#but it might give her more nightmares so she gave Paradise a try

[steviesbicrisis]

Sometimes, Robin disappears.

Steve doesn’t know where she goes nor can tell how long she’s gonna be gone, usually she’s away just for a couple of hours and comes back acting like everything is fine.

It doesn’t scare Steve any less.

He knows she doesn’t do it to mess with him, and despite being attached to the hip since Starcourt there’s still a lot they don’t know about with each other.

When she’s gone, Steve’s mind those a whole 360 on every possible scenario: when his mind is good to him, she’s hanging out with imaginary way-cooler-than-Steve friends, who don’t know of his existence because Robin is embarrassed by him, which leaves him with a sting of jealousy until he hears back from her; when it’s a little less kind, he imagines her being attacked by Russians, or abducted by an Upside down creature, or both. She usually comes back before he leaves everything to jump in his car and frantically look for her.

The thing is, Robin acts like everything is fine and Steve doesn’t know how to approach it. She’s fine before, she’s fine after, and he doesn’t know where he stands. He doesn’t know if this attachment for Robin is okay or if it’s going to scare her away, so he lets her set the rules and he follows the best he can, trying not to die of worry in the meantime.

One day, Robin doesn’t go to school.

He comes to pick her up at the usual time but she isn’t on her porch steps, ready to scold him for being late. He rings the doorbell but no one answers, her parents are often out early in the morning and she doesn’t have any siblings, so he guesses she might have gone to school without him.

He drives to school and stands near the entrance, trying to spot her while planning how to make her feel guilty for not giving him any heads-up on the change of plans.

She’s nowhere to be found.

He drives to the streets nearby, then to the library and the park, no trace of her anywhere.

He goes to work telling himself she’s probably fine, she must’ve overslept or she was already in class or she had early band practice. It doesn’t calm his mind even a little bit. Because it's not like Robin to skip school, she has never done this before, or at least since Steve has known her. Before his mind spirals again thinking that he doesn’t even know his best friend, he decides to focus on work and look for her after, hoping she will call in the meantime to let him know she wasn’t eaten alive by a Demogorgon.

At 5:01 PM he’s out of the store and ready to search every corner of the town until he finds Robin.

He’s driving on the road coasting Lovers Lake when he notices Robin’s bike. Steve’s heart beats fast as he abruptly gets out of the road and parks next to it.

The bike is parked in perfect conditions so Steve feels safe enough to exclude a Will Byers situation and ventures into the coastline to look for her.

He notices her before she can: Robin is sitting cross-legged on an old bench, heavy book in her hands, looking very relaxed and completely out of danger.

Steve’s worry quickly turns into anger.

“Are you insane?” He asks when he’s close enough to be heard.

Robin winces, she was too immersed in her book to notice anyone coming near. She looks surprised to see him there “What are you doing here, dingus?”

“What am I doing here? What are you doing here!” Steve retorts, hands on his hips.

Robin recognizes the scolding-children pose and doesn’t like it “I am clearly reading and enjoying the nice weather, or at least I was until you came to bother me!”

“Oh, now I am bothering you? So sorry to interrupt your getaway because I thought you were dead!”

Robin slams her book closed “Are you serious? I was just taking a break, I needed alone time!”

“Take all the breaks you want but at least give me a fucking heads up so I know I don’t have to look for you around town like a maniac” he gestures at the area where he parked her car, his voice getting louder.

“I really don’t understand where this is coming from, I’ve been coming here to read for years, and no one as ever-“

“Well, maybe that’s because you didn’t have a best friend who worried about you!”

Steve regrets it as soon as he says it. Robin looks stunned, she opens and closes her mouth several times, then looks away.

After a minute of heavy silence between them, Steve approaches the bench and sits next to her, looking at the lake.

“I’m sorry,” they say at the same time.

“I shouldn’t have said that” Steve continues “I was worried but that is my problem and you don’t have to tell me anything.”

“No, you’re right” she shakes her head “I’m not used to having people worried about me. My parents are great but they don’t really question where I go every day and…” she glances at Steve quickly, then looks down at her book again “I’m not used to friends caring like that either.”

Never in a million years Steve would’ve guessed that one day he would’ve related so much to Robin Buckley.

“Why do you leave?” He dares to ask.

“I just need it sometimes. Everything gets too loud, there’s too much going on and I feel… overwhelmed” she explains.

Steve doesn't understand that, he has felt overwhelmed before but he would never leave or ask for space from people close to him. Sometimes, he misses Tommy and Carol just because they barely gave him any space. But it seems something important to Robin, so he nods.

"so, school was too much today?"

"no, I mean yes, but no" she groans, frustrated "It's just that- school is fine and I have my quiet places but... I had a nightmare. This wasn’t the first time since Starcourt but it was the most terrifying I had."

Steve doesn't say anything, and Robin grows more embarrassed by the minute. She's ready to tell him to forget about it when she feels Steve's hand taking hers and intertwining their fingers.

She remembers back on the Starcourt's roof, when she got scared shitless and her hand immediately found Steve's. She was still scared but comforted by the idea that Steve was with her.

Steve is looking the opposite way from where she's sitting on his left, so she can't see his face when he speaks "I have them too. Just tell me next time instead of giving me more nightmares material."

"Uh sure" she manages to say. She's not used to getting this sappy with Steve, or anyone else for that matter.

She squeezes his hand "so, is part of the Harrington charm to get all smushy?"

Steve squeezes back "fuck off! My art of charming is so much more than that!"

"Oh really, please do tell, I am so ready to take notes on how to woo all the ladies!"

"First of all: Hair."

Steve goes into a detailed list of things Robin should mind more ("I could do your hair" "never in a million years, dingus") and Robin groans and rolls her eyes at most of his points ("I so dress better than you" "you wear suspenders, Buckley. Unironically").

They keep holding hands the whole time.

[natsukitakama]

Headcanon : Control feat Floch Forster

"Well since some writers claim that Floch would be rough in bed then how about smut Floch with a fem soft s/o, she’s not exactly a tease person, she’s just incredibly shy, needy and sensitive who gets embarrassed easily. I’m really curious if Floch would be rough or gentle with her if his s/o is soft and shy but when she’s naked, she gets embarrassed and cover herself"

Author note : Gotta admit I’m a little bit curious too, I mean the big boi got a huge switch energy. Like I can’t totally picture him being a 100%DOM or a 100%SUB maybe it’s just me but I feel like he is a switch a big one. I wrote a headcanon + a tiny scenario.

As usual I apologize for taking so long I hope you’ll enjoy it ♡

Also I don’t know what to do with my life anymore lol was it nasty enough ? Was it good ? I need to write more caliente headcanon I’m still insecure about it lol

Warning : NSFW / SMUT / Mention of spoil from season 4

SMUT : mention of spanking, mention of spitting, mention of rough sex, a little bit of hair pulling nothing bad

Masterlist

Sex with Floch is difficult, there’s nothing wrong with neither of you.

Since his return with Shinganshima, he kinda lost a part of him. He was never the tender one but this event surely broke what was left of his kindness.

It doesn’t mean he would act violently toward you, but he became easily frustrated and not in the good way. Meaning sometimes he will get angry easily, he tends to be violent each time someone doesn’t agree with him. He became a monster but he hasn't known that yet.

Now, he was really in love with you and knowing your personality he couldn’t really be too rough on you.

A part of him really enjoy being rough on you, knowing he was corruption you a little bit more each time he was thrusting into you. It fascinated him the way you would bend at each of his command, opening your mouth when it told you so, screaming begging when he gave you an order. Instead of being rough for the thrill of it, he was rough on you because he loves seeing you getting all red from pleasure not being able to talk because he was fucking you dumb.

Since back in Shinganshima he couldn’t control anything, he would be in control now especially in his sex life and since you were just co compliant with him. He couldn’t just leave this opportunity.

The fact that you were so shy around him even though you’ve been naked in front of him a lot of times never felt to tease him to be a little more rougher on you. Your personality just triggers his « dark instinct »

Now, we must not forget that in the beginning Floch was and would remain a switch, which mean sometimes he needs to feel you taking care of him. To put it simple Shinganshima broke him, and since no one tries to bring him back, he works on his own to not just fall apart.

Some times he needs comfort, some times he needs to be in control. Especially for sex, during a period, when he felt especially « weak » or at least fragile, he would put extra roughness on you meaning he’ll tend to bend you over a desk or anything for that matter as long as he can bend you over, moving your ass up spreading your legs widely so he could get a nice view of your ass and leg.

He might even went as far as to took a bunch of your hair and pull it so you would scream at the pain, and while your mouth would be widely open he won’t hesitate and spit into your mouth.

He also tends to put extra slapping at your ass just because he feels like it

You’re lucky that he is hitting all the good spot, cause the man is too lost on his own pleasure to even notice that well he is particularly rough. But don’t worry, you two got safe word just in case he is too lost on his feeling.

Or, when he feels cocky or just because he is tired from his works. Floch would just lay down on his bed, hands behind his head as you’re looking at him expecting to be taken by him. Then he will just narrow one of his brown eye and say « what ? You’re expecting me to take care of you ? Naah it’s not how it’s work (scuse me sir aren’t you the one who broke me last night ???) you want me y/n then take that cock cause I won’t put a single finger for you ».

But when he feels lonely or sad, or just because you feel like you needed to put him at his place. Spank him, edge him, overstimulate him, make him beg for release and that fucker would even cum harder than usual (little bastard). There’s one thing he might be against, it’s pegging, like a finger or a two why not but a whole toy in his butt ? You’ll need to be a little more convincing for this one (read : fuck him dumbs until he can’t even remember his name and he won’t even whine)

But to do that you’ll need to be extra confident with that, cause even though he is a switch don’t forget that he is most and foremost a jerk, so basically he won’t let you have his way with you easily especially if you tend to be super shy.

If you think that fucker won’t tease the hell out of you for being cocky ? You don’t know Floch.

« Well well what do we have here ??? And here I thought you were innocent Y/N »

« S-Shut up Floch »

« Make me. »

Damn brat *cough cough*

Anyway, if during foreplay or even in the « it » of the moment you felt insecure or sad, use your safe word, Floch isn’t really good at reading people and he might think you were acting extra shy as usual while in fact you were feeling bad over something. Then proceed to explain to him what’s wrong.

He is the stupid worshipper. Always like « Huh ? You think you’re ugly ? Are you stupid ? Of course you’re hot look at you ? I thought you were smarter than y/n » damn buddy it hurts coming from you. Also the dirty worshipper.

« Such a nasty hole you are y/n look at it all clutching around nothing waiting for me to fill it entirely. Fuck you’re wonderful y/n »

« Mamama look at those legs they were made to be wrapped around my hips »

« Damn it y/n you sure know how to suck a cock »

« Look at you taking my cock so well, I swear your swallow me without a blink of an eye what a good slut you are y/n »

Yeah that’s his praise

I’m sorry

He’s doing his best

So yeah he might be a switch if you’re too shy to dom him, well all he has to do his to take the leas right ?

Now if we’re focusing about your first time not just with him, like if you’re a virgin that would be another story.

A part of him want to be extra rough on you like he will corrupt you, you know ? Not really a kink of him but the thought of it got his dick hard as rock so safe to say that he is not against the idea of fucking you dumb.

But as the thought was starting to drive him crazy he realized that for a first time, knowing your personality being quite shy and embarrassed easily he might not be the best idea to just jump into you. Maybe taking your time together would be for the best, so both of you would learn about each other’s body, sweet spot, what to do or not do.

He won’t be too vanilla because that’s not how he is especially now that he joined the yeagarist, in fact his return from Shinganshima changed him into a cold man, mentally instable but somehow strong when it came to follow his belief, but still as I stated before he always needed control but also need a way to get out of his nightmare. So being rough with you in bed sound like a perfect way to escape his reality, of course it’s not healthier way but it’s work so he won’t complain.

Now that being said, even if it won’t be your first time together I can’t see him forcing you into things that make you uncomfortable. He is a dick, but he cares about you. He might try to convince you to at least give it a shot, especially if he felt that the reason that you’re refusing it’s just you being shy (even if he told in his own way that there no need to be shy round him). But he felt that something scares you, he won’t force you and won’t even bring it again.

I don’t feel like he is into gun play/ arm play for that matter, not into blood play either. He is surrounded by blood and weapons all the time, sex with you is supposed to be a safe place where he can escape his old demons so no gun for the baby.

In conclusion, the fact that you are shy angel won’t stop him for being you so it’s up to you to tell him what’s good for you or not.

I know for a shy person it’s difficult to talk about the sensitive subject but remember that communication is a key, he might be a dick and sometimes you’d feel like you can’t talk to him like he is an ass (he is but hey you love him) like he didn’t care about your opinion but that’s not true, you are important and probably the only thing that matter to him (aside from saving paradise but you includes so) so don’t be afraid.

Tiny scenario because it took me forever to post it as a compensation :

« Fuck yeah you feel amazing y/n »

For some reason today Floch was particularly generous with you, not that usually he is not. But today he felt like spoiling you. At first it started with multiple hot make-out session everytime you two were alone. Pushing you against the near wall or holding you against his firm chest, it’s like his lips couldn’t leave yours for like one minute. One of his hand was behind your neck keeping your head firmly against him as the other left for your ass to grab it. Your body was caught between his body and the wall, so all you could do was putting your arm around his neck and just enjoy his warmth as he was greedily kissing you. After all, you hadn’t got the chance to see your boyfriend for a while, to be exact after your mission in Mahr and the capture of Eren you barely caught a moment together to share a kiss. He claimed that there was nothing against you and that he was just very busy since the situation between Mahr and Paradis was still tight.

So, his little greediness was welcomed, you couldn’t help but starting to feel touch starved. You were missing him to the point that you started to wear some of his coat just to be able to catch some of his warmth. Of course you didn’t say anything about it, knowing your boyfriend you wouldn’t see the end of it. After kissing you for like the tenth time, Floch finally moved a little to be able to see you from your entirety. Lips swollen slightly open as you were taking your breath since he barley left you time to take a breath, hair a little messy for the way he was grabbing it firmly, cheeks all pink (probably because you were both embarrassed and turned on by his action). It was definitely a view that was worth it. Since his return from Mahr, Floch hasn't had time much to his dismay to mange some quality time with you, hell he couldn’t even remember the last you two has gone on a date together. Knowing the situation, and what was about to happen with the yeagarist he won’t be able to take you on a date before a long time. So he felt like he needed to take every occasion to have his way with you, kissing you, stroking your body, feeling you against him cause who knows when he’ll be able to have you close to him again ? He was starting to feel angry and eager;

Alongside, let’s be honest the yeagarist didn’t do anything to help him. All the time, he could hear them whining about some soldier who apparently wasn’t on their side, or about the fact that yeah some of them have spent a couple of days in jail. They were starting to get on his nerve, most of them were just spoiled brat who never went into hell and here they have the guts to complain about their condition ? What a shame. He started to feel his shoulder getting heavy. His muscles too were sore, his patience was slowly disappearing worst, he started to have nightmares again. It all started because he wasn’t with you, because he barely spent time with you. He needed you. He needed you right now.

« Floch a-are you okay ? Y-You keep staring at me »

« Do I ? Sorry you just looked amazing all fucked up because of him »

« I-I’m not fucked up »

« Yet. »

A race and a couple of clothes on the floor later, here you were bending over his bed. Face down with a hand firmly against your neck, ass up all good for Floch as he was grinding against you as if it would be the last time that you two would have sex. You were used to Floch being rough against you and to be honest you didn’t mind it since he was hitting all the good spot, and the way he is grunting each time you were clutching against him was music to his hear. Also the dirty talk didn’t help. But today was different, for some reason the foreplay lasts longer than usual, you noticed that Floch took extra time kissing each inch of your body, stroking everything that he might forget. He also ate you out longer than usual putting extra time to make you cum multiple time before he could even put the head of his dick in you. You didn’t mind though, it was good to be spoiled by Floch without even begging for it.

« I could spend my life between your leg y/n but now it’s time for the real fun, come on I want you on four for me. Spread those gorgeous legs of yours for me cause I can’t spend any minute without being in you »

As he was thrusting into you senseless, you felt that he was slowing down but still keeping a firm rhythm against you. Then you felt your body moving, so you could be face to him, he moved his own body too bringing your ankle around his head as your legs were now on his shoulder. The light coming from the windows highlight his toned chest and his arm muscles, his hair were a mess from all the time he put them in place. Even after getting intimate with him multiple times, getting naked in front of him was still something that embarrassed you. He knew that. So it was no surprise for you that you hear him chuckled at your state before slowing down putting your knee at your chest, so he could kiss you again for like the hundred time.

« You felt like heaven babe I’m not kidding I can die now it would be perfect. So tight and warm for me »

And then as if nothing happened, he roughly starts to thrust into you. Floch’s head was now in the crook of your neck as he was breathing heavily, your hand were now on his hair grabbing it each time he was hiding your sweet spot. His movement were kinda slow though as he was taking time to thrust deeply into you reaching whenever spot he was looking for, you swore you could feel his head on your stomach or maybe it was just you losing your mind. It didn’t help that you suddenly felt his hand between your leg touching you, stroking you, teasing you so you would approach your climax quicker than him. No doubt that Floch planned to either edge you or overstimulate you, knowing how he spoils you before, he might overstimulate you until you would be nothing but a mess.

How long would you last before loosing your mind ? That’s what Floch was about to know.

[barnesandco]

Little Hands (IV)

Series Masterlist

Communication is key.

This is an entry for @star-spangled-bingo 2021. Word count: 2248. Square filled: “Sung to Sleep”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: More Hydra Evilness, More Sad Child, Parental Anxieties. Brief mentions of war, sickness, death, grief. 

A/N: I know 2.2k words isn’t objectively a lot but boy did this feel like it. I hope every word is worth it and that you enjoy! Lmk what you think!!! Also I won’t even lie, the idea of Steve’s kids is 100% from one of my favorite comfort fics, family means no one gets left behind or forgotten, by the genius, the wonderful cosmicocean. IT’S SO SOFT. Pls read it.

You’re stunned when Bucky tells you what’s going on. The idea that his daughter (?) was made in a lab like some kind of experiment, and that the man who led said experiment now wants her back like she is his property, his weapon, is too horrid to consider for very long. Weaponizing an innocent child. Hydra.

Bucky gave you the broad strokes of the investigation – currently running on little more than educated guesses based on the meagre intel they have – and has let you know that he has had to recuse himself from the case, due to his… personal connection. That leaves him somewhere he finds awkward, to say the least.

It's evident in the way the corners of his lips turn down, how he is constantly rubbing the pads of his fingers against the coarse scratch of denim, while he watches Ana watch Zoya, Steve’s 17-year-old daughter, working on a tablet. Zoya tucks a strand of hair behind her hijab, then continues to draw up a storyboard, narrating the events to the younger girl. Steve had apparently forgotten the lunch his kids had made him at home, so Zoya had brought it in, and decided to stay the day.

Ana’s quiet, attentive for the most part, listening with her full capabilities, but her eyes flit away from the screen every now and then to look at you and Bucky, as if to reassure herself that you’re still there.

Besides that, there aren’t all that many distractions present for an already precocious child. Most of the team has dispersed for the investigation, with the exception of Peter, who is sat at a table in the corner making intentionally fruitless efforts at teaching Morgan chess, while she giggles and tries to stack the pieces like Jenga blocks instead.

However, Bucky’s restlessness is infectious, and you think he needs to get it under check before it grows any further. That’s why you stand, saying, “Could we go for a little walk, Bucky?”

He nods, man of few words that he is, and leads the way. You’re sure he knows that you formulated it like a request for his benefit, but he doesn’t mention it. It’s just as well – that he knows you like that, and knows when to accept the proverbial hand being offered.

Bucky takes you to a corner of the roof that you’d mistake for a community garden if you didn’t know any better. The Avengers seem to have green thumbs, or at least, a significant portion of them do. They’re good with plants, and possessive about them, too. Autumn ferns grow outside the circle they seem to have been planted in – with a sign shouting Wanda! – to invade the territory of a vegetable garden labelled Bruce (accompanied by a Hulkish, green thumbs up presumably not drawn by the man himself).  

Meticulously maintained daylilies and columbines, in vivid reds and vibrant purples, litter the edges of the path that has been carved through this little paradise, and the birdhouses between them stake the claim of the owner more effectively than a neon sign screaming Sam Wilson. Bucky’s told you about his abilities, how they veer into the decidedly supernatural but Sam insists are only the residue of a childhood with homing pigeons.

Nothing here looks like Bucky’s, though. He seems to be taking it in, perhaps thinking about his own little paradise back in the city, and how he’s chosen to keep it distant from that of his teammates. That worries you. He worries you.

And this, the situation with Anastasia, becoming a father, it’s terrifying. Hell, if it scares you this much, how is he feeling? You ask him as much.

“Bucky, are you okay?”

He laughs, softly, disbelievingly, no malice in his scoff, only fear. Only the sound of a voice saturated with consternation and total, complete anxiety. “Would you be?” He asks back.

“That’s why I’m asking.”

Bucky evades the questions, turning first one way on the path, and then the other, approaching the edge clear of shrubbery and blooms alike, resting his palms on the top of the wall.

“I can’t be a father.”

The solemnity in his tone allows no room for negotiations, but then, neither do the facts. “You are,” you reply, somewhat hesitantly, because the technicalities of how Ana came to be are still a little blurry to you. She’s far from a normal child, and not quite a clone, either. She is of Bucky, though. His, in any way that counts.

“That little girl was created in a Hydra lab as a super soldier to serve the cause,” he says, shaking his head vigorously as the cause repulses him even more than it does you. “And who knows what else she was put through before SHIELD fell and Orlov got her out, and it’s my fault.”

“You didn’t—”

“I didn’t ask for it to happen but it wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t happened. They used me to make a super soldier from scratch, and now I’m supposed to raise her? It’s not that simple. I’m not Steve. I can’t…”

Being honest, you feel you’re pretty far out of your depth here. But you’ve promised him your help, and you’ll do your best.

“You don’t have to. There are other options.” You’re sure you’re overstepping. Perhaps this gentle companionship has not yet reached the point where you can give advice on parenting. But if you don’t, who will? Steve, whose answers don’t enter the gray territory Bucky’s mind is residing in right now, who parents like he was born for it?

Steve chose fatherhood. Bucky has been nailed to it like it’s a new cross to bear, heavier than all the previous ones put together.

His gaze roams the grounds that stretch as far as you can see. You’re both far away from home right now, far outside your comfort zones.

“I’m sorry for dragging you into my mess, sweetheart. It’s not right. You have things to do, and I shouldn’t have—”

“Bucky, I’ve been staring at the same four sentences of dialogue for the past month. I literally could not have been happier to get out of the house. Even if I do wish it was under better circumstances,” you say fervently. You’re here because he needs you. Because Ana needs you. It’s nice to be needed.

“That’s one way to put it,” he smiles, and you’re glad to see it.

“Not to mention, it’s not your fault. It’s not anyone’s fault except whoever your team is looking for,” you insist. “And Ana’s a sweet girl. A little quiet, but Baba says I was, too.”

This, Bucky thinks about. You wonder if he was a quiet child, too. “What’s he like?”

“Hmm?” The reverie snaps like a rubber band.

“Your father?” Bucky asks, shyly, his eyes meeting yours, letting you know exactly why he’s asking.

You look up at the clouds, think back to Boston, to time shared between the library and the park. A childhood with books, lunch breaks under a desk in an office at MIT, stealing his glasses and running away with them, rubbing at his stubbly beard like he was a housecat. Inside jokes with your father and rolled eyes with your mother. Laughter and tears, laughter with tears.

After a long while, trying and failing to summarize your father, you say, “A jokester. The most sarcastic person I know. But still kind of neurotic, to be honest. The kind of parent that makes you show up at the airport a full four hours before your flight.” It’s grossly insufficient. For a writer, you’re not very good with words. You suppose it’s not the words that are the problem; it’s the lifetime they have to encompass. “What about yours?”

Bucky sighs. “Soldier. He’s one thing I don’t feel bad for not remembering because it wasn’t Hydra that wiped those memories. He just died when I was really small. Survived the Great War only to be killed by TB a few years later at home.”

“I’m sorry.” You avert your eyes. Grief feels private, even decades later, even in the smallest doses.

He shakes his head, smiles fondly, up at the sky, too, like you did. Only, he’s smiling at it, like he’s thinking of someone beyond the clouds. “Don’t be. Was a long time ago.”

“That doesn’t mean it isn’t allowed to hurt anymore.”

“You sound like my therapist.”

“I sound like my therapist.”

At this, the two of you look at each other and burst into laughter. It feels forbidden, as though the severity of the situation condemns joy. That isn’t fair, you think. The situation is that of a child, and nobody needs laughter more than kids do. Food for the soul.

When the echo of your exhilarations falls, Bucky grows serious once more. “They have them for kids, now, too, right?” He asks, referring to therapists. “Do you think Anastasia should see one? She’s not exactly… normal, you know?”

“Maybe.” It’s a difficult question, but a good indicator of how Bucky is growing to feel about Ana. “You’d make a good dad, if you wanted to be one, Bucky,” you say, and mean it. It’s plain as day that he cares about her.

“I can’t even remember my own.”

“Parental instincts are intuitive, not genetic,” you tell him.

“You been reading handbooks?” He teases.

“You’d be surprised by how much you learn from the rabbit holes you fall down while researching books,” you deadpan.

“Can any of that research get the nightmares out of my head? I think it might scare a kid.”

The self-deprecation hurts, but your response is honest, heartfelt. “She likes you already.”

“She won’t if she thinks I’ve run away,” he answers, straightening up. He might be trying to evade the conversation, but you’ll let him, for now. He’s gotten some fresh air, had some time to clear his thoughts, or sort them, at least. And so you return, to the little girl who has a tighter grip on both of you than you even realize.

------

Ana grows unsettled as night darkens the sky. It could be the ruckus she isn’t quite used to. It could be the toy fire truck Tony has been altering with his utensils to increase its noise output, much to Morgan’s amusement. It could be the actual parrot perched on Sam’s shoulder.

Whatever the cause, she hasn’t succumbed to it enough to make a seat out of the fridge again. She’s sitting in her seat, between Bucky and yourself, eating the hummus Bruce and Wanda have made. Nat discusses sniper scopes with Clint, Peter tries to get away with eating the side of vegetables on Jordan’s plate without Steve noticing, and Bucky eats silently, eyes almost constantly on Anastasia, who takes it all in while her knee bounces up and down with an ever-increasing speed, much like her father’s.

You excuse yourselves soon after dessert, after Morgan has fallen asleep against Jordan’s arm on the couch, and Steve and Tony’s friendly debate is starting to develop the edge it tends to when they’ve been bantering for too long.

Bucky sets up on the sectional in his room, and leaves the ridiculously large double bed to you and Anastasia. It’s been a strange, strange day, and one can only hope that tomorrow brings some ease, a balm for the prickly, fiery ache that has settled over the man you care so much about.

------

When you wake, it’s because of singing. For half a moment, you think you’re in a dream, but as your eyes adjust to the blanket of dark, you see the shadow on the sofa nearby. Only, it’s bigger than just Bucky. Anastasia is sitting on his lap, her head cushioned against his chest. Scrambling for your glasses, and turning on the lamp on the bedside table, you notice that there are trails of drying tears on her little cheeks, and she’s still shaking with the aftershocks of whatever scare she must’ve had during the night.

Not for the first time, you curse your deep sleep that meant you didn’t wake with Ana, but watch in wonder as Bucky sings.

Hush, little baby, don't say a word Papa's going to buy you a mockingbird

And if that mockingbird won't sing Papa's going to buy you a diamond ring

Ana’s eyes begin to close, but she fights the sleep. Bucky doesn’t let her. He lies down, easing her down beside himself, singing all the while.

And if that diamond ring turns brass Papa's going to buy you a looking glass

And if that looking glass gets broke Papa's going to buy you a billy goat

His voice fills the room, low though it may be, and he curls himself around Ana.

And if that billy goat won't pull Papa's going to buy you a cart and bull

And if that cart and bull turn over Papa's going to buy you a dog named Rover

She succumbs to the lull of his tone, his song, his promises, sighs a little sigh, lets the last, little hiccup leave her body.

And if that dog named Rover won't bark Papa's going to buy you a horse and cart

And if that horse and cart fall down You'll still be the sweetest little baby in town

Bucky lifts his hand from where it was stroking the hair at her temple, and lays his arm over his daughter. They’re safe, for now. Together.

[capitainelevi]

Drabble Challenge!! 5 and 19, can you combine them too???

Thank you for your ask!! ❤️❤️ Drabble challenge: Followers send a number to your ask and you write a drabble using that sentence/prompt in your piece.

“You haven’t even touched your food. What’s going on?” and “And that’s how you ruin a life. Congratulations.”

Growing up Petra has to take an emergency trip back home, leaving Levi to care for the two daughters they have together. Just how wrong could things get?

Canon universe. Word count: 1784

Petra could feel the judgmental eyes of her driver on her as she picked up the “disgusting” habit of chewing her nails again, as her husband would put it. She could feel anxiousness pouring out of her, half expecting to find her house in ruin on her arrival. Had it not been for her emergency trip to see her father in Paradise, leaving Levi alone with their two daughters would have been the last choice Petra would have made. It wasn`t that she didn`t trust her husband, no, but she knew he could be… hard to deal with.

Neither of them made it out of the war unscathed, and while Petra managed to keep her sunny side alive, Levi`s gruffness and pessimism only deepened. But Petra could always glimpse behind the cold exterior, being able to sense just how much her husband adored his little girls, even as they were in the process of putting his hair up in pigtails.

But no matter how much her husband loved his family, he was still a grumpy old man, which often put him at odds with their daughter going through her teen years. No matter how much Petra tried to prepare Levi for the inevitable change, her husband was not ready to accept “his little girl” was not little anymore. His overprotectiveness often suffocated Eve, leading to Petra taking her daughter`s side in most of the arguments between daughter and father.

Left on the sidewalk with her bags by her side, Petra took a glimpse at her house, relieved to see it had not gone up in flames in the few days that she was away from it. She took a deep breath as she gathered her courage to make her way inside to evaluate the damage done. The house was quiet when she stepped inside. Too quiet for her liking. While her daughters took up after their father when it came to their appearance, their personality was all Petra. “Much to their luck”, as their former squad insisted on reminding Levi every time they got to visit.

When she spotted her husband reading by the fireplace, Petra did not hesitate to throw herself on his lap, ignoring the groan it elicited. She threw her arms around his neck, pulling him closer to her.

“I`m not 30 anymore, Petra.”

Petra chose to answer by capturing his lips in a kiss which Levi deepened, the book long forgotten as it hit the floor. She could feel her husband's excitement through the fabric of his pants, and she broke the kiss, worried their time together might get interrupted. Petra laid her head on his chest to listen to his heart beat as Levi ran his hands up and down on her back.

“Did you miss me?”

Levi kissed her again before whispering against her lips- “I think you can feel how hard.”

Petra threw him a dirty look as she got off his lap, much to his displeasure. Despite having been together for 21 years, the flame of their passion never went out. And while her husband had been awkward with showing his love, the time spent by her side changed him.

“You dirty old man.”

Levi just smirked at her playful banter, determined to show his wife just how much he missed her smart mouth once the house went to sleep.

“How`s your father?”

Petra sighed as she threw herself on the couch, still worried about leaving her father on his own until she made the arrangements. She cursed at getting her stubbornness from him when the man refused to acknowledge his old age and the health problems that it brought. After days of yelling and tears, her father agreed to set his worries of being a bother aside and accept Petra`s proposal to be an active part of their lives.

“Stubborn as ever.” Petra rolled her eyes at the smile growing on her husband`s lips, shaking her head in denial at the implication that she is worse than him. “But he did agree to come live with us. I`m just worried about him being on his own for now.”

Levi took her hand in his and rubbed his thumb on her soft skin- “He`ll be fine, Pet. It will be good for him to be close to his granddaughters.”

“Speaking about them, how was your week?”

Levi cleared his throat, quite proud of his achievements while his wife was away. Despite his limited movement, he managed to keep the house up to his cleaning standards, and more than that, he thought he acted fair when it came to the little arguments he had with his daughters throughout the week.

“It all went smoothly.”

Petra was wary of her husband`s confidence, but she chose to leave it alone for the moment. She could see herself once her daughters got back from their classes.

“And I managed to keep all the brats and their shitty germs away from our house.”

Petra groaned as she covered her face with one of the cushion pillows. She often wondered how her husband could be so good with children while also acting like a jerk.

“Levi, our daughters need friends!”

“But Petra, those brats barely know how to use a soap.”

Levi was in the middle of explaining to Petra just how many germs the children brought in his house when their daughters burst through the door, excited to see their mother. Lizzie jumped in Petra`s arms while Eve wrapped her arms around her. Petra squeezed them harder, letting her emotions get ahold of her. She tried to be strong and not show Levi just how soft she was, but her first time away from her family had been hard on her too.

“How is grandpa?”

“He`s fine, sweeties. He will come to live with us in a few weeks.”

Lizzie jumped from Petra`s arms, excited at the prospect of gaining a new partner for playtime, one other than her father- “Another guest to my tea parties!”

Petra just laughed at her daughter`s priorities while Levi announced he had lunch prepared for them. She noticed the half-hearted kiss they gave their father before making their way to the kitchen, and if that was not proof enough of Levi not handling the situation as well as he had claimed, the room being as silent as the grave during their meal was. Levi had managed to turn the most cheerful children Petra had ever seen into… well, him. And in only a matter of days.

“So, did you get along with dad?”

Petra did not miss the grimace on Eve`s face as both girls decided to stay quiet at her question. She turned her eyes to Levi, who just shrugged and carried on with lunch. She turned her attention to Lizzie next- “You haven’t even touched your food. What’s going on?”

Her daughter stayed quiet again, and Petra nodded at her to answer as she ran her hand through her hair locks.

“Daddy takes the fun out of tea parties.”

Petra groaned, not believing the extends his husband would go to for his love for tea. She threw him a dirty look while Levi ruffled Lizzie`s hair.

“Princess, tea time is not for fun.”

“Levi, she`s six! She just wants to serve tea to her dolls.”

Levi was hurt at his wife`s words, as he expected her to understand how important it was for their daughter to understand the art of tea making from a young age. He had even gifted Lizzie a tea set for Christmas for that reason alone.

“But, Petra, she`s not too young to learn how to make a proper tea!”

“Lev…”- Petra was interrupted by Eve- “Dad moved my curfew to 8 PM. And he came over to my friend`s house to scold me for being out at that hour. It wasn`t even dark outside! Mom, he embarrassed me.”

Petra did not even have time to react, as Levi turned to her- “She`s too young to date!”

She rolled her eyes, tired of having the same argument with her husband every time their daughter was out with her friends. Petra was sure everyone in their town knew how scary Levi was, despite being confined to using a cane or wheelchair for movement. Everyone knew who Captain Levi Ackerman had been in his youth. She was sure anyone would think twice about hurting the daughter of Humanity`s Strongest Soldier.

“Mom was in the military at my age, dad!”

Petra did not miss the hurt in Levi`s eyes at hearing those words, knowing he was still haunted by the faces of all the children he had helped lead to certain death. He had once admitted to Petra he wished she could have had a different life, one where a child did not have to embrace the idea of death just for the dream of not living in a cage anymore.

Levi did not raise his eyes from his plate as he talked- “That`s different.”

“The hell it is!”- Eve spit in his face, angry at his father`s stubbornness.

Levi tried to contain his anger as he put his fork down and rolled away from the table- “You can say goodbye to the party on the weekend, young lady.”

Eve got up from her seat as she announced to the table- “And that’s how you ruin a life. Congratulations.’’

Petra hugged her daughters and assured them their father was not mad before she followed her husband to their bedroom. She could see the misery on his face, and she threw her arms around him. Her husband barely whispered- “Do you think I`m a shitty dad?”

Petra squeezed him harder, trying to show him the confidence she had in his parenting- “No, Levi. Of course not.” She kissed his cheek before running her thumb on it- “You`re an amazing dad.” She hated that Levi questioned himself, but she would have never blamed him for it, as she knew all about his childhood and the terrors he went through. Petra knew his biggest nightmare was turning into a parent similar to Kenny.

Petra kissed him again before whispering against his lips- “You just need to understand your daughter is grown up.”

Levi sighed before giving her a chaste kiss- “It`s hard, Petra.”

She kissed his nose, knowing it would get a smile out of him, no matter what, and she was not wrong. Levi wrapped his arms around her again as Petra whispered in his ear- “They love you so much.”

“I adore them.”

Levi felt his heart stop when Petra took his hand and rested it on her tummy as she whispered in his ear- “And you will adore this one as well.”

[reawritesthings]

Rocky | JJ Maybank

Gif by @rudypankows

Summary: New to the Pogues, you weren’t familiar with JJ’s fighting habits, when he stumbles into the chateau black and blue, feelings are thrown into the after match. 

Words: 1.8K

Warning: none i guess?? aftermatch of a fight??

When your mother announced that you were moving to a smaller town, you weren't expecting this. Kildale, North Carolina was your new resident for the next four years. You weren’t exactly ecstatic but you were curious to see what a simple life can bring you.

After weaving through the labyrinth of roads, the paths eventually coverage and revealed your new home. Broken trees, tangled bushes and chipped paint was now your safe place. 

“You’ll love it here. I promise you.” Her mother grinned. 

“Yep, paradise on Earth.” You mocked but your mother's smile only grew. “That’s the spirit. You’ll make friends in no time.” She promised, leaving you to take in the salty breeze that tangled through your hair.

Months went by and you were happy, secured with your friends. They were a little dysfunctional but you considered them family. You met Kiara first, one of the best days and memorable days. The Wreck was a safe place where free meals would come your way, if you promised to work there.

Kiara then introduced you to the boys, or you’ll like to call them: Draco, Harry and Ron. They reminded you of fictional characters that were too good to be true.

John B instantly grew a liking towards you. You weren’t predictable as he thought any new girl would be. Pope loved your view on literature, whilst JJ admired your recklessness when it came to messing with the infamous Kooks.

It was an ordinary Friday night which was known as party night, but somehow the Pogues weren’t feeling the need to mope over Tourons. JJ was out, probably finding new ways to get into trouble since he already committed every crime. So, you were quarantined with the rest but your mind was too occupied with JJ's disappearance to focus on the show.

“Has anyone heard, seen or even, spoke to JJ tonight?” You randomly asked which they all immediately shook their heads. If JJ wanted to be found, he would call but something inside your stomach made you feel he was in trouble.

“I think we should look for him. It’s pretty late and he usually arrives around 10pm. It’s 10:30.”

Yourself and JJ had a bond that no one could describe, unless they witnessed the two of you in action. The both of you confined each other when things got rough, he admired the way you never judged him nor lectured him about his choice in actions. Most people would refer to you as Bonnie and Clyde - a pair of outlaws fighting crime with nothing but love. 

He loved the simplest things about you, the little nose scrunches when you patch up his cuts. He loves hearing your angelic voice reciting sonnets to him; Sonnet 116 was your favourite. Once he had an understanding of what Shakesphere was saying, he got the number tattooed. 

“I’m sure he’s just got lost on the way home. He’s clumsy like that.” Kiara reassured you but your gut was telling you otherwise.

Pope could sense your stress as you began to grip onto JJ’s jumper, his response was placing his arm around you giving your shoulder a tight squeeze.

“He’ll be okay. He’s JJ, he has survival skills of an ant.” Pope whispered letting your head fall into his shoulder as you forced yourself to watch an episode.

It was now 12am, and everyone was out like a light. You, however, were awake standing by the porch waiting for him to come home. 

“Where are you, JJ?” You whispered under your breath looking into the darkness. As the breeze was hitting your exposed skin, you sheleted inside wrapping his scent over your body letting some tears escape your eyes.

JJ makes his entrance late. You hear the door swing open more loudly than usual, causing your eyes to open. You don’t look at him, nor acknowledge him. He’s late and he knew you would be made when he doesn’t show up. He tried to say your name, his bruised lip failing at the first syllable, but he doesn’t need to finish, you were already on your feet to stop him from falling. His left eye is swollen, meaning he wouldn’t be able to see for a while. His face still bears congealed blood and his clothes were destroyed. 

“JJ, you seriously need to stop getting into fights… Everytime you walk through the door, a new shot of purple ruins your perfect tanned skin.” You sniffled as you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, but with a reassuring touch you began to nurse him.

Each bud stained more than the last, you could sense his embarrassment, shame and guilt as he let tears shelter through his cuts.

“I’ve got you, you are safe now.” you whispered as you finished cleaning him up. Although his face was now seen as a punching bag, you gracefully planted a small kiss to his forehead letting him know he was forgiven.

Since the bedrooms were occupied, the two of you had no choice to share the pull out. Helping JJ onto the bed, he immediately buried his head into your chest letting you shelter him from the monsters he ran from.

“I’ve got you..” You whispered once more before your eyes began to fall into a deep slumber as your mind was finally at rest.

The morning after couldn’t come any sooner, it felt like a couple of minutes since you closed your eyes. JJ was still out, his body was curled into yours as his light snores woke you along with the roaster John B decided to keep.

“What a beaut- what happened?” John B croaked, but immediately gave you an apologetic look as you placed your finger to your mouth. 

“He got into a fight, he couldn’t talk when he came in last night.” You whispered hoping JJ wouldn’t wake up, as he needed all the sleep he could get.

“Is there anything I can do?” John B always felt hopeless when he would find the two of you asleep on a pull out. It was either you having nightmares or JJ getting beaten up.

“Maybe some water, just in case he needs to feel strong again” You mumbled, looking down at how peaceful he was. 

You always loved the way his curly blonde locks invaded his face as he slept. It was usually him, spooning you but occasionally he liked it when you took charge. He liked being taken care of, since no one else bothered too.

“Jesus, He really out did his last fight.” Pope groggily spoke, starching his hair as he came out of the spare bedroom along with Kie who was brushed and ready to start the day.

“Should Pope and I get breakfast from the Wreck? I feel like we all needed a Carrera breakfast.” Kiara jokes to lighten the mood a little.

“Please.” You chuckled letting your finger brush through JJ’s messy hair. 

“Okay, let us know if anything happens.” Pope added on, letting Kiara pull his frame out of the picture and towards the car.

You looked over at John B for guidance in what to do, you were fairly new and even the bond you and JJ shared, you still felt hopeless.

“Someone needs to not let him get into all these fights. One day, he might not even make it back. I think you need to talk to him.” John B confined his feelings with you, but you couldn’t be the one to lecture him. 

“You’ve known him longer. He’s your best friend.” You argued back, giving John B some serious thinking. 

“You’re his girlfriend, you know him more than I do.” John B without realising labelled you, but it wasn’t true. You and JJ were friends, best friends. 

“I’m not his girlfriend, and I told you to shut up about that.” You confessed your feelings but you never would admit your desire to be with the blonde rebel. 

“Well, I know he likes you and if he wasn’t asleep, I’ll get those bruises myself. “ John B wasn’t good at keeping secrets, nor was Pope, which only left Kiara to be the trusted one in the group. 

As JJ arms were secured around you, the bladder inside you was nearly at breaking point. You slowly began to remove his tendered arms away from your waist but a whine escaped JJ’s lip.

“D-Don’t leave.” He choked out, opening an eye to see your face.

“I need to pee… I’ll be back, I promise.” JJ nodded, letting go of you as his arms flopped onto the mattress but his smile grew as your scent stayed with him.

“Watch him.” You nudged John B who was busy scrolling through Sarah Cameron’s Instagram.

“Aye, Aye Captain,” John B closed his phone, walking over to the bed to check on his best friend.

“Dude, what the fuck happened?” He immediately asked, he knew he wasn’t okay so he didn’t bother with that question.

JJ was trying to form words, “I-I ran into Topper and he mentioned Y/N, talking about her as if she was some piece of meat. I couldn’t let him talk about my girl like that.” JJ grumbled, looking up as John B gave him a huge grin.

“I knew you liked her.” JJ shook his head, “I love her, man.” JJ confessed not noticing you were already standing under the door frame, listening to every word.

“I love you, too.” You swooned making your way over to him, planting a small kiss to his cheek.

“I’m so sorry for missing movie night and getting into another fight. I’ll promise I won’t get into more fights.” But you only chuckled as no matter how much you tried, you could never get that boy to stop fighting especially for the one he loves.

“Mhm, get some rest. Food is on the way.” You grinned, letting John B cringe over the way you planted soft kisses to his cuts.

“You two are adorably cringy .” JJ rolled his eyes, “jealousy isn’t a good look, bro.” John B scoffed at the remark looking at you to take his side.

“I agree with rocky. Not going to get anywhere with scrolling through her Instagram.” You sassed, heading JJ chuckle but winced immediately clutching into his stomach. 

“Serves yo- Food is here.” John B knew finishing that sentence wouldn’t be ideal so he lunged towards Pope, thanking him for his impeccable timing. 

As you let your friend set up the table, you noticed JJ pulling his weight up to face you.

“I mean it, I love you Y/N.” JJ expressed his feelings again, which surprised you as he wasn’t the one to open up about certain things.

“I love you, JJ.” You reached in to kiss his bruised lip, ignoring all the aww’s coming from your friends.

masterlist  AND TAGLIST

[marshmallowprotection]

Iris

Pairing: Choi Saeran/Reader, 707 | Choi Luciel/Main Character

Description: Was there faith in a false paradise with a savior that spilled honey sweet lies to make you agree? There is no life to be found amongst those in a rotting flowerbed, only those clinging to the roots as the world awaits your demise. Why is he still here when others had long been plucked from the dying earth? And better yet, why are you still here after everything, clinging to his roots as if he’ll bring you life? Or is he the one clinging to you?

SE Saeran x Former Believer Reader

Word Count: 5500

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[Read On AO3]

Chapter Twelve 

You didn’t know what to say to him. 

You weren’t sure that there was anything you could say to Saeran at that moment. He was upset… understandably upset. You knew why he was and in many ways, you could say that you’d been angry, too. 

You had simply accepted a long time ago that you were going to be on edge and in so many ways, dealing with the past whether you liked it or not. The kindness of others was all you had to keep a roof over your head.

There was a part of you that doubted that Jumin Han would’ve extended that much kindness if you hadn’t been willing to help him like this. He would’ve been paying for your hospital care and therapy but you doubt you would have a roof over your head. He had money, but he wasn’t made of it. No matter how much that company made. Your skin crawled whenever you thought about it. 

You never mentioned what you had been doing to Saeran. 

You hadn’t even known that he would be close to any of this. You knew that Jumin knew where he was hiding but you never thought that he could talk him into this. It always felt like a fever dream to even think of asking. He was always against being close to the RFA. He always alluded to them being corrupted. All of those things that you didn’t know about him were starting to bubble up in the back of your head and haunt you even more. 

What you didn’t know hurt you and what you did know hurt you, too. There was no way to crawl out of this mess without stepping on someone’s toes. You never thought that Jumin would bother with any of this, and it hadn’t mattered after you saw Saeran again on your own. This just further complicated what you were trying to build again. You just wanted to get to know him again and see him without fearing that the worst had happened to him. 

Even if it couldn’t go back to the way that it was before, you wanted to know something to give you faith in moving forward if that was what it came to. Speaking to Saeran made you happy again as if you had forgotten what it felt like to be happy with your choices. It made you feel like all of the months that you spent isolated and tired of the world had been worth something just to learn he was happy again.

Seeing his hair so vibrant… his cheeks kissed by delicate freckles… even the way he stood looked to be better than he once was… and as you sat next to him in front of this desk, you couldn’t stop at all as you stole glances at him. His side profile was just as lovely… and you saw how his lips looked to be less chapped than they once were. 

A part of you wondered if he took you up on the idea of chapstick these days. Cherry would be sweet against his lips. Would it taste sweet or would you be reminded of the elixir? Would you even care? Would you even think twice? What would you think if you got the chance to be close to him in the way that you had once been? 

What would you say if it worked out? 

What would you say if it didn’t? 

These things haunted you great every time you tried to think about what was in your heart but it never found an answer. 

Not that you might ever have the chance to kiss him again.

Not after today, not after he knew that you had been talking to the RFA… it wasn’t like it had been your choice but you had to do it. You had no other choice, and the only reason why you tried to do it in the first place was to make sure that Rika didn’t come out of this unscathed. She hurt you and so many people, including Saeran. You wanted her to face the proper punishment for what she had done if anything, and never think about her again. 

You have a lot of… cruel thoughts that you didn’t want to give any life. You were conflicted at times about it. You knew that you were doing the right thing, but another part of you felt pity for what’d happened afterward. She was a shell of herself and catatonic for so long, but as far as you knew, she was aware of her reality now, and that’s why she’d been deemed fit for trial in the first place. They’d held off to see if she could handle it. 

Now that she could, the country was waiting for a trial to begin.

No, the entire world was waiting. 

Isn’t that why you were here, anyway? 

Even though you had kept asking Jumin over and over again to know where Saeran was and what he was doing, he never went through with it. You wanted to think that Saeran had run far from any world that reminded him of Mint Eye, and that’s why Jumin was trying to avoid telling you what he knew to be true. But, that wasn’t the case. If Jumin knew where he was, that meant that there was a lot more going on in the background. 

As the two of you sat there, you couldn’t help but hear the clamoring beat of your heart that just couldn’t stop drumming. You wanted to say something but you weren’t sure what you were meant to say at this point. What did he expect? What did he want to hear? Jumin was giving the two of you some time to think these things through before he returned but… it left nothing but a tense air in the room. 

“I’m sorry,” was what you mustered at first. You turned your head to stare in front of you once again. The band-aid had to come off otherwise you were going to bite your tongue.  “I know the last thing you ever wanted was to see the RFA. I’m not sure you want to even hear my explanation for this mess or not. 

His jaw sounded tight. “Did he force you to do this?” 

“He didn’t force me, per se,” you said, honestly. That was the truth but it wasn’t the truth at the same time. You felt like you had no choice. “I guess I felt like I had no other choice. I had nothing when I left Mint Eye, Saeran. Nothing… and I had nobody to come back to on the outside when I wound up in the hospital. Jumin Han’s company has been giving me a hotel room to live in and a decent pass for healthcare. It’s more like I’m indebted. I’m not… happy about it.” 

It wasn’t a lie. 

You felt like you had no choice. 

His next question was just as sharp, but he seemed to be struggling just as much as you were. “Iris, how did they find you? I… I made sure that nobody could pin crimes on you. I made sure that it wouldn’t happen. That they wouldn’t find you. I know you damn well never would’ve trusted any of them with your life or secrets. You never would’ve...”

 “Told them about us, you know,” you murmured. You noticed the way that his hands had begun to tremble against his lap. He did something? When he had returned to Mint Eye after being gone for what felt like weeks, he spent five minutes on his computers before he shoved you into a room and locked the key, apologizing as you banged on the door and cried for him to let you out. Did he do something with the system? 

Is that why they didn’t know? 

Then, how did V find out? 

You had never known Jihyun Kim as a man. You had known him as A306, and even then, you hadn’t known anything about him. He was an enigma. You had stitched together who he was by trying to research about him once you left Mint Eye, and again, you were left with more answers than questions. 

You met Jihyun Kim, once, and that was on the day that he died under some mysterious circumstances. You didn’t know him. You didn’t know what to think of him. All you knew was what you pieced together from what Saeran talked about, what you saw up close, and what you’d read online. It was nothing that gave you anything that made sense. He was… something, but he was the reason why you were here with Jumin. 

It was his fault you were here. 

Did Saeran not know that? 

“No, I didn’t tell them about us. I know how you felt… feel, Saeran. I don’t want anyone to know about what was meant for us and only us. They… They don’t know about anything I did with you back there. Whatever you did, you wiped the system clean of my deeds. They think I was just some kidnapped assistant who worked for you against my will. They made assumptions. I’ve never tried to correct them. They don’t deserve to know about us.” 

You felt the tears starting to leak from your eyes, “I… I would never sell you out. I refused to talk about you. Jumin’s been trying to get me to talk about Mint Eye, but I always refuse, Saeran. I never talk and I just wind up back here every once and a while when he asks me about you, about the RFA, about Mint Eye, about everything that I know and don’t know. I’m only doing this so Rika can’t ever hurt you ever again—”

The breath that you inhaled was disconnected and discolored. It made you feel sick. You spin to face him with that messy look in your eyes, seeing the way that Saeran was staring at you. Those eyes were brewing with a stormy sea but he was looking at you the same way he would after a long nightmare… with love in his eyes that made you quiver like a freezing dog left in the rain for hours. 

You wanted so badly to hold him but you felt like you didn’t deserve that right. You never wanted to be in this position. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to see you again. I didn’t even know that Jumin was going to reach out to you, because he hasn’t all year so far, and when I saw you the other day, that was a chance encounter. I don’t expect you to believe that, but I… I... I’m sorry, Saeran. I’m just so sorry. I know you don’t want to relive this… any of this.” 

The bite in the back of your voice implied: That you don’t want to relive Mint Eye… including what we had. 

Saeran reached out towards you, his hand tentatively pressing against your knee. He looked a little bit stiff as he did so but he managed it. You could feel him shaking at the palm for some reason, it had never done that before. He kept his eyes on yours, “You never lied to me, Iris. I’m the one that lied to you.” 

“...I understand why you had to—”

Saeran’s voice shook, “No… I had no excuse to lie to you. I was selfish, stupid, and horrible. I lied to you about what the RFA was to me and my connection to them. I wanted to erase my past and embrace a future where we could… I wanted to hide it away. But, I lied to you… and I thought it would keep you safe from all of this. I knew that… I knew that you wouldn’t talk to them about me… and I’m not surprised they tried to use me as leverage against you. Rika did it, too.” 

Rika did it, too. 

Suddenly, those old memories of when things started to go wrong came flooding back to your mind all of a sudden. You had been used back then. It just hadn’t been clear to you at the time given everything you had been through. But, it was true. You just didn’t like to think about it when push came to shove. 

It stung. 

He lied because he was… trying to protect you from knowing something. If he was abused or hurt, you didn’t want to know about what those people had done to him. It would’ve made you angry enough to lash out just as hard as he had. It made you warm to think that he wanted to run away from it all with you at some point, even if only as a dream.

“Still, I know this isn’t what you wanted to deal with. I’m sorry. I know that you never want to be around the RFA, no matter what that means. You… you only came here because I’m here, you did not have to do that. We have each other’s phone numbers now, we don’t need them to be able to see each other!” 

“Don’t apologize for something that was never your problem, to begin with,” he grumbled. That surprised you, though. “You weren’t ever… you never did anything wrong. I was the one that used you for my selfish whims. You… you were never meant to be here. You weren’t supposed to be here with Jumin Han and the others.” 

“I never wanted to wind up in this position. Jihyun Kim wrote down my name as someone to look for when paradise… fell, and that’s how I got here,” you said, your voice quiet and barely audible as you did. That name brought silence to the room. It was a bad silence… one that was twisted up in a lot of anguish and dread. You didn’t want to say it but it was the truth. 

A knock came at the door and cut off the conversation. 

—

“Where is he?” 

“My Savior, I—” An audible sound echoed in the room as a hand ran across your cheek. You were stunned that your Savior had struck you so roughly and hard. 

It hurt. It hurt less physically compared to the notion that the woman that had promised to be there and protect had hurt you for no reason. You hadn’t done anything that you knew of that warranted such violence. You didn’t know the answer to her question, you had no idea whatsoever where Unknown had gone. He hadn’t said a word to you. 

It was like he had disappeared in thin air… nothing. It was like he was unknown. There was no trace of him and no sign to guess where he had been. The only reason that you knew that he was alive in the first place was the coat that was wrapped around your shoulders. You knew he was real, and he was here… or rather, he had been here. One minute he was right by your side and the next, you had no clue where he was. 

Everything you knew had changed in an hour. It had only taken an hour for you to go from what you had grown used to, to someplace where you were wandering around uncharted and deadly unknowns. It wasn’t the unknown that you knew. It wasn’t a comfortable feeling in the darkness. It was something bright and suffocating. 

You had stepped out of the room because he told you he needed something, and by the time you came back, you stood in the middle of glass and destruction. It looked like a storm had struck the tiny room you shared. It didn’t make any sense. You had only been gone for fifteen minutes and that shouldn’t have been enough to cause any problem. 

What happened there? 

Papers, documents, notes, chairs, and more, all overturned like there had been some kind of fight or confrontation. It wasn’t uncommon for Unknown to get angry and lash out, but this didn’t seem like one of his tantrums. He hadn’t even had one in a while! The computer was unlocked, as well, which never happened when you were with him. You weren’t allowed to touch anything on his set-up. 

He never let you see things that you weren’t meant to see. It was better that way, he had claimed since the Savior would expect tenfold from you if you knew what he did. You didn’t mind the extra work but his revenge meant everything to him, which was why you never tried to pry. Seeing those monitors unlocked meant something was wrong.

The urge to glance was strong but you grit your teeth and decided to check elsewhere. It wasn’t worth the trouble and if you couldn’t find anything, you could come back to the computer and run a few system checks that he’d shown you how to do. If worse came to worst… he probably just had a tantrum, something might have pissed him off… 

Maybe the RFA was causing trouble again…? 

Ever since the week prior, he hadn’t been okay. Something hadn’t felt right and he had been on the cusp of breaking down every night. If you weren’t by him, he would start to shudder, tremble, and shake with something that you couldn’t understand. He wouldn’t tell you what happened, but it’d become clear that when he failed to bring MC back to paradise, something had happened to him at that apartment and it dug deeper than he was admitting. 

He was closed-off, but in a way that felt as though you were back to the start… back to how things were before you found yourself swept away in desperately grasping at him and trying to hold him with everything you had. He didn’t shove you away but he had stopped talking… he had stopped trying to tell you what was on his mind. You missed being inside of his head. You missed knowing everything. 

His anguish always made sense to you. 

You felt like Unknown knew you better than you knew yourself… and learning more about him was solving a puzzle that had a lovely picture at the end. You liked learning more and seeing more about him because you found something new underneath his anger every day. It made your chest flutter and your heart sing. 

Why was he missing? 

The phone that he had given you held no messages. He could only message you on it so it did you no good to see that there was no message. His phone wasn’t there, either, which meant that he had taken it. Nothing else appeared to be missing but you couldn’t be sure. By the time it had taken you to turn the room upside down, the guards had come around to bring you to visit the Savior. 

It’s how you found yourself sitting on your knees in front of her as her personality shifted from the kindly and radiant woman you knew to something… dangerous. It wasn’t okay. It wasn’t what you expected, and it wasn’t what you knew to be true in this paradise meant for everyone. She’d never treated you with malice or discontent. 

She’d never looked at you with disgust in her eyes, and you’d never seen her do anything like that in person to someone, much less yourself. Her touches and words had always been sincere and honest when she was helping someone in need of it, but this was something else. It was like something had changed and there was no mending what had come to pass. 

Something wasn’t right and she didn’t have the power to cover it up and comfort anyone. It must have been bad… Why else would she share this anger with you? You hadn’t done anything wrong, not as far as you knew, and this was… it had to be unwarranted. She was under a lot of stress, she had to save paradise every day. 

Right? 

...Right? 

Why was she so angry in the first place? It didn’t make sense to you, but you didn’t have any of the pieces to understand what the problem was. She wanted to know where Unknown was, but she’d known that you weren’t with him. How could you know where he went when he hadn’t said one word to you before he went missing? Every time you tried to explain that, she’d just speak over you and never let you finish.

“My Savior,” you tried again. 

She wasn't happy. She didn't strike you, but that look in her eyes told you all that you needed to know. She wasn't going to take anything that you had to say for an answer. It didn't take a lot of guessing to figure that out. It was why you immediately closed your mouth and decided that it would be better just to shut up.

If she knew something, she was going to tell you in the process of trying to figure out what she wanted you to say. What could’ve happened to spur this response? Nothing had been out of the ordinary. Apart from Unknown having nightmares that you had to coax him out of night after night, there was nothing. Nothing that told you anything on why he would be missing or why the Savior was so angry. 

What went wrong? 

Did it all tie back into the failure to grab MC? 

All you knew was that the RFA had cheated. They had taken precautions and done things that were almost out of character. They moved to change things about the apartment that neither of you’d planned to happen. The location was unknown to the members as far as you knew, except for the two that you barely knew anything about. 

They must have known it was you because if they had hurt Unknown before, they must’ve been prepared for a second chance to do it. If they were so bad that he never wanted you to see any of them, they had to be that way. They just had to be that bad. There was no other plausible reason for him to keep information that would’ve helped your mission away from you.

The thought of someone trying to get rid of him made you sick to your stomach. He was the only person that ever made you feel… warm inside. Sure, paradise gave you a place where you finally had a purpose that didn’t leave you crying and begging for the end to come. But, you were isolated just as much here as you were back on the outside. Isolation wasn’t so bad, not as long as you had your flowers. 

Yet, you always wished that people would’ve spoken more to you and given you the time of day to interact. Paradise wasn’t at its peak, you told yourself, which meant that people were still trying to find their place and purpose… it was more important to focus on your needs first, and then come to terms with your new family in Mint Eye. 

It would make sense eventually. It always did. It would always turn itself around and start to make you think harder about things. The misery would bleed itself into an unadulterated passion. You just had to have faith. That’s all you had to do. It made sense at the best moments and you had to just cling to it. You wished for something to clear your mind of these thoughts and feelings. 

All you wanted was the ability to think clearly without your skull pounding on top of the burning pain from the Savior’s hand. The lights of the chamber weren’t helping you, it was so bright thanks to the light of the sun that poured into the room from the skylight. Her room was like this so she’d soak in all the rays of the sunshine that she wanted. It wasn’t like the dark hole that Unknown had come to call home with you. 

Everything was too much. 

It was too much.

You wished that you had some elixir to clear your thoughts, to leave you burning and crying until you couldn’t dare to think straight anymore. For some reason, you felt cloudy… the last few days had been giving you headaches and tremors. It was like you were there but you weren’t there, but you wanted to say that it was from the lack of sleep since every time Unknown woke up at his desk, you would race to his side to help him. 

It had to be exhaustion… it had to be the feeling of not being able to keep up. Were you good enough? Were you? Even now, as you stared at the Savior, you struggled to understand why your body felt so tired and why your eyes couldn’t focus. Elixir could’ve helped… it would burn but you could imagine Unknown kissing you, drowning your mouth in the burning taste until it became a sweet wildfire. 

You could tolerate everything so much more with his kisses. 

Where was he? 

“I’m not happy, C404, I’m not happy at all, ” her smile was set into a line. She seemingly regained her composure and placed her hands collectively in front of herself. “If I am not mistaken, are you telling me that you have no idea where your partner is? It is your job as his assistant to know where he is at all times. Are you failing this right now?”

"My Savior," you braced yourself for anything that could come. "Unknown sent me to find paperwork that had been boxed up. I was gone only a short period, and he never alluded to leaving or having something to take care of. If he did, he would have informed me thusly. We have a system for this. If anything were to have happened to him, it happened without my knowledge and his, either. That is why I have no idea where he is. I have no reason to lie to you."

Why would you ever lie to the person that had given you a second chance at life? What would be the purpose of that? You saw no reason to do that. She was the one that gave you a purpose and gave you a place. She was the one that acknowledged your pain and made you feel like someone had seen you when nobody else did. Paradise had given you the chance to be who you wanted to be. 

She was everything to you and so many other believers. 

There was no reason to ever tell her something wrong. Why would she assume that you would lie? You never once lied to her in your life. Ever since all of those months ago that you had met her, you would always show her the truth. She was the one that just saw you as the person that you were on the inside. She was the one that made you open up your mind to the possibilities.

How could you turn a blind eye to that? Everything she did was supposed to help you achieve salvation but that burning feeling against your flush skin told you that something else was going on inside of her heart and none of it was something that you wanted to wrap yourself within.  This wasn’t a blanket that made you feel warm and safe. This felt like an anchor that wanted to drag you underneath the surface. 

The fact of the matter was, it stung to think that she would ever believe that you would lie to her over something like this. You had no reason to lie to the Savior at all. You had no reason to lie to Unknown, for that matter.  Something went wrong but you didn’t know what, when, or how. Had he fought someone? Had he fought himself there? 

What was the answer? You didn’t know and neither did she. That’s the impasse that you found yourselves standing at. Savior seemed to be searching for a lie within your eyes but she wouldn’t find anything. You knew that she wouldn’t. This was a precipice of sorts. So, you took in a breath and waited to see what the Savior was going to do from here. You weren’t lying to her and she had to realize that. 

“You sincerely don’t know?” 

“I do not know, my Savior. I swear to you that I don’t. Have you checked the security footage? I didn’t have time to look over the feed before your guards came to bring me here… maybe there’s an answer on the film?” 

“...” 

“Savior?” 

Had she not considered that? 

With a renewed answer to what she wanted, she merely gave a wave to the guards that were waiting in the back of the room. You winced when someone grabbed you by the arm but you knew that it wasn’t going to stop them from man-handling you. Was that all she wanted? She hadn’t answered you, she seemed to be thinking over what you’d said but that didn’t tell you much. Did have some kind of idea where he was? 

“Savior?” you asked, once again, and felt that pit growing in your stomach. Why did it feel like that? Why did such a heavy tension cover the room with a thick fog that felt wrong and dull? It made you anxious and unsure of yourself. It was one thing with the pain, but it was another with these feelings that didn’t align. “Is something wrong?” 

She had pulled out her phone and was flipping through a few things, you assumed that she was trying to go through the cameras. She had access to them just as much as Unknown did, and you had no clue how to access that server without checking the emergency log for Unknown’s code in case of something going wrong. Nobody was saying anything and the sounds of her tapping didn’t help.

After a few minutes, she lifted her head and those emerald eyes of hers met yours. Something about it was sharp and made you wince. It reminded you of the sun all over again, and her bright curls did nothing to help it. She smiled, and it went against the look in her eyes, “Yes, C404, something is wrong.” 

What? 

“What’s wrong, if I can ask, my Savior?” 

“You see, people in your situation tend to overlook the important factors. It’s common to forget your place and say things out of turn when you’ve been given a great deal of luxury. I’m afraid to say that perhaps, you’ve been given too much freedom at Unknown’s side. You’re not meant to leave his side without staying in contact with him, and I’m afraid if Unknown’s not been following that rule, well…” 

What? 

Dread suddenly struck you as the silence hung in the air, and she continued, “That means I don’t know if you’ve been following any of your orders. If I cannot trust Unknown to do what he has to do for us, I’m afraid, by association, this is a problem with you, too. For this reason, C404, I invite you to paradise, and hope the light will shine upon you this evening as we cleanse your soul of the demons that have invaded your heart.” 

The silence that surrounded you turned into static and white noise. It made you tremble and shake in fear. The elixir was meant to save you from damnation and open your eyes to the truth, but the cleansings were only for believers that lost their way and fought against the whims of paradise. You had done nothing to go against this place! 

Nothing!

Why was she saying this?! 

You… you never did anything against paradise! The only wrong deed that you’d ever done was steal a couple of extra ice creams from the fridge for Unknown to share with you, and that wasn’t a crime. There was no rule for that. That wasn’t going against paradise. Unknown had never said it was required for you to be together at all costs. He never said he had to babysit you around. 

You always did your tasks on your own… hell, you had come to see the Savior on your own many times, so why?! Why was she saying that when she already knew that you did this? How would it be wrong now if it wasn’t wrong before? Why was it wrong?! Where was Unknown and why did she say those things?! 

What was happening?! 

As you realized what she had just said and ordered, you cried out loudly and demanded answers and reasoning, but she would give you nothing. Your Savior turned her back on you and didn’t say a word as you were all but dragged away and led to the basements where only a punishment that you had never been given before lay. 

No amount of crying over spilled ice cream was going to save you. 

[nnnnoooooooooooo]

My Ballot for They Shoot Pictures, Don’t They?’s 25 Favourite Films Poll

The following is my ballot for They Shoot Pictures, Don’t They?’s poll for their readers’ 25 favourite films of all-time. It contains a dozen or so favourites, several compromises, and a handful of personally foundational texts.

Seven Chances (1925, Buster Keaton): It ain’t easy to only choose one Keaton. This is one of Keaton’s films with a racist blackface character, which gave me some reservations. Still, this is a solid contender as his funniest picture, and, more importantly, this is Buster as I love him the most. Keaton’s characters were always the most cerebral and lost, keen observers with no understanding. An inability to communicate one’s emotions drives the need to convert it into a physical experience; Keaton inevitably becomes the object that cannot be stopped. His full forced desperation and athleticism, he is a master of locomotion. Featuring the finalization of the chase gag, along with a generous serving of his brand of surreal.

City Lights (1931, Charles Chaplin): Comedically and emotionally devastating.

Trouble in Paradise (1932, Ernst Lubitsch): Lubtisch’s portrayal of Continental aristocracy on the cusp. Containing love, melancholy, desire, rivalry, loyalty, betrayal, criminals, and thieves-- all saved by his grace alone, achieving a rare bliss of comedy and romance. Normally, I’d say that, in a temporal world, perfection exists only as a process, but then how would I explain this?

La grande illusion (1937, Jean Renoir): In the best of Renoir’s films, I find a type of harmony I find lacking in the rest of the world.

La règle du jeu (1939, Jean Renoir): In making this list, I never doubted either of these Renoir films having a place. Now, trying to write about my list, I find myself becoming frustrated at not finding the words to explain why I chose them. I’ve never been a great communicator, and I doubt that’s Renoir’s fault. I think it’s best for me to move on before I start misplacing my frustrations with my inability to write onto the film itself.

How Green Was My Valley? (1941, John Ford): Possibly the greatest movie ever made under Hollywood’s Studio System, and perhaps the closest we’ll ever get to seeing what Hedy Lamarr might have seen in John Loder. More than any other actor, Sara Allgood carries this film, in her role as the matriarch of the Morgan household. This is chock full of great character actors and moments as you’d expect from Ford. It’s the magic of childhood, the safety of the womb, the cyclical nature of a town where nothing ever seems to change, and the devastation of entropy. I lost track of how many times I cried.

To Be or Not to Be (1942, Ernst Lubitsch): This is my choice for a comedy from the 1940s, despite stiff competition from Hellzapoppin’, and the 11 movies Preston Sturges released over the decade. I had the privilege of seeing this at my local Cinemateque with an introduction by Kevin McDonald. I was late, and the audience had already begun to talk back. He rolled, and we were soon laughing before the “projectionist” could hit ‘play’ on the Blu-Ray. My friend came later. It was a packed house, so we weren’t able to sit together. I enjoyed hearing the variances in people’s response*, and the timing of their laughter. Trying to pinpoint my friend’s laughter from the crowd, I couldn’t help but hear our host’s generous laughter throughout the film. What a joy it was for all of us to experience this film together. I guess I haven’t had a chance to share those other movies the way that I was with this one. *A nice change of pace, as this usually makes me self-conscious

Shadow of a Doubt (1943, Alfred Hitchcock): I find Hitchcock’s women’s pictures to be some of his richest texts. Besides which, any film asking me to sympathize with Theresa Wright already has a lot going for it. Alongside The Wrong Man as Hitchcock’s most tragic film.

Brief Encounter (1945, David Lean): My favourite romance, whatever that says about me. A passionate extramarital affair between Laura Jesson (Celia Johnson) and Dr. Alec Harvey (Trevor Howard), told in flashback. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this placed among noirs, but I think this could be an example of a women’s film noir. There’s a thick sense of transgression and fatalistic mise-en-scene, along with an inability to escape, which ends the film on an unconvincing return to safety.     After the two lovers part for the final time, Johnson returns home. Her husband, Stanley Holloway, asks for nothing, and expresses gratitude for her return. However, for all of that loveliness, Johnson has learned that the world is far more fragile than she ever dreamt. The husband is portrayed as a bit childlike, and, coupled with the affably stiff upper-lipped nature of their marriage, Johnson is unable to confess what’s occurred, which only preserves her turmoil. Unable to consummate, sustain, or forsake her romance with Howard, she may find some refuge with her husband, but salvation eludes her.

Out of the Past (1947, Jacques Tourneur): RKO Pictures, film noir, Jacques Tourneur, and Robert Mitchum– These are a few of my favourite things. As a prude, I don’t care to admit that I love cigarette smoke in B&W pictures as much as I do, and it’s deployed here to its zenith, courtesy of Nicholas Musuraca’s cinematography. Daniel Mainwaring’s script, along with Tourneur and Mitchum, use underplay in order to create a heightened effect. Mitchum’s somnambulism grants his portrayal of Jeff Bailey an omniscient cool, which extends to his character’s bisexuality. There’s such delight in hearing Mitchum, one of the best voices in movies, deliver the film’s lyrical dialogue in his disaffected baritone.

The Big Heat (1953, Fritz Lang): Perhaps Lang’s most cynical film? The culmination of all his conspiracies. The law vs. criminals, no longer as separate from one another, but as sides of the same coin: the establishment. Sergeant Bannion (Glenn Ford) engages in total war against Lagana’s (Alexander Scourby) crime syndicate. Those caught in between end up as collateral damage, pawns in their game. Each dismantles the family unit, Lagana disposes of Bannion’s wife (Jocelyn Brando), and Bannion displaces his child, so that both sides can carry on unfettered. The happy ending finds Bannion happily back at work in the homicide department, where they’re informed of a grisly murder. Oh boy, here we go again! Gloria Grahame, a sister under the mink, reigns as my favourite actress in all of film noir.

The Sun Shines Bright (1953, John Ford): It’s not easy to film a miracle, a feat for which I’d pair this with Carl Th. Dreyer’s penultimate film, Ordet. Speaking of Dreyer, if you have 15 minutes to spare, here’s a great video of Jonathan Rosenbaum discussing this movie alongside Dreyer’s final film, Gertrud. The responsibilities and limitations of society. Communities are built through sacrifice, as we give of ourselves, which accounts for the film’s sometimes funereal tone. One’s resting spot as the place to make a stand, but what good is taking a stand if it doesn’t lead anywhere? Our redemption lies not in preserving ourselves, but in guiding the world to a place that no longer needs us. Thus, not a dying world to save, but an understanding that we must pass in order to bring about renewal. Funerals become parades, and parades become funerals, as we walk the strait and narrow path between tradition and progress. Don’t take a stand while the world marches on, but lead us into thy rest.

The 5,000 Fingers of Dr. T (1953, Roy Rowland): This is a musical written and designed by Dr. Seuss, which is to say that I think you oughta see it. Still, it’s hard to justify why I chose this over The Band Wagon. I’d probably better enjoy watching The Band Wagon, which I’d wager is Hollywood’s greatest musical, but there’s something about The 5,000 Fingers of Dr. T that gets under my skin. I saw it on television when I was very young. Old enough to remember seeing it, but too young to remember more than three details: twins joined at the beard, the nightmare-inducing elevator operator, and a large piano requiring an exponential amount of fingers. This forgotten foundation, along with its Seussian imagery, grants the film a dreamlike feeling. Just as every good boy deserves fudge, every Hans Conried deserves a role like the one he has here, playing the titular Dr. T.

The Night of the Hunter (1955, Charles Laughton): A kid’s film featuring the personification of evil, not in Mitchum’s portrayal of the preacher Harry Powell, but in Evelyn Varden’s Icey Spoon. This movie is so full of indelible images that I sometimes forget LOVE/HATE tattooed on Powell’s knuckles. There’s a dreadful unease from the inability to fully save or preserve Ben & Pearl within a society whose systems turn on them so easily. Their safety is drawn and quartered at every turn, and so Ben & Pearl flee society, finding a guardian out yonder. Still, there’s a limitation to their newfound guardian’s protection. Their angel and their demon sing in harmony; evil becomes instructive to the children’s growth. It’s a hard world for little things, but there is hope. Mrs. Cooper (Lillian Gish) manages to find her redemption in protecting these children while she can. Perhaps we need them as much as they need us. This was Charles Laughton’s only film as a director, as well as the final of James Agee’s two films as a screenwriter. It isn’t right.

Sweet Smell of Success (1957, Alexander Mackendrick): This is my favourite film noir, possibly the nastiest as well. Of course, I cackle throughout the entire picture. Burt Lancaster and Tony Curtis at their bests; the tension between a malevolent god and his jester/would-be pretender played as flirtation, conducting assassinations as though they were composing poetry. Shot on location in New York by James Wong Howe, giving us a view of Babel from the gutters up. Also, I’m just a big ol’ softy for Emile Meyer, who plays Lt. Kello.

Will Success Spoil Rock Hunter? (1957, Frank Tashlin): As I see it, this is the best sex comedy of the ‘50s and ‘60s. Tashlin previously worked at Termite Terrace, making Looney Tunes and Merrie Melodies, and did a brief stop making Screen Gem cartoons over at Columbia in the middle. After having brought feature film techniques to his cartoons, he brought cartoon imagery into his live-action films. This is a vehicle for Jayne Mansfield, who may have been the most cartoonish of the era’s blonde bombshells, and so it is a happy marriage indeed.

Playtime (1967, Jacques Tati): This is cinema. Ah! Tati, Ah!     Modernity

Out 1: noli me tangere (1971, Jacques Rivette & Suzanne Schiffman): Rivette’s movies feel alive in a way that I haven’t found anywhere else. The films I’ve seen are about conspiracy, games, and the development of theatre troupes: things that exist only in our minds, and are dependant on our cooperation with others. Things get so twisted that you wonder how they’ll ever untie it all, only for the shared illusions to be revealed as a complex series of false knots. I broke my rule with this film, in choosing a film that I’ve only seen once. I didn’t make the time to revisit this or Céline et Julie vont en bateau, my other favourite Rivette film, so I went with the larger labyrinth to lose myself in.

F for Fake (1973, Orson Welles): This is Orson Welles’s most playful film. I love Welles, the personality, almost as much as I love Welles, the director, so I chose a movie that features both.

Mikey and Nicky (1976, Elaine May): Perhaps the most tense and dark comedy I’ve ever seen. May reaches her highest levels of drama here, and does so without any cost to her usual standards for humour.

It’s a Wonderful Life (1946, Frank Capra): I wasn’t sure about including this, given that it’s not even my favourite James Stewart Christmas movie, but what can I do? It’s a Wonderful Life is an institution in my family, we’ve watched this every Christmas Eve since I was grade 6. There was a year or two in the early ‘10s where we might have missed it, but, otherwise, we’ve been devout. This is also one of four sources that laid the foundation for my love of movies, and, in particular, older movies. I hope to continue to watch this every year. It just wouldn’t be Christmas.     Growing up, my brothers and I used to be allowed to open one gift the night of Christmas Eve, which evolved into my brothers and I exchanging our gifts for each other. The first year my brother’s and I exchanged gifts, we happened upon CBC playing It’s a Wonderful Life in a 3-hour timeslot. Filling in the gaps of my memory with ego, I’d say that I instigated our watching it. I was always the biggest sucker for holiday specials, as well as being the most drawn to B&W. It was an instant hit with all of us, and so two traditions were born that night. For those curious as to what year this took place, I gave my oldest brother a 3 Doors Down CD. My older brother got me the Beast Wars transmetal Terrosaur figure. And. It. Freakin’. Ruled.     CBC continued to air It’s a Wonderful Life every Christmas Eve, and we continued to tune in. My brothers and I continued to exchange gifts on Christmas Eve for about another decade, but now my family has a better Christmas Eve tradition to pair with our holiday movie: Chinese food, and, less dogmatically, vegetable samosas. Leftovers become brunch. We’ve watched the movie, I think, twenty times now, which includes one viewing of the unfortunate colourized version, and once in theatres. It’s a great movie to come back to each year. There are lots of little moments, lines, and details to zero in on, and each year I get to internally test and brag to myself about naming and recognizing the various character actors and bit players that pop up.     Still, I sometimes find myself resisting its charms. A couple of years ago, my view of Frank Capra changed. I no longer saw him as the director I had previously thought him to be*. I wondered whether this movie stood on its own merits, or if I was holding onto it for sentimental reasons. I have since settled on this film being a genuine classic.      Another source of resistance is that I’ve never watched this on its own, there’s a lack of an individual foundation to my relationship with the film. I’m so accustomed to viewing films on my own, I think there’s a relief in a taking a private experience, and having it succeed in a public forum. The two support each other, which is part of why a couple of films ended up on this list. However, when it’s a film I’ve only seen in the company of others, I become suspicious of my experience. I believe in the power of cinema when it’s to my benefit, only to doubt it when I fear that it has the power betray me. I guess that I lack faith. *The director I once thought Frank Capra was, I now find Leo McCarey to be.

Doctor Who: The Lost in Time Collection (1963-69, various): This was a last minute decision that ended on a mistake. I ought to have chosen Daleks: The Early Years instead, which has the proper framing of a retrospective documentary. Daleks: The Early Years is a VHS release hosted by Peter Davison, featuring interviews with key people from ‘60s Dalek stories, cannibalizing clips from Dalekmania (another documentary on Daleks in the ‘60s), and orphan episodes and snippets from otherwise lost ‘60s Dalek serials. It’s also one of the VHS tapes that I grew up with, and my introduction to the fact that, at the time, over 100 episodes of ‘60s Doctor Who were missing and presumed lost. This was my introduction to the concept of lost media. Since then, a further 12 episodes have been found, and the number of missing episodes has dropped to 97.      Instead, I chose The Lost in Time Collection, which is a 3-disc collection of orphan episodes and surviving clips from otherwise missing ‘60s serials, not actually a feature in itself. It’s a really nice sampling of the Doctor Who’s best era, and the episodes and clips are sometimes more interesting without the rest of their serial for context. While I didn’t get this collection until I was an adult, I had managed to see most or all of its contents growing up, mostly on various VHS compilations, as well as some clips online. As the deadline for submissions approached, I chose the one I enjoy more, rather than the one that first changed me.     I suspect that Doctor Who was the first work of science-fiction that I got into, as it predates me in our household. My brothers and my getting into Transformers predates my memory, but it does not predate my being around. Doctor Who also served as my first exposure to B&W viewing. I was really into science-fiction growing up, and the genre was really my first interest in older films. The interest didn’t really bridge its way from my youth into my present. Heck, I wasn’t even particularly a movie person until into my twenties. In early adulthood, after fading for a bit, my fondness for science-fiction was more directed towards video games and books. So while it didn’t lead into my love of film and B&W, it laid a lot of the groundwork for what I’d eventually come to love.     My oldest brother remembers staying up late with our parents to watch Doctor Who, and my older brother has memories of trying to stay up with them, but it was no longer airing on any of the stations we had by the time I was kicking. Loved, but unseen, it developed a sort of mythic reputation in my young mind. Over the years, we managed to see a bunch of serials on VHS through our local library system, and we eventually got 5 VHS releases of our own before the decade ended. We got a book, The Doctor Who Yearbook, which had listings and synopsises of every serial ever made. The classic Doctor Who series lasted 26 seasons, consisting of 153 serials, and just shy of 700 episodes. No matter how many episodes of Doctor Who I managed to see when I was growing up, it was only ever the tip of the iceberg.     My younger self liked daydreaming about all of the adventures, planets, aliens, robots, and monsters, but that would begin to dissipate with age. While I loved Star Wars for the many of the same reasons as I did Doctor Who, the advent of more Star Wars wasn’t all that fulfilling, with Episode I: Racer for the N64 PC as a noted exception. More than the fact that I was caught up in the cultural backlash against George Lucas, the lack of a well defined characters and society in the original trilogy was a virtue. The toys and books really capitalized on this. I was the kid that wanted to know every weirdo and background character’s life story. I was such a mark.     The more movies they made that added to the lore, the smaller their galaxy seemed to be, in opposition to an expanded universe. Each piece promising to add to the larger picture only seemed to reveal a smaller whole. More movies telling the same stories with different versions of the same characters. A galaxy that once seemed so vast now revealed to be comprised of maybe two dozen people, many of which are related or connected to each other in some tired and unnecessary way.     Eventually, I got really into Jonathan Rosenbaum, and began to project my ego all over his preferences, to which Star Wars became a victim. I gave up on the series after sitting through a showing of Episode VII. Fires subside, and, these days, I’m mostly indifferent towards the series. Undergraduates can be a bit much, y’know?     While the new Doctor Who series also fell out of favour with me, it was easier for me to divorce it from the original series. Having seen the series only in disparate pieces, rather than a linear narrative may have helped. I have no illusions that the original series is anything more than a silly kid’s show that mostly takes place in corridors, which is a fine thing to be. It’s enough to be a delight. The deceit of nostalgia is that I can return to these works I once loved with the same feelings and wonder that I had as a child.     While I remain fond of Doctor Who, the whole of a serial is often less than the sum of its parts. After all, being a serial, half of the adventure is meant to take place in your head during the week between episodes. It’s the opposite of binge-watch material. It’s hard to commit to working your way through such a bulky series at a deliberately slow pace. Besides, even spacing the episodes out some, it’s still not going to capture my mind the way it would when I was a child. The virtue of the Lost in Time Collection is that you’re never seeing a serial as a whole, only as individual pieces.     The collection consists of 18 complete episodes from 12 serials, with clips and bits from an additional 10 serials. Only one serial has more than two episodes featured, The Daleks’ Master Plan, a 12-part epic, which has its 3 known surviving episodes on the set. Freed from the responsibilities of being part of a larger story, you get to enjoy the pleasures of each episode as its own entity. Charm exists outside of context, and what may have been stretched and strained over half a dozen episodes can easily be sustained in the single episode or two that remains. A piece of Starburst may not keep its flavour any longer than a piece of Hubba Bubba, but at least it has the decency not to overstay its welcome.     The less that remains of a serial, the more interesting it becomes. For some serials, the only surviving clips are the scenes that were cut by censors, and so you’re only seeing the juiciest bits. Protected by obscurity, just as recording in B&W protected this era of the series against its lack of budget, the childlike sense of wonder remains. Any missing serial could have been great. We lack evidence to prove otherwise. What little remains from these serials is enough to imagine what may have been, and it’s easy to give the benefit of the doubt to an old friend.      No longer just a science-fiction adventure, the series has grown into a larger and more engaging adventure in film & television preservation. Thanks to its cultural status and following, questions as to how these stories were lost, why years of episodes were junked, how they were returned, in which disparate places were episodes found, who has been hunting for them, what were their methods, to what lengths did they go, what places remain to be searched, what remains to be found, what’s trapped in the hands of private collectors, and what has been lost forever have all been thoroughly explored, though some answers continue to elude us. For those interested, Youtuber Josh Snares has an extensive series of videos that breaks down many of these questions as best as one can with what’s publicly known, and, despite being on yotube, I don’t think he’s annoying.     Doctor Who best represents my film lover’s sense of discovery, combining the joys of hearing about a film that piques my interest, trying to track a film down, discovering or rediscovering a new favourite, learning about film history, and the efforts of film preservation. Hearing about films I’d like to see can be nearly as rewarding as actually watching the films themselves. The more that I see, the more there is that I’d like to see. The harder something is to find, the more interesting it can become. Film is a physical object, so there is a battle against time for us to discover, recover, restore, and preserve works before they’re lost to time. The good news is that many efforts are being undertaken, both by professionals and by amateurs. The advent of crowdfunding has really helped to create more opportunities for completing these endeavours.     Following an Indiegogo campaign, Netflix stepped in and completed Orson Welles’s The Other Side of the Wind. Many of Marion Davies’s silent films have been restored in recent years. Thanks to the efforts of Ben Model and his team, I will soon have the pleasure of seeing eight Edward Everett Horton shorts that haven’t been in circulation since the silent era. Steve Stanchfield (Thunderbean), Jerry Beck (Cartoon Research), Tommy Stathes (Cartoons On Film), and their cohorts are doing God’s work in finding and restoring old cartoons, and giving them an audience once more. I don’t think there’s ever been a more exciting time to be so out of touch.

The Muppet Movie (1979, James Frawley): The Muppets’ movies were a staple of our household growing up, and this ranks alongside The Great Muppet Caper as the best of them. This movie has a very self-aware humour to it, exemplified by the introduction. The camera wanders through a studio backlot, following a car carrying Statler & Waldorf, who provide us with the first dialogue of the film, announcing their intent to heckle the film. Inside, the Muppets are waiting for a private screening of The Muppet Movie to begin.     It’s a disaster. A monster tears out one of the seats, the visibly deranged Crazy Harry blows up another, people are dancing in the aisles, and chickens are flying about. Objects being thrown include, but are not limited to, popcorn, Lew Zealand’s boomerang fish, and paper airplanes. A full-sized Muppet looms in the background, a giant colourful bird with enormous unblinking eyes, leaning a bit from side to side. An acknowledgement that somebody has let the animals in charge of the zoo. Still, a coziness remains amidst all of the chaos.     Kermit attempts to introduce the movie to his peers, the lights go down, and he takes his seat. The movie opens in the heavens, where the credits and a rainbow appear. It clears onto a long, long shot of a swamp, slowly zooming in to reveal a frog on a log, playing a banjo, singing Paul Williams and Kenneth Ascher’s The Rainbow Connection. We’re taken away.     One of the most vital aspects of the Muppets is that they exist in our world, something that gets lost in their 90’s trend of literary adaptations. An entire world of Muppets isn’t much of a utopian vision, but the idea that these animals, monsters, and whatevers belong in society alongside ‘real’ people is. This trend was part of a larger regression throughout the years with the Muppets. What began as a self-aware humour turned into a self-depreciating humour, and, eventually, a self-loathing humour. The Muppets used to take on the world, but, in later years, they seemed unable to dream of anything more than getting back together once more, so that they could reaffirm their lack of success. Bring them back to life so they can take one more dying breath.     This Muppet movie is filled with celebrity cameos, in part a tribute to their variety show, as well as to the vaudevillian origins of most of their shtick. Here, the cameos serve the Muppets. Later, the Muppets would take a backseat, and become vehicles for others, not even allowed to star in their own movies. I wish they were given better opportunities to shine. As good as this film is, I have to admit that this film’s treatment of Miss Piggy is embarrassingly sexist. While they don’t look like Presbyterians to me, at their best, I think the Muppets have almost as much hope to offer as any religion.

Transformers: The Movie (1986, Nelson Shin): Watching this movie gives me the feeling I always hope that I’ll feel whenever I’ve bought concert tickets. I don’t watch this so much as I sing along to it. I even knew Vince DiCola’s score down to a ‘T’. With all due respect to Storefront Hitchcock, this is my personal Stop Making Sense.

Air Alert V. 4 (late 2000’s, TMT Sports): First, and most importantly, I do not recommend Air Alert nor any other paid for vertical jump program. I cannot stress that enough. They’re not designed by people who really know what they’re doing, the marketing is predatory, they’re unjustly hard on your joints, and they’re methods are not in conjunction with their promises of wild vertical gains. While I hope to stop finding that people have also done Air Alert, I immediately feel a strong kinship with those I learn have also been misled.     Air Alert is a 15-week vertical jump program that makes the dubious promises of adding 8-14 inches to yer vertical leap to everyone, regardless of their current physical condition. It promises to add explosiveness to yer hops, but its means are an exponentially increasing amount of jump exercise repetitions. This is to say that, in practice, Air Alert actually builds jumping endurance, which teaches yer muscles to conserve energy, rather than to expend it in an explosive manner. Like all jump programs, it also fails to address that much of your jumping’s height comes from a combination of your core and upper body strength, as well as technique. The version I got also came with an advertised-as-new Air Alert Advanced, a further 6 weeks of yet more intensive exercise routine to add another 3-6 inches to yer leap.     I did the 15 weeks of Air Alert, and, like everybody else I’ve known, I got 2-3 inches added to my vertical. After the recovery week suggested following completion of the program, I tried dunking at the church. You had better believe that I told my dad to bring his digital camera, ’cause this was gonna be a big deal. Being able to dunk was surely going to usher in a whole new era in my life.     Now, I had been wrong about these sorts of things before. I had become skinny, I got a couple of nice shirts, I listened to what I though was the right unpopular music, and I had stolen some jokes, but my life largely remained the same. It seemed as though my life couldn’t be redeemed by vanity and trivialities, J still wasn’t dating me, but this would be so much more. This was dunking. This was going to be different.     We went to the church, and I had the same problems as before. I could get high enough, but I couldn’t throw down. The further you extend a limb from your core, the less strength it has at its disposal. I had little upper-body strength to begin with, and, fully extended, my hand is pretty far from my body. I’d always lose the ball on the way up, or lose height putting more of my strength onto the ball. Legs can only take you so far. At my best, I’ve brought the ball to the rim, lost it, and, thanks to momentum, had the ball go off of the backboard and in. A lay-up isn’t a dunk. My knees have been crunchy ever since.     After a further month of letting my joints recover, I tried my hand at Air Alert Advanced. After the first week, which consisted of 3 days of 2000 individual jumps, some of my friends reunited to play soccer at our old high school. I was proud to see that the goals we had rescued were still on the field. However, I found that my joints were so worn down that I could only run at a steady pace in a straight line. Turning, accelerating, and decelerating were all, sadly, out of the picture. I decided not to continue onto the subsequent weeks.     I was still a fatuous pauper, single, and working at a shoe store while friends had gone on to do other things, so what did I manage to accomplish? Well, for starters, I gained some athletic ability for the first time in my life, which was neat. I gained a lot of leg strength, endurance, and quickness, as well as the previously mentioned 2-3 inches to my vert, all of which I treasured. Despite being the skinniest guy on the court, my legs were strong enough to anchor me in the key, and contend with guys up to double my weight. I went from being a guy who showed up to Dunkball, to becoming a guy that people wanted on their team.     While others got tired throughout the night, slowly losing their vertical, I managed to jump just as frequently and just as high in my last game of the night as I could during my first. As both the tallest and the lankiest guy at Dunkball, my height advantage now increased in the air. I’d let people box me out, only to jump and reach over them. I felt so free. I was, and remain, Dunkball’s most improved player. Of course, it helps to have the advantage of having started out lower than everybody else. Once, somebody brought a friend who was taller than me. It was awful.     As for dunking? Well, I could dunk small balls at the church, if I could close my hand on them. I managed to dunk a flat soccer ball on an outdoor net at a school yard once, but I never verified its height. I could dunk at the Academy chapel with the rim fully raised, though that rim sags in the front, so I’m guessing that rim was about 9’10”. Still, that won me a game of H-O-R-S-E or two. Sometimes, when warming up for Dunkball, someone would instigate a dunk competition, and I managed to develop a trademark dunk which nobody could replicate or stomach: the underhanded dunk. Norm was the only person not to loathe it, bless his heart. While I never managed to dunk on a proper 10’ net, I was able to goaltend, which has no use outside of being a dick to a friend. I was smarmy enough to do it once.     Even at Dunkball, I never became much of a dunker, except on turnovers or tip-ins, or unless I had a guard who could do the work of setting me up. I’m more opportunistic than aggressive, besides, who am I going to beat off of the dribble? On my worst nights, I was still a tall guy who could jump, so I always drew the interest of a defender. I’ve always preferred defence to offence, and my favourite offensive play is to box out their post-player, either to be in a better position to rebound, or in order to prevent them from goaltending.     Defence is where Air Alert made the most difference for me. They either had to box me out in order to stop me from goaltending, or try banking it in. I could sit low enough to the ground to defend outside players without losing speed. With a lower net, some players didn’t arc their shots as much, allowing me to swat them away with ease.     There was nothing better than blocking a dunk. Some people took it personally, and would try coming at you on the next play; we all loved blocking Joseph. Still, the best was blocking Norm’s dunks, even if it meant landing on my back.     It was summertime, the final game of the night, with uneven teams and lopsided match-ups, but, somehow, it’s neck and neck. Not only are we still in it, we’ve had the lead. Will is shooting, Nathan is hustling, and I’m blocking everything. My greatest defensive game ends prematurely after I block one of Norm’s dunks, landing horizontally, with all of my weight squarely on my tailbone and elbows. I call it a night, and, in the morning, learned that we had lost immediately after I left.     At this point, I had memorized Air Alert’s number of sets and routines, and so I lent the DVD to Graham. He promised to return it soon. This was in 2010. I learned how to juggle that August, but that didn’t save me either. I kept up my jumping exercises, doing week 4 as maintenance, losing consistency once I started university that fall. Dunkball slowly lost consistency, too, and so I eventually took up the reigns of organizing it. People changed wards, got married, moved, and started families. It was hard to motivate people to come out without a guarantee.     At some point, I became one of the veterans. As Dunkball continued to lose consistency, and as I went through occasional bouts of burn-out withorganizing things, Dunkball changed from being year-round into seasons, and, later, patches, of activity. The benefit of being the one to organize Dunkball is that it allowed me to filter out the jerks between patches of activity. There aren’t a ton of rules, you can make a pass off the wall, you can charge, you can play it in the hall, and goaltending is a way of life, but life is too long to spend it with people who can’t play sports without yelling.     We weren’t as athletic as we once were, but the new players were generally pretty skinny, so we were still able to push them around. I stopped buying bus passes after my first year of university, which helped me to maintain most of my leg strength. While I was in university, I managed to keep most of my vertical, but my confidence became precarious, which affected my intensity. I wasn’t soaking through my shirts anymore, I started to let people push me around.     After I dropped out of university, I grew into a much more sedentary lifestyle. The leg strength I had used to define myself diminished. I’ve had a really hard coping with that. At times, the prospect of playing Dunkball felt more embarrassing than motivating. I felt lost out on the court. I didn’t feel strong enough to bump around in the key, and I felt sluggish trying to play on the outside. Still, I had now been around long enough that I was able to lead a team, if necessary.     I’d hide from my refuge until I felt strong enough to return. Volunteering and winter each got me walking again. Collin organized a soccer team the summer before the pandemic, which got me running and jumping again. I felt more determined, and began to feel better. No longer trapped by where I was, or where I felt I should have been, I was content with making progress.     I think that I handled the early months of the pandemic better than most people. With our usual routines in disarray, I stumbled out of the feedback loop I was caught in. Finding some self-compassion and focus, I created structure to my quarantine in order to work on some goals. I was going to come out of the quarantine dunking. I was joking this time, but I need to dream about something while exercising. Otherwise, I’m just jumping in place, staring at the door. I went through weeks 1-7 of Air Alert, ending with the rest week that marks the halfway point. After which, I returned to doing week 4 to maintain strength.    With churches closed, activities cancelled, and others on lockdown, I started secretly meeting Nik on Saturdays to shoot the ball around. This was back when we were allowed to keep small circles of contacts. The benefit of having keys. The only downside was that the building didn’t have any air circulation outside of facilities management’s offices.     Regarding the pandemic, our city still didn’t have any cases of community transmission. Two of us shooting the ball around became three, and soon we were playing 2-on-2. Dunkball was back, baby! Sans the titular Dunkball, which had gone missing, stolen by missionaries.    I knew that it was only a matter of time before they got rid of the Academy chapel, so I was really motivated to play as much as we could while it was still safe. It took us a little bit before we managed to get six players out on the same day, and we still ended up playing 2’s some nights. We weren’t getting many guys out, but we always had good games. Everyone who came out hustled and was a solid atmosphere guy. We’d mostly play best-of-5 or 7 game series, maybe switching teams up for a final game or two. The series managed to stay pretty tight, with nobody ever reaching a dynasty.     Facilities management leaves the building at 5:30, and, with nobody else around, our secret combination was free to schedule Dunkball whenever we pleased. We were playing twice some weeks. We were able to accommodate people’s schedule. Marvin, my favourite teammate, was able to come out. I hadn’t been able to play with him in years. A high percentage of our small group of players were relatively new to the game. It was really exciting to see them develop, even if Jason blocked me that one time.     I had found my place again, having regained some of my leg strength and quickness. My core and upper-body strength, elusive at the best of times, had become memories, but I worked around that. My game is mostly designed with those absences in mind anyways. Consequently, my play became much more lateral, rather than vertical, after the 4th and, later, 5th game, as Collin noted. I also managed a new trick or two, like learning to bait people into banking their shot, and then blocking it off of the backboard for a quick turnover. My intensity was up, or at least the A/C was down. I was soaking through my shirts again, and I was happy.     It was a hot and humid summer. I missed Jason’s birthday, so I brought some blackout chocolate banana bread to celebrate. As it turns out, a thick moist cake is not refreshing when you’re exhausted and sitting around in a hot and stuffy room you’ve spent the past 2-3 hours further heating up with yer friends. Collin became the MVP the following week when he brought a box of freezies with him. All my life, I had never seen their true worth or potential. I took them for granted in my youth, and turned my nose up at them as I grew older. Now I understood.     I had Dunkball, I had friendly players who responded when I tried organizing things, we had freezies, and, as the Ward Clerk, I had convinced my Bishop that we should buy a new ball (despite the fact that playing at the Church was still verboten.) I was grateful, but I still longed for a day where we had more than 4-6 players, so that we could have subs between games. It’s nice to be able to switch up teams between games, rather than trying to push Arles all night. It’s even nicer to sit down every once in a while, especially after failing to push Arles around.     Our province was still fairly safe, but that was beginning to change. Two regulars had at risk family members, and we began seeing community transmission. I planned to end what was to be the penultimate season of Dunkball after Labour Day. I was concerned what would happen once the school year started.     Before then, we had eight* people come out to Dunkball one morning. Four pairs of family members, in fact. This gave us rotations between games, and a variety of playing styles, leading to more interesting match-ups and dynamics. Whoever loses would get to take a break; excitement was in the air! I questioned Collin’s choice of shoes. He reminded me that I’m solely responsible for their condition. I lend Collin my shoes. He likes the shoes, and I like his freezies. *the ideal amount is 8-9 people     Shoot for teams: Graham, Collin, and I hit our shots. Collin has speed, Graham has range and strength, I have the height, and we all rebound. We win the first game easily, manage to survive the second, and win our third. Dynasty! Shoot for teams again, and I’m back on the floor with David and Marvin. David anchors the key, allowing me to cheat on defence, while Marvin generates offence and creates mismatches. We all defend. Three more wins, and it’s another dynasty! Marvin and I sit this time, and watch as Jacob (handles), Graham, and Jason (positioning) steal the game.     Marvin and I go back on with Limhi, a guard heavy team playing an post-player’s game. They shoot and pass, drawing out the defence, while I set picks, prevent goaltending, and try to clean up on the boards. They cover the outside, while I guard the inside. When the other team goes to the inside, I make their post-player turn away from the net, where either Marvin or Limhi, cheating off of their man, are waiting to strip them of the ball. We win the first game, taking back the floor. They carry me through the second. Last game of the day, and the other team starts to fall apart. As per tradition, we extend the game, but only to to 15, because only Graham and I want to play to 21.     We stumble as they regroup, but Jacob gets frustrated, and their chemistry falters. I assume that I’m to blame, become self-conscious, and begin calling fouls on myself whenever I make any contact with the other team. Of course, this happens on every play, because I’m trying to box out my brother. I get some weird looks as David sighs, he just wants it to be over. I get a clean stop, Limhi scores, and the day ends on a third dynasty. I remain undefeated. Freezies for everyone!     That was the third to last time we played Dunkball. We had another night with six players, and ended the season with a morning of playing 2-on-2, after which we ran out of freezies. I was optimistic that we’d be back playing sometime in the New Year. We barely registered a first wave of the pandemic, but restrictions ended prematurely, and school started back up. Cases kept climbing.     I was scared in October, but that was only the beginning. When we first started playing Dunkball that summer, our province was first in the country. By Christmas, we had become the worst. We began to curb the number of new cases, but restrictions were eased before hospitals finished dealing with the second wave. In May, we began transferring patients to other provinces. For some reason, the plan is to reopen in July.     For some reason, a duo tried organizing ball in March. I declined. Our congregation was changing buildings, so Nik and I went over to grab some stuff. I found that our Dunkball had gone missing again, but I found the original Dunkball, which hasn’t held air since 2015, and brought it home. In April, facilities management began clearing out the Academy chapel, in anticipation of listing the building for sale. They didn’t inform our Bishop until later that week. He went over to pack anything worth keeping, only to have found that they had already junked everything belonging to our congregation, as well everything belonging to the Yazidi community group that had been meeting there prior to the pandemic.     I don’t know the building’s current status. Nik and I kept our keys in the hopes of playing again, but it’s unlikely that things will be safe to go back to normal in time. Dunkball exists as a time and a place: Thursday nights after Institute class at Academy. Last fall, they moved institute classes over to the stake centre. The Academy building is being sold now, and Dunkball is over as we know it.     As I previously mentioned, I lent Graham, the Gordie Howe of Dunkball, my Air Alert DVD and booklet back in 2010. For the past ten years now, he has meant to return it, only for it to slip his mind. I usually forget about it, myself, only for him to remind me when he apologizes. In the moment, I sorta feel guilty that he worries about it. I mean, it’s fine, I don’t need it. He’s put it on his desk, he’s placed it by the door, and though he’s either seen me or a member of my family at least once a week for the past decade, my copy of Air Alert still hasn’t made its way back to me. I’m not even sure that I want it back, but I appreciate his sincerity.     It’s become tradition for him to maintain this false tension between us. At this point, I’d hate to see it go. What if this tension is what’s sustained our friendship throughout all these years? What if Graham’s only been coming out to Dunkball because he feels guilty? I won’t see him at Dunkball anymore, and, as of this week, he won’t be seeing me at church anymore. It’s things like this that keep us alive. I hope that Graham never returns my copy of Air Alert, but I hope that he always tries. ”There is no end to matter, There is no end to space, There is no end to Dunkball, There is no end to race.” - If You Could Hie to Kolob Dunkball, by W.W. Phelps.

I could have gone on about my legs, honestly. Now, I only included those formative texts that I’m willing to admit are still a part of me. I did not include those works whose influences I feel that I have repented of, which is why the 1967 Patterson-Gimlin footage of Bigfoot from Bluff Creek, California, The Weezer Video Capture Device, Newsies, The Ultimate Showdown of Ultimate Destiny, nor anything related to Dorm Life or MST3K are not included on my ballot. In any case, I’m sorry not to have found room for Johnny Guitar.

[calitraditionalism]

Arc Three: Chapter Five

(AO3 counterpart here.)

“Brilliant turnout, isn’t it?”

Greyleaf forced a smile and looked at the massive dark brown tom beside him. “I didn’t know Coteries could get this large.”

“You saying you’ve never been to one of these?” Pebblestar, a tall grey tom was on Greyleaf’s other side. He tilted his head a little, ears slightly hanging instead of standing straight.

Greyleaf turned to him now. “Not yet. This is my first.”

“Well, you’ll have a grand time, lad.” Sealstar gave him what would be a gently pat on the back among the Plage; for Greyleaf, he barely managed to stay upright. “Go on and find your family. I’m going to see what the Magpies have this time. Even the warriors I’ve brought with me haven’t seen their wares before.”

“You do that,” Pebblestar said, careless as anything.

Sealstar immediately trotted off, his pawsteps audible over the chatter of the collected cats.

Greyleaf stood as straight as he could without lifting his front feet off of the ground, searching. The crowd was thick and multicolored. Finding a red-brown molly was not going to be easy, it seemed. He could see his brother talking to a huge white cat, which amazed him, given Mistface’s constant dismissal of anyone outside of his family. He started forward, but Pebblestar cleared his throat.

“You really think Cedarstar will be alright without you?” he said. “She was rather…loopy, when we left.”

“Oh-“ Greyleaf made some noise that was supposed to be a confident chuckle and failed miserably at its job. “Fever can do that. That medicine will keep her steady until I return. I won’t be staying long, anyway.”

Not if I don’t find her first.

Pebblestar’s mournful face looked even more troubled than usual. “I just worry for the girl. She’s a bit of a fool sometimes.” He offered a faint smile. “But I trust your intuition. You’re brighter than half of my comrades, and we all know it. StarClan gave you a gift.”

Greyleaf’s stomach heaved. He tried to look grateful for the compliment. “Thank you. I’m going to find my brother.”

Pebblestar dismissed him with a nod and Greyleaf managed to not hurry away from the conversation. He carefully made his way through the crowd, always watching for that telltale roan, but he met with no one except Mistface. He was more stressed than usual when a Hillock molly named Morningsky tried to push her very uncomfortable daughter on him as a seer for the leaders – not just because someone was talking to him, but because he was still no closer to finding that ‘her’. Relief rushed through his body as a story was announced and the crowd gathered around to watch the performers. He climbed into a tree with his brother, the apprentice and white tom, scanning the crowd as he could see them.

The story of the Runagate troubled him, truthfully. He couldn’t place a word on why, but as the white molly slithered out her words with a devil’s charisma, something nagged at the back of his head. He thought of the shadows.

Then his eyes roamed, reached the far side of the crowd. They landed on her.

A tall red-brown molly. Thin and with exhausted eyes.

Greyleaf did not hear the rest of the story. He stared at her as if looking away would make her vanish (and he was secretly afraid it would). He barely even registered the applause when the story concluded, hardly noticed climbing down the tree. He left his brother without a word, paws pulled straight to her. He pushed past cats without a second thought.

When he emerged from the crowd, he expected to be nervous to be right in front of her, anxious when she looked his way. He wasn’t.

“Hey,” he said.

The molly blinked. Then she almost flinched and her mouth dropped a little.

“…It’s you,” she nearly whispered.

A grin, shaky with relief, spread across Greyleaf’s face. “It’s me.”

The molly looked around, then motioned with her head and stood up. Greyleaf followed her to a shaded spot, thankful that no one else was close by.

“They told me about you,” she said, sitting down. “You’re…”

“Greyleaf.” He mirrored her. “And you’re…”

“Redheart.”

“I thought so.” Greyleaf exhaled the tension out of his body, and though he wasn’t grinning anymore, he felt that joy all the same. “I heard you were coming here. I had to see you. We never got to talk, but-“

“I know.” Redheart was taller than him, but she was sitting in a way that their eyes met at the same level. Respectful. Friendly. “You’ve seen them, then. They spoke with you. The…” She trailed off, tail pointing at the white molly who had played the Runagate.

Greyleaf blinked. “I was told by the leaders about you. But I…I saw that shadow. When we first met. Only once, though, if that’s who you mean.”

“That’s them.” Redheart wasn’t precisely smiling, but glee radiated off of her. “Greyleaf, you have no idea what this means to me. I haven’t been able to talk about this with anyone.”

“Neither have I.” Greyleaf’s tail tapped the ground, releasing a little bit of his own colorful swirl of emotions. “It’s- I don’t even know what to do with it. With this knowledge. I’ve had it all my life.”

Redheart leaned a little closer, dropping her voice low. “I’ve had it since I was an apprentice. I have nightmares, all the time. I always see it.”

“Same here.” Greyleaf felt that familiar nighttime horror clutch his heart, but his paws kneaded eagerly and he felt himself sit with something akin to confidence. He wouldn’t know if it was for sure, but it felt like it. “It’s just always been that way. I don’t know why.”

“Do you know what it is?” That conspiratorial tone did not quite fit her regal appearance.

Greyleaf looked around himself, just to be sure, and whispered, “They said it was StarClan. Or something pretending to be it. It’s eaten in front of me, I know that much.” A bubble of entirely inappropriate, kitlike excitement swelled in his chest. “What do you know?”

“Everything. It’s been here for generations. It’s got control over the entire Territory and all its inhabitants.” Redheart’s eyes were large enough that he could barely see a ring of white around them. “I’ve heard all of it. It’s…”

She spoke quickly, stare intense and almost wild, like everything was trying to force itself out of her throat at once and it was causing her pain. The more Greyleaf heard, the more he sat back a little, straightened, felt his expression go numb. He had felt the horror when he saw the thing himself; the actual knowledge of its workings made it so much worse that a part of him was shutting down so he could absorb it without fleeing or crying out.

“I don’t know what we can do about it on its own,” Redheart said at last, “but I have a plan. I want to get everyone out of the Territory as fast as possible. I need your help to do it. I can’t do this alone. You can quit with the leaders and come to Clast with me, and we can spread the word and get cats out in groups. If we all go, if we separate, it won’t have anything to eat. It might die.” Her gaze burned like fire. “We can let it starve, and then our home is safe again, and we can all come back.”

Greyleaf didn’t say anything. Multiple voices in his head were shouting over each other, trying to make themselves heard. One screamed that they had it so good now, that taking everyone away from this paradise would guarantee death, and maybe it would get them anyway. Another begged him to agree, to abandon his post and start collecting cats to bring out of this cursed place. Yet more demanded a promise that everything she said was true and that she wasn’t just saying all of this out of a demented mind. There was an overhead declaration, speaking over all the others, that she didn't need his help. He would be useless. He was a healer, not a deputy, not someone with charisma. He wouldn't be able to do anything.

He knew it wasn't that kind of help she needed. She couldn't go back to living life with all of this weight alone. 

Neither could he, really. 

He shut his eyes and took a breath, barely able to look back at that intense stare. “I don’t know if it can be done. If there’s a chance, I…”

A sudden feeling of being watched pinpricked the back of his head. He looked sidelong and saw Mistface observing him with a very curious, puzzled expression.

“I better go,” he said, finally speaking at a normal volume. “My brother’s…”

Redheart immediately corrected her posture. Instantly, her face was calm and stern, like a proper deputy. Greyleaf knew those tired eyes were just barely containing her own terror and desperation.

“Consider it,” she said. “Just consider it.”

She got up and walked away before Greyleaf could say anything.

 ---

 “Mama’s dyin’.”

That was all Greyleaf needed to hear.

 ---

 “You’ve got a visitor, Redheart.” The black-and-white molly he thought was called Peregrinefang stepped away from the house and trotted off, giving Greyleaf room to stand in the entrance and be observed.

Redheart, half asleep, cracked one eye. Then both shot wide open and she got to her feet.

Greyleaf weakly smiled. “So when do we start?”

[liddolwhynot2000]

Decisions Of a Capricorn

____________________________________

Summary: Levi Ackerman woke up one fine morning. In the past. Shit.

Genre: Angst, lets-change-shit, drama, liddol romance (Levixhappiness)

Warning: Manga spoilers

____________________________________

Chapter 1: Admit it

____________________________________

Summary: As a Capricorn, patience and determination are amongst your most well known qualities. Although no one is immune to occasional frustrations, you attempt to be understanding and calm in all your dealings.

Alternatively, Levi tries to make sense of what the hell is going on and tries not to chose violence.

____________________________________

What. the. Fuck.

This couldn't be happening, it seriously couldn't. Was it a dream? No, he had punched his fist into a wall, pinched himself but still, it all felt too real. Maybe he was in some sort of fucked up heaven? Whatever the case, he felt ready to throw hands with whatever deity had done this to him.

With a shaky breath, Levi began to calm himself and sort through the situation. His fingers were back, he could see from his left eye again. There weren't any scars on his face nor any bandages on his chest. Levi was, by all means, back to his prime. Which would be great news really, except he was apparently five fucking years in the past. At least he thought it was five, considering the very much alive faces of his Special Ops Squad.

He had woken up, disorientated, expecting to either be bleeding out or in hell with Erwin. The sight of his impeccably clean office had made him pause. When he had heard a knock on the door and automatically told the person to come in, he had damn near short circuited at the sight of a very much alive Eld, strolling in with a cup of steaming tea.

What. The. Fuck.

Years of dealing with Hange and titans and the bullshit called life had hardened Levi to the point he could keep his expression neutral infront of the teen. He listened as Eld prattled on about duties and nodded along, not trusting himself to speak lest he shatter the world he had ended up in.

'.. Captain we'll be leaving for the castle today with Eren..'

Eren. Eren fucking Yeager. Oh God, he was going to kick this brats ass. Even if this likely was nothing more then an illusion, he would whoop Eren to hell and back for the shit he had put them through-

'Umm- captain?'

Snapping out of his vivid strangling Eren fantasies, he composed himself.

'We'll leave shortly. Prepare for the journey.

'Yes Sir!'

On second thought, Levi thought as he leaned back in his chair, whatever deity had thrown him here might deserve a little thanks. He owed Yeager a black eye. Scratch that, he owed both Yeagers a black eye. Well, in Zeke's case it was more of a blade through his throat. Maybe he could at least achieve that in his dream world.

____________________________________

'.... So the mission plan is..'

Levi had spent the last 5 years missing his dear friend. He had truly cherished Erwin, and hadn't enjoyed his own part in the man's death. But, he had forgotten how tedious and boring meetings with him were. Just how did the man go on and on about this crap and not lose his mind? And how had he ever listened along and not bashed someone's, preferably his own, head on the wall?

Sipping his tea, he silently wondered how long this was going to last. The weird fantasy he was stuck was exceptionally accurate, not a thing out of place. It was almost as if it was all real. But he knew better then to delude himself, and so was only really playing along until he was back in his own time. Or world. Or whatever. The figuring out what-the-hell-is-going-on was more of Hange's thing. Speaking of which, Levi paused mid sip as someone kicked the door open, interrupting Erwin mid speech.

'....Ness and his squad are in the right-'

'ERWWWIINNNN'.

Levi perked up. Just a few hours ago, he had seen the exuberant woman burn to death. One of his closest friends was suddenly alive and well and absolutely fi-

'PLEASE LET ME EXPERIMENT ON EREN PLE-'.

And, just as obnoxiously loud as ever, he chuckled to himself. He watched as she enthusiastically shook Erwin, demanding Eren for herself. The usually composed blonde commander looked like he wished he was the commander of any other military branch as he fended her off. Moblit could only try and fail to pull her away.

This Hange looked just as youthful she had been before becoming commander. Her eyes bright, arms flailing around like a tornado, voice screeching higher then it should be legal. It was the Hange that had been missing for quite some time now-replaced by an overburdened, tired version of herself. It felt good to see her rampaging around and giving Moblit heart problems and probably reducing his lifespan. Just like the old times.

'Hey shitty four eyes.'

'Hi Le..vi..'

Hange trailed off, clearly stunned. Erwin raised an eyebrow at him while Levi nonchalantly set his tea cup down.

'What? You constipated?'

'No, it's just, you never say hi to me..'

'Yes I do.'

Hange went on as though she hadn't heard him.

'....While smiling like that.'

Oh. That explained alot. Levi hastily corrected his expression, he had gotten too caught up in his relief of seeing Hange alive and actually smiled at her. Said woman, however, was suddenly in his face, hand resting on his forehead.

'Do you have a fever? What if this is a side effect of titan shifters on short people-'

'Shut the fuck up four eyes.'

'And he's back to normal. So, Erwin, I need Eren to myself for-'

'Hange- you're talking too fast-'

'Section Commander please calm down-'

'....We have so many experiments to conduct. What if there are titans attracted to Eren? What if he gives off pheremones and they want to MATE with him?'

The entire room went silent. Moblit looked like his soul had left his body, Erwin and Levi stared at her in disbelief. The former looked ready to hand in his resignation to God for his existence and the latter looked irritated.

Thankfully, Erwin spoke up first, before Levi could attempt to throw Hange out the window.

'That's enough. We won't be putting him through experiments that we know have no basis-'

Levi watched as Erwin began lecturing a pouting Hange. He poured a cup of tea and nudged it towards Moblit, who tossed him a grateful look.

A part of him wanted to smile, happy to be back with the people he cared about. To have his comrades alive and well in front of him. It gave him a sense of peace that he hadn't had in a long time.

But, ever the pessimistic, he dashed his own hopes.

None of this was real.

____________________________________

It was an effort, but through sheer will power, Levi managed to curb his violent urge to beat the shit out of Eren. Instead, he allowed them to make their journey to the castle, feeling hazy and distracted. His squad and Eren chattered as he rode ahead on his horse. He could vaguely make out Olou obnoxiously picking on Eren and biting his tongue. Just like the last time he had been there.

He couldn't bring himself too look at them for too long, the horrifying scenes of their deaths would start flashing in his mind. Too long his nightmares had consisted of the deaths of the people riding alongside him. He often darkly imagined that they had blamed him. For not getting there in time. For not telling them about the female titan. For being a useless, shitty captai-

Levi cut off that train of thought. Not now. Not when they were in front of him, so full of life.

Seeing his squad, alive and bickering like usual, it was too good of a sight to pass up. Olou childishly imitating him, Eld and Gunther poking fun at Petra and Olou, Eren floundering about as though he wasn't planning on mass murdering billions of people in five years. It made him miss them even more, knowing none of what was happening was actually happening.

He had spent years mourning his comrades. When Paradise had begun advancing in technology, when they had seen the ocean and explored what was on the other side of it, he had missed all of them. Achieving so much without them had always left him feeling a little empty.

How long was this journey going to last? How long would he spend in this fantasy world? Why was he even here? Maybe he was still alive and hallucinating about the people of his past. This was all in his head, the dying dreams of a useless old man taking his last breathes. As they reached the castle, he immediately gave orders for cleaning the filthy place.

He would mourn his own failures later.

____________________________________

Later at night, Levi sat in his chair, feeling his frustration return to him full force. Dream world or not, it didn't change how useless he had become. Losing to that shitty monkey, getting so brutally injured, unable to contribute a damn thing to the battle. Armin had gotten kidnapped right in front of his eyes, Connie had nearly died and Mikasa of all people had to save him . He was the one those idiots called humanity's strongest yet he had been nothing but cannon fodder. A burden.

He hadn't been able to do shit for them. Zeke was still alive, a horde of shitty titans with limitless energy were blocking their way to Eren, they had no supplies and no way of leaving the battlefield without Armin. An absolutely pathetic situation--and it had been all his fault.

If only he had killed Zeke back in the forest. If he had chopped his head off and burned his body to ashes, none of this would have happened. Eren had needed Zeke to activate the rumbling, without him, none of this would have happened. So many lives had been lost because of that monkey, turned into mindless titans and slaughtered. Commander Pixis, Nile..

And he was the one who let it get that far.

Rather then ending the entire battle in a flash- he had made a mistake. A mistake that had cost them too much. His own abilities and the lives of his comrades. He would never be able to sleep in peace again.

With Zeke dead, they would have had time. Eren would need Historia for the rumbling and would have had to wait till she gave birth. They could have talked things through--or sealed Eren up or even given Eren's power to someone else. Anything would have been better then the senseless genocide Eren had launched.

A part of him also questioned if he was to blame for Eren lashing out like this. Coming up with such a plan, going against the military.. Why had Eren not trusted him? He hadn't been the nicest but, Levi felt a pang of hurt as thought about how much he had sacrificed for Eren. His comrades and their lives had been reduced to less then dirt particles, to keep Eren alive. Only for him to turn on them so easily. If Eren and Zeke had been really working together, did that mean he had known Zeke would try to kill him? Was there anything he could have done to change the outcome of all of this? Just where had he messed up with Eren and lost track of him? Despite all the questions plaguing him, he knew he couldn't undo the past. Dwelling on it like this was doing him no favours.

And now, here he was, despite his failiures, in tip top shape, completely okay. Yet he wasn't where he was needed. His brats were fighting for their lives and here he was fantasising about a better life as though he hadn't just damned all the others.

Scowling fiercely, he forced himself to calm down. Nothing would make how miserable he was feeling go away. He could only wait for himself to wake up and face his reality. Hopefully, he would be the only casualty in the mission. He wasn't sure he could look any of them in the eye again if he lived and one of them hadn't. Sasha's death had already been too much for him.

His headache wouldn't go away, so he went to make himself some tea. Only, he found himself stopping short at the sound of someone sniffling. Levi discreetly approached the source of the sound.

Remus Ferguson

The brat had been in the survey corps for about a year now. If Levi recalled right, he had lost his girlfriend in the last expedition, which explained the tears so late at night. Remus himself would die when the female titan attack-

Wait.

What. The. Fuck.

He hadn't seen this before. Everything so far, every interaction, it had occurred before. But this hadn't. He hadn't seen remus crying last time. He had known of Remus crying up a storm at night, courtesy of his squad members. But he hadn't witnessed it first hand.

Watching the teen sob, he began rationalising the events of today.

If he was in some self constructed fantasy world, why wasn't it all happy? Why were there still titans? Why was anyone in pain? Where were Isabel and Farlan? He knew he had never wanted to see any of his comrades in pain. Unless...this wasn't just a dying man's fantasy..

If he had to fantasise about a happier time in his life, wouldn't it be with his mother? He had always known that the one thing he had wanted most in the past twenty something years was to feel his mother's warmth again. To hear her sweet voice sing him a lullaby to sleep. So if he really was dying, why see this? Why be back at a time where everything was just okay? Why not a time where he was actually happy?

In fact, why not a world where he everyone he wanted to be alive was alive? Rather then a dream, it felt like he had been plucked from one time period and left to live his life from another one...

His mind raced as he finally reached a conclusion, and without a second thought he fled back to his room, too shocked to acknowledge his new discovery.

____________________________________

A knife had been Levi's companion in life far longer then any other human being. His mother, Kenny, Isabel, Farlan, Erwin, Hange and all his other comrades had come and gone. But knives had been consistent. Constant.

Even after he had escaped the clutches of the underground and its lawlessness, he had always carried one with him. It made him feel safe, knowing he had weapon-- even if it was virtually useless while fighting titans. Of course, Erwin hadn't known about it. It was the one thing he wasn't willing to be talked out of, even by Erwin.

Although, Levi mused to himself, Erwin would have been justified in taking it away if he could see him right now, pointing said weapon at his arm, ready to slice.

If he actually bled, if he was still sitting here, bleeding but alive and well, he would admit his findings to himself and move forward, just as he always had. He would accept the situation, no matter how crazy it seemed, and plan accordingly.

Resolving himself, he slid the knife.

Ten minutes later, Levi finally admitted it.

He had travelled back in time.

____________________________________

A/N: So this idea got stuck in my head, because I rewatched AOT and realized a bunch of stuff that could be changed. I picked Levi because he's my favorite. There's going to be more parts for this--where Levi just changes everything. And it'll basically end up a happier AOT. And yes, I plan on giving Levi some romance in this too, because this boi deserves it 😤. It won't be complete happiness and fluff, because I plan on it being realistic. I also don't know if anyone would actually like this but the urge to write it was too great. So, till next time!⭐

[shebeafancyflapjack]

What She Needs

Quick EOTB (not a) drabble for @cecret-with-c . This should make up for me clearly not finishing my other whump fic by the weekend as I’d hoped.

This stinks!

For that matter, when did the waves outside get so rough and loud? It’s as if every sound in this little corner of paradise he created has been amplified for his annoyance, right down to the mice scurrying around in the walls who only came out to help carry a lost remote or dropped earring.

No matter how what position he lays in, no matter how much he tosses and turns, he can’t seem to get himself comfy. It makes no sense! He made sure to summon the most desirable sofa, specifically for human napping, as he knew it would be used as Eleanor’s second bed as much as sitting to watch TV. Neither of them had any issues with it before so why was it so hard for him to get to sleep now?! Why did the pillows suddenly feel so damn lumpy?

Maybe sleeping on the couch was always this difficult. He can’t say he ever did it before. Ever since he learned how to sleep, it was always with Eleanor, in her bed. Sometimes they would take the occasional nap on the sofa together, curled up in front of a movie or spent after a day of simulated adventures. She took many a snooze on here during those early weeks, where she’d be buried underneath a blanket, clinging to one of the cushions like a shield while Michael pottered around her, trying to create as calm and normal an atmosphere as possible. Perhaps she found it as awkward as he did now, but was too frightened (and mute) to complain?

Oh, stop it, Mikey. Stop trying to rationalise this. 

He knew the reason he was truly so alert. The same reason he had been exiled to the couch in the first place.

“Are you just not gonna talk to me for the whole weekend then?” He asks once they’ve made it through the threshold and she’s still storming ahead.

He makes sure to scan the area, ensure the soundproofing is on, never too careful if one of his coworkers has followed to spy on them.

“Yep!” Eleanor snaps back before realising her mistake; “Oh...fork, that didn’t count!”

“Oh, c’mon, I said ‘my bad’! What more do you want?”

“Cockroaches, dude! You called me and my friends ‘cockroaches’ - you really don’t get why that pisses me off?!” She turns and rounds on him.

Maybe she, too, had been waiting until they were out of demon-sight to rage at him.

Michael raises his hands; “I did not say that!”

“Oh so your exact words weren’t ‘you guys are like cockroaches’?!” She quotes him, lowering her voice to badly imitate him.

He waves his hand.

“Yes, but I wasn’t...I wasn’t trying to insult you. Chidi asked me a straight question, I gave him a straight answer...Which happened to be a metaphor!” He tried to defend, stepping through the foyer of the beach house.

Eleanor was already on her way into the kitchen to grab a can of J.D and coke.

“Look, he asked me if I knew why I was struggling with understanding some of the things in his class and I was just trying to say, as an immortal being, I am technically superior to the rest of you...Your species!” He corrects himself as soon as she turns to scowl at him; “And I tried to put that into perspective for him! How it feels for me, a creature with unfathomable abilities and has been around since the dawn of time, to have to be taught lessons from a creature like him - a tiny, fragile, mortal species whose only existed for a tiny blink in all eternity.”

“And the first thing that came to mind...was a cockroach?!” 

Oh, she really is pissed about this.

He took a breath and tried to move closer, his hands out.

“Babe, c’mon now. You know I’d never mean to call you anything like that. It was just a force of habit, it’s how they would explain our jobs to use in Torturing 101.” He tries to tell her, his palm hovering near her elbow as she swigged her drink; “Old habits die hard but I’m trying my best, you know that, right?”

She meets his eyes, the sternness in her brow weakening a little, he can see. There’s a twinge in her lips as she refuses to melt.

“Old habits seem to be alive and well this week, man. Especially when you made Chidi’s writing come off the wall and attack him, just because he corrected you on Consequentialism!”

“Come on! You laughed at that!”

“No, Jason did! I...wanted to but resisted, which is what you should be learning to do! Stop lashing out at Chidi whenever he gives you the slightest bit of negative feedback, he’s only trying to help - which he keeps doing even though you can be such a nightmare student that you make me look like a teacher’s pet!” Eleanor cringes, putting down her can and stepping back; “Oh, what the fork have you turned me into?!”

“Hey, it’s not my fault you’ve become a total nerd! That’s on you.” Michael deflected as he hung up his jacket and removed his bowtie, snapping his fingers to turn his trousers to jeans. 

“Actually, ding dong, only reason I even asked Chidi to help me be a better person was because you tricked me into believing I wasn’t good enough to get into Heaven!”

“That wasn’t a trick, that’s a fact of the Universe.”

“You know what I mean! This is all your fault! We’re having to put up with these stupid fake tortures every day and when I’m not pretending to be miserable about that, I gotta babysit my demon boyfriend to try and stop him from actually torturing one of my best friends!” Eleanor raises her tone as she rounds on him; “And even when I finally get a chance to escape it all, I end up having a fight with said stupid demon boyfriend who’s too much of a jerkash to admit when he’s crossed the line!”

He watches her get closer, inch by inch, doing his best not to dismiss her comments and only focus on how cute she looks when she’s angry, as well as how hot it is for her to be so fearless shouting down an all-powerful immortal being.

Michael blinks as he realises she’s waiting for a response.

“Oh, you mean me?”

Eleanor groans again, moving back to the fridge. She grabbed as many J.D cans as she could carry before pushing past Michael and heading towards their bedroom.

He watches her go with a frown; “What you taking all those in there for?”

“Because I am gonna spend my torture-free night alone, in my room, drinking, eating crab and watching Real Housewives until I pass out.” She mutters as she turns the knob.

“Sounds good, count me in.” He went to follow.

“Alone!” 

That sounded less good. Michael stops in his tracks, watching her slam the door. He scoffs. She’ll be back out soon. What’s she gonna do, just leave him to sleep alone on the couch?

-

Yes, apparently.

Were he a true demon, he’d be hoping that Eleanor was having as much trouble getting to sleep as him. That she was regretting starting a fight on what was supposed to be their monthly getaway together and was going to appear any second to apologise and agree to forget it ever happened.

But he doesn’t, because he’s already passed failing at being evil, try as his natural instincts might try to rear their ugly tentacles again. He can’t wish anything bad upon her, the woman who changed his life, who shone a light in the darkness. He doesn’t even enjoy torturing her friends, not really. Chidi, a little, as an outlet, but only for an instant high that quickly wore off when he had to deal with the consequences. Which was mostly Eleanor being pissed at him.

He wondered how close she was coming to being tempted to turn a steak knife on him again? He probably deserved it.

It was...tough, being part of a team. Bonding with Eleanor on her own, two of them here isolated away from everyone else, had run so smoothly, as if it were destiny if he dared to entertain such a lame concept. But having to share her with others, taking classes with them, sometimes it was fun but other times...Ugh, he could gladly wish for retirement. He didn’t enjoy feeling dumb or small or...so clearly inferior to the kind, ethical human who got to spend way more time with his girlfriend than he did.

Not that Michael would ever bring that up. He’d sound as bad as Ross in Season Three when he was being possessive of Rachel with that Mark guy. What a tool.

Don’t be a Ross, Mikey. That’s Ethics for Dummies right there. 

He sighs, heavily, imagining losing Eleanor forever because of being like that doofus was with Rachel. He was better than that. He understood how important this was to her. He tried to respect her friends and what it meant for her to have all of them as a group; the family she’d been denied...that they’d all been denied in some way or another.

It’s on you to make this right, he tells himself. 

He hit his pillow before groaning again. Fine! First thing in the morning, he’ll wake her up with a nice breakfast, he’ll say sorry, he’ll let her know how frustrated he’s been with Vicky and others lately, and how he should make it up to Chidi and-

Click.

Michael freezes. That was definitely Eleanor’s bedroom door.

He closes his eyes, pretending to sleep. He doesn’t wanna try to do this now, not at this hour. Let them have a night apart to think, let her sleep, let it be a surprise to wake up to. She’s probably just coming in to grab some water from the Brita. Or some midnight shrimp from that infinite platter in the fridge. There’s a rapid thumping sound rippling through the air. He can barely hear her bare feet pad across the carpet...

On their way towards...him...

He struggles not to open his eyes when he feels the smaller body push against him, moving him back against the cushions and slipping under his arm for the lack of a blanket. He doesn’t need one and, even without his natural fiery body heat, it’s warm enough tonight. So why is she shaking all over as she curls into him-?

Oh. Oh shirt. Not again.

“You okay-?” he whispers only to find a palm pressed to his lips.

“Shut up!” her voice commands, her fierce tone trembling with fear; “M’still mad at you!”

Clearly. That’s not his main concern right now.

He nods, opening his eyes. The remnants of tears shine on her cheeks.

He carefully moves his hand to wipe them with his thumb, cradling her face as if it were the most precious object in existence.

“Just tell me what you need.” He says, softly.

They can deal with all the rest in the morning. Right here, right now, he’s to do what his role has always been since they first arrived here.

Does she want to talk about it? Can he get her anything?

He doesn’t need to ask these questions. They’ve been uttered a hundred times, over a hundred nights, throughout this house. He’s never denied her a thing and he’s hardly going to stop tonight.

Eleanor sniffs; “...Just...do the thing...”

He nods; “C’mere.” he lifts his arm again, letting her curl in close against this chest before he wraps her up tight. His fingers gently massage up and down her back as she tries to sync her breathing with his, burying her face in his chest. He whispers the same soothing words, the same promises of safety, the same tender reassurance that it will all be okay. She can never hear it enough, not after what she had to endure. It’s a miracle she ever came back from it.

Michael chances his luck a little when he feels her begin to calm by brushing his lips against her hair. She gives the smallest hum, fingers still clutching on tight.

“Still mad.” She mumbles, nuzzling into him.

“I know.” He whispers, “And I’m still here.” Always.

He’s not sure when the couch became comfortable again but he can feel his own eyes becoming heavy. He watches her face, so close to his, admiring the smoothness of her skin and each hair out of place.

“Guess I might as well stay...” Eleanor says, sleepily; “I know you need me to look after you.”

He grants her that, smiling; “We cockroaches gotta stick together, right?”

She doesn’t respond.

“Still not good?”

Her lips twitch; “Getting better. We’ll make a human outta you soon, demon babe. Now go the fork to sleep.”

[chidoroki]

The Promised Neverland S2EP6

aka: manga content is bliss!!!!

I will never get over how perfect those match cuts between the demon/human handshake, the chains & Emma are during the OP.. and how it builds up to the chorus is just.. aaahh, fantastic.

Oh! Lambda crew was added to the OP alongside the GF escapees. Norman too!

AAhh they really did fill in that empty spot with him during the last shot of Emma and Ray.. that’s wonderful!

“Emma’s Determination” starts up as I realize how foolish these kids are right now. Y’all are really about to have a touching reunion with each other in the middle of a demon town? With your disguises off?

Aaaaww that hug though!!

Look at her touching his face to make sure he’s real! I’m so glad they kept that panel! And how he noticed her missing ear too!

“I brought Ray out, too.” Well no shit honey.

YAAAYYY BEST BOY SLAPPED NORMAN!! Too bad it wasn’t hard enough to knock him to the ground like in manga but I’ll take it!

“But you say something cool, right?” “Yeah. Thanks to you. I’m glad I’m alive.” Dude, my heart.. aahhh!

The trio hug!! They’re all so cute!! I can’t handle all these happy feelings!

The Lambda crew is just standing there in the back like.. yeah, okay.

The younger kids are so happy to see Norman too.. but again manga did it better when they all tackled him to the ground. Granted that was a different scene but I would’ve loved to see it happen still.

Ah there’s his Lambda marking.

“I only took tests, so I’m fine.” Are you sure? Or are you just saying that so they won’t worry? Kind of like how he told the Lambda crew he didn’t get seizures when he actually did.

Also, I know some might think what was just said is true since Norman looks young and not like the “boss” Norman we were hoping for, but the anime is actually accurate in regards to that. Ch129 shows a flashback that takes place in February 2047 where Norman still looks younger. When the initial reunion in ch118/119 happens in November 2047, so perhaps the experiments/drugs manga Norman was given take time to affect his physical state or whatever. What I’m getting at is the anime isn’t denying us of “boss” Norman, it just hasn’t happened yet in this timeline.

Oh, Smee was actually mentioned!

Here comes the demon chatter and the poison.

“No, we’d fare better than going against a smarter demon.” True, not that anyone would truly know that because, you know, no GP..

“We’ll make the demons extinct. There will be no more Neverland.” Okay yeah, Norman takes Emma’s wish to heart by trying to create a world in which their family can live happily, but do you have to go through such extremes dude?

“Let’s establish a paradise for all of us in this demon world.” Manga Norman accomplished that, anime Norman.

Ohhh Ray notices Emma’s bluff, doesn’t he?

“If I give the word, even as early as tomorrow.” That’s quick, but fits with the pace of this season well enough..

“Now we can move forward, thanks to Norman.” Ah yes, we’re all saved thanks to our main character. Oh, wait.. that’s right. She’s over here being disrespected!

The base Smee left them? Is that the Paradise hideout? I forget.. or are we talking about the D100 location now?

Norman’s going back somewhere?

“It’s great.” “Is it really, though?” AH! Shut the fuck up! Are we getting the balcony scene here?? Right now?? Sure the duo is on top of a tower right now but y’all know what conversation I’m referring to!!

“About Norman’s plan.. you actually don’t want that, right?” IT’S HAPPENING!!! Oooh my god!!!

“But that’s not the future you want, is it?” “Something’s wrong with me.” Quick! Someone hold me! I’m not ready!!

Aww, Gilda helping Alicia with her nightmare.. that’s so precious!

Emma’s voice actor is totally nailing this scene so far.

“Yeah, nothing can be done.” Y’all, the way his voice became significantly confident and so positive and Emma’s reaction to him were perfect!!

“Don’t dig up my buried feelings, you jerk!” Emma sweetheart, I love you so much!

“If you’re going to bury your feelings, then take them to your gave, no matter what.” I know I said this once in the past, but after what happens in ch180, yeeaahh she takes his advice reaaallly well.

Oh they brought back “Emma’s Sorrow” to really make me even more emotional during this scene!!

You can always count on Ray to be completely blunt.

“Depending on the circumstances, we might get a clue on how humans and demons can coexist.” “Ray!” Bro she looked so hopeful and thankful that he’s even considering it! You could literally hear the relief in Emma’s voice!

“Choose what you want to do, and I’ll support you. No matter what you choose, you’ll be okay.” AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!! HE SAID IT!!

“You can do the impossible. That’s your specialty, right? Let’s create a future we won’t regret.” “Okay! Thanks, Ray!” AAH I AM SO FUCKING HAPPY!!! And the sunrise makes this scene so beautiful!!!

“My head feels clearer now.” “You’re too easy!” They even remembered those tiny lines too!!!

Y’ALL!! I am feeling.. SO DAMN SOFT RIGHT NOW!! Holy shit.. yes, this scene would’ve been 5x better in terms of weight and importance if we saw every manga event that built up their bond and led up to this scene, but still!! The dialogue was on point! The emotion in their voices was everything I hoped for! The animation itself was good too!

Also, the sunrise?? Genius! Here we have our girl lost within her own mind and feeling completely alone due to her ideals, then BAM! Ray listens to her concerns, lends his assistance by thinking through a different course of action that would ease her wavering heart and restores some of her usual optimistic attitude. My boy literally helps our girl out of the dark and shined light on her mood/plan and that’s absolute perfection. (my ship bias is real obvious right now huh?)

Did we get the head pat? No, of course we didn’t. But I’m so happy to actually see & hear this conversation that I don’t care! I love these two so much. I honestly didn’t think we would get this scene. Even after the episode preview yesterday I still had my doubts but aahh my heart is so insanely happy right now!!

Oh? The duo is off to the location Norman gave them? This random, small house in the middle of no where?

Aaah Lambda crew! And THEY SPOKE WORDS!

Pfft they still had Barbara mix up “shield” and “field” and I love it.

Look how much shorter the duo is compared to Vincent!!

“He’s with Boss now, they’re..” Okay, one: I love that they still refer to Norman as “boss” despite him still looking like a child. Two: is he making the fake alliance with that demon clan already or nah?

Haahaha YEESS! They still had Ray choke on his drink!!

Vincent has such a deep voice.. he’s what, 17? 18? But damn.. who is his voice actor?

Also, just noticed the star on Barbara’s shirt doesn’t have the little face on it.

Mmhhmm, Barbara’s frustration was nice.

Oh, Norman returned.. and left as quick as he came.

Ahh! This is the conversation the duo had at the start of ch126!

Well, a real tiny part of it.. thanks for cutting it short, Norman.

“The Evil-Blooded girl is still alive?” Aayy the anime did their best with that panel. I’ll give them that much.

Okay.. that episode was great. Ya see what happens when you actually follow the manga? Sure some scenes/locations/panels were off but overall it was just so wonderful.

I’m happy. Granted the RE scene put me on a real high but yeah.. anime, I’m praising you! Keep it up!

(though I’ll be salty over no GP for the rest of my life, don’t worry.)

[butterbeeryuta]

chapter 2: shit colour schemes, bugs, and vegetables

This place looked nothing like hell. The moment we landed, we were placed in one luxurious apartment with a private pool and shit. How is this hell?

Purple-horn lady cleared her throat as she clasped her hands together. ‘Welcome to Hell 127. As you can see, you have a rather gorgeous apartment here, and is probably a very different image of what you thought hell was meant to look like. But that is only because humans are stupid. Keep yourselves warm and welcome, and ya’ll can call me later if you need any help, yeah?’. We all nodded at her, wanting her to leave as soon as possible. If it was not obvious enough, we wanted to have a magical vacation here in Hell 127. Imagine all the films I can watch forever, or even maybe paint forever— this is just simply amazing and irreplaceable. What she said made sense though. Maybe we are dumb because of what we perceive hell to be. From an early age, we learn that hell is a place for ‘bad people’ regardless of what your religion was. Of course, there was no possible way for living individuals to know how hell actually looks like, but damn are we brainwashed. In a matter of a second, the purple woman disappeared, and it was just us 13 embarrassed breathing-yet-not-breathing corpses.

‘Is it only me, or I really want to jump in that pool’ the girl with midnight blue hair asked. We all looked at her direction, not expecting the sudden voice to speak out. My eyes followed where she was looking, and I must say, the pool looked inviting. The clear water had pink and purple led lights shining on the edges; it was a whole disco party in a form of a pool. I love hell.

‘Didn’t you die from jumping in a pool and drowning for your Instagram feed?’ A rather deep female voice questioned.

BITCH YOU CAN’T JUST SAY THAT I—

The boy with caramel hair snorted at the girl’s comment, whereas Mark’s laugh filled all of our ears. I had this sudden urge to comfort the attacked girl, but I also wanted to high-five the other person for such bravery? Huh… no wonder I’m in hell. I’m just as mean as kpop stans on Twitter. Poor attacked pretty girl tightened her lips immediately, almost as if she was stopping herself from throwing an insult back. Or maybe she was just at loss of words. If it wasn’t obvious enough, I am absolutely terrible at reading people. And to think I wanted to be a psychologist. Considering we were technically going to live with each other for eternity, I had this sudden need to diffuse the tension, and being the natural leader I am since I was an art teacher for fuck’s sake—

‘Are you feeling ashamed that we all know how you died?’ A man with dark red hair asked.  My thoughts were immediately cut short when he began to speak… and now I want to choke him for interrupting me. Perhaps I have a temper problem. Perhaps. The girl nodded a ‘yes’ at him, which only made the man give her a small smile. He had a pretty smile, I’ll admit that. But that gives me more of a reason for wanting to kill him. Though, there is probably no use in doing so since we are all dead anyway and well, we’re all in hell.

‘Well, don’t feel bad. My name is Yuta, and we all had embarrassing deaths. There isn’t a need to feel ashamed or upset sweetheart—‘

‘Oh cut the crap Yuta, stop flirting with people. I’m Johnny by the way. If you think he’s a therapist or something, no he isn’t.’ A 6’0” man interrupted him, which only made the so-called Yuta glare at the tall guy.

‘Ya’ll know each other?’ I asked, which for some reason caused Mark to nudge me. I raised my left eyebrow at him, giving him a ‘what the fuck’ look, but I probably should have guessed it: the bitch actually died from embarrassment, of course he’d be nervous talking to anyone.

‘Uh, yeah. Yuta is a drug dealer, and I was his personal accountant. We died together from stupidly running away from the cops and ran straight into a wall and well… a wall killed us’ Johnny said, scratching the back of his head, clearly not proud of his death. If I thought Mark’s laughter couldn’t get louder and funnier, it just did. Naturally, everyone laughed along with him, including myself. And just like that, we all got inside, sat on the huge couch, and got to know each other’s names and how we pathetically left Mother Earth. The blue hair woman turned out to be an ‘influencer’ on Instagram based in Korea— Jung Wheein. She claimed that she already knew that influencer wasn’t an appropriate term since she just posts pictures of herself, but it gave her money nonetheless. The girl who exposed her death was Ryujin; she had short dark hair, which only added to her ‘mysteriousness’ if that made sense. She didn’t tell us her story though. All we know is that she was an international student in Germany. The man who was ‘laughing in joy’ while watching his own death was Moon Taeil. His death was probably the least embarrassing compared to all of us since it wasn’t his fault. He was riding a horse and fell off midway and well… you know the rest. The rest of the people were Rosé, Jaemin, Jungwoo, Yuna, Momo, and Donghyuck. I would like to tell you their stories, but I honestly stopped listening. This is completely irrelevant, but that Jungwoo kid has been making heart eyes to everyone and I do not know what to feel about it.

We all eventually decided to call it a day, and because hell is such a magnificent place, we all had our own rooms with our names beautifully written on the door in gold. The first floor was already beautiful itself; a huge L-shaped leather couch with a perfectly carved wooden centre table to give it that home-like touch. The kitchen was huge as well, which made Jaemin squeal in happiness because he apparently liked to cook a lot. The kitchen matched the modern theme in the living room. The greyish marble decorated the room with a touch of dark brown to further amplify the modern vibe. It was like those pictures you see in model houses. The second floor carried out the same aesthetic. The only difference was that there was one corridor with 13 doors all spread out; 6 rooms on the left, and 7 rooms on the right. This was probably the first thing I didn’t like in this paradise-hell. It’s just too narrow and crowded, but who am I to complain. After saying our good night’s to one another, I walked up to the door with my name displayed on it: ‘___________ _____________.’ Taking a deep breath, my cold hand turned the knob. 

Second biggest mistake of my life. Or afterlife per se.

What the fucking hell is this?

It was every art teacher’s nightmare. The colours of the room did not match at all, and the chosen textures of the fabrics and cloths made no sense. Who the fuck uses terrycloth, or towel cloth, as bedsheets? Who matches neon green with pale pink? And the paintings that were hanging on the room, they’re incomplete! The only good thing about this room was that I had my own poorly designed bathroom, but other than that, it made me want to go blind. Was everyone’s room like this? I left the room, not wanting to believe that I was assigned to that disastrous room. I knocked on Mark’s door to check since I technically tackled him in the plane. We have a relationship alright.  

Nothing.

I knocked again.

Nothing.

Before I could knocked on the third time, I heard a muffled sob through the door. Was he crying?

‘Mark? Can I come in?’ I softly asked, unsure if what I did was the right thing.

‘S-sure, it m-might be scary-y though s-so try not to get f-frightened’ the poor boy stuttered through his tears. Did he find the colour scheme of the bedroom to be that bad? Unsure of what to expect, I slowly opened the door and, it was nothing like my room. The room had a white and yellow colour scheme, with those glow-in-the-dark stars scattered across the ceiling, resembling a child’s bedroom. Nothing was scary to be honest, until I saw what type of pictures were posted on the cream walls: bugs. Mark was scared of bugs. Mark was sitting on the floor with his knees tucked towards his chest, whereas his tear-stained face was hidden in his arms. As if he was my student, I crouched down next to him as I slowly rubbed his back.

‘Mark, they’re just pictures, they won’t harm you. But if it bothers you so much, should I take them down for you?’ I gently asked as I tried to calm him down. His teary doe eyes locked with mine, and he whispered a mumbled ‘yes’ through his croaked voice. I sighed in response, returning him a nod so he knows that I will take it off. Grabbing a picture by the corner I ripp— okay wow this glue is strong. Grabbing a picture by the corner with both of my hands, I harshly took it of— why isn’t it coming off? 

‘Uh Mark, it’s not coming off’ I said, trying my best to pull it out, but it just won’t budge.

‘SOMEONE SWITCH ROOMS WITH ME WHY ARE THERE VEGETABLES ALL OVER THE PLACE THIS IS NOT COOL!’ Donghyuck shouted, which was soon followed by a shut of his door.

What the fuck is happening? 

a/n: hehehehe i’m so ready to get to the main story in. bby mark is so precious omg protect him from this world 🥺as always, if you’d like to be added in the taglist, just let me know through asks <3

taglist: @ta3ilmoon​ @lelenoir​ @murasakillmepls​ @neolights​ @anothermessedupbitch​

back to masterlist?

[jackarychaoti]

Welcome Back to Hell. (Pt. 3)

                                                 - Music -

Locked in the endless winter that whipped around both dragons, the freezing ice had begun to collect on Jack’s clothing, permafrost from the eerie chill tainted his physique  and yet the corrupted Emerald Dragon refused to back down from his challenger. In his mind, the Frostwyrm was now an obstacle, some sort of hurdle to jump conquer if he had any hope of finding who he had come to Icecrown for in the first place. In his ire, he wasn’t ready to lose.

“I give you one last chance to back down...” It was all he could say from the gravely voice that sounded out, nearly dual in tone as if something spoke through Jackary instead. One last plight.

She would not relent.

The deep crimson eyes fell closed as such was a shame but his grasp on his scythe tightened considerably, bringing the weapon up to point it directly at the towering beast before him. Stating the challenge, both rushed towards each other head first, the clash of the titans nothing shy of powerful.

When the Frostwyrm raised another claw to swipe, Jack crouched in his last step to lunged upwards, hooking the curve of his weapon onto that swinging claw to catch a ride in the momentum of the arch to kick upward with all his might at her jawline, fracturing the bone from the direct connection. He, of course, let out a pained grunt from the amount of pressure that was connected to his foot that matched her cry of pain. 

It was an agile dance betwixt the two; for every motion she dared take at him, the Battle Mage moved with the grace and ease of someone who had spent their entire life climbing trees, scaling her body further each time. Every time he swung his scythe or flung ice in her direction, it didn’t seem to stunt her attacks, no matter how far he had crawled up her bestial skeleton.

Once on top, Jack crouched down to snag ahold of a rib and secure his grip. He glanced up just in time to see the wings on either side of him flare out, fully ready to take flight to try and shake him off. There was no holding back the corruption in his heart for in a split second of inner rage and jealousy, he had a dark thought... An evil thought. If he couldn’t have his own wings... why should she have been allowed to fly? 

The idea tormented him, driven by whispers of the Nightmare that further tightened its grip on his mind until Jackary swung hard, screaming out in all of the frustration he had pent up over the years about his own wings. How he had lost them and why, the pain he felt when they were burned off and the agony and shame it brought. In that single moment, the scythe connected with one of the appendages, the raw strength behind the blow enough to crack and shatter the cartilage and bone, jaggedly slicing off the wing which caused an aching roar to bellow out and echo through Icecrown in agony. Lifelessly it collapsed next to the fighting pair, sending the Frostwyrm into a panicked frenzy.

“Why should you be allowed yours?! Why should YOU be allowed to fly!” Illogical, but for a moment, Jackary had forgotten himself, the tears welled gradually in his eyes while lips parted to pant heavily for air. He was already losing a significant amount of blood from the gashes in his arm and the anxiety had gripped him even tighter. “I. GAVE. YOU. A. FUCKING. CHANCE!” With each word that poured from his mouth, that scythe was swung, carving a name for itself into the spine of the flailing Frostwyrm who had frantically begun to flap the single remaining wing in attempt to shake the Mage free of her reanimated carcass.

A single hit from the flailing wing was all it took from behind to knock Jackary free of her, once more throwing him like a ragdoll into the snow to roll, his scythe disarmed and falling several yards away from him. His body skidded to a stop, wracked in forming bruises and adrenaline. He hadn’t tasted blood or combat in years and it was beginning to show.

Before he could even try and regain his foothold, The wyrm’s claw came down, crushing Jackary’s body into the compacted snow and ice below, pushing the very wind from his lungs. He could feel the ache of his bones and figure start to give away, the pressure enough to render the smallest, muffled cracking noise somewhere within his rib cage.

Hands reached up to grasp at the claw in attempt to push it off but in size alone, her weight was easily enough to overpower his own strength. In his last moments, flashes of his own life had begun to overtake his mind. Smiling faces of those he had known and could remember, his best friend those he loved and those waiting for him back home.... His mate. Fiancé. Knight. 

Something overtook the Emerald Dragon when the heated tears finally started to fall down his cheeks, frustrated and at wit’s end. Yet, all he could think of was screaming for Darnath to stop... To stop killing dragons. To stop killing Ysera. To stop hurting... If his Dragonsworn had been here, what would he have done?

Fingers clamped even tighter, enough to crack the bones of the crushing claw and when his eyes closed tightly from the pain and a cough rendered a small splatter of blood on the bones above, his mind cleared. Eyebrows furrowed in pain but all he could do was whisper, breathless.

“Yield...”

The word was met with her pushing even more of her weight onto him, the splitting ice all around them an indication of the crushing power that was to be the death of the Emerald.

With one last attempt to spare her life, Jack cried out, glaring up at the towering beast through the blur of his own tears. It was time to stop playing around. The deep red that had overtaken his eyes shrank, allowing the inky blackness to pool into two sockets, the veins under his flesh darkened, overtaking his skin tone in self defense.

The ground all around the pair started to rumble, shaking violently. The darkness poured all over the dragon’s form leeched to life in writhing tendrils to coil around the claw while the same essence skittered out in every direction on the ice, making a spiderweb of glimmering corruption below. A fingertip flicked to point up at the struggling Frostwyrm and from the corrupted ice, jagged lances of the element shot up, impaling through the dragon, the haunting glimmer of the dark ice latched onto her body, pinning her in place.

Another set of the tinted, frozen ground raised on all sides of Jackary’s frame to ram into the hand above, knocking it clean away from him and giving him a chance to suck in a deep breath of air to his burning lungs. Now free, the Mage hovered from the ground, slowly erecting himself to stand until he stared to watch the Frostwyrm continue to be assaulted with the inky ice weaponry. For every pillar she knocked free from her, another formed in its place instantly after, lodging deeper into the skeletal frame, essentially pinning the dragon to the ground.

The haunting vision of those mechanical wings lit up again, the deep crimson pulsed through his corrupted arcane and as he approached the struggling wyrm, the heated metal flared ever higher, hotter, more violent and vicious. Blood splattered outward, only adding more to the macabre display that was growing out of his own shoulders. This dragon was too far gone and she deserved to be put to rest, to find her way back to the Dream, for the way she reacted to the Emerald Nightmare pinning her down, it had become clear to Jackary... She had once been an Emerald, too.

“Fate is cruel...” He began, the voice altered significantly. “Now we both suffer... But it doesn’t need to be that way...” Wheezing as he spoke from trying to catch his breath and the cracked ribs, each painfully slow step brought him around the struggling skull of the pinned beast. Blood splatters were left in his wake, tainting the foul earth with the metallic stench. “Return... to Paradise.”

Words echoed in the Frostwyrm’s skull and with a sudden spin, that defiled arcane magic was used as a knife to cut straight through, severing her neck in the midst of the violent struggle. Where Jackary may have thought watching her quickly go lifeless and the blue flame of the Lich fade from her bones would have brought him some sort of satisfaction, part of him felt all the more hollow inside.

It shouldn’t have come to this. So why was this happening?

Those dark eyes raised back to the fractured sky, furrowing when not only did his ice start to fade, but a black-winged Val’kyr descended, summoning the corpse he’d just slain away to return to the tear above. Something then told him that it was the realm beyond realms - death awaited there.

The peridot overtook the empty void his eyes had become and much like it had come, the corruption began to melt away, Jack’s mind lost briefly in the Dream to quell his heart back into a calmed state of mind and hide away the darkness once more. This time, it had saved his life - but what had been the cost and letting it take over to protect the host?

He wasn’t sure.

Either way, he stumbled towards the scythe to pick it up from the snow and use it as a cane to lean on rather heavily, furrowing from the pain wracking his body. It had been too close and he hadn’t even remembered the basics of combat as a War Mage. He’s been in retirement too long and the Kirin Tor was right...

It was time to find his Knight.

It was time to return to the battle.

[fantastica-daily]

Richard Elfman on his new bizarro comedy - Aliens, Clowns & Geeks

By Staci Layne Wilson

When it comes to cult science fiction movies, Forbidden Zone stands tall. Richard Elfman's 1980 Mystic Knights of the Oingo Boingo vehicle was a one-of-a-kind film zooming down on a one-way street to a whacky conclusion that’s stayed in the minds of schlock cinema fans ever since. His latest film, Aliens, Clowns & Geeks is an equally wild and expressionistic indie featuring Austin Powers' Verne Troyer in his last role, promising that Aliens, Clowns & Geeks is the antidote to mainstream and a breakneck cure for the run-of-the-mill.

“I was fortunate to have my dream cast on this one, including Verne Troyer (Mini-Me) as my demonic clown emperor–his final film role,” says Elfman. “Our ninety-minute film has seventy-five minutes of driving music by my brother Danny (Elfman) and acclaimed animation composer, Ego Plum Guerrero. Along with Danny’s to-die-for clown and alien music, Ego added a Latin element with the band we play with, Mambo Demonico.” The score was composed by Danny Elfman, who wrote the theme song to The Simpsons, the music to The Nightmare Before Christmas and did the singing voice of Jack Skellington, and won six Saturn awards.

"Eddy Pine (Bodhi Elfman) is a jaded actor dealing with the cancellation of his series," reads the official synopsis. "To complicate matters, he wakes up with the key to the universe stuck up his ass. Apparently an alien Clown Emperor (Verne Troyer) is in hot pursuit of this, as are his rivals, the Green Aliens. Professor von Scheisenberg (French Stewart) and his comely Swedish assistants, the Svenson sisters (Rebecca Forsythe as Helga, Angeline-Rose Troy as Inga), come to Eddy’s aid. If only Eddy hadn’t fallen for Helga, and then the aliens manipulate his mind to confuse her with Inga! And when the mad little Clown Captain (Martin Klebba) steps on the gas and shifts his spaceship into fourth gear, all hell breaks loose.”

We had the opportunity to sit down with Richard to ask him about his movie.

Q. To what do you attribute your enduring interest in clowns? And why do you think they’re so fascinating to people in general?

As I’ve always said: “To be born a male redhead is to be born into a clown suit.” Hence my carrot-topped brother Danny and I have always had a fascination with clowns. Coupled with our wicked sense of humor and a love of the horror genre, it was an easy morph into thoughts of creepy clowns. Just like dolls and puppets—yes, I’m speaking Anabelle—clowns can have something “surreal” about them.  Bill Skarsgard’s Pennywise really nails it. And I laughed my head off at Killer Klowns From Outer Space. (And we have honk-honking shit-load of killer clowns in my new film).

Q. How did the idea for Aliens, Clowns & Geeks come about? Is it similar to The Forbidden Zone?

 Joined-at-the-hip. Yes. And no. Forbidden Zone is basically a surrealistic “human-cartoon” set to musical numbers. So I was working on Forbidden Zone 2, a thematic extension of FZ but on a much grander scale. I did a successful crowd-funder to develop the project, then, with the help of my producers, raised about half the budget. They asked me if we could do something quick (and cheaper) in the interim to keep the momentum going.

So I basically locked myself in my roof-top writing garret with a box of cigars and many bottles of whiskey and banged out my Geeks script over the next three weeks.

Geeks is utterly zany and music-driven, but it’s not a “singing musical” so to speak like FZ. It has surrealistic elements, thanks to my insane special effects department--and a little help from Hieronymus Bosch—but I would describe Geeks having cartoony elements rather than being a total “human cartoon” as FZ was…if that makes any sense. (And please don’t try!)

 Q. Tell us about the multiple roles played by your family – and do you have role as well? What was it like working with your family – any funny stories?

My son Bodhi Elfman—a serious dramatic actor with 100s of credits--did a great comic turn as Eddy, the lead; a bitter out of work actor who wakes up with the key to the universe stuck up his ass. He also played the ass-kissing clown (literally) on the space ship plus the green alien network executive who orders the destruction of Earth. My wife Anastasia played multiple roles, everything from a nun to a carny slut. She also danced and choreographed the cabaret burlesque numbers as well as played a clown…until she got sick from the chemicals inside the clown mask and had to throw up—after we got the shot, of course--committed trouper that she is. When I met Anastasia she was a ballet dancer with a “day job” at a horror fx shop. She can dance with a broken toe but seems to have developed a sensitivity to certain shop chemicals.

I played a clown as well and almost threw up from laughing. I must say Geeks was a fun show to work on (my greatest joy is creating a sense of fun) and the actors and crew had serious trouble keeping from laughing as I directed in insane clown attire. What a fucking visual!

And brother Danny—what can I say? As an independent (hence lower budget) film maker it helps when your little brother in Mozart.

Q. Tell us how you ran away and joined the circus.

Actually, The Grande Magic Circus--a French musical theatre company. 1971, I was twenty-one, visiting the Festival of New Theatre in Montreal. I ran into a scruffy Parisian street troupe. They had something though, a charisma, an élan, whatever-- it attracted me. Director Jérôme Savary needed a percussionist—et voila, that was me! I persuaded them to give me several minutes onstage at the festival doing my comedy/horror piece set to an Eric Satie’s Gnossienne. When I “killed” the pianist in a pool of blood the audience was shocked. And they loved it!

Then, back in California, I went to see Marcel Carne’s masterpiece Les Enfant de Paradise , a three hour film set in the Paris theatre scene of the 1830’s. I exited the theatre, stopped, turned around and went back in and saw it again.

A few months later I received a letter from Jerome. Peter Brook, famed director of London’s Royal Shakespeare Company was backing the Magic Circus in a large Paris theatre. Would I like to join them? Bloody hell!! Hence, I ran away and joined the “circus.”

Q. Tell us something about your time with the Magic Circus, how it influenced you and also how your brother Danny Elfman joined the show.

I might say that working with Jérôme Savary was perhaps my single greatest influence. The troupe had classically trained actors from the Comedie Francais as well as more Avant guard performers. Jerome was a genius, his material had a sense of Absurdism that really struck me. I would later develop this absurdism in my own fashion. Certainly with my own troupe, the Mystic Knights of the Oingo Boingo (later Oingo Boingo). By the way, my film Forbidden Zone was essentially our Mystic Knights stage show set to film.

Danny—several days out of high school--showed up at my 5ème, Rue Descartes doorstep with his electric violin. The company violinist was from the Paris Opera. Jerome liked to improvise. The opera guy couldn’t deviate one note from the written score. I believe my brother is Mozart reincarnated. He could follow any improvisation and got the job and toured with us for the summer throughout France. He and I opened the show with him on violin, me on percussion—the first music Danny Elfman ever wrote.

Q. Any other interesting experiences that you and Danny had there?

We were in a Basque town near the Spanish border. If I may digress, I am four years Danny’s senior. I went to a high school in Crenshaw (Boyz in the Hood), Danny ended up at a school with no guns. I was a tough boxer. Danny might be described as a bespectacled science nerd. So it’s Friday night, the audience was really rowdy and restless. My “street sense” knew it was just a matter of time before the fights broke out. We had an Argentine fellow in the troupe, “Katshurro,” nicest fellow. Drunks in the audience picked up on his accent and shouted terrible Spanish insults about his mother. Katshurro stopped mid-performance, his eyes bugging out of head, and he dove right into the audience swinging away. All hell broke loose. Everyone was fighting, sets crashing down. Danny’s glasses got knocked off. Well, and not for the first time, I managed to get Danny out of trouble with both his glasses and violin intact.

Q. Tell us about the cast you assembled – which includes Verne Troyer in his final screen performance. What was he like? Who does he play in the film?

I really had my dream cast. Along with my son Bodhi we had lovely kung-fu kicking Rebecca Forsythe, versatile Angeline-Rose Troy who not only played Rebecca’s sexy Swedish sister, but donned prosthetics to play poor Eddy’s junkie/whore “Mom from Hell.”

Professor von Scheisenberg was played impeccable veteran French Stewart (Third Rock From the Sun). Another great vet was George Wendt (Cheers) as Father Mahoney. Six foot six comic Steve Agee (Sarah Silverman Show, Guardians of the Galaxy) played both a tough cross-dressing bar owner and a stuttering dufis in a chicken suit. Nic Novicki (Boardwalk Empire) played his nasty little-person boss. I was really blessed with a great ensemble to work with.

And, of course, Verne Troyer, our megalomaniac Clown Emperor. What a wonderful talent to work with! He was funny on set, insisted on doing things in spite of physical limitations and he gave us hilarious comic improvisations. Little body. Big spirit. I will certainly miss him.

Q. The music is by Danny and you also have great animation… please give us some details what it’s like to create worlds through music and manufactured imagery.

Danny, along with my band mate--award winning animation composer Ego Plum (Guerrero)—really gave it to us. Seventy-five minutes of music in a ninety-minute film. ♪ ♫ La, tee-da and a boom boom boom! ♪ ♫  Music is essential to everything I do—especially setting the tone of my films. I even play music before I start writing.

As soon as Danny saw our surrealistic Bosch dream sequence and goofy clown rocket ships he agreed to do the score…after he stopped laughing. I play percussion in a quirky Latin band, Mambo Demonico, led by Hollywood’s top tv animation composer, Ego Plum. He and Danny work with the same people, including Oingo Boingo lead guitarist Steve Bartek, who subsequently has done every one of Danny’s film arrangements. Steve and the original Oingo Boingo members all played on our sound track. I must brag that we do have great fucking music!

You know, Danny was a bespectacled science nerd growing up, basically stayed out of trouble. That was my department. Oddly, he wasn’t really into music. No bands, no concerts, no big music collection. Life is funny how things turned out. I showed him a rough cut of Geeks, he laughed his ass off and offered to do it. Yes, I’m very lucky to have “Mozart” as my little brother!

Q. Who is Aliens, Clowns & Geeks for? Do you think movies like this are more likely to find a mainstream audience?

Forbidden Zone may be a “cult” movie but it still plays all over the world--after forty years. Just this past month FZ played festivals in France and South Korea. Geeks is certainly not for everyone—no one falls in love then dies of cancer. But it will find an audience I am sure. Anyone who had fun with Killer Klowns From Outer Space, liked Rocky Horror, even What We Do in the Shadows in terms of a quirky, wicked sense of humor. I also think it will play well in mental asylums…it certainly shall send people there in any case.

Geeks doesn’t fit into the scheme of “modern films.” Actually, the shooting style and underlying three-act story structure harkens back to classic comedies (says the son of a former English teacher turned novelist). The trappings though, are insane and off-the-wall. You might say it’s just my own, goony creation. Love it or hate it, the humor is balls-out outrageous, definitely not for everyone--no one dies of cancer. Geeks is simply meant to be fun for essentially the genre audience.

Q. What’s your proudest moment associated with making the film?

Proudest moment? Maybe finally paying the actors. People say I’ve embraced the indie spirit. I don’t know how much I “embrace” it, so much as am fucked by it, having to work on such a modest budget. Although I’ve been a “hired gun” and directed scripts written by others, Geeks is really the first time since my 1980 Forbidden Zone that I’ve really done purely my own vision. Per John Waters, well, I’d hope he’d have something strong to drink and/or smoke and then laugh his ass off watching it! That’s what it was like creating the film: Drinking scotch and smoking cigars in my rooftop writing garret, laughing my ass off! The green aliens have a totally high-tech ship, except for the automotive steering wheel and four-on-the-floor to shift gears. For the clowns we went for an absurdly updated version of Flash Gordon. And when our tiny clown emperor takes possession of an earth body, he has little dummy of the earthling sitting in his lap, their heads connected by electrical wires. Absurd and ridiculous, and that’s my middle name.

Want to see a double feature of The Forbidden Zone and Aliens, Clowns & Geeks? You can! They will play at The Regency in L.A. as part of The Valley Film Festival on 1/30/21. Get tickets here.

Look for our review of Aliens, Clowns & Geeks here soon!

[cowandcalf]

10.14 - Spoilers

Random thoughts, no particular order.

Danny has some workdays off. He sits in a bar, at 10 am, alone, watching TV. I haven't decided yet if this is a sad picture or if Danny's having a good time, some me-time, away from the normal daily routine… I really don't know. Maybe he's somehow heartbroken over Grace being at college, far away from home, far away from her Danno. It might be all about a dad who must get used to the fact that his daughter grows up. And that hurts, a lot, especially Danny. He's a great dad. Because Danny doesn't look relaxed in this first scene at the bar, more like deeply immersed in serious thoughts. So maybe his face expresses all about the changes in his life he can't stop from happening.

Steve's worried about Danny and I know he has his reasons. So, it really might all be about Grace and college and moving away from home. Steve's looking out for his boy the only reason for his early call to check up on Danny. Okay, I mean Danny must have left the house around what time? 8:30 am? 9:00 am? Something like this? So, he's seen Steve just a moment ago, had a cup of coffee with him. He even petted Eddie before he went to drive off to this bar. And Steve is separated from Danny for how long exactly? For about 2 hours tops? Before Steve decides it's time for a call, to touch base, making sure he's fine. I mean…this, yeah, this is what I live for.

Steve calls Danny, asking him how he's doing. And it's not anywhere near lunchtime but Steve asks Danny to join him, to grab a bite to eat for lunch. Danny has this day off and Steve can't stand the thought thinking Danny might overthink things, having a bad time, a somber mood. Whatever. Anything is good enough to pretend it's all about caring instead of admitting he only wants to hear Danny's voice. Steve's worried, he misses him…

(Damn, right this moment, in the middle of writing this text there's some other thoughts popping up…GAHH!)

How could I forget about that? OHmYGoD! Steve has just had this awful moment with Eddie! He was terrified Eddie might die on that highway, disorientated, run over by a car. Steve's all shaken up emotionally. He can't really admit that fact to himself, not yet at least, only later when the vet is there with him…I got a little of that myself today – talking about anxiety… So, the call to Danny is also to calm Steve down from the recent, shocking events because Eddie is much, so much more than just a dog to him.

Eddie is the main supporting pillar of Steve's fragile world he hides in his heart and his shattered, scarred soul. Steve is still upset and who does he call? Danny.

He calls, just as Danny would have called him and he checks up on his boy. What a great, tender, comforting moment. Steve doesn't see Danny at work due to his short time-out, though Danny still lives at Steve's place (…if he hasn't forgotten his key…) and Steve sees him in the evening for sure but he wants to eat lunch with Danny although he knows Danny is off to have some good time with whatever he's coming up with. The call Steve gives Danny is similar to the one Danny gave Steve in 10.01, exactly the same. I love this continuity. Warms my heart and the inside of my body down to my little toes.

Danny and the unknown, sexy woman. She's a natural beauty. I love everything about her. From her hair to her fair skin, down to her curvy, hot as hell body, to the way she's dressed, wearing the badassery-is-my-first-name tag like she invented also sensuality. I appreciate the absence of heavily put-on make-up. She's gorgeous and perfect. What a woman!! Whoa, she's freaking hot! And so damn far away from Danny's comfort zone, it makes me want to bite something. That pick-up scene where she just entered the bar to catch up on Danny was a total turn-on, so special, totally out of the ordinary, so hot! Holy shit! This sexy brunette plays with Danny and makes one hot move on him after the other.

God, she's so sexy, full of sass and wits and she swaggers into the bar and within seconds she hits on Danny and it knocks me off my feet with the wave of passion and lust and joy of life breezing my way. Bow chica bow wow!

Danny goes with the flow. How could he not? Steve is still important, and he takes the call. Danny would never not take a call from Steve. But after that Danny's world spins out of control. This woman seduces him into a state where Danny's cock rules his body. They go and have a hot fuck in the woman's bathroom of that bar! Danny stumbles into a tiny, confined space with no windows and only walls around him and he's fine! I have a great live-sex-movie in my head with Danny having this impromptu sex and that's why I have to use other words! Let’s be dirty! He bangs her, right there, from behind, and Miss Sexy-and-Brunette has one palm spread wide against the mirror, and with her other hand she clamps the rim of the counter to catch the heavy snaps of Danny's hips against her ass. God, they watch each other in the mirror, Danny takes her from behind, face red and flushed from arousal and joy and a tiny bit embarrassment that he even sees himself fucking a stranger in a public toilette. A hookup, not even knowing her name and she lifts her skirt and pulls her panties aside to let Danny glide into her wet, hot pussy. Jesus!

I mean, what the hell? (I love Danny’s wet spots under his armpits on his shirt after the sex, that's a great detail.)

The absolute cutest thing happens afterward. Danny has never done this before..just savor this...Danny has never fucked a stranger in a bathroom. He’s not so adventurous and this all-in now or never guy and it shows a tiny bit in the way of his movements which aren't all that confident, just a tiny bit insecure but the desire is there, burning like a wildfire. I mean the red-kissed, sore skin on the sexy brunette’s throat makes my knees go weak.

We know how Danny approaches his women, not like this. He's very much hesitant, insecure, shy, careful, cautious that this event right there with Miss Sexy-and-Brunette?? This renders me damn speechless. Wow! I'm sure Danny calls her (the unknown, sexy woman he just had sex with) Vivienne in his head. I see him whispering hot nonsense in her ear while he comes inside her, and her eyes grab his gaze and lock on. She's so damn self-confident. Who had the condom? That had to be Miss Sexy. I really don't think Danny plans such an act on purpose. He has never done this before!! And he's a bit shaken from his courage and he's so damn sexy with this touch of shyness and the way he speaks to her afterward, coaxing her into giving her a lift…wow, man, Danny's such a hot a stud when he sets his passion loose!

I have no idea if they had had a chance for a relationship. It wasn't the question anyway. But Miss Sexy-and-Brunette is from the East Coast, she loves Jersey, she gets movie/baseball/football (?) quotes. She knows 'Romeo's'…she's such a great gal and I literally can see Danny falling in love iwith her just because she so very different compared to his previous women. She's a wild one and I'm not so sure if Danny could have handled her. Really, I'm not so sure. But she sounds perfect.

Everything that happens afterward seems to be fate, just bad luck, even if it kills you as a viewer, you can't turn back the clock. It's so terribly heartbreaking and this strong, incredible woman dies without telling Danny her name. She's outstanding and a tough she-warrior till the end. She fought so hard, she was so brave and everything...but it wasn't enough. God, I cried for both of them.

Danny had the hottest adventure in the morning because of her, Miss Sexy-and-Brunette and because of her asking him questions about his life Danny came up with some damn honest answers.

For example, Danny told her that Hawaii isn't the worst place to be. He said 'Hawaii 'grows on you'. Or when 'Vivienne' asks about Danny's reason for being in that bar and he answers the reason might be his ex-wife. And Rachel comes up and we get to know that Danny and she tried to make it work and they failed, again. As Danny said, they're better off as friends. So, Rachel's out of the picture. Hopefully forever.

But Life has other plans and this wonderful, sexy morning turns in another haunting, dark, life-sucking event. Danny relives a terrible nightmare – the one where his partner Grace got shot, that day 9/11, right next to him and he couldn't save her. It happens again that a woman dies in his hands. The circumstances are brutal. Danny has experienced paradise and heaven, love and passion, despair and bone-deep grief within hours. He's a mess. He can't deal with anything at the moment. He had it, this spark and it's gone, forever lost, seconds later.

And what’s with Steve? There's also some heavy shifting on the emotional side happening. He opens up to his ohana and we get some deep insights into his heart and his well-guarded feelings because of Eddie. He's honest with the vet-lady and it hurts my heart to know his job always comes first like as if he has no idea how to create a personal life. He would want a relationship with someone, but he can't fit it into his life and the vet-lady wasn't as important as it had to be to make it happen.

In the end, Danny and Steve are single again. They try hard to make things work, but it's not happening. Steve needs Eddie to get through his days and his ohana is always there for him. It breaks my heart how much everyone loves Eddie. Eddie has gone through the same war terror as Steve and neither of them came out sane and healthy. Both of them carry a heavy, invisible burden and that ties the bond between them even tighter.

Steve is going to break down when he gets to know what happened to Danny while he was hat home. God, he’s going to be a mess, too.

At the end of the day, Steve will do everything in his power to be there for Danny. They end up sitting on the couch, leaning into each other and helping one another to get through this mess that is life and love. But they always have each other. Danny lives at Steve's, Danny's single again, Steve's also single and one day, I'm sure of it, one day they stop being so stubborn and they will kiss and snuggle on the couch and they know they'll grow old together because they love each other deeply and uniquely.

There are so many more details. But again, let’s stop here. Thanks so much for reading!

Season 10 is quite outstanding. Great episode. It was poetic, sad, heartbreaking cinema.

[hecohansen31]

Fire Of My Loins

Trevor KIrchner+Younger Margaret’s Sister! Reader:

(A/N): Hello, lovelies!

Before you extract your knives to fight me… just know that I am working on “More Than You Bargained For” (2), which will be named “More Than You Can Give Me” (these shits are getting longer than Fall Out Boy’s titles).

But while I was working on it, I ended up not being truly able to focus on it (I still can’t), and this fic low key helped me a bit!

I STILL HATE TREVOR WITH ALL MY GUTS (and haven’t seen 9x07, when I wrote this) but hey… he low key inspired me to write this, so I honestly couldn’t help but write this down, and I hope it won’t be too much!

(Alongside the fact that “Lolita”, “Off The Races”, “Put Me In A Movie” by Lana del Rey have been on my youtube playlist since for-freaking-ever...).

Also the title is inspired by “Lolita” and it is nothing more than a quotation of a book that a truly appreciate for his writing style, which if you have read doesn’t glamorize any kind of relationship between an older man and a child, so please don’t make a shitstorm for that.

Reader in this case is an adult, since she is completely legal, being 22.

This was just a little disclaimer, because I know it might be controversial, and if anybody feels even slightly offended by it, just let me know!

Much love!

SUMMARY: It was supposed to be a  “bright new start”, but apaprently it is much easier than it seems to go back to your previous life, mostly when your sister’s husband seems so attractive...

WORDS: 9 K.

WARNINGS:

Older! Man+Younger! Girl (Trevor according to me is either 36-40, meanwhile Reader is 22), Mention of Child Neglect and Domestic Abuse (alongside attempts of Sexual Assault), General Violence and Use of Drugs, Daddy Issues, Seducing an Older! Man, Mention of Reader’s past as a sex worker, Fingering and Oral Sex (Male-Female Receiving), PTSD, Nudity.Vulgarities.

Being Margaret Booth’s sister wasn’t an easy thing.

The big age gape had made you always take a deep distance from the other, but honestly the more they went on, the more she didn’t want to be associated with that psycho.

After Margaret’s traumatic experience at Camp Redwood, the first one, their parents’ attention had been all on her, not matter how much she cried or asked for it, as a small child in need of her parents’ help.

She remembered perfectly the night when her stomach had hurt terribly and she had cried till it had given her an headache, meanwhile her parents comforted her older sister from a nightmare, completely ignoring her, she had had to call the ambulance herself and at the hospital she had discovered her appendix had busted open.

When the social services had asked her why her parents hadn’t taken her themselves to the hospital, she had lied, not wanting to be separated by them and the silent abuse had perpetuated but the more she grew up the more she found herself to search the lacking attention, everywhere outside home.

Older men were her favorites: she had once fucked one and he had left her a good grand on the bedside table of the dirty motel they had met at, and she had felt that rush of adrenaline that got her to become an escort for older men.

They doted on her desperately and she was good at fucking and listening to them.

It might have seemed an ideal paradise, but it hadn’t lasted: any of the man she “doted” upon seemed to have a flaw.

Jack had gambling debts and whenever he would be with her, he would steal some of her money and she was unable to say anything.

Bill liked to snort coke off her body, and he had tried desperately to get her hooked up on it, no matter how many times she told him she wouldn’t ruin her pretty head for it.

Kent was the worst: he was the reason why she was going back to her sister’s house.

He was violent, but he was the lover she had loved the most, desperately letting him control every single aspect of her life, alongside quitting her escort career, to move with him and the first days were idyllic.

She had had the best 21st birthday party ever and the following day she was in hospital, avoiding brain damage just because the police had been alerted by the hosts of the party promptly.

Kent had tried to smash her head against the wall, after he had seen her “drunkenly flirting” with one of the guests.

She hadn’t been able to press charges but somehow Kent had never talked to her, and she was pretty sure it was all due to Margaret, who had chosen to take care of her, as the good Samaritan.

She didn’t understand this change of heart, so suddenly made by Margaret.

They had always had this cold distance and she knew perfectly that her Jesus-fearing sister didn’t approve of her life, promiscuous and disgusting as she thought it was.

But she had been there once she had woken up from the hospital and had helped her through the rehabilitation eventually asking her to move in with her.

“… I just feel so guilty for stealing your childhood, sweetie” she had commented, as if she knew half of the things she had gone through “… come home with me, little sister”.

She hadn’t been able to say no, since she usually relied totally on the met she met with and fucked, and without Kent she had no home and money, hence… she would have been homeless.

It was better to stay in her psycho-sister’s house than the open air.

She had come home with Margaret on the day they had dismissed her, although she hadn’t completely healed, since headaches and nightmares plagued her mind.

“Welcome home” uttered Margaret, opening the door for her and showing her an extremely elegant sitting room, extremely modern and distasteful, but what could she have expected?

“Thank you, Margaret, I would like to sleep a bit, so if you don’t mind, can you show me my room?” she honestly just wanted to move in her room, settle the few things she had owned in her small suitcase and then sleep a bit, but Margaret promptly grabbed her arm, stopping her in her tracks-

“Listen to me, little tramp” oh here comes the Jesus-fearing bitch, hadn’t she missed her “… if you want to live under my house, there are some few rules: you don’t bring your “dates” here, I won’t let you desecrate my temple!”.

It took all her strength not to laugh in her face, but she just smirked a bit, nodding softly.

“… you stick to your room and don’t go out unless I tell you to” and then Margaret grabbed her chin in her hands, tightening the grip enough that she found herself panicking a bit, making her remember Kent’s bruising hands “… don’t embarrass me more than you have already done… “.

And she immediately left her chin, pushing her slightly, after she brushed away imaginary dirt from her elegant clothes fixing them and her own smile, gently leaning down to kiss her sister’s cheek, before she moved away, calling over a maid to show her the way.

She had been able to take a quick shower, at least her room had a bath linked to it, since it seemed to be the smallest one, something that she honestly didn’t like, but she knew better than to ask her sister for more, mostly after the little “discourse” they had had.

She honestly needed to get a grip on her life, in order for her to move away as soon as she could.

She had worked through her teen years before her “career” took over, but she hadn’t been able to attend college, since not only it made her anxious and nervous, but also, she was addicted to those men’s attention and when she “fell” for them, she devoted herself to them.

What a shitty life, had she chosen?

She was brushing her hair to dry them, simply dressed in a cotton nightgown she had found on her bed, definitely more modest than the ones she had owned, but the color gave her some kind of innocent allure.

When she moved to drop the towel in the bathroom, she found the door opening, without knocking.

She immediately turned around, as a deer in the headlights, scared that it might have been Margaret, and annoyed by the thought that somebody wouldn’t respect her privacy.

But it wasn’t Margaret.

It was a man.

Even worse.

Her heart started beating roughly and she found herself holding her hand out towards the handle of the door of the bathroom thinking that if she rushed she might hide behind it, but the man, almost as if sensing her nervousness immediately, raised his hands, trying to show that he wasn’t a threat.

“You must be (Y/N)” he commented, his tone was nice and sweet, clearly trying to calm down “… Margaret’s sister”.

“You surprised me” she simply mumbled, not knowing who this stranger was and keeping her hand onto the handle onto the bathroom door.

“I should have knocked” he muttered, clearly seeing her trembling “… I am Trevor Kirchner, Margaret’s husband”.

Margaret had never mentioned a second husband, in her visits.

So, she was a bit suspicious, but with the way he moved and acted he seemed not to want to scare her, and she relaxed a bit.

“… Margaret never talked about you” she simply uttered, and pushed herself to sit onto the bed, moving towards the little bottle of lotion she had managed to sneak away from Kent’s house, the smell of honey and roses intoxicating and comforting for her.

She tried to act nonchalantly, calming softly her nerves with the usual gestures, and immediately Trevor’s gaze shifted onto her legs, where she was smearing the lotion, and this didn’t go unnoticed from her, who took this time to analyze him better.

He was certainly charming, although some of his charm seemed ruined, shadowed by life and with the way his arms and legs moved spasmodically she knew it was drugs, and she couldn’t help but pout a little.

She would have gladly fucked him, before Kent.

Maybe just to spite Margaret.

“… she never talked about you either, till a week ago” he replied sassily, moving his eyes way from your shiny legs, as you pushed your arms up, as with them slightly your breast showcasing them more, in an act of subtle seduction that got Trevor quite engrossed, although he tried not show it “… just wanted to meet you and say that you are welcome to stay as long as you like”.

“I am staying here till I get a grip on my life” she stated, but Trevor just smirked at you, as if he didn’t believe you, as if he had said something like that to himself “… can you leave me alone? I prefer to do my beauty routine all alone, without creepy men staring at me”.

Most of her first week at the Booth Manor had been passed in her room, joining Margaret and Trevor only for dinner, when she felt like it.

When she didn’t, she just didn’t eat.

But at the start of the second week she felt bit better and most importantly due to the warmth of that summer day and the sunny weather she had thought about a little dive in Margaret’s tacky pool, although she didn’t own a bikini.

She hadn’t wanted to ask her sister, mostly due to the fact that Margaret had treated her like she was invisible and because she knew what kind of bikini her sister owned: matronly to say the least.

In the end, she had dipped into the water in her nightgown, a cotton white, very simple in details and puffy on the “sensitive zones”, such as her stomach and  her breasts, but as the water drenched her body, the fabric immediately attached itself to her body, revealing her skin.

She was enjoying a few breaststrokes in the water, when she heard a low whistle and realized that Trevor was leaning onto the swimming pool’s side, lounging onto it in a costume that showcased his “best attribute”.

She didn’t mind him any attention doing a few more laps around the pool, till she had enough, and another migraine hit her, making her quickly exit the pool, and reach out for her towel.

Which had been brought around herself with much care and when she opened her eyes, a bit comforted by the warm hug, she found Trevor gently helping her, and not looking at her almost naked body.

“Is everything alright, (Y/N)?” he asked, seriously worried and she promptly pushed away from him, quickly sitting on one of the sunbathing chair on the side of the pool, trying to regain a bit of composure.

“It’s just a headache, I strained myself today” she mumbled, meanwhile she adjusted her drenched hair and tried to stop her legs from trembling.

“Margaret said that you tend to have some headaches… can I do something about it?” he asked softly, and gently moving closer and she couldn’t help but wonder why he was like this.

He was certainly attracted to her: she had seen the way his stare lingered onto her, but he never dared, and she was sure it wasn’t out of respect or faithfulness to her sister.

She had heard them fight, and during those times her head would be hidden under the pillow, memory of Kent in her mind flashing and her tears rushing down.

“… just stop talking…” she uttered sharply, seeing Trevor’s mouth move onto a straight line, clearly displeased, before he moved away and entered the swimming pool, effectively leaving her alone.

An hour later she was back inside, but she was unable to stop watching Trevor from her window, the way he brushed his hair away wet and drenched and the way little drops of water caught fire in his skin as light hit them.

This would end badly.

By her third week with her sister, she understood perfectly why Margaret had brought her there.

She had thrown a party to celebrate some kind of business milestone and had paraded her sister as a rescue case, constantly getting praised for her good heart and kindness.

“Oh Margaret, you truly are a saint” they muttered, meanwhile she simply smiled behind her glass of champagne, hoping they could serve something heavier, just as Trevor did, whenever he would excuse himself to snort some coke, in his office.

Already, after only an hour since the charity event had started, she was damnably bored.

And wasn’t the only one.

The man she picked out was dressed elegantly, jeweled cufflinks, linking a sober attire that seemed the incarnation of purity and bigotry.

He wasn’t so chaste as she went down her knees and bobbed her head up and down around his length till his release stained her pretty red lips.

It was the little pick up she had needed, and she quickly turned towards the elegant marble sink to clean her face, but he quickly got ahold of her arm and pushed her to face him again.

She honestly didn’t find him in the slightest attractive anymore: his red face had a terrific smile and she felt dirty and used.

“Don’t expect me to let you go after you blew me as a pro, I bet that you fuck even better”.

Everything that Kent had done to her, before almost killing suddenly came back and her fought as the man tried to drag her back in the little bathroom cubicle, but he quickly shut her up, with one hand, meanwhile the other went between her legs, under her gown, hastily pushing down her panties.

He pumped himself a few times, but before he could penetrate her, some force rammed into him and he was pushed onto the ground and when her eyes finally focused, she realized it had been Trevor.

Almost ashamed, she rushed to push her panties back in place and adjust her dress, meanwhile the man screamed against Trevor.

She knew he would fucking judge her an whore.

“What the fuck, man?!”.

“She didn’t want you, Carl, you were fucking forcing yourself on her” he shot back, before picking up the little shit from the floor, and pushing him towards the exit, his pants still undone and his face red “… and if you so much as try to utter something, remember about that pre-nup with your wife… she’ll fucking ruin you, for having cheated on her”.

The man went immediately from red to white and before she knew it, he pushed himself back in control and exited hastily the bathroom, muttering something about “whores being fucking bitches”.

She rushed again to the sink, this time it wasn’t to check her lipstick, but she threw up into it, although she hadn’t eaten much, so nothing but liquid came out of her mouth, a truly disgusting show, but Trevor gently rubbed her back, holding back her hair, and uttering gentle encouragement.

He was nice enough to collect a bit of hygienic paper to clean her mouth, totally smearing her red lipstick, the only exception to Margaret’s modesty rule on her outfit, but effectively cleaning her up.

It was such a gentle gesture that it broke her.

“Get the fuck away from me” she ushered, slurring it as soon as she felt like she could walk away without her legs shaking “… leave me the fuck alone”.

Trevor sent her a bewildered look, one that told her that he didn’t understand her.

Well, he wasn’t the only one.

She had spent the following night, not sleeping just staring at the roof and crying.

Why was she like this?

Why did she feel this morbid need to screw somebody to feel better?

… and to push away anybody who was remotely gentle to her…

She didn’t join Margaret for breakfast, but she eventually went down the stairs to collect something to eat since her troubled stomach was grumbling loudly and she knew that death by starving was a bad look on her.

Not to talk about the fact that it would just take too long.

No, she needed something quick.

She caught Margaret on the threshold, with too many suitcases for a single person, and she immediately smirked as she saw her.

She was low key grateful that Trevor hadn’t uttered anything about catching her blowing some of their friends and then having a mental breakdown.

“.. this week I’ll be on a trip” she commented, cheerily “… the newest haunted house just ready for Halloween!”.

She faked being happy for her sister, before she turned to her mission, collecting something easy to eat, thinking about how she was stuck there with Trevor.

Had he ever cheated on her sister?

She hadn’t noticed any maid sneaking in and out of his “office” or any pretty young thing looking at him with malice.

Meanwhile she was thinking this, she heard knocking onto the kitchen’s walls, and when she turned around she saw Trevor looking at her as if he had found her a wounded animal, not knowing how to approach it.

But she was thankful he had knocked.

And pushed one of the sandwiches she had been doing towards him, a peace-offering.

“Oh no, sweetheart” he commented pushing it back to her “… you need to eat, you look like a scarecrow”.

This got him a playful fist to the side, which he faked had hurt him.

It was such a light moment that she honestly let out a laugh.

This seemed to take aback Trevor, as if he had heard the angelic voice of God.

“… by the way, since Margaret is not here I thought we could go out shopping” he mumbled, a bit shy, as if he was sure she would shoot down his idea “… you can’t go around with those nightgowns, and certainly can’t swim in them”.

She didn’t know why but the shyness in his voice intensified as he muttered the “nightgown” part gaining a smirk from her, and her hands gently traced the light patterns of her nightgown, indeed.

The cotton of it had brushed against her nipples enough to make them bloom in pebbles and she knew that he could see them, although he avoided to look straight up at her body.

“What is wrong with my nightgown?” she asked, feigning innocent, meanwhile he released a light laugh to hide his embarrassment.

“Just think about the heart-attack that we’ll give Margaret once she receives the notice of how much we spent”.

He didn’t have to say anymore.

She was used to men showing off her body, whenever she tried on clothes for them.

They didn’t want anything more than a quickie in the changing room and a pretty girl who smiled for them and wore pretty things.

But strangely with Trevor it was somehow fun: he constantly commented and made her wear the most absurd dresses, muttering about how much she looked ridiculous, just for her to do the same till the shopping clerks had enough of them and threw them out… kindly…

She hadn’t had this much fun… since ever.

They went to lunch to some fast-food place, something that got her to utter:

“Aren’t we supposed to be rich? We can do better than McDonald’s”.

Just for him to shot back as he stole some her fries:

“Is that sarcasm? Because I thought it was your usual tone”.

She just pouted a bit, kicking him under the table but he smirked, eating up his hamburger meanwhile she picked around her food, knowing she needed to speak up.

“… I am sorry for last night” she thought about ripping the band-aid immediately “… I don’t know what came onto me…”.

He stopped holding up a hand, to calm her rushing tone.

“It was the trauma, and I know about it…” he spoke as if it pained him to talk about this “…I was a survivor at Camp Redwood, one of the three alongside Margaret and Brooke”.

She knew that story all too well since Margaret didn’t lose any occasion to remind everybody about the fact that she had survived a camp murder spree not once but twice.

But Trevor, unlike her, seemed like he wanted to forget.

Hence the need for coke.

“… there are some things that make us feel that way and I am not going to judge you for that” he explained as if he got her and the way his eyes were shadowed, as if he was worried about something on his mind “… but if you ever need to talk…”.

“Margaret will pay me a good psychoanalyst” she replied, trying to shift the tense area that was created, although she shot a thankful smile on Trevor’s way, who moved onto slurping his drink.

“… that is the spirit” he commented but his tone was too serious “… if you have money, you can have anything”.

After lunch they were supposed to move away back home, mostly because she was again getting a migraine, but she was unable to stop herself from wanting to visit a bookstore again.

She hadn’t visited many, during her life with Kent, mostly segregated in the “trophy wife” role, so she couldn’t help but brush eagerly her hand through the papers, meanwhile Trevor had gone to the bathroom, asking her not to run away, in the meanwhile.

But she couldn’t help but move through the shelves checking out the newest releases and choosing a few to read meanwhile she looked out to the glasses outside the shop to check on Trevor, but she quickly become too engrossed on an illustrated version of “Little Women” by Louisa May Alcott, one of her favorite books.

She related to Jo on a personal level, remembering her all about the possible dreams she had had about becoming a journalist and a novelist, when she still thought that there was hope in the world.

She was so interested in the re-reading that she didn’t realize that Trevor who hadn’t found her outside. had gone in the bookshop and was gently shaking her, trying not to scare her.

“Hey, found anything interesting?” he asked, eyeing the book and she pushed it closed, immediately rushing to push it back on its original shelf, but Trevor stopped her, collecting the book and moving towards the cash desk, extracting his wallet “… you want to get only this one…”.

Clothes were one thing: she needed them, mostly if Margaret wanted to parade her as her personal corgi.

But books… books were something that made her almost nervous to be gifted, it was a window on her soul she couldn’t accept, and couldn’t let Trevor stare into, but he hadn’t seemed to mind, instead pushing Margaret’s card to the clerk, smirking gently at him.

When they walked away, she was holding a few more packages, Trevor carrying the rest, almost as if they were some kind of happy couple, finally coming back home.

It had been a truly good day, one of the first since she had opened eyes, and she made sure to say so to Trevor: she might still think that he was hiding her something, but she definitely couldn’t help but feel a bit soft around him.

“Thank you, it was a nice day” she thanked him, taking the little bag of books in her hands to try to hide her secret from him, and he smirked, gently caressing her face, and strangely she leaned herself into that simple touch.

“Don’t mention it, I have to say you are the funny sister” he giggled, and she found herself blushing.

“… you are the first one who ever thought this”.

The night she and Trevor had decided to treat themselves to a nice dinner outside in an expensive restaurant, mostly for her to try out the newest outfit she had bought big shoulder-pads with sequins and a tiny waist, giving the perfect hourglass figure, in a very fashionable style.

She almost looked like when she hanged onto older men’s arms, who showed her as if she was  their newest Rolex.

She was almost expensive as one.

“… don’t you think that they will talk about this?” she asked, almost worried: she didn’t want her sister to kick her out because she was standing too close to her boytoy.

“Not if we leave the waiters a huge tip” he replied, making her smirk, meanwhile he helped her out of the car, gentlemanly giving her his arm to hold her close to him, meanwhile they strutted inside.

Dinner was nice, and she was used to this kind of elegant setting, falling back in her charming persona, after a good chalice of wine, which Trevor continued on pouring, insisting on the fact that it made her almost funny.

“… well it almost makes you handsome, so…”.

“Aren’t you supposed to be nice with family?” he retorted, meanwhile he played around with the food in his plate, almost as if he couldn’t focus on it, as she, instead, tried to cut perfectly what she had chosen, into tiny bites.

“Are you my family, Trevor Kirchner?” she replied, sending him a slight glance, under her eyes, almost teasing him.

“I married your sister, or did the wine already get to your head?” but his retort was stopped short, as her legs brushed against his, the silkiness of the stockings she wore against his elegant dress pants, making her laugh loudly at his stunned surprise “… yeah the wine got to your head”.

“Did Margaret tell you what I did before I come to you” she didn’t know if it was the wine talking or the fact that strangely she felt nice, almost comfortable with Trevor.

Alongside the fact that she wanted to fuck him desperately.

Before dinner she had spent a good hour igniting a soft fire in her most private parts, gently touching them and caressing her skin till she reached a lazy and aching orgasm, thinking about him doing it to her.

She couldn’t deny that no matter how much she tried she was attracted by him.

And without no inhibitions she just couldn’t stop her blabbering mouth.

“I got paid to sleep with men…” she linked their eyes together, and pushed her legs apart under the table “… but I had a type you see, I liked old men, older than boys, and they would pay me with nice things”.

“I didn’t know, (Y/N)” his voice was dark, definitely lower and aggressive, asking for more, almost desperately.

“… I liked it, I liked the attention, the gifts, the lavish lifestyle…” she continued, meanwhile she adjusted herself onto the chair, unable to sit straight “… but nobody fucking loved me, isn’t it such a horrible thing”.

“Sweetheart, you are…” Trevor seemed almost confused about what to do, she could feel that he was aroused, but also, he somehow had reigned himself back in control from the state he had gone in, after her confession, as if he pitied her.

“I don’t need your pity” she replied, harshly hissing through her teeth and quitting all her movements, instead reaching out for the wine glass, which Trevor took from her hands.

“I think it is enough” his tone was stern, and before she knew it, he was by her side, helping her up, although she protested, attracting quite the attention.

She seriously hoped the thing about tipping the waiters to keep them quiet was true.

He pushed her into the car, definitely with much more force than when he had helped her out, saying to the driver to rush them home and she immediately pushed herself away from him, almost burned from his sudden reaction.

“(Y/N)…” he tried to call her, but she kept on facing the window, looking out at the cold night, since it started raining and she pushed herself to look at the way the little droplets moved down the window of the car, letting it all lull you in a comfortable nap.

She was awoken by soft arms, pushing her into them, and when she opened her eyes, she found Trevor looking down at her, he seemed worried, but this time there was no pity, which made her wonder if there ever had been.

“… is your head hurting you?” he asked, treating her as if she hadn’t just confessed to him that she was a prostitute and that she had a thing for older men.

She shook her head, lightly pushing herself to bring him closer to her, tightening the grip onto his shoulder, finding comfort in that gentle contact and letting him lead her inside, cradling her closer to his chest and once they were inside he let her gently and softly down, holding her close, till he felt like she was steady again.

He then moved to leave her, but she tightened the grip onto his hand, bringing him back towards her and before she knew it her lips were onto his.

Her hand gently but steadily shifted onto his shirt, already opening the buttons she could slip an hand inside, meanwhile the other slung onto his neck, to bring him closer.

His hand shot up to her thin waist, caressing softly her hips, almost to gently reassure her to keep going.

A thunder shook them apart and realization shone in Trevor’s eyes and as she pushed him closer, he pushed her away.

“Babygirl, we can’t…” she didn’t even stay enough for him to finish.

It was always the same.

For the rest of the entire week she had avoided Trevor, as much as she could in a house in which they were all alone, except for the service maids, with whom she had developed some kind of strange friendship, to spite Trevor.

She spent most days off in her room reading and writing, mostly keeping a diary, but starting again with poetry, writing a few lines.

Even the silliest helped the confusion in her mind.

And they helped her mind going off the swift rejection she had received from Trevor still fresh and hurting.

She was low key glad when Margaret came back, although their first dinner was tense and she was more than happy to get away to the swimming pool, this time with a proper bikini, a red one, which fit her physique and as she dipped back in the water she finally felt like she was breathing freely, away from anything.

She emerged and found two brown eyes following her: Trevor.

She took her sweet time, with a few more laps, hoping he would be annoyed by the time she exited the pool, but suddenly she felt cold and to avoid getting a flu she immediately exited the pool, trying to avoid Trevor, but he quickly moved towards her.

“Can we talk, (Y/N)” he pleaded, but you simply covered yourself with your robe “… or are you going to continue to avoid me?”.

She turned around with violence, suddenly a frenzy anger taking over her.

“I am not the one who pushed away, firstly” she replied spitefully, pushing him away, with a shove of her shoulder, seeing his eyes brighten with surprise “…  I am not the one who refused, I am only doing what you asked me to”.

“Would you let me explain?” he screamed, almost as if he was tired of this argument.

Oh, she had just started.

She surprised him again, gently pushing herself closer to him, their faces so close that their lips brushed again and her hateful eyes became slightly honey, in a deer-eyed expression of purity and want for him, her legs pushed themselves between his pants, completely touching his screaming manhood, wetting it even.

“… I don’t want you to explain” she replied, her voice pointing out each word “… I just want you to fuck me”.

And as she had moved closer to him, she moved away, quickly grabbing the towel she had brought with her, and moving lightly her hips to a non-existent music.

And like this she ran away from him.

It was a week later, when Margaret was away on her trips, that Trevor did the first move, knocking on her door, meanwhile she was finishing her latest poem, which she hid quickly under her pillows, worried that it might be Margaret who had come home earlier.

But again, it was just Trevor.

She didn’t want to say that their relationship had changed, although they had been both civil with each other more for Margaret’s pleasure than because they had worked their issues.

Closer They were cold to each other, if Margaret wasn’t around.

Or better she would be as cold as ice with Trevor, although it didn’t stop her from teasing him, bending a little when she was stretching herself out in her red bikini or bringing her cleavage to be shown more through her new nightgown, a scrap of dark blue lace, much more provocative than her cotton ones.

And Trevor would just look at her as a kicked puppy.

“Caught you off guard, sweetie?” he asked with a poisonous edge to the “sweetie” part, which got her to huff, and adjust herself more comfortably onto her bed, showing off her legs.

“Stop using petnames” she mumbled instead, giving him zero attention, picking up the magazine the maid had left in her room “… it’s annoying”.

“… you just don’t look very like a (Y/N)” he replied, settling beside her and she still gave him no attention, but he grabbed her chin, raising it so their eyes would meet “… you look more like a little girl to me”.

“Ah ah, very funny” she mumbled drily, trying to get out of the grip, but it didn’t work, mostly because Trevor silenced her sarcasm, kissing her.

She immediately tried to rush the kiss, licking his upper lip, and opening her mouth, but Trevor seemed to like taking his time, gently brushing his lips against her own, at first against her upper lip, and then the lower one, before his lips separated themselves from hers.

But they stayed near her, wanting her to beg for more.

But after Kent, she didn’t beg anyone.

Her kiss was more aggressive, but she tried to keep it teasing, nibbling onto his upper lip, and pulling it between her teeth, releasing it with a pop, and pushing herself away.

“… what made you change your mind?” she asked, meanwhile Trevor moved closer to her, pushing himself onto her bed and cornering her gently against the wall “… aren’t you afraid of my sister finding out about us?”.

“As if I would ever give a fuck about that bitch” he replied, and sincerely showed up in his eyes, but if it wasn’t enough, he gently pushed an hand between her hair, bringing her close and gently kissing her cheek “… it’s just, things are going to be complicated with me”.

“I don’t give a fuck about all that, I just want a nice fuck” she retorted, her legs opening beneath him and bringing herself closer so that she could whisper in her ear “… can you do that?”.

Trevor just smirked and before she knew it she was laid onto the bed, with him gently pushing up her nightgown to reveal her baby blue underwear, matching with a lighter tone her nightgown.

“… you just have to say, please, sweetheart” he simply mumbled, meanwhile his voice was muffled by soft nibbling at her exposed thighs, brushing his moustache against it “… you have driven me crazy”.

Her fingers immediately tangled itself in the sheets underneath her, meanwhile she tried to buckle herself up to be more close to him, but Trevor quickly pushed her back, plunging his fingers into her hips, to keep her steady on the mattress against him.

But they shifted their position quickly: one finger started prodding over her panties, as if he was making sure that she was wet enough, as if he wanted to learn the ways of her body.

“… were you already this wet, before I came in the room?” he asked, his voice appearing closer to her head and as she opened her eyes, she found him staring at her as if he was worshipping a goddess, looking at her with intensity and decision, meanwhile his finger didn’t stop his attentive ministrations “… or was this because of me?”.

“Don’t flatter yourself too much, old man” she replied, refusing to surrender herself to him so easily and he simply smirked, before he laid a soft kiss onto her forehead, something that her previous lovers had never done and it low key…

… it low key made her feel almost cherished.

Trevor’s finger dipped under her panties, simply playing with the hair he found underneath there, them moving back to teasing her over her panties.

And then back in them.

And then back outside of them.

In a teasing torture that brought her to whine pathetically.

“Is this too much for you, sweetie?” he taunted her, but she didn’t give up, spreading even more her legs, and letting him do her bidding, meanwhile her head turned to face the pillow, her hair a total mess around her “… don’t you want some relief, pretty girl?”.

She did desperately and Trevor knew it, gently dragging her panties down thighs, something that surprised her extremely: he wasn’t treating her as fine china, with his constant teasing, but the soft little attentions he gave her, made her feel damnably alive.

Almost as if he cared about her.

As if it was more than just sex.

He finally gave up to her desire and pushed a finger inside her.

The intrusion, although not unwelcome, was slightly unpleasant, since it had been quite some time since she had last taken something inside of her, but she tried her best to avoid showing anything on her face.

But still Trevor caught on her discomfort, and stilled his movement, backing up a bit, so that he wouldn’t be overwhelming her.

“… is everything alright, little one? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asked, again… strangely caringly.

“No no….” she tried not to blush, like a virgin “… it’s just been a long time since I last have done this”.

She almost thought that Trevor would make fun of her, but he just grabbed her hand and softly brought it to his lips.

“We are going to take it slow, lovely… don’t worry” he calmed her down softly, treating her with the most kindness she had ever been reserved, and she was just able to nod speechless “… just give me a minute and I’ll make it all better”.

He then lowered himself till he was between her legs, and before she knew it, his lips were onto her clit, suckling it softly at first, wanting to get her used to sensation, although she was unable to stop a soft moan from leaving her mouth, and then with more force sucking the delicate pearl in his mouth, till he engulfed it completely.

And as he felt her shiver pleasantly under him, he started moving his fingers, wetness oozing onto it, and collecting in the little pathway between her ass and cunt, in a creamy liquid, that Trevor licked clean with a quick play of his tongue, once his finger exited her, collecting all her wetness.

And then he re-entered her again, pushing two fingers inside her, and although it was again so sudden, she adjusted more quickly, buckling up and down onto them and onto Trevor’s rough face, his moustache leaving traces onto her thighs and folds, and she could have sworn he was smirking proudly at her.

He moved his fingers inside of her, at first without too much force, and then scissoring them inside her to spread her more, since he, himself, felt the tightness of her walls, slowly crumbling apart due to his attentive ministration.

And when he curled his finger into her, she basically found herself losing herself completely to him and her fingers quickly grappled his wrist, pushing it to stay inside of her, and he just smirked at her, again kissing her forehead and holding her, meanwhile trembles went through her.

“Just let go, lovely, I am here for you” and she did, watching him in the eyes, meanwhile he brought her over the edge with his mouth a breath away from her womanhood, and his fingers in her, letting her ride the orgasm till she had enough.

Sensitive and shaking she pushed him slightly away and Trevor quickly understood her need, and moved away a bit, but he kept watching her, analyzing whether she wanted his help or not.

But as soon as her orgasm finished, and pleasure didn’t obscure her brain anymore, she moved closer to him, searching lazily his lips, mostly to distract him from the hand that went into his pants pushing itself onto his belt, wanting to unlatch it.

But he stopped her.

“What do you want to do, babygirl?” he asked, almost surprised as if he didn’t understand what you had in mind “… you don’t have to”.

“Well the fact is… “ she unlatched her belt, and then pushed it away, lowering his pants, without a single look at anything, finding herself with a very evident bulge in her face, barely contained in his red boxers “… I want to”.

And then her hand came onto his dick, teasing him over his pants as he had done with her, feeling him whine pathetically against her, who simply smirked, meanwhile she continued her teasing, slipping him outside of the boxers just as he started begging her, a constant plead of mercy, that made her feel strong and in power.

And in control.

She smirked as she lowered onto his dick, a majestic one, definitely the biggest she had ever had and the thought of trying to envelop it all, made her nervous, but she didn’t waste time, at first teasing him with kittenish lick, and then gently plopping her lips around the tip, gently teasing it, meanwhile Trevor shifted forward, his hand going up to her hair, but immediately he retreated them, almost scared.

She pushed his cock out of her mouth, with a slick “pop”, gently letting him tangle his fingers in her hair.

“You don’t have to be gentle” she mumbled, meanwhile he softly huffed slightly annoyed “… I am a big girl, I can take it”.

“Can you” he retorted back, but was shut up as she gripped him tighter in her hand, literally holding him by his dick, before she ended again enveloping him, pushing herself even more through her limits and swallowing more, till it hit the back of her throat and she had to grip the ground, trying to calm herself and relax.

In the meanwhile, Trevor had pushed his hands in her hair again, but putting it softly, mostly pushing it away from her mouth and face, in a soft ponytail, loose enough not to hurt her, but steady enough that he helped her taking the rhythm, till she found one on her own, comfortable enough that the sensation almost soothed her.

And so did to Trevor, and she had to remind him, gently bruising her teeth against his cock, making him startle, meanwhile her eyes sparkled maliciously.

“Beauty, let me come” he mumbled, because she had kept him on the edge quite a bit, with a gentle stimulation, but she knew he had had enough and she moved herself to do that trick with her tongue, pushing her tongue under the underside of his dick, probing it till she found the right spot and a salty taste invaded her mouth.

It was so sudden that she had to retreat quickly and some of his seed stained her nightgown and her mouth, which she quickly tried to clean up with the back of her hand, but Trevor was quickly and cleaned up with a little tissue, attentively not to leave any stains.

She couldn’t help but feel a bit like a child.

Then Trevor pushed himself gently against her, kissing her forehead, before he gently pushed himself even closer to her, raising her nightgown, and although some alarms went off in her, she let him take her nightgown off, her body not tampered anymore by any livid.

He kissed her tasting himself deeply, his taste still lingering in his mind, and he then pushed his hand to gentle caress her pebbling nipple and her swollen breasts.

“… you made me feel so good, babe” he mumbled softly, nosing her neck and then whispering in her ear, meanwhile he shifted her in his laps, and there everything went off.

She pushed him off, sweat dripping down her back meanwhile Trevor collided with the ground, achingly moaning out of pain and she swiftly moved off the bed to check up on him.

“Shit, babe, I would have preferred you just said stop” he mumbled as she helped him up.

“I am so so sorry, Trevor” she tried to apologize, helping him back onto his feet “I swear I don’t know what overcame me”.

“Sweetheart, don’t worry” he sighed gently, trying to push her a bit closer, checking with her whether she felt like being held or not “… I just hope that I wasn’t the one who hurt you”.

“No no you didn’t” she mumbled , meanwhile she gently adjusted herself, allowing him to bring her onto his laps, as she decked herself up in an elegant robe in order to shelter her modesty, meanwhile Trevor gently held her in his arms “… you don’t know you why I am here, do you?”.

“Just that you were in hospital, before” he replied innocently, but suddenly his face became more worried, and she honestly felt like he was caring desperately for her, and that this would hurt double if not triple when she final realized it was all so fake.

“… I was put in the hospital, actually” she corrected him and found a sudden anger being harbored in his eyes, but she kept herself from thinking about it “… a year ago, I decided to quit the escort life, because I thought I had found someone who would love me, Kent… but, oh boy was I wrong”-

Trevor didn’t even smirk at her poor attempt to humor, but brought her close, since she had started slowly trembling.

“Little one, you don’t have to continue…” he tried to calm her, but she just smirked sadly at him.

“… no no I want to” she replied, gently hugging herself “…I ditched my life to live with Kent, he said he loved me, and I actually did love him, but… then he started being more violent”.

“At first, he was just possessive, which wasn’t so bad to me, didn’t it mean that he cared for me?”.

“He had never been truly violent, he would grip me tighter and have me have sex with me, although I wasn’t in the mood, but… I owed it to him, he took care of me and I never gave him anything, back”.

“Sweetie, you don’t owe people anything, nor sex, nor your body, nor your time” stopped her discourse Trevor, moving her to look at him in the eyes “… do you understand me?”

He waited for her to nod, before he let her continue.

“On my 21st birthday, he thought I had flirted with this dude, I actually didn’t, I was just being gentle with him, but for him… I was cheating in front of his eyes, making fun of him in front of all his friends, and this wouldn’t just do” she couldn’t help but move back at that night: the way her dress had shifted meanwhile she had tried to move around the room to avoid being hit by the objects thrown to her by Kent “… he slapped me, and I started crying, telling him I wanted out, he didn’t love me anymore…”.

“… he just smirked back at me and told me that he had never loved a fucking shit about me, ‘I was just a fucking good fuck’ and he then proceeded to undress me, to…” her voice broke and she felt Trevor trembling around her, rage coursing through him, but it was in no way directed to her, whom he continued to caress softly, as if petting a scared bird “… he couldn’t, he had drunk too much and I was able to fight him off, but just when I was trying to get my back, he got me from behind, and he started choking me”.

“He almost smashed my head against the wall” her body was suddenly shaken by sobs and Trevor cooed her softly “… I thought I was going to die, but then I heard the ambulance, the guests had been alerted by the screams and they had called the police…”.

Margaret had been alerted by the hospital and she had woken up to her sister’s blonde halo and this constant pain in her head.

The migraine a long-lost sign of anything she had gone through and survived.

She gently leaned onto Trevor’s naked chest, there listening to his soft heartbeat, meanwhile she was lulled to sleep, by that and the soft caress he kept donning to her head.

Truly sleeping peacefully.

The following day, she woke up before Trevor, and although she didn’t regret what had happened the previous night and she didn’t have to worry about Margaret catching them.

Still she didn’t want the maid to worry about the entire thing, since she might end up referring everything to her sister.

That wouldn’t just do.

She had breakfast alone, although she found herself pleasantly enjoying the soft pain between her legs, and the pleasurable ache that went through her as she shifted, taking her time, to choose what she wanted to have, peeling the apple she had chosen and gently waiting for her tea to cool down.

Every attempt to keep her body calm was brought down by a soft hand gently touching her shoulder, not wanting to startle her, showing a smirking Trevor, dressed in that horridly ridiculous pink robe which made her raise her eyebrows, annoyed.

“…started without me, lovely?” his voice dripped with a sexual undertone, she didn’t give too much thought, sending him an annoyed smirk, before he brought her lips to meet his, in a soft “goodmorning kiss” that made her ache for more, wanting to throw away everything that was in the table and let him lay her down on it…

Alongside that she couldn’t just discard the feeling of warmth in her chest.

She had had anything she had wanted and some more…

… it was that “more” that worried her.

“We have to be careful, Trevor” she had to remind him, once their lips parted, but he kept them close to his “… the maids and personal staff might see”.

He giggled, softly setting beside her, his hand gently setting onto her thigh, barely exposed by the new nightgown she had changed in that morning: a beautiful light pink silky thing that complimented her complexion.

“C’mon, babe, I know all the timetables of the people working here, and I know that we could have a quickie on this table and still have some time for something more” she blushed at his bold mention, pushing him lightly away with her shoulder “… you are so cute when you blush”.

She tried not to blush even more, but she didn’t think it as physical possible, mostly when Trevor Kirchner looked at her as if he wanted nothing else but you.

Although he knew how broken she was.

“… and about last night” could he read in other people’s mind “… I’ll fucking kill this Kent, if you want to”.

A strange source of power went through her body and her center started aching for attention again.

The previous night, she had been scared with him, and right now she wanted just to be bend over and given some relief: how the hell did her body work?

Her mind was too far gone that rabbit hole.

“… and you don’t have any fault, sweetie, in case your pretty mind tells you it does, it wasn’t your fault, and I am sorry that you had to undergo everything, most importantly alone, you are not alone anymore”.

“You think that a hook-up means that much for me?” she didn’t want to sound so harsh, but there was no way in hell that they would end up living happily ever after together.

First of all, she was a mess.

Secondly, he was married to her sister.

“I just know that I am glad that we had that talk and that I really like you, (Y/N)”.

Again, with the blushing: she was used to hearing man say that they loved her, but it was never “her”, truly.

It was her body, her cunt, her legs…

Instead Trevor truly meant her.

“Let’s just make no expectation on the other” she simply mumbled, and Trevor nodded, brushing his hand against her thigh, before slowly raising up and finding her wet and aching for him.

“We are going to take things slow” he traced lazy and slow patterns, onto your barely covered core “… take all the time you need”.

And with this he was off: up and running for the swimming pool.

“I think that such a nice day should be celebrated” he mumbled, meanwhile he ran discarding all his clothes around, and she followed him smirking silly.

Meanwhile he jumped in the water, she quickly pushed herself onto the board of it, before she discarded her nightgown, as bare as him.

Offering him a chance to turn away.

He didn’t, he softly grabbed her by the waist and brought her in the water, much to her protests.

But she was happy for once.

---

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