  He'd talk about sports while stretching him arm just so, just far enough to let his fancy watch fall into view.  He'd offer to lift heavy objects as an excuse to show off his bed-made tan, his gym-toned arms and back.  All of your jokes made him smile, but only just long enough for you to get a glimpse of his perfectly straight, snow white teeth. Both of them kept making their way over to Chris, who had stationed himself near the concessions table, to whisper into his ear how proud they were of him for pulling himself around and hint bluntly at him still receiving for his birthday a new car.  All the while, through this bleary, more-or-less with it haze, feeling content and calm with his surroundings and his high, Chris kept thinking about how much he had it made.  Everyone was a sucker, it seemed, but him.  Really, wow.  Everyone is stupid but me.

The soccer mom cut quickly around the room, stopping alongside each cluster of people and telling them that something important was about to happen,  it was time for everyone to walk into the little classroom where they normally met.  "You're not gonna want to miss this" she said, looking right into Chris with a mean little smile on her face that she knew would scare him.  Oh god, Chris though, she knew that he was high.  What was she in here for—ooh shit man, you've heard her talk about it 100 times.  Vicodin, right.  Vicodin and wine, passing out while one of her kids started a fire.  That's right.  Calm down. She wouldn't have known what someone looked like when he was high on pot.  Mom and Stepfather couldn't even tell and they saw Chris every day.  Calm down.

Chris shoved a few more bites of party sub into his mouth.  His mom laughed and said "getting better must make you work up an appetite, huh?"  Stepfather laughed.  Chris couldn't say anything, not even by the time they had walked all the way into the classroom and sat down on little folding chairs, because there was so much sandwich in his mouth.  Things began to quiet down within a couple of minutes. The overseer, smiling, poked his head out of his office and waved to the small crowd.  People clapped a little bit.  Chris noticed that "AWARDS RECEPTION" had been written on the blackboard with colored chalk, the letters alternating blue to red, blue to red.  A stack of certificates sat on the table up front.  The overseer waddled to the table and gestured towards his office and a large, black policeman walked from office to the entrance.  He looked all business.  There was another one who poked his head out from the office and then the overseer was still smiling, like the soccer mom he was wearing big, mean, fake smile and Chris sunk into his chair and moaned a little bit because he knew he was about to get arrested, again.  Arrested in front of his parents. 

Mom asked stepfather what the policemen were hear for the stepfather said—ahh the great rational bastard, it was all Chris could do to stop himself from hugging him—that since this was an official presentation, court mandated and all that, they must have some cops come and witness it.  That's all it was.  Nothing to get too upset about.  Still—gotta stay calm.  If the cops took no notice of Chris then they wouldn't take any notice of his being so incredibly fucking high. 

"Well," the overseer began.  Chris was hyperobservant and noncritical and he realized for the first time how long it took the overseer to get through sentences, because of all of his fat.  He'd pause every few words and take in a deep breath from his gut.  When he spoke it was in these bursts that were effeminately condescending but still bulky and powerful.  Like, if being told you were bad by a sharp-tongued gay man didn't hurt you then maybe being yelled at by an abusive gym coach would. Only he wasn't a gym coach and probably wasn't gay, either.  Talked about his wife and kids all the time.  This was an act.  He had measured out this persona for himself.  This was some kind of cruel professionalism.

Jesus, Chris thought to himself.  Pot fucks up the way you think about things.  How long had it been since they sat down?  How long since he'd been scared by the cops?  When was the guy going to start talking—ohh, wait he's already talking.  Might want to listen:

"And this is what this program is supposed to achieve: smiling faces.  Not just the smiling faces of those who are on roads to recovery—their own personal roads—but of their families and their friends.  The selfishness might end here.  The pain they have caused you, that they are sorry for, might end here.  But it's up to everyone here to make sure that all of these faces keep smiling."

He paused—too long.  Wanted people to clap for him.  They did.  Then they finished.  He continued.  His tone was different.  He had sounded like he was reading off a card.  Now he sounded more like he normally did, during classes.

"But it would be… hypocritical of me to let everyone who came here leave here, especially… if I knew that they would be making people start… to cry sometime soon.  Two of our friends will not be graduating today."

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.

"The first… Rup-ERT Donwiddle."

Ahh.  Okay.  That guy—white guy, lots of scars—never even showed up after the first day.  He wasn't even here.  Chris sunk his head into his lap, like he was stretching or about to puke, while the overseer mumbled about how Rubert had squandered his chance for recovery and blah blah blah. 

"Rufus failed… due to lack of initiative.  He didn't come.  But every time we have this course, it seems… there is someone who does come…  but who shows such disrespect that he might as well not have"

The overseer's tone changed, again, abruptly but not in a way that seemed unplanned.  He was talking somewhere in between the rehearsed tone he'd used earlier and the mumbling, jumbled tone he used during regular meetings.  The air shifted around Chris.  It felt like strategy, men moving into position in order to accomplish some kind of task or anticipate some kind of resistance.  The bigger cop stood by the door that led to the outside, blocking it.  Meanwhile the guys who had missed the most class and been handed the most demerits began to shift in their seats a little bit while their wives looked at them in white fear, the sterile blank walls felt like they were closing in—that's what  expression actually meant, when it actually feels like the room you are in just got smaller, more oppressive—and the big fat fuck who ran the place worse the biggest fatfuck smile Chris had ever seen and he if had dropped dead of a heart attack no one with a mind or soul would have gotten up to help him.  In spite of all of this, the synchronization was such that Chris couldn't work up any fear.  He was too busy admiring the evil of the whole process. 

Chris took to talking to the soccer mom, a few months later, as part of some revenge scheme that never quite materialized.  He had first planned on sleeping with the woman and ruining her marriage.  When that didn’t work out he thought about maybe figuring out the vulnerabilities of her home and passing that knowledge on to some unseemly sorts who, god willing, would have raped, robbed, and kill her.  He didn't do that, though, for the same reason he didn't speak up during the meeting when the police were blocking off the door and overseer was smiling the very worst smile the world had ever seen:  because the woman's evil was so immense that he could barely process it, could do little else, in fact, aside from sitting back and admiring it.  What he learned from her, after she had opened up to him and filled him on all the details, was that if you didn't pass the rehab course it counted as either a violation of your parole or else as a violation of your court sentence, so your failure was akin to skipping bail trying to escape from prison.   That's to say it was a Very Serious offense, one that could put you in prison for a long, long time.  And what the overseer hadn't told to anybody but the soccer mom, who was his favorite, was that his policy was that out of every class there had to be at least one addict who failed to pass in spite of showing up, one person who because of this or that reason simply did not deserve to consider his or her self cured of their addiction.  That's what the demerits were for. Whoever got the most failed the course.  You couldn't tell the whole class about this since then the people who got the most demerits early on would have stopped coming all together.  On top of that, if you got into a situation where a few weeks in one guy had racked up 20 or 30 demerits, then that more or less lightens the stakes for everyone else.  They'll start mouthing off or falling asleep since they know they'll never make up enough demerits to catch the worst guy, and then by the end of it you'd have been better off not doing any sort of demerit system at all.  No—no, the trick was to keep it a surprise.  That had two positives:  one, you catch the guy by surprise and make sure he gets what's coming to him.  Two, you put the fear of god into the others who are all sitting around watching.  That's when they got taught what happens if you don't respect the things you should.

All Chris knew at the time of meeting was that the balding factory worker, Hank was his name, was getting pulled up really unnecessarily roughly by the cop, had his arms thrown behind his back, and was getting cuffed and pushed out of the room while his teenage daughter was screaming in abject terror and his wife was burying her head in her hands and then the two women sat there while the smiling overseer berated Hank, talked about how he needed to learn how to accept help and how this was for the good of him and his family and You two ladies should stop crying, it's pointless, what you need right now is strength, loyalty, and conviction.  Hank had blown .02 over the legal limit at a road block.  He insisted he hadn't had a drop to drink in months, not since his first DUI, that he couldn't perform the heel-to-toe sobriety test successfully because of a fully documented injury he had sustained during Desert Storm and that the alcohol on his breath—which came up on only one of the 5 breathalyzers he was given—must have been from gum or mouthwash or cologne or something.  His parole was zero tolerance, though, and so he found himself at the meetings.  Every week he told the overseer that something he had said was bullshit.  He wouldn't say "My name is Hank and I'm a narcotic," he said, because that is just fucking stupid.  He wouldn't apologize for hurting anybody because he hadn't hurt anybody.  He wouldn't lie for the sake of lying because goddamn it that's not what this country is about.

And for that he went to prison.

Coming face-to-face with the reality of just how cruel and unfair the system is can, especially for a teenager, lead to a distrust so strong and all encompassing that it borders on despair.  This distrust can, sometimes, be healthy and inspire you to try and change things.  More often, it can grow into full-blown hatred, a maniacal desire to change things or to right wrongs that leads you to do something rash or destructive.  Still more often, it leads to a sense of defeatism, a feeling that you can't win since the system is so fucked so why the hell should you even try.  At least, that's what I gather from hearing Chris talk about it.  That's probably what I would have done if something like that would have happened to me.  I would have given up and failed.

And for the longest time Chris had given up and had failed. He drank and drugged and destroyed.  This made him a blast to hang out with.  This was when he still lived in Alton and I would see him once every few months, when I was at home visiting my family.  My sister moved to Garden City to attend the university at which I now teach.  Most of her friends soon followed suit.  He was left behind.  As I am self-absorbed to the point where I don't care about my friend's lives except for when their stories are particularly miserable or amusing, I don't know much about this time period except that it saw Chris turning things somewhat around.  Not by much.  He still drinks far too much.  But he's in school now—he's at the school where I teach, actually, although I've never had him for a student. 

[pleasereadmeok]

This ‘Wonderland’ Interview to promote A Single Man is a gem.  Matthew Goode is a bit of a handful and swears his way through this interview with his mate Nic Hoult.  It’s very funny.  It’s often quoted (including his description of Colin Firth’s kissing technique!) but it’s difficult to find a clean scan of the whole interview.  This scan (from Natalie/ Fairchilds on ohnotheydidnt) isn’t very clear to read so I did a transcript several years ago - here:-

Wonderland Interview

Based on the 1964 novel by Christopher Isherwood, A Single Man marks the screenwriting and directing debut of fashion icon, Tom Ford.  Having debuted earlier this year at the Venice Film Festival to a standing ovation, the film has continued to impress audiences during screening at the Toronto and London Film Festivals.

Joining lead actor, Colin Firth, on screen are fellow Brits Matthew Goode and Nicholas Hoult who discuss the film, Tom Ford and being British in LA.

ON A SINGLE MAN

Nicholas Hoult: The only time I saw Matthew was when we were getting our spray tans.

Matthew Goode: Which were more regular than we were expecting.  I got on a plane with Colin [Firth] and then literally the moment we arrived, got in the car together, went to the hotel and suddenly – it’s like ten thirty at night – we have to go to Colin’s room where we’re having our spray tans .  Colin Firth is in his pants, I’m in my pants and it stays that way for an hour whilst we wait for this stuff to set.  He’s fucking great.  I love Colin.

We [Nic’ and he] never had a scene together but we were there the whole time.  I was only really fitting in around these guys.  Nic had a damn sight more to do than I did.

NH: No I just did more.

MG: [Laughs] It was a really fun shoot. I mean, maybe I’m looking back with rose tinted spectacles, but …

NH: It was a good fun shoot. Everyone enjoyed it.  I remember the night in Venice after seeing it in front of all those people and just lying in bed thinking ‘that’s something I’m proud of’.

MG: It’s seriously impressive. You watch it and you care and, it doesn’t happen to me a lot, but I watched it and thought ‘I’m in something that doesn’t stink!’.  I’m proud of that.

NH:  That’s a nice feeling when you’ve done something and you can say ‘yeah, proud of that’.

MG:  Fucking hell – sorry to interrupt – but I was reading a magazine or a paper or something the other day and it said “A Single Man obviously being screened and whenever Nic Hoult was on screen there were gasps over his beauty” [laughs]. And I was thinking, fucking Hoult is going to LA and get so laid! [Laughs]. He is going to be turning bush away left right and centre!

NH:  It’s all down to the fake tan again.  That’s where the performance stems for me.

MG:  That is a review!

NH:  Nothing about the acting, right?

MG:  They didn’t review the film.  It just said “I saw it.  I’m going to be reviewing it at some point, but let me tell you there were gasps over Nick Hoult’s beauty!”

ON TOM FORD

MG:  Tom is immediately interesting. If it’s all about someone’s cannon of work then most of the time you wouldn’t work with a first ime director, but if the script is good and you have a chat with them and they know which end is up and which is down, then great.

NH: I didn’t know who Tom was when I met him.

MG: Nick “fashion forward” Hoult!

NH:  I’d gone over to LA got off a plane and had dinner with him.  And I asked him how he’d got into directing and why he was doing this!

MG:  I love that.  Isn’t that great?  And that’s also like Tom.  He’s not the sort of person who is like, ‘well fuck you!’.

NH: He explained very humbly what he had done and I thought OK.  And then I looked him up after dinner and was ‘oh jesus!  He’s actually accomplished quite a lot’ so probably quite a stupid question, but he was very honest and modest and made a great director.

MG: It’s so good.  And so good for Colin.  And Julianne [Moore] is bloody great in it as well.  But the real star of it, it has to be said, is Tom. It silences immediately the people who were going ‘you self indulgent cunt.’  It’s like two massive fingers up to them as it is very, very accomplished.

NH:  It’s very personal to him as well.

MG:  Hugely personal as the main story sort of mirror images the relationship between him and Richard.  There’s a similar age gap.

NH:  He would always say my character is him when he was 18.  He’s connected to every character and he knows them.

MG:  And he wrote the screenplay and it’s starkly different from the book.

NH:  Matthew’s read the book, so –

MG:  That’s right!  I have. It is different.  I am always about the script, really.  But one of the really nice things about being involved is that it is a love poem to Tom’s partner, Richard.

NH:  Tom is very good in the sense that he is an actor’s director and knows what he wants you to do but is very giving to let you go off and explore things and try stuff out.  And you don’t feel too much pressure of failure.

MG:  That’s very true.

NH: ‘Cause the second you’re on set – especially when there’s only 20 days to shoot – to not feel the pressure, that’s a good atmosphere he created.  Something his assistant was saying the other day was that he’s very good at holding his hands up and would admit when he wasn’t sure what he was doing and kept everyone on side and made it a really great team effort.

MG:   I love it when someone’s like that.  It’s so far away from self indulgent as well when someone’s shooting into the 19th hour of the day and the ship isn’t sinking, but there’s a leak and it’s far better to say we do have a leak and I’m trying to sort it out rather than leaning on one side and saying everything is fine.  He is fucking great.

ON COLIN FIRTH

MG:  Colin was great.  I knew he was going to be good.  The moment I read the script, I was like, ‘this is something you haven’t done in a long time’ – just something he could really get his teeth into.   He’s such a subtle actor and it’s been a long time since I can remember him having something that central and serious.

NH:  It was a great moment when we went to the Venice Film Festival and got the message Colin was winning the best actor award.

MG:  I know.  The previous evening we had sat there and we knew it had gone down well because there was a NINE minute standing ovation.  And particularly when you’re not in the film as much as I am, then I feel like a fucking charlatan.  I stood there and am looking down and smiling and embarrassed.  Colin’s quite emotional and I tell you what – four minutes of a standing ovation gets a bit uncomfortable, but NINE?  ‘OK, Colin… fucking move. Let’s go. Let’s leave.’ And he couldn’t tell us that he had won and so he was being shy about it.

NH:  Yeah, he kept it very quiet.

MG:  The moment we found out and we were on the boat we were like ‘What the fuck?  You’ve won and you didn’t tell us!?  And he was like ‘ I know, I didn’t wanna.’  He was humble.

NH:  It was great.  It was a bit of an odd first day like you had in the sense that I had to strip off in front of Colin on my first day.  It sounds a bit seedy when I say ‘strip off in front of him’.

MG:  It does!

NH:  It’s part of the film, I swear!  And it’s handled a lot more tastefully that that might seem, but yeah it was a bit of an odd first day.

MG:  Everyone is going to say ‘oh it’s a gay movie’ which we then counteract with ‘no it’s not, it’s a film about love.’  But there is nudity and a bit of man kissing.  Frankly Colin kisses like a nymphomaniac on death row, but it was a real pleasure!

NH:  He’s got a lot of love!

ON JULIANNE MOORE

MG:  She’s a fucking hero.  She’s lovely. I didn’t have any scenes with her. I mean I’m only in flashback, so all my stuff was with Colin.

NH:  All my stuff is with Colin as well.   The first time I met Julianne was in Venice.

MG:  Yeah, she was probably in the middle of juggling six projects or something, you know, she never stops working.  She came in and shot two scenes, which were about 20 odd minutes of the film, and they did that in two evenings so she was in and out.  I never got a chance to meet her until I was at some party in LA and she is just fantastic.  And she’s married to a guy called Bart Freadlich who is a director in his own right.

NH:  He’s a hero.

MG:  He is actually fabulous!  My girlfriend spent the whole evening calling him Bert instead of Bart and he was like ‘you know, actually I prefer Bert!  Don’t worry about it’.  He’s lovely. They could throw their weight around, but they are actually family people and live in New York – they’re kind of anti Hollywood.

ON THE LIFE OF AN ACTOR

MG: There are a lot of Brits and Aussies at the moment who are working.  I don’t know what that means.  But we never think of ourselves.  When you get off the plane and you’re in America they ask ‘what’s the best thing about being a movie star?’ I am a jobbing actor, they have no idea! They make it sound like I get 500 scripts and am sitting there going through them all. If something comes up and they are stupid enough to give it to us or you love the script and audition but someone of a huge stature can come in and take it like Brad Pitt. Or Judi [Dench] – we’ve been up against each other a couple of times.

NH: I’ve never lost out to Judi yet.

MG: Only in a drinking contest! The vicious alcoholic that she is!

NH: Sam Worthington was telling me when he was in LA someone asked him why there were so many Aussies over there doing so well and his response was that it’s an awful long way to go to fail and not give it your best shot, basically.

MG: Oh. I was expecting some sort of knob gag in there, but yeah.

NH: It’s very true. I just got back from LA and every TV series has an English guy in the lead. Joseph Fiennes, Matthew Reece [RHYS]

MG: We’re good. We’re quite good…

N H: I can’t say it’s the training, because I don’t have any.

MG: You’re doing well! You make people gasp! You complete cunt. I hate that!

NH: You’re coming across very eloquent.

MG: That’s very nice of you.  OK, who used to live with Ewan McGregor and Jude Law and he has a TV show? You’re right about that. Though it makes it sound like ‘Oh you’re English.  Have a TV show’.  I’m sure they all have about ten auditions.

NH: I had an interesting day recently when I was at a BBQ and Jimmy Page and Roger Daltrey were there.

MG: Wow!

NH: I sat there and was very quiet because I thought if I speak to them I’ll make a fool of myself so it’s best to keep out of the way and then they can’t have any bad thoughts although they probably didn’t know I was there.  But I knew they were there so it was a good BBQ for me.

MG: I’d love to learn guitar. It’s one of those things I’d love to do. Though it’s not like I don’t have the time…

NH: [Laughs]

MG: I’d like to know all the chords.

NH: It’s difficult to get the fingering right… That’s what she said.

MG: And back to Dame Judi!

NH: [Laughs]

MG: It depends if you have a high action or a low action in terms of the strings.  It hurts. You’ve got to build up the calluses. If you get a low action one that would be easier.

NH:  Are we still talking about women?

MG:  Yes! [Laughs] I remember Billy Crudup got the part in Almost Famous and he had lessons with Peter Frampton but had to have lessons on the side because Peter was like ‘you are fucking terrible’. But that’s one of the nice accidents of the job is you can get training in things. And random travel.

NH: I got to do archery.

MG: You did! That was The Weatherman!

NH: No, for Clash of the Titans. I didn’t use it once.

MG: Oh yes, it was the daughter in The Weatherman.

NH: Yeah man, keep up.

MG: Sorry mate. That’s how pretty you are. I confused you with the female lead.

NH: He’s seen all my work.

MG: I have! I’ve got to learn how to do it. You are a master.  I did a Spanish film and it was all in Spanish [!] – I learnt it phonetically. Jesus, that’s my only skill.  The major skill I picked up is I can pay my rent. The older you get the more you realize there are a lot of people who hate their jobs.  I’m so glad I’m not – ha!  Famous last words! – it does seem to be going OK for now.  But bringing it back to what do you like about acting – to be honest, everything.

ON BRITISH TALENT

MG:  I think there is an element that we’re just so happy to work.  Certainly as for getting into film it was such an accident because I hadn’t worked in front of a camera.  For a while it was like what is the secret code to working on screen?  I have no idea what it is… but even ten films in I’m still sitting here renting and not owning a house.  I think that keeps you grounded.  As opposed to some American actors who are on a hundred thousand dollars doing some TV.

NH:  You don’t get comfortable so you feel you’ve got to keep on striving.

MG: I think we’re overrated. [Laughs].  There is an element over there if you walk into a room of Americans that they’re suddenly like ‘oh fuck they’re British and we’re steeped in tradition.

NH:  It’s odd that Tom got so many English actors for the film – we’re both playing American.

MG:  And Julianne is playing English.

NH:  it’s good he trusts in us to pull of the American accents.

MG:  Yeah, I mean – idiot!  In fairness you’ve done it before and I have done it a couple of times.  But it is odd.   If you think who he probably could have had –

NH:  He probably could have done better than us!

MG:  I’m sure he could have convinced someone with a much higher stature.  I think it was just we were willing to work for free, effectively.  And that’s also what makes Britain great.  We want to work and we want to please the director and often at times, yes we might have strong thoughts on character and script, but we turn up and are like, this is your vision and you are the director and we know where we fit in. Certainly the Brits, I find, we want to be told what to do or how it’s going to work rather than, ‘I’m the fucking star!’ I tend to find we leave our ego at the door. We tend not to pussyfoot around. We all like a drink. We’re steeped in that tradition as well. There’s a certain forbidden thing in America if you drink you’re an alcoholic. No I’m not, and I generally wait until at least half past one.

NH: On weekends. Weekdays, 11.

MG: There is a reason pubs are opened at 11 and it’s because you are allowed to start drinking at that time. Otherwise, they wouldn’t do it! Christ, can you remember back to when – you might not remember, actually. I gasp at your beauty as I try to remember!

NH:[laughs] I’m never going to live this down!

MG:Do you remember when pubs shut on Sundays at, like, 1 for two or three hours? Maybe I’m showing my age now. That is fucking madness. There would be a riot now.

NH:  So basically, we haven’t found a conclusion to what makes Britain great…  You’re a big X Factor fan though, aren’t you?

MG:  My girlfriend loves it.  She’s got me into it.  I mean it’s fucking hilarious.  You literally sit there and you don’t know any of these people but the music comes up and they get selected and you can be in tears and so happy that these people have been selected for the live shows.  I really like the over 25’s this year.  They’re fucking great.

NH:  Matthew Goode on The X Factor!

MG:  ‘He’s very much into the over 25s and what is funny is they are all male’.  But it is great.  But then it’s such a machine.  There is such a turn around.  Sometimes the winner gets completely forgotten and they have no career and then, obviously, sometimes they go shooting up.  But it is great telly!  Saturday night, a couple of beers and The X Factor.

[Pics - My edit of Ben Rayner photos/scan by Natalie Fairchild.] 

[the-modernmary]

always been a storm || hotchley (ch 1)

summary: Lots of people wondered about their love story. How they met, how they fell in love, and even how they fell apart. Haley likes to tell their story from end to beginning. Aaron tells it from the beginning to end. Somewhere along the way, they meet, and it always ends with a goodbye.

Author’s Note: This is inspired by the musical The Last Five Years, so I will be following that format. If you aren't familiar with it, it is told in opposite chronological directions from both character's POVs. So Haley's POV will start at the end of the relationship and move backwards, while Hotch's POV is going to start at the beginning and move forward. Hopefully it should be clear as you read. Also, since the writers couldn't decide how old Hotch was, I sort of played around with the years/canon timeline. But canon is just a suggestion anyway.

read on ao3

Haley - 2009

Haley Brooks once told her sister about a boy who kissed her at the Pirates of Penzance cast party. She had said that she could see herself with this boy for the rest of her life and, when the couple got engaged five years later, Haley told her sister that she just knew that she was going to love this boy until the day she died.

Haley Hotchner never could have expected it would end like this: a serial killer, gun pressed to her temple, on the phone with her husband — ex-husband — and no way to protect her 5-year-old son, the little miracle she and Aaron never thought they were going to get.

“Tell Jack I need him working the case,” Aaron says through the phone, voice shaking, and Haley has no idea what Aaron could possibly mean by that.

“What?” she asks, even though she knows it’s futile. Years of chasing down serial killers and getting into their minds has made Aaron paranoid. He has backup plans for the backup plans of their backup plans. He has safety plans for anything that could possibly go wrong, some that even Haley doesn’t know, and this must just be another one of those plans.

Aaron repeats himself a little more forcefully, and that’s when Haley knows it’s over for her. At least Aaron is still alive, and not dead like she had been told he was. At least Jack won’t be completely orphaned. It was a small comfort.

 If Jack survives, her brain reminds her unhelpfully, but she pushes that thought down. For all of Aaron’s faults, he’d never let anything happen to Jack. And if the only person Aaron saves is Jack, then Haley can die peacefully. 

  When she hugs Jack, she doesn’t even realize how tightly she’s holding him until he tells her, and it’s with reluctance that she loosens her grip. Logically, she knows it’s safer for Jack to go off and do whatever Aaron told him to do, but the motherly side of her brain is screaming to hold her baby boy to her chest and never let him go. She can keep him safe and protected from the world, she just knows it. She’s protected him this long from the reality of the world - fed him stories of villains and superheroes to try and explain where his dad was and why his dad so often woke up in tears - so she can do it just a while more.

And if she can’t protect him, she selfishly wants to keep Jack close to her for a little longer, for both of their sakes. For Jack, she wants his last memory of her to be one of happiness and love — a final hug from his mom who loves him so, so much. For Haley, well, she needs that last bit of bravery. Aaron keeps telling her to be brave and to not show The Reaper any weakness, but she’s never been that person. She’s always been the emotional and dramatic one of the marriage.

(If she had more time, she might have considered that, no, she actually wasn’t the dramatic one and that up until the bitter end, she had been reasonable and willing to compromise, and it was Aaron who believed the weight of humanity was on his shoulders, despite the fact that he was nothing more than a man. But no one would ever believe that Aaron Hotchner was overemotional, and like most things, it’s just easier to put it on Haley.)

As if reading her mind, Aaron’s voice cuts through the silence. “You’re so strong, Haley, stronger than I ever was,” he assures her, and she can’t find the right words to say, not when her mind is racing a million miles a minute.

 She thinks of her sister, her best friend in the whole world, and how she never got to say goodbye. They had been planning on taking Jack on a weekend camping trip when Haley got pulled into WitSec. There had been no fanfare, no tearful farewell. Just a nondescript car from the hospital to a nondescript building where Haley Brooks went to disappear. She wasn't able to tell Jessica that she loves her or to thank her for everything she had given up for Haley. Now Jessica was going to lose her little sister.

And her dad… God, the last thing Haley did with her dad was fight with him. It was something so stupid, too — Roy had insisted on Jack going into Pop Warner football even after Haley had told him multiple times that she didn’t want Jack starting in such a high contact sport so early on in his life. They had gone back and forth on it for close to an hour before Haley had stormed out in tears because if she had to hear one more word about “Jack needs to develop tougher skin” and “he should be around more male figures, it'll be good for him” as if it was Haley’s fault that Aaron didn’t make it to see Jack the past two weeks, she was going to lose it.

God, she was so bone-deep, achingly exhausted of everything always being her fault. 

“You’ll hurry, right?” she asks, eyes never leaving the Reaper. He’s stalking across the room, gun hanging lazily at his side.

 “I know you didn’t sign on for this,” Aaron starts, and it’s not lost on Haley that he avoided her question.

Still, she doesn’t need an explicit answer from him. The Reaper is behind her now, his hot breath creeping down her neck and the column of her spine, meeting perfectly halfway with the tip of his gun. “Neither did you.”

The conversation somehow switched from comfort to a goodbye without either of them ever realizing it. “I’m sorry for everything.”

The cold steel of The Reaper’s gun nudges against Haley’s back. A braver, tougher person than Haley might have fought back - might have elbowed him in the gut and kicked him where the sun doesn’t shine and escaped - but Haley’s accepted her fate. All she’s able to do now is grip the phone a little tighter. It’s the closest thing she has to holding Aaron’s hand one last time.

“Promise me that you will tell him how we met,” she starts, and her voice becomes steadier and more confident than it had in years, “and how you used to make me laugh.”

“Haley…”

She thinks back to the Aaron she met in high school - tall and lanky and smiling despite already feeling like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. She hadn’t seen him smile in so long. Aaron always believed himself to be a protector, and Haley knows that he already blames himself for Sean and Gideon and Spencer. God only knows how far he’ll spiral after this.

“He needs to know that you weren’t always so serious, Aaron.” She takes a grounding breath and says the next part to him directly, hoping that he’ll understand what’s unspoken. “I want him to believe in love. Because it is the most important thing. But you need to show him. Promise me.”

There’s a long pause that makes Haley’s stomach drop. A million things still need to be said, but she can’t bring herself to say them. She can’t even think, not when she hears the click of The Reaper’s gun cocking. She can’t be brave any longer.

The air in the room seems to get thinner, and Haley gasps desperately to try and get a breath while tears stream freely down her face. She’s going to die alone and Aaron and her son are going to hear it and oh God, Jack is going to be in the house with Foyet and nobody to protect him. Her one job as a mother is to protect her child and she’s going to die a failure. 

They both know what’s going to happen next, but in his own bit of stubbornness, Aaron doesn’t say goodbye. It’s not what she wants to hear, anyway. He decides to give her comfort, a promise that he’ll see through her final wishes, although it’s not the first promise he’s made and broken. Haley wishes she could go out believing him.

BANG

Haley cries out in pain, falling to her knees as white hot pain spreads like a fire through her abdomen. The phone drops out of her hands, but that doesn’t stop her from calling out for Aaron. 

“Aaron… Aaron, help me… Please,” she begs through tears. She wants to hear his voice again, to tell her that it’s going to be okay and that he’s about to burst through the front doors and save her. She wants to hear him say goodbye and that he loves her. 

All she gets is silence from Aaron’s end. The only proof she gets that he’s still on the line is the rumble of the SUV he’s in. Black spots dance in the corners of her vision, so she can only barely make out the Reaper towering above her and the barrel of the gun being pointed towards her face.

Haley calls out for Aaron again, unable to say anything but his name through her sobs. It’s useless to beg for her life, she knows that, yet she still tries. Tries to reach out to him and tell him how sorry she is. Sorry for not being stronger and for not protecting Jack. 

The Reaper raises his gun, and Haley immediately wishes that she had said more to Aaron. She wants him to know that she never stopped loving him and that she doesn’t blame him one bit and that if she had the chance to go back, even knowing how it all was going to end, she absolutely would because Aaron is all—

BANG