#as a writer i also gotta say he is brilliant writing and acting

[jjmorelikeotp]

This is so important. Also hate to say it but the r4pe scene was NOT out of character for Spike even if people act like it because they like their version/perception of the character more than the presented one.

Spike DOES have a tendency to become very violent when he feels vulnerable/ashamed/confused and whatever, and he does not accept boundaries. That is one of his character traits from the very beginning, that is why he was introduced as a villain. He built a sex robot of a woman because she showed no interest in him.

The only reason why spuffy even happened is because he became a fan favourite & because his actor is indeed very charming and charismatic. They have chemistry. That is not the point. He is not a victim. He is an animalistic monster with the ability to sometimes self reflect.

That scene is also the only reason why he was pushed enough to get his soul back which they needed for the plot. I read somewhere that the writers said people were forgetting that he was an evil character/villain after all, only because of his fixation for buffy.

But let's not forget that as soon as he thought the chip wasn't working, he was so desperate, and that is another emotion that is making him VERY violent, he tried to immediately hurt a woman. He was ready to KILL buffy with a GUN after she told him he was beneath her. Which she did because he told her what HE DID.

He did very often not even care about anyone but buffy and that was more out of obsession than love, so let's not glorify that.

I also hate the way the first conversation of Buffy & Spike in S7 is so nonchalant. Yeah, the man has his soul back and kinda tries to protect people by making them stay away from him, and yes, he is completely right, apologies could NEVER make up for what he did.

But he is NOT. A victim. He is a man who took some responsibility and needs to keep doing so.

I also hate how they made it look like he only got his soul back for her. Which, to be fair, fits the character as I described earlier. But if it wasn't Buffy, he probably wouldn't have cared.

The weights his actions on how she reacts, and that is VERY dangerous especially in context of his obsessive behavior. He did her wrong, yes, but he also did WRONG in general. If he has enough in him without a soul that he realizes what he did to buffy was disgusting, he should be able to do so in context of others as well, and he didn't. He only stops hurting people in his personal space, heck, he literally TURNED ON HIS OWN KIND just because he could not hurt humans anymore. I know that's kind of a "making him the good guy" by the show's creators but it literally IS NOT. We've seen that not all demons are bad. But Spike never cared about that, he just goes where convenience takes him.

The abuse apologism in shows like this in general are soooo dangerous because YES, pop culture shapes generations and this is what subconciously can do a huge damage to teenage audiences. Many people did not like Riley because he was "too boring" - in what way? Yes, he had his issues with buffy, but he didn't beat her up or tried to kill her. The relationship had simply not enough edges compared to the other ones buffy had, but it was a safe one.

Everyone always acts like Buffy just didn't let herself loose with Spike in season 6, I myself did some analysis but we HAVE to talk about the fact that she had every reason to keep her distance. That man killed thousands of people, two of her in her previous lives, even. He always had a spontaneous cruelty in him. And that should not be described as poetic but as what it is. Dangerous. Predatory. Not in a good way.

e https://impalementation.tumblr.com/post/188475654600/if-youre-still-taking-asks-you-mentioned-you-had hi, if you mind reading i link this to you

Okay, so I'm finally responding to this ask lol. Sorry for the wait.

I understand what this person is saying and I'm not going to go into every point because that's their interpretation. There's nothing to be discussed in how someone chooses to see symbolism because that's abstract and subjective.

What I am going to address is this:

"the point of seeing red is that buffy is capable of growing past that instability, is capable of saying no and meaning it"

Buffy had already been saying no before Seeing Red. She had been saying "no" from the beginning but even if we want to argue that the consent was left "ambiguous" in most of their encounters, Buffy had already reached that moment in her arc that OP mentions before Seeing Red. Buffy ends her "relationship" with spike several episodes earlier in As You Were.

Spike was the one who, as usually, wouldn't quit, wouldn't leave her alove. He insisted with her and bitched about it in the subsequent episodes, he even hooks up with Anya after she's left at the altar by Xander in a very deliberate "rebound" move from both of them where they're both kinda like "fuck our exes". So yeah I think he understood what Buffy meant and, most importantly, Buffy had already moved past that "uncertainity" and instability phase, she was making her decisions and sticking with them. It was Spike the one who couldn't/wouldn't accept what she decided. Who would follow her around and try to pressure her into budging, trying to make her doubt herself again. He was the one who pushed the situation to get to the point it got in Seeing Red, it had already ended as far as Buffy was concerned.

"with that in mind, i see buffy loving spike by the last episode actually as a matter of her loving herself [...] i see buffy’s advocacy re: spike throughout s7 as a direct, deliberate reversal of how she treated him in s6. just as she was determined to see him (read: herself) as a thing in s6, she is determined to see spike in s7 as deserving of forgiveness, as not a thing."

Like I said, I won't discuss whether this person is right or wrong for seeing spike as "the id" of the show (I think you could argue that for all vampires in the show, spike is just the one who stays the longest but his behaviour is not any different from any other soulless vampire when it comes to the common traits usually pointed out but anyway). So yeah I won't discuss whether that's right or wrong because that's their interpretation.

Because of that, I can understand why someone who sees Spike as the representation of Buffy's repressed id (something that could also be argued about Faith, which to me holds a bit more water since she's also a slayer) would say that her treatment of Spike in S6 and S7 mirrors how she sees herself. I can understand why someone would think that if that's how they see Spike's role in the show.

The issue with this interpretation and the subsequent defense of S7 is that it engages in abuse apologism because of the way that it whitewashes Spike's actions to merely being a reflection of Buffy's feelings. Similarly to the point made about the ambiguous consent of their relationship earlier, it places a responsibility on Buffy's shoulders for failings that are entirely Spike's. Buffy being depressed and feeling shitty about herself does not grant permission for another person (monster or not) to abuse her. It does not give permission for another person to take advantage of her vulnerable state. And that is true to any person, whether they're a superhero like Buffy or not. Someone being in a really low point of their life, struggling with their self-worth is not an open invitation for others to take advantage and it's not their fault if someone does it.

I understand that Buffy might have felt like she needed to forgive herself for how she acted in S6 but the truth is that she didn't do anything wrong. By choosing this line of defense of how S7 handled the lack of acknowledgement of the abuse in S6, you're implying that Buffy did something wrong that she needed to forgive herself for. And she didn't. Buffy could have an arc about "forgiving herself" without the show brushing off what happened, without leaving what happened between them in this ambiguous place where no one was at fault and because of that implying that both of them were. Because they weren't equally at fault. Even worse, this interpretation heavily suggests that what happened was actually entirely Buffy's fault - if only she wasn't so repressed, if only she was more at peace with her id, she wouldn't have fallen in a self-destructive path that would lead to "monsters" like Spike, who just don't know any better, taking advantage of her and hurting her.

[imjustwritingg]

Other than wanting to wrap Hailey in cotton wool and give her the biggest hug, how are you feeling/what are your thoughts after last nights episode?

This turned into an unofficial review of sorts and it got rather long, so I’ll post it all below the cut for those that want to read my thoughts.

I might be in the minority here, but I really enjoyed the episode. I kinda loved it actually, and it might be one of my favorite episodes. I enjoyed everything about it…the writing, the directing, the acting.

Gwen Sigan wrote the episode, but I gotta give her credit where it’s due because it was pretty damn good in my book. It reminded me a lot of her writing days prior to her becoming show-runner and I miss those days so very much.

I think the tidbits of Hailey’s past are coming way too late, but I still really enjoyed getting to peek into her life a bit more. Just wish we could have gotten more of it along the way and not three episodes before the character is gone.

I loved Kevin’s blatant callout to Hailey in the first minute of the episode of how she’s dealing and if running is helping her. He asks this question of “how are you doing…really doing?” with no words and just one look, and then we’re given the answer by Hailey deflecting and avoiding yet again under the guise of wanting a sugar fix. I think that was brilliant. It conveyed everything you needed to know about Hailey’s mental state in one short moment.

No Voight in the episode was such a gift.

Hailey being in charge and leading this particular case was the right move and she handled it so well. I’m bummed we probably won’t see her leading her own unit someday.

Also back to the no Voight thing just for a moment to say that it’s interesting to see how the dynamic shifted with the team versus him not being around and Hailey being in charge. The team felt lighter to me, like in the sense that they weren’t on edge, walking on eggshells in a way. Everything just felt calmer. There was still an intensity and an urgency to solve the case, but rules were followed, there was no off the book cowboy bullshit, and it felt like everyone followed Hailey and trusted her, whereas with Voight they were obeying orders that were barked out to them. I don’t know. It just felt really different and so very satisfying to me.

I love Kevin and Kim’s ability to communicate with one another with just one look between them. Makes me think of the early days of them being partners and being on patrol. They still work so wonderfully together.

This case was sick. A mother doing that to her own child is demented. Where these writers, and Gwen specifically, come up with these ideas is beyond me, but someone should probably do a wellness check on her. Like girly needs some serious therapy and R&R.

Josephine Petrovic. I had some hesitation with her at first as you usually do with a new character as you try and suss them out, but I’ve gotta say, I like her. I like her and I hate that I like her and I hate that she only just came onto the show because I would love to see what happens with her if she were to stick around, but I can’t watch this show without Tracy or Jesse — mostly Tracy — but neither of them? I just can’t do it. I have some other thoughts on Jo, but I will save them for another ask I received.

I obviously saved the elephant in the room for last…Jay. I really don’t think the mentions and nods to him in this episode were “bad” in any way because it’s stuff that has already been said about the character…Gwen’s version of him at least, but I do think there is a reason why he is being brought up and why there are so many nods to the marriage. Hailey insisted she wasn’t angry with him in the premiere. She signed the divorce papers, sent them off, and that was that and she washed her hands of him. Except she didn’t. Because she is angry, she hasn’t moved on in the year and a half he’s been gone now, signing the papers didn’t give her any closure…hell, even him signing the papers didn’t give her any closure, (I will die on the hill that he only signed them because it’s what he thought she wanted). I personally do not think she will get any closure whatsoever if she doesn’t have a conversation with him, if she doesn’t confront him and all of it head on…the anger and resentment and confusion and the love that is still there. You can’t turn that shit off. You can’t just push it away and be like, “okay, I’m done with you now, goodbye.” Life doesn’t work that way. Emotions don’t work that way. Grief sure as shit doesn’t work that way, and I feel like that is the stage Hailey is stuck in right now. Grieving the loss of Jay and her marriage and stuck in a limbo that she doesn’t know how to navigate on her own while dealing with childhood trauma that she actually isn’t really dealing with at all. And she is without a doubt on her own. That is the one thing that has been made clear this season. She has no family, not any friends other than co-workers, and right now, she doesn’t have Jay. I respect the “independent woman, gonna stand on my own, I don’t need anyone” mindset, but I don’t agree with how we got here and I also don’t fully agree with the notion that she doesn’t need anyone because everyone needs someone. You can’t do life alone. You need someone in your corner, someone by your side, someone who gets you in ways you don’t even know yourself, and for Hailey, that person is and will always be Jay Halstead. I think she will realize she needs to get out of Chicago like her brothers, like Jay, like Will, and I hope that wherever she ends up, Jay is there waiting for her and the two of them can just start over without Chicago and their past looming over them like a dark cloud. And for the love of God, let them both go to therapy…together and separately.

Brenna Malloy directed and it was just…perfect. True cinema if you will. The close-ups of the actors’ faces during certain scenes and how the camera would pan to them at just the exact right moment for a reaction, the no background noise and intentional pauses during scenes that allowed moments to feel heavier and more real, the ending shot of Hailey and her teary eyes…I feel like it was a story that was so delicately handled and crafted by Brenna, and I’m just really impressed.

Tracy Spiridakos. I mean, what more even needs to be said? The woman is a powerhouse. It always amazes me knowing how much of a goof she is on set and then you watch an episode like this and it’s just like…WOW. Her range of emotion and the way she makes you feel every single one of those emotions is truly something that needs to be studied. You cry with her, you smile with her, you laugh with her, but the biggest thing is you feel for her character, and I think that is something that not all actors are capable of doing with an audience. Tracy knocks it out of the park, across the highway, into the next town every time, and her execution is consistent every time as well. No one is doing it like her, and I love and respect the hell out of that woman and her talent.

I think the same also needs to be said for Bojana Novakovic. I have been surprisingly impressed by her and kind of adore her. I’ve really been enjoying the character of Josephine Petrovic and I hate that she’s only coming into the show now right when Tracy is walking out the door because Bojana alone is incredible, but her and Tracy together? It’s like magic to me. Their chemistry as scene partners and the way they bounce off each other is absolutely insane, and then their ability to pull you in and keep you locked in…ooof. I think it’s something special and I’ve really enjoyed seeing them together on-screen.

As for how I feel…

I feel good? Okay? The episode didn’t do much for me in the grand scheme of “what is Hailey gonna do” or “what’s gonna happen” because we already anticipated her leaving Chicago. That wasn’t ever in question. But the actual reason for Hailey leaving is still muddled to me, even more so because she hasn’t resolved anything in her life. She still has these demons, a past filled with trauma she hasn’t found peace with, she has no closure with Jay, she has questions and zero answers, and she is already and literally running from her problems.

So, is she supposed to leave Chicago and start over somewhere and her problems are just gonna go poof? Magically disappear? Because that’s not how that works, and I think that would be yet another injustice to the character and more lazy writing. I do think the episode (finally!) laid the groundwork for Tracy’s exit, but it should have started in episode 1, not 10. Tracy gave them an entire season to wrap up Hailey’s story, and I feel like they wasted so much time and it’s gonna be another rushed exit once the curtain falls. It’s not that I’m surprised in that regard, but I am disappointed (again!) especially considering how much of a fuss Gwen made about “it’s so generous of Tracy to give us a whole season.”

If Gwen’s plan was to make Hailey’s exit about her family and her childhood trauma then the seed should have been planted long before now, and Jay shouldn’t still be a sore subject for her. I think we’re in for a really emotional ending to the season, not just for Hailey, but for the first time since season eight I’m actually looking forward to a finale again.

In conclusion and a very long story short…I loved the episode, but Gwen Sigan is still on my shit list.

[thesoftboiledegg]

Overall, Full Meta Jackrick was decent. I liked it. It's not a personal favorite, but I won't mind it when I eventually rewatch the series. I just had the same problem with this episode that I did with the previous installment, Never Ricking Morty: it's not bad, but it's just...there? Meta episodes don't go anywhere because they CAN'T go anywhere. They're just twenty minutes of "Check it out, we're characters in a TV show!"

Still, I think this episode did a decent job of leaning into the meta without ruining the show. I was a little worried that Morty would realize that he's in a TV show and the entire universe would fall apart as he and Rick deconstruct everything, and then we'd have to act like nothing happened in the next episode. Luckily, Full Meta Jackrick didn't push the show's boundaries too far.

But yeah, I thought this episode was a little...pointless? It avoided cliches for the most part, but it also didn't say anything new. It wasn't a groundbreaking deconstruction of Rick and Morty or TV shows as a whole. It was just another take on the "Rick knows that he's in a TV show" concept, which isn't necessarily a bad thing, but it left me going "What was the point of that?"

The episode looked like it might have an anti-capitalist message with the Rick plushies, but that didn't really go anywhere, either. However, that might be a good thing--a preachy statement would've weighed down the episode even if I agree with it.

Full Meta Jackrick had a little more substance than Never Ricking Morty because at least we watched "our" Rick and Morty go on an adventure. I enjoyed watching an episode with just the two of them again. Their dynamic is brilliant--EVERYTHING that Rick and Morty do together is entertaining.

The first half of season six was great, but the episodes felt a little "off" because Morty didn't have much to do in most of them. Now, he's finally stepping back into the protagonist role.

Bringing back Story Lord (and Jesus) and writing a follow-up to Never Ricking Morty in general is a little gutsy and unexpected, which I can respect. Did anyone think that we'd ever hear anything about that train again? Never Ricking Morty isn't particularly loved or reviled--it's just an experimental episode that we probably would've forgotten about if it didn't foreshadow the season five Birdrick reveal.

For me, Full Meta Jackrick is a slightly better version of Never Ricking Morty because it's canon and has a more cohesive storyline. Full Meta Jackrick, like all of season six, also has great callbacks to the first couple of seasons. They never feel pandering or like they're trying to trigger your nostalgia--instead, they poke fun at the series itself and show you that the writers really care about this universe.

I also thought that this might've been the funniest episode of the season. Gotta be honest, guys--I normally roll my eyes when people say "Rick and Morty isn't funny anymore blah blah," but season six is the first season where I'm like "Yeah, the jokes haven't been great." But this episode had a lot of funny lines.

We did get some great character moments with Rick and Morty. Rick's still Rick: he's lazy, crabby, selfish and rude. But he's gentler with Morty, too. He treats him like a person and partner (in crime) instead of hoarsely shouting at him. He looks out for him and gives him his lab coat when they're freezing--boy, THAT'S been a fandom staple for nearly a decade.

This might be a stretch, but the scene in the garage caught my attention, too. Rick gently turns on Morty's goggles for him--you know, like an actual grandfather--instead of telling him to do it and then yelling that he's too slow or whatever.

This is seriously the fanservice season. Rick in a suit and tie yet again, Rick draping his lab coat over a shivering Morty, Rick tearing off his clothes to reveal that he's jacked underneath (I guess he's still working on those abs? lol.) The new writers' influence is so blatant, and I don't think most of us are complaining.

And we saw Rick's favorite thing yet again: crystals. 💎✨ (Well, ore.) Someone needs to give him $100 and cut him loose in a New Age store for a couple of hours.

I also want to note how much I love Justin Roiland's voice acting. Rick's voice is so complex and reflects his character development brilliantly. I hate how people dismiss Justin Roiland as a shouty guy who burps and yells into the microphone. Honestly, I don't hear Justin Roiland at all when Rick speaks--I just hear Rick.

Overall, Full Meta Jackrick was a decent return to the show after the six-week break. Those "Rick is a nihilist" YouTube videos need to go away forever because this episode's theme could have been "Nothing matters, we're just cartoon characters, blah blah," but it wasn't. Instead, Rick tells Morty that his life matters, and he looks at the audience as he says it.

[theonethatyaks93]

My Info Post!!!

(Yeah this took a while but here you guys go)

Helloooooo Tumblr! I'm Re-Re but please call me Pinky

I am one of the two moderators for @patbworship

Pronouns: She/They

Gender: Genderfluid (Which is whatever the heck Pinky has going on)/ non-binary

Sexuality: I consider myself a lesbian (tho I don't care if you call me bisexual)

Availability: I am currently taken! I have a girlfriend and you can actually find her here on Tumblr. Just gotta snoop around. Check her out she's written some fanfiction and she's amazing :)💖 I'm currently just looking for some online friends

Boring Interests: Writing, Singing, Acting, Animantion, Robotics, Drawing

Favorite Cartoons/Media: Animaniacs, Pinky and The Brain, The Owl House, Looney Tunes, Helluva Boss, Hazbin Hotel, DuckTales 2017, The Muppets, My Little Pony

Best Ships: Brinky, Lumity, Yax, Huntlow, Raeda, Baffy, Bubbline, Fizzarozzie/Fizzmodeus, Huskerdust, Rarijack, Twipie, Appledash, Flutterdash,

One Obscure Interest I Have: The Rock-afire Explosion (If you know about this group, I'm so happy since it's basically something that only 80's kids know about and people like me with a fascination for animatronics)

Current Occupation: Fanfiction Writer/Amateur PaTB Artist

Fav Holidays: Christmas & Halloween🎃🎄

Fav Music: Basically anything, but I have a soft spot for oldies, 80's music, doo-wop, and jazz

Fav Artists (Lots of these are super old): Frank Sinatra, ABBA, Simon and Garfunkel, The Monkees, The Beach Boys, lots of 80's artists, Amy Winehouse, The Beatles, Laufey, Elton John, Selena

Personal Heroes:

Rob Paulsen (My voice actor idol, he's inspired me so much)

Maurice LaMarche (My other voice actor idol, I love his work)

Paul Simon (An advocate for music education, an incredible solo career, and he's a Yankees fan? Say no more)

Frank Sinatra (Golden voice, brilliant artist, one of the best of the best)

My ask box is always open. Feel free to drop a question (no 18+ content please)

DNI: Homophobes, Transphobes, Pedos, Harassers, NSFW Exclusive Accounts

Find me on AO3 @PinkyPrincess1993 and give my fanfics a read! I'm currently trying to write new fics so stay tuned!

My blog is open to anyone of any gender, race, and sexual orientation.

ZERO tolerance policy on harassment and discrimination!

Please be patient with me on things, I'm quite busy. Also please respect my opinions!

Thank you to everyone for being so supportive of me. I'm going through a rocky time right now with family, friends, and me having a sense of loneliness that only a few people can help me with. I'm encouraging everyone to keep their head up and to stay strong. You are loved and you are needed in this world!💖💖

[absolutebl]

You're in filmmaking and working on your big dream BL production, your writer is one of the best, you got decent budget, interested sponsors, a great director, a professional crew. Now, you gotta cast your actors, the mains and maybe a sidedish. Who would you chose and why? Which criteria would you apply for example age, appearance, acting style, experience, ability to create chemistry, on-screen charisma, name recognizability? Which actors would you pair and why? Make it country specific.

MY ULTIMATE FANTASY CAST + BL MASTERPIECE!

If I could have any BL in the world. What would I pick? 

I kinda already did this here: 

TOP 10 BL PAIRS + What They Should Play Next - I chose SamYu for the gay Descendants of the Sun, but you threw the door wide open on this one so I am pushing it. (I also did Crazy BL Actor Pairing I'd Love to See ) 

I hold by those picks but I’ll reboot the game a little. 

Now, you gotta cast your actors, the mains and maybe a sidedish. Who would you chose and why?

(SamYu - We Best Love) in a Taiwanese production of Hospital Playlist. 

So Hospital Playlist is a true ensemble piece with 5 leads, but the anchor relationship would be these two. In case you were in any possible doubt as to my ultimate bias.

(L-R: prudish pediatrician, arrogant heart surgeon, comedic general surgeon, neurotic OBGYN, warm & brilliant neurosurgeon) 

Hospital Playlist is not just one of my favorite Kdramas, it’s one of my favorite dramas of all time. I love a medical drama, it has multiple solid romances all ending happily, it’s about older characters, there are complex stories and GREAT side characters, food is vitally important, and it’s ultimately extremely comforting. It’s sadly het, tho. 

So I want Taiwan to do the queer version. And I want it to get the proper treatment the way Taiwan sometimes does with their het stuff, like full on 20-30 episodes. 

Hospital Playlist only it’s 5 queer surgeons, paired as follows: 

Sam plays the funny single dad general surgeon (his husband left him alone with their adopted son, yadda yadda) 

Yu is the kind hearted brilliant neuroscientist. I’d like to see him play a warm nerdy character for a change. 

(Spoiler, these two characters are already besties who once moot-pined and eventually end up together.) 

Lin Yu (OuWen from Love is Science) plays is the arrogant heart surgeon. Of COURSE HE DOES. Slayed by the military boy in the end, of course. Honestly we can pair him with Anderson Cheng again as Sam’s younger brother, but I’m not married to that pairing. 

The OBGYN has to be our neurotic chaos bi character (that comedy writes itself) and I would cast Bruce He in the role. Because, he has dimples and I love him in everything and I am shallow af. He can have all the crazy exes up the wazoo. That’d be fun. I don not care who he ends up with. 

I’d turn the rich prude pediatrician character into a lesbian who I want played by Aviis Zhong, because she hasn’t played enough lesbians yet. Never enough lesbians. 

I want her slow pining desperate younger love interest (AGE GAP!) to be played by Tannie Huang (DNA Says Love You bestie). I think they would kill it. 

I want the older administrator of the hospital adopted lesbian mom of the group to be Tammy Darshana Lai (Encore Martha). And I want her to be having her own life, quandaries and relationships. 

Which criteria would you apply for example age:

I’d like it to be older characters in general. I love a high school drama but I’d like something more relatable to me, and more meaty for the actors to sink into, where being queer is there, and important, but there’s other life shit going on (ex spouses, children, career hiccoughs, side interests and hobbies). 

Clearly I’m picking all over the place on actual actor ages, but the main characters would all be in their late 30s at least. The support cast of residents and students and patients so forth would be many other ages. 

I’d like the Love is Science? team to direct (Tsai Mi Chieh & Chang Chin Jung). 

Appearance, acting style, experience, ability to create chemistry, on-screen charisma, name recognizability? 

I want mostly pretty because, as already mentioned, I shallow af. But I also want broad queer rep and diversity. So trans characters, butch, femme, various creeds and colors, all of them - in complex, capable professional doctor roles and positions of power. I want it to look like the Philippines vomited queer rep on this hospital. 

It’s my fantasy medical drama, I’ll queer it up if I wanna. 

I think Taiwan in general has a realistic, highly physical, slightly comedic acting style that would suit Hospital Playlist very well. (Probubly better than Korea’s style did, quite frankly.)

All the actors I chose (but Yu) are experienced and established. I think Avis and Bruce are big enough names for major draw. And SamYu as a pair are a big enough deal to pull the BL audience in spades. A show like this could take off international well and easily. Authentic queer rep is one of Taiwan’s strengths and this kind of show could showcase that for truly broad appeal, like Asia’s version of Queer as Folk, only a million times BETTER. 

Did I sell you on it?

(source) 

[encantowishes]

@hectic-hector asked me if How Many Tomorrows was going to get a continuation, and I said I didn't plan for one. But it just sort of happened. You don't have to read How Many Tomorrows for this to make sense, although it will explain why Bruno is acting so weird.

Waiting For A Flower

Alma sat at the long table on the patio, enjoying a cup of coffee along with her fellow early bird, Luisa. The weather was glorious this morning. A cool breeze from the mountains countered just enough of the heat of the sun, brilliant as it rose in the cloudless pink sky, without being chilly. She couldn’t remember when there had been such a long stretch of fine weather in the Encanto -- but why shouldn’t there be? Pepa had reason to be happy.

“What do you have planned for today, amor?” she asked her granddaughter.

“This morning I’m helping with the houses for the newcomers. But Tío Bruno told me he’d give me some feedback this afternoon.”

“Feedback?”

Luisa fidgeted with a spoon. “Yeah, on … on my story.” She had only recently taken up writing, penning adventures set in far off lands full of strange creatures. She was a little bashful about discussing her writing, and so far had only let Mirabel and Bruno read it, though they both had nothing but glowing endorsements.

“You know, your abuelo was a writer, too.”

“Oh, that’s right! Someone told me that once.”

Alma laid her hand on Luisa’s arm. “He would have been so proud of you. For everything.”

Luisa, maybe a little embarrassed with the praise, took a slow sip of her coffee.

Agustín arrived at the table, saying a cheerful good morning to them both. He was followed shortly by Isabela, who kissed her papá on the cheek and produced a flower for him to wear.

“Corazón, may I have a flower, too?”

“Oh, of course, Abuela. What kind?”

“Mm, whatever you think best. Something to put in my hair.”

“Maybe an orchid?” Isabela held out her hand, and a spray the same color as Alma’s dress appeared.

“Wonderful!” Alma tried to avoid saying perfect these days, especially around Isabela. She tucked the flowers into her hair and patted them in place.

“Are you going somewhere special today?” Isabela asked. Her abuela’s request had been out of the ordinary.

“I just thought some flowers would be nice. But I do have a meeting with the newcomers to see how they are getting along with their hosts, and hopefully help them begin to find their places in our community.” 

Ever since the mountain split, there had been a trickle of people finding their way into the Encanto, mostly those displaced by violence. It was a different conflict than the one that had made refuges of Alma’s generation, yet the consequences were much the same. And while Alma did, of course, fear the violence might find their refuge as well, neither she nor those others still living who remembered had the heart to turn these frightened people away.

She did worry what would happen to her Encanto, to her family, how they all would manage, when one day she wasn’t …

She pushed the thought from her mind. “Perhaps after my meeting, I will help Luisa with the houses.”

“Mamá,” admonished Bruno, slipping into the chair beside her. “I hope you’re joking.”

“I’m not. Why shouldn’t I help? Maybe I can’t lift as many bricks as I used to, but there are still boards to hammer and tiles to lay.” She gave her son a mischievous smile. “Maybe I’ll make the spackle.”

He looked at her with serious eyes. His father’s eyes. “I just worry that you’re still taking on too much. You gotta pace yourself. Don't tire yourself out.”

“Ay, why are you talking to me like I’m some old woman?”

He put his hand on her shoulder. “Because you’re pushing eighty, Má.”

Alma did go and help with the house construction that day, but she also took Bruno’s advice, and took on only lightweight tasks. That evening, she commented to Luisa that she seemed particularly happy. Apparently Bruno had complimented her use of symbolism.

Another breakfast, a couple weeks later. Isabela gave Agustín a flower. “And for you, Abuela?”

“Yes, amor. What do you have for me today?”

“How about a dahlia?” She passed the large blossom over.

“Gorgeous.” It had become a daily ritual, like the one between father and daughter. Both of them seemed a little curious about it. Why had Alma suddenly begun requesting a daily flower, after all these years? But they did not ask, and she did not offer.

“What are you doing today, niños?” she asked Camilo and Antonio. You almost couldn't really call Camilo a “niño” anymore. And Antonio seemed taller every day -- clearly he had inherited Pepa’s height. Where did the time go?

“I’m on tío duty!” Antonio announced brightly, gently stroking the hummingbird that sat on his finger. Tío duty was an important responsibility.

“Calling it that makes it sound like you’re babysitting Tío Bruno,” Camilo said as he swallowed his arepa. “Which, to be fair, he might ne-- Ow!” He stopped short as Isabela kicked him under the table.

“Tío duty means I’m a tío, and I’m on duty!” Antonio explained. “You could help, since you’re a tío, too.”

“Sorry, this tío is needed at the theater. It’s dress rehearsals.”

“Where you’ll be babysitting Tío Bruno?” Bruno asked, looming over Camilo from behind his chair, causing the young man to yelp. Bruno turned his attention to Alma. “How are you this morning, Mamá? Did you sleep okay? Feeling well?”

In the last few months, Bruno had become -- well, clingy. She hated to think of it that way, after … everything. The arguments, the secrets, the years apart, and then at last, a chance to make things right. She could hardly blame her son for wanting to be close. But his insistent concern was, frankly, becoming annoying.

“I’m fantastic, Bruno.”

“But are you as fantastic as me?” Pepa asked as she approached the table, bathing the entire patio in a rainbow. “Can you believe it? The twins’ first birthday already!”

“Tío, what are you doing?” Camilo asked. Bruno had suddenly gripped the back of the chair tightly.

Félix was right behind Pepa, following her with a little dance in his step and a little song in his voice. “We’re gonna have music, and we’re gonna have flowers, and we’re gonna have fireworks, and we’re gonna have a great big cake!”

“Do you want help setting up?” Alma asked.

“I can help, too,” Bruno added.

“Um, Tío, the theater? Your lifelong dream?”

“Oh. Right.”

The birthday party was a success, carrying on well after the twins themselves had been tucked in. Though Alma did not last much longer than the little ones did. The play went fairly well, though the players noticed that the director seemed distracted.

Another breakfast. This time Isabela gave Alma a spray of jacarandas.

“Any plans for today, cariño?” Alma asked Mirabel.

“I need to get Alicia Fernandez’s quinceañera dress finished. I was going to make a trip to town and see if the fabric I ordered came in, but I won't have time.”

“I’m going to town,” Isabela said. “I can check for you, if you want.”

“Oh, that would be great, thanks!”

Dolores and Mariano arrived at the table, each carrying one of the twins.

Alma smiled. “Buenos días, my little ones!”

They peered at her with eyes like Pedro’s and freckles like her own, smiling and squirming and doing their best to make words.

“I don’t know how you did it, Abuela,” Dolores said, a smile under her sleepy eyes. “Even with a whole family to help, these two can still wear me out. Three babies on your own … I can’t imagine how tired you must have been.”

She had been tired. Distraught, and furious, and terrified, and exhausted. She had carried on because … well, because there simply was nothing else she could do.

Alma smiled at Dolores, reaching across the table to take her hand. "You are doing wonderfully, mi vida. You are an excellent mother. These two will always know that they are loved." Why did she feel tears trying to form? Perhaps it was pollen.

When breakfast ended and the Madrigals began to separate to go about their day, Alma asked Isabela when she meant to go into town, and if she might go along.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea, Mamá?” Ay, now Julieta was starting with this?

“Yes, I do. Why, what do you think is going to happen? I’m going to fall down and break my hip?”

Behind her, she heard Bruno knock-knock-knocking on the table.

Julieta’s brow furrowed, but whatever her apprehension was, she did not voice it. “Let me give you some buñelos to take with you.”

Alma sighed, but did not argue. Really, it wasn’t a bad idea, but it was tiresome to have her children treating her like she had become a fool.

“Maybe I should come with you?” Bruno suggested.

“No, thank you, mijo. We will manage.”

A short time later, Alma sat beside Isabela as the young woman guided the donkey that drew their cart. “What is it that you need in town, Abuela?”

Luckily, no one had asked her that before they left, and she had not had to make up an excuse. “Actually, I just wanted to spend time with you. It has been a while since we really talked.”

If they had ever really talked. Alma found herself, from time to time, feeling wistful that she and her eldest grandchild were no longer as close as they used to be. But then she remembered that the time in which she had felt they were close was the time before Casita collapsed, and all the truths came out. The time when Isabela had been so agreeable not because they were of like minds, but simply because she wanted to please her grandmother.

If Alma was honest … maybe she had never really known her at all. Isabela had not enjoyed dressing like a princess. She did love flowers, though not so much for their beauty -- it was because she was fascinated by botany. (She’d been very excited when Antonio told her that butterflies and bees could see colors on flowers that people could not.) And, most alarming of all, she had only feigned interest in the man Alma had believed was so suitable for her.

“Oh,” was all Isabela said in reply.

“What are you looking for in town?”

She hesitated. “I want to look at clothes. Modern clothes. Maybe I can find a fashion magazine to show Mirabel.”

“Modern clothes? My goodness.” Alma chuckled. “Well, we are part of the modern world now. I suppose it is only right that you want to embrace the future.”

“Yes! And I … I would like to wear trousers.”

“Trousers? Oh, for when you are working with your plants? Mirabel could tailor you a pair.”

“No, I mean … not just when it’s practical. There are women nowadays who wear trousers regularly. There are fashionable styles of women’s trousers, not just men’s trousers that have been altered.”

Alma pondered this. It seemed strange to her.

“Maybe people will be rude about it, but I don’t care. Maybe I’ll try them, and I won’t like them, and I’ll go back to my dresses. But I want to try,” she said firmly.

Alma smiled, to Isabela’s obvious surprise. “Then you must try them.”

“You’re agreeing?”

“You are your own woman.”

“Abuela ���”

Isabela, at least, Alma did not need to worry about. There was strength in her that was no longer hidden. Alma was grateful for that. Because there was something she needed to ask her granddaughter, and it was just as well they were traveling this way.

Just beyond the pass, they came to the river. “Could we stop here a moment?” Alma asked.

She led Isabela to the riverbank, the very spot she had sat with Mirabel a few years before. The spot the family now ventured to at the beginning of each November to float candles.

“I have been blessed,” she said, looking at all the colors in the water. “I have been given second chances. I have a beautiful family. And I have been shown so much forgiveness for my mistakes. Now, I have only one regret that cannot be amended.”

“What is that?” Isabela prompted, after Alma had been silent for a while.

“That I cannot be buried beside my Pedro. I lost him here, so long ago. I do not like to think …” A few tears escaped. Isabela put an arm around her.

“Once we were safe within the Encanto, once we’d had a chance to breathe, we had services for everyone who did not make it. Still, without a burial, I never quite felt we had properly laid them to rest.”

Isabela nodded. “Which is why we come here.”

“Yes. And there is something I need you to do. When I pass away, I want you to take the flower from my hair, bring it here, and give it to the river.”

“That’s why you’ve been asking me for a flower every day?!”

Alma nodded.

“Abuela, I’m sure you’re nowhere near --”

“Mi vida, I am tired. I have been tired for a while. Your Tío Bruno sees it -- well, he may actually have seen it. I think your mamá sees it, too. Will you take the flower, and give it to the river? Maybe then, in some way, I can be with Pedro.”

Isabela looked at the ground and nodded.

Alma lifted Isabela’s chin. “You will all need to rely on each other. But you are all Madrigals, and you are all strong. And you, my Isabela, are intelligent and ready for tomorrow. I know you can guide your sisters and cousins.”

“Surely Mirabel …”

“Mirabel will be a leader, I have no doubt. But not on her own. Not yet. Between the two of you, though, I have every faith that our family and our Encanto will be fine.”

Isabela nodded again. “I’ll do it.”

“Excellent. Shall we continue to town?”

“Do you feel up for it?”

“Ay, first your tío, then your mamá, now you. I am only tired, I am not dead yet! Let’s go. Let’s find you some trousers.”

They climbed back into the cart and were on their way. Behind them, the river of many colors flowed, splashing gently over the rocks, waiting patiently for a flower.

[viscountessevie]

The Hellions of Halstead Hall Quick Review!

Okay so having read all the Hellions books here are my quick spoiler free thoughts on them (in order of the books):

1) The Truth About Lord Stoneville

Oliver & Maria - Having read all the books, I can safely say this is one of my favourites! It was an excellent first book and introduction into my new favourite HR family. Ollie and Maria were simply marvellous and a pretty Kathony coded to be honest. I would say less mentally ill - well Maria is, Ollie is actually chock full of even more intense trauma than Ant tbh. I won't say more, yall gotta read to find out!

Honestly everything from the couple to the plot, side characters (Freddy my beloved) and conflict were perfect and entertaining to read. Just the best start to a series!

Kinda rereading it again with Triv @hptriviachamp: I gotta say I love how well it sets up the future siblings’ stories and books and we pretty much get introduced to 2 other in-laws. So the set up and pay offs were really good tbh! 

2) A Hellion In Her Bed

Jarret & Annabel - I liked Jarett and Annabel well enough but I think they paled in comparison to a brilliant first book with Maria and Oliver. Still it was enjoyable, a good calm breather of a book after the excitement and drama of Maria and Ollie. I did love their romantic scenes - it's always more fun with a more experience heroine and Annabel and Jarret delivered on that front!

Tbh this ^^ is the nicer version for Goodreads but simply put: they were pretty boring. The sex scenes did make up for it; we really need more experienced heroines in HR. Funny clueless virgins are fun but for me personally, it's hotter and easier to get into sex scenes when the teaching doesn't take up most of the time.

Also despite being boring, I will give them points for staying consistent tonally and being a straightforward story (unlike Book 5 but I digress, I'll expand on this when we get there!)

3) How to Woo a Reluctant Lady

Minerva & Giles - Honestly I would say read the previous book just for the build up of these two, it’s absolutely delicious. I love how unashamed Giles is in his attraction to Minerva and their history together. Minerva was just a delight and fun character to read from Book 1 so I was definitely excited for these two. I mean she’s A GOTHIC WRITER AND HE’S A SPY! Exciting shit and for most part they did deliver! Can I also say that Minerva is the funniest virgin ever because when feeling him up she mistook his erection for a pistol. I CACKLED so hard reading that I literally cannot make this shit up. They were also very hot and I loved them sneaking around to uncover truths about Minerva’s family. 

However, I was a bit disappointed in their Act 3 - it might just be a me thing so if yall have read this series or are going to, lemme know what you thought of Act 3! I just think there was a secondary plot point that could have been the main crux of their Act 3 rather than the one Sabrina chose to go with. Other than that, I adored this book and is high up on my ranking (which I’ll be listing below after all my short reviews of the books) 

4) To Wed A Wild Lord 

Gabriel (Gabe) & Virginia - (I’m calling her Ginny cos I can’t with her name) I absolutely loved this one and I think a big part of it was because Sephy is a horse girl and Gabe provided the best inspo for me to write for Sephy’s horse scenes in the future. Also I knew I would enjoy their book when we got the inciting incident in Minerva & Giles’ book - the drama was d e l i c i o u s. I loved how funny Gabe was in the previous books and this book delivered on that while giving us depth and a proper exploration of both of their traumas. I like how Sabrina showed Gabe’s comedic side is moreso a defense mechanism and how despite Ginny’s hostility to him, she’s actually kind and sunshine incarnate. 

Similar to Book 1; the plot was great, I loved the racing scenes, the tension between Gabe and Ginny was on point - though I do wish we gotten to see them interact more during their ‘courtship’ scenes. I adored Freddy as my fave cousin side character but Pierce takes the cake! I am SO glad he gets his own book (which I will talk more about below!) Overall, it was a brilliantly written book and I loved it!

5) A Lady Never Surrenders 

Celia & Jackson - This book man, had so much build up but left me so confused in terms of tone, characterisations and the progression. It was the last piece of the Sharpe parents’ murder mystery and also Jackson and Celia had FOUR books of build up. I liked that I was right about the murderer and I loved Jackson and Celia’s scenes in the last four books. Yet the first part of the book was draggy with the suitors plot and while it did come back around - it could have been written tighter. Celia seemed so badass in the other books but fell trap to the tomboy/NLOG trope in the way she was written even though she’s not?? It was really weird. There was a disconnect between the Celia in the last four books and in her own one. Like even with Gabe’s exploration - it still felt like him but Celia felt all over the place for me. 

On top of all of this, I especially despised the racist treatment of Viscount Basto and it honestly put me off the book. I had to take a break to calm down and finish the series because I HAD to know what happened to the Sharpe parents. And the racism/xenaphobia gets worse because (skip past the caps if you don’t want spoilers): 

🛑 MAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE SERIES 🛑

I hated how Sabrina used the one foreign guy and made him a secondary villain. It made sense for the character and I suspected him and his wife from the start but why you gotta make him the SINGLE foreigner. It just came across extremely xenophobic. She could have made the Duke of Lyons or Jackson a MoC too, just to offset it ya know. It was just frustrating to see him singled out and villianised. 

🛑 MAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE SERIES END 🛑

Though for all its faults, I did enjoy the romance and how the mystery was solved. That’s why the book confused me like there were bits that were SO bad but then parts that were written SO well I was like ‘Am I reading two different books cos what the fuck??’ But yeah its not my favourite and while I did enjoy the good parts of it better than Jarret and Annabel’s book, at least the latter book was consistent. I will recommend pushing through this to see the reveal and also Jackson being a simp is great. 

6) ‘Twas The Night After Christmas

Pierce & Camilla - It’s so funny that this is my #1 Hellion book (honestly tied with Book 1 but still) because Pierce isn’t even technically a Sharpe, he’s Ginny’s cousin but god I loved this book and honestly my one complaint is that Sabrina montaged their courtship week instead of giving us more scenes with them falling in love. Also could have been sluttier to offset the deep Mommy Issues kjdshkdj. 

But yes if you like your HR heroes riddled with Mommy Issues, Pierce is the one for you! Camilla is also such a vibe, I love her so much. She’s lowkey a “I can fix everyone” person but it did not come across as annoying at all. But yeah reading this, heads up it gets sad and not enough horniness to make up for it. Overall, also a great Christmas time story! 

Final Book Ranking: 

1) Tied - The Truth About Lord Stoneville, (tbh pretty perfect to me)

‘Twas The Night After Christmas (needed to be sluttier and Pierce to be more quippy like he is in Book 4 and 5)

To Wed A Wild Lord (Ginny isn’t my fave heroine - I like her but like Maria and Camilla a lot more)

2) How to Woo a Reluctant Lady (Act 3 should have been better)

3) A Hellion In Her Bed (Not exciting of a storyline for me)

4) A Lady Never Surrenders (Confusion over the way the book was written and also the xenaphobia :/)

Overall as a series, I loved how well-connected they were and the overarching plot of solving their parents’ murder was great and I LOVED how each sibling had a piece of the puzzle that added up together and it was all very satisfying at the end because I love being right and called it. I did not expect the twist in Book 5 which would have been better if not for the spoiler I mentioned above. Also I love how close knit the family is and I LIVE for the ensemble moments in the books they just bring me extra joy because everyone is so likeable you’re excited to see them all interact. Mentioned this before but the set up for the future books were BRILLIANT (even if Book 5 didn’t pay off as well as the others). 

Hope yall enjoyed reading this and might want to give this series a shot because I need more friends and people reading this and gushing to me about this family. Truly my new favourite comfort family! 

[puckinghell]

Not A Typical Christmas Story | Elias Pettersson

Summary: You’ve never loved Christmas, and there’s nothing that can change that; especially not your best friend’s grumpy Swedish friend who you don’t even like. However, when you’ve gotta be forced into the Christmas spirit to write a Christmas story for class, there’s only one person who is willing to try and help you. Words: 14k (I’m SO sorry) Note: Here it is, a Christmas story in November. Honestly I’m nervous to post this, I’ve never put so much of myself into a story, but here we go. I loved loved loved writing this and I hope you guys like reading it. Also, the cliche scenarios were stolen from a random blog post. 

--

“You’re such a fucking Grinch.” Brock takes a sip from his hot chocolate. There’s murmur in the bar around you, and he’s muttering, but you still hear him clear enough.

“Hey,” you protest, lightly hitting him on the arm. “I’m not a Grinch. Just because you put up your Christmas decorations in October and have been singing All I Want For Christmas Is You since July, doesn’t make me the Grinch for not doing that.”

Brock raises an eyebrow. “You literally just said you hate Christmas.”

“I did not.” You stubbornly cross your arms. “I said I hate Christmas stories.”

“That’s basically all there is to Christmas,” Brock brings in, and that’s probably fair enough.

Apart from the food, presents, family time, decorations…

Fine. Maybe you don’t like any of those either. But not liking Christmas is not the same as being a Grinch: you’re completely fine with letting everyone enjoy their festive December, as long as they leave you out of it.

Which is exactly why you’ve been complaining to Brock. And as your best friend, it’s literally his duty to listen to you; unfortunately it also means he’s gonna make fun of you. Just a little bit.

“I just don’t get why I have to write a Christmas story,” you mope, a little pathetically. “There’s so many Christmas stories in the world already, Boes. And they’re all the same! The foreign sports car breaks down in a blizzard and the city slicker gets stuck in a bar with a bucktoothed chicken strangler with an IQ of 7 whom he decides, through love or delirium, he cannot live without. Or the sadistic Christmas-hating miser of the pathetic backwoods town, who makes his money grinding the faces of the poor, is inspired to a change of heart by a teary-eyed child who bears a striking resemblance to his dead daughter, and donates all his money so that the ghost town can continue its wretched, grimy, poverty wracked existence.”

At that, there’s a muffled snicker from the side of the table. You’d almost forgotten that Elias was there, to be honest.

You raise your eyebrow at him. “What? You’ve got a better Christmas story?”

Elias raises an eyebrow back, but doesn’t answer. He usually doesn’t. Brock says he’s talkative enough when you’re not around, although you for the life of you do not know what you’ve done to earn his judgment.

“Don’t bite Petey’s head off,” Brock chides. He’s always trying to keep the peace between you two, and sometimes you feel bad that he has to police his two best friends.

Today is not one of those days.

“He’s laughing at me!”

“Because you’re being ridiculous.” Brock sighs. “It’s just a Christmas story, Y/N. You’ll write it, you get a grade for it, it’s done. How hard can it be?”

It’s clear that Brock has no idea how hard it can be to write a decent story. Sometimes, you wonder if he can even really write or read: maybe he’s just memorized a bunch of words and called it a day.

You let out a grumble and drop your head on the dingy, sticky table in the rundown bar that Brock and Elias are so keen to go to, probably because they never get recognized there. Not surprising, considering the fact that the age of the average customer is above 85.

Normally, you like your creative writing course. People told you to get electives you thought were actually fun, as your normal college courses are taxing enough, and you’ve always been a writer.

Or, well, been a writer… You write. You wouldn’t call yourself a writer: you’ve never published anything and you can’t be a writer before you make money from it. But you like writing. There’s at least a hundred half finished Word documents sitting on your laptop at any given moment.

But this project isn’t fun at all. All the students in your course were excited to get to write a Christmas story. It is December, after all, and most people have gotten properly into the Christmas spirit by now. However, you’ve never liked Christmas – for reasons that you will not think about with Elias’ judgy eyes on you – and you usually write scary stories, so this is not up your alley.

“Hey,” Brock’s voice sounds, and it’s gentle now. He’s probably noticed you’re actually having a mental breakdown over this. “It’s just one stupid story, and it doesn’t even have to be good. Just write about like, animals that can talk.”

Elias snorts again, and this time you can’t even blame him.

You lift your head only to shoot Brock a glare. Brock raises his hands in helpless manner, rolling his eyes as he goes.

“I’m trying to help.”

“I’m going to get beers,” Elias says suddenly. It’s the first thing he’s said all hour, you think, and the sound of his voice almost startles you. “I think you’re more helpful when you’ve got a beer, Boes.”

He’s not wrong, but you won’t tell him that. Instead, you stare at his retreating back, disappearing towards the bar.

“Why do you hate him?” Brock says, and he sounds a little accusing.

“I don’t hate Elias, just as much as I don’t hate Christmas,” you tell him, before you realize that that technically doesn’t speak of your innocence, so you try a different tactic. “He doesn’t like me either! He never talks when I’m around.”

“Cause you make him nervous!” Brock exclaims. He pushes his now empty mug towards the side. “You’re always making snappy remarks at him.” He stares at you with big blue puppy eyes, his bottom lip pouting out. “I wish you would just get along. I love you both and it’s very annoying to have to always be in the middle of you.”

In reality, it’s not like Brock really has to be in the middle of anything. If it was up to you, you would simply not ever see Elias, and you’re pretty sure that’s the only thing you and Elias would ever agree on. But Brock somehow always brings you together: like how today he’d forgotten to mention his teammate’s presence when he asked you to come out for a drink.

But you don’t blame Brock, not really. You think there’s another universe in which Elias and you could be friends. You’re very similar, in a way: you’re both not from Vancouver, both don’t have your family around, and you share a similar sharp sarcastic humor and a love for teasing Brock.

The first time you met Elias, you were hopeful. Brock was, at that point, your only friend in Vancouver, and the two of you had become best friends like you’d grown up in each other’s pockets. If Brock liked this guy so much, you figured you’d like him too.

But Elias hadn’t seemed to feel the same way. You met at one of Jake’s parties and Brock had introduced you with the statement that you were going to be beerpong buddies, because he’d already promised Troy.

Elias’ eyes had been a little too intense, as they traveled across your face. You could feel them burn into your skin like lasers, and when his eyes finally met yours it had felt like being hit by the entire universe at once.

“Oh,” he’d said, and it had been filled with… not even disdain. You could’ve handled disdain, because you could’ve called him out on that. But this had been indifference, that you’d heard in his voice, and that was something you didn’t know what to do with.

He’d not said anything else all evening. 

Ever since then, you’d put stone after stone into the wall you build between you and the quiet Swede, every single time he so much looked in your general direction. Nothing big ever happened between you: you hadn’t had any huge fights or massive blow outs.

It was just indifference, that ate at you until it became reluctance and then annoyance, and it’s that same thing you can read on Elias’ face now when he quietly sits in a corner, listening in on your conversations with Brock.

Yes, it would be easier for Brock if you and Elias could become friends, or at least friendly enough.

“Sorry, Boes,” you tell him with a sigh. “I just don’t think it’s ever gonna happen.”

--

“Is there a reason you’re not wearing a shirt?”

You raise your eyebrow at Jake, who opened the door wearing black jeans, a Santa hat, and literally nothing else.

"I lost a bet,” he says solemnly, opening his front door further. You stomp the snow off your boots on his porch, then move past him into the house.

It’s freezing cold outside and Jake’s house is lovely and warm, which makes you happy to be there if only to enjoy the heating. It’s not like you don’t have heating at your flat, but the electricity bill is high enough every month without you turning the thermostat up as high as it goes, so usually you try to keep warm with sweaters and blankets.

Brock told you to dress pretty though, so you wore a dress to Jake’s party. Which means it’s a good thing he’s got the heating going.

“You look lovely,” Jake smiles, taking your coat from your hands. Having him act like such a perfect gentleman in the outfit he’s wearing makes you laugh, and he shoos you inside when he notices.

You like Jake. In fact, you like all of Brock’s friends – except the one, of course – and that’s the only reason you said yes to coming to this party. It’s not like you’re against parties, but it’s a Christmas party: and despite the fact that it’s the first week of December, you’ve already heard enough Christmas music to last a life time.

“There she is!” Brock hoots, when he spots you. He opens his arms and you give him a quick hug, saying hi to Bo and Holly, who he’s standing with. “I have a brilliant idea,” Brock says however, before you can even ask the Horvats how they’re doing. “And you can’t say no right away.”

That definitely means you’re gonna wanna say no right away.

“I’m not promising that,” you hum. Just at that moment, Jake appears with a glass of prosecco that he hands you, and you send him a grateful smile. He disappears just as quickly, which is probably the better option considering what Brock’s about to say.

“I think you should make an actual, real effort to get into the Christmas spirit this year.”

“I don’t think so,” you immediately answer, but Brock waves away your protests with a wave of his hand.

“That’s not the part you’re gonna wanna say no to.”

“Oh dear,” Holly laughs, and you glare at Brock.

“What, then?”

“I think you and Petey should get in the Christmas spirit together.”

The sentence is bizar enough that you burst out laughing. Surely he’s kidding.

“Are you drunk?” you ask, then, turning to Bo: “Is he drunk?”

Bo shrugs. “Not yet, I don’t think. Tipsy at most.”

“Think about it,” Brock says. There’s a glint of excitement in his eyes, which promises nothing good for you. “You’re staying in Vancouver this Christmas, right?”

You don’t say anything: the answer is yes, and Brock knows that, because he’s been trying to convince you to come back to Minnesota with him for a month. However, as you’ve told him every time, there’s no way his girlfriend would appreciate that, and you don’t like being a third wheel. Or - but you haven’t told him that - a charity case.

“And so is Petey!” Brock proclaims. He motions somewhere to the left, where the Swede is probably hiding between all his teammates, trying to stay as far away from you as possible. “So both of you have to stay here in Vancouver, alone, during Christmas. And he loves Christmas, and you don’t, but you have to write that Christmas story and it would be so much easier to do that if you actually celebrated Christmas, so he can teach you how.”

Your best friend isn’t making a lot of sense, and there’s too much information to process so quickly. First of all, you didn’t know Elias would be alone for Christmas, although you suppose it makes sense that he can’t go back to Sweden just for 2 days of Christmas. Secondly, you don’t need someone to teach you how to celebrate Christmas: it’s not like you don’t know, and much more that you choose not to.

And third: fuck. You’d basically forgotten about that Christmas story.

“It’s a brilliant idea,” Brock says proudly and a little smug. “And I haven’t told Petey yet but I know he’ll be down.”

This time, you respond: you start laughing hard enough that Brock’s smile slips off his face.

“I really don’t think he will,” you giggle. You reach out, patting Brock’s arm with a smile. “Boes, you’re a sweetheart, but stop worrying about me. My life isn’t bad because I don’t like Christmas.”

It’s bad for some other reasons, like financial debt and family misfortunes, but not because of a lack of reindeer ornaments and bad mulled wine.

Brock pouts. “But…”

“No,” you cut him off. “I can write that Christmas story just fine on my own, thank you. And if you’re worried about Elias, you can ask him to Minnesota.” You take a step back, glancing at your empty prosecco glass. “I’m gonna get another one of these.”

As you’re making your way to the kitchen, you can still hear Brock’s sputtering.

Although Jake’s house is filled with people, the kitchen still seems quiet. It’s not until you’ve let the door fall closed behind you though, that you notice movement in the corner.

“Oh,” you say, a little annoyed to be caught off guard. “It’s you.”

Elias barely glances in your direction. “Just getting some water.”

Elias’ style is always a little funky, and if you didn’t dislike him so much you would’ve appreciated how daring it is. This time, though, you literally can not help but laugh at him.

“Nice sweater,” you say, and it doesn’t even come out as sarcastic.

Elias looks down at his sweater like he didn’t even notice he was wearing it. It has a reindeer stitched on, except the reindeer looks… Well. Baked.

“Quinn got it for me,” Elias says, and he sounds a little sheepish, which is not a tone you hear from him often. “He’s got the same one.”

“A little co-dependent,” you tease, and it comes out too light and easy for it to be directed at Elias. He looks a little surprised, too, at how jovial it sounds.

“You look nice,” he says, then. He’s looking at you now, and you can feel the weight of his eyes press against your skin.

There’s something about Elias’ gaze that makes it feel like your lungs are constricting, and you don’t know what it is. You could blame it on the fact that his eyes are the kind of piercing blue that authors would compare to the ocean or maybe the summer sky, but Brock has blue eyes too, and you never feel like that when he looks at you.

“Uhm, thanks,” you bring out. The awkwardness settles over the kitchen like a heavy cloud of fog, but for some reason your first instinct isn’t to just run out of the kitchen, like you usually would.

This is definitely Brock’s fault, for making you feel bad about Elias being alone in his sauve but empty apartment in Vancouver on Christmas, when he apparently loves the holiday so much.

“Brock thinks you could teach me how to love Christmas,” you blurt out, and Elias looks nothing short of utterly baffled by your statement. You sigh, and explain. “We’re both in Vancouver around Christmas and apparently you love Christmas and I don’t, so he thinks you should teach me how to love it. He thinks it would help me write my story.”

Elias seems to ponder that for a second. When he speaks, his voice is tentative. “Do you think it would help?”

Your first instinct is to, once again, call out no and laugh it off, but for some reason you don’t. Elias sips his water like he’s prepared to wait for your answer, and you give yourself some time to think.

Realistically, getting into the Christmas spirit, or at least getting an idea of what other people feel when they’re in the Christmas spirit, could really help you pull off this story. You’re good at putting yourself in other people’s shoes, which is how you manage to write characters you don’t necessarily see yourself in.

When you wrote a story about a doctor, you talked to your friend who’s in med school about it for a week. Now, you wanna write a Christmas story. It wouldn’t be an awful idea to be around someone who loves Christmas.

“Maybe,” you admit. “But you don’t have to do it, I know you’re probably busy…”

Elias shakes his head before you’ve finished your sentence.

“When hockey goes on break, and all my teammates go home for the holidays, I won’t have anything to do.” He shrugs: it looks careless but in the most forced manner, like he’s trying to hide just how much it does matter. “We could do something, I guess.”

I guess. It’s not really the most enthusiastic response you’ve ever had, but then, this is not normal for you and Elias.

“You know what the ultimate Christmas plot is?” Elias says then, a little hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “A Christmas party is in fear of flopping thanks to a lack of Christmas spirit, but is rescued by some energetic soccer mom with no life.” He grins. “I could be the soccer mom.”

To your own surprise, you burst out laughing at his description. You didn’t think he was really paying attention when you were describing cliché Christmas plots in the bar with Brock, but maybe Elias pays attention to more than he admits.

“Fine,” you hear yourself say, and you honest to God have no idea where that came from but you know Brock is gonna shit himself with excitement when he hears. “When hockey goes on break, you can be the energetic soccer mom and try to bring me into the Christmas spirit.” You smile. “It won’t be an easy task, Pettersson.”

Elias raises an eyebrow but there’s nothing judgmental about it, this time.

If anything, it’s a challenge.

He sticks something out to you: it’s your glass, now filled again with prosecco, which he somehow managed to fill up without you even noticing.

“It’s on,” he says simply, and when he raises his water glass in the air, you don’t even hesitate to clink it.

--

“Shopping is not a Christmas outing,” you say, stubbornly crossing your arms. “And I really don’t think this is gonna get me into the Christmas spirit.”

“What do you mean?” Elias deadpans, as he yanks a shopping cart free from all the others. “Middle aged housewives fighting over discounted wreaths? There’s nothing more Christmassy than that.”

You snort. “Right. It’s just gonna be spoiled crying kids who want toys that they already have and parents pretending it’s Santa who spoils them so they don’t have to take responsibility for their kids being rude drama queens.”

Elias laughs. He pushes the cart into the department store, and you reluctantly follow him.

“That’s another storyline,” he says.

“The unexplained dilemma of parents who do not believe in Santa, and yet we, the wise audience who knows better, are left to wonder where they think these toys came from? ‘Psst, honey, Santa’s not real, so from whence came these marvels?’”

“I don’t know half of what you’re saying.” Elias holds up a string of Christmas lights. “But we’re getting these, honey.”

It comes out sweet like caramel and too serious to be anything but sarcastic, so you push the cart into his heels. Elias simply laughs and continues on his way.

The department store is busy, which is exactly why you usually try to avoid going there in December. You’d think Elias, being Elias Pettersson, would also try to avoid crowds, but it’s like people don’t see anything but Rudolph; nobody recognizes him as he skillfully pushes his way through the crowds, putting stuff into the cart that you barely know what to do with.

You’re thankful for it. It would be awkward if people did recognize him, and it’s strange to notice that that would be the thing to do it; there’s no awkwardness now, with him making snarky remarks at the quality of the ornaments or the fact that Canadians apparently love what he calls the ‘tacky’ side of Christmas.

In fact, you almost find that you’re enjoying yourself. It might as well be a Christmas miracle after all.

“When was the last time you had a tree?” Elias asks.

Your brain short circuits for a full five seconds, and then when you answer Elias stares at you as if you’ve grown a second head.

“Uh, probably when I still lived with my parents and they got it?”

“We’re changing that right now.” He spins on his heels and speed walks in the direction of the trees, too fast for you to protest.

You think of the last time you got a Christmas tree and an involuntary shiver makes its way down your spine. There’s a good reason you don’t like Christmas, and the tree plays a crucial part in it.

But Elias doesn’t know that. So you can’t even blame him for looking excited when he somehow manages to find you the perfect size tree for your apartment – even without ever having been in your apartment.

“This one,” he says smugly, but when he notices your expression, his face falls. “What’s wrong?”

You swallow. You could tell him, now, tell him about the last time your dad went to get a tree and never came back.

But that’s a long time ago and there’s no reason for Elias to know that. He’s not your friend, and he’d probably not even care. If anything, he’d feel sorry for you, and that would be even worse.

“That one is fine,” you tell him, and you promise yourself you just won’t put it up.

The tree gets your mood down but Elias doesn’t seem to notice. He collects some more stuff, like a throw blanket with Christmas pattern that you actually don’t mind, because you’re always cold and a person can never have too many throw blankets.

He also puts in an ornament with the Canucks logo, which you want to use to slap the smirk off his face, and a Rudolph pluche toy with a red light up nose.

“Like you, when it’s cold,” he teases, flicking your nose, and you wonder if you could use the Christmas lights to strangle him.

Finally, when you approach the end of your trip, you realize a teeny tiny problem.

“Uhm, Elias?” you ask, “I think we may have gotten too much.”

Elias rolls his eyes. “Brock said you don’t have any decorations, so this is the perfect amount.”

And it would be – if you wanted Christmas decorations – except…

“I can’t afford this,” you snap, and you can feel your cheeks heat up, and maybe the tips of your ears as well. God, this is embarrassing.

Elias’ face softens, and that kinda just makes it worse.

“You’re not paying for it,” he says, not unkindly. “This wasn’t your idea.”

“It wasn’t yours either,” you remind him. Granted, a bill like this would hardly break the bank for Elias, but you’re not about to let him pay for you just because he feels bad. You let Brock buy you dinner sometimes but that’s it, and only because he actually likes your company and because he always wants to eat at stupid fancy restaurants.

This is Elias. He doesn’t value your company, and he’s not your friend, and you won’t let him pay for you.

Elias doesn’t say anything, eyes searching your face for something. You’re not quite sure what he finds, but finally, he speaks.

“Consider it my Christmas gift to you,” he says. “You can pay me back by making me lunch, cause I’m hungry.”

And strangely enough, the thought of spending another two hours with Elias doesn’t make you wanna hurl, or throw yourself in front of oncoming traffic. In fact, you’re surprised to note that you actually had fun on this trip, and it was mostly thanks to Elias’ dry commentary on the other shoppers, of which not one sentence failed to make you laugh.

You don’t believe in Christmas stories, like the one where some weird technical glitch in the matrix gets fixed just in time for the Christmas tree in the center of town to light up, just as the guy and girl figure out their complicated emotional differences.

But maybe you can allow yourself to not actively dislike Elias’ company, at least while you’re stuck with it.

--

There’s exhaustion settled deep inside your bones, like your feet are made of concrete as you somehow manage to drag yourself up the stairs. You don’t usually mind living in a bit of a shit hole building, considering the fact that it’s very cheap – but on nights like these you wish there was an elevator you could take.

Working out in the morning before taking a double shift at the coffee shop you work at was a bad idea.

It takes you a few seconds to find your keys in your bag. It’s late enough at night that you can’t really see much; there’s lights in the hallways but most of them don’t really work, the flickering glow of them barely enough to illuminate the ceilings.

When you open the door, you instantly notice there’s something wrong.

Or, wrong… That might not be the right word. The word that comes to mind, actually, is fuck.

You’d forgotten all about Elias.

After buying all the Christmas decorations, he kept bothering you about putting them up. You hadn’t really been planning to, and unfortunately Elias knew you well enough to somehow know that.

Nobody reads you as well as he does, like his blue eyes pierce right through your skin and stare straight into your heart. It’s one of the things you find most unsettling about him. Keeping things close to your heart has always been your way to cope, but it felt impossible to do that with Elias around.

He’d kept asking you if you were gonna put up the decorations and you kept waving him away, until he finally decided he had enough.

“I’m coming over tomorrow,” he’d said – or, threatened. “Brock gave me your spare key, so you don’t have a say in this. I’m putting up the tree.”

“Don’t you dare,” you’d answered, making a mental note to deal with Brock’s traitorous ass later. “I can put up my own tree.”

You could, you just weren’t planning to do it.

“You could, but you won’t,” Elias had said, unimpressed. “So be there or don’t be there, I’m doing it.”

You had totally meant to be there. You weren’t as much of an asshole that you would let him do all the work after he also paid for it, and he was technically doing you a favor. But then your colleague asked you to cover her shift, and, well…

You forgot. And clearly, Elias hadn’t.

In the corner of your tiny little living room is a pine tree. There’s no ornaments in it except for the Canucks one that Elias bought you, but there’s what seems to be about a thousand lights in it, and it must’ve taken him hours to put those in.

It’s not even just that. The Rudolph toy is sitting on your bookcase, there’s candles on your dining table and on the couch is the Christmas throw blanket.

Under the blanket is Elias.

His head is resting on the arm of the couch, blond hair a little messy. His eyes are closed, eyelashes fluttered against his cheekbones, and he looks strangely peaceful.

You feel something settle in your stomach.

You imagine him sitting on your couch, waiting for you to come home because he wanted to see your reaction. You can imagine his little smug grin as he took in his work, way too proud with a simple string of lights in a Christmas tree. And maybe, maybe, he even thought about you celebrating Christmas here with the place looking exactly like this, and maybe that made him smile.

And then you didn’t show up. 

You wonder if you should wake him, to kick him out of your apartment, tease him for waiting for you, or even to say thank you. But his chest is rising slowly with every steady breath, and you’ve never seen Elias look so tranquil, so at peace.

For some reason, waking him feels like a crime.

So you step closer and tug the blanket a little more over his shoulders. You tell yourself it’s because the place gets so stupidly cold at night, and you can’t have him get sick and have a miserable Christmas because Brock would kill you, but you know it’s not about that at all.

It’s about the fact that coming home to a cozy, decorated apartment after the exhausting day you’ve had was actually pretty nice. And it’s about the fact that for some reason, Elias’ sleeping figure on your couch makes the place feel more like home than it has ever before.

And maybe it’s because the night is dark, and Elias can’t hear or see you, but when you whisper: “Goodnight” into the quiet living room, it sounds a lot like thank you.

--

When you wake up, there’s the smell of pancakes in the air. It’s a smell you would recognize anywhere, and it startles you awake too quickly for it being so early in the morning. You nearly jump out of bed and follow your nose towards the kitchen.

If anyone would’ve asked, you would’ve bet money on it that Elias would’ve woken up on your couch annoyed as hell, and booked it out of there as soon as his legs could carry him. But somehow, like a mirage, he’s standing at your stove, making pancakes.

Are you dreaming?

“Am I dreaming?” you ask out loud, and Elias swirls around on his heels.

“Don’t scare me,” he snaps, annoyed, but the annoyance flows away within seconds. “I was hungry.”

“So you made pancakes?”

Elias laughs softly. “I can’t make much else with what’s in your kitchen. You need to go grocery shopping.”

You really do, but you can’t think about that right now. Not when Elias is standing in your kitchen like he owns the place, like it’s normal for him to be there.

It very much is not. So why doesn’t it feel wrong?

“Uhm.” If he’s here, you figure you should at least be polite. “Do you want coffee?”

He waves towards your coffee machine. “I already put it on.”

You stay quiet as you make the coffee, a little too aware of the way Elias moves pancake after pancake from the pan to the stack, movements relaxed and almost lazy. It’s Sunday morning and it’s not that late, but it feels like it could be one of those mornings that stretches out endlessly, dark grey clouds outside your apartment as Vancouver slowly wakes up.

Neither of you speak until you’ve sat down at the table, pancakes and coffee in front of you. It’s awfully domestic and you don’t know what to do with it: it’s become easy to snap or snark at Elias when Brock’s there as a middle man and Elias looks like he’d rather cut off both his legs than spend another minute in your presence, but it’s not like that now.

Now, Elias seems quietly content to sit in your kitchen eating pancakes that he made on your stove while you were asleep. Now, Elias seems completely comfortable scrolling through his phone while you stare at him. And this Elias, you have no idea what to do with.

“We’re gonna do something Christmassy today,” Elias says, between two bites of pancake. “I’m just trying to figure out what.”

You raise an eyebrow. It’s been only a week since Brock had the awful idea to make Elias teach you how to be in the Christmas spirit before booking it to Minnesota, and so far Elias has seemingly put way too much time and effort into it, while you haven’t even put one word in your empty word document, that you ironically titled ‘Not a typical Christmas story’.

Then you remember the night at Jake’s party, and how Elias said he wouldn’t have much to do once all the guys went home to their families.

Suddenly, you feel for him. You know what it’s like to be lonely.

“The Christmas market isn’t on today,” Elias continues, oblivious to your mental dialogue. “But we’re going there soon. And we need to watch a bunch of Christmas movies.”

You hesitate. Are you really going to do this?

“I might have an idea for today.”

Apparently you are.

Elias’ eyes finally focus on you, expression curious. He doesn’t say anything but he’s clearly waiting for you to continue, so you take a deep breath and go for it.

“I’ve never gone skating.”

An hour later you’re at the local outdoor ice rink, and it’s not until you see the crowd that you realize this might’ve not been your smartest idea. It’s Sunday, it’s December, it’s not awfully cold: you think at least 1/3rd of Vancouver is at this rink.

“Uhm, I might not have thought this through,” you state a little bashfully. You can already see a few Canucks jerseys on the ice, and although you can’t see the back that well you wouldn’t be surprised if a bunch of them carried the number 40.

Elias shrugs. He seems unbothered, but then he mostly does. You can never really read him, and it’s one of the things you find most unnerving about him.

“It’ll be fine,” he says. “I’m wearing my glasses.”

He is wearing his glasses, which he rarely does. You’re not even sure he needs them or if they’re just a fashion statement. He’s also wearing a hat, so maybe he’s thought this through more than you.

But surely just glasses and a snapback won’t stop Vancouver from recognizing the Canucks biggest star?

Apparently, it does.

Elias goes to rent the skates, because he couldn’t be bothered to go back to his apartment to get his own. He’s put them on within 20 seconds, while you’re still struggling to wiggle your foot into the first one.

He laughs and you shoot him a deathly glare.

“Don’t laugh at me! We can’t all be professional hockey players.”

“I don’t think you need to be a professional anything to lace up a skate,” Elias answers dryly. He turns to face you, then pats his leg. “Give me your foot.” 

It’s embarrassing to make Elias tie your skates, but it would be more embarrassing to ignore him and then spend 20 minutes struggling with them. So you swing your foot into his lap. 

Long fingers work swiftly around your laces, and suddenly your skate is tied, fitted closely around your ankle. Elias pats your shin, then holds out his hand for the other foot. 

You swing your second leg into his lap. 

“I don’t know how you do this so fast,” you mutter. You can feel the flush on your cheeks and you hope Elias assumes it’s because of the cold.

“I’ve got many talents,” Elias deadpans, and you can’t stop yourself from laughing. 

“Juggling, unicycle riding, and lacing skates?” 

Elias nods. There’s a smile tugging at his lips. “All very important skills.” 

Finally, you put your skates back on the floor and waggle towards the door to. the rink. Elias has jumped onto the ice before you can even think about moving. 

You stop. Is this really a good idea? You could break both your legs here.

“Don’t be scared,” Elias says, correcting guessing the root of your hesitation. He’s gliding on his skates with ease, shuffling back and forth the way hockey players always do during the anthems.

Because he’s waiting. For you. Because you’re going skating together.

This is the weirdest fucking thing that’s ever happened to you, kinda like a fever dream; and that’s enough motivation to step onto the ice.

You stumble a bit, and Elias reaches out to grab your elbow to steady you.

“Careful, it’s slippery.”

“Unsurprisingly,” you mumble beneath your breath, and Elias’ grin goes a little wicked before he promptly lets go off your elbow and slides back.

Bastard. But the ice is slippery and you’re not steady on your skates, so you scramble forward only just enough to reach Elias again, wrapping your hands tightly around his arm.

“Do not let go,” you hiss.

“Do not be a smartass,” he shoots back, but thankfully he doesn’t move away again. Instead, he carefully takes both your hands away from his arm and takes them into his own, turning so he’s skating backwards and pulling you along.

If you don’t have to move your own feet, moving is a lot more fun, and you feel yourself loosening up. Every now and then you stumble, but Elias’ grip on you is firm and he never wavers, even when you yank on his hands to pull yourself upright again.

You’ve always noticed how graceful Elias is on the ice. There’s something about him when he skates that has always caught your attention, even if you would never admit that to him. But without the hockey gear, it’s even more clear how elegant he moves.

You, not so much.

“You better not be laughing at me,” you grumble, a little annoyed that you have to cling onto Elias as a lifeline in order not to break your neck. 

Elias raises an eyebrow. “I never do that.”

It should sound sarcastic but it really doesn’t, and you wonder if he’s momentarily forgotten every single interaction you’ve had with him over the past year.

Your expression must speak volumes because he rolls his eyes. He swiftly moves, so he’s skating next to you instead of in front.

He’s still holding your hand.

“I never laugh at you,” he clarifies. “I laugh because you’re funny. It’s different.”

And, oh. That does something to your stomach, something that you probably shouldn’t be thinking about right now.

Elias doesn’t seem to want to dwell on it either, because suddenly he pulls his hand away, skating a bit to the front to where you can’t reach him.

“You can do it on your own,” he calls over his shoulder, a cheeky smile playing around his lips.

And it turns out you can: you don’t fall, you keep moving – albeit a lot slower than Elias – and it’s actually kinda fun.

You can do it on your own, but. It was more fun with Elias next to you, anyway.

--

When Elias texts you to tell you you’re going to the Christmas market that night, you haven’t seen him in three days.

But you’ve been texting. He’s been sending you stupid Christmas songs that you mostly don’t listen to, and Christmas movies you’d prefer to never see. You send him ideas for cliché Christmas stories that you can almost hear his disapproving snort for. 

Santa becomes a prima donna and holds Christmas hostage until his ego is stroked in the form of songs written in his honor by reindeer who are willing to give their very lives for the cause.

Elias’ answer comes swift.

No. That has definitely been done before and also, someone could call animal services.

When Brock asks you how you’re liking your time with Elias, when you FaceTime him during dinner, you fall into silence.

What are you gonna tell him? That you smile every time you see his name pop up on your phone? That you have no idea anymore why you didn’t like him all that time? That you now understand what he meant when he used to say “Petey just needs a little time”?

“It’s going,” you hum noncommittally, chopping another carrot.

Brock laughs. “You’re so full of bullshit. I can literally see you trying to hide a smile. You realized I’m right, didn’t you?”

“You need to shut up,” you tell him without any heat. “We’re civil. He’s bored, I’m in the middle of writer’s block crisis. We’re not getting married, Boes, it’s just better than doing nothing the whole week you’ve deserted me.”

“Sure,” Brock drawls, and it doesn’t sound like he believes you at all.

“How’s the pups?” you ask, and Brock laughs because that wasn’t even slightly subtle for a topic change. He clearly decides to let you, however, starts talking about Milo’s new habit of burying people’s gloves in the yard.

The thing is, you don’t really wanna talk about Elias with Brock when you don’t even know yourself what you think of him yet. Fine, you don’t hate him, that’s clear. You’ve realized his air of indifference is just a shield, a wall that crumples as soon as he laughs. His teasing remarks are familiar now, feel friendly the way they feel when they come from Brock, and you’ve realized he’s one of the funniest, smartest, and kindest people you know.

But Brock would just push it into something it’s not. When he comes back, you’ll probably go back to being ‘Brock’s friend’ instead Elias’, and you wouldn’t be surprised if everything goes back to the way things were. Maybe with less animosity, but when Elias has a bunch of different people to choose from, why would he choose to hang out with you?

But for now, he doesn’t have any other people to hang out with and he does choose to hang out with you, and you’re hit once again with how weird that is when you step into his car the next evening.

“Dude, it’s way too cold to be going outside,” you grumble, shutting the door of his car behind you. Inside the car it’s warm and cozy, and Elias has an amused expression on his face when he turns to you.

“Good evening,” he deadpans, “I’m good, thank you, how are you?”

“Right.” You can feel your cheeks flush and hope he thinks it’s because of the heat in the car. “Sorry.”

Elias laughs. “It’s not that cold,” he chides, pulling the car into the road. “You just didn’t dress properly.”

You look down at yourself. You thought you’d dressed quite warm, but there’s an icy chill in the air that promises a chance of snow, so maybe it’s not warm enough. You didn’t even take gloves, you realize now, or a hat.

Well.

Elias is grinning while he stares ahead at the road, and you kinda wanna smack him except for how it also makes you smile. He’s dressed a lot warmer than you, and with the scarf almost up to his chin and a beanie on his head there’s not much risk of him being recognized anywhere.

“I brought extra gloves,” Elias says, then. “You’re not gonna be able to enjoy it if your hands are cold.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Elias, not to be a downer, but we’re going to a busy market that revolves entirely around Christmas, and I don’t like Christmas or crowds. I don’t think I’m gonna enjoy myself either way.”

“We’ll see,” Elias says simply, and it sounds like a promise.

It’s easy to keep up the conversation on the way there, light teasing from you and genuine interest from him. It’s comfortable, both the warmth in the car and Elias’ laugh next to you, and when he parks the car you almost don’t wanna get out.

At least he does have gloves for you, and he gives you a scarf, so you’re not that cold when you step out into the night air.

The Christmas market is busy, hoards of happy people looking for some Christmas cheer. You stick close to Elias’ side: if you lose him in this crowd, you’ll never find him back.

At least it’s pretty. The sky is already dark but the Christmas market has been lit up with seemingly millions of lights in every color imaginable.

“I don’t think purple is very Christmassy,” you say, flicking a purple light hanging off the stall that Elias is browsing.

“I prefer the white ones,” he answers, eyes kept firmly on the handmade ornaments in the stall. “They look like stars.” He turns, holding out an ornament. It’s a glass star, and it reflects the lights like a kaleidoscope.

It’s, objectively, beautiful. You don’t have to like Christmas to love it, but when you reach out for it, Elias laughs and pulls it out of your reach.

“I thought we decided you’re not to be trusted with glass.”

He’s referencing a time long ago, when you were hanging out with Brock and he happened to be there, and you dropped a glass and Brock had made a whole spectacle of it.

To be fair, you hadn’t really put Elias in the memory you keep of that day, because he was simply there: as Brock’s friend, as someone who happens to linger in the background. He’s lingering in the background of many memories, you realize now, but you’re starting to realize you prefer the ones where he’s front and center.

You walk past more stalls, filled with either tacky Christmas stuff – you buy Brock some socks with Santa on them because you can’t not – or handmade things, which you actually like looking at. Elias buys some things for his parents – “I’ll send them to Sweden,” he says, and he looks a little too sad so you start chatting about how Rouss kinda resembles a reindeer, somehow.

You’re walking past the food stalls when Elias asks: “How’s the writing going?”

You freeze. That’s not a question you were ready for, and it leads to the inevitable urge to blurt out the truth. “I haven’t started. I just don’t think I can.”

Elias’ eyes on you are thoughtful, like he’s searching for something in your soul. If he tries hard enough, you think he’ll look right through you: nobody has ever made you feel so open, so visible, as he does.

“Brock didn’t tell you why I don’t like Christmas, did he?”

“No,” Elias admits, “but I figured it was a better reason than red is not your color.”

“Hey!” you protest, stepping to the side so you can bump your shoulder against his. “Red is totally my color!”

It’s not, but Elias doesn’t push it. Instead, he smiles warmly, and suddenly you want to tell him.

“When I was young, my parents used to fight a lot. One day, two weeks before Christmas, they got into a massive fight. I listened to them from my bedroom and then my dad came upstairs and told me he was going to find me the perfect Christmas tree. He got in his car and went to get the tree, or so I thought. I never saw him again.”

You sigh. “It’s not, like… I’m over it, mostly. I just can’t help but feel that same feeling every year around Christmas. It’s like hoping for something you know will never happen. Like you’re reading a book and the happy ending never comes. ”

“That’s why it’s hard to write the story,” Elias hazards a guess. He looks curious, but he doesn’t look like he feels bad for you, which is what you would’ve disliked the most.

He points to one of the stalls, then. “They make the best hot chocolate in town. Want one?”

You nod, following him towards the stall as you continue talking. “It is. But I do also find Christmas stories boring to write. It’s always the same concept, just in a million different ways.”

Elias smiles. “That’s the fun of it, no? You know the happy ending always comes. It makes you feel good.”

“It’s boring,” you repeat, stubbornly. “The girl from the big city with a job paying upwards of 8 figures goes back to her hometown for Christmas and somehow falls for some high school fling who still lives in a basement, but makes a mean cup of hot chocolate and says thing like ‘What can I say? I was stupid.’” You cross your arms. “You can’t tell me if we took the Christmas element away you would voluntarily read that story.”

Elias laughs. “Some people would. Isn’t that basically the story from The Notebook?”

“Have you ever watched The Notebook, Elias?” you frown, and he shrugs.

“No, but Brock said it made him cry.”

Which isn’t surprising, because a lot of movies have made Brock cry. You wonder what Elias would do if you put on The Notebook on your upcoming Christmas movie night.

Elias turns around, then, two steaming cups of hot chocolate in his hands. He smirks when he hands it to you.

“What can I say? I was stupid,” he quotes, and you can’t help but giggle as you take the cup from him.

“You didn’t make this, you just paid for it. It doesn’t count that way.”

“After this we should probably go,” he says then, glancing at his watch.

The words sink into your stomach like a heavy stone of dread; you don’t really want to go home, and the realization hits you like a ton of bricks. You’re happy, right now, and if ‘feeling Christmassy’ basically translates to feeling happy, well…

It’s not Christmas, though, that’s got you feeling this way. You could care less about the pine trees and the tacky music and the reindeer and the big man with the white beard and red hat.

You care more about the blonde man beside you, staring into the distance with the brightest blue eyes, and the way he somehow always makes you laugh.

Damn it. How much you hate it when Brock is right.

--

With Brock telling you how much Elias likes Christmas movies, and Elias having pushed you for this Christmas movie marathon for days on end, you were expecting a bit more excitement from him when it finally happens.

You can tell something is wrong from the moment you open the door. He’s standing with his hands in his pockets, and when he smiles at you it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Hey,” he says softly, moving past you into your apartment.

“I hope you’re ready to rewatch the same exact movie with only minor differences all night,” you joke, but Elias doesn’t even look up as he methodically pulls off his coat, kicks off his shoes and pitter patters into your living room.

He scoffs when he sees your tree, still empty except for the Canucks ornament that he got you.

“Really?” he asks, and for the first time in a while you can’t tell if he’s joking or actually upset with you.

This is the Elias that you knew before, the one that you didn’t like because you could never reach him, guarding his heart like a fort. But this time, you know what it’s like to have the other Elias, and you already miss having that Elias in your life.

“Sorry to disappoint,” you bring out, and it comes out a bit shaky. Elias turns around and his face softens slightly.

“I didn’t mean that.” He sighs. “I nearly canceled this.”

Your heart sinks.

“I get grumpy when I’m not feeling good and I don’t want to take it out on you.” He sinks down onto your couch, kicks his feet up on the coffee table like he’s been there a million times before. “But I didn’t wanna cancel, so. I didn’t.” He sounds almost helpless, like he’s not sure if he should be saying what he’s saying.

But your traitorous heart lifts immediately. If he didn’t want to cancel, it means he wants to be here, and that’s really all you need to know.

“Well, I’m gonna make popcorn, then,” you say, keeping your voice light. “You pick the movie. I don’t care. They’re all the same anyway.”

Elias rolls his eyes, but it’s good natured. “They’re not the same!” he calls after you as you disappear into the kitchen.

“Every Christmas movie ever was written by someone who didn’t know what to write,” you tell him, knowing he can still hear you from the kitchen – the benefits of living in a tiny apartment. “Writer’s block? No problem. The solution: a little bit of Christmas magic. ‘We can’t pay the rent’, ‘I’m sick’, ‘My boss is making me work on Christmas’. Poof, with a jingle of bells, problems solved in the form of a generous benefactor, aspirin, or a hit man.”

“If that’s the case, why can’t you write a Christmas story?” Elias calls back teasing, and you give him the finger through the wall.

He might not see it, but you’re certain he can feel it.

You take the popcorn and walk back to the couch, letting yourself drop onto it next to Elias. You misjudge the distance a bit, causing you to sit a little too close to Elias for it to be strictly friendly; but Elias doesn’t budge, so you don’t move either.

You’re pressed against Elias shoulder to thigh, and you can feel his body shake when he laughs.

“I like this cliché,” he says, nodding towards the television. “Let’s see if you can guess it.”

You watch the movie in relative silence, eating popcorn and enjoying the warmth of Elias body against yours. You have to admit you lose focus every now and then: the movie isn’t that bad, but it’s hard to focus on anything with Elias so close. Every now and then, when something funny happens, he exhales a sharp breath of laughter, and sometimes he hums as if he’s agreeing with what’s happening on screen.

He smells nice, too, and finally you get tired enough that you get a little brave: you let your head drop against his shoulder, tugging your feet under yourself.

“Figured it out, yet?” Elias asks softly.

“Yep,” you answer. The movie is nearing the end but you figured it out within the first ten minutes. “Basic physics, not to mention common sense, are thrown to the wind as Christmas repeats every day, disappears from the calendar, or is hurled into the past or future.”

Elias doesn’t respond, and suddenly you wanna know.

“Are you okay?” It’s probably a weird question, and very out of the blue, so you hurry trying to explain. “Cause you came in very sad, and like, if you don’t wanna talk about it with me that’s fine but I think it’s good to talk about things sometimes so if you wanna…”

“I’m fine,” Elias says, cutting you off, but it doesn’t sound dismissive. It sounds a little amused, and when you turn to look at him, you find him smiling. “Worried about me?”

And it’s the strangest thing, but you are. “A little.”

Elias’ face softens. “I promise I’m okay,” he says. He reaches out, then, places his hand on yours and squeezes. “I just talked to my parents before I came here, on Skype, and they were talking about Christmas and it sucks that I can’t see them for the holidays. But it is what it is.” He shrugs. “I sulk for a bit and then I move on.”

You never really go home for the holidays, but you understand how awful it must be to be stuck alone in Canada with your whole family in Sweden.

You blame the quiet, late night energy for what comes out of your mouth next.

“I think I could be convinced to make you a Christmas dinner if you ask nicely.”

Elias laughs, and his hand is warm when you turn your palm up and he laces his fingers through yours.

“If I ask nicely, will you watch another movie with me right now?”

You pull the Christmas themed throw blanket over your legs before letting your head drop against Elias’ shoulder once again.  

“You don’t even have to ask.”

--

“I have an idea,” Elias says through the phone, and you don’t quite recognize the tone in his voice at first. “Well, it was Brock’s idea, but I think it’s a good one.”

Anything that was Brock’s idea immediately fills you with doubt, and you frown. “What?”

That’s when you realize: Elias sounds excited.

“Brock knows someone with a cottage, about two hours from here. It’s in the forest and it’s supposedly very Christmassy. We should go for a night.”

He sounds quietly pleased, and you don’t have the heart to tell him no.

“Okay.”

Objectively, though, it’s an awful idea. A Christmassy cottage in the forest also sounds like it would be very romantic, and you’ve finally come to terms with the fact that what you feel for Elias is definitely not just friendly comradery at this point. Feeding this feeling would not be smart, considering the fact that it’s almost Christmas and after that you’ll most likely never spend time with Elias like this again.

Sure, he might be at parties with the other Canucks or Brock might invite him for drinks with you, but it won’t be like this. You’re not stupid enough to think this will last: that would be a real Christmas miracle, and Christmas miracles don’t exist.

“Sometimes I wish I could read your mind.” Elias’ voice startles you despite the fact that his words come out softly. It’s been quiet in the car, apart from the low murmur of the radio in the background, for a good fifteen minutes.

You’re on your way to the cottage and your thoughts are going a million miles per hour.

You look over at Elias. He’s staring ahead at the road, one hand on the wheel and the other in his lap. He looks relaxed. Comfortable.

“It’s usually nothing interesting,” you say, and you thank the universe that he can’t know what’s going on in your mind.

“Are you thinking about your story?” he asks, and you weren’t, but it’s as good an excuse as any.

“I’ve gotta email it to my professor in four days,” you admit. “And I haven’t put a single word on paper yet.”

You’ve tried, that’s for sure. You’ve spent hours on your laptop, staring at a Word document. You’ve typed sentences and deleted them, tried to outline the story or just wing it while typing. Nothing works, nothing feels right when it stares back at you from the screen.

Elias hums noncommittally. “I think you think about it too much,” he says. “Just don’t worry about it. And write what you know.”

You scoff. “I don’t think anyone wants to read a Christmas story about a father who bails on his family, Elias. Nobody likes sad Christmas stories.”

He smiles. “Any sad Christmas cliches on your list?”

“Each and every event, whether holiday related or not, is tainted through the loss of a dead relative. Example: “Can I have a glass of water?” “Your, uh, *swallow*, your grandmother used to drink water.””

Elias laughs before reaching for the radio and turning up the music. You never listen to Christmas music, as a rule, but somehow you don’t hate it now that it’s blasting through his stupid sports car, the world flying past you through the window.

The drive is filled with Elias humming along to Christmas music and you laughing whenever he pulls a face at one of the lyrics. You spend at least 30 minutes debating if ‘Baby It’s Cold Outside’ should still be allowed on the radio – no – and whether or not Michael Buble is the king of Christmas – in Europe, apparently yes.

By the time you reach the cottage, you feel a lot more positive.

Until you see it.

“Uhm,” you bring out, staring at the place in front of you. Elias barks out a laugh, but it sounds mostly disbelieving.

“When Brock said ‘cottage in the forest’, I pictured something different,” he says sheepishly.

“I guess this shows the power of speech?” you offer. “Like, ‘cottage in the forest’ and you think of this beautiful rustic romantic getaway. But this is more ‘cabin in the woods’: I think we’re about to get murdered.”

Elias raises an eyebrow. “Romantic?” he repeats, an amused tilt to his voice, and you nearly get back in the car.

Way to put your foot in your mouth.

Luckily for you Elias doesn’t dwell on it. Instead he wanders inside, where at the very least it looks a little better.

It’s cold, and there’s no working electricity, but there’s a fireplace and a billion candles, and it’s decorated quite cosy. Maybe even Christmassy, if you really squint: although you’re happy to notice there’s no tree.

It’s easier than you thought it would be, to spend an evening in some dodgy cabin with Elias. It’s easy to chat about everything and nothing, to cook dinner with him. How domestic it feels to tease him about how slowly he chops the mushrooms, while he somehow makes sure your wine glass is always full.

Silence doesn’t fall until long after dinner. The fireplace is on, fickle candle light giving the room an orange glow. You’ve somehow ended up with your feet in Elias’ lap, although you can’t remember how they got there: you’re painfully aware of the heavy grip of his hand around your ankle.

The wine has given your brain a nice fuzzy feeling, has softened up the edges around your thoughts. And all you can think, now, is how nice this is: to have Elias right there next to you, blue eyes fixed on the ember flames burning in front of you.

“I’m glad that Brock kept forcing us to hang out,” you say, without thinking. Elias glances over at you.

“Forcing us?” he repeats, as if he’s not sure what you mean.

You shrug. “Come on, Elias, we didn’t like each other before this. You probably didn’t want to hang out with me as much as I didn’t want to hang out with you.”

The words hang heavy in the air for a second. If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear you saw Elias flinch.

“Actually,” he says tightly, and your heart does a traitorous swoop. “Brock never forced me to come. I always asked. If I knew he was gonna see you, I asked to come along.”

The words hit you like a freight train. You can feel your heart beating in your chest. But surely there’s no way you’ve been wrong all this time?

Brock did say Elias didn’t hate you.

“But… I thought you didn’t like me.” Your voice sounds small in the quiet room. It feels different here, so far away from the city: when the night is so silent all your thoughts sound so loud.

Elias shrugs. He doesn’t look upset, per se, but his face is carefully closed off and you know now that’s not a good sign.

“I know you thought that,” he says, voice flat. “I know that first night I came off as rude.” His smile is wry. “I was nervous, I didn’t really speak English, and you’re very pretty. I guess it was a recipe for disaster, on my end, so it doesn’t surprise me you didn’t like me.”  

You can feel the blood rush to your cheeks, your heart pounding in your throat. You’re hearing his words but they sound almost foreign, and you can’t quite believe he’s really saying them.

“I’ve always liked you, though,” Elias adds, almost as an afterthought, carelessly like it doesn’t matter. Like he doesn’t know what that does to you, your mind going into overdrive.

You’re not an easy person to like. That’s not you being hard on yourself, you just know you judge too harshly, react too quickly. You go into downwards spirals of negative thoughts, you put opinions into people’s mouths, and most of all, you don’t believe in happily ever after.

People, in your experience, don’t stick around for people who won’t promise them happily ever after.

But Elias is here, having brought you to this cabin, having pushed and pushed to be around you: and you didn’t even notice. You thought he was just doing Brock a favor, you thought he was just bored. He’s not been very outgoing about his affections, but you can tell that they’re there; from the way he’s put up your Christmas tree to how he always listens to every word that falls from your lips. No, he’s not been very outgoing about with his affections but he’s been plentiful with them, and you just didn’t notice.

“Elias,” you start, but the sentence dies on your lips when he turns to face you, suddenly a lot closer than he was before.

“What about now?” he asks. You must look as confused as you feel, because he clarifies right away. “What do you think about me now?”

There’s nothing unsure about the question, and you think the answer is been pretty clear. You wouldn’t be here if the answer wasn’t clear. But despite that, despite that he seems to already know what you’re gonna say, you wanna say it anyway. You think you have to say it anyway.

“Now I like you,” you tell him, sitting up straighter. “I really like you, Elias.”

The last thing you register is the pleased smile tugging at the edges of Elias’ mouth, and then his lips are against yours.

The kiss is soft but not hesitant. Maybe he’s giving you time to think about it, this way, if this is what you want: but in that moment there’s nothing you want more, nothing but a fierce desire to trace your hands down his body.

As soon as your fingers touch his arm, Elias deepens the kiss. He kisses exactly how you would expect him to; giving you everything, no trace of doubt or hesitation.

There’s nothing frantic about it, nothing scary. With every second that ticks by you fall a little further into it, your mind a lovely shade of blank – with the exception of the boy in front of you, like all your nerves screaming his name.

“Hey.” Elias’ voice is soft as he pulls away. He doesn’t take his hands away from where they’re laying against the bare skin of your back. “We don’t have to go further.”

He’s giving you an out, you realize, a second to gather your thoughts. You could pull away now, you could put some space between the two of you.

You scoot forward, moving even more into his lap, and carefully curl your hand around his jaw. He leans into it slightly, and your heart screams with how much you want him.

You don’t answer. Even as a writer, you realize that words are sometimes overrated. Instead, you press your lips against his, placing your heart in his hands as you kiss him once more.  

--

It takes about two hours after you get back to your apartment for the reality of it all to comes crashing down at you.

The night at the cabin was wonderful; magical, even. If you would write the perfect Christmas story, it would be a lot like that.

Except you’re not writing a Christmas story – you should, of course, but you haven’t started and that’s because Christmas stories are unrealistic.

You and Elias, your story - no matter how wonderful – is unrealistic. What were you thinking? That Elias, being who he is, would simply… What? Become your boyfriend?

He’s Vancouver’s biggest star, everyone’s favorite person. You’re just another lonely writer who lives mostly in their own brain. You’re just someone else who is hard to love; like your parents, like your sister, like all the friends you’ve seen get their hearts broken.

You call Brock.

“Wow, calm down,” are the first words that come out of his mouth when he finally speaks. You’ve told him most of the story by then, sentences coming out in shallow breaths and tears already burning in the back of your throat. “What the hell do you mean ‘hard to love’? That’s bullshit.”

“It’s not.” You swallow. “Brock, it’s not real. What I’m feeling. People fall in love all the time and they all believe that’s it, their perfect story, but how often does that story end up a tragedy?”

“Y/N…” He sounds mostly sad. “You can’t live like that.”

But your mind was made up long ago, so long ago when you were just a child. When you saw the tragedy that was your parents love story, and then later it was only settled deeper, when you saw your friends get hurt, when your sister got cheated on.

“I can’t make myself the protagonist of my own tragedy.”

“Petey isn’t going to break your heart.” Brock’s voice is sharp, and you realize this is not a fair position to put him into: how can he be honest to you when that means breaking Elias’ trust?

“He won’t mean to,” you whisper. “But it’ll happen. It might not even be his fault. I’ll probably break my own heart somewhere along the line. But happiness doesn’t just come along this suddenly, Boes.”

“What is it does?” Brock asks, and you don’t have an answer.

What if it does is less scary what if it doesn’t, and the next few days when Elias calls, you don’t pick up the phone.

--

You shouldn’t have opened the door.

“You’re avoiding me.” Elias sounds... hurt. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him sound like that. You’ve learned that when he’s upset, he mostly sounds indifferent; locks his emotions behind a wall for nobody to see.

And maybe it’s a testament to how well you know him, now, that you can pick up on the change in his voice. Or maybe it means he’s decided to let you in.

God, you hope it’s not that last one. Hope he didn’t make that mistake.

You sigh. “I’m sorry, but…”

“Don’t.” Elias cuts you off by pushing past you into the apartment. He stands glaring at you in the middle of the living room, arm crossed. “You’re not doing this.”

You have to.

“It’s just not gonna work,” you try. There goes the crack in your heart, bursting open like someone squeezes it with an iron fist.

You’re doing this to yourself. But that’s better than the alternative: better than having Elias do it way further into the story, when there’s something to destroy.

There’s nothing to destroy, now. There’s only the prologue to the story, and now the epilogue. A story with no middle won’t be remembered.  

“That’s not true.” Elias isn’t backing down. “You can’t tell me nothing this past month has meant anything to you.” He frowns. “Does this have anything to do with your Christmas thing? Would it be different if this had happened in January?”

You laugh, but there’s no humor there. If only it was that simple.

“This has nothing to do with Christmas, Elias. This just isn’t real. There’s no happy ending to my storyline, and I’m not dragging you down with me.”

You let your eyes fix on him, on the way he stands there stubbornly, still fighting for something. For you. If only it made a difference.

Elias doesn’t say anything, for a while. Finally, voice timid, he says: “You’re gonna throw this away because you’re scared.”

You are scared. But that’s not why you’re doing this.

“Damn it, Y/N.” Frustration rings clear in Elias’ voice, now. “I know you feel what I feel! You can’t just ruin that because you’re not brave enough to say what you want!”

“It doesn’t make a difference, Elias!” You’re hurting too, and you can hear your own voice getting too loud.

“I wanna live in a world where people don’t get hurt, and everyone’s got enough money and nobody ever has to skip a meal!” You swallow, hot tears pricking behind your eyes. “I wanna live in a world where people don’t get in the car to get a Christmas tree and never come back, and I wanna live in a world where Santa’s real, Elias, but that’s just not reality. That’s not how life works.”  

Elias’ eyes are dark, his jaw tense. You know you’re not gonna like what he’s got to say before he’s even opened his mouth.

“Maybe not,” he says tightly, “but you live in a world where people can choose to love each other. It doesn’t have anything to do with Santa, or magic. None of those things are real, but love is real, and you can choose to believe in that.”

He grabs his jacket, is walking towards the door before you can even comprehend what he’s saying. At the door, he turns around. His eyes shine with sadness.

“I want to love you, but you have to choose to believe that, too. And if you can’t, then I guess it won’t ever be real.”

When the door closes, the last piece of your heart breaks in two.

--

“Merry Christmas!”

Brock’s voice is bright and cheery. He’s clearly only just woken up, his blond hair a mess and Milo passed out in his lap.

“It’s not even Christmas yet,” you tease. You curl your legs closer to yourself, your coffee in one hand and your phone in the other. It’s nice to see Brock, even if it’s just over FaceTime.

Getting your heart broken is even worse when you can’t really talk about it to your best friend, because you also broke your best friend’s other best friend’s heart.

It’s a complicated issue, is the thing.

“It’s Christmas Eve tonight,” Brock says, rolling his eyes. “That’s basically Christmas. Are you still moping?”

“Hey,” you protest. “I’m not moping. I’m sad. It’s different.”

You have been moping, a bit. The first two days after your final talk with Elias, you didn’t even really come out of bed. You just sat there and you wrote.

That’s the only good thing to come out of this, you think. You somehow not only wrote your story, it’s maybe the best story you’ve ever written.

“I know. I’m sorry.” Brock’s voice is gentle. “You can talk to me, you know? I won’t use anything you say against you or tell Petey or whatever. He’s been talking to me too.”

Your heart does a somersault. If Elias has been talking to Brock, Brock probably already knows everything; in a way, you can’t believe he’s still talking to you if that’s the case.

More than that, though, it brings an opportunity. To find out what you’ve been wondering since Elias stepped out of your apartment.

“Is he alright?”

“Are you?” Brock counters, like that matters.

You stare at the coffee in your cup. It’s too hot to drink still, little puffs of steam climbing through the air.

You’re not doing so well, admittedly, but that’s probably fair. You were the one to broke off the story, in the end. And you hate to admit it to yourself – and you definitely won’t admit it to Brock – but you’ve been wondering if you made the right choice.

“I wrote my Christmas story,” you say, instead of answering his question. “Handed it in yesterday.”

Brock lets you change the subject. “Cool. What did it ended up being about?”

You sigh. “It was about me.”

Brock raises his eyebrows, interest clear in his eyes. He doesn’t push you, and you’re glad for it. You need a moment to find the words.

“I wrote about a girl who hates Christmas because it reminds her of things that she’s lost. And I wrote about how scared she is of gaining something because that means she can lose it again.”

Brock’s voice is soft when he speaks. “But someone teaches her? In the story?”

He knows you too well. You laugh quietly. “Yes, someone takes her through all these Christmas cliches to make her realize why they’re cliches. It’s not because of the act itself. It’s because you spend time doing it with someone you love.”

“She loves this person, the one that teaches her,” Brock hazards a guess.

There’s no longer any doubt that he knows exactly how you feel about Elias.

“She loves him but that scares her even more. Because if she loves him, she could lose him. And Christmas has always been the time to remind her of loss and heartbreak. So she assumes it’ll just end in hurt this time too.”

“It doesn’t have to,” Brock says.

And you know. Somehow, writing the story, you realized that. Because as you wrote about this girl, that was exactly like you, you found yourself not wanting to give the story a realistic ending. You wanted to make it right, wanted her to end up with the person who taught her how to love Christmas and how to love him.

So you did. You gave your story a happy ending. And in doing that, it’s like you gave yourself permission to want a happy ending for yourself, too.

But there’s just no way. Life isn’t a fairytale, and the Christmas cliché where the girl who throws it all away gets back her perfect boy by stealing Santa’s microphone in the mall and making a grand speech about how pushing him away was the biggest mistake of her life, simply isn’t real life material.

“It’s not too late, you know.” Brock’s sitting up straighter, almost as if he wants to come through the camera and tell you in person. “If you wanted to change the ending. You could. He’d let you.”

Your heart starts beating faster and it has nothing to do with the caffeine you’re drinking.

All this time, you’ve been wondering. Wondering if it’s too late.

“How would I do that?” you ask. “Hypothetically.” 

Brock’s grin is so bright you nearly have to close your eyes. “Send him the story,” he says, without thinking about it; the jerk probably has been thinking about this since you started telling him what it’s about. “You should send him the story. Kinda like a message in a bottle.”

When you say goodbye to Brock, his eyes are fond when you tell him “Thank you” and mean it. Without him, you don’t think you would’ve had the courage, but now it feels like the only possible ending comes with you taking your Word document and putting it in an email.

--

To: e.pettersson40@hotmail.com

Attachment: Not a typical Christmas story.pdf

Message:

Elias,

I’ve tried to write this letter a million times, to tell you what I should’ve said that night. I can’t say I’m not scared what you’ll think, but who am I to know what the future holds? If my heart was paper I’d fold it, throw it to the wind and hope it’d end up in your arms. So here it is, my paper heart, in the form of the most cliché Christmas story of them all. The one where everyone ends up with their perfect happily ever after.

Signed with love from me to you,

Y/N.

--

There’s three rapid knocks on the door, and then silence.

Your heartbeat speeds up like you heard gunshots instead. Within seconds you’re on your feet, almost running to the door.

There’s only one person that could be at your door on Christmas morning at 9am, right?

When you open it, something heavy dissolves in your stomach, a sense of comfort falling over you like crawling into bed after an exhausting day.

“Elias,” you breathe.

For a second, you just stare at him: he looks like he’s barely slept at all, dark circles surrounding his eyes, which somehow seem more blue than they ever have before.

“Merry Christmas,” Elias says then, thrusting something forward. You grab it in reflex.

It’s the glass star, the ornament from the Christmas market. The one that you had told Elias you found beautiful, the one that reflected all the lights like a million little stars. The one that reminded you, even, of Elias’ eyes.

It’s still beautiful. And suddenly there’s tears running down your cheeks, warm against your skin.

Elias frowns. He looks a little worried, unsure; as if he shouldn’t be here. But God, he is here, on your doorstep, and he brought you this ornament, and you know that it has to mean what you think it does.

“I’m sorry,” you bring out. “For everything, I…”

You can’t finish your sentence, because Elias steps forward, his arms outstretched, and you launch yourself at him like a missile. He catches you easily, presses you against his chest and buries his face in your shoulder.

“I read the story,” he mumbles. You can barely make out the words, but they hit you like a ton of bricks anyway. “You believe in Christmas miracles now?”

You can hear the smile in his voice as he asks, because he already knows the answer.

“I don’t know,” you admit. You pull away a little, but keep your arms firmly locked around Elias’ waist, and his hands remain on your back. “But you’re here, so. I think I might have to start.”

Elias laughs, moving closer again to press a kiss against your head. You can feel his lips move against your hair when he speaks. “What about us? You believe in us, now?”

You don’t answer him, but you think he can tell from the way you kiss him, anyway.

--

You tug the blanket tighter around your shoulders, smiling down at the opposite end of the couch. Elias is talking in Swedish and you don’t understand a word he’s saying, but you can tell that he’s happy, smile bright and eyes fixed on the laptop screen in front of him.

He’s been talking to his family for the past hour, and watching him has been a great source of entertainment for you. He blushed when his brother mentioned your name, and finally he did introduce you to them.

“This is Y/N, I’m forcing her to watch Christmas movies with me all day and then bake cookies,” he’d laughed, and you didn’t tell him that there’s nothing you’d rather do.

“Jag älskar dig, hejdå,” Elias says, and then he finally closes the laptop. “Hey,” he hums, poking your thigh with his toe, “my mom said she can’t wait to meet you, so. Be warned.”

You laugh. “I would love to go to Sweden. I read something about cakes.”

It feels natural, to crawl over to the other side of the couch and lay down between Elias’ legs, head resting on his chest. You can hear his heartbeat under your ear and it’s enough for your eyes to close on their own accord.

It’s not like you’ve had much sleep the past few nights. But now, you think you could finally sleep peacefully, knowing that Elias is here and he’s not leaving.

His hand moves down your side, sneaking under your sweater, fingertips soft against your skin.

“It’s snowing,” he says, suddenly, and you open your eyes to look out the window.

Indeed, there’s little flurries of white powder fluttering through the grey Vancouver sky.

“That’s too much,” you roll your eyes. “The great grandmother of Christmas cliches.” Elias raises a questioning eyebrow, so you explain. “As the final crisis is resolved, everyone runs out in the street on Christmas Eve to discover that it’s snowing! In Nigeria! During a drought!”

“We’re in Vancouver,” Elias deadpans, and it’s only because you know him so well that you see the mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “And it’s not Christmas Eve, it’s Christmas Day.”

“Minor details,” you shrug, placing your head back on his chest and closing your eyes again.

“We’ve gotta decorate this sad excuse of a tree.” You can hear the smile in Elias’ voice as he talks. “Two ornaments does not make a Christmas tree.”

“Later,” you hum, curling your fingers into his sweater. “We’ve got all day.”

Elias laughs. “The tree is supposed to be decorated before Christmas, typically.”

You can’t help but smile at that. “We’re not a typical Christmas story, though.”

“Maybe not typical, but still pretty good.” His arms tighten around you and you can feel him press a kiss into your hair.

“Pretty fucking good,” you agree. “If you get me off this couch today it’ll be a Christmas miracle though.”

You shouldn’t have said that: no sooner than the final word leaves your lips you’re being lifted into the air, legs dangling helplessly as Elias throws you over this shoulder. Your giggles come out a little hysterically. 

“I told you miracles are real,” he grins, unceremoniously carrying you towards the bedroom.

You’ve just come from there, but you’re really not against the idea of going back.

“What about the tree?” you squeal, lightly slapping his shoulder.

“Tree can wait,” Elias decides, as he dumps you onto the bed and lets himself fall over you, leaning on his forearms so he doesn’t crush you.

“Tree can wait,” you echo in agreement, and you let your body relax into the mattress as Elias kisses you. When he tries to deepen it, you turn away just slightly, keeping your nose pressed against his cheekbone. “Hey, Lias?”

“What?” Elias mutters, sounding a little annoyed to be denied another kiss.

You smile. “Merry Christmas.”

His laughter sounds bright.

“Merry Christmas, babe.”

[kulemii]

I wasn't sure whether to ask here or your other blog as this is the blog that made the RGG questionnaire? I'd thought i'd ask you some questions of your own post!! A.3, B.1, B.4, C.9, D.9 and F.7!!!

i betcha forgot all about this ask huh? well, i didn't- thanks to me leaving this one baking in my ask box since march i decided to start this shit up again today so i'd have an excuse to finally answer you after all this time lmaooo. hello saiiii, please forgive me! 🙇🏾‍♀️

A.3) Favorite protagonist(s)? Majima- I was so mad that I had to play as this man after I fell for Kiryu during those first chapters of 0. I really disliked him and by the middle of his first chapter I was already in love. Round of applause for Mr.Eyepatch man for breaking my 3+ year writer’s block slump. What a guy, that Majimuh! Haruka- Loved her as a protagonist almost solely based on how risky it was for RGG to create such a different form of gameplay just for her part and it was entertaining from start to finish. She upset me so much because Miss Girl, we don’t bow to these hoes. She really should’ve been able to fight. Ugh! Akiyama- He’s a sleaze but he’s a funny sleaze that goes Kicky Kick :) Honorable Mention: Kiryu- I mean, he’s alright. Like… Overrated as Fuck in my opinion. I mean.. And you know what though? That’s typically how the bullshit goes. Ya feel me?

B.1) Which character do you relate to most and why? I used to believe that it was Y0 Majima but after playing through the whole series up to 6, i realize that the real answer was Haruka! This one went one for a while but the "why" has been answered [here]

B.4) Who would you like to post more about but you don’t? Why don’t you? Oh, that's easy! Aizawa ^-^ I don't feel like I talk about him enough and i really should hehe 🥰 Jk. Umm, yeah last time I answered this, I said Majima and while I do believe that I wouldn't mind posting about him more I-- still think there's really nothing left for me to say. I've got such brilliant mutuals that can put their Majima thoughts into words in a way that I just cannot lol so i just, let everyone else have those conversations. I have been thinking about how I tend to keep my Reina obsession in private but i'm kinda tired of doing that- the reason why is pretty simple, the fandom ain't too kind to the ladies of RGG so to avoid those sorta debates I just keep between me and my moots. But, yeah fuck that. Reina deserves praise too! So be prepared for me to act mentally ill about my gorgeous wife. >:D Also, I feel like I could post more about Nishiki- i know that after I finished my Nishiki project I sorta closed the book and left him sittin pretty on my bookshelf because I channeled so much of my fascination with him into that project but I still love him so much. So, I should talk about him. Also, I feel like I could talk about--

C.9) What was the most emotional scene in the series? I don't now if I would call it the most emotional scene but it's certainly the freshest one on my mind- The Scene in 6 at the end when Iwami and that other bitch ass mf tried to murk Kiryu in front of Haruka. Hoooboy that was- I cried. Like, I ugly cried. Another scene that made me ugly cry, Nishiki and Kiryu in The Woods in 0. Another scene that made me ugly cry? Majima, Makoto and the watch. Another sce--

D.9) Any hot takes? (Something that might not win ya any new friends) I think my answer [here] remains my hottest take. I can't come up with anything else at the moment.

F.7) Who are you fighting on the Millennium Tower rooftop? Kiryu, I gotta teach this old man a lesson. Then, after that, I'm fighting the RGG writing team-all at once.

Wanna send in more? Questions are found [here]!

[outofsstyles]

i wish u would write a fic where reader is also a famous singer whos label sets up a collab with the two of them and they meet and write a love song and its a HIT and they PERFORM IT and realize they be SMITTEN with each other and the internet totally knew before they did and this is weirdly specific but it popped in my mind and i love your writing !!! okay bye 😎

Okay i’m actually embarrassed of how long it took me to write this but writer’s block hit me like a bunch of bricks this past month, still i’m so sorry!! But anyway here’s around 2.6k of famous!reader for you anon!! Hope you enjoy it!!

Also this is not really proofread cause i wrote it all in one sitting after a boost of inspiration so uh chile anyway so...

One could think that you’d have grown past the nervous set of butterflies that come by before stepping out on stage. They wouldn’t be entirely wrong, you like to think. Sure, there’s still an anxious feeling that bubbles up in the pit of your stomach like the drops of air in a sealed bottle of rosé (much like the one sitting inside a bucket propped on the center table of your dressing room). It’s normal, you tell yourself, part of the process, even. The clammy palms of your hand and the rapid thumping of your heart will soon be replaced by the thrill of stepping in front of a crowd of people, eyes wide, and voices loud. All waiting for you.

When Harry invited you to join him tonight, just for a song, there wasn’t a single ounce in your mind that thought of declining it. After all, you had spent months traveling around with him as his opening act of the American leg on his first tour. It’s not even the first time you’d share the stage with him, having joined him on a live cover of Eternal Flame at the very last date of the tour. His fans are also familiar with you, most of them seem to like you, even (and you don’t bother searching for the ones who don’t, much preferring to preserve your peace of mind). So there’s really not a reason for you to feel as if you’re about to throw up, is there?

Except this time is much different than all the previous ones you had to do this. No one out there is expecting you to step on stage. Much less for a song you’d thought you’d never sing it live.

It started as a forgotten draft you found in one of your old journals, and sometime between Chicago and Vancouver, after long nights and shared bottles of wine together, it turned into a duet. There wasn’t any intention of recording it initially, being born in hushed drunken confession at wee hours in the morning, and shared stories of heartbreak and yearning, you figured it would just stay between the two of you. It was a vulnerable song, after all, one in which both of you poured your heartaches in. 

But Harry loved the song. In fact, barely a month after the tour was wrapped up and everyone had tucked themselves back home to a well-deserved break, he invited you for dinner at his and, after one or two margaritas, you were standing on his home studio singing the words you’d written with him on quiet hotel rooms. And it didn’t take much convincing from his part for you to release it months later as part of your first studio album. Harry’s a charming man and he always finds a way to get what he wants. Not to mention the glimmer in his eyes and the set of dimples on his cheeks appearing as he heard the final cut were enough for you to convince you (not that you’d ever say this out loud).

So it’s not hard to understand why you agreed in a heartbeat to sing it with him on the opening night of his tour. 

Your leg is bouncing in a nervous tick, and you have to stop yourself from chewing on your bottom lip as to avoid another scolding from Amie who’s just applied a thin layer of lipstick over it. There’s a bundle of voices sweeping around the room, all much familiar to you, as they’re all part of your team. But you can’t help but zone out, pushing the noise to the back of your brain and letting it become faint background noise as you take in a deep breath to ease yourself down.

The concert has started around an hour ago, meaning you have just a few minutes before you have to head to the side of the stage, waiting for Harry to announce your name. He made sure to stop by your dressing room after soundcheck was done, greeting everyone from your team (they’ve all grown fond of him after the last tour, but then again, it’s hard not to) before making his way to you, a grin taking over his face as he approached, arms opening and not wasting a second before pulling you into an embrace. You smile to yourself, recalling his words from earlier.

“How are we feeling?” He pulled away, holding on to your shoulders and you can’t help but focus on the way his thumbs caressed you over the thin fabric of your shirt.

“Uhm like I could pass out at any second, but other than that I’m fine.” You let out a dry laugh as an attempt to mask the truth of your sentence behind humor.

“Nothing to be nervous about, love.” His hands squeezed you gently before dropping down and you chewed on your bottom lip at the warmth left from his touch. “S’just you and me and the guitar.” 

“And thirty thousand people.”

“You’ve played for bigger crowds.”

“I know, it’s just…” You sighed, gazing down at the champagne flute in your hands before shrugging. “Never sang something this personal, I guess.”

“Hey, it’s alright.” He moved a strand of your hair from your face, taking a small step forward as his voice droped down slightly so you’re the only one hearing his words.  “Know you’ll be brilliant, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“What if I cry?”

“Nothing wrong in crying, love.” He said in a beat, shaking his head softly. “I’ve shed a fair amount of tears on stage as well, just shows how much it means to you.”

Relaxing your shoulders you didn’t even realize were so tense, you exhaled. “You’re right.”

“I am.” He humored, dimples poking at his cheeks as he bumped his shoulder against yours. His expression softened, “You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, okay?” He said truthfully, eyes flickering between yours to show you he meant it. “I don’t want you to do something you’re not comfortable with just for my sake.”

“Thanks, H.” You smiles. “But I’m fine, really, just nervous.”

His lips parted to answer you, but before he can do so someone shouted from the doorway, “H, you gotta go to hair and makeup.” 

“I’ll be right there.” He called over his shoulder, then turned his attention back to you. “I’ll see you on stage?”

“I’ll be there.”

“Hey,” he says as he started walking backward. “Just you and me alright?”

“Right.” You giggled watching him throw you a wink before turning around and stepping out of the room.

Downing the last bit of champagne on your glass, you rest it on the counter next to you before stepping up from your seat completely. A few pairs of eyes settle on you from the sudden movement, but they quickly turn back to their previous conversations as you don’t meet their gaze, only making your way o the full body mirror that makes the door leading to the bathroom. 

Your glittery eyelids call your attention first as you examine yourself, making you blink a few times just to see them shimmer. They match the two-piece that hugs your body in a lavender tone, the same one of the boost you slipped in just a couple minutes ago. You move your hips around softly, watching the way the skirt dances around your thighs and smoothing your hands on it to feel the soft fabric under your fingertips. You have time to adjust the top one last time before someone from production calls your name at the doorway, indicating it’s time to head out.

The whole way goes in a bit of a blur, you adjust your earpiece and try to smile at words of encouragement that are thrown your way as you walk towards the side of the stage where you’re supposed to make your entrance. Your heart thumps in your chest, almost loud enough to swallow the screams of the crowd that gets louder every step you take. Harry comes into view, along with the whole arena as you pass through a double door. His back is turned to you when you come to a stop but you can make out the guitar in his hands, his voice blending with the echo of thousands of others, screaming back at him the words he wrote. It’s Fine Line, one of your favorites from his sophomore album, and you can’t help but mouth along to it as the bridge comes up.

It helps to calm you a bit, the melody along with his voice setting the atmosphere of the whole place to a joyous state. It was clear at the glossy eyes you can catch in the crowd looking back at him, cheering as the song comes to an end, and Harry bows in gratitude and you watch as he steps back in front of the mic stand but doesn’t say anything. For a moment he just stays like that, you can’t catch his face from this angle, but you gaze up at the big screen and, just like you predicted, you can see the admiration on his expression as he takes in the crowd in front of him. You wish you could know his thoughts, but the smile that takes over his lips gives you everything you need to know, and you can’t help but let one tug on your face as well.

Before you know it, he leans into the microphone again, the screams quieting down as he starts speaking again. “I don’t think I’ll ever find enough words to thank you for your support, and sharing such special moments like this with me,” he begins, one hand moving to his chest as he pauses when the crowd roars again. “I love you all very much, and I thought maybe I could bring someone here that also holds a special place in my heart.”

You can feel every cell in your body freeze once you realize he’s talking about you, and it’s only when he turns around, eyes finding yours as he motions for you to walk in that you start moving. Keeping your gaze trained on his, you approach him, the hollering sound becoming almost faint in your ears as you focus solely on Harry. He pushes his guitar to the side so he can give you a quick hug before turning back to his mic.

“So, this lovely lady and I happen to have a song together.”

Your eyes scan the crowd for a moment, catching the awe in people’s faces before finding him again. Bringing your own mic to your lips you speak up, “We do, actually.”

“And we never sang it live before, is that right?”

“You’d be correct, yes.” 

“How do we feel about singing it tonight for the first time?” He asks more to the audience than to you, wanting to get a reaction, and as if on cue their screams take over the space at the mention of the song.

“I think they like the idea.” You smile, letting your eyes wander around the arena. Thanks to the bright spotlight set on you, you can’t make out most of their faces, but each one of them still makes themselves present, being with their flashlights turned on or their voices joining in with the others. A familiar electric spark shoots down your spine, the buzz making you forget all the previous nerves that were taking over your mind.

The sound of the strokes on the guitar strings bring your attention back to Harry, and when you look back at him, he’s already watching you, a smirk threatening to poke at his lips as he nods at you. It’s a silent gesture of reassurance, and you’re thankful for it, smiling back at him.

Once the intro is over he steps towards the stand again, his lips brushing the mic but his eyes still glued on you. It’s hard not to feel the chills rise on your skin at the sound of his voice. You’re close enough that if you focus, you can hear him under the reverberance of the loudspeakers. The realization makes your hand come up almost instinctively, removing one earplug so you can listen to him better. He smiles midword at you once he realizes what you’ve done, his eyes closing for a moment as he feels every word that comes out of his mouth.

Joining him for the chorus, you realize how astute he was when suggesting doing an acoustic version. The sound of your voices together slowed down by just the guitar background sounds even more intimate. It’s gentler. Softer. And you can’t help the step that you take towards him, feeling an urge to get closer. 

You don’t dare to break eye contact going into your solo, he moves back from his mic just a bit, giving you your moment and nodding along to the words. Unlike you had thought before, you don’t feel a knot forming on your throat or burning in your chest as you proclaim words of an old broken heart. Harry’s face is enough to keep you at ease, his irises seeming so green under the stage light that you can’t help the stuttering of your heart. 

He melts his voice on yours again, bringing you back to all the sleepless nights you spent together, singing the same words to one another. 

You’ve heard people say about being with someone that makes you feel like you’re the only people in a room, and it’s always made you roll your eyes at the cliche aspect of it. But standing here with Harry, on stage, eyes set on each other as you sing the words straight from your heart, you start to understand where those people were coming from. There are thousands of other eyes set on you, but his are the only ones calling your attention. Everything else seeming unimportant as you find yourself stuck in a trance with him.

The last chorus rolls around and you only register him moving once he’s right in front of you. His guitar is the only barrier between your bodies as he leans into your microphone, and you move it down so it stands under both your lips. He’s close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath on your cupid bow. You could touch him with the smallest of movements, and you want nothing more than to rest your forehead on his and meet his mouth with yours. But you hold back, closing your eyes as you’re afraid of what the effect of his own can do to you, letting the last words come out in a breath.

The roaring crowd reminds you of the people watching you, and almost as if you’re broken out of a spell, you take a small step back, turning to the audience to give them a wave. You feel Harry’s arm wrapping around your shoulder and pulling you against him. His lips press a single kiss on your hair as you thank everyone with a smile, still taken back by what just happened. 

Turning to Harry, you give him one last hug, this time lingering for a beat too long, enjoying the feeling of his arms pressing you closer to him. He pulls away first, announcing your name again, and you spare him another look before waving your way out, with shaky legs and a speeding heart.

[maxmagi]

A List of My OTPs

because it's 11 and I can't sleep.

Enjolras x Grantaire a.k.a. Enjoltaire a.k.a. ExR- Les Mis

How I fell into this I don't remember now. I vaguely remember reading a crackfic of this and then everything just went sideways.

This was also the fandom that helped me realize that I wasn't exactly straight and that it's okay to not be loud about my sexuality, that I can just be.

I think that explains my attachment to this ship, not to mention just the movie's Grantaire (played by George Blagden) also shipped the characters and played his character like how he thought it should be, Grantaire loving and pining after Enjolras without the revolutionary knowing it.

Except in the fan fics, Enjolras returns his feelings and they work it out, even though it's not easy because they're both stubborn as mules. Ah, ultimate fantasy I guess. And the number of great fics here, *whistle*

Also, the Les Amis? Is amazing? Especially in the modern AUs? Like they're great friends? I love this fandom so much! Permets-tu!

Shen Wei x Zhao Yunlan - Guardian / Zhen Hun

C'mon, Zhu Yilong & Bai Yu's performance and emotions? Plus just the fact the fanfic writers of this ship are absolutely amazing? Please, escape from this pairing is impossible!

Best opposites attract trope for me. An academic by day, superhero by night in love with a roguish police chief who has no powers but whose charisma, wit, and heart can get him to toe to toe with the legends.

Also, Professor Shen Wei constantly acting like an innocent civilian and lying badly? Gold!

Loki x Tony Stark a.k.a. FrostIron - Avengers

How did I honestly get to this ship? I really can't remember what started it all. I think it must have been a Loki redemption fic where Tony Stark and Pepper broke up and something something happened. Let me tell you, the writers of this ship have written sagas and ballads of epic and sometimes confusing proportions, and that is why I fell deeper into the pit. I mean, they gotta give justice to two brilliant but chaotic characters, right? Angst. This ship has sooooooooo much angst.

Eiji x Ash - Banana Fish

My god, if you want to keep your heart intact and not be reminded of all that's ugly in the world, DON'T WATCH OR READ BANANA FISH. YOUR HEART WILL NEVER HEAL!

If you're gonna watch/read it anyway, make sure to watch something fluffy and sweet after. There's a reason that people from this fandom go, "If you've seen Banana Fish's ending, then you can handle whatever angsty show you're watching now." ~ or something to that effect. Another thing we like to say in this fandom is, "Other fandoms: Let's write a Mafia AU! Banana Fish fandom: We are the Mafia AU." Yes, all of us in this fandom is dramatic af.

Yuuri x Viktor - Yuuri!!! on Ice

Uh, does this really need an explanation? Aside from the fact that you will surprisingly find a lot of Mafia AUs here because we all know that hiding behind that beautiful face of Viktor Nikiforov is a devil capable of... tearing down your self-confidence, like WTF Viktor, don't make Yuuri cry! Also, their dance together at the end, such beautiful love.

Magnus Bane x Alec Lightwood aka Malec - Shadowhunters

I never read the books and have no plans to in the near future. I just saw a video on Youtube about why Malec is life and now here I am, still reading some Malec fics from time to time.

Some stuff on the show were WTF but overall they were a really good couple who supported each other. Plus, they're a Power Couple.

Erwin x Levi aka Eruri - Attack on Titan / Shingeki no Kyojin

Not to be confused with Ereri, which is Eren x Levi, which I don't generally ship except for that one time when a writer wrote an epic fanfic series with Eren in his mid 20s and Levi in his late 20s/early 30s, reincarnation AU. Boy was that one a surprise. I did not expect that.

Anyway, I'm an Eruri fan through and through. Especially with that promise that Levi made to Erwin. And the reason he gave the serum to Armin. HE DIDN'T DO IT FOR THE KIDS YKNOW. HE DID IT FOR ERWIN. Plus, Levi, Erwin, and Hange are my special trio. Erwin's batch was really amazing.

Also, I really like the fact that the shorter and slighter person is the more badass fighter while the taller, bigger one is the more calculating and strategic one. Rocks the boat of stereotypes and all that. Bonus: how these two met. My god, what a meet-cute! 😂

Dani x Jamie aka The Au Pair and the Gardener - The Haunting of Bly Manor

It really is more of a love story than a ghost story. I dunno how to feel about this. I loved these two characters so much and I wished they had a better ending but I wasn't SO surprised because it was a horror series (Like, I was still hoping at the end that they'd be together forever but yknow...). In any case, Jamie was just awesome. And her nickname for Dani? Poppins?! God, what a lover and fighter. She was not afraid to cock a gun in a ghost's face.

... and now for my flexible BROTPs

Merlin x Arthur aka Merthur - BBC Merlin

Yeah, my brain is so chaotic multiple OTPs and BROTPs of the same pairing exist at the same time without clashing with one another or having major identity crises.

I actually really like BROTP Merlin and Arthur and also like reading OTP Merthur.

And when Merlin is paired with Morgana or Freya or sometimes even Gwaine, that's fine with me too. As long as his bromance with Arthur stays intact, because that's what drew me to the show in the first place. Personal preference. I see them as platonic soulmates.

*Shout-out to the Merthur writers though, you kept me sane during my "Post-Merlin Depression," which is actually a term thrown around in the fandom because of that horrid final season (not saying it's a good term but it's what it was called). A lot of amazing fics here, too, both Magic Reveal and Modern AU ones. Full of action and adventure too! I mean, there are boy-band-looking Knights and magic-wielding badasses!

Tim Drake x Conner Kent/Kon-El aka Red Robin x Super Boy - DC Comics

More like flexible otp. I dig Stephanie Brown and Tim Drake BUT I really really also dig Tim Drake and Conner Kent. When they're TimKon, it's like an entirely different entity from TimSteph. Ugh, hard to explain.

I mean, Kon telling Tim, "You'll always be my Robin" and Tim telling Kon, "And you'll always be my clone boy" is the shit. Also when Kon could pick out/recognize Tim's heartbeat. And when Tim nearly went mad scientist trying to bring his bestie back. Like, dudes, wtf. And at the same time, hell yeah.

Liu Kang x Kung Lao aka LiuLao - Mortal Kombat

- I see these two as more like ride or die best friends connected by fate/platonic soulmates. But also like their dynamic is so awesome, cute, sweet, badass, can't-live-without-you vibes.

Basically the same way I feel about Merthur. I like reading both romantic and platonic relationships between these two characters. Like, the LiuLao fan creators peeling off the layers of this relationship and exposing every raw nerve is beautiful.

They love diving into the characters' psyche, emotions, motivations, fears, and doubts and you get really amazed because... Aren't they just characters from a video game, you ask? Well yeah, but MK video game has several interesting storylines and the Mortal Kombat 2021 movie was just the perfect jumpstarter to this beautiful blaze.

I mean, "We swore that if we were to die, it would be together"? Hell no, you're not dropping that on us and not expecting us to create our very own spin-offs and 12-page essays on that shit. That's what we fans do, baby. And also, really, we need a shaolin monks/white lotus spin-off/prequel. We're starving here.

As this ship is the newest one on my list, it's the one I'm looking forward to the most. Not enough fan content, I tell you. Not enough. One of these days, I just might add my own.

But right now, it's past 1 and so I shall attempt to sleep.

***No images for TimKon and LiuLao coz apparently I've gone past my 10-images allowance 😤

[sortaotaku]

Happy New Years! 🎉

Ikevam New Year’s Set Stories

2021 Super Awesome Set

I wanted to share because I understand the paywall is probably too much for a lot of people. It’s a pretty informal overview of the stories though~

Boys Talk - Team Abnormal 

Shakespeare, Le Comte, Jean

Setting: Thermae

Le Comte asks why Shakespeare is looking gloomier than normal. Shakespeare says he feels a bit weird about a sarcastic comment Arthur made about the three of them (Shakespeare, Le Comte, Jean) being abnormal.

Le Comte: I guess he means we’re deviants. Idk where he got that from. 

He comments that Shakespeare likes to tease people and wonders what to do with him.

Jean: You two are most definitely deviants

Them: Wha? 

Le Comte calls his comment unnecessarily cruel. Shakespeare defends himself and says unlike Le Comte he’s a gentleman

Le Comte is like LOL I feel like you added an insult in there

Jean: It’s best you hear the truth bc you’re in denial. You’ve been buying <your name here/MC> dresses a lot. Are you sure it’s not just bc you like dressing her up?

Le Comte: What else am I supposed to do? She looks ravishing in everything. I’m not doing anything except sitting and watching in the dressing room.

Shakespeare: A grown man enjoying dressing up a girl like a doll sounds pretty deviant to me

Jean: Yep. He’s the most deviant one.

Le Comte: Judging from the content of your plays I think you’re worse than me.

Shakespeare: My writing isn’t necessarily representative of my desires

Jean comments about how Shakespeare has been inviting MC over to his villa a lot.

Le Comte comments that he quite likes Jeans fixation on MC and Jean tells him to shuddup.

Shakespeare also says he isn’t doing anything weird. He says he blindfolded and cuffed her for research purposes.

Jean: Hold on, I’ll come back with my sword.

Le Comte: Don’t run around the mansion naked and angry. Return to the water now.

Shakespeare states that Jean is upset by trivial matters. Basically “tough luck, that’s life”

Le Comte: Yeah, be more open-minded

Jean: I must destroy the world then

Shakespeare asks if he had any weird encounters and Le Comte says he’s basically been a recluse 

Jean admits to giving MC a boost on his shoulders, but... He was shocked because her thighs were pressed against his cheeks and they were soft. 

Shakespeare: How are you insult us when you had her pressing her thighs against your face? You’re the worst deviant one.

Le Comte is basically like LOL and Jean is kinda baffled.

End

Boys Talk - Battle Against Desires

Theo, Napoleon, Mozart

Setting: Thermae

Mozart calls the two of them sighing in sync annoying

They do it again and state they’re tired

Mozart comments that this is rare considering how adept they are at dealing with the more eccentric residents 

They’re both like “That’s it!”

Napoleon is like that’s what everyone says. Everyone thinks I’m sensible

Theo: Yeah, I thought common sense is something everyone should have. We just look overly sensible because everyone lacks it.

Napoleon is like how about we just toss that (sense) out, I’m sick of it. 

Theo: Yeah, I’m going to do whatever I want

Mozart: Hold on, if you do that you’ll lose sight of yourselves.

Mozart (Internally): They say it’s the most dangerous when people go off the rails. These two keep order. I must stop them.

Mozart adds that everyone didn’t start out selfish. He asks if they’re sure if something else isn’t making them this way.

Napoleon says its a problem that MC sees them as so sensible.

Mozart is like: 🤨 Why?

Napoleon says that everything is wrong. She lies around in the common area asleep and apparently sleep undresses. (Half way, that is)

Mozart: Yea sounds about right... Wait what? Don’t tell me you...

Napoleon: Obviously I buttoned her up and tucker her in so she wouldn’t catch a cold.

Mozart: Are you her mom?

Theo: I get that! I would do that too.

Napoleon: Theo~ 🥰

Mozart: Can you guys not hug in the bath? Anyways what about Theo?

Theo: I went in for a bath and MC was in there stark naked bc she mixed up the time.

Mozart: Yea, she’s ditzy sometimes. Don’t tell me you...

Theo: Obviously I simultaneously tossed her my own towel and quickly turned around.

Mozart: Are you her dad? 

Napoleon: I get that! I would do that too.

Napoleon~ ❤️❤️❤️

Mozart: Stahp hugging in the bath... So you’re saying you don’t feel free to express your desires bc you’re seen as too sensible?

Them: Yea

Mozart: That’s easy to fix. Just act on your desires. It’s important to be true to your feelings. I just do what I want.

Napoleon: Easier said than done. Women find it even more frightening when a “safe” man comes onto them more than normal men. They feel violation AND disappointment because of the breaking of expectations.

Theo: And you’ll lose trust that you cannot recover.

Mozart: That sounds oddly convincing from you two.

They sigh heavily again. Mozart smiles a bit and comments that he must warn MC to be careful from now on and encourages them to cheer up.

End

Boys Talk - Imagination Station

Dazai, Arthur, Isaac

Setting: Thermae

Dazai talks about how great a bath after a good drink is. Arthur agrees and asks Isaac what he thinks. (Note: Don’t go into a huge hot bath while drunk)

Isaac: STAHP TOUCHING ME YOU TWO! Why did you guys insist we bathe together?

Dazai: It’s a good way to get to know each other.

Arthur: Yep, we know each other well but there are no limits on luvbbb ❤️

Isaac: If this is your love I have some doubts...

Arthur + Dazai: Lalalala~~~ 🎶

Arthur: Isn’t it funny how alcohol loosens inhibitions? I’d love to get naughty with MC

Isaac: Don’t you dare touch her!

Dazai: I find it questionable too.

Isaac: Dazai?

Dazai: Women get uncomfortable with sudden moves. You haveta do “that” 

Isaac: huh?

Them: I-mAg-I-nA-tIoN!

Isaac: 🤨huh???

Arthur: Lemme explain. We’re writers. We think up scenarios for a living.

Isaac: ?

Arthur: GOSH. We can do anything we want. In our minds. In vivid detail.

Dazai: Ai-kun is confused still, we must invite him into our minds

Arthur: Good idea! Naughty story time!

Isaac: Hold on—

Arthur and Dazai cook up an Isaac x MC smut headcanon in which Dazai still calls her “Toshiko”

Isaac didn’t even notice at first and commented that it makes sense Mc was drowsy because she’s a hard worker. He gets embarrassed when he figures out and the other two are like LOLLL 😂😂😂, we love your reactions!

Isaac: You’re saying you spend your days thinking about lewd stories of MC?

Them: No.

Arthur: We could imagine but the real thing is a whole different thing.

Dazai: The real thing trumps fantasy.

Isaac: So you were trolling me?

Them: Yes.

Isaac: You’re the worst!

Them: Rofl

End

Boys Talk - A Steamy Nighttime

Leonardo, Vincent, Sebastian

Setting: Thermae

Leonardo: A bath sure is nice!

The other two: ...

Leonardo: Why so quiet?

Vincent: I don’t think MC registers me and Sebastian as men. (Correct. You are indeed an angel and not a mortal man)

Leonardo: Why?

Vincent recalls how he was sunbathing with MC and she commented how he was comforting like a little brother

Leonardo: Pride must’ve been hurt by that. Sebas?

Sebastian: Similar. She said I was like her dad.

Leonardo: Dad-zoned, huh (*This isn’t my own abridging of the story, he actually said that) It’s not as bad as you think. Its proof MC is comfortable, that’s important.

Vincent and Sebastian says that : They want to be seen and treated as reliable men

Leonardo (internally): I’m pretty sure she sees them as men though. If I’m too serious about this, they’ll try too hard. The best thing is to make them laugh

Leonardo: You must get comfortable around women. If you get too self conscious things get weird right?

Sebastian: I see. How?

Leonardo: Prof Leonardo shall teach you. This is classified so don’t share

Them: We Promise.

Leonardo: Did you know a women’s breast is as soft as the inside of their arms. Start there with the inner arm

Vincent: Brilliant. What do we say after

Sebastian: Practice on me master Vincent

Vincent: Your arm is hard

Sebastian: I’m actually swole. (He says quite muscular)

Leonardo: You weren’t supposed to take this seriously

Vincent: Will you give more tips? I wanna get closer to MC

Sebastian: Please teach us professor Leonardo

Leonardo (internally): I didn’t expect this... They’re so pure. I can’t let them down.

Leonardo: When someone licks their lips it means they want you to kiss them, so watch out.

Vincent: You’re a genius! Arthur does that all the time! But I won’t do that since it will startle MC if I suddenly kiss her.

Sebastian: Start with the forehead/cheek

Vincent: Anything else?

Leonardo: Playing with hair = Wants affection

Sebastian: Isaac does that a lot, but he DOES crave affection. I gotta watch out for that.

Leonardo: Listen. I didn’t expect this...

Them: Teach us more!

Leonardo: 😓 

End

A/N

Sorry it’s late. Distracted my Animal Crossing. You can find 2020’s set in my previous post or under the “2020 New Years Set” tag.

[sigmastolen]

so my boss loves horror, and is also an aspiring writer.

shortly after she started, she let us read the beginning of one of her projects (an act of creative courage/trust that still astounds me), and it has potential, if she ever finishes it! but there was something about it that felt empty to me (which i obviously didn't tell her bc i'm not a fool and i didn't want to nuke my relationship with the new boss before it began), like, she's writing about this dead-end redneck stock character bc he's the kind of guy you meet at the beginning of a horror story, not because she particularly cared about this character or had anything to say about him. she seemed to find him kind of pathetic and contemptible. and presumably that was at least in part bc it was an early, unfinished draft, but it still made me feel kind of :/

anyway, today i mentioned that i started reading the southern book club's guide to slaying vampires (it's hilarious and i'm having a blast but also it hasn't gotten scary yet so i'm still worried bc i don't scare well) and she was like, 'oh, grady hendrix is brilliant, he's one of my favorites, but most of his other books are much more experimental and i was kind of disappointed that that one was so normal. i still enjoyed it, but i was like, "oh no, he's selling out :("' and that kind of made me think about her story again and that hollowness i felt, and how the charm of this book so far is that these respectable southern ladies are so richly and fondly painted. they're caricatures, but the mocking is also very gentle and sympathetic; hendrix has known and loved women exactly like these and that affection is so clear and that is what is making this book work for me so far, you know? (tangentially, i started and then dumped maestra by l.s. hinton because of the author's clear contempt for everyone in it as well as the audience (and also bc wow fatphobia and also it was tedious and self-important))

anyway. there's no bigger point to this, just: you gotta love your characters if you want your readers to love your characters, i think.

[365days365movies]

January 19, 2021: Léon: The Professional (Epilogue)

Hey, look! An elephant in the room! We should address that, huh?

So, recently, actress and Léon star herself Natalie Portman was interviewed about acting in this movie, and she said that the movie itself was fine to act in. It was the response to that work from...y’know what, perverts - let’s not dance around that - that she wasn’t the biggest fan of. It changed the roles she was willing to accept, and her acting style in general. Which makes absolute sense for her to do.

But now, you may understand why this film is...awkward. Because let me clarify something: this is a good movie! But, especially with relatively recent revelations from Hollywood in the last few years, you know that some people enjoyed this movie in a WHOLLY UNACCEPTABLE fashion. Which is...well, again:

Because of that, this film was gotten a lot of negative attention, then and now. And, let’s also be fair here: I’m not a fan of the fact that Luc Besson put Natalie Portman in this...uncomfortable position in the first place. It’s a little squicky to be putting a 12 year-old in that context, is what I’m saying. Roger Ebert agrees, in the closing statement of his review on the movie:

But always at the back of my mind was the troubled thought that there was something wrong about placing a 12-year-old character in the middle of this action. In a more serious movie, or even in a human comedy like Cassavetes' "Gloria," the child might not have been out of place. But in what is essentially an exercise - a slick urban thriller - it seems to exploit the youth of the girl without really dealing with it.

.Yeah, I agree with that. But OK, if we take that uncomfortable aspect away from the movie (and it is possible to do so), then what did I think? Well, let’s get into that, shall we?

Recap

Cast and Acting

Strap in, this one’s gonna be long. Three parts, and a coda at the end.

OK, first I gotta talk about Léon, or rather Jean Reno as Léon. Here's the thing about these heroic bloodshed protagonists; they’re always these cold, reserved badasses with armored hearts that have been closed off by a personal tragedy, from when they were more innocent. But with Léon, we never see that tragedy; we have no idea what makes this man who or what he is. And yet, he still has dimension as a character, hidden depths within an unknown past, and also a surprising innocence injected into him. He genuinely enjoys going to see old movies, he’s teaching himself how to read, we only really see him drink milk, he cares deeply for his plant. And, before Mathilda, he’s lonely, and you actually feel for him? THis is, by the way, despite the fact that the first sequence of the film is him MURDERING A BUNCH OF PEOPLE. And despite that, I really did feel for him in the end there. And while the directing and writing take a part of this, GODDAMN does Reno do an amazing job! He perfectly portrays the nuances of this character, but puts on an incredibly badass demeanor when he needs to. Reno deserves more credit as an actor in the USA, because he’s astonishingly great in his movie, seriously.

And then...then there’s Natalie Portman. See, back in the wild, wild west of the ‘90s, child actors were ALL OVER THE GODDAMN PLACE. And the vast majority of them weren’t very good, let’s be honest. But in her turn as Mathilda, awkward preteen crush and all, Portman KNOCKS it out of the goddamn park with this portrayal. And by the way...THIS IS HER FIRST ACTING ROLE. Yeah. Holy shit. She’s brilliant, and I’m a little mad that she didn’t get an award nod AT ALL for this role. She’s fantastic, seriously, it’s insane. And yeah, her character and the dynamic with Léon definitely makes me uncomfortable...but maybe it’s because Mathilda is surprisingly believable, acting with a surprise innocence of her own. Seriously...amazing job to Nathalie Portman.

If Reno was understatedly nuanced and complex, and Portman was talented and emotional, Gary Oldman was BATSHIT INSANE. And holy shit, is he a wonderfully engaging and terrifying villain. This is Oldman dialed up to...eh, 8? You get him dialed up to 10, and I’m pretty sure you get Dracula. But he’s a HELL of a lot of fun here, honestly, if also extremely creepy and frightening. He steals every scene that he’s in, with his speeches, mannerisms, and affectations. He upstages, well...EEEEVERRRYYYYYOOOOOOONNNNNE!!!

And is everybody else in here good? Yeah, they are, but they’re completely drowned out by these three. The acting in this film is wonderful all around. 10/10. I mean that, 10/10.

Plot and Writing

If I had a single word about the writing, it’d be...French. There are some lines, ESPECIALLY Mathilda’s lines about love, that definitely sound more French than American. After all, this is a French film, and the writer is Luc Besson himself! And other than that...the writing’s fine. Plot’s fine, too, straightforward and all that. I really don’t have much to say about the plot, if I’m honest. And if I had one negative thing to say...yeah, the childhood crush thing is still super uncomfortable, honestly. Still, put in context, it’s a little bit better. And I should mention that, while it’s SUPER CONTROVERSIAL here in the good old US of A, this wasn’t nearly as big of a deal in France. And I should also mention...it’s mildly autobiographical. Yeaaaaaaaah, that blonde girl in the very beginning of the movie is actually Besson’s WIFE. You know...the 17-year-old, who’d known Besson since she was 12 and he was 29, and they started dating when she was 15, and the had a child a year later, before this movie was made. Y-yeah. Yeah. Yeah.

 7/10 here, nothing bad, nothing great. Basically average heroic bloodshed plotline, with some...other elements.

Directing and Action

Fun fact: Luc Besson’s reception in his home country is mixed, especially early in his career. This is because his directing style is focused far more on spectacle and bombast than it is on emotion. Definitely more American in style than French. And this movie definitely has some of that, although it’s definitely not as crazy as some of the other movies on this list. But some of the shots here are weird, some of them here are crazy cool, and most of them are just great. But this movie still focuses more on emotion and character buildup and revelations, than it does on action. Which is great, but this is Action January, so how was the action? This takes off of the gun-fu genre, with essentially all of it focused around gunplay. And the interesting thing is, while these aren’t the most bombastic action scenes, its the emotion around them that keep you on the edge of your seat and invested. So, weirdly, this might be the movie that’s integrated the action scenes with the movie’s overall emotional tone the most seamlessly. Well...of the English language movies, anyway. Overall, 8/10 here!

Production and Art Design

START SPREADING THE NEEEEEEEEEEWS, because it’s New York, New York! Most of this film was filmed on location, and it shows! As someone who grew up going to NYC on a regular basis, it definitely feels authentic to ‘90s New York. Which, of course, it is. Costume design, for Mathilda especially, is good, although one or two of her outfits feels a little over-complicated at times. Still, no complaints, really. I love Léon’s tiny glasses, and Stansfield’s suit (plain as it may be). Really, this movie is simply an authentic feeling New York, and there isn’t too much else to say about that. 8/10 again. 

Music and Editing

Music’s definitely good, including this song by Sting that we hear at the end. Editing is mostly OK, although there are some weird cuts here and there. And...I’m not sure I have much to say about this category. Oof. Sorry, honestly, this is probably a sign of good editing, since it wasn’t obvious. And as for the music, I remember it...but it was mostly overshadowed by the events of the film itself. So...7/10?

80%! And I’m satisfied with that, honestly!

This movie is built to make you a little uncomfortable while watching it. But, I still believe that it’s a movie to be watched. Good action, prominent emotional development, great acting. This one’s good, and give it a watch! 

Luc Besson, Luc Besson. You gave me a French English-language heroic bloodshed action movie about an older man saving a girl a generation or so younger than him, that also produced a well-known meme on the internet. More, please!

January 20, 2021: Taken (2008)

[kob131]

RWBY V8 E7 Thoughts

-Getting LOTR flashbacks -Um....Ironwood...James. You uh....do remember Mt. Glenn right? -Elm, dude. Why would they lie to you about this? -Fuck, Penny is going in that thing to blow it up, ain’t she? -Salem, for once...STOP BEING CREEPY! -Yeah I’d be pseudo shitting myself too Emerald. -She’s scared of the Seer Grimm huh? -... Huh, we’ve...never actually seen what Salem told her underlings...have we? -Gotta say, seeing a woman you kill over and over again keep coming back no matter what you do...it would break a person. -I really don’t like how things get told to the audience. But personal experience has taught me that even this isn’t enough to get through people’s thick skulls. -Still love ya, Ozpin. -Oh Nora... -I’d worry about them too, Blake. -Guys you better not be wussing out now of all times. -I dunno, Silver Eyes and good ol’ fashion suicide bomb? -Mary...fucking hell, you have no tact. - Mary...you’re doing the same fucking shit Ironwood did. You REALLY think that your principles can just...change to suite yourself? -I fucking know Blake! She’s being a hypocritical bitch! - No...no Ruby, there are sides. I understand your point but when you drew that philosophical line, you say ‘I cannot co-operate’ and make your own side. -Hi, Whitely! -Oh ho ho, Great job you brilliant farm boy! You knew Hazel wouldn’t listen to Ozpin or his methods so you just give the info and let Hazel come to his own conclusion! -...Yeah, why would Mercury give a shit about all that? Nothing about him hints at anything beyond self preservation and it makes sense since he grew up in such a terrible situation. Why try making a move against someone who can’t be beat and might not even change anything? -God damn fucking Tyrian. His scenes give me the chills. -Ordinary joes ruling this episode I see! - It actually makes sense that Ren would speak up to that. After all, his dad taught him to act and help others even if it seems hopeless and that’s how he got Nora, a lifelong companion. -Also Harriet makes sense. After all, soldiers would lose each other on the front lines all the time, they can’t get hung up on loss or else they’d never accomplish anything. - .... ‘No one can be replaced’. That...had to hurt, Neath. -...*sigh* Conflicted is the epitome of my feelings about Ren’s part here. For reasons beyond even the show. I’ll talk about THAT latter. -Mary stop being another Ironwood- I do NOT sympathize with you AT ALL so i will call out your ass. -Klein....you sweet sweet man... -Whitely...you are not your father. -...You just had to end there huh, CRWBY? -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

So about the Ren thing.

In the episode, we see from Ren’s point of view that he can spot what people are feeling. This kind of comes out of nowhere and wasn’t foreshadowed properly (my guess for the reasoning is that since Ren’s Semblance involves emotions, the writers think that it makes sense he can spot them too).

I have a noted dislike for when RWBY does this kind of stuff. I hate it when the show spells out what is going on, treating the audience like idiots as if we can’t pick up on the rather UNSUBTLE clues they leave.

...During this time, I did look up some of the negative reactions to the episode. I do this because I want to question what I think and try and see if I can find a flaw I normally wouldn’t see. That’s a big part of criticism for me. Instead I watched someone call Ren’s moment a ‘Deus Ex Machina’ (his moment here solves NOTHING), claim that Weiss only hugged her brother because ‘he proved his usefulness’ and act like this one moment was the only hint that Marrow and the other Ace Ops wouldn’t be complete bad guys (I don’t even need to SAY the number of hints the writers gave BEFORE this).

Believe it or not (I do not care), I don’t just dismiss any and all negative criticism. I’m actually far more dismissive of positive feedback (hence why I never feel the need to speak up). I only get dismissive when I see no attempt at understanding what the intention of the creator is. Because that intention defines the quality and standards of the media. As it should, since it means it helps the creator and allows any kind of story to be made. Thus dismissing it is tantamount to saying that things should only follow what YOU like, instead of what is best for the creator. 

It’d love to say that I don’t understand this scene or that it’s wrong to do this moment. But time after time after time after time after time again I repeatedly see criticism that is so ignorant of what the creators’ likely intend that it’d be insanity to assume stupidity and thus I assume malice. So what I see here is not bad writing, treating your audience like idiots: what i see is treating your audience EXACTLY as they present themselves, being as blatant as possible to ensure there is NO room for faking ignorance. And I can’t even blame them because I’ve seen it happen COUNTLESS times.

So I hate this moment...but I can’t condemn it because the people who call themselves critics set this with the creators: ‘We’re either idiots and need everything spoonfed to us like babies or assholes misinterpreting you for own desires.’ And this is a perfectly reasonable response to that.

[xmxisxforxmaybe]

How about fun sex tropes number 3 w sledgefu? 😊

3. sex on a countertop/tabletop/sink because we couldn’t wait to get somewhere with cushions

I wanted to do something with the quarantine, so this is a modern-ish AU. Also, hopefully you like my chosen hard surface! I love Sledgefu but do find it difficult bc the Sledgefu writers in this fandom are … pretty much actual gods.

I loved writing this though, so thanks for the request 😊

* * * * *

Gene was done.

Completely over it.

His classes had been cancelled for the remainder of the semester, and he was suddenly filled with a sense of purposelessness.

“Gene. If ya don’t find somethin’ to do, I’m gonna have to find somethin’ for ya.”

Normally, Snafu’s words would have been suggestive, dirty actually, except that he really was tired of Eugene acting like a Victorian dandy in distress.

He would sit down to read, then stand up with a dramatic sigh as he tossed his book back on the couch. He’d putz around the apartment, opening doors then closing them, like he was looking for something. He’d clean the bathroom, then the bedroom, grumbling all the while about Snafu’s dirty laundry being everywhere but in the hamper, and in Snafu’s defense, it was usually only an errant sock or maybe the shirt that he had just taken off for the day.

Sometimes, Gene would head into the kitchen and start cooking something, only to have some minor step in the recipe go wrong and the entire dish would be tossed in the trash.

That didn’t just annoy Snafu; he hated it. Food was not ever something to be wasted.

So, when Gene started pulling ingredients out of the cupboard, it was Snaf who snapped his book shut with a sigh.

“Stop, Gene,” he commanded while walking into the kitchen.

“You tooold me to find something to do,” Gene whined.

“Not waste food.”

“Fine,” Eugene snapped and began putting the strewn ingredients back into the fridge and the cupboard.

“Put ya overshirt on.”

“Why?” he said, crossing his arms and pouting in a way that made Snafu want to slap him or kiss him—when Gene was difficult like this, he wasn’t sure which option would actually make him feel the best once it was done considering he’d only ever tried the kissing.

Snafu ran a hand through his curls, which were bordering on wild thanks to the quarantine. Eugene had offered to give him a trim, but he had only eyed his boyfriend warily, thanking him, but deciding to wait for the barber to open.

Gene’s hair was longer than usual, too, but it suited him. Snaf loved to run his hands through it, pushing it back from his forehead and just feeling the way the silky, auburn strands fell from his fingertips as he pulled Eugene’s hair up and away from his face.

“Because I asked ya to.”

Gene huffed but made his way to the bedroom. Snafu grabbed a light jacket from one of the hooks near the front door and checked the pocket for the keys to his truck. Reaching back to make sure he had his wallet, he slipped into his shoes and waited for Eugene to emerge.

“Where we goin?”

“I’ll tell ya when we get there.”

Eugene frowned, but Snafu saw something come alive in his eyes, something he hadn’t seen since the first few weeks of the quarantine when Eugene realized that he was locked inside with his boyfriend without anything to do for days and days except make love.

It was wonderful, a damn near divine experience for them both until the days droned on into weeks, then months, and they both began to realize that something like this was going to alter life as they had known it forever.

Gene followed Snafu out of the apartment, doubling back to make sure the door was definitely locked.

They drove in a comfortable silence for the first hour, the radio quietly singing but not much louder than the sound of Snaf’s truck rumbling down the highway.

During the second hour, Gene started getting antsy: shuffling in his seat, resetting his seatbelt only to adjust it again in a few more minutes, opening the glovebox for no reason and shuffling through whatever Snafu had crammed in there.

Maybe this is worse than wastin’ food, Snafu thought as he watched Gene in his peripheral.  

When Eugene adjusted his seatbelt for the third time in a row, Snaf turned his head to look over at him and ended up smiling at the way his hair caught the last rays of the dying sunlight, looking golden at the edges, like a halo on a deeply ripened strawberry.

“Talk to me, Gene. Ain’t dat wha’ we do?” Snafu asked before reluctantly turning his eyes back to the road.

Gene said nothing for several minutes, and Snaf didn’t push; he knew how this worked, how stubborn Eugene Sledge could be.

After two more sighs and another snap of his seatbelt, Gene started talking.

He fumbled through his words at first, restarting his sentences and trailing off with a frustrated, “You know what I mean,” until suddenly, he found the right metaphor for what he was feeling and then he couldn’t stop talking.

Gene talked for the next hour of the trip, talked until his mouth was dry.

But god be damned if he didn’t feel better, like he had just purged himself of a gut full of rotten meat.

“Can we stop at the next gas station? I’m parched,” Gene asked, his voice raspy, but his tone light.  

“I think ‘bout a lotta those things, too,” Snaf said quietly as he slid his hand over to flick the turn signal, the ticking filling the truck in the silence after his statement.

“How—how come you don’t let it . . . eat at you? I feel like I’m just raw with worryin.”

Snafu was quiet for a moment, his eyes checking the rearview and the side mirror as he switched lanes to catch the exit.

“I jus’ figure as long as I’ve got you, nothin’ else really matters. Sounds stupid, don’t it?” Snafu said with a soft laugh.

No—no it was not stupid at all, Eugene thought, realizing he wanted to do nothing other than to kiss Snafu silly for saying the most brilliant thing he had ever heard.

And once the truck was in park, Gene did just that.

He tore off his seatbelt and slid to the center of the truck, almost smacking into Snafu as he turned to see what the hell had gotten into his boyfriend, but he didn’t have to wonder long because Gene planted his lips on him in a searing kiss.  

He pulled on Snafu’s lower lip with his teeth, sucking it into his mouth before he tilted his head and thrust his tongue inside, earning a moan of approval from Snafu.

Snafu’s tongue swirled around Gene’s, his mouth open wide, wanting to taste every inch of the man who meant so much to him.

Eugene was almost in Snaf’s lap when Snafu closed their kiss, gently pushing Gene away.

“Thought you was parched?” he panted.

“I am—but I guess not just for soda,” Gene grinned.

Snafu laughed and shook his head. “Come on. We got a long drive back. Let’s get some caffeine.”

Eugene clutched at Snafu’s shoulder. “This is . . . it? We’re not going anywhere?”

“No, cher. I jus’ needed ya to talk to me. Didn’t know how else to get ya to do it.”

Eugene’s face burst into the first genuine smile Snafu had seen in over two weeks.

“You sly sonofagun,” Gene said, still grinning.

“Gotta stay on ma toes with you.”

“I could kiss you.”

“Ya already have.”

“I could kiss you forever.”

“Genie, dat’s all I’m eva gonna need,” Snaf said, leaning over to press a soft kiss to Gene’s lips. “Come on—now I’m parched.”

Stocked up with drinks and snacks, the boys began their drive home, this time with Eugene sitting in the middle of the cab, leaning into Snafu’s shoulder as the conversation flowed freely amidst their glances and their laughter that now filled the cab, drowning out the music.

But after a while, it wasn’t enough for Gene to just lean into Snafu; he had started with his hand mid-thigh, an act of sweet affection more than sexual suggestion, but the affectionate gesture shifted quickly to the latter when Gene’s fingers began to flex, crawling up Snafu’s thigh higher and higher until the Cajun’s foot hitched on the gas.

“Wha’chu doin, boo?”

“Touchin’ you.”

“We makin’ poetry now?”

“Pull over ‘n we can sure make somethin,” Gene said, leaning over to capture Snafu’s earlobe between his teeth.

Snafu made a noise in his throat and took the next exit.

“There,” Eugene said, pointing to the sign that signaled a pull off for a nature preserve.

Snafu drove over the winding roads until he found a secluded turnoff, perfectly bottlenecked by tall, bald cypresses. He drove a ways into the clearing, cut the engine, and cracked the window.

“Nice out he—mmf,” Snaf began before he got cut off by a red head in his lap, squeezing between him and the steering column, the horn emitting a short beep, but neither of the boys caring as they kissed, intense and deep, lost in something they both had been badly missing.

“Want you so much. Need you Snaf,” Gene puffed out between kisses.

Snafu pushed Gene back a little, the horn again reminding them of their tight position.

“Think we need more room?”

“Ya gotta get off ma lap first,” Snaf replied with a smirk, giving Gene’s ass a light smack before he wiggled back to the middle seat.

After his feet plopped onto the dirt, Snafu pushed up his seat to pull out the sleeping bag he kept there.

“Gene,” Snaf spoke up before the red head could slide all of the way out of the cab.

He angled his curly head toward the glovebox, and Eugene popped it open, rummaging through it to find the tube of lubricant.

The boys settled in the back of the truck, and it was clear that Eugene needed to take control by the way he was immediately on top of Snafu, and it was clear that Snafu was open to whatever it was Gene needed by the way he was sighing underneath him.  

Popping open Snafu’s jeans, Gene reached in and palmed his hard cock, rubbing and twisting until there was pre-cum slickening his thumb.  

“I wanna fuck you so bad, Snaf. Bury my cock in you.”

“Do it, Gene. Miss ya so much.”

Popping the top off, Gene smeared lubricant on his fingers and crawled back over Snaf, spreading his legs with his knees and quickly working Snaf’s dick and opening with each hand. Eugene quickly jerked Snafu off, his hand flying over Snafu’s hard cock, twisting at the tip just the way he liked until he was spilling hot cum all over his stomach and Gene’s hand.

Before Snafu’s breathing had time to even out, Eugene slickened up his cock with the lube and positioned himself at his entrance, pushing slowly until Snafu breathed, “Fuck me.”

Eugene groaned, low and animalistic, and thrust into Snaf’s heat, both of their eyes squeezing shut at the intensity of the sensation.

“Gene,” he breathed, laying back on his elbows and looking up at the night sky, his throat bared and Eugene’s eyes raked over Snafu’s body, thinking he had never looked sexier.

“You’re beautiful,” Gene breathed as he began to move, slowly, caught up in everything that was Snafu.

Snafu’s cheeks flushed and he was glad it was too dark for Gene to see him blush. Countering the intensity of his own emotions, he bit out, “Tell me ya wan’ more. I know ya wan’ more.”

Eugene moaned and pulled out of Snafu.

“Hands and knees,” he demanded, watching intently as Snafu shot him a toothy grin that Gene could see perfectly under the night sky before he rolled over and got in position.

Gene pressed a kiss to the base of Snafu’s spine before he straightened and brought both hands down on Snafu’s ass, digging his fingers into his cheeks as he pushed into him again, the growl of satisfaction emitting from Snaf spurring Gene to really let go, to fuck him like he needed to fuck him.

Eugene admired the flexing of Snafu’s ass as he pounded into him, both of them groaning out their pleasure to the trees, to the stars, to the night itself until Gene finally felt like he had purpose again.

This man, so open and willing in front of him, was his purpose. How he could have forgotten that, he would never know, so he swore as his hips stuttered to a halt and he came inside of Snafu’s body, swore that he would never forget again.

Gene collapses on top of Snafu, pressing him into the bed of the truck, distracting the discomfort with the kisses he is peppering across every part of his boyfriend that he can reach.

“Wow,” Gene said rolling onto his back and releasing Snafu.

“I’ll fuckin’ say,” Snaf answered, rolling onto his back, too.

“Did I ever tell you you’re the best boyfriend this side of the Mississippi?”

“Only this side?”

“Well, we’re still young,” he joked as Snafu reached out to smack him. “Once this quarantine lets up . . .”  

They both laugh as they shimmy back into their clothes, sliding out of the truck bed and standing in the dewy grass.

“Thank you,” Gene said, pulling Snafu close to him.

“I love ya, Gene. Jus’ want ya to be happy.”

“I am happy. I really, really am.”

And when he leans in to kiss him, Snafu knows that Eugene means it.