#can you believe these sketches are supposed to be quick and simple which is the whole point

[safehousebooze]

If you’re still taking requests, Ethan rescuing Benji and kissing his forehead,,,?

Wanted to draw some Benthan and while I was thinking about how to do this prompt, I saw this post by @yeah-w-r-i-t-e and got my inspiration 🙏🏼

He rescued him, just a little too late

[it-happened-one-fic]

A Companion Quite as Enjoyable - Jade

Author Notes: Hiking with Jade with a dash of daisies. That is honestly all there is to this one. Simple but I enjoyed writing it and I hope you'll enjoy reading it. Reader is, once more, gender-neutral.

Type: Fluff/Platonic or Romantic

Word Count: 1303

I paused, resting a hand against a tree and breathing heavily from exertion. Up ahead I could clearly see the young man I'd been trailing after what seemed like hours. His eyes were bright as he knelt, finishing a quick sketch of what was no doubt a mushroom. 

His book shut with a snap and he stood, slipping the book into his pocket and turning to look at where I stood in one fluid motion. “We’ll be at a good resting point soon… Do you believe you can make it?”

At first I couldn't decide if his grin was simply amused or mocking but the closer I drew to him the more I felt it was the latter. “You know Jade, when you said hiking I didn’t realize you meant an excursion quite like this one.”

He tilted his head, mismatched eyes glittering with poorly concealed amusement at my evident fatigue, “Yes, well. I suppose I should have warned you that I have grown quite used to such exercise.”

Mocking, Definitely mocking.

He turned, leading me further up the invisible path he seemed to know by heart. It made me wonder exactly how many times he’d gone hiking up this mountain. But I followed him with no complaint because, despite the fact I was alone in the woods on a mountain with Jade Leech of all people, I wasn’t concerned. 

This venture had, to my surprise, turned out to be quite enjoyable. It was true that the walk was exhausting but I’d learned quite a bit about my infamous classmate. 

He was an avid lover of plants, especially mushrooms and the poisonous variety. He also was an exceptional landscape artist. His little sketches were both accurate and attractive. He could also be quite the chatterbox as I'd learned when I'd questioned him about one mushroom that had been glowing an ominous orange color.

I smiled to myself as I thought about the almost charming quirks I’d discovered about my current companion. It was hard to view him as quite so scary or intimidating now that I’d seen him geek out about mushrooms.

“Y/n, we’re here,” His ever calm voice caught my attention, sending my gaze sliding back to where he now stood. He held a branch just slightly out of the way to reveal a sight that immediately made me smile. It was a veritable field of daisies.

What it was doing out here in the middle of nowhere I had no clue. But if my time at NRC had taught me anything it was to enjoy life’s little delights. So I did, trotting out into the clearing with a bright smile.

“My, you do look pleased.” I turned at his words, vaguely startled to see Jade smiling at me as he unloaded our lunches from his oversized yellow backpack. I’d honestly completely forgotten about Jade’s presence. 

His butler persona was back in full force but I hardly cared. Instead, I found myself trotting back over to him as gleefully as ever which only seemed to further amuse him, “I take it you like these flowers?”

 I nodded almost immediately at his question, “Yeah, I guess they remind me of home.” Something familiar in a largely unfamiliar world. 

I smiled at him, refusing to let such thoughts dampen my current mood, “When I was little I’d pick bundles of daisies and present them as bouquets to my mom. The stems were so short she’d have to put them in juice glasses.”

I chuckled slightly at the memory and shook my head slightly, “Poor things never lasted very long since I would always squeeze them half to death before getting them to her….” 

I trailed off, realizing I’d been rambling when I noticed his smile. I hurriedly turned my gaze to my food, clamming up in embarrassment.

 I hadn’t actually talked to anyone about home since I’d gotten here and I certainly hadn’t expected the first person who would hear about it would be Jade.

“I see,” He sighed slightly and I glanced over at him to see him looking out across the field with a singularly odd expression. “I suppose these flowers are quite common since they even grow where you’re from.”

I tensed slightly at the direction the conversation was taking. It would be awkward if he asked where I was from. Especially since I’d been keeping the fact I was from an entirely other world a secret. 

“Do you like them?” The question spilled from my mouth in a desperate attempt to steer the conversation in some other direction. My attempt was a success considering he turned to me with wide-eyes as if he were surprised by my sudden question.

“I… I hadn’t ever really thought about it. They are nice enough I suppose.” I hummed, half-way amused by his faltering reply. I didn’t think I’d ever seen him falter save for in extreme situations.

“They’re edible, you know. I’ve never eaten any so I don’t know if they’re any good, but they aren’t poisonous or anything at the very least. Ruggie might have some recipes for them.” I thought out loud, recalling something my mom had once told me years ago when I was small.

I glanced over in time to watch as his expression brightened  with sudden interest. He leaned forward, intrigued by my fun facts, “Are they? I may have to collect some to try at the Monstro Lounge.”

I snorted at his newfound scheme, Azul would likely have a fit, “Like I said, I don’t know if they’re any good so you might want to try some for yourself before putting them on the menu.”

He hummed thoughtfully, probably thinking about how he could bully his housewarden into putting them on the menu, tasty or not. I almost felt bad for telling him but I found myself grinning as he put down his lunch as went about collecting flowers. 

I kind of felt bad for Ruggie too since I’d mentioned him. Jade would probably harass him about getting some recipes…..

“Y/n,” My head snapped up to see Jade looking down at me, a bundle of flowers in each hand. He wore a polite smile, one that I now recognized as a mask that he frequently wore around customers. That wasn't strange. What was strange was that he was holding out one bunch of flowers in front of me, “For you.”

I stared wide-eyed at the dainty flowers just in front of me, I certainly hadn’t expected this. I looked back up at him, confusion likely showing in my eyes since his smile changed from carefully crafted to amused in a blink and you’ll miss it instant.

“As thanks for accompanying me. It’s difficult to find anyone interested in joining me on a hike, much less a companion quite as enjoyable as you have been.” 

I hesitantly accepted the bouquet, my hand brushing his surprisingly warm hand as I took it. I don’t know why but I’d thought his hand would have been cool to the touch, instead it was warm, just like any other hand.

Something else that made him a little less intimidating and a little more approachable. I smiled up at him as I pulled the bouquet close to my chest, “Don’t mention it. I had fun.”

He straightened, his amused smile still in place, a tiny glimpse into his actual thoughts, “Then can I expect your company on my next trip?”

I grinned outright at his oddly playful question, nodding my head without hesitation, “I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

He nodded, apparently pleased with my response, “Then I will look forward to it, Y/n.” I didn’t respond but as I watched him pack away our leftovers and his bunch of flowers I realized that I too would look forward to our next outing.

[jaeminzie]

ignorance is bliss | h.rj

↳ huang renjun x gender neutral!reader

synopsis: staying true to the courageous gryffindor persona, you secretly admire renjun using unusual tactics, forgetting that the fellow ravenclaw is fairly quick witted.

genre: fluff

word count: 2,339

part of ‘the dreamies in hogwarts’ series

huang renjun, the ravenclaw wallflower who you’ve been stalking according to your best friends. indeed, it is odd to stay in the library until ungodly hours solely for the breathtaking view from a few tables in front of the prettiest boy you’ve ever seen. though every view and every angle of huang renjun is breathtaking, it doesn’t take much work when you look like that. being as stubborn as ever, you would never admit to stalking the poor boy. you believed that that was an exaggeration, that your friends don’t understand how it feels to be so blinded by him and you are utterly confused on how they aren’t blinded by him. instead, you claim it as a way to get an understanding of the boy’s, who you do plan to interact with sometime in the future, mannerism — which you mentally admit sounds just as creepy as stalking, not helping your case at all.

so there you are, sitting alone in a table a bit further than usual from renjun using a book to cover your lower face to avoid any suspicion. not only are you stubborn, you are also unbelievably oblivious. so oblivious, in fact, that you aren’t aware that the boy who you’ve been “observing” has already noticed you staring at him the second week of your trips to the library. in your defense, you visit the library no more than four times a week as you loathed the smell of rotting book paper and dusty wooden furniture. unknowing of the boy’s acknowledgment of you, you continued to admire from a far. loving the way his plump lips pouted naturally while reading, his circular silver glasses sat perfectly on the bridge of his god-shaped nose, how careful his eyes scanned through the pages and the way his fingers absentmindedly tapped on the table as a way to keep himself sane from the amount of studying he chooses to do willingly which appalled you. but once in a while, he’d give himself a break by sketching on his notebook causing all the lines on his forehead and the pout on his lips to disappear. this is your favorite part. seeing him find his peace in drawing made you feel the same sense of warmth and tranquility that you suppose he feels when creating art, completely unaware of a gryffindor staring him down — or so you thought. ignorance really is bliss, or else, you wouldn’t be so shameless right now.

renjun means to speak to you one day as his confusion progresses each time he sees you walk through the ginormous library doors and choose a spot where you both have clear views of one another. when you look away, pretending to read the book in your hands, renjun looks your way with furrowed eyebrows trying to figure out what exactly do you want from him. why you still manage to fail your classes despite spending many hours “studying.” yes, you can say that he observes you as well since your houses share a couple classes with each other. from his observations, he’s learned that you’re quite the helper. renjun wonders how you weren’t sorted in hufflepuff. perhaps, a hufflepuff isn’t bold enough to stare at a stranger in a nearly empty library for many consecutive weeks. though, a gryffindor should have the courage to at least speak a single word to that person, a simple ‘hello’ would be a nice place to start.

it took him some time to admit it, but he found pleasure in staring at you as well. his slytherin friends practically had to force it out of him once they kept noticing that his gaze was almost always set on you since his group sat in the back of your classes, it was easy to admire without being caught unlike your questionable tactics. renjun admires how you keep trying and trying to answer a question correctly even when your raised hand is being blatantly ignored by the professor after getting a handful of questions incorrect. and don’t even get him started when he catches a glimpse of you laughing with your peers, then he can’t keep his eyes of off you. there’s been countless nights of him unintentionally going on about you and your character to his peers relaxing in their ravenclaw common room. at this point, the whole house of ravenclaw has heard your name come out of his mouth at least once.

from your clear view, you notice how focused renjun is with his hands seeming to move themselves while his mind continued to run on you. renjun straightened his back after finishing the last few strokes on his sketch. a sketch of you sitting on top of a table identical to the one you seated at right now with your legs swinging and your red robe nearly hitting the floor, eyes crinkled as your smile that he loves to look at reached up to your ears. his first drawing of you, he was proud of it and was sure it wouldn’t be the last drawing of you he’ll make.

you were taken back when you had noticed renjun was already gathering his belongings. he usually goes back to reading after finishing a drawing, you recalled back to the mental schedule you created in your mind. wow you really are a creep. you thought. too caught up with being offended by your inner self insulting your actions, you were completely unaware of the boy dressed in blue standing next to you.

renjun gaped as he thought you were ignoring him. having enough, he finally spoke, “can i help you?”

freezing in your seat when you heard his smooth voice laced with confusion, refusing to face the boy since you are definitely not prepared for this moment. fixing your posture and clearing your throat, you mustered your left over confidence as you chose to not further embarrass yourself in front huang renjun.

completely changing your body language to a more laid back manner and facing the boy, trying not to evidently show your breath being taken away from seeing him up close. his left eyebrow raised with his lips pursed slightly, fingers fiddling with the books by his side. he looked even better close in front of you, you had previously thought that was impossible. but you were so wrong, making you slightly mad at how perfect he seemed to be.

“nope” popping your ‘p.’ “do you?”

renjun’s facial expressions relaxed slightly. “no, i don’t.”

“why’d you come here then?” you mentally cursed and slapped and pinched and kicked yourself for accidentally not sounding the friendliest, your nervousness acting for you. “you sure you don’t need my help?”

renjun was taken back from your tone, oblivious to your feelings. there’s the gryffindor. they always have to be boasting. renjun huffed at his thoughts. he had not expected your first talk to be like this. your tone lightly hit his pride, so he automatically had to retaliate, “you’re the one to talk. you have an explanation for not being able to keep your eyes off me?” renjun laughed mockingly but not at you, at himself for being such a hypocrite.

defeated, you couldn’t keep up your relaxed attitude, “i. . . i just. . .” the eye contact you both shared was so intense you couldn’t even think straight, and neither could he. “s-sorry for bothering you. i’ll. . . leave you alone.”

before you could stand up from the chair, renjun pulled out the one beside you and sat facing your body. he sighed, “i’m sorry too. that didn’t come out as intended. but i need to know if i’m being too hopeful or not?”

hopeful? you remind yourself to pinch yourself later in case this a dream or some sort of spell. you hoped that your friends didn’t do anything without telling you since they’ve been suggesting that you use a love potion to “make everything easier,” but you profusely refused their incredibly stupid proposition each time they had brought it up to discuss.

“do you need tutoring, is that why?” he continued. his arms sat on his knees.

each and every one of his words entered one ear and went out the other as you wondered on what he was feeling hopeful for. “hopeful?”

his lifted his elbows off his knees and placed them on the table slowly, looking as if he was thinking. “i just thought that maybe you had reasons other than academic ones for coming here when i do.” he spoke very, very slowly that it was torturing. “am i right?”

you hated every second of this for the awful awkward tension, but this is the moment that you’ve been daydreaming of for weeks. though, you were shocked at how renjun noticed you despite trying to be as sneaky as possible — but your friends and renjun would say otherwise. “if i say yes. . .” your eyes wondered around his figure seated in front of you.

“i would be correct then.” he finished the sentence for you, not baring to wait longer. he moved his head towards your gaze on the floor behind him to try and get your eyes to focus on him.

and when you did, you saw the sparkle and hint of joy in his eyes making you feel truly confident. “then yes.”

—

it’s been nearly a month since your first interaction with one another, and renjun never misses a day of making fun of your past actions that you now admit were creepy. though after his friend, lee donghyuck, informed you in his own sneaky actions that you weren’t able to notice before, you have not let him live peacefully. renjun’s friend group was ecstatic when he told them about finally speaking to you and being with you. but renjun’s fully aware that they were more excited over the fact he can finally stop moping over not knowing how to approach you, achieving their peace since he can finally stop talking. though, he has a new topic to gush over — your relationship.

being together side by side and actually conversing with one another allowed renjun to see you in a deeper level, giving him more reasons to appreciate the special being that you are. he loved every second he spent with you. hearing you laugh at something that he had said or done makes renjun feel like he had reached the top of the highest mountain. holding your delicate hands while walking through the hallways made him feel like the most successful man on earth, and he proudly bragged over it. renjun loved how he felt so at ease and encouraged whenever he felt your presence around him. you don’t even need to be right by him to make him feel reassured. your presence alone was enough.

and you especially loved how he still chooses to love all those things despite your questionable actions in the past.

you loved being with him so much that you tolerate being in the library and actually reading beside him, or at least try to read. though, he has to hold your hand in order for you to fully commit yourself into studying with him. but both of you don’t complain.

you sat in a vacant table in the library, but this time, you sat next to the boy who you used to admire from a far. bouncing your leg out of boredom, “can we take a break?” you whispered in his ear.

renjun let out a small breathy laugh. “we just got here.” he whispered back, his gaze not leaving the thick book in front of you both.

your mouth slightly hanged open and you tightened your grip on his hand, “lies.” renjun squeezed your hand back playfully, still not looking at you. “please, jun, we’ve been here for an hour and you need to give yourself a break.”

silence.

you let go of his hand and puffed when he still didn’t spare a glance at you. defeated once again, you slid his notebook toward you and flipped through the pages, trying to entertain yourself by reading his notes. how fun.

widening your eyes in awe when you came across a page that showed a sketch of a person who looked exactly like you, with small hearts and tiny sparkles surrounding the figure sat on a table. your fingers lightly brushed the page, admiring how talented your boyfriend is.

“i drew that the day i came up to you.”

still strucked, you faced him and you were finally met with his beautiful eyes. “i think you need to update it. i look a bit different now.” you suggested with a smile that he cannot let down.

he hummed, “yeah, a tad bit huh?” you nodded eagerly which he laughed at. “i suppose i should work on it right now.” he reached for his notebook and flipped to an empty page, fixing his position so he can get a proper view of your face.

renjun did not hesitate to start drawing. he knew every detail of yours by heart, he honestly could draw a portrait of you relying solely on his memory. renjun has got every line, dot, and scar on your divine profile engraved in his mind since he thinks about you every second, literally. though, he still chooses to look up from his notebook to get a view of your face. not because he had forgotten a detail, but because he can’t refuse an opportunity to admire that face of yours. returning back to sketching with the most genuine smile you’ve ever seen on a person, with his pupils dilated. you definitely didn’t mind going to the library more often if you get to see renjun like this each time. you speak for both of you as renjun seems to be enjoying this moment just as much as you are. renjun’s hand that isn’t occupied reached for yours, with a grip that made it seemed like he’d never let go.

[blackswaneuroparedux]

I feel a sort of reverence in going over these scenes in this most beautiful country, which I am proud to call my own, where there was such devoted loyalty to the family of my ancestors – for Stuart blood is in my veins.

- Queen Victoria on Scotland

For a British monarch, Queen Victoria was extremely quick off the mark in making her first visit to Scotland in 1842, only five years after her coronation as Queen. Hooked on the stories of Sir Walter Scott, Queen Victoria toured the country with Prince Albert, spending several days in the capital at Edinburgh.

Then in September 1844 she returned to Scotland with Prince Albert and her young daughter Vicky at her side. This time she visited Blair Castle in Perthshire. They all enjoyed not only Scottish oatmeal porridge but its spectacular fresh landscapes, especially the Highlands, which captivated them both and inspired a rich new adoption of ideas. Later, they took on Highland life in the fullness of its tastes and traditions, something which was recorded in a wealth of artwork, not least in the Queen’s watercolours.

Victoria and Albert loved Scotland so much they inspired a trend for tartan and tweed across the kingdom. They returned over and over again, and after taking possession of Balmoral in 1848 they actually built a castle of their own.

Queen Victoria was a keen diarist and kept detailed records of her stays in Scotland, writing exhaustively about what happened each day: whether Albert’s hunting trips had been successful, who they dined with, her thoughts on the landscape, Highland pony riding, plans for scenes to sketch, details of the people she met, whether she liked them or not.

One of the most common urband legends of Victoria’s time in Scotland is that she and Albert got lost in the Highlands and sought shelter and hospitality in a poor family’s cottage.

Queen Victoria certainly never mentioned getting lost in the forest alone with Prince Albert on horseback, as depicted in the recent British drama series Victoria.

Queen Victoria never mentioned being forced to seek shelter with a kindly poor couple who cooked delicious trout over an open fire and let them stay the night, and there’s no record of her hiding her identity as Queen and learning to darn a sock like a “normal” person.

Still – you can see where this fanciful storyline came from. What we do see in her journal is that, for her, the wild Scottish Highlands were an escape from reality.

“After the constant trying publicity we are accustomed to, it is so pleasant & refreshing, to be able, amidst such beautiful surrounding, to enjoying such complete privacy & such a simple life,” she wrote in her diary.

And while and Albert avoided getting lost, they did have an idyllic pony ride accompanied by only one servant – as close to privacy as the monarch could really get.

“When I awoke the sun was shining brightly & it lit up the mountains so beautifully,” she wrote. “At 9, we set off, both, on ponies, attended only by Lord Glenlyon’s excellent servant, Sandy McAra, in his Highland dress, to go up one of the hills.

“We went through a ford, Sandy leading my pony, and Albert following closely, and then went up the hill of Tulloch straight over a very steep cabbage field, afterwards going round zigzag to the very top, the ponies scrambling up over stones & heather, & never once making a false step. The view all round was splendid & so beautifully lit up. From the top it was quite like a panorama.

“We could see the Falls of Bruar, the Pass of Killiecrankie, Ben y Gloe, and the whole range of hills behind, in the direction of Tay mouth. The house itself & the houses in the village looked like toys, from the height at which we were. It was very wonderful. We got off once or twice, & walked about. There was not a house or creature near us, only pretty Highland, black faced sheep.”

She added: “It was the most delightful, and most romantic ride and walk, I had ever had.”

Another time they cut it fine on a pony ride, with the Queen suddenly becoming worried about nightfall – “Got alarmed at seeing the sun sinking, for fear of our being benighted, & we called anxiously for Sandy to give a signal to Albert to come back. At length we got on the move, skirting the hill & the ponies went as safely & securely as possible.”

But they made it home just in time: “A long day indeed, but one which I shall not easily forget.”

And as for visiting a couple of unsuspecting-yet-kindly Highlanders at their cottage?

The only mentions of a “cottage” make clear this is no poor man’s house: “We got out at the Cottage, which is pretty & beautifully situated. There are some good Landseers in the room we went into.” With paintings by Sir Edwin Henry Landseer on the walls this is not exactly a poor man’s hut…

As she prepared to leave at the end of September, Victoria reflected on her time in Scotland: “I am so sad at thinking of leaving this charming place, & the quiet, liberty, & the pure air we have enjoyed. The action life we have been leading, peculiar in its way, has been so delightful.”

Having already lost her beloved husband Albert, Victoria found solace in Scotland and its people. John Brown was famously associated with Queen Victoria.

The Queen first mentioned Brown in her Journal on 11 September 1849, and from 1851 John Brown, at Albert's suggestion, took on the role of leading Queen Victoria's pony. In 1858, Brown became the personal ghillie (shooting guide and gun-loader) of Prince Albert.

After Prince Albert died in 1861, Queen Victoria went into deep mourning, becoming almost a recluse. In 1864, her daughter, Princess Alice, noted that the Queen had always been happy at Balmoral, especially when taking a ride in her pony cart. Why couldn't pony cart rides be made available at Windsor and at Osborne (the Queen's home on the Isle of Wight), with the Queen in the care of the man who so effectively led her pony at Balmoral? The Queen agreed and in December 1864 John Brown became a full-time servant. He was, as Queen Victoria put it in her journal, "indefatigable in his attendance and care".

By 1866 gossip about the relationship between the Queen and her extremely informal servant had started. Brown was the only person around Victoria prepared to "tell it like it was", and he often proved abrasive with members of the Royal Household: even, it is said, on at least one occasion giving the Prince of Wales the rough edge of his tongue. Rumours soon spread more widely, and Brown was featured in the satirical magazine Punch on 30 June 1866, and Queen Victoria came to be referred to by some members of her household (behind her back) as "Mrs Brown".

Speculation about Queen Victoria's 20 year relationship with Brown, following the early death of her husband Albert in 1861, started in court circles almost as soon as the unlikely friendship itself did when the queen was in her mid-forties.

Victoria's daughters joked about "Mama's lover", and the then Duke of Edinburgh (the queen's second son) claimed he had been evicted from Buckingham Palace because he refused to shake the servant's hand.

The news of 1866 carried a piece in the Gazette de Lausanne, a Swiss paper, that read, “On dit…that with Brown and by him she consoles herself for Prince Albert, and they go even further. They add that she is in an interesting condition, and that if she was not present for the Volunteers Review, and at the inauguration of the monument to Prince Albert, it was only in order to hide her pregnancy. I hasten to add that the Queen has been morganatically married to her attendant for a long time, which diminishes the gravity of the thing.” Most assuredly, no British paper carried such a tale, but once the word spread of the Queen’s supposed affair, there was no reining it back in.

In the United Kingdom it was Alexander Robertson’s pamphlet “John Brown: A Correspondence with the Lord Chancellor, Regarding a Charge of Fraud and Embezzlement Preferred Against His Grace the Duke of Atholl K. T. of 1873” that first openly suggested that Queen Victoria and John Brown had married morganatically - this being related to, or being a marriage between a member of a royal or noble family and a person of inferior rank in which the rank of the inferior partner remains unchanged and the children of the marriage do not succeed to the titles, fiefs, or entailed property of the parent of higher rank.

Citing one Charles Christie, ‘House Servant to the Dowager Duchess of Athole at Dunkeld House,’ Robertson claimed that John Brown was regularly noted as entering Queen Victoria’s bedroom when the rest of the household was asleep. Robert purported that Victoria married Brown at Lausanne, Switzerland, in 1868, with Duchess Anne standing as witness. The Duchess of Atholl vehemently denied Robertson’s allegations. Robertson went on to make other incendiary allegations without any proof including that Brown and Queen Victoria had a love child which as given up for adoption in Vaux, Switzerland.

Meanwhile, in our more recent times  various newspaper revelations went as far as suggesting that the two had actually married based on newly unocvered letters from Victoria’s courtiers. Indeed a film was even made: "Mrs Brown" became the title of a 1997 film about the relationship, starring Dame Judi Dench as Queen Victoria and Billy Connolly as John Brown.

In 1872 John Brown knocked down a would-be assassin in what was the fifth attempt on Victoria's life. John died at Windsor Castle on 27 March 1883, aged 56, by some accounts because he was too devoted to Victoria. It is suggested that had he taken to his sick bed at the first sign of a chill, he would have survived, but his sense of duty was such that he carried on working until it was too late. He was buried at Crathie.

Were Queen Victoria and John Brown married? Historians are divided over this contentious claim. Those that have believe it have based their views on four pieces of information, none of which is in itself conclusive. But they believe that, when taken together, help swing the balance of probability in favour of a wedding having taken place:

After Victoria's death, two sets of mementos were placed in her coffin, at her request. On one side was placed one of Prince Albert's dressing gowns, while on the other was placed a lock of Brown's hair, along with a picture of him and a ring worn by Brown's mother and given to Victoria by Brown.

The published diary of the Liberal MP, the 1st Viscount Harcourt, for 17 February 1885 related a second-hand story told to his father, the then Home Secretary, by a renowned gossip, that on his deathbed in 1872 the Revd Dr Norman Macleod, the chaplain to Queen Victoria,stated that he had conducted a marriage ceremony between John Brown and Queen Victoria.

The Daily Mail on 2 September 2006 reported a similarly second-hand story in which a late senior member of the Royal Family had said that documents confirming a marriage had many years earlier turned up in the Royal archives at Windsor, and been destroyed.

After Victoria's death (a full 18 years after John Brown's own death), Edward VII tried to destroy everything connected with Brown, including busts and photographs. A life-size statue of Brown at Balmoral, commissioned by Queen Victoria after his death, was only saved by being moved to an obscure part of the estate where Edward was unlikely to find it.

My own view is that it’s a much ado about nothing. Although much of the gossip about John Brown and Queen Victoria was seen as ridiculous steps were taken to suppress information, for instance, when Queen Victoria died her daughter Princess Beatrice removed pages from the queen’s journal ‘that might cause pain” in her own words. People have msiread the intent behind such actions. The Royal family down the ages have always doused more petrol on the fire by simply trying to quell any rumours of impropriety that it invites unfounded wilder speculative tittle tattle.

It is clear, despite public gossip, there was nothing immoral in Queen Victoria’s relationship with John Brown. Queen Victoria would never have contemplated sex with a servant. People forget how rigid social roles really were and how seriously people viewed them in Victoria’s age despite the hypocrisy we have come to see them with.

Furthermore, she was never alone to carry out an affair having court ladies always within shouting distance. That was the whole point of having a royal court and doting ladies in waiting about the place.

The significance of Queen Victoria’s attraction to John Brown was that he - at worst - made a career out of her. He never married, had few holidays and devoted his life to the queen, and he was a walking encyclopedia of her like, dislikes, moods and needs. As a downright selfish person this greatly appealed to the queen. She liked him because she needed to be fussed, cosseted and spoiled. He told her the truth, spoke boldly to her and importantly too; unlike her family and senior courtiers, he was not afraid of her. Above all, when Prince Albert died Queen Victoria needed a male friend — she never really made close friendships with women — and someone to lean on. John Brown supplied all that.

Victoria’s visited Balmoral in her beloved Scottish Highlands in the late autumn of 1900. The Queen could not know it, but it was the last time that she would see the new castle which Prince Albert had erected in her words as his ‘own work… as at Osborne’ and which had become a box of intensely personal memories.

So deeply did the Queen feel her first visit to Balmoral after Prince Albert’s death in May 1862 (in pouring rain) that she wrote with painful dread to her eldest daughter, the Crown Princess of Prussia of the strange reality of everything: ‘Oh! Darling child… the stag’s heads – the rooms – blessed, darling Papa’s room – then his coats – his caps – kilts – all, all convulsed my poor shattered frame!’ (cit., Delia Millar, Queen Victoria’s Life in the Scottish Highlands, 101). Even the Queen’s lonely pursuit of spinning wool, which later became synonymous with her early widowhood, had been a vigorously traditional Highland activity (Ibid, 76). Now her widowhood of waiting was drawing to an end, forty years later, with the Queen’s approaching death.

The Queen’s unknowing leave-taking of Scotland took place gradually, over these last days at Balmoral. Touchingly, she was still referring to ‘tea’ – although by now, it consisted only of arrowroot and milk  – drinking it at her secluded Highland retreat of Alt-na-giubhsaich. Queen Victoria’s last day included luncheon in Prince Albert’s rooms with her youngest daughter, Princess Beatrice and her Battenberg children. She left Balmoral fittingly, with the weather ‘wretchedly gloomy & dark’ whilst with her, she had a wreath to take back to Windsor, to place on the tomb of the Prince Consort at Frogmore; possibly it also contained the Balmoral heather she loved so much. Perhaps there may have been a presentiment, within the sentimental.

The Queen’s trusted doctor, Sir James Reid was with her at Osborne when she died, so presumably, the Queen would have had the comfort of a Scottish voice at her side, in between her lingering states of consciousness.

After her death, the Prince of Wales spoke a moving sentence of gratitude for Reid’s devoted service: ‘You are an honest straightforward Scotchman… I shall never forget all you did for the Queen’ (read Christopher Hibbert, Queen Victoria: A Personal History, pg. 494).

Significantly, the Queen instructed amongst the many sentimental items to be put in her coffin ‘some of which none of her family were to see’, a photograph of her devoted Highland servant, John Brown, which she ordered to be placed in her left and, with a lock of his hair. These were both tactfully hidden inside a silken case, the handiwork of the Queen’s late wardrobe maid Annie MacDonald, wrapped in tissue paper.

Afterwards, the Queen’s left hand was covered with Queen Alexandra’s flowers. Also put into the Queen’s coffin was a simple sprig of Balmoral heather, which Sir James Reid covered with a quilted cushion – made especially to fit the coffin – to preserve the Queen’s privacy in death.

Scotland was at her funeral, in the form of her Highland ghillies, as the Queen’s German grandson, Ernst Ludwig, Grand Duke of Hesse, wrote in his private memoirs: ‘[The moment] when her coffin was lowered in the mausoleum at Frogmore, remains unforgettable to me… I remained a moment there alone. When I looked about me, there were kneeling near me all of her ghillies [Highland servants] from Scotland, all strong, sturdy men, who were weeping there uncontrollably like sons for their mother…’ For her funeral, the Funeral March by Handel was substituted as per the Queen’s instructions, for music by Chopin and Beethoven and importantly, Highland dirges.

The sarcophagus or tomb chest was hewn from a flawless block of grey Aberdeen granite from the quarries at Cairngall in Scotland. Three attempts were made before this one was successfully carved out and it is purportedly the largest of its kind ever to have been hewn for such a use.

It was an appropriate Scotch bed for the Queen’s final sleep. Upon this sarcophagus, the effigies of Prince Albert and Queen Victoria lie still, a more sublime rendering of their marriage bed, staring into the beyond. Touchingly though, the head of Queen Victoria’s effigy is half-turned towards that of Prince Albert, as if it somehow suggesting that he died before she did. As in life, she is leaning, straining after the beloved husband that she mourned for half of her life.

The fact that their sarcophagus was quarried in Scotland is an appropriate choice for a royal couple who loved that country so much, becoming a little more Scotch with every visit. Appropriately for the Queen, parts of Eastern Central Scotland still celebrate Victoria Day, the last Monday before or on 24 May, Queen Victoria’s birthday.

Scotland was indeed with them, in the end. And continues to be with the House of Windsor.

[felassan]

Dragon Age Library Edition Volume 1 annotations & additional pages/art compilation

Dragon Age Library Edition Volume 1 is a hardcover collection of some pre-existing Dragon Age comics that was released in 2014. It comprises of all issues of The Silent Grove, Those Who Speak and Until We Sleep. In places, it includes additional annotations/commentaries by the illustrators and authors, as well as a few additional pages with additional art. iirc these additional annotations and pages/art aren’t featured or available anywhere else (in the franchise I mean; other people have probably put them online at some point I’m sure).

From what I can see at least, Library Edition Volume 1 is no longer in print, and as such listings for it on resale sites etc are.. price-inflated & prohibitively expensive (~£100+, which I’m sure we can all agree is just not reasonable or accessible to most people). Due to this, I’ve compiled the additional annotations and pages here in this post. Thank you and credit to @artevalentinapaz, who kindly shared the material with me. This post has been made with their permission. The rest of this post is under a cut due to length.

These commentaries are in the context of The Silent Grove, Those Who Speak and Until We Sleep. If you notice any errors or annotations missing, or need anything clarified, just let me know. I think the annotations are in chronological order. In places I elaborated in square brackets to help explain which part of the comics an annotation is referring to. A note before you proceed further: some of the topics referenced in the annotations/additional pages are heavy or uncomfortable. The quotes here are word-for-word transcriptions of dev/creator commentaries, not my personal opinions or phrasings.

(Also, I do recommend always supporting comic creators by purchasing their comics legitimately. I own each issue of these comics having bought other editions of them all legitimately. The reason I put this post together is because this specific Library Edition volume has been discontinued and the consequently-inflated cost is so high, rendering the additional material inaccessible to most.)

-----

The Silent Grove annotations

Illustrator Chad Hardin: “I used to be an environmental artist for video games, so I built a 3-D model of Antiva City using the program Silo. Many of the buildings are simple cubes, but a few are more detailed. Overall, I spent the better part of a day building it, but I used it again and again throughout The Silent Grove to maintain continuity in the backgrounds.”

Script Writer Alexander Freed: “Even working with David Gaider, it took me several drafts to find Alistair’s voice. His narrative had to convey his humor and self-doubt from Dragon Age: Origins while suggesting a newfound weariness earned during his years on the throne. For readers familiar with the character, he needed to seem like a changed Alistair - but Alistair nonetheless.”

Chad Hardin: “If you read a lot of comics, you might wonder why the majority of the heroes wear skin-tight suits. Well, I can tell you: they are easy and quick to draw. In video games, you build the model once and then animate it, so details don’t slow you down. In comics, everything has to be rendered by hand. Varric and Alistair’s outfits were quite detailed. It took me a long time to get used to them, and even longer to memorize the designs until drawing them was second nature - Varric’s knee armor in particular! Oy vey!”

David Gaider: “One of my favorite scenes in the entire series [when Varric and Isabela are disarming traps and picking locks together while Alistair looks on]. Isabela and Varric, doing what rogues do. I had a suggestion for how to put it together, but Alex managed to make it fit and did a great job with it.”

Chad Hardin: “I never used to keep any of the artwork I created for comics. I would just hand the pages over to my agent to sell. This page [when Alistair, Varric and Isabela are in a tavern together, with hookah in the foreground] I kept for myself. I love the hookah-smoking elves in the second panel and Isabela’s face in the last panel. I rendered the first four chapters of The Silent Grove in grayscale using ink washes, gouache and Copie markers.”

David Gaider: “For a little while, Varric [in these comic stories] was supposed to be Zevran from Dragon Age: Origins, which would have made sense, Zevran being Antivan and all. I know that some fans would have loved to see him, but the dynamics of the group just didn’t work as well. Then a planned cameo later had to be cut for space. Ah well, Zev, another time.”

Alexander Freed: “Isabela at her most dangerous [climbing up the side of the cliff]. This scene - featuring a scantily clad, dripping-wet woman who tends to flaunt her sexuality - could easily have come across as exploitative, but Chad did a lovely drop portraying Isabela as purely focused and deadly.”

Chad Hardin: “Isabela rising out of the water and scaling the cliff with the knife in her mouth is one of my favorite parts of The Silent Grove. It is one of those moments where the writing really inspired the art. Hats off to Alex and David. This is another page I kept for myself.”

Colorist Michael Atiyeh: “This is one of my favorite Dragon Age pages. Chad is such an amazing artist; I feel very fortunate to have had the opportunity to work with him.”

Chad Hardin: “I love that this page [when a guard spots Varric and shouts ‘Intruder!’] made it in uncensored. So many times in comics, I draw something and some stuffy lawyers come out of the woodwork and tell me to tone it down. Dark Horse and BioWare always let me have fun, and this turned out to be one of my favorite pages with Varric and Bianca. Any guesses to which word he is mouthing in the second panel?”

Alexander Freed: “Note the simple decency of Alistair as he gives his cloak, without comment, to Isabela. For all his flaws, he’s genuinely kind at heart - a rare enough trait in Isabela’s world that I think it’s much of what she values in him.”

Chad Hardin: “I love the opening panel to this chapter [the opening panels to Chapter 3, when the team are on a ship at sea]. It’s the image I use on the homepage of my website. This page was a gift to my cousin Wendy, who loves pirates. Seascapes with sailing ships might be clichéd in fine art, but for me it was a first.”

David Gaider: “I wanted to have this story center on the group travelling to a Witch of the Wilds other than Flemeth, and originally I had set it somewhere else - until I remembered a Codex entry from Dragon: Age Origins that offhandedly mentioned a witch in the Tellari Swamps. Brilliant! It’d look like I planned it all along. I didn’t.”

Michael Atiyeh: “I love opportunities where I can show a change in the time of day as you move from panel to panel [when the ship heads towards and the team arrive in the Tellari Swamps]. I feel the palette of each panel is very distinct and beautiful.”

Alexander Freed: “Why did Alistair choose two people he barely knows to be his companions on this quest? We never make this explicit, but of course Varric is on the right track. Alistair wants to surround himself with people who don’t know him and won’t judge him, yet it’s Alistair’s idealism that Isabela and Varric work to preserve.”

Chad Hardin: “Another page where the writing inspired the art [when the group suddenly encounter a dragon]. I love the dragon bursting onto the scene and Isabela’s stare. Some writers will try to cram six or seven panels on a page like this and the pacing just doesn’t allow the artist to give each moment the right punch. Can you imagine if the first panel was crammed into a single square inch?”

Chad Hardin: “Yavana was one of the only characters that we did no preliminary sketches for. I don’t know how that happened, but thankfully it worked out.”

David Gaider: “I love how Yavana looks like a cross between Flemeth and Morrigan. Flemmigan? She’s totally Chad’s design, and it’s great. Typical for these witches, she never says things straight. In my mind, this Alistair is the one who did the Dark Ritual in Dragon Age: Origins - and I was half-tempted to have him lose his cool in this first scene [opening panels of Chapter 4] with her. Too early, though.”

Alexander Freed: “Through this whole sequence [the page when Varric aims Bianca at Yavana], Yavana is dropping cryptic hints and Alistair is refusing to play along. He’s met Flemeth and Morrigan - he knows Yavana won’t give him a straight answer, and he won’t give her the satisfaction of asking needlessly.”

Michael Atiyeh: “Sometimes it’s the little things on a page that spark my interest. Here [when the team navigate vines and mud to get to the temple], the sunset panel came out great and the mud looks really thick and gooey. It’s fun to focus on these details and make them stand out.”

Chad Hardin: “I hated drawing this scene [when Isabela gets kicked] where Isabela gets the boot to the face. Call me old fashioned, but I was raised to believe that only a coward would ever hit a woman (even a battle-hardened pirate adventurer). I draw at home, and my girls often watch me work in my studio. This was a page I didn’t want them watching me draw. I do like, though, that Isabela gets up, yanks the arrow out, and then soldiers on (and later extracts brutal revenge).”

Michael Atiyeh: “Poor Isabela. It seems I gave her more bruises and black eyes than any of the other characters. [when Isabela is yanking the arrow out]”

Chad Hardin: “It’s always interesting to go back and look at artwork because it reminds me of what was going on in my life at the time. I inked this page [opening panels of Chapter 5] at a ‘draw night’ session at an anime convention in St. George, Utah. I was one of the special guests, but I missed the first day because I was at my grandfather’s funeral in Las Vegas, Nevada. Seeing this page brought back those memories.”

David Gaider: “‘Bianca says hello.’ [quoting the panels being referenced] I adore Varric. I was tempted to have him narrate the entire series [in reference to these three comics], but then again I liked the idea of having each series center on one of the trio’s viewpoints. This book belongs to Alistair, but that doesn’t stop Varric from getting all the best lines.”

Alexander Freed: “Claudio, of course, is not a terribly sympathetic figure. But I wanted to emphasize that he takes this fight as personally as Isabela - he sincerely loved Luis and blames Isabela for the man’s death. I think it’s important to give every character, even the most loathsome, some dignity. [when Isabela and Claudio are fighting]”

Chad Hardin: “Payback! Here is where Isabela extracts her revenge on Claudio [when Isabela stabs Claudio]. I never enjoyed killing off a character so much. I particularly enjoyed putting the look of shock in his eyes. He had it coming. There is something satisfying about killing a ‘made man’.”

Chad Hardin: “Every now and then when drawing comics, I wish I could animate some panels and watch them as a cartoon. It would be great to see this sequence [when Yavana catches Claudio’s soul] in full motion as Yavana snatches Claudio’s soul, makes it reenter his corpse and then extracts information from him until he bursts into flame. It was a very Hellboy-ish moment. I enjoyed the movie that played in my mind while drawing this scene. Hope everyone liked the result.”

Chad Hardin: “As I mentioned on page 17, I rendered the first four chapters in grayscale, which made the black-and-white art look great, but had a neutralizing effect when it came to colors. By the time I drew chapter 4, I had seen the effect it was having and decided to stop using the grayscale so the colors would pop. When I saw this page [when Alistair says to Yavana ‘And we helped you find it’] in print, it confirmed to me that I made the right decision. I honestly feel this art was the best of The Silent Grove.”

Chad Hardin: “I practically painted these pages [when Yavana says ‘It is permitted. Tonight and only tonight’] in thumbnails hoping it would help me choose how to render them in ink. It is so hard trying to figure out how to get a full range of value out of just black and white. There are some artists and inkers that make this look easy. Mark Schultz comes to mind. Michael saved my bacon. Colorists really do so much work when it comes to rendering; this page came out awesome because of him.”

David Gaider: “Here we reveal the existence of Great Dragons (as opposed to High Dragons), and also that Yavana was the source of the return of dragons to Thedas after their departure for so many centuries. But why? There’s the rub, and not even Alistair can trust that she’s telling him the truth.”

David Gaider: “Here’s the controversial scene [Alistair killing Yavana]. I think some fans don’t like that Alistair did this, and have said they consider it out of character. I don’t. From his perspective, Flemeth and her daughters have been toying with the world for reasons that can’t be trusted. They dragged Maric away from his family, from him. One might think his judgement foolish, but considering what Alistair was capable of deciding even back in Dragon Age: Origins, it’s certainly not out of character.”

Chad Hardin: “[same scene as above] This was a controversial page, and there were a lot of people who thought it was out of character for Alistair to kill Yavana (I didn’t see it coming - I mean, you just don’t kill a Witch of the Wild), but here is the thing: this page is Alistair acting as a king. Yavana has been manipulating him, trying to play him like a pawn, and he just can’t allow that. There’s too much at stake, for himself and for his subjects.”

Alexander Freed: “The end? An end, at least [the trio walking off into the distance]. The series needed a note of closure while leading into Those Who Speak (which wouldn’t arrive until many months later). David tweaked the ending in the outline several times, and I did my best to balance resolving Alistair’s emotional journey without resolving the quest. It’s not as clean as I’d have liked, but fortunately, now it’s all in one volume...”

Those Who Speak annotations

Alexander Freed: “Capturing Isabela’s narrative voice was much easier for me than capturing Alistair’s - partly because I’d already written The Silent Grove, and partly because of my own writing proclivities. Rereading now, I wonder if I laid on the (mild) profanity a bit too thick. I’ll leave you to judge.”

David Gaider: “I like the additional detail Alex and Chad put in, letting us see more of Qarinus and more of Isabela’s crew. Alex wanted to give her crew more of a presence, and let her first mate have some face time, so they weren’t just parts of the scenery. Good call on his part.”

David Gaider: “I’m really fond of the formal getups Chad made for the party. Isabela’s actually comes from a concept we didn’t use from the cancelled Dragon Age 2 expansion, if I remember right. And Maevaris came from me asking for ‘someone who looks like Mae West’ - with the wonderful outfit all Chad’s doing.

Chad Hardin: “Maevaris. I love Mae. When David and Dragon Age art director Matthew Goldman spoke to me about designing Mae, they wanted her to be fully female with the exception of her biology. They told me to think ‘Mae West’. Well, when I think of Mae West, I think of her... womanly shape. So, drawing Maevaris was always walking a fine line between portraying Mae’s identity and her biology. The process endeared her to me.”

Michael Atiyeh: “Just like in The Silent Grove, we are introduced to another gentleman from Isabela’s past [when the team meet Lord Devon and Isabela threatens him]. As was the case with Claudio, he will meet his fate at her hands.”

Chad Hardin: “When I was drawing Titus, my kids asked me why I was drawing ‘angry Jesus’ or ‘evil Jesus’. I can’t remember which term they used exactly, but it made me chuckle. I was going for a mix of Rapustin and Joe Stalin, but ‘evil Jesus’ would do.”

David Gaider: “I’m not sure it’s apparent here [when Alistair says ‘I’d really rather not’], but Alistair was supposed to be using one of his Templar powers on Titus (that’s why Titus recognizes what he is on the next page) and disrupting his magic.”

Alexander Freed: “Isabela is witty and charming enough that it can be easy to forget that she’s not, in fact, a nice person. Even after finishing the outline, David was concerned about making her too unsympathetic - but I loved his approach in this series. The dark deeds Isabela commits - this murder included [Isabela killing Lord Devon] - are what make her guilt tangible and no easy matter to overcome.”

Alexander Freed: “I thought the notions of Isabela’s pride in her captaincy and dedication to her crew were some of the most interesting aspects of her character in David’s story. In scenes here [when Isabela is on her ship saying ‘Keep them focused and keep them sober’] and elsewhere, I did my best to emphasize their place at the core of Isabela’s world.”

Chad Hardin: “Most of the time I draw from imagination, but because of the complexity of this page [Qunari trying to board Isabela’s ship] I decided it would work better if I had photo reference. On this page are my nephews Jared (Varric) and Adam, my niece Melissa, my kids Erica, Tasey Michaela (Isabela) and Chad (Alistair), my friend’s daughter Amy, my wife Joy, and the neighborhood kids as Isabela’s pirate crew. (The crew member mooning the Qunari is out of my ol’ noodle.) I paid their modelling fee in pizza and root beer. Also, I had originally drawn cannons on Isabela’s ship, so if there are parts of it that look slightly wonky, chances are there was a cannon there.”

David Gaider: “Ever since the BioWare artists finally did a concept for female Qunari, I’ve been itching to include one in the game. It’s always slipped through my fingers, so I was going to be damned if I’d have a Qunari plot in a comic - without the same technical limitations - and not have one present.

Chad Hardin: “I had no idea this was the first time anyone outside of BioWare had seen a female Qunari.”

Michael Atiyeh: “I really like the lighting in this sequence [Isabela in her cell thinking ‘I haven’t eaten in days’], especially the strong white light and the characters in shadow.”

David Gaider: “The entire sequence of Rasaan interrogating Isabela was something I plotted out in detail when this series began. Here they discuss names - something treated in a manner peculiar to the Qunari, considering how much importance they apply to what things are called (and not called), because it forms the core of their identity. Isabela brushes it off, but as we find out later it’s also at the core of her identity. I liked that parallel.”

Alexander Freed: “To balance out the relatively static talking pages elsewhere in the issue, I hoped to make the interrogation and flashback sequences beautiful and full of information. I proposed an approach to Chad, and he wisely reshaped it into what you see here [the page with the scene where Isabela says ‘I’ve made a lot of stupid mistakes’]. Anything that succeeds on these pages should be credited to him; anything that fails is my fault.”

Chad Hardin: “Probably the most challenging spread I have ever done. My friend Stacie Pitt was the model for Isabela on this page, and my wife Joy was Rasaan. I saved these pages [around the scene when Rasaan says ‘Mistakes can be corrected’] for myself.”

David Gaider: “Sten from Dragon Age: Origins becoming the new Arishok of the Qunari was something we'd planned even during Dragon Age 2. This was a great opportunity to show that, and also to show that Sten didn’t acquire horns even despite the makeover the Qunari received in DA2. Hornless Qunari are considered special, and Sten is no exception.”

Michael Atiyeh: “I think that David, Alex and Chad handled Isabela’s flashback [to when she was sold by her mother] in an interesting way, and it created a nice flow to the story.”

David Gaider: “This was a controversial scene [what happened to the slaves Isabela was transporting], the end result of a lot of discussions between me and Isabela’s original writer on the team, and it went through a lot of revisions over that time. It needed to fit with the story Isabela told the player in DA2, but fill in the blanks of what she didn’t tell. We didn’t want Isabela to be someone who became who she is because she was ‘broken’ but instead as a result of her own actions - yet also not be completely beyond redemption.”

Chad Hardin: “These were hard pages [as above] to draw. It was difficult knowing that events such as this are part of human history, such as the Zong massacre in 1781, where the British courts ordered the insurers to reimburse the crew of the Zong for financial losses caused by throwing slaves overboard when faced with a lack of water. Horrifying beyond words.”

Michael Atiyeh: “Here, Isabela visits here crew, and I wanted to play up that she was in the light and they were in a dark cell. The light streaming through the bars gave me the opportunity to highlight Brand, who also had dialogue in the scene.”

Alexander Freed: “I struggled to find a way for Varric to contribute to victory without distracting from Alistair and Sten’s big fight. I’m happy with the solution: a brazen lie seemed appropriate to the character without taking away from the main show.”

David Gaider: “I believe my original plan had Isabela’s and Alistair’s fight scenes happening separately, but I like how Alex intertwined them in the script and I especially like how this ends up highlighting the differences between their characters when their fights are resolved. Isabela is defiant, revealing her name not because Rasaan demands it but because it’s her choice. In both cases, mercy is strength.”

Michael Atiyeh: “The brush I created for the clouds really gave them a nice watercolor effect here [on the deck of the ship, Sten calling Alistair ‘kadan’]. That brush has become a staple in my toolbox.”

Alexander Freed: “With the strong theme of names running through these issues, I liked the notion that Isabela had outgrown being, well, ‘Isabela’. When her name comes up in Until We Sleep, it’s largely played with ambiguity.”

Until We Sleep annotations

Alexander Freed: “The story of ‘Arthur’ is one of my favorite minor sequences [Varric infiltrating and fighting his way into the fortress]. It tells us something about Varric and it delivers plot information - and it’s also a reminder that our heroes kill an awful lot of people during these series and cope with it in their own ways. In general, writing Varric let me skirt the edge of metacommentary, which I greatly enjoyed.”

David Gaider: “Varric, as always, is my ‘voice of the narrator’. Here he’s expressing some of my own amusement at Alistair’s growing list of peculiarities [‘Your majesty is quite the special snowflake’]. To think, back at the beginning of Dragon Age: Origins he was just the player’s goofy sidekick who grew up in a barn.”

Michael Atiyeh: “By the third series, Until We Sleep, I really started to have a complete feel for what I wanted the final art to look like. As an artist, it’s important to continue to evolve and grow. The close-up of Sten’s face [same page as above] is a perfect example of how I wanted the rendering on the characters to look.”

Alexander Freed: “David’s outline called for a short, somber reveal of the Calenhad story by Sten. Fueled by my desire to avoid ‘talking heads’ sequences, I scripted it as a full-on storytelling flashback. David made sure the history worked (at least from the Qunari point of view), and Chad did a beautiful job handling it in a mere two pages.”

David Gaider: “Blood is important in Dragon Age, as a theme. Here we tie in the dragon blood that was mentioned all the way back in The Silent Grove and explain what it means at last. I was a bit hesitant to tarnish the legend of Calenhad the Great in this way, but I comfort myself with the knowledge this tale is but a viewpoint and not necessarily the entire truth.”

Michael Atiyeh: “Titus melting the attacker is a great example of classic comicbook storytelling and exactly what made me fall in love with the medium.”

David Gaider: “I was really happy with how Chad handled the reveal of Mae as transgender [the scene with Mae in the cell]. My worry was that Varric finding her disrobed might be potentially titillating, but I think he handled it nicely. I only wish there was more time to have Mae properly respond to being exposed in this manner, even to a friend.”

Chad Hardin: “I originally drew Mae as female [same scene as above], then changed her anatomy, so the psychological violation and humiliation she felt would be the focus. Hope that came across.”

Chad Hardin: “When in doubt, have Bianca shoot it [Varric shooting the artifact].”

David Gaider: “This scene [Varric and Bianca the dwarf] with Varric was one I wanted to do for a very long time. We’ve hinted that Varric’s crossbow was named after a real person, someone he never wants to talk about. Now I finally had the chance to show why.”

Chad Hardin: “Of all my Dragon Age pages, this scene was hands down my favorite, because Varric is my favorite. It was awesome to get to draw Bianca in her dwarven form. These scenes give you a glimpse of the love Varric and Bianca shared. It doesn’t tell you the whole story, but you can assume plenty from what is shown. You get to see Varric mostly naked (you’re welcome), but most of all you witness Varric’s heartbreak. I felt privileged to draw it. I got so obsessed with drawing this page I did an entire watercolor painting based on the last panel [Varric gets up to leave, ‘This isn’t right’ - ? or perhaps the scene where he opens the door to leave].”

Alexander Freed: “Unreliable narrators are always tricky - done wrong, they can just confuse the reader. But I’m fairly happy with Varric’s lies throughout this series, most of which are used to downplay the emotional cost of events rather than whitewash the events themselves.”

Michael Atiyeh: “This palette worked perfectly [Varric standing in front of the doorway/portal in the Fade proper], but I can’t take all the credit because BioWare provided reference for the Fade. I added the hot orange energy for the doorway, which looks great with the sickly green sky.”

David Gaider: “This scene [Isabela’s Fade nightmare] was actually inspired by a fan named Allegra who did a cosplay as a Qunari version of Isabela. I knew I wanted something like this for Isabela’s Fade section of the comic, but it didn’t really solidify until I saw the cosplay.”

Chad Hardin: “Isabela is more affected by her encounter with Rasaan than we were led to believe. A portent of things to come?”

Michael Atiyeh: “I love this shot of Mae in the fourth panel [on the page where Isabela is affected by vines]. I would be remiss if I didn’t mention what a great character she is in the series, and Chad captures her beautifully in this shot.”

Alexander Freed: “I saw this issue as a sort of downbeat victory lap. Over the course of the previous series, our protagonists largely came to terms with the inner demons the Fade confronts them with here. The fact they’ve come so far lets them win this last battle... but they still have scars that will never completely disappear.”

David Gaider: “Maric was in the first two novels I wrote for Dragon Age. Seeing Chad’s rendering of him as a regal, grown-up version of Alistair made me incredibly nostalgic. Some characters you just never let go of.”

Alexander Freed: “I feel Varric’s lines (‘tell yourself the stories you need to tell’ but ‘never live your own lies’) are the natural endpoint of all the exchanges he’s had with Alistair, starting from the end of Chapter 1 of The Silent Grove. And of course it plays off the story of ‘Arthur’, as well.’’

Chad Hardin: “I’m happy with the way Titus came off in these pages [Titus attacking and saying ‘The last magisters of Tevinter were so close’]. He looks threatening and powerful when fighting Alistair, Isabela and Varric, but genuinely confused by his inability to defeat Maric. Bye-bye, evil Jesus.”

Alexander Freed: “I can’t help but feel for Titus. He was unthinkably corrupt, but I see him as genuinely motivated by Tevinter’s glory. (The fact Alistair reads zealous ideology as a lust for power says a lot about both characters.)”

Michael Atiyeh: “I love the seamless transition of color from Titus’ magic to the dragon breath and then back into the orange remnants of his magic in the smoke. This was a really fun panel to color [Titus saying ‘Die by what wrought you’].”

David Gaider: “‘You are not the dreamer here. I am.’ I always have a scene or a line that’s in my head when I begin a tale, and this line of Maric’s was one I wanted all the way back when I started working on The Silent Grove.”

Chad Hardin: “I love this page [Maric and Alistair clasping hands]; Mike’s colors are spot on. We get to see all our heroes in an ideal state for the last time. This is the last Dragon Age page I saved for myself.”

David Gaider: “This scene kills me [Alistair destroying the Magrallen]. I knew it needed to happen; I knew I wanted it to happen even back when I began the story. Alistair lets Maric remain in the Fade rather than dragging him back to a world which has moved on. Alistair’s ready to move on, but forcing him to give up that hope... it makes me feel like a bad person.”

Chad Hardin: “Heartbreak for Alistair as he realizes that once again, as a king, he must kill: this time, his own father (granted, the Magrallen did most of the work). I really like how Maric crumbles away in the end. This was my last page, and the emotions on the page and in my studio were very final. Altogether, this was a year of my life in the making. On my last page, I wrote a thank you to everyone involved, the crew at Dark Horse and the crew at BioWare. I’d like to take this opportunity to thank them again. It was a thrill. Finally, a huge thank-you to the Dragon Age fan community, whose support was overwhelmingly awesome.”

Michael Atiyeh: “As the story came to an end, I knew I was going to miss these characters. Writing these annotations reinforces the fact that I hope to work with this great creative team again one day. Many thanks to Dark Horse and BioWare for the opportunity to work on Dragon Age.”

Alexander Freed: “The tension between the art and the narration on this page [the one with Alistair sitting on his throne while nobles argue] is something you can only pull off in comics. Neither tells the full, bittersweet story alone. Similarly, these issues wouldn’t have been possible without everyone on the team; thanks to David, Chad, Michael, and everyone I lack space to list!”

Additional pages / art

Library Edition Volume 1 also came with some additional pages, with additional art and commentary. These are as follows (I’m including them for the sake of completion, click the links to see):

1. Alistair and dragon concepts

2. Rasaan and Maevaris concepts

3. Sten, Titus and Yavana concepts

4. A series of cover pages 1

5. A series of cover pages 2

In case anyone has trouble reading the notes that accompany these images, I’ve transcribed them below:

1. Dragon Age Sketch Book

Alistair Concept 

Dragon Age / Dark Horse

Chad Hardin: “The headshot of Alistair is from a finished sketch with a rejected armor design. In order to save time, the redrawing was completed on the computer, where tweaks and changes are quick and easy, if somewhat less glorious.”

[Dragon] Head #1 / Head #2

Chad Hardin: “Everyone liked this dragon sketch so much that Dark Horse printed it for signings at conventions. You can see I did multiple proposals for the dragon’s head. It was more effective than drawing the body over and over.”

-

2. [arrow pointing to Mae’s sleeve] concealed [I think that’s what it says anyway] daggers / shurikens?

Chad Hardin: “When designing Rasaan and Maevaris, I wasn’t exactly sure how their roles would play out in the series. Maevaris’ outfit was inspired by brothel madams of the Wild West. I thought it would be cool to have some weapons concealed in the formal wear. These never came into play in the series, but they were there in my mind.”

-

3. Chad Hardin: “Although we only see Titus in his battle garb in one issue, I really liked the design of his armor. The sketch of Yavana was done on the fly and served as both a rough preliminary sketch and as a panel layout. You have to work hard and smart in comics to keep up with the deadlines.”

-

4. Cover Artist Anthony Palumbo: “This was my first assignment for Dark Horse, and I was both excited and nervous. I drew pencil sketches of the main characters, scanned them and played with different arrangements, poses and color schemes in Photoshop.”

-

5. Anthony Palumbo: “Fellow illustrator Winona Nelson helped me by sitting for photo reference. I created the mock-jewelry with gold-painted Sculpey. That’s a quick photo of my own gaping maw, to help with the image of Varric.”

[smndragon]

Times I felt like I saw into past lives (based on a conversation with @pxrplg)

This person actually brought up so many viewpoints and interesting topics that I enjoyed talking about! We discussed a lot related to past lives, theories on life paths/destiny, thoughts on world trends and popular beliefs and questioning. Overall it just really was refreshing. (Was supposed to do this 2 days ago)

I finished the conversation with @erophi who offered many ideas and insights into what past lives and reincarnation could be like to do with timelines. I'll have to discuss it in another post or here later.

My main question this post was why do we remember past lives? But seeing as that was simple and somewhat obvious the question for this post are lost. Things will be discussed on what exactly happens with past lives and timelines.

The conversation bellow involved topics involving death and suicidal mentions. Other then this time I will try and make it safe to read as much as I can.

FOR THE FIRST BIT IT'S VERY DIFFICULT SO I JUST LEFT THE FIRST LETTERS OF HARMFUL WORDS meaning you will have to leave bits to imagination.

Will possibly provide images later. in very quick sketches. May actually just post them at different times idk.

----------

CONVERSATION WITH ERO ↓

"I k someone, I k so much people.

I had to run away, the person I loved helped me get away. We’re in the car, I loved him so much. But he can never be with his family or friends ever again if we’re on the run. I can never face the people that loved me again for what I did. I knew in the dream my intentions were good but I was in a bad situation. We drove away, far away. But there were never a safe place to stay in, I was in so much pain. He was innocent, and did absolutely nothing wrong. If I were dead he would be free. Everything came crumbling down in despair. I’ll meet his soul again in a different dimension but this was one where we couldn’t be together. Everything was pointing to the decision of me k myself. I was hurting, I loved him in words I couldn’t even explain, like he was my forever soulmate, my twin flame but deeper. He loved me too, which Is why I knew he wouldn’t leave me to do this alone. At the end of the dream I made up my mind to e it, He was asleep, I was apologizing, crying, in tears, then I s myself."

- EXTRA INFORMATION

"I think some tarot readings had also consistently told me I had a pastor/prostitute situation.

I might have been the pastor but I have have also been the prostitute (I have no recollection of it though but it resonates).

I definitely felt like I wasn’t myself in that recollection, and with an overwhelming feeling of suicidal thoughts :,) I don’t get those either"

This came in a dream, believed to be around the late 70s to the 80s with clues of possible clothing and a car.

-----------

A FRIEND I ALSO TALKED TO ↓

"Well, in my past life dream i got killed & i got throw from a high places and died of broken bones and here i have weak bones in this life."

From this also it could be that last lives come more in dreams than visions at times. This is only based from two people including myself. It may be that during sleep our souls connect deeper with the mind in their own resting time or that they just start to remember memories from the past that are signaled to our minds now by accident or purpose.

Only a theory for now. (Please I literally imagine myself with a fricking whiteboard and marker with charts and shit and🗿)

With this we now also bring in the theories on how past lives affect certain traumas and issues in the current life

----------

MY OWN EXPERIENCES ↓ (when nothing saves)

I first had my experience with it from what I can remember listening to a video on YouTube with Brian Weiss here.

Includes death during pregnancy, murder, violent stuff basically for this first one. (Sorry if that seems stupid to say)

"At first opening the door I think was involved in the video. I saw a girl and what I assume were her parents as a baby. They both had dark black hair I believe. From the clothes I believe it was the 70s or early 80s. She was just born a bit ago I think. When watching them I felt like I was just looking at a tv really."

With the timeline it's not possible she lived long really. I feel she may have d--- really young with the rest of her family or alone. (I actually just got a few ideas including a car accident possibly)

"The second time I went through the door, I saw a girl running in the rain. I saw what looked like a train or tracks for one, the ground was muddy and wet. She was going somewhere away from what seemed like a town or city of some sort. She stumbled a few times from the slick mud against her bare feet. The rain kept pouring, there was a cover or kind of hood she wore to keep from getting wet.

The first time she fell on the ground I saw her face was covered in dress and panic. Her lips were a cold pink, her hair was down or back with a brown color. Her hand looked freezing as she looked at the ground. You could see she was on the brink of tears. Tanned Caucasian skin. Some bracelets I think covered her wrists, a locket necklace around her neck from a possibile long gone lover. Possibly I feel died.

I only noticed she was pregnant when I heard a man yelling for her. The sound of his anger and footsteps. He wore a hat and something to cover himself too. She was on the ground until she heard his voice, trembling and getting up as fast as she could.

She didn't get far before you could hear a g------. It took a second before she fell slightly then at once. Slow I felt, her whole body now covered in mud and gunk from the mix in the sky. Her arms went to cradle her unborn child.

Blood covered the ground some bit, the man stood over her looking relieved to see her almost dead."

I don't think I was the kid but at first I felt I might've been. I more think I was the woman. I also thought the man was possibly a family member or a husband. He really may still be, she could've been impregnated by another man she really loved. Hence the locket.

I don't think she was scared of dying really. Her main plan was to escape and raise her child away and in a safe place, to give it some sort of chance. In the end that's all she wanted even after being s--- in the back. The both of us wished the kid could still somehow live on when she died, hoping she would give birth right then and there from the rush of it all.

Reasons I think that I'm actually her was because of the birthmark theory to death. I have a birthmark on my back right where she was shot. My traumas now include mostly having kids, one of my fears is not being able to have any. I always somehow end up caressing my stomach out of comfort (though many people do this). I've always wanted kids, possibly all this coming from her.

But then more questions come from many points. Was it all a dream I made up in my mind? Or was it real. I could do research but it may not even help because things get covered easily. Possible times I feel she may have loved is the late 19th century to the early 20th. Possibly in the U.K. or America. But from the looks of it all the first seemed more likely.

MY SECOND TIME REMEMBERING ↓

I had a dream at a family member's house possibly I think. This dream may have actually happened more than once.

"I woke up in a field of tall wheat colored grass, going almost at where I stood. I remember a big willow tree or large one of sorts. Next beyond the single tree was a house, with a white porch and an old rocking chair.

I remember possibly a girl or someone telling me not to go to the house. I agreed st first possibly. You could hear a train in the distance, the whistle of the engine. I ran to catch up or it stopped. I can't remember exactly. It was a red and black color, with gold metal railings and pieces. A man or someone helped me onboard unless I walked up myself. There were a few people there sitting on the seats of the train. One girl stuck out by calling me to her.

Her smile was sweet, and comforting. She had her strawberry blonde hair I think done up and we'll in a nice styled bun. She may have had glasses on or in her hand. Large for eyes with a brown or blue color, sometimes they looked red-gold. Her teeth were a nice shined color of white. A small petite form, and almost desk lady styled clothing. A nice skirt stopping at the knees with a pair of white or slightly darker than her skin pantyhose. A blush to her cheeks, her eyes were sincere and sweeter than her smile. A purse in her lap, heels on he feet, and manicured nails of some kind. I can't remember her name. Might've been something soft like Elizabeth, Peggy, Ana, or something of that sort. She held my hands while I partially sat down too. Never taking her eyes off me. We looked as if we were both on an evening ride somewhere or nowhere at all.

She told me about a house with a tree, and a man who was waiting for her there. The same exact one I'd seen and was told not to enter. She told me that he was waiting for her when she'd never come, that she needed me to tell him that she wouldn't be coming back. I asked her why not, she said she couldn't. She'd like to, but where she was going was far from seeing him again. That he blamed himself for her leaving or being gone. They may have had kids together. A sweet couple. She trusted me in telling him since it wasn't my time yet. We left with goodbyes, she whispered she believed I could do it and gave me one last smile before I got off back where we started.

I went to the house, the voice still telling me no. I stopped at the porch. My shoes standing out on the nice iced white color. I knocked on the door. Before just opening it. I can't remember sorry. All of a sudden things went crazy. Now I'm just remembering I woke up next to the tree really. I saw a man, on the rocking chair. He had African American skin and dark eyes. Sanpaku eyes maybe, they both seemed to have them. I remember seeing the ring on the woman's hand on his. He looked at it for a second, as if remembering her. The name spinning around his head. He then looked at me. Angry and bothered I'd stepped even on the soil around the house. The scowl and glare made me squirm under my skin. She looked around his early 30s to late. A lazily buttoned up shirt and pants. It seemed he was wearing the very same clothes she left him in. I went to ask his name but he was spitting for me to leave before I could do anything. I can't remember much from then.

I was back at the house I slept in, a tornado going on somewhere. Everyone in the house was panicking glancing and staring at what was happening outside. I felt panic getting up from the couch I slept on. The windows of the house seemed as if they'd burst and cut us all at any moment. Things banging and hitting the glass and walls. The man was doing this. That's all I knew, he was causing the sounds and banging and even the tornado.

The house came from the winds and he stood on the porch. Really it felt he became a part of it. I understood him then. His yelling at me and my family for going on his property. He was angry, that was undeniable. But it wasn't at us completely, or me. He felt pained, pained his lover never came back to him. Pained he'd lost her to something he felt was his fault. The train that took her away was any normal one. It was taking her ghost away. Her soul from it's place on this earth. Waiting for years for her to come back. Soon enough 40 had passed. His family lost their father to grief. I still can't remember fully if there were any kids. But there was a girl grown up. Talking to him as he just sat on that very chair. Never leaving. He stared off as if he was distantly waiting for the sound of the train. For any sign shed be coming back and that she wasn't gone. He denied any chance that she wasn't. He let his life rot away sitting there, time and time again he'd go inside disappointed, waking up thinking 'she'll come back today.'

I went outside to talk to him again. His glare never left though, making to to the steps I looked into his eyes as if that was the last time. "I'm sorry." My words brought the look of a familiar denial to his face. Taking his hand and placing something in them. (Hard to remember) Tears came to his eyes, clutching the band with all he could. I told him she loved him, and she didn't wish to leave then. That she wanted to spend all her life with him. (Stop I'm actually close to crying for some reason) Her time had ended, all she wanted was for him to love his life happier. To find someone else and spend his life her as if she'd never existed really. I remember touching his face or his shoulder. Breaking down he just stayed there. Then the storm all at once calmed, he looked at me a final time as if saying thank you. Before I knew it, he was gone, the house and everything with him.

The final part of the dream probably left me closer to tears though. I was back in the tall grass. Looking at him sitting back on that single chair. The house looked cleaner and new. His clothes nicely styled and ready to see someone. You could hear the whistle of that same transportation. The heel of the woman coming down and stepping off. He stood from where he sat with the happiest smile ever, his eyes held a bright shine when she came around. She smiled herself, her whole expression became pure glee running up to him as he walked down the steps of the home. He looked as if it was bizarre to see. With arms open wide she ran and jumped into them. Spinning her around like a classic romance for a few seconds. They both were close to bawling from the joy of reuniting. children came from outside the house calling their parents to come inside. She went to hold his face before getting down. Years went by again, but they were happier times. The long green bits of the old giant tree went with the wind. Sunny and bright as ever."

The timing I felt of this life was maybe around the 40s or 50s. I can't remember if I was the woman or the man.

From the train I think she may have died in an accident of some sort going to work or some place. They lived far out from the town or city.

Possible truama from that life and the first I saw with the family may be transportation. I've always felt kinda weary going somewhere in any kind. But then again a lot of people do right?

If that was a life then we have to wonder how? Why do I have the birthmark from the one set in a time before? It could be possible that timelines don't exactly matter in lives? Or maybe it's because the blonde woman or the man also had the birthmark? Even then if this was really how things were then wouldn't more people have all kinds of birthmarks if they lived a lot? There's a lot of things to wonder here.

MOST RECENT REMEMBERING ↓

This one was fairly short really, it was only a few minutes of the characters.

It happened at home sleeping like the one before.

"There was a girl and a boy in this one. They first started off in a hedge bush garden. The bushes were tall and wide. There may have been another tree and a stone bench or small half circle clearing.

The girl had long light brown hair, it went to her waist. I remember the guy always talked on how she would look appropriate and fix her hair. Her eyes were somewhat big with honey brown eyes and possible dimples. Her skin was a soft white. Her checks like many others had a tint of pink to them. Her lips following in a nice shade. She seemed around 5'4 to 5'5, a dress of white when they hung out. I feel she only really showed this side to him. No shoes were on her feet, the dirt from the garden showing on them. Her nails were a big long but not much.

The boy had blonde or brown also, maybe a very light shade. He was maybe 5'6 or an inch taller. Not as neat hair but somewhat. It may have been pretty short. His eyes were a brown, blue, or green. Tanned skin and a few scratches on his face or hands. His clothes were also pretty simple. She would be on the hedge in plain sight and he'd have to pull her down with a bothered look. I remember she called him by a name that he always hated. Possibly a nickname or his first name.

I believe they'd been friends for a long time, maybe even grew up together. She and him both have of aristocrats or some blood of important people. They may have been in their teens or early twenties. The name she said may have been "Eli" or "Tom" short for Thomas or Elijah. Based on times one of them has to be wrong. He sometimes wore more appropriate and nicer clothing, but it may have really been undergarments too. They'd explore the grounds and wherever they were often at night or during the day. Might have been her home.

Sitting in the library he would show her books and read to her. She always had a glint of curiosity in her eyes. I feel he loved that about her deep down. They seemed as if they were made for each other since birth. They'd gotten used to each other by then."

That's all the dream really then. I feel they may have been betrothed or married. From the times of then it's possible. It may have been around the early 18th century from the clothing. I don't know the origin place though.

I don't know what happened to them at all, I remember wishing for a dream of a lover. To remember even the smallest thing of s past I was alive. So I guess my gods and patrons gifted me then. I felt I was the girl.

then that's all really before we discuss possible reasons behind the birthmark and how past lives fit into time lines.

----------

Alright I actually realized something after writing all my lives.

If I have a birthmark from when I died in the early 1900s? And had two lives after the. How do I have the birthmark now?

I talked to Ero on this and Medusa so we're figuring not out now.

TIMELINES OF EACH LIFE:

Most recent time: 1710s-1720s

Elizabeth and the man: 1950s-1960s

Pregnant woman: 1890s-1810

Little girl: 1980s-1980s

WHAT THEY ALL HAVE IN COMMON:

3 of them died young from what I feel maybe even the 18th century lovers died young or one of them did

3 of them also died in transportation, car crash, train crash possibly, and near a train getting off maybe (goes with my sanpaku eyes theory we'll talk about later)

All had sanpaku eyes also (me included)

3 of them were based around some kind of love.

The sanpaku eyes theory goes with a post HERE by @d4rkpluto (not tagging to not bother)

Somewhere it may have said transportation has something to do with Jupiter or Sagittarius. The ladder is pretty prominent in my chart.

Connecting all my lives with the 2nd similarity. Also my fear with transportation possibly

---------------------------------------------------

The next question is how do I have the birthmark from the pregnant woman's death if she wasn't my most recent life? There's the timeline possiblity which makes no sense, and many more things here.

I had a conversation with Ero on possible things to do with timelines.

Many people believe a timeline is not a straight line, it goes in many directions and branches off. To this I asked Ero if possibly we can be born in any time period?

Even I knew that was a stupid question, how could that be? History and now would change then without us even knowing. Whole families could be coming into existence then out of nowhere. I started wondering on the Mandela effect.

--

"The Mandela effect occurs when a person believes that their distorted memories are, in fact, accurate recollections. They can clearly remember events that happened differently or events that never occurred at all.

The bottom line is that the Mandela effect does not involve lying or deception. Instead, it occurs when a person or a group of people have clear but false memories." - Posted from this site (brief research)

-- the theory here is that it's possible that we remember things like this from the changes of people being born in history who change these things slightly or could even cause this, not wholly but are able to.

Still it makes no sense much. Ero offered a look into this saying time lived in different planes of existence. Meaning we can't just go back because our world doesn't do that where it sits. Even if you went into space far enough to see dinosaurs, this adds onto that because you aren't on Earth. You're outside of our plane I believe. (Trying to make sense of it all)

By then the theory was almost completely dropped.

--

"Then they brought up an instance quoted bellow through messages.

One another thing that I remembered seeing about past lives

Was that this persons soul fragmented? they were still tied to the life that ‘fragment’ is living but it was harming them in their current life

So they had to cut ties with that fragment and no longer be the same soul

Sounds like a twinflame thing but they didn’t mention it like that"

We then discussed ways that this could be

I said it's possible that this person in the life in history possibly went through a near death experience.

HOW? Imagine time became a river with branches of water routes and little cracks. By the bank of it lives outside of time, the bank of the river. Or whatever it's called. During whatever happened that caused them to be in the predicament they lost a piece of their soul or s fragment by the rush or panic sent through the body.

The soul during that time period lost the fragment somehow in the river of time. Since time moves pretty fast, they couldn't get it back because they couldn't stray too far from their own time period and also only had a limited amount of time before being brought back.

From the rush of the water and how fast the piece went the soul couldn't catch up and it ended up falling into a part of time that was long after. It went through the possible process of the afterlife and reincarnating and ended up being born making her.

I believe we both agreed that was a possibility.

That brings back a theory of how timelines could live at once though. Whirl everything is happening in the same time but can never interact. Is it still possible?

That's the end of the discussion

--

My next question on my side we talked about. Was how is it I have the birthmark from the murdered woman if that wasn't my last? (We keep getting back here)

Ero said that the ways thing work doesn't mean its impossible. Meaning it could be that all my lifetimes after we're affected by it or one of them healed that would. Was murder the wound though? Or was it something to do with the unborn child? It's it could be both really. Maybe the 50s woman somehow healed those soul wounds.

But then why do I have it now? Possibly from a wound from the little girl, but then the question is again how? To that question there is no answer I have other than a wound I don't know about.

If we did take wounds from traumatic deaths, then wouldn't many of us be covered in birthmarks of all kinds for those who have lived many lives and possibly died terribly In a few? For 3 of mine the deaths were terrible.

So I should have more birthmarks right? Maybe it's just random with lifetimes and doesn't mean the most current?

Then I went to beauty marks and moles. But then it still wouldn't make much sense because they're small really. But it could be believed that they have something to do with deaths.

---------------------------------------------------

That's where we have to leave it for now, there's simply no way to figure more out yet until I do more research. I want to post this later so we have to cut it short for time management.

Medusa offered another past life regression try, so I'll be back with the results. Sketches will be quick. Okay I had a snack before starting but like really NOTHING HERE MAKES SENSE!?? Alright I'm gonna get the video up now cya for real.

Upon doing it. I found nothing.

I started research into possible records of deaths from what I saw. This is gonna be a long night. But here are some links do far that I just looked up:

DON'T TRUST EVERY SITE THIS WAS JUST VERY BASIC LOOKING

List of rail accidents in the 50s (I looked into 59 cause I felt something there)

That's basically all since I have to look more for anything else on the other lives.

Posting now I'll be back with pictures.

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

One Hundred Days - Good Omens Fic

Another fic for @bingokisses - Part 1 fills the prompt “Back of the Head kiss/Knees Brushing under the Table.” For once, just some nice easy fluff, little bit of anxiety, and happy ending (in part 2). Also available on AO3!

Part 1: The First Fifty Days

The first night at the South Downs cottage, Aziraphale cooked dinner while Crowley finished setting things up on the upper floor. It had been ages since he’d cooked anything that wasn’t a pastry, but pasta was simple enough, and salad, and…well, rather more dinner rolls than two beings needed, but he’d had more time than expected.

They ate and talked for hours, neither quite believing that they had done it, that they were in their place. Their home. Sometimes, Aziraphale would hold Crowley’s eyes a little too long and need to look away, waiting for his heart to settle down again.

He kept glancing around, unable to shake the feeling that something was wrong. That they were exposed, that someone was watching, that something was about to happen, though he couldn’t say what. But no – only the long wooden table, the stone fireplace, the steps leading upstairs, dark carpet on pale wood.

He shivered anyway.

“Alright, Angel?”

Breathe, Aziraphale told himself and took another sip of wine. All night, his feet and his knees had brushed Crowley’s under the table. It was daring, and thrilling, and more than a little terrifying.

“Perfectly fine, Crowley.” The bread rolls had gone cool hours ago, but Aziraphale reached for one anyway, tugging at it with his fingers. “I was wondering what…what you…planned to do? Once we’re all unpacked and such?”

They should have discussed it more. Wasn’t that what humans did? Spend weeks and months talking about what sort of home they want, what sort of life, dreaming of what moving in together will be like. Making sure their dreams matched up, their expectations.

They didn’t buy cottages – in the middle of a forest, no less, half a mile from the nearest village – without considering questions of…of hobbies, and use of space and…and living arrangements. They certainly didn’t take such a step without…defining their relationships.

Three weeks. Six thousand years and then some of dancing around certain emotions, certain thoughts, and somehow Aziraphale had thought three weeks was enough time to plan such a drastic change?

“The garden.” Crowley nodded towards the window, but the sun had gone down and all either of them could see was his reflection. “Plenty needs to be cleared out. Maybe lay a new path. And the planting – not a lot of options for fall blooms, but some of the best spring flowers should be planted now.”

“Where would you start?”

Crowley tapped his fingers on the table. “Have to see what that garden shop in the village has. Tulip bulbs for certain, they need time to settle in before the cold. Daffodils or geraniums. Scilla, crocus, maybe fritillaria. Snowdrops, I think.”

“That all sounds…” Aziraphale glanced at the potted plants in the windows and the corners, the remnants of Crowley’s flat. All were tall, lush, and unvaryingly green. “Sounds very colourful.”

“Thinking of experimenting.” Crowley shrugged. “It’s a challenge. They need different soils, different amounts of sunlight, different watering schedules. And you always have to be thinking about the next season, and the next.”

“Seems like a great deal of work.”

“Only if the flowers try to be disobedient brats.” Crowley shifted his fork around his empty plate. “Might get some more trees, too. S’a good time to plant saplings.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale smiled just a little. “Apple trees?”

“Well…maybe,” Crowley grudgingly admitted, with that particular frown that was also a sort of smile. “Pears, too.”

“It would be nice to have some fresh fruit next fall.”

“Nah. Takes years for the trees to be ready, maybe a decade.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale glanced out the window now himself, trying to remember what the garden looked like. They really should have spent more time preparing, studying, learning the ins and outs of this cottage. A few days of feverishly sketched plans over bottles of wine. Hardly anything at all. “Well. I suppose I’ll be buying my fruit from the market, then. A few trees might be nice, eventually, though. If you’re willing to put in the work.”

“Nmmmh.” Crowley arched his back until it popped. “Speaking of hard manual labor, I think it’s bedtime.”

Aziraphale’s head whipped back around. “What? What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Crowley pushed to his feet, “I’ve been moving two-stone boxes of books all day and we’re not even half done. You want to order me around again tomorrow, I need some sleep first.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale’s stomach turned to ice. His eyes flicked to the stairs, remembering how he’d rushed down them to start on dinner that afternoon. “Oh, I – I – I, you know, I still have to – to clean all the dishes and – and pots and pans – there’s so much to do…”

The tall, dark form rounded the table quicker than he expected, and Aziraphale tensed – but Crowley merely stepped behind his chair and gently kissed the back of his head. “Take your time, Aziraphale.”

“I…” He shredded the bread roll in his hands. “I…think you…you’ll regret saying that.”

“Never. I mean it.” One more kiss, quick pressure on the back of his head. “Take all the time you need.” He squeezed Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Good night, Angel.”

The stairs creaked under his feet as he went up without another word.

On the second night, Aziraphale served mushroom risotto. It wasn’t the only thing he’d cooked that day – he’d been secluded in the kitchen since before Crowley rose, trying every challenging recipe he could think of. The bins were filled with burnt croissants and raw beef and a baked Alaska that had gone horribly wrong.

“You planning to cook that much every day?” was all Crowley asked, as they settled back in their seats after dinner. “You could probably feed the whole village with all that.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale glanced guiltily at the kitchen. “I suppose…I mean, it certainly fills the time, doesn’t it?”

Crowley tossed his head, the way he did when he was thinking, and his growing hair swirled around him in a red cloud. “I mean, yes, I suppose it does. But. Is that what you want? To fill time?”

“I’m not sure what else there is to do,” Aziraphale said. “Not much of a theater scene out here, no museums, no restaurants, no customers.”

“Do you miss the city?” He asked it a little too fast, and Aziraphale’s stomach clenched with even more guilt.

“No, dear, of course not. I just…well, I’ve been there so long…I’ve rather forgotten what there is to do out in the country. But I know I must keep myself busy.”

“Only if you like.” Crowley turned his plate. “We should be done with the big items tomorrow. I’ll be able to start the garden and…just, do whatever makes you happy, alright?”

They continued for hours. They seemed to have run out of the excitement of yesterday’s conversation, and now alternated between awkward chatter and pauses so long, Aziraphale feared they’d run out of things to talk about and would remain silent forever.

Finally, Crowley stood. “Better get some sleep,” he said, stretching.

“Oh! Is it – is it really that late?” Aziraphale glanced at the clock in a panic. “Oh, drat, there was, you know, so much more I meant to do today.” Crowley started walking around the table. “I – I – I mean, as you said, I wasted quite a good deal of food, a few miracles ought to put it all back into its original state and – and perhaps I can donate—”

Crowley paused behind his chair, and kissed the back of his head. Aziraphale closed his eyes, trying to memorise it, the feel of Crowley’s lips and breath stirring his hair. They hadn’t really decided if their new partnership would involve kissing, or hand holding, or…other things of that nature. They’d done a few anxious experiments, made rather more assumptions and…never really articulated anything.

But this…Aziraphale thought he might like this.

“Good night, Angel.” A quick shoulder squeeze, and Crowley headed up, stairs creaking under every step.

 On the fifth night, Aziraphale stopped making excuses. It was starting to feel silly, as Crowley never acknowledged them anyway. When Crowley rose from the table, he simply said, “Pleasant dreams, my dear.”

“Always.” A quick kiss to the back of the head. “Good night, Angel.”

 By the tenth night, nearly everything had been unpacked and put into some semblance of order.

They’d spent two hours rearranging Aziraphale’s armchairs, carrying them up and down the stairs as he decided which would go in the study, which in the living room. When Aziraphale was satisfied, Crowley had gone outside, leaving him to rearrange his books in peace.

Aziraphale soon discovered that, with the window open, he could hear the sound of footsteps in the garden, of spade into earth, of a grumbling, threatening lecture delivered to each sapling before it was lowered into its new permanent spot. It was a comfortable sort of background noise, and Aziraphale smiled as he worked.

There was a second door on the upper floor, across the hall from his study. Aziraphale did his best not to glance at it all throughout the day.

After supper, they moved into the sitting room, Crowley sprawling on the sofa, Aziraphale comfortable in his favorite armchair. They talked, glanced at each other, smiled. Crowley played with his mobile phone while Aziraphale flipped idly through a book.

“How was the village?” Aziraphale wondered, since Crowley had finally made it out to the plant shop.

“S’alright. They’ve got a bakery you’d like. And the market.”

“Mmmm.” They’d visited a thousand villages and towns together through the years, yet somehow the thought of walking together through this one in particular made Aziraphale feel cold.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

He wasn’t sure when that might be.

They sat in silence for a little while longer. At least Aziraphale no longer worried it would last forever.

When the demon abruptly stood up, Aziraphale’s fingers only twitched a little, curling around the pages of his book. “Well, that’s it for me tonight.”

“Of course.” He stared fixedly at the page. “Have a good rest.”

“I will.” A kiss on top of the head, almost absent in its familiarity. “Good night, Angel.”

 On the twenty-third night, Aziraphale waited for the Good night, Angel, then grabbed Crowley’s hand, a little too fast, perhaps. Studied it. Crowley had been in the garden all day, and the dirt was still there in the beds of his nails, his hair probably thick with sweat. Aziraphale rolled Crowley’s hand over, studying the lines, the shapes of his fingers, the length of his palm.

Finally, he gave it a squeeze. “Good night, Crowley.”

Perhaps there was something more he should do. Kiss the knuckles. Brush them against his cheek. Something.

But it all seemed so…much.

Every night, then, he simply gave Crowley’s hand a squeeze, and received a smile in return.

The thirty-second night, they returned to the cottage late. The weather had been just right for a walk through the woods, which had turned into a walk to the village, followed by dinner at the little restaurant, and ultimately Aziraphale trading recipes with the chef over a glass of wine.

Crowley had waited patiently, almost-smiling, and they’d finally started the walk back under the stars.

“Did you have fun?” Crowley asked, walking beside him, one hand in his pocket, the other dangling between them. “The walk? The village?”

“I suppose.” Aziraphale conceded. “I must try this squash au vin recipe soon. And it is…rather pleasant out here.”

“Yeah?”

Aziraphale was suddenly very aware of the forest, the brilliant stars, and his proximity to Crowley. “Hmmm. But I’d like to get back and finish reading, if you don’t mind. Rather a lot of lost...reading time.”

“Yeah.” Crowley tucked his loose hand into his pocket.

Aziraphale didn’t read, though, when they returned. He held a book on his lap as they sipped wine, talking about places they’d visited through the years. Then Crowley mentioned that time they’d run into each other at a performance by Mozart – one bottle of wine turned into three – and a great deal of reminiscing ensued.

When, more than a little after midnight, Crowley finally stood to head upstairs, he paused to give Aziraphale’s forehead a clumsy kiss. “Night, Angel.”

Aziraphale gave his hand an easy squeeze, and they smiled at each other without restraint. “Good night, dear.”

 On the forty-eighth night, Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand and didn’t let go.

He wasn’t sure why. They had a rhythm now, a pattern, something sustainable.

Almost sustainable.

Aziraphale still never went upstairs after dark, still never looked at the door across from his study.

On some level, he knew what he needed to do.

They both waited, countless seconds, for the other to speak. But Aziraphale had lost his voice, and Crowley’s expression was as masked behind the glasses as it had been for many centuries.

The cottage was utterly silent, except for the ticking of the clock.

“Yes. Well.” Aziraphale swallowed. “Good night, dear.”

“Good night, Angel,” Crowley said for the second time, and Aziraphale finally relinquished his hand, heart racing.

But on the fiftieth night, fingers wrapped tightly around Crowley’s, on the fiftieth night, Aziraphale stood up, on the fiftieth night he let Crowley lead him up the stairs. He trailed slightly behind, hand clutching the bannister as they ascended, noticing how much heavier the creaks were under his own feet.

At the top of the stairs, Crowley turned right, away from the study, and pushed open the other door, the one Aziraphale could never quite bring himself to walk through, and—

The bedroom was just as they’d arranged it, fifty days before. Heavy red curtains, cream area rug over dark wood, bed in the center of one wall, an end table on either side.

The tartan pillow still lay at a skewed angle, exactly where Aziraphale had dropped it when the sudden panic took him, the sudden realisation of what they were doing, and it was all too much, too fast, and good lord, here he was again, what was he thinking?

Crowley led him to the left side of the bed, the side nearest the door, with black pillowcases and the down duvet slightly rumpled. Pulled his glasses off, and at the first sight of golden eyes, Aziraphale pulled back, eyes slamming shut, hand clenching, seizing up. Crowley snapped his fingers—

Then, for a long time, nothing happened.

Aziraphale finally, cautiously opened his eyes, to find Crowley in black pyjamas, watching him.

When Aziraphale nearly met his gaze, Crowley half-smiled, leaned forward, and kissed his cheek. “Good night, Angel.”

Crowley dropped his hand and climbed under the duvet.

But Aziraphale stood stock still. Now that he was here what was he supposed to do? Fifty days and nights, he should have had a plan but here he was, still just as afraid as the day they’d arrived.

Crowley’s voice, a little rough, with that curious burr in it: “S’alright, Aziraphale. Take your time.”

“But…But it’s already been…” He looked around the room, the one room they’d discussed all night in his bookshop, all the papers they needed to buy their cottage piled on the desk between them. The room they’d breathlessly planned, whispers escaping uncertain lips and bright red faces.

It certainly looked as though it had been planned by two drunken fools with no idea what to do with a cottage, the most atrociously mismatched combination of colours and styles.

But it was all here. The little shelf to hold his favorite books, the electric kettle for if he wanted tea in the night. The overstuffed rocking chairs by the largest window, overlooking the corner of the garden with the little duck pond. The planters lining the rest of the windows, filled with sweet-smelling herbs. The record player, Crowley’s awful music already organised in the stand below it while Aziraphale’s awaited him in a box nearby.

It was a jumble, a mess, it was everything that represented their life together.

And he wanted this life. He truly did. But it had all come too quickly, too suddenly, he wasn’t ready—

“Aziraphale.” Their eyes finally met. “Don’t worry. Take all the time you need.”

He hung his head, burning with shame. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be.” He could feel Crowley watching him, but didn’t dare look up. “I…I mean, look. There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

After several more breaths, Aziraphale gathered his courage, stepped forward, and pulled the duvet up to Crowley’s chin. Bent down, lips hovering just shy of Crowley’s forehead, his breath stirring crimson strands. “Good night, dear.” His courage broke, and he fled the room, pulling the door shut behind him.

“Good night, Angel,” muffled but still as gentle as ever.

--

Part 2 to be posted on Wednesday. If you enjoyed, please drop a comment on AO3!

[a-collection-of-villainous-aus]

galaxies: what are three things you want to do before you die?Twisted Family and Pirate Au? Please?

(All right small side note for those who come across this, twisted Family au is an au set on where black hat and flug were in a relationship but Black Hat kept treating Flug like trash and so one day Flug tries to leave, Hat can't handle that Flug would try to leave him, he snaps like mentality wise.

Turns Flug into a life size marionette.

(usually dressed but this was for me to figure out a basic design for him)

He takes in abandoned children or sometimes adults and turns them into puppets, saying they're one happy family now.)

Black Hat pulled at the lace gloves embroidered with finely stitched top hats, placing them beside his tea cup, after all he did not want to ruin them with the wood varnish he was about to use.

Acylius’s head was tilted to the side, cheek on his shoulder.

“Amadeus…please…may I have some freedom to move? It would make it easier to apply the varnish would it not?”

Black hat paused, considering his words, nodding he gave him enough free movement to lift his head at the very least.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Oh darling, please call me Amadeus or Amy, I miss the fondness in your voice sometimes.”

The eldericht was sweet in his tone, to anyone just passing by you would think it was natural…but upon closer inspection you could see those hints, feel that unhinged ring in his voice.

Black Hat stroked his marionettes face, finger tips caressing over smooth wood, smiling as his doctor leaned into his touch.

“Did you get my favourite varnish Amy?”

Amadeus’s ears perked under his hat, which now donned a long pink mourning ribbon with a bow at the back, watching as Acylius shifted his jaw into a smile, wood tapping as the joints of the doctors ears shifted.

“Of course sweetheart, only the best for you!”

Black Hat replied affectionately as he dipped the cloth into the varnish only to be interrupted but Acylius clearing his throat

“Amadeus , do not forget our guest asked a question.”

“Ah yes, our new addition, well now let’s see…”

Black Hat began while applying smooth strokes over his lover’s cheeks.

“I would love to marry Acylius, but according to him we haven’t quite reached that point just yet…maybe have a few more children, I am trying to decide if we should go natural or wood shop it and well when one are two are true that will be enough for me.”

The demon was so happy and Acylius was practically purring as his wooden body was getting treated to an expensive…you had to wonder was it akin to a sponge bath with how Black Hat tended to him.

“Little one I will have to apply this to you next, after all you are new to our family and I should make sure you are properly treated.”

Amadeus chirped.

You only stay silent, you cannot move, unable to speak now, eyes unblinking, frozen in place, body conforming , changing to be another of the many child like puppets you see and realise are all watching you…were they ever children to begin with…were they once a child…faces become familiar heroes and villains that also once were can be seen there…and for one moment you can see past the illusion that made this place look so beautiful, so perfect…

The reality is , the manor is derelict , dusty, broken and strung with cobwebs, Hat’s dress is tattered and the doctor…god…the marionette is full of holes as insects scuttle across his face and into an empty wooden eye socket, perhaps once he’d been alive and if he was still…

“Time to sleep, baby doll.”

Hat whispers and once again you see the lie, lush rich and beautiful colours, full of such life…perhaps what you saw was a nightmare crafted by Black Hat to torment you…

Or was it?

Pirate Au answer

Acylius folded his arms on the edge of the tank, tail splashing lightly , water lapping gently as he moved.

Black Hat was at his desk going through pages of a book his merman had told him of, however he keeps a watchful eye on you to make sure you are up to no business he might disapprove of.

“So you want to know what three things I want to do before I die huh?”

Acylius smiled resting his cheek on his arm, glancing over at the Pirate king, ear fins flicking, oh he was so clearly in love it was bloody adorable, even if he didn’t say it out loud you could see it for yourself.

“Well one is to be free of White Hat…Amadeus I believe is working on that though so I suppose I am half way there on that one.”

Black turned a page without looking up

“Damn right, no self righteous brother of mine will get to lay a hand on Flug.”

You watch in awe as the merman’s scales turn from the iridescent likeness of a peacocks to hues of pink and yellow with glowing sky blue fins

You can't help but smile, awww he's blushing.

"Let's see, what else, ah yes another thing would be to spend more than one day on land every twenty ninth of February, it can really make keeping time quite difficult and sometimes one can be so busy the opportunity is missed.”

Black Hat listened to Acylius talking, he’d not actually turned his page for five minutes…his merman could transform once every four years?

That meant…oh no…

Pulling open his desk drawer, he recalled someone he’d once seen, a face human in appearance, similar to the merman’s, features hauntingly beautiful only , Flugs were far finer, far more beautiful…but what if…they were one in the same.

Setting the sketch on the desk, remembering how he’d paid heed only to their title and not their name…picking up a pencil that sat in the skull of the last crew man that had dared defy him he added ear fins and those scars, those delicate silver lines on white marble…

He stared at it , it was him, it was Acylius, looking up he found cold blue eyes staring back, he in his nonchalant manner had handed Thaddeus the Ocean and dethroned a king…if it were anyone else he would not care…but he’d done this to Flug, his Flug, was karma finally catching up to him, would the Great and Powerful Black Hat be torn down by the simple act of rejection…

Perhaps, he felt, perhaps he deserved it.

“You do not need to be a land walker to be you Flug, don’t do an Ariel she soon found herself sick for the sea and fell deep into depression when her Father had not even given her the choice to decide when she could go back to her home.”

“Who said I wanted to be human, that would be crazy, they’re all dreadful messes though there are the few exceptional such as Demencia and 505.”

Acylius raised a brow and splashed him a smirk forming on his face

“Oh I see, someone is finally putting the pieces together, stop worrying you egotistical buffoon, if I cared about being king I would have bitched about it already, true I was a caring king who took care of his subjects but they quickly changed sides when an Eldericht came to take the throne.”

He settled on the sand, shoulder to the glass and sighing, you and Hat still being perfectly able to hear him despite his being under water

“How quick they were to abandon me…fuck them, I chose to talk instead of devouring humans to be always at my full power to show I wanted peace between worlds, they wanted destruction…however…”

He looked at you with the saddest eyes and Hat felt a twist in his chest

“There were those like me, deep sea in their breed, most of them were scattered for being devoted to me, Thaddeus and his soldiers hunted them out, slaughtering them to near extinction, oh they certainly got the monster they wanted and I believe perhaps they even regret their fickle loyalty.

You ask him softly

“What is the third thing?”

“Save what little of the deep sea merfolk that still remain.”

[coffee-n-bagels-comic-universe]

Bloody, Beaten, Bruised or Maximum Effort

Quick Tag List: @kuruumiya @spacelizardtrashboys @enigmaticandunstable @nattinngrst @amyofaquitaine

This passage contains potentially: scenes of one (or more) characters swearing, blood, self-harm (unintentional) and scenes of a violent nature. whump content and potential tear-jerking moments.

Summary: In this 'chapter' Kirby has her first fight in New Jersey, and stay in New Jersey for a week, leading to some heavy whump content by a certain someone.

Kirby's POV:

Standard match, one on one with a ten minute time limit. Not much for a debut but it's made into a big deal upon learning the opponents were male and female and not the standard male on male.

Jobber VS Newcomer.

Andrew Strong VS Kirby 'Gluttony' Lucifarian.

The bell rings and the fight starts.

"Strong throws the first punch and misses."

"The Ogress capitalises and hits him with a Feeding Frenzy."

"Strong is backed into the turnbuckle but the Ogress continues her attack."

"The referee is forced to separate them and Strong gets The Ogress in a lock-up."

"A swift knee to the stomach and Strong is staggered."

"The Ogress hits Strong with the Organ Grinder and it looks like it's all over."

"She covers Strong and … one … two … three. She's done it! The Ogress has won!"

Walking back to the locker room, I caught a glimpse of Moolah as she sneers at me and I shrug her off, focusing on getting into some clean clothes and going back to the hotel. I change and walk out of the dressing room with my bag slung over my shoulder.

"Good work out there, Kirby."

I recognise the voice and turn to see André, "Thank you, Drey."

"Moolah, doesn't seem to like you girls."

"We're stealing the hag's time in the sun. She always hates people who do that, even if she brings them in. I'll see you soon Drey."

"See you soon, Kirby."

I start walking back to the hotel when I start hearing a voice behind me, gradually getting closer.

"Hey, Miss, I think you dropped this." A distinctly masculine voice called out.

I turned around to see what the person wanted. To my surprise they had picked up my wallet, "Huh, I didn't feel it fall out of my pocket, thank you."

The man handed it to me before introducing himself, "Paul Orndorff. I saw your match earlier, you're fast for a giant, tough too."

"Thank you, Mr Orndorff."

He looked over his shoulder, "Oh, well, I have to go, Piper's waiting for me."

"Uh well, bye Mr Orndorff."

He left without another word and I unzipped my bag slightly to place my wallet inside, zipping it back up and continuing back to the hotel. I spent the night in a cramped hotel room and went to the gym the next morning.

Setting myself up at a heavy bag and practicing as per usual, no interruptions, no one else near by to talk to.

It was as if my mind just drifted away and I went into this mental fog, no gloves on but punching as if I did, breaking through the skin on my knuckles and only stopping after I noticed smears of blood on the heavy bag.

I wiped it down and bandaged my knuckles before moving on to doing push ups, lunges, squats and other exercises that wouldn't leave me covered in blood.

I was alone for the rest of the day, so I ordered some pizza (simple, pepperoni) and relaxed in the hotel, I pulled out a sketch book from my suitcase and began sketching.

I didn't plan on sketching anything too important so I just went with what was on my mind, which happened to be Roddy, Jeez it's like I'm becoming emotionally attached to this idiot.

When I see him next I'll give him the drawing if I have it with me. I close the sketchbook and go back to the gym for around an hour, before coming back to the hotel and getting some rest.

I woke up the next morning (January 9th) and had a day much the same as the last, got up, did my morning routine, went to the gym, came back, ordered Chinese food and started drawing. It was just a shitty little thing, but once again, the Rowdy one came to mind.

What is it with Scottish men and me, is it because I'm a quarter Scottish, is it maybe because I believe in the folk tales and stories of old, of knights on white steeds, saving fair maidens and living happily ever after, while the monsters they kill or maim lie in a pool of their own blood and wish they could've had a different life?

I have no idea, and the idea of my own mind comparing me with those monsters makes me regret ever reading those stories while growing up, rather I should have stuck my head into scientific textbooks instead of tales of heroism and fantastical ghouls, then I would have never become and wrestler or met the amazing people in my life.

I look back down at the paper and decide to let Roddy have two final full page drawings on the other side of the sketches I've already drawn of him, I add in a small note on the page under a picture of Roddy that Sam had found.

The more I looked at the drawings and that lone picture, the more I realised the small details of Roddy's features, the strong jaw with a cleft chin, his hazel eyes? or are they dark blue? either way they intrigue me. And that musculature, Roddy's not slim but not a big man either, he's at that almost perfect weight to body fat ratio. Good lord, listen to me calling … Piper, Roddy, Him, perfect. I think I want to be sick, just to be rid of those thoughts.

Right as I run into the small bathroom I hear a commotion in the hallway and someone being thrown or more accurately, hurled into the other side of the bathroom wall. I take a deep breath, re-fix my mask into it's usual position and dart out into the corridor, right as the commotion ends.

The obvious victim of the bout was on the floor face down with a long, not to deep cut down the back of their left leg and was breathing heavily when I reached them.

"Woah, hey, hey buddy." I whispered to them in an effort to calm them.

"Kirby?"

FUCK

…

That Glaswegian accent, fuck, He's not even supposed to be in town, or is he?

"Piper?!" I whisper-yelled, more to myself than to him.

"Hey…" his voice trailed off, I heaved him over my shoulder and went back into my hotel room, tossing him down on the only bed and grabbing his left foot, reaching over to my suitcase and getting my personal first aid kit, nothing too fancy, some bandages, plasters, the bare essentials. I cleaned the cut and bandaged it, taping the bandage in place.

I glanced up from Roddy's leg and saw that he had passed out, "Shit." I muttered to myself, louder than I thought and his eyes flickered open.

"Kirby? Is that you?" His voice weak but still understandable.

I stood there, frozen to the spot, unable to move, I wanted to cry as I realised how badly he had been beaten up, his eyebrow cut, coming close to his eye, his hairline a mix of matted brown hair and blood that was starting to coagulate and then I started to notice more things wrong with Roddy's visage.

His shirt (a Piper classic, yellow with a wild cat graphic) was torn in several places, showing bruises and nicks in his flesh. His kilt, however, was fully intact, including his belt and sporran, though all of it was scuffed with little scratches, but no cuts.

"Kirby? Kirby talk to me, please?" He spoke so carefully and it broke me.

I dropped to my knees, weeping, and Roddy shot to his feet, before dropping down on his left side and leaning on the bed, getting only a couple of steps closer to me.

"Kirby, are you okay?"

"Roddy, look at ya," I took a deep breath in, "How can you be so beat up and worried about me? How is that possible?"

"Kirby? look at ya, you're crying over me? I thought you didn't care about me that much?"

I wiped the tears from my face and got Roddy back on the bed.

"Stay there, Piper."

"Oh, feisty."

"Roddy! Stay on the bed and don't move."

"Yes Ma'am."

I trudged into the bathroom and ran a long cold shower, and I heard him move off the bed before swearing and sitting back on the bed.

"I thought I said, DON'T MOVE Roddy!"

"Alright, alright. … feisty"

After the shower, I dressed in the bathroom after drying myself off and exited the room. I instantly noticed a sleeping Piper.

"I guess I'll sleep on the floor then."

"C'mere." He lazily waved his arm to try and beckon me over.

"No, Roddy, get some rest."

"Come here and get in the bed." He rolled over and picked up the duvet, lackadaisically blowing a joking kiss in my direction.

"Jesus, Roddy, fine."

I climbed into the bed and felt Roddy's arms curl around my waist and his face between my shoulder blades.

"Rod, get off."

"Wha'?"

"Get off of me."

"Why?"

"Aren't you married, get off."

"if I was married, there would be a ring on my finger," He waved his left hand in front of my face, "No ring, no wife."

"Oh. Still, get off."

"Now, would that be 'get off' in the, leave me alone, way or the 'get off' in the, I love you take me now, way." The latter a clear joke but it annoyed me even more.

"Leave me alone, Roddy."

He slid his arms off and rolled to face the other way.

"Small bed, Kirby."

"I wasn't expecting company, Piper."

"Your tattoos are nice."

"Sleep, Piper."

"I'm just saying."

"Roddy, you are injured, sleep."

"I looked through your sketchbook earlier, y'know, when you were in the shower, just flicked through it, and wow, you're a great artist."

"For the love of God, Roddy! would you please just get some sleep."

"Alright!, alright. No need to yell."

"One more word and I'm chucking you out the nearest window."

We both fell silent and managed to get some sleep, it wasn't until sunrise that either one of us awoke. As I stirred from my slumber I was face to face with the Scottish idiot. I yelped and, without realising his legs were intertwined with mine, fell off the bed with him falling on top of me, waking Roddy up in the process.

"Oh, well, morning sweetheart, did I wake ya."

"Rod, get ya damn 'Loch Ness Monster' away from me."

Rod's cheeks turned pink and he quickly looked down between our bodies before sheepishly standing up and hurrying to the bathroom, I took the chance to change into a graphic tee and some black jeans, not noticing that Piper had left the bathroom door wide open, until I heard his voice.

"Woah, so uh, all of you is bigger than normal?"

I yelped and threw one of my shirts at his face, before realising that I had thrown the shirt I was planning on wearing at him, "Wait, Roddy, I need that shirt."

He laughed before handing me back my shirt, "Uh, thank you … for …saving me last night."

"Were you even supposed to be in town?"

"Well no, but I …" He trailed off

"I can't hear you, Roddy?"

"It's nothing, really."

I continued on with my normal routine, mindful that Roddy was in the same room as me and injured. It wasn't until the phone rang that I had a problem, before I could reach the phone Roddy had already answered it.

"Who is this?"

I could hear a loud, angry voice on the phone and Piper got defensive.

"You think you're a hard man do ya?!"

Damien. That's got to be Damien, which means I am in some real trouble now. Thanks Piper, ya dafty.

"I'll get her to call ya back once you've calmed down."

He slammed the phone back into it's place and breathed out a hefty sigh.

"Kirby, is Damien your boyfriend?" He seemed instantaneously calm

I almost choked on air for a moment, "No! He's my manager, and he's like double my age. He's Vic," I paused for a moment, "He's my dad, as well as the other members of the D.O.D. We're not all his biological daughters though, just Vickie."

"So, he adopted you?"

"I guess you could say that." I avoided looking him in the eyes.

"Tell me the truth. Now!"

"Promise you won't tell anyone first."

"I won't tell a soul, now, why are you so, uptight, about who he is to you."

"First things first, my name isn't Kirby Lucifarian, it's actually Kirby Trevor."

"Oh, so Damien's not you're adoptive father, either?"

"No, my real parents are Heaven and Eric Trevor. Damien's Vickie's dad and only Vickie's dad."

"Are either one of your parents giants? or is it just you?"

"Just me, the closest person to me in height, family-wise was my uncle Rory. He's the reason I have the tattoo on my wrist."

I walked up to Piper and showed him the 'R' tattooed on my right wrist.

"So, he passed away?"

"Yeah. He died, eleven, no no, twelve years ago now, when I was Seventeen, My uncle Vaughn died a couple months later, he's why I have the lighter on my left arm, my uncle Vaughn was best known for being, in the nicest terms, a layabout smoker, and the smoke took him in the end."

"So, you have a lighter to remember a man who died by smoking?"

"Dark, I know, but uncle Vaughn would've laughed at it. Erik laughed at it when I explained it to him."

"Eric, your dad?"

"No, no, Erik, with a 'K', my old tag partner before I joined the D.O.D. I think you would've liked him."

"Really, now why would I like a guy I know nothing about?"

"Well, Erik's Scottish, He's from Edinburgh. He's tall-ish, then again I am a giant, so who am I to say what's tall, he's six-foot-five. He played the bagpipes when he was younger, he quit playing when he was twenty-three, same year we lost the tag titles."

"Rough," He interrupted "Continue, please."

"Uh, well. Erik's strong, very strong, he would compete in the Highland games and well, … I guess back then I thought I'd never leave him, until Damien gave me an offer I couldn't refuse and I left him. I had a whole life with him planned inside my head and I left it all behind, for what, cramped hotel rooms and breakfasts with André."

"You had breakfast with André the giant and you didn't tell me … You, You had a good Scottish man, and you left him, for," He gestured to the room, "all this?"

"Well I jus-"

"No," He held my jaw and looked me straight in the eyes, "You had a life, a man who obviously a close relationship with you, and you gave it up for breakfasts with André and shitty hotel rooms."

"I know I'm stupid."

"But you're not stupid, you saved me, I could have died in that hallway and you brought me in here, you stopped that bastard from killing me. I could kiss you."

"Please don't."

Sorry for cliff-hanger ending, but … END OF BLOODY, BEATEN, BRUISED or MAXIMUM EFFORT.

[kolwyntjie]

I’m trying to learn to draw But I seem to be getting no where, Can I ask you how do you learn anatomy and make it look like how it’s supposed to look proportion wise at least? I’ve been practicing everyday for at least a few months but I still can’t make my drawings look good anatomy wise or like another’s drawing. And I can’t seem to find good anatomy videos or make my drawings look like they do in anatomy do you have tips?

LONG POST AHEAD!

Hi! Ohhh anatomy is a Pain™, so I totally get you. Please do not be discouraged, because you feel like you aren’t making progress. The fact that you can already tell that there are errors in your drawings, says that you ARE making progress.

I’ve found that when we learn new skills, our eye & brain often develops before our bodies do, so it takes a bit of time for our hands to catch up and match what we know is right.

I’ve also never been fond of video tutorials, because they move way to fast for me, and I’m a “undo until I get it right” kind of person, which isn’t also great. Sometimes it’s better to just go with the flow.

The first thing that I recommend is to draw from a reference - I think you may already be doing this, and that’s great. I still draw from references, and if I can’t find anything I like, I will just quite simply take pictures of myself or, when I was living with my family or close to friends, ask them to pose for me. Eventually, you can use a reference as a base, and then get creative with it, or forgo the reference entirely, but definitely keep one to develop your skills.

To practice references, Quickposes.com is really good. It gives you a time limit (I think you can set it) and then gives you a figure to sketch out. This site doesn’t approach figure sketching the way I do, and that’s absolutely fine - everyone has their own method.

I have another link that has a few photo references (I think - last time I checked) but all of the models are nude. I prefer drawing figures that way, so I can add my own clothes, but you may not, or you may also be a minor. (I was drawing nude figures when I was a minor, but that was entirely my choice, and you are free to make your own.)

I spent a lot of time studying a few human figures, and making parameters for myself:

Hands tend to be the same size as a person’s face.

If the arm is hanging straight down, finger tips usualy really mid-thigh

The forearm and upper are are roughly the same length, excluding the ball-joint of the shoulder.

Bodies are different, of course, and these can be adapted to fit the kind of body you want to draw - but it may be useful to set a few rules (but never one’s you can’t cross - I believe art is fluid, and sometimes we need to break the rules) for yourself before you set out to draw. That way, you can notice when you’re making a mistake. I have to admit that I often don’t get these right either - I have an unfortunate habbit of making my hands too big/too small when I draw them.

I also start with very simple lines, and then build up the figure as I go. I use simple, block shapes to block them in, and then work from there - I don’t worry too much about the muscles, and add those later as required.

I’ve added some of my steps to Helion here. Having gone back now to quickly map these out, I can already spot places I messed up and broke my rules - but that’s good to show you, that I still make mistakes! I make so many, let me tell you.

I also started his thighs too low, but I fixed that in my final sketch.

I start with lines, and basic ball joints. I wanted Helion to be a big guy, so I knew I had to give him broad shoulders and appropriate hips (these can sometimes be in-line, though it changes according to body shape) It doesn’t look like much when you start, because you’re just mapping out the shape. I join the shape with some cylinder-type shapes. Sometimes I spend a lot of time on this, other times I don’t. With Helion I did it pretty roughly. 

From there, I start filling him up. Adding body and muscle. The guys I’m drawing have A Lot Of Chest, so I put a lot of focus on the muscles on that area. Again, this is just looking at bodyshapes, to figure out how the muscles stack and roll. When I started this, I’m always amazed that it looks like these men have rib-packs? It’s very intense.

I recommend drawing fluid shapes. Random positions. Our bodies move in interesting and mysterious ways, and I’ve found that looking at it as an art-form instead of a science has helped me loads.

When I was starting anatomy, I used a few books as well. “Complete Guide to Life Drawing” by Gottfried Bammes. I love the different ages, proportions and body types in the book. “Figure Drawing: Design and Invention” by Michael Hampton is another one I looked at a lot. It depends on what works for you, and what you like to experiment with. I like to see body movement.

Ultimately though…the thing that helped me most was practice. It sucks, I know - but there was no quick way for me to learn how to draw. I’ve been drawing since I was really young, and drawing somewhat “professionally” or “seriously” for going on 8/9 years now.

I have no idea if ANY lf this helped you, mostly because I feel like I’m still winging it whenever I draw - but I hope something helps a little bit! Let me know how it goes! 💕

[pandorica0011]

Heart Over Head

Word Count: 2, 565

Warnings: Cursing, intimate times. You know the kind. 

This is my gift for @chibi-sketches for @spring-has-come 's Rusame Secret Santa Event. This is so incredibly late and I apologize greatly. I hope you enjoy it anyway and that you have a great day! I went with your Omegaverse idea and did my best to deliver! 

Alfred fidgeted with the sleeves of his suit for the fourth time today, picking at invisible lint pills. Work was slow and there wasn’t much to keep himself entertained with. Well, there was one thing he could do..

A man with his long blonde hair in a bun strode out of the boss’ office behind him. He wore a sleek gray suit and a grin so wide he had to bite his lips back. He sauntered up to Alfred’s desk and placed a well-manicured hand on the unfinished paper in front of Alfred. 

“The boss would like to see you, mon chou. You didn’t misbehave, did you?” he said with a wink. 

Alfred chuckled, but didn't know how to react to that. Ivan wanted to see him and that’s all he needed to hear. 

 Alfred almost tripped against his chair as he scrambled over to the door. 

He knocked softly, but only out of courtesy. He knew that Ivan wouldn't mind him walking in just like that. 

"Come in." 

He creaked the door open. 

Ivan sat behind his large oak desk, hands splayed out in front of him and he wore a wide grin like Francis', but he didn't hide it.

“How is my little sunflower doing today?” Ivan cooed. He stood up and met Alfred at the front of his desk and took him into his arms, giving him a tender kiss on his head. 

“Exhausted,” was his only reply as he returned the hug. 

'Well, maybe I can help you with that." Ivan dipped Alfred's head back gently and pressed his lips against the side of Alfred's neck.

There was a knock at the door, making Alfred jump in Ivan's arms. 

Ivan chuckled a bit and cleared his throat, "Come in," he said. He straightened up, holding the sides of Alfred's suit as the door creaked open and a co-worker, a man with a head of messy blond hair and an even messier pile of papers in his arms. 

"Oh, pardon me," Arthur said, his face tinted pink. He backed up a few steps and was almost out the door before he remembered what he had come in here for. "These are for you." 

He handed Ivan a stack of papers. The poor man practically rose a few inches in the air once the weight of the pile was taken off. He had been nose deep in those papers all week. 

"Good work, Kirkland." 

"Thank you, sir." He rushed back out the door as quickly as he had arrived without a word more to speak. He was such an odd, distant person. 

Ivan set the stack of papers down and wrapped his arms back around Alfred, placing a quick peck against his forehead. "We can continue this later, after the company dinner, but I want to hold you for now." 

Alfred had no problem with that at all. Man, he loved cuddling with Ivan.

..

As promised, Ivan brought Alfred back to his place to finish what they started and he wasted no time. 

Ivan pushed him onto the bed, running his hands lightly over his sides. He bit down on his neck greedily, making Alfred groan. 

Fuck, Ivan always knew how to make him lose control. 

Alfred pulled the hem of Ivan's shirt up, and slid his hands up into the warmth of his soft chest. Ivan hated his chest, but Alfred loved every inch of it. 

Their clothes fell away in a scattered mess around the bed. 

They melted into one another in a blur kisses bite marks, rubbing and soft caresses. 

Alfred couldn't help but cry out as Ivan pushed against him, into him. He let his eyes fall shut and let each wave of pleasure crash over him. 

"Fuck, baby." 

Every word, every noise spurred Ivan on further and it wasn't long until they were both desperately clawing and holding on to one another. 

Alfred could feel himself reaching his limit, his head feeling light, his body tightening and relaxing. 

Ivan followed soon after, resting his head against Alfred’s neck. 

Alfred curled happily against Ivan's warmth, enveloped in the sweet, musky scent that was his alpha, his partner. Well, unofficial partner. They'd thought it best to keep from marking one another, to keep things private. 

Ivan kissed his forehead and ran a gentle hand down his back. "My sunflower, there is one thing I have been meaning to talk to you about." 

"What's that, babe?" 

"It's about us. I was thinking, maybe we could finally tell our co-workers about us at tonight's dinner." 

Alfred’s blood ran cold. "No, Ivan. We can't." 

"No? But Alfred, it would be the perfect opportunity to open people up to the idea of us." 

"No, we can’t. Ivan no." 

"Alfred, listen-" 

"But you haven’t been listening to me, you know how I feel about that!" 

"It's no big deal, things like this have been happening for years now-" 

"And people still get ostracized for it! Especially here!  If you do this, I could lose my job, my family would disown me!" Alfred was angry now. This wasn't right. Ivan should have consulted him about this earlier. There was so much at stake. 

"They wouldn't do that-" Ivan tried. 

"How would you know?! You have nothing to lose here! You own the company, you can pay everyone off  if you wanted!" Alfred was getting frustrated now. How did Ivan not see how this was a problem?

"Alfred that’s not fair-" 

"No, Ivan! None of this is fair!" 

Alfred pushed Ivan off himself and grabbed his clothes off the floor. He pulled them on in a hurry, paying no mind to the fact that his shirt was inside out and threw his sweater over his shoulder. 

Ivan sat up in bed, with a sigh. “Alfred, please don’t do this.” 

“Do what?” 

“Don’t leave, let’s talk about this,” Ivan reached his hand out, but Alfred turned away. “Please.” 

“Not now, Ivan.” 

Alfred walked out, slamming the door harder than he had intended to. He had to stifle a sob, barely managing not to trip over the table against the hallway wall through the tears stinging his eyes. 

For a few days, he avoided his phone like the plague. He wanted to reach out to Ivan, to talk about what was bothering him, but he had betrayed his trust. Why would he think he’d be okay with telling everyone about them when he knew Alfred wasn’t ready. 

It wasn’t until he got to work one day that Francis came to join him at his desk. "You seem so down, mon cher. Is there something you need to talk about?" 

Alfred shook his head. "I'm lost." Was his only response. 

Francis nodded, but didn't press the issue. 

When it came time for their lunch break, Francis didn’t try striking up a conversation. Instead, he put a reassuring hand on his back and took one of Alfred’s hands in the other, encouraging him to stand. 

"Come, you can join me and Arthur for lunch. We can talk then if you’d like." 

Alfred smiled a bit at that. “I’d really like that.” 

“Great, we’ll take my car.” 

.

The car ride was a bit awkward, neither him or Arthur said much, but Francis happily chattered away about anything and everything he could. 

They went to a nice bakery not too far from their workplace. It had a simple, but comforting atmosphere that eased Alfred. 

"So Alfred, tell us, what is bothering you so much?" Francis supplied. It was better just to jump into it, Alfred supposed. Francis was never one to beat around the bush.

So, for a good twenty minutes, he went on to explain his relationship with Ivan. It was the first time he had told anyone about it, but even though Francis was intrigued, he wasn't surprised. And damn, did it feel good to get everything off his chest.

He explained how Ivan wasn't seeing his point of view, and wasn't being fair to him. How he was hurt by the one person he thought would never hurt him.

“Oh, mon petit,” Francis tutted. “It takes time to build a tolerance to the world. There is no sense in being so hard on yourself now.” 

“Yeah, but I just wish he had given me more time, or even waited until he knew I was ready to even think about telling anyone." 

"We all make mistakes, but he meant well. It would do you both some good if you heard him out. Just a bit." 

Francis took Arthur’s hand and placed a light kiss to it before holding against his own knee. Arthur smiled and ran his thumb across Francis’ knee before returning to his tea. 

It didn’t strike Alfred until that moment, that Francis and Arthur were awfully close for two co-workers. That meant..they were a couple. A couple of alphas. 

Alfred didn’t get it. They were so happy, so..carefree. Weren’t they worried someone would come along to cause them trouble?

“How do you guys do it?” He couldn’t even explain to himself what “it” was. Everything was just so complicated. 

“It’s completely normal to be afraid in situations like this. Some people even go as far as changing their scents to avoid suspicion.” Arthur supplied. He said it in such a tone that made it seem like he had done the same. “Although, there is no need for it. People will say what they say, and as long as they don’t interfere, they shouldn’t matter.” 

Francis gave a firm nod in agreement. "The point is, cher, don't think too much about it. This is a situation in which your heart must rule over your head." 

Alfred wanted to believe it. He wanted to believe that the world didn't matter and that only he and Ivan mattered. The problem was, he couldn't. Not when Ivan almost went behind his back and risked costing him his job, his family, his entire life. Not when the world was so close-minded. 

He just couldn’t do it. 

Could he?

..

Later that night, just as Alfred was ready to pass out, his phone rang. 

Through his bleary vision, a jolt struck his heart when he read the collar ID. 

It was Ivan. Against his better judgment, he answered. 

Ivan’s voice filled his head and he could have cried. He really missed him. But, why did he? Why miss him after he hurt him so bad?

"Alfred, why don't you come to dinner with me? Please, give me another chance." 

He wanted to say no, he wanted to hurt Ivan the way Ivan had hurt him. But he couldn’t. He missed him so much. Then he remembered what Francis told him. Naturally, he agreed. 

.

Ivan was the first to speak after an awkwardly silent car ride. 

“I’m really sorry, my sunflower. I should have taken your feelings into consideration before thinking of telling anyone about us. I know how hard it is for you.” 

Ivan brought him to the same restaurant they had gone to on their first date. A modest, but beautiful looking place. 

Most of the dinner was spent with Ivan trying to fix what he had done, and Alfred doing his best to see his point of view and Alfred feeling bad for not hearing Ivan out sooner, but still standing by his opinion that they should have talked about it first. 

Alfred couldn’t help but shed a few tears at Ivan’s sincerity. He had overrated a bit, but it was nice to hear Ivan out and be heard in return.

After dinner, Ivan brought Alfred to a busy square, where they bought some drinks and watched as people wandered through the spacious area. 

“This is nice.” Alfred said. Everything fell back into place as if nothing had ever happened. He missed this. 

Ivan nodded, “Yes, it’s the perfect place to spend the rest of the day.”

He looked around for a few seconds before taking Alfred’s hand and leading him to a less crowded spot next to an intricate-looking, marble fountain. 

“Wow, this fountain is beautiful.” Alfred ran a hand over the engravings on the surface. “What do you think, Ivan?” He turned to him, but was caught off guard. 

Ivan gave Alfred a small smile and lowered himself onto one knee, making Alfred gasp. 

Was he doing what Alfred thought he was doing? No. Could he be? But why? 

Ivan pulled out a small velvet box, opening it to reveal a simple, but beautiful silver band. "Alfred Fitzgerald Jones, would you do me the honor of making me the happiest alpha in the world and be mine?" 

Alfred nodded his head, taking a deep, shaky breath. "Yes. Oh my God, yes." 

Ivan stood up and took Alfred's hand, slipping the ring onto his ring finger. He took Alfred’s hand and held it up to his lips. He spoke softly against his palm, just loud enough for Alfred to hear above the busy plaza. 

“I love you, my sunflower. Nothing will ever change that.” 

Alfred had to keep the tears from spilling down his cheeks. This was the first time he and Ivan had ever been this intimate in a public space. He looked out at the sea of people on either side of him, not a single one gawking at them save for the few stares of people that happened to look in their direction. Even then, they didn’t look like they really cared, and if they did, they whooped and hollered, clapping their hands together. 

His heart thundered in his chest, his head felt light. This was really happening. 

Ivan was right. There is nothing to be afraid of. There’s no reason they couldn’t be happy like this forever. 

.

Alfred couldn't even remember how they made it back to Ivan's house, but that didn't matter when Ivan was on him, kissing him the way he was. 

They disappeared under the sheets in a flurry of unbuttoned shirts and pants. Alfred took the reins this time, sitting in Ivan’s lap, and grinding their hips together. 

He loved watching the look of pleasure washing over Ivan’s face, his cheeks flushing and head thrown back, exposing his neck.  

He readily jumped at the opportunity to tease him and suck on the sensitive skin, making Ivan tense up and pull him closer. 

Alfred was too impatient to wait to feel Ivan inside of him. He guided Ivan in, and watched as Ivan threw his head back once more and cursed. “Fuck, you feel so good.” 

Alfred smiled at that, and continued to ride Ivan, grinding against him and laying his head against his neck. “God, baby. I’ve missed this. I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too, my sunflower,” he said in between thrusts. “So much.” 

Alfred could feel his head growing lighter, and his body tensing up.

It didn’t take long for that last wave of pleasure to envelope him. He collapsed onto Ivan, and Ivan came soon after with a grunt and one last thrust upward. 

God, he felt amazing. 

As they held each other under the sheets, both warm and content, Alfred couldn't help but smile at the odd feeling of soreness on the side of his base of his neck. He glanced at Ivan's matching one. 

They'd finally done it. 

They were partners. For real this time. 

Nothing could have made Alfred happier. No matter what anyone would say. 

[alienog]

Discord SS Gift!

So I’ve taken part in a secret santa event on Discord and heres the gift for my recipient! I’ve never written a self insert/in second person before so this was also a challenging and exciting exercise! 

Doppio/Diavolo/Reader, Hanahaki..AU I suppose.

It’s a hard thing to remember now, what his face looked like. How his eyes shine or even how his voice sounds, bent over you as you struggle to breathe. The way you cling to life makes his expression fall from that of a deeply sickening smile to a slow disappointed boredom. You’re taking too long, and he makes sure you know it with a soft click of his tongue counting down the seconds. He’s not the same Doppio you remember, sweet as lemon pie and to your knowledge up until now, wouldn't hurt a fly. His brother however, he was the one you had been wary about. Your wrongness sat like rancid betrayal in the pit of your stomach. 

At first you didn't believe it when you started coughing up flower petals. The idea of such a thing was ludicrous and only something you'd ever heard of in passing online. It wasn't real and so you didn't pay any mind to its concept beyond your macabre imagination. 

There were Tulips that summer. Much to your delight, the garden park had cultivated yet another section in their greenhouse as they seemed to do every year and you were excited to be able to sit amongst the young flowers and sketch out a budding idea. It struck you as a little off the way that they suddenly grew new flowers seemingly overnight, but the wary unease of uncertainty was overshadowed by the whelm of joy that followed at having an excuse to go back there.

You were excited because the owner of the garden, the groundskeeper, the cultivator, was a very fine looking man who looked a lot younger than he actually was. When you first lay eyes on him, with his pink hair tied back in an intricate braid, a mass of bangs pushed to the side of his face, and an apron tied tightly around his waist, you allowed a passive thought on his looks but nothing more. 

Not until you started to frequent the place to take in each new flower that started to appear. He approached you first, his smile warm and inviting. He asked, with his hands wringing a rag between them, what you were working on. 

“Just an idea I saw online,” You answered politely, though you preferred to be alone and you tried to make that clear by saying nothing else. 

“Could I see it?” 

Despite your inclination to decline, you instead smiled and nodded. It’s only the nice thing to do, being in his space anyways. So you let the sketchbook in your hands lower enough so he can see what's been etched into your mind and scratched to the page with careful practice. The picture itself is a simple bust surrounded by elegant flowers, all of which inspired from the garden, their stems hooked through one another and bloomed into petals flushed a deep red. 

He seemed to take well to it with a hint of a smile curving the edges of his mouth. 

“It's beautiful,” He says, “In a dark kind of way.”

You offer a slight smile in return and he can feel the shift in mood. He gets shy just then and awkwardly nods again.

“Sorry..I didn't mean to disturb you.” 

You reassured him, falsely, that it's no trouble because in truth his slight interruption wasn't that big of a grievance. He was polite enough to back off when you didn't seem interested in being disturbed. Maybe some other time when you’re not engulfed in your work, but for now he left you be and kept his distance in the days to come. 

The second time he approaches you was on the first day you no longer have your sketchbook. Having finished with the piece you were working on you decided it would be nice to just enjoy the flowers instead of having your nose to the grindstone. He greeted you politely upon your arrival and when he noticed you were wandering by yourself that's when he struck up a conversation. Light, nothing that said you had to stay committed to it if you desired to leave or even be by yourself and you're thankful for that but you don't mind this time. In fact, he seemed quite nice. 

He introduced himself as Doppio and you gave him your name in return. He smiled, wide this time, enough to crinkle the corners of his eyes and told you that name wasn’t what he expected, which caused an eyebrow of yours to raise. 

“Yea?” You say.

“Oh, I just..well..” 

Then the smile fell, and he got a bit nervous again, his hands wringing a towel in a faint attempt at “cleaning” them of imaginary dirt. 

“I promise I’m not trying to be creepy, you just come in here a lot and I just wondered what your name was because I didn't know what to call you so..I just started making some up.”

You laughed at that, just enough to make a sound, and his whole demeanor visibly relaxed. He went on to explain that it was just passive curiosity. Tending to flowers all day every day got a little monotonous sometimes and he didn't have much to think about on the average day. Your silent company had kept his spirits up the past couple of weeks. 

This first encounter, you don't talk about much. He’s very clearly nervous about something and on one hand you hope he doesn't see you as too intimidating but on the other you can already sense the feeling he’s exuding and you’re ready to just tell him you're not interested, simply because he looks rather young for you. 

When you find out he’s actually thirty three you have a hard time processing that. Of course, you didn't think he’s lying. It was an oddly specific age for him to just be making it up, and what would he stand to gain by lying? Your affections you suppose. It’s no secret to you he’s trying to get closer to you. He’s not exactly subtle in his body language and you’ve done this song and dance long enough to tell when a guy is trying maybe a bit too hard. Before, you brushed it off to a young boy's crush, but now that you know how old he really is, you don't mind so much. You even allow yourself to be flattered and maybe entertain a passing interest.

In the weeks following you go to the garden just as much as you would if you had a project you were working on. Only now it was just to see the plants and as time passes you admitted you do like seeing the gardener around more often than not. 

The first time you actually instigated the conversation he looked taken by surprise, his light freckled face lit up with a familiar smile and you fall into conversation more like old friends than awkward acquaintances. It’s not until later he admitted he was waiting for you to reciprocate. He doesn't say it, but you knew he couldn't quite loosen up without knowing for certain he wasn't bothering you.

You’re the one to ask for a first “date”. It was more just going out to drinks to talk more, but no matter what way you phrased it in your head it sounded like you were asking him on a date, and in the back of your mind you knew you didn't actually mind if he thinks of it like that. To see his eyes light up just from you asking is enough to make you smile. 

The night went by quicker than you expected, better too. You talked for hours and you found he’s actually quite fascinated with horror movies and he complimented you on your art. At least, what you’ve shown him of it which up until now has been three things. Still, he says he loves the darker tones and the themes you explore. He knew his stuff much to your surprise. 

After that night you had two more like it, though in varying locations. A walk by the pier and a night at an actual restaurant which ended with him walking you home because you may have ordered one too many drinks. You weren't paying attention, just having a good time with him and he left you at your door with a peck on the cheek, but you knew you wanted more than that. If he was ready, you were and in your more inebriated state you lean in for a quick kiss. You don't linger too much, don't make it strange, and he accepts it as pink dusts his cheeks. You thought things were going well.

He said a goodbye to you before heading off and you felt a flutter in your chest. With a warmth in your cheeks you unlocked the door and head inside for the night. It's not until later, when you’ve almost settled in that you don't remember taking your keys out of the door. You huffed at yourself and got up. Sure enough there they are dangling from the doorknob and out of the corner of your eye you noticed there was something on the ground by your door. A square of thick tanned brown leather. A wallet. You bent down to pick it up and flipped it open to confirm your suspicions. With slight apprehension of trying to find Doppio so late you reassured yourself that it's better you give it back than wait and not have enough time tomorrow. He was probably worried sick wondering where he must have left it. 

The lights, installed amongst the flowers, were on inside the greenhouse when you made it to Doppio's doorstep. You were about to knock on the door when you noticed everything was off except for one glaring porch light under which you stand. For a moment you stood there, stuck between wondering whether he was asleep or out in the garden even this late at night. The lights were probably on at all times right? That made the most sense. He must have been sleeping. 

But, even when you turned your back on the house and started to head down the steps you think how it wouldn't hurt just to check. You’d rather not force him to have to go through a whole day without his ids and credit cards. 

The overgrown grass bent beneath your feet as you moved towards the greenhouse. You were wary about making too much noise despite the fact you had barely anything on you besides the clothes on your back, which made barely any noise at all. You can't help this creeping sensation that you weren't  supposed to be there. It’ll just be a peek inside, just in case, you told yourself. 

Through the glass, smudged from use, you didn't immediately see anything, just the flowers, their heads bowed towards the paths that ran through the building. With a sigh, you released the tension you held in your back and realized you had nothing to be worried about. There was nothing but the expected plants. 

You were about to go again, you even turned away to walk back to the street, when you suddenly heard a crash, much like pottery shattering, and a string of heavy deep curses. It didn't sound like Doppio at all. Not that he wouldn't swear, you’re sure he probably did, like most people, even if you couldn't imagine it. Now you’re on alert. Was there someone trying to break into the greenhouse? You crouched down out of instinct and crept back to the glass. There was nothing going through your head that was rational. You know there's really nothing you can do on your own. You should really just call the police, but you didn't want to cause a scene. What if it’s not what you think?

You weren't really in the right mind to be making these kinds of decisions, but that didn't stop you from going up to the door of the greenhouse and testing to see if it's locked and you were somewhat surprised when it is. The door, as it’s pulled, squeaked from the rust setting into the hinges. You hear someone shuffle and freeze in place. You had no idea what you were doing but you were determined nonetheless and even though it's your fear that grounded you you’d like to think you would stand your ground no matter what. 

“Hello?” The voice, definitely not Doppios, it’s much too deep, sounded  unconcerned by your presence. For a moment you were unsure whether to answer or to back away and pretend you’re not there at all but before you can make a decision you’re already speaking. 

“Hello?” You said back, “Hi, can I help you?” 

You asked as if you own this place, but you’re running under the assumption this person is not meant to be here. From around the corner stepped, backwards, a man with long pink hair draped over his shoulders and piercing green eyes. In his hands he held a few pieces of the broken pot. 

“Shouldn't I be asking you that?’

“I don't know, should you?”

It sounded like he laughed when he exhaled through his nose and he smiled, though the way he does has you unnerved. 

“Okay, let's start over then. My name is Diavolo, I tend the grounds here, you?’ 

You hesitate but do give him your name in the end. Having said he tends the grounds, and you having no evidence to disbelieve him, you feel an embarrassed warmth spread across your cheeks. You swallow that feeling though and focus on why you really came here. 

“You know Doppio then?”

“Very well.” He says.

"You live with him?"

"You could say that." 

“Then can you give this to him?” 

You pulled the wallet out of your pocket and took a step closer, letting the door close behind you with its shrill squeals but you didn't get any closer. You don't know what it is but you couldn't help but feel scrutinized under this man's gaze. He was looking at you with a familiarity, as though you should know who he is, but you know for a fact you’ve never met him before in your life. His grin made you unsure about getting any closer, though whether that's because of the vibes he's giving off or because you were both alone out in a garden this late at night, and so you held out the wallet to at least keep him at arm's length. 

“I’ll make sure he gets it, don't worry.” He said and you knew, in the back of your mind, that he must have meant it sincerely, but you couldn't help but feel put off by his dangerously low tone. 

It’s later, when you asked Doppio about it, you learn that they’re brothers, but you rarely, if ever to your knowledge, saw them together. 

Three full weeks after the run-in with Diavolo you started to get more serious about how you feel for Doppio. He was sweet and he respected your boundaries when you set them. Nothing was official at the moment, but you wondered if maybe it could be? It was no more than a passing thought one morning while you’re out walking and the next day you start to feel under the weather. You had a slight shortness of breath and there was an ache in your chest, dull enough to continue life as normal but always just on the back of your mind. At first, you thought it was just congestion. Perhaps you had a cold coming on soon. If that was the case then you hoped it hurried itself up and got itself over with sooner rather than later. To your displeasure, it didn't. In fact, the ache worsened along with the shortness of breath to the point you really started to wonder what's going on. You tried to google it, to no avail.

On the day you thought to go to the doctor to get looked at, you woke up with a much duller pain, but it was still just as hard to breathe. You moved into your bathroom, the tile cold against your bare feet, and looked in the mirror. Nothing seemed outwardly wrong with you, but that doesn't mean anything. 

You opened the cupboard to take the tiny plastic cup off the Nyquil and got some water from the sink. Anything to help ease the sudden swell in your throat. You downed that little cup and though it wasn't not easy, you swallow. The effect wasn't instant, but you were surprised when the swelling eased up. Now it was no more than a tickle in the back of your throat and you coughed to try and see if you could dislodge the rest of this bizarre blockage. Through bouts of coughing, hacking, you felt something shift in the back of your throat and you spat into the sink. It felt odd to say the least. Almost solid as it came out of your mouth and you looked down into the sink. 

Drops of blood caught your attention first, then as you looked closer you noticed these small purple petals, crumpled up and scattered in the sink. You picked one up between your thumb and forefinger. It’s supple texture is slicked with blood but it is undeniably a flower petal. 

Your heart was in your throat suddenly. You werent sure what to make of this. The hanahaki disease, that's what it was called right? That was supposed to be fake. Just an interesting idea to think about. Not something real? The petals in the sink beg to differ. You’re frozen, one hand still clenched on the side of the sink, screaming internally to do something about this. But what? What do you do to treat a fictional ailment? Who do you call? When you looked online again, in a little less of a frantic panic, you come up with nothing. All accounts of the disease had been disproven and the general speculation is that it was entirely the figment of one's imagination. 

Well, if it is, you begged your imagination to stop, because it was making it hard to breathe and you were worried what might happen if it’s allowed to continue. If it was affecting your real life it had to be real. The only “cure” they say is for the person you were pining after to love you back and you internally scoffed at that. That didn't apply here. There wasn't anyone you’re pining after, no. So you’ve been on a few dates with Doppio, and you liked him a lot, but it's not unrequited love..is it? 

Your heart sunk from your throat all the way to your stomach and your eyes narrowed. You were unsure now. Was he just lying all this time? Or is it something else? You couldn't even believe you’re entertaining the idea that this could be real. 

The first thing you thought to do is call Doppio. Come clean. Maybe you guys could talk about this and it would all just blow over like a bad dream. You sure hoped so but you don't hold out too much. He was not picking up and you felt the tickle in the back of your throat again of the encroaching illness. 

Everything's hazy but you remember the panic starts to set in backed by a rational anger and frustration at your current predicament. You remember getting into your car after one too many missed calls and just driving over there. You know where he is of course. You’re not sure he ever leaves the garden unless he’s with you. 

You remember your harsh and hurried footsteps up to the door to the greenhouse. The place wasn't open yet, it was far too early, but you know that the door isn’t locked. There's nothing to steal. With a harsher force than necessary you fling open the doors, your panic well contained on your face. You don't let anything show. Only your more labored breathing gives away the facade. 

“Doppio?” You call out over the sound of the sprinklers, but there's no answer and you scour the place to no avail. Your only other option is his house. 

All it takes is one knock for him to answer, his smile still bright as though he knows nothing and for a moment you want to believe it. You want to buy into his sweetness again. But the nagging growth in your throat serves as a constant reminder why you’re here. 

“Can I come in?” You ask, though your voice is chewed up and raspy. You’re clearly struggling and his face falters while he steps aside. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, “Do you need water?” 

You start to say yes but you cough and have to spit another petal onto the floor. Doppio, who almost turned towards the kitchen, looks at you.

“Oh.” He simply states, “Faster than I expected. A bit easier too... It’s rare, very rare, unless you know what you're doing. Did you know that each person has their own type of flower?” 

As he’s speaking you feel something in your chest tighten and it grips your throat. You feel the need to cough the blockage away again, but no matter how much you try nothing changes. Leaning against the wall with one arm you’re gasping and Doppio raises your chin for you to look into his eyes. He’s certainly not the Doppio you remember. His eyes have changed color, they hold much more malice than they ever did or you ever imagined they could. They remind you of his brother. 

“I wonder what's yours." He says and bends down to pick up the petals you've coughed onto the floor. He holds them up as if inspecting them in the light. "

You'll make a wonderful addition. We haven't had irises yet.” He says with a glance back to you. 

It's then your worst fear becomes realized and everything runs through your head at once. Fear, regret, anger, so much anger at letting yourself get into this mess as your body fails itself. You’re going to suffocate, there's no doubt in your mind. You fall to your knees, practically retching up petals. At the same time you appear among the list of the missing, a beautiful new section of irises has opened up in the garden much to another person's delight. 

[kxhlzn]

[i.] the birdwatcher & his lover.

➳ synopsis: it's the summer of '89, and you discover new things about yourself— some good, and some you wish you could swallow and never see again. dealing with the newfound confusion of sexuality, you must learn the ins and outs of friendship and what it means to grow up.

➳ genre: coming-of-age drama, fluff, crack, angst, slow burn romance, lgbtq+ themes.

➳ characters/pairing(s): eventual stanley uris/reader (main couple), unrequited!beverly marsh/reader, eventual richie/eddie (possibly unrequited), eventual bev/ben.

➳ wordcount: 3.2k

➳ warnings: profanity, partial nudity (the lake), slight angst.

➳ song recs: "beverly" from the it soundtrack & "she" by dodie.

➳ author's notes: hi hi hi! this is my first fic on tumblr and honestly i'm a bit anxious about this bc i haven't written in ages lmfao. this is a series, so pls don't hesitate to send in asks and the like! nothing is set entirely into stone yet. please note! the characters are fifteen in this, and pennywise doesn't attack derry at all; so georgie is alive and well and chasing paper boats in the rain. richie & reader are both bisexual, ben & bev fall in love as kids. reader and bill are vv close but platonically.

June, 1989.

the first time you meet stanley uris, he is perched on a oak bench planted in the middle of derry park, his bruised knees pressed together in order to keep his journal steady. his chin is pointed to the heavens, eyes searching the clouds, a curious glow in them; cheeks dusted a light pink, he was angelic, the sun's rays a dull comparison to the golden glow of his messy curls. the boy had a nervous tick of tapping his pencil against the yellowed paper in his lap, followed by the curve of his brow when he noticed a bird flutter overheard.

you, at age eleven, were fascinated by him, and lacked a filter to save you from your mouth. it's almost as if the hinge of your jaw had lost a screw, and you feared if it hung open too long a fly might seek entrance there. of course, it would have been entirely avoidable if you hadn't sat your butt right next to him, and stuck your nose right where it didn't belong: in his journal.

"your handwriting is pretty, but your drawings can use some serious work. is that supposed to be a bird? it looks like it's having a heart attack," you had said, tilting your head, "the wings are too jagged and the legs too... sticky, you know? not like sticky like honey, but sticky like... you know, sticks? are you mute or something?"

your blank stare forces stanley's hand to shoot to the back of his neck as he tries to find the words to attend to all of your commentary. his mouth opens and closes a few times before you roll your eyes dramatically, slumping into the back of the bench. stanley clears his throat, eyes falling to the ground.

a silence ensues, and you glance from his crestfallen expression to the drawings. "and, uh, his eyes are buggy; they look like fat marbles. they're taking up his whole face."

stan releases a breathy laugh, and he raises an eyebrow at the graphite drawing in front of him. "they do, don't they?"

you mirror his laugh, and nod solemnly. "there's no saving them," you say, and decide to tell him your name, outstretching your hand proudly.

"stanley," the boy replies, meeting your grip and giving it a good shake. "uh, you know a lot about drawing. could you fix him?"

you hum, taking the journal from his lap and dropping it in your own. you tilt your head at the sketch, putting your chin in your hand. "it's going to be a tough job, but i think he'll survive. scalpel, sir?"

he hands you the yellow pencil, sharpened down half its original length. "anastesia? or uh," you inquire, not aware of how to spell or pronounce the word, "the stuff that doctors give people during surgery."

"anesthesia," stanley corrects, pulling a pink eraser from his pocket and giving it away.

"yeah, that," you bring the eraser down and the bird lines are soon gone, but the remnants of what was stays behind on the paper. "your lines are really hard. you've prolly got heavy hand, you know. but don't worry, i do too."

the next few minutes are in comfortable silence, save for your absent-minded humming. stanley leans over your shoulder, but not to the point of invading personal space, studying each pencil stroke gracing the journal. he makes a comment about the structure of the real-life bird, and you nod your head in agreement. the two of you synchronize nearly perfectly — you sketch what he tells you to. you aren't very observant to the outside world, but you focus on details in your drawings. stanley will mention that the creature has a stray mark on its beak, and you pencil it in without the graphite being too dramatic, which stanley is quick to do in his work.

after an hour of chatting and working, you are sitting on the back of the bench, feet placed comfortably on the seat. you are talking on and on about a story that happened during your english class, and you don't refrain a single detail. stanley listens intently, body slouched forward over his journal as he writes physical descriptions of the bird next to the drawing. he checks the time on his watch, and nearly jumps out of his seat. he swivels around, eyes blown wide, but you don't seem to notice as your arms wave about, mimicking a girl in your class.

stanley barks your name, which sounds sweet on his tongue, he realizes. when you focus on him curiously, he looks guilty. "i have to go. i was supposed to go to my friend's house so we could go to the quarry together. uh, unless you want to.. go?"

you grin, hopping onto the soil beside him. "for sure!" you hook your arm in his, and skip forward a few steps.

"wrong way," he says sheepishly.

you turn around, now exceedingly confident. "onward, steed!"

the next few years, up until freshman year, you are best friends with stanley uris and his gang of friends; bill denbrough, richie tozier, and eddie kaspbrak. bill was the kindest of all of them, a sensitive boy with a heart of gold. his love for art made him an easy companion, and you grew very close the summer of 7th grade, spending many hours a week at his house simply talking and making art. his little brother is like your favorite person, the little squirt constantly bugging bill about when he'll see you again, and telling bill he likes you better because you'll play with him.

eddie is a mother hen to you, warning you about the dangers you put yourself in on a daily basis. you are more reckless than the other boys, so it's common to see eddie turn an ugly shade of purple when he witnesses you do something exceedingly ignorant. with your asthma, he can relate to you, but you personally believe the inhalers you have are pointless and there's no need to rely on them, but eddie disagrees. when he takes a puff from his emergency inhaler, which is more of a daily one, he tends to shove one in your mouth too for simple sake of anxiety. you've found that he calms down when you play with his hair or give his scalp a light scratch, his voice lost in the serenity of it all.

ah, richie tozier; you two are scarily similar, and everyone is aware of it. he's of course referred to as "trashmouth", and you're known as "loudmouth", as richie has a tendency to speak inappropriate things, and you just keep speaking and can't properly whisper to save your life. a major difference between the two of you is your vulnerability, naiveness, and positive charisma. his talkativeness is characterized by sarcasm and the "class clown" stereotype, while yours relies more on really just being a chatterbox, whose thoughts spill out at rapid speeds without being filtered by your brain. fortunately, it's easier to make friends this way, and you tend to be the ice-breaker of your friends. richie, personally, admires this about you and thinks of you as an "innocent little ball of sunshine", and likes to put his arm on your head to show his dominance.

your relationship with stanley uris is a bit complicated; of course, at first, it was unproblematic being friends with him, as you were easy opposites. you spoke into the space that he was too quiet to fill, and it was comfortable for the both of you; you got to speak your mind without interruption, and stanley was able to have company that didn't force him to interact gregariously. however, as you grew with time, he found your carelessness to be irritating, as he hated feeling he had to be anxious all of the time; stanley enjoys turning his alarm off, and running on low function, and he thinks it is hard to do that when you're jumping off cliffs, climbing on slippery rocks with your eyes covered, and provoking bullies three years older than you. he finds you irrational and childlike, which is difficult for him to grasp as an inherently strategic and analytical person. you are a glass half full, and he is glass half empty. he prefers to consider the consequences, and you have a tendency to wait to find them out after you commit the deed. he has his future planned, and you want to live in the moment; you enjoy surprises, new opportunities, as there is something entirely boring about being sure what you plan to do each day. sometimes, you believe stanley wakes early, dresses in the outfit he put aside the night before, and takes a seat to write down a schedule. you shiver at the thought. unfortunately, the disagreements put tension on your friendship, as hanging out periodically ends with an argument, and one of you stomping out to rant to one of the others. you sincerely care for each other, but also find each other extremely irritating when the situation calls for it; which is becoming increasingly habitual as you grow taller with age.

but you also find him to be beautiful.

you're fifteen when you properly meet ben hanscom, beverly marsh, and mike hanlon. it's also the first time you felt something strike deep in your gut for that particular redheaded girl, and the way her newly chopped locks curled at the ends. she had tucked your hair behind your ear as you wrestled with the button on your overall shorts, and took your hands in hers, pushing them aside so she could slip the button through the hole properly. she was so graceful, elegant even, in the way she held herself. that day, you labeled the twist of your insides as insecurity, nothing else.

it was a mix of many things, you realized a long time after. insecurity, deep-rooted sexual confusion, and jealousy.

beverly is the first to jump off the cliff and into the lake below. after aiding you in your clothing disaster, she slips her creamy overdress from her shoulders, and gives her arms a good shake. she departs with a glance back at you, the sun beating down on her hair like fiery red flames, and her icy eyes contrasting its intensity. suddenly, you feel so small; so plain. before she could see your lip quiver, she was in the air, high like an angel, before falling towards the murky waters.

the stars in bill and ben's eyes, and the admiration in the rest of theirs, erupt a cacophony for you, striking your heart like a harsh note: these aren't your boys anymore.

bill jumps next, and then the others, eddie last. the splash sends spikes in your spine, but it's a warm hand on your shoulder that kick-starts your body. sandy curls appear in front of your face, tilting to reveal the kind eyes of stanley uris. his mouth is shaped in a firm line, a bit disappointed by your lack of enthusiasm. he seems to be at war with himself.

he stays silent for a moment, eyes searching the sky for the right words. "i want to go last," he finally breathes, seemingly triumphed in his verbiage, "i don't want them to see me cross my fingers behind my back before i go."

you laugh softly, relieved. you are grateful knowing he wasn't going to pry in your hesitation, or your brief self-consciousness. even when the two of you bicker, you hold high respect for stan; he's a boy of few words. he isn't shy, and certainly isn't bashful; he simply chooses to speak sparingly, believing that the chattiest voices aren't always loudest. he doesn't word vomit to fill the silence; that is how you know his words are meticulously chosen, like pieces to a greater puzzle.

stanley's thin frame makes no unnecessary movements, but rather awaits yours. his hand has long since abandoned your shoulder, and rather is cuffing his other calmly in front of his hips. the lack of speech isn't menacing or awkward, but instead a bit comforting; it gives you adequate time to finish undressing, tossing aside your socks and shoes. you pull the loose scrunchie from your hair, and give yourself a silent nod in reassurance.

"promise not to tell?" stan says quietly when he's sure you're more stable, curious eyes searching for yours.

"pinky promise," you insist, holding up the smallest finger on your right hand. when his wraps around yours, you toss him a childlike grin. "i never break them."

and then you're gone, cascading down towards the green waters, each wave crystalizing in your descent.

"i know," stanley whispers to himself. little do you know, he has the same epiphany you had just seconds ago, aweing after beverly.

he crosses his fingers behind his back, and steps off the cliff's edge.

air reaches your lungs when you pull your head above the surface, and you gather your sopping hair from your skin, laying it against your neck. you face the sky, and stan's dive is a flash of gold: like a bird, graceful in it's dip, his curls like its wings.

you find yourself wanting to ask him what it's like to fly.

—

on a boiling day in the middle of june, you and the others spend a day in the quarry again, but instead have a picnic by the rocks rather than racing back into town for a snack at eddie's house. it was mike's idea; he hadn't told anyone until he showed up early that day, sweaty and beaming with a quaint basket and blanket tucked under his arm. you felt a bit guilty, honestly— you wish he would've told you so you all could pitch in.

he seemed ecstatic, though, setting it up, so you couldn't bring yourself to mention that.

beverly says she wants to sunbathe with you, so you agree with hot cheeks and position yourself awkwardly next to her, posture straight with your knees tucked under your arms. your stiffness goes unnoticed by her, thankfully, so you're able to admire her form in peace as she stretches her limbs out with a soft sigh. compared to her, you feel unbearably rigged, unbearably not feminine. a thought crosses your mind that her own feminity outshines yours so much that the boys must think of you as one of them, minus the third leg, and with twin petals blossoming on your chest.

the boys are curled around their usual spots, the multiple boulders a few feet from your seated position, chatting carelessly. mike is discluded, lost in preparing the perfect picnic for you all. perhaps if you had noticed the simplicity of it all, you wouldn't have blurted out something ignorant to force a tension in the summer air.

"do you guys think i'm pretty?"

the conversation drops briefly, takes a soft roar, and then entirely ceases as seven pairs of eyes draw to you, including mike and beverly. the red-haired girl has a smirk on her lips, tilting her head ever so slightly as if to test your patience and purpose.

bill clears his throat gently. "u-um, well, yeah of c-course.. w-why wouldn't w-we?"

you shrug nonchalantly, and the others eyeball each other, pleading for another to say something else. eddie and ben slyly play rock paper scissors for a sacrifice.

richie whistles lowly. "this is gonna be good."

your face's temperature soon begins to rival the sun as your breath hitches in your throat, attention turned directly on beverly, as though her presence might calm your nerves. it doesn't. your lower lip is caught between your teeth, as you grow progressively more embarrassed of yourself the longer the others stare.

beverly smiles gently, her intensely blue eyes never straying from yours. "i think you're the prettiest girl in the world."

you sputter suddenly, adjusting your aviators, and spill out something along the lines of "i have to go take a piss", and skitter off in the direction of the woods. you curse yourself the entire way.

richie laughs, breaking the tension. he pats stanley's bare back roughly as the lanky boy stares at the trees you disappeared behind. "and the hits just keep on coming."

"beep beep, richie," eddie scolds, and richie winks at him, suggestively nodding towards him. eddie rolls his eyes and his gaze drops to his feet.

"sandwiches, anyone?" mike whimpers, a lopsided grin as he holds up a loaf of bread. stanley gently pushes past him and disappears into the brush.

"well, i, for one, would like three," richie replies, slapping his thighs as he stands.

eddie mumbles a word or two about richie being "as selfish as ever", and makes his way to mike also. beverly is a bit quiet, and bill chooses to sit beside her; his hands fall to his knees, rubbing them subconsciously.

"u-um, you didn't do a-anything wrong," he says, aware of the deep concentration beverly has. he can usually tell when everyone is upset or has something on their mind. "she's j-just been a l-little self conscious lately."

"please," beverly whispers, lifting her head to the sky, "i can tell she's been different around me. i must have said something to offend her. i should apologize—"

beverly pulls herself up, dusts off her legs, and is yanked down by bill's shaky hand.

"d-d-don't—" when the girl steadies, he continues, "let them b-b-be. if y-you really did s-something to h-hurt her, s-s-stanley will f-find out. trust him."

the greenery is exceedingly massive— miles and miles of towering woodland, filtering in streams of sunlight, rocky terrain around every trunk. you find yourself breathing heavily while seated on a boulder that is tucked away behind a ledge, facing the opposite way of the opening that your friends are at. elbows pressed into your knees, you put your face in your hands.

the air is tightening around your throat, and your uneven breaths become wheezes. you fist your hair in frustration, and smooth it down seconds after. this turns into a cycle, as you calm your wild nerves. fuck. are you allowed to think of her like that? you inhale deeply, the scent of soil filling your senses.

twigs crack in the distance, rapidly approaching feet obliterating the silence that has so graciously aided you in your toxic thoughts. you run your hands through your hair, and then fist a handful at the scalp. you smooth it out tenderly. when the footsteps are extremely close, slow down their pace, and stop entirely, you squeeze your eyes shut.

"go the fuck away, bill, i don't need your lect—" you bark, waving him away, but are cut off by long arms wrapping around your neck. your anxiety washes away, but you make no effort to embrace them in turn. your hands become fists, with no fabric of a shirt to grasp. you don't notice the tears racing down your face until your eyes and cheeks burn furiously, and your throat is caught up in sobs. when you peek, the sight of stanley's dusty curls in your peripheral sends waves of numbness and comfort over your skin.

your thoughts become hazy once you've lain your head against the bone of stanley's bare shoulder, and you feel a weight on your body lift from you— and transfer to him.

you swear you can hear faint whispering, voice cracked and vulnerable: "it's okay, it's okay, it's okay."

the part that leaves you aching for days in the future, is that you're not sure he was talking to you.

➳ i hope you liked it! it's a bit short but idc cuz i'm tired.

[dakotacrisis]

Transferred (15)

In this house we love and appreciate Marinette Dupain-Cheng!

This the end of the official story but there is a bonus spin-off chapter I’m gonna be posting later that is pure Kagaminette (or is it Marigami?)

---

“Kagami!” Marinette was shoved into the limo. “What do you mean? I can’t go! Look at what I’m wearing!” Marinette gestured to her overalls, Chat Noir t-shirt, and converse. “This is a fancy fashion fundraiser!”

“I know. We have something for you to wear at the venue which is why we’re getting there early. Calm down, we got an entire outfit and we’re gonna do you up with hair and make-up. You’re gonna be the belle of the ball.” Kagami was trying to calm down a frantic Marinette.

“You were supposed to be--”

“Shush.” Kagami chuckled, “It’s fine. It’s gonna be great.”

“You’re killing me.” They pulled up to the back of the hotel. The girls rushed inside and were met with Aurore waiting for them. She was wearing a lilac dress with ivory flower embellishments around the bust.

“Hello girls,” Aurore was beaming, “Kagami, you look great! Marinette, you are going to look fantastic. Come with me.”

“Treat her well!” Kagami called to them as Aurore dragged her away. “I’ll see you in there, Marinette!”

“Aurore, please tell me what is going on.” Marinette begged as she was pulled along and into the elevator. Aurore didn’t let anything go as they sailed up and up and up. They finally stopped and Aurore dragged her up to a door. She knocked on it and the door was opened by Sabrina. She was in a simple turquoise tea length dress and had her hair curled and pinned.

“She’s here!” Sabrina pulled Marinette and Aurore inside what Marinette realized was Chloe’s room.

“About time.” Chloe stood in the center of her room in a long high neck black and white dress with twin high slits. Her hair was loose from its usual ponytail but pinned back away from her face with a little golden hair comb.

“Chloe, what is--” Marinette was cut off as the trio pushed her into the bedroom part of the room. Hanging up was the outfit Kagami had mentioned.

“I don’t know how you got that but don’t you think it’s a little much?” Marinette said.

“Not for what you’re gonna be doing.” Aurore was hopping from one foot to the other.

“But what are we doing?”

“Stop wasting time, Dupain-Cheng. We got an event to get to.” Chloe and the other two were practically pulling her out of her clothes before Marinette kicked them out to get dressed herself. After she was dressed Aurore pulled her away to do her makeup while Chloe tackled her hair.

“And she is perfect,” Aurore held up a mirror, “What do you think?”

“I look nice but I would love to know why I’m here in the first place.” Marinette was getting impatient.

“Recognition, Dupain-Cheng.” Chloe smirked, “This is the most covered charity event of the year and you are a walking centerpiece in this dress. So go down there, head held high, and let everyone know who you are. Got it?”

“Got it.” Marinette wasn’t gonna argue with Chloe about this.

Together the girls rode back to the ground floor. Chloe explained what Marinette would be doing and left her in the hands of the butler while the three others went out to a limo to take them around to the front of the building. Marinette waited behind the little stage that was set up in the hotel ballroom, occasionally she would peek out to look at all the guests. She spotted the table where Kagami and Adrien were sitting. Chloe, Sabrina and Aurore were also at the table. The parents: Mrs. Tsurugi, Mr. Agreste, Mr. and Mrs. Bourgeois, and even Marinette’s parents were sitting together at a table right next to the teenagers.

What were her parents doing here? They didn’t mention any of this! They were gonna get an earful when they get home.

After everyone was seated and comfortable, Mr. and Mrs. Bourgeois got up and came onto the stage. Marinette stepped back into the shadows as they welcomed the guests and talked about their hopes for tonights fundraiser.

“Now, this program is not just to fund the arts but to bring prominent artists and designers of the next generation into the light. Around the venue you will find many pieces that our young creators have been meticulously working on and will be able to continue to create thanks to your generosity this evening.” Mayor Bourgeois said. “Every year we choose one of these young upstarts to highlight as our next big name in the industry. Many high profile names today I would say, owe their jumpstart to success to this award. Clara Nightingale being last years winner and even our own Gabriel Agreste having received this honor back in the day.”

“To announce this years next big name of the arts is Gabriel’s son, Adrien Agreste.” Mrs. Bourgeois said. Everyone applauded as Marinette assumed Adrien stepped onto the stage.

Was this…

“Thank you everyone for being here tonight.” Marinette recognized Adrien’s voice speaking over the microphone now. “As Mayor Bourgeois already explained, this honor is more than just a title. It is a starting point to a road paved with opportunities. One that with hard work, an open mind, and eyes full of creativity will lead to a successful career.”

“That is why it is my very great honor to introduce our choice for this year’s Next Big Thing, Paris’ own Marinette Dupain-Cheng!”

“I--I--”

“Go, Marinette!” Tikki chided her.

Marinette regained her wits and walked onto the stage. The entire room was applauding her.

Adrien stood at the microphone with a proud smile and a hand extended out to her. Nervously she took it and he pulled her closer towards him. “Did we surprise you?”

“Yes, I think it’s safe to say you did.” Marinette didn’t know whether to blush or cry. “Why though?”

“Cause you deserve it. More than anyone I know.” His smile softened into something sweeter that made Marinette’s insides melt.

Adrien turned back to the microphone. “Marinette is wearing a ballgown that she designed and constructed herself. Just one of many creations that she’s made. But her talents don’t end there. I could go on and on about how she is Jagged Stone’s preferred designer for accessories, posters, and album covers. How she created the stage outfits for the up and coming band, Kitty Section. Heck, it would take me all night to list how kind and creative this girl next to me is.”

Marinette was definitely gonna start crying.

“Marinette, things between us may have gotten off to a rocky start but I am glad that we are such great friends today. You are always putting yourself out there for your friends, your family, for justice, for creativity, even for strangers. Life can be tough but you push forward and soldier on with a smile on your face and a can-do attitude. In this day and age, when evils like Hawkmoth and corrupt politicians and everyday jerks have dragged the morale of the population down, having someone like you that chooses to see the beauty in the world is something we need now more than ever. There are many kind and creative people in the world but there is only one Marinette Dupain-Cheng and she will never be able to be recreated.”

And the tears were falling. No stopping it now.

The crowd erupted once more into applause while Adrien handed her a tissue. “Kagami told me to bring this up with me. Good thing she thought ahead.”

“Yeah,” Marinette let out a bark of laughter between her happy sobs. “This is--that was--I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng, ladies and gentlemen.” Adrien gave her one final moment to soak in the undivided adoration before escorting her back to his table. She stopped by to hug her parents and thank the adults for choosing her before settling in with her peers.

“Surprise,” Kagami smirked.

“I can’t believe you guys,” Marinette was still trying to calm down, “How did you even do this?”

“Lots of careful planning.”

“And my dress?” Marinette gestured to her ballgown, the one Lila had gotten her miscredited from in the newspaper, “I put it in storage after the Lila incident.”

“We explained the situation to your parents and they gave it to us with the promise that we would treat it with the utmost respect.”

That would explain why she seemed to have more space in her closet.

A small dinner was served and then a couple more people came up to speak about the night. More young artists were highlighted before everyone was encouraged to go and take a look at the pieces around the room. There seemed to be art of all kinds there. Paintings, sketches, sculptures, clothing, short movies, music samplings. There was a table lined with story excerpts people could read from young authors. Journalism articles hung on the walls like pieces in a museum. There was even a part of the room dedicated to carpenters and the amazing furniture, instruments, and wooden toys they made.

Several people during the night came up to Marinette inquiring about her dress and possible other designs she had created. Kagami was quick to show off her own dress and brag about Marinette’s skill in making it.

Many of the people at the event were critics and renowned fashion designers that handed Marinette business cards with promises to make her their protege. Things got a bit heated when two designers started trying to outdo the other with their offers forcing Adrien to swoop in and politely extract Marinette.

Eventually the party started to wind down and people were making there way home. Mostly the older adults that couldn’t quite keep up with the number of young people in the room.

“Hey, Marinette,.” Adrien approached her. At some point in the night he had ditched the jacket and tie and was walking around with his vest open and top button of his shirt undone. “I saw your parents head out. You didn’t join them?”

“Not yet. I wanted to enjoy the party a little longer.” Marinette looked around the room, “What about you? I don’t think I’ve seen your father around.”

“He had one wine glass too many and headed home. I figured he wouldn’t notice if I showed up a little later than when I was supposed to.” he grinned in a not so innocently Adrien way. “That being said, are you doing anything after this?”

“Seeing as how my original plans for tonight was to veg out in my room binging old romantic comedies I’m gonna say no. Why?”

“Well, I was wondering if maybe you wanted to go to that bowling alley we went to before. It’s open till two AM all week so I thought that you and I could go for some late night, over-dressed, bowling catastrophe fun.”

“That sounds great--”

“Sorry Adrikins, but we already have plans tonight.” Chloe cut between Adrien and Marinette.

“We do?” Marinette stared at her.

“The sleepover.”

“Sleepover?”

“What are you, a parrot?” Chloe scoffed, “We’re having a girls night in my suite. No boys allowed.”

“But--what--when was this?” Marinette sputtered as she was pulled away from Adrien by Chloe.

“Oh. Bye, Marinette!” Adrien waved to her, “Have fun! I’ll text you later!”

“Bye!” Marinette squeaked out as she was whisked out of the ballroom.

They went back to the elevator and up to Chloe’s room. “Are there any more surprises that you have in store for me tonight or is this the last one?” She asked.

“You love it.” Chloe smirked. Kagami, Sabrina, and Aurore were also in the elevator. Sabrina and Aurore weren’t a surprise but Marinette hadn’t expected Kagami to be with them.

They entered the suite and the girls started to dress down removing their heels and accessories. “Makeup wipes in the bathroom and pajamas on the bed.” Chloe said, “I got foot massagers by the couch and room service on speed dial.”

Marinette went to the bed and saw that there were matching silk pajamas for each girl in their favorite color and monogrammed with their initials. Red for Kagami, teal for Sabrina, sky blue for Aurore and honeycomb yellow for Chloe. Marinette’s was a nice powder pink with the initials MDC stitched across the pocket in cream threading.

Marinette waited her turn to change into her new cozy pajamas and joined the rest of the girls around the couch. Kagami and Aurore were deciding what movie to watch while Chloe had Sabrina make a list of what they wanted room service to bring up.

“Hey,” Marinette approached Chloe. “Can we talk?”

“Sabrina, you know what I like. Finish ordering. Also, make sure those two pick a decent movie.” Chloe told Sabrina before standing to talk to Marinette. “Yes?”

“I know we’ve rarely seen eye to eye and I would be one of the furthest things from a friend in your opinion but I wanted to take a moment and say thank you. Not just for the fundraiser and this deluxe sleepover but for going above and beyond with your takedown of Lila. It was incredible and to think you did that for me--”

“And an amazing grade.”

“And an amazing grade.” Marinette agreed, “It means so much. I don’t know what all of this makes us, not friends exactly, but maybe not enemies? Playful adversaries?”

Chloe’s holier-than-thou smile softened. Her walls dropping just for a moment. “We’re allies. Not always but I wasn’t just going to let one of the few people I respected be disgraced by a knockoff mean girl with dead anime mom hair.”

“What hair?”

“Nothing. Something Adrien told me. It doesn’t matter.” Chloe huffed. Her walls going up again. “I may not have my miraculous but that doesn’t make me any less the superheroine I am.”

“I know it doesn’t.” 

Chloe smiled.

Marinette wished she could give Chloe her miraculous more often. With her identity being outed it was just too dangerous. But maybe she deserved a new miraculous. Nothing would fit her as perfectly as Queen Bee but Marinette had hope that she would do well with a new power. So long as she didn’t advertise her identity to all of Paris again.

A knock at the door drew their attention. “Room service!” A voice called from outside.

“I’ll get that. You go make sure Tsurugi and Weather-Girl chose a good movie.” Chloe flipped her hair and sashayed over to the door.

Marinette hopped the couch and sat down. The buffett of luxury junk food was laid out before them. They all got comfy in their seats and pressed play on the movie. Kagami leaned against Marinette as the movie played and ended up falling asleep halfway through. Marinette didn’t have the heart to move her so stayed put. Not that Hawkmoth himself could get her to move from that spot. Who knew Kagami was a cuddler?

As excited as everyone had been earlier once the movie started playing everyone started dropping like flies. Marinette had nodded off as well at some point and only woke up again when she felt something being draped over her. She squinted her eyes open and saw Chloe walking around putting blankets over the other girls.

She could pretend all she wanted but there was a good person inside Chloe. She rarely came out and even then most of the time it was to help make herself look better. But there were times, behind closed doors, with no witnesses around, that Chloe was kind just because she wanted to be. Maybe it was those moments that Adrien always got to see that helped the friendship he held with her. Maybe Chloe would become even nicer. Maybe she would continue on her little tirade of pompous superiority. It was anyone’s guess.

Marinette was glad that the chance for Chloe to become someone even better than she is was still an option. A year ago she would have thought it impossible. Of course a year ago there wasn’t a butterfly terrorist and people getting turned into monsters every other day. So it seems a lot can change.

Chloe was nice, Lila was gone, Marinette had loving friends, and Kagami was softly snoring on Marinette’s sternum. It was about as perfect as she could hope.

Tomorrow may be uncertain but it wasn’t for her to worry about. Not when she had people she loved to stand beside her…or sleep on her. Marinette readjusted the blanket and stretched herself into a more comfortable position without waking Kagami and went back to sleep.

---

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14)

---

@northernbluetongue @ladylb @immatureidiot101 @lady-flora-of-slytherin @zazzlejazzle @shamefullove @heredemaquam @kristycocopops @schrodingers25 @sublimemagazinestarlight @crazylittlemunchkin @daydream-wannabewriter @trainflavor @never-neverland @mochinek0 @persephonebutkore

[firesidexfables]

changes

People told her she’d changed. 

Sure, it’d been 2 months or so since she’d last seen her friends. Maybe a little over 4 months since the break up. And yeah, she’d spent more than a month in Seoul, and another month or so off the grid just cos she wanted to. She couldn’t help it - after the sorry excuse for a year she'd had, all she wanted was a little bit of escape. To just be on her own, be her own person for a while and just exist. 

Truth be told, she had enjoyed the 2 months away from familiar places and faces. It kind of felt like a hard reset for her life. A much needed reset, in her opinion. 

Had she changed? 

Okay, so she did come back to her hometown about 10kg or so slimmer, with a short boyish crop of copper hair and dressed in clothes she wouldn’t have worn half a year ago - a black turtle neck, checkered collared jacket and belted black jeans. Not to mention 3 more piercings in her ears and new silver steel earrings. Maybe it was the ice blue coloured contact lenses too, turning her brown eyes a grey green instead. 

Looking at herself in the toilet mirror, she took in her appearance and had to admit that yes, perhaps the change might have been pretty jarring for the friends she’d left at the table - the friends who’d last seen her more than 60 days ago. 

She’d walked into the cafe and waved to the group of 4 gathered at the table. Two of them had heir backs facing her so they hadn’t seen her entrance. The other two - her best friend since 15 and her boyfriend of 4 years - had been facing the cafe door but stared past her for a good 1 minute. She kept on waving, wondering why there was no response as she strode over to their table. 

Eyes widened in shock and recognition as she sat down on the empty chair beside her. 

“Oh my god, I didn’t recognise you at all! What happened to your hair?!”

She’d shrugged and laughed. “C’mon, you always knew I wanted to cut it short.” 

Opposite her, the two other guys at the table did a double take. 

“Wait, is that really you? Man you look like you really DO live in Seoul.” 

“Well, I did technically. For a month.”

2 coffees and a cheesecake later, she’s excused herself to the washroom to freshen up. To be honest, she hadn’t made any of these changes on purpose - the loss of weight, the haircut, the change in style. She supposed, maybe with finally being free of all the unnecessary pain in her life, these were all things she had always wanted to do. Be healthier. Look cool. Try new clothes. Be herself? Probably. 

She walks back out to rejoin her friends at the table - her Best Friend Jane, her Best Friend’s boyfriend Alex; Ross - the annoyingly athlete whom she’d befriended in freshman year during a concert, and Kai - Ross’s best friend who for some reason had always been in the same classes as her since she’d started university. The people she’d grown to love through tumultuous years as a struggling university student. People whom she’d - somewhat guiltily - wanted to get some space from during her 2 month hiatus. Not that she didn’t enjoy their company, but everything had just been too suffocating back then - too many memories and too much to deal with. 

But now, things were different. She was different. And she was happy to see them again. 

“Dang, Morgan. I still can’t get over how different you look.” Ross blurts out in the midst of the ongoing conversation she and Jane are having about lattes versus Americanos. 

She looks over from the fake banter she was engaged in with Jane and raises an eyebrow. “It’s weird though, I don’t actually feel like I changed much.”

“Are you kidding me right now?” Kai, who’d been strangely quiet most of the coffee session, finally spoke his first few words of the night. “You’re like, a whole new person. If you didn't sit with us I would have thought you were a stranger.” 

Both of her eyebrows arch upwards now, and she isn't quite sure how she should react to that comment. She studies Kai’s face, which she remembered being usually easygoing and ready to smile. There was none of that today, and she realised that he seemed... sad? Not really. Something closer to mirth, almost a cold meanness. She’s pretty sure that's not the Kai who sat next to her in every class, always cracking some lame joke which she’d roll her eyes at with a smile. This Kai seemed cold, almost angry. Was it her? Had she caused this? Or had something happened to change him too? 

Nonetheless, the tension at the table had gone up a notch and she had to do something. She could feel Jane getting worried and flustered beside her, with sweet Alex trying to think of a amicable reply. Ross was just open-mouthed in shock, not quite sure what to say. 

She gave a smooth chuckle, unruffled (seemingly) by her friend’s icy tone. She ran a hand through her fringe out of habit and took a sip of her iced Americano before saying, quietly, “Well I guess it’s a good thing I did sit down then.” She smiled because she really did mean the words she was about to say next, “I really missed you guys when I was in Seoul.”

Kai’s eyes softened a little, although his expression never changed. She took it as a small win. Jane engulfed her in a passionate side hug, and the table mood was in a good place again. 

“Who told you to go for so long! When you said you needed some space to work things out yourself, I didn't imagine it would be that long or that hard not seeing you.” 

“I know, I'm that important in your life right.” Morgan laughs. “You totally don't have a super nice boyfriend, a thesis to write, and your sister’s wedding in a week that you had to plan for.” She jabs playfully at Jane, who rolls her eyes but is still smiling fondly at her. 

“I hate you Morgan, you know that right.”

“Uh-huh, I’m sure. That’s why you stuck with me for 7 years.” 

“Urghhh, you two are grossing me out. Alex is Jane’s boyfriend, not you Miss Kpop-idol-from-Seoul.” Ross grimaces, although this is definitely not the first time he’s witnessed such banter from them. 

“Alex doesn't mind.” Both her and Jane chorus together. 

Alex laughs, his eyes crinkling good-naturedly into tiny crescents. “I’m glad you’re back Morgan. You wouldn’t believe the number of times Jane wanted to call you but realised you wouldn’t be contactable. We really did miss you.

“Anyway, we’ve spent most of the night going on about all of our boring lives the past 2 months. How was your trip? Are you feeling better after Seoul?”

One of the reasons Morgan had approved of Alex dating her best friend was because he really was such a sweet guy. Not a selfish bone in his body, and a heart of gold. She couldn’t think of a better person to love her Best Friend. She smiles and does a quick reflection on her month in Seoul - all the museums, streets, people, morning runs and time to sketch and take photographs that she’d had. Koreans liked to use the word healing, and she couldn't think of a better way to put it. 

“Yeah. Healing, right? That’s what they always say in k-dramas. That's what it felt like. Healing.” 

Jane beams happily at her. “What’s your favourite thing about Seoul?”

“Wow, I’m not sure I can pick just one thing though my god...” 

“Okay okay,” Ross chimes in. “How about your best memory then?”

She cocks her head to the side, biting her lip as she tries to think of her best memory. There were truly so many good memories there, it was hard to pick the best one. 

“Hmmmm... well this is gonna seem a little unimpressive for a best memory. But if I had to pick I think it was one Saturday morning when I travelled a little further to MMCA. It was that golden hour kind of sun, and - don’t judge me for this - but I bought a MacDonald’s coffee and walked from the station to MMCA. It was like maybe 7 degrees out? But the sun was so pretty. It was such a nice walk, I took some photos and sat outside MMCA and just drank my coffee and I don't know. I felt really happy and free. Like I could just be myself, you know? And that life was good and I didn’t anything else in that moment. 

“Sorry I bet you guys were expecting like some epic night out, or some amazing mountain hike or maybe I met BTS?” 

They laughed at her finishing comment. Well most of them did. Kai just drank his latte quietly, not looking up from his coffee cup. 

What was up with him, seriously? Morgan decided that she'd confront him in class on Monday. 

“Nah man, that sounds pretty amazing actually.” Ross assured her. “Sometimes in life it’s just the little things, amirite? I feel the happiest when I’m on my morning runs. Nothing fancy, just me and the pavement beneath.”

She nods and finishes the last of her coffee. “Yeah man, I never thought something so simple could make me so happy. Kind of made me think, why was I trying so hard before, you know?”

It was a vague reference, but everyone knew enough to know she was talking about her ex. The break up that had radically shifted the course of her life. The heartbreak of being cheated on, and the toxicity of a relationship that had pulled her down all this time without her realising. In hindsight, she was actually thankful she broke up with him. It felt like she was a chained tiger who’d finally escaped her cage. Free, and ferocious in all her newfound strength. Ready to conquer the adventures of life again. 

Of course, only Jane knew the full extent of how horrid that relationship had been and how hard she’d taken it at first. She didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, so not everyone - not even Alex - at the table knew much about the break up other than it had happened. 

A soft hand lands on her shoulder, and she turns to see Jane smiling that soft smile of hers at her. “But that’s how you’ve always been Morgan. You’ll try your hardest till you die for something you truly believe in, and I love that about you. I'm just happy you came to before you really died on the inside.” 

The sudden, sombre shift in atmosphere makes Morgan feel a little uncomfortable. She gives her signature half smirk. “Yeah right, like I'd die that easily. What has our years of friendship taught you?”

Jane shakes her head fondly, knowing the bravado has always been her way of diffusing difficult situations and topics. 

“It’s getting late.” Kai says, putting down his now empty cup. “We should all head home.” 

Morgan is, once again, puzzled and a little concerned about the cold edge in her friend’s tone that she has never heard before. She made a mental note to text Jane about it later. 

“Yeah,” she agrees, despite it being way before her bedtime. “The place is closing soon anyways.”

They get up to leave, gathering their bags and finishing their drinks. Morgan is slinging her black Oxford bag over her shoulder, when she feels someone tapping her back softly. She turns around to see one of the baristas from the counter with a cup of iced Americano in her hand. 

“Sorry, this might come off a little weird but, my friend over there wanted to ask you out but she's too shy to do it herself.”

Everyone at the table shuffles awkwardly. Morgan just smiles. Honestly, this wasn't the first time something like this happened since her haircut in Seoul. 

“Mm,’ she hums thoughtfully. “Your friend knows I’m a girl right.” 

The barista flashes a triumphant smile and calls over to her colleague. “See, I told you!!” The other barista just blushes a deeper shade of red. “Yeah, I told her I'm pretty sure you’re a girl, but she said she doesn't care whether you're a buy or girl. She thinks you're cute.”

Morgan cocks an eyebrow for the second time that night. “O...kay. I kind of don't swing that way though, sorry. Don't mind being friends though?”

The barista smiles. “Aww, that’s sweet of you. ‘Kay I'll tell her what you said, but the coffee’s on the house. Her number’s on the sleeve if you change your mind.” She says with a wink before handing the cup to Morgan and heading back to the counter - no doubt to report back to her blushing friend. 

“Well... that was awkward.” Ross breaks the silence, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment, as if it was him who was asked out. 

“Believe it or not, that’s not the first time something like this has happened to me since I got the haircut.” 

“Wait. Are you really thinking of calling her?” Kai looks at her incredulously, noticing the coffee cup still in her hand. 

“So what if I do?” Morgan retorts, getting a little peeved at his behaviour today. “She’s a nice girl who gave me a free coffee.”

“Wow,” Jane looks at her with bug-like eyes. “Seoul really has changed you.”

“I’m just kidding. But I probably will text her though, just to turn her down nicely. Cos I’m not a douche like some guys.” 

She doesn't catch the glare that Kai gives her as she walks out of the cafe. 

---

His friend had changed. 

It was Monday, their first day back in school after the year end holidays. Sure, Kai had already met up with Morgan and the gang on Sunday, so he really shouldn't be surprised to see how different she had become. But he found himself still a little shocked to see his friend - the girl who had sat beside him for countless classes, indulging grudgingly in his lame jokes, the girl whom he had seen as more of a bro than an actual girl for the longest time - walking into class in an artfully distressed black wool sweater a few sizes too big, tucked into a pair of ripped jeans and sporting black Dr Martens. Her boyishly-cut hair looked slightly windswept, curling prettily and loosely around her forehead. The shortness of her hair exposed every ear piercing she had/had gotten, along with her slender neck, strong jawline and the slight dip of her collar bones. Had her brow somehow gotten stronger, her lashes longer, her eyes bigger and her lips more full? How could someone look prettier even though her hair was shorter and her features more strong and defined? 

Kai was in trouble. He could tell from how couldn't help but stare at her, heart pounding a little too fast and much too loud in his ears. What was happening to him? He’d sat beside this girl for more than 3 years of his life, and he’d never once felt anything more than platonic concern for her. But suddenly, one trip to Korea and a coffee later, he can’t stop his heart from palpitating uncontrollably. It made him immensely irritated. Not to mention how she’d up and left 2 months ago, just ghosted everyone (him included) without any explanation, until she’d returned last week and asked them out for coffee in their group chat. 

Wasn’t that a little too much? And now she had to come back looking like this. 

It was too much for him to take. All this change. In his friend, and in himself and his feelings too. He knew yesterday at the cafe, he’d been less than friendly - perhaps even hostile - towards Morgan. But he couldn't help it. He was so afraid that if he didn't have the guise of anger to hide behind, he’d say other things he’d regret much more. 

He knew there was a point last night where he’d said something that really did hurt her. He forgot what it was, but he’d seen the hurt in her eyes for a fleeting moment, although she had a smile on her face. It was that empty smile she’d seen her plaster on before, when she was with him - her ex. He’d hated seeing her like that, and hated himself even more for being the one to have caused it. But he had to keep her at arm’s length - at least until he’d figured out what exactly he was feeling. 

Unfortunately, though, Morgan seemed entirely clueless to his predicament as she sat down beside him and placed a tray with 2 coffee cups on the lecture hall table. He tried to keep his face stoic, but inside he was a panicking mess. He couldn't even turn to face her. 

“Hey, I brought you coffee. It’s still a flat white right, you haven't changed your order while I was away.”

He really should say thanks and give her a smile, because that’s what she deserved for being sweet enough to still remember his coffee and get it after the terrible attitude he’d shown her yesterday night. But all he could manage was a curt nod and a muttered, “Thanks.”

She’s silent as she takes her cup out of the tray and pulls out her textbook. The professor’s taken the attendance and is beginning his class. He steals a sideways glance, and sees the deep frown on her forehead. He wished he could reach out and smooth it away.

Stop it, Kai. What the heck are you thinking?! This is Morgan, your friend whom you’ve seen in all sorts of unglamorous, embarrassing and epic situations. Morgan, who probably just sees you as a bro. Not to mention, she's also a year older than you. So that's younger bro to you, sir.

His inner monologue is shattered by the abrupt clank of a pen hitting the table. It’s not loud enough to disrupt the class, but loud enough that Kai can hear it clearly. Morgan’s hand is on the table beside him, clasped over the pen she’d just slammed down. 

“Look,” she turns to face him, her voice low but clear. He has no choice but to turn and meet her eyes, a pretty grey-green now. He’s distracted by the colour for a while, until she speaks again. 

“I get it if you think I've changed. Maybe I have. Why’s that a bad thing though? And why are you so upset with me about it? Is it cos I disappeared without telling you? Just tell me so at least I know why you're treating me like this.” 

He can see the sheen of tears starting to well up in her eyes, and he feels like the worst person on earth. In all the years he’d known Morgan, he’d never really seen her cry before. It was almost shocking, to see her on the brink of tears because of him. She doesn't tear up like how most girls would, with trembling lips and a sad expression. Instead, her jaw is set and her lips pressed together tightly. Her brows are arching in an almost angry way, and she looks more ferocious than vulnerable despite the tears building up in her eyes. 

Kai squares his jaw. “Let’s talk after class.” is all he manages to say. 

Morgan snorts at him, and instead of the tears spilling over, they almost seem to dissipate before actually falling. “Fine. After class. Let’s settle this.”

He muses about how it sounds like one of those things gangsters say when they decide on a fight. 

---

They’re on the rooftop. 

They used to come up here when he was a freshman, and she was a sophomore. That was before he’d managed to skip a year and suddenly they had every class together. When they needed a place to meet because their schedules hadn’t aligned that well.

Sadly, it wasn't just schedules that were lining up well right now for them.

Kai sighs as he runs a hand through his hair. Morgan is standing beside him, arms crossed as both of them look over the ledge to the sprawling campus courtyard below. 

“We’re here. Let’s talk.” she says curtly. 

He doesn't know how to begin. His brain is turning over various opening sentences over and over again, but his mouth refuses to move. For a good 5 minutes. 

“Fine, if you’re not going to say anything then I will. I don't know what I've done wrong to make you so angry with me Kai, but I know I definitely don't deserve this. I’ll admit, I probably could have handled things a little better when I wanted to leave. Explained more. Not just upped and left. So yeah I get it, a bit of a jerk move on my end. But I really needed that break. Really badly. 

“I didn't tell you guys much because I didn't want you to worry. But it was bad. I was in a bad place... I knew I had to call a time out on everything before it was too late. So yeah, I know I didn't go about it the best way and I’m sorry for the way I left. But I'm not sorry for going, and I'm not sorry for changing. 

“The way I am now... I'm happy this way. I don't want to go back to that miserable person who thought she was happy all this time. So I’m not gonna be sorry for that. And if you feel maybe the me right now is not someone you can be friends with then fine, I respect that. Just say it to my face instead of treating me like you can't wait to bite my head off.” 

The silence is excruciating. 

He had never heard such raw emotion come from her before. It was like being burned at the centre of a flame, right at its hottest point. His mind went blank, and he just couldn't think of any response to explain how wrong she was, how he didn't hate her at all, how he wasn't angry at her but really, truly, he was just angry at himself. 

Most of all, he didn't know how to say anything without admitting how his feelings for her had changed. That's right. He was finally admitting it. He had feelings for her. And it hadn’t just started yesterday, when she'd returned looking amazing (although that did amplify things quite a bit). No, when he began to really think about it, it had probably started when he found out about the break up... how angry he had been at him for breaking her heart (although he had no clue what had happened, all she said was that it “didn't work out”, but somehow he knew he’d broken her heart). How he’d wanted so badly to text her “are you okay? do you want to talk?” instead of “oh man, it’s okay lots of fish in the sea.” How he’d been so worried when she didn't reply for days, and when he called her phone was off, only to find out from Jane that she’d decided to take a break and went off the grid. How throughout those 2 months she’d been in Seoul and elsewhere, he wanted so badly to just text “I miss you” but knew it wasn't something a bro would do. How he had imagined the day she’d be back, he'd take her out to her favourite pizza place and ask her all about her trip, if she was doing okay, laugh and make lame jokes at her stories and walk her home. Give her a friendly hug before calling it a night. How they'd go back to class again the next day. 

Yeah, if he was honest with himself, he’d changed too, many months back. Even before she’d changed and became someone cooler, he’d already cared about her back then. 

But he had no idea how to put all of that into words, and so the silence stretched on even longer.

“...Fine. I’m done with this.” she turns around and walks away, leaving him to continue staring out at the courtyard.

He can hear her footsteps, getting further away as the distance between them and their hearts grows with every step. 

Suddenly, he’s sprinting to catch her as she’s almost at the door to the stairway. Before he can think, he is grabbing her wrist and pulling her back, away from the exit and turning her around to face him. Her brow is creased in a puzzled and angry frown, and her whole body goes rigid, as if she’s about to bolt at any moment. 

“I’m sorry.” 

That damned arching brow of hers, as she gives him her habitual questioning look. 

He sighs, once again running a hand through his hair nervously. “I’m sorry.” he says again uselessly. 

“Okay?”

“No, wait. Let me just... I just...” he fumbles and growls in frustration. He’s still holding her wrist, but gentler now. “Why can't I talk properly in front of you?!”

Some of the anger has gone from her face, and now she looks genuinely puzzled. “What do you mean? It’s always been hard to get you to shut up.”

He laughs bitterly. “Yeah about dumb, useless things.

“Okay look, I messed up. You’re right, you didn't deserve to be treated like that. I guess I was angry. But not at you. At myself.” 

Now, she’s just plain confused. He waves his free hand placatingly, indicating that he's about to explain. 

“Thing is, you're not the only one who’s changed the past few months. I think I've changed too, without really realising it till recently. 

I know we’ve always seen each other as friends. Bros. Whatever. And I’m a year younger so maybe I'm more like a little bro to you. But I think at some point that's no longer how I feel about you. 

Remember when you first broke up? Yeah, sorry I’m bringing it up. I told you “its okay, lots of fish in the sea.” right? What I really wanted to say was “are you okay?” But I didn't cos I was stupid and scared. 

And when you disappeared. I wasn't angry actually. I was really scared something bad had happened to you, but then Jane told me you left and I was happy you were safe. 

Those months you were away, I really missed you. Not us like our group, but me. Just me. I missed you. There was so many times I wished I could have just texted you that. Hey, I miss you. But yet again, stupid me was too scared to.

And when you came back, yeah I was angry. But not at you, because you’d changed. I was angry at myself, because I saw how you had to heal and go through everything alone all that time. And I wasn’t there for you and I didn't anything to help you. 

I’m sorry it came off the way it did. I guess in summary, I was just scared of everything I was feeling. And I was scared of losing our friendship because of it. Cos you know, we’ve always been friends. Bros. Doing bro stuff all the time. And you’ve always been looking out for me although we’re seriously barely a year apart?! But still. You probably don't see me that way, and to be honest I never realised I saw you this way until everything went down last year.

Basically I guess, what I'm trying to say Morgan is. 

I like you.” 

---

[charliejrogers]

Borat Subsequent Moviefilm

In 2006, Borat was one of those great cultural touchstones that transcended the big screen. There was no aspect of pop culture after its release that wasn’t in some way affected. It perfectly coincided with the rising popularity of YouTube, such that those who hadn’t seen it (or couldn’t because they were too young to get into the rated R movie) could at least see many of its famous clips.  Everyone knew Borat in 2006. Everyone. You couldn’t go two fucking steps without someone going “very nice!” or “my wife!” It was such a wonderfully smart movie. It combined the best aspects of a Jackass movie, i.e. the trolling of innocent and unsuspecting bystanders, with a noble cause, to expose to the world the ignorant side of America. It was a novel and insightful look at our country.

In 2020… there is no insight in telling us that much of the country is ignorant of the truth, racist, or sexist. As Borat himself points out in this film, in the years between when he filmed the first movie (2005) and the new movie 2019-2020, America has become transfixed by their new “magical abacuses”, i.e. cellphones. Phones, the internet, social media, all of them expose us everyday to how the other half lives in their little social bubbles. We don’t have to wonder “do people really think this?” Just type whatever terrible or stupid theory you can think of into Google, and you’re guaranteed to find at least one person who endorses whatever heinous thing you just wrote. Again, this is portrayed within the film when Borat, confronted by the fact that maybe some of his core beliefs are lies, finds websites that say that (much to his anti-Semitic disappointment) the Holocaust was not real. So, one is left wondering… what can Borat bring to the table in 2020 that is fresh?

Unfortunately, the answer is… not a whole lot. Borat Subsequent Moviefilm feels mostly like a retread of 2006 with the only additions aiming more for “shock factor” than real comedy aimed to grab headlines (which it succeeded in doing). This is not to say this is not a funny movie. It is. The film’s opening where Borat describes the typical (fictionalized) Kazakh’s view of American politics is hysterical. In sum, America went to shit with the election of Obama, paving the way for other Africans to take power of the West (cue the photo of Justin Trudeau in Black face). Now with Trump in power, Borat is sent on a mission to curry Trump’s favor so that Kazakhstan and its leader will be viewed with the same favor that Trump has bestowed upon other “tough guys and tough guy countries” like Russia/Putin, the Philippines/Duerte, North Korea/Kim Jong Un, Brazil/Bolsonaro, etc. The gift is supposed to be an overly sexually aggressive chimp for Vice Pussy Hound (i.e. Vice President) Pence. However, Borat’s daughter Tutar sneaks into the crate with the chimp, and after a chain of events Borat has no choice but to gift his daughter over to Pence, and eventually Rudy Giuliani, instead.

It’s a simple enough plot but I think the movie gets a little too caught up in it. No one is asking for a plot line for this movie. If this were just a string of sketches with a vague whiff of a plot to transition between the sketches no one would fault it. In fact, that sounds like the first Borat. We are just here for the sketches. Yet the movie is looking to do a little bit more than the first movie. It’s not content to just say, “Hey, look at yourself, America! You’re fucked up! Let’s all laugh at you.” This movie has specific targets that dominate its focus: Trump and Trumpland.

This is, I think, an unfortunate choice not because I don’t approve of bashing Trump and Trumpland, but because whereas the first movie felt like comedy was king with the sociopolitical insights as a dominant undercurrent, here the story and the humiliation of Trump and his base is the end goal. This still makes for funny scenes, but when I think back to the first Borat (and as I re-watched clips of the first movie after finishing this movie), some of the greatest parts of Borat had nothing to do with politics or sensitive subjects. Much of the humor was just based around the ballsiness of Sacha Baron Cohen. This is a guy who when invited into a person’s home for dinner makes openly sexually complimentary remarks about two of the female guests, but explicitly states that the host’s wife is ugly. Never mind the fact that at that same dinner party, Borat hand-delivers his shit in a bag to a guest, claiming to not know how Western toilets work. It’s hilarious, it’s daring, and has nothing to do with politics.

In essence, the first Borat was such a success because Cohen played the character with such a believable naivete and loose grasp of English idioms, that he was a factory of malapropisms, a genius of comedic-timing, and a troll that could annoy the ever-living daylights out of anyone. There are as many scenes of him trolling nice, innocent people (like the driving instructor, the man who teaches him jokes, the group of feminists, or really any time he goes on the news) as there are scenes of him trolling people so that Cohen can make a political point or social observation (like the singing the wrong national anthem at the rodeo or his innate criticism of a Pentecostal Chruch’s weirdness). And in the end, the “point” of that plot at least had nothing to do with politics. You can watch this movie, get your laughs, remark at America’s racism, and still get your laughs.

Here, there really isn’t any scene I can think of that wasn’t done to make some sort of observation or political point. The closest I can think of are the bits towards the beginning before the plot kicks into high gear. There’s a recurring bit I love of him communication with the Premier of Kazakhstan via fax machine at a local UPS Store. The genius isn’t contained in the sentence I just wrote, but that he requires the aging worker of the UPS Store to hand-write all of his faxes for him and read any and all replies. Similarly, there’s a quick bit of genius at the beginning where Borat goes to a cellphone store and cannot understand FaceTime at all. He assumes the person on the phone must be the brother of the phone store worker he sees in front of him; they cannot be the same. Similarly he somehow enlists the help of a delivery person to re-seal the crate in which his daughter came to America in.

But otherwise, the jokes are there either to say, “Woah! Aren’t these Americans terrible?!” (whether he’s talking about QAnon’s theorists, anti-abortionists, or anti-maskers). Or there’s gross out humor, mostly about vaginas and periods, (or moon blood, as Borat calls it). As I said, these aren’t all unfunny. Probably my favorite sequence in the film sees Borat and his daughter at a pregnancy crisis center because Tutar has accidentally swallowed a little baby doll that was on top of a cupcake her father had “given” to her as a “treat” that was just supposed to be “their little secret” because women in Kazakhstan aren’t supposed to have sweets. So she ate the cupcake behind a dumpster. I’ll let you guess what happens when you enter a Christian pregnancy crisis center asking for them to take out the dumpster baby your Dad wasn’t supposed to be giving you… but it’s hilarious to see the worker sorta squirm his away around addressing the reality of incest.

But mostly, I felt kinda fatigued knowing that Cohen and co. were mostly trying to show me the “underside” of QAnon and anti-maskers… but as I said, in 2020, I am unfortunately well aware of both these groups, their psychologies, and their world. So merely highlighting that these ideas exist and that the people who endorse these ideas don’t really have a lot of great ideas otherwise, isn’t that novel as it might have been back in 2006.

Probably the more “interesting” side of the film is it’s focus on feminism. The film uses Tutar (played perfectly by previously unknown Bulgarian actress Maria Bakalova and deserves all the praise she gets) to really expose how America, despite being a “feminist” nation, still shares many aspects with the fictionalized version of Kazakhastan where women are considered equivalent to livestock. The movie hopes to shed light on the far reaching effects of the patriarchy. The movie ends at the top of the pyramid with politicians who feel like it is their right to use their power to sleep with whomever they want (Trump’s obviously the true target of this criticism and I will say, the final Giuliani scene feels a little bit like entrapment… that said, I think it’s fair to say not every man would be so willing to fall into that trap). But leading up to that we see aspects of America designed to fit perfectly with the patriarchy’s demands. We hear from a shallow, vapid Instagram influencer that to get by women need to be docile and pretty, and we see a frankly horrifying discussion from a plastic surgeon talking about all the things wrong with Tutar that he would fix with surgery so that men would want her… despite the fact that she’s a beautiful woman and has nothing wrong with her! We live in a society that recognizes the horror of a patriarchical society, but still so clearly buys into it.

But in the end… you’re not watching Borat Subsequent Moviefilm to get an education on feminism and the problems with the patriarchy. That should be the extra cherry on top of a main course of hearty laughter. In focuses on the politics, Cohen and co. find plenty of laughs and memorable moments, but fail (perhaps inevitably) to recreate the signature naivete and bumbling oafishness of his titular interviewer, in the process losing some of the film’s humor and paradoxically its ability to leave a lasting message.

**/ (Two and a half stars out of four)