#don’t get pedantic with me I’m more pedantic than you could ever dream of

[thebreakfastgenie]

I think the reason the song Piano Man is good is the underlying narrative tension. This arrangement is precarious. Someday the piano man will leave, off to greener pastures and fame and fortune and recording 11 studio albums, and they all know it. We’re told the piano man is the reason people come to this bar—what will happen when he’s gone? Will business dry up? Will the bar survive? To whom will John tell his dreams and despairs? They feel pride and perhaps joy because they believe he deserves it, but is there not also an undercurrent of betrayal and resentment? Why is he the only one who gets out? Why does he have to leave them there? Will he remember them once he achieves fame and fortune and records 11 studio albums? Yes, he will, because he will be singing about them for the next fifty years, but they don’t know that.

[amjustagirl]

Chapters: one. ~ two. ~ three. ~ four. ~ five. ~ six. ~ seven.

Wordcount: 2.3k

Summary: Akaashi Keiji catches glimpses of another life in his dreams. He dreams of fields of endless gold, of constellation of stars that light up the night sky. He hears echoes of the birdsong in her laugher, the songs of the gods in the wind. 

(Loosely inspired by ‘Your Name’, aka Kimi No Nawa, featuring Haikyuu’s own pretty Tokyo boy)

Wordcount: 3.5k

Masterlist here

AO3 Link here

Author’s note: This fic is a little different from my usual work, so I’m a little nervous about publishing it. If you do like it, would love if you leave a comment / reblog / anything!

If you’d like to be included in the taglist, do drop me a msg/ask!

‘It’s rare to see young men like you buying flowers for their mother’, the florist comments offhand as she wraps his order of yellow chrysanthemums in paper. 

Akaashi smiles, accustomed to the friendly florist by now. ‘I guess I’ve always had a partiality for flowers’, waving to the florist as he leaves to head to Shibuya to meet Bokuto for Izakaya. He’s running late, but Bokuto doesn't mind, hooting good naturedly at the comedy show playing on the television in the rundown bar. 

‘Agaaaashi, you made it!’ Bokuto rises from his seat to give him a jovial fist bump. 

‘Of course I did’, he responds dryly. ‘Wild horses wouldn’t keep me from my appointment with you’. He spends most of dinner listening to Bokuto’s recent exploits both with the national team and MSBY. Excitement still sparkles in the older man’s eyes as he recounts each and every match he’s played in, and Akaashi idly wonders how it is that Bokuto seems to have managed to pack on even more muscle in the short span of a month, the last time they met up was to see Bokuto off at the airport for the World Cup. 

‘You should have continued playing volleyball in university’, Bokuto crows in between mouthfuls of yakiniku and beer and Akaashi shakes his head at the refrain he’s so used to hearing from his senpai.

‘I wouldn’t be able to maintain my grades if I wanted to take volleyball seriously in university, plus there’s no guarantee I’d even get off the bench’, he answers self-effacingly. 

‘But you have the best tosses, Akaaaaaashi!!’ Bokuto declares, his words slightly slurred, and Akaashi wonders if he should start to inch Bokuto’s beer away from him. After consuming far too much barbecued meat (Bokuto took the liberty of ordering twice of what Akaashi would normally order, waving his protests off by stating grandly that he’ll take care of the bill, he’s the one working after all!), Bokuto slips into a food-drunk stupor, happy to listen to his anecdotes of university life, and he takes the chance to ramble on about his advanced Japanese classical literature course that he finds far more fascinating than his class on modern literature to his best friend. 

They stumble out of the izakaya when the line outside grows far too long to be ignored, Bokuto draping a heavy arm over Akaashi’s shoulder, the red tint on the tips of his ears betraying his slightly tipsy state. As they stand at the traffic light patiently waiting for the light to change from red to green, Bokuto turns to him and grasps his shoulders in his large, warm hands. 

‘I’m really proud to have you as a friend, Akaashi’, Bokuto tells him seriously. ‘And I’m going to prove to you that I can be the best ace so you can be proud of me too’. The molten gold glimmering in Bokuto’s gaze fills him with far more warmth than any alcohol could possibly achieve. 

‘I’m already proud of you, Bokuto-san’, he answers, his earnestness resounding in every word of his short declaration. Bokuto beams at him in response and bounds across the pedestrian walkway in approximately three strides, ignoring Akaashi’s chiding to ‘look before you cross the road, even if you have the right of way!’

Many things may have changed since high school, but some things still stay the same.  

His dreams take a strange turn that night.

He’s back in the Fukurodani gym with his teammates, but it’s not accurate to say he’s with them - rather, he’s watching his past self from afar, seated on the bench, a wrist guard on his right arm. He doesn’t remember ever injuring himself enough to warrant a wrist guard at any point during his high school volleyball career, but it’s probably just another oddity of being in a dream.  

‘I wish your wrist was feeling better, Akaashi. I miss your tosses already’, the pout in Bokuto’s voice pronounced.

‘It’s just for a while - I’ll be right as rain tomorrow!’ he hears himself say cheerfully - but that doesn’t make sense either. No one in their right mind has ever described the way he speaks as cheerful, and the rest of his teammates glance over at him curiously. Then his past self awkwardly tucks his legs under the bench, ankles crossed almost as if he’d like nothing better than to fold himself away with all the cloth vests they use for practice – but that doesn’t make sense either, he doesn’t even know why he’s behaving like some fish out of water. While volleyball doesn’t come naturally to him as it does to someone like Bokuto-san, and there are times he feels like he’s struggling to swim upstream, his fingers still itch to toss a ball up into the sky in a perfect arc even now. 

‘I told you, I don’t get what you insist on waxing lyrical on him being a star you can’t help but follow,’ he hears her voice chime in his consciousness, inexplicable though her presence in this scene may be, he hears himself answer - ‘just be patient and watch’. 

Anahori, their substitute setter tosses the ball up in the air and it’s a good toss, he will give him that, but it’s still not quite as high a toss that Bokuto likes. Bokuto runs right up to the net to leap into the air, back arching to slam the ball to the ground with such force that it’s a commanding full stop punctuating any doubts about his place on the team as its captain and ace. 

‘You see! When he plays well, he's like a supernova, shining with a light so bright it almost blinds my eyes.’

‘Waxing lyrical again, Keiji-kun?’ He can hear her tease him gently. ‘Go on, carry on with your celestial metaphors’.

‘How about a shooting star then’, he replies, amused. ‘If a shooting star shot up from the earth instead of falling from the sky.’ 

‘You sound like you like the guy. Are you sure you don’t?’ She asks. ‘You sure sound like you do.’

What?!

His legs are tangled in his sheets when he thrashes awake, mouth open in a gasp for air. That was a new twist in his collection of dreams, the first time he’s dreamt of something other than that phantom girl’s life in months, but even when the dreamscape doesn’t even feature her, she still manages to invade his dream. 

Worse - his dreams are now edging into territory he hasn’t mapped out in years. His teenage infatuation with Bokuto-san died a natural death after he realised that he’d mistaken his admiration for the ace for romantic feelings. Besides, there was no way Bokuto-san would ever be in love with him, not when he’d chosen to devote the next decade of his life to his sport. So why are his dreams dragging him deeper into a labyrinth of memories that aren’t even his own?

‘Why are you squandering my pocket money in a maid café of all things’ he says, sounding uncharacteristically put out. But then again he would be annoyed if anyone managed to drag him into the pink and white monstrosity his dream has deposited him into.

Bokuto’s happily seated across from him (or rather, his past self), exclaiming ‘ooh - isn’t the ketchup art on this omurice amazing, Akaashi? They managed to capture my hair so well!’, and to his horror his past self nods encouragingly and only laughs when Bokuto whines about not wanting to destroy this ‘piece of art the maids took so much time to create’ by eating the damn omurice. 

‘Don’t be such a killjoy, Keiji-kun’, she giggles. ‘Look at him, he’s having such fun, and besides, your day will reset so your money won’t be wasted anyway!’. 

Bokuto, distracted by the catchy beat of the J-pop song blasting over the speakers, is cajoled by a trio of pretty maids to join them on stage to dance along with them. He pops his hips to the beat of the music, throwing up cheesy hand signals with such gusto that it makes him (yes, present day Keiji) want to smile. 

But his past self evidently hasn’t lightened up yet, because he hears himself say crossly – ‘You do realise this is a waste of time when we could be doing something more useful like homework, especially since  Bokuto-san and I already spend most of our time training?’

‘Oh Keiji-kun, life is too short to be spent worrying like that. Because before you know it, you’ll grow into an old man who doesn’t know how to have any fun’.

‘I have fun’, he says petulantly, a faint sulk in his voice. 

‘Oh really? Then stop worrying and live a little. Maybe you should take a leaf out of your beloved Bokuto-san’s book – look how much fun he’s having!’

Bokuto clearly seems to be having the time of his life because now he’s prancing around the stage playing some silly game with the maids. 

‘I told you, I don’t think of him that way.’

‘And I’ve told you I’ve borrowed your skin for far too long to know when you’re not telling me the whole truth, Keiji-kun’, she sing-songs. ‘You wished for more time with him, didn’t you, so aren’t I doing a good deed by helping you figure out what Bokuto might like to do with you?’

‘Bokuto-san doesn’t have spare time on these things – and you’re just making an excuse to explore cafes in Tokyo at my expense!’ 

‘Two birds, one stone. Don’t be pedantic, Keiji-kun!’ 

The next time he’s back in one of those dreams, he finds his past self dressed in a blue yukata along the Sumida river, tugging Bokuto away from the takoyaki store. He remembers Bokuto dragging him away from the rest of the team on a quest to buy some snacks at the food stalls set up around the park, insisting that his stomach’s growling too loudly to wait until the fireworks display is over ‘come on, even you can hear my stomach at this rate, Akaaashi!!!’ – but that’s where the dream starts to diverge. 

‘If you queue for takoyaki, we’re going to miss the fireworks, and you don’t want to miss that, do you Bokuto-san?’ he says, hand firmly on Bokuto’s yukata sleeve. 

‘That’s right! But shouldn’t we join the rest of the team? They’ve got a spot by the river just over there!’ 

‘We won’t get there in time with this crowd – come on! If we hurry, I know the perfect spot to watch the display’, weaving his way through the crowd to shimmy up the trunk of a tree and settle himself comfortably against a large branch. 

‘Woah – Akaashi! I never knew you could climb trees!’ Bokuto calls, sounding impressed.

‘Well, don’t stand there, come join me!’ 

The tree creaks ominously as the larger boy scales its trunk, branches already heavy with red lanterns groaning in protest as he settles himself in the branch opposite Akaashi. And not a moment too soon, because a collective gasp ripples through the crowd along the river as the night sky explodes into rainbow hued fiery streaks.

‘It’s amazing, Akaashi!’ Bokuto hollers with his face tilted up to the sky. 

‘You’re amazing, Bokuto-san’, he says fondly, reaching over to bump Bokuto’s shoulder with his fist and the older boy beams at him, the sheer delight in his smile brighter than the fireworks in the sky. There is a sea of stars in his eyes, and Akaashi wants to shrivel in shame at the way his younger self looks like he’s mentally planning to pirate a boat to cross the straits to Bokuto’s heart. 

‘There is no way I’m going to do that’ he hears himself say, sounding mildly cross. 

‘Eh – it’s cute. ‘sides, doesn’t he look so happy’ he hears her say, sounding overly chipper. 

‘You could spend your time instead learning how to play so Bokuto-san won’t pout when you sit out of practice and you wouldn’t have to pretend you sprain your wrist every time we swap.’

‘Are you mad? Do you really think they won’t think something’s up when I can’t even do a simple serve?’ 

‘Fine. You have a point’, he answers begrudgingly. 

‘Of course I do. Come on Keiji, live a little. Enjoy your time with the lodestar of your life’.

‘Can you not say things like that?’ he says dryly. 

‘It’s your fault for reading so much Shakespeare to me!’ she replies with a grin in her voice.

He texts Bokuto the minute he wakes up. ‘Bokuto-san, apologies if this seems weird, but do you remember if we ever climbed a tree when we watched fireworks with our team?’ 

Bokuto takes a while to respond, but that’s to be expected, it’s his mornings are usually filled with practice and conditioning. But when he does respond, his text makes Akaashi’s brow curl. ‘Nope, but sounds fun! What’s up Akaashi!!’ 

Akaashi drops his head in his palms. Good to know he’s not losing his grip on reality at least. 

But his sleep for the following weeks continues to be filled with dreams in the same vein. 

He dreams of scenes that have never taken place in real life - him challenging Bokuto-san to ramen eating competition, the older boy winning handily of course, crowing like a child when he slurps the last mouthful of tonkatsu broth - ‘eh Akaashi, eat faster!’, him dragging Bokuto-san to the arcade near school, demolishing middle schoolers in endless games of dance dance revolution (there is no way he is actually able to move like that in real life) and losing far too much money in claw games - ‘Akaashi I really want that toy pleaseeee’ - and even he would admit it’s absolutely adorable if not for the fact that he can’t explain why these dreams keep invading his head like a wildfire that refuses to die. 

‘I honestly don’t understand you’, she says and again, why on earth is she in this set of dreams - she doesn’t belong in them -

‘What exactly do you not understand?’

‘If you like him that much, why aren’t you jumping at the chance to hang out with him? All you do is nag me about how I’m wasting his time, I’m wasting your time, but I don’t understand -  isn’t time meant to be spent on the people you love? Unless you’re confusing love with admiration, because yes, I get that you admire his talent, but you don’t seem to have all that much patience for spending time with him outside of school.’ 

‘I suppose I do like him, but…’

‘Finally you admit it, but I don’t like the sound of that word.’ 

‘It’s nothing’, he finally says, and she huffs in annoyance, clearly wanting him to explain but he stubbornly refuses to say another word. 

His past self is skidding down the hallway with Bokuto hot on his heels yelling ‘Akaaashiii you owe me a Yakisoba bunnnnn’ when he hears an almighty crash behind him. As he spins around, Bokuto’s sprawled on the floor, papers and books scattered around him. The older boy grimaces as he sits up, grabbing at his ankle in pain. 

‘Bokuto-san, are you ok?’ he cries, running back towards the older boy. 

‘I might have twisted my ankle. Argh this is bad - prelims are just next week!’ Bokuto groans, clutching at his ankle desperately. 

‘Don’t worry. You’ll be fine tomorrow, trust me’, his past self says with complete certainty, and flags down a passing student to call for a teacher. 

‘Look what you’ve done now. Are you happy with yourself?’ he hears himself say accusingly. ‘Everything might reset tomorrow, but look - he’s hurt himself today. Is this what you’ve been trying to prove to me?’ 

‘I’m sorry, Keiji’ he hears her say, her voice watery. ‘I didn’t think -’ 

‘Of course you didn’t, you never think about the consequences of your actions, do you?’ he says, glass shards in his words. 

His dream fades to black. He never hears her answer. 

His sleep remains relatively undisturbed for the next fortnight, just in time for his mid-term exams which he aces, even his course on classical Japanese literature. He’s relieved of course, because his final year grades matter most when it comes to recruitment, yet there’s a part of him that’s buried deep between ventricles and pumping flesh that childishly wonders what his dreams are going to show him next.

His wish is answered when he opens his eyes to an ocean of stars, white pinpricks of light against the vast tapestry of the purple night sky. His head is pillowed on tufts of grass and the wind whispers against his feet.

The sight takes his breath away. 

He’s a born and bred city boy, and he knows from experience it’s near impossible to see stars in the city sky amidst light pollution and masquerading satellites.  

‘Is this your way of apologising?’ he asks, his voice wry. 

‘Is it working yet?’ he hears her ask, an uncharacteristically timid note in her voice. He laughs, a fond sound, and he can hear her huff a breath through her mouth. ‘I am sorry though, Keiji. I never meant to hurt him’. 

‘It’s fine, no damage done. Besides, I was thinking about what you said.’

‘Me? About what? I know I’ve said plenty to you so far’, she says curiously. 

‘About Bokuto-san’, he supplies, and she stays silent, waiting for him to go on. The stars twinkle down at him, and if he closes his eyes, he can imagine the galaxy reaching down to lend him its infinite strength. ‘You were right about how…I felt about Bokuto-san. I thought what I felt for him was something more than it really was - now I’m starting to realise I just admire his strength, and I don’t see our paths ever converging, especially if he’s going to chase his dreams of going pro all the way’. 

‘You don’t have to chase someone else’s light when you’re brilliant in your own right’, she says gently. 

‘Thanks’, he answers thickly, as if the word feels a little awkward in his mouth. 

‘So -’ she pipes up, and he can tell she’s trying her best to paper over the sudden lapse of silence. ‘Will you tell me stories about the stars, Keiji?’

He laughs fondly, raising a hand to catch the stardust from the sparkling constellations overhead. ‘I could tell you the story of Andromeda, chained to rocks as a sacrifice to satisfy the cruel demands of the sea monster?’ 

‘Ugh no gory stories, I want a happy ending!’ 

‘It has a happy ending, I promise. Just be patient and listen, okay?’ 

Akaashi wakes up before his past self can finish telling the tale of Persues’ rescue of Andromeda from the jaws of defeat. It’s barely three in the morning, but he knows it’s futile to try to go back to sleep. He wanders to the window, and wonders whether the lone star hanging in the cloudy sky is merely a satellite in disguise. 

Against his better judgment, he dials Bokuto’s number. 

‘What’s up, Akaashi!’ he hears the older man mumble sleepily, sheets rustling. 

‘Was it obvious I had a crush on you in high school?’ he asks plainly. If seeking closure is what he needs to end this slew of dreams, then he’s going to do it, never mind the embarrassment thick in the blood in his veins.

‘Huh?’ 

Akaashi’s pretty sure he can hear Bokuto blink rapidly. ‘A crush on you’, he repeats, and for good measure he adds - ‘sometime in your third year of high school’. 

‘Ehhhh…’ Bokuto’s voice trails off over the phone. ‘You did?’ 

The sigh that trips out of Akaashi’s mouth is worn, weary. ‘I did’, he confirms, embarrassment writhing in his belly. 

‘But you stopped right? Just before I graduated? You started becoming distracted after Spring High and I thought you were just worrying about university entrance exams.’

‘I suppose.’ And Akaashi should really get a grip on himself but his dreams have been doing a number on him so to his horror, he starts to ramble. ’ It’s probably the lack of sleep, but look - this sounds really stupid but I was having a lot of really weird dreams and I don’t understand what’s happening but I’m hoping getting this off my chest helps me get some more sleep and I hope you don’t think I’m completely weird and don’t mind still being my friend -’

‘Woah, ‘kaashi, slow down! You’re overthinking again - what, you think I’m not going to be your friend anymore?’ Bokuto booms, laughing widely. 

‘Uh. I don’t know?’ 

‘Relax! I’m flattered, but I think it’s a good thing we never went out! You were already so stressed dealing with me in high school Washio used to joke about your hair falling out, but I’ve changed! Now I’m just an ordinary ace!’ 

‘Bokuto-san, I don’t think anyone would call you ordinary’, Akaashi interjects, rubbing circles against his temple. 

‘You know what I mean!’ Bokuto laughs, the sound so round and boisterous that it makes Akaashi quirk his lips up in affection. 

‘Yes, Bokuto-san. Anyway, sorry for disturbing your sleep.’ 

‘Anytime, Akaashi!’ They bid each other goodnight, and the relief he feels after the call settles on his chest like a blanket, and he falls back to sleep. 

Taglist: 

@1tooru @kageyamakock @animeflower26 @underrated-fruit-tarts-official

[randomoranges]

rambly fic thing as always. 

Boxed Up

It’s a quiet dinner, safe for the scrape of forks against the dinner plates. Well – mostly his fork against his dish. Étienne’s been playing with his food more than actually eating at it, digging out the wild mushrooms from the risotto and chewing on them for longer than necessary. He’s been this way for the better part of the week and Edward has no idea what’s been eating at him. He’s asked, on more than one occasion, but Étienne’s been cagey. Edward’s giving him until the weekend before sitting him down proper and confronting him about whatever’s been bothering him. It’s been a hell of a week and a crazy month at that too, so it could be a myriad of different things, for all he knows.

 He’d ask now, over dinner, but they’re both tired and he’s not sure he has enough energy for pushing the issue until it’s solved. He feels as though he’ll just end up hurting his partner by saying the wrong thing, despite the best of his intentions. Therefore, he gives Étienne space and just hopes that he’ll come around in his own time. He can tell that Étienne wants to breech whatever has been bothering him, but he too is looking for the right time. Edward worries. Always. It’s part of his nature. He knows how Étienne can get and doesn’t want that for him.

 Edward’s about to clear the dishes, seeing as Étienne’s made little to no progress on his meal, when, as if reading his mind, his boyfriend speaks out, quiet and fragile, over his mound of simmered rice and mushrooms.

 “Are you happy?” He asks and Edward blinks, wondering if he’s even heard right.

 “What?” He asks intelligibly, the question having taken him by surprise.

 “Are you bored?” Étienne asks instead.

 “What?” He repeats, a broken machine that has failed to comprehend the simply task that’s been asked of it.

 “Of us. Are you bored of us – our relationship – our lives? Are you happy being here – with me and our life?”

 He blinks again. He has no idea where this is coming from. He would have never guessed that this has been the issue plaguing his boyfriend’s mind. He wonders what this means. Where Étienne wants to go with this and if it isn’t some cataclysm to something bigger and mightier.

 Instead, he takes a sip of water to buy him some time to ponder the best way to answer these questions other than stating the obvious. At least – the obvious to him.

 “I’m not bored,” He says, finally, “And I’m quite happy with our life together.”

 He thinks maybe that will be that and Étienne will be content with the answer, but he’s known the other for too long and so he’s able to tell that there’s still more gnawing at his mind.

 “Are you – unhappy? Bored? Is this what this is about?” He asks, fear taking hold of his own mind. Is Étienne about to tell him that he wants a break? Wants to end this? Edward would be devastated. Blindsided as well.

 “What – no! I like our life!” He says quickly, almost insulted Edward would suggest otherwise. “I’m just – it’s just – don’t you find we spend too much time together?”

 Sometimes, he wishes Étienne could be clear when he talks about things that are bothering him. The roadmap to the real issue is always a complicated mess with sharp turns and pedantic questions that lead from one existential dilemma to another, until finally, with careful word choice, Edward is able to get to the real root of the problem. He momentarily wishes Étienne would have waited until the weekend to expose his issues – when they’d both be more rested, but he supposes he’ll take what he can. At least, he thinks, Étienne is talking. In his own complicated way.

 “What do you mean?”

 “We’re literally always together. We work together. You drive me to work. We have lunch together – often. We do things on weekends together – usually. Aren’t you afraid that at some point you’ll get bored? Is this what life is all about? Is this what you really want out of your life? Don’t you wish it was more exciting? Is this what you wanted when you were younger?”

 He’s getting closer to the nucleus, Edward can tell, but there are still some other red flags popping up along the way that Edward wants to address. To make sure Étienne is okay. That there isn’t some other bigger issue hidden in the shadows.

 “I mean – no, I don’t think I saw myself living this exact life when I was a teenager – then again, I didn’t think much beyond what I would be doing next weekend. But, I don’t feel suffocated by the time we spend together. We’re not always together either, even if we do work at the same place. It might be a little unconventional, but we have our own friends we see without the other and activities we do on our own. Like when I go skiing over March break and you go down south with Emma.” He tries and hopes he’s hit a mark. Étienne nods, as if reassured by this and Edward lets out a breath he’s been holding.

 “I can’t speak for the future, but right now, I’m not bored. It might not be the most exciting life, but I like it just fine... I like what we’re building together.” There’s a pause and when Étienne doesn’t say anything, he figures he’ll take a shortcut, “What’s this all really about, Étienne?”

 Étienne sighs deeply and decapitates his mound of risotto with the back of his fork. “I don’t know,” He starts and then jabs the rice, “I mean – I do, but – it’s just – we’ve been together for a while now – years, really and it’s just – I’d hate for you to wake up one morning, turn around and realise that this has been a waste. That you’ve missed out on some big adventure or something.”

 He wants to laugh, but he doesn’t. He’s always considered his life with Étienne to be his big adventure. In all his wildest dreams, he’d never thought he’d get this – stability, a partner he loves and who loves him back – even when he drives him crazy.

 “When did we become boring, old queers, Ed?”

 This time, he does laugh – a soft little chuckle – and he also reaches over for Étienne’s hand to give it a squeeze.

 “I think we’re just getting older. We want different things and are at different points in our lives.”

 “Are we though? I mean – I remember when I was twenty and hitting the clubs. I had some crazy, wild fun nights, at the time. Meeting new people, staying up ‘til all hours. Hooking up. Going to one party after another. God, when’s the last time we even had drag brunch? You used to bring me to those all the time! When’s the last time you even saw your friends from drag?! Now we’re just – two people. Where’s our rebellious spark?!”

 Edward quiets. Étienne has a point. He remembers his own youth, way back when, and the crazy things he’d done. The trips with his friends to other queer cities, the drag shows he’d gotten involved with, volunteering for Pride and such. It feels like a different lifetime ago – something that could have even happened to a different person all together. Had they really done any of those things?

 “When’s the last time we even saw any of our queer friends? It’s like the only circle we’re involved in now is the teacher one. I had to find out through Facebook that Steven and Max broke up. Steve and Max!”

 There we go, Edward thinks, the nucleus.

 “If they can break up then who’s to say it can’t happen to us?”

 The news had come as a blow to both of them, really. Edward had met Steve and Max through Étienne and even then, already, they had been Steve-and-Max. They’d been together for nearly twenty years and were an inspiration, really. Despite being together, they were still active in the community, still went out, and still enjoyed life. Max had even proposed to Steve, a few years ago, and anyone who’d seen the video of the proposal had cried at how utterly sweet and romantic it was.

 “Sweetheart, listen – no one knows for sure what’s going to happen to us in the future. But I promise I’m not bored and I like being with you. If ever anything changes, I would absolutely tell you. The best we can do is to take it a day at a time and check in with each other, if ever we feel like something is off.”

 “I guess,” Étienne mumbles, “But when did it get like this? When did we get washed out?

Sometimes I feel like I’ve been erased. That any personality trait I have or had is gone. All I am is a teacher. Day in and day out. I only ever get to be myself on few occasions. Convenient periods of time pre-established by the school agenda. When did I stop being the person you met when we started dating? When we used to do things that were something else than Being a Teacher?”

 Edward doesn’t say anything. He gets it. So much. It has never fully occurred to him, but Étienne has hit the nail on the head. There have been times, when, upon reflection, he’s felt as though the institution of school has been like a closet and that he’s been forced back in it. Hiding who he is. Not being his true authentic self, but some persona. The teacher persona. Sure, he hasn’t exactly rocked the boat and announced to the school that he’s queer, but he also doesn’t want to. Because it’s his personal life. And because there’s some deep fear anchored deep within him. It might be the twenty-first century, but it’s not a walk in the park either. So he’s kept quiet. Has hidden things about himself, when once, years ago, he had never shied away from being gay.

 Therefore, M Édouard and Edward are two different people. He wonders, briefly, who gets to see the real Edward Murphy and if there’s ever been one, or if, instead, each facet is a part of the real Edward. It’s late and he’s tired. This isn’t the time or day for this type of talk or thought, yet now it nags at him as well, calling for attention.

 “We started dating over summer break – we didn’t have to worry about work and we had all the time in the world. Plus, that was years ago, we’ve also changed – we want new things now.” He tries, repeats, and hopes he sounds as convincing as he’s meant to be – as reassuring.

 “Then why does it feel like settling?”

 Why does it, really?

 “If you could,” He says instead, “What would you do differently?”

 Étienne, this time, is silent as he ruminates. “I don’t know – I mean, I guess the obvious would be to actually talk about my boyfriend when asked. All the teachers with kids keep talking about their goddamned outing apple picking and showing off pictures of their kids with the apples and whatever. Don’t get me wrong, it’s cute but all I ever hear is about the kids, what happened at daycare and weekends up north. I want to talk about my night out at the club, or show pictures of me and my boyfriend on vacation, or whatever other basic human thing I’ve done with my partner without having to fear I’ll get spat at. Or something.  I want to be able to exist. Fully. Not just in parts. I don’t want to be afraid when I show the kids a new artist who happens to be queer. I don’t want to gloss over the facts. I want to wear nail polish to school if I want to. Every inane thing I never questioned before. Most of all, I just want to be.”

 Edward wonders if it would be different if there was actual tangible support they could see. If other teachers spoke about these things – about their queer friends and family – about themselves; if it would feel different and safe. He wonders how many others of their own colleagues are in the same situation and keep to themselves out of fear and he wonders about the other queer teachers who don’t even have a friend or confidant at work. He considers himself lucky, really, that somehow, Étienne managed to find work at his school – that they’ve found each other. Even when they’d only been friends. It had been a blessing to be able to confide in Étienne, then – to have someone who got it.

 “We can always try,” He says after a lapsed moment of silence, “To be more of ourselves – to test the waters, so to say. If someone’s gotta do it, why not us?” He’s not sure how it’ll look, but – they can give it a shot. Take the proverbial baby step. See how it goes.

 “I guess you’re right – just wish it wasn’t always so – exhausting.”

 They leave it at that for now and clear off the table. Once the dishes are done and the leftovers boxed up in the refrigerator, they retire to the living room. Étienne finds solace in Edward’s arms and the two spend a quiet evening replaying the previous conversation in their minds, lost in their own rambling thoughts. There’s a lot to process and they’re both painfully aware that change will take time.

 “What if we tried to actively re-engage with the community – go back to our old hangouts – call up our friends?” Edward suggests, sometime later.

 Étienne ponders this for a moment and then nods, “We might as well try.”

 They may as well. If not them, then who?

 FIN

[gilbertsannegirl]

The Scientist

Merry Christmas to @rootedbutfl0wing! Sorry it’s a couple of days late, but I really hope you do enjoy it! Hope your Christmas was wonderful, and it was a lot of fun getting to know you a little bit :) And thank you @kindredspiritssecretsanta (@royalcordelia) for once again hosting this wonderful event! Once again, cannot wait till next year x

Read it on AO3 / fanfiction.net

2019 Fic

2018 Fic

Summary: Based on The Scientist by Coldplay, which I thought kind of fitted Anne and Gilbert a lot (have a listen if you’ve never heard it before! It’s a beautiful song). Major moments of their relationship from Gilbert’s point of view, along with missing scenes and an AU ending, definitely enemies to friends to lovers. Hope you enjoy!

Come up to meet you; Tell you I’m sorry; You don’t know how lovely you are

 Red. He saw it, red hair. Never was there another colour like it. Gilbert slowly turned in his seat to see a scraggly, freckled girl seated next to Diana Barry. Who was this girl? The sun glinted steadily through the window onto that hair that had drawn his eye in the first place. Why it’s as red as carrots, he thought, continuing to do nothing but stare at the girl who he had never seen in his life. She glanced his way, to which he winked at her, smiling smugly that she’d looked.

After a muttered word to Diana, the girl gazed out the window and, at least what Gilbert began to believe, blatantly ignored him. Feeling the need to see those grey-green eyes look his way once more, he began to rack his brain for ideas. Carrots…

“Carrots,” he hissed softly while tugging gently on the red hair he’d already grown so fond of, “Carrots.”

She whirled around in horror, her eyes flashing a delicious shade of green. “How dare you!” she screamed, and the next Gilbert knew was she’d gone and smashed something over his head. Was that a slate? Either way he found himself apologising profusely to Mr. Phillips who’d rushed to the scene.

Ann Shirley has a very bad temper. Ann Shirley must learn to control her temper. * Was written on the board, and the girl grimly marched to the board placing an ‘e’ at the end of each Ann. Anne Shirley. What a beautiful name for a beautiful girl. Anne stood seething under that sign for the rest of the afternoon, glaring every now and then at the boy who started it all.

At the end of the day Gilbert waited behind for Anne to leave after her lecture from Mr. Phillips. Intercepting her at the door, he glanced into her eyes, “I'm awfully sorry I made fun of your hair, Anne," he whispered contritely. "Honest I am. Don't be mad for keeps, now." *

The lovely girl with the golden, red hair snubbed her nose, and marched away with Diana at her side. Despite this, he grinned dumbly. She’s simply lovely, he thought his eyes following her down the road as she made her way towards what he assumed to be her home.

 I had to find you; Tell you I need you; Tell you I set you apart

 With the mayflowers in hand, Gilbert set off towards Patty’s Place, smiling sweetly at what could come of this particular visit. He found Anne in the orchard her head buried in a book, and he smiled slightly at her usual Anne-ness.

Handing her the Mayflowers, he carefully told her of his plans for the summer: staying in Kingsport to work at the Daily News Office. Gilbert watched as her face fell, hoping this was as good of time as any to ask her the question he had yearning in the back of his mind ever since that fateful day he called her carrots. She quickly composed herself however, and before she could make any more excuse to leave to pick violets, he said, “Things can't go on like this any longer. Anne, I love you. You know I do. I - I can't tell you how much. Will you promise me that someday you'll be my wife?” **

Anne quickly turned away shaking her head. Gil’s face fell immediately. Perhaps he was deceiving himself all along. Had she really never loved him? What about at Echo Lodge? Surely there was something in her eyes then. She begged for his forgiveness, and he gently, in person and heart, let go of her hand.

“There isn't anything to forgive. There have been times when I thought you did care. I've deceived myself, that's all. Goodbye, Anne.” ** And as he walked away that day, malice entered his heart. He must never think of Anne Shirley again.

 Tell me your secrets; And ask me your questions; Oh, let’s go back to the start

 Gilbert sat, his work sprawled across his desk as he ran his hands carefully through his curls. Biting his lip, he thought carefully about what was bothering him so. It has been a year, a year to the dot. His eyes glistened with tears once more as he remembered the terrified look on Anne’s face as he told her of his love for her. Oh, how he regretted it now. Shaking his head, he recalled their beautiful friendship, dwelling on the secrets that she had lovingly entrusted him with.

“Gil,” Anne said, a little melancholic after a particularly deep conversation between the two of them, “Could I tell you something? Something I’ve never told anyone else?”

He looked at her curiously, “Not even to Marilla or Diana?” At the shake of her head, he swallowed carefully, “You know you can tell me anything.”

“Well, I never really thought of it till now. Do you really think anyone could love me? I mean romantically? I’m afraid that I’ve not grown up surrounded by love that I don’t know what I’m looking for. Marilla and Diana, they think me foolish with my fantastic ideals of love. But when I was about 5 or 6, I was living with a family who’d hired me as a work hand – to look after the children, you see. I remember their eldest son was much older than their youngest children. He was about 15 or 16. He wrote poetry and was melancholic. He was the only one in that household that ever paid any attention to me and snuck me food when no one was looking. I didn’t love him romantically of course, I was only 6, but I feel that’s where this all sprouted from in the end. Don’t you think it’s strange that these memories come back to us so many years later?”

Gilbert had stopped their walking a while back. He looked deep into her eyes and whispered, “Anne…”

Anne cleared her throat at the intimacy in his voice, and Gilbert immediately thought himself an idiot for letting such intimacy come about in this private moment, “Um, I should… go. I’ll see you later Gilbert.”

Thinking back to this moment now, just a few weeks before they went to Redmond, he knew how idiotic it was to ask for her hand. He wasn’t the brooding hero she had longed for her whole life – he was plain old Gilbert Blythe, ex-best friend of the most remarkable woman to walk the earth. Yes, she was…

 Nobody said it was easy; It’s such a shame for us to part; Nobody said it was easy; No one ever said it would be this hard; Oh, take me back to the start

 Gilbert saw the radiant girl – no, woman – waltz into the newly decorated hall on the arm of Royal Gardner. Her figure was dressed in an apple green with a low scooped neckline, and her ruddy tresses were laced with small snowdrops. She’s simply beyond beautiful tonight, and you can’t have her. He sighed, lacing his fingers with his ruddy curls, and pacing near the wide window that showed the snow covered land. His best friend – ex-best friend, he scoffed – was on the arm of another man and if the whispering around him was true, she would continue to be on his arm forever.

He felt a gentle tap on his shoulder, and he swung around to see Christine Stuart with a small smile gracing her lips. “Gilbert, are you ready for our dance? The band is set up now.” In the short while of pacing, the room had come to life. Women and men dressed to the nines, chatter erupting and creating an atmosphere of warmth. He nodded and grabbed her hand, placing it in the crook of his arm as they meandered to the dance floor.

They twirled and swayed slowly to the tune that was being softly played. Violins, piano, and flutes all filling his head with sweet song. Not as sweet as Anne, the thought rudely interrupted. He shook his head, gracing a glance at the couple dancing not two feet away from him and his partner. And I guess that is the man who will sit and read her Tennyson by firelight. Yes, but you would do that for her too…

“Gilbert, is everything alright?” He quickly looked up and then down, realising that he had stopped their slow dance and there were people hurrying to avoid crashing into them. “You’re awfully pale. Did you want to sit down for a spell, or perhaps get some air?”

“Um, yes please. I just need to be alone for a little while. Will you be alright? I’ll be back by the next dance.” Christine opened her mouth, but Gilbert had already started walking away continuing his pedantic running of fingers through his hair. Oh, why did you ask her to marry you anyway. You ruined everything; she could still be on your arm as a friend – best friend – not on the arm of that Royal guy. He gasped in the cold air and his hardened heart frosted over as the rivers seeped from his eyes.

 I was just guessing at numbers and figures; Pulling your puzzles apart; Questions of science, science, and progress; Do not speak as loud as my heart

 Every day Gilbert placed one foot in front of the other to pull himself out of bed, through the door and into the gates of Redmond to face his studies, and it was paying off. Another year without Anne; another year of topping every class. It was the easiest distraction from the rushing thoughts and escorting Christine around to various social gatherings. Pouring into schoolwork was always something he had enjoyed, but especially now when it was the only thing in his life that he could fully control. Especially when flashes of red hair and green eyes invaded his dreams every night. Especially when he couldn’t have her.

 Tell me you love me; Come back and haunt me; Oh, and I rush to the start; Running in circles, chasing our tails; Coming back as we are

 It hadn’t been so long ago that they were walking through Hester Gray’s garden – she was picking flowers and he was desperately trying to see more in their friendship. Days often turned to dusk while they were together. And oh, they could talk, or rather Anne could. In every memory he had of her, there were glimpses of moments that he had misconstrued as love. Fleeting touches – of course they were by accident – meaningful glances – Miss Lavender’s wedding, I think she did love me then, perhaps for a moment.

Anne was still very much on the arm of Royal Gardner at every social gathering, while Christine Stuart was on his own arm. The distractions of schoolwork and being up for the Cooper prevented Gilbert from taking in much of the gossip that surrounded the couples. In the back of his mind, he knew what they were saying. Gilbert to wed Christine and Royal to wed Anne. He knew the gossip around his love life was not true, Christine was engaged to another man and he didn’t think of her in that way. But Anne… All of those rumours could very well be true. Where would that leave him?

“Gilbert!” No… it couldn’t be her. “Gil!” And just like that her red hair was staring him in the face.

“Anne?”

“Yes, of course. Gilbert, I just wanted to congratulate you. It seems we are both on the honours list, I’ve just come from the dean’s office. Here,” she shoved a piece of paper into his hands, “see for yourself. It’s all so exciting!”

And in that moment Gilbert allowed himself back to those friendship days of Lover’s Lane, the Dryad’s Bubble, the Lake of Shining Waters, and imagined what it would be like to be with her in those places now. She continued to chatter but stopped when he suddenly gathered her into his arms. “Thank you, Carrots.” And he walked away, leaving her mouth wide open and a few tears gathered on her eyelashes.

 Nobody said it was easy; Oh, it’s such a shame for us to part; Nobody said it was easy; No one ever said it would be so hard; I’m going back to the start

 That moment of the honours list sustained him for some time. She was radiant at convocation in her dress with his flowers. His promise to her all those years ago. If we make it to graduation I’m sending you a bunch of Lilies of the Valley. The Cooper’s Prize was his and Anne had made the honour’s list for English. Well, of course. In the times that he has known her she has been the storyteller, and so honours in English was never a negotiable thing.

The dance began and through the crowd he could see her. She was once again in a shroud of pale green taffeta, his flowers laced through her hair. Everything slowed as they made eye contact with one another. He stumbled towards her, dropping Christine from his arm. As if in a daze, he made his way through the ballroom. But then he saw the haze of her eyes, and the shock in her face as she turned towards the entry of the room. She began to run out into the cool of the early summer night.

In that moment Gilbert knew exactly what he was doing, and yet his knees never stopped knocking, his hands never left his curls. He was going after her. And this time nothing was going to stop him. In the craze of the ballroom, he flung himself around dancing couples and out the door. In the moonlight he saw the pale skin of her throat accentuated by the curls let loose down her back.

“Anne!” She stopped her dazed walk but did not turn to face him. He quickly caught up to her and placed both hands on her cold shoulders. “Anne-girl, what’s wrong?”

“You did it again.” She murmured, which he barely caught through the howling wind.

“What?”

“You call me Anne-girl, you send me gifts, flowers, you never break your promises. And yet you look at me in the same way you always have, even after I broke your heart. Gil? How can you still look at me that way? I’ve never deserved it Gil… I’ve never…” It broke his heart more to have this precious girl crying in his arms over unspoken words, glances, and touches. But he did speak his heart over two years ago in that orchard. Could it be that she’s changed her mind? “And now, you’re going to marry Christine and it’s all my fault that I never understood… I never understood…”

“Anne-girl,” he said in reverence, “is that what this is about?” She pulled her head off his chest to look into his kind, hazel eyes, and he reached up to wipe away her tears. “I’m not engaged to marry Christine. It’s all silly rumours, one’s which I never paid much attention to anyway. You see… I have a dream. I persist in dreaming it, although it has often seemed to me that it could never come true. I dream of a home with a hearth-fire in it , a cat and dog, the footsteps of friends – and you!” ***

And there was once again that moment in which Anne looked at him like he thought he must look at her and he knew there was no separating them again.

 *Anne of Green Gables Chapter XV

**Anne of the Island Chapter XX

***Anne of the Island Chapter XLI

[spine-buster]

The President Wears Prada (William Nylander) | Chapter 4

September 28th 2019

Aberdeen Bloom was letting it all out.  

Siena had called, cooped up in her room in the house she rented with two other girls, taking a break from studying for torts law or shorts law or whatever type of law it was that she had to study.  It was these moments – moments when Siena caught up with her younger sister – that reminded her that she was slaving through law school because Aberdeen would probably need a lawyer one day after doing something colossally stupid.  She’d usually start the conversations with “You can’t tell mom and dad…” and Siena would promise not to.  And, well, she’d keep that promise.  Because sisters never told.  They only ever told on Camden.

Aberdeen told Siena about the night with William in June – she told her about a week later, after Siena was finally settled back into her place in Ottawa.  They’d talked about it for a while and had come to terms with the fact that Aberdeen would never see William again because of the whole Sweden thing and because of the fact that Toronto was a city full of a few million people.  They’d accepted it and moved on.

But then, of course, William showed up in the elevator on her first day of work and the floodgates opened.  

“Wait…hold on a second,” Siena held her hand up.  “You’re telling me you hooked up with a Toronto Maple Leaf.”

“Yes.”

“A hockey player.  That guy was a hockey player.”

“Yes,” Aberdeen stressed.  

“And now…” Siena paused.  “You work for the president of the team that he plays for.”

“Precisely.”

Siena let out a long, loud sign, facepalming before rubbing her temples.  “I don’t know how you get yourself into these situations, Aberdeen,” she shook her head.  “I honestly don’t.”

“I don’t, either.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

Aberdeen looked at her sister weird.  “There’s nothing I can do about it.  It says right in the employee handbook that no employee and player are allowed to hook up.  I can’t tell Brendan and William can’t tell the rest of the team.  That’s that.”

“Are you scared he might?”

Aberdeen considered the question.  “I really don’t know.  On one side, I feel like if he really wanted to tell them he would have told them already, and Brendan Shanahan would have found out through the grapevine and I would have already lost my job.  Like, I wouldn’t have even gone to Newfoundland.  On the other hand, I feel like the comments he’s been saying to me just make it seem like this is a game to him and he’s waiting on the most opportune moment to tell.”

“Comments?” Siena asked.  

Aberdeen sighed.  “I went to dinner with a bunch of them in St. John’s because Jason invited me, and he asked me who my favourite Leaf was in this really flirty way,” she explained.  “Then a few days later he found me alone and told me I should have said him.  Or at least have said he was fucking awesome because that’s what I said that night after we hooked up.”

Siena facepalmed again.  “Oh, Aberdeen…”

“I know, Siena.”

“Does Kasha know?” she asked.

“Of course Kasha knows.”

“Kasha won’t tell a soul.  She’s good like that.”

“I know.  My problem here is William.”

“Listen, Aberdeen…this is a fucked up situation but it’s…I mean, technically you didn’t hook up with him when you were employee.  It was months before.  You had no idea who he was.  That’s what my lawyer brain is telling me right now.”

“I don’t know if that matters,” Aberdeen said.  “I keep getting told that this is the dream job, that if I do well with Mr. Shanahan I can have my pick of any job in any field that I want in Toronto, including writing.  That’s how well connected he is.  I wouldn’t want to get on his bad side at all.  I have to be on my best behaviour and I have to keep doing well.”

“Then keep being on your best behaviour.  Keep doing your job,” Siena encouraged.  “And keep William away.”

***

September 30th, 2019

With only two days until the start of the season, Brendan had a lot of meetings with a lot of people.  There were meetings with hockey ops, meetings with the head scouts, meetings with player development, meetings with analytics.  It was a much busier time than just three weeks ago.  A lot more coffee runs.  More ordering of catered lunches.  More running around like a chicken with her head cut off, like Brendan said she would.  And this wasn’t even the start of the season.

Brendan wanted her to sit it in on the meeting he had now with basically the entire senior management so they could go over upcoming events and initiatives they’d put on throughout the season.  Kyle Dubas would be there.  Brandon Pridham and Laurence Gilman, the assistant general managers would be there.   Dave Morrison, the director of player personnel would be there.  Brad Lynn, the director of team operations would be there.  Stephen Hare, the director of finance would be there.  Steve Keogh, the director of media relations would be there.  Alison Rockwell, the director of business relations would be there.  Leanne Hederson, the manager of hockey operations would be there.  

Aberdeen was clearly studying the employee directory.  

They had a list of things to talk about, and talked through them all.  Aberdeen had her notebook and tried to take notes, but she felt like she was writing a foreign language and none of this would make sense when she went to read them again.  There was talk about “You Can Play Night”, about galas, about charity golf tournaments, about community outreach programs, about the alumni events, about the MLSE Launchpad initiatives…

Then they started to talk about alternate jerseys.  She thought there was only home and away jerseys, but no, there was apparently a third for a special night.  A “St. Pats” jersey.  It was green.  A definite change from the blue, but they kept going on and on about it.  Do we do this?  What about this?  How about this?  It was incredibly pedantic.  She felt like she was in science class again, doodling instead of taking notes since she had no clue what was being said or what was going on.  

“Do you think we should go with the same one from last season, or should we choose a new design?” Dave Morrison asked.

“It’s hard to say.  If we go with last year’s design, jersey sales may stagnate or decline if we compare it on a year-by-year basis, but a new design will boost that,” Stephen Hare said.

“Well, listen.  It’s the 2019-2020 season.  We can go with the design from 1919-1920,” Brandon Pridhan said, pulling up the mock-ups of the jersey.  Aberdeen took into account the green and white, the lettering, everything.  “Or should we balk the season number and go with this one, the 1926-1927 season design?” he held up the other mock-up.  It was basically the exact same design, except the colours were inverted.  

They were having an extremely serious and long discussion about this?  Aberdeen snorted from the corner.

Suddenly, when she looked up, every eye in the room was on her.  The smile immediately dropped from her face.  Brendan was looking at her.  “Something funny?”

Oh shit.  Oh shit.  Ohfuckohfuckohfuck.  “No, no…” she began, trying to cover for herself.  “It’s nothing – you know – it’s just that they look exactly the same to me.  I…you know, I’m still learning about all this stuff.”

“This…stuff?” Brendan asked, repeating her words.  The look that he gave her – she never wanted to be looked at like that again for the rest of her life.  “Oh…okay.  I see.  You think this has nothing to do with you.  You get hired by the Maple Leafs and you sit in on this meeting with, oh I don’t know, that iPad Pro which the company paid for, and you scoff because you think we’re taking this too seriously, and you don’t care about what jerseys fans put on their back.  But what you don’t know is that this hockey sweater is not just blue and white, it’s not just green and white, it’s actually a symbol,” he paused, moving from his spot at the table, walking around it.  “You’re also blindly unaware of the fact that in 1919 the Toronto Arenas were about to go under, only to be saved by a group of investors who renamed the team the Toronto St. Patricks, and who later made Conn Smythe their managing partner and their eventual owner.  Conn Smythe ended up changing their name in 1927 to the Toronto Maple Leafs because that maple leaf was the national symbol of Canada and, as he said, a badge of courage and a reminder of home of when he was a Canadian Army officer during World War One,” he picked the design he liked most from Brandon and pinned it onto the board, taking another from the pile.  Aberdeen’s heart stopped beating.  “The blue and white, he said, represented the Canadian skies and Canadian snow.  The name has changed, the investors have changed, and the logo has seen design changes, but that maple leaf is a symbol that represents the identity of Toronto, the history of this city, and the pride of the country.  It represents millions of dollars and countless jobs, and so it’s sort of comical how you think that you ever made a choice that exempted you from caring about these jerseys when, in fact, this city’s identity and one of the most well-known national symbols were selected for you by the people in this room who ran this hockey club.  All because of the influence of this stuff.”

He held onto a picture, holding it face up.  She broke eye contact to look down at it, only to see it was the maple leaf that was currently on the jersey.  The thirty-one points, meant to represent 1931 and the opening of Maple Leaf Gardens; the 17-vein detail, meant to represent when the franchise was founded in 1917; the 13 veins at the top, meant to represent the 13 Stanley Cup championships.  She realized what this symbol meant to not only the people in this room, but to the city, to the fabric and identity of it, to its storied past and bright future.  She realized the history behind it, the countless people who wore the sweater or jersey with pride for over a century now.  She realized how wrong and careless she’d been.  

When she looked back up, Brendan was staring at her.  So was everyone else still seated at the board table, some of them with amused looks on their faces.  “I’ll be outside if you need me,” she said, barely above a whisper because she was too embarrassed to even speak.  She clutched her iPad Pro and took the picture, walking out of the room.

The second the door closed behind her, she burst out into tears.  The tears streamed down her face as she escaped into the washroom, slamming the stall door behind her and locking it before breaking down in the bathroom stall.  Brendan Shanahan had just embarrassed her in front of some of the hockey world’s most important people and she deserved it.  She couldn’t believe she could be so fucking stupid and so dumb and callous and just such a…such an idiot.  And now here she was, crying about it in a bathroom stall.  She’d never be able to recover from this.  Brendan would think she was an idiot until the day she died.  He’d die before her and in heaven he’d still think her an idiot.

She stayed in the bathroom stall for a while, crying it all out and eventually stopping because she had no more energy to cry.  She opened the stall door and looked at herself in the mirror, trying to wipe away the tears.  Her eyes were red and of course, her cheeks were stained with tears, but she was thankful that she wore waterproof mascara that day.  She tried to collect herself, even though she had just made a complete ass of herself.  She still had a full day of work to do.  She still had to make it until 5pm.  Somehow.  

When there was nothing more she could do to fix her appearance, she sighed and decided to head back to her desk, ready to face whatever punishment Brendan was going to give her when he got out of the meeting.  There was nothing more she could say or do.  She swung open the door to the washroom and stepped out into the hallway.  

Although when she did, she crashed into a body.  When she looked up, it was, of course, none other than William Nylander.  Because her day couldn’t get any better from here.  “Hey,” he said, smiling at her.  

“What do you need?” she asked, not bothering to greet him.

He noticed the tone of her voice and the redness of her eyes and immediately changed his demeanour.  “What’s wrong?”

She side-eyed him.  As if he cared.  “I just made a complete ass of myself in front of Brendan.  No biggie,” she huffed.  

“Did you get a coffee order wrong or something?”

Now she really side eyed him.  She understood the stereotype of personal assistants, but this was not the time to start making jokes and devaluing her job.  “What do you want?  Why are you even in the offices?” she asked.  

He shrugged his shoulders.  “I wanted to see you.”

She scoffed.  “Oh, get a life, William.”

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t know why you feel the need to keep taunting me when we’re on the job, but it needs to stop,” she said.  “Don’t you have drills to go through?  Don’t you like, I don’t know, need to tape a stick?”

It was his turn to give her a look.  “Hey, don’t be mad at me just because you screwed up at your job today.  I came up here to see you because I wanted to see you.  I’m trying to be nice.”

“Taunting me at my job isn’t being nice,” she said.  “If you can’t tell, I’m not having a good day.  So I’d appreciate it if you just…wouldn’t.”

“Whatever you did can’t be worse than sleeping with a Maple Leaf and then working for his boss,” William retorted.  

Okay, now she was angry.  She grabbed his arm and dragged him towards the small kitchen – the one she’d retreated to when she walked in on them in their underwear – and shut the door behind them so they could have a private conversation.  “Listen to me,” she began, her voice as steady and as intimidating as it could be.  “I know I’m not saving the world or anything, but this job means a lot to me.  This isn’t a fucking game to me like it is to you.  This is my life.  This is my livelihood.  This is my career prospects in any industry in Toronto if I do a good job here.  And you, William Nylander, are not going to take that away from me.”

“I’m not trying to take that away from you,” William declared.  “Don’t you think that if I didn’t want you here, I would have told the guys or told Brendan already?”

Aberdeen thought back to the conversation she’d had with her sister, where she brought up the exact same point.  She shook her head.  “Then stop with the comments.  Stop with the ‘coming to see me’, flirting in front of your teammates, and the flirting in general.”

“I can’t do that,” he responded.  

“Why not?” she demanded.

“Because I want you.”

The words hung in the air for an uncomfortable amount of time as William and Aberdeen stared at each other, his blue eyes piercing her hazel ones.  Her jaw dropped at his words, and she tried to respond but she couldn’t think of anything to say.  There was nothing to say.  He just dropped a bombshell and she had no way to recover.  He wanted her.  He wanted her.  He…wanted her?  “W…What?”

William didn’t respond.  He only smiled.  He didn’t say anything else as he left those words with her, opening the door and leaving the kitchen, leaving her completely dumbfounded.  

***

Later on that night, as Aberdeen was walking back to her condo after the day’s work (and not seeing Brendan again – probably for the best, since she was going to write out and rehearse her apology she’d tell him tomorrow if she didn’t get a call that she’d been fired tonight), her phone buzzed in her pocket.  She assumed that it would be Kasha, wanting to know what they were going to do for dinner.  But when she looked at her screen, it was an unknown number that texted her.

i promise im not going to tell anybody. im not going to tell any of the guys, or kyle, or brendan, or anyone what happened in june. that stays between us.

im not that guy.  i wouldn’t do that to you.

She stopped dead in her tracks.  A pedestrian behind her almost crashed into her and yelled at her to watch where she was going.  She collected herself and moved off to the side so people could pass by her and she could read the texts over and over and over again.  She didn’t even want to know how he got her number.  She didn’t want to know what covert operation he pulled.  

She gulped.

***

October 1st, 2019

Aberdeen was impatient in the backseat of the town car as she and Lou waited for Brendan to appear.  Her leg was bobbing up and down and she was pretty sure she would have chipped all her nail polish off by now if it wasn’t shellac.  She had written out and rehearsed her apology to him and knew exactly how she was going to deliver it.  She knew she had to makes things right.

“Miss Bloom,” Lou said from the driver’s seat, looking at her through the rear-view mirror like he often did.  “Nervous energy.”

“I’m sorry Lou,” she apologized, trying not to bob her leg.  “I just need to say something to Mr. Shanahan.”

“Something bad?”

“How many apologies have you heard in this car?” she asked.

Lou chuckled.  “Many, Miss Bloom.”

“How does he react to them?”

Lou shrugged.  “Depends.”

She gulped.  As if on cue, Brendan emerged from his house.  Lou got out of the car to open the door for him.  

“Good morning, Aberdeen,” he said, his voice cheery as he got into the backseat.  He already had a stack of newspapers with him.  He was acting as if nothing was wrong.  “How are you this morning?”

“I’m…good,” she replied, confused.  She decided she should just get right into it.  “Mr. Shanahan, can I speak to you about something?”

“Brendan,” he corrected her like he always did.  He was focused on the newspaper in front of him.  “And yes, Aberdeen, you may.”

“Can you look at me?”

That caught his attention.  He lowered the newspaper and took off his glasses, waiting for her to begin.  She took a deep breath.  “I want to sincerely apologize for my comments yesterday in the meeting,” she began.  “It was really insensitive of me to scoff, and then to make that comment – just really callous, and I want to apologize.  I don’t want you thinking that this job means nothing to me, because it does.  It means the world—”

“Aberdeen,” Brendan interrupted her, holding up his hand.  She stopped talking, and could tell he was thinking of what to say.  “First of all, thank you for your apology,” he began.  “What I said to you in that room, in front of everybody – I just wanted to make sure you know the importance of the work we do here.”

“I do.  I mean – I do now.”

“Hockey in Toronto is not just hockey,” he began.  “It’s a living, breathing entity in and of itself.  The sooner you realize that, the sooner you will see the importance of not just my work, or the work of anybody else that was in the room that day, but of your work too.  You are part of the Toronto Maple Leafs now, Aberdeen, whether you like it or not.  You have a role to play here in the success of the team just like anybody else.  Just because you’re an executive assistant, it doesn’t mean you don’t.”

“Yes sir,” she nodded her head.  

“I know you have a steep learning curve to go through.  I knew that when I hired you.  You’ll go through it.  And you’ll make a hell of a lot of mistakes along the way.  But you’ll go through it.  And you’ll come out better.  With more knowledge.  Understood?”

“Yes sir.  Absolutely,” she nodded her head.  Brendan sent her a quick smile before putting his glasses back on and focusing on the newspaper again.  “So…I guess this means I’m not fired?” she asked, just for reassurance.

That actually got a laugh out of Brendan.  “No, Aberdeen.  I could never fire an Etobicoke girl.”

***

October 2nd 2019

The season opener was just pure insanity.  There was no other way Aberdeen could rephrase it besides that – just pure insanity.  Brendan had meetings, she had to coordinate this, she had to run for coffees, she had to go get notes from someone, the phone was ringing off the hook…Lou even had to take her in the town car up to Yorkville, to Prada and to Gucci and to Hermes, so she could pick up ties for him to wear once all the media came rushing in.  It was a complete shit show.  She barely had time to eat, drink, or even think because she was so busy trying to get everything done.  

But something happened to her once she and Brendan made their way up to the media gondola to sit in the President’s private box with Kyle Dubas and Brandon Pridham: she watched the game.  From start to finish, she watched the Toronto Maple Leafs dominate the Ottawa Senators 5-3 to win the game.  She saw Auston Matthews score two goals – and William assist beautifully on one of them.  It was textbook perfect.  She saw the comradery of the boys on the bench.  She saw Brendan and Kyle seem excited.  

She remembered back to how excited the people of Newfoundland were at just a practice and an exhibition game.  She saw how excited the crowd was tonight at the way the team played and the outcome of the game.  

She began to get it.

She followed Brendan out of the gondola so they could head down to the locker room about five minutes before the game was going to end.  When the team began to come in, she wondered if she should clap – her questions were answered when she saw the equipment personnel fist-bump the boys.  She held out her hand to show her support.  Brendan laughed.

“Wooooo!  Let’s go baby!” Auston screamed as he looked directly at her, fist-bumping her with his enormously large hockey glove.  In that moment, she was sure one of them was going to knock her over one day.

“Good job boys!” she yelled out as they trickled in.  John was next, giving her a fist-bump and a quick nod.  

Morgan saw her and screamed at her.  “Wooooo!”

“Wooooo!” she mimicked, smiling from ear to ear as she fist-bumped him.  She held her hand out for Andreas, for Kasperi, and for Sandin.  William filtered through, and when she caught his eye, a large smile appeared on his face.  “Good job boys!” she yelled out again as they fist-pumped.

As they boys filtered into the locker room and began to take off their gear, Brendan walked in, motioning for Aberdeen to follow him.  She stood behind him and Kyle Dubas as they watched Mike Babcock make his post-game speech and present the team with one of the Raptors’ game used balls from their championship run.  One player would get it after every game won.  Auston got it tonight for scoring two goals, and he did a few tricks.  

Aberdeen helped usher Mike into a separate room so he could do post-game media before they went into the locker room.  She watched as a horde of reporters stuck microphones into his face and asked him questions about the game.  When Brendan called her back into the locker room, he told her he was free to go.  

She looked up at one of the TV monitors that was broadcasting Mike’s interview from the other room live, wanting to hear what good things he had to say before she left.  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw William approach her, the bottom half of his gear still on, chucking something into the garbage.  He stood beside her, looking up at the monitor too to listen in.

“Can you speak to Matthews’s goals tonight?  The assist from Nylander must have looked good on your end,” one of the reporters asked.

“Yeah, the goals were good.  Looked really good.  The assist looked better than the one’s from last season, that’s for sure – he’s clearly been practicing,” Mike began.

Aberdeen didn’t hear anything else he had to say as she furrowed her brows.  She knew that she didn’t know anything about hockey, but she thought the team played fantastic tonight.  They won, for heaven’s sake.  If she was a casual viewer and thought they played well, and that William’s assist on Auston’s goal looked incredible, that had to speak for something, right?  A person who wasn’t even a fan being impressed?  She didn’t know.  But when she looked over at William, she saw a defeated look on his face.  He clearly took the comments to heart, and it killed her to see his excitement die down over a stupid comment.

“Does he always give you backhanded compliments?” she asked quietly, looking at him.  

William noticed her looking, and gave her one of those tight-lipped smiles as he shrugged his shoulders.  “Don’t worry about it.  I’m used to it.”

Aberdeen didn’t like that answer.  

[rachelbethhines]

Tangled Salt Marathon - Keeper of the Spire

You wouldn’t know it upon first watch, but today’s story is one of the few non-filler episodes of season two. 

Summary:  In order to acquire the third scroll piece, Rapunzel, Eugene, Cassandra and Lance travel to the home of the Keeper of the Spire and meet Calliope who informs them the third piece is kept inside the Spire’s vault at the top of the mountain. The group begins the long journey to the Spire's vault the following day and become increasingly annoyed by Calliope’s rude, arrogant and inconsiderate behavior. Despite Calliope's treatment, Rapunzel insists they still need her help all while they being dangerously pursued by the vault's protector, the Kurlock. The group eventually reach the Spire's vault, but again encounter the Kurlock and discover Calliope is not the real Keeper of the Spire.

Once Again, ‘Destiny’ Isn’t a Goal

If you want to build up some sort of mystery with the scroll pieces and what awaits Rapunzel at the end of her quest, then that’s fine. But at some point you have to actually explain what her destiny actually is, how the scroll connects to it, and most importantly, why she needs to fulfill it. 

We’re never given a reason for why Rapunzel needs to reconnect to the moonstone, nor why she couldn’t have just stayed home and did nothing. The scroll itself doesn’t tell her anything and what it leads up to has nothing to do with ‘destiny’ and ultimately comes to nothing in the grand scheme of things.  

Indeed, much like the quest itself, things would have been better for everyone had she not found the scroll at all. 

Meet the Best Written Character In the Show

No, I’m not exaggerating. Calliope is the only recurring character in the series not to get royally screwed over by last minute rewrites and poor pacing. In fact her arc may have actually been improved by the dumb creative decisions of season three.  

Which is a problem because she’s not a main character. Her story and arc shouldn’t be more well rounded than Rapunzel’s. It’s also clear, given how the writers try to pitt her as annoying thorn in the heroes sides that is only tolerated because she’s useful, that they weren’t expecting the general audience to identify with her, and so her subsequent portrayal as the most developed character in the show is fully accidental.    

We Finally Get Some Indication of Cassandra’s Age

Well first off, we probably shouldn’t be getting such information about our deuteragonist this late in the game, but also, putting Cass in her early 20s recontextualizes her arc the same way Varian being 14 recontextualizes his conflict, but in the opposite direction. A 24 year old is more accountable for their actions than a 14 year old. Always will be. 

And before people try to get all pedantic on me; yes she’s only 23 here, and Varian is currently 15. What I meant is those are their ages at the start of their villain arcs, because the linear progression of time is a thing. 

This Joke Actually Highlights One of the Bigger Problems of Season Two

I laughed when I first heard this joke, but that’s cause I was under the assumption that they would go on to develop a friendship between Cass and Lance as the season went on. But they don’t. 

Cass never has any focus episodes that aren’t about her failing relationship with Rapunzel. She never interacts with the other four people that she’s traveling with outside of group scenes like this. Not even with Eugene, who we spent the whole previous season establishing a bond with. 

This undermines Cassandra’s arc in several ways. She less well rounded and developed without other people in her life besides Rapunzel; it ignores her place in the show as the older and wiser friend if she’s so majorly co-dependent upon only person. It also ignores what was set up in season one in order to push a certain narrative later that clashes with what we the audience already know.  

Plus there’s the added effect of other characters getting poor representation within the story. 

So Why Didn’t the Others Come Along Again?

I understand not being able to take the caravan upto the top of the mountain, but the road was wide enough to get it up this far. Also it didn’t take you all day to get here so you could just walk back to camp. 

But let's get to the real reason why the caravan was left behind. The writers wanted and excuse to get rid of Hookfoot and Shorty. Because they didn’t want to write them into the story. Because they have nothing to do with the overall plot and together they’re one too many characters to keep up with and give stuff to do to. Which begs the question of why they were ever included into the season at all. 

Also why leave Adria behind? She was the one who sent them up here. She’s the one who has a vested interest in getting Rapunzel to the end of her journey. She’s the only one driving the plot at the moment, so why not have her present to do just that?  

Rapunzel is a Hypocrite 

There’s not a single description that Rapunzel says here that couldn’t be applied to herself. 

Which would be funny if the writers ever actually acknowledged this within the series. 

Having parallels simply exist on their own and not actually inform the story is bad writing. Same with character flaws; acknowledge them, use them to advance both the plot and the characters, and build off of them to establish character dynamics. This is in part why Calliope is the better written character between the two of them. 

Behold, the One and Only Time Lance and Rapunzel Hold a Conversation with One Another! 

Speaking of characters not getting enough focus.... It’s just a set up for a recurring gag in the episode, but this is indeed the only point in the series where Lance and Rapunzel talk, about anything. 

It’s not just Cass who is prevented from establishing relationships, it’s literally everyone. All of Rapunzel’s focus episodes alternate between Cassandra, Eugene, or a random side character. Cassandra only gets focus when with Rapunzel. Eugene only gets development with either Rapunzel or on his own. Lance is only ever shown interacting with Eugene or Adria, outside of some highly specific one off instances like here. Hookfoot is left out in the cold save for three episodes and two of them double as New Dream folder. 

We’ve managed to pair the cast down to only six, as opposed to a whole kingdom’s worth of characters, and yet they have less development here than they did in season one. The group does not feel like a group, and that is a problem. 

How is This Meant to be Encouraging? 

Ok, I get what the writers were going for here. Calliope has low self esteem. she feels useless because she’s lost her only support group, her mentor. So Rapunzel is ‘inspiring’ her to fulfill her dream of becoming the new keeper of the spire. 

However, this is an incredibly bad take. 

Calliope lacks self esteem because she’s lonely. Her dream of becoming the keeper is directly tied to her father figure, who up till now was the only person who gave a damn about her. She only wants to impress Rapunzel because she wants a friend and she believes that she needs to be useful in order to get that. And here is Rapunzel and the narrative reinforcing that belief under the guise of ‘achieving a dream’. 

No fuck that! 

You don’t need to have a ‘purpose’ to have friends.You shouldn’t have to prove yourself useful just be respected and included. Also, Rapunzel doesn’t even befriend her. She just uses Calliope to get what she wants and then avoids her for the rest of the show; only checking up on her out of obligation in season three. 

So not only are we denied another female friendship in a show bereft of female relationships, but we also have a character who can be easily read as autistic by the audience needing to prove she’s useful to society in order to be accepted. 

Ugh! 

And yeah, I said autistic. We have a character who fails to pick up on social cues, hyperfixates upon her special interests, is rejected by society for trying to share these special interests, and she even pulls out her magic linked rings to fiddle with when stressed, which can be coded as a stim. I’m not saying that this was the writers’ intent, but nevertheless these are traits that people on the autism spectrum tend to identify with. 

So how insulting is it to watch this episode and see someone you could relate to being constantly put down by the heroes behind their back and then never apologize for it, even when said character admits their own fault? 

So Are We Ever Going to Get Any Background on this Spire? 

So the spire is one of the few places that is plot important in the show. Yet we never find out why it exists, who built it, how it came to hold such important plot devices, nor the story behind the keepers who guard it. It’s just there, and that’s infuriating because it’s both a lack of much needed worldbuilding and lore. 

Still A Better Dad than Frederic

Leaving for months on end without telling you loved ones why and where you’re going is a shitty thing to do. Doubly so if its just to teach your kids ‘a lesson’. However, The Keeper still winds up being a better parental figure than most of the other dads (besides Cap, who is awesome) in the series. That’s how low the bar has been dropped by Chris and his weird ideas on parenting. 

So What Was the Lesson Here?

Ok first off, Calliope didn’t need to be reminded of anything. The Keeper says as much. She was always persistent. The only lesson that she does learn is not to lie but apparently that’s not what we’re supposed to take from this episode. 

But what are we supposed to take away? Because Rapunzel doesn’t learn anything either. There’s no admittance of wrongdoing on her part  and she does not change her outlook or behavior from this encounter. 

Calliope at least learns to become more self assured after this episode and remains honest and true to herself once the episode is done with. Rapunzel however is the same. You can’t claim that this is ‘Rapunzel’s story’ (Chris’s words not mine) if it’s only random side characters who are allowed to grow.  Which is yet another reason why the main cast of characters don't get the development and interaction that they should.

That’s also why Calliope is better written than the main character and she shouldn’t be. It’s a bewilderingly oversight of basic writing.

Conclusion 

I don’t mind this episode. As I said in the beginning, it is one of the few non-filler episodes in season two. However, there’s a lot of problems with it to the point where I can’t actually call it good, just mediocre. 

[serensama]

To Release #2

To Release #2

Zen needs to let MC go.

Years ago, I had asked the amazing @promiscuous-jalapeno to write a HC for me when I was too scared to write my own and she did an amazing job- tore me right up it did. I asked her shortly thereafter if she minded if I tried to do it and she was kind enough to encourage me. Nearly 4 years and I’ve finally done it.

Trigger warnings: Character death, mentions of blood and aneurysm.

This is for my friend, my sister- Susana. I don’t know how to let you go. But one day I will. And one day I will see you again. Rest well until then dear one.

This is for my baby, my puppy Meiko- run free my little one. I know you’ll be waiting for me too. Keep Susana company and keep her safe until we catch up, okay? Good Boy. 

-       It wasn’t a particularly long or difficult day when it happened.

-       They were wrapping up the film and just going over the last few scenes that Zen wasn’t thrilled with; ever the perfectionist he didn’t want sub-par acting from him or his co-stars, he loved his fans too much to offer them nothing but the best.

-       The director hadn’t called cut but everyone had started to make a commotion on the set and forced the actor to stop and look around. A crowd had congregated near the catering table, someone calling for the onsite doctor for one of the crew who had seemingly fainted.

-       The director walked towards the people and when she got close enough to see what or who the cause of the ruckus was, she spun on her heel and screamed out to him.

-       Zen turned towards the sound of his name and saw his director calling him over with frenzied hands, urging him to quicken his pace and pointing towards the throng of people- “… It’s MC.”

-       The actor had pushed one of his colleagues out of his way, apologising to them in his head as he bounded over to where the director had motioned to. He easily pulled people away to let him through when he finally got to eye of the masses, his MC laying on the floor in a heap. Her arms were thrown askew and her legs in an odd angle, a trickle of blood from where she caught her head against the edge of the table forming a pool of the rich, dark liquid beneath her.

-       Zen hissed curses at the idle idiots around him, just standing there slack jawed staring at his girlfriend instead of doing anything else.

-       With a gentleness he only ever showed to her, he caressed the inside of her wrist softly careful to not jostle her in case she hurt her neck or back with her fall. “MC, baby, please wake up, let me see those beautiful eyes again,” he cooed, praying his voice was enough to coax her from her unconsciousness. When she furrowed her brow but remained wholly unresponsive, he tried once again, convinced he could reach her. “Come on baby, I know you. You’re probably screaming at yourself for falling and being careless- especially with so much to do. So do it, kick your own ass and wake up. You can do this. Show me how strong you are MC.”

-       Her eyelashes began to flutter as she sluggishly began to move.

-       Zen exhaled a breath he didn’t know he was holding and a collective sigh of relief was released on set. Everyone knew and loved the ivory haired star but the only thing he was ever pedantic about to a fault was the health and safety of his manager, his girlfriend- his ‘whole world’. He couldn’t care less if all they gave him was warm water for lunch so long as she was well taken care of and comfortable.

-       The doctor finally reached them and quickly rushed the remaining stragglers away from the couple, even managing to push Zen back when he said he needed more room to make sure MC was okay, the young man hovering around them, pacing worriedly about the sidelines like a mother hen.

-       He watched on as the doctor patched her up, wincing as the thread and needle cinched up the gash- silently threatening the doctor to do a good job and not leave MC with a scar. However the more he thought of a scar on his girl got him a little excited, it would make her look mysterious, dangerous, his every own femme fatale- a physical representation of her inherent bad-assery for all the world to see.

-       Zen could feel the tension in his shoulders relax as she slowly stood up and accepted whatever direction the doctor was giving her. He practically sprinted to her side when the older man gestured for him to come over, his long, toned arms carefully gathering her to him and pressing soft kisses to her skin, ignoring the scent of dried blood mingling with her sweet perfume. “… and make sure she doesn’t fall asleep again until you’re at the hospital and she’s in their care. Your blood pressure is pretty low and you’ve looked paler as of late, have you been getting enough iron lately MC?” 

“Mhmm.” “Mm. Okay. Well go get those tests and make sure nothing too serious happened with that hit on your head. Make sure you watch out of her Zen,” the doctor instructed with a terse nod before taking his leave.

-       A few moments passed with Zen still holding onto MC, lips still against her brow. He wanted to remember what it felt like to hold her and feel her breath against his skin, the warmth of her body, the sting of the pinch at his… the hell?

-       Crimson eyes looked down to see MC pinching at his arm.

-       “AIR!” she finally managed as she pried herself away from him, her mouth open and gaping for the precious gas to enter her lungs once more. He chuckled as he allowed himself one final self-indulgent kiss on top the crown of her head and stepped back, letting her find her own footing and collect herself.

-       “What happened Jagi?” he asked, tucking an errant strand of hair back up into her messier messy bun. “Do you remember anything?”

-       MC grimaced as she thought back, trying to remember anything before waking up to a blistering pain in her head and the sounds of hushed whispers all around her, and the large worried eyes of her lover peering down at her. Ignoring the pounding at the base of her skull and the way her world was just slightly off kilter, she focused on the chain of events that led her there.

-       She had been looking over his schedule and worrying herself over how to get to one interview to another with only twenty minutes to spare across the city during peak hour traffic when she felt a sharp pain at the back of her eyes, acute and with such intensity she had to put her planner on the table and steady herself and then… nothing.

-       Zen frowned not liking what he was hearing. At first he thought that she had neglected herself again, probably forgetting to eat something during the day because she was so fixated on him and his commitments she disregarded her responsibility to herself- it wouldn’t be the first time. Although this time, it felt different. Apart from the fact that he had practically force fed MC lunch with him not two hours earlier, he didn’t like the way she had been acting in the days leading up to this episode. She had been more exhausted than normal, crashing into bed often without having a shower which was something she was loathe to do, always yelling at him for doing it if he stumbled home from the set late at night. She was irritable and short tempered, yes she was a fire cracker and he loved her for it, but he could see she was being snappish for no good reason and that just wasn’t his MC.

-       That and his dreams. Dreams he suppressed because they didn’t sit right with him, didn’t make sense, didn’t want to make sense of it. So he didn’t. It didn’t make sense that he would be in the middle of a choreographed number, with MC front row and centre watching him and he would do a turn and then she was gone. Just him alone on the stage, with people waiting for him to continue. It just didn’t make any sense.  

-       He would focus on what was real and happening in front of him and he would take things one step at a time instead of jumping to conclusions from stress addled dreams. Yes, that was it. It was the stress of this new movie. It was going to be the biggest one to date and with so much riding on his performance, there was no doubt that was what was causing such terrible images to play out before him the minute he closed his eyes.

-       “Let’s get you to the hospital okay Jagi?”

-       He almost throttled the doctor in the ER. How the hell did he dare say such things. He was going to ask for a second opinion and then a third. He wasn’t going to stop until he heard the right opinion, the only one that mattered. That MC was just fine. MC was going to live- anyone who said otherwise was going to taste the heel of his boot.

-       “I know it’s difficult to hear but as it stands it might be best to start making some arrangements just in case-”

“You need to stop talking Doc,” he ground out behind his teeth, both hands squeezing against the metal of MC’s hospital bed. “Zen,” she chided with a disapproving look but with a gentle hand on his arm. “Let him speak.”

He shook his head and crossed his arms in front of him like he was trying to intimidate a better diagnosis out of him instead of the bullshit he was already sprouting.

“Not unless he goes back and does those tests again and comes back with some different results, because those are wrong,” he replied pointing at the chart the doctor held in his hands. To his credit the older man didn’t flinch too badly at Zen’s bullying, probably used to all kinds of bargaining from people in the ER. “As much as I wish they were wrong… they aren’t. I’m afraid there isn’t much else that can be done- what we’ve found is an intracranial aneurysm and at the size it’s managed to get we need to do emergency surgery or it’s at great risk of rupturing. All I’m saying is that the surgery comes with risks- as if it does rupture during the surgery she could have a stroke or receive permanent brain damage and, as such, she should get everything in order in case the worst were to happen-” “What we need you to say Doc is that the surgery is going to save her life and everything will be fine,” he snapped pointing at him menacingly. Zen tapped on the clipboard and then into the doctor’s chest to get his point across.

-       The doctor sighed and gave MC a pointed look which she wordlessly responded with a nod, still disoriented from trying to catch up with what the man had just said. “Can you believe that guy? What kind of bed side manner was that? Jumin would be classified as downright cuddly compared to that guy,” Zen bristled, a shiver climbing up his spine as he thought about both men. MC sighed as she grabbed Zen’s hand, squeezing it to steel herself for what was to come. “The last thing you need to hear before impromptu surgery is hey- you’re probably gonna kick the bucket so make sure you know who is going to get your china.” “Jaehee is going to get the China. Saeyoung my shoes,” she grinned, stroking at the smooth skin on the back of his hand absentmindedly. “Yoosung said he wanted my gear from LOLOL, V will have my sketchbook and Jumin all my cat paraphernalia. You can keep my lingerie.”

-       MC was giggling until she looked up at Zen’s face, his downturned mouth and sparkling eyes clearly showed a man who was not impressed with the jokes she was telling. 

“Zen, Oppa, it’s going to be okay,” she soothed, bringing his forehead to touch hers, rubbing her nose to nuzzle him. “I need you to tell me it’s okay, that we’re going to be okay.” 

“You only ever call me Oppa when you want something,” Zen pouted as he returned the action, he took a deep breath in and stilled himself. MC was in his arms and she always would be. “Hey, hey I promise Jagi you are going to be fine. You are going to go in there and that aneurysm thing won’t be able to win against you, nothing can whenever you make your mind up. You’re my girl. You’re wonderful, feisty. My take no prisoners warrior queen- you’re going get out of this completely unscathed.”

-       MC sniffed and pulled back, clasping his larger hands with hers, her lips twitching at the sight of it. 

“But…” 

“No buts, that is until you are given the okay from the doctors that you’re all good after the surgery. Then this ass is mine,” he playfully growled, grabbing a handful of her rear to lighten the mood. MC laughed, an almost strangled noise through her tears and pecked him chastely on the lips. 

“But-”

“MC I know in my gut that this isn’t the end of you okay, I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you, you know that right?” he said earnestly as he looked into her eyes.

-       “I know but-”

“But what?”

-       “My hair!” she wailed much to his surprise. “They’re going to shave a huge patch of my hair off and I’m going to look like an idiot!” she continued, fat tears rolling down her face.

-       Zen stared at her nonplussed before throwing his head back in laughter. This woman was strong. She wasn’t afraid of death. She feared for her style. She was his match in every way.

-       Before they took her in to prepare her, he asked a favour with the nurses at the station who wholeheartedly agreed to assist him in his quest.

-       Without a second thought or the slightest hesitation he cut off his pony tail and the nurses shaved off his signature ivory locks. MC screamed in protest but he would have none of it. 

“It’s you and me MC. Whatever you do, I do. Your hair will grow back with mine and we will do all of this together. So you make sure you get out of this surgery and we can get back to living our lives together,” he negotiated as they started to wheel her away. “Promise?”

“Promise!” she called out to him, holding up a pinkie finger as they rolled down the corridor.

-       Everything was hazy and everything felt heavy when she prized her eyes open, but she saw her handsome Zen and knew he was saying something sweet to her and all was right in the world. She could hear him saying something, she couldn’t quite make out exactly what but she knew they were comforting and probably stupid. Ah Jagi, you look so ravishing in that hospital gown or I got you baby girl or MC! You should have heard how you raved about my skills in bed as you came down from the anaesthetic! They need to keep me in the hospital to do all sorts of tests on how it could be possible for a man to be so beautiful and so talented in the bedroom- they say it’s some sort of genetic wonderment, I say it’s all because of you.

-       “Thank you for coming back to me.”

-       They said they did the best they could with what they had, that she would need constant supervision for the time being and they needed to keep close observation on the aneurysm to see if their intervention measures worked. That meant for the first time in a long time Zen willingly cancelled his schedule, all of his schedule. He didn’t attend any interviews or photoshoots, no fan-meets or even any online streaming events- his only goal was to care for MC. Even when she realised it was the premiere of his biggest feature film to date, the project she had fought so hard for him to get and he worked so diligently for- nothing would sway him. His place was with her and she just needed to get over the fact that there was nothing more important to him than her.

-       “Zen, don’t be a fool.” 

“I’m not. That’s why I’m staying here.”

“Zen! After everything we’ve done to get to this point, you need to be there!” 

“I don’t need to do anything but be here with you, you’re the only reason I’ve gotten anywhere these last 5 years!” he yelled back, clearly not budging from his stance. MC was about to retort with a snappy comeback but as she did she got a sharp pain in her head and got woozy, prompting Zen to rush over and pick her up like she were a doll and place her back on the bed all the while apologising for yelling at her and hurting her and if she really wanted him to go he would, whatever would make her feel better.

MC let out a small sniffle and outstretched her arms towards him prompting the man to lay beside her and hold her to him, his immense warm radiating into her, his body comfortable against her like a weighted blanket luring her into sleep.

“Don’t go. Stay with me.”

“Always.”

-       For a time after that, everything went well.

-       Her check-ups were positive and things seemed to be under control.

-       Then the headaches started. Not just the kind that a few ibuprofen could handle but the kind that had her crying, pulling at her skin to stop the pain. Then she had difficulty focusing her eyes at times. It was when she was falling down and forgetting how she got on the floor that he –

“I’m here Jagi. I’m right here. Don’t be scared… oh please… please don’t cry.”

-       Those dreams had come back again. And once again, he swept them away because he refused to accept them. He would change the outcome. He had already saved her once, he would do it again. He just needed time.

-       The doctors were useless. Absolutely useless. He punched one right in the face, it was a miracle he didn’t sue him. Perhaps he had felt sorry for MC and paid heed to her pained pleas that he not press charges against her carer. Or in truth, perhaps he felt sorry for him, the mess of a man on his hands and knees on the floor begging him to take his life instead of hers. As if the doctor had that kind of power to grant his wish. He would never know.

-       MC urged him, begged him to back to work. She would be fine. She could stay with her mother and he could pick her up and it would be fine-

“Whatever you do. I do, remember? If you’re staying here, then so am I- stop trying to get rid of me,” he scolded before attacking her with his wondrous fingers, finding every single ticklish spot on her to force her to forget such treacherous thoughts.

-       He had taken a liking to making her breakfast every day and actually eating with her, a luxury that they couldn’t afford during his normal timetable; she usually grabbed a large coffee for both of them to tide them over until they got on set to snack whatever they could before sharing lunch together… when possible. How they didn’t sit down more often to eat together all those years beforehand was baffling to him, it wasn’t something he was going to take for granted again. Moments with her just truly enjoying each other’s company with some good food as they sat in their pyjamas- he wouldn’t take it for granted anymore.

-       Some days he let her cook when her symptoms weren’t too severe and he wasn’t petrified she was going to chop her finger off accidentally trying to make a bowl of cereal. Zen had to duck from her attack of dry Cheerios when he had made the mistake of saying so out loud. Not that he minded, without his long hair it made cleaning himself up much easier.

-       He took the opportunity of being mostly unrecognisable to the public to go out and enjoy what they could. Going to the movies like a normal couple and tenderly making out in the back row when she felt up to it like some loved up teenagers. Going window shopping and having her try on outfits she had planned to wear for his future premieres and seeing her being fawned over by shop assistants made him beam with pride. None of those dresses would ever out shine her beauty for him… but the smile she gave him as he told her she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen when she donned a particularly dull dress, stole the air from his lungs.

-       Zen liked to take her out for walks around the city or they’d drive out somewhere nice to take in the sights of whichever town or park they found themselves in- until she grew too tired and he would carry her on his back like she weighed nothing, never once complaining if he had to carry her for five minutes or fifty.

-       Once the snow started he rented a cabin for the week and they lounged about naked as the day they were born; at times indulging in each other and others just lying in each other’s arms in silence. Words didn’t mean too much when Zen could understand everything her eyes silently confided in him. They said she loved him, that she was grateful to him and that with him, she was safe. That she was happy.

-       It was on their way back to Seoul that she had her first seizure.

-       She plummeted onto the ground, thankfully covered with fresh soft snow to cradle her fall. Zen tried to talk her through it, to keep her in a safe position until help arrived and the fit ceased. Seeing her so helpless, her body betraying her so completely and him utterly powerless to help her- he wanted to scream but this wasn’t about him, it was about her and he needed to focus on her. It couldn’t have been more than two minutes until she stopped shaking and her limbs started to relax under his hands and her breathing returned to normal. 

“Z-Zen?”

“I’m here Jagiya.” 

“I… I’m cold,” she said turning her face to look up at him. Zen looked into her eyes, he could see what she truly meant.

-       Zen, I’m scared.

-       Me too MC, me too.

-       The doctors did their tests. She looked so small in her hospital gown. So small and tired.

-       Their interventional measures… they were no longer working.

-       “There’s nothing else we can do.”

-       They walked together hand in hand down the stark white hallways of the hospital not saying a word, neither knowing how to proceed. He was feeling too many emotions to even begin picking out which one he was actively experiencing at any time, he could only imagine what MC was feeling. He felt a quick squeeze of his fingers and found MC gazing up at him, with clear eyes and a weak smile on her lips. 

“Let’s go home Zen.”

-       There’s nothing else we can do. Let’s enjoy the rest of whatever time I have.

-       He waited until she was asleep and went into the kitchen and pulled out six pack and drank, one after another, nothing able to sate the growing chasm in the pit of his stomach. When he had finished that pack he quickly checked up on MC who was still resting soundly and decided to walk down the street to the nearest convenience store and pick himself up another pack or three of any available alcoholic beverage to drown some of his sorrows. He was entitled to it god damn it, he just needed to feel nothing at all, no confusion, no to too many things to process at once - just a drunken stupor he’d regret in the morning. That’s what he needed.

-       He had gotten there and filled a little cart with so many beers they threatened to topple over, so he did the only reasonable thing and drank a few right there in the store. He could hear a few people whispering about the weird guy in the back chugging down drinks like the end of the world, joke’s on them, it was ending. A world without her in it was no world worth living in.

-       “Yo. Slow it down man,” he heard a familiar drawl say. He did not want to see him. He didn’t want to see anyone. Zen drained the final drop out of the bottle and turned back to see white and pink and an inordinate amount of leather. Reaching down into his cart, he picked up another can and cracked open the tab, nodding half-heartedly towards the younger Choi brother before downing another- oh shit, there it was. Blissful ignorance rushing through his veins. “Seriously man what the fuck, get a hold of yourself.”

“You know what Saeran, just fuck off okay,” he said, or slurred, who the hell knew. 

“No I don’t think so,” he said waving off his friends that he had originally entered with. “What’s going on with you? Why are you doing this?” he asked, managing to pull the cart of drinks away from Zen’s hand. 

“Fuck. Off. Choi,” he spat out before polishing off his drink. Saeran clucked his tongue and shook his head in pity, he didn’t need to be a genius to know that the man before him was hurting. He knew because he had felt a very similar pain before. He had tried to drown that pain and could easily recognise it in the man before him. 

“Yeah yeah I heard you. I will. After I get you back home,” he said pulling at Zen’s arm and shoving some money on the counter to pay for the consumed beverages. Zen yanked his arm away from Saeran and almost lost his footing, his natural grace the only thing saving him from falling head first into the rack of glass bottled condiments. 

“I’m not ready to go back yet, don’t touch me, I’m fine-”

“Sure drinking at a convenience store at 3am in the morning on a Tuesday dressed in your pyjama pants and a shirt and slippers is really the epitome of fine-”

“I don’t need this right now-”

“And that’s why I’m helping you-”

“I don’t want your god damned help-”

“And that’s why you’re getting it. Come on, don’t make this harder than-” Zen had pushed him back and sent him flying into the front desk, startling the attendant. Saeran muttered an apology and stood in front of him, feet grounded once more in case he decided to attack him once more. 

“Just leave me alone, okay.” 

“I can’t. MC would kill both of us if I did,” Saeran explained with his palms raised to the ceiling as if he were trying to reason with Zen that he truly had no other choice but to stick around until he finally submitted. 

“MC won’t be around long enough to do anything to either of us,” Zen whispered, tear-laced lashes fanning across his cheeks as he closed his eyes, the alcohol loosening his tongue and heightening his emotional outburst. Saeran swallowed his shock for the moment, his mind quickly digesting the new information Zen had just given him. He didn’t think she was that bad but by seeing the normally suave and cocky actor looking like a homeless man trying to kill himself with alcohol was enough to know that he wasn’t being melodramatic about it. MC was going to die and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Saeran clamped his lips together to seal any shuddering breaths he had wanted to take, or any pathetic noise he was bound to make after hearing one of his closest friends was not long for this world. Breathing deeply from his nose and exhaling strongly through his mouth, Saeran nodded to himself as he made up his mind. 

“All the more reason for you to get home to her.”

-       Zen had wanted to fight him, to pick up another drink and just sit in the corner of the store and pretend just for a little bit longer that this wasn’t happening. But it wasn’t the truth. It was happening. And every second away from MC felt like another needle to his heart. If he didn’t have long left with her, no matter how long it was, shouldn’t he be with her as much as humanly possible?

-       “Saeran… can I still get that ride?” 

Saeran smiled and dangled the car keys from his right index finger. 

“Sure. But if you puke in car I’m telling ‘Young you did it and you can be at his mercy for stinking up his baby.”

-       He stumbled into their apartment and wandered back into the bedroom. MC still asleep.

-       Zen tiptoed into the room and watched over her prone form, the rise and fall of her chest enough to ease the dread in his heart that she had left him while he was away drinking himself into oblivion. Slipping under the covers carefully, he cautiously took her into his embrace and allowed the tip of his nose to trace at her warm, soft skin, still clinging to the scent of their soap from their bath together earlier in the day.

-       Everyday. Every minute. Every second. Always. He would never leave her side.

-       MC was getting worse, even though neither of them was saying it, it was obvious her health was in decline. The pain in her head so strong that she couldn’t make a sound as she buried her head in her arms and shook on the bed, her mouth open to scream with no sound but stifled noises from the top of her throat able to come out. Sometimes even the softest ambient light hurt her and she would encase herself in total darkness, letting herself succumb to self-pity and allowed herself mourn the loss of what could have been.

-       Still Zen tried his best to maintain the most normal of lives for her. They would eat in bed by candlelight. He would push her in a wheelchair around the city and he would put on fashion shows for her as she was too tired or weak to do it herself. They would watch black and white movies because they hurt her eyes less and they would drive- drive for hours sometimes just to see the world pass by and pretend that nothing else mattered but the two of them.

-       “Hey Jagi?” he called out to her as he washed the dishes from lunch. 

“Mmm?” she hummed back, sitting up in bed as she tried to read a book. It was a good day. Her vision wasn’t swimming and she could focus. It was so nice to be able to see Zen again. 

“It’s a really nice day outside, you feeling up for a quick walk?” he chimed, turning off the water and made his way back to their bedroom to lean against the door frame. His hair had grown back much faster than hers she noted, the longest strands able to reach the end of his ears whereas she only managed to have the shortest of pixie cuts come through upon her head. She half joked she looked like an egg and Zen answered that it was no wonder he enjoyed heating her up and eating her. She scoffed at him and slapped him the next morning when he boiled up some eggs and drew their likenesses on the shells. 

MC tested her limbs, first her arms and then her legs, everything seemed fine and she thought she could even walk a little on her own today- she was so sick of being stuck at home and being coddled between the couch and the bed, the bed and the dining table, the dining table to the bathroom. She wanted to feel the grass beneath her feet, if only for a moment. Feel the sun on her face without having a window between her and the rays. Hear children playing instead of trucks go past their house. Yes. Yes she wanted to go for a walk.

-       Zen had helped her into the bath with him; he carefully washed her hair and scrubbed her back, pressing kisses on every new spot his hands had just cleaned. She was so relaxed she almost fell asleep until he asked if she had changed her mind about their outing and she sprang back up like a puppy being asked if they wanted to go out. Perhaps she was just like that. Not the way she’d imagined wearing a collar and lead with Zen but at this point she’d take whatever adventure she could get. Zen questioned the amused expression on her face but she refused to let him know the reasoning behind her secret merriment. She didn’t want to give him any ideas.

-       She asked which park they were going to and he answered the one that was closest to them. MC pouted as he helped her get dressed in a pretty sundress she hadn’t worn for almost a year and a light cardigan to keep any chill away from her. She decided not to sulk too much, he probably chose the location because it was close to home and if she needed to go back if she had any symptom flare ups, she would be grateful to be back home as quickly as possible.

-       The drive there took no longer than a couple of minutes and after finding a carpark quickly Zen had prepared to get her wheelchair out only for her to stop him, telling him that she wanted to try to stretch the cobwebs out of her legs to which he only smiled back and nodded. MC looked out of windscreen, there was some sort of party being held not too far from them. She could see some kids running and some people all gathered around and enjoying themselves and she felt an envious smile slip across her face. When was the last time she’d been well enough to attend a party? Goodness, nearly four months at least. Yoosung had practically cried when she and Zen had entered through the door, the blonde man clearly very drunk, enhancing his already tearful welcome.

-       “Do you think we could steal some cake from that party over there?” she cheekily asked Zen as he opened her door and helped her stand up, her legs giving a tentative wobble as she acclimated herself. Her boyfriend smirked and had that devious glint in his eye that she only knew too well. 

“Why don’t we go over and ask?”

-       MC’s eyes widened as she realised that he absolutely meant to do as she asked. She swatted at him impatiently, telling him he was an idiot and that she didn’t mean it, she was just joking and…

-       Those kids were her niece and nephews running around.

-       The people congregated around were her mother and father, her sister, the RFA and some of Zen’s co-stars from their last project- this was for her?

-       Jaehee came over with the biggest smile she had ever seen and placed a crown of flowers on her head and supplied her with a modest bouquet of wildflowers made up of her favourite blooms from their numerous nature walks, before kissing her on the cheek and walking away.

“What… what is… what is all this?” she asked, her heart constricting at the sight of all her favourite people around them, all smiling and some even crying. She turned to where Zen had been only to find her father come up behind her, his face ruddy with emotion as he offered his arm out to her. The other hand motioning for her to look ahead as she Zen positioning himself at what looked like an altar covered in the same wildflowers, Saeran behind him and Jaehee on the other side.

-       MC could barely breathe, her heart soaring at the sight of the man she loved more than anything, waiting for her at the end of the aisle. His beaming face lighting up the area better than the sun ever could, his eyes fixed only on her and nothing else. He simply mouthed the words will you marry me and she nodded, so hard she thought she would her head would fall off, causing his smile to grow even more as he held out his open hand to her- just waiting for her to come to him.

-       MC released a choked laugh as she clung onto her father’s arm, her other hand wrapped around the bouquet tightly to confirm this wasn’t just another dream, this was happening and it was real.

-       When they finally reached Zen, her father placed a kiss on her temple and whispered words of love in her ear before taking a seat next to her sobbing mother. She took his hand and yes, thank god yes, it was all real.

-       The ceremony was short, it had to be to ensure she would be able to endure it but she didn’t care. She would have stood there for days on end if it meant being able to marry the man beside her. Neither of them could take their eyes off each other, both having to be prompted by the wedding minister to answer “I do”.

-       Their first kiss as man and wife was tinged with the salt of both their tears but nothing tasted sweeter to them. Not even the cake that MC had ‘stolen’ a slice of.

-       The drive home, MC couldn’t stop smiling at the light glinting off their matching plain white gold bands, simple and elegant just like Zen was, the meaning behind the ring far more important than the kind of ring it was.

-       He had promised a whole week of it just being them, no doctors, no visitors, nothing she didn’t want to do. It was just going to be her and him, the occasional bowl of cereal and their bed.

-       Married life was much as the same as life before, nothing apart the signing of paper and rings to prove anything was different between them. However the knowledge that he was officially her husband and she his wife, it added a pep to his step, a deeper renewed vigour to continue to care for her no matter the outcome.

-       She slept longer than normal, but after the excitement of the last couple of days he couldn’t blame her for being tired. She at least wasn’t complaining of pain anymore and her eyes weren’t too bad for the most part.

-       It was into the second week of their elongated honeymoon after he had done his best to alleviate her sore neck as they sat on the couch that MC turned to him, her eyes wide with revelation. 

“What is it Jagi?” he asked, massaging her head and relishing the feel of her soft hair on his palm. She hummed appreciatively and leaned into his touch, earning her a smile from her husband. 

“We never had a first dance, at our wedding- we didn’t get to dance!” she said dreamily, still mesmerized by feel of his hands on her. Zen hadn’t wanted to push his luck during the wedding, he didn’t want to exert her too much and cause a random headache to appear or cause her any embarrassment if her legs tired in front of their guests, he knew how much she hated showing anyone her weakness- even him. Maybe him most of all. Though here, in the confines of their home, with only him and her, perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to indulge in their first dance.

-       Zen put on their favourite song on his phone and stood up with a flourish, executing his most perfect bow to his wife, his hand outstretched to her once again as she sat before him on the couch. MC laughed as she demurely bowed her head and slid her hand into his. He carefully helped her off the seat and locked his free arm around her middle, the curve of her waist fitting perfectly into the crook on his elbow. He had started to sing along to the music knowing how much MC enjoyed hearing him sing to her, MC joining in as much as she could in the parts she was sure her voice wouldn’t crack in. Zen didn’t care even if it did, he loved singing with her, off key and off pitch- it never mattered. The woman he loved was singing with him, nothing would ever sound as good as their voices together.

-       Zen skilfully lifted her as he spun around, putting her feet on top of his as he could feel her start to waver in her steps, her hands griping his own so tightly. 

“I’m so glad you’re my husband,” she said as she lay her head against his chest, suddenly too heavy to keep up on her own. Zen chuckled and pressed a kiss against her forehead as he continued to dance for them both. 

“I told you Jagi, it’s going to be me and you forever.”

“Always, right?” she asked quietly, closing her eyes to listen to the sound of his heartbeat, so strong in her ear. 

“Always,” he affirmed, bringing up her hand to kiss the back of it before placing it against chest beside her face. Only for it to fall down loose beside her.

-       Zen stopped for a moment, it wasn’t the first time her limbs had failed her but never so suddenly. 

“Jagi, you getting tired on me?”

-       …

-       …

-       “… Jagi.”

-       …

-       “… Jagiya.”

-       …

-       He couldn’t loosen his grip on her. He knew if he did her whole body would fall within his embrace and… to see her listless… lifeless… that wasn’t his MC. That wasn’t his wife.

-       So Zen cupped the back of her head with his other arm lifting her up against him, her feet dangling above his as he continued to sway them back and forth to the music. And long after it finished.

-       “I’m… I’m so glad to be your husband MC.”

-       When his feet ached so much he could no longer stand and his arms burned to the point of numbness, both of them fell to the ground, his face buried in her chest as he cried the tears of man who would never learn to dance with another again. His feet only knew the beat she set for them. Zen would dance with her again one day but until then, they would remain still. Until he found her again.

-       Always.

[sineala]

The Old Guard

This post comes to you courtesy of the generous support of one of my Patreon patrons, who wanted to know what I thought of The Old Guard. This post contains some spoilers for both the movie and the comics.

So, a few days after it came out, my wife and I watched The Old Guard on Netflix. Tumblr had said a bunch of good things about it, and both of us basically cut our fannish teeth on Highlander fandom so we already had an automatic buy-in for a story about immortals. I knew it was based on a comic by Greg Rucka, but I had not, at the time, read the comic, although I am now reading it in order to write this post.

The premise of the film is as follows: a four-person team of immortals (Andy, Joe, Nicky, and Booker) makes a living hiring themselves out as mercenaries, fighting for causes that they believe are right. They are successful at this basically because their grasp of tactics appears to be (1) die, followed by (2) come back to life and (3) murder your attackers who are no longer paying attention to you because they think you're dead. Honestly, at this point, you wouldn't really need to be very good at the actual fighting part, I would think, but the film establishes that all of them are -- especially Charlize Theron as Andy -- because presumably it wants you to watch action sequences of everyone being badass, which they are. So, yeah. They take all the good-guy mercenary jobs that no one else can do because it would kill them, which is not a problem for them!

Anyway! The group's routine is interrupted by two major events: the discovery of Nile Freeman, a new immortal, who is a Marine serving in Afghanistan who survives getting murdered; and also the fact that one of their employers, Copley (played by Chiwetel Eijofor, whom you may remember as Mordo in Doctor Strange) has sold them out to the movie's Actual Villain, a Big Pharma CEO named Merrick (played by the guy who played Dudley in the Harry Potter series), who has (as far as I can tell) been given instructions to play this role just like he's Martin Shkreli, who is interested in finding the secret of their immortality, and whom you can tell is evil because he has his name in giant letters on the side of his building.

ME: Look, it's the villain! I've found the villain! MY WIFE: Other than Tony Stark, who actually puts their names on buildings like that except villains? It's just villains, right? ME: Uh. The president? The president definitely does that. (We make horrified faces at each other.)

Because we are Extremely Pedantic, we also spent a lot of time picking at how the characters' names and language abilities match up to their stated background. They all know a lot of languages, as you might expect, and the movie was determined to get through them without subtitles, which is an interesting choice but also kind of left some linguistic plot holes.

For example, Joe and Nicky claim to have met each other in the Crusades, with Nicky as (presumably) a Crusader and Joe as (presumably) a Muslim occupant of the area, although the movie doesn't specify this; Wikipedia gives Joe's name as Yusuf Al-Kaysani, which would at least fit that. Nicky is clearly Italian (as is Luca Marinelli, the actor who portrays him) and when he speaks Italian to the rest of the group we see that he definitely speaks modern Italian as spoken in Rome... which is absolutely, definitely not the language he grew up speaking, given that, among other things, Wiki lists the character's full name as Nicolò di Genova. I don't know if the writer of the screenplay (who I see now is also Greg Rucka) didn't know how much Italian dialects had changed in the last thousand years, if he thought that was good enough to be a nod to the character, or if there's some kind of backstory that didn't make it in where every so often Nicky decides to learn a modern dialect and keep his hand in, and also decides that that's the language he wants to use among his friends who would presumably understand several different dialects.

Also, the reveal that Andy's real name was in fact "Andromache of Scythia" was indeed badass but was slightly undercut by my wife yelling BUT THE SCYTHIANS DIDN'T SPEAK GREEK at the television.

Additionally, I feel like the movie could perhaps have been aware of the ways it chose to label on-screen locations, in which the countries were spelled out in large fonts with the cities above them. Places like LONDON, ENGLAND got their entire names spelled out, as did small French villages whose names I can no longer remember, but I guess AFGHANISTAN and MOROCCO and SOUTH SUDAN have zero cities, huh? However, the end of the movie did take place in PARIS which I guess unlike London is its own country now.

So the actual plot features the group of immortals trying to explain this whole immortality thing to Nile while being on the run from the people who are trying to turn them into Big Pharma, who wants to capture them and exploit the secret of their immortality. This is where it falls down a little for me, because the worldbuilding... gets a little shaky. They dream about each other when they're apart. Okay. Why? Sometimes they just stop being immortal and lose the capacity to heal and are dead in their next battle. Why? Why do they even exist? I just... wanted more answers than the movie gave me, and the pacing where I kept expecting there to be explanations wasn't there. There were a couple of scenes where Nile sat there in silence contemplating the fact that she would outlive her loved ones and my brain kept trying to insert Queen's "Who Wants to Live Forever?" Granted, the Highlander canon explanation for immortality is deeply, deeply weird, but at least it tried. No, I can't believe I'm defending Highlander II either.

The characters, too, could have been more fleshed out. The bulk of the character development is given to Andy and Nile, and I'm not complaining about that -- they were great -- but Joe and Nicky and Booker only got maybe a few lines each. They would have felt so much more real if they'd just had a little bit more to them. Also I didn't understand Copley's arc at all, but saying more about that would be spoilery. I do like that they have definitely set themselves up for a sequel.

But even with what we got, there's a lot to love about the characters. If you're here for canonically queer characters, you will enjoy Nicky and Joe, who have been in a relationship for probably about a thousand years. They are minor characters as far as the overall plot goes, but what they do have is lovely, and there is a romantic declaration between them at one point that is absolutely beautiful and possibly the most fervent love declaration I can remember seeing in a movie since maybe... ever. If you also like your queerness more subtextual, though Andy is never portrayed as explicitly queer, her past friendship with a fellow immortal Quynh was shown as very intense, as is the role she takes here mentoring Nile into the world of immortality. Also she has a double-bladed axe (yes, we kept yelling BRING ME MY MAN-KILLING AXE at the television) and as we all know, the double-bladed labrys has in modern times become a symbol for lesbians. So there's that.

In addition to the characters of color who play important roles here -- Nile was my personal favorite, but there's also Joe and Copley and (in flashback) Quynh -- there's a lot of diversity behind the cameras as well, or so the internet informs me. The director (Gina Prince-Bythewood) is the first Black woman to direct a superhero movie, and the same is true of her editor (Terilyn Shropshire). And, furthermore, apparently 85% of the post-production crew were women. They didn't have to do that, and yet they did. It was nice.

I don't watch a whole lot of action movies these days because I usually find R-rated violence too... violent, but I found myself really liking almost all of the action sequences here. None of them felt gratuitous, and a lot of them really focused on the physicality of the immortals fighting in a way I liked, because I feel like people are probably going to fight differently if they know they can survive every single hit, and I think the movie portrayed that in a way that a lot of superhero comics and movies don't. My favorite fight scene is definitely the one between Nile and Andy at the beginning, when Andy has trapped her on a plane and it's extremely close-quarters fighting and also extremely brutal. They don't stop basically until Nile breaks enough bones that she can't get up anymore, because until then she's going to keep trying, which is both kind of horrifying and a great character note. And they didn't film it like it was a Sexy Catfight! It was so good.

Also, the soundtrack is really good, and I've found myself streaming it on Spotify all week. I didn't know any of the songs in the movie, but there's a lot of hip-hop and -- okay, I don't even know if this is a genre? -- specifically a lot of hip-hop with an electronic/industrial sort of beat, which I thought was really great and livened up the fight scenes even more; "Going Down Fighting" did a really good job getting me in the mood for the final confrontation with the villain, and... yeah, it's all good. Someone made a playlist on Spotify that will come up if you search for it.

So, yeah. It's on Netflix. It's not without flaws (mostly, explaining how the hell immortality works, and a couple of pacing issues), but it's a really satisfying superhero movie.

That's the movie. Onto the comic, which I am just now starting to read as I write these words. Whee!

So The Old Guard: Opening Fire is a 2017 five-issue Image Comics series written by Greg Rucka, with art by Leandro Fernández, and there's also a 2019 sequel, The Old Guard: Force Multiplied, by the same creative team, also with five issues. I have not actually read any of Rucka's work before now because he is mostly famous for his DC work, but I have heard good things about it, especially his Wonder Woman run.

Anyway. The art is very stylized, with a minimal color palette, and it's very pretty but I honestly found it hard to parse sometimes. Many of the characters have very weird noses. Yes, noses. It's basically mostly in Andy's and Nile's POVs, like the movie, and as far I can tell Andy is explicitly queer, because unless I am entirely misreading this panel in issue #1, here she is in bed with a woman in one panel. Whee. Also there are some nice epigraphs at the beginning of each issue.

Okay, so, the plot here is basically the plot of the movie. There is still no explanation of why immortality exists. But even so, there are some fun character moments that didn't make it into the movie -- for example, Andy saying smartphones are too hard to use and she liked the old ones better, only for the rest of her team to say that she couldn't use those either. I think you get a better sense of Andy's world-weariness in the comic. There are also other, now-dead Immortals mentioned, like Noriko, who "went overboard off the Horn." Quynh is not one of them; Quynh basically is Noriko, which is because they cast a Vietnamese actress who asked if her character could be Vietnamese too, which seems perfectly reasonable to me. But anyway, in the comics, she's Noriko. Weirdly, Andy's full name, as she tells Nile when they meet, is Andronika ("man-victory") rather than Andromache ("man-battle," in case you were wondering); I think the movie made a better choice because Ἀνδρονίκα has exactly two attestations in the Lexicon of Greek Personal Names, whereas Ἀνδρομάχη has all that shiny name recognition of being shared by the wife of Hector and also the queen of the Amazons and will ping viewers as a Greek name, and therefore ancient, even if it can't be the name she was born with. (There are five for "Andronike" and four more for "Andromacha" so they actually have about the same number of total attestations, as far as I can tell, when you consider the alpha/eta alternation in how various Greek dialects mark feminine nouns.)

(Yes, you totally wanted a review by someone who looks up character names in the LGPN. Don't lie.)

Plotwise, Andy gets all of the initial exposition in for Nile before they get to the safehouse, which Copley has already gotten to before they get back, so Booker is bleeding on the floor and Nile doesn't get to meet Joe or Nicky at this time, and I am also glad they changed that for the movie. But, don't worry, Joe and Nicky's romantic declaration is still in here. We also get Andy pondering the last time she was in love, with a human who grew old.

Oh, and we get Andy's age: 6,732. And by issue #5 her name has changed to Andromache, because what even is continuity? I guess Andromache is her name now.

So Nile finally meets Joe and Nicky when she rescues them and also, uh, that plot point where Andy might die? Totally not a thing here. Nope. And no "surprise! even more immortals!" end-credits moments either.

Basically, I feel like every change they made to the script for the movie really strengthened the story, and even though I thought the movie could have used more character moments, it's way better than how the characters are separated for even longer in the comic. Nile rescuing the team means a lot more when she has met them before, you know?

So Force Multiplied starts us off with Andy, Joe, Nicky, and Nile, because Booker is still on time-out. They are in the middle of a car chase, and Booker's off getting himself kidnapped by someone who wants to know where the others are. The villain of the piece turns out to be Noriko, who is still alive, whom Booker had never had a chance to meet and apparently had never heard of. So, basically, a lot like the Quynh plot that the movie is teasing.

Overall it's a little less action-filled than the first one, which had multiple splash pages of nothing but violence; this one is a little more character-driven and explores the relationship, such as it is, between Andy and Noriko, as well as Nile coming to terms with her immortality, as well as with what everyone else has done over the years. It does have a bunch of violence at the end, though.

I don't want to spoil the ending, but I definitely wasn't expecting where that was heading. There's apparently going to be a third volume, and I am looking forward to it, whenever it exists.

(Although, now that I think about it, the ending is a lot like a fan-favorite moment of Highlander: The Series, but I think if I said which episode you would know exactly what the ending was.)

So, yeah! The Old Guard! I can't say as I feel particularly fannish about it -- there's nothing that makes me yearn to fill in the gaps in canon -- but the movie was really good and you should see it. And you should read the comics if you're into that.

[miruka-cioccolata]

La Squadra being single dads after s/o is killed in battle and after sometime their child asks about s/o?

Everybody get on the angst train and make sure you hold on tight, cuz it’s gonna be a bumpy ride!

(….but honestly, writing this got me so sad too ;v;)

Risotto Nero:

This was the thing he had always feared. The exact same reason why he had been hesitant to have a family in the first place.

The excruciating pain of his s/o’s death felt just like when his beloved cousin got killed all this years ago, the event that had driven Risotto into the vile hands of Italy’s underworld and into Passione’s ranks.

Risotto had sworn himself to never open his heart to another person again, he simply couldn’t allow himself to become vulnerable in this line of work. His heart should have stayed closed right then and there, cold and alone and locked behind heavy chains of iron, and yet it had happened again…he had given away the key only for fate to come and rob him of his light again.

However, his love’s sacrifice shouldn’t be in vain. They had gifted him the greatest joy in his life -  his child - and he was determined to keep them safe at whatever cost.

One day, Risotto’s child asks him about his s/o, wanting to know more about the parent that had passed away way too soon.

He’d be gentle with them, telling his kid more about his s/o albeit the sorrow of his loss making it hard for Risotto to remain a calm façade.

Prosciutto:

He is…devastated. Utterly devastated.

Whenever Prosciutto sees his child – with their eyes the exact same colour as his deceased love - a fierce wave of sadness floods his mind. It hurts so much to be reminded of those eyes, this loving glance from his beloved s/o he will never ever see again in his life.

Wasn’t he supposed to protect his lover? To keep both them and his dear child out of harm’s way? Isn’t that what he promised on the day his child was born?

No, but he failed. His s/o was dead, mercilessly killed in battle, and there was nothing he could do.In the back of his head he knew that in this line of work, death would come sooner more than later, but this…it was just too cruel.

His loss changed Prosciutto: It slowly becomes apparent to the others when he starts coming to work late with his hair disheveled and his stained shirt messily tucked in his pants, his killings are sloppy, his gaze unfocused and the smell of alcohol seems to always trail behind him in its atrocious tenacity – in short, he had become a former shadow of the proud, almost pedantic hitman he used to be.

Sometime later, his child starts questioning their father about their other parent. Prosciutto stays silent at first, the only reaction being him flinching slightly when his kid uses his s/o’s name. No matter how much he tries, he can’t bring himself to talk about his dead love, not without having the sorrow taking over again. They say that time heals all wounds, but how much time will it take for him to finally be happy again?

Ghiaccio:

Betrayal and anger. That is what Ghiaccio felt, an irrational anger against his dead lover. How could they just leave him and their child behind? Of course, in the back of his mind Ghiaccio knows they didn’t choose this fate, but each and every day is a chore for him now that they are gone.

For the longest time, Ghiaccio was in denial about his s/o’s death. Handling emotions isn’t his strong point and so he just tried to sweep his loss under the rug like a pesky pile of dust.

‘They are dead? Yeah, whatever. Don’t think about it.’That’s what he tried to tell himself over and over again like a sacred magic spell while desperately trying to hold back his tears. Maybe the pain would go away if he didn’t let the thoughts about his s/o devour him.

However, the memories of his s/o all come back to haunt him in the form of his child. When one day his kid asks him about Ghiaccio’s s/o, the hitman just snaps:

“Never fucking ask me about them ever again, you hear me?!”

The venom in his voice surprises even Ghiaccio himself and he regrets his words and harsh tone immediately. Usually, he isn’t furious with his child, but their innocent question tore open a painful wound he thought had already closed…

Pesci:

Words wouldn’t convey fully what vast sadness Pesci felt when he learned about his s/o’s death.

With their passing and funeral, his whole world had collapsed in a matter of days. How was he supposed to carry on with this pain? Having to live while the love of his life was already on the other side?

No, now was not the time to be selfish. He had to think about raising his child, the proof of his and his s/o’s love.

When his child asks about his s/o, Pesci feels his eyes watering up. Of course they would ask about them, his kid had every right to know more about their other parent, and yet…Pesci couldn’t talk about his dead beloved. Not yet. Not when words would only cause more sorrow.So instead he hugs his kid tightly, telling them over and over how much he loves them while tears keep streaming across his face.

Melone:

Melone still has nightmares about his lover being killed in battle. Those dreams always end in him rushing to their side, crying out their name and clasping their cold, blood coated hand as the horrifying realization of their death slowly settles in.

He wakes up covered in sweat from the nightmares and every time reality comes crushing in when he reaches out to the other side of the bed only to feel chilly emptiness instead of a body full of warmth and life next to him.

Oh, how much he misses them. Misses their gentle touch, their loving gaze. To think it only took one careless fight to take away all his happiness and leave him as a shipwrecked on the shore of sorrow.

Maybe this is why he put all his remaining love into his only child, never letting them wander to far off, always clinging onto them in fear of losing another beloved person in his life.  

Everytime his child asks them about their other parent, Melone feels a burning sting inside his heart, a familiar sadness making his voice hoarse and tightening his throat so that it became harder to breath. Just the mere thought, just their name, is enough to let all those nightmares resurface again.

“I’ll tell you another time, gioia mia. Another time, yes?”

Another time, when time has healed the aching wound in his heart.

Illuso:

Illuso doesn’t have it in him to grieve openly. Although the pain weighs heavily on his shoulders, his pride still prevails. Whenever the hurt becomes to much, he vanishes into the mirror world where he is entirely by himself and nobody can hear him mourn his dead lover.

Does he blame himself? Of course, but there is nothing that he can do about it now. His s/o is gone forever and what little presence there is left of their warmth remains as their child.

The only thing to do – and the one thing his s/o would surely have asked for – would be to pour all his remaining love into this child of his. To spend as much time as he can with his kid. And so Illuso does.

Inevitably, the feared question arises one day.

Illuso’s child asks him about their parent that passed away. At first Illuso doesn’t know what to say. The memory of his s/o still hurts and it still hurts to use past tense when talking about them.

Illuso’s gaze darkens as his lips draw upwards into a bittersweet smile.

“I will tell you, so listen carefully…”

Formaggio:

Just as he arrived at the graveyard, it started to pour. Heavy rain was crashing down from the dark grey clouds above, rain drops dancing on the flickering lanterns around the graves.

What a fucking fitting scenery, Formaggio thought to himself bitterly.

His steps came to a halt when he reached the new grave at the end of the small aisle. Slowly he crouched down, trailing his finger tips along the name engraved into the ice cold marble.

“How am I supposed to do this alone? You know as well as I that I’m not a good father. Fuck, I’m a bad man. A criminal. I will screw up with this, just as my own father did with me. I can’t do this without you”, he mutters under his breath, barely audible.

Formaggio’s forced smile slowly melds into him gritting his teeth hard and clenching his fists until the knuckles turn white, holding back the urge to break down crying in front of the tombstone of his beloved s/o.

“Why…did you have to leave so soon?”

Amidst the rain’s monotonous song, he suddenly feels a tug on his sleeve and a set of wide, innocent eyes looking up to him, questioningly.

“When will Mama come back?”

The rain still pours and pours with seemingly no end in sight.

“Papa? Why are you crying, Papa?”

[callioope]

Continuing my reactions to Avatar: The Last Airbender. 

This post is about Book 2. See my overall impressions and thoughts on Book 1 here.

Quick/General Thoughts

Uhhh pretty wild there is both a solar eclipse and a super comet happening in the same summer… anyways!!!

Ba Sing Se was so messed up omg

Aang

SMH more adults trying to take advantage of Aang. I was furious with the Earth Kingdom general who tried to force Aang to fight the Fire Lord well before he was ready. Clearly he was not ready! And then the audacity for him to attack Aang and then Katara to provoke the Avatar state was whole levels of messed up. 

The Great Appa Kidnapping: Yeah, so, as soon as the sand traders took him, I was like, “Oh no. I’ve heard about this. They are going to be in trouble!” But even then I didn’t know it stretched out over so many episodes. These episodes broke my heart! Aang’s complete distress at having lost Appa. Then the episode from Appa’s POV. Poor Appa! He goes through so much. It’s devastating. And then both Appa and Aang both dream of how they originally met each other? UNFAIR. CRUEL. HOW DARE THE CREATORS DO THIS TO ME. (I’m being facetious I love it I live for this kind of drama this is how i express they were doing good storytelling)

The whole “final chakra” being about letting go of attachments… hmm that felt VERY Star Wars of them… Filoni is this your doing? (Although actually I don’t remember seeing his name on any Book 2 episodes.)

Sokka

My fave continues to be the long-suffering Sokka, just trying to get his family to Omashu, it shouldn’t be this hard!!! This was literally what I wrote at the time of watching “Chapter Two: The Cave of Two Lovers,” and OH LITTLE DID I KNOW!!! [cut to Book 3… lmao… anyways]

Sokka making a map to help keep track of the maze-like cave/tunnel is actually really clever. I can’t believe people think he’s stupid. I mean, sure, it didn’t end up working, but that’s because the cave was magic or whatever, and that is beyond his control!

Side note, but lol at Sokka’s purchases and love for shopping. His ridiculous belt! How excited he was that it matched his bag!

Second side note, I was pretty excited to see that gif where Sokka is making that “I’m watching you” gesture and then goes “Water tribe!”

Katara

Yeah, notice how I don’t have much to say about Katara? It’s not that I don’t like her or that I don’t think she’s interesting, but. I just don’t really have a lot to say about her. 

I was amused by how she handled those bullies. My impression before I started watching was that she was going to be this like, pure and GoodTM character, but she definitely has her flaws and that is better.

I really liked the scene where she is able to calm Aang down while he’s in the Avatar state. There was good build up to that, showing her worry every time he entered it and her awareness of the fact that he only ever enters it when feeling upset. The fact that she was able to do that clearly Meant Something. So again, I suppose, I really feel up to this point that the show is very much like “Aang/Katara Endgame!” it felt very obvious to me. And I knew before starting the show that Zuko and Katara are a thing — but Aang and Katara is just so heavy handed that it was impossible for me to ship them with anyone else. They were just foundational to the show. Like it always felt like a foregone conclusion to me, almost as if they were established from the beginning although they obviously weren’t.

Toph

I spent like, the second half of Book 1 thinking “WHEN TOPH WHEN TOPH!” Imagine my ire that she still isn’t around for the first five episodes of Book 2, which is titled “EARTH” my goodness.

But OH was I delighted by “Chapter 6: The Blind Bandit”!!! I loved her intro, I loved how Aang is just immediately in awe of her skills when he sees her. He knows she’s exactly the teacher he’s been waiting for. “She waited and listened!” he says. Yes. I love it. (But also, lol at Sokka booing Aang.) Despite this, Aang really does not handle that first interaction very well!

So frustrating how her parents were treating her. “She’s fragile and helpless!” what a thing to say about your daughter. [Also you literally named her “tough”?!] And he is basically going to imprison her, wtf. & how do you get off saying “the avatar is no longer welcome here”?! smh children whose parents try to “control” their kids always end up being the most rebellious.

I was amused that “my dad changed his mind” apparently was a popular lie daughters use on this show. *facepalm*

I liked the contrast between how Toph wanted to teach Aang and how Katara thought he should be taught! That was interesting. And yeah, Toph certainly lives up to her name. 

Zuko & Iroh

Spent a good portion of the early part of this season wondering how Zuko and Iroh could possibly be related to the awful Fire Lord (and Azula for that matter — jeez she is nuts!), and longing to know what happened to Zuko’s mom. (Obviously that would be answered soon!)

Knowing that Zuko eventually joins the Aang crew, but also remembering that I never saw Iroh with them, made me SEVERELY worried that something terrible would happen to Iroh. And I spent the entire rest of the series worrying about that. Uh, especially since, apparently Iroh is hopeless at Survival 101. Honestly that was surprising to me. 

Zuko deciding they needed to split up was devastating!!! No!!! I loved the adventures of Zuko & Iroh!! He said, “There's no reason for us to stick together,” and I was like, “Yes there is you idiot! Because you’re family and you love each other!!!” I was so sad. I mean, also Iroh is currently the only person who likes Zuko, so, you know, that might be a good reason to stay with him. Just a thought. 

The last thing Zuko needs is to be alone, that will NOT be good for his issues. And lo and behold, look! Immediately, he’s struggling on his own. But I did like that episode (“Chapter 7: Zuko Alone”) because we get to see Zuko’s mom! (Uh, did she have a name?) Turtle ducks are so cute.

“Everything I’ve done I’ve done to protect you.” THIS. SLAYED. ME!!!!!! I mean, y’all know Rogue One is my jam so this parallel with Zuko’s mom and Galen Erso????? I lost it. I just lost it. Plus, though it isn’t confirmed until later, we can tell she’s sacrificing herself to save Zuko and just. (A) what a completely messed up family, but (B) MY HEART. SHE BETTER BE ALIVE is all I’m saying.

Interesting side note: they never show Ozai’s face in the early seasons. 

If you assumed that I was delighted to see Iroh has been tailing Zuko this whole time, you’d be correct. I had hoped that was the case and was very glad it was. Although *facepalm* again at Zuko. I suppose he had no way of knowing Katara had healing powers but it was so frustrating knowing if he had just listened to them for one minute they could have helped Iroh after Azula blasted him. At least he made him tea and nursed him back to health. 

If the evil advisor of Ba Sing Se had files on everyone and knew everything that went on… I mean… did he know about Iroh and Zuko? 

I didn’t jot down any notes about this at the time, BUT. Man. Did I ADORE Zuko and Iroh’s adventures in Ba Sing Se. I mean it was a nice relief from all the other crazy stuff happening. (Not happy to see Jet though. Ugh.) 

Finally, though, Zuko’s betrayal at the very end of the season totally shocked me. Because of spoilers, I knew he’d join Aang’s crew, and so it was so confusing! And such a regression, I really didn’t understand it and was very worried about what it would mean for his redemption arc — but more on that in the next post, don’t want to get ahead.

Azula

Oh. Boy. Again, I knew she was going to be crazy, but I don’t think I was prepared for just how messed up she is. “Do the tides command this ship. You said they would not allow us…” Jeez that is pedantic in a very bizarre way and obviously not what was meant… Yikes.

Also, Azula is much better at finding Zuko than Zuko is at finding Aang. Just a stray observation.

“Father regrets your banishment. He wants you home.” [insert IT’s A TRAP gif here]

“If the Earth Kingdom finds us, they'll have us killed. If the Fire Nation finds us, they'll turn us over to Azula. Earth kingdom it is.” Yeah, this line was hilarious but also sad. It really said a lot about Azula, and Zuko and Iroh’s relationship with her.

Had no idea Azula had her own crew. It was incredibly clear that Ty Lee felt coerced to join her and didn’t really want to, but that was less clear to me for Mai. Mainly seemed like Mai was bored with where she was and was just like “shrugs might as well do evil stuff.” 

I did know that a character named “Mai” would eventually be Zuko’s love interest (and it is pretty heavily portrayed that she has a crush on him), so at this point, I was very much like, “Hmm. This character is too apathetic and annoying, I don’t want her to end up with Zuko!” Plus, the fact that her name was pronounced “May,” (which was not how I thought “Mai” was pronounced) and I knew Zuko would have a thing with a lady in a tea shop, I wasn’t 100% sure Zuko/Mai were end game. 

“She’s crazy and she needs to go down.” I think Iroh said this. I just don’t know what to say. Why is Azula the way she is? That’s never entirely clear to me. In some ways, it’s implied she was just Like That (in the flashback where mom is like “What is wrong with you?”) and perhaps she’s just her father’s daughter. I don’t need a reason, per se. Idk. I just don’t know what to say to her. She clearly needs help. 

[theurbansquared]

Guide To Avoiding A Loser Brokerage

by James Hill | theurbansquared

Brokers can be bastards and some even get better at it while other brokers are legitimate life-changing business Sherpas

A broker is supposed to guide you through a career in real estate much like a coach or pimp - offering protection and how to understand a complicated system better and direct it to revenue  without getting your neck broke while playing the game. I created and ran the most well-reviewed, largest full-service brokerage in the fastest-growing city in America.  This gave me access to nearly ever broker and their broker's pay structure and innovations. I also got the agent's version of my same broker buddies brokerages when they eventually joined my brokerage; hovering anywhere from 20–60 agents. Trending insider chatter has blame going to real estate brokers of decades past (and current) and how they’ve managed their agents - - letting unsupervised  agents with no experience run wild on the streets practicing on the public wearing out Realtor love and making a need for all the Mountain Dew-made Zillow-y options that currently exist.

Brokers are out of touch more than ever with today’s current media load, having to understand and use social media platforms for their advertising (since the private Town & Country affair that real estate once was is forever over and the landscape is a bit more like a half Juggalo, half programmer flea market).

Let’s dive into some situations and tenets that most agents don’t consider when choosing a brokerage.

Sales Volume

This is a bit of negotiating psychology and due diligence. Simply ask how much sales they (the brokerage) did last year and how much they’re currently at. If they don’t know these numbers they’re goons. If they don’t give it, you guessed it - they’re hiding something; their lack of revenue. I’ve hired and fired hundreds of agents and in interviews so few ask this question but it’s one of the most important questions you can ask as an agent and you need the information. An agent that doesn’t ask this has already given a tell that they’re not a top producer since they’re not interested in the production capacity of the team they may join. No bueno. Creep the brokerage as well obvi -- reviews, FB & IG engagement and current running ads, and make sure the company Christmas Party isn’t catered by Chic-fil-a at a Burnet Road dive bar.

Office

40% of your learning and 350% of your work will be done at the office. Those numbers will make sense 90% of the time after a few years in real estate. The rest should be on the streets - your car, properties, driving 75 mph talking and sending out docs, gorging on breath mints. Office, home, tiny homes, motorhomes have all blended into one larger conversation where work/live ethos are all in re-definition.

But, when you do need a more savvy moment in any market when people talk about borrowing or selling something that’s over $100K they don’t want to hear some bullshit too loud pedantic conversation seated right next to them at Starbucks or the local kooky coffee shop. In real estate Murphy’s Law is always in effect. The super important listing sign off that has to go well and they want to hear you pitch again before deciding? There will be someone (at this super ‘caj’ coffee house meeting) there projectile vomiting, or throwing cats, or something else tiresome or bad that takes more calls.

Speech and body language are massive parts of sales so when the entire set is thrown because a barista is running through a whole Sublime album. You want the most inviting cool office you can ever pull off at any given moment in real estate . Was that ever a question? There's a balance  -- you can't afford that year one or three, but it’s called real estate for a reason. Sexy, exciting buildings is what the brochure said when I joined. Also, it’s about style not size.

If you haven’t lost business to coffee house back pressure you really haven’t failed at agency properly.

Social IQ

Social reach is the only conversation now. Many brokerages won’t make it as the lead generating aspects of the industry aren't powered by a private MLS anyone and the publicly-hated ‘Realtor’ designation have both brokers and agents guessing about tomorrow. Calendars, best practices and free shitty tips & templates are the du jour of the day for anyone trying to get an agent's eyes. You can Google and get all the ‘basic’ social media dance steps, but with everyone at the same happy hunting spot, you’re being covered up, which leaves all your new artistic efforts fruitless and also squandering winning time.

Traffic, leads and engagement are all separate areas that have to be fulfilled properly and even this is in flux with historic corporations and current start ups all on the same advertising playing field. Social reach and engagement is about going to the consumer direct and becoming their friend with soft bribes -- free food, gifts, prizes (trips, events tickets) or industry work tools. The great news is, real estate has always been mostly consumer direct - start up a convoy at the grocery store (bar, church, meetup) and you’re in the car that weekend looking for houses with a new client. While you, your brokerage and the world are figuring out their exact social media mix, you need to make sure a brokerage isn’t lost on social media since many won’t be able to stay in business in the next few short years. Your brokerage needs to have a plan and and at best some presence on social media. Plus, they should be running low-cost performative marketing ad campaigns to get a feel for what and if set user groups are responding to ads. Anyone can post on IG but people engage on IG when they become inspired. A brokerage should have some sort of inspiration and relationship tied in with the local allure of their city --  or heading that direction.

Mentoring

Much like a neurotic buyer chasing an interest rate for their home mortgage (and then never buying a house) agents too focused on commission may miss the essential career need for mentoring -- for their clients and career. I had a 5 deal minimum for my new agents before they were ever unsupervised and received more commission. I've had new agents with celeb clients in hand and celeb agents with no clients in hand. No one wants to do business with someone with absolutely has no, experience but they do it because they like you as a friend or fam. Your mentor is the person riding shotgun with you at the beginning of your career. On many levels you want to be this person since they embody the position and role. You're literally and figuratively are borrowing experience from them and they deserve to be paid for it. You always have to strengthen your brand outside of your brokerage but if you don’t have any experience your brand doesn’t have ‘strength’ you simply have a logo and a drag & drop website where you're possibly talking about yourself and love of unicorns or football shit but the big boat deals you dream about in bed aren’t gotten this way. Remember, no unicorn could ever throw a football good without a lot of practice and a good mentor.

Support

Support in a brokerage is really communication and solutions for small problems, and systems for managing bigger ones with people. Most of the annoying things in real estate happen outside of the deal - contracts, calls, emails, docs, signatures, more docs. You typically want a super admin, broker, or agent manager that you can call and they pick up the phone. It’s pretty simple. With a mentor, admin, or broker you’re going to have a n 8:30 PM question or deal that’s going down. You’ll need printer help. Real estate always happens now (this was one of the main mantras in my office). Printing, prequal, weekend support and constant post dinner shenanigans.

Training

Meet Frank Miller, David Mamet, the Sex Pistols, Tony Robbins, Wayne Dyer, Hendrix, Tom Hopkins, The World’s Greatest Detective and Conan The Barbarian. We had a lot of different inspirations for the style and ethos of our urban brokerage. The World’s Greatest Detective is Batman. It was a moniker that became popular in the seventies. We used this example about how important due diligence and proper Fact Finding techniques are for serving and closing deals for clients. (It’s almost essential to be inquisitive in real estate esp about property/development to have success). Training is largely your sales meeting(s). Although I don’t come from a car background I’ve mentored many car guys transferring to real estate (they typically are out of the industry within 2 years and are there only for boom markets). Car guys have meetings every morning 6 days a week and they’re not at 9 or 10 am. They’re already working.

free module: The Burger King Phenomena: Why Agents Do Less Working For Themselves Than If They Were Working At Burger King

Many brokerages have no training/meeting schedule (monthly doesn’t count -- that’s a meet and greet company pump and catch up meeting). If a brokerage doesn’t have training on a schedule then there is no training. You’ll possibly be thrown a 3-ring binder, or given some PDF’s, or links to old bizarre training videos or a soup sandwich of all three and sometimes even a bill for the training. An agent’s training/meetings and their attendance to them are the difference between an agent making it or not when you’re 24 months or less in the role as an agent especially in the fast turbulent waters of the current 2021 market where brokerage and agent purpose and pay are under attack. From my experience, new agents that hide die.

Media

Having a background as a creative director I’m aware with great detail of agency and brokerage media needs, the cost and time they extract, and the corresponding revenue they’re projected to bring back. Brokerages are looking for their purpose now as simply having a brokerage doesn’t bring in leads like it used to. This is fitting, since the digital dumbass brokers that that didn’t understand the importance of ‘the web’ rickshawed our MLS data and sold the agent/broker centric real estate system for their benefit while current agents are left with an empty greasy enough to-go box to curl up with. Brokerages were never media houses or ad agencies but now that consumer level graphic programs and website builders are ubiquitous and any agent after being licensed for 10 days can drag & drop a website up in 4 hours and make it look like a brokerage that’s been around for years. I know I’m going wide on the subject here but stay with me because this is the crux of where the industry and consumer are renegotiating roles.

A brokerage’s value proposition has changed drastically with the telecommute revolution that was only sped and strengthened by Covid. Also, generational knowledge base gaps in technology are more apparent than ever with technology as younger agents can often be more media savvy than their broker. The market is flooded with self appointed companies or gurus that are taking on the role of the classic ad agency (Mad Men) or media production house. Also beware of real estate coaches with little or no real estate experience offering to guide you in social media. Okay media can’t be used in apex situations (such as the luxury listings you’re after) and doesn’t draw apex listings. Beware of tapioca room temperature tips and general lists from companies that can appear informative but are really boilerplate low grade data to get your attention to ultimately upsell you on a paid service.

As an agent or a brokerage, consumer level graphic and website building programs can be a death ticket to your business as your competitors have the same tools and are cranking out the same type of style of messaging you are now. Now agents, principals, admins and in art class creating flyers. This has been done since the nineties as the valleys of dead agent careers is full of 2-day Microsoft Word (or any of their shitty office offerings) seshes to produce nasty flyers and presentations. These programs are fun and making bad flyers absolutely work related - the kind of work you don’t want’ related to your business because it’s adult crayon coloring. Activity does not equal production. Staying busy doing the wrong things doesn’t make money in real estate. Rather than spending agent winning time staying in the wrong lanes for way too long, get with a team or brokerage that are providing the most exceptional visual media you can find in your market. It used to be cool 2 years ago, now it’s the only thing that matters. Visual content.

free module: Better Agent Media, Less Agent Money (media tips and hacks).

Access

This is access to your broker. Brokers with families are typically less available. Your best bet as an agent is looking for a grinder broker who sleeps on the couch at their office. This person doesn’t have kids to build into so they’ll build into your career and you’ll get the most out of these brokers. Beware of cheesedick, apathetic, rich boy, bored brokers not around and more concerned with projects like a shitty vanity wine brand that their wife’s forced them to launch since she’s not living her best life anymore as an agent.

Style

What kind of style is your brokerage? Is there an opportunity to bring more style sophistication to the market -- standout in a smaller market? Or, are you in an ultra stylish market currently and butt hurt because you already have a little story about how you’re going to keep it real and be a Dockers wearing slob for eternity? The thing about style in agency is you always need to look like you can list a million dollar house. Oh, is it really that simple? Yes it is. You complicated it. Clients always care about their housing a little bit more than they care about your real estate career. They don’t have time to figure out why you’re wearing shoe styles from 7 years ago. Don’t make it hard for people to do business with you. If you’re ugly, even better. It can be a massive advantage. Everyone on the planet loves when someone who doesn’t fall into our general current ‘attractive’ spectrum doesn’t give af, looks great and puts themselves together in a stylish way that the viewer can understand (can I get away with Teen Wolf?). A great side benefit from this step in the right direction is it’s a great way to make someone who is conventionally attractive insecure.

You want to be in the same style as the people in your area but the secret is you need to lead that style pack if you can -- you always lead and dress apex. Years ago this was anecdotal but after over 100K hours in real estate a good suite (tailored) saved my ass and literally got me business. I listed the largest house in east Austin because of a suit (and got a front page story on the newspaper real estate section for free because the owner saw me walking into the next door neighbor’s house).

Offices, dress, logo, email signature are all elements of you and your brokerage’s style. Style in and of itself isn’t enough to be a top producer in real estate. I’ve had stylish and even celebrity agents that didn't do zilch, but style often is a fingerprint to something more.

Picking the right elements for your agent style is an art because you have to offer something from yourself that’s unique enough as well as something familiar (a bridge to your uniqueness). I have a background as a musician and also as a merchant sailor. Fortunately those are easy convo starters. You could be a philatelist and have some challenges, but regardless it absolutely will take a year or three to develop your own angle and style towards the market as you learn it and the agent role more.

Things that look attractive and familiar puts client’s psychologies at ease. So, if skinny jeans are in you better get in them (that’s like five years old now). You’re on stage. You don’t wear what the worker people behind the camera wear. If you want to wear boring shit get on the other side of the camera. If you want less leads saddle up to a forgettable brokerage. People have hard days. They want you to put an effort into your real estate agency role. Currently it’s a fried role so you’re dealing with that too. People love to be smiled at and sold and especially from someone who smells good. It doesn't ever get old. Don’t make them beg for your charm. Be a nice charming person with a shirt that fits good, it’s a powerful combo.

Get My Damn Paper

If you’ve never seen a werewolf in daylight mess with an agent’s commission after the deal’s done and funded. Admin? Who is the damn person who does the admin? (accounts payable is the icey pro word if you like). That person that you contact to get your commission check cut? If that person is a weirdo, or there’s an unfriendly or sketchy quality to the office or admin staff, do not go forward (don’t confuse this with new people or industry jitters). Grab some free coffee, leave the smarm and jet to the next brokerage blind date.

Software

CRM is an annoying conversation. Here’s the things with CRM’s - for all the work CRMs curtail, because of their complexity and existence and the work(time) they take to interact with you need to consider how much work you’re putting into operating the CRM software verses how much time it’s saving. Many times brokerages have expensive yearly subscriptions with per agent fees for their CRM which can make the brokerage have a zealot meth thing for the ‘team’ software and promise you can’t have a career without taking a bump too. To understand CRM better before it was a name, Client Relationship Management is what analog Proximity became. Let me explain -  being close to people in Church, bar, school, same building -- all give proximity. This becomes familiarity, then ease, then trust. People do business with people they trust & like. Once people disconnected physically and started using other means more contact attempts have to be made to work for or ‘prove’ worth.

Follow Up is a large component of most CRM’s and there are gobs of money for agents who follow up meticulously. Simply ask the broker what CRM they use and research it. Something to remember - unless you’re extremely busy with your career you don’t need a CRM. You can manage & database your clients & leads ‘by hand’ and strap it to the cloud with G-Suite/Google Sheets.

Brokerage Name

A small but important aside, if a brokerage have named themselves after a precious metal or a gem, or if it says elite in the name then it’s not elite. If it has the words prestige or worldwide or international it may not be any of those either. I know a handful of exceptions to this rule but this is a great dirty primer to use when choosing a brokerage that’s going to propel your career and have shrimp options at the Christmas Party.

[goldenonionstan]

      | chapter one

            | the sound of forgetting

summary: after being wrongly accused of the murder of her fiancé, Bella Swan is trying to find stability in her broken life. Until a mysterious brown-haired boy reveals a harrowing secret about the man she loved, and she embarks on a time-bending journey to clear her name…

a/n: hooray harooh harrah i finished chapter one and this baby is ready to go! i can’t communicate to you how pumped i am to explore this world and all the dark fantasy that comes with it! let me know what you think x

October 14th, 2012

It was still dark when I pulled my ancient Chevrolet pick-up into the parking lot of the café, and I settled the beast into an open space next to Dad's favorite oak tree. Killing the engine, I reveled in the heat of the truck's cab, bracing myself for the crisp, Washington air that awaited me outside. Unfortunately, I always drew the short straw when it came to taking the early morning shifts from my siblings – Seth and Leah knew how to get exactly what they wanted from Sue.

"Morning, Dad," I called out as I strode into the café, hitting the switch for the neon OPEN sign that hung on the front door; it awoke with a dull hum. Garish lights reflected off the green gingham tablecloths Charlie had bought the other day from Billy Black – I made a mental note to look for replacements when I got home.

"Morning, sweet pea," He replied from the kitchen, and I could hear bacon already sizzling on the grill.

Dad had been the proud owner of Clearwater's Bites, sharing the responsibility with his wife, Sue, for almost ten years. Nestled into the sleepy heart of Forks, Washington, Charlie had surprised Sue with the café as an engagement present after she told him about her life-long dream of owning a restaurant. In the summer of 2002, he became the head-chef, Sue ran the front-of-house, and waitressing shifts were shared out between me, Seth and Leah. I was happy to see that the place was still standing when I was released from prison.

I doubted anyone else would have wanted to hire a convicted murderer to make small talk with their regulars.

"Expecting it to be busy today?" I inquired, making polite small talk as I rolled napkins neatly around pairs of knives and forks.

"Not too sure, Bells. It is a Sunday so I doubt we'll be rammed, but, then again, I could be wrong. We'll have to see."

Thank goodness, I thought, breathing a sigh of relief into the growing stack of cutlery; at least there wouldn't be so many whispers and stares.

"Sounds good, Dad! I'm sure we'll be able to hold down the fort!"

I enjoyed working shifts with Charlie – neither of us were particularly big talkers, so we worked side-by-side in comfortable silence, nodding at each other as we passed. While he set about preparing for the breakfast shift, I worked at serving the odd customer, giving the place a scrub when we were quiet – my siblings were not as pedantic at cleaning as I was, so I think Charlie and Sue were happy to have me in the shop.

The early birds were my favorite people to serve because, where the café was quiet, I was able to pay close attention to what they ordered. Gladys, along with her Labrador, Skip, came in for her regular one-shot cappuccino with extra chocolate dusting, while an elderly gentleman in a bowler hat ordered a simple tea and sat against the far-window, reading a newspaper. I let my mind conjure a story where the two used to be high-school sweethearts, but were torn apart when Gladys' mother died, and she went to live with her aunt. After seven years with very little to do, I had learned to become reliant on my imagination.

It was around two hours into my shift that a stream of customers began to build, and our small parking lot became crammed with a plethora of vehicles. A buzz of chatter filled the room as people shared stories over cups of steaming liquid, and my heart swelled. When people were paying little attention to me, I felt content to find myself amongst a crowd again.

"Welcome to Clearwater's Bites," I chirped cheerfully, placing two laminated menus before a new table of customers. They were two brawny construction workers, and both wore black t-shirts that clung to their bulging chests, stained with streaks of paint and dust. "What can I get for you today?"

"Aren't you the woman who murdered her fiancé?"

The pen began to shake between my fingers, but I couldn't tell whether it was from anger or the tears that stung my eyes. My prison sentence came to an end a month ago, and, although the accident happened in 2005, my presence in town seemed to stir up old memories. The front page of every national press had covered the story from the moment the coastguard pulled The Victoria to shore, and I had been led off the deck in handcuffs. I would get the occasional inquiry as to whether I was happy to be back in town, or what I planned to do with my time now I had returned to Forks.

It was the direct questions that always threw me off.

"Uhm," I murmured, struggling to get my thoughts straight. "No, I don't think that was me, but I appreciate the inquiry."

"Oh, come on, it's definitely you! Isabella, isn't it?" The weaker of the two men smirked as he leaned back in his chair, taking in the view of my beat-up Levi's from behind. "I would recognize that ass anywhere."

I clicked my tongue against my teeth as I turned away from his gaze and looked around briefly to see if anyone had overheard what he said. No-one seemed to be paying attention to our interaction.

"Would you like some tea with that misogyny, Paul?" His friend remarked from behind his menu, throwing a glare in his direction. Paul sat back up in his chair.

"Would you just fuck off, Jake? I'm only messing with the pretty lady." He turned back to me. "You were definitely the lass I had pinned up in my locker last year."

"That's wonderful. Do you want me to autograph it for you?"

"Ay, Mami, is this that famous temper of yours? Hopefully, there's no sharp objects around."

Paul winked; I seethed.

"It's eight in the morning, for Christ's sake," Paul's tanned friend spat as he handed me his menu. "We'll take two Americanos. Black, no sugar."

"No problem," I replied, plastering my best customer service smile across my face. "Coming right up!"

"You could always leave me your number instead," Paul hollered at me as I shuffled back behind the counter, drowning out my racing thoughts with the noisy whirr of grinding coffee beans.

"Alright, sweetheart?" Charlie poked his head around the entrance to the kitchen, forehead glittering with sweat. He held two plates of eggs in his hands. "Not causing you trouble, are they?"

I punched the double-shot button a little too hard on our clunky coffee machine, watching the black liquid splutter into the awaiting cup. "Nothing I can't handle, Dad."

"Are you sure? I haven't seen them around before, so I'm sure they wouldn't mind if I told them to move along?"

I peeked over at the men again as I waited for their cups to fill. Paul sat texting on a cell-phone, no doubt something about me; his friend…Jake, I think it was, glanced over and smiled. I darted my gaze back to the coffee.

"Honestly, Dad, it's chill," I placed the now-steaming cups of coffee onto two saucers, grabbing a pot of sugar cubes. "Like you said, they're not regulars. Probably won't ever see them again."

Charlie nodded. "Chin up, Princess, don't let-"

"-Your tiara fall," I finished, turning back towards Paul and Jake. "I got it, Dad."

Gingerly returning to their table, I placed a cup in front of each of the men and practically ran back behind the counter before they could make any more remarks. I avoided looking in their direction for the duration of their stay, feeling relaxed as I watched them take the last swigs of their drinks.

Until Jake started walking towards the counter. Feeling my heart in my stomach, I pretended to be writing something on a spare blackboard.

"Hey," He said, standing awkwardly in front of the register. "I just came to bring this back. No sugar, remember?"

He placed the neglected sugar pot in front of me; I shook my head. "Oops, sorry. Just one of those mornings."

"No problem, I get that." He chuckled. "I kept waiting for you to come back to collect it. Seemed like you were avoiding our table…?"

"You're observant," I remarked. "Didn't want your friend to harass me again."

"Yeah, I also came over to say sorry about Paul. He's a bit too forward sometimes."

"Don't worry, I'm used to it." I picked up the sugar pot and wiggled it. "Thanks for bringing this back."

Jake smiled, and we stood there in silence for a moment. His brown eyes bore into mine for longer than I expected, and I looked away, feeling my cheeks heat up.

"Right, I completely forgot to introduce myself, I'm Jake-" He stretched his hand towards me. "Jacob Black. My father owns the furniture shop in town."

"Isabella Swan," I giggled, taking his outstretched hand. "You must know my dad then. Charlie?"

"Probably not, I only just moved into town. I used to live with my Mom."

"Oh, cool, what happened to your Mom, if you don't mind my asking?"

"It's nothing like that, she just got remarried." Jacob looked at the floor. "Moved to Canada."

"Didn't fancy it?"

"Not really; wasn't up for moving sticks, I'd just got my job here."

"Construction, yeah?"

"At Forks High School."

"Nice – I used to go there, definitely could have used a revamp back then."

"Well, luckily we're here now!" We both smiled at each other. "That must mean you know Forks pretty well?"

I crooked an eyebrow at him. "Hmm, it depends why you're asking..."

"I was looking for a tour guide if you were up for it? Need someone to show me the ins and outs, stuff like that."

"Paul's not good enough for that?" Looking behind him, I expected to see his friend leering at us, but I was pleasantly surprised to find an empty table.

"He's not the greatest company."

"That's fair. I'm working the next coupla' nights, but maybe Thursday? I get off at 6."

"Sounds great." Flashing another smile, I realized how perfect his teeth were.

"Perfect – I'll show you the literal two bars in town."

Jacob took a napkin from the stack next to the counter, and pulled a pen from his back pocket, roughly scribbling down a series of numbers before handing it to me. "My number. Call if you need to cancel."

"I'll try not to," I flushed. "See you Thursday."

"Looking forward to it."

My heartbeat did not slow to a regular pace until Jake had safely clambered into his truck, and I watched Paul drive them out of the parking lot. I hadn't been the subject of a man's affection for what seemed like a lifetime. Had it always made me this giddy?

"Hey, Bells," Charlie's voice pulled me from my thoughts.

"What's up, Dad?"

"Would you mind making me up a large pot of tea? I'm just going to say hello to Carlisle over there!"

Nodding eagerly, I set about grabbing our best porcelain pot from the shelf, settling the open-top under the tap of hot water, and switched it on. Charlie always spoke highly of Carlisle, a doctor who worked at the local hospital, and I was always in awe of his wife, Esme, when she accompanied him for a coffee and a croissant. They looked perfect, like models, with porcelain-smooth skin, and matching caramel-colored hair. I felt scrawny and inferior in comparison.

He occupied the corner table, where the elderly gentleman had sat this morning, but his wife was nowhere in sight. Instead, he was joined by a statuesque blonde with legs for days, a Herculean man who looked like he could break my head between one bicep, and a willowy boy with unruly, russet hair. Despite his form being covered by a long-sleeved black roll-beck, I could see his hands were extremely pale. In fact, they all were.

They all looked as though they had never felt a drop of Vitamin D in their lives.

Dad tottered over to their table, shaking Carlisle's hand with a grin. He had it draped on the shoulder of the tall, pale boy when I arrived with the tea.

"Ah, Isabella, perfect timing! This is Rosalie and Emmett, Carlisle's niece and her boyfriend," Charlie said, gesturing at the blonde and her burly man; I nodded politely and they returned the favor. "And this is Edward, Carlisle's son."

Once again, I nodded in the direction of Edward but he only grunted in response, grabbing for the pot of tea, and pouring himself a cup. Compared to Jacob, he had the manners of a toilet brush.

"He's a little shy," Emmett reassured, nudging Edward in the ribs.

"No worries," I blathered. "Enjoy!"

I hurried back to the counter almost as quickly as before, except I was sure no one was trying to stare at my butt this time. I knew Edward did not owe me anything – it had been a pretty awkward introduction from Charlie anyway – but a smile wouldn't have hurt anyone. I glanced back over towards Carlisle's table and caught Edward staring at me, eyebrows furrowed together. Just as Jacob had done earlier, I pulled my lips into a tight smile. He cocked his head to one side, briefly, as though mentally sizing me up. Finally, he smirked back, turning then to engage in passionate conversation with his family of perfect specimens.

I had a feeling, deep within me, that this wasn’t going to be the last time I saw this brown-haired boy.

[oforamuse]

unexpected thanks

'you've got a ring.'

or, the one where ian bumps into kash and gets to break the news that he and mickey are married.

read & comment on ao3

Ian walks slowly down the fresh vegetable aisle, crossing off the mental list in his head of things  he needs to get for the recipe Mickey’s insisting on making. He’s gotten really into cooking cooking recently, not just throwing something in the microwave and hitting 30 seconds kind of cooking. 

It’s pretty hot, actually. 

Often Ian will come home from work and the kitchen will be filled with all sorts of smells, some good and some terrible - Mickey’s still learning. There’s been a few burnt dinners and a couple of small pan fires, but nothing too overly drastic. Whenever a recipe fails, or Mickey doesn’t seem completely satisfied in his success, he gets up and tries the same one again. Point blank, in his stubborn way, refusing to be beaten by a page and a half of instructions. Ian can help but find it incredibly endearing. He didn’t think he’d ever see the day Mickey made him something that wasn’t pizza pockets or mac and cheese from a box, so he’s relishing in it. 

Perhaps marriage really does change people. 

It’s been just over three months since they got married and though Ian sometimes still struggles with the girth of it all, he doesn’t regret it one bit. He’s stopped looking up divorce statistics and searching for a reason for everything to all fall to shit, so that’s a definite step up. He’s taking it day by day but it’s good. He’s happier these days too, everyone’s noticed it, he’s noticed it. He feels lighter, things roll off of his back more - the same goes for Mickey too. They’ve barely even bickered in the last few weeks, which is so incredibly unlike them, they can’t quite believe it. 

Is this what it feels like to finally have time? Time to be a couple, time to be codependent and independent all in the same moment, time to actually exist as a them and not be broken apart by homophobic dads, or mental illness, or incarceration? 

Having the space and the freedom to actually co-exist with one another without something hanging over their heads is a foreign concept to both of them, but Ian thinks they’re kind of nailing the whole marital bliss thing. They wake up together, often wrapped around one another, safe and warm. They go to their separate (parole approved) jobs, Ian often driving and dropping Mickey off - sometimes the other way round depending on their afternoon plans. There’s kisses on the cheek in greetings and goodbyes, ass grabs in passing and arms locked around shoulders. They’ve been holding hands more a lot, unable to pull themselves apart when they literally don’t have to be, craving each other’s touch and comfort almost every second of the day. 

It’s everything 16 year old Ian could’ve dreamed of and more. 

Ian’s fingers brush over the sweet peppers, wondering whether Mickey wanted red or green - or was it yellow? He doesn’t know what Mickey's making for them later, only that he needed to get the ingredients right now as Mickey didn’t have time between work and the quickie they managed to squeeze in before they had to run out of the door. It’s Ian’s day off, he figured he’d treat his husband to a little domestic run to the supermarket. He’s about to pull out his phone to text Mickey to check, God forbid he buys the wrong type of peppers, when he hears his name being called. 

‘Ian?’ 

His head shoots up towards the voice, it’s familiar. 

‘Ian is that you? Ian Gallagher?’ 

Well, count that on the list of things that Ian didn’t expect to happen today. 

Kash is standing in the same aisle, just a few feet over from him. He looks older, much older than Ian can remember him. His hair has a minor smattering of grey, but nothing hugely noticeable. His eyes are tired, and there’s a couple more wrinkles than there was before, but other that, he looks mostly the same. 

Their obvious difference in age makes Ian’s skin crawl, like tiny little ants making their way up his bones and into his veins. He shudders, unable to believe he let 16 year old him be used by this absolute tool. 

‘Kash...Hi.’ Ian says, caught completely off guard. It comes out awkwardly, his discomfort horribly evident in his voice. Kash’s face shifts slightly, making Ian cringe. 

‘How are you- what’s it been like, 6 or 7 years?’ Kash continues, his hands adjusting his grip the shopping basket he’s carrying. 

‘Probably more like 8.’ Ian replies and it feels forced. There’s an awful beat of silence where neither man knows where to approach next. Ian just wants to get his peppers and move onto the beans aisle, what the fuck is Kash going to want to talk about next, the weather? His phone buzzes, he pulls it out of his pocket to check the notification, happily taking a moment for a distraction. Kash makes a noise of surprise at the movement and Ian looks up questioningly. He can feel the light scowl on his face - it’s nothing too seriously pissed off, but there’s definitely an air of bother about it. 

‘You’ve got a ring.’ Kash says, gripping his basket with one hand so he can bring one up to point the other at Ian’s left side. ‘You’re married?’ 

The wedding band suddenly feels incredibly heavy on his finger - it’s a good weight though, it’s grounding. He can feel the corners of his mouth twist up into a soft smile, it’s comforting, knowing that he has that little piece of Mickey with him wherever he goes. 

He still hasn’t gotten the hang of remembering to put it back on every time he does the dishes or something, much to Mickey’s chagrin, but he’s working on it. 

More importantly though, he’s wearing it right now. 

‘Yeah I am.’ Ian replies, it’s proud and firm. His thumb rubs lightly over the band. 

‘Wow.’ Kash says with both the tone of somewhat surprise and disbelief. He steps forward ever so slightly, and Ian moves back an inch automatically, keeping the distance. ‘The last time I saw you, you were hooking up with...was it Mickey Milkovich?- God knows where that kid ended up.’ There’s a beat, ‘Prison, hopefully.’ He adds. 

It’s biting and dismissive - Ian knows it’s supposed to be a light joke, but it makes his fists curl protectively. He knows he can’t entirely blame Kash for thinking Mickey wouldn’t amount to much, given the fact the kid spent most of his juvenile years robbing him openly (and completely unapologetically), but it makes his jaw clench tightly. Mickey, is and always was, so much more than a neighbourhood thug. 

So much more. 

Keep it together, he tells himself. He breathes, allowing the tension to roll off his shoulders and down into the floor. 

‘Who’s the lucky guy?’ Kash asks, it’s weird and kind of gross. Being around him, so many years later and being much more clear headed, makes him feel slightly sick in his stomach. ‘Someone I know?’ 

This makes Ian smirk slightly, ‘You could say that.’ 

This is going to be fun. 

‘Who?’ Kash says, his eyes narrowing suspiciously, it’s a stark contrast to the friendly attitude he’s been trying to throw off. 

‘I guess I, well we, should say thank you.’ Ian says, shrugging his shoulders in an attempt to come off as cool and casual as possible, ‘we would’ve never met without your...er, help.’ 

Was that the right word to use? He doesn’t really care, it’s hilarious to watch Kash squirm. He watches the gears working in his head as the older man puts two and two together. He’s surprised at how easily Kash clocks on, only taking a moment before his eyes widen in shock. 

‘You’re kidding me.’ Kash says, his jaw practically falling out of it’s socket with how dramatically it drops. It hangs there for a second, and Ian just grins. Kash adjusts himself, gulping. ‘You’re married... to Mickey Milkovich?’ He says Mickey’s name with a whisper, ducking his head slightly, as if to avoid being heard. 

‘The very same.’ Ian states smoothly, holding Kash’s gaze firmly, daring the older man to make a judgement. 

You’re not allowed to say shit, he thinks, you are literally the last person on earth who is allowed to judge anyone over who they marry. 

He hopes to fucking God there’s hasn’t been anymore 16 year olds, he hopes he got himself some therapy. What is he even doing back in Chicago? 

‘I don’t know what to say.’ Kash adds after a moment, the air between them stilted and awkward. Ian wants to leave, groceries be damned, but he knows Mickey would probably kill him to let his opportunity slip. He always did love to gloat right in Kash’s face, whether it be over a tube of pringles he stole, a snickers bar or Ian himself. 

‘Don’t say anything then.’ Ian says curtly, it comes off ruder than he intended but he doesn’t really care. 

‘Really? Mickey?’ Kash asks unpleasantly, and Ian doesn’t like the way Mickey’s name sounds in his voice. Like it’s dirty, and imperfect. 

‘Yeah.’ Ian says firmly, the tension palpable, ‘We’re really fuckin’ happy. Big wedding and everything.’ He waves his hand out in an exaggerated gesture, hoping to help hammer the point home. He’s happy, he’s so happy, he’s happier than he’s ever been for literal years. Fuck this guy, fuck his judgement. 

‘Didn’t expect that.’ Kash says, it’s quiet but comes out clear. His brows furrow together, the aged wrinkles on his forehead deepen. ‘Honestly, I’m just surprised he didn’t end up locked up-’ He stops himself, ‘And you…’

There it is again - there’s that age old judgement glinting in his eye. Or is it discomfort? Longing?

It’s an echo of something familiar, it’s a look he was thrown back in the day when he restocked the shelves incorrectly or when he would brush Kash’s prying hands off nearer the end of Their Thing when Mickey fell into the picture.

‘Thanks for letting Mickey steal your gun.’ Ian says cooly, hoping it lands as the jab he intended it to be, which it does, if he can tell anything by the way Kash flinches.

He grabs the closest pepper, Mickey’s pedantic need to follow a recipe perfectly be damned, and shoves it in his basket. Kash stands there awkwardly, dumbfounded. 

‘Would you mind? I need an onion.’ He says, holding his voice steady. Kash doesn’t reply, just standing and staring at him somewhat blankly. Ian points to the shelf full of onions Kash is blocking easy access to. He doesn’t move, his mouth gaping slightly as he, Ian assumes, searches for something to say. Ian shrugs, and leaning around him, grabbing a yellow onion and shoving it in his basket. 

‘Hope you figured your shit out.’ He adds and that’s it, that’s all he’s going to give him. He’s not going to wish him well or say he hopes he found true love or some shit. He might’ve done when he was a kid, but not anymore, not when he could never even dream of touching a kid the way Kash did. He turns and walks confidently down the aisle, away from Kash, away from the mistakes he made as a dumb 16 year old, away from the weird and fucked up in so many ways life he used to lead. It’s weird, when he was a kid he truly believed it was him against the world - especially growing up in such a volatile lifestyle like the South Side. He wishes someone had told him properly that there’s always support if he knew where to look for it...or well, in Ian’s case, if you go to steal back a stolen gun and come back with a boyfriend, husband, instead. 

Not that it happened that easily, he’s not kidding himself. 

As he scans the beans a few moments later, he makes a silent vow to never let his and Mickey’s future kid - because it’s happening, no matter how many times Mickey scoffs at the suggestion - ever feel like they have to go to a strange middle aged man for comfort.

Or anyone else for that matter. They’re gonna be such fucking good parents. 

The thought about their future is warm and sits happily in his stomach, bubbling away lightly. He doesn’t feel too thrown off from seeing Kash, the pent up tension slowly ebbing away as he allows himself to relish for a moment on his and Mickey’s future. A future they finally get to have, think about and plan. It’s finally in arms reach and they are going to achieve absolutely everything that they want to from now on. Jobs, kids, money? A house of their own? Cats, dogs, and maybe even a goddamn Hamster. 

It doesn’t matter, they’re gonna do it all. 

So yeah, Kash, thanks for that.

[kingofdirtandnothing]

@polyfacetious big ass Christmas Drabble Extravagaza: Day Twenty Two

Aerith Gainsborough has a gift. And that gift is talking people into doing something that they don’t want to do and making it feel like it was their idea in the first place. That’s the only reason Geralt can find for the fact that he’s sitting in a coffee shop on a Friday night, listening to slam poetry and geeks on guitars. 

There isn’t even beer here. No spiked ciders or even Irish coffee. It’s a fucking travesty, and every time he builds himself up to say something about it, Geralt looks down at the tiny woman with a grip on his arm, and he swallows it. 

Damn those eyes. 

I can hear the cannons calling, as though across a dream- 

Geralt pulls his sour gaze away from the top of Aerith’s head when he hears the first strains of the song. This wasn’t some hipster strumming along with a woeful little play at a folk song. There was something haunting in that voice that was drawing Geralt in. 

The sight that greets him isn’t so bad either. 

The man perched on the edge of the stool, a guitar propped on his knee was gorgeous. The line of his stong neck was curved as he looked down at clever, graceful fingers plucking at the strings. Brown hair brushed against his forehead, and when the singer looks up, Geralt feels a jolt in his gut. 

Like the singer is looking right at him. 

Distantly, he hears Aerith tell him that Cloud was there, a pat to his arm before she disappeared into the eclectic crowd. And any other night, this would have been the moment that Geralt left his seat and got the hell out of here. 

But he’s pinned to the spot now, trapped beneath the stare of incredibly blue eyes and a voice that curled against the base of Geralt’s spine and laid down roots. 

The song is sad, too weighty to just be called melancholy. It casts a spell over the room, most of the idle chatter and clinking of flatware and dishes falling away to the sound of it. And when it ends on a low, aching note, Geralt is pulled from the spell of it by the eruption of applause around the room. 

The singer smiles, and it changes his whole face. Gone was the melancholy boy singing about lost loves. Unfortunately for Geralt, what was in his place was a disgustingly good looking man. Why did people have to be both talented, and good looking? It was unnatural. 

Geralt watches him step down from the stage, cradling his guitar in his hands like it was something special, until he could slide it back into the soft case he had for it, propped up against the back wall of the coffee shop, far enough away from the lights of the makeshift stage that he wasn’t drawing attention away from the next person on the stage. (Geralt isn’t sure if it’s a man or a woman who’s taken up the stage now. He’d have to be able to look away from the singer to do that.)

Any thought Geralt might have stifled about going up and saying something to the singer is lost when people start to crowd around him. “Jaskier!” That’s Magnus, who owns the place, who swans up to the singer, this Jaskier and embraces him warmly, kissing both of his cheeks. “One of these days darling, I’m going to get you to play a happy song.”

Jaskier smiles, nose crinkling. “Oh, you know me Mags. Art is pain, et cetera, et cetera.” Jaskier waves the words away as Magnus turns back to answer a question from someone else. There was still a gaggle of people around Jaskier, and Geralt turns his glare down towards the Earl Grey in a steaming mug in his hands. 

Stupid. What would he even do with a pretty little thing like that? (The back of his mind has a few vivid, sweat soaked suggestions. Geralt ignores those.) Nothing. It’s not like they’d have anything in common. It would be pointless to talk to him in the first place, and it would only end badly if he did. 

Geralt downs the rest of his tea in three long scalding gulps and puts the mug down on the table. There was no reason for him to stay now, Aerith just liked the company on her walk over, and Geralt liked glaring at idiots who thought they might want to talk to her. She had her blonde boy there now, and Aerith would decide if she wanted him to walk her home. Which meant it was time for Geralt to go. 

“I love the way you just sit in the corner and...brood.” The words startle Geralt from his thoughts, and he looks up to find himself face to face with those stained glass blue eyes. Damn, Jaskier was quiet on his feet. (Or Geralt wasn’t paying enough attention to his surroundings.)

“I’m here because a friend doesn’t like to walk at night alone.” He’s here, right now, because he couldn’t stop looking at the man in front of him. Now Geralt just has to convince them both that it’s a load of horse shit. 

“Good. Right. Yes.” Jaskier takes a seat from the row in front of Geralt’s and straddles it, because Geralt’s life isn’t hard enough right now. (And his life isn’t the only thing that’s hard, either.) “Well. No one else hesitated to comment on the quality of my performance. Except you.” 

It shouldn’t be charming, the bastard going from group to group around the room to collect his praise for a song well done. And yet, here they are. 

“Come on.” It’s wheedling, Jaskier leaning the chair forward so that only two legs are still on the ground, his chin resting on his crossed arms. “You don’t want to keep a man with...bread in his pants waiting, now do you?”

Geralt knows better than to engage. He knows. And still the words leave his stupid mouth. “If that’s a metaphor, I don’t understand it.” 

Jaskier grins. “Oh no, I never joke about bread in my pants. Watch.” Geralt watches, because what the fuck else is a man supposed to do when he sees a twink wiggling on a chair to pull a flattened piece of pain au chocolat out of his pocket, still wrapped in the plastic wrap that Bilbo used for his treats. He waves the bread around and takes a hearty bite before he speaks again. “You must have some review for me. Three words or less.”

‘I want you’ are the first three words that come to mind. And as much as Geralt is starting to get the impression that it’s mutual, he’s not putting himself down that road. Fucking some out of towner was one thing, or the girls in the red light district. It was a means to an end, a way to scratch an itch. 

Fucking a local meant seeing them again. It meant feelings getting involved and everything getting messy. Geralt didn’t need anyone, and the last thing he wanted was someone needing him. “It’s not right.” There. Three words, and as polite a ‘fuck off’ as Geralt can manage. 

But the words don’t make Jaskier turn away. If anything, he leans in closer. Geralt subtly places the toe of his boot against the crossbar of Jaskier’s chair to keep it from dumping over forwards. Backwards, he couldn’t help with. “Ooh. Fun. Let me guess. Not a fan of love songs? Flowers? Go on, tell me.”

Bossy. Another thing that shouldn’t be charming but it was. Geralt watches him for a long beat, but the withering stare that seemed to drive people off in droves wasn’t doing a damn thing right about now. “It’s still a lie. Even if no one hears it, you’re still lying to yourself.” Geralt would know. He’s lied to himself more than he’s ever lied to anyone else. 

Jaskier, for some bizarre reason, lights up at the words. “Oh, a pedantic. This is so much better than my guess of repressed heterosexual.” Geralt scoffs, but he’s fighting a smile as he does it. Damn it all to hell. 

“I’m not repressed.” He’s not heterosexual, either. There were too many good looking people in this world to fuck to leave it just to one side or the other. His mother taught him to clean his plate when he was a boy. Geralt took that missive through all aspects of his life.

“You’re not? Well that’s good to know. You’re also very rumbly.” Jaskier gives him a thumbs up before he tears the smashed remains of his croissant in half and offers it out to Geralt. “If I lure you in with sweets, will you tell me your name?”

Geralt makes a low hum of a sound in his chest, to pretend like he was thinking about it. He plucks the piece of chocolate croissant from the cling wrap and pops it into his mouth. “No.” 

“No?” That earns him a bright huff of laughter from Jaskier. “You sir, are a scoundrel and a cad. If I have to lower myself to your nefarious levels to find out your name, then so be it.” Jaskier leans back in his chair and calls across the room. “Oy! Magnus!” There’s a moment before Magnus turns away from a customer, brow raised. “You know his name?”

The entire fucking room is staring at them now. Geralt has never been the kind of man to shrink away, but he’s not a big fan of attention. There are too many eyes on him right now, including Magnus Bane’s bright eyes. God help him if Magnus mentions they’ve fucked. 

But surprisingly, Magnus doesn’t call back across the room. He just sends Bilbo’s little brunette assistant over, who grins at the both of them and hands Jaskier a napkin. Jaskier snaps it open, the way you would a newspaper, and hums. “Well well well. It seems you’ve been outmanuevered, my dear….Geralt.”

It’s been awhile since he’s heard his name pronounced correctly. The Mediterranien influence was strong here. They were far from his part of Europe. But he should have known a man named Jaskier would at least be within spitting distance of the parts of the world that Geralt grew up in. 

“Oh no.” Geralt’s delivery is flat, as is his expression. “I’ve been found out.”

And he’s never going to admit how much he enjoys the peal of laughter it gets him. Damn it all to hell. “It’s true.” Jaskier nods along solemnly, and Geralt can feel the weight of the chair against his toe. Jaskier would be flat on his face if Geralt wasn’t holding the chair in place. “I’m a master spy. James Bond often calls me for tips. But don’t blame me for his blasphemous taste in martinis. That’s all Jim.”

Jim. Geralt rolls his eyes, but it doesn’t do a fucking thing to deter the pretty little singer staring him down with those blue eyes. 

Geralt was in trouble. 

“I also taught him how to pick up beautiful, dangerous people.” Geralt wouldn’t consider himself dangerous, but the size of his arms tended to put that idea into people’s heads. 

Geralt cocks a brow at him. “When are you going to show me that?”

Jaskier holds a hand to his chest, leaning far back in the other direction. Geralt has to shift his foot quickly behind the cross bar to the chair to keep it from going over backwards. “Oh ho ho, the pretty boy has a sharp tongue! You wound me, sir.”

Fuck it. 

Geralt uses his foot on the chair to tip Jaskier back towards him, and he’s rewarded with a yelp. He catches the back of the chair with his hand, knuckles brushing against Jaskier’s forearm as he does. Leaning in himself, the next few words are only for the beautiful disaster in front of him. 

“I can show you what else this tongue can do.”

[bmoviedragonsreloaded]

Review: American Samurai (1992)

“Why couldn’t we just have been brothers?”

SOURCE

This review is based on the Region 1 DVD release of the film.

SPOILERS AHEAD

The Cannon Group was on its last legs in the early 90s and American Samurai was one of the last movies distributed during its lifetime. The first of several collaborations between director Sam Firstenberg and star David Bradley, this is a picture with a lot going for it that still manages to confound me. When I first saw it, I was shocked by many of the creative and technical decisions, but having recently seen it again, I think I can hang a lot of them on the old sin of studio overreach. Still, it shines in some important and gratifying ways and is worth a watch if this is your kind of thing.

The plot: An American reporter trained in the ways of the samurai (Bradley) and his photographer (Valarie Trapp) investigate a murder in Turkey, where he uncovers a deadly tournament championed by his vicious half-brother (Mark Dacascos).

Writer John Corcoran (RIP) was a well-known figure in the world of martial arts publication, but his sole movie script is basically Bloodsport with weapons. It starts off incredibly pulpy with the baby protagonist surviving a plane crash and being raised by a modern samurai (John Fujioka), but it almost immediately begins hitting recognizable beats of the Jean-Claude Van Damme vehicle, down to a blatant Donald Gibb knockoff character (Rex Ryon). Nevertheless, I think the film originally intended to distinguish itself by being a more dramatic and heartfelt story, with the crux being the conflict between the brothers. We get hints of an emotional undercurrent, with Bradley’s character conflicted about fighting the sibling who feels jealous of his parental favor. However, in the end, we only get a superficial and choppy representation of their feud, including a rushed prologue and a head-spinning psychedelic scene where the lead confronts his brother’s demonic form in a dream. (Shades of Dragon: The Bruce Lee Story?)

That’s a recurring trend: parts of the story and action giving the impression of having once been very different. It’s most apparent in two instances: (1) the breakneck romance between David Bradley and Valarie Trapp, with an abrupt sex scene entirely performed by body doubles, and (2) the final duel between the brothers, which I’m certain was initially a short and minimalistic fight before being expanded with footage obviously transplanted from previous scenes. I get the impression that the script was heavily edited to focus on exploitation, and then the movie saw substantial content changes during post-production. It complicates what probably a pretty simple film, to the point that I don’t feel like I can accurately critique the screenplay and the acting. I don’t assume it was ever a dramatic masterpiece, but I wonder whether even Mark Dacascos’ hamfisted acting didn’t seem more appropriate before his character’s motivations were screwed with after the fact.

Speaking of Dacascos, he’s retrospectively one of the main drawing points of the movie. This was his first substantial film role and he’s still in proto form. His presence and intensity are already apparent, his acting would improve, but the filmmakers don’t quite know how to get the most out of his fight scenes. Dacascos looks great with a katana, but if you’re hoping to find the equivalent of his fight scenes from Drive or even the following year’s Only the Strong, you’ll be disappointed at his comparatively restrained adrenaline pieces.

That said, the action is pretty good. I definitely appreciate it more than I did during my first viewing. Weapons are the name of the game, putting the film in the same subcategory as Ring of Steel and the Swordsman series. There’s some purely hand-to-hand stuff in the first half, with David Bradley demonstrating some cool throws, but for the most part, the action’s a variety of colorful opponents fighting each other with a plethora of bladed weapons. The quality of the fights isn’t static, with more than one marred by an overabundance of cutaway shots, but a lot of thought has been put into the choreography. The flashiest match is a rare onscreen appearance of Hong Kong choreographers Dion Lam and Anthony Szeto, but my personal favorite is a sword-versus-ax encounter between David Bradley and a viking-themed opponent (Mark Warren). I like how Bradley first uses only the hilt of his katana to fight, then only the dull side of the blade before he actually starts slicing. It’s not spectacular stuff, but definitely enjoyable.

“Definitely enjoyable” is a good summation of the movie, but only if you’re already into this genre, are a fan of some of the performers, and/or are prepared to find pleasure in the little details. I like Sam Firstenberg’s signature gore (even though the content is clumsily censored in the DVD release) – not just because of how it helps spice up the duels, but because I appreciate how he was one of the few karate filmmakers who utilized special effects in his action scenes. I get a kick out of Valarie Trapp, who’s nothing special as an actor but whose real-life story of being a struggling writer taking small movie roles to get by is genuinely inspiring. And, of course, I love the fact that two action heroes in different stages of their careers were able to do a film together, because even if this isn’t the best, it’s not so for lack of effort. If this sounds like your kind of picture, it’s worth spending a bit of money on…though you might be better off getting the VHS version in this case, which I don’t recall being quite as heavily censored.

SOURCE

American Samurai (1992) Directed by Sam Firstenberg (Revenge of the Ninja) Written by John Corcoran (editor of Inside Kung Fu magazine) Starring David Bradley (American Ninja 3 & 4), Valarie Trapp (Mr. Stitch), Mark Dacascos, Rex Ryan (The Man in the Iron Mask) Cool costars: The late, great John Fujioka plays another benevolent martial arts master, much like his role in American Ninja. The list of tournament fighters and other onscreen combatants include Hong Kong action masters Dion Lam (Black Mask) and Anthony Szeto (Wushu), karate staple Ron Vreeken (Under the Gun), and award-winning stunt pros Koby Azarly (Sector 4: Extraction) and Rocky McDonald (Mission Impossible II). Second unit director and action coordinator Guy Norris has since moved up the studio ladder, nowadays coordinating for major motion pictures like Mad Max: Fury Road and Suicide Squad. Video game fans may recognize composer Craig Stuart Garfinkle from his later work on the World of Warcraft and Fallout series. Content warning: Extreme violence, violence against women, kidnapping, police intimidation Title refers to David Bradley’s lead character, who plays an American trained in the art of the samurai. In a roundabout way, it could also refer to Mark Dacascos and John Fujioka, who are real-life Americans playing characters with samurai training. (If you want to be a pedantic nitpicker, the title’s a total misnomer since no character’s an actual member of the old Japanese military caste.) Cover accuracy: David Bradley and Mark Dacascos posing with swords, the latter seemingly wearing his outfit from the tournament, are certainly very true to the movie. That said, the Japanese syllabery and paper walls in the background don’t convey that hardly any of the story takes place in Japan. Number of full-length fight scenes: 10 Copyright Cannon Pictures / Global Pictures

[hymn2000]

Ideal Confusion - MCU AU Fanfic - C6

(Title subject to change)

Story summary: Giving into the constant pressure from the press, Tony decides to put a rest to the rumours that Peter is his biological son - once and for all.

Previous Chapter(s): 1 2 3 4 5

Part of my Frostiron and Spiderson series.

Warnings/themes: family, family stuff, adoption, DNA test(s), pressure, peer pressure, social issues, mentions of alcoholism, mental health problems, potentially some minor medical inaccuracies, mentions of corporal punishment, hurt/comfort

You can also find me on AO3

Chapter 6 - Aggravation

-

Peter didn’t have long to enjoy the calm and quiet before his parents woke up and steadily the house seemed to come to life. Soon, Tony came into the kitchen.

“Have you finished that drink?”

“Nearly” Peter said. “Why?”

“When you’ve finished it, don’t get another one, or anything to eat. Ok?”

“Um... Ok?”

“Good boy” Tony nodded, opening the fridge. “You need to get dressed today”

“I... Wasn’t going to not get dressed”

“Mm” Tony said, clearly not listening.

Peter sighed and downed the rest of his drink. There goes the peace, he thought.

-

Peter went out of his way to keep his distance from Tony, which wasn’t too difficult, given the size of the house. After about an hour, he heard Tony calling his name, but he chose not to take any notice. 

Unfortunately, Loki always knew how to find him, and he weaselled him out within minutes.

“Your father’s been calling you” Loki said. “Didn’t you hear?”

“...No”

“Yes you did. Come on now”

Peter whined and stayed where he was.

“Loki? Have you found him?!” Tony shouted, soon appearing in the doorway. “Oh, you’re there! Did you have your headphones on? Whatever; get your shoes on”

“Why?”

“Just do as you’re told, chick” Tony said firmly. 

“But why?!”

“Because I said so!”

“That’s not a good enough answer!”

“For gods sake, Peter! Just do as you’re told!”

“BUT WHY?!”

“Peter, stop shouting” Loki snapped. “Go and get your shoes on. Now”

Peter sighed in an exaggerated fashion and stormed off. So much for a quiet day at home.

-

Tony grabbed Loki while he was waiting for Peter.

“He’s ok, right?”

“Yes, he’s fine” Loki said. “Why?”

“I don’t need to overshare with him, right? We’ll just get it done, and then I’ll like, I don’t know... Treat him or something?”

“Tony, you’re overthinking this. You made the decision alone; you can execute it alone” Loki said, not quite hiding his disapproval. “Look, I really do need to get going”

“You said you weren’t going to work this week”

“I know, but I’m needed today. We’ll talk later, ok? I love you”

“I love you too...”

Loki kissed him, and Tony kissed him back, although he still seemed worried.

“Don’t look so scared, darling” Loki said. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. I’ll be back this evening”

-

Peter got ready to go out, but when they got down to the garage, he held onto the banister and refused to get into the car.

“Peter, stop being silly: we’re going to be late” Tony said. “Do you want me to get your dad?”

“Just tell me where we’re going and I’ll get in the car”

Tony sighed heavily. “Just get in the car”

“JUST TELL ME WHERE WE’RE GOING THEN!”

“PETER! DON’T SHOUT!” Tony shouted. “We’ve got a doctors appointment. Happy now?”

Peter paused. “Ok. I don’t see why you had to refuse to tell me for so long”

“Just get in the car, Peter”

-

Peter watched Tony closely in the car. He seemed a little tense, but he wasn’t giving anything away. Peter assumed he was due for a blood test or something - he couldn’t see any other reason Tony would try to put off telling him - but even then, it wasn’t something he’d ever done before. But then again, Tony had been acting pretty weird lately, so who was he to judge? He just hoped it wouldn’t take too long: he wanted to go home.

-

The other patients in the waiting room weren’t exactly subtle. Peter hated the feeling of being watched, and he hated overhearing snippets of whispered conversations and mutterings about him and his family. He glared at them as he sat down. Tony sat beside him and put an arm tight round him, almost as though he were restraining him.

“Just ignore them” he murmured. “We don’t need to give anyone anything to react to”

Peter didn’t say anything. He leant into Tony and looked at the floor, following the swirling pattern with his eyes. At least being at the doctors demanded some kind of privacy, even if they were celebrities. Even so, he really wished he was somewhere - anywhere - other than here. 

It wasn’t long before their names were called and they could leave the waiting room.

“How are you?” Dr Manning asked.

“I’m alright, thanks. As much as I can be under the circumstances. And you?” Tony said.

“I can’t complain. And how are you, young man?”

Peter didn’t say anything; just followed them into the office. 

“Thanks for fitting us in at such short notice” Tony said, taking a seat. “How are you doing it? Are you doing blood?”

Dr Manning shook his head. “No, no, blood isn’t necessary. There’s other just as good ways - maybe even better ways - to do it”

“Oh good. You know this one hates needles” he nodded towards Peter. “And to be honest, I’m not a huge fan either”

“I don’t think anyone is” Dr Manning said, organising some items laid out on his desk. He picked up one of the sticks, which had what looked like corrugated foam at the end. “When did you two last eat?”

“I had something about three hours ago” Tony said. “I’ve made sure this one hasn’t had anything for a while either. About an hour and a half ago, maybe more?”

“Good. Good, thank you for heeding my advice” the doctor said. “Now, shall we do you first?”

Peter looked between the two grown-ups, trying to work out what was going on. He’d started to feel a little funny; a bit sick and hollow, and nervous. He didn’t know what he was doing here.

Dr Manning was leaning against his desk now, standing in front of Peter, and Tony, who had just said he’d go first - whatever that meant. Peter tried to make eye contact to question them, but neither men were looking at him. Peter watched, a little taken aback, as Tony opened his mouth. It was only when Dr Manning put the stick into his mouth that Peter twigged that it was a swab - and he suddenly knew why. 

His heart started to thump in his chest, and he felt sick. He couldn’t take his eyes off what was happening, but he hated it all the same. What was going on? This was a dream, surely? Tony had been so insistent, so clear that he was against this... So what had changed? What had he missed?

Peter waited, and all too soon the fourth swab was finished and packed, and all eyes turned to him. Tony refused eye contact. Dr Manning smiled.

“Alright, kiddo” he said. “Your turn”

“No”

Tony and Dr Manning looked at each other. Tony looked at Peter.

“What do you mean; no?”

“You didn’t tell me this was why we were coming! You didn’t say anything about this!” Peter said, outraged. “It’s not fair! You haven’t got any right to do this!”

“Peter, you can cope with having a few swabs in your mouth” Tony said. “It’s not a big deal, and you’re still just a kid: I can make medical decisions on your behalf, and you can’t back out of this one”

“Isn’t it technically a matter of science, not medicine?”

“Don’t be pedantic, Peter” Tony sighed. “Come on, kiddo; don’t be difficult”

“I’m not being difficult: I’m being perfectly reasonable! You should’ve told me about this, or at least ran it by me!” 

At first Peter hadn’t been so bothered about this prospect, but then he’d changed his mind, and now that he was being backed into a corner by it, it was the last thing in the world that he wanted.

“But why?! You always said never to give in to the press, and that’s what you’re doing! You said it didn’t matter!”

“I said a lot of things” Tony said. “But I’ve made a decision. I’m doing this for you, sweetheart”

“No you’re not!”

“Yes, I am! I’m doing it so I can get the press off our backs - yours, most importantly. They’re not gonna leave us alone until something else blows up, or they’ve got the proof they want - and ‘something else’ is taking too long. So we’re giving them proof that you’re not my biological son. Ok?”

“No, it’s not ok!”

Tony sighed. “If it doesn’t matter, why make such a fuss over the test?”

“It’s a matter of principal!”

Tony laughed slightly. “Peter, come on now”

“Perhaps” Dr Manning said. “Perhaps you should have told him before bringing him here”

“Exactly!” Peter nodded. “Thank you”

“Peter, no one is going to hold you down and force your mouth open. If you don’t want to do this, I certainly won’t make you. But try to understand where your father’s coming from”

“I do understand where he’s coming from! I just think it was wrong of him to force it on me like this”

“Sweetheart” Tony took hold of Peter’s hand. “I’m sorry. I really am. But I really need you to let me do this. It’s my job to look after you, and protecting you from the press is part of my job description. This is the only way to get them off our backs. Please, it’ll only take a few minutes”

Peter looked at the swabs lying on the doctors desk. He looked at his and his father’s hands. He didn’t feel sure about this, and he didn’t like it, not one bit. But he also had a feeling that even if he was technically being given a choice, he only really had one option.

So he nodded, and he saw Tony sigh with relief.

“Thank you”

Peter never especially liked Dr Manning touching him, but somehow this felt worse than ever. He didn’t like being so close either, and not knowing where to look. He finally settled on the clock, watching the seconds tick by painfully slowly. Four minutes had never felt like such a long time. 

-

Tony stopped when they reached the car, and put a hand on Peter’s shoulder to stop him. Peter made himself look at him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, kiddo. I really am. Honestly”

Peter nodded slightly.

“...Thank you” Tony said. “Thank you for doing it anyway. I know it’s not very comfortable”

Tony rested a hand on Peter’s cheek, brushed his hair back from his face, and then pulled him close and hugged him tight.

“I really am doing it for you, kiddo. I can’t stand the way the press have been treating you and making you feel. In a few days, we’ll get the results, and then we can put this whole thing to rest. Ok?”

Peter snuggled into Tony’s chest. He still felt a bit funny, but he was starting to feel better. He liked the feeling of Tony’s hand on his head, and he knew where he was coming from. Besides, Tony had always looked out for him. Why would now be any different?

“Alright then” Tony stepped back and cleared his throat. “Get in”

Peter did as he was told, and when Tony started the car, he spoke.

“Um, dad?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m kinda hungry”

“Yeah?” Tony said. “Well, let’s get you fed, then!”

“Ok. What do we have in? I kinda fancy something hot”

“Why bother cooking? We could always eat out”

“Oh! Really? Um...” Peter thought for a moment. “What about daddy?”

“He’s gone to the hospital, remember?”

“Has he?”

“Uh, yeah!” Tony laughed slightly. “I guess you didn’t hear that bit of conversation then. He’ll be back this evening. He won’t know, mind, or care if we eat without him. So, what do you fancy?”

“I don’t really know. What about you?”

“I don’t really know either” Tony said. “Hey, how about we just find somewhere different, like, one of the places you used to go with May? Or somewhere we’ve never been before? What do you say?”

“Well... That could be interesting, I guess” Peter said. “It could be good?”

“Yeah, it could be good! Let’s do that then!” 

Tony seemed so enthusiastic about the idea that Peter couldn’t really shoot it down. Besides, sometimes it was good to try something new.

“Well, you can pick the restaurant” Peter said, fiddling with the car stereo. “And I’ll choose the soundtrack”

There was a short silence before music filled the car.

Tony laughed slightly and ruffled the boys hair. “You’re definitely your father’s son, you know”

Peter just shrugged. He knew.

-

Peter had a sneaking suspicion he’d overestimated his stomach when ordering. He had a feeling Tony had too.

“Well, my father always said my eyes were bigger than my belly” Tony said, putting his fork down. “It was his way of calling me a greedy bastard, I think”

“Oh right” Peter said awkwardly. “You never talk about him, you know”

“Why would I?”

“Well... he was your dad. So... that makes him my granddad... It’d be good to know a bit about him”

“Look on Wikipedia then”

Peter pouted, but he didn’t push it. Neither of his parents spoke about their parents. Sometimes he didn’t mind, but sometimes he did. Especially when his friends started talking about their grandparents and he had nothing to contribute to the conversation. 

“So” Tony said. “Do you think you can manage a pudding after all those buffalo cauliflower whatsits and onion rings and chicken and stuff?”

“You bet!” Peter said, grateful for the break in tension. “What about you?”

“Maybe something small. Depends what they’ve got”

“They had some great looking stuff! I might want two puddings” Peter said, snatching a dessert menu out of the stand. “Good job we have separate stomachs for sweet things, right?”

Tony chuckled. “Your whale’s gonna have to retire from singing at this rate! You’ll burst if you eat too much more. Or at the very least throw up”

“Yeah, maybe, but it’ll be worth it”

“Mm, well I don’t want you making a mess of the upholstery, so don’t go overboard”

“...Red velvet and white chocolate cheesecake” Peter said. “I’ve made a decision”

“Mm. Well, I’m just gonna have a coffee...”

“What kind?” Peter asked, looking at the list, and especially at the liqueur coffee offer at the bottom of the page.

Tony hesitated. “...Just a latte. I’ve already eaten too much. I’ll finish off your cheesecake when you give up half way through”

“Ha! There’s not a dessert on the planet that can beat me!”

He was wrong, of course, and gave up a little over halfway through his pudding - but he told Tony that he left it on purpose, because it didn’t seem fair for only one of them to get a pudding. So Tony finished it off for him, and then they both sat back, feeling too full to even move.

“...It’s been a pretty long time since just the two of us did this” Tony said. “It’s good to spend a bit of time with you”

“Yeah... Hey, since we’re too full to start a fight, can I ask you something?”

“That sounds ominous” Tony said. “What is it?”

“Are you taking me out of St Hendricks?”

Tony stopped for a minute. “...What makes you think that?”

“I overheard you and daddy talking about homeschooling”

“Ah. Uh...” Tony set his mug down. “How would you feel if we did?”

Peter shrugged. “I don’t know. If you did it right now, I don’t think I’d care. I’m not exactly getting on with the people there right now”

“I see”

“So, are you taking me out of school?”

“We’re not sure yet. We’re still thinking about it. Although not so much right now, because we’ve got a whole bunch of stuff to sort out. Like all this stuff with the press... You know you’re not allowed to tell anyone about what we did today, right?”

“Who am I gonna tell?” Peter said, shrugging. “I’m not gonna go shouting about it. I think you know that. Or at least you should, considering how long you’ve known me”

“Yeah” Tony checked his watch. “Hey, we should be heading back: I’ve got a conference call in an hour. You can amuse yourself for a bit, can’t you?”

Peter nodded.

“Good. Right, come on then”

Peter did as he was told, but as they were walking to the car, he realised that the meal they’d just had was much better in theory than in practice. He’d thought he’d come out of there feeling healed and warm and happy, but he didn’t. He didn’t like his father very much right now, and he wasn’t afraid to admit that to himself. Maybe he’d go to sleep for a bit when he got home. He just hoped that afterwards, he’d feel ok again.

-

Peter sat looking in Loki’s room, looking at the big picture on the wall by the door. It was old now, evident by the fact it was all three of them with May. Things had been much simpler back then, Peter was sure of it. He loved his parents, but he still felt he’d swap his current life to get May back. Sure, some things were better now (well, quite a lot of things), but he’d been happy back in the days where he was only in this giant house two or three nights a week, and he resided in the scrubby old flat in Queens with May, and he was friends with Ned, and he mastered a double - almost triple - life, and he was out as Spiderman every single night. 

He couldn’t help feeling melancholy when he thought about that. Nowadays, he probably went out as Spiderman once or twice a week, if that. Some weeks he didn’t go at all. There were times where he’d go out every night for a week or so, but it wasn’t a constant thing. It wasn’t that he’d lost interest, or that it had lost its meaning: it was just that he didn’t always have the motivation, and somehow life kept getting in the way. Besides, it had started to feel different, mainly because he kept comparing it to the old times in Queens. Spiderman was still well known, but Peter had long since stopped being excited whenever his alter-ego turned up in the papers. At least no one knew it was him. Well, aside from his parents. And the Avengers. And Ned... But none of those were likely to spill his secret, and he knew that. Sometimes he felt like he wouldn’t care if people knew - but he also felt like his parents would mind very much. It was a tricky one.

-

Peter eventually slipped off Loki’s bed and went to his own room. He paused, looking at the locket hanging beside his sink. He liked having it there (although he did often forget about it), but sometimes it just reminded him of the “arrangement” Loki and Tony and May had had. He’d stopped feeling bitter about that a long time ago, but he still didn’t like thinking about it. Especially now. Because if he thought about it too much, he almost started to believe what the papers were saying. And even when he didn’t believe them, he completely understood where the reporters were coming from.

After all, what other conclusion would anyone pull from a man who had spent most of his adult life being a self-proclaimed Playboy? Who knew how many people his father had slept with? That was another thing Peter didn’t like thinking about. Sometimes, when Tony talked about Peter being his heir; his successor, he couldn’t help thinking that maybe - just maybe - he was fated to follow a little too closely in his father’s footsteps.

And as much as Peter loved him, he was grateful he was only adopted. Because, (as much as he’d never admit it out loud) he didn’t want to grow up to be anything like Tony Stark.

*