#genuinely what am i missing that man is doing Generic American Accent

[decepti-thots]

keep getting confused by people saying earthspark megatron is scottish. like yeah the actor is and there's parts where his accent slips, which i noticed bc they were pretty jarring, but. he does not sound scottish 95% of the time? am i missing something. are the non-brits hearing some holdover of it in his regular speech that don't register to me bc it's not Full Scottish. i feel like i'm losing it here

[cannibal-witchh]

"Until then"

Reader(fem) x Carlos Oliveira

Written by cannibal_witchh

Contains: fluff, and very little horror

Notes: I wanted to do something wholesome compared to my Alcina fanfic, you are a trooper if you read it! I enjoy masochism and sub/dom culture so there was a decent amount in that. For this fanfiction, I wanted to change it up and focus on life with Carlos. There will be a collection of random stories and scenarios with him that don't necessarily tie together. I love his character a lot and immediately simped for him so I felt like writing some wholesome stuff about him. A few pieces of course could get naughty ;-)

This is incredibly short, and there isn't a purpose to the story. The general gist is the reader having a nightmare and Carlos comforting her.🖤 Much fluff.

*

Rain strung down from dark grey puffs that stretched and scattered across velvet blue skies. Thunder roared loudly behind furious clouds, and lightning greeted it with loud shrieks.

You quickly sat up, panting wildly, eyes wide, and heart racing. "Baby," a comforting voice said as a big warm arm wrapped under your's and around your waist. Carlos. "Please, baby, lay down with me.", his gentle voice, tired and exhausted, muffled from his face half way buried in the pillow. He gentlely squeezed his arm around you nudging you to him until you fell on your back. It was warm, the mattress gave your tense muscles relief, the comforter smelled of soft lavenders and mints, and a handsome Carlos lay beside you. His curly messy hair scattered along the pillow case, his thick eyelashes hiding sleepy brown eyes, his lips slightly parted from his in and out rest. You felt comfort knowing he was here, he had been here for a very long time, since the event at Racoon City. He helped you escape while he stayed back in all the turmoil. Never did it occur to you, you'd see him in another city again. After all, you didn't say much to him, he did all the talking, all you simply said was constant variations of thank yous and apologies. The words you left him with as he helped you depart the city engulfed in flames was a simple, "Until then." Many months passed, you never forgot the kindness he showed you, it saved your life, and you knew very well you wouldn't have lived if jt hadn't been for him rescuing you.

*

The day it all happened, you were working at the museum, barely getting by with the minimal pay they supplied you with. You lived very average, and within a blink of an eye, just like wildfire, the city was in flames and people evolved into walking corpses. It changed so drastically, the terror that consumed you, it was haunting. You managed to barricade yourself in your supervisor's office for several hours all alone. Hugging your knees under the desk, shivering from the welcomed fear that settled under your skin. The moment you entered that office and locked yourself in, it took three hours for the screams and growls to silence. It was a painful long three hours. Your legs stained in blood, not even certain who or what it belonged to. Not certain if it belonged to a colleague or a customer. After the fourth hour, you heard the door handle rattle, and immediately jumped in horror. " Is someone in here?", a gentle voice asked. " If someone is in there, I work for Umbrella. We are searching the city for survivors to assist in evacuation. If there is someone in there please don't hesitate to let us help you in retreating to safety." the voice continued. That moment was an absolute gamble, you could've been shot by someone, or eaten by the undead. You decided to open the door, barely peaking through the cracks seeing the condition the museum was in. There was a figure that stood infront of the door, but behind him was a collapsed museum, dead bodies laying everywhere, bullets scattered along ruined rugs, and windows busted out. The man that stood before you was dressed in tactical apparel, and held a lowered rifle in his hands. He didn't exactly fit the mercenary military look, his dark hair was incredibly shaggy, and he had facial hair, although, he looked young. He looked as if he was of a South American descent, his skin tan and his eyes dark. " It's ok, my name is Carlos, I work with Umbrella. Please, let me help you. No more lives need to end at the cost of this pandemic." He had a light accent and his voice seemed sincere. He seemed genuinely concerned with helping you and didn't seem to display any selfish intents. What made it easier to adleast discard a little caution was he wasn't being incredibly pushy. " Whats your name?", he said backing away from the door offering some space to you. You opened the door slowly, examining with your eyes your surroundings. He seemed to be alone, and surprisingly, it looked as if he cleared the area of the undead. You came out of the room, legs trembling, eyes fixed on Carlos, and your arms hugging yourself. " My name is Y/N. " you reached your hand out still afraid but adleast offering a since of humanity. Whatever existed that remained. Carlos made a small grin, it was charming, and he reached a big hand out to shake your hand firmly. " Pleasure, miss."

*

Thunder struck loudly in the distance startling you and interrupting your reminiscing . Carlos gave a warm squeeze around your waist, making soft muffled sounds into the pillow, he finally turned his face away from it, and partially opened his tired eyes. " Baby, its just a small storm. Whats got you so worked up?", he asked as he pulled you closer to him and buried his nose into your neck. You felt his delicate breath brushing against your skin and his soft lips pressing against your back. " You already know, Carlos. Its still hard for me to get over it.", you hinted to him the cause of your distress and he immediately knew it was the trauma of Racoon City. "Baby, I am not gonna rest anymore until you sleep. You need rest, I need my little museum guide perked up and looking fine as ever in her tiny tight skirt.", he teased attempting to lighten the mood. His lips pressing again against your back, his eyelashes batting on your skin, and tickling you. " Ugh, Carlos. Go to sleep.", you demanded rolling your eyes and pulling away trying to surpress you liked his idea. You let out a half way annoyed sigh as you felt his arm wrap around your waist again. He was incredibly clingy and cuddly. " Baby girl, shhh.", he chuckled, rising up, and sitting beside you. His shaggy hair falling into his eyes but still his long eyelashes peeked through all that hair. You obliged at his request, feeling him drape both his arms around you, and pulling your head under his chin. He rested his nose on the top of your head, smelling your hair, and letting out a pleased sigh. " You smell wonderful, darling.", you felt him smile as you traced your finger tips along his arms. His warmth gave you peace, despite the constant thundering, his arms felt safe to you.

Eventually, him holding you and humming a soft melody gifted you with sleepy eyes. It took fourty minutes but Carlos managed to relieve your anxiety and the two of you fell back to sleep as the storm persisted on.

[365days365movies]

February 18, 2021: The Danish Girl (Review)

Before I go into ANYTHING else...let’s talk about the actual Danish Girl, Lili Elbe, or Lili Ilse Elvenes.

Oh, uh, full warning, this is gonna be LONG, so skip to the bottom if you’re just here for the Review! OK, history time!

Now, what the film The Danish Girl notes about the beginning of the transition is pretty spot-on, from what I can tell. After marrying portrait painter Gerda Gottlieb in 1904, the two lived in Italy and France before moving to Paris in 1912. Yeah, that’s over 14 years before they’re shown doing so in the movie. Inaccuracy #1. In 1908 (here comes number 2), Elbe (Einar at the time) painted this portrait of trees along a fjord in Denmark.

Yeah, NOT in 1926, as the film says. But, yeah, that’s a nitpick, I recognize that. Anyway, the revelation came when model Anna Larssen (not “Ulla”, which is Inaccuracy #3) was late, and Gerda asked Elbe to fill in. When Larssen eventually showed up, she suggested the name “Lili”. Basically, this scene from the movie was pretty goddamn accurate.

Except for the dates, anyway. Because while the movie mostly takes place around 1926 and afterwards, this probably happened closer to 1920, in Paris. So, yeah, Lili spent a LOT more time as Lili in real life. Additionally, Lili was pretty goddamn public about the whole thing, inviting guests and hosting parties as herself, rather than as Einar. At the same time, Gerda was getting pretty goddamn famous for her paintings of Lili, like this one.

Which, yeah, are really good! Also, they were considered lesbian erotica by many! YEAH! And here’s a fun fact: Gerda may not have been straight-up straight. Yeah, the film and the book (we’ll get there) kind of ignored the fact that their marriage was annulled by the Danish government, not by the two of them. Inaccuracy #4. Now, obviously, their relationship ended, and Lili ended up getting together with a man (we’ll get there, too), but there are a LOT of unanswered questions about Gerda’s sexuality, and views of sexuality (which is barely hinted at in the “male gaze” speech in the beginning).

After the annulment, the two just...drifted apart. Their relationship dissolved, and the details on that are fuzzy. By 1930, Lili was headed on a completely different path. She wasn’t a painter like Einar (and it turns out that she thought of them as two entirely separate people, like two souls living in the same body, which the movie got mostly right), and she was mostly unsatisfied with her career, life, and other things. And that is where Drs. Erwin Gohrbandt and Magnus Hirschfeld come in, NOT Kurt Warnerkros...yet. He’d come in for the other five (YES FIVE) surgeries, but wouldn’t be involved with the first. Inaccuracy #5, and also #6, while we’re at it! See, the film would make you think that Lili was the first complete gender reassignment surgery, but she was actually the second. The first would be Dora Richter, in a procedure that was performed by Dr. Hirschfeld from 1922 - 1931. YEAH. BIG-ASS INACCURACY THERE. Here’s Dora, by the way:

Anyway, Lili had her first procedure, to remove the testicles, performed in 1930. In the same year, the divorce between Lili and Gerda was finalized, and Lili legally changed her name. Two more procedures were performed, the first to implant an ovary, and the second to remove the penis and scrotum. Inaccuracy #7, by the way. And, hey, let’s go for number 8! Let’s talk about Henrik, a dude who didn’t exist. He and Hans were both very loosely based on an art dealer named Claude Lejeune.

Claude was an art dealer (there’s the Hans part), and was indeed in love with Lili. They got together around early 1931, and he’d actually been in love with her for a good, long time. He proposed to marry Lili, and she accepted, also hoping that the two would be able to have children together. But to do that, it was believed that Lili would need a uterus. And, obviously, having children would be MILES more complicated than that in basically EVERY way, but this was early in medical science’s understanding of some of that biology.

In any case, however, Lili would need both a uterus and a vagina to feel whole. And so, the fourth surgery was scheduled. And she had that surgery in 1931, a couple of weeks after Dora Richter successfully had the same surgery performed. But, sadly, Lili wouldn’t be so lucky.

Lili’s body rejected the uterus, and while transplant rejections of any kind wouldn’t necessarily be fatal now, they definitely were back then. They attempted to remove it, but that subsequent 5th surgery caused infection, which caused a fatal heart attack three months later. Lili Elbe died on September 13, 1931, at the age of FORTY-EIGHT. Yeah, Inaccuracy #9.

By the way, you may be wondering: what about Dora Richter, the first successful person to get these surgeries? Well, she disappeared...in Germany...as the Nazis were coming into power...yeah. Fuckin’ YIKES.

And so, that’s the true story of Lili Elbe. And there are far more differences than that, I’m sure, but those 9 inaccuracies aren’t insignificant, that’s for sure. Although, it probably doesn’t help that the movie was based on a fictionalized book.

Oh, uh...did I not mention that? Yeah, this movie is based on The Danish Girl, by David Ebershoff, which means that this film is essentially a cinematic game of telephone. Which, uh...not great. Granted, Ebershoof made some other...interesting changes, which the film didn’t inherit. In the book, for example, Gerda is named Greta, and is American? Um...why? I dunno, it’s kind of weird. Oh, and that’s not including one more issue with the movie. But, you’ve waited long enough, huh? Recap of the film is here and here if you wanna check that out! Let’s get to the Review already!

Review

Cast and Acting: 8/10

I am...conflicted. So let me start here by saying that the acting in the film in and of itself is fantastic, all-around. Not a weak actor in here, that’s for sure. Let’s start with the side-roles, for once. Ben Whishaw, Matthias Schoenaerts, and Amber Heard are all good. Heard’s accent is a little shaky, but they’re still all solid performances. OK, how about Alicia Vikander? She’s great! And she won the Oscar for...Best Supporting Actress. Um...wait...Supporting? But not Best Actress? Uh...OK. That’s a little weird, let’s be honest here. But, Alicia Vikander did deserve that win over...oooooooh, Rooney Mara in Carol? Maybe not...damn.

And OK...let’s get into the elephant in the room, huh?

Eddie Redmayne is fantastic as Einar Wegener/Lili Eber, and I genuinely think he had a great shot to win Best Actor...but, yeah, Leonardo DiCaprio definitely deserved it, I think that goes without saying. Hell, that year had a SOLID line-up for best actor. And Redmayne had even won it the year before for The THeory of Everything, another biography where he played Stephen Hawking. But ALL of that said...HNNNNNNNNNG, there should have been a transgender actor cast in this role, ideally. Now, I’m fully aware how difficult that would be, as Hollywood isn’t extraordinarily diverse in terms of including trans actors in massive mainstream projects. It’s better now, but it’s nowhere near ideal. But if anybody knows an actor who would’ve fit this role and performed it well, I’m DEFINITELY interested. So, despite that controversy, Redmayne was pretty goddamn great in this role. But, uh...that doesn’t mean everything is perfect...

Plot and Writing: 5/10

OK, that seems low, I know. But it’s pretty goddamn damning that this movie was based off of a heavily fictionalized book instead of the actual life story of Lili Eber and Gerda Gottlieb. And because of that, there are not only some missed opportunities, but some straight-up damning inaccuracies. That’s a set of pretty poor decisions, I tell you what. Not sure why Lucinda Coxon came to that decision when adapting this screenplay, but it wasn’t exactly nominated for Best Screenplay. And the writing certainly isn’t bad, but it is...overly saccharine sometimes, especially for a film based (loosely) on a true story. I dunno...just not the best set of choices here, sorry to say.

Directing and Cinematography: 8/10

Tom Hooper shouldn’t direct musicals. However, since this wasn’t a musical, directing and cinematography here is pretty damn good! Real talk, this is a gorgeous looking movie, and the way shots are framed are fantastic. Perfect? Weeeeeeeell...given the fact that painting is a main focus of the film, for both Gerda and Einar, there should’ve been more painter-quality shots in here, I think. And while the cinematography by Danny Cohen is pretty fantastic, I can’t say that it’s perfect. Still, in terms of lighting and general skill, it’s still quite a good looking movie.

Production and Art Design: 10/10

But the deficiencies in the direction are EASILY compensated for by the production design! Like, hot DAMN, this is a good looking movie, like I said! That goes from the construction of the sets, to the gorgeous outfits all over the place, especially Lili’s outfits. Some iconic pieces of wardrobe there, that’s for sure! But if I have ONE complaint...this movie never once felt like the 1920s. Yup, good old anachronistic complaints from me again! Yeah, I’ll change the record one of these days, I promise. But even with that, it’s hard to ignore just how good this movie looks, to be honest. It’s just...gorgeous.

Music and Editing: 8/10

As I type this, I’m listening to a track of the film on YouTube, and it is a beautifully delicate tune. I’m not sure that I’d be able to associate it with the film if presented to me on its own, but it’s definitely a nice track to listen to by itself. Playlist worthy? For somebody, almost certainly, but not for me. One of these days, a film like that’s gonna pop up, I swear. But for now, Alexandre Desplat and his score are gonna stay off my iPhone. This really is a nice score, though, I promise. Editing by Melanie Ann Oliver is pretty good as well, and I’ve no complaints about it, to be honest. Overall, this side of things was quite nice, if not the most notable thing I’ve ever seen or heard.

I might have been a little harsh, but it’s still got an 78%.

This is a good movie, but...I dunno, the inaccuracies do bug me. Hell, there are WAY more than what I’d mentioned, and I mentioned a lot. Not to mention the other glaring issue: no trans people at any stage of the production? Really? No script consultants, no writers, no NTOHING? That’s...egregiously bad. Like, holy shit, guys. And, yes, this includes Redmayne, because even though he performed admirably in the role...I dunno. I’m no expert on ANY of this, as a cissexual dude with cissexual experience, but it feels a little...reductive, is all. Like I said, if any other actors have been suggested for this role, I’d love to know. The whole thing feels...I don’t know, just not great. 

And by the way, that’s without even TOUCHING the question as to whether or not this film is authentic to the trans experience. Again, I have ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA, but I’ve also heard that this film isn’t universally acclaimed in the trans community, so to speak. And I’m definitely interested in the reasons for that. All I know is this: from the perspective of a complete outsider, I was intrigued by this films view of the transgender experience, specifically as seen in the earliest days of those realizations happening and being publicly known and reported on. And that’s all I can really comment on, in truth.

WHOOF. That was a goddamn topic, huh? And now, I’m going to continue on the the month of romance with...wait, the 19th is my 5-year anniversary with my GF, pictured here:

Ravishing. Anyway, I think I’ll let her pick from my choices for this next one. Hold on a sec...OK, then. Sing it with me now! AND DO I DREEEEEAM AGAAAAIN, FOR NOW I FIIIIIIIIIIIIIND...

February 19, 2021: The Phantom of the Opera (2004)

[high-functioning-lokipath]

Midnight In Paris - Scott x Reader (Surprise Character x Reader) - Words: 2418

You sat down at your computer with a sigh. You really needed to edit your post for today and reply to a few asks that had backed up on your Tumblr page. But instead you decided to work on a new project. You looked at your desk and nodded approvingly. "Ok! Coffee, music, blank document, photos from when I was 7, and photos from last summer. Ready!"

And that's why birds do it, bees do it

Even educated fleas do it

Let's do it, let's fall in love

Y/N took a deep breath as she stepped off the plane in Paris. She'd been here once before as a little girl but those memories had faded and the magic of Paris had been lost. "This I do remember," She muttered, crinkling her nose as the pungent smell of jet fuel filled her nostrils. She rushed through the airport wanting to get to her sightseeing plans as soon as possible. The hotel she'd made reservations at was small but quant. After checking out the room, dropping off her luggage, and freshening up a bit, she headed out into the city just in time to catch the golden sunset reflecting across the elegant architecture.

As she walked up and down cafe lined streets and avenues dotted with interesting shops, she couldn't help but wish she could have seen Paris in what's been called its heyday. Y/N laughed at her own line of thought, remembering the lesson of the movie she'd watched not 3 nights before. Midnight In Paris was one of her favorite movies. And it had one of her favorite actors too. Even if his screen time in it totalled only about 5 minutes and 34 seconds. https://youtu.be/yIcTbQj4bZw

Eventually, dinner time came so she stopped in a small cafe/bar to order a meal. "Mercí," She told the waiter after being seated. She decided to order some wine too, of course.

"Bonne nuit, Mademoiselle," Someone called out to her as she left the restaurant hours later. The wine had left Y/N substantially more tipsy than she expected after only a few glasses.

As she made her way back to the hotel, she giggled, thinking of the movie once again as a nearby clock struck twelve and marked a new day. Shaking her head, she told herself, "It's just a movie. Things like that don't happen in real life."

"Pardonnez-moi, mademoiselle," A gentleman exclaimed, stumbling out of what seemed to be a small nightclub and bumping into her, knocking her to the ground.

"No problem," She replied, dusting herself off and standing. Glancing inside the bar, she saw it had an oddly warm and inviting atmosphere for such a loud place. Deciding that the night was still young, she walked in.

"Hello!" A young lady with a heavy southern American accent exclaimed, walking up to her. The air was smokey and there was an old song playing that Y/N knew she recognized but couldn't quite place. "Well don't you look different! Wearin' pants to a party like this! Don't worry, darlin'! You look just fine!" Y/N nodded silently, shocked at the woman's reaction.

"Women have been wearing pants for decades now!" Y/N thought to herself.

"Are you alright, darlin'?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Y/N replied quickly. She suddenly realized who the young woman was. Or at least looked like. "Pardon my confusion, but I'm afraid I had a bit more wine with my dinner than I had planned." She chuckled lightly and shook her head, trying to clear her mind.

"Nothing to apologize for," a man spoke up from behind her. "Zelda has a way about her that does that to people regardless of their sobriety." Y/N turned around and fought the urge to gasp in surprise. "Scott Fitzgerald," He said, holding out his hand. "A pleasure to meet you!" She reached out and shook his hand.

"Nice to meet you too," She replied with a grin, seemingly unable to look away. She couldn't believe this was happening to her. It was just like the movie! "I'm Y/N," she finally said, still smiling at Scott.

"Well, I'll be off then. I've spotted quite a few interesting pursuits for the night, so," Zelda said with a smirk. "I'll be off!"

"Just be home at a reasonable-and she's gone," Scott sighed. He chuckled awkwardly and took a slow drag from his already lit cigarette. "My sister is bound to drive me to insanity one day!"

"Your sister?" Y/N exclaimed. Scott nodded, eyes lit up with amusement. They both laughed loudly and Y/N shook her head. "You do know most everyone else thinks you're married!"

"I have noticed people tend to assume that," He chuckled, leading her towards another group of people. "I'd like you to meet some friends of mine," He said. As Y/N followed him around the room, she found herself mostly stunned into silence at seeing each face that she'd come to know from rewatching Midnight In Paris a million times. She took a sip from the drink that had somehow found its way into her hands and glanced around the room as Scott was busy talking with someone she couldn't remember the name of.

"There's no way this is happening," She muttered to herself hours later. Laughing quietly, she shook her head. "I probably hit my head on the pavement and am having a concussion-induced/Paris-induced dream. And the wine probably didn't help. That's got to be it! Well, perhaps I should wake myself up now," She reasoned. Squinting at a clock, she figured the sun should be rising soon so she started making her way to the door.

"Leaving so soon?" Scott asked, grabbing her arm before she walked out.

"Yes," She sighed. "It was wonderful meeting you, Scott. Thank you for a lovely evening."

"Will you be around tomorrow? There's another party."

"I'll try to make it," Y/N replied, not wanting to disappoint him even if it was a dream. "Goodbye, Scott," She smiled. Gathering her courage, she stood on her tip-toes and gave him a kiss on the cheek. She turned away quickly and ran out the door. In her rush, she stumbled on an uneven part of the sidewalk and fell down.

"Are you ok?" A young lady asked a few moments later. Y/N looked up at the stranger and nodded embarrassedly.

"Yes, I just," she stopped mid-sentence when she turned and saw the bar she'd just walked out of was completely empty. "I just tripped," she said slowly. "Um, thank you."

"No problem," The girl smiled. "Au revoir!" She called out, continuing on her way.

Y/N went back to her hotel and took a brief nap to refresh herself for the day. Eventually, she put the night's events aside mentally and moved on with her plans. That is until she found 'the dress'. She was passing a line of boutiques and in the window of the last one was a Y/F/C 1920's style drop waist dress. It even had a matching hat and purse. Half an hour later, Y/N found herself back in the hotel room trying to get her makeup just right to match the outfit.

"I don't know what I'm doing," She told herself as she walked back to where she'd been the night before. Sitting on a bench across the street, she waited. For what exactly, she was not sure, but she knew she had to wait. Soon enough, the clock struck 12 midnight and, just like in the movie, an old car made its way down the street. Y/N was so distracted trying to look inside the vehicle that she didn't notice the change across the street.

"Y/N! Y/N, you came back!" Scott yelled as he and a few others came out of the bar. She ran across the street now that the car had passed to meet up with him, grinning like mad.

"Scott! I didn't-" she paused, chuckling lightly. "I didn't think I would see you again."

"Didn't I tell you there was another party tonight?" He asked, slightly confused. Y/N nodded, still grinning, and decided not to explain for now.

"Where are we off to?" She asked, linking arms with him. He smiled and they headed to one of the cars parked nearby. The night went by in a flash. Near morning, the group found themselves at a small cafe/bar. A few had already gone home and the rest were preparing to leave. Soon it was just Y/N and Scott left. She stared at him for a moment before shaking her head and laughing lightly.

"What's so funny?" He asked. "You know, you get the oddest look on your face sometimes. Like you've gone somewhere else," He commented.

"I have," she replied, taking a sip of her drink. "You know, I've always wondered what it would be like to be here," she said, gesturing around her. "Or even somewhere else, another time. And it's been wonderful! But you were right! A person really can't live in the past. It's just not possible."

"I'm not sure what I said to help you," He chuckled. "But it's funny, I have a character that should learn that lesson," Scott commented. "I'm working on the book right now but I think I've just gotten an idea from you. Thank you," He smiled.

"Oh! That's right!" Y/N said, realizing her favorite F. Scott Fitzgerald writing wasn't even released, and apparently not even finished yet.

"Perhaps we should be making our way home," He said, glancing outside at the rising sun. He stood and held his arm out for Y/N to hold. "Let me walk you?" She nodded and they headed outside into the crisp morning air. She pointed in the general direction of her hotel, wondering somewhat what would happen when they arrived. "Are you cold?" He asked her.

"No, I'm fi-" But before she could finish, he had already draped his jacket over her shoulders. "Thank you," Y/N replied, blushing brightly. She pulled the charcoal suit jacket around her, genuinely glad for it's warmth. When they were about a block away, she stopped, turning to look at him. "Scott," She sighed. "I can't come back. I'm afraid if I do-" she paused again, looking around at the beautiful city just starting to wake up. "I guess I should thank you. You've been so kind to me and I appreciate it. It made my visit to Paris so much better."

"I'm glad to hear that, Y/N," He replied. "I will miss you. But I am, at the very least, happy to have had the pleasure of meeting you." He leaned forward and kissed her gently, surprising Y/N. She closed her eyes and sighed into the kiss, trying to commit every feeling to memory. "Goodbye," She heard him say, one they separated. She didn't have the courage to open her eyes and watch him go however.

"Goodbye," Y/N finally whispered to herself when she opened her eyes and saw the city, modern and bustling all around her. Y/N wiped away the few stray tears and broke out into a run, wanting to get back to her hotel as fast as possible. As she rounded the last corner before the building, though, she collided with someone walking around the same corner. Y/N lost her balance, the person she ran into being much taller, and fell down. "I'm so sorry!" She exclaimed. She was rushing to pick up the items she dropped when she saw a hand held out to her.

"It's alright," The man said. "No harm done. Now can I help you up?" He asked, smiling sweetly.

"I-uh, well, yes. Thank you," She stuttered. He helped her gather her things and handed them to her.

"Were you heading to the hotel?" He asked. Silently, she nodded, not trusting her own voice at this point. "Well, then, let me walk you back. I was heading there myself." He smiled at her as they started walking down the sidewalk. "Oh! I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Tom."

"Done!" You exclaimed. Letting out a sigh of relief. You had been needing to write that for a long time but you never quite felt up to it. "Holy crap!" You yelled, looking at the clock. It had taken much longer than you expected to write it. You knew your husband would be home shortly so you rushed out to start dinner.

"Honey! I'm home!" He called out, walking through the door. He was grinning like mad, obviously in a good mood if he was using such a cliche line on you.

"Hello, Tom," You smiled, as he came up behind you, giving you a hug. He peppered your neck with small kisses, making you giggle loudly. "Tom! Stop that!" You exclaimed, wriggling out of his arms. "I need to finish dinner."

"Alright, darling. I'll change then," He relented. A while later, once dinner was safely cooking in the oven, you heard him call out to you from the bedroom.

"What's wrong?" You asked, walking to the doorway. Then it hit you. You'd left the document open on your laptop which was on your desk in the bedroom.

"What's this?" He asked, pointing to your new writing.

"It's for the blog," You said honestly. He knew you had a Tumblr page, although he still refused to see what was posted about him on there. Just one mention of the site could still get him embarrassed.

"Yes but," He glanced at it again, brows furrowed. "That's not how it actually happened, is it?" He asked, quite confused. You chuckled and shook your head.

"Well now, I can't very well ask Scott to verify my story, can I?" You smirked.

"Of course not," He chuckled. "Although I must say you did an excellent job of adapting the story of how we first met!"

"Thank you, dear," You smirked, walking away to the walk-in closet you shared.

"What are you not telling me?" He asked suspiciously.

"Oh, nothing," You replied innocently. When you walked out of the closet you completely ignored Tom, whistling as you headed back to the kitchen.

"What is that you're wearing?" He called out, running after you. You laughed as he caught up with you in the living room. "Is that a new charcoal suit jacket?"

"It's not new, Tom, not new at all."

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[loser-writings]

Kazuichi Souda Headcanons

{@sally-wonders​} (┛◉Д◉)┛彡┻━┻ I JUST SAW THE DANGANRONPA STUFF AND I AM SCREAMING! dlsfhlfhksg I dont even know where to start, so, at first I was wondering if you have any headcanons for my man Kazuichi, I love him so much! I always wondered how he would be into an actually relationship, because the inflatuation he had with Sonia was a thing, but also serving to compensate in his low self steam, even if he was an ultimate, he also has the historic of abuse and bully by their piers and all  with the sharp teeth and pink hair to try and look cool and all that as well, also he would have to deal with all that happened in dispair island (what wouldnt i give to know how they dealt with that man :'3), especially acepting the fact that Sônia does not like him. Because of the whole dream girl with blonde hair and he kinda projects this idea of her instead of herself. Jqrjjgwrj sorry I babble a lot hehe

I hope you enjoy this long list of a variety of headcanons. These may not hit all of the points you were asking, but I hope this is satisfactory!

・・・・✪General Headcanons✪ ・・・・

Kazuichi is a very anxious person so he is constantly fiddling with something. Little electronics, his wrench or tools he has on hands, or his fingers. If he can’t mess with something, his anxiety goes through the roof.

He can read in English! He taught himself how to read English so he could read American comic books before they’re officially translated. He also can understand English since he watched so many English action movies. He can speak it, but it can be broken and his accent is very strong.

He can actually sew. Since he learned by watching his mom, he can fix and alter clothing. He can also sew and throw together blankets and stuffed animals. He actually owns a small sewing machine. It isn’t expensive or amazing by any means, but it can get the job done.

He spends a large chunk of his money on keeping up with his hair and keeping his contacts in check. His hair grows extremely fast so his roots show, and he has a horrible habit of sleeping in his contacts since he can’t stand his glasses. 

When you catch him off guard, he just lies about what he is doing. He doesn’t mean to, but it is just a natural reaction since his dad would get mad at him no matter what his answer was. Because of this, you have to give him a moment to calm down and go through the 3 different answers he has before he can actually say what’s going on. This also happens if he is on his computer or his phone. He naturally hides the screen, even if he is just looking at car parts or how to fix a certain thing.

He can be a bit perverted and oblivious to somebody's flaws if he finds himself becoming attracted to them. Despite this, he is honestly quite the sweetheart and would have a heart attack if somebody were to return his feelings. 

He has pretty bad trust issues and this can cause tension between him and others. This also causes him to believe things that aren’t always true based off of his distrust alone.

He doesn’t actually like his appearance, even after he changed it. He originally changed it to keep away bullies and get the attention of women, but when he looks in the mirror, he doesn’t exactly like it. He didn’t mind his black hair or his normal eye color, he just hated his glasses.

Will flinch if someone raises their hand at him because of his fathers past abuse. He can’t help but flinch, and this is horrible with men who are taller than him. Safe to say that Gundhams mannerisms and weird poses aren't appreciated.

・・・・✪Relationship Headcanons✪ ・・・・

As stated before if someone were to return his feelings, he would be so lost on what to do. He never had anybody treat him with much kindness and the fact that someone he admires likes him back is just mind boggling to him.

I headcanon him personally to be Bisexual. He may have a physical lea for women, but he does find himself genuinely attracted to men as well (@Hajime) I think the big thing that decides if he likes you or not is if he thinks he can trust you.

Due to the past abuse and issues regarding friends and classmates, he would need constant reassurance. He will have sudden doubts and will become extremely anxious at the idea of you leaving him for a variety of reasons. He will ask if you want him to change his appearance or something about his personality, and it never fails that he is shocked if you say you love how he is.

He can sometimes get lost in his childlike fantasies. He will change his personality at times and make himself believe things that aren’t true. The best thing to do when this happens is to just give him a quick kiss on the cheek and remind him that you are you, and not some fantasy. He will apologize and snap out of it (For the most part)

He isn’t the best at initiating things. He would do better with someone who is more willing to make the first move. Be the one to grab his hand to hold it, Open your arms so he can snuggle against your chest, Cup his cheeks to pull him into a sweet kiss, Open the door for him and press your hand against his lower back in public areas so he feels more calm. He really would appreciate it.

Some of his favorite dates are the ones that result in tons of affection. Building blanket forts before having an action movie marathon is his favorite thing. It always results in the two of you tangled impossibly close to each other. If he is the one being held, having you play with the messily chopped locks instantly has him weak. He will rest against your chest while watching the movies, looking up to steal kisses and nip at your exposed skin in an attempt to steal your attention away from the screen. If he is the one holding you, your hair will be played with and expect him to caress your body a lot. If he gets distracted from the movie, he will let his eyes and hands wonder. It’s not in a perverse way, but more curious. 

He actually studies how your body moves and how you feel. He is the kind of guy who is very interested in seeing how your “Parts” move and how things work. It’s not perverted (Usually) but instead it’s very sweet in an unusual way. He will find out unusual things he loves about you by watching how you move. Like how you stretch to reach things on a tall shelf, or how your body curls up into itself when your cold. Just how you move and your body language is something that always has Kazuichi staring. 

If he can’t be with you physically, expect many phone calls and video calls. He calls you every time he misses your voice or feels himself starting to get anxious. The most common phone calls become the ones that happen before bed. Kazuichi gets extremely anxious when he is alone or at his house with his dad. Because of this, it becomes a routine where he calls you before bed and falls asleep on the phone with you. If you love to sing, sing and play instruments on the phone to soothe him. If you like to read, read to him until you hear his soft snores on the other line. If you like to ramble, ramble to him as he hums along til he is asleep. 

Also don’t hang up. Seriously, he will hang up in the morning. If he has a nightmare, or something happens, he finds comfort knowing that you are right there when he needs you most. 

He doesn’t mind chasing after you, but please let him have something so he knows that all of the chasing is worth it. This is the man you go to if you want somebody to control. He just wants your love and attention, even if you are just using him. If he falls for you during the killing game, he won’t hesitate to kill for you.

・・・・✪NSFW Headcanons✪ ・・・・

Aged 18+ and Kink discussion below this post

Souda loves to leave hickeys and love bites. He thinks they’re so sexy and attractive, and will leave them all over you if you let him. He also ADORES having you mark all over him and will whine if you tease him by pulling away before a mark can be made. If you really want to make him feel loved, make heart shaped hickeys all over him. He will cry because he feels so loved.

He is a switch with a more submissive lean, but he does have his more dominant moments. If he is being submissive, expect him to whine and cry about things a lot. He can be a total brat, but its so worth it when you get to hear him moan and beg for more. He may not scream, but he is quite loud.. If he is being dominant, he growls and groans a lot. He doesn’t mean to, he just gets so caught up in the moment that he doesn’t even notice the noises he makes.

He has ended up with you in his lap in his car a few times. He just can’t help it. The most memorable time was at the drive in theater. You both were in the back and it just ended up with your hands being bound by a seat belt as he sat between your legs until he couldn’t handle waiting anymore. 

He CLEARLY is into body worship. He loves watching how you react as his hands sit and press themselves against your body. He will compliment absolutely everything about you, kissing your skin as much as possible, and let his hands and eyes do all of the work.

He is so into oral, both giving and receiving. He can sit between your legs pleasing you until you are shaking and can’t handle anymore. Just how you taste is so intoxicating with him, and he always is trying to get more. If you are sucking him off, he will pant and moan and whine the whole time. His hand is tangled in your hair or the sheets until he can’t take it any more and cums. If you swallow, he will be so turned on, but he also loves cumming on you

Kazuichi will hump and grind against anything. Your ass, your thighs, a pillow, clothing, the bed, anything. He has a high sex drive, so he has to take care of it often. Even when he is sleeping, he will grind against you if he is having a dirty dream. Hopefully you don’t mind, because he is actually quite embarrassed when this happens.

He has a fantasy of you waking him up with oral. He has quite a few dirty dreams, so the idea of you helping him out while he wakes up is a dream for him.

Praise kink. Seriously. Praise this man. He will CRY if you constantly praise him during sex. He was completely unaware of how much it would effect him during sex.

[introvertguide]

The Treasure of the Sierra Madre (1948); AFI #38

The next Huston and Bogart collaboration that we reviewed was the infamous tale of greed and betrayal, The Treasure of the Sierra Madre (1948). It was a film that was two decades in the making due to a world war, varying contractual obligations, and poor conditions due to location filming. It is debated that this was Bogart's best performance since it was a step away from the roles that had made him famous, but it did not earn him an Oscar nomination. The film did get four nominations and ended up winning Best Writing and Best Directing for John Huston as well as Best Supporting Actor for Walter Huston, John's dad. This was the only time that a father-son combo won Oscars for a film together. There are a lot of interesting firsts involved with this film, but I want to spoil it first for anyone who hasn't seen it. By the way...

SPOILER WARNING!!! THIS IS AN ANALYSIS, SO I AM GOING TO SPOIL EVERYTHING ABOUT THE MOVIE AND THEN EVERYTHING ABOUT THE PRODUCTION!!! IF YOU WANT TO SEE THE FILM COLD AND GET THE FULL EXPERIENCE, WATCH IT FIRST BEFORE READING ANY FURTHER!!! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!

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

In 1925, in the Mexican town of Tampico, Fred C. Dobbs (Humphrey Bogart) is wandering around and begging for change. He keeps asking the same man in white (John Huston) for money until the man tells him no more handouts. Dobbs continues to beg and runs into another vagrant named Bob Curtin (Tim Holt). The two seem to have an understanding, but money is tight and they separate to look for job leads. Dobbs finds a man in an alley named Pat McCormick (Barton MacLane) and the latter asks the former if he wants a job. Dobbs agrees and goes to a raft and finds Curtin will also be working on this job. They are working as roughnecks to help construct oil rigs for $8 a day. When the project is completed and they return to Tampico, McCormick skips out without paying the men.

The two vagrants encounter an old man named Howard (Walter Huston) in a flophouse. The loquacious and penniless ex-miner talks to them about gold prospecting and the perils of striking it rich. Dobbs and Curtin run into McCormick at a cantina, and after a bar fight, collect their back wages. When Dobbs hits a small jackpot in the lottery, he, Curtin and Howard have enough money to buy the supplies they need to go prospecting in the interior.

Departing Tampico by train, the three help to repulse a bandit attack led by "Gold Hat" (Alfonso Bedoya). North of Durango, the trio head into the remote Sierra Madre mountains. Howard proves to be the hardiest and most knowledgeable of the three. After several days of arduous travel, Howard spots gold that the others had passed by.

The men toil under harsh conditions and amass a fortune in placer gold. But as the gold piles up, Dobbs becomes increasingly distrustful of the other two. The men agree to divide the gold dust immediately and hide their shares. At one point, Curtin sees a Gila monster crawl under a rock and it turns out that this was where Dobbs had hid his share. Curtin warns Dobbs, but Dobbs just assumes that Curtin is trying to steal another share of the gold. It is apparent that Dobbs is being driven insane by the greed for gold, just as Howard had predicted.

Curtin, while on a resupply trip to Durango, is spotted making purchases by a Texan named Cody (Bruce Bennett). Cody secretly follows Curtain back to the encampment. When he confronts the three men, they lie about what they are doing there, but he is not fooled. He boldly proposes to join their outfit and share in any future takings. Howard, Curtin and Dobbs talk it over and vote to kill him. As they announce their verdict, pistols in hand, Gold Hat and his bandits arrive. They claim to be Federales. After a tense parley, a gunfight ensues, and Cody is killed. A genuine troop of Federales suddenly appears and pursues Gold Hat and his gang. The three prospectors examine Cody's personal effects. A letter from a loving wife reveals that he was trying to provide for his family.

Howard is called away to assist local villagers with a seriously ill little boy. When the boy recovers, the next day, the villagers insist that Howard return with them to be honored. Howard leaves his goods with Dobbs and Curtin and says he will meet them later. Dobbs and Curtin constantly argue, until one night Dobbs shoots Curtin and takes all the gold. However, Curtin is not dead; he manages to crawl away and hide during the night.

Finding Curtin gone, Dobbs flees, but is ambushed at a waterhole by Gold Hat and his men. They first toy with him, then kill him (it is implied that Dobbs is beheaded with a machete). The bandits mistake the bags of gold dust for sand and dump the treasure, taking only the burros and supplies. The gold is scattered by the strong wind. Meanwhile, Curtin is discovered by indios and taken to Howard's village, where he recovers.

Gold Hat's gang tries to sell the stolen burros in town, but a child recognizes the brands on them (and Dobbs' clothes, which the bandits are wearing) and reports them to the authorities. The bandits are captured and summarily executed by the Federales.

Howard and Curtin return to Durango in a dust storm and reclaim their pack animals, only to find the empty bags. At first shaken by the loss, first Howard, then Curtin, grasp the immense irony of their circumstances, and they burst into laughter. Howard decides to return to the village to accept an offer of a permanent home and a position of honor, while Curtin sells their recovered property to return to the United States, where he will seek out Cody's widow. As Curtin leaves, the camera pans down to a cactus as he rides past. Lying next to it is a bag of gold, still full.

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

This film was a major change of pace for Bogart, making it very difficult to advertise. An actor who is generally the hero turns out to be a villain that shoots his partner and then is unceremoniously beheaded by a bandit is not what audiences expected or even wanted. Using Bogart's star power and reputation for being a good guy romantic lead to attract audiences and then doing his character dirty like he was done is the 40s version of clickbait. And yet the film was moderately successful with audiences and earned four Academy Award nominations. Where this trick to the audience is apparent is the lack of even a nomination for Bogart despite it being one of his finest acting roles.

I watched the movie a couple of times over the last few days and that included commentary from the guy who wrote the biography of Bogart, a Mr. Eric Lax. It was extremely informative and was actually very different from the IMDB trivia page. I am going to trust the official biographer on this one, so some of the following information that is presented as fact is second hand from the movie commentary.

There were two father-son teams on the set of this particular film. The first is was of course the director, John Huston, and his father who played the part of Howard, Walter Huston. The other was actually the other nice guy, Curtin, who was played by Tim Holt, and the old man who warned the two that Pat McCormick was lying to them, played by Jack Holt. John Huston was actually in the film playing the American in the white suit, which made this film the only one with two father-son duos with speaking roles in a single film.

The Huston family has a couple of other notable film accomplishments. John Huston directed his father to an Academy Award and also directed his daughter, Angelica Huston, to a Best Supporting Actress award in Prizzi's Honor (1985). On both occasions, the elder Huston in the film died very soon after working with their child. Walter died a year after his role in Sierra Madre and John died less then two years after Prizzi's Honor. I felt a little sad about that at first, but then it is nice that a parent can work with their child doing what they do best at the end of their life.

Apparently the filming was very difficult and took its toll on the actors and crew. There was a joke about the old man, Howard, being a tough old goat, and that comes from the local crew outpacing the location scouts when Huston first went down to Mexico to look for places to film. The filming took place during the rainy season so there were many delays. The irony was that there was lots of gusting wind except on the day that they needed it and there was lots of rain and flooding except on the day when Dobbs finds the little collection of water.

A rather silly note (or at least I thought so) was that one of the big pushes to get the film done was that Humphrey Bogart wanted to participate in a boat race. He had his boat, the Santana, that he had been practicing with around Catalina when pre-production was halted due to John Huston joining the military during WW2. Bogart wanted to take part in the Honolulu Yacht Race in which he had participated in the past. Bogart's wife, Lauren Bacall, said that the yacht was the only thing that she ever felt jealous of. The constant complaining by Bogart about the time caused one of the only fights he had with John Huston. The director purportedly grabbed Bogart by the nose and twisted until Bogart shut up. It was not brought up again and Bogart missed his race.

One actor that made a surprising cameo in the film was the little boy that sold Dobbs the winning lottery ticket. The part was played by a very young Robert Blake (freaking Beretta) who was a child film star. He had played the role of Mickey in Our Gang short films for almost a decade by the time he was in Sierra Madre. I was surprised to also find out that Blake had almost 80 acting credits before his small part in this film. By the way, he does not have a Mexican accent. Sadly, I think that Blake is now most famous for being accused of hiring somebody to kill his wife. Not a great legacy.

My family commented on the look of Bogart and how weirdly greasy his hair looked. His hair looked pretty weird throughout the film, as a matter of fact. According to Eric Lax, Bogart was taking hormone shots in an attempt to get Bacall pregnant and had lost a lot of his hair. All of those funny looking haircuts were toupees. The one used when Dobbs got a haircut was most notable, especially since you can since Bogart's actual hair at the back.

A final fun fact was the death of Dobbs being a strangely cut machete strike that was hidden by the backside of a donkey was not the original depiction. There was an actual fake head rolling down to the water that was cut out of the film. Bogart famously kept the head and was very disappointed when the scene was cut out of the film. That would have been pretty gory for the time, but Huston knew it would not get past the sensors and he wanted the film to get distributed. Oh well.

So does the film belong on the AFI 100? Of course. For similar reasons as The Maltese Falcon. This was one of the best works produced by one of the best director/writer and lead actor combos of all time. It is an amazing story that doesn't end how one would expect from a movie of the time. It is classic and innovative at the same time. Would I recommend it? Absolutely. It is a fine film that tells the story of what greed can do to an otherwise good person. It is also very clean to the point that I would recommend it to any age group.

[saedii-gilwraeth-simp]

Another World - TDC Holidays - Day 8

DISCLAIMER: ANY FICS I WRITE USING HISTORICAL EVENTS ARE NOT INTENDED TO PROMOTE MY OWN VIEWS ABOUT THESE EVENTS, THE PARTIES INVOLVED ETC. I AM ONLY USING THESE EVENTS AS INSPIRATION AND INSERTING CHARACTERS AS I SEE FIT

DAY 8

AU: 1945 JAPAN

POV: BILLY

They had been sent to investigate a hospital and kitchen being run out of an estate in the Saikai district. It belonged to some rich family that had seemed to have weathered the storm of war, although many were unsure of how they were still standing even in the collapsing economy.

Their general had put Billy in a group of just four, so as not to seem threatening and off they had gone, driving through the town to the front door of the estate. Tommy in the drivers seat had flashed his badge to a bored man who looked as though he was a staff member and they were allowed through up the curling front path. Martel whistled in appreciation and Billy met Pietyr’s eyes in equal exasperation. The two may not get on but they were united by a deep hatred of Martel.

“Alright gents, let’s keep it respectful and I’m sure the man of the house will understand our presence,” Tommy said as they exited their vehicle and climbed the staircase that could have used a good sweeping. Pietyr knocked on the door and it was answered by a young women. She stood at a small stature but her posture and bearing spoke to a rich upbringing. Billy, the chosen diplomat of the group, spoke as he offered his hand.

“Hello, ma’am, we were wondering if we could speak to the head of the operation running from this estate,” he said in English as Tommy translated. The young women watched them for a beat, before waving them inside and crossing the inner courtyard to a building that was filled with wounded and sick to the point where they were sitting around the door. The young women walks into the hall and they follow her, all four reeling as the smell of sick and heat hits them in contrast to the crisp autumn air outside. Billy didn’t miss the hateful looks they got shot but frankly he wasn’t surprised.

The young girl stops and looks around before she seems to spot someone.

“Arsinoe,” she calls. Billy sees a head poke out of the masses and deep dark eyes lock on the soldiers in the room that the patients are recoiling from. The person stands and begins to wade towards them, pulling latex gloves off of their hands and tugging a surgical mask away from their face, revealing a pretty women that looks similar to the girl they came in with. Although as she gets closer, Billy can’t miss the sharp scars stretching across her right cheek.

She reaches them and says something to the other girl in Japanese. The shorter women says something back and the nurse turns to them, gesturing for them to follow her from the room. They  enter an office to the south of the courtyard and the woman gestures for them to speak. Billy begins again.

“We need to speak with the head of this operation,” Billy announces again. Tommy begins to translate but the women holds a hand up to stop him.

“You’re speaking to her. I’m Dr Arsinoe Queen, one of the owners of this estate and the person to talk to about this operation,” she says in an accented English, throwing air quotes up at the word operation. Martel scoffs beside Pietyr.

“Of course she understand English, why do we even need Stratford?” Pietyr rolls his eyes as Arsinoe watches him for a moment before saying something to Tommy who laughs. “What? What’d she say about me?” Martel questions the translator. Tommy turns to him.

“She said she wasn’t taught the English words she needs to tell you what she thinks of you,” Pietyr chuckles and leans forward to shake Arsinoe’s hand as Martel scowls. She graciously shakes Pietyr’s hand as the door slides open and two more people join them in the office. One is the short woman who had allowed them inside the estate and the other is slightly taller who resembles both of them. Billy assumes the three are related as the two smile and join Arsinoe.

“These are my sisters, Katharine and Mirabella. Kat helps identify and record the people we help and Mirabella works in our kitchens. Which one of you speaks for the group?” Billy raises a hand and Arsinoe nods before turning to her sisters, speaking with them briefly before turning back to them and examining their name badges “Mister Stratford, you can go with Mirabella to the kitchen and Misters Martel and Arron will go with Katharine.”

Billy’s three fellow G.I’s leave with the women and he is left alone with Arsinoe. She offers him a seat on the opposite side of the desk she sits at, patiently waiting for his questions.

“Our general wanted to know why you’re running this operation and how you’re funding it what with the country in complete collapse-“ Billy is cut off by Arsinoe slight sound of indignation, “what?”

“My country is in collapse because of actions on both sides of this war,” she points out. “We are running this operation because this our town is the closest city with people who could help those affected by the atomic bomb your president dropped on Nagasaki and we have the money to run it because we were smart and made a fortune from the war by playing the money game, not the ideology one. What else does your army want to know?” Billy watched her carefully.

“We had heard that you rejected American scientists when they requested access to the patients with radiation poisoning. Why?” Billy asked. Arsinoe stared at him for a moment before frowning.

“Because I knew that those scientists would do nothing to help those people. My country poked yours at the Harbour and failed to anticipate the reaction or the horrors that followed from both sides, but those bombs that your president ordered to be created and dropped on civilian cities are inhumane. And then your scientists want to experiment on the victims of their crimes and then leave them to die. Death by radiation poisoning is slow and painful and these people deserve to at least have someone hold their hands when they go. That is why I refused your scientists,” she says it calmly but Billy can hear the underlying sadness.

“I understand. I’m sorry we’ve come in demanding answers,” Arsinoe waves him off and the conversation continues.

~

He goes back to the Queen estate a week later. He wants to help so he goes on an off day. Pietyr and Tommy go with him, none of them wearing their uniforms. Katharine lets them in, with a blush in Pietyr’s direction.

Billy spends the day helping Arsinoe in the hospital ward, sharing soft conversations about how Japan was changing. Billy was happy to find that she could genuinely hold a complex conversation, even if it was while patching up her patients. Turns out they shared the same passion for food and literature and they were becoming fast friends.

Not that it stopped her from sliding acidic comments about the US army his way when a new ambulance load of burn victims flooded the complex. It was a mammoth task to record all of the victims and Billy nearly wanted to hurl at some of them. Instead he helped Katharine with triage. The ones who weren’t going to survive went to another portion of the estate where Mirabella was waiting and Arsinoe was in surgery, grafting skin for so long her sisters had sent him and his fellow soldiers back to base.

When they return the next day with some more soldiers to help, Billy finds Arsinoe in the medical ward, looking like she hadn’t slept. He sat with her in her office and when she drifted off on his shoulder, he didn’t stop her.

~

Three years later, Billy and Arsinoe watched as a plane lifted from the runway at Nagoya Air Base. Billy pretended he didn’t see Arsinoe wiping her eyes as tears slowly fell. No one had really expected it when Pietyr and Katharine had announced that they were going back to the states to get married and settle down, least of all Mirabella and Arsinoe. But the couple were happy and no one was going to stop them from continuing to be.

They waited for the plane to disappear before they left. Arsinoe seemed to recompose herself as they drove back to Saikai, her eyes watching towards the ocean. Billy took her hand to comfort her and she squeezed his hand. Neither spoke.

TAG LIST: @nataliaarronn​, @poisonerrose​, @alwaysbored005​

[corneliahall]

My dreams that night were more than enough to scare me. After sharing a silent, awkward dinner with my mother, I went straight to bed and let Cameron's silky fur comfort me through the disturbing images my brain was processing. Memories of my childhood oddities and, of course, the generated ones that I might encounter in the future. I woke up to the sound of my phone's alarm, reminding me that everything else around me was normal. Everything beyond my house did not change at all. I got up, showered, and did all the mundane things my body required. It felt weird to stare at the mirror after the strange talk with my teacher and Mr. Ryder last night. Still, my choppy, curly red hair was normal. My blue eyes were still normal. My skin, although rimmed with darkness around the eyes from last night's lack of sleep, was more or less normal with its impertinent pinkish glow and the rust-colored freckles. Goth ginger. Giselle the Goth ginger is what they called me because of my wardrobe consisting of dark-colored clothes. Mostly deep blues, purples, violets and tinges of neon. Purists at my school would argue I was not a proper one since I don't exactly follow the entire lifestyle. In truth, dark colors just make me feel safer. You would never guess my favorite color is white. My mom went out early due to the store's start-of-season sale. Her mini beauty store, the pompously-named Margaret's Beauty Choice, allowed me to have my own variety of lipsticks and eyeshadow palettes. We are both make-up junkies. While she used to do make-up for small-time models in New York, my earliest experience was putting on a Ruby Woo lipstick on my eight-year-old lips. I caught up to the school bus just right on time and decided to sit further back than usual. Alyssa's pretty face was still healing when I heard about it yesterday and she might appear today in school to get some counseling. Hah. Like she would ever listen to anyone. Just then I noticed something out of the ordinary. Someone. Normally, Lilly Saint-Louis was the one who took this seat of the school bus. Lilly was not there; a new kid was. I've studied at Sheffield since last year—the longest standing school since I was six and that's an achievement—and not once have I seen the guy. He looked like he was brooding over something, with his eyebrows knitted over his dark eyes. He was obviously of Asian descent; his eyes were single-lidded slanting towards the inner corners. He had black hair trimmed like those I read in Japanese comics. He was handsome but I would not give him the chance to see me acknowledging such a fact. My eyebrow arched up almost automatically but I just sat next to him. He acknowledged my presence once and went back to staring at the world outside the school bus. "So... new kid?" I could not help it. I wouldn't want an awkward start if he were a new student. He did not answer me and just looked at his phone while he was shuffling to find something in his pocket. Thankfully it was not a knife but a pair of earpods. I would have to praise him later for not misplacing that. "Nah. Just a stowaway. I snuck inside here last night. Typical rendezvous from the world, don't you think?" His accent was still evident. Though he must have been some kind of a rich kid since he knew big words that no normal American teen would use, unless in an essay. It was hard to tell if he was joking but from his deadpan face, he seemed pretty serious. "How did you get past the bus camera?" I was completely mystified. Sheffield had the best bus cameras in Minneapolis. Heck, I could not even sneak back inside to get my bag whenever I forgot it. He shuffled in his bag again to show me a dislocated pair of vehicle cameras. "I took it out. It's pretty easy to do if you have god-given talent as I have," he flashed his pearly whites briefly and then reverted to his brooding face. "We're going to Sheffield, right? Is it cool? You do know your school buses ain't parked in your own lot at night, right?" He must have snuck inside the school lot downtown. I shrugged. "Yeah, it's one of the weird things I do not understand at Sheffield but... I think it makes sense since we are a small school." Pfft. Wow. We. As if I was ever genuinely a part of this school. "What about life in Minnesota?" "Great. If you mean great as dead, boring winter nights. Plus, nothing is really that good here. We just have cool frozen lakes." He sighed and scratched his head, "New York and Cali never gave me a break so I guess I'd love a quiet place," he murmured and bent backward to stretch, the thinness of his lanky frame showing slightly. Underneath, he was wearing an orange shirt with weird markings too good for my poor reading skills. "New York, huh? Ever heard of a camp?" He frowned. "Camp? There are tons of camps in New York. Camp Crystal Lake. Yeah, Crystal Lake is a thing. Camp Eisenhower. Lazo Jersey Camp. A whole lot of camping sites upstate. Well, I was not really from New York but I camped a lot for some time. Pretty cool for hiking and canoeing, too." Hiking and canoeing seemed way better than staying at Walmart as a cashier. "Oh, if those things were boring, you might have been looking for more difficult challenges, huh?" "I'm looking for a quiet life. Away from the go—Goths. I mean, Goths." "Goths?" I almost snorted a laugh. "You don't look like a Goth to me, Miss Ginger." He looked at me up and down before he went back to staring at the crumpled love letter lodged in between our seats. Not one of us read it. I shuffled my ankles. "I am Giselle, by the way. Giselle Blair." "Too much information, Giselle. Can I call you Gee?" "That's a no." Though Mom does call me Gee sometimes. "You sound like the late Simon Cowell, bless his soul." I did not know who Simon was but it turned the light chat into a long, awkward silence. "Haruto," he said as the bus took a turn from the intersection. "What?" He looked around as if he was being watched before carefully placing his lips next to my ear. "Call me Haru. My name is... Haruto." A blush rose to my cheeks. "You know you could just tell me your name without getting too close, right?" Haruto chuckled. "Don't be such a priss. I don't like ginger girls anyway. I was just being—ahh... never mind me." He began to look again at the scenery outside. We were almost at Sheffield but this time, something strange happened. The moment we entered the tunnel leading to the school gates, the bus began to act up, as if it was being pulled in all directions. Dark liquid began to creep up our windows like anti-gravity crude oil and all of the students began to scream. Even the bus driver screamed curses at what was happening. Only Haruto seemed to know what was happening. He hissed but it was as if he knew this was going to happen. "Stupid me. They know I am here!" He growled, running towards the bus door and slamming it open. A scrawny kid knocking down pneumatic bus doors? That was fascinating... if we ignore the fact that we were not attacked by a giant shadow sludge. The bus driver tried to gather us all up at the back of the bus but I knew in me that it was wrong. Instincts drove me to the edge, letting me slash my way outside the bus. "Haruto!" I screamed around while the bus was slowly swallowed by the dark sludge. For a second I was about to be convinced Haruto was just an imaginary friend my mind created for the sake of coping from yesterday's mysteries. The shadows seemed to leave the bus alone, as they receded from the shuddering vehicle and unfortunately came at me. I knew I should have been a huge ginger slush right there at the gates of Sheffield if not for the spine-tingling explosion over me. The exploding rocks were about to shower down on me if not for Haruto, who suddenly rolled into the scene and led me out to safety. Son of Zeus! You still have not learned from your mistakes in Anaheim! A voice made from a thousand ones grittily scolded Haruto. It seemed that it was coming from the dark mass of shadows around us. Haruto just looked at the shadows with utmost distaste. "A dark shadow... attacking a school at 08:00 in the morning. Clearly, you guys are just desperate!" The swirling mass of shadows and fog seemed to solidify into a shape of a large, muscular man. Its eyes were as bright as the stars on a clear night. Though his intense stare at me made them look like headlights about to send a doe to deer heaven. Bah, you are not what I am here for. I will finish you before I get my hands on the girl! Haruto gave me a sideways glance but I was totally clueless at the moment. I was sure that maybe one of the girls in our school had summoned a shadow demon and the experiment went wrong. Now, the shadow demon wanted to seek vengeance and he probably mistook me as the one who summoned him. There were at least three people in school with red hair. Boy, was I all wrong.

Excerpt from The Night’s Call

[girlbookwrm]

AVENGERS: CIVIL WAR

THE MIGHTY PRE ENDGAME REWATCH

it took us two entire days to watch this, back in whenever we were watching this. I’ve got a Bundle of Papers here in front of me, and the CW Bundle is by far the thickest, and that’s with minimal salt content.

Speaking of Salt: The Roommate and I had to approach this as an Avengers movie. Because otherwise the salt levels in this would be toxic, possibly fatal. Even so, ppl with high cholesterol be warned

LET’S DO THIS

1991!

Winter Soldier: 

what is this

what is this please

dat beef tho

what is this op sec

honestly

NO mask

SHINY FUCKOFF ARM just HANGING OUT

CCTV???

~ooooooo he’s a ghooooooooooooost~

he’s got an extremely dedicated and very harried cleanup crew is what he’s got

OH! OLD LOGO ILU!!!

LAGOS!!

The Roommate: That’s a lot of sugar

i ain’t judging

what, you think her powers run on optimism?

is there an accent? is there not? Shroedinger’s accent.

droney the drone

sam’s lil sky roomba

i love him

guhhhh this scene every line shows character and growth and i just *clenches fist*

did

did falcon just throw steve

just yeeted him at the enemy?

god i love that

also: has steve bulked up since TWS?

that’s also on Sam, yeah?

CUT THE CHEEEEECCCCK

is this fucking NEUROTOXIN? STEVE WHERE’S UR MASK?

Steve, throwing himself into a room full of an unknown poison gas without a mask: I bet i can survive this

Bucky, in Bucharest: *breaks whatever he’s holding without knowing why*

god i love sam

“I don’t work like that no more” Means ?????????????

PARKOUR NAT

is also BRUNCH MOM NAT

“both grunting” is always one of my favorite subtitles

2 white boys fighting in the middle of the street like it’s a video game

god someone took the murder strut to heart wow that is some. that is some something that’s for sure.

give me even one (1) heterosexual explanation for "your pal your buddy your bucky"

there’s no way that bucky ever said this, right? this is just Rumlow fucking with steve, and the screenwriters fucking with us

because IN CASE YOU WERE NOT IN THIS FANDOM IN 2016, WE ALL THOUGHT CAP WOULD DIE IN THIS MOVIE

WE WERE SO SURE

wow i wonder if that will be relevant to anyone’s emotions here in the year of our lordt 2019

anyway, what bucky actually said was:

“please tell rogers... that he’s a big dumb dildo and he should wear a gas mask and also a parachute.”

listen i love this opening scene but also wanda is not at all responsible for this explosion and the fact that they act like she is undermines my ability to suspend my disbelief.

DIGITAL ENYOUTHENMENT ALERT

also, tony the fact that you are using your literal dead mom as an actual therapist is

wow

BARF feels right to me

too real, tony

it’s too real

how ARE you getting around the strings and taxes tho

Also can i say that i actually love that Pepper’s absence is this profoundly important to the story. The hole where pepper should be is a huge part of this story and i like that. i like that a lot.

WOW THAT EXTRA IS LIKE A MASHUP OF NAT AND WANDA. SHE IS THE GENERIC MARVEL WHITE LADY

more a+ visual storytelling with the elevator

I’m just so mad that they blame wanda and play that straight?

all they had to do was outright acknowledge one (1) time that the media is picking on her because she’s a woman/a foreigner

imagine that speech coming from nat instead of steve

though i do love Steve’s pep talk

again. give me one (1) heterosexual explanation

though why not have Steve say “they’re just bullies, you did the right thing” and hearken back to smolsteeb

The Roommate: Remember how i was mad at his Oscars Velvet Blazer? I am also mad at this sweater.... it looks... so soft... i don’t know if i want it on him or off him... just wanna tuch....... and wear..........?”

Vision’s Ascot is. Something else man.

The Roommate: Why is ross secretary of state?

Me: Why is Trump President

Me: I bet Ross is vegan

the roommate, who has vegan-related trauma: UUUUGGGHHHHHHHH

Nat's reaction to vigilantes: Bitch please. she is Unbothered.

you don’t have to show us footage we’ve got the ptsd nightmares

400 pages in 3 days

[tired american sighing]

we honestly can’t even criticize this plot point anymore just

[my longest and most american sigh]

CLEVELAND!!!

hail hydra continues to be the Most Terrible last words

but WHY does ross have the congressional medal of honor

do you know how HARD it is to get one of those????

yeesh

sassy black friends sassing at each other

is definitely a

thing that is happening rn

Vision: Well Actually

no one cares, vis

ok like

a kid is dead but

3.6 is an okay GPA

maybe all my friends are overachievers

maybe it’s just because most of them are women but like

it’s an okay GPA

i’d have 8000% more respect for Tony if he was more upfront like “look this is on me” especially here

are we supposed to be picking all this up as subtext, actually?

because i know that this movie ALSO had a Troubled Youth ala ant man

and i really do appreciate the Russos for relying on a smart audience but there’s a lot going on

and it’s very obvious to me that they had to shift gears 18,000 times in the script writing phase

so like, you’ve got old man vet steve

but it’s painfully obvious that he missed vietnam right?

like

it’s painfully obvious

and he’s v egotistical and self righteous too 

it IS a battle of the egos

and no one is right

except natasha

Steve: i have to go

me: mood

LONDON!!!!

oh god

oh god no

steve god no steve oh god

gfhskfdjjjksjdjjhrrrrhrhhrhfhh [wailing and rending of garments]

Re Peggy’s age:

SURPRISE IT’S ACTUALLY PLAUSIBLE

so the True Hallmark of a Cap Movie is Peggy telling steve what to do.

so weird to have that in an avengers movie

i do love this. GOOD BRO NAT CONTENT

Um. is vision a minor? is wanda?

again, nat is the only Correct one here

stay together guys

it might be

reeeeeeaaaaally important in 

*checks watch*

two years’ time.

~hug~

VIENNA!!!!!

CHAD WICK! CHAD! WICK! CHAD! WICK!

god i love the xhosa in this

There is a level of worldbuilding in this that we p much only get from the russos/markus&mcfeely. i mean -- internal consistency worldbuilding? if that makes sense? we get a lot of visual worldbuilding in black panther, but this is distinctly different and hard to articulate and it has to do with the way they approach things and how they assume audience intelligence

it just works for me

oh no chadwick boseman don’t be cry

Sharon deserves better

than being cockblocked by her own aunt

and also sam wilson (who also deserves better)

cryptid!bucky

Nat did you get that suit from jenny agutter?

LA Brunch Mom Nat

mah girl

she’s just so tired

steve (bless him) is just so exhausting

couples date sam and steve dressed to match

“at the gym”??? really? the arm is... a bit of a giveaway

i do feel bad for zemo in this one specific case

russian IS hard

how. did he get that in there?

Soft Plumboy Bucky

BEEF

Captain’s Log: Buck’s place is a shithole

Sergeant’s Log: Steve’s face is pretty

surprise bitch

“That’s Smart, Good Strategy” is an excellent phrase to use in everyday conversation in order to weed out who Knows and who Doesn’t.

What i have learned from civil war: 

Captain America is a projectile weapon

further query:

did bucky ever hurl small steve at assailants?

Bucky: *punts steve down an alley*

Steve, 90 lbs of rage at 90 mph: GET WRECKED

Bucky’s got big tommy wiseau cryptid energy here

And now there’s a cat

bucky:

I love this vampire running and also bucky’s thighs

Steve Rogers: Excuse me sir I need to commandeer this vehicle. YEET.

Bucky Barnes: Excuse me sir I need to commandeer this vehicle. YOINK.

Bucky and Steve: Wrecking your morning commute since 2014

WAR MACHINE!!!

god vis has the biggest dorkiest crush

so vis are you a child prodigy? or? what?

The Roommate, a cinnamon roll, too good for this world, too pure: vis have you eaten anything between CW and IW?

Me, sinnamon roll, not to be trusted: *dying* *thinking about how Vision’s got schroedinger’s dick. does it exist? does it not exist? who knows.*

Me: Y. Yes. I th. think he has. eaten something. between now and. and IW. something.

The Roommate: *betrayed look*

Me: DEEP FRIED KEBAB MAYBE? I DON’T KNOW.

The Roommate: *is so disappointed*

BERLIN!!!!!!

Bucky is. So tired. Let him rest.

fucking up the morning commute again i see

u like cats??

I love the ratio of overkill:ineffectiveness with this glass box they put him in.

why did tony  bring these fancy pens

the time spent explaining them could’ve been spent doing literally anything else

*i still don’t understand the accords*

GOD STEVE WANTS TO BE AN UNCLE SO BAD

“my fault”

there it is

“truth is i don’t want to stop”

THERE it is

“i thought the accords could split the difference”

THERE IT IS

"no, i don’t.”

THERE IT IS

“IT’S INTERNMENT.”

THERE! IT! IS!

gah.

wanda’s accent et al -- MAKE IT EXPLICIT MARVEL YOU COWARDS

no but really what are the accords

here followed a 20-30 minute convo about the accords

basically the summing up was:

Nat is 100% Right Ross is 100% Wrong Everyone Else is In A Grey Area

look this is actually a really good avengers movie

but

this is a moment when the back catalogue works against them because this conversation is so -- it implies a lot of friendly interactions between these two. they seem to have a relationship

but i keep looking at all the other movies they’ve interacted in like

BITCH WHERE? WHERE IS THE TONYSTEVE FRIENDSHIP? WHERE???

i am anticipating this will cause me A Grief later

The Roommate, looking at Steve in his Grey Shirt and Jacket: Damn, sir. Stop wearing clothes.

“BIRD COSTUME???”

“j a m e s”

big holt talking to rosa vibes there

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

A VAST AND MIGHTY MOOD

Zemo’s plan is so ridiculous i genuinely don’t have time to get into it i still have two pages of notes to get through holy shit.

this fight scene. does things. for me.

hhhHNNNNHGH BEEFSTEAK

(oh tony left with no suit? growth dot gif)

THIGHS

T H I G H S ! ! ! !

CHADWICK!

Sam out here, serving looks, casually modeling

B I C E P S ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

TOO SEXY! *crashes helicopter*

I need twelve more scenes of steve and bucky faffing about in the water.

A more effective restraint than the custom made bucky bottle

(BRIEF 1991)

haaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAa biceps u stop that

Is Tony having a heart attack???

he has no concept of how to treat children because he never was one oh no i gave myself a sad feeling

QUEENS!!!!!!!

“I’m having a big fight in a parking lot with my superhero friends better go pick up a child as backup.” - tony stark

tony he doesn’t have a passport and if he understood what was happening he would not be on your side

Now That’s What I Call Vigilantism.

Why are you bringing a CHILD to a gun fight

Tony’s face, to me, suggests that he knows EXACTLY what he’s doing

also? it’s painfully obvious to me that these scenes were copypasted in late stage when they finally found out that yes they would have the rights to spiderman lol

for some reason they don’t feel the need to tell is that this is avengers compound in 400 point font

i’m so lost

where are we?

without the 400 point font i can only assume we are on mars

THAT’s a fine way to greet YOUR FATHER, WANDA

hawkeye is in fact the team lynchpin

is it

ugh

is it because they listen to him but he listens to natasha

ugh

i bet it is

UUUUUUGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH

Vision: I have been FALLING! for THIRTY MINUTES!

“i know someone who does”

i’m confused by the cut here, because it seems to imply that Sharon, deliberately or inadvertently, rats them out to natasha?

Birds and raccoons do not get along

steve

steve no

steve

ur timing is shit steve

Scott Lang might be the best thing in this movie

well except for Dat Bone Structure

CUT THE CHEEEEEECK

*costume change in a parking lot to the yakkety sax soundtrack*

Thinking about the coming battle i am forced to concede that Iron Man Has A Point?

“do you really want to punch your way out of this?”

Steve: I ALWAYS wanna punch my way out

god scott’s such a fukkin nerd

tiny quibble but Scott “got punched by hope van dyne” lang would never say that to the black heckin widow

“gimmick”

um

people in falcon houses shouldn’t throw spider stones, samuel

wanda

those cars belong to people

oh god iron man has a point

LET’S GO LESBIANS! COME ON LESBIANS LET’S GO

*catfight sounds*

“then why did you run?”

dude you attacked me in a catsuit

Tony’s true superpower is that he knows steve, that’s how spiderbabby gets the upper hand

althought god

Tony was pre-gaslighting peter

he was pilotlighting peter

*my longest UGH yet*

“Queens?” “Brooklyn”

MAXIMUM NEW YORK ACHIEVED

ant man is the MVP

hmmmmmm “we don’t trade lives” HMMMMMMMMM

why did that truck explode

also *omg iron man has a point*

tony tedward stark how did you not know how old this child was

also peter stop pretending you don’t know what Empire Strikes Back, AT-ATs and Hoth are.

why doesn’t Vis get more flack for this

hey. hey tony. you know what sam is? A MEDIC. maybe let him LOOK AT YER FRIEND THERE instead of SHOOTING HIM IN THE FACE.

zemo’s plan is noooooonseeeeennnnnnsssse

guh these two beautiful men emoting in different directions KILL ME

this doctor is just like “yup there’s a giant purple robot here seems legit”

natasha is the only one who’s 100% right

did... did the russos kill themselves in this movie? did they cast themselves as dead extras? was this a statement of some kind?

HOW did ross get the congressional medal of honor. H O W.

“you read it”

NO ONE READ IT, IT’S 400 PAGES

tony this is Some Nonsense

ffflslkds he’s taking one of Nat’s guns KILL ME

one (1) heterosexual explanation.

rode back in a freezer truck

got pneumonia

already had pneumonia

and you blew three whole dollars on some slut

(seriously. gimme one. i’m waiting.)

srsly tho, whether you ship it or not, these two are old marrieds

the red star looks weird on his beefcake arm. did they forget to scale it up?

KITTY

listen zemo is just really turned on by cam and he didn’t mean to say that and that’s the most relateable thing he’s done so far.

It’s not just that bucky killed his mom. it’s that bucky killed his mom AND STEVE KEPT IT FROM HIM.

life alert a senior citizen has fallen

T'Challa, observing this White Nonsense™: I truly should... check myself. Before! I wreck myself.

agism is what it is

god this bit

steve dropping the shield

look at him

he is Stick A Fork In Him D O N E

Rhodey really deserves better than this? He deserves development showing the evolution of his opinion between here and IW

i wish we could get more of him grappling with this

that said

gosh wouldn’t it fucking suck if Cap and Bucky got relegated to End Credit scenes in their own got damn movie to make room for Iron Man to emote at his buddy his pal his rhodey?

*looks directly into the camera like i’m on the office.*

Anyway.

Steve rogers: getting the last word in every argument since 1918.

“from the bottom of my heart: My Bad.”

[stusbunker]

Known: Friends in a Fix

A Supernatural Dark Fan-fiction

Featuring: Dean Winchester x Demon!Reader, Dean x Female Vessel OC

Series Masterlist

A/N: With the dates I let you know where the action falls in regards to air dates, I try not to repeat information you already know. Please ask if something doesn’t make sense! xoxo Stu

Not really any warnings this chapter, there will still be show level violence, possession, mental health concerns, and a reminder that it is a Slow Burn. Each Chapter will have its own warnings, because I am generous like that. xoxo Stu

The dark figured loomed in the doorway, an insipid strobe light shone from another room, effectively blinding her as she tried to make out a face or species to her capture. Chloe was pinned down to a wide table, unable to move any of her extremities and the maddening realization that she was going to die like some bitch in a horror movie caused her to taunt the bastard.

“Oh goodie, you’re here—” her voice came out flat, as if she had an accent or something shoved in her mouth. When she looked down at her surroundings, everything shifted. Her hands paled and thinned as she tried to figure out what was happening. Then his voice sent a shiver down her spine, it was familiar yet ominous. Her head snapped up to face him when suddenly she woke up.

The raggedy blanket she kept along the passenger’s seat back wedged beneath her head as a makeshift pillow.

Earth Date: October 8, 2013

Location: A Rest Stop Somewhere between Madison and Milwaukee

She never had nightmares, for a hunter it was a rare quality, one that she had prided herself on. That was until she started to, when exhaustion nor booze could quell the festering dreams that haunted her even in daylight. CC started to question her fortitude, trying to relive the past few weeks and see what would have triggered such elaborate horrors. It was like she had ingested someone’ else’s trauma, the unfinished memories at odds with her own strengths and fears. She quickly grew dismayed over the new, if unfounded, weakness.

CC sat up, rubbing her face with flat swipes of her palms, chasing away the barely two hours of sleep she had managed before the last episode. She stared at the clock on the dash before grumbling to herself and starting the engine. She had turned off her phone the night before after a landline had refused to stop calling and to leave a message with more information than a selfish urgency. There were only a handful of people Chloe Collins would answer after that kind of dramatics, and two of them were dead. She thought about calling Garth, but let the idea float out of her focus as quickly as the wind picked up over the moraines.

It was another day before she remembered to turn her phone back on, having driven mindlessly until she stopped in front of an overgrown gas station and convenience store that looked like it had survived a tornado or some other natural disaster that would have shattered its windows. There was a residue to the place, as if a spirit had led her there to clean up its mess. If there was a spook behind the numbing atmosphere, it remained perpetually silent and out of sight.

“Hey, look, I know things are probably bad out there, but if there is any chance you are near Colorado, call me. Sam’s laid up and, I, I can’t do this myself, not right now. Consider this calling in all my favors. Thanks, Chloe.” Dean Winchester’s voice dropped on her name, it was a plea, not a sign off. He never used her real name. And he rarely asked for help. She turned West before scrolling for his number in her contacts list.

Nothing seemed real anymore.

Location: Nebraska

Despite the bright sunshine and crisp air, Castiel was growing bitter towards his surroundings. He heard Hael’s warnings in his memory as he walked down the quiet two-lane road. Hoping he could do what he had to, in order to stay as far away from every other angel as possible. He had changed clothes, spending his last coins on vending machine nutrients and a bottle of water. The truck driver had been polite enough, dropping him off at the next stop without any agreed upon repayment. And so, he started walking, again, painfully hungry and alone.

The passing vehicles rumbled passed Cas in a blur, his arm held out awkward and listless as he glanced half-heartedly at the few potential rides. Suddenly a rusted pick up screeched along, failing to come to a complete stop as it blew through the shoulder and into the grassy ditch. Castiel instinctively chased after the seemingly out of control vehicle, worry cresting his brow. When he reached the passenger side window, his stomach pitched against its emptiness.

Demon.

The woman appeared frozen, knuckles white against the worn steering wheel. She was shaking either from the impact of the accident or from fighting the entity that was trying to control her. Once he spoke, she spun to face him, her heart shaped face familiar over the parasite’s sinister features.

“I know you—”

“Castiel?” The woman’s voice croaked out of her clenched jaw. The flash of her grey eyes and the charm hanging from her rearview mirror brought pieces of old conversations and images back into focus. Dean mentioning a friend who had made repelling talismans by combining Native American chants with hoodoo ingredients. Her grandfather was a master of petroglyphs, spellwork and runes while her mother had visions from an early age.

“Chloe? Chloe Collins? Did Dean send you?” Castiel’s voice was urgent, but the worry clouded his now human features.

“I tried to stop, but my foot, it’s like it wouldn’t--- am I okay?” She begged for reassurance, not being able to move more than an inch in either direction. Castiel pained for this woman, unaware and at the mercy of her attacker.

“You’re going to be fine,” Castiel walked around the truck, never taking his eyes off of the hunter. When he reached the driver’s side door, the demon took hold. Her head tilted at an unnatural angle, eyes blackened as a horse-like huff flared her nostrils.

“Hello, thief. Long time.” The demon struggled back against her host, Chloe’s voice wavered as she pushed open the door, sending Cas flat on his ass. She leaped from the cab, nearly pouncing on him.

“What’s a-matter?” The demon continued to taunt him, “It seems if the jailbreaker has lost its wings?”

Castiel drew the Angel Blade from inside his stolen hoodie, the fear and humanity rolling towards the demon’s nostrils in intoxicating waves. The weapon got the demon’s attention, she snarled at him as worried voices came out of nowhere. Cas looked back to the road, a family had pulled over to check on the stalled vehicle. The mother’s voice beckoning to the father as he approached the struggling pair.

“Everybody okay over here?” The man’s large hands were gripped in front of his chest as if he was warming them before beginning a task.

Chloe’s eyes returned to normal as she leaned down to pull Castiel back onto his feet. He didn’t say anything but gave the demon/hunter a sidelong glance.

“Yeah, should be, I got caught rubbernecking this one, but he was kind of enough to see that me and my truck are square.” Chloe’s voice had returned, her thick hair drifting in the breeze as she shoved her hands in the front pockets of her jeans.

“You okay, man? You look like you saw a ghost!” The concerned motorist chortled as Castiel thought about what the man meant.

“No, there are no restless spirits here.” Castiel’s confusion broke the man’s revelry.

“Alright, could you do me a favor and wave to the Missus? She wouldn’t believe me unless everyone’s smiling.” As if on cue, Chloe and the bystander turned and waved back at his minivan, his wife beaming with relief as Castiel tried to patch on a smile. As soon as the family was back on the road with another round of enthusiastic waving from Chloe, Castiel redrew his blade.

She froze with the deadly point pressing gently above her kidney, “You kill me, you kill the girl, Castiel. You might be a half-dead has-been, but you wouldn’t do that to the Winchesters. Not when Dean sent her to collect you.”

“What are you doing with her?” Castiel was unmoved by her rationality.

“Nothing you need to worry about, besides,” the demon spun, hard, landing a firm elbow to his temple. “We are too exposed out here, for both our sakes.”

***

Castiel woke in her passenger seat a few hours later, the sun igniting the horizon behind them in a burst of pink and lavender. Chloe smiled at him as she briefly took her eyes off the road. He sat up, hand twitching over his missing weapon.

“Don’t worry, I’m not here to hunt you Castiel.” Her voice was soft and genuine, he realized he was talking to the woman and not the demon now. “But, if you don’t believe me, the Angel Blade is under your seat. I didn’t want to accidentally stab you while I dragged your unconscious ass into the cab.”

Cas didn’t bother verifying her explanation, he had grown too distracted by the giant-sized soft drink in the cupholder. “May I?” He asked with an audible swallow over his parched throat.

“Be my guest,” CC hummed a melody after her offer, one in stark contrast to the radio commercial jingle playing. Castiel removed the thin plastic lid and poured the bubbly, icy liquid down his throat. He paused when the frigid temperature burned his chest, just as an obnoxious belch escaped his lips.

“Excuse you,” CC chuckled, handing him a fistful of napkins from the glove compartment, he hadn’t realized he had spilled down his front.

“Why are you helping me?” Cas’s question caught her off guard.

“Obviously, so I can hold you hostage and take advantage of you,” CC didn’t miss a beat, winking at the perplexed grimace on the Angel-man’s face. “I’m a friend of the Winchesters? Dean was freaking out because Sam was laid up, so he asked if I was near Colorado?”

She continued to end each sentence as if it were a question, hoping the connections would be made in his brain. “When did you last talk to Dean?”

“I haven’t, just started driving West. Got pretty lucky to have spotted you, too. You look half-dead. Everything alright?” She was leading him, but he didn’t feel threatened with her concern.

Castiel sighed, “I’m not up to my full power, thank you for your help, Ms. Collins.”

“CC, Cas. It’s, just, CC.”

***

Castiel felt their presence before he heard his name over the radio waves, the Angels were closing in on him. Traveling with a demon, even a somewhat accommodating one, had been too risky after all. They had stopped for gas and a quick meal, but he knew better than to lead his fallen brethren back to CC and whoever was possessing her. Before CC returned from the women’s room, Cas ducked out of the small convenience store and made his way across the highway to a fast food restaurant.

He slowly made his way up the frontage road and stuck his thumb out for a ride in the opposite direction. Twenty minutes later, he was whisked away, hopefully drawing the Angels away from the confusing demon’s scent.

That night he called Dean from a borrowed cellphone at a group home.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Cas, what the hell?!” Dean barked over the line.

“I wanted to contact you because, well, I left CC at a truck stop in Nebraska.”

“Glad to know she got my message, why’d you split? Everything alright?”

“No, the Angels were trailing me, and I didn’t want to endanger her. Dean? How long has she—"

“Yeah, sorry about that, she can be a bit of a pistol sometimes,” Cas could hear the eye roll in Dean’s voice.

“That’s not what I mean, Dean. You do know that—”

“Oh, okay, right. Sorry, man, Sam was talking. Listen, you just get here asap. I’ll call Chloe before she burns half the corn fields looking for your ass.”

“Thanks, Dean.”

“You sure you don’t want us to pick you up?”

“No, Dean, I think I can manage another state or two.” It was Cas’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Well, okay. But, uh, be careful out there, man.” Castiel hung up as his cover name was called out from the reception desk, announcing his bed assignment.

***

Earth Date: October 13, 2013

Location: Las Vegas, Nevada

Chloe kicked herself for showing up to the care facility on a Sunday afternoon. The residents were exhausted from an outing the day before and the staff was not the most enthusiastic to last minute visitors. An extremely tall blonde female resident frowned at CC as she approached the corner where her mother sat gossiping. With the practiced patience and subtly of her trade, she slid into a seat beside her mother and listened to the perceived drama around her.

One of the night nurses was a kleptomaniac, Doris, her mother’s companion was certain. It was all very mundane with a nostalgic level of neighborhood paranoia, drawing an easy curl to her closed lips. CC sat for ten minutes before the women looked up and realized they had company, her hands folded over her elbows as if holding herself together.

“Hey, Mama,” she leaned forward and patted her mother’s knee. Her mother watched her skeptically, following her hand as it retracted back to her lap as if Chloe’s had personally offended her.

“What’s the matter with you?” Her mother’s tone was blunt, but to be expected. “Your energy is all foggy.”

“It’s nice to see you too,” CC grumbled, tucking her hair behind her ear, her piercings sparkling in the pre-sunset glow that shown through the long windows behind them.

“Please tell me you didn’t bring something with you? I don’t have the means to expel spirits in here.” Her mother huffed, searching the area around their small square of chairs as if a ghost would jump out at the suggestion and attack them all. CC sighed, somethings never changed, mood disorder medicated or not. Her mother had dark eyes and kept her hair in a thick, meticulous plait down her back. Other than that, the women were nearly identical, barely a laugh line or forehead crease deeper on her mother’s smooth features versus her own.

“I’m clean, Ma’am, I know what I’m doing,” CC whispered adamantly now. “Can we talk in private?”

Her mother eyed Doris knowingly, “Like you’re going to rat us out, I swear.”

“Fine.” Chloe leaned back, sighing as the older women shared a look.

“Constance, I’ll be back, I’m going to tell our eavesdropper to mind her own damn business.” Doris and Constance snapped their heads back to land disapproving eyes on the woman that had given CC a very similar look when she first arrived. Soon, Doris was out of earshot.

“Do you hear them?” CC asked, looking at her mother’s shoes.

“Of course, I hear them, girl. They won’t shut the hell up. It’s like they think they’re the only ones to experience a change of address.” Constance Collins groaned, rubbing her temples against the broadcast of celestial communication.

“Yeah, well, moving pains are the least of our worries. It’s like a temper tantrum met turf warfare.” CC explained what she had figured out about the dispelled angels’ situation.

“What are you going to do about it?” Constance watched her daughter, noting the shadows that drooped into her usually full cheeks.

“See how it pans out for now, I guess. Not really something a single hunter can do about all of Heaven.” CC shrugged.

“Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it's the only thing that ever has.” Her mother recited verbatim.

“Thanks, Margaret, didn’t realize I had stepped in to a Soc class.” CC rolled her eyes.

“Don’t shoot the messenger, Chloe Cathleen. If you want to fix this mess; you can. Simple as that.”

“Thanks?”

“Anytime,” her mother smirked at her, until CC’s face pulled up and grinned back. “You in town?”

“Not really,” CC admitted, checking her phone for the time.

“Well, the night meds get distributed soon, better scoot before they added you to the queue, doll-baby.”

CC stood, rubbing her sweaty palms on the front of her fitted jeans. “Take care of yourself, Mama.”

Constance stood leaning up to place her cheek against her daughter’s, and with a short hum came a dark send off. “Don’t be too reckless out there. Come back to me.”

CC closed her eyes, “Of course, Mama.”

They broke apart and left with stuttering smiles on both of their lips.

Earth Date: October 17, 2013

Location: The Bunker

Dean woke to the frustrating buzzing of his phone against his nightstand, without a glance at the caller id he groaned a greeting.

“Go for Winchester.”

“Dean?” She sounded so small.

“Chloe, Christ, where have you been?! I’ve been calling for weeks.” Dean sat up, batting at the covers in order to free his bare legs, tossing them over the side.

“North Carolina, uh, just outside of Whittier.” She wasn’t sounding any better the longer she talked. “Uh, I don’t know how I got here, Dean. I remember looking into a case and then nothing.”

“Are you somewhere safe?” Dean rubbed his eyes, panic flooding his thoughts.

“I’m in a diner, but I don’t know where my truck is or—”

“Okay, well get a room, call me and I’ll give them my card. Got it?”

“Yeah, okay, right, first motel in the phonebook, right?”

“That’s my girl. Okay, sit tight. I’ll be there soon.” Dean waited for her sign off, throwing on pants with one hand to his ear.

“Okay, thanks, Dean.” Dean swallowed, exhaling tightly before ending the call. Everything from hex bags to Angel possession crossed his mind as he drove East in a fury. He could have called another hunter, he should have told Sam where he was going, but he didn’t. He just drove.

 My girl. Dean’s words flooded your thoughts as you sat hunched over your malt at the diner counter. Now the waiting began.

tags: @dontshootmespence @because-imma-lady-assface @mrswhozeewhatsis @smi727 @sassykayla255 @dxr-supernatural-fanfic @supernaturalboi @dumbthotticus @eve05glee @veroinnumera @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @forgettingthoughts @shokushuhime-stuff @fanfictionrecommendations-com @soullesscollection-world @igotdressedthroughthemess 

Next Chapter: A Line Once Crossed

[dcarevu]

The Last Laugh

“When the going gets tough, the tough go shopping!”

Hey, guys. This is Collin. I know that we’re only four episodes into this blog now, and things are just starting to roll…but unfortunately, I’ve decided that the stress of college and work is too much, so I’m going to have to go on an indefinite hiatus…

April fools!

SPOILERS BEYOND THIS POINT

Villain: The Joker Robin: No Writer: Carl Swenson Director: Kevin Altieri Animator: Akom Airdate: September 22, 1992 Episode Grade: B

The Joker’s back on the show already, and again, he has formulated an overly-complicated plot which seems to be designed specifically to lead Batman directly to him. We start by seeing a boat full of repulsively green trash chugging through the Gotham river. It’s emitting an absolutely foul stench, and while we aren’t sure if this is a typical occurrence, knowing this city, I wouldn’t doubt it one bit. Char, my girlfriend and watching-buddy got the impression that Gotham is indeed an old, dark, gothic city, but this was her first exposure to the griminess that is often associated with it. This time, however, the griminess seems to be a little bit more pleasant; in fact every citizen who notices it seems to burst out laughing! The garbage is emitting a powerful laughing gas that doesn’t just cause a rush of giggles, but it also seems to send its victims completely out of control, and they start ignoring all of their surroundings altogether. It’s like they’re not even aware of their laughter, as the fumes get them as high as a kite.

Meanwhile, still in Gotham, but away from the city, we cut to a really great shot of Wayne Manor. Inside, Bruce is sprucing himself up, and we discover that it is April Fools’ Day thanks to Alfred once again being the lovable savage that he seems to be. Offering to “draw” Bruce a bath, he quite literally draws him a picture of a bath, hoping to at least get a smile out of him. But alas, when he’s not reaching for his rich playboy persona, we see that Bruce is actually quite the stick in the mud. I love Kevin Conroy’s way of creating two voices for the character, something that had never really been done before this show. I actually believe this was Kevin’s idea, which is no surprise given his acting background. He somehow does it in a way that makes the Bruce Wayne persona seem even more fake, despite that voice being closer to Kevin’s actual voice.

Bruce Wayne dedicating himself to living a lie like that must truly be tough. Think about how that must hamper his relationships, and it starts to explain the social state that he finds himself in later down the DCAU timeline. I’m someone who is an introvert, and sometimes the amount of energy required to socialize is more than I would like to admit. But if I had to pretend to be someone I’m not every day when my true self is as dark as Batman’s character (and let’s be real, Batman is our main character, Bruce Wayne only exists as a name on his legal documents), it would be a lot worse. The seeds were planted this early, and it shows the thought, consistency, and understanding that Radomski, Timm, and co had for the character right away. This wasn’t your average Saturday morning version of Batman.

Obviously as more and more people throughout the city begin to become affected by the laughing gas, it does not go unnoticed by news outlets. Bruce immediately comes to the same conclusion as many of us watching; The Joker. It’s merely a matter of finding him and figuring out what he is up to. Meanwhile back in the city, we find out just that; The Joker and two of his goons are using the gas-induced obliviousness of the citizens on the street to rob them right under their noses. Even police officers are in tears, not paying the least bit of attention. The Joker, of course, is cracking comments and laughing his ass off the whole time. Some of his lines are legitimately hilarious in this episode, I’ve gotta say! While he was entertaining as all hell in Christmas With The Joker, it was more in a simple whacky, over-the-top, cartoon way. He still has some of that aspect here, but a lot more of it comes from genuinely clever writing. Some of his most well known lines from the show come from this episode. “So we’ll just punch some air holes!” and “YOU KILLED CAPTAIN CLOWN!” to name a couple, the latter being downright legendary.

So far, this episode gives the simple vibe of a fun Joker romp without much meat on its bones, and much of it is. But the stakes do raise as we cut back to the Batcave. Batman is analyzing some of the gas, and learning that it causes “permanent insanity”. We’ll come back to this a little bit later, but obviously he has to do something. Not just because of the robberies and accidents happening, but also just because of the mental health factor. Insanity? Not particularly good for you. All of a sudden, however, we hear a crash come from upstairs when he attempts to call Alfred down into the cave. He runs upstairs, and here we see Alfred, smashing artifacts and furniture with a broom as we hear him belt out cackles unlike anything we have heard from him. The gas is inside the house. Batman immediately dons a gas mask and heads out to stop it, presumably taking care of Alfred first. Alfred, and Wayne Manor in general, being the thing in danger isn’t an element the show does a lot, and I think the moderation allows it to stand out a lot more. It can immediately turn a silly episode like this into something much more serious. Char was gasping and worrying the entire time, not wanting Alfred to be hurt. I think she’s growing to really like him. This is helped by the fact that Alfred was recast for this episode, and his new actor, Afrem Zimbalist Jr (unfortunately no longer with us) would remain for the entire rest of the DCAU. Both of us like this change a lot. I think this new voice helps with Alfred’s miniature character evolution, as it just suits this personality more. The first voice (Clive Revill) wasn’t bad by any means. Paired with the version of Alfred that’s a bit more stereotypical “5-star restaurant waiter”, it felt pretty natural. But Afrem…he brings the character to life like no one else can. There’s no way I can picture Clive laughing maniacally the way that Alfred did here. Also…and maybe it’s just me…but even though for the first three episodes Alfred was voiced by a man who was actually English, it sounded more like a fake accent than Afrem’s! And maybe this is because I’m an ignorant American who doesn’t hear English accents every day, nor am I aware of all the regional variations. I don’t know. But virtually everyone who talks about this new portrayal absolutely loves it, so I’m likely not alone with this aspect either.

Back in the river, we see that the garbage boat is fake. Below the water, what looks like the top of a boat is being carried by a submarine. Looking through the periscope of the sub, the Joker catches sight of Batman’s eyes, staring back at him through the lens. Then, BAM. Batman smacks it, causing the entire thing to rattle, and sending the Joker to the floor. Boy are we getting some great drawings in this episode. Batman’s face through the lens looks amazing! We also had some fun, yet purposely ugly shots of people laughing on the streets earlier, and then the Joker getting knocked away from the periscope is gold. After this, we see that Batman is towing around the “boat” with his own Batboat (its first appearance), which pisses the Joker off. So we get a fight scene between the goons and Batman, which is one of the better action scenes we’ve gotten up to this point. Is it still a little bit stilted? Yes, most definitely. But is it Spider-Man the Animated Series level? Not a chance. I did get some excitement here, and the big hunk of metal known in this episode (and throughout the Internet) as Captain Clown is a robot, so we got a little bit of extra fun here. The Fox censors were not as sensitive if the beating was not being done to an actual human being (even if it’s hard to tell whether or not it's human just by looking), and we got to see Batman throw an actual hard punch. The fight against the other two gives me the impression of martial arts and self defense, which also makes sense given Batman’s background (which will be covered later). The scene ends, however, with Batman being locked in a container and thrown into the water, with the container leaking in through the many holes that the Joker stabs into it with a knife. Seeing the Joker whip out a knife like that and puncture it with Batman inside is really jarring given that this is episode four, and we hadn’t really seen that kind of near-violence prior. Yeah, Batman dodged the stabs, but if one of those had hit, he’d be done. Another glimpse into the dangerous psychopath aspect of a character you don’t always expect to fear. To be clear, this was jarring in a good way.

Situations like this are hard to write for, because you have to be able to come up with a solution that isn’t anticlimactic or complete bullshit. Here Batman calls his Batboat with his utility belt and has it slice the container up with its laser gun blast. It was thinking outside the box a little bit (no pun intended), and having the laser miss during the first shot was a good touch. Granted, I also don’t recall this laser getting much use later down the line (you would think a powerful tool like this would be heavily utilized, hinting at it being added just because of this predicament, but then again, welcome to the world of Batman’s gadgets), so overall I don’t think it was perfect. Pretty cool, though, and I’m not gonna complain. I wasn’t expecting it, and I did find it exciting. Also, 12 words: Batman’s anger once he manages to swim back up to the surface.

To speed things up a little bit, Batman gets to the service, finds where the Joker has gone, defeats the thugs by exposing them to their own laughing gas, and even manages to decimate Captain Clown in a trash compactor. After this, the rest of the episode is pretty much just a chase sequence, and it almost reminds me of a video game. Batman is basically going through an obstacle course. We get a couple more really great shots here, one of the Joker creepily riding a conveyor belt through the shadows, and one of Batman sliding down the garbage shoot. I’m surprised this was animated by Akom, as I specifically remember their animation being generally C-tier when I watched the entirety of Animaniacs (with TMS obviously being the best). Perhaps it was all in the storyboards. The more detailed they are, obviously Akom has more to go by with less room to mess things up. Batman ends up confronting the Joker on a walkway above a vat of molten metal, where Joker throws some razor sharp playing-cards at him. He misses once, and then for the second card, Batman manages to catch it. This is a scene that makes you audibly go, “Awww shit”, and you can tell Joker is thinking the same thing. Char brought up something interesting here. The Joker constructs these incredible plans to disrupt Batman’s day. I swear, he plans everything. But only up until a certain point, because he banks too much on certain aspects. He swore that throwing Batman into the river would have finished him. It’s like the SpongeBob episode where Plankton says something like, “I never thought I’d get this far”. Once Batman makes contact with that card razor, Joker panics and immediately tries to run away, ultimately defeating himself as he trips himself up with a rope. He plays with Batman one step too far. He doesn’t realize when to stop. He pokes the bear, and although he may ultimately be a glorified, crazy mobster, he’s not a fighter. Despite this realization of Char’s, which I totally vibe with, just two episodes ago we had the Joker tripping, falling, and being caught by Batman. So overall I do consider this ending a little cheap. A low point to an otherwise entertaining episode.

Well, I guess it’s not quite the ending. Because after this, we are back with Bruce Wayne and Alfred. Alfred seems to be feeling healthy again, but he is distraught since he broke a priceless artifact earlier when he was exposed to the insanity gas. Bruce tells him not to worry, and that it can simply come out of his paycheck, but also assures him that he’s joking, and it’s all an April Fools’ joke. Bruce even chuckles about it. I love this segment, and even though Bruce can be a stick in the mud as I said, every once in a while he can let himself have a little bit of fun.

For some additional things that didn’t quite fit in with the previous paragraphs, I found myself wondering what Joker was exactly planning on accomplishing after the robberies. I almost think that he was honestly expecting to be caught by Batman, or he was at least not planning past the stage of killing him. But I guess with such an unpredictable maniac, you’d have to be able to read his thoughts to really understand a lot of it. Also, Batman’s computer specifically said that the gas causes permanent insanity. Yet at the end, everyone seems to be fine. Does it require more exposure? Does it mean that it’s permanent for just as long as it’s being inhaled? Was it simply wrong? I was a little confused by this. Mark Hamill’s performance was amazing as always, and as I explained the way that Mark tends to almost visually morph into the character while he voices him, Char mentioned something about him and the Joker becoming one like with the Venom symbiote and Eddie. Accurate observation. And lastly, she mentioned something about how this Joker is someone where you never know when you’ll be on their bad side. I got flashes of a certain early scene from Return Of the Joker here, and I cannot wait for her to see that film.

Char’s grade: A

Major firsts: The Batboat, a form of Joker’s laughing gas

Next time: Pretty Poison

By the way, I’m still messing around and trying to figure out the best format for these blog entries. I don’t think I’ve quite found something that works for me yet, so for a bit, the posts may be a little inconsistent in how they’re laid out. Experimentation! I want to try and make them a little bit less like summaries, and more discussion/reaction-based. Thanks for bearing with me! Also, any constructive feedback is appreciated!

[douxreviews]

Quantum Leap - Season Four Review

Since season three was mostly leaps of the week, they made an attempt to shake things up with season four by playing with the formula a bit.

But as always, Quantum Leap is at its best when it does arc episodes about Sam and Al, as they again did in the premiere and the finale. There were a few other strong episodes as well.

4.1 "The Leap Back" (June 15, 1945)": In the fourth season premiere, Sam got to play a brand new character: Dr. Sam Beckett. For the past three seasons, we've been leaping with a Sam who had partial amnesia and was completely disconnected from his real life. Here, he was finally dynamic, brilliant scientist Sam, and surprisingly, married Sam.

Mimi Kuzyk did a terrific job as Sam's wife Donna, another brilliant scientist who kept her existence a secret from leaping Sam because she knew that it would make it harder for him to complete his missions. That was darned selfless of her, and that made her feel worthy of him in short order, since our Sam is quite a guy. I also thought Donna waiting for Sam gave us an obvious parallel to Beth, who waited years for prisoner of war Al to come back from Vietnam.

We finally got a lengthy visit to the actual Quantum Leap Project, with interior decoration that made it look as if Al's handlink exploded. We finally met Gooshie, Dr. Beeks and Ziggy, who changed gender in this episode. As Sam became reacquainted with his life and his wife, he and Al reversed roles and Al got to be the leaper who had to fix what once went wrong (and in Al's lifetime, 1945), while Sam's glee as he got to be the hologram was adorably funny. "Revenge is mine. Thus sayeth the hologram!"

Of course, Sam had to re-leap to save Al, so the status quo was too quickly re-attained. Honestly, I would have loved seeing Sam at home and observing and Al leaping for a few episodes.

4.6 "Raped (June 20, 1980)": You'd think an episode about a man occupying the body of a young woman who'd been raped would be uncomfortable, awkward, preachy, and/or cliched — but no. Instead, it was one of the best episodes of the series, because they did it right.

Sam leaped in because Katie, the victim, was having difficulty testifying against her attacker. Scott Bakula's performance as Sam in Katie's body was terrific; calm and matter of fact, Sam fought on Katie's behalf, refusing to accept the way the townspeople and police kept blaming the victim.

Although I always dislike the way trials on television seem to happen instantly after a crime, the strongest scene was Sam testifying on the stand by simply repeating Katie's own words, as Al held her hand. Even though the reason Al did that was so that Sam could see her, it was also a physical way of showing Al and Sam showing their support of Katie. Excellent episode.

4.7 "The Wrong Stuff (January 24, 1961)": Quantum Leap took on animal experimentation as Sam leaped into a test chimp, and they did a good job acknowledging all aspects of a difficult topic. This is the only episode in which Sam leaps into a non-human. I really liked the little nod to Planet of the Apes when Sam tried to write a note.

4.22 "A Leap for Lisa (June 25, 1957)": The lesson of "A Leap for Lisa" is that whenever they go back to the well and do an episode about Al's past, it's a winner. I'd mostly forgotten this one and it was such a pleasant surprise, the best episode in the season, with the possible exception of "Raped."

Sam leaped into 23-year-old Al and it appeared that he was supposed to save Al's married girlfriend Lisa from dying in a car crash, but Al was so bemused by encountering his younger self in the waiting room that he arrived late, in time to watch Lisa die. Sam's interference changed history so that Al would be convicted of the murder of his commander's wife, Marci, and at one point, when probability went up to 100% that Al would die in the gas chamber, the hologram of Al vanished and was replaced by another observer named St. John (Roddy McDowall, and I loved that they brought in an A-list actor to play the part). When Sam solved the murder, young Al had to leap into his earlier self in order to save himself, Lisa and Marci.

It was so much fun to see Al talking to "Bingo," his younger self, in the waiting room. It was also fascinating that Sam initially leaped into Al in the middle of a From Here to Eternity erotic dream on the beach, too. Has Sam ever leaped into someone dreaming before? Did that happen because his mind is linked to Al's?

What's also fun is how this episode inadvertently relates to Star Trek. Charles Rocket's character was called "Commander Riker," a character on Star Trek: The Next Generation; Terry Farrell, who played Lisa, would join the cast of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine the following year (1993), and of course, Scott Bakula went on to star in Star Trek: Enterprise in 2001.

Honorable mention

4.11 "The Play's the Thing (September 9, 1969)": A nice episode about ageism. I liked how Sam saw nothing wrong with being a younger man in love with an older woman, and how he immediately and passionately defended Jane's choices and helped her achieve her dreams. Anna Gunn from Breaking Bad had a nice supporting role as Jane's daughter in law.

4.15 "A Song for the Soul (April 7, 1963)": Scott Bakula in an African American girl group, as he backed up the daughter of a preacher who wanted to break into the big time. (The daughter, not the preacher.) This one was sweet. Plus I think it was the first time Sam leaped into a black woman. I particularly liked the sedate gray outfit Al wore in church. (Well, "sedate" for Al.)

4.16 "Ghost Ship (August 13, 1956)": Despite an occasional uncomfortable resemblance to Airplane!, this was a good one about a plane stuck in the Bermuda Triangle. It also featured a very young Carla Gugino.

4.19 "Moments to Live (May 4, 1985)": Sam leaped into a star of daytime drama, and Kathleen Wilhoite and Pruitt Taylor Vince kidnapped him for embarrassing reasons. Well written with good acting, and I'm glad that they (mostly) didn't play kidnapping and mental illness for laughs.

What didn't work

There were a few episodes that I thought were poor, and a couple that made me outright uncomfortable. Starting with...

4.12 "Running for Honor (June 11, 1964)": Al as a homophobe? Yes, I get that even somewhat recently, a majority of people were against gays in the military, but I'd like to think that anyone who dressed the way Al did would be a bit more open-minded. At least Sam was understandably disgusted by his attitude and what happened in the episode changed Al's mind, and I doubt anyone would do an episode like this today. We've come a long way in 25 years.

4.13 "Temptation Eyes (February 1, 1985)": Another attempt to do something new, although I don't think it worked. Tamlyn Tomita played a genuine psychic who fell in love with the real Sam, he fell for her, and they actually got to spend a few weeks together. But the acting and writing were poor and cliched, making it more of a miss than a hit. And that's too bad, because I'd always thought it would be nice if Sam got a vacation in the middle of all that leaping.

4.14 "The Last Gunfighter (November 28, 1957)": My word, this one was terrible. It was like they wanted to do an old west shoot-out but couldn't, so they did it anyway. What town in 1957, even one with a corrupt sheriff, would allow two old men to have a gunfight in the center of town? Innocent bystanders, anyone?

4.18 "It's a Wonderful Leap (May 10, 1958)": Another unsuccessful attempt at something new, this time with Liz Torres from Gilmore Girls as a genuine guardian angel. What bothered me more than I can say was Al doing fat jokes along with even worse Latino jokes. Liz Torres deserved better than this.

4.20 "The Curse of Ptah-Hotep (March 2, 1957)": Intended to be a rip-off of King Tut's tomb and Howard Carter with mysterious deaths, but with the budget of a one-hour TV show, anyone with any knowledge whatsoever of archaeology would find this episode painfully bad. I mean, the mummy comes to life and everything. And John Kapelos, who is usually pretty good, played an Egyptian archaeologist (the John Rhys-Davies role in Indiana Jones) with an accent that sounded like a cross between Russian and Spanish. I haven't finished rewatching the series yet, but this might be my least favorite Quantum Leap episode ever. Certainly my least favorite in season four.

Bits and pieces:

-- Notable actors (other than the ones already mentioned): Neal McDonough, James Morrison, Glenn Morshower, Joseph Gordon-Levitt at the age of ten, Harry Groener, Eriq LaSalle, Bob Saget and Amy Yasbeck.

-- Famous people: There was a little boy named Donald Trump in a New York City cab with his father in "It's a Wonderful Leap." I saw it coming and said out loud, "No, no, please don't."

-- As usual, there were a number of homages to movies, including The Rainmaker, The Defiant Ones, the Indiana Jones movies, and A Few Good Men.

To conclude

Although there were still many strong episodes in season four, I think seasons two and three were a bit stronger. Am I wrong?

Billie Doux loves good television and spends way too much time writing about it.

[zhxngweiascian]

001 ❝ ‎ 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐧, 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟑. ― 𝙰𝚕𝚎𝚡𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝙻𝚒.

— He hated such pompous events, the kind that was thrown only to show off wealth and stature, the kind that felt as if it was closed off to the rest of the world and was thrown into another universe of glitz, glamour and champagne that tasted like the stars. Alexander sighed, nimble fingers finding the lapels of his already pristine suit to straighten; he could not wait to get out of it, to discard his petticoat and gloves and retire for the rest of the night. The foie gras on the saltine crackers and the one too many old fashioned had begun twisting his stomach into knots of discomfort more than the attention that flit his way from the wide and blue eyed party goers.

He stood in the corner by the table laden with amuse-bouches and piled with hors d'oeuvres, nursing his glass of champagne. He wondered where all this food went, whether if anyone really would eat or it would all simply go to waste; his heart went out for the city he lived in, adopted and made home for the span that was his temporary life. The War had ended just a mere couple of years ago but the chaos it had left in its wake was tangible enough that he could taste it on the tip of his tongue, the air rancid and filled with the aftermath of gunpowder. He disliked it. London. Where no one knows his neighbour. Where shops do not know their customers. Where physicians are suddenly called to unknown patients whom they never see again. Where you may lie dead in your house for months together unmissed and unnoticed till the gas-inspector comes to look at the meter. Where strangers are friendly and friends are casual. London, whose rather untidy and grubby bosom is the repository of so many odd secrets. Discreet, incurious and all-enfolding London. The city wasn't something he had known previously or was too familiar with- but one thing he was certain of, a part of him loved watching all of it unravel. This place hummed to the tune of debauchery. This city was filthy and deep in the thrall of unending sin, so saturated with the kiss of decadence that the sky threatened to buckle and crush all those living vivaciously beneath it in punishment.

"You're hiding away again?" a very familiar voice rang in his ear, reminiscent of the dulcet tinkles of bells and the angelic choir of church. It automatically brought a smile to his face and every single thought he had wasn't of any importance. He faced a knowing grin, one that curved into a cheeks hued a lovely pink. Rosalie Han was a sight for sore eyes in her dress the color of the midnight sky, sparkling with countless beads that sparkled and bounced back reflections when they caught the light of the chandelier. She came to a stop next to where he stood, beginning to peruse the menu displayed.

"I'm not hiding," he scoffed under his breath low enough that only she could hear; they both knew he hated being here... just like they both know that he would always indulge in her whims to go frolic with humans.

Rosalie nodded, carmine tinted mouth curved into a smirk and picked up a cream puff to hold to eye level, turning it this way and that way in an inspecting manner before she deemed it decent then proceeded to shove the entire thing in her mouth.

Alexander took a sip of his champagne, shaking his head at the woman. "By whatever war wages, not in front of your many suitors!" he exclaimed in a whisper, unable to hide his own simper as he tilted his glass briefly to the crowd as if to make his point.

"Don't tell me what to do, you oaf!" Rosalie yelled in a whisper, shooting him a murderous glance. Alexander's grin lifted further.

"The Hastings are here. So are the Parks and Chiannis. It's about time we match you with one of them, Rose. Looks like their heirs are vying for your attention." The man murmured, hiding his knowing grin behind the rim of his champagne glass, eyes raking the grande portico of the chateau where everyone of import milled about and rubbed elbows with each other.

Her gaze found his face, reflecting the thousand and one lights from the chandelier overhead despite the incredulity that swarmed in them and scoffed a sound. "So you'd have thrown me to the wolves?" she asked, lips downturned in a moue and followed his line of gaze. Alexander laughed, the sound low and reverberating in her ears that she couldn't resist but to grin too. Feigning annoyance, she grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing water, finishing half of the starry golden liquid in a quick sip.

"Frankly, I pity the wolves."

There it was, the cynical joke shared between the two long-time friends; their kinds were polar opposites but here they were, hidden in plain sight, hand in hand and with a shared history that transited time. Rosalie laughed, eliciting a low chuckle from him too; it was always fascinating how she laughed freely, drawing the attention of whoever stood close enough to catch an ear of the wonderful sound. And those who looked found it a peculiar sight, one that was uncommon to most yet, in a way, felt normal.

Alexander Li was an enigma and despite how his circle was made of those in power, there was little known about him other than he was a professor of philosophy and physics. He was tall and trim, with the build of a young man proficient in warfare even though he had not been in the war. His dark hair was straight and styled in a manner suggesting a desire for order in all things. They framed eyes so pale a shade of brown they appeared amber in certain flashes of light, like those of a tiger. His profile was an artist’s study in angles, and he remained motionless, face was set in a cool and expressionless canvas, save for when his thick eyebrows raised a fraction when an odd woman approached the pair to converse. He felt Rosalie stiffen, her dainty hand reaching to loop around his arm. He could have well imagined the curse that slipped past her lips but the woman both had been staring at was a mere foot away by then.

Evelyn Ackley jumped, unable to hide his surprise. She was the hostess of the party, the wife to a Lord who spoke little of sense and much more about himself. Her grin was wide and surprised and Alex thought that it seemed too bright to be genuine. "Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. For foreigners, your English is extraordinary. There is not a trace of an accent to be found."

"I have an American accent," he replied dully.

Ackley waved him off, the gaudy bracelet of diamonds she wore almost blinding him. "You know what I mean."

Do I? he wanted to say. Would I be less if I sounded like where I was from, like all those in this city who were forced to learn more than one language, unlike you? His mouth opened, the words right on his tip on his tongue when Rosalie chirped in, sounding sweet.

"No, we do not," she laughed, as if the other woman told a joke that tickled Rosalie's bones. It was a natural sound, but only those who looked closely noticed how her nimble fingers tightened around Alex's forearm. "Now, if you'll excuse us, I find the wine at this party a bit too bland." He bit into his inner cheek, refraining from making a sound of laughter.

Smoothly, Rosalie tugged on his arm with enough force that he had begun veering into the direction she led him in. He had enough time to bow at the Lady of the house, automatically falling into step with the smaller woman.

“I actually liked the wine,” he spoke after a moment, breaking the silence that had taken over.

She groaned, throwing him a side glance of disgust. “I am beyond appalled but not surprised you began losing your sense of taste.” Her chin rose so that the tip of her nose scrunched a fraction, her plump lips curved downwards into a faux remorseful pout.

He laughed goodnaturedly, his other hand reaching over to gently pat her hand that rested on his arm. It was true; he’d lived in London for about seven years now. He’d seen how the war had ebgan and lit even the smallest alleys with fires from both enemy and allies and he’d been there when it all came to an end. He’d seen it in the papers, how the new decade was called ‘the Roaring Twenties’ and wherever he went, the hedonistic lifestyle that London had adopted was an escape from the debris and chaos the war had left in its wake. He didn’t mind it; changes were bound to happen.

“Come, let’s go get some good wine,” he chuckled, veering to the left and out of the chateau that would party until past dawn.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𝐀 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫.

They sat at the top of the citadel just a mere 20 minute car ride away from the party. A little brown paper bag had been torn so it laid flat on the ground where they sat and on it sat a small display of cheese, crackers and grapes that they had stolen from the festivities. Surely, a handful of hors d’oeuvres would not be missed. The sky was lit with a canvas of stars and unfortunately enough, they weren’t seen from the city, too bombarded and overwhelmed by the city lights to shine on their own. But the more you looked at them, the more they rose to the surface of the dark sky, the tinier specks beginning to gather the courage to come to light too. If the stars should appear one night in a thousand years, how would men believe and adore; and preserve for many generations the remembrance of the city of God which had been shown! But every night come out these envoys of beauty, and light the universe with their admonishing smile.

“Ah, I wish I could get drunk on this!” Rosalie pronounced, breaking the otherwise impeccable silence of the night and wrenching him out of his thoughts.

Alexander took a sip of his wine bottle and turned his head to look at her. “The wine finally to your taste?”

She made sure that he could see her eye roll and he laughed, placing his bottle of wine down so he could swiftly pull off his suit jacket. In the same motion, he leaned over to her, gently placing the comfortable fabric over her dainty shoulders; neither of them got cold but it was more out of habit that he did it.

Silence befell the two again, a comforting cocoon that required nothing but each other’s presence to feel comfortable. His eyes remained on her, watching how she snuggled into his jacket and preoccupied herself with the contents of her own bottle of wine.

It was a beautiful and delightful sight to behold the body of the moon but Rosalie Han, who he’d known for what felt like eternity, was ethereal in her beauty. Even when the moonlight befell her being and kissed her skin of alabaster, it seemed as if she glowed from within, matching the moon’s light with her own. Her hair had escaped from the coiffe she had donned before the party, falling down her shoulders and back in waves of ravened hues. Sooty eyelashes fluttered everytime she blinked, the rouge on her lips that was once pristine now a faded dusty shade on her lips. She had always turned head wherever she went but it was in the serenest moments like these that Alexander allowed himself to really look at her. She had never changed in all these years he’d known her yet just like him, she molded with time, embracing the lifetime of infinity she had. Before he knew it, he was staring into dark pools of obsidian, lit by the moon and had it known for the remaining of his senses that had not been affected by the alcohol, he would have fallen into them and drowned.

“Penny for your thoughts?” she mused, picking a grape from the pile to plop into her mouth.

Alexander shook his head, turning his head away from her to look off into the horizon. Far into the distance, he had begun to spot a faint line of light. Dawn would arrive soon, forcing the both of them to retire back into their lives; despite how different they were, somehow they always managed to intertwine their own paths.

“Nothing,” he chuckled, taking the last sip of his wine. If the English had done one thing right, it was to allow the French to sell their alcohol in the city.

“Say it!”

A grape hit his cheek and he scoffed as he picked it from his lap where it had fallen and bit into it, ignoring her giggles.

“Remember when we attended Tom’s and Alina’s wedding last year?” he asked, reaching for a saltine that had a dollop of cheese in the middle.

Rosalie nodded. “The wedding itself or the time we both said we would marry each other in another thousand years if we are still single by then? Are you going back on your word now, Alex?”

He tutted his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he finished the last bit of his cracker and cheese. “I was just thinking that you shouldn’t keep your hopes up! Who knows maybe you’ll thankfully find someone and I will finally get rid of your loud self?”

It was a rare sight to watch the professor laugh, the sound natural as she hit him hard with the back of her hand before joining in his laughter as well. Who knew such a stoic man could manage such a face, so carefree that for a moment, he seemed like just a simple boy. But Rosalie Han, just like all of the versions of herself that he knew, often had that effect on him.

They sat there on the concrete floor of the citadel, munching on their snacks and sipping the last of their wines amidst childish banters and laughter the entire remainder of the night. It was only until dawn broke over the horizon, painting the skies a shell pink and a faint gold that they both made a move, going back home and broke away from the glitz and glamor that the night had left a residue on their skin.

[scientifically-strange]

What’s it Like?

Trying something a little new. Instead of third person it’s straight from Danny’s pov

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

What’s it like? 

I always find myself getting asked this, whether it be from Tucker, Dani, Sam, or hell, even Valerie sometimes. And while it doesn't upset me, the question itself is hard to answer, and is tiring to do so after having to do it so many times. 

So what is it like living with the Avengers?

It’s indescribable, really. It’s fun, and annoying, and stressful, and happy, and so many other words, so I think the only way I can properly tell you is if I list them all off one by one. 

Well, let me tell you.

First, I guess I should start with the host himself, Tony Stark. Though you probably know him better as Iron Man. 

He’s everything people say he is, and more. He’s selfish and sarcastic, and is stupidly smart. Yeah, he’s also a playboy, and he never focuses on the important stuff for his company. Instead he pays with desk toys in important meetings. 

Like all of us, Tony has a lot of baggage. We all have our demons, but Tony’s are arguably the worst. Yeah, I fought my older evil self and the ghost king, and Steve was in World War II, but compared to Tony it was a cakewalk. Because Tony’s been through a fucking blender. He’s got serious PTSD from the Incident, from the cave he was tortured in, and a few other things. He copes by drinking unhealthy amounts of coffee spiked with alcohol and monster energy drinks while building several more Iron man armors, all with their own special skills and weapons. 

He also has really bad attachment issues due to his father was never really around, and the father figure he did had tried to kill him. So. 

However, despite all of that, Tony is probably the most caring person on the team. And that’s including Steve. He just doesn’t know how to express it with emotions. So instead, he uses his actions. Thor mentioned one time that he needed to get more lavender (?) shampoo because he ran out, and now there’s a cabinet full of them, just for the thunder god himself.  

There was another time when Clint’s hearing aids got blown up on a mission, and Tony made him everything-proof Stark hearing aids. Clint hasn’t needed a new pair since. And he made Steve and Sam’s rooms soundproof, so that when fireworks go off they can still enjoy the view, but now with less gunshot sounds. 

Tony also really loves to nerd out, which brings me to my next friend, Dr. Bruce Banner. He’s pretty soft spoken, until he starts talking about science. I remember the longest conversation I’ve had with him was when we were talking about space and NASA, which somehow ended up on a conversation of the horrible structure of hot dog buns? Not really sure what happened there...

Bruce always has great advice, and is always in like, a zen sort of mood. He’s not nervous all the time like most people think. No, he’s only fidgety around stressful people, like Fury or Ultron. Which is perfectly understandable considering if he gets to angry or freaked he starts looking a little green around the gills.

That being said, Bruce also makes the best tea on the Compound. Nobody knows what he does to it, but if you’re having a rough day or something he’s got your back. And he’s always got Tony’s back, too. I There was one time when Tony had been up for almost four days and Bruce had come in and put some headphones on Tony, and he passed out immediately. I helped him get Tony to his room, and Bruce kind of took it from there. 

Hulk is pretty nice to. Though, to be fair the first time I met him he was pretty pissed because he couldn’t hit me. But after he calmed down enough, I told him a couple of jokes and he kind of warmed up to me. 

And I told him I could help get the glitter out of his hair.

He still doesn’t know that it sparkles sometimes when crime-fighting. Nobody else has either, but that’s only because they’re to busy kicking ass themselves. 

Steve is kind of like everybody’s dream guy, even if you yourself are a straight guy. He is 240 pounds of All-American beefcake with a heart of gold. His hair is pretty soft too. 

He’s caring, but I’ve recently learned that he;s a little shit. 

You would expect Captain America to be the perfect man, soldier, superhero, whatever. But he isn’t. I don’t even know where anybody got that idea. 

This guy has a police record that’s longer than a list of Mr. Lancer’s book-swears. And he has the worst mouth on him. He stubbed his toe the other day and was cursing up a storm. However, he was cursing in Gaelic. I asked him about it and he said it was his first language due to his parents being Irish immigrants. I hadn't known that before, so that was really nice to know. But it also explained his accent. He had a lot of Brooklyn in it, but every now and then the Gaelic would slip through with it, making for a weird verbal cocktail that never sounded quite right. 

He also has the worst mind out of all of us. It’s worse than Tuckers. His mind may be the gutter, but Steve’s is the fucking sewer. He was telling me about how he thought fondue equaled sexy times, and like? Literally, where did you make that connection? How many other foreign words has he heard and thought it was something sexual? 

It shouldn’t surprise me though, considering he was in the army. 

I could go on and on about Steve’s mouth and reckless behavior, but he, like Tony, has serious PTSD. A lot of it is from the war. He doesn’t like fireworks or loud, sudden noises unless he’s on the battlefield. There was one time I saw him mute a movie during a scene with a train, and I was going to ask him why, but then I saw that far away look in his eyes. It wasn’t my place to pry. 

There’s also something about the sound of Tony’s repulsors powering up, too. It makes Steve tense up like a cat every time he hears it. 

His coping methods are a bit healthier than Tony’s. He likes to draw his thoughts and feelings out. He’s damn good at it to, and while that’s a great thing, sometimes he falls asleep with them open, halfway done, and the shit he draws is so dark and depressing. I kind of worry about him sometimes. 

But Sam’s been helping him though a lot of it. He was stationed overseas for a while before coming back to the states, only to get caught up in the fight again a few years later. He didn’t really seem to mind though. In fact, he seemed happy to do so. Whether or not that was from Captain America asking him to, or because he missed flying, I had no idea. 

But I’ll be damned if I ever go to the park with him again. 

His name is Falcon. He has cool metal wings he uses to fly. That all makes sense, right?

So how the fuck is he talking to pigeons?

I am genuinely worried that one day Sam till take over the world with birds, and h will have them shit on people’s cars and peck out the eyes of Hydra. Or something on the lines of that. However, if he is actually going to do that I think he needs a cooler bird. 

Like a Falcon. 

And as weird as that was, it doesn’t match up to the awkwardness of meeting Natasha “Million Alias” Romanoff. She’s as deadly as she is beautiful, and if I was into her in any way I would probably pay her to beat me up.

It never actually occurred to me that she’s not always being a spy? I mean, yeah, she’s always looking at the ulterior motive, because anyone with her background (which we will not speak of, so don;t even ask) would do the same. But she’s also a shitposting meme generator and has a really popular vine account even though vine is dead? Then again this is Natasha we’re talking about. I don;t wanna know how she does what she does. 

She also steals clothes. SO far she’s stolen one of Tony’s hoodies, a pair of Clint’s sweatpants, a scrunchie from Thor, and one of my old Dumpty Humpty shirts I got at a concert. She also cheats at Monopoly and Cards Against Humanity. I haven’t figured out how she’s done it, but I know she does. Nobody, and I mean nobody, can just fucking win seventeen times in a row. You;d have to be a mind reader to do that shit. Jesus. 

She’s terrifying, and honestly, every time I see her glare the fear of Thor runs through me, but a good portion of that goes away when she’s around Clint. And honestly> I can’t blame her. Clint, out of all of the Avengers I live with, is probably the one I hang out with the most. He’s super chill, and covered head to toe in bandages and has to have an entire pot of coffee just to stay awake. Also, he’s deaf? I had no idea during the Battle of New York, but later I found out that it was because they had broken and his new ones hadn’t come in yet. He’s taught me a lot of sign language so far, and Tucker makes fun of me for practicing it when I’m back in Amity. 

Clint also has a lot of nests. 

He has one on top of the fridge, in the A that’s on the outside of the building, a couple of key spots in the vents, and a board room on the 27th floor under the table because nobody ever uses it and it has a nice view of the sandwich shop right across the street. I’m sure he has more, but those are just the ones that I’ve found. 

Also, his dog is not cuter than Cujo, don’t listen to that asshole. 

Even though Clint chooses to keep his hearing aids out half the time, he still knows when Thor has come back from Asgard. Every single time, no matter where we’re at in the building, he just knows. It’s like a sixth sense. His head perks up, and he gets a dumb grin on his face, but then it quickly falls when he remembers that he ate the rest of the thunder god’s poptarts. 

Thor is really fun to be around. And while I haven’t had a lot of quality bonding time with the dude, Dani has. They sit around and braid each other’s hair all the time, talking about flowers and giant monsters and space. Really, they’re best friends. And it’s adorable.

Don’t tell Jazz I said that.

There are aspects of Thor that remind me a little bit of all of the Avengers. Like Natasha, he can be cunning when he wants to. He’s always got the munchies like Clint, and has great advice like Bruce. Similar to Tony he also struggles with his own demons. But he seems to be most like Steve.

That being said, they are both huge little shits. 

See, Thor likes to prank people. Half the time he uses Mojo (I don;t know how to pronounce the hammer’s name, okay) to fuck with us. I remember he and Natasha handing different house members his hammer while Natasha video taped it. He gets a huge kick out of watching us fall over. I remember when he did it to Steve, who was to zoned out in his paper to even realize what Thor had asked him to hold. He was gobsmacked for a whole week. 

He hasn’t done it to me yet, and I have no idea if that’s because he hasn’t gotten around to it or because he’s still obsessed over me technically being royalty since I beat Pariah Dark, the former king. The first time we met he got down on one knee and bowed. It was the most surreal experience of my life, and that’s including when Tucker had to wear a chicken costume to a Dumpty Humpty concert because he lost a bet to Sam. 

Every time he comes back from Asgard, we shake. But we don’t shake like normal people. It’s a sort of cultural thing. Instead of shaking hands we grip each other’s forearms and squeeze. I kind of like doing that better than a handshake. It seems way cooler. 

So, you ask me what it’s like to live with the Avengers?

Living with them, it feels familiar, like it;s the one thing I’ve been missing my whole life. 

It’s family. 

---------

Also, OC week submissions are open officially if you want me to write them in with a DP and marvel!

[everlarkbirthdaydrabbles]

My birthday is May 16. I would love a fic that features Age!Gap Everlark with Katniss 5 - 10 years older than Peeta. M or E rating. Thanks for running this fabulous web site.

Wishing you the happiest of birthdays, @ldyglfr62! Your gift - the penultimate offering from everlarkbirthdaydrabbles, was written just for you by @xerxia31. We hope you enjoy!

When Irish Eyes are Smiling

rated M, for language and adult situations.

It’s not completely unexpected, but it’s still a shock to see it. Thick, expensive card stock, pale pink with roses and their names embossed in gold.

Madge Undersee and Gale Hawthorne, along with their families, request the honour of your presence at their wedding…

I’m happy for them, I truly am. I’m just still kind of shocked that after nine years together, it took Gale less than three months to marry my replacement.

It’s not like I thought Gale and I would ever marry each other, even if our friends all expected it. And our breakup was completely mutual. But that he moved on so fast is kind of a slap.

“You should go on vacation,” Prim says when I phone to tell her the news. “That way, you can skip the wedding without looking like a jerk.” Trust Prim to cut right to it. Because she’s right; even though Gale is my oldest friend, I’d rather rip out my intestines with a fork than watch him marry the woman of his dreams while all of our mutual friends look at me with pity.

“I can’t go sit on a beach somewhere by myself,” I groan. “That’s even more loser-ish than going to my ex’s wedding stag.” But the wheels are turning. I do need to get away, and not just from the wedding. I could use a break from my entire pathetic life. “Maybe I could go see Effie?” I mumble. My late mother grew up in Ireland, she moved to America before I was born to marry my father. Her sister still lives near Dublin, and is always asking me to come see her. It’s been a long time since my last visit.

A fabulous deal on the flight seals it. Since I’m a freelancer, there’s no one to arrange vacation time with. I can work from anywhere that there’s an internet connection. My neighbour agrees to check my mailbox periodically, and my friends all understand.

o-o-o

I arrange to stay six weeks with Effie. The first week passes in a haze of jetlag, lumpy pillows, and daily afternoon tea on her garden-gnome-and-flower-strewn patio. It’s calm, quiet.

Since I’ll be gone over my birthday, Prim insists on paying for a week-long bus tour of the Scottish Highlands for me, both as a birthday gift, and as a break from my aunt. “Better not be one of those singles tours,” I grumble as she details everything over Skype while I sit in Effie’s formal living room, surrounded by creepy porcelain dolls, a pair of lace doilies protecting her mahogany table from my computer. Prim’s in med school in Seattle, I haven’t seen her since Christmas, and I think she feels guilty about not having been there for me - in person - when Gale and I broke up, no matter how many times I tell her that I’m fine about it. But since Effie is already driving me crazy, I don’t put up much of a fight.

“Do those exist?” she asks, and on my shitty laptop screen she looks pensive. I can tell she’s wishing she’d thought of looking for one. “Wild and Sexy Tours. Huh. I wonder if I can change it…” She starts clicking away on her keyboard and I balk.

“No, geez Prim, this is fine, great really.” The website she’s linked me to shows small tour buses, catering mostly to elderly vacationers. Just my speed.

“Have you met anyone over there yet?”

“Sure, Effie’s friend with the strange beard came by for cocktails yesterday.” Prim’s face screws up.

“That’s not what I mean, Katniss. Have you been out to the pubs at all? Or gone to a rugby match?” At my shrug, she groans. “Dammit, you’re too young to be spending your time holed up with Effie’s antiques. You need to get out there, meet people, date.”

“I’m not really ready for that,” I tell her, and I can see by the way her expression changes to pity that she thinks I’m still hung up on Gale. I don’t bother correcting her. Gale and I should never have been more than friends, we both knew it, but being together was easy, like a comfortable pair of jeans. I’m not in love with him, I really never was. But I’m not anxious to put myself out there just yet. Or maybe ever. Because Gale’s the only guy I’ve ever been with. At not-quite twenty-seven, I have no experience dating at all.

“Just promise me you’ll talk to some of your tour mates at least,” she says sadly. And I promise, because I can never tell my sweet sister no.

o-o-o

Edinburgh is a confusing mess of streets and hills and hilly streets and more freaking hills, and by the time I find my way to Waterloo Place, where I’m supposed to catch the bus tour, I’m late and in a panic. When I see the little red bus still at the stop, I’m almost weak-kneed with relief.

“‘Bout time you showed up, Sweetheart,” the driver grumbles, grabbing my backpack and tossing it unceremoniously into the back. I climb on board, and my heart sinks. I’m too late to have gotten one of the single seats, and am now going to be stuck sharing. There are only two empty seats, one on the bench in the very back, between a young woman with spiky hair and a serious case of bitch face and a man who might be a professional football player; the other right behind the driver, next to a startlingly handsome man, who glances up at me through a mop of ashy blond waves, and smiles shyly.

I hope Blondie isn’t a talker.

o-o-o

Blondie is a talker.

His name is Peeta Mellark, and he fills the first hour of our drive north with mostly one-sided conversation. But I find I don’t mind all that much. He’s Irish, from a village on the Irish sea, and his gently lilting accent is much nicer to listen to than the rough Scottish burr that our driver barks as he points out one thing or another along the route.

“You know a lot about Scotland,” I finally say.

Peeta smiles wistfully. “My da used to bring me here, when I was small. We’d walk the hills and sleep in the heather.”

“How long has he been gone?” Peeta lifts an eyebrow, but I know I’m right. I recognize the look in his eyes. It’s the same expression I wear when I think about my own father, whose death when I was just a kid marked the beginning of the end of my idyllic childhood.

“I was seventeen when he passed,” he says quietly.

“You miss him.” It’s not a question, I can see in Peeta’s eyes. He nods. But any further discussion is cut off by our first stop on the tour.

Though it’s a bus tour, it turns out to be a fairly active one. We make multiple stops all along the route to the Highlands, exploring an ancient cathedral, touring a distillery, even visiting a heritage village. And as what appears to be the only two people travelling alone on the tour, Peeta and I end up spending most of the day together.

It’s… nice. He’s sweet and interesting, and it’s refreshing to talk with someone my own age.

When we arrive at Inverness, our stop for the night, I realize that Peeta and I have been assigned to the same bed and breakfast, along with the linebacker, whose name is Thresh,  his girlfriend Rue, and our driver, Haymitch. That’s going to make keeping to myself that much more difficult, I realize. Then Haymitch arranges for the whole group to eat together at a pub on the river. I want to say no, that I’m too tired or some other excuse, but somehow I get sucked along anyway.

I hate being forced into group situations, but Peeta, seeming to sense my unease, sits beside me and acts as a bit of a buffer between me and the throng, not speaking for me, but deflecting attention when I get overwhelmed.

And it’s compelling to watch him interact with the others. He’s so friendly and well-spoken, so intelligent and insightful, easily moving between discussing the differences between American football and Gaelic rugby with Thresh, and the impact of Brexit on tourism in the Republic with the South African lawyer seated at the next table.

And though I promised myself that I wouldn’t think about Gale, it’s impossible not to compare him with Peeta. Gale has always been sort of closed minded; conversation with Gale is only possible on the narrow range of topics he cares about, and generally involves either a recitation of his opinions with no room for dissent, or a re-living of his glory days. But Peeta is so thoughtful, I watch him absorb and consider everyone’s viewpoints, watch his reflect back intelligent discourse in a way that feels engaging and exciting, not like a firestorm. I can’t help thinking that maybe Prim is right. Maybe I do need to spend time with people my own age instead of feeling like I’m still stuck in highschool with Gale.

o-o-o

The sun rises ridiculously early in Inverness, and the curtains in my room are barely translucent. By five-thirty, I’ve given up on sleep entirely, and decide to sneak down to the common lounge, where the wifi signal is better.

I’m surprised to find I’m not alone. Peeta is already there, dressed for the day and facing the large plate glass window, beyond which the sky is streaked in pink and amber. He doesn’t hear me at first, and I can see in the reflection that his usual easy expression has been replaced by something more intense and removed that suggests an entire world locked away inside him. I decide to steal away, to leave him to his musings, but he catches the motion and turns, the faraway expression resolving into a smile that seems so genuinely sweet with just the right touch of shyness that unexpected warmth rushes through me. “Good morning, Katniss,” he says.

“What are you doing up so early?” I ask. There’s an empty teacup on the windowsill, he’s clearly been here awhile.

“I’m a baker,” he laughs. “I’m used to the pre-dawn wake-ups.” I grin, I heard him mentioning his business over dinner, and I’m curious about it.

He makes me a cup of tea, and another for himself, and as we sit together in the early morning hush he tells me about the bakery he owns in the tiny coastal village where his family has lived for generations. The picture he paints of his bucolic life there makes me ache, my own empty, tetherless existence in sharp contrast to his certainty. It makes me realize how stunted my growth has been, having wasted all of that time with Gale. Playing things safe instead of living.

I’m ready to live.

o-o-o

Our tour guide, Haymitch, is gruff and grouchy, but he seems to know all of the hidden gems of Scotland. As we head to the Isle of Skye, he makes frequent stops to walk nature trails with stunning waterfalls, to show us multiple off-the-beaten-path lookout points, and we even spend a glorious hour searching for shells on a Carribean-blue beach. But in the mid afternoon, the bus starts to make a strange noise. And as we pull into our next stop on the itinerary - the enchanted-sounding Fairy Glen - it comes to a shuddering halt.

“Ah shit,” Haymitch grumbles.

“Well,” Peeta murmurs in my ear. “There are worse places to get stuck.”

He’s right, this place is utter magic. As a group, we explore the strange rolling hills and mini lochs of the glen, walking the concentric rings and pressing coins into cracks in cave walls. Peeta is half mountain goat, I swear, practically jogging up the steep hills, gently teasing me as I lag behind. My laughter, unfamiliar but free, echoes all around.  

And eventually, Peeta and I end up in a little meadow-like depression at the bottom of one of the hills. I haven’t felt so free since I was a kid. I’d love nothing more than to lie in the grass and watch the clouds float by; when I say so, Peeta pulls off his sweater and spreads it on the ground, tugging me down to lie beside him, my head pillowed on his arm.

I must drift off because the next thing I know, the patchy blue sky has clouded over completely, and Peeta is sitting beside me.

“Peeta, you should have woken me,” I say, rubbing the sleep crud out of my eyes.

“For what? Nothing’s going on here,” he says. “Besides, I like watching you sleep. You don’t scowl. Improves your looks a lot.” This, of course, brings on a scowl that makes him grin. “I’m kidding,” he laughs. “You’re beautiful, scowling or not.”

Something flutters in my chest, but I push it away. I don’t have room for that in my life. Instead, I nod towards the notepad in his hands. “What’s that?”

He tilts the paper towards me. It’s not writing, like I’d assumed, but a drawing. A sketch of a sleeping girl. My breath catches at the image on the paper. It’s me, clearly, and the talent in the pencil lines is mind-blowing. But it’s more than that. The girl in the picture looks softer, calmer, like all of her worries have been cast away. Peaceful. No, not peaceful… content. I haven’t been that girl in a long time. “This is incredible, Peeta,” I whisper.

“I have an eye for beauty,” he says, and it should sound cocky, like a come-on line. But from him, with those earnest blue eyes smiling, it just doesn’t.

Haymitch comes stomping into the clearing, greasy handprints marring his kilt. “Bus is fixed, git your arses on it,” he grunts.

Peeta gathers his sweater and notepad, and we trudge back to the bus. The tour continues in near silence, but it’s a good quiet. A comfortable quiet. Peeta wraps his arm around my shoulder and I find myself leaning into him as he strokes my hair. It’s uncomplicated and intimate. And though I’ve never been a cuddly person, I love it.

Our last stop is a trail that winds around a glassy Loch. The whole group is subdued, introspective maybe. Or maybe just hungry. Peeta and I lag behind though, enjoying the calm.

We emerge from the cover of the trees into a patch of yellow flowers, glowing in the sunlight. “Gorse,” Peeta answers my unasked question. “It’s everywhere at home too.”

“They smell fantastic,” I sigh. “Coconutty. Like the beach.” He chuckles, but when I reach for the golden flowers, he grabs my hand. I scowl.

“Thorns,” he says, delicately moving the blooms aside to show me that what I thought were flat leaves or needles are actually sharp spines. “Beautiful on the outside, but nasty underneath.”

“Just like me,” I say absently, but his brow wrinkles.

“No, Katniss,” he says. “You’re not like the gorse. You’re a bluebell.” I roll my eyes, but he continues, so earnestly. “Bluebells are shy, unassuming. Most people hardly notice them.” He leads me with a gentle hand on my lower back to the shady part of the hill. Only when he points them out do I realize the bluebells are in full bloom here. “But they’re strong and resilient, stubborn even. And once you see them, you can’t tear your eyes away from their beauty.” I turn to face him, but his hand doesn’t fall away, shifting instead to trace circles on my hipbone.

I want to scoff, to dismiss his words as the polished pick up lines of a player. But I can’t. As I stare at him, utterly speechless, he reaches up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. I lean into his touch, and he smiles, just the barest lift of his lips. Sweet and hopeful. Before I can even consider what a terrible idea it is, I lift up on my toes and kiss him.

It’s a gentle kiss, but the desire that flares in my gut from that brief touch is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. I haven’t kissed a lot of guys in my life, a handful back in highschool, only Gale after that. But no kiss has ever before felt so electric. I need more.

It’s clear he agrees, because almost as soon as I press my lips to his again, he takes control, one huge hand cupping my cheek, tilting my head to deepen the kiss. Exploring me thoroughly. I can’t hold back the little noises that escape me, and he groans softly in response.

I lose all sense of time and place, gripping his shirt, kissing him with a passion I wasn’t certain I was even capable of. It’s only when I hear the rest of the group heading down the path towards us that I pull away, reluctantly.

Peeta’s eyes flutter open, heavy-lidded, pupils fat. “I have wanted to do that since the first moment I saw you,” he whispers.

We don’t talk about the kiss, but for the rest of the day Peeta holds my hand. Even through dinner at a quiet little restaurant right on the harbour, he plays with my fingers, looking at me with something like adoration.

When we get back to our B&B I’m not ready for the evening to end. But there are other guests in the common lounge, playing a raucous game of cards. “Would you like to come to my room?” I ask, then immediately feel heat climbing up my cheeks. “Just, uh, just to talk a while longer.” I can’t meet his eyes. I’m incapable of flirting, or of communicating at all, really. Yet he follows me unquestioningly.

We sit side by side on my bed, talking. But there’s a tension between us that wasn’t there before, a crackling awareness. I don’t even know who makes the first move, but one minute we’re talking, the next I’m sucking on his tongue and his arms are pressing me tightly to him.

Kissing Peeta here in my quiet room is even better than on the nature trail. Free from distractions, I can let my hands wander, trace the firm musculature of his shoulders and arms, feel the pull and flex of his back. He unravels my braid and runs his fingers through the locks. “Beautiful,” he whispers against my lips.

We kiss and caress, hands becoming more bold. It’s when he lays me back on my bed, the hard length of his body cradled by my own, that I begin to panic. “Peeta,” I start. “I really like you.”

He pulls back just enough to look at my face. Then he smiles fondly. “But you’re not ready,” he says, and I’m shocked that he anticipated my words. “I know,” he says, and there’s no anger, he doesn’t even look disappointed. “We won’t do anything that you don’t want to,” he promises.

“Could we keep kissing?” I sound all of thirteen, pathetic and immature. But he doesn’t laugh at me.

“I’d like that,” he says.

We kiss and touch, chastely, fingers on napes and cheeks, tangled in hair. Making out like teenagers. Like the teenager I never really was. And eventually we fall asleep wrapped around each other.

o-o-o

I expect the morning to be awkward, but it isn’t. It isn’t at all. When I wake up, he’s still there, lying beside me, awake and smiling contentedly. He kisses me, just lightly, before retreating to his own room to get ready for the day.

We tour two different castle ruins, climb down (and back up) a gorge, and check out dinosaur fossils. He’s gently affectionate through it all, holding my hand, kissing my cheek, but never demanding anything else.

But I tug him into my room and my bed again that evening. And again he kisses me to sleep.

o-o-o

Gale’s wedding day falls on the fourth day of the tour. I’m cranky, and Peeta notices. He asks me what’s wrong but I brush him off. But even in the face of my moodiness, my pique and my - as Haymitch says - ‘slug-like charm’, Peeta is patient with me. Willing to take whatever little bits of myself I offer. And it’s that acceptance that prompts me to open up to him. In fits and starts over the course of the day as we walk and tour and explore, I tell Peeta about Gale, about the wasted years, about the holding pattern I’ve been in since we split.

He listens attentively, neither judging nor offering platitudes. But his quiet support means the world to me. “Do you still love him?” he asks as we sit on the dock in a quiet harbour town, watching the seabirds circle and dive.

“I never did,” I confess. “But after so long, I don’t know how to move on.”

When we return to the B&B, I again tug Peeta into my room. But this time I know something has shifted between us. Our sweet, chaste kisses rapidly escalate. And though Peeta tries to slow us down, tries to be a gentleman, I want more. And after a few attempts, he gives up on the idea of reining us in, surrendering to my demands and my searching fingers.

Our clothes fall away, until I’m down to my bra and underwear, and he’s only in shorts. He stares at me in awe, as if I’m something exotic instead of plain Katniss Everdeen, far too bony and wearing threadbare panties. And though I’ve only ever been naked in front of one man before now, I don’t hesitate to reach behind me to unhook my bra. But Peeta stills my hands. “Are you sure?” he asks. “We don’t have to…”

“I want to,” I tell him.

When the cotton falls away, he shudders. “So beautiful,” he murmurs, licking his lips. “You have no idea, the effect you have.”

“Show me,” I whisper. And he does. In his arms, I get what might be my first taste of real, raw passion. Sex with Gale was fine, good sometimes. But never like this. As I shatter, and shatter, and shatter again, everything I think I know about myself is turned inside out, and I am changed forever.

It’s fucking terrifying.

o-o-o

The last day of our tour is quiet, too quiet. The weather is unsettled, the group members tired. Even Haymitch has lost his sarcastic edge. Leaves me too much time to think about Peeta, sitting next to me. Playing with my fingers and humming in contentment. Too much time to panic.

How can I say goodbye to this man? This man who has opened my eyes and my heart, who has shown me the barest hint of a life I never even knew I was missing out on.

What choice do I have?

It’s pouring rain when we pull into the stop at Waterloo Place, and in the soggy pandemonium of luggage unloading, it’s easy for me to grab my small backpack and slip away unnoticed. I get into the first available cab and am whizzing up the Royal Mile within moments.

I don’t look back.

o-o-o

I love Effie, I do, but sometimes I just need to get away. There’s a coffee shop near the rail station that’s a perfect escape, it’s outside of the touristy area and the patio is a great place to people watch.

A swarm of men in sharp black suits rounds the corner, heading straight towards me en route to the train. Slim-fit wool trousers cling appealingly to athletic bodies before spilling downward in perfectly pressed lines to where polished black shoes click on the cobbles. It takes a moment to realize that, no, the swarm of outrageously attractive men sauntering in the spring sunshine are not, in fact, men at all, but boys. Irish schoolboys - fifth and sixth years by the looks of them -  splendid in their crisp white shirts, perfectly tied windsor knots and shiny shoes. I shake my head at myself. Leering at a bunch of teenagers? I’m too old for that. In my defense, they’re much better dressed than any of the men I know. I mean, I assume Gale wore a suit to his wedding, but it would have been the first time. Even when he dragged me to his senior prom, he wore a dress shirt open at the collar and a leather jacket.

I bet Peeta wears crisp suits like these, though.

And just like that, my mood falls again. I miss him. I miss him so much. I’ve spent the past five days lying to myself, trying to make myself believe that the week we spent together was no big deal, a little fun, a lot of great sex, nothing more. But my heart, the frail, foolish thing, is singing another song. I miss him. I feel his loss acutely, despite only having known him a few days. I know I made the right choice, leaving him on that rainy Edinburgh street. His life is here, and mine, what’s left of it, is in Philadelphia, I guess. There’s no chance of a future for us. And no sense mooning over impossibilities. But it doesn’t mean I haven’t fantasized about hiring a car and driving to the coast, just to see him one last time.

It’s the melancholy that’s making me see things. In the middle of the group, a golden head stands out. For a split second, I’m sure the broad shoulders and narrow waist attached to them belong to Peeta. But it’s impossible, these are school children, Peeta is back in his hometown, living his life. But the crowd shifts, and I can see his face clearly, blue eyes shaded by lush golden lashes, the smattering of faint freckles that kiss his sunburned cheeks.

And I drop my teacup.

The clatter catches his attention, his head swivels until he meets my eyes. I’m helpless to look away from the myriad of emotions that play across his handsome face. Surprise, relief, joy and anger. But I’m sure my own face reflects only a single sentiment.

Horror.

He says something I don’t catch to the people he’s with, then changes course to walk purposely to where I sit, frozen and mute, heart pounding so hard that I feel light-headed. He covers the few yards in long strides. The sun catches his hair, crowns him in gold as he stands above me, a wide smile curling those sensual lips. “Katniss,” he says, in that molten sex voice that I hear in my head every time I touch myself. The soundtrack to my every recent fantasy. The lament of my regrets. “I didn’t know you were in Dublin! I thought you’d gone back to America! I’m so bloody happy to see you! You were gone so fast after the tour, I didn’t get your number, and you’re not on Facebook.” He’s reaching for me, and my body instinctively reacts, warmth pooling low in my gut. Which is what snaps me out of my stupor. I jump from my chair, angling myself so that the narrow café table is between us.

“Katniss?” His brows furrow in confusion, his hands dropping to slide into his pockets. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re in school?” It’s barely a whisper.

“For another week, yes,” he says, still looking puzzled. As if it isn’t a big deal. A big fucking deal. He’s a child!

“You didn’t tell me you were so young.” I’m not certain I say it out loud until Peeta’s face twists, like he’s tasted something unpleasant.

“I’m eighteen,” he says. “I’ll be nineteen next month.” Eighteen! As if seeing him in that school uniform wasn’t bad enough, the confirmation that he’s a just a kid, that he’s almost nine fucking years younger than me makes my stomach lurch. “Is that a problem? For the record, you never asked.”

“You’re a child!” I say, much more loudly this time, and his frown deepens. “I’m… shit, I’m a pedophile!” Peeta’s jaw tightens, and an angry flush streaks up his neck. He grabs my arm, not hard but not leaving me much recourse, and walks the two of us away from the patio and around the corner of the building, into a quiet alley.

“Knock it off,” he hisses, and for a moment I feel like a naughty child being chastised. Which just serves to piss me off, I’m the grown-up here! I wrench my arm away from him, and back up, crossing my arms in front of me. But the alleyway is narrow and I’ve only moved a step before my back hits the wall. He steps forward, close enough to feel the heat of his body, to feel the tension that radiates from him in waves. “I’m an adult, Katniss,” he says lowly, his words skating across my lips as he leans in. “Old enough to drink, to vote.” His next words brush against the shell of my ear. “Old enough to fuck you senseless.”

A full-body shudder rips through me, equal parts arousal and revulsion. He’s a child! I took advantage of a child! I push against his chest and he takes a single step back, still in my personal space, but giving me enough room to clear my head a little. “I’m, fuck!” I gasp. “I’m twenty-seven. I’m nine fucking years older than you are!”

“Eight,” he says, “and so what? Doesn’t change how I feel about you, or what we have together.”

“It’s wrong-” I start, but he’s having none of it.

“Bullshit! We’re both adults.”

“You lied to me!”

“I did no such thing,” he snaps, but I’m pissed now.

“You told me you owned a bakery on the coast!”

“I do!”

“You’re a child!” His jaw tightens again, I can see the anger in his stormy eyes. Anger and hurt.

His hand reaches for me and instinctively I draw back, but he simply slips my phone out of my pocket. “What the fuck?” I sputter, but he’s already unlocked it and apparently messaged himself.

“Where are you staying, Katniss?” he asks, handing my phone back. I want to tell him it’s none of his business, but I just can’t. The pain in his eyes compels me to tell him.

“My aunt has a house in Clontarf,” I grumble. Peeta nods.

“Come with me tomorrow,” he says.

“What? No, that’s not a good idea Peeta.”

“Please, just do this one thing for me. Then I’ll leave you in peace.” The pain in his eyes is shocking. Guilt eats away at me. It was cruel, I know, sneaking away like a thief in the night. I can see how much I’ve hurt him. He takes my silence as acceptance. “Meet me here tomorrow morning,” he says. “Half eight. Wear a jacket.” Then he spins on his heel and strides out of the alley.

o-o-o

I fight with myself half the night and all morning. I’m not going to show up. He’s not going to show up. I owe him a chance to explain. He’s a fucking child! By the time I make it to the café, I’m an absolute mess.

But an absolute mess wearing mascara and a cute top. I’m a hypocrite, on top of everything else.

Removed from the cold horror of discovering I’d been cavorting with a schoolboy, I have to admit to myself that seeing him again ripped down the walls I tried so hard to construct around my feelings for him. Damn him! Damn him for being gorgeous and sweet and Irish and a toddler!

He pulls up only moments after I arrive, riding a smallish motorcycle, blond curls sticking out from under a black helmet. In jeans and a leather jacket, golden stubble glinting in the thin morning light, he’s even more impossibly handsome. But it’s clear he hasn’t slept well, his wary gaze is ringed with faint purple. “I wasn’t sure you’d be here,” he says softly, pulling off his helmet. I don’t bother to tell him that until I got off the bus, I wasn’t sure either. I simply shrug. He dismounts; I pretend I’m not checking out his ass in those snug-fit jeans. But he merely pulls a second helmet from his saddlebag, handing it to me without quite meeting my eyes.

“What’s going on?” I ask, but he shakes his head.

“Put on the helmet, Katniss, then get on the bike.”

“Don’t you have a car?” I’ve never ridden on a motorcycle before, and Irish streets with their too-narrow lanes, cobbles, and the whole driving-on-the-wrong-side issue are scary enough in a vehicle with four wheels. His lips twist.

“No. Let’s go, we have a long ride ahead of us.”

It’s madness, but I do as he asks.

I sit stiffly behind him, trying to put some distance between us, but as soon as the bike is in motion, I have no choice but to wrap my arms around him and hold on tight. And having him again cradled between my thighs provokes the most confusing rush of emotions. This is such a bad idea. Such a fucking bad idea.

We don’t talk as he pilots us out of the city, we simply can’t. The rush of wind makes that impossible. But from time to time as we pass through the suburbs, then out into the countryside, he’ll squeeze my knee to catch my attention, pointing out an old tower or a ruin, or just the way the sun catches the gorse on the mountainside, making the world glow in sunny yellow. In spite of what I’ve learned, he seems like Peeta, like the man I met in Scotland. He feels like comfort, and like home. When he points of a patch of bluebells clinging to the side of a hill, my heart hurts. I stop fighting with myself and lean into him, my helmet-encased head resting against his broad back, his warmth soothing me. He squeezes my hand where it wraps around his ribs. Acceptance.

About forty-five minutes later, we drive into one of those quintessential Irish postcard villages, narrow medieval buildings crowded along the street - though here they’re painted in lush pastels - colourful bunting zig-zagging across the road and cars parked haphazardly everywhere. He circles a statue of what appears to be a young fisherman, then heads down an impossibly narrow alleyway, parking the bike in a tiny courtyard.

When he offers me his hand to help me off the bike, I take it gratefully. My legs are like jelly, and not just from the ride. He holds my fingers just a little too long, smiling wistfully. Then we rid ourselves of the helmets, and he leads me out of the alley, to stand in front of a building. It’s tall and narrow, like most of the buildings here are, but unlike most, it has an enormous plate glass window facing the street. The building itself is painted turquoise, and Mellark’s is spelled across the front in swoopy gold letters. “Welcome to my bakery,” he says softly, and with a hand on my back he ushers me inside.

The interior is even more charming than the exterior, and for a moment I can only gawk. Polished wood floors, pristine glass cases displaying a decadent array of goodies, and paintings on every wall that feel familiar. But none of that really means anything, does it? He’s in school, it’s clear that this isn’t really his bakery. It probably belongs to his family, and he works here on school breaks.

I turn my attention to the people working behind the counter, three of them. They smile warmly at me, but right away their expressions change as they catch sight of Peeta. They seem to stand a little taller, attempt to look a little busier. “Peeta,” one of them calls out. “We weren’t expecting you.” Well of course they weren’t, it’s Thursday, he’s supposed to be in school.

In school. Ugh. What am I even doing here?

“Just popping in for a bit,” he says with an easy smile. “Have a little business I need to attend to.” He heads towards a swinging door that separates front shop from back, but pauses with his hand on the frame. “Coming, Katniss?” Three heads snap to me in surprise, and I can feel my cheeks burning as I follow Peeta into a small, but modern industrial kitchen.

Here too, the workers stop and straighten, as if they’re trying to impress Peeta. It’s subtle, but I notice it. He greets each warmly by name. And I quickly realise that it’s not fear that makes them all snap to attention. It’s respect. Inexplicably, all of these people seem to respect him.

But it’s not really that inexplicable, is it? He carries himself with a confidence that goes beyond boyish ego. I can’t reconcile the businessman in front of me with the eighteen year old schoolboy I saw yesterday.

Peeta leads me to a small, windowless office at the rear of the building, and gestures for me to sit. Before I’ve even gotten comfortable, one of the women from the front shop has appeared with a pot of tea and a pair of cups. “Thanks, Dell,” Peeta says genuinely. The woman beams at him, then backs out of the office. I open my mouth to speak, but he shakes his head. “Hang on,” he says. “She’ll be back again.”

He’s right, she reappears a few moments later with a plate of food. I haven’t been able to eat since I saw Peeta yesterday in Dublin, and my stomach clenches painfully at the yeasty, cheesy scent wafting from the treats. “You call me if you want anything else,” she says, and Peeta promises he will. With one last wink in my direction, she leaves and this time Peeta closes the door behind her.

“What was that all about?” I ask, trying not to be obvious in my coveting of the buns. He notices anyway, and pushes the plate in front of me.

“Irish hospitality,” he says absently as he pulls the bags out of the teapot. He knows, even without me ever having said anything, that I prefer my tea weak.

I know all about Irish hospitality, know that Delly would continue bringing us more food and more tea and just generally fussing if Peeta hasn’t shut the office door. But this is different. “Not that. The weird way she was looking at me. She… she winked!” He glances up, and a flicker of amusement crosses his face before the sadness creeps back.

“I’ve never brought a woman here before,” he says. I wrinkle my nose at the implication of that, I can’t decide whether it’s because I’m somehow special or because, as a freaking child himself, I’m the first ‘woman’ he’s been with.

“Why have you now?”

“Because I want you to see me. To see that I am exactly who I said I am. Now eat your bun,” he says, nudging the plate again, “while I tell you about my father.”

My heart breaks again and again as Peeta paints a picture of his life. The only child of a single father, he had a typical childhood right up until his father got sick. Terminal cancer. The man spent all of his remaining time preparing his young son to take over the bakery that had been in the Mellark family for generations. At only fifteen, Peeta traded rugby for accounting, friends for responsibility. He even spent his transition year working full time at the bakery, learning the ordering system, studying food safety compliance.

By the time his father died not quite two years ago, Peeta was running the bakery himself.

He has an uncle who deals with the day to day while Peeta finishes school, something he’s doing because he promised his dad he would. But Peeta is the owner, and the one in charge.

It goes a long way to explain his maturity. He hasn’t been a child in a long time. On the face of it, the story sounds unbelievable. But I know what my eyes are telling me. What my heart is telling me. He may be younger, chronologically. But he’s the one with his life together. While I haven’t really grown since high school, his life has leapt light years ahead.

I sit in silence, picking at the cheese bun - which is incredible but which I can’t really enjoy - feeling like a pile of shit. The office door opens. An older man strides in, clapping Peeta hard on the shoulder. “Peet,” he says. “Wasn’t expecting you today! Glad you’re here though, I have those contracts for you to sign.”

“That’s great, Dalton,” he says, taking the proffered papers, his lips moving as he skims the words. But then he frowns. “The wage is wrong,” he says, pointing.

“They’re students,” Dalton says dismissively, and Peeta’s jaw tightens. It’s fascinating to watch, even if I don’t fully understand.

“That’s not how we do things here. I pay everyone a living wage.” Peeta stands, moving around the desk to take my hand, pulling me out of my chair. “When you’ve redone the contracts, leave them on my desk. I’ll pop in later to sign them before I head back to Dublin.” And with that, we walk out, leaving the older man behind.

We walk down the narrow cobbled street towards the waterfront, weaving among the tourists, past the harbour before finally stopping at an overlook right at the edge of the village. Peeta sits heavily on one of the empty benches, and drops his head in his hands. I lower myself beside him.

“You’re a good boss,” I say softly, breaking the silence that hangs between us. He doesn’t look at me.

“The bakery is more than just a job,” he says. “It’s my father’s legacy and my future. I have eight employees who directly depend on me, not to mention the suppliers and lorry drivers and pubs who benefit from my business too.” He lifts his head to look out over the water, and the weariness I see in his face speaks to a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders. Yet he’s uncomplaining.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him.

“I’ve never lied to you, Katniss. I might be younger than you thought, but I am exactly the man I said I was, exactly what you saw in Scotland.” Wary blue eyes meet my own. “Can you say the same?” My breath catches. It’s a valid question.

Katniss Everdeen is quiet and closed-off, reserved to the point of unfriendly. Difficult to get to know. Resistant to change. That’s not the woman who spent a week adventuring through the Scottish highlands. That woman smiled more, laughed more. That woman tried new things. That woman opened her heart, if only just a little. I shake my head, and his drops again to stare at his lap. The real Katniss Everdeen is the one who left this kind, gentle man standing on an Edinburgh street in the rain, without a backward glance.

Right now, I don’t like the real Katniss Everdeen very much.

He sighs. “My age isn’t really a problem, is it Katniss? It’s just a convenient excuse. You took off before you knew.” He’s right. When I really search my heart I know that the age gap between us is just a number. In many ways, in most ways really, Peeta is the more mature of us. The one with his priorities straight, with his shit together. Our ages don’t matter at all.

After what feels like an interminable silence, he asks, “Why? Why did you leave without a word? I thought there was something between us. Something real.”

“There is,” I whisper, startling myself with my honesty. He glances up at me, confusion in his expression, but also a heartbreaking flicker of hope. “You’re right,” I tell him. “I was a different person in Scotland. And… and I think I like that person better.” I swallow hard. “I like who I am when I’m with you.

“Then what’s the problem, Katniss?” The hint of frustration in his voice threatens to put me on the defensive.

“Your life is here, Peeta! And I live three thousand miles away!”

“You’re here now,” he says.

“For four more weeks,” I say, and sadness creeps in as I realize that I don’t want to leave him again, that even pissed off and hurt and, yeah, young as he is, just his presence makes me feel alive. “And then what?”

“Why do we have to figure that out now,” he asks. “Why can’t we just take it day by day, see where things go. Live without a plan, without a safety net.” He reaches for me, cradling my face in his hands, and my eyes slip closed. “Live, Katniss. Be the woman you want to be.”

What’s left of my defenses melt away as he kisses me so softly it’s like a dream. My hands wrap around his wrists, holding him in place. Keeping him with me, at least for the moment.

I know the only thing really standing between us is my fear.

“Okay,” I whisper, the words hanging, fragile and afraid, in the space between our lips.

“Yeah?” he smiles. And at my nod, he kisses me again.

I’ve wasted so much time living in complacency, afraid of change. But this feels like a second chance. An opportunity to grow and mature, instead of staying safely stuck in the past. And the part of me that is not so brave as I could wish is glad that it’s Peeta beside me as I step into the unknown.

—–

[syrolecep-blog]

Dating a black british man

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