#change life trajectories with this one simple trick

[gonkdoll]

Me when I next encounter more transphobia at my place of work:

[granddaughterogg]

You Let Me Complicate You - Part 1

This is a love story about Simon "Ghost" Riley and you, starting with a random hookup and later navigating your increasingly complex feelings and desires towards each other.

~~Reblogs are always Greatly Appreciated!~~

PART 2 HERE

SUMMARY: You're all alone in London because of Reasons. On a particularly dreadful, windy, rainy Halloween evening you venture outside for a quick pint - but find Simon "Ghost" Riley instead. He's a consummate fuckboy who uses fleeting trysts to blow off steam collected at his deadly job, and you're a cynical, world weary girl who nonetheless very much enjoys no-string-attached sex. None of you are prepared for the horror of Actually Falling In Love. Also - the mask stays on for ridiculously long. What, oh what will become of this fateful encounter?

Chapter 1: SKULLFACE

As with many other adventures in your life - this one started only because you wouldn’t quench your curiosity.

It was an insatiable force, one that has driven you into a lot of shit over the years. On the other hand, you could call your life path - that collection of irregular zigs and zags off the beaten trajectory - anything but dull. And you owed it to that ever-present itch at the back of your head.

Let’s go back to the very start, shall we?

The start was unpromising. For one, it was Halloween evening, but you were on your own and it was pissing it down outside.

You sat in a tiny squalid apartment, its walls painted a nauseating shade of green and stared at the darkness behind your windows. Cold water splashed against the glass. Technically speaking, those windows weren’t yours. Nothing here was. You’ve just Airbnb’ed this hovel for a few weeks. The thing is, you’ve been awaiting news about a job.

They haven’t contacted you yet. You’ve been paying through the nose for this musty abode, bristling at the prices of groceries – at the prices of anything, really. London’s famous charms were lost on you. You hated this city. To you, it felt as if someone had squashed a dozen smaller towns into an amorphous heap. You didn’t know a single soul in those streets and you weren’t sure if you wanted to change that.

But how long can a lonely girl sit on her ass, browse youtube and marinate herself in misery?

And it was All Hallow’s Eve after all.

You always loved Halloween.

The weather discouraged kids from trick-and-treating. Yet you could still hear multiple footsteps going every which way on the wet pavement below, snippets of conversations and muffled laughter. Londoners decided to enjoy themselves tonight, weather be damned. 

You paused the video (it was about a groomer, tending to a particularly matted, hissy cat). You stood up with a sigh, slammed your laptop shut and went to the suitcase lying in the corner.

It’s been a week here and apart from your sensible job interview clothes, (which have been hanging on the door, properly steamed) you still haven’t found it in yourself to unpack.

Never mind that now. You unceremoniously threw the suitcase’s contents on the wooden floor and fished one particular object out of the pile; a little velvet dress, as black as the night.

You stood in front of the dusty mirror and pulled the garment on. It was one of those strappy numbers which start late but end pretty early. Hugged all your curves, not leaving much to the imagination. Your dear mother would’ve described this dress as „slutty”.

Just the way you liked it.

You’ve learned before that excessive preparations only dull your enthusiasm for the unknown. So you’ve slid your feet inside your trusted combat boots, smudged some black eyeliner here and there, put your hair up in a French twist with a simple metal pin, and threw on a jacket - and you were good to go.

Wherever those streets would take you.

***

It turned out that the streets wouldn’t take you far. Because it was raining fucking hard. 

It's one thing to merely observe the skies opening, and another to withstand their fury. You were trudging the pavement under your flimsy foldable umbrella, almost bent in half because of the gusty wind. You walked turned to the side, trying to avoid getting ballistic rainwater in your eyes, one half of your face damp and cold already. The light jacket offered little protection; soon you were soaked to the bone, and furious.

Screw it, you thought. I’m just gonna get inside any old place, have a pint and then go home.

You turned the corner and came upon a narrow crooked staircase leading below the street level, as was usually the case with pubs in this area. Some people were just leaving the premises, laughing and talking as they went. You caught a glimpse of bluish light, pouring from the inside along with some muffled bass beats.

Good enough.

You descended down the staircase; concrete steps crumbled under your tractor soles, threatening to throw you off balance. You passed by some folks on your way, squeezing yourself past them on a narrow path cutting through an overgrown courtyard. You pulled the handle of a heavy iron door. It was covered in graffiti and layers upon layers of old stickers. 

You stepped inside.

Your first thought was: This is not a pub.

You weren’t a local – hell, you weren’t even British – but after some time spent in this country, you’ve more or less become acquainted with the trappings of this cornerstone of any local community, what with its cosy nooks, mandatory fireplace and dark polished woodwork. Those kinds of places you knew. The beer wasn’t half bad, the tunes were usually tolerable and bartenders had this well-practiced cordiality to them. You liked the atmosphere of an English pub.

This, however, was different. Like, much noisier.

Your ears got filled with the metallic beats of dark industrial music. You couldn’t name the song that was playing. Deep inside there was a small dancefloor, where bodies swayed along with the slow, reverberating rhythm. 

This place was so dimly lit, that you had to squint just to adjust. The walls were raw concrete, with exposed brass piping running up and down in complicated patterns. It reminded you of a bunker. All the furniture seemed to be worn down and mismatched as if someone scavenged it from various vacant buildings. The bar counter was one giant slab of concrete too, its greyness punctuated by rows of tiny lights hanging from the iron truss under the low ceiling. 

The patrons all wore black. Not just your basic, nondescript black, oh no. You looked around (as much as you could while drifting in this neon blue semi-darkness, which revealed so little) and noticed some people in gothic finery. Velvet, lace, the works. Others chose leather or elaborate corsetry.

Ah, it’s one of those places.

You got your shit together, folded the damn umbrella, shook your damp hair to get at least some of the water out of it, and beelined to the concrete bar. At this point of the evening, you’d kill for a hot beverage.

The bar area was not too crowded, thank fuck. You clambered gracelessly onto one of the free barstools and smiled at the bartender. He was completely bald, with a ginormous nose ring and a thin face, eternally crumpled into an expression of faint disgust.

"Hello! One hot tea, please", you said breathlessly.

Dude looked at you as if you’d just spat on his mother’s grave.

"Tea? You sure 'bout that?"

"Well yeah", you answered. "It’s bucketing down out there, and I got chilled to the bone..."

The bartender wasn’t moved by your plight. 

"This is a club, not your Granny’s living room, see? We serve adults here..."

"Give ‘er a damn tea, Geoffrey. Don’t be a cunt."

A man’s voice rang out from your left. It was low and throaty, but also perfectly even in tone. It cut through the music and the bustle like a knife wielded by a steady hand. Your ears twitched pleasantly at this sound.

Geoffrey blinked at whoever it was that scolded him. Then he made a face and turned away to fulfil your order.

"I’m just saying, we’re trying to run a business here…" he muttered, putting the kettle on.

"I see that”, you assured. "Make that a tea and a glass of Scotch then. I could use both."

"Right." The bartender was seemingly placated by your offer.

When he put the drinks in front of you and turned towards other customers, you emptied the sugar packet inside the cup, stirred your tea for a while, finally sipped it - and sighed with delight. It all took a while. When the life-restoring elixir started to course through your veins, you stole a glance at the man who spoke earlier.

"Thanks for putting in the word for me", you said with a slight smile.

"Geoff's not a bad bloke. Just overworked." 

The stranger was tall and dressed in a black sweatshirt with the hood pulled over his head. He was looking straight ahead, away from you, cradling his whisky glass in two large, strikingly pale hands.

"I can imagine, with the place being so busy on Halloween and all...Anyway, I’m feeling better by the minute." 

"Drink up then, and that whisky too. You look like a half-drowned cat."

That voice was something to behold. So deep and guttural, with a thick accent that made short work of most of the consonants. As your ears helpfully suggested, it was probably Mancunian. One doesn’t simply grow such a voice. One earns it through incessant smoking and other recurring bad life decisions, no doubt. It was kinda hot.

...Wait a moment, did this perfect stranger just smack-talk you?

Your head darted upwards. 

"Did you just say that I look like shit?" 

Your tone was still playful - if underlined by a suggestion that you’re always ready to drop the playfulness.

The hooded man must’ve heard that undertone because he chuckled. That rumbling sound reverberated somewhere deep within you. Probably in your bones.

"Don’t be so hard on yourself, love. You're just a little worse for wear, is all."

That impassive tone of his stabbed you in the solar plexus. You've straightened up as if pulled by a string. The teaspoon fell into your tea, making a soft clatter, while you spun around on your stool to look this insolent git straight in the face.

"How do you know?" you bit out. "You weren't even looking -"

The following words got stuck in your throat.

Not only was the man hooded, but he also wore a mask. A tight black one, covering his head and the lower part of his face. A balaclava, your brain hinted helpfully. It looked like a part of the regulation equipment of the armed forces, and that's where the similarities came to an end. For the mask has been printed over – or painted, maybe? - with the image of a skull. Mainly its lower jaw. White paint glimmered in the bluish light, forming a wide, ghastly smile which grinned at you.

But even more striking were his eyes, large and protruding. Your stunned stare met two opaque irises, as dark and dense as a black hole. You weren't able to decipher their expression. That cryptic intensity of his gaze seemed to bend space-time. 

His eyelids and skin around the eyes have also been blackened, but his long lashes remained pale as frost.

You stared at this vision with your mouth ajar, like a dead fish.

"What?" He asked calmly and quietly. "Do I have something on me fuckin' face?"

You were always quite outspoken, but at that moment words eluded you.

"Cool mask,” you said finally because something needed to be said. „Cool...disguise. Is it for Halloween?"

He didn't blink. It was unnerving.

"I don't do 'alloween, love."

"So you wear this thing 'cause it makes you more interesting and mysterious and shit?"

The tall man leaned towards you, his eyes creasing in a smile.

"Look at you, sweetheart. It's clearly workin'."

"That's because of that stare of yours. It could pin a person to a wall...", you murmured.

"I could pin you to a wall. Just ask nicely.”

You felt suddenly weightless. Out of breath. 

"For how long?" you quipped, trying your damnedest to sound flippant. 

The nerve of this fucking guy!

"For as long as you'll need me to. I'm a dedicated man.”

There was no bravado ringing in his gritty voice. Just a calm statement of fact.

You cut a look at his arms. The black cotton of the hoodie did little to conceal their immense size. 

He could probably deliver on his promise.

You took a long breath, trying to regain your lost composure. It wasn't easy when this hulking freak stared you down, but you'd been in tighter spots before.

Goths, amirite, you thought. Ever the contrarians, regardless of their age. They tended to be good in the sack though.

You studied this new specimen very thoroughly - and there was plenty to stare at. The man was built like an industrial-sized fridge. Ridiculously tall even while sitting down and broad-shouldered, with a firm chest stretching the plain black cotton of his sweatshirt. Which, by the way, he wore zipped up almost to his very chin, like a layer of protective gear. Weird.

Those dim little lights over the bar made it hard for you to discern the details, but you also noticed the width of his torso and his powerful thighs, clad in simple blue denim. He was by far the plainest dressed patron of this edgelord cellar joint. Apart from the mask you didn't notice anything even remotely Gothic about his style or bearings. Although he sat motionless, cradling a glass of whisky in his long, strong fingers – he still exuded that kind of primal strength which you've learned to associate with the outdoorsy hiker type or the avid sportsman.

"Like what you're seein', love?”

You winced, a bit perplexed that he had caught you taking stock of his impressive physique. But you weren't about to let him know that.

"Yep”, you blurted out instead, staring boldly into those eyes, as dark and impenetrable as a shark's. "Do you?"

"I do, yeah."

Aaand here we go, you thought, relaxing immediately. For now, you were on a beaten path.

"You've said that I looked like -", you chuckled accusingly, leaning back on your stool. His stare was gliding all over you without any shame, probably filing the best finds away for later.

"I know what I said," he cut you off calmly, leaning closer. The height difference between you two was striking.

"Your mascara got smudged and ran off...to there."

You stilled as this complete stranger traced a pale finger across your eye socket. You drew in a deep breath as he touched your zygomatic bone, where nothing possibly could've smudged. His fingertip travelled even further, brushing over your sensitive skin and freeing a lone strand of hair from behind your ear. It was still damp from the rain.

He did it very slowly. Very gently.

You let him. As if you were hypnotized. Attempted a smile, but the corners of your mouth felt strangely numb.

"See? Now that's perfection", he stated in the same hushed, impassive tone of voice before turning back to his drink. The whisky glass disappeared in his hand.

You were silent. Your head was buzzing as if someone had set the radio inside to a non-existent channel.

The thing is, you knew perfectly well who you were dealing with. When it comes to seasoned fuckboys like Skullface here, it's all very simple; they're nothing to be afraid of. Such men are what a high wave is for the swimmer. An opportunity for a fun ride.

Back when you were a teenage girl, you liked to spend hours on end in the sea. At the time you'd like to imagine that this cool, salty, malachite green vastness was your lover. You drifted in the water, letting the wave carry you, surrendering yourself to its tender ruthlessness, allowing the element to hold you for a moment without dealing any harm, to guide you like a dance partner, and then to pass by and disappear into the distance.

It is just like dancing. As long as you know the steps, something beautiful can come out of it.

And you haven't had the chance to let loose on the dancefloor for so long.

You calmed your body by taking a few deep breaths. You couldn't calm your heart. What you could do, though - was to let your audacious spirit take the wheel.

You grabbed at your glass and emptied it in one sweep. Vile whisky did as it always would; it burned your gullet only to flare into a ball of pleasant warmth once it reached your insides. It was not a connoisseur-worthy beverage, but its aggressive sweetness suited your current mood.

You threw your head back and exhaled slowly.

He was watching, you could tell. He tilted his head slightly. Amusement emanated from behind the black mask.

"Say..." you drawled, leaning towards him with your eyes sparkling, for you felt a surge of vigour and boldness along with a freshly bloomed, alcohol-induced blush. 

"Does your mum know that you being a goth is not a phase?"

Skullface snorted softly.

"I am not a goth, love."

"Then why are you in this den for kinky weirdos?" You gestured around the dark interior, including the bare walls, the blue neon light and the throbbing, metallic, dark rhythms pulsing around you.

"I like goth chicks”, he admitted. Cheeky git.

"Why?" you prodded.

"Tattoos in fun places."

"Animal”, you chided him, setting your empty glass down with a bang.

"Excuse me, sir!" you called out to the bartender. "I shall have another."

"Like you came here for some lofty purpose. Wanna discuss the works of Kierkegaard...dressed like that?” The masked man snorted, summing up your entire scantily clad person with one tilt of his chin.

You chuckled quietly, taking no offence.

"I'm surprised that you even know how to pronounce his name."

He remained silent, so you fired away again, buoyed by the alcohol in your veins: 

"Weren't you supposed to add something scathing after the 'dressed like that' part? I'm still waiting for that burn to sting."

"If I did, I'd be a fuckin' hypocrite", he muttered. "Cause I very much enjoy it."

That solemn note of appreciation in his voice made you smile and nod. What an earnest freak.

The bartender came over and took away both of your empty glasses.

"What can I get you?" he asked, his gaze moving from his face to yours.

"Two glasses of bourbon, Geoffrey", the masked man said.

He noticed that you were opening your mouth and nipped those objections in the bud by raising a finger.

"Hey. Bear with me here. If you don't like it, you might drink whatever you want next. Even more of that fuckin' coal sludge you've been having."

"Excuse you, Scotch is hardly a sludge".

"That's what the bloody Scots would tell you. In much more...colourful terms, I s'ppose. I have a Scottish coworker and every time that we go drinkin', he gives me a bloody earful about the superiority (he pronounced this word rolling his r's) of the local distilleries over that Kentucky brew."

"You're friends with a highlander?" you asked. "Does he curse at you in Scots whenever he gets agitated?"

"All the fuckin' time. He's a twonk." A smile laced his words.

"You sure are passionate about your liquor choices." 

You propped your chin up with your hand, smiling at him.

"If I wanted to taste a fuckin' fireplace, I'd chew on a burnt log. Bourbon is the way to go. Much sweeter."

You couldn't help but laugh at his sudden fervour.

"You don't seem like the kind of lad who pursues sweetness," you quipped, trying to look into those impossible eyes of his and not blink. So far, it was a downhill battle. 

The bartender came back. Two glasses full of amber liquid landed on the counter with a dull clink. You didn't have the time to focus on them, because Skullface leaned towards you, shading you with his powerful torso and obscuring the source of the blue light. Your nostrils were suddenly filled with his pleasant manly scent, mixed with the fragrance of fresh laundry, some kind of a woody-citrusy aftershave, and a hint of something you couldn't decipher even though you knew that smell. Its memory, devoid of a name, tickled at the tip of your tongue. Fireworks?

"Sweet and rough things should go hand in hand in life. That's how you make it all bearable somehow."

"Somehow?..” you asked absentmindedly, mesmerised by his deep voice. By the promise tilting at the edge of those slowly, intently enunciated words.

"Hey, true balance is hard to find, 'cause life's a fuckin' mess. It's chaos, it's cruel. No point to it at all."

Holy mackerel, you thought. A goth girl admirer, an apparent powerhouse of a man and a homegrown nihilist in one. With eyes like two abysses and a voice like grit. This was going to be an enchanting evening.

Don't go crazy just yet, you admonished yourself. Don't let this stranger in a mask get the upper hand on you. Keep your calm so that he doesn't sweep you off your feet prematurely.

"So," you murmured, your tone casual, "What did Kierkegaard have to say, exactly?"

Dark eyes twinkled. 

"Many things. Like that our whole existence is absurd. It doesn't really matter what we do, so we might as well do whatever the fuck we want. And right now, I want to do...this."

He dipped a finger into his glass of bourbon and glided it across your lower lip.

You parted your mouth without protest, giving in to the shamelessness of this gesture.

"Just taste it."

[dailyaudiobiblechronological]

11/10/2023 DAB Chronological Transcription

Part 2

Commentary:

Now the feast of unleavened bread from four different narratives for different people, for different truths. I think, I think that's accurate. We have hit all four gospels. Yes, Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. And it's even interesting the things that we read that are so similar, but they might hit you in a different way. In each story, things that you didn't notice from the other translations, it was there, but you just didn't pay attention to it. And it might, just might, just hit you a different way. Oh, I, I must have missed that the first time. And there's so many layers here from the religious leaders trying to trick him and catch him in a thing that will be the thing that will justify means for execution. And I don't want to call Jesus a trickster, but he is so smooth. He is so wise. He's like the greatest spiritual director that ever lived by returning questions with more questions to get to the heart of those that are asking, not just giving the answers. If you think about it, this is Jesus, the man who single handedly changed the trajectory of the world forever. He could answer things and make them as black and white as he possibly could. So we could go there it is. Our theology is locked in. It is the words of Jesus, but he almost gives these hidden cryptic questions that make you go layer beyond layer, beyond layer. And oftentimes if you don't study the layers, if you don't sit with the layers, if you just read it and go, I don't know what just happened here and move on, then you'll try to quote those words back as black and white and they just don't make sense like we think they do. But here's what we do have today, we have an incredibly important phrase here today that we cannot glaze over. John, Chapter 13, verse 34: I give you a new commandment to love one another just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another. Everyone will know by this that you are my disciples if you have love for one another. End music. Drop mic. You cannot mince these words. You cannot make Jesus too loving. We cannot be too loving. Let me say this in these terms, they will not know us by our theology. They will not know us by our denomination. They will not know us by our political affiliation. They will not know us on our beliefs on current issues. They will not know us by how culturally relevant we are. They will not know us by how loud we pray or how often we prophecy. They will know that we are his by the love that we show one another. Period. I'm going to tell you what this means exactly. This doesn't mean love the ones you agree with. Love the ones of the same faith and denomination and systemic beliefs and political affiliation. It means love your brothers and sisters in Christ despite the differences of beliefs. Love one another. It is the most simple concept of what truly will change the world. What makes us rise above the hatred and the noise? And yet we complicate this. We complicate this because we refuse to obey the new commandment that Jesus gave the disciples before he left them. A new commandment, and I get it. When it's new and you're just walking it out and it's not modeled, there's going to be some opposition. There's going to be some pushback. But we are 2,000 plus years into the life and death and ascension of Jesus, and this still rings true. This is what he said, Jesus 's words, thi is how they will know we are his. We've got some work to do. 

[greinkeephus]

I've seen a lot of bewildered people in my notes, so I think it's time we talk about baseball and cheating.

Something that isn't always obvious to the casual observer of the sport is that baseball, for the people who play it at a high level, isn't just a game of physical prowess. You have to imagine a baseball game as a succession of at least 54 games of chess played at 90mph. A large part of the game is "the battle between pitcher and hitter", and that's a psychological and physiological fight more than it is a simple matter of seeing a ball and hitting it. It's impossible for the human brain to actually recognise a pitch and make a decision on whether or not to swing at it before it reaches the plate. So the hitter has to basically... guess ahead of time, and train himself to have instinctual reactions to ultra-early micro-signs that confirm or infirm the pitch type (and consequently its trajectory, speed, and every other information needed to hit it.) Only then does physical ability come in.

Now, ways to guess involve deciphering pitching sequences (a group activity for players and coaches in the dugout), but also observing the pitcher's body language and possible giveaways ("tipping"). You can also, with the help of a smart and observant runner, simply decode the catcher's signs to the pitcher and know what's coming.

This means that on a baseball field everyone is trying to trick each other. The pitcher is trying to trick the hitter and the umpire; the hitter is trying to trick the pitcher, the umpire, and the catcher; the catcher is trying to trick the hitter, the runner(s), and the umpire; the runner is trying to trick the pitcher and the catcher; the fielder is trying to trick the runner. It's a game about scheming!

Okay now what if I told you that when baseball started, this concept of the pitcher tricking the hitter was frowned upon? The pitcher was just supposed to deliver a throw so that the hitter could attempt to put it in play. But as the hitters got better, teams started wanting to make life harder for their opponents, and so baseball changed. And yet the first curveball was considered very un-fair play. Not cheating, though. And this is the lifelong pattern of baseball’s self-creation: overstepping a boundary to push it back. This is the same principle players use every day to widen or tighten the strike zone. Trickery as a part of the game would only grow and grow until it was the main ingredient, the thing that made baseball interesting, exciting, thrilling to play and watch.

So yes, espionage is part and parcel of baseball as a sport; it's not a bug, it's a feature. A central one, too! Sign-stealing has been going on since the beginning of baseball’s modern era, (1900-) because, well, it's basically just an extension of one of the goals of baseball, which is winning the battle of pitcher and hitter through observation and deduction. "Why do they use cards, why are cheat sheets allowed" because, like a lot of things in baseball, it's a risk/reward situation. All the teams use them — at their own peril. Before cards, and still today, players received pitching orders from the coaching staff, through encrypted sequences of signs. These can be decoded! They are done out in the open air! The nature of baseball as a split-second strategy sport demands this kind of help/communication with the players: if anything the cards are a lot safer because they rarely actually slip out of their concealed wallets, whereas body signs can be deciphered much more easily over the course of a series.

Baseball is a game of loopholes and vestigial rules. Yes, you could clean up the whole rulebook, but it's a misunderstanding of what baseball is about — it's as much a children's game as it is a sport. I mean come on, it has elements of tag in it! There's really only three ways to cheat at baseball: doctoring the ball/equipment, using PEDs, or using technology to steal signs (and for a great part of its history baseball had PEDs of choice that were used by most players and swept under the rug, see: greenies). The rest is fair game, because at its core baseball is a convoluted, unsupervised kids' ball game that's gone on a little too long. Not only is deciding sign-stealing is cheating and cracking down on it quasi-impossible (where does it start, where does it end, how can you tell, etc), but it would essentially break the sport at the professional level. Like, you just removed a load-bearing wall and the whole thing is gonna collapse on itself.

IMO this is the thing people who think baseball is boring misunderstand the most about the sport. What most baseball fans find captivating is that tension of the battle, that suspense, like a whodunnit.

So yes, baseball has espionage, no, they’re not going to outlaw Kiermaier Swipes. If you think it’s exciting then I definitely invite you to get into baseball because while it’s not always as flamboyant it’s an element that is perpetually present.

[marjiandco]

7. Pawn

Time/place: Endwalker; After in from the cold. Marji is alone, and must deal with a predator. Endwalker spoilers, Violence

Word count: 488

Often, one would consider flying through the air as a magical moment. If it wasn’t freezing, or you weren’t flailing your way through a window.

The edges of glass tore at Marji’s coat as she crashes through a wooden table and skids into a long empty fireplace. The smell of rot shifts from the sudden newcomer, as if to say ‘Oh, I didn’t know we’d be having guests; I haven’t cleaned.’ Little wonder, as the residents have long heard the call of their primal.

She shakes off the pain radiating down her spine, her grimoire in position when another rushes through the broken window. A heavy step as he changes trajectory and his scythe swings down on her head. She  dives away and has titan-egi create an earthen barrier behind her; Zenos is not one to fall for a trick twice. He jumps over the barrier, his shadow enveloping her.

She shoves herself against the barrier, narrowly missing the tip of steel embedding itself into the stone floor. She calls out Ifrit and sets everything by her ablaze, and Zenos grunts and laughs. Her barrier gone she flips around to catch his coattails ablaze. He pays no mind; he only sees her. He always only sees her.

Leaping forward, her hand glows a ghastly red as she grabs hold of his wrist and pulls herself over his shoulders. Her weight tilts him onto the floor and she clutches his head, her nails embedding into his cheeks.

“This is not the time Zenos.” She hisses, wrapping her legs around his neck to keep hold as he slams her into the ground.

The energy she was siphoning is overwhelming, a blinding drink. In her momentary stupor he turns over and grabs her by the shoulders and yanks her off, wrapping his hands around her neck.

“I know, my love. This is a simple matter of relieving our tension; to whet the appetite before our real meal.”

Spots darkens her vision, he’s so close; he’s so much larger he has the power to kill her right there; but he can’t. She knows he can’t, not yet. A pawn who waits for his queen’s order. One she refuses to give.

Her eyes glow blue, and as Ifrit starts to burn a hole through his coat he smiles at her, eyes half lidded. She snarls, and in Ifrit’s place, Bahamut egi roars to life. It grabs Zenos by the scalp and throws him off of her and she hacks and coughs for air. Bahamut charges again, it’s wings too large for the room as it razes through and holds Zenos down as he held her.

There is was; the voidsent he has in his grasp. It attacks bahamut, and the behemoth’s battle in the enclosed space. Marji dives out of the broken window to avoid being hit, and Zenos comes rushing after her. She sprints through the snow, his cackles not far behind.

[grigori77]

2020 in Movies - My Top 30 Fave Movies (Part 3)

10.  WOLFWALKERS – eleven years ago, Irish director Tomm Moore exploded onto the animated cinema scene with The Secret of Kells, a spellbinding feature debut which captivated audiences the world over and even garnered an Oscar nomination.  Admittedly I didn’t actually even know about it until I discovered his work through his astonishing follow-up, Song of the Sea (another Academy Award nominee), in 2015, so when I finally caught it I was already a fan of Moore’s work.  It’s been a similarly long wait for his third feature, but he’s genuinely pulled off a hat-trick, delivering a third flawless film in a row which OF COURSE means that his latest feature is, beyond a shadow of a doubt, my top animated feature of 2020.  I could even be tempted to say it’s his best work to date … this is an ASTONISHING film, a work of such breath-taking, spell-binding beauty that I spent its entire hour and three-quarters glued to the screen, simple mesmerised by the wonder and majesty of this latest iteration of the characteristically stylised “Cartoon Saloon” look.  It’s also liberally steeped in Moore’s trademark Celtic vibe and atmosphere, once again delving deep into his homeland’s rich and evocative cultural history and mythology while also bringing us something far more original and personal – this time the titular supernatural beings are magical near-human beings whose own subconscious can assume the form of very real wolves.  Set in a particularly dark time in Irish history – namely 1650, when Oliver Cromwell was Lord Protector – the story follows Robyn (Honor Kneafsey, probably best known for the Christmas Prince films), the impetuous and spirited young daughter of English hunter Bill Goodfellowe (Sean Bean), brought in by the Protectorate to rid the city of Kilkenny of the wolves plaguing the area.  One day fate intervenes and Robyn meets Mebh Og MacTire (The Girl at the End of the Garden‘s Eve Whittaker), a wild girl living in the woods, whose accidental bite gives her strange dreams in which she becomes a wolf – turns out Mebh is a wolfwalker, and now so is Robyn … every aspect of this film is an utter triumph for Moore and co, who have crafted a work of living, breathing cinematic art that’s easily the equal to (if not even better than) the best that Disney, Dreamworks or any of the other animation studios could create.  Then there’s the excellent voice cast – Bean brings fatherly warmth and compassion to the role that belies his character’s intimidating size, while Kneafsey and Whittaker make for a sweet and sassy pair as they bond in spite of powerful cultural differences, and the masterful Simon McBurney (Harry Potter, Mission: Impossible – Rogue Nation, Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy) brings cool, understated menace to the role of Cromwell himself.  This is a film with plenty of emotional heft to go with its marvels, and once again displays the welcome dark side which added particular spice to Moore’s previous films, but ultimately this is still a gentle and heartfelt work of wonder that makes for equally suitable viewing for children as for those who are still kids at heart – ultimately, then, this is another triumph for one of the most singularly original filmmakers working in animation today, and if Wolfwalkers doesn’t make it third time lucky come Oscars-time then there’s no justice in the world …

9.  WONDER WOMAN 1984 – probably the biggest change for 2020 compared to pretty much all of the past decade is how different the fortunes of superhero cinema turned out to be.  A year earlier the Marvel Cinematic Universe had dominated all, but the DC Extended Universe still got a good hit in with big surprise hit Shazam!  Fast-forward to now and things are VERY different – DC suddenly came out in the lead, but only because Marvel’s intended heavy-hitters (two MCU movies, the first Venom sequel and potential hot-shit new franchise starter Morbius: the Living Vampire) found themselves continuously pushed back thanks to (back then) unforeseen circumstances which continue to shit all over our theatre-going slate for the immediate future.  In the end DC’s only SERIOUS competition turned out to be NETFLIX … never mind, at least we got ONE big established superhero blockbuster into the cinemas before the end of the year that the whole family could enjoy, and who better to headline it than DC’s “newest” big screen megastar, Diana Prince? Back in 2017 Monster’s Ball director Patty Jenkins’ monumental DCEU standalone spectacularly realigned the trajectory of a cinematic franchise that was visibly flagging, redesigning the template for the series’ future which has since led to some (mostly) consistently impressive subsequent offerings.  Needless to say it was a damn tough act to follow, but Jenkins and co-writers Geoff Johns (Arrow and The Flash) and David Callaham (The Expendables, Zombieland: Double Tap, future MCU entry Shang-Chi & the Legend of the Ten Rings) have risen to the challenge in fine style, delivering something which pretty much equals that spectacular franchise debut … as has Gal Gadot, who’s now OFFICIALLY made the role her own thanks to yet another showstopping and definitive performance as the unstoppable Amazonian goddess living amongst us.  She’s older and wiser than in the first film, but still hasn’t lost that forthright honesty and wonderfully pure heart we’ve come to love ever since her introduction in Zack Snyder’s troublesome but ultimately underrated Batman V Superman: Dawn of Justice (yes, that’s right, I said it!), and Gadot’s clear, overwhelming commitment to the role continues to pay off magnificently as she once again proves that Diana is THE VERY BEST superhero in the DCEU cinematic pantheon.  Although it takes place several decades after its predecessor, WW84 is, obviously, still very much a period piece, Jenkins and co this time perfectly capturing the sheer opulent and over-the-top tastelessness of the 1980s in all its big-haired, bad-suited, oversized shoulder-padded glory while telling a story that encapsulates the greedy excessiveness of the Reagan era, perfectly embodied in the film’s nominal villain, Max Lord (The Mandalorian himself, Pedro Pascal), a wishy-washy wannabe oil tycoon conman who chances upon a supercharged wish-rock and unleashes a devastating supernatural “monkey’s paw” upon the world. To say any more would give away a whole raft of spectacular twists and turns that deserve to be enjoyed good and cold, although they did spoil one major surprise in the trailer when they teased the return of Diana’s first love, Steve Trevor (Chris Pine) … needless to say this is another big blockbuster bursting with big characters, big action and BIG IDEAS, just what we’ve come to expect after Wonder Woman’s first triumphant big screen adventure.  Interestingly, the film starts out feeling like it’s going to be a bubbly, light, frothy affair – after a particularly stunning all-action opening flashback to Diana’s childhood on Themyscira, the film proper kicks off with a bright and breezy atmosphere that feels a bit like the kind of Saturday morning cartoon action the consistently impressive set-pieces take such unfettered joy in parodying, but as the stakes are raised the tone grows darker and more emotionally potent, the storm clouds gathering for a spectacularly epic climax that, for once, doesn’t feel too overblown or weighed down by its visual effects, while the intelligent script has unfathomable hidden depths to it, making us think far more than these kinds of blockbusters usually do.  It’s really great to see Chris Pine return since he was one of the best things about the first movie, and his lovably childlike wide-eyed wonder at this brave new world perfectly echoes Diana’s own last time round; Kristen Wiig, meanwhile, is pretty phenomenal throughout as Dr Barbara Minerva, the initially geeky and timid nerd who discovers an impressive inner strength but ultimately turns into a superpowered apex predator as she becomes one of Wonder Woman’s most infamous foes, the Cheetah; Pascal, of course, is clearly having the time of his life hamming it up to the hilt as Lord, playing gloriously against his effortlessly cool, charismatic action hero image to deliver a compellingly troubling examination of the monstrous corrupting influence of absolute power.  Once again, though, the film truly belongs to Gadot – she looks amazing, acts her socks off magnificently, and totally rules the movie.  After this, a second sequel is a no-brainer, because Wonder Woman remains the one DC superhero who’s truly capable of bearing the weight of this particular cinematic franchise on her powerful shoulders – needless to say, it’s already been greenlit, and with both Jenkins and Gadot onboard, I’m happy to sign up for more too …

8.  LOVE & MONSTERS – with the cinemas continuing their frustrating habit of opening for a little while and then closing while the pandemic ebbed and flowed in the months after the summer season, it was starting to look like there might not have been ANY big budget blockbusters to enjoy before year’s end as heavyweights like Black Widow, No Time To Die and Dune pulled back to potentially more certain release slots into 2021 (with only WW84 remaining stubbornly in place for Christmas).  Then Paramount decided to throw us a bone, opting to release this post-apocalyptic horror comedy on-demand in October instead, thus giving me the perfect little present to tie me over during the darkening days of autumn. The end result was a stone-cold gem that came out of nowhere to completely blow critics away, a spectacular sleeper hit that ultimately proved one of the year’s biggest and most brilliant surprises.  Director Michael Matthews may only have had South African indie thriller Five Fingers for Marseilles under his belt prior to this, but he proves he’s definitely a solid talent to watch in the future, crafting a fun and effective thrill-ride that, like all the best horror comedies, is consistently as funny as it is scary, sharing much of the same DNA as this particular mash-up genre’s classics like Tremors and Zombieland and standing up impressively well to such comparisons.  The story, penned by rising star Brian Duffield (who has TWO other entries on this list, Underwater and Spontaneous) and Matthew Robinson (The Invention of Lying, Dora & the Lost City of Gold), is also pretty ingenious and surprisingly original – a meteorite strike has unleashed weird mutagenic pathogens that warp various creepy crawly critters into gigantic monstrosities that have slaughter most of the world’s human population, leaving only a beleaguered, dwindling few to eke out a precarious living in underground colonies. Living in one such makeshift community is Joel Dawson (The Maze Runner’s Dylan O’Brien), a smart and likeable geek who really isn’t very adventurous, is extremely awkward and uncoordinated, and has a problem with freezing if threatened … which makes it all the more inexplicable when he decides, entirely against the advice of everyone he knows, to venture onto the surface so he can make the incredibly dangerous week-long trek to the neighbouring colony where his girlfriend Aimee (Iron Fist’s Jessica Henwick) has ended up.  Joel is, without a doubt, the best role that O’Brien has EVER had, a total dork who’s completely unsuited to this kind of adventure and, in the real world, sure to be eaten alive in the first five minutes, but he’s also such a fantastically believable, fallible everyman that every one of us desperate, pathetic omega-males and females can instantly put ourselves in his place, making it elementarily easy to root for him.  He’s also hilariously funny, his winningly self-deprecating sass and pitch perfect talent for physical comedy making it all the more rewarding watching each gloriously anarchic life-and-death encounter mould him into the year’s most unlikely action hero.  Henwick, meanwhile, once again impresses in a well-written role where she’s able to make a big impression despite her decidedly short screen time, as do the legendary Michael Rooker and brilliant newcomer Ariana Greenblatt as Clyde and Minnow, the adorably jaded, seen-it-all-before pair of “professional survivors” Joel meets en-route, who teach him to survive on the surface.  The action is fast, frenetic and potently visceral, the impressively realistic digital creature effects bringing a motley crew of bloodthirsty beasties to suitably blood-curdling life for the film’s consistently terrifying set-pieces, while the world-building is intricately thought-out and skilfully executed.  Altogether, this was an absolute joy from start to finish, and a film I enthusiastically endorsed to everyone I knew was looking for something fun to enjoy during the frustrating lockdown nights-in.  One of the cinematic year’s best kept secrets then, and a compelling sign of things to come for its up-and-coming director.

7.  PARASITE – I’ve been a fan of master Korean filmmaker Bong Joon-ho ever since I stumbled across his deeply weird but also thoroughly brilliant breakthrough feature The Host, and it’s a love that’s deepened since thanks to truly magnificent sci-fi actioner Snowpiercer, so I was looking forward to his latest feature as much as any movie geek, but even I wasn’t prepared for just what a runaway juggernaut of a hit this one turned out to be, from the insane box office to all that award-season glory (especially that undeniable clean-sweep at the Oscars). I’ll just come out and say it, this film deserves it all.  It’s EASILY Bong’s best film to date (which is really saying something), a masterful social satire and jet black comedy that raises some genuinely intriguing questions before delivering deeply troubling answers.  Straddling the ever-widening gulf between a disaffected idle rich upper class and impoverished, struggling lower class in modern-day Seoul, it tells the story of the Kim family – father Ki-taek (Bong’s good luck charm, Song Kang-ho), mother Chung-sook (Jang Hye-jin), son Ki-woo (Train to Busan’s Choi Woo-shik) and daughter Ki-jung (The Silenced’s Park So-dam) – a poor family living in a run-down basement apartment who live hand-to-mouth in minimum wage jobs and can barely rub two pennies together, until they’re presented with an intriguing opportunity.  Through happy chance, Ki-woon is hired as an English tutor for Park Da-hye (Jung Ji-so), the daughter of a wealthy family, which offers him the chance to recommend Ki-jung as an art tutor to the Parks’ troubled young son, Da-song (Jung Hyeon-jun). Soon the rest of the Kims are getting in on the act, the kids contriving opportunities for their father to replace Mr Park’s chauffeur and their mother to oust the family’s long-serving housekeeper, Gook Moon-gwang (Lee Jung-eun), and before long their situation has improved dramatically.  But as they two families become more deeply entwined, cracks begin to show in their supposed blissful harmony as the natural prejudices of their respective classes start to take hold, and as events spiral out of control a terrible confrontation looms on the horizon.  This is social commentary at its most scathing, Bong drawing on personal experiences from his youth to inform the razor-sharp script (co-written by his production assistant Han Jin-won), while he weaves a palpable atmosphere of knife-edged tension throughout to add spice to the perfectly observed dark humour of the situation, all the while throwing intriguing twists and turns at us before suddenly dropping such a massive jaw-dropper of a gear-change that the film completely turns on its head to stunning effect.  The cast are all thoroughly astounding, Song once again dominating the film with a turn at once sloppy and dishevelled but also poignant and heartfelt, while there are particularly noteworthy turns from Lee Sun-kyun as the Parks’ self-absorbed patriarch Dong-ik and Choi Yeo-jeong (The Concubine) as his flighty, easily-led wife Choi Yeon-gyo, as well as a fantastically weird appearance in the latter half from Park Myung-hoon.  This is heady stuff, dangerously seductive even as it becomes increasingly uncomfortable viewing, so that even as the screws tighten and everything goes to hell it’s simply impossible to look away.  Bong Joon-ho really has surpassed himself this time, delivering an existential mind-scrambler that lingers long after the credits have rolled and might even have you questioning your place in society once you’ve thought about it some. It deserves every single award and every ounce of praise it’s been lavished with, and looks set to go down as one of the true cinematic greats of this new decade.  Trust me, if this was a purely critical best-of list it’d be RIGHT AT THE TOP …

6.  THE OLD GUARD – Netflix’ undisputable TOP OFFERING of the summer came damn close to bagging the whole season, and I can’t help thinking that even if some of the stiffer competition had still been present it may well have still finished this high. Gina Prince-Blythewood (Love & Basketball, the Secret Life of Bees) directs comics legend Greg Rucka’s adaptation of his own popular series with uncanny skill and laser-focused visual flair considering there’s nothing on her previous CV to suggest she’d be THIS good at mounting a stomping great ultraviolent action thriller, ushering in a thoroughly engrossing tale of four ancient, invulnerable immortal warriors – Andy AKA Andromache of Scythia (Charlize Theron), Booker AKA Sebastian de Livre (Matthias Schoenaerts), Joe AKA Yusuf Al-Kaysani (Wolf’s Marwan Kenzari) and Nicky AKA Niccolo di Ginova (Trust’s Luca Marinelli) – who’ve been around forever, hiring out their services as mercenaries for righteous causes while jealously guarding their identities for fear of horrific experimentation and exploitation should their true natures ever be discovered.  Their anonymity is threatened, however, when they’re uncovered by former CIA operative James Copley (Chiwetel Ejiofor), who’s working for the decidedly dodgy pharmaceutical conglomerate run by sociopathic billionaire Steven Merrick (Harry Melling, formerly Dudley in the Harry Potter movies), who want to capture these immortals so they can patent whatever it is that makes them keep on ticking … just as a fifth immortal, US Marine Nile Freeman (If Beale Street Could Talk’s KiKi Layne), awakens after being “killed” on deployment in Afghanistan.  The supporting players are excellent, particularly Ejiofor, smart and driven but ultimately principled and deeply conflicted about what he’s doing, even if he does have the best of intentions, and Melling, the kind of loathsome, reptilian scumbag you just love to hate, but the film REALLY DOES belong to the Old Guard themselves – Schoenaerts is a master brooder, spot-on casting as the group’s relative newcomer, only immortal since the Napoleonic Wars but clearly one seriously old soul who’s already VERY tired of the lifestyle, while Joe and Nicky (who met on opposing sides of the Crusades) are simply ADORABLE, an unapologetically matter-of-fact gay couple who are sweet, sassy and incredibly kind, the absolute emotional heart of the film; it’s the ladies, however, that are most memorable here.  Layne is exceptional, investing Nile with a steely intensity that puts her in good stead as her new existence threatens to overwhelm her and MORE THAN qualified to bust heads alongside her elders … but it’s ancient Greek warrior Andy who steals the film, Theron building on the astounding work she did in Atomic Blonde to prove, once and for all, that there’s no woman on Earth who looks better kicking arse than her (as Booker puts it, “that woman has forgotten more ways to kill than entire armies will ever learn”); in her hands, Andy truly is a goddess of death, tough as tungsten alloy and unflappable even in the face of hell itself, but underneath it all she hides a heart as big as any of her friends’.  They’re an impossibly lovable bunch and you feel you could follow them on another TEN adventures like this one, which is just as well, because Prince-Blythewood and Rucka certainly put them through their paces here – the drama is high (but frequently laced with a gentle, knowing sense of humour, particularly whenever Joe and Nicky are onscreen), as are the stakes, and the frequent action sequences are top-notch, executed with rare skill and bone-crunching zest, but also ALWAYS in service to the story.  Altogether this is an astounding film, a genuine victory for its makers and, it seems, for Netflix themselves – it’s become one of the platform’s biggest hits to date, earning well-deserved critical acclaim and great respect and genuine geek love from the fanbase at large.  After this, a sequel is not only inevitable, it’s ESSENTIAL …

5.  MANK – it’s always nice when David Fincher, one of my TOP FIVE ALL TIME FAVOURITE DIRECTORS, drops a new movie, because it can be GUARANTEED to place good and high in my rundown for that year.  The man is a frickin’ GENIUS, a true master of the craft, genuinely one of the auteur’s auteurs.  I’ve NEVER seen him deliver a bad film – even a misfiring Fincher (see The Curious Case of Benjamin Button or Alien 3) is still capable of creating GREAT CINEMA.  How? Why?  It’s because he genuinely LOVES the art form, it’s been his obsession all his life, and he’s spent every day of it becoming the best possible filmmaker he can be.  Who better to tell the story of the creation of one of the ULTIMATE cinematic masterpieces, then?  Benjamin Ross’ acclaimed biopic RKO 281 covered similar ground, presenting a compelling look into the making Citizen Kane, the timeless masterpiece of Hollywood’s ULTIMATE auteur, Orson Welles, but Fincher’s film is more interested in the original inspiration for the story, how it was written and, most importantly, the man who wrote it – Herman J. Mankiewicz, known to his friends as Mank. One of my favourite actors of all time, Gary Oldman, delivers yet another of his career best performances in the lead role, once a man of vision and incredible storytelling skill whose talents have largely been squandered through professional difficulties and personal vices, a burned out one-time great fallen on hard times whom Welles picks up out of the trash, dusts off and offers a chance to create something truly great again.  The only catch?  The subject of their film (albeit dressed up in the guise of fictional newspaper magnate Charles Foster Kane) is to be real-life publisher, politico and tycoon William Randolph Hurst (Charles Dance), once Mank’s friend and patron before they had a very public and messy falling out which partly led to his current circumstances.  As he toils away in seclusion on what is destined to become his true masterwork, flashbacks reveal to us the fascinating, moving and ultimately tragic tale of his rise and fall from grace in the movie business, set against the backdrop of one of the most tumultuous periods in American history.  Shooting a script that his own journalist and screenwriter father, Jack, crafted and then failed to bring to the screen himself before his death in 2003, Fincher has been working for almost a quarter century to make this film, and all that passion and drive is writ large on the screen – this is a glorious film ABOUT film, the art of it, the creation of it, and all the dirty little secrets of what the industry itself has always really been like, especially in that most glamorous and illusory of times.  The fact that Fincher shot in black and white and intentionally made it look like it was made in the early 1940s (the “golden age of the Silver Screen”, if you will) may seem like a gimmick, but instead it’s a very shrewd choice that expertly captures the gloss and moodiness of the age, almost looking like a contemporary companion piece to Kane itself, and it’s the perfect way to frame all the sharp-witted observation, subtly subversive character development and murky behind-the-scenes machinations that tell the story.  Oldman is in every way the star here, holding the screen with all the consummate skill and flair we’ve come to expect from him, but there’s no denying the uniformly excellent supporting cast are equal to the task here – Dance is at his regal, charismatic best as Hearst, while Amanda Seyfried is icily classy on the surface but mischievous and lovably grounded underneath as Hearst’s mistress, Marion Davies, who formed the basis for Kane’s most controversial character, Arliss Howard (Full Metal Jacket, The Lost World: Jurassic Park, Moneyball) brings nuance and complexity to the role of MGM founder Louis B. Mayer, Tom Pelphrey (Banshee, Ozark) is understated but compelling as Mank’s younger screenwriter brother Joseph, and Lily Collins and Tuppence Middleton exude class and long-suffering stubbornness as the two main women in Mank’s life (his secretary and platonic muse, Rita Alexander, and his wife, Sara), while The Musketeers’ Tom Burke’s periodic but potent appearances as Orson Welles help to drive the story in the “present”.  Another Netflix release which I was (thankfully) able to catch on the big screen during one of the brief lulls between British lockdowns, this was a decidedly meta cinematic experience that perfectly encapsulated not only what is truly required for the creation of a screen epic, but also the latest pinnacle in the career of one of the greatest filmmakers working in the business today, powerful, stirring, intriguing and surprising in equal measure. Certainly it’s one of the most important films ABOUT so far film this century, but is it as good as Citizen Kane?  Boy, that’s a tough one …

4.  ENOLA HOLMES – ultimately, my top film for the autumn/winter movie season was also the film which finally topped my Netflix Original features list, as well as beating all other streaming offerings for the entire year (which is saying something, as you should know by now).  Had things been different, this would have been one of Warner Bros’ BIGGEST releases for the year in the cinema, of that I have no doubt, a surprise sleeper hit which would have taken the world by storm – as it is it’s STILL become a sensation, albeit in a much more mid-pandemic, lockdown home-viewing kind of way.  Before you start crying oh God no, not another Sherlock Holmes adaptation, this is a very different beast from either the Guy Ritchie take or the modernized BBC show, instead side-lining the great literary sleuth in favour of a delicious new AU version, based on The Case of the Missing Marquess, the first novel in the Enola Holmes Mysteries literary series from American YA author Nancy Springer.  Positing that Sherlock Holmes (Henry Cavill) and his elder brother Mycroft (Sam Claflin) had an equally ingenious and precocious baby sister, the film introduces us to Enola (Stranger Things’ Millie Bobby Brown), who’s been raised at home by their strong-willed mother Eudoria (Helena Bonham Carter) to be just as intelligent, well-read and intellectually skilled as her far more advantageously masculine elder siblings.  Then, on the morning of her sixteenth birthday, Enola awakens to find her mother has vanished, putting her in a pretty pickle since this leaves her a ward of Mycroft, a self-absorbed social peacock who finds her to be wilfully free-spirited and completely ill equipped to face the world, concluding that the only solution is sending her to boarding school where she’ll learn to become a proper lady.  Needless to say she’s horrified by the prospect, deciding to run away and search for her mother instead … this is about as perfect a family adventure film as you could wish for, following a vital, capable and compelling teen detective-in-the-making as she embarks on her very first investigation, as well as winding up tangled in a second to boot involving a young runaway noble, Viscount Tewkesbury, the Marquess of Basilwether (Medici’s Louis Partridge), and the film is a breezy, swift-paced and rewardingly entertaining romp that feels like a welcome breath of fresh air for a literary property which, beloved as it may be, has been adapted to death over the years.  Enola Holmes a brilliant young hero who’s perfectly crafted to carry the franchise forward in fresh new directions, and Brown brings her to life with effervescent charm, boisterous energy and mischievous irreverence that are entirely irresistible; Cavill and Claflin, meanwhile, are perfectly cast as the two very different brothers – this Sherlock is much less louche and world-weary than most previous versions, still razor sharp and intellectually restless but with a comfortable ease and a youthful spring in his step that perfectly suits the actor, while Mycroft is as superior and arrogant as ever, a preening arse we derive huge enjoyment watching Enola consistently get the best of; Bonham Carter doesn’t get a lot of screen-time but as we’d expect she does a lot with what she has to make the practical, eccentric and unapologetically modern Eudoria thoroughly memorable, while Partridge is carefree and likeable as the naïve but irresistible Tewkesbury, and there are strong supporting turns from Frances de la Tour as his stately grandmother, the Dowager, Susie Wokoma (Crazyhead, Truth Seekers) as Emily, a feisty suffragette who runs a jujitsu studio, Burn Gorman as dastardly thug-for-hire Linthorn, and Four Lions’ Adeel Akhtar as a particularly scuzzy Inspector Lestrade.  Seasoned TV director Harry Bradbeer (Fleabag, Killing Eve) makes his feature debut with an impressive splash, unfolding the action at a brisk pace while keeping the narrative firmly focused on an intricate mystery plot that throws in plenty of ingenious twists and turns before a suitably atmospheric climax and pleasing denouement which nonetheless artfully sets up more to come in the future, while screenwriter Jack Thorne (His Dark Materials, The Scouting Book for Boys, Wonder) delivers strong character work and liberally peppers the dialogue with a veritable cavalcade of witty zingers.  Boisterous, compelling, amusing, affecting and exciting in equal measure, this is a spirited and appealing slice of cinematic escapism that flatters its viewers and never talks down to them, a perfect little period adventure for a cosy Sunday afternoon.  Obviously there’s plenty of potential for more, and with further books to adapt there’s more than enough material for a pile of sequels – Neflix would be barmy indeed to turn their nose up at this opportunity …

3.  1917 – it’s a rare thing for a film to leave me truly shell-shocked by its sheer awesomeness, for me to walk out of a cinema in a genuine daze, unable to talk or even really think about much of anything for a few hours because I’m simply marvelling at what I’ve just witnessed.  Needless to say, when I do find a film like that (Fight Club, Inception, Mad Max: Fury Road) it usually earns a place very close to my heart indeed.  The latest tour-de-force from Sam Mendes is one of those films – an epic World War I thriller that plays out ENTIRELY in one shot, which doesn’t simply feel like a glorified gimmick or stunt but instead is a genuine MASTERPIECE of film, a mesmerising journey of emotion and imagination in a shockingly real environment that’s impossible to tear your eyes away from.  Sure, Mendes has impressed us before – his first film, American Beauty, is a GREAT movie, one of the most impressive feature debuts of the 2000s, while Skyfall is, in my opinion, quite simply THE BEST BOND FILM EVER MADE – but this is in a whole other league.  It’s an astounding achievement, made all the more impressive when you realise that there’s very little trickery at play here, no clever digital magic (just some augmentation here and there), it’s all real locations and sets, filmed in long, elaborately choreographed takes blended together with clever edits to make it as seamless as possible – it’s not the first film to try to do this (remember Birdman? Bushwick?), but I’ve never seen it done better, or with greater skill. But it’s not just a clever cinematic exercise, there’s a genuine story here, told with guts and urgency, and populated by real flesh and blood characters – the heart of the film is True History of the Kelly Gang’s George MacKay and Dean Chapman (probably best known as Tommen Baratheon in Game of Thrones) as Lance Corporals Will Schofield and Tom Blake, the two young tommies sent out across enemy territory on a desperate mission to stop a British regiment from rushing headlong into a German trap (Tom himself has a personal stake in this because his brother is an officer in the attack).  They’re a likeable pair, very human and relatable throughout, brave and true but never so overtly heroic that they stretch credibility, so when tragedy strikes along the way it’s particularly devastating; both deliver exceptional performances that effortlessly carry us through the film, and they’re given sterling support from a selection of top-drawer British talent, from Sherlock stars Andrew Scott and Benedict Cumberbatch to Mark Strong and Colin Firth, each delivering magnificently in small but potent cameos.  That said, the cinematography and art department are the BIGGEST stars here, masterful veteran DOP Roger Deakins (The Shawshank Redemption, Blade Runner 2049 and pretty much the Coen Brothers’ entire back catalogue among MANY others) making every frame sing with beauty, horror, tension or tragedy as the need arises, and the environments are SO REAL it feels less like production design than that someone simply sent the cast and crew back in time to film in the real Northern France circa 1917 – from a nightmarish trek across No Man’s Land to a desperate chase through a ruined French village lit only by dancing flare-light in the darkness before dawn, every scene is utterly immersive and simply STUNNING.  I don’t think it’s possible for Mendes to make a film better than this, but I sure hope he gives it a go all the same.  Either way, this was the most incredible, exhausting, truly AWESOME experience I had at the cinema all year – it’s a film that DESERVES to be seen on the big screen, and I feel truly sorry for those who missed the chance …

2.  BIRDS OF PREY & THE FANTABULOUS EMANCIPATION OF ONE HARLEY QUINN – the only reason 1917 isn’t at number two is because Warner Bros.’ cinematic DC Extended Universe project FINALLY got round to bringing my favourite DC Comics title to the big screen.  It was been the biggest pleasure of my cinematic year getting to see my top DC superheroines brought to life on the big screen, and it was done in high style, in my opinion THE BEST of the DCEU films to date (yup, I loved it EVEN MORE than the Wonder Woman movies).  It was also great seeing Harley Quinn return after her show-stealing turn in David Ayer’s clunky but ultimately still hugely enjoyable Suicide Squad, better still that they got her SPOT ON this time – this is the Harley I’ve always loved in the comics, unpredictable, irreverent and entirely without regard for what anyone else thinks of her, as well as one talented psychiatrist.  Margot Robbie once more excels in the role she was basically BORN to play, clearly relishing the chance to finally do Harley TRUE justice, and she’s a total riot from start to finish, infectiously lovable no matter what crazy, sometimes downright REPRIHENSIBLE antics she gets up to.  Needless to say she’s the nominal star here, her latest ill-advised adventure driving the story – finally done with the Joker and itching to make her emancipation official, Harley publicly announces their breakup by blowing up Ace Chemicals (their love spot, basically), inadvertently painting a target on her back in the process since she’s no longer under the assumed protection of Gotham’s feared Clown Prince of Crime – but that doesn’t mean she eclipses the other main players the movie’s REALLY supposed to be about.  Each member of the Birds of Prey is beautifully written and brought to vivid, arse-kicking life by what had to be 2020’s most exciting cast – Helena Bertinelli, the Huntress, is the perfect character for Mary Elizabeth Winstead to finally pay off on that action hero potential she showed in Scott Pilgrim Vs. the World, but this is a MUCH more enjoyable role outside of the fight choreography because while Helena may be a world-class dark avenger, socially she’s a total dork, which just makes her thoroughly adorable; Rosie Perez is similarly perfect casting as Renee Montoya, the uncompromising pint-sized Gotham PD detective who kicks against the corrupt system no matter what kind of trouble it gets her into, and just gets angrier all the time, paradoxically making us like her even more; and then there’s the film’s major controversy, at least as far as the fans are concerned, namely one Cassandra Cain.  Sure, this take is VERY different from the comics’ version (a nearly mute master assassin who went on to become the second woman to wear the mask of Batgirl before assuming her own crime-fighting mantle as Black Bat and now Orphan), but personally I like to think this is simply Cass at THE VERY START of her origin story, leaving plenty of time for her to discover her warrior origins when the DCEU finally gets around to introducing her mum, Lady Shiva (personally I want Michelle Yeoh to play her, but that’s just me) – anyways, here she’s a skilled child pickpocket whose latest theft inadvertently sets off the larger central plot, and newcomer Ella Jay Basco brings a fantastic pre-teen irreverence and spiky charm to the role, beautifully playing against Robbie’s mercurial energy.  My favourite here BY FAR, however, is Dinah Lance, aka the Black Canary (not only my favourite Bird of Prey but my very favourite DC superheroine PERIOD), the choice of up-and-comer Jurnee Smollet-Bell (Friday Night Lights, Underground) proving to be the film’s most inspired casting – a club singer with the metahuman ability to emit piercing supersonic screams, she’s also a ferocious martial artist (in the comics she’s one of the very best fighters IN THE WORLD), as well as a wonderfully pure soul you just can’t help loving, and it made me SO UNBELIEVABLY HAPPY that they got my Canary EXACTLY RIGHT.  Altogether they’re a fantastic bunch of badass ladies, basically my perfect superhero team, and the way they’re all brought together (along with Harley, of course) is beautifully thought out and perfectly executed … they’ve also got one hell of a threat to overcome, namely Gotham crime boss Roman Sionis, the Black Mask, one of the Joker’s chief rivals – Ewan McGregor brings his A-game in a frustratingly rare villainous turn (my number one bad guy for the movie year), a monstrously narcissistic, woman-hating control freak with a penchant for peeling off the faces of those who displease him, sharing some exquisitely creepy chemistry with Chris Messina (The Mindy Project) as Sionis’ nihilistic lieutenant Victor Zsasz.  This is about as good as superhero cinema gets, a perfect example of the sheer brilliance you get when you switch up the formula to create something new, an ultra-violent, unapologetically R-rated middle finger to the classic tropes, a fantastic black comedy thrill ride that’s got to be the most full-on feminist blockbuster ever made – it’s helmed by a woman (Dead Pigs director Cathy Yan), written by a woman (Bumblebee’s Christina Hodson), produced by more women and ABOUT a bunch of badass women magnificently triumphing over toxic masculinity in all its forms.  It’s also simply BRILLIANT – the cast are all clearly having a blast, the action sequences are first rate (the spectacular GCPD evidence room fight in which Harley gets to REALLY cut loose is the undisputable highlight), it has a gleefully anarchic sense of humour and is simply BURSTING with phenomenal homages, references and in-jokes for the fans (Bruce the hyena! Stuffed beaver! Roller derby!).  It’s also got a killer soundtrack, populated almost exclusively by numbers from female artists.  Altogether, then, this is the VERY BEST the DCEU has to offer to date, and VERY NEARLY my absolute FAVOURITE film of 2020.  Give it all the love you can, it sure as hell deserves it.

1.  TENET – granted, the streaming platforms (particularly Netflix and Amazon) certainly saved our cinematic summer, but I’m still IMMEASURABLY glad that my ultimate top-spot winner FOR THE WHOLE YEAR was one I got to experience on THE BIG SCREEN. You gotta hand it to Christopher Nolan, he sure hung in there, stubbornly determined that his latest cinematic masterpiece WOULD be released in cinemas in the summer (albeit ultimately landing JUST inside the line in the final week of August and ultimately taking the bite at the box office because of the still shaky atmosphere), and it was worth all the fuss because, for me, this was THE PERFECT MOVIE for me to get return to cinemas with.  I mean, okay, in the end it WASN’T the FIRST new movie I saw after the first reopening, that honour went to Unhinged, but THIS was my first real Saturday night-out big screen EXPERIENCE since March.  Needless to say, Nolan didn’t disappoint this time any more than he has on any of his consistently spectacular previous releases, delivering another twisted, mind-boggling headfuck of a full-blooded experiential sensory overload that comes perilously close to toppling his long-standing auteur-peak, Inception (itself second only by fractions to The Dark Knight as far as I’m concerned). To say much at all about the plot would give away major spoilers – personally I’d recommend just going in as cold as possible, indeed you really should just stop reading this right now and just GO SEE IT.  Still with us?  Okay … the VERY abridged version is that it’s about a secret war being waged between the present and the future by people capable of “inverting” time in substances, objects, people, whatever, into which the Protagonist (BlacKkKlansman’s John David Washington), an unnamed CIA agent, has been dispatched in order to prevent a potential coming apocalypse. Washington is once again on top form, crafting a robust and compelling morally complex heroic lead who’s just as comfortable negotiating the minefields of black market intrigue as he is breaking into places or dispatching heavies, Kenneth Branagh delivers one of his most interesting and memorable performances in years as brutal Russian oligarch Andrei Sator, a genuinely nasty piece of work who was ALMOST the year’s very best screen villain, Elizabeth Debicki (The Night Manager, Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2, Widows) brings strength, poise and wounded integrity to the role of Sator’s estranged wife, Kat, and Aaron Taylor-Johnson gets to use his own accent for once as tough-as-nails British Intelligence officer Ives, while there are brief but consistently notable supporting turns and cameos from Martin Donovan, Yesterday’s Himesh Patel, Dirk Gently’s Fiona Dourif and, of course, Nolan’s good luck charm, Michael Caine.  The cast’s biggest surprise, however, is Robert Pattinson, truly a revelation in what has to be, HANDS DOWN, his best role to date, Neil, the Protagonist’s mysterious handler – he’s by turns cheeky, slick, duplicitous and thoroughly badass, delivering an enjoyably multi-layered, chameleonic performance which proves what I’ve long maintained, that the former Twilight star is actually a fucking amazing actor, and on the basis of this, even if that amazing new teaser trailer wasn’t making the rounds, I think the debate about whether or not he’s the right choice for the new Batman is now academic.  As we’ve come to expect from Nolan, this is a TRUE tour-de-force experience, a visual triumph and an endlessly engrossing head-scratcher, Nolan’s screenplay bringing in seriously big ideas and throwing us some major narrative knots and loopholes, constantly wrong-footing the viewer while also setting up truly revelatory payoffs from seemingly low-key, unimportant beginnings – this is a film you need to be awake and attentive for or you could miss something pretty vital. The action sequences are, as ever, second to none, some of the year’s very best set-pieces coming thick and fast and executed with some of the most accomplished skill in the business, while Nolan-regular cinematographer Hoyte van Hoytema (Interstellar and Dunkirk, as well as the heady likes of Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, SPECTRE and Ad Astra) once again shows he’s one of the best camera-wizards in the business today by delivering some absolutely mesmerising visuals.  Notably, Nolan’s other regular collaborator, composer Hans Zimmer, is absent here (although he had good reason, since he was working on his dream project at the time, the fast-approaching screen adaptation of Dune), but Ludwig Göransson (best known for his collaborations with Ryan Coogler Fruitvale Station, Creed and Black Panther, as well as career-best work on The Mandalorian) is a fine replacement, crafting an intriguingly internalised, post-modern musical landscape that thrums and pulses in time with the story and emotions of the characters rather than the action itself. Interestingly it’s on the subject of sound that some of the film’s rare detractions have been levelled, and I can see some of the points – the soundtrack mix is an all-encompassing thing, and there are times when the dialogue can be overwhelmed, but in Nolan’s defence this film is a heady, immersive experience, something you really need to concentrate on, so these potential flaws are easily forgiven.  As a work of filmmaking art, this is another flawless wonder from one of the true masters of the craft working in cinema today, but it’s art with palpable substance, a rewarding whole that proved truly unbeatable in 2020 …

[i-dont-want-your-hysteria]

Thru the Window- Joe x Reader

(prompt: you're living in the Netherlands with the Def Leppard crowd while they're recording Hysteria. You're Joe's girlfriend, but you're both trying to keep your relationship a secret)

Inspired by the song "Thru the Window" by REO Speedwagon (a song about this ever so classic and adorable trope. I also tried to use as many of these lyrics as possible :3D)

------

(June 1986)

Joe's eyes shifted over to the clock on his nightstand yet again after another five seconds had passed. He just couldn't help himself. It was 11:22, and 11:35 couldn't possibly come soon enough. A warm breeze blew through his open window, hitting the bottoms of his feet as he lay flat on his back. There was adrenaline pulsing through him so ardently that he tried to will it away, but it was no use. He was too excited, and he had to wait at least another ten minutes or so before he could act on it.

His eagerness had certainly slowed down time itself tonight, and it had definitely gotten the better of him in multiple ways.

For one thing, his leg wouldn't stop bouncing. For another thing, he'd gotten changed far too early, and was laying on his bed in his date clothes. His "date clothes" (being a rather unflattering combination of a Cheap Trick t-shirt tucked into some sweatpants) weren't meant to be anything to look at, but he wanted to be as casual as possible. The goal was to be unrecognizable (as much as you could be at this time of night), but pleasing. 

Either way, Joe knew you wouldn't mind it. To him, these 'dates' you two had weren't done for the looks. You saw each other enough that you didn't give a shit about proper attire.

Joe's hands were neatly and formally folded on his stomach as he stared up at the dark ceiling of his hotel room. With nothing to distract him, his mind was on the verge of running mad. There were so many things he could've been thinking about as he waited, such as the tremendous progress that had been made in recording the new album, whether or not the jukebox at the pub got fixed yet, or what he'd have for breakfast the next morning.

What he actually chose to think of was "Why did I turn off the light, again?"

Some answers were quite simple.

"Oh yeah. Cos' to everyone else I'm 'asleep' right now."

The light being off was just a small but vital detail to the plan you two had for the night.

Once his own question was answered, his mind moved onto the next topic: another five seconds had passed. Joe turned his head to look at the clock again. 11:23. Great.

His head angled back upwards, seeing the imaginary dots and waves of colors appear before his eyes in the dark. His leg still bounced, his hands began to weave together, and he closed his eyes to hum the first tune that came to mind. It was necessary to drown out the sound of the ticking clock in his head.

Joe inhaled slowly, and held the breath for a quick instant. Just ten more minutes, he told himself. Ten more minutes, and then he could go. Ten more minutes. Ten. Two sets of five. Five sets of two. Just ten more-

"Fuck it," he lowly said as he sat up and put on his shoes. 

Oh well. These dates weren't about being on time, either. 'On time' was late, after all. He wanted to decide when the time had come.

After slipping on his shoes, double checking that he had his wallet, and triple checking that his door was locked, Joe pushed open the window sash to create a more ideal opening to slip through. Into the darkness he went, out onto the fire escape, then he descended to the ground below. He began on the second floor, so each step lower was done with the utmost caution. 

When he reached the next level, his heart jumped upon seeing the light still on in Malvin's room. Flattening himself next to the window, Joe carefully climbed over the railing of the fire escape and lowered himself down until it was safe enough to let go. 

His feet met the ground, making a firm landing. He looked back up at the lit window and grinned under the open summer sky. He'd slipped away like a thief in the night.

Joe's legs began to move, trotting to the other side of the hotel (the side by the lake), and feeling the warm breeze rushing by his face. He couldn't help but smile; all his pent-up adrenaline was finally being put to use. 

 As always, he made sure to race for the shadows of the building to make a trail no one could follow. He was always beyond careful, making sure nobody would ever see or hear his driven intentions. It was better that no one knew. It was more fun that way for both of you.

Your silhouette became clear to him once he reached the other side, your window now visible on high. Joe slowed his run until he was a few yards from the base of the hotel. His head angled up to your room, taking note of the dim light from within. You weren't facing the window, but Joe knew you were waiting for him on this summer night. 

He could've sworn he sensed your excitement, too; he could practically hear your heartbeat. It may have been his own heightened sparks of joy pounding in his ears- as he knew he was unarguably early. Still, date night was date night, and the singer was eager to kick things off. There was no time to lose. It was time to announce his arrival.

After reaching down into the grass and locating a small stone, Joe found a trajectory from where he stood, and flung his attention getter up at your window.

***

Your eyes shifted over to the clock on your nightstand once another five minutes had passed. It was 11:27, and 11:35 was just around the corner. Smiling, you turned back to your mirror and leaned forward, finishing up the last bit of your makeup. A warm breeze blew through your open window, lifting thin strands of your hair up to slightly flutter in front of your eyes. 

It was true that you didn't need to dress up in any way, but your excitement had gotten the better of you. The plans for the night urged you to be dolled up at least a little bit. Who cared if it was going on midnight? You were still going out on a date, and you were still going to be in public. Some jeans and a crop top were just right for the occasion- with it being a warm and breezy night. The outfit was casual enough for the pub that you and Joe called your own, but flattering enough that you knew Joe would love it.

You drew back from the vanity and admired your appearance. Tonight would be great without a doubt. All there was left to do was wait for the man of the hour. Maybe you'd wait at the window and-

The sound of something landing behind you grabbed your attention. You turned and looked to the floor, spotting a small stone. Your eyes squinted from confusion, but your mouth angled into a smile.

To the window you went, and you gazed outside, seeing Joe down on the lawn below.

"Really?" you gently scoffed at him.

He looked a bit embarrassed, "Sorry! I didn't see it was open 'til it was too late..."

You chuckled and shook your head, turning back to stuff your wallet into your pocket and to switch off your lamp. With your room now dark, and your door locked, you slipped away through your own window, and made your way down your own fire escape.

Joe held out his hand once you were within reach, and led you down the remaining stairs.

You told him, "You're early."

He immediately retaliated, "You're lucky."

"How?"

"You don't have any acquaintances living below you," he tilted his head sweetly, "When I climbed down just now, Malvin was still awake. He could've caught me, you know..."

You rubbed your thumb over his hand and scoffed, "I doubt that- you're too sneaky."

"Could say the same about you, you know," he teased back, placing his other hand on your waist and moving in closer.

"That's why we're a good fit," you declared before moving your hand to the back of his head and kissing him. Another breeze blew around you both as he locked you in the embrace.

When it was broken, he quickly stepped back and pulled on your arm, urging you to come along jokingly, "Now quick, before anyone sees-"

He dragged you forward, adding, "I've got a good feeling the jukebox is gonna be fixed tonight!"

You laughed as you began to run next to him, both of you now running freely through the night in the open street. The energy between both of you was high, making it a thrill to be alive in that moment. Such high emotion was bound to make the date night better than it'd ever been, taking you both where you'd never been before.

 Yes, you could have taken one of your cars, but then there would've suddenly been a higher chance of someone seeing that at least one of you was gone. It was just another minute detail to ensure the safety of your plan. Even the pub you and Joe normally went to was one that the others probably didn't even know existed. 

The route to get there was a simple one; you always liked to say that it was "over the bridge, five blocks east, and down a dirt road that is barely a street". You were both still running when you ran over the bridge, eager to get to your relationship's safe haven. It was only when you reached said bridge that you slowed to a normal walk. 

You hugged Joe's arm, laughing and panting as you crept around the neighborhood "It's such a perfect night- I'm so glad we planned a date tonight."

"Yeah, couldnt've asked for anything better," he grinned up at the stars, "We made an easy getaway, too."

"Not often we get nights like these. Remember the night you were in my room and Phil almost came in?"

Joe cackled up at the sky, recalling, "Ah- yeah, can never forget that one. We barely got away with that one. How did he not hear me talking?"

"I have no idea, but I've never hidden someone that fast in my life- let alone someone as big or as naked as you were."

"Oi!" he whined, "You want a date or not?"

You giggled and rested your head against his arm, "I'll behave, I swear."

"Good, cos' the fun hasn't even started yet," he warned, tenderly putting his other hand on your arm. In a few minutes, the dirt road was in sight, looking like a familiar and secret setting of a dream. At the end of the street, the glowing lights of the secluded pub were now visible.

"I'll race you," you smirked before bolting away from Joe and down the street.

Instantly, he bolted after you, "Hey!"

He caught up quickly (his long legs being an advantage), and stopped you by gripping the back of your shirt. He did his best to take you in his arms, but tripped in the process, sending you both down to the dirt at an angle. You both hit the ground laughing, rolling onto your backs and cackling up to the summer stars.

"Sorry-" Joe huffed. You both paused for a second or two, then he rolled over to quickly straddle and pin you to the ground. 

"What are you doing?" you laughed at him, as if you didn't already know. He stroked your hair back with a loving smile, leaning down and softly kissing you. He was tender for only that second before kissing his way down to your neck, making you squirm underneath him.

"Ah- Joe!" you squealed, your face flushing up, "Cut it out! We're outside-!"

"Oi!" a different voice sounded off not so far away. You both turned your heads to see the owner of the pub standing out on the front porch, sending a parental scowl at the pair of you.

"Adrian- he's mad, I tell you!" you adopted a fake tone of helplessness.

"She started it," Joe blamed with a smirk.

"You two again, huh?" Adrian scolded you, "I'll be having no filthy business at the porch of my pub, you hear? Save it for the pool room."

"Yes, dad," Joe whined, shooting a cranky scowl down at you, rolling off and helping you up. You hit him on the arm playfully, him flinching at first, then putting his arm back around you. You both faced Adrian and began to walk up to the porch.

"I haven't seen the pair of you for almost 2 weeks, what's happened with ya?" he asked.

You answered, "Ah, studio troubles."

"And you're still keepin' this a secret, I take it?"

"It's the way we like it! It's more fun that way," Joe told him, " 'Our little secret' keeps the adrenaline going. Is the jukebox working again?"

"Been working since last week," Adrian's eyes followed you both as you edged closer, "Got 6 new singles on it now."

Joe's eyes lit up, "Oh, brilliant, which ones?"

"Ah, I can't remember, you'll see them soon anyway."

You got to the porch, Adrian holding the door open for both of you. With your date a threshold away, you stopped and asked him quietly with an air of implication, "Oh, also... when will the pool room be open?"

You looked at Joe with a devious smile. He returned it to you, beaming with similar energy.

"I can have everyone out of there by midnight if that's what you want, darling," Adrian gave a single nod, a glint of understanding in his eyes.

"No need to rush it, mate," Joe clapped a hand on his shoulder, "Take your time. We've got all night, after all."

"Well I've only got until 2:30," he warned, "So I'll let you kids know as soon as I can."

"You're the best," you leaned up and kissed Adrian's cheek, "Thanks for everything, as always."

"Don't mention it, love. You two be careful, now."

Both you and Joe droned as you walked inside, "We know."

With that, you both disappeared into the warmly lit building, feeling the summer heat as well as the heat of each other. It was always a dream come true with Joe no matter what; a dream with no one else to flaunt it at except each other, and it was more than enough. 

Your own little secret world was just between the two of you, and that was the way you liked it best. That was all either of you really needed, anyway; each other.

The end

[brightasstars]

A special thanks goes to @antisocial-af​ who drew the amazing star-stamp for me. You’re talented, and special.

Title: If this is not Enchantment...

Square Filled: Christmas Fic (For @shadowhunterbingo​)

Raiting: G

Pairing:Malec

Wordcount: 2193

No Major Archive Warnings

Summary:

The Traditional New York Institute Snowball Fight for Christmas Eve is about to start... but something unexpected is happening this year!

Read on Ao3

Rafe crossed the threshold of the Institute smiling at the girl who was guarding the entrance. No one ever stopped them, not even the youngest ones or the new ones coming from other Institutes scattered around the world. Everyone recognized him and Max from far away.

 “Uncle Jace!” he called, seeing him standing near the monitors.

 Jace turned, a wide smile spreading on his face as he closed the distance with his nephew. Rafe had become a very good fighter and was now on duty at the Mexico City Institute. The more he grew up, the more he looked like Alec, Jace was always impressed. The way he moved his shoulders, his neck, the way he walked through the corridors, his pitch-black hair ruffled on top, his quiet voice.

“Hey, Rafe! Good to see you, how are things going in Mexico?”

 Rafe hugged him. “Good, really good. Is Max already here?”

 Jace shook his head, “No, at least I haven’t seen him yet.”

 As he finished talking they saw an azure portal opening in the middle of the monitor’s room, setting all the Institute alarms running. Max had arrived.

 Jace rolled his eyes and turned to see a very pleased Max Lightwood-Bane stepping out from the portal.

 He was laughing, his naughty eyes sparkling under his blue hair. It had become a habit, breaking the rule of portalling directly inside the Institute walls, just to have fun and see his dad running out of his office to tell him that no matter who they were, they were supposed to follow the rules. And he apologized, always. 

 But no steps came running down the hallway, and no voice.

 “He’s not here,” Izzy shouted from the training room, “They are both outside checking the perimeters and the playing field.”

 Max made an expression which was half a pout and half a frown, “Gah, too bad, I should have checked before portalling. Hey Rafe, all good?”

 He went to his brother and patted him on his shoulder.

 “Yeah, all good…”

 “I thought you’d come accompanied,” Max grinned. 

 Rafe glared at him. 

 “Oh Rafe,” Izzy whined stepping closer, caressing his cheek, “you really bring me back to when Alec was in your place, glaring to whoever dared to allude in front of him that he was secretly seeing Magnus.”

 Max looked back at him, “Save the fury for the battle, we're not going to let you Shadowhunters win this year,” he stated moving toward the door that led to the gardens.

 It had become a tradition, every Christmas Eve of the last ten years , Alec and Magnus organized a  Snowball Fight  between Shadowhunters and Downworlders in the gardens of the Institute. Magnus magicked a huge playfield where they fought at first in groups, until only two of them were left and battled it out to define the winner. It was fun and a special way to strengthen the alliances, to celebrate Christmas, a mundane holiday, in their own way.

 Last year, the battle ended with Izzy unexpectedly taking down Catarina. 

 Each group was allowed to use magic, tricks, runes, everything, as far as nothing was done to hurt each other.

Alec and Magnus had wanted this as a celebration of their differences and their powers, a demonstration of how diversities were a strength, a resource.

 Rafe and Max strolled out on the snow along with Jace and Simon, laughing and talking about their last months, asking when were their cousins coming as their feet made a soft sound on the snow.

 “You broke in in the hall, again,” a gravel voice towered from behind a tree, “don’t think I didn’t notice," and then a hard hand on his shoulder shoved him on the snow.

"Dad!" Max shouted, coughing and spitting some snow crystals from his mouth. He stood up on his legs and a pair of strong warm arms engulfed him in a tight hug. 

"Welcome home, my blueberry," Alec whispered only for Max to hear.

"Is this the welcome you have reserved to me?" Max whined, trying to disguise the chuckle that was lingering under his lips.

"You can dry yourself with a flick of your fingers, it's not such a big deal…," Alec replied, pulling back.

 As their gazes met, they burst into a loud laughter and hugged again, as Max changed his clothes.

When Alec turned, Rafe was looking at him with such tenderness that Alec felt a knot in his stomach.

 "We're going to win again dad," Rafe said and pulled his father in another hug.

 As his son's thick arms encircled him, Alec's mind reflected upon the unique sensation he got each time he hugged one of his two sons. They were different, even in the way their hugs felt.

Max's arms were thin, and he used to close them around Alec's low waist, burying his face into his father's chest, as if he was still the source of protection and shelter.

Rafe instead preferred to close them around his neck, pulling him close chest to chest and resting his forehead on his shoulder, pushing it down into the hollow of his collar bone, as when as a child, he tried to push away the nightmares.

 Alec was so glad that Magnus had slowly taught him how to express his feelings physically. He had been grown up as if he was an ethereal being, not made of a carnal body to be held, touched or hugged. 

Shadowhunters kids were mind, soul, rationality, devotion, duty… he remembered some days he almost felt invisible to the ones that surrounded him.

When Magnus came into his life, he discovered how much he loved to touch and be touched, how much a simple gesture could change his day, and make a difference in their relationship, to the point that sometimes words became unnecessarily; and this had been the way they had grown Rafe and Max. Hugs, kisses, gentle caresses, and holding hands.

 “I heard you’re doing wonders in Mexico City, I was sure 'bout this, but, just so you know, we’re really proud of you, Rafe, “Alec said

“Speaking of  us … Where is Bapak?"

 Alec spun on his heel and looked straight into the playfield, “Putting on his snow combat gear,” he chuckled softly, “you know how much he hates the cold and the feeling of being wet after a snow battle.”

 Rafe widened his eyes, "So what I heard through the grapevines is true… you two are really fighting this year."

Alec smiled back at him, "Yes, we are. It's the tenth year anniversary of this traditional battle and we thought it would be nice to take an active part in it."

"I'm not letting the Shadowhunters win again," a soft voice came from behind the same tree where Alec was.

 As soon as Magnus appeared, Rafe was on him, burying his nose in his jacket. Alec heard them exchange soft quiet words in Spanish as Magnus threaded his fingers through their son's hair.

Max stepped closer too and Magnus' arms widened a little bit more, enough to pull the younger warlock in.

 "My kids," he whispered.

 "Rafe, don't fraternize with your enemy," they heard Jace say.

Magnus glares at his brother in law, "Be sure my first blow is gonna kick you right in your butt, Blondie."

"Yeeeessssss," Jace replied delighted, "the fight is so much better when the High Warlock gets pissed off."

 As they all laughed, a quick series of  wooshes  filled the air, and warlocks, seelies, vampires and werewolves stepped out from a carousel of portals, all in their traditional uniforms that Clary had designed since this had started.

After a second of silence as the eyes took in all the faces, the atmosphere turned instantly chaotic, with hands greetings, chuckles and chitchats all around the playfield.

 The crowd knew where to move and in a few minutes they were all settled into the battlefield, Alec and Magnus standing on the furthest back of the playing camp. The purpose was to spare them the first shots and let them get directly to the  juicy part of the snow war that was about to start.

Before the hostilities began, Alec took a moment to greet everyone, thanking them all for coming and for the collaboration, the help, and the commitment they all put in the year that was coming to its end. 

 Then the Shadowhunters activated their runes and Magnus yelled from the far end of the field, "Snowball fight!", and in seconds, the air became thick with snowballs so compacted that many of them felt almost solid. Some balls were colored and changed trajectory under the pulse of magic, some transformed into giants white icy monsters that engaged in a fight with the Nephilims, while others just disappeared in the air to splatter right in the face of an opponent warrior. 

Vampires were always the last to surrender as the cold and the wet didn't affect them at all; werewolves shifted to take advantage of their fur and heightened strength, while seelies shots, made of freshly fallen flakes, always burst open at the impact, showering everyone with crystalline fragments that glinted in the wintry light.

 Alec was fighting his way to the final battle taking down many Downworlders, but he seemed to avoid his husband. Magnus, on his part, had started with the high ranks of the Shadowhunters, defeating them one by one. Izzy first, then Clary and Underhill, then Jace and in the end, his beloved son, Rafe.

 "Bapak," he heard him whine, "and I thought you'd spare me…"

"Everything is allowed in love and war my little one, and we're undoubtedly in  war ."

 Rafe laughed falling on his back onto a huge hill of snow gathered on the side of the battling field.

 He searched for his brother and spotted him cornered against a tree, as he was pleading Alec to spare him, "Dad you can't, I'm your little blueberry," but his dad shot him with such precision and strength that he was thrown behind the borders that delimited the playground. 

Then Rafe saw Alec shrugging and leaning down, extending an open hand to his son, and pulling him up.

 Several minutes later, the field was empty, only Magnus and Alec left to fight.

"We're going to make this last battle the mundane way, " Magnus heard his husband shout at him, "uhm? What do you say?", and he nodded from afar.

 Then he moved to hide behind a huge tree trunk, as Alec deactivated all his runes. His gloved magic hands were buried deep in the snow, frantically making a stockpile of balls to use. 

Magnus knew too well he had to be fast and unpredictable to prevent Alec aim to work properly, otherwise his husband wouldn't have missed a shot. Alec, instead, was slowly approaching the tree, gathering some snow on his way to Magnus, focusing on the best angle to get the strike right where he wanted it.

 The first snowball Magnus threw, smacked Alec right on the side of his head, the hard and cold impact turning his ears to a bright red, as the snow exploded on his cheek, sprinkling his hair with white.

Alec didn't even flinch, but kept on closing the distance between them, slowly but relentlessly, one hand holding the ball that was growing bigger, and one hand parrying the shots.

When he decided he was close enough, he crouched on the ground, behind a huge stone, disappearing from Magnus' sight just for the time he needed to give a last glance to his target. He took another look around and then raised his ball, now as huge as a watermelon, and then released it, hitting Magnus full on his face, shoving him backward and against the tree with a loud thud. The snow on the branches fell on him, covering him up and pinning him against the bark and into the ground.

 "You did not just throw that at me, did you?" he heard Magnus yell before bursting into one full-hearted, untamed laughter. 

 Lorenzo Rey took the horn and blew in it, to declare the Nephilims' victory, and as soon as the sound dissolved in the wind, everyone had already rushed inside to change their clothes and head to the training room where the reception took place.

 Alec closed the distance between them, kneeling in the cold snow to help Magnus on his feet, kissing the crystals away from his face with tender, chaste movements of his lips, breathing some hot air against his husband's freezing skin.

 "Aren't you enchanting, covered in white snow? Here, let me warm you up," Alec murmured softly in his ears, as he slid his arms beneath him and scooped him up, cradling him against his chest.

"Alexander…," Magnus breathed out, his cheeks red for the cold and the romance, "...put me down, everyone is looking at us from behind those huge windows…"

Alec kissed him on his forehead, just before tightening the grip, "Good," he answered, "let's show them the exact reasons why we've been on the Clave naughty list for the last twenty years."

He smiled tenderly, before leaning forward again, "Happy Christmas, Magnus."

[smerehardrolin]

10 Best Sports Games For People Who Hate Sports

One common gaming stereotype is that it's antithetical to sports. Not so with these sports games!

It takes a special kind of sports game to appeal to players that aren't normally interested in sports. Some key features are accessibility, fast-paced gameplay, and simplification of many qualities of the sport in question. Features that exaggerate for the sake of spectacle or humor tend to be well-received additions.

In certain ways, sports games that manage to appeal to non-sports fans barely feel like sports games at all. Without all the usual technicalities in play, they can become more enjoyable when reduced to their essential aspects. It helps when the games have a bright and colorful aesthetic too.

10 Mario Golf Makes The Sport More Exciting By Adding Fantastical Elements

Ever since way back in 1991 with NES Open Tournament Golf, Mario, his friends, and his enemies have enjoyed playing golf together. The Mario Golf series began with the original game on the Nintendo 64 in 1999. Its popularity has remained steady, with each new entry in the series offering something new for players.

Having a familiar cast of characters and simplified controls appeal to non-golfers. The games give players visual information about how far shots will go with each club, the trajectory and lay of the course, and the strength being put into each shot. Some Mario Golf games even have RPG-like elements, or special powerups, making play more unique and exciting.

9 Ice Hockey For The NES Is Still One Of The Best Hockey Games

Just because a game is old, doesn't make it bad. Ice Hockey for the NES is a good example of that concept. Its controls are fairly straightforward, its visuals are bright and colorful, and the music is catchy and memorable. The gameplay itself is simple, but very satisfying too. There's a sense of challenge to it, but it's the fun kind that makes most players want to keep trying.

https://lasc.instructure.com/eportfolios/405/Home/ASSISTIR_Velocidade_Furiosa_9_2021_HD__F_I_L_M_E_COMPLETO_DUBLADO_ONLINE__Grtis_Legendado_em_Portugus

https://lasc.instructure.com/eportfolios/406/Home/AssistirPT_Velocidade_Furiosa_9_2021_Filme_Completo_HDDublado

https://aps1.instructure.com/eportfolios/1274/Home/Vem_ASSISTIR_Velocidade_Furiosa_9_filme_completo_2021__filme_completo_dublado_grtis

https://lasc.instructure.com/eportfolios/407/Home/Vem_ASSISTIR_Velocidade_Furiosa_9_filme_completo_2021__Filme_Completo_Dublado_Em_Portugues

https://aps1.instructure.com/eportfolios/1275/Home/Vem_ASSISTIR_Velocidade_Furiosa_9__Filme_2021_HD__Filme_Completo_em_Portuguese

https://lasc.instructure.com/eportfolios/408/Home/Vem_ASSISTIR_Velocidade_Furiosa_9_filme_completo_2021__filme_completo_dublado_grtis

https://aps1.instructure.com/eportfolios/1276/Home/VERHD_Velocidade_Furiosa_9_2021__Filme_Completo_em_portuguese

https://pdx.instructure.com/eportfolios/1071/Home/Vem_ASSISTIR_Velocidade_Furiosa_9_filme_completo_2021__filme_completo_dublado_grtis

https://aps1.instructure.com/eportfolios/1277/Home/Vem_ASSISTIR_Velocidade_Furiosa_9_2021_filme_completo_em_portuguese

https://lasc.instructure.com/eportfolios/409/Home/ASSISTIR_Velocidade_Furiosa_9_2021_HD__F_I_L_M_E_COMPLETO_DUBLADO_ONLINE__Grtis_Legendado_em_Portugus

https://capolista681902302.wordpress.com/2021/06/27/10-best-sports-games-for-people-who-hate-sports/

All these aspects work out in its favor. Despite the game's age, it remains a very accessible experience. It's easy to pick up and play a few matches and walk away from it feeling satisfied, even decades after its creation.

8 NFL Blitz Bends The Rules In Ways Only A Video Game Can

NFL Blitz is a franchise that started in the late 1990s and early 2000s. It takes the usual rules of American Football and bends them into a fast-paced arcade experience. Player movement is very quick, and tackles have much more flourish and pack a punch. Often, the animations look like something from a wrestling match rather than actual football.

Players have a turbo gauge and can use it for temporary boosts of speed. Hits can be late, even very late, and there is no punishment. The commentary is loose and humorous. The playbook is reduced to just a handful of options for simplicity and speed. All of it combines to make a very exciting version of football that would not be safe in reality but works great for an accessible and fun video game.

7 Wave Race Has Satisfying Watercraft Racing With Easy Controls

Nintendo's Wave Race series of games is an excellent example of accessible controls in a racing game. Players proceed through a racecourse in a slalom-like fashion, with buoys placed throughout the course. Depending on the color of the buoy and using the large arrow signs as indicators, players either have to go around the left or the right side of each one. Missing buoys lowers overall watercraft speed and missing too many forces a restart of the race.

Wave Race 64 on the Nintendo 64 can be played with just one button to accelerate the watercraft and the control stick to steer. This simplicity in approach makes for a fantastic game that anyone can pick up and play.

6 Arms Is A Radical Mix Of Boxing And Fighting Games Arms is a mix of 1 vs. 1 arena fighting games and boxing. Motion controls help bring some accessibility to the experience, but this isn't necessarily the simplest game to play. It is a wildly different approach to boxing, with each character having spring-like stretchable arms to use for their offensive moves.

Arms plays like a boxing game from opposite ends of a large arena rather than having to get up close and personal. Defense is possible as well with a guarding motion similar to how it would be done in traditional boxing. Add in the game's more fantastical elements like ninjas and mechs, and you have a unique and exciting take on the sport of boxing.

5 NBA Jam Is Fanciful Basketball With Turbo Jumps And Flaming Powerups

NBA Jam started out as an arcade game, and it shows. It has simplified controls, flashy dunks, and features like turbo boosts and powerups to make the game more exciting. If players make three shots in a row the announcer remarks: "He's on fire!" The ball changes to a smoking fireball and shots have an increased chance of making it in the basket.

In NBA Jam Tournament Edition especially, more powerups and fantastical elements were added to make the gameplay really stand out. Hot spots appear on courts, and if a player's character makes a shot while standing there, they get increased points. Powerups spread around the court can increase turbo gauge duration, shot accuracy, movement speed, and more.

4 Wii Sports Utilizes Motion Controls Across A Variety Of Accessible Sports Games

The Wii Sports franchise brings accessibility through motion controls to a wide variety of different sports games. Being able to play just by moving one's arms to mimic the real sport adds a fresh new feel to the experience. Even people who never play video games or the sports in question may enjoy it.

While not all of the games are created equal, there are 5 offerings in the original Wii Sports game and a whopping 12 in its sequel, Wii Sports Resort. Chances are good even if players aren't fond of every one of them, there are probably one or two that they can enjoy playing repeatedly.

3 Punch-Out!! Simplifies Boxing Gameplay And Has Memorable Characters

Another game series that started in the arcades, the Punch-Out!! franchise's most popular entry is on the NES.  The controls are fairly simple, though precise timing with button presses is required to make progress. The bright and colorful visuals and memorable characters add charm to the experience.

Punch-Out!! on Wii is a revamp of the series, harkening back to the NES era. It adds motion controls, even supporting the Wii Balance Board accessory in addition to the Wii Remote + Nunchuck controller setup. For players who prefer something more traditional, NES-style controls are also an option using the Wii Remote turned sideways. The variety of control options make the experience approachable for many.

2 Tony Hawk's Pro Skater Makes Skateboarding Appealing For Many

Back in the late 1990s and early 2000s, the Tony Hawk's Pro Skater series of games were at the height of its popularity. Many players who have never even considered the sport of skateboarding took interest in the games. Backed by a then-contemporary soundtrack, its trick-chaining gameplay often resonates with players.

A recent modern remake introduces the skateboarding games to a whole new generation of gamers. Players can easily perform tricks that would be risky or downright dangerous in real life. The controls take some getting used to, but they follow similar patterns using the different face buttons, so it becomes second nature after acclimating to them.

1 Rocket League Is A Fantastic Blend Of Racing And Soccer

Rocket League mixes two completely unrelated sports genres: racing and soccer. It sounds bizarre, but it's a fantastic experience. Players take control of a vehicle on a team and drive around a huge soccer field. The goal is to bash their car into the giant ball and knock it into the opposing team's net, just like with soccer.

The racing controls are approachable and easy to pick up. Games can be played against computer opponents or real people, and there are rankings leaderboards and tournaments for those who enjoy competition. There are even other game modes to play that mimic different sports, like basketball and ice hockey.

[katherinewilliams221b]

For A Greater Good 4/18

Gif not mine just the text

Summary: Kate Williams, young healer and member of the Order, joins Durmstrang's staff at Dumbledore's request. Her mission? Find a Death Eater and survive long enough to tell the story. Set in 1996.

Pairing: Charlie Weasley x ofc

Masterlist

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

Bold lines are from the book Harry Potter and The Order of the Phoenix

--

“Come on, Charlie.” He stared at her for a moment and lowered his wand. 

“I don’t think this is a good idea...” Kate sighed and gripped her wand more firmly. 

“I need to see what your tactic is so we can improve it.” He pointed his wand at her again and she gave him a quick nod before counting from three to one.

“Flipendo!” Charlie shouted. With a sudden movement, Kate raised her wand, and his spell bounced in the air. Violet sparks shot from her wand, but Charlie dodged them. “Stupefy!”

 She cast a shield again, and the spell went back towards Charlie. He managed a clumsy “Protego!” And Kate used his distraction to disarm him.

He was left staring at his wand that had got stuck in the mud. Kate grimaced sympathetically and waited for him to pick it up.

“Think about your opponent and try to predict their movements. It’s easy with me, you know me. Think about earlier, the sequence of spells.” Charlie took a deep breath and stood in a combat position, “And square your shoulders, you are not taking care of a baby dragon, here. You are battling with the enemy.” 

Charlie’s wand twitched slightly. He’s attacking again, she predicted. He attempted a non-verbal spell, but Kate managed to dodge it. Suddenly, Charlie started shouting a sequence of spells, forcing Kate to wave her wand frantically in the air and, to his disappointment, avoiding every single one of them. 

When he stopped, she shouted “Melofors!” And Charlie’s head got trapped into a giant pumpkin. 

Kate started laughing, and he raised his arms in a silent question. Between giggles, she mouthed “Finite” and his head went back to normal. 

“What was that for? How did you do that?” She approached him and took a few insides of the pumpkin off his shoulders. 

“I should have taken a picture. Never cast that jinx on you, you looked nice.” She reached up and messed with his hair. “Although with this orange locks I don’t think there’s much difference...” 

He threw her a fake offended look and nodded defiantly. 

“Oh, it’s on now, miss.” Kate’s eyes twinkled, and a brilliant smile lit her face.

“Yes! That’s the attitude. Come on, change of tactics. I don’t recommend you to cast a lot of spells at once, your wand will start doing funny things.” 

He nodded, and they resumed their original positions. 

“Try doing something unexpected.” They pointed at each other and attacked at the same time. The spells collided in a shower of sparks.

 Kate attacked again, but he avoided it. A few Flipendos were shouted here and there before Charlie did what he was asked: something unexpected. 

He pointed at the ground, and suddenly the grass around Kate started growing too quickly to react. She couldn’t see anything from the grass cage she was trapped in, so she put her arms before her and pushed at the green barrier, fumbling forwards and almost losing balance. 

“Expelliarmus!” She felt her wand slip from her hand and followed its trajectory with her eyes until it landed by Charlie’s feet.

 After recovering from her astonishment, the corners of her lips curled up.

“That was really good. Very creative.” He smiled proudly, picked up her wand and handed it to her. 

“I almost didn’t get it. Non-verbal spells are your thing.”

“I’m not sure if that’s helpful in a duel, but you’re getting the idea.”

“Charles! Katie! Dinner’s ready!” Mrs Weasley’s voice fell over them like a cube of iced water.

“Let’s go inside before Mum catches us duelling in the backyard.”

--

Real-life duels had nothing to do with the innocent performance of that day when Kate taught Charlie a few tricks. Especially not in Libor Marek’s advanced duelling class.

The man was stocky, so much that Kate thought that if someone bumped into him, they would fall to the ground on impact.

You could tell he’d been in a lot of battles. The skin on his face was tanned, but it had red and sunken areas. A slight beard covered many of the scars, but others, such as on his forehead or nose, gave him an even more frightening appearance.

Kate had been sitting in an armchair for an hour watching the different lessons that were part of the class.

Her coworkers were not kidding when they warned her of the violence in his classes. So far, a crack in the wall had occurred, a lamp had fallen, and several curtains had caught fire.

No one seemed to care about all this except from Kate who, from her seat, was cleaning up the messes that the teacher and his students were making in the process.

The class had begun normally; they practised on mannequins until Marek got tired and placed them in two rows facing each other. That’s when the actual problems started: slugs, flames, chains, petrified students or dancing around were some things Kate had to deal with.

She noticed his limp and how, thanks to it, his balance on his left leg was impeccable. He had boasted several times that he could beat anyone while standing on one foot only, and he had every right to do so, because his skills were admirable.

“Get in line. Let’s see what you’ve learned today,” he announced. It’s rare to see classes where lessons are individualised; it requires time and patience.

Nevertheless, Libor Marek spent a few minutes for each of his students and corrected at least one thing they were doing wrong.

Kate could not, or perhaps didn’t want to, pay attention to Marek’s mind, something Professor Snape would have reproached her for without hesitation. She had forgotten why she was there and at some point; she began to listen to the teacher’s directions and advice.

One of the students got into position.

“Don’t you dare cast a spell.”

The room became silent and Kate leaned forward in her chair.

“Does anyone know what will happen if he tries to knock down the mannequin?” Several murmurs echoed around the class, but no one dared to give an answer.

“He will fall,” Kate said, louder than expected.

All eyes fell on her, and she felt like a sniffler caught stealing coins. Libor arched an eyebrow.

“Elaborate.”

Kate stood up and pointed to the boy’s hand and traced the path of his wand.

“His arm is too high. The spell will bounce against the window in the opposite direction.”

The teacher squinted almost imperceptibly before stepping aside and waving for Kate to take his place beside the boy.

“A healer with space vision? That’s odd, to say the least. Please.”

She shook her sleeve and her wand slipped until she could grab it. She took a few steps and got into a duelling position.

“Don’t... move.” He stood right in front of the tip of the wand and asked his students to step aside.

“Steady pulse,” he turned his gaze to her feet and hummed “exact angle of the feet.”

He circled Kate, looking up and down at her.

“Upright position, but not tense.” He stood back and gestured towards the mannequin. “A simple banishing charm will do.”

Just by moving her arm, a bright white light shot out and hit the target, propelling it towards the wall.

“And also skilled in non-verbal charms. You had an excellent instructor. Did you study at Durmstrang? I don’t remember you.”

“No, at Hogwarts.” For some reason, he was surprised.

“I didn’t know that Hogwarts appreciated martial magic.” He waved his hand, and all the mannequins piled up in one corner. He stood a few feet in front of her.

“Tell me about your wand.” Kate tilted her head.

“That’s cheating, if we’re going to duel.”

“Who said anything about that?” Kate questioned him with her eyes and he answered with a half-smile before pointing his wand at her.

“I already know is spruce wood, though it might be pine. Slightly elastic, from the way you’ve tightened it when you cast the spell, and you know it very well, is it phoenix feather?”

Kate put the wand down and couldn’t hide her amazement. Meanwhile, Marek continued to speak.

“I also know that you are, or could be, good with wand-less magic. Your fingers, on your left hand, glowed just for a second.”

“You know all that at just one glance?”

“So it is phoenix feather. Interesting combination. Come on, let’s see what you can do. Best of three?”

Kate raised her wand again and took a deep breath.

“Why?” She just asked.

“I never miss a chance to find a new tough competitor. And if they’re inexperienced, they make the best disciples.”

Without warning, Marek cast several offensive spells that Kate easily deflected. He inspected her again and followed the assault.

He was quick and very agile; the minutes passed and Kate began to have difficulty keeping up.

The professor took action and began to move. She adjusted her position and followed his steps, keeping her distance and avoiding some students who, with the lack of space, no longer knew where to hide. When Marek sped up his steps, they seemed to dance.

“So you say you studied at Hogwarts...” he questioned. With a whip-like movement, Marek deflected his wand towards the group of students. Kate reacted in time and bent her entire body so that the counter-spell reached the area where they were.

The two spells collided and deviated until they exploded against the door which, being half-open, closed making a great noise.

“Time out!” shouted Kate before raising both hands. Marek looked at her curiously. “You fight me, not them.”

“Anything can happen in a duel. I teach them to be ready at any time, especially when they’re not fighting. They’re purebloods and I want the best, if a spell comes their way for watching flitterbys, they’ve asked for it.”

It was Kate’s turn to strike. Squeezing her wand, she discharged a series of jinxes to him.

They didn’t even tickle him. He avoided each of them without breaking a sweat.

“I see the indignation on your face. Is it something I said?” he roared. His challenging eyes glowed with amusement. “Ah, I see,” he began as he avoided Kate’s spells.

“You’re one of those who has sympathy for the mudbloods.” Kate stopped the assault. She took a couple of deep breaths to get her strength back.

“That’s an awful term. And this school is missing out on having wonderful witches and wizards.”

“Durmstrang admits just the best.” Marek initiated offensive spells again and moved around the room, forcing Kate to walk toward the mannequins.

“Do you test them to get in? To see their level?”

“It’s unnecessary.”

“Then it’s not a good system.” Soft murmurs from the students indicated their bewilderment, and their fear, at the direction the conversation was going. “Hogwarts accepts everyone equally.”

Marek laughed and shook his head.

“Ah, but that’s not quite true, is it? Would they let a wizard from Germany in? No? Maybe one who lives in Spain? For your beloved school, everything outside its radius doesn’t exist.”

Kate had lost her focus. That was clear to anyone who was watching. She lowered her wand slightly, and Marek took advantage of the slip.

“Oppugno.” He said it so casually that it didn’t seem like he was casting a spell.

The mannequins rushed to Kate, forcing her to turn around and hold them back with a protective spell.

Without her being able to see it, the professor waved his wrist and her wand shot out.

Before the mannequins could attack, Marek stopped them within millimetres of her. She turned and Libor levitated her wand towards her.

“One-nil, by my reckoning.” He said, raising an eyebrow.

Kate conceded with a nod of her head and got into position again.

“I hope your friends won’t intervene again.” She commented by pointing her thumb behind her back.

“Professional advice: don’t expect anything from anyone.”

The rain of sparks began again, moving the students across the room so they wouldn’t get hurt.

Kate ducked just in time to dodge for two jinxes. One of them bounced against the window and hit one of the lamps, which fell in between them.

Marek caught it in the air and pulled it back up, fast enough to protect himself from Kate’s spells.

A red beam shot from Marek’s wand, and Kate’s eyes widened.

She shielded herself a little awkwardly from the fright and called another time out.

“I have not agreed to unforgivable curses.”

“Irrelevant. You know them well without even saying the word, and you have protected yourself. What is the problem?”

Kate didn’t answer. This time she started the offensive.

“Back to the subject: I’ve known brilliant Muggle-borns who’ve taught me many things, and purebloods who’ve taken years to learn a basic spell.”

Marek rolled his eyes and started walking around the room while dodging hexes.

“They are a hindrance. They take up the space of those who really deserve it.”

“Just like that? Would you get rid of all the Muggle-borns?”

Marek halted and raised his arms. His expression was aggressive, and Kate could see he was upset.

“Don’t change my words. I don’t want to kill Muggles. I just teach genuine witches and wizards.”

“And what are Muggle-borns but witches and wizards?”

“They are remnants. Remains of a true wizard ancestor. They’ll never live up to the potential of someone whose family is full of magic.”

Kate changed the direction of movement and turned the other way. He watched as Marek was absorbed in his thoughts, not even paying attention to Kate’s spells. He had grown accustomed to her tactics and was moving by inertia.

It was time to do something unexpected.

Concentrating all her power in the palm of her hands, she gestured as if she was grabbing a handful of air and pulled.

With the aid of her wand, the heavy curtains that were once tied with ropes were lifted to stand between them.

Marek cut them in half and freed himself before the cloth could trap him completely.

He arched his eyebrows in recognition, but Kate was staring into her palm, where a spiral of golden shimmering was disappearing beneath her skin.

She had never done anything like that before.

“Worst of all, the proportion of the wizarding population that is muggle-born is increasing as pure-blood families shrink in number. They have become a plague.”

Kate snapped her head up and gave him a half-smirk.

“You’ve just admitted that they’re part of the wizarding population.”

“What...?” As the professor registered what he had just said, Kate used his confusion to expel the wand out of his hand.

“Draw, by my reckoning.”

They got into position for the third time when the sound of bells indicating the end of class echoed throughout the castle.

Holding her gaze, Marek dismissed his students.

“I hope you have learned something from this meeting. You may leave.”

Slowly, the girls and boys present approached the door without taking their eyes off the two duellists. The door opened, but no one wanted to leave. They stood at the entrance of the room watching the show and wondering who would win.

“I believe, Mr Marek, that if you put aside your prejudices, your world would become a little less dark.”

“You are in Durmstrang, young lady. Everything here is darkness.” With one last wave of the wand, Kate took a blow to the chest and ended up on the floor.

She sat there, trying to pretend she wasn’t massaging her right buttock.

The professor limped over and extended a hand that Kate accepted.

“Good duel. You’ve been a tough competitor. There are things to polish, but you could easily enter a duelling championship.”

She stood up in pain and shook her head.

“I’m not interested.” She looked down at Marek’s knee and gathered the courage she needed before she spoke. “May I ask what happened? With your leg, I mean. Maybe I can help you.” He just huffed.

“There’s no cure for this, I’m afraid. Certain curses leave a mark forever.”

--

Kate stood at the owlery waiting for a letter from Charlie.

The little owl that she had turned into binoculars was already more comfortable with her and, after some treats, had already forgiven her for the incident.

She had a lot to think about in the days following the duel with Libor Marek. Despite everything the professor had said, there was something in his attitude that made her think he wasn’t a murderer.

An internal conflict arose as she considered the contempt with which he had spoken of the muggle-borns, a characteristic value of a Death Eater.

“But many people think like him, don’t they?” she caressed the owl’s beak with her knuckle and sighed.

His honesty presented a problem. A problem with a clear and effective solution. However, it was premature to reach any kind of conclusion.

"And furthermore, he said he would not kill Muggle-borns."

Her new friend tilted its head and watched her carefully.

"I guess you're right."

The promised owl arrived with a letter and a newspaper, which she kept inside her uniform and pressed against her chest on her way to her room. She had to keep her head down so that the smile she was unable to contain wouldn’t be noticed.

That smile faded as she read the Daily Prophet’s lines.

“An escape of this magnitude suggests outside help, and we must remember that Black, as the first person ever to break out of Azkaban, would be ideally placed to help others follow in his footsteps.”

“That’s rubbish!” she exclaimed, throwing the article entitled MASS BREAKOUT FROM AZKABAN on her bed.

Furious, she grabbed paper and quill and began to write a letter to Tonks asking for explanations, before stopping short.

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit.” She rested her elbow on her desk and put her forehead on the palm of her hand. Dumbledore had said that the least amount of people should know about her whereabouts. Least of all someone from the Ministry.

With a sigh, she crumpled up the scroll and turned to look at the article again. The image of a witch twisted into a scream drowned out by the paper.

"Bellatrix Lestrange."

She took her wand and suspended the newspaper in the air before creating four clean cuts around the article.

She opened the closet and rummaged through her things until she found a notebook she had hidden.

She turned the pages containing the documents about the four teachers she was to investigate: Mer Yankelevich, Libor Marek, Kent Jorgensen, and Leron Angelov, whom she had not met.

Kate kept turning pages with notes and those same names under a code, until she reached the first empty space, where she placed the cut-out article.

After noting the date, she wrote down on the next page her observations about Professor Marek.

She was aware of the danger of keeping a diary with all this information, but she had to tell someone everything that was going on, and neither Charlie nor Rowan could provide that help now.

--

[Part 5]

[sworn-unbeliever]

12 - Tooth and Nail

wc: 1,371

Leviathan appeared from out of nowhere.

A simple ship ride between Kugane and Limsa Lominsa had gone all too swimmingly. Any road to a greater destiny had to have some bumps on the road. What better path to have the Itsubishi family’s supposedly improved financial success than to have the Lord of the Whorl himself test their resolve? While Useless Tia lived up to his name and vanished without a trace, everyone else donned their arms and prepared for battle. Aunt Jocelyn and her gunblade. Mother Yoshiko and her fists. Younger brother Jeremy with his chakrams. And elder brother Teremy with his knives. Punching. Cutting. Slashing. Fire. Water. Lightning. All remaining on deck defended against Leviathan and his minions with their lives.

But none so much as the moment Teremy looked back to see Leviathan dive down directly towards Jeremy. The serpent’s mouth opened, ready to swallow up the younger brother in one single gulp.

“Jer, watch out!” Teremy cried at the same time he dashed forward. His body moved purely on instinct and shoved Jeremy out of the way.

Then darkness. Leviathan’s jaws snapped shut, taking Teremy inside. Whole.

After that, Teremy had no idea what happened as his body reacted before his mind caught up to speed. The miqo’te felt Leviathan descend and found his body sliding away. His twin cinquedea stabbed the closest thing they could latch onto. Sharp metal sank through flesh and pierced what felt like bone. And from there, Teremy’s ears nearly shattered from a deafening roar that shoved him back into his knives.

His ears rang. The stench made him want to throw up. But he clenched his mouth shut and clung onto the handles of his short swords. He had no thought. He had no plan. Just clenched hands, clenched teeth, and a clenched will to survive.

Suddenly, the Lord of the Whorl shot straight up. Teremy felt himself slipping back down, but he tightened his grip. No way did he want to slide further down the serpent’s body. He never wanted to descend to that kind of hell. Another dive down and Leviathan opened his mouth again, not as an opportunity for his very unwelcome guest to leave, but to have water shoot inside. A tidal wave of water threatened to shove him down further. Teremy clamped his eyes and mouth shut. He felt his grip slipping. Again, the miqo’te held steady. Up again. Then down again. Another roar. But Teremy clung to the handles of his twin blades to the point he felt his hands begin to indent in the metal. He couldn’t die. He had to live. He had pushed his brother out of his way to live… so they could live together. Not trade one brother for the other.

Finally, one last rush upwards and Leviathan opened his mouth again. Teremy swung back and forth as the serpent shook its head. One last desperate toss and Teremy’s cinquedea finally loosened its hold on bone and flesh. Teremy went sailing into the air, still holding his short swords like his last lifeline.

‘I am but the hummingbird. I spread my tiny wings and fly away,’ he thought as he sailed up, then down. With no idea what laid underneath except water, he changed trajectory in midair to move his body into a vertical position before his body dove into the water.

Thank Aunt Jocelyn, who had the foresight to teach the brothers useful life tricks like swimming.

Once Teremy fell as deep as his momentum carried him, he swam back up as fast as he could. His head pushed above the water first. He took a deep breath, then exhaled.

He was alive. Somehow, still alive.

Gently kicking his feet to keep himself afloat, he wiped the water away from his eyes with a few extended fingers, and looked over in the distance. He still held his cinquedea at ready in case Leviathan wanted round too. To Teremy’s surprise, he saw the King of the Whorl’s distinct figure swim away in the distance. A shattered, abandoned rowboat became the last known proof of Leviathan’s existence.

Teremy put his cinquedea away and tried to swim after Leviathan, but the struggle to keep himself alive inside Leviathan’s jaws had taken away all the energy he had. Or his adrenaline fervor had subsided. Or both. His body refused to move and Teremy soon found himself lying on his back, his arms spread out, staring at a starry sky.

Bump.

A wooden plank gently knocked him on the head. He forced his body to turn around and take refuge on part of the wood. Somehow said wood acted as a life preserver, allowing him to lean his weight on it safely. Now the rest of his energy left him. And the only glimpse of said starry sky he had left was a shimmering reflection in the water. So much for impromptu sightseeing after a life or death chase. But at least he wouldn’t eventually sink into the water.

Hopefully.

‘Where am I? … Shit, Levi ain’t coming back for round two, is he? My parents, my aunt, Jer, they’re still on there…!’

He saw no sign of Leviathan. But he saw no sign of the boat either.

‘People do good, they do a solid. Me, I did a liquid. Headline: I’m in it now. Hah.’ Teremy thought bitterly.

His eyelids felt heavy. Teremy closed them. Then opened them. No, he had to stay awake. No telling if he fell asleep, he would surely drown.

‘Did I do the right thing? Did I save Jer? Or did I make even more trouble for everyone…’

Nothing but gentle waves brushing against the wood plank answered him.

‘At least… should I die at sea, I’ll go out knowing that at least Jer’s alive.’

He closed his eyes.

Plish. Plash.

He opened his eyes again.

‘The sea is so vast. A hidden world underneath. But above the surface, all anyone can see is more of the same, hoping to find the something else that may not even be there. Do they ever look up to see the stars? Their wisdom? Their guidance? If you can hear me, guide my family to Limsa Lominsa safely.’

He closed his eyes.

* * *

“Stay with us, lad!” cried an unfamiliar voice.

Teremy felt a sense of danger and grabbed onto something. When he opened his eyes, he saw that he had latched onto the wrist of a rogedayn. He saw the sailor’s surprised expression and released his hold.

“Quite the grip you got there. Thought ye’d take my hand off fer a second there.” The roegadyn wrung his hand. “That any way to thank your rescuers?”

Teremy opened his mouth to speak but only unintelligible gargle spat out.

“Anyway, we happened t’find ye driftin’ out like all that other flotsam. Didn’t think ye’d wanna spend t’rest of yer life out at sea.”

Sputtering a few more times, Teremy finally found the words to speak. “Thank you,” he said slowly.

Talking had always been more of his brother’s forte. Teremy’s piano… in more ways than one. But right now, Teremy only had words. Thankfully the roegadyn’s face softened with said word.

Teremy sat up straight. He rubbed his eyes, noticing that he now wore some hempen-spun attire rather than his own wet robes. His previous garments fell on top of his head before he had a chance to ask. He looked around. The area looked unlike Kugane, but unlike anything he imagined Limsa Lominsa to look like, either. Instead, a scorching hot sun bared down heat upon brown and beige stone of building and ground alike.

“Where is this place?” Teremy asked.

“Ye from across the continent or somethin’? Ain’t often to hear a miqo’te speak with a Hingan accent.” the fisherman asked. “No matter. This place be Vesper Bay, part of the region of Thanalan.”

“Thanalan…” Teremy repeated.

Lady Luck had sent sailors to bail him out of his own stupidity. As thanks, rather than send him north, she sent him south for a laugh.

‘Thanks, Lady Luck. Not to sound ungrateful for saving my life or anything, but... what the fuck?’

[timeagainreviews]

The Chibnall Masterplan

Back in 2018 when the episode "The Ghost Monument," aired, we got our first mention of "The Timeless Child," as uttered by bog rolls floating above the Doctor’s head. My initial reaction to this was dread. In fact, I can even quote my reaction from the review I wrote- "I’ll be honest, I have zero interest in that storyline. It’s called Doctor Who, not Doctor Who was Once a Little Kid Known as the Timeless Child." I got all of that from a single line of seemingly throwaway dialogue. Two years later, it would appear that my first guess was the truth. It turns out that when the Master said "Everything you think you know is a lie," was a lie. Evidently, I knew all along.

If you follow this blog closely, you’ll know that my reaction to the Timeless Child storyline has softened over time. I went from not giving a damn, to being fairly excited. That is until last week’s episode sent me spiralling back into that initial sense of dread. Sadly, this is the energy I brought into tonight’s episode. As opposed to bracing for excitement, I was bracing for disappointment. This is unfortunate as I always try and temper my expectations. I, like the rest of you, would love to be surprised. Even if I am worried about the trajectory of an episode, I always try and keep an open mind. After all, Doctor Who is pretty great.

After last week’s episode, I expected this one to be jam-packed with exposition. Oddly though, this one suffered from its own heaping dose of fluff as well. Once again, the companions spend most of their time on the sidelines. Right away they kill off that Rose Tyler looking girl, so I guess she wasn’t important. Which is a lot of how the episode treats our human characters. We’re given a scene wherein Yaz and Graham have a heart to heart, leading us to believe one of them may be departing at the end of the episode. However, this expectation is subverted by instead having nothing happen. Like last week, Chibnall has opted toward writing hollow character development in place of plot. Because of this, the scenes with the companions felt more like distractions from the actual story.

We get more of this when Ryan, Ethan, and Ko Sharmus are fighting off Cybermen with the power of busywork. Ryan’s attitude toward weapons has shifted since "The Ghost Monument." His interaction with the Doctor has turned him into a bit of a pacifist. Much like Chibnall’s writing, Ko Sharmus muddies this philosophy for Ryan by convincing him to take up arms against the Cybermen. I expected this to play into Yaz and Graham’s conversation, which felt like a foreshadowing of death. Ryan might shoot one of them as they are dressed in their Cybermen disguises, leading him to regret breaking his pacifism. But none of that happens. While it would have been a bit cliched and overly dark to do such a thing, at least it would have been something.

The Master takes the Doctor into the portal to Gallifrey where they stand within the Time Lord citadel. The Master traps the Doctor in a device which may as well be named the Agency Stripper™, as that’s what it, and this episode does to her throughout most of its run. Using the Time Lord Matrix, he illustrates the story of the Time Lord’s origins. All the while in the real world, he invites Ashad, the Lone Cyberman to set up shop on Gallifrey.

The Master tells the Doctor the story about a Shobogan scientist named Tecteun. She was the first of her kind to achieve space flight, which is incredible when you consider the thousands of people that were necessary just to get humans to the moon. During her travels through space, she discovers an odd gateway containing a little girl. She takes this girl home and raises her as her own. During a freak accident, much like Brendan from last week, she falls off a cliff. Damn kids, always playing by rocky cliffsides. However, instead of dying, she regenerates.

Tecteun goes a bit mad scientist trying to unlock the secrets behind regeneration, leading her to do experiments on this timeless child. She even appears to force regenerations on her as well. Eventually, she unlocks the secret of regenerations and successfully uses it on herself. This establishes what would become Time Lord society. At this point, we’re now waiting for the Master to tell the Doctor exactly what we all know- that the Timeless Child is the Doctor. However, there was a moment when it almost seemed like the Master was going to say he was the Timeless Child, which honestly, I would have found far more compelling. It would have informed so much of the Master’s past actions, and his recent relapse in character development after Missy’s change of hearts.

Instead, I found myself rolling my eyes at this "big reveal." It really was that simple. The story I wrote in my head after a single line of dialogue is exactly what we got. We learn that the number of regenerations was placed upon future Time Lords, which is weird because Clara had to plead for the Time Lords to give the Eleventh Doctor more. I guess along with unlocking the secret to the Timeless Child’s regenerations, they were also able to limit their number. That or Chibnall didn’t even think about it.

When considering the wanton destruction of Gallifrey by the Master’s hand, you suspect whatever it was the Time Lords did to this child was heinous. And while, yes, forcing regenerations upon the kid is a bit cruel, they always looked serene (see: bored) while sitting there in Tecteun’s lab. I expected it to be something like Rassilon and Omega destroyed a child to harness her time travelling ability to create the first TARDIS. Turns out, that the thing that really pissed off the Master was knowing that he had a little bit of the Doctor inside of him. While the Master has always been a bit of a maniac, even this felt like a bit excessive.

Back on the Cybership, the humans have stowed themselves away in Cyberman armour. I rather liked this bit as it reminded me of the very first Dalek story where Ian hides away inside a Dalek carapace. While I feel like they could have done more with this, at least they were having a bit of fun. After saving Ryan, Ethan, and Ko Sharmus from the Cybermen, the humans make their way into the portal to Gallifrey. The Cybermen land above the Time Lord citadel where they hover above, ready to make Gallifrey their new home.

The Master does the Doctor dirty and leaves her inside the Matrix to fend for herself, while he goes off to broker a deal with Ashad. We find out that Ashad, with the guidance of the Cyberium coursing through his mind, has created a death particle capable of undoing all organic life in the universe. His big plan is to basically turn the Cybermen into robots, which much like the Master, I found boring. Thankfully the Master is always up to his dirty tricks as he kills Ashad and uses the Cyberium to create a race of Cyberman/Time Lords known as Cyber-Masters. I was a bit disappointed they weren’t called Cyber Lords. However, I suppose the Master naming them after himself is on-brand at least. After all, he did once make an entire planet’s population into himself.

The Doctor is now forced to deal with the new information she’s been given by the Master. She rejects it at first, but the imagery of Brendan in her mind keeps giving her cause to doubt. It’s then that she sees the Ruth Doctor who helps her through her identity crisis long enough to help her escape the Matrix. Her plan to escape is to basically run through every life in her mind until it shorts out and forces the Matrix to release her. This entire sequence is rather silly when you consider the Matrix holds the entire lives of countless other Time Lords. No matter how many lives she had before the First Doctor, it’s not more than the Matrix can handle. What’s even sillier is the way in which they shot it, which was basically by having Jodie Whittaker squeeze her eyes shut and wince while holding her head. I was reminded of hacking scenes in movies where they throw a montage of symbols over the scene to make up for the fact that we’re basically watching some guy on a computer.

The montage is what is really worth mentioning, as it touched upon quite a few things from the Doctor’s past. Some of these things have been mysteries from as far back as the Tom Baker era. I’m speaking of course about the Morbius Doctors. For those of you not in the know, the Morbius Doctors were a series of images projected from the Doctor’s mind during a battle of wits between the Fourth Doctor and an evil Time Lord named Morbius. I had always assumed they were Morbius’ previous regenerations, but many have speculated that they were versions of the Doctor from before William Hartnell. Well, it would appear that this age-old debate can now be put to rest- those were definitely images of the Doctor.

I’d be lying if the nerd in me doesn’t kind of love this. Like I said, I try and keep an open mind. It’s even easier when the concept of Doctors existing before the First Doctor has been around for rather a long time. Andrew Cartmel’s "masterplan," was to introduce the idea of "the Other," which would be a Time Lord on par with Rassilon and Omega that was eventually "cloned," in a  genetic loom into the First Doctor. However, the idea was paired back as it was decided the doing such a thing would reveal too much about the Doctor’s past, thus answering too much of the show’s central question- "Doctor Who?"

Was it too much? That’s really hard for me to say at this point. It’s a bit early to know for sure. It does certainly complicate things a bit. To paraphrase something Andrew Cartmel once said at a public appearance- these story elements are like barnacles on a ship. Each one of them attaches to the hull over time. They seem small at first, but they eventually begin to slow the ship down. Take the aforementioned regeneration limitation placed upon Time Lords back in 1976’s "The Deadly Assassin." While it worked for the story at the time, it gave Steven Moffat the unruly task of finding new ways for the Doctor to keep on regenerating. You’ll forgive the guy for not doing the Valeyard.

While the nerd in me does love that they touched upon some deep Doctor Who lore, part of me was also lamenting the introduction of so many new versions of the Doctor. I’ve got a special love for each incarnation of the Doctor. This is why I love the Eighth Doctor audios so much, as it gives us an even deeper understanding of his character, despite his limited screentime. Even the War Doctor was given the chance to develop. Where will the Ruth Doctor play into all of this? Why did she have a police box if she is pre-Hartnell? Is this “Division,” an actual division of the Timeless Child into multiple entities? Will we get to experience her Doctor in a deeper way that feels as fulfilling as the first Doctor of colour deserves? While I hold out some hope for her, what about the montage of children in Tecteun’s lab? Are we going to get comics and Big Finish audios starring some kid you saw for two seconds? (I kid, you know they will) On one hand, we see the first Asian Doctor, on the other hand, they don’t even get a speaking role. Even with so much being added to the Doctor’s history, I can’t help but feel slightly short-changed.

Speaking of short-changed, let’s talk about that ending. The Doctor’s plan actually works, releasing her from the Matrix’s hold, which oddly also releases her from the Agency Stripper™. Convenient! Her companions find her as she’s lying there unconscious. They managed to find her rather quickly considering the city is in ruins. Convenient! The Doctor finds Ashad’s death particle, which has been shrunk down by the Master’s tissue compression device. I’m not sure, but I think this is the reason the death particle is no longer a threat to the entire universe. It now only seems to pose a threat to the organic life on Gallifrey. Maybe this is because Gallifrey is still in its own pocket universe? Either way, it wasn’t very clear. The Doctor makes contact with the Master and pinpoints his location. Convenient! She calls him to the citadel like it was Friday Night Wrestling and they have their little showdown. I swear if they’d have started making out, I wouldn’t have batted an eye, those two.

After forcing her companions to stay behind on a TARDIS set for Earth, the Doctor heads back to have a final showdown with the Master. With the tiny Cyberman attached to an explosive device resembling a torch, the Doctor decides she must kill the Master and this new race of Cyber-Masters before they can kill all of humanity. Having the ability to regenerate, the only way to take these mechanoids down is with the death particle. This is a far cry from the Doctor we’ve seen in "Genesis of the Daleks," or even "Daleks Take Manhattan," where the Doctor would consider such things "genocide." However, the Doctor gets a total cop-out moment as Ko Sharmus shows up long enough to detonate the device himself. After very little prompting, the Doctor allows him to sacrifice himself as she flees.

This, for me at least, is a longstanding problem with Chris Chibnall’s morality. It’s the Thirteenth Doctor’s weird relationship with guns all over again. As if to prove Davros’ point from "Journey’s End," this Doctor feels all too comfortable with allowing others to do her dirty work. Imagine the scene from "The Day of the Doctor," when Clara is standing there looking of the Doctors about to collectively blow up Gallifrey. It’s as if when she said "I never pictured you doing it," instead of changing his mind, the Doctor would say "You know, you’re right. You do it!” There’s a kind of mean spirited morality lurking beneath Chibnall’s writing. Or as my friend Adro jokingly put it- "I would not want to be his S&M partner."

The Doctor sends her companions and the last humans in the galaxy back to the 21st century. Surely no bootstrap paradoxes will come from Yedlarmi or Ethan making future generations of their own ancestors. Time Lords have bigger things to worry about than time anomalies. Right? Oh right. Graham and Ravio still seem perfectly capable of continuing their relationship, so that’s at least something. I also highly doubt either of them are likely to sire any paradoxical offspring any time soon. Though they are still fully capable of raising the sheep that go on to start the Wooly Rebellion. After finding herself pleasantly surprised to be alive, the Doctor finds her way back to her own TARDIS. However, before she can scoop up her companions, she’s intercepted by an angry Judoon who arrests her and throws her into space jail. I imagine this has something to do with why the Ruth Doctor was a "Fugitive of the Judoon."

After all is said and done, it’s really hard to pin down exactly how I feel about this episode. I do applaud the bold move of expanding the Doctor’s canon to include previous regenerations. I’ve always said that Doctor Who does occasionally need a showrunner willing to put their neck on the line. For better or worse, John Nathan-Turner was great for doing exactly that. Sometimes it’s a good thing to shake things up, and really dust off the cobwebs. Though strangely, a lot of tonight’s episode was very non-committal. The Master could very well have been lying.  Gallifrey could also still very easily be restored by using the Matrix’s memory. I personally would appreciate that as I love both Romana and Leela. The idea of the two of them dead and eaten away by the death particle is rather distressing. While I liked watching Jodie get a bit snippy and knocking the Master to the ground, I feel like a she never got a moment to be the Doctor. Her “Aha!” moment was short-lived and not very clever. She spends most of the episode either locked up or feeling helpless.

Also, where the hell was Captain Jack? What the hell Chibnall? How are they going to just give us five minutes of John Barrowman? It seems weird to introduce him only to put it off until the next series. However, the most egregious of sins for "The Timeless Children," is how utterly predictable it all was. As I illustrated above, I was able to imagine the entire concept of the Timeless Child the very first time I heard it mentioned. I put no deep effort into it either. It seemed like the most obvious storyline. The same could be said about people’s Ruth theories. Some of which were even better. The only way in which the episode could have surprised me was by making the Master the Timeless Child. It was the one point where I really perked up and began to feel a real interest in the plot. But alas, no, they went the incredibly obvious route. This isn’t to say they won’t be able to do interesting things with this in the future. The issue I’m having is that if I am able to figure out the plot just by hearing a single line of dialogue, did I even need to watch it?

[the-gemini-cores]

Penance, 2

Direct continuation of this. Word count of this sequel is about 4.4k (the first part was 1.3k), which is partly due to actual dialogue and Chell’s head being a lot clearer than dear Wheatley’s.

Along with what I intend to be apocalypse Chelley feels there’s a bit of swearing, though I imagine if you’re on this site then that isn’t too much of a problem :)

~~

Her running steps fell on deaf ears –  

“WHEATLEY!“  

– and the knife came down.  

Two inches to the left.  

She spent a moment regaining her balance and then started wrestling the hilt from his fingers. Despite the awkward angle – and the steel’s partial embedment into wood – it gave with little opposition and was hurled somewhere into the far corner of the room.

A few sharp clangs sounded as blade hit stone, but neither person flinched. The air was too frenzied for her to pay any mind. Adrenaline coursed through her fibers. The immediate threat was gone, though. She vaguely noticed her peripheral vision returning.  

Chell faced the wielder.  

With him sitting and her standing they were nearly eye-level. She cast a shadow over the length of his body, only the top half of his head illuminated as it stared at her in quiet astonishment – like he was a child, and the thing she’d just ripped away was his most innocuous toy. 

His irises held no sign of intent or fear. More than anything, he simply looked confused. Almost startled. He gazed at her unfocusedly, a frown punctuating his lips.  

It made her furious.  

Chell tried grabbing him by both shoulders before a ghostlike sensation reminded her this was newly impossible. She remedied her mistake, gripping him by the throat and pinning him to the chair’s back with the side of her forearm against his chest. He jerked a bit with the sudden motion. As his head settled, Chell forced him to see her, taking up most of his sightline.  

She had risked her life for him. She’d done that – she’d lost her damn arm to keep him intact, and he had the nerve, the near spite, to try … to erase – to waste – her efforts. Even if not all of it, a good enough amount to piss Chell off. As if it was oh-so-simple for him to shed a part of himself, to lose so much of his autonomy, his competence, his strength, in just the span of a second.

To do what she did.  

It’d been slow-going. The last couple of weeks were inconvenient, to say the least. Demanding, no question, but Chell had managed. She’d had to, there was no way around it, no way to undo what had happened. The medics could bandage her and prevent infection, but they couldn’t repair her. They couldn’t give her back what she’d lost.

It didn’t matter. 

Chell remembered the attack. It was as fresh as if it’d been that morning, and given how monotonous time had been as of late, it very well could have been. One singular stretch, lasting for what felt like forever. She hadn’t seen sunlight since. The only thing confirming the separation of days was the leisurely recovery of her stump, marking time as it eventually stopped bleeding out.  

She recalled the noise up there. She could still hear the yelling and shooting, trajectories concealed through fire and smoke. Billowing clouds had closed them in from the world. It’d felt like an oven, the door shut in on them as the walls grew hotter and hotter.

Chell could smell something like ash, even now if she tried. She could taste the whirlwind of hysteria – and she could hear the whistling. Not from wind. There hadn’t been any wind.  

But the critical point in her recollection, the thing that stood out to her like a crystal in rock, the clearest and most colored portion of this memory, was him. Standing, in the grass, his noises unintelligible but discernibly frantic. He’d been scanning the area – for her, possibly. Probably. 

And he was right in the way of it.     

Chell could never know what would’ve happened if she’d not made her decision then. If instead she’d stalled, or run a different route, or merely called out. She didn’t know whether he would’ve ended up like her or gone off worse – the latter, given where he was. Extent was debatable, and she was neither expert nor seer but if she were to make a guess, which she wouldn’t, she didn’t think there’d have been much left to salvage. 

But that was precisely it. In her mind, the details of his fate ultimately didn’t matter. She’d managed to prevent it.  

She’d made a sacrifice. She’d gone in totally blind, having hardly weighed the situation, but she’d done it. She’d done it – so that Wheatley wouldn’t have to suffer.  

He was here. Sitting in front of her, whole and living. Breathing. Looking at her. 

Shamelessly believing he had the right to suffer anyhow.  

That it somehow wouldn’t make things worse.   

Her teeth clenched harder.  

Wheatley squirmed, his blank, innocent disposition rightfully dropping, but a simple change in visage wouldn’t cut it. He hadn’t said a word this entire time. Physically, nothing was stopping him – his windpipe was allowed plenty of room under her fingers.   

Chell held him carefully but without slack. In that quiet space, deep underground, nothing was relevant except him. What the hell he’d been doing, what sort of warped rationalization could have led him to attempt this. For it to even emerge in his brain and be deemed a feasible option seemed an otherworldly case. 

She wanted his acknowledgment of a mistake. She needed his recognition that delimbing himself as a way to cope – it never could have ended well, or even left things as they were. Chell didn’t want a simple apology as a means of placating her, but assurance that he could handle himself. Quite obviously, from what she’d just witnessed, opening the door to see him sitting there with a blade over his arm…

Chell almost shuddered. That image had shaken her, but it also made her fiercely intent on getting to the bottom of things. 

She wouldn’t chance Wheatley trying something drastic again, as he’d maybe not get so lucky next time. He wasn’t thinking. Even now, fidgeting and swallowing against her hand, Chell’s face impossible to miss, he seemed faraway.   

That wouldn’t do.  

Chell steadied her breath, bracing herself.

“What did you think it would accomplish?” she asked.  

Questions – Wheatley couldn’t resist. Commentary was always offered, or perhaps his presumptions in what he thought might possibly be correct. She didn’t expect the trademark quick response this time, but perhaps some sort of signal that he’d registered. A perk in his brow, a clarity in his gaze – a spillage of quips maybe, coaxed by a question and the implication that she wanted to hear him. Or, in this scenario, that she’d hear him out. 

But he gave absolutely nothing. Her voice, ballistic upon entering the air, lingered and then dropped, unsupported in the half-meter between them. Wheatley was unmoving on his end. He didn’t do anything to show that he’d heard, much less bother to speak, though his mouth hung agape. His eyes were wide. 

As she took note of his countenance, Chell felt herself slipping, just for an instant. The lack of reaction was atypical. More unnerving than she would’ve cared to admit.  

Chell willed herself to cool down, if only briefly. She knew her demeanor was less than friendly – she didn’t owe it to him. But for what she wanted, she might’ve come off too strong. Chell unsharpened her words, though she didn’t loosen the hold on his neck. 

“Answer me."  

And she waited, as patiently as her sanity would allow as she ignored the way her heart hammered. But Chell quickly came to realize that the command didn’t get through to him.    

She remained where she was, trying to echo the words through her gaze, but seconds ticked by as silence festered like poison. They wouldn’t end, one after the next, slowly and steadily growing louder until they were downright ringing in her ears. For much, much too long, she bore it. Chell was almost convinced the sounds weren’t imaginary.

The stretch was taunting, as was he – Chell stopped minding her own expression. Her only anchor was the throat she currently clutched with her surviving hand, but even that seemed to be failing her. Its attached head was looking, still looking at her, with unease, like those blue orbs couldn’t understand what was happening and just gave up. Turned off.

He’d turned off.  

Chell wouldn’t take it anymore.   

She changed her grip, fisting the front of his shirt, and pulled. "TALK!"  

Chell practically screamed the word in his face – she’d had to, if she wanted to break the quiet – and its sheer volume in such emptiness nearly made her choke. Wheatley appeared to hate it even more than she. There was a grimace at the way her voice caught, but screw his discomfort – it did the trick.

He’d winced, and then, his eyes saw her. Finally. After a few lasting pauses, Chell partly expected nothing more would happen, but then – God, that was better – the floodgates began shuddering open.  

"W-w-what did I think – it would accomplish?”

In response to his long-awaited speech, she held firm.

“Well, it…” He blinked several times. In a flash, Wheatley reached back to grip the arms of his chair. He met her with alarm now, adopting a higher octave. “It wouldn’t fix things, that’s – that’s for certain, it, it wouldn’t get y– … your arm back, firstly, which isn’t ideal as, that’d definitely be the optimal case in helping matters. And – and you know if I could, if I could hit some kind of rewind button and put things back, I’d do that. Immediately. No questions asked, no need to stop and think about it. I’d absolutely do anything I could, any viable options I’d go for. ‘Cause, ‘cause if it worked – oh man alive, it’d be a miracle! But … but I can’t do that. It’d solve most of everything but … no miracles here. Except – except, of course, that you’re still alive! That is a miracle, that’s – tremendous, better than … the greatest possible outcome. Except for, uh, being alive and also … coming out in one piece.” 

His notes had fluctuated the whole way through. Wheatley went from rushed to careful, certain to meek. That last part ended on a whisper. He’d attempted to sound matter-of-fact, she could tell, but Chell heard his vocals shake, barely concealed behind their natural fluidity. His irises weren’t doing much better in trying to seem calm – Wheatley peered into her own as if they were the barrels of a loaded gun. 

But then abruptly, his voice picked up again.  

"We – we can’t go back and change things … like you’ve said! Very much remember that. On the, multiple occasions you’ve expressed your … adamance, on the matter. And I agree, there is – that is true, there’s very little that can be done to affect things that have already happened. Sealed in time. But…” 

He stopped, lost. Uncomforted, Wheatley glanced down to her hand after a few moments. 

Chell watched as Wheatley’s brow gradually knotted. When he turned back to her, she was on the verge of letting go. His lids had narrowed. He looked her dead in the eye. He spoke with deliberation. 

“… I have to do something. I can’t try and ignore what’s happened. Not like how you’re doing. Going about, not saying anythin’, treating things like nothing major’s occurred, shutting me up whenever I try and broach the subject. ‘Oh, no, there’s nothing wrong, what the hell are you insinuating?’ Any differences you notice are as trivial as an aching shoulder. You brush it off like it’s a bloody fly in your ear, like there’s no issue at all.”  

Seamlessly, he sat up straighter, and her fist – still grasping the front of his shirt – followed. He leaned closer, searching her expression.  

“But that’s just on the surface, isn’t it? A front?”  

He waited, as if expecting some sort of reaction, some hole in her visage. Something revealing. But Chell wouldn’t give him the satisfaction – who was he to be interrogating her? After the shit he just tried to pull? He’d taken on a different tone, and hell, she did not appreciate it.  

Wheatley went on. “You’re different. You’ve, lost something. More than your arm, I mean – which is enough as it is. But, something else … I’ve noticed. It was important. It was – well, can’t really put a word to it, but it was important. You sort of carried it around and, it made you who –” He faltered. Perhaps she’d glared harder. 

Wheatley struggled to collect himself for a moment, but once he did, the accusation was totally gone from his words, and he sounded more pleading. 

“And – and I don’t mean – you are getting along. Sort of. I – look, the point is, I can’t…read you anymore. I never know what you’re thinking, or how you’re feeling – or, or if you are feeling. Or what it is that you might want or need. I, suppose the only impression I am getting off of you would be your … well, resentment. A lot of that. Emanating off you. Along with – and I know you don’t like hearing this – pain…And walls. Bloody great big walls that you won’t let anyone through. Just put up recently. Blocking me out. Very noticeable.”  

Again, Wheatley stopped. Watched her for some seconds. Chell continued to be still.

“I … I don’t suppose you might know what I’m talking about? ‘Cause, you’re not really being very responsive. To any of this. Apart from, glaring. Like how you’ve been doing. For the past … I don’t really remember how long it’s been, actually.” He attempted a laugh, but it came out more like a cough. 

Chell observed his back slump. Wheatley’s pupils darted to the wall – he was clearly becoming nervous. He tried again, voice roughly cracking over a swallow. “You know I’ve just felt … a bit useless lately … kind of left in the dark … and all…”

“…”

“… God dammit would you PLEASE JUST GIVE ME A SIGN?!” 

Chell nearly jumped. She stepped away, hand releasing the fabric and moving back a few inches on its own. She brought it to her side, fist still clenched. 

He hadn’t been facing her when he shouted. His irises remained on the wall. Immediately, Wheatley froze.

The seconds were ticking by again, and he still didn’t turn to her. His face was discolored in horror. In her scrutiny, Chell forgot to check her expression. 

He was talking again. “I – I’m sorry I, I shouldn’t’ve…” 

A hiccup left his mouth. He was looking incredibly anguished, breath starting to staccato. 

Wheatley tilted his head to the floor and met his hands with his cheeks. Hurriedly, he rubbed at his temples with knobby fingers, but they soon halted. They wouldn’t take back that outburst. 

Without warning, his shoulders gave a harsh shake. She couldn’t see his face, but his digits moved under his glasses. 

He sniffled. 

The only noise in that dark, throbbing room.

Chell never took her eyes off him.  

She was waiting, she supposed. Truthfully, Chell wasn’t certain of how she wanted to proceed. She wasn’t going to leave – she could take with her the knife that was resting in its corner, but who knew what he’d do if left alone. No, she wouldn’t leave – but neither could she bring herself to disturb him. It’d be like tampering with something that had been a long time coming, intervening in the placement of a much-needed piece. She didn’t want to shorten or prolong it, draw attention to herself or disappear entirely. So she hung back, listening as his gasps morphed into barely-repressed weeping, and she waited.   

It wasn’t very long before he moved his face up again. That single light in the room highlighted wet streaks around his eyes, which Wheatley didn’t bother to dry. He looked at her, yet he seemed just about ready to break down again. 

As their gazes locked, Chell noticed the lack of tension she felt in her own face. The muscles had relaxed. She didn’t bother adjusting them now – Chell doubted she could take on an expression of severity, and anyway, the thought of doing so at the moment felt repulsive.   

Wheatley opened his mouth, visibly distraught. “Chell.” That hurt. “Chell p-please, I want to help you. Believe me. More than anything I want to help you. I know I’m being pathetic but, but all I want is to make things better for you. Or as b-better as they can be, but I can’t. Not –” he caught his breath, “not so long as you refuse to give anything away.” 

Chell was finding it more and more difficult to stay focused. Her goal had been plain at the start of this, but now she could hardly keep her mind on the bigger picture. As he panted, she found herself considering his words.

Chell would never call the aftermath of the explosion “nothing.” It hadn’t been. It still wasn’t. But she was managing. She was handling it. She was fine. She had to be, as there was no time for otherwise. She couldn’t afford to be mulling over it – no one could afford her to be mulling over it. 

Wheatley apparently disagreed with that notion. 

Chell left the gruffness out of her voice. “And you thought cutting off your arm would be the solution?” 

He blinked. It was like, for a moment, he’d forgotten about that, or maybe he wasn’t expecting to hear her speak. “Well … well I don’t know! You won’t talk to me, I can’t tell what’s going on in your head anymore, and you won’t acknowledge that you’re hurting ‘cause you’re too proud to admit it. Even now.”  

Chell could see how drained Wheatley was. He appeared to shrink, curling over and shifting away. His pupils went elsewhere again, dull and exhausted. An exhale.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked. “You – you hate me.”  

Chell was surprised. “I don’t hate you,” she pressed.

He didn’t seem to hear her. His eyes were watering. “I just – I just want things to be okay. Please. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen…”  

Before she could determine what to do, Wheatley faced her, fatigued and aged. But that broken cadence carried on in earnest.  

"I know you. And – and I know you’re hurting. But…you won’t let me in. I can’t get through to you. I can’t help you.”  

His sightline dragged to rest on her bandaged stump.  

“I did this to you,” he whimpered.   

Something cold clawed at Chell’s chest.

“No. You didn’t, Wheatley.”  

“I did this.”  

“Stop. I made a choice, and –”  

“But you shouldn’t’ve had to make it! And I know you say that, you’ve made it perfectly clear you’re of the opinion that once you make a choice, you stick to it. But as you’ve probably noticed, I have a hard time accepting that choice when it means you have to lose your fucking arm on my account!”  

Wheatley wiped his tears. His breath was shaky. “I wish … I almost wish you’d let me get bl–”

“Don’t. You. Dare.”

He removed his hands from his cheeks. “… I’m sorry, I know that’s selfish.” 

Chell nearly gave him the affirmative before stopping herself. 

On the one hand, it was selfish. It was implicitly telling her that he didn’t fully appreciate what she’d done, that he’d rather think about what could have happened instead of what did happen, that Wheatley couldn’t find it in himself to let go of that for her sake now, when she was still dealing with the consequences and had to relearn the most basic practices. 

But on the other hand, she thought wryly, Wheatley was hurt. He was hurt, much more than she would’ve thought, and he was hurting on her behalf. He felt guilty, like he was the one who’d forsaken her. 

He interrupted her thought with a sigh. “I’m just … scared. I don’t know what’s going to happen, I don’t know what the next crisis is going to be, and this is going to change everything. I just thought … maybe it’d help … but, but in retrospect, it’s probably best to keep all the limbs we can, actually. The smartest thing to do. Got that right." 

When before she’d seen a man she cared about, throwing away a gift she’d given him, defying her, going behind her back, foolishly believing that his decision was going to do anything to help them…

Now she saw a man she cared about, and who she knew cared about her, and because of that he was willing to do anything if he thought it might alleviate some of their pain. 

Wheatley had absolutely miscalculated. He’d made a terrible misjudgement – and she was angry about it – but that was because times were hard, and he was hurt, and she needed to make sure he wasn’t hurting anymore. 

“I’m scared, too.”  

At once, Wheatley was reanimated, eyes bulging out of their sockets. It was a sight she would’ve laughed over had the situation been different.

“You … you what?”

“Hard to believe?”

“I just…You haven’t acted scared. I mean, even if you were, I wouldn’t expect you to act that way, but … you haven’t even seemed concerned. More like indifferent to the whole situation. And that’s what’s terrifying.”

For the first time since she’d entered that doorway, Chell glanced at the floor. 

“Maybe I’ve been trying to ignore it.”

Out of her peripherals, she saw Wheatley shift closer. “… Because … you want to move forward. Right, well, that is a very Chell thing. But, but in doing so, you know, you’re taking those feelings and shoving them into a box.”

“… Does it really make a difference?”

“It does to me.”

She peered up. Wheatley openly faced her, no more hunching back or twitching fingers. He was fully attentive, concern etched across every feature, but she recognized the relief in his brow. He was so glad to hear her talking. 

Perhaps she had been holding out on him.

“It’s affected you,” he said. “Sort of … closed you up. Made you undecipherable. And moody, too, if I’m honest.”

“My mood stressed you enough to do this?”

“I –” Wheatley looked perplexed. “… I wanted to know that you were alright. Seeing you like that, like you’d practically forgotten what had happened even with all the new strains put on you, and acting so different while shutting down the conversation…You’d taken it for me, and I couldn’t even do a proper job of helping you through it ‘cause you weren’t wanting to talk to me…I thought, I had to do something. Show you, maybe, how sorry I was, and hope that –”

“I didn’t realize I was hurting you,” said Chell.

She fought the urge to watch the floor again. What she said wasn’t entirely true.

Chell had noticed a change in Wheatley. His attempts at optimism had become infrequent and half-hearted, to the point where he turned full-on despondent. She’d figured it might’ve had to do with her behavior towards him, but didn’t think very much of it as she was recuperating.

She swallowed her compunction. “… I thought you’d dismiss it as me needing time to cope.”

“I…True, yes, that, uh, definitely would’ve been a possibility. And, sort of, I’m hoping, still is the case. Now that I know you’re not…Maybe in time, you’ll be more willing to talk to me about it. ‘Cause, honestly, up ‘til now, I was not getting the impression that we were on good terms. And I wouldn’t have blamed you for that! Given that you did save me.”

Wheatley quieted. “… I am so … so sorry. I – I know you’ve said I’m not to blame, but … I mean, maybe rationally you might think that, but there’s no way you don’t hold some anger towards me.”

Chell considered the man in front of her. She measured his confessions, thought of her own, weighed his actions and reactions and tone of voice.

“Wheatley.”

“… Yes?”

“You’re going to have to learn to stop feeling guilty.”

He was taken aback. “… I…”

“Please.”  

Wheatley opened his mouth as if he were going to object, but then shut it. He gave up, the tension leaving his body as he exhaled through his nose.

Rather than agreeing, he had his own request: “Please don’t ever save me again.”   

But Chell wouldn’t promise him that, and he knew it. She simply eyed him, tired, and without even acknowledging he’d spoken she smoothly stepped forward and wrapped her arm around his neck, settling her head over his shoulder.

Chell had never initiated a hug with one arm before, and it did feel rather awkward at first, but the feeling dissolved when she felt Wheatley place both of his around her back.  

He was gripping her tightly, encouraging her to sit with him, but she wouldn’t just yet. At this height she could still reach his ear. Chell turned to him and whispered as surely and comfortingly as she could, “I’m going to be okay.”  

He took a few moments.  

“Heh, I should be the one reassuring you. Strong as ever, you are. I just hope you know, what I was … doing. When you came in earlier – I really didn’t mean to seem like I didn’t care about what you did. Or, didn’t appreciate it. I am grateful. Really. In a … begrudging sort of way. I mean, it’s complicated, obviously. Bittersweet. So, so thank you for that. I owe you, I do – but, but what I’m getting at is, I’ll make sure it wasn’t for nothing. I’ll do everything I can so that you don’t regret it.”  

Chell had lowered herself onto his lap, nose buried in his chest. “I’m never going to regret it. I just need time … and you around.”

“Oh – well, I’ll be here! If you need anything at all. Probably be best, though, if you wouldn’t mind being more vocal about what you need, or the like. You know, at least until things are semi-normal again. Back in the swing of things, almost.”  

Chell leaned away to look up at his face – it was no longer in shadow. Wheatley was staring at her, stratosphere eyes bright with the idea that, indeed, it would finally be okay. Because she would be okay, even if things would be different, and that was what mattered to him. 

She felt like quirking a brow, but instead reached up as best she could to give him a quick peck on the lips. She’d missed that.

“Deal.”  

[quasieli]

Sometimes Caleb dreams of the end.

The end of his story, his mission, his life. There has been a shift in the story’s trajectory over time, but for the most part, there was no happy ending to be found.

There were times Caleb tried to foolishly trick himself into believing that things would be okay, that he now had a good purpose, one that would help people instead of hurting them. Then his dream would come back and remind him who he truly is.

While the way he met his end was not always consistent, one aspect was; he was never the hero. Valiance had no part in his death. He never went out in a blaze of glory or sacrificing himself to save his friends. He was always a coward or a fool, or both.

He never told anyone of these dreams, he thought there was no point. They were just dreams after all. Sometimes he would be tempted to tell Beau or Caduceus when he would rouse from sleep in a panic, either companion offering an ear to explain the troublesome images. He would just shake his head and try to go back to sleep. He usually did not fall back asleep.

It was not the image of his own death that bothered him, Caleb had long since detached himself from the idea of death being scary. No, he did not mind seeing his death, no matter how graphic or brutal, it was the aftermath that hurt. Hearing Jester’s wails or Nott’s anguish and anger, that was what got him. One reaction in particular, however, stuck with him.

Just like all the dreams that had come before, Caleb had fallen at the hand of some great foe, his body laying in tarnish and ash. But there were no cries, no screams. Silence. None of his friends were in sight. He was alone. There was no one there to mourn him. No, that was not the issue. His family didn’t know he was gone.

Caleb shot up at the thought, panting as he attempted to ground himself to the sudden reacquaintance with the waking world. Despite this dream that seemed to shatter him, the world that he fell asleep in still remained. The silence of the home made him feel somewhat secure, he presumed the others were still safely asleep in their rooms. One small, orange friend, however, was just in his line of sight.

Caleb leaned over and gave a soft ruffle to the sleeping cat’s fur, barely stirring the resting creature. He let out a deep sigh as he looked at the pleasant and grounding sight before him. It was just a dream.

Just like most nights after one of these dreams, Caleb had trouble falling back to sleep. He tossed and turned for a bit, feeling a fitful energy that just would not leave. It was not long before he gave in to the restlessness and retreated to the common room, book in hand. Thankfully morning came not too long after, and Caduceus was the first of the group to rouse.

The still sleep weary firbolg looked to his human friend with a smile, offering a simple “Good morning” as he let out a deep yawn. Caleb simply nodded back and watched as Caduceus walked off and went about his morning rituals, including preparing some semblance of a breakfast for the group.

As Clay began to cook, Caleb apprehensively crept to into the room, watching on as the other man worked. Caduceus acknowledged him and offered light chit chat, but Caleb simply wanted to watch him. That was enough.

Some time passed as Caleb watched on, neither him nor his friend ever saying a word. It was just as Caduceus was putting his finishing touches to the meal that Caleb decided to change the tone.

“Caduceus, can I talk to you about something?”

The firbolg looked up from his work station through a curtain of pink hair that he tucked behind an ear. “Of course, Mr. Caleb. Is something wrong?”

“Nein, well, not exactly,” Caleb responded, nervously picking at the hem of his shirt, “You seem like the kind of fellow that would know a lot about dreams, yes?”

“What kind of dreams have you been having, Mr. Caleb?” Caduceus replied abruptly. His curt response was not for lack of social grace, but came with the knowledge that it was sometimes better just to rip off the bandaid and get to the point.

Now being stared at head on by those big pink eyes and being asked just what he wanted to talk about, Caleb found himself at a loss for words. He felt uncomfortable meeting Clay’s gaze, and discomfort was not an easy thing to feel around someone as calming as Caduceus.

Before Caleb could make any flustered attempt at an explanation, he was stopped by a warm bowl being shoved into his hands.

“Here,” Clay’s soft voice began, “Get some food in you first, we can always talk later.”

Caleb looked down at the bowl of fairly nondescript in appearance food. It may have looked somewhat bland but it smelled delightful, and soon proved to be just as tasty.

One by one, the other members of the family known as the Mighty Nein began to wake. Each of them poured into the dining room of their new home, one by one. Nott took the seat beside Caleb, as she always had, but her interest was mostly geared toward the halfling on her other side. Caleb was fine with this arrangement.

Looking over the table, Caleb felt content. Not long ago, this group had all been strangers to him; just a lonely goblin in a prison cell or a bunch of hired muscle in a tavern. Now they were his family.

Now that everyone had their own bowls of food and were each engaged in some form of engrossing conversation, Clay joined them, looming for a moment in the doorway, bowl in hand. Caleb did not see him enter at first, but looked up after feeling the presence of eyes on him. Caduceus was looking his way, but not in judgement or examination, but simple acknowledgment. Clay smiled, he was happy Caleb was there.

Caleb was happy too.

Breakfast soon concluded and the lot dispersed, each off running their own errand or completing their own tasks. Caleb stayed behind and helped Caduceus clean the mess. A comfortable silence hung over the room. Caleb did not feel obligated to say anything about before, Clay’s gentle smiles told him that he would not prod for further explanation. He found this quite strange about the other man, if Caleb were in his shoes, he knew he would not be able to hold back in his array of questions. Caleb then decided it was best to leave Caduceus’s empathic abilities a mystery.

As the pair finished up cleaning, Caleb began to make his way back to his room to continue his reading.

“Mr. Caleb.” The familiar voice stopped Caleb in his tracks halfway up the spiraling staircase. Caleb looked back and saw Clay, somewhat disheveled from the work of the morning, staring gently back at him. Caleb was wide eyed, blinking pointedly and waiting with trepidation for some sort of judgement.

“I hope you found whatever answers you were looking for.” Clay flashed a simple smile before walking off towards his own ground floor room.

Caleb let out a huff of a laugh. He would never understand that man.

He continued back up to his room, finding comfort, once again, in silence, the only sound being that of Frumpkin’s soft purrs, which Caleb never minded.

The rest of the day progressed without much trouble, it was a slow day for the group, but they were thankful for this time to breathe. Caleb was more than happy to have spent the entire day in solitude, working his way through his recently purchased stack of books, but couldn’t help feel relieved when the group all joined together again for dinner.

Having these group meals was something he could get used to. It wasn’t like their mornings at seedy inns or drunken nights at a local tavern. No, this was just for them.

As everyone departed from the dinner table, aside from Clay and Fjord, who stayed behind to help clean, Caleb felt at peace. He may have just gotten into a “fight” with Beauregard over some nonsense or another, Jester and Nott goading the fight with cheers, but he wouldn’t change it for the world.

///

That night, Caleb dreamed of the end.

This dream, however, felt different from all the ones he had in the past. He was not faced by some crazed demon or bloodthirsty foe, there was no danger in sight. In fact, he was once again in the safety of his home.

He recognized the room as his own bedroom, but it had been changed. He had not yet found the time to add any personal touches to the room, but the room he saw in this dream was teeming with life. Books abound on large shelves, art hanging here and there, but most importantly, a plethora of drawings and paintings of his family hung against the walls.

The room was occupied by a single person, someone Caleb did not recognize immediately but definitely knew. A human man, older, occupied the single bed against the wall. He appeared frail and somewhat gaunt, but not without life in his eyes. His long, grey hair was tied back to stay out of his face, a small pair of glasses rested precariously on the tip of his nose, and crinkly smile rest on his face as he read quietly. After a few minutes, he contentedly placed his book on his lap, staring ahead with his unmistakable piercing blue eyes. Time had changed a lot about the man, but Caleb knew those eyes.

The older man’s eyes scanned the dimly candle lit room, looking at both everything and nothing. This is a room he knew every inch of, having spent the better part of fifty years getting to know. His concentration was broken by the sudden appearance of his Fey friend, taken the shape of a somewhat ragged, but ever lively, orange cat.

His friend joined him on the bed, curling into a ball on the man’s lap. “Hello Frumpkin,” the old man greeted him with his soft Zemnian whisper, petting him as the cat got comfortable, “Thank you for joining me.”

Giving the room one last scan, the man smiled, a smile that Caleb had not seen in a long time. It was a truly happy smile. But it wasn’t just the same of a happy man, it was the smile of a man at peace.

Placing his book on the bedside table, the man slowly readjusted, careful not to wake his sleeping friend, and laid down to sleep. As his eyes closed, the last image that he saw was of a drawing in a small frame on the bedside table, drawn so long ago and showing his family as they once were. While now a lot of them had been slowed by age, the love and passion he saw in that drawing still remained. His family was different but their love never changed. As he drifted off, his final thought was of his little found family and how much joy they had brought to him and, he could now confidently say without irony, how much joy he brought them.

This was an end he could be content with.  

[thehautegoddess]

a goddess has a plan!

when i think about some of the times in my life when i felt frustrated and helpless, it was often because i was completely unsure of what the future held. i had no clue the direction in which i was going, but i was clear that my current situation was NOT where i wanted to be. of course, none of us know what is going to happen from moment to moment but we do have the power to get clear on what we would like to happen and start taking steps toward it. a goddess has a plan! one of the most valuable improvements we can make in our lives is to live with a sense of empowerment. we are not passive observers watching life happen to us – we have the power to take control. we can choose our thoughts and make decisions that can change our trajectory. we all have difficult experiences that can make us feel as though the universe has completely abandoned us, but this is a complete illusion. we are never alone, and we always have free will to choose to think differently in any moment, and we must experience discomfort to propel forward. but sometimes we feel stuck! and when that happens, instead of going into victim mode, the most empowering thing we can do for ourselves is to create a plan to assist us on our journey to the other side. this plan does not have to be elaborate – just a few simple steps we can take to improve our current situation. this is critical because it raises our vibration from helpless to hopeless. when we are in a state of action, we attract more thoughts and situations that create forward movement. conversely, when we are down in the dumps feeling like life is unfair, we attract more of the like. in our spirits, we know what to do next – we always have the answers but often do not trust ourselves enough to act. 

in one of my favorite books #ahappypocketfullofmoney by #davidcamerongikandi, he talks about the steps to attracting wealth, and states that you cannot honestly say that you do not know the next step you can take to become wealthy. i am sure you have a business idea, or a debt reduction strategy already in mind – we all do – even if it is as simple as spending less money and saving more. the trick is after you take that one step, the universe will reveal another, and then another, until you can see a clearer path to your goal.

you are more than a conqueror, and you are well able to manage whatever shows up in your path. you are powerful beyond belief and have overcome so much. you can do this. believe in yourself. get clear on what you want and TAKE ACTION ASAP. even baby steps are progress. you know what to do, goddess…go get to work! and so, it is!

blessings 😊

meditation moment: think of a situation you would like to improve. write down three immediate things you can do to change the situation for the better. commit to completing one task per week until you have exhausted the list. watch your vibe soar, and more information, opportunities and guidance appear. repeat as necessary!

let’s discuss – log in to disqus to comment! you are a goddess – love yourself! now go do your work 😊 until next time!

[hvllanders]

wanderer part 3 (college!peter x reader)

pt. 1. pt. 2. pt. 3

summary: in which you clean up peter’s mess and receive an unexpected phone call

warnings: language

a/n: ahhh part 3! thanks for all the awesome feedback, i’m so psyched to see where this story goes...:) this chapter has a bit of a different feel...no peter in these scenes BUT we will see him more in the future, and someone else may make a surprise appearance...

“Oh my god. Did you murder someone in here while I was gone?”

The noise snapped you out of your thoughts, causing the rag to drop out of your hand, heart racing erratically. “Jesus, Gwen. You scared me.”

You roommate just raised an eyebrow, long blonde hair tied back and swinging, chewing on a piece of gum like mad. “I scaredyou, huh? You’re not the one who returns home to her roommate scrubbing blood off your couch.” She set her bags down on the kitchen counters before rifling through the fridge. “God, do we have anything to eat?”

You didn’t look up from the current stain you were scrubbing. “There’s Goldfish in one of the cabinets. I think?”

“Mmmm.” She continued rustling.

Your phone buzzed, and you looked up, half-expecting (hoping? foolishly?) to see a text from Peter. You weren’t sure what you wanted it to say (“Hey gf! Sorry for crashing at your place for the night while severly injured! xoxoxo). But it was just an email from the local pizza place reminding you to use your rewards points before they expired.

“Pizza points.”

“What?” Gwen sat carefully on the non-bloodstained part of the couch, Goldfish in hand. You extended the phone towards her, email open. “You make no sense when you’re upset,” she finished. “And we’re not using the pizza points tonight, we just got pizza.”

“That’s why we have the points,” you told her. “Because we’re frequent pizza eaters. And you have to use them within two days or they expire.”

Gwen’s lips pushed into a thin line. “Are you going to tell me what all this is?” She motioned to the scrubbing, the blood, the bleached cushions. “Or do I have to guess? Because I can guess, but I’m going to guess like mob ring or secret assassin or something.”

You sighed, putting down the anti-stain solution. It wasn’t really helping anyway. “It’s kind of a long story.”

“Well, I’ve only got three finals, a lab write-up, and a term paper to do. Hit me, baby.”

You smiled ruefully at the sentiment, wringing the rag through your fingers. “What do you remember me telling you about Peter Parker?”

Gwen’s facial expression didn’t change, but you swore there was a knowing gleam in her eyes as she said, “Only that he was your first kiss, first love, first ‘Damn, we don’t really work now that we’re all grown up.’”

If only it were that simple. “Yeah. Well. I saw him last night.”

Gwen’s eyebrows shot up as she surveyed the couch damage once again. She said nothing, chewing vigorously on a Goldfish. Waiting.

“He had…he had gotten in an accident. Fell off his motorcycle.” How had it been so long, and yet lying for him to your best friend came like second nature?

“Mmmhm.” Gwen’s face was impassive. “And you didn’t…I don’t know…bring him to the hospital? Get professional help? Put a tarp down on the goddamn couch first?”

“He doesn’t have insurance.” That could be true. Although, with Stark…well, maybe. It could be true.

“Okay.” Gwen’s eyes were still moving in-between the bloodstains and the rag in your hands. “But he’s alright?”

You scrubbed at the stain again. “I think so. I wouldn’t know.”

“Oh?”

“He was gone when I woke up.”

Gwen let out a cynical laugh. “Figures.” Her face softened, though, as she looked at you. “How are you doing about it? It’s been, what, a year since you’ve seen each other?”

“Two.”

The girl shifted so she could take the rag out of your hand, squeezing it instead. “I’m sorry, babe.”

“It’s fine.” But your voice shook when you said it.

“Listen, don’t worry about the couch, okay? I’ll get us a new one.”

You shook your head, pouring more stain remover onto the rag. “You don’t need to do that. I’ll fix it, really, I promise.”

“Y/N-”

“It’ll be good as new.” You couldn’t look at her as you said it.

“Babe, I’ll get a new couch, it’s okay.” She squeezed your hand again. “To be perfectly honest, I don’t want a couch that someone bled all over. Even if it was your extremely hot ex-boyfriend.”

You rolled your eyes, but you felt the knot in your stomach slowly unraveling. “He’s not extremely hot.”

“Well, I’ve never seen pictures of him! I wouldn’t know! Plus, you’re blushing, so I don’t believe a single word you’re saying.” She shifted backwards, grabbing her phone from the coffee table. “Let’s get that pizza after all. You choose the toppings. We can even splurge and do deep dish if you want.”

She smiled deeply at you, wiping a tear off your cheek. You hadn’t even realized you’d been crying.

***

Finals came in their usual flurry of stress and manic studying, manic non-studying. You were sitting in the living room of your apartment surrounded by papers as you “reviewed” Organic Chemistry with Gwen.

“This makes no sense,” she was saying, frowning down at her textbook. “Make sure you study this key point! Well, no shit! I’m trying to study this key point, but I can’t understand a word of this jumbled mess!”

You snorted in agreement, continuing your age-old studying diversion of taking Buzzfeed quizzes. So far, you’d learned you should move to Amsterdam immediately, and that you’d get married in thirty-six hours. “Exactly. That’s why I gave up like thirty minutes ago.”

Gwen let out a long-suffering sigh. “God. We were such foolish mortals to let those finals-free days escape us! Curses!”

You laughed. “Come over here and see what breed of dog best matches your feelings about cookie dough ice cream instead! I got Corgi and I don’t really know what that means for my life trajectory, but it feels pretty important.”

“Aww, I miss my dog.” Gwen’s bottom lip stuck out as she surveyed her notes. “I can’t wait to visit my parents and see him again.”

You nodded, returning to your quizzes, but Gwen narrowed her eyes suspiciously towards you. “And what exactly are you doing over break?”

“We’re eloping in Rome.”

The new voice made both of you jump as Blake, gangly and long-limbed, picked his way through the mess of papers littering the living room floor to plant a kiss on your lips. “It’ll be incredibly romantic and unexpected and so Millennial or Gen Z or whatever they’re calling us these days.”

You rolled your eyes as he flopped on top of you into the chair. “No. You’re going to Rome withoutme, because you’re an incredibly important person who has family to visit on the other side of the globe for some terrible reason.”

He pecked you on the nose. “You know I’d bring you with me if I could, right?”

You sighed. “I know.”

“Excuse me,” Gwen interrupted. “But, Y/N and I were actually doing some studying.”

“Oh, were you?” Blake raised an eyebrow towards your phone. “You know, I do seem to remember Corgis and cookie dough being crucial to a key understand of Orgo.”  

“Fuck off.” You shoved his shoulder, but you were grinning, and he knew he had won. “Okay, okay, I was taking a break, but Gwen was, I don’t know, trying to be a good nursing student-”

“Trying is the key word,” Gwen interjected, looking desolate from the floor. “Blake, how did you get through three years of nursing without wanting to die because I’m trying and failing.”

“The trick is to accept the wanting to die feeling,” he grinned. “Embrace it, and then accept that it is your new reality.”

Gwen groaned, collapsing backwards into the crunch of papers to closer her eyes, fingertips coming up to rub at her temples. “Okay, okay, fine, that’s cool, that’s great, I love it, really, I do, I love it.” She opened her eyes to look at you, “Y/N, you happen to have any painkillers lying around?”

“Sure. Check my bathroom.”

“Cool. Awesome. Time to go drug up.” You watched as your roommate disappeared into the other room, trying to ignore Blake’s persistent gaze as he twined your fingers together.

“What are you doing over break? We haven’t talked about it.”

A shrug.

He shifted so that his hand was cupping the back of your head, running a thumb over your cheek. “I don’t want to think about you moping around this apartment by yourself for a whole month.”

You didn’t meet his gaze.

He sighed, squeezing your hand tight in his. “Bunny, why don’t you go back with Gwen? I’m sure she’d love to have you.”

You squeezed his hand back, focusing on the way his fingers looked intertwined with yours. “That’s not what I’m worried about.”

He searched your face. “Then what…what is it?”

“I’m not sure I can describe it,” you whispered, which was the truth. “But I just…I feel like I need to go home.”

Whatever he was going to say in response was cut off as your phone vibrated. The caller id sent an electric jolt down your spine, and you were suddenly scrambling to your feet, pushing Blake off as he gave a confused, “Y/N?”

“I have to take this,” you told him, and you could only judge by the expression on his face that you looked as rattled as you felt.

You pulled yourself into the privacy of your room, hearing Gwen ask, “What’s wrong?” to a confused response from Blake before you held the phone up to your ear.

“May? What’s wrong?” Your left hand was clenching and unclenching itself into a fist as you waited. You felt that odd pulsing, the adrenaline rush of standing on a live wire, a kick through your whole body, but-

“Sweetie, nothing’s wrong. Everything’s fine.”

“What?” You sat down on your bed, a marionette with your strings cut, body not quite keeping up with mind. Fist still clenching, unclenching. “What do you…why are you calling me then?”

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” May said, and you could feel her concern through the phone. The tension in your body slowly started to unwind, though your fingers were still twitching in your palm, in out, in out. “I just wanted to talk to you. It’s been too long.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. “I…I’m sorry. I overreacted, it’s just-”

“I know. It’s okay.” Just hearing her voice again slowed your heartrate considerably. “It’s okay. How’s school going?”

“It’s…going.” You let out a breathy laugh. “Finals week is finals week, but I’m nearly done. Just a few more exams.”

“I know you’ll ace them.” You could almost hear May smiling through the line. “You were always so bright, and you’ve done so well in school. I’m really proud of you, Y/N. You know that, right?”

“Good. Now listen, there was something else I was wondering.” May paused, and you felt your heartrate kick back up. “Are you coming back to Queens over break?”

“I’m…I’m not sure.”

“Do you want to come back?”

Wasn’t coming back what you wanted? But, suddenly, nothing seemed certain, and you felt incredibly out of place, not here in your apartment, Blake and Gwen laughing at some joke outside your door, not back home, back where memories were nestled in every stoplight and magazine stand. “I’m…I don’t have anywhere to stay.”

“Of course, you have somewhere to stay.”

“May, I couldn’t.”

“Yes,” May’s voice was kind, but firm. “Please, Y/N. Just think about it.”

You sighed. “I’ll think about it.” You couldn’t do it. You wouldn’t do it.

“May?” You just couldn’t help yourself.

“Hmmm?”

“You don’t…is…is Peter okay?”

There was a long silence. Too long. “Sweetheart, I haven’t seen Peter two years.”

pt. 4

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