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themattress · 2 years ago

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Re-evaluating Diamond/Pearl?

With Ash’s time as the protagonist of the Pokeani behind us, I wanted to look back at my least favorite (and only straight-up disliked) series in the anime: Diamond/Pearl. Is it really as bad as I’ve always felt it was? Weeeell....no and yes. See, what I’ve come to understand more and more is that it was never really what’s in Diamond/Pearl that bothered me, it’s how they were used and, perhaps more importantly, how they were paced. Diamond/Pearl’s sense of pacing is abysmal, and that’s what really drags its elements down for me. I think that if I was a kid, I wouldn’t mind, so I don’t begrudge fans of Diamond/Pearl who grew up on it; more power to you. But I grew up on the Original Series, and while I kind of fell out of touch with the anime thanks to Johto, Advanced Generation was paced well enough that I had no problem checking back in from time to time and enjoying its better elements like May’s arc. Diamond/Pearl was just too exhausting for me, and IMO it’s pay-offs never made up for that.

Let’s run down the show’s main recurring components, shall we?

Ash's badge quest: Ash getting his first badge took from episodes 15-18, which immediately showcases a pacing problem. One episode to watch Paul get the badge, then an episode for Ash to try and fail, then a breather episode, and then a second attempt where Ash succeeds. Why drag it out that long? You could’ve had him get it on his first try; or if you wanted him to fail and try again, don’t waste time with Paul beforehand! It then takes 19 episodes until Ash gets his second badge in episode 37. And if you think that’s long, it takes 29 episodes before he even reaches the next city in episode 66, the kind of length that brings back bad “between Fuchsia and Cinnabar Gyms” from Kanto memories, and he doesn’t win his badge until two episodes later in episode 68. After this, things abruptly settle back to the way it was paced before: his next badge comes 15 episodes later in episode 83, then his next badge 19 episodes later in episode 102. But then, it takes just 6 episodes for his next badge in episode 108, only to then have another 19 episodes before his penultimate badge in episode 127. Last but not least, the infamous stretch where it took a whopping 48 episodes (that’s an entire year’s worth!) before he reaches the final Gym in episode 165...only for a complication in the following episode causing him to have to wait 13 more episodes before finally earning his last badge in episode 179! This was the biggest slog of a badge quest EVER, bar none.

Paul: At first, Paul isn’t paced well in his appearances and clashes with Ash, starting up in episode 3, then showing up again just 3 episodes later in episode 6, then 9 episodes later in episode 15....only to disappear for 24 whole episodes until he resurfaces in episode 40. It’s like the show just forgot about him for a while there. But he’s never forgotten about ever again, appearing in episodes 46, 50-53, 64, 66, 69, 74, 81, 100, 118, 127-133, 155, 163, and 182-188, and that’s not including silent cameos, flashbacks and mentions from time to time. So Paul’s issues were resolved pacing-wise; the problem now lay solely in his content, which was a repetitive, go-nowhere exercise in bothersome creator’s favoritism and asinine moral equivalency to the point of abuse apologism, meaning that unlike Silver whom he was based on, Paul wouldn’t get a real redemption arc because as far as Atsuhiro Tomioka and the characters he warped (even Cynthia!) were concerned he barely did anything wrong. The end result is me greatly disliking Paul......and not for the reasons I should be disliking him for.

Dawn's contest arc: The pace for this one once it gets going is episodes 11-12, 26-27, 49, 61, 77-79, 95, 114, 146, 161-162, 167, and 171-177. In this case, the problems are the 22 episode gap between her second and third contests and the 42 episode gap between her seventh and eighth contests (and she doesn’t even win said eighth contest, meaning we waited nearly a year just for her to see her lose to a cross-dressing James!) It’s not quite as bad as Ash’s badge quest, but it’s also nowhere near as good as May’s two contest arcs from the previous series. But Dawn has a much bigger problem than her contest arc, and that’s...

Dawn's self-confidence issues: So when Dawn fails to make it past the Appeals Round in her third contest, she has a crisis of self-confidence, which should be interesting....except then it’s immediately dropped, only to start up all over again 12 episodes later in her next contest where the same goddamn thing happens! Why do that? Why start an arc, then stop it a minute later, then start it up again after some time passes? You could argue that Dawn could’ve just written the first failure off as a fluke so she needed another one to really depress her, but given that she lost her first contest and only barely won her second, I think she was on shaky enough ground as it is. But anyway, this arc of hers progresses for 18 episodes until it just abruptly resolves itself through her unconvincing victory over May in the Wallace Cup in episode 79. Afterward, Dawn has no personal struggles to overcome, just random issues with Pokemon such as Mamoswine or Plusle and Minun. In a 191-episode series, her character stopped growing 79 episodes in, which again reflects this show’s complete failure of pacing.

Brock: He gets nothing. Moving on.

Chimchar: Once Paul abandons him in episode 51, Ash picks him up in episode 52, and then his personal issues get resolved in episode 53. Or at least it seems that way. Episode 81 rather randomly re-opens his personal obstacles relating to Paul’s past abuse of him, and this leads to a very predictable outcome where he evolves in episode 132 to defeat Paul but fails, evolves again in episode 163, then defeats Paul at the last possible minute in episode 188. Honestly, they should’ve just had him utterly own Paul in that battle. It’d be more cathartic.

Buizel and Aipom: This is one of the weirdest continuing plot threads. Zoey first brings up that Ash oughta trade his Aipom to Dawn in episode 11, since Aipom does better in Contests than in battles. Later, in episode 34, Dawn catches a Buizel that’s clearly more adept at battles than Contests, leading for Zoey to make the trading suggestion again. After 20 episodes have passed, Ash and Dawn randomly decide to finally go ahead and make that trade in episode 55. But while Buizel does well enough for Ash, Aipom (now Ambipom) ends up suddenly developing a love and talent for Ping Pong of all things in episode 123, leading to Dawn releasing it in the following episode so that it can go pursue its newfound dream of becoming a Ping Pong Champion. So in the end poor Dawn got a raw deal with this trade!

Mamoswine: So Dawn’s Swinub evolves into Piloswine, becomes surly and disobedient toward her, then quickly evolves into Mamoswine and is more powerful but has the same rotten personality. But eventually, Dawn healing a grave injury it suffers makes it care about her again and become obedient and reliable. Aside from costing Dawn an important match, this is literally the exact same arc as Ash’s Charizard, dragged across 35 episodes and doing nothing unique. I wouldn’t mind so much except that Ash is still right there on the show, so there’s no valid reason for recycling this arc. In fact, it’s not the only time this happened - Pikachu’s evolution dilemma from Ash’s battle with Lt. Surge was recycled with Piplup in episode 122...which was after it had already been recycled with Ash and Pikachu themselves in episode 74! Again, pacing isn’t this series’ only problem: the lackluster content is too.

Hippopostas: Basically a rehash of Spoink from the previous series, it shows up in one episode (episode 44) as a set-up, then reappears later (episode 65) for pay-off. Like Snubbull from Johto, it seems like the writers were trying to recapture the success of Jigglypuff without running the joke into the ground the way Jigglypuff was, but none of these attempts worked.

Zoey: Zoey’s appearances were paced out relatively well (appearing in episodes 11-12, 34, 41, 49, 55, 77-79, 93, 126-128, 155, 174-177 plus the occasional silent cameo, flashback or mention), but like Paul she suffered in content. Whereas Paul was a character who just went nowhere because as far as Tomioka was concerned he was near-perfect as is, Zoey clearly was going somewhere at first, having a distinct dislike of people pursuing badges from Gyms and doing Contests at the same time. However, possibly due to reaction from fans who didn’t like her having a character flaw to overcome, it was just suddenly given up on when she shows up in episode 77, now being totally cool with people doing both. The explanation we’re later given into episode 126 as to why she had a problem with it to begin with is pretty underwhelming and it just doesn’t really feel like it was the original plan with her character.

Kenny: Dawn’s childhood friend and rival appears in episodes 26-27, then reappears 33 episodes later in 60-61, then 60 episodes later in episodes 122-123, then 51 episodes later for the first round of the Grand Festival in episode 174, which he loses, causing him to leave and then randomly re-appear 6 episodes later for a send-off. If not for a few silent cameos here and there, you’d be forgiven for forgetting that he was even a character on the show. Another thing Kenny has going against him is that in his debut he teases Dawn by calling her “Dee Dee”, and we don’t learn what that even means until 135 episodes later, where we learn that as a young child...a Plusle and Minun caused Dawn’s hair to sparkle and the other kids laughed at this and called her “Diamond Dandruff”. That was it. Oh, and in the episode this is revealed we’re now suddenly expected to take this seriously, like Dawn has a legit phobia of Plusle and Minun over this experience that she has to overcome. It’s so STUPID.

Nando: Kenny’s got nothing on this guy though. Debuting in just episode 4 and set up as a rival for both Ash and Dawn since he’s pursuing both Gyms and Contests, but only shows up again 32 episodes later in episode 36, in a non-competitive usage no less! He then shows up to win a Contest 13 episodes later in episode 49, then barring some silent cameos makes his return at the Grand Festival in episodes 174-177...125 episodes later! A few episodes later he appears at the Sinnoh League in episode 182...then loses in the following episode and is never seen nor heard from ever again. What an absolute waste of a perfectly good character.

Ursula: Appearing to just be a one-off in episode 114, Ursula returned almost a year’s worth of episodes later in episodes 161-162, then returned for the Grand Festival in episodes 174-177. It feels like she was an attempt to recapture the success of Harley from the previous series as well as give Dawn an “asshole rival”, but it ended up being done too late in the game to make an impact. For what it’s worth, I like Ursula, and she deserved so much more.

Barry: It’s the second half of the series and suddenly the rival from the games said series is primarily marketing appears! Barry appears in episodes 101-103, 110-111, 122-124, 140-141, 157, 163, and 182-189, so his appearances are paced out just fine. The problem with him is threefold: he’s thrown in late in the game, is treated as a Jobber who always loses to Ash, and is insultingly used to prop up Paul, both in being a comic relief foil as a rival and by literally singing Paul’s praises every chance he gets (again a case of characterization being butchered for Paul’s sake). Barry’s a funny and enjoyable character, but he was poorly used.

Conway: A one-off from episodes 50-52, until he reappears as a Flanderized, more comical version of himself in episodes 88-91, and then out of nowhere at the Sinnoh League in episodes 182-185 where we’re suddenly expected to consider him a major rival to Ash! Nothing about how Conway is used is particularly offensive, mind you, just...confusing.

Cynthia and the Elite Four: Lucian appears in episode 35 and establishes the presence of the Champion and Elite Four in the Sinnoh Region. 5 episodes later the Champion herself, Cynthia, appears. She reappears 57 episodes later in episodes 96-97, then in just the space of 2 episodes we get Aaron, who goes on to challenge Cynthia for her title and fail in just the next episode. 50 episodes later Cynthia shows up to hep defeat Team Galactic, then 15 episodes after that we are introduced to Flint. Bertha appears 5 episodes after this, then 10 episodes after this Flint reappears and says he’s going to challenge Cynthia next. Cynthia is at the Sinnoh League in episodes182-189, and then in episode 191, the final episode of the series, we see that Flint lost his battle with her. So my question is what was the point in any of this? Many back in the day thought it was setting Ash up to win the Sinnoh League and get to challenge the Elite Four and Cynthia, but as we know that didn’t happen. I’m fine with the Elite Four and Cynthia showing up; it’s to be expected. But why give the sense of a building plotline surrounding them and Cynthia’s status as Champion only for nothing to happen?

Team Galactic: I’ve railed enough about this one in the past. To sum it up, the pacing is horrible (episodes 36, 60, 69, 96-97, 110-111, 130, 136, 150-152), the content even worse, and it does no justice to the characters and plotline of Team Galactic, especially with Cyrus.

The Lake Trio: This might be the worst case of build-up and pay-off in the whole damn series, which is saying something. Dawn sees Mesprit’s shadow in episode 1, then Ash sees Azelf’s in episode 78 (77 episodes later), and finally Brock sees Uxie’s in episode 133 (55 episodes later). The pay-off in episodes 150-152 is that Dawn, Ash and Brock are psychically bonded to the Lake Trio and use this bond resolve the conflict by....praying to them. Really. And why were they bonded to them? Because of how they represent Emotion, Willpower and Knowledge respectively? Nope! Just because “they care so much about Pokemon”. As if that’s something unique and special to them. Also, why even build something up in episode 1 and then pay it off with 39 whole episodes still left to go in the series? Shouldn’t the pay-off be near the end? There’s no excuse for this, no real life interference...it’s just bad writing.

Hunter J: Another case of there being no excuse. Hunter J debuts in episode 20, reappears 25 episodes later in episode 45, then around another 25 episodes later in episodes 71-72, then 57 episodes later in episode 129, and finally 21 episodes later in episodes 150-151, during the Team Galactic climax, where she is suddenly killed off. Hunter J is an OC, created for the anime! The writers had no limitations on how much they could have used her, and yet they barely did use her. Maybe they were concerned about the series being too dark if she was used too frequently, but in that case they could’ve just toned her down and kept her extra evil-ness reserved for special occasions. Also, why kill her off as part of a different storyline, and with no climactic face-off with Ash, Dawn and Brock given that she was being build up as their personal enemy? This was a fantastic villain, but the writers screwed the pooch with her.

Team Rocket: They appear in every single episode, and yet this is the one series where it feels like the writers are desperately trying to justify their continued existence from start to finish. Whether it be Jessie suddenly being treated as a credible Coordinator as “Jessalina” (in essence giving Dawn yet another rival when she’s already swamped with them), James’ whole backstory with Jessiebelle suddenly being brought up again, Meowth constantly being tempted to leave Team Rocket for what he perceives as greener pastures, or their feuds with Hunter J and Team Galactic so that those super dark villains have comical foils to compete with and thus brighten the mood a little, Team Rocket’s time in Sinnoh was a never-ending exercise in grasping at straws. Giovanni didn’t even remember they existed anymore, that’s how bad it was and how irrelevant yet shoved down our throats they felt. DP!TR sucks.

Angie: An character who shows up in the Summer Camp arc of episodes 88-91 as a Distaff Counterpart / shipping bait to Ash. 7 episodes later, she reappears and we learn a little more about her, so you’d be forgiven for thinking she’ll be recurring from here on out. Nope! Never seen again. Why even have that one reappearance at all? She’dve been fine as a one-off!

Lyra and Khoury: These two actually were one-offs, appearing in a mini-arc that lasted episodes 143-147, then never appearing again afterward. They were fine; I didn’t mind them.

Cheryl: Also a one-off, early in for episodes 30-32. Again, perfectly fine for what she was.

May: She had her obligatory return appearance in the Wallace Cup (episodes 75-79) sporting her Emerald design. Beyond me not buying her losing to Dawn, her presence was welcome and a helpful distraction from the fact that we’re only just now getting Wallace in the anime.

Gary: Gary Motherfucking Oak is the reason Ash went to Sinnoh to start with at the end of the previous series, but he only shows up in episodes 45, 85, and 150-152. It felt like a waste back then, and it’s worse now after Journeys used him in a recurring capacity much better.

To sum it up, I reiterate that my problem with Diamond/Pearl remains that it fails so badly in execution. Hypothetically, there is a series where every single one of these elements, or at least most of them (I don’t think there’s any salvaging the “Diamond Dandruff” thing), were used almost perfectly and created an engaging experience that was truly worth the series being four years long and spent in a single region. But sadly, that’s not the series we have.

If you like it, cool. I just...can’t.

#Pokemon #Diamond/Pearl #Opinion #Analysis #Comparison

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just---keep---simming · 6 months ago

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Pleasant - Autumn 2

We rejoin the Pleasant twins in San Myshuno for their second autumn...but only briefly! Lilith has some news for Angela, which is that she is moving out and heading over to Forgotten Hollow to live with Straud in a giant mansion. Angela is not particularly surprised by this news, knowing that Straud and Lilith were progressing their relationship quickly, in line with the unusual circumstances of it, and that Lilith would be more comfortable in the gloom of Forgotten Hollow. If she's honest, she's also happy her sister will no longer be munching on her colleagues and friends in the city.

Now, Lilith had taken a good look around Straud's gothic castle when she was first getting to know him, and it just wasn't her. Too dark, too gloomy. As a condition of moving to Forgotten Hollow she wanted a modern mansion, so Straud obliged, building her a pretty nice replica of the Cullen's house in Twilight. Lol. And this is where we leave her, being welcomed into her new home by her lover. We'll rejoin her soon, after Angela's rotation as a newly solo Sim in the city.

Back with Angela in the city, she immediately redecorated the apartment, moving away from Lilith's bold bright colour scheme and into something much more calming, and quite old-fashioned and sweet.

Her bedroom stays the same in soft pinks and blues, and she's back into her painting, working on achieving five masterpieces for her aspiration.

Work also wanted her to round out her own skills in service of being a better, more nuanced critic, so she picked up the guitar again for the first time in a while too.

As much as Angela loves her wild, unpredictable sister, she's happy to have the Arts Quarter become truly and wholly her domain. As an artist and critic it was always a better home for her than it was for Lilith, and she thinks her vampiric twin will be happy in the hunting grounds of Forgotten Hollow. Angela, on the other hand, is happy hunting down street food and enjoying the beauty of a warm autumn evening in the city.

And why wouldn't you, when the view looks like this?

The next morning, a spot of yoga starts Angela's day.

Followed by a lunch date with her boyfriend Kyle. They headed to a fun restaurant in Oasis Springs. It was a cold day, despite being in the desert, but it seemed to go well.

And Angela knew just how to warm up afterwards! Love the bunny slippers, Kyle.

Then, finding their clothing again, Angela and Kyle decamp to the living room for a conversation.

"You know, now that Lilith has moved out, I've realised I don't love living on my own. Would you like to move in?"

Kyle grinned. "I'd love to! This place is way nicer than mine."

Kyle was also living in an apartment in San Myshuno, but it was a far grubbier, smaller, and colder one that Angela's nice place!

So Kyle Kyleson officially joins the Pleasant household as Angela's now live-in boyfriend. Which calls for a makeover! A new hair cut and a relaxed but more carefully chosen wardrobe that really makes his blue eyes pop are the order of the day. Handsome!

Kyle is a genius, lazy, and clumsy. He has the party animal aspiration and the corresponding gregarious trait. He's also unemployed, except for I guess the casual work he used to pick up manning stalls around the place. On Angela's gentle urging he fixes that by setting himself up as a video game streamer. He chooses an avatar and gets situated in the spare room that was previously Lilith's bedroom. It's part-time and abysmally paid, but Angela doesn't need the money - she's near the top of her art critic career pathway and making plenty for the both of them. She just wants him to have something to do other than sit around the apartment all day while she's at work, playing video games. At least this is video games with a purpose!

He immediately gets stuck in to building an audience, and although he's not actually particularly good at video games, he's charming enough that it doesn't matter.

Just as she expected, Angela enjoys having him around!

For his part, Kyle's casual gaming job leaves him plenty of free time, and he enjoys getting to know his new neighbourhood. Live music is always fun, even if someone is inexplicably playing a guitar made out of scrap wood. He also happens to run into both Knox Greenburg and Vladislaus Straud, the latter wandering around in his dark form for no good reason. He hits it off with Knox and immediately dislikes Straud, as most people tend to do.

Meanwhile, Angela misses her sister, and wants to make sure they still spend time together. They enjoy a movie, and Lilith diplomatically doesn't comment on Angela's taste in decor and also drinks a plasma pack instead of biting anyone, so they have an enjoyable afternoon together.

It goes so well that Angela decides to invite both Straud and Lilith over for Harvestfest. Awkwardness is when your sister doesn't show up but her vampire lover does, and sadly forces himself to eat food even though he doesn't need to anymore and it makes him sick.

Angela and Kyle have a good laugh about it later.

"Classic Lilith. She's really unreliable, always has been. I can't believe she made Vlad come alone!"

Late in the autumn, Kyle dresses himself up all fancy and takes Angela out to the local art gallery.

Then, out the front of the gallery and with fountains and Harvestfest decorations in the background, he proposes to her. Angela says yes, of course! Their romance has moved quickly but it's been hassle free since the start, and Angela deserves something normal and fun and predictable this time around!

A romantic evening at home together works for a celebration. I see Angela has stolen your bunny slippers, Kyle.

Salim comes over later on to congratulate Kyle on his engagement.

As does Lilith, who thinks Kyle is perfectly pleasant, if very normal, and is happy for her sister since that seems to be what she wants.

It's nice to have a bloke around who can fix the sink instead of turning into a wolf and shedding all over the furniture, after all.

And that brings us to the end of a very calm, romantic, happy, and drama-free autumn for Angela Pleasant. She and Kyle are now the Pleasant household, with Lilith and Vlad now making up the Straud household. We'll join them next. For now, we leave these engaged lovebirds to their cosy little life in the city!

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wildernessuntothemselves · 4 years ago

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I Hate Me Now

Word Count: 6k

Genre: Angst, smut

Summary: You and Wonpil used to be lovers, soulmates even, before your priorities in life got in the way. You wanted to do anything to help your family, no matter how morally ambiguous it is, while Wonpil thought that doing the right thing was of the utmost importance, no exceptions. Now, facing off in court years later, all the old wounds gets torn open again and things finally come to a head.

A/N: *long fart noise* this fic had the potential to be something good but I fucked it up and I’m beyond even caring.

Warnings: inconsistent writing if you’ve ever seen one, kinda femdom, unhealthy as per usual, sad little story.

The neutral, slightly intimidating mask you put on everyday was the one most people were familiar with by now. You rarely showed your real emotions anymore, not since you had lost him. His departure brought on a profound change in your life. There had already been a rift growing between who you wanted to be and who you had to be in order to survive, but when he left he took any remaining idealism left in you with him. It’s funny that the reason he left you was because he couldn’t handle your diverging moral standings, yet it was precisely his departure that cemented the turn you had taken.

Now, with him standing opposite you in the courtroom, fighting for the opposing team, you feel your mask slipping. It was hard seeing him like this. Even though it’s been years already, not having him break into that breathtaking smile of his that was like an ingrained reflex as soon as his eyes would meet yours was disquieting. Now he just frowns and looks away; his big, beautiful eyes that used to be filled to the brim with a sort of dreamy goodness were now empty and tired.

Needless to say, you weren’t on your best game. You could hardly concentrate at all during the trial, and you can bet your ass that your boss knew about your abysmal performance before it even ended. As soon as you were out of the courtroom, he was calling to give you crap about it and condescendingly remarking that if you couldn’t handle such a big case then you should’ve left it to someone who actually knew what he was doing, emphasis on the ‘He’. You assured him that everything was under control and that this wouldn’t happen again. You were just caught off guard, not that you dared tell him that last part. This was a huge case and it could either make or break your career. You couldn’t afford to get distracted by the man you had once thought to be the love of your life, and might still do…

You had to do this for your family. But it seems the man in question intends to put your resolve to the test.

You don’t know how he found you. Perhaps he had followed you out of the courthouse. Did he hear you talking on the phone to your boss? You sure hope not, not when his mere presence was forcing you to face the fact that you never got over him after all, and you didn’t need him to see that. You had hoped that the time and distance would harden your heart and heal the wounds he had inflicted upon it but all it took was one look in his eyes for them to get ripped wide open again.

If nothing else, you wanted to keep your pride. He doesn’t get to break your heart and see you still broken up about it all these years later. So you put on your mask again and smirk at him, “Good work today, Pili.”

His frown deepens at the term of endearment you used to call him when you were together. You suppose you aren’t allowed to use it anymore, which is precisely why you do. “Too bad it won’t do you any good. You always did have a soft spot for the hopeless cases.”

Wonpil puffs his chest out, subconsciously trying to look bigger under your mocking gaze. “Our case isn’t hopeless.”

“Yeah sure, whatever you say, Pili.” You roll your eyes. You should end it there, tell him you have no time for him and leave to go work harder on your case to take him and the people he represents down. But you haven’t made a levelheaded decision since the moment he came back into your life and you just can’t resist adding, “You shouldn’t be wasting your skill on these people. They’re never gonna win. Join my company. I’m sure I can find you a place.”

Wonpil’s face contorts in disgust, “You think I would ever be a part of a company like yours? You kill people!”

“My company doesn’t kill people.” You reply half-heartedly, not really up to defending your employers out of the courtroom.

“Maybe not directly but the chemicals they pollute the environment with has led to the illness and death of countless people. That’s on your hands.”

You’re not surprised that he insists on making you complicit in the actions of the company you’re representing. Wonpil always did have an absolute sense of justice, from the CEO to the janitor, everyone was equally responsible in his eyes.

“Be careful what you accuse people of, Pili. This could get you in real trouble once my company wins the lawsuit. And they will win.” You smile sadly, “They always win.”

You walk closer to him and reach out for his hand tentatively. You’re surprised when he lets you, and you take a moment to just hold it, feeling the familiar, yet almost-forgotten, weight of it in your own hands. When you lace your fingers together, they fit as perfectly as they did years ago, the heat of him permeating through yours like blood through a corpse revived.

You know you couldn’t let yourself get carried away for long. You needed to say what you had to say and then withdraw back into yourself when he inevitably rejects you. Rubbing your thumb over the web of skin between his thumb and index, you take a few moments to steady your breath as you willfully shed years worth of mental defenses to allow him to gaze onto the real you, naked from any pretenses and completely vulnerable against the bottomless darkness you see in his own eyes.

“I’ve missed you so much, you can’t even know. I… I still want you.” You weren’t sure if it was just your voice that was trembling or your entire body—you were holding too tightly onto his hand to be able to tell. “It’s not too late for us. We can still be together. What you’re doing right now is admirable, fighting for those who can’t fight for themselves. You’ve got the most beautiful soul I’ve ever seen… but it’s a losing battle. There is no hope for them, but there is for us. We can have a good life together.”

His lips press together into a thin line and he yanks his hand back, almost throwing you forward when you don’t react fast enough to untangle your fingers as he steps away from you, looking disgusted at the mere thought of what you’re suggesting. “If you really think that I’d not only abandon these people but actually work against them then you don’t know me at all.”

“Oh, I know you.” You look down at your now empty hands, muttering tiredly, “I just hoped that you might’ve changed.”

“And I wish you didn’t. I don’t even know who you are anymore. You’re nothing like the girl I once fell in love with. You’re a monster.”

You let out a bark of laughter to hide the stabbing pain his words delivered right into the center of your chest, cutting up your tattered heart all over again. “And did you follow me all this way just to say that? Aw, Pili, you shouldn’t have.”

He glares at you, utter contempt displayed on his face.

“I hate you.” He curses out before he leaves, not sparing you a second glance, and for that you were thankful. You could barely stomach the fact that the broken woman who was openly sobbing in the middle of the street in broad daylight was you—you didn’t need him to see that.

___________________________

Just like you hadn’t expected to ever face off with him in a courtroom, you also never expected him to show up at your place only days after your less-than-sweet reunion.

“What are you doing here?” You stand with your arms folded over your chest, feeling resentful that he’s forcing you to deal with the heartache he brought with him into your own residence. “How did you even know where my apartment is?”

“You’ve messed with my damn head.” He accuses, looking deeply agitated as he paces back and forth in your living room.

The audacity of this man! He sought you out first, then he rejected you, and now he barges into your home and claims you are messing with him?

You plant your body in his path to stop his pacing, and ask, putting emphasis on each word, “Why. are. you. here?”

He stares at you for a second, exasperated and contemplating what to say, but each time a sentence starts forming, he bites it back abruptly. Huffing, he runs his hand through his hair haphazardly and tries to get past you to start pacing again.

But you jump into action, your hands shooting out to grab him and hold him in place. You won’t let him play games with you. You won’t be able to handle it.

In the process of holding on to him to try to keep him in place, you had gotten much closer to him in proximity. With your arms almost enveloping him, your heart starts beating erratically. This was the closest you’d been to him in years, and by the looks of it, Wonpil wasn’t completely unfazed by it either.

“What do you want from me, Wonpil?” You ask, suddenly feeling weary as if all the fight has seeped out of your body.

His eyes flit down to your lips as you talk, and they linger there even after you’re done, giving you your answer. Wonpil was never particularly good at hiding his feelings, something he would readily admit to if asked, and you take advantage of it.

You raise your hand to his face carefully as if he’s a frightened animal you don’t want to scare off. When he feels your hand on his cheek, he finally looks you in the eyes again, and you feel a twinge of pity at the helplessness you see in his gaze.

Taking in a deep breath, you ask slowly, “Do you want to kiss me, Wonpil?”

You knew you shouldn’t be doing this; it will only open up your wounds further, but you’ve never gotten to say goodbye to him, and you knew that if you miss this-- probably last-- chance to be with him, you will live to regret it even more.

You’re so lost in your own head that you miss the subtle nod Wonpil gives you and, antsy by your lack of response, he makes the first move, pressing his lips to your own.

It’s an awkward kiss, tight-lipped and uncoordinated as Wonpil is unsure of what he is allowed to do, but feeling the urgency to touch you anyway. His hands are all over you, but not in a good way. They would barely touch a part of you before they moved on to the next, leaving you feeling unsatisfied.

Deciding to take the reins—which was par for the course back during your relationship anyway—you grab his hands and hold them behind his back, making him whine when you break the kiss. “Don’t whine. You don’t have the right to.”

He bites his lip, stifling anymore protests from coming out. Pulling on his arm, you lead him to your bedroom and push him on the bed. He tries to pull you down with him but you shake him off. Again, he starts whining but with a sharp raise of your eyebrow, he pipes down immediately.

Grabbing the hem of your oversized shirt, you cock your head at him. “Do you want me to take this off?”

“Yes, please.” He breathes out before you’re even done talking.

You slide the shirt up your body slowly, teasingly, making sure to give Wonpil a show. With the shirt off, your breasts are entirely exposed for you to play with them and tease Wonpil some more. Pushing them together, messaging them, twisting the nipples lightly, you do everything you know will drive him crazy until he’s biting down hard on his lip so he wouldn’t piss you off, but you could see from the obvious bulge in his pants and the way his right leg was bouncing up and down impatiently that he was getting needy.

You give your breasts one last squeeze before you slide your hands down your abdomen and towards the waistline of your shorts, pushing it down on one side only to pull it back up and do the same thing with the other side.

“Please.”

“Please, what? You want me to take this off too?”

“Yes.”

“But I thought I was a disgusting monster and you can’t even look at me. You have no problem with it now that you want to get your dick wet, huh?”

He averts his eyes, having the audacity to look ashamed and it pisses you the fuck off.

You grab his jaw, making him face you, and hiss down at him. “Either you grow some fucking balls and face the implications of your own desire or you get the fuck out of my sight.”

You needed him to voice out his desire so he’d admit that he’s equally responsible for what is happening. You’re not going to let him paint you as a monster seducing poor, helpless him. He wants this too, and he needs to be held accountable for that.

“What do you want me to say?” He asks, entirely too chagrined than he had any right to be.

“That you’re a fucking hypocrite.” You spit, astonished at how disgusted you were with him, while still wanting to be one with him. Your whole relationship is a mess, and you’re convinced that either it was never meant to be, or that the gods themselves are jealous of your love and are trying to hurt you.

“I’m… I’m a hypocrite. There, are you happy?” He challenges, but you just let out a tired sigh, almost having expected him to deny it and put an end to this—to tell you that this is insane and you’re insane, but he validates your insanity and now you can’t back down.

No. None of this makes you happy. You haven’t been happy ever since he left you.

You take your shorts and panties off unceremoniously and straddle him, staying still for a moment to see if he’ll try something, but his hands stay balled to his sides as he awaits your permission to touch you, so you give it to him. “Go ahead. You can touch.”

His hands immediately go to your breasts, touching you in the exact same way you were just touching yourself, and you laugh. “Aw, Pili, you wanted it that bad?”

He frowns in that adorably pouty way he unconsciously does sometimes, and it makes your smile falter, the memory of something you used to have but is just out of your reach now is all too painful.

He forcefully takes you out of your thoughts when his mouth latches onto one of your breasts, placing kisses all over it and sucking on your nipple. You moan out, a hand reaching for his hair and automatically tugging on it the way you know he likes, which only makes him needier, one of his hands eagerly moving down to your pussy, and the moan that leaves him lets you know just how excited he is to find you dripping. Too impatient to wait, his fingers move down to your hole right away. When a finger enters you, he’s the one pulling back with a throaty moan.

You chuckle breathlessly, feeling yourself quivering around his finger. “Does my pussy feel that good, Pili?”

He nods, pumping his finger in and out of you, making you gasp as you start unbuttoning his shirt. “Tell me what it feels like.”

“Tight. Wet. Soft.”

“Hmm, and did you miss it?” You slip his shirt off his shoulders, forcing him to remove his hands from you, but as soon as the shirt is off, his hands are back on you again, one grabbing a handful of your breast and the other two fingers deep in you.“Do you miss how it feels around your cock?”

“Yeah.” He closes his eyes and you know that he’s imagining it.

“Do you want to feel it again?”

“Yes.” His eyes snap open again, full of silent pleas.

You push him backwards until he’s lying down in the middle of the bed with you straddling him, his cock snug between your wet folds as you slowly rub up and down against it. With your hands holding his arms over his head, he looks up at you, gaze brimming with need as he holds his breath and waits, but you don’t give it to him yet.

“Look at you. You were acting all high and mighty earlier but now you’re willing to do anything to get inside this pussy, huh?” You taunt, rubbing yourself with the tip of his dick.

When he doesn’t say anything, you lean down to bite his collarbone, making him yelp. “Answer me, Pili.”

“Yes, please, give it to me.” He nods emphatically, throwing his head back and crying out as you sink down on him.

As soon as you have him all the way inside of you, you know you are in trouble. God, he fills you up so good. Everywhere his cock touched inside of you burns with pleasure and you can’t even help yourself; you ride him hard and fast, desperate to feel the kind of pleasure you haven’t felt in years. Everything is just different with him, the way he fits inside of you, the needy, almost reverent look on his face, his choked off moans, they all work you up to a frenzy.

“Does it feel good, Pili?”

“Yes. So, so good.”

“I bet you’ve been fantasizing about this for years... just lying in bed, fucking your own spit-covered hand and imagining it was me taking you.”

“Yeah, y-yeah…” He sniffles, lower lip trembling as he readily admits to it.

“You’re gonna cry?” You spit out, suddenly enraged, and come to a stop. “Fuck, you’re so pathetic.”

“No! I’m sorry. I’ll stop. Please keep going.”

“No. I won’t let you twist this narrative into you being the victim.” You fall back onto the bed and pull him up over you. “If you want me, take me.”

The muscle in his jaw jumps as he considers his options for a second, and you lay completely still under him, waiting for him to make the decision on his own, half-wishing he’d stop this madness. But he doesn’t.

Grunting, his hands grab your hips as he pushes his length back inside you. It only takes a few unexpectedly sharp thrusts for you to cooperate and wrap your arms and legs around him. Goosebumps erupt all over his skin when you pull at the hair at the nape of his neck, the shaky moan your action elicits causing heat to start gathering in your belly once again. You stare up at him in hunger, admiring how sexy he looks as the pleasure overtakes his features.

“Shit…shit, you feel so good.” Wonpil rasps out, his eyes squeezing shut as his thrusts turn sloppy. “ I can’t hold on much longer.”

“Don’t you dare.” You snap at him, your nails digging red trails down his back, making his hips stutter.

“Please, I can’t hold it.” He shakes his head, desperate to get you to let him cum.

“No.” You hiss, silencing him with a kiss. You swallow his whines as your hands grab his ass and force him to keep fucking you. The more he squirms, the more his hips grind against you, rubbing coarsely against your clit and bringing you oh-so-close to your orgasm.

But—seemingly just a second away from release—Wonpil goes rigid under you, his body freezing up too hard to allow you to move him anymore. His mouth tears away from your own in a loud moan as his dick twitches inside you and fills you up with his hot cum.

You can’t believe it. You were so, so close. Frustration and disappointment fill up the spaces the receding pleasure leaves behind.

“I told you to stop.” You hear him say meekly, and you sigh as you’re left tense and unfulfilled, just like always.

“It’s fine.” You mutter darkly, pushing him off you, and Wonpil’s face falls, shame spreading all over it.

You know your reaction is hurting him. Wonpil hated not pleasing you. He took it as a personal failure if you were even the slightest bit unhappy with his performance. His desire to please and your desire to be pleased are what brought you together in the first place many years ago. But honestly, all you can think about right now is that mind-blowing orgasm you were just robbed of because he couldn’t hold back just a little bit more.

But before the last bit of pleasure inside you recedes from your body, it is forced back in when Wonpil, still half-hard and sheathed inside you, starts moving again, fucking his cum into your sensitive pussy.

“What are you doing?” Your mouth hangs open in shock and pleasure, and you watch him grit his teeth and set a frantic pace. As his cock starts hardening inside of you again, he’s able to fuck you harder and harder, the determined look on his face the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen.

His moans are loud, and you can’t tell if they’re from pleasure or pain as Wonpil never once lets up his assault, hitting just the right spot that has you seeing white. When his thumb flicks your clit, it is over for you, your hands flying out to grab his face and pull him down into a searing kiss as you cum.

When you pull back from the kiss, signalling the end of your orgasm, Wonpil collapses into a sweaty mess next to you, still clinging to your body by wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in your neck as you both catch your breath.

“What’s so funny?” He perks his head up, asking as you start shaking with laughter in his arms. But the more you look at him, the harder you laugh. This is just all so absurd.

Wonpil watches you uneasily. He needs assurance, something that he had always relied on you to provide for him, but you can’t do that this time.

You come down from your laughter fit with a deep sigh. “Get out.”

He’s taken aback at your sudden coldness. This isn’t what he expected, not what he was used to from you, and you almost start laughing again. Is he really that clueless? Did he expect things to be just like they were before after what he’s done?

His eyes flit between yours, searching for a comfort he won’t find in them. “But—but… aren’t we going to talk about this?"

“Talk about what, Wonpil?” You ask in exasperation, “Have you changed your mind about my work?”

“No, but—”

“But you want me to make the sacrifice for you.” You finish his sentence for him. “This is why you’re here, isn’t it? You refuse to give up your job but you expect me to give up mine for you.”

“It’s the right thing to do.” He bristles, sitting up.

“I don’t care about the right thing. All I care about is my family.”

His face hardens at that, and through gritted teeth, he says, “Your family isn’t going to starve if you work at another firm.”

“Quality of life isn’t measured by whether you starve or not. I want them to have a good life.” You don’t know why you even bother anymore, he’s never going to listen. “You wouldn’t understand.”

He tears himself away from you and gets up, angrily putting on his clothes. “Yes because I’m just a poor orphan boy who will never understand what family means. Isn’t that right?”

“Pili… you know I didn’t mean it like that.” You unconsciously reach out for him but he jumps away.

“Yes, you did. You always pitied me for not having a family.” Pain twists Wonpil’s pretty features. “You know, for a while, I actually thought you could be my family.”

“No, Pili. I couldn’t have.” You sigh sadly, the deepening look of hurt on his face cutting you up. “Because you left me. And family never leaves.”

His mouth opens and closes like he wants to say something but doesn't even know what. Collecting himself, Wonpil scoffs and turns towards the door.

“Yeah, like that.” You mutter, collapsing back on the bed as you hear the sound of your front door opening and slamming shut.

___________________________________

You know it is wrong but you can’t stay away from each other. Now that you have had a taste of the forbidden after years of having sworn off each other, you couldn’t find it in you to stop.

You find yourself in each other’s beds again and again, hurling accusations at each other and fucking your emotions out until you’re too tired to do anything but sleep, each time getting more and more exhausted until you stop trying all together, just blocking out everything and focusing on the here and now as if nothing else existed outside of your respective bedrooms.

Your nights have been sleepless ever since he's gotten back into your life, and not just for the obvious reason that he’s the person you thought was the love of all your lives, past or present. No, many nights were spent just staring at each other, no words uttered for fear of disturbing this fragile improbability that brought you back together, or holding each other so gingerly as if you were made of matter and antimatter and your meeting could annihilate not only yourselves but the entire world you’ve built around you.

It’s a bubble and you know it, the translucent shell that surrounds you gleaming all rainbow-like when the light of forgotten dreams hits it just right. It sways and wobbles, signaling its impending explosion any moment now. And yet, you stay curled up around each other as if you can’t see the surface tension on the verge of breaking.

Every once in a while, one of you would lean forward and press their lips against the other’s, and you’d close your eyes and pretend like these past years have been nothing but a bad dream and you’re still college students, young and lost and unsure of everything in the world except for the notion that love is eternal and that you have already found it in each other.

You wonder what you’d look like now to your past selves, having gained all the conviction and knowledge you would’ve never thought you would possess, but having lost the one thing that made any of it worth a damn. You bet your past selves would hold each other and cry at the sight of the broken you holding onto the jagged pieces of your once-sweet notion with bleeding hearts and crushed souls.

Tears trickle down your face, and Wonpil reaches up to wipe them with the backs of his fingers, pressing his lips to yours again when the branching stream reaches even your lips.

Pulling back ever so slightly, he whispers to you and to the dying universe around you, the vibrations of his voice reaching your lips through the tiny distance between you, sounding choked up like he had begun crying too, “I wish we could stay here forever, just forget about everyone and be forgotten by them.”

You sigh and wrap yourself around him, his starry eyes shuttering closed and a soft pout forming on his lips as he drifts off to sleep, just like old times. And you're left alone to wonder... if you could do it all over again, would you have chosen differently?

______________________________

You knew something was off. Despite the time and distance that have whittled down your sense of him, you still knew that something was off. Your body had picked up on so many little things—the way his eyes glossed over when he would force himself to face you, his excessively soft touches that resembled those of a volatile lover silently apologizing for his latest outburst, the lingering looks he gave you as if he was memorizing every little detail of you before you went away—it just took your brain too long to make sense of it all.

Or maybe you just didn't want to believe it. You got too greedy and wanted to live in your fantasy world just a little bit longer, and it cost you everything.

Looking at him now, you think he’s saying something to you but every word is muffled as if you were submerged in water. He gets agitated, shouting something again and again that gets just a little clearer every time as he forces you back to the surface and you register that it’s your own name.

When you blink, your gaze finally focusing on him, he breathes a sigh of relief. “You’re scaring me.”

“I wish I had never met you.” Your sentence is slow and raspy like the ghostly murmur of someone fished out of water.

“Don’t say that.” He whimpers, "I had to do it." He says it like he means it, like he really couldn’t stop himself from betraying you, using you, ruining your life. "You said it yourself, we never would've won. It was the only way. These people depended on me."

"And what about me?" You rasp, tears stinging your eyes. "I loved you."

"And I love you." He tries to hold you but you push him away.

"They fired me.” You inform him monotonously, “They had me blacklisted to make sure I would never find a job in this field again."

Of course they did. What company will want you now that you've shown yourself not to be reliable? You slept with your rival and allowed him to steal crucial documents that could jeopardize the entire case from right under your nose. Your stupid amateur mistake could cost the company millions.

"How am I going to provide for my family now?" You moan, not really asking him.

"You could join us. It's not a big pay but—”

Your hand goes to pull at your hair in frustration, “God, do you ever shut the fuck up?”

"I'm sorry.” He holds his head down, sobbing.

"No, you don’t get to cry about ruining my life! You don’t get to feel sorry for yourself! You don’t—” You stop abruptly, unable to breathe. Cradling your head now, you lament, "Oh god, what am I gonna do now?"

"I don't know."

"No, you never know." You say bitterly. "I don’t want to ever see your face again."

His head whips up, "Don't say that..."

“Go.”

"I didn't mean for all of this to happen--"

"Go." You shriek and he flinches back. His lower lips tremble as he tries to hold his tears back to no avail. In a shaky voice, he says, "I'll give you some time to calm down but I'll be back. I'll fix this."

"God, Wonpil," You suck in a shaky breath, "for once in your life, I wish you'd leave it alone."

He jerks his head away, wiping at his tears furiously, "I'll see you later."

_____________________________

You struggle to hold back tears as you wait inside your cramped studio apartment. You don’t know how much longer you can stand to do this— lie to your parents about getting fired and blacklisted, telling them that you quit for moral differences, accepting money from the man who ruined your life just so they wouldn’t find out for a little while longer.

But you couldn’t do anything to help yourself, let alone support your family without Wonpil’s charity. The only jobs you are able to get now are in the service industry and those barely pay your rent and living expenses. You couldn’t even go back to your hometown and your family for fear that they’d figure out the truth, and you just couldn’t let that happen.

You knew your father would insist on getting back to work in order to help support the family. You barely even had him convinced that his condition doesn’t allow him to work and that he needs to rest. If he finds out you not only lost your job but also any hope for a future one in that field, he’d go back to work right away, and that could very possibly kill him.

Your siblings’ future now lies unknown. The eldest of your siblings after you is a senior now, and soon you’ll have to tell her that she isn’t going to college like you promised her she would. She has to abandon her dreams in order to get a job to help provide for the family, and as your other siblings grow older, they too would follow in her footsteps; a family that came from dirt and will die in it, that’s what Wonpil’s ideals have cost you.

After everything you’ve done, after all you’ve gone through, you’re still nothing. It’s funny that Wonpil is fighting for the poor and innocent when he’s the one who has proven to you once and for all that the rich will stay rich and the poor will stay poor and under the feet of the rich.

The case he betrayed you for was a loss in the end. After a long, tedious trial, his clients were forced to settle because they couldn’t afford to pay for a trial that kept getting prolonged, a strategy the rich and powerful employed in order not to lose doomed cases, in the end making the poor people poorer and worse off than they were before. That’s what Wonpil does. He makes people hope and believe that maybe, just maybe the world isn’t as shitty as it seems, only to shatter them completely when he can’t follow through on his beautiful promises. He breaks them because he made them hope.

Hearing the doorbell ring, you get up to answer it, moving mechanically. After you swing the door open, you stand in the way so Wonpil wouldn’t be able to barge in like he tries to sometimes.

He hands you an envelope which you take with a heavy heart. Every envelope you accept is a debt piled on you that you’ll live the rest of your life paying back.

“I’m working three jobs right now but I hope to find something with a better pay soon so I can start paying you back.”

“Oh, you don’t need to do that.” He rushes to say, but you cut him off. “Yes, I do.”

He sighs and stares at the floor, fiddling with his finger. It annoyed the hell out of you. “Is there something you want?”

His head shoots up, eyes wide at having been caught.

“I—“ He clears his throat after he chokes on the word. “I miss you.”

You hate yourself because of how his words still affect you, how you wish you could fall into his arms and let him comfort you until there are no more tears left in your eyes.

But you won’t cry. You won’t let yourself be vulnerable in front of him. Never again.

“Goodnight, Wonpil.” You say coldly, closing the door in his face before he can say anything else.

______________________________

#wonpil smut #wonpil angst #day6 smut #day6 angst #sub!idol #dom!reader

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mst3kproject · 4 years ago

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The Equinox

'Aleczilla51297′ appears to have made a tumblr purely for the purpose of telling me I need to review Equinox and Godzilla vs Hedorah. I decided to do Equinox first because I’ve already seen Godzilla vs Hedorah, which is one of the preachier Godzilla movies but does have that hilarious bit where the big guy flies by using his atomic breath as a rocket. If Equinox turns out to be a #fuck this movie entry, then Godzilla can act as a sort of a palate-cleanser. And so, without further ado:

Something blows up, a woman called Susan dies, and a dude gets run down by a driverless car. My Dad would feel vindicated – he finds the whole idea of self-driving cars untrustworthy. The victim, whose name is David Fielding, ends up in a mental hospital, where he tells his story to a psychiatrist. Seems that Dave, his pal Jim, Jim’s girlfriend Vicky, and Vicky’s friend Susan, headed up into the mountains for a picnic with their old teacher Dr. Waterman. These people are all idiots.

The four young people arrive to find Waterman’s cabin destroyed and a creepy old man living in a cave nearby, who gives them a locked book. Because the characters don’t know they’re in a bad movie, they don’t realize that the book is clearly the fucking Necronomicon, and decide to crack it open and read it while they eat their KFC. To nobody’s surprise, they’re soon being chased around the countryside by dumb stop-motion monsters. At the end everybody’s dead but Dave, who’s in the mental hospital waiting for the fulfillment of a prophecy that said he would die a year and a day after the original events, but that’s not a spoiler because it was the opening scene.

Let’s go over the shit that happens when these four clowns arrive at Dr. Waterman’s. The cabin’s destroyed and the park ranger who discusses it with them says his name is Asmodeus. Does that sound like a signal you should get the hell out of there? No? Okay, how about when they find a castle they can’t remember being there before? Still no? Well then, on their way to the castle (which later vanishes behind a wall of invisibility, probably because they couldn’t afford interior sets), they come across a cave with Green Goblin laughter echoing out of it, and weird velociraptor footprints all around. Would you leave, or would you light up some torches and go check it out? What about when you find a partially-mummified corpse in the cave?

The whole first ten minutes of the flashback that comprises most of the narrative is a litany of things I’m pretty sure anybody would flee from in real life. I don’t believe much in the supernatural but if I saw all that I would be sure that multiple crimes had been committed and that I wanted no part of it. The characters of Equinox, however, insist on investigating themselves, and continue to make stupid, stupid decisions for the entire run time. Yes, let’s all go in a group to check and make sure the monster is dead. Let’s hang around and bury the bodies ourselves instead of getting back to civilization for a police report and a good stiff drink. Let’s collect the picnic stuff before we leave because that basket cost at least $15 at Wal-Mart. It’s the kind of movie where you start to get annoyed that the characters aren’t dying fast enough. When we finally get back to the opening shot I mainly felt relief that the movie was almost over.

The MST3K movie Equinox most reminds me of is The Day Time Ended: there are people in the middle of nowhere and, for some reason, a bunch of random stop-motiony things happen that never actually add up to a story. Stuff comes and goes without serving any purpose other than to be creepy. Who was Crazy Cave Guy? I at first assumed he was the missing Dr. Waterman but Waterman turns up later and immediately dies, so what’s going on with this other guy? What’s about the cave mummy… who was that? Was the man who showed up to snatch the book actually Dr. Waterman or just a demon in his form? Why is there a random graveyard in the middle of the woods? Why does the psychiatrist have a creepy monster mask on his wall? What’s up with Asmodeus apparently trying to rape Susan without even unbuttoning his pants, and later possessing her so that she does the same thing to Vicky?

Dialogue specifies that Dr. Waterman was a geologist, which seems an odd choice for somebody to be translating ancient documents. I mean, there’s no reason why a geologist can’t have a side interest in ancient manuscripts, but when a movie takes the trouble to tell you something like that there’s usually a reason why. Geology is never important to the plot, even tangentially.

It must be said that Equinox makes slightly more sense than The Day Time Ended, in that we’re actually given a reason why these events are happening. Dr. Waterman had acquired and translated the Necronomicon and could not control the demons he summoned (I am convinced that Sam Raimi saw Equinox when he was around twelve and thought, shit, I could make a better movie than this!). A huge tentacle creature destroyed his cabin, and then there’s the sabre-toothed ogre, the giant green caveman, and of course, the devil himself. These creatures have a motivation: they are determined to get the book back, whether through force or persuasion. The events could still happen in any order, but it all has a common core, rather than being just a collection of Concepts.

In capable hands this story could be made to work (see previous parentheses), but sadly none of the hands involved in making Equinox were remotely capable. The acting is abysmal, mostly just people standing around awkwardly reciting their lines. All the dialogue was then dubbed over in post-production, which makes it even more stiff and awkward. There’s a bit where a guy reads a letter as if he has to sound out each word. The direction and music are bland. Even the costumes are awful. You’d think it would be hard to fuck up costumes in a movie set in the present, but it looks like everyone just turned up to set in their street clothes and they went with that. Good costuming can tell us a lot about characters but the outfits here say nothing. Also, both Vicky and Susan are blondes in blue shirts, and once Susan’s hair falls out of its bun they’re basically indistinguishable.

The characters have no discernable personalities. How they react to things changes from scene to scene, with nobody’s motives clear. The only thing that remains constant is Jim wanting to leave while Dave always wants to stay and take care of something or other. Stuff happens that could result in character development but none of it is ever followed up. The most notable example is when Dave feels terrible guilt over having apparently killed Dr. Waterman, but this is forgotten a few minutes later and we never even find out if the dead man were really Dr. Waterman.

The effects are uniformly bad, but not usually enough so to be entertaining in themselves. The castle is an obvious matte painting and the stuff on the other side of the portal, whether it’s Hell or the Dark Dimension or I don’t even know, is just the same spot in the woods with an orange filter over it. There’s a stupid spinning thing used to represent Asmodeus exercising assorted dark powers. The devil and the sabre-toothed ogre are both stiff and shitty stop-motion puppets. The animation is surprisingly competent for a movie with the budget of Jr. High drama club, but they’re still not good. The one exception is the giant green caveman, which looks dumb but is quite convincing as occupying space and interacting with the characters.

One might expect that this movie would be about the temptation of evil. The monsters in it are summoned using a book of dark knowledge, and in trying to get the book back Asmodeus offers Jim anything he wants – money, prestige, women, you name it. Problem is, there’s never any sign that the main characters are in fact tempted. The crazy guy in the cave wants nothing from the book except to get rid of it. He passes it on to Dave and Jim with evident glee. Dr. Waterman’s interest in it, according to his notes, was purely scientific. He summoned demons just to see if he could do it, but he doesn’t appear to have gained anything thereby except the knowledge that it works. The main characters never even attempt to use the book, even to get themselves out of this mess, they just run around trying to keep it out of the hands of the monsters. I’d say it’s like if every character in The Lord of the Rings was book-Faramir, but only a colossal nerd would use an example like that.

Honestly, I think this movie was about the wrong characters. Dr. Waterman’s process of discovering the book and learning to use it, only to realize he’s unleashed things he cannot control, would probably have been a much more interesting story. The characters from this film could have shown up at the end to fish the book out of the mess, with the implication that they will be its next victims. This would have been a much better way to explore the ideas of temptation, making a Faust-like character out of Waterman as he is tempted not by riches or fame, but by knowledge and power.

Equinox is not quite #fuck this movie bad. In order to earn that tag, a film has to be unwatchably dull and/or morally repugnant. I didn’t have any trouble sitting through Equinox but I also didn’t really enjoy the experience. As movies about demonic forces go, it’s pretty bland and nothing much really seems to happen. I guess that means I have to forgive Aleczilla51297 for sending it to me, but I’m still looking really forward to a Godzilla film or two.

#mst3k #reviews #episodes that never were #equinox #tw: rape #70s

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nothingeverlost · 5 years ago

Text

Fic: Things Half in Shadows (14/14)

Fandom: Once Upon a Time

Pairings: Gold/Belle (eventually) with side pairings that probably include Graham/Bay, Archie/Emma and others.

Summary: The first thing you learn, back in Psych 101, is that you never get emotionally involved with a patient. For 25 years Dr. Gold hasn’t had a problem walking that fine line. Something changes, though, when he meets Belle French. AU

Author’s Note: I can’t begin to express what this fic and the people who read it have meant to me. Thank you all. This is the last chapter. I chose to leave it here and pick it up again in a sequel. The second half is relationship-centric and will begin with Belle leaving Storybrooke.

TRIGGER WARNING: Indirect mentions of abuse and sexual assault

Chapter 14 - Small Steps

There was a book on the table next to her customary cup of tea. The cover was free of words, only a pattern of roses that looked like an old bit of wallpaper.

“A journal?” she guessed. She’d never kept a diary before and felt a flutter in her stomach when she remembered the last time her doctor had asked her to write anything. Eight words and everything had changed. For the better, maybe, someday, but nothing had ever hurt so much. She hadn’t had the numbness to shield her. She would try, though, if he asked.

“While that’s never a bad idea that’s not my intent today. It is for writing but I don’t want you to write about yourself.”

“Who should I be writing about?” She knew he wouldn’t ask her to write about her father.

“You read a lot of stories, Belle. It’s a comfort to step into the world someone else created, to attend a ball with Elizabeth Darcy or to push the Dread Pirate Roberts down a hill. I want to see you try writing a story with your own words. It can be as simple or as complex as you like.” From his pocket he took a pen, resting it on top of the book.

“That’s it? Just write something?” She hadn’t written anything since a creative writing class she took her first semester in college. She couldn’t remember if she’d liked it or not.

“Anything you want. When you’re done you can show it to anyone you want or you can keep it to yourself. You can show it to me, but only if that’s what you want.” He took a sip of his tea. Belle remembered her own cup and took a sip, and a bite of the coffee cake he’d brought in that morning. She liked the blueberries. “What’s the first story you remember as a child?”

“Cinderella.” She was distracted by the book, picking it up and running her fingers over the lightly textured cover before opening it up. The pages were blank. So much empty space; it seemed lonely without words. “Not the Disney one; it was a pop-up book. There was this page with all the stairs and in the middle the glass slipper. I remember running my fingers up and down the stairs, pretending I’d lost my shoe. One page had the carriage and you could open the door and look inside. I wanted to shrink so I could fit inside, just for a little while. It was such a pretty little carriage.”

“Perhaps you can tell the story of a little girl who did manage to shrink,” he suggested. “When my son was wee there was a story he loved about a family that lived in the walls of a house.”

“I loved Thumbelina. My mama would watch the movie with me; it was the first VHS I remember owning. We liked to sing the songs together.” They would cuddle under a blanket and share a bowl of popcorn that they’d made together on the stove. Her mama loved to sing. She’d almost forgotten how she’d sung when she was washing the dishes, or combing her hair, and always at bedtime. “I don’t remember anything about the movie except that she was little and there was singing.”

“I’m sure we could find a copy, sometime.” He scribbled a note on a piece of paper. It was strange, most psychiatrists she had seen wrote a lot. Some seemed to barely look at her, they were so busy writing about what she said. Her doctor rarely wrote more than a few sentences and she always got the feeling that it was making sure he remembered things rather than analyzing her. “It sounds like a memory worth holding onto.”

“I think it is.” It hurt to think about her mama; maybe it always would. But it made her feel warm, too, to remember the way they had sung together. Maybe getting better meant that the warm was just as strong as the hurt. She took another bite of her coffee cake and waited for questions about her mama that didn’t come. Her doctor turned back to the subject of stories for the rest of her session.

Belle’s entrance to the art room was blocked by the sprawled form of Jefferson on the floor, arms and legs both spread eagle. She held her new book to her chest and looked down at him, wondering if she needed to go back and get help. His eyes were open, though, and she couldn’t see anything that looked like danger.

“Don’t mind him, he’s just being a drama queen.” August leaned against the back of a chair nearby. “Even more so than usual.”

“I’m bor-ed. Bored. B-b-b-bored.”

“I’m starting to get the idea that Jefferson’s bored. Anyone else getting that feeling?” Ruby was using the art scissors to trim bits of her hair.

“Does this place have a yelp? I’m giving them one star. Can I do no stars? I’m going to do that. The food is pedestrian, the entertainment is abysmal, and I’m sure there’s beds of nails that are more comfortable than what passes for accommodation here.”

“Fortunately there’s always the chance that a patient will provide entertainment,” Ruby said pointedly.

“You call this entertaining?” August rolled his eyes.

“Do you think they might let us have a picnic?” Belle offered tentatively. They’d had sunny afternoons the last couple of days.

“A party.” Jefferson sat up. “Rabbit, you’re brilliant.”

“Christmas is over.” From the corner of the room a small sad voice piped up. Astrid was working on something involving glue and a lot of glitter.

“Anyone have a birthday coming up?” Jefferson asked hopefully.

“Mine was last month.” Mary Margaret was the first to pop Jefferson’s bubble. Belle just shook her head. No one had mentioned holidays or birthdays since she’d arrived, almost as if time was standing still. Maybe that’s what they all hoped, that time was still and they would be able to just slip into their lives when they returned home. If they returned.

“This is perfect. Bake the cake and hire the clowns, we’re having a birthday party.” Jefferson shot up so fast it was hard to tell how he’d gotten to his feet.

“No on has a birthday until June, sweetie,” Ruby reminded him.

“Please tell me you’re not serious about clowns.” August crossed his arms. “That’s not funny.”

“If it’s no one’s birthday then it’s everyone’s unbirthday. What’s better than an unbirthday party?” He raced around the room, pulling fake flowers and ribbons from bins, stopping behind Astrid’s chair to lean down low. “More glitter, little mouse. We need more sparkle.”

“This is going to be interesting.” Ella picked up the flower that had landed in her lap.

“That’s one word for it,” August commented, pointedly ignoring the ribbons that had landed on his shoulder. “Not the word I’d pick, though.”

“Have you ever read any fairy tales?” Belle threw a pea into the lake, a little farther from the shore this time. The ducklings were getting bigger now, and Graham said that they needed to work a little for their food.

“Maybe when I was a kid. I don’t remember, really.” They reached for a pea at the same time, their fingers touching. Belle hardly thought about it, or the fact that only a few weeks ago it would have startled her.

“I was rereading some yesterday.” She had hoped they would inspire her own idea for a story. “They’re very black and white. Stepmothers are always evil. The princess is always good and pure. Fairy godmothers will always help. Wolves can’t be trusted.”

“A lot of people don’t understand about wolves. They’re nobel.” Graham tossed another pea into the water, a little farther from the ducks. One of the ducklings dove to get it and came up, shaking out its feathers.

“Maybe it’s easier to pretend that the scary things are so simple. As easy to see as a wolf in pajamas.” Fairytales never taught you to be scared of the people that said they loved you; at least none that she’d found.

“Wolf wouldn’t be happy wearing anyone’s pajamas, but he does like sleeping bags. I had to buy one for him or I’d never get any sleep when we go out. He gets in and curls up until all you can see is his nose. He has to carry it, though, if he wants it.” The last of the peas were gone. Graham opened the other bag he’d brought and set out two white chocolate cranberry cookies.

“He carries his sleeping bag?” Graham had mentioned camping, once. Belle had never had a pet, but didn’t imagine that was something they usually did.

“It clips onto his harness. He’s always excited when I put it on because he knows we’ll sleep outdoors. Besides, I carry food for both of us, it’s only fair he carries his own bedding.” Graham took a bite of one of the cookies and pushed the other one a little closer to her. “Somehow I ended up with an extra if you want one.”

“Thank you.” Nurse Whale had mentioned she was up seven pounds and had been pleased when he added the note to her file. Someday maybe she could meet her doctor’s son and thank him for all the muffins and cookies. “Does Wolf have to carry his own tent too?”

“We don’t use a tent. Just a sleeping bag apiece and a campfire. Can’t see the stars in a tent, and they tell a different story every night.” it was midday but still Graham looked up at the sky as if he could see the stars.

“What happens if it rains?”

“We get wet.” Graham shrugged. “If it’s a heavy storm we find a shelter. But look at the ducklings, they love to get wet. A lot of animals do. There’s nothing harmful in a little rain, and afterwards everything smells new.’

“I’ve never been camping.” She and her mama used to make tents out of sheets and imagine they were camping. They made s’mores in the oven and ate them sitting around a flashlight. She’d mentioned camping to her papa once and he’d taken her to a resort that summer in upstate New York. They’d served a chocolate mousse topped with meringue and graham cracker and called it a s’more. Her papa had called her princess and gifted her with her first bikini. She’d ‘lost’ it after the second day, and was glad they never went back.

“There’s berries and mushrooms growing on the other side of the lake, at the edge of the woods. It’s not camping but we could go for a walk,” he suggested, finishing his cookie.

“Are you sure it’s alright?” She’d never walked past the edge of the lake.

“As long as you stay with me.”

By the time they returned from their walk Belle had almost forgotten about fairytales. Graham had shown her the signs of edible mushrooms, but cautioned her not to eat any without him there. He’d pointed out a nest in a branch that still held eggs. There was a bush full of berries that might make a good cookie. Her questions had been tentative at first but he’d answered them all, speaking more than he usually did. She was eager to learn more and he walked with her to the library to point out a few books they had about local flora and fauna. Caught up in the books she almost didn’t notice someone joining them in the library.

“Belle.” Gaston had his hands in his pockets, his height seeming so much taller than she remembered. “Can we talk?”

“Visitor’s hours are Saturday. This isn’t a good time.” Graham took two steps to his right, coming between her and the doorway.

“You’re not Belle, so I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to my fiance.” Gaston was less forceful than usual, but she knew that he wouldn’t leave.

“It’s okay, Graham.” She didn’t know what he wanted, but it was usually quicker to give it to him than argue. Logic wasn’t Gaston’s strongest suit. “He’s driven a long way to be here. We can talk.”

“You heard her. I’m sure there’s someone else in this place that needs your attention.” Gaston sat on one of the sofas, his feet on the table. Belle was reminded of his home office, though the Storybrooke library didn’t have any animal heads mounted on the walls.

“Right now my job is to be here.” Graham crossed his arms. Gaston’s cheek muscle twitched.

“Can we have a few minutes, Graham? You could wait right outside the door.” She could call for him if she needed him. She wondered if she actually would.

“A few minutes and the door stays open,” Graham agreed reluctantly. Once he was out of the room Belle dug her nails into the arm of the couch. She tried to remember what it was like to sit at dinner with him and make small talk.

“You look good, Gaston.” He had a tan that she knew came from a tanning bed this time of year and a body sculpted with the help of a personal trainer named Lefou.

“You look… fine.” His eyes swept over her, and she knew he was seeing the hair pulled back in a ponytail and the bulky sweater that was warm but unfashionable. She hadn’t put on any makeup since she’d arrived, except the nail polish Ruby had used a few days ago to make her nails a pale pink. “Are you… fine?”

“I’m learning a lot about myself.” Fine was right up there with okay on the list of words she didn’t know how to define. There were a lot of things people said to each other that didn’t mean anything, polite lies that meant not talking about anything real..

“Moe said you would be coming home soon.” Belle flinched, but she was certain Gaston didn’t notice.

“I’m not ready for that.” Belle shook her head. She wouldn’t ever return to the place that Gaston called home. For weeks she had asked Doctor every day about the restraining order, needing the reminder that it was real. She had spoken to the sheriff once, as well. It had been almost a month now, and no lawyers had shown up. No threats had been made. She was beginning to believe she was safe for him, at least within the small world of Storybrooke. What happened when she left she didn’t know; she didn’t have a home anymore.

“I don’t understand why you’re here. You’re not like them.” He gestured towards the doorway, where the sounds of art therapy could be heard. “You’d do better being around your own people.”

“These are my people.” They were all trying to heal from things. She wondered if Gaston would even be able to understand what it was to need to heal. He spoke of little other than hunting and business, boating and stocks. If she was honest with herself there was very little she knew about the man she’d said yes to marrying. He knew even less about her.

“Your people are at home; there’s a dinner at the club this weekend. People keep asking me when you’re coming home, not that they know where you are.” Too restless for the couch Gaston rose and started pacing. “They ask me about the wedding.”

“I can’t marry you, Gaston.” She said the words in a hurry, afraid she wouldn’t say them all if she didn’t say them all at once.

“You don’t mean that. When you get home…”

“No.” She shook her head. When her father had brought Gaston home she had accepted it, as she did everything else. She hadn’t gone away to college because he didn’t want it. She hadn’t babysat as a teen. Hadn’t gone to school dances. She was always a dutiful daughter, even when it came to dating the man that was picked out for her. And saying yes when expected, whether it was diner, sex or an engagement ring. If she stayed with Gaston she was still her father’s prisoner. It didn’t matter that Gaston was unaware of who Moe French really was or what he had done. “I’m sorry Gaston.”

“I don’t understand, we had plans. You said yes.” Any plans they had, Belle knew, had been his own. A wife to take care of his house and play hostess for his parties. The right type of woman to show off at the club. Children, probably, but she couldn’t even think about that. For a moment she imagined a daughter, soft brown curls and her mother’s eyes. She thought of her father, and wondered if she would have more power to protect a daughter than she’d had to save herself.

“Belle.” He said her name sharply, and probably not for the first time. It was enough to bring Graham into the room. She thought of the stories he’d told her about Wolf, and wondered if that was why she was reminded so strongly of a predator. The narrow eyes and tense muscles might have scared her from another man, but she trusted him. He was there to protect her.

“I’m alright now.” She spoke to Gaston but looked over his shoulder to Graham. She could make it through this conversation but she wasn’t going to ask him to leave again.

“This place is making you worse, not better,” Gaston groused.

“I’m not someone you would want to marry.” There wasn’t any point explaining to him anymore than that. “The ring is in my jewelry box at home. You should have it back.”

“You shouldn’t make decisions in a place like this. When you change your mind…”

“I wish you the best, Gaston, I really do. I need you to go now.” Graham took a step closer. Perhaps Gaston felt it, or perhaps he decided his ego was smarting from the rejection.

“If I take back the ring that’s it.” When she didn’t say anything he got up and strode from the library. She hesitated for a moment before running after him.

“Gaston, wait.” She could feel Graham standing behind her, not trying to touch her but his presence unmistakable.

“I knew it.” His smile was the cocky one she was most familiar with. Belle took a breath, closing her eyes. She could be brave. She could speak up.

“You move in the same circles as my father. Parties, the club, charity events. You should know…” She felt her nails against the underside of her forearm and paused, pulling them away. She would not hurt herself. “He can’t be left alone with little girls. They need to be protected.

“You can’t mean…” She’d never before seen all the color drain from Gaston’s face. The horrified look in his eyes was probably the most real emotion she’d ever seen from him. She nodded and waited to see that he understood what she meant, then turned her back to him. She couldn’t allow him to ask questions, couldn’t speak any clearer than she already had. It had taken all of her bravery to say that much.

Doctor Gold was standing on the other side of the doorway. “Graham thought you might like a cup of tea. I thought we could take some out to the garden.”

“I would like that.” She was surprised to see that her hand wasn’t trembling. The hot tea would be welcome. Before she followed him she looked over her shoulder on last time. “Goodbye, Gaston.”

She stood completely still until she could feel him leaving. Graham was gone too, and she knew without having to ask that he was following Gaston. Making sure he didn’t linger, didn’t ask anything more of her. After almost two years and an engagement it was strange to think that she’d most likely seen him for the last time. It was probably stranger to think she had agreed to marry him but wouldn’t miss him.

“He’s gone, dearie. Would you like to sit down?”

“In the garden.” She looked down at her feet and willed them to move. After a moment they did, and if she thought about nothing else but walking she could get herself to the bench outside before her knees let her down. He handed her a mug of tea poured from his thermos as soon as she sat. It seemed cooler outside than it had half an hour ago when she’d been walking with Graham.

“He shouldn’t have gotten as far as the library without anyone stopping him, Belle. I’m sorry.” He waited a moment to speak, or maybe it was five minutes. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been staring at her tea before looking at him.

“He wasn’t a threat. He never hurt me.” She wasn’t sure she could say that Gaston was a good man. He worked and he hunted and he went to the club. He hated books and was sometimes frustrated when he saw her reading rather than socializing, but he was never cruel. He didn’t go out of his way to help anyone but neither did he hurt anyone. “I didn’t even know I didn’t want to be with him. It was easier to just say yes.”

“It was what other people wanted from you,” he commented softly.

“I said no to him today.” Had she ever said that before? She couldn’t remember the last time she’d said no, not to something as simple as where they were going for dinner or as complicated as an engagement ring. Not to trips with her papa or his college plans or anything. “Even when it made him mad.”

“The only emotions you are responsible for are your own.” His tea was on the bench, his hands both on the handle of his cane. He moved it restlessly, the tip moving bits of gravel around the ground. He always moved, even when he was sitting still. “What you did today took a good deal of courage.

“I was scared. Not of him.” He made her feel small next to him, his confidence and control making her feel like everything centered around him, but she hadn’t feared him. Or loved him. She’d simply existed next to him. “Everything’s changed now.”

“The unknown can be very hard to step into, even when the known is hurting us. It’s normal to be scared.” His voice was low and soothing. Belle allowed herself to close her eyes and just listen to him. His words settled into her bones with the same warmth as the tea.

“So now I start over?” With Gaston gone she had no connection to the people she’d called friends, who were really just social acquaintances. With the restraining order against her father she was an orphan in all the ways that mattered.

“As much as we might sometimes wish for a blank slate there is no such thing. No tabula rasa.” He quirked his lips into something that wasn’t quite a smile, or at least not a happy one. “We continue on a step at a time because the only thing we can do is move forward or stand still. What we do get to decide is what we carry with us and what we work on shedding.”

Belle looked down at her hands, seeing only the cooling mug of tea but knowing she held onto so much more. “I left Gaston behind.”

“You did. Are you feeling alright about that?” He picked up his mug, but only played with the handle.

Belle nodded. The conversation had been hard but knowing it was over was easy. “It’s not so simple with papa.”

“No, it’s not. But you’ve already taken the first steps.” He paused, looking at her. Belle took a shaky breath and nodded. It helped that he didn’t lie to her. Didn’t pretend that anything was going to be easy. If she’d taken the first steps there were still dozens more to take.

“One step at a time.” She rubbed her arm. There was no pain, and she’d stopped herself from digging her nails into the skin when she’d spoken to Gaston. That was a step too.

Belle deliberately chose the same sofa in the library she’d shared with Gaston the next day, an exorcism of sorts. She curled up with her notebook and pen, took a deep breath, and started writing. An hour later she had twelve pages of writing and a sore hand. The wolf was about to rescue Little Red from her grandmother when Jefferson threw himself at the other side of the sofa, making the whole thing bounce.

“Put the books away, it’s time to play.” He wore a top hat made from construction paper covered in glittering gears and offered her a pipe cleaner tiara with tissue paper roses. “Your unbirthday awaits.”

“I thought it was everyone’s unbirthday.” She slipped her book into the oversized pockets of her cardigan before accepting the tiara.

“You’re one of the everybody, aren’t you?” He tipped his hat at her, stood, and offered her his hand. She only hesitates a moment before letting him help her up.

“I am.” She followed Jefferson to the garden where her friends were waiting to celebrate. It was one more small step.

#rumbelle fic #mr. gold #belle french #graham humbert #jefferson #ruby lucas #things half in shadow #my fic

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spiftynifty · 6 years ago

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Hey there! I’m the same anon that sent that confusion ask to jojo. I saw your reply and Read your post about LGBT in kids shows and how (at the time) it seemed probable for a m|m canon. I wanted to ask what your thoughts are now? I personally think it seems most likely that Keith will end in a het. Relationship (despite it seeming a little rushed and lm and jds saying they wouldn’t) Keith ending with no one when such a strong relationship with shiro was built up just doesn’t seem likely either..

To be honest, I was worried about Kacxa at first too. Many, many other hetero romances have started with less than that and seeing underdeveloped relationships just happen because “he was a boy, she was a girl, can I make it any more obvious” is something we are extremely accustomed to. Heck the show kind of plays right into this with Hunk/Shay.

But Keith is different, he is a far more developed and story-focused character than Hunk is, and thus if he’s to be given a romantic partner then it needs to match that flow and level of development. One of the “rules” that we often get in media is that “romance is a higher level on the relationship chart than friendship”. And at this point, and even after 13 more episodes, there’s just no context this show could offer me where I could honestly believe that Keith could regard Acxa with a similar level of affection to how he regards Shiro, let alone higher. This was the biggest reason I stopped worrying; to be blunt, Kacxa doesn’t make sense on a narrative or character level. Keith aside, Acxa deserves to have a story told that doesn’t involve her following dudes around.

Also, revisiting the show I’m quite convinced that Keith is canonically in love with Shiro, that his feelings for him were intended to be read as so many of us do. There’s a reason so many people in and outside the fandom have written about their relationship with optimism and curiosity about where the show is taking it. It’s there, even for those who have never been looking for it. I know a lot of straight guys who have picked up on it despite never realizing Korrasami was a thing.

But we definitely do a lot of speculating here in the Sheith fandom and I’ve seen some pretty elaborate meta for scenes that didn’t particularly resonate as shippy for me. So stepping back, shipping goggles off, speaking as a viewer and as someone who works in animation, there are really… 3.5 sequences that give me pause, that are so heavily coded and so… interestingly storyboarded and animated that I find it increasingly impossible to believe the showrunners and directors never intended for their relationship to be read romantically. They are:

Because there is something inherently romantic about the slow zoom on their smiles before the slow drift of them towards each other, the castle forgotten

Because this is blatantly highlighting how beautiful Shiro is and Keith staring at him in awe before he closes his eyes for the last time, resigned to their joint fate

Because I have run all the permutations and scenarios in my mind and there is literally no reason for Keith to stop mid lean, with his eye direction shifting lower than Shiro’s eyeline. It would have been faster and way less work to show him just hugging him without the pause.

And then this is the 0.5:

Because while the canon tempers this moment with “you’re my brother”, I am beyond convinced that that line was added because the scene was too romantically coded without it. And if you don’t believe me, check out this edit someone made of what the scene sounds like without the brother line. It’s incredible.

But will we SEE canon Sheith? that’s… a little more complicated.

My post ages ago about LGBT in cartoons was pretty optimistic but where I failed was considering the differences in studios. Some companies are a lot more chill about LGBT content in their shows. But they also aren’t the Big Two: Disney and Dreamworks, whose records of LGBT characters are utterly abysmal. Here are the two they had prior to July 2018: LeFou from live action Beauty and the Beast, and Gobber from HTTYD2 in a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it line that was ad-libbed by the actor and left in. Arguments could also be made for the Sheriffs in Gravity Falls (that had to be Dumbledore’d after the fact by the show creator who alluded to there being a fight over it).

NOT great, especially when you consider Disney is not just Disney: none, NONE of the 19 Marvel movies feature an LGBT character, nor do ANY of the Star Wars movies. It’s utterly inexcusable. Shareholders in these companies make things more complicated because they help dictate the direction a company will take and if a large portion of their major shareholders are say, more conservative, we’re going to notice that there is one area on the diversity checklist that is repeatedly getting passed over. The bigger the company, the more complicated the relationship is with shareholders. That’s why it’s difficult to compare Korra’s achievement, through Nickelodeon, to the potential of an LGBT relationship on Dreamworks. We should absolutely hold them to the same standards regardless of company size but we can’t expect to get an endgame LGBT relationship just because Korra did, or because of the giant 20-gayteen celebration going on for two wlw ships at Cartoon Network.

But we also got THIS on Voltron.

And it’s a start. I think it outlines pretty clearly where the limits are for Dreamworks at this time, especially since many casual viewers seemed to miss the romantic implications of Zethrid/Ezor, and a more alarming number somehow walked away from Adam/Shiro’s fight completely unaware they were a couple. Which honestly, was certainly Dreamworks’ goal. Keep it vague enough to fool the shareholders, but implicative enough to pat themselves on the back for their achievement. Even though it only exists because JDS and LM fought tooth and nail for it. But at the end of the day, we still have Shiro, Shiro our canonically gay rep, and that’s so huge. I don’t think people realize how huge that is, and I wish his coming out party hadn’t been so marred by toxic antis and even non-antis who decided to take a really big moment in cartoon history and make it all about themselves and their own pain over the “more” that they didn’t get.

It’s incredible that we are getting LGBT in cartoons finally, properly. 2018 celebrated three massive historical achievement in kid’s animation: A strong, muscular, leader hero was revealed to be gay and have had a boyfriends, and two wlw couples kissed–one of them got married, onscreen.

This is HUGE. Prior to 2018 the biggest LGBT cartoon moment we had was Korra and Asami four years ago.

It was like for four years everyone fought and fought and fought and 2018 was the breaking point and we got this glorious explosion of LGBT romance as a result. Audience reception to these couples has been immensely supportive, which is something the companies are definitely noting if it’s translating into dollar signs. It’s something that makes me much more optimistic for the future of cartoons in years to come.

But I’m just going to come out and say it: the road to mlm is just a little bit harder. There are a ton of reasons for this but I’d say the biggest two boil down to: classic, gendered homophobia (the white conservative straight dudes with money supporting the studios have an easier time with the idea of two women making out, cuz that’s “hot” than two men, cuz that’s “weird”), and also because it is easier for people to accept that two overly-touchy women are “just good friends” than it is for them to accept that two male characters doing the same thing are. Guys Don’t Get Affectionate With Each Other, after all, because that’s not the Masculine Way. Or something. Tons of people watched the end of Korra and assumed they were just friends. Replace those characters with Shiro and Keith and it raises eyebrows.

So where does that leave Shiro and Keith? It’s really hard to say and at this point it’s anyone’s guess. I truly believe Sheith was intentionally coded as romantic, but getting the green light is another matter entirely. In addition to the DW shareholders, JDS/LM have to deal with the Voltron ones and since that would include conservative-minded folk along with some Japanese shareholders and Japan has complicated rules about LGBT content… it’s a hot mess. Realistically speaking if you were hoping to see Shiro and Keith kiss onscreen, it’s time to come to terms with the fact that there is a 0.0002% likelihood of it happening. I think the best outcome we can expect at this point is that they both end up single, with bonus points if they’re still alive and on the same planet by the series’ end. I firmly believe that this IS something the showrunners are and have fought for and will continue to fight for until the last retakes are done and the show has been approved and shipped off to Netflix for distribution.

My tinhat theory is that there is one, single scene/shot, that is blatantly canon, that JDS/LM and KR animated on the sly, and have at the ready that they are totally prepared to replace another more platonic scene with– should DW give the go ahead. But I doubt that go-ahead will ever come. At the end of the day the shareholders are the rulemakers and unless they’re convinced it’s worth the financial gain, Sheith is forever bound to be the “will they won’t they” friends we have seen for the last 7 seasons. And I don’t think that potential financial gain of the kids’ animation world’s first mlm couple is big enough to convince them. But god do I ever hope I’m wrong.

#sheith #voltron #meta #long post #my current mood: optimistic for something half a notch above ambiguous #0p0

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rszealot · 5 years ago

Note

Hello, I have a kind of prompt? Could you write one of your fav non-RWBY pairings in a RWBY au? (I don’t really know your other fandoms/pairings but I’d love to see them!)

Answering this literal years later: (full description/context/apology here: https://rszealot.tumblr.com/post/185428985955/are-you-still-taking-prompts-0 )

Fluttershy/Rarity RWBY AU:

First Impressions

Beacon was magnificent.

She had seen images of it of course, the occasional video, but none of it compared to seeing it in person. It was massive, stretching as far as she could see around her. The grand towers rose up to meet the heavens and inspired a sort of pride in her. Pride in herself for finally getting here after all her hard work certainly, but also a sort of vague pride for humanity, for having build something this great.

She had stopped in the plaza just outside the landing pad, taking in every detail of the place that would be her home for the next few years. The stark red of the trees contrasting with the stark whiteness of the arches surrounding the plaza, the pools of pristine water surrounding the path, the-

Well, that was one way to ruin the scenery. Over by one of the arches, a group of boys had cornered a timid-looking girl, who was decidedly not enjoying their presence. She approached them with purposeful steps, observing the hooligans and their victim as she did.

All four of the boys were on the more handsome side of “painfully average” and wore some kind of armour except for one. He favoured a scruffier look, with his sleeveless vest, no doubt purposefully unkempt mohawk, and haphazardly attached pauldron.

She stopped a good few meters away from them, and sighed as she spied the reason they were harassing this young woman.

Of course the first people she would run into at Beacon were a bunch of racists.

The girl in question was extraordinarily pretty, with long, pink hair; beautiful turquoise eyes that seemed to shimmer in the sunlight until she realized it was reflecting off of tears; a slender, graceful build that betrayed just a hint of muscle; and a large pair of wings covered in soft-looking yellow feathers.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she announced her presence.

“What exactly are you boys doing?”

They all turned, their victim letting out a surprised squeak. Their surprised looks quickly faded into an expression she knew all too well.

“Well, hello there…” said the tallest of the bunch, who she had assumed was their leader. “Who are you?” The interest in his voice was as unmistakable as it was unwelcome. Boys.

At the very least they seemed to all have forgotten about their previous prey, who was still silently quivering behind them.

“Answer my question.” She replied coolly.

The tall one responded with a skin-crawlingly fake smile, his eyes betraying his true intentions as they shamelessly wandered over her body. His friends meanwhile busied themselves with trying to “subtly” show off behind him, their backs straighter than she’d ever seen them and their entirely casual poses casually causing them to flex casually.

“We were just talking to our friend here.” his voice was sirap-sweet, with just a hint of malice. “We’re done now though.” The following wink made his intentions clear. She was not impressed.

“Really?” She put on her fakest clueless voice. If he wasn’t going to put any effort into it, why should she? “It looks more to me like you’re a gang of bullies harassing this young lady, possibly with racial motives or simply out of a petty need to exert power over others.”

Her bluntness had the desired effect, stopping the tall one’s abysmal attempts at flirting dead in its tracks and causing the other boys to revert to their natural half-slouch.

“So, are you going to leave her alone, or will I have to report this incident to the headmaster? I’m sure discrimination and harassment charges on your first day will look great on your records.”

The boys hesitated, clearly not used to people standing up to them. They exchanged glances, and then turned to glare at her.

“This isn’t over, for you or the animal,” the tall one almost growled as they walked away.

“Sure looks like it,” she couldn’t help but add as they disappeared into the stream of new arrivals.

With those bastards taken care of, she turned to the girl, approaching and giving her a gentle smile. “Are you okay?” she asked.

No response.

“I’m Jewel,” she added, noting the girl’s clear discomfort wasn’t going away with just the two of them there. “Jewel Blanc.”

No response. She was beginning to get worried, hoping it didn’t show.

“What’s your name?”

The girl just looked around, biting her lower lip. Then she opened her mouth.

And ran.

Startled by the sudden motion, Jewel could only watch as the girl took off, running towards the school.

Well, that’s one way to say thank you…

___

The leaves of the tree rustled as Jewel planted her foot on the side of the trunk, kicking off for the next tree in her path. Another foot, another kick, and she was off for the next. The wind rushed through her hair, her extensive hair care routine battling against nature to keep her expertly crafted hairstyle from being ruined as she worked to convert her vertical energy to horizontal energy, each leap taking her slowly closer to the forest floor where she dove into a roll and leapt back up to her feet.

Not wasting time to catch her breath, she immediately kept on running, keeping an even pace. It wouldn’t do to tire yourself out on a day like this after all. This was the proper initiation, where she would finally meet the person who would become her partner for the next three years. Perhaps even longer, if she was lucky. Jewel wouldn’t lie and say she didn’t have some preferences, after all she had noticed none other than Pyrrha Nikos herself in the group as they were launched off the cliff. To partner up with such a talented and stylish young woman would be a dream come true. She could imagine it, the two of them, taking on monstrous Grimm and saving lives like a pair of knights in shining armour, truly they would be the greatest of friends!

Perhaps even more…

She was shaken from her daydreaming by the distant snarls of grimm. And a voice. A familiar voice.

She turned on her heel, dashing off in the direction of the sound. In the clearing ahead she saw the young faunus girl from yesterday being circled by two ursa. By the dirt covering her, she must have had a bad landing on the hill behind her, and tumbled down; right into the waiting bear trap.

Her aura was holding for now, and the two ursa were just circling, occasionally growling at the panicked girl trying desperately to free herself.

What was that thing she’d said about knights in shining armour?

She wasted no time raising Nightmare, her beloved pistol, and pulling the hammer back until it infused the bullet with gravity dust. She advanced slowly as she methodically fired three shots, hitting one of the ursa in one of its hind legs. The ursa yowled in pain as the shots sank in, and struggled to turn to her with the tiny gravity wells that had appeared inside it.

With a wave of her hand she let her semblance reach into the dust-enhanced bullets, boosting the dust’s effect. The grimm roared, then silenced as its leg imploded under the sudden pull.

The other ursa charged at her, tearing up grass and roots as it went, but Jewel kept advancing, spinning Nightmare to change it into its dagger form. She moved the hammer to the steam dust setting, coating the blade. As the ursa leapt at her, she sprung to action, sliding under the massive creature and slashing at its soft belly, leaving a long cut covered in dust. Before it could react she spun around, driving Nightmare into the grimm three times and leapt away, shifting her weapon into its gun form and holstering it as a snap of her fingers detonated the dust she had deposited into the grimm, boiling it from the inside.

She approached the girl, a cocky smile on her face. Then she halted in her tracks. Her muscles simply refused to move, and she started to shake as a great, all-consuming fear gripped her mind. Every cell in her body screamed for her to just get away from the girl. She felt the icy claws of death close in on her heart, falling to the ground in her haste to get away. Get away. She had to get away.

Then, as suddenly as it had come, the fear vanished. She sat on the ground, taking deep, panicked breaths, her heart pounding in her ears, staring in horror at the now not-at-all threatening girl.

“Sorry…” The girl’s voice was squeaky and laboured, and she attempted to hide her face behind her long hair, refusing to look Jewel in the eyes, cowering as if she was the one who had just felt the greatest terror of her life.

“What-?” Jewel’s voice hitched, and she took a few moments to steady herself, rising back to her feet. “What was that?”

The girl’s eyes darted to and fro, never leaving the ground, seemingly debating whether to answer. When she did, all she managed to let out was a squeak of pain, bringing the bear trap back into Jewel’s mind.

“Never mind, let me help you with that.” She knelt next to her, gripping the trap with both her hands. The trap was rather advanced, meant to catch grimm, which could easily grow smart enough to dislodge a more rudimentary device.

If Jewel didn’t exactly mind being this close to the girl (If she recalled, she’d first described her as extraordinarily pretty), she tried to push such thoughts away until she could free her. The girl let out a sharp hiss as Jewel tried to reach the mechanism. She looked up and saw the girl watching her with bated breath, biting down on her lower lip. She was absolutely adorable, her summer-sky eyes beautiful even through tears.

Her eyes.

Jewel couldn’t help but to blush. On some level, she’d known this girl would likely end up as her partner when she went to attack those ursa, it seemed inevitable that they’d lock eyes. To actually think about it though? To have the fact confirmed and undeniable right in front of her? She felt elated. She had to admit she had been intrigued by the girl since their first meeting. It felt a little like fate, them meeting as soon as she stepped of the ship. She’d never really believed in such things, no matter how much she wished to, but here- Aha!

“There we go!” she exclaimed as the bear trap relinquished its grasp of the girl’s leg.

“Watch out!”

She realized her mistake as she heard the roar behind her. The ursa wasn’t quite dead yet. She saw its shadow rise over herself and the girl. She reached for Nightmare, hoping to both gods she wasn’t too late. Her hand clutched the grip right as the ursa began to bring its claw down onto her. In a haze, some distant part of her realized she was too slow.

She closed her eyes, bringing her free hand up to shield her face. She knew on some level than her aura would bear the blow, but it would hurt, probably send her tumbling to the ground, and leave a nasty bruise.

But it didn’t. It roared in agony.

She opened her eyes. Above her was the ursa, dead, already disintegrating and revealing the spear embedded in its chest. Following the shaft, she leaned backwards to see the girl, standing up, her face a mask of determination.

The blush returned. She sat there, catching her breath as she watched the girl wince, as if only now realizing what had just happened, her eyes wide as she dropped her spear and scrambled to help Jewel up.

“Oh my gods I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you, and then the ursa?! I saw it coming but I couldn’t say anything I understand if you think I’m a bad person it’s okay that-” The rest of her words sort of petered out into choked whimpering as the girl fell to her knees and tried to hide behind her hair.

Jewel was at somewhat of a loss for words. She had gotten used to the girl’s silence and shyness a bit, and this sudden deluge of apologies? Apologies for… saving her? She wasn’t entirely following the girl’s train of thoughts, nor the steady stream of half intelligible words, but if that was really her takeaway from these events, Jewel could not just stand idly by. She crouched down in front of the girl, putting a hand on her shoulder and squeezing gently.

“Oh goodness. Please don’t cry.” The girl looked up, her eyes already red from crying. She looked like she was about to refute her argument, so she decided to cut her off: “I think what you did was rather gallant. Scaring me or not, you did stop that big nasty thing from hitting me.” The girl seemed rather mollified by that, so she retrieved a handkerchief from her coat pocket, and handed it to the girl. “There we go, that’s better.”

Jewel rose, bringing the girl gently up with her, and being so bold as to wipe away an errant tear from her cheek, trying not to marvel at how soft and smooth she was, even after crying. She shot her a smile, realizing she knew a good way to steer the conversation to a hopefully more cheerful tone. “I do believe you never gave me your name sweetness.” The pet name was not at all planned, but it felt right to say, and the blush and small smile it brought to the girl made her think it was the right thing to say.

“Um… I’m Arolynne. Arolynne Amaranth.”

“Arolynne.” She liked the way it felt saying that. “That’s a pretty name.” She had no idea where this sudden flirtatiousness was coming from, maybe the adrenaline was still pumping, or maybe being saved just brought out some kind of latent damsel in distress gene. Or maybe you just want to flirt with her.

She shook that thought from her head and took Arolynne by the arm, internally screaming to herself that that would not at all help right now, helplessly feeling the heat rising in her cheeks from the contact. She gently led Arolynne away from the hillside and the bear trap, walking deeper into the forest. “Well, Arolynne, it seems we’re to be partners from now on”, she said, waiting for a moment before realizing she wouldn’t respond. A look at her face did reveal a small smile, which told her she liked the idea.

As they walked, scanning their surroundings for any more grimm or those elusive relics, Jewel would try to keep a conversation going. Arolynne didn’t seem to speak much, chiming in with a word or two occasionally while Jewel carried the conversation. Questions about her semblance seemed to draw the most words from her as she explained that her Empathic Manifestation allows her to control the emotional states of others, for example, inducing fear. In return Jewel explained her own Dust Manipulation, allowing her to detonate, amplify, lessen and, in some rare cases, even telekinetically move, dust.

On the opposite end, Jewel’s attempt to compliment her wings ended poorly. A simple “I do like your wings” had drawn a single shaky “oh” from her before she had fallen silent, a sudden tension in the air. Mentally she kicked herself. Of all the things to compliment, you go for the wings? The girl has beautiful eyes, lustrous hair, and skin to die for! She was slender and graceful, but with enough curves to allure! She’s a perfect vision of beauty and the thing you open on is the wi-

“I like your eyes…”

Jewel’s entire train of thought went screeching off the rails. Her voice had been so soft she’d almost thought she’d imagined it, if not for the blush on Arolynne’s cheeks, and the way she was very pointedly not looking at her.

Maybe it wasn’t such a misstep after all. They were very pretty after all.

Silence now more comfortable, the two of them set off to finish their initiation, hand in hand.

#flarity #rarishy #rwby #my fic

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littlecrookedheart · 6 years ago

Text

Amen, Amen • The Fraying

Catch Up : Reckoning | Rum on the Fire | Like You're Made of Glass | Unfolding

Character(s) : Noah Marshall, Jane Marshall, Matt Pivouz (OC), Vinny Trovato (OC)

Rating : MATURE. THIS STORY WILL NOT BE NSFW, but it will be dealing with mature themes, such as death, possession, mental illness, suicidal thoughts, murder, and other graphic elements. Language warning. Please read at your own risk. I’m issuing a general trigger warning for the entirety of this story. *This chapter deals heavily with abuse. Please be aware of this before reading and do so at your own risk.

Time : This takes place 14 years after Jane’s death and roughly 5 years after the events in ILITW. Noah is 22 years old.

Word Count : 6,594

Author’s Note : This chapter was a rough one. We peek back into Noah's past and his new friendship with Matt, and we get to see some twisting of the tides when it comes to what they've been dealing with.

Key : Perspective switches will be marked with ** | Time jumps will be marked with –

Soundtrack | Chapter Inspiration

**THIRTEEN YEARS AGO**

"Honey, I know this is hard, but we told everyone six, and it's five thirty. We have to go."

Mom's sitting on the couch, staring into space like she always did after Jane left. Dad has a hand on her shoulder, a rarity then, she'd never let anyone touch her. I haven't hugged my own mother in fourteen years. Specifically, five thousand, two hundred and one days.

"Honey, we really-"

"I'm coming, okay?!" She's yelling, pulling her purse strap onto her shoulder and she spins around, finding me. "You'll keep your mouth shut."

I'm nine, and I don't know what she's talking about. I'm nine, and the tone in her voice wants to gut me like a wild animal. She's got me down, I guess. That's the moment when I found out that I was alone.

"Noah!" Katai stumbles over to me, holding out a snickers bar. "Brought you this."

They put it on my lap, because I won't look anywhere but down, and I say, "Thanks."

"Yep! Had it left over from Easter."

And that's kind of weird, because it's been months, but I just smile, because I'm nine and it's fine.

"Your mom is crying a lot."

"Yeah, I know."

"She misses Jane, huh?"

I nod, because so do I, but I can't say so. I can't deflect mom's pain.

"How come they wanted this memorial thing?" Katai asks, opening the snickers and taking a bite. I don't mind, and I break it in half to share.

"They think it'll be good for Jane's friends I guess," I say, shrugging.

"That's kinda dumb. I think they think it's good for their friends, not Jane's. Jane's friends are always talkin' about her."

"Katai?"

"Yeah?"

"Why did you stay my friend?"

"Whatcha mean?"

"Nobody else talks to me..." I'm trailing off, scraping my foot in the dirt. "Nobody wants to be my friend anymore."

"That's not true!"

"Then how come I never hang out with you guys anymore? How come Lucas stopped asking me to trade cards? How come Ava and Andy ignore me in class?"

Katai sighs, standing up and stomping in front of me, pokes me on the head.

"Ow! What the heck?"

"Noah, you gotta stop worryin'. And I'm always your friend! You stopped coming to my house on Saturday mornings and I still think me and you are friends!"

Katai is right, I think, because I'm nine and I don't know the future. So I hug them, because they're my friend.

**PRESENT DAY**

And now they're gone.

Less focus on the fact that I almost killed Matt back there. More focus on the drawing. It's in my hand, probably being held too tightly, and Matt's on the front steps, sitting next to me.

"Noah?"

"Hm?" but I'm not really paying attention. Feel the pencil marks. Feel the fibers. Feel my heart falling. Vinny's voice in my ears.

Help him.

"I don't care about that thing back there. It couldn't be you when you're right here," Matt says, putting a hand on my shoulder. This time, it's not a dagger. And I take a breath, because I don't know what that means. Because I'm twenty two, and I have one friend. Because Katai is dead. Because Matt is the only thing I know exists right now. Because I trust him, somehow. Because fuck this.

"But you saw me."

"I saw something. Looked like you. But I trust this version of you, not that thing. Do you want to kill me?"

Shake my head, count to seven. All I want is to let go.

"Right. Couldn't have been you."

Truth is, I'm not so sure. We find misery to be so fucking captivating because we look deep within her and see ourselves, an abysmal mirror just aching to hear 'bloody mary.'

Maybe that's where I fucked up. Stood in front of it so many times it started to reflect. Begged too hard. Fought too long. Think I could call for her? Say her name in the bathroom, close my eyes and hope she appears? Think I could suffocate? No, that's too easy.

And yeah, I'm ready to fall. Fuck, just as much, I'm ready to fly. But I'll keep on tightening the clutch around my own neck, because wanting is as honeysuckle as the idea that things will change, and I know better than to give into false hope. I know better. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven

"You have nice eyes."

What? I know my eyebrow is raised and furrowed, and of course, I'm looking away. My ears are burning like skin on a fucking stove top.

"Sorry, not like...my mom always said you can tell a lot about people by their eyes."

"You believe that?"

"You don't?"

No. Because I don't believe in anything that isn't absolute. Because I'm twenty two, and I've had to raise myself. Because I've tried and tried, and all I've ever learned is how to barely drag by. Maybe that's just what I'm made for, half empty glasses of murky water, shards of glass, forgotten promises. Whispers. Pain. Maybe I need a bloody mary.

"Anyway..." He's standing up, dusting off his coat. "We should go."

"What? No," but I don't know why I said that. Neither does Matt, according to the look on his face. "We're supposed to be here. Vinny wanted us to come here."

"Yep, and then something tried to kill me," Matt says, pulling his collar down to show me the marks. I know they're there. I know he's burning, too.

"You can go. I'm staying." Like somehow I've got a key, like somehow it's my place to stay.

"I'm not leaving you, shit head." He turns around, making his way up the stairs. He's looking over his shoulder at me, waiting.

So I meet him at the front door, and I notice his eyes are bloodshot, but they're gleaming. Like emeralds and gold and all of the things you'd want to find. I don't know what that means for him, I just hope it's better.

It's still dark inside, just like it was an hour ago. Except this time it reeks of sulfur, like it's been embedded into the walls, seeping up through the floors. Pull my shirt over my nose, make my way in to Matt's old room.

Noah slid across the floor near the bed, sticking his arm back into the compartment where Vinny had hidden the items. He felt a small knob, and turned it, almost as if it were a door. His face turned in confusion, but he pressed inward, which lifted an entire floorboard.

"Holy shit," Matt whispered, scrubbing his face with his hand. "How is this here?"

Noah shrugged, backing up and kneeling, prying the board upward with his fingers. Under the wood was a scatter of papers, stuffed in with small toys, a costume conductors hat, and a small photo album.

"I've seen that before," Matt said, pointing to the album. "Maybe in a dream or something, I don't know. It's familiar."

Noah handed it to him, scooping the rest of the contents onto the floor. Matt forced the window open, a cracking sound coming from the sealed panel.

"These aren't letters, they're pages from someone's journal," he said, grabbing a paper as he fumbled to the old bed, landing with a creak.

"Why are they in envelopes?" Noah asked, frowning in confusion. Matt shrugged and passed most of them to him instead, focusing on the photo album.

Noah opened the seals, brushing his hair out of his eyes as he read the first page, a sickness forming in his gut as his eyes skimmed the words. And then he knew exactly why they were hidden, and why they'd been in envelopes. He grabbed the few Matt had sitting near him, pulling them to the side.

Noah heard a small click from the doorway, looking up to see Vinny.

"Um...Matt?"

Matt held the conductors hat in his hand, running his thumb over the embroidery. "Hm?"

"Matt, look."

Vinny sat on the edge of the bed, silently, radiating a deep violet glow, almost like smoke. Instead of sulfur, the room smelled of licorice.

Matt's eyes glistened, his hands outstretched toward him. Vinny shook his head, moving his hand in the air as if he were smearing it, and was gone.

"Where'd he go?"

"Wherever he exists, now," Noah said, realizing that Vinny had shuffled through the envelopes, a handful of them pried open already.

Matt began to cry, trying to shake it off. Noah stood on his knees, putting a hand on Matt's shoulder. He seemed to crumble, as if he were paper, shifting and sobbing.

I don't know much about friendship, not outside of Katai. I don't know much about miracles or helping people or how to console the only person in the world who cares about what you're going through, but I can tell you how to crack the sky. I can tell you how to beat the demons on good days and how to drown them out on bad days. I can tell you how many puffs are on each of my cigarettes before I light them, and how many times Matt has cried for Vinny in the last twenty four hours. I don't know if that's right, if he's crying for him or because of him, but as cheesy as it sounds, I've never seen anyone love anyone like that. Just me and Jane, and now Matt and Vinny. I don't know if it feels good to know that.

I don't want Matt to know about these journal pages. They're too hard, too dark, darker than any brother should have to read. Vinny was twelve. Too young for this. Hell, you could be eighty and be too young for this. But why did he want me to find it? What good will this freaky drawing do me if I don't know what it's for?

Matt's quieting now, he's standing up and handing me the photo album.

"What is it?"

"Fucked up, open it."

These are pictures of Vinny and Matt, laughing and playing. This one may have been for a Christmas card. And here's their mom, and then again on her wedding day to Pete.

"Pete wasn't your dad?"

"Nope. Keep going."

So I do, and they seem to morph, their faces becoming warped and solemn, bullet holes appearing over their skin. I'm looking up at Matt, who gestures to keep flipping.

And then I see it, and my blood goes cold. Me. Jane. Jane. Vinny. My heart drops, if it falls and nobody is around to hear it, will it make a sound? Will Matt hear it? Does he see? Me. Him.

"What is this?"

"A lie," he says, grabbing the photo album. He palms the drawing of Jane and Vinny in the church and holds it up to a photo where they stood positioned the same, except not in a church. Instead, they're on a playground, and they look happy, like they're best friends.

But I grab the album back, turning the plastic, staring in utter fucking disbelief at a photo of Matt and I, sitting in his old room, the one we're in now. Because this photo is of today, not years past, not a fabrication. This photo is real, and so are we, and none of this makes any fucking sense.

I'm shoving it at him, my throat closing in, and I rush to the front door, fleeting for my last god damn nerve, get me out of here. Get me out.

I duck past Jane, humming that annoying fucking song, grab the handle, grit my teeth as it burns my palm, twist the handle and slide down the hill.

But Jane is here, too. She always is, isn't she? And I can't breathe, and I'm clawing at my mouth, thick, rough strings sewn through my lips. I'm coughing, sawdust puffing out of the seams, and Matt's yelling for me.

"Noah!" Matt shouted, jumping down the porch stairs.

Noah was doubled over, eyes blood red, segments of black wire embedded into his lips. Matt grabs a pocket knife from his coat pocket, bending the wire open. He's got one hand on Noah's shoulder, the other prying the material from his mouth.

Finally, he coaxes away the last of the wire, and Noah bends over, retching, spilling sawdust and larger wood shavings, black beetles and maggots spawning from it.

Matt helps Noah sit on the ground, hand on his back. "Can you breathe?"

"Yeah," I say, because physically, my airway is open. But no, no, inside, my chest is full of stuffing, like I'm fucking taxidermied, like my twin cradle has expired and decayed and all that's left is carcass.

Catch my breath, breathe, one, two, three, four, five, six-

"I know it's not a great time," Matt says, leaning forward, "Why were you humming that song?"

God damn, they've got me on display, don't they? Like they feed on my misery, but that's just how it goes, isn't it? Because I know I didn't do anything other than choke on that dust, but Matt heard a melody. Talk about insanity.

They get a laugh out of turning me into a puppet.

Like this is a big top circus, and I'm the acrobat, walking a tightrope made of rusty metal twine, like a noose that couldn't be unraveled, a scream that never left my last motherfucking breath and good god, I don't know how to put one foot in front of the other.

I don't know what an anchor is anymore.

"Hey, it's okay." Matt says, pushing a smile.

Maybe I do, after all.

**FOUR YEARS AGO**

I'm standing in Dr. Ripley's office, staring out the window. I remember this moment like the back of my hand.

"Okay Noah, have a seat," he says, keys clicking beneath his fingers as he finishes typing an email.

I sit down, but still face the window, watching breezy whisps of snowflakes dance down from the sky. I have always loved the snow.

"Today I'd like to get personal, are you open to that?"

Personal. Was discussing Jane's death not personal enough? I can tell him the detail of how the sky bends before it breaks but I can't get personal, not enough to satiate him.

Nod, agree, just get through this meeting.

"Tell me about your family dynamic."

Ha. Good one. I look at him forlornly, I guess he isn't kidding.

"It's fucked."

"Care to explain the extent of how fucked, exactly?"

"Sure. I'm Noah, I'm in a mental ward. Jane was my sister, she's dead now. My parents got divorced when I was ten, Dad cares but not enough, he's got a new family in Minnesota or some shit. He sends me a check from Jane's life insurance every month, wants me to keep it for college."

"And your mother?"

"Darlene is a god damn snake," I say, meeting his eyes. They're kind and blue, as they should be, as you'd expect from someone like him.

"Would you like to elaborate?"

I sigh, big, annoyed but not at doc, more at Darlene, that evil sack of-

"Noah, take a breath. You're shaking."

Oh fuck, I am, aren't I? One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.

"Sorry. She just, uh..she's not good."

"Was there ever any abuse? I have a note here from one of our first sessions, you mentioned that she'd have backhanded you for speaking up for yourself."

"She'd backhand me if I said nothing at all."

And it's true, she would. She loved the swipe of her hand across my face, the way it made me jerk backwards. She'd choke me with her poison any chance she got.

"When did that begin?"

"The night Jane died. We all got home, everything was quiet. It's weird, I actually could swear I remember this in black and white."

"That isn't abnormal. Please, continue, if you feel comfortable."

Ripley never pressures me to spill my secrets. Half of that, I think, is because he doesn't believe me. The other half, if I had to guess, is that compared to the other kids in here, I'm a walk through the park. Kid sees dead sister, is thrown into a depression after best friend dies. How's that for a headline?

Imagine walking through the park with snow like this. The idea of the crunch nearly gives me shivers. Man, I miss the snow.

"Like I said, it was quiet. I was on the couch, Dad was in the kitchen getting something but I can't remember what. I could have sworn I heard the sound of Jane's shoes, I turned around and of course, she was dead, so nothing was there. Darlene asked me what was wrong. I said, 'Nothin', mama. Just thought I heard Jane.' and her face did this weird, ugly thing, and she knocked me out of my seat."

"Did your father react?"

"I started crying and he ran in, checked my face and yelled at her. I don't even remember what he said. I just remember looking up and seeing Jane."

"A photo? Or perhaps, do you feel, she was visiting you?"

Visiting. Right.

"Not a picture. Like, whole Jane. Sitting across from me. When we were kids we did this thing to like, make our twin cradle work. We'd press our pinkies together, and like, it wasn't big. We just always did it. So I held up mine, and she did the same, but I felt it ice over inside. And then she was gone."

Doc shifts in his seat, opening a bottle of water. "What's your twin cradle?"

The space only we know, I could say. The place Jane lives, but it's nothing now, just like she is.

"It's nothing. Kid stuff."

He nods, smiling. "Your mother's behavior never improved?"

I pull up my shirt, showing him four cigarette burn scars on my ribs. Then to my shoulder, where a there's another scar, a line across it. The misshapen angle at the edge of my collarbone. Sit back. Count to seven.

"Noah, did your father try to get custody of you?"

"Nah. He said, 'kids need their mother.' But I didn't, not at all. Darlene might have done all of this shit, but the worst thing she's ever done is blame me."

"For the divorce?"

"Well, yeah. But Jane's death."

"Your mother blamed you for your sisters aneurysm?"

Shit.

"Doc, no offense, but if I told you how Jane really died, you'd keep me in here forever."

"I can't say you haven't piqued my curiosity," he laughs, handing me a bottle of water and my little plastic cup of pills. "I won't think differently of you if you tell me. How about....off the record?"

"You mean it won't go in the notes?" I say, swallowing the shapes.

"Exactly. But, again, only if you're comfortable."

"Jane didn't have an aneurysm. Something killed her, but not me, not any human. Something evil."

Ripley took a breath, nodding. "Stranger things have happened. And Noah, for what it's worth? I believe you."

** PRESENT DAY **

"I need a pack of cigarettes," Noah says, a few paces behind Matt, who repeatedly kept slowing down for him to catch up.

He pointed ahead to the corner shop, Matt nodded in agreement.

"Probably something to wash that wood dust out of your mouth too. Cigs, though? You need to smash that shit, you know."

"Yeah, yeah, tell me more."

Matt rolled his eyes, a coy grin on his face. "I just want to keep you around as long as I can."

"I could quit smoking and get hit by a car next Tuesday. I could get stabbed tonight. Fuck, Jane could kill me in five seconds from now."

"Whoa, dark mood, much? Besides, none of that's happening to you."

Noah shrugged, "I mean, you can't possibly know that. But I appreciate the sentiment."

"You're right. Just maybe don't smoke in your house? It's not...great smelling in there."

"Eh, chalk it up to the other list of compliments from fancy ass Matt Pivouz," Noah laughed, pulling the last cigarette from his pack. He shrouded his hand around his face, trying to block the wind as he flicked his lighter.

"That's my new title. Every time you speak to me, address me as first name, 'fancy ass,' last name, 'Matt Pivous.'"

"Why are we friends?"

Matt elbowed him, snorting as they approached the corner store. Noah sat on the bench against the brick wall, looking up at Matt as he relaxed against the post of a street light.

"You've never smoked?" Noah asked, warming his hands on his pant leg.

"Nah. Once you've conquered heroin, the rest seems like a tease, anyway. I don't want to be addicted to anything that could kill me."

"Well shit," Noah takes a final drag, grinding the cigarette against the sidewalk before stuffing it with the others in his pack. "You'll never be able to have anything good in life, then."

"Oh, is that so?"

Noah stood to his feet, tossing his cigarette pack into the trashcan. "Yeah. We get addicted to anything that makes us happy, makes us feel any kind of good. Makes us...normal. You don't want to risk dying? You'll never live."

"Spoken from the very wise and thoughtful Noah Marshall, who spends his days wearing a striped beanie hat and leaving beer cans on the floor."

"Hey, beer is good. And leave the beanie out of it."

Noah pushed open the glass door, walking in as Matt waited on the bench.

Remy glanced up from behind the counter, giving Noah a small wave.

"Out of Camels?"

"And dignity, but who's asking?"

"You're a weird guy, Noah. I'm surprised that your last pack lasted you four days," he said, sliding a new one over.

"I, uh.."

"Shopped somewhere else? A pity," Remy laughed, leaning over the counter. He grabbed a snickers bar and placed it atop the box, gesturing to Noah. "We all need a pick me up, sometimes."

Noah smiled, handing Remy the money, and turned out of the shop.

"Homeward bound!" Matt shouted, his long legs carrying him quickly across the crosswalk.

Noah shook his head, suppressing a laugh. he tore open his snickers, taking a massive bite.

Matt froze in his tracks, so abruptly that Noah nearly knocked into him.

"What's up?" Noah asked, as Matt turned around slowly to face him.

"Keep your head down. Do not look up. You hear me?" He said, making eye contact. "Let me handle this."

Noah nodded, his brow furrowed, and kept his head facing the concrete, following Matt's footsteps while he ate his candy.

His concern quickly faded away, a swarm of black bugs coating the ground. He rubbed his eyes, following Matt's request, keeping his head down.

The town seemed to wash away, darkness seeping in and overtaking everything around them. He was having a hard time keeping track of where Matt's shoes ended and where the bugs began, using the sleeve of his jacket to cover his nose, a heavy metallic scent surrounding them.

"Fuck you!" Matt yelled, and Noah's face instinctively shot up, looking around in horror at the scene Jane had painted for him.

A world of black, never ending darkness, and nooses swinging from the sky, his group of childhood friends dangling from them, blood beginning to boil up from the ground.

Matt swung punches through a thick mask of decaying membrane, the familiar low howling splintering in his ears. Trying to recite prayers in his head, he closed his eyes, quickly thinking of Vinny and the moment picking berries. A light, dim as it may be, appeared in his mind, guiding him further through the forest of sludge, his arms like hot shears as they cut through it.

The sound of wailing grew louder with each movement, piercing the air with a shrill burst of noise.

"Fuck you!" He screamed, his arm smacking into the same solidified figure he encountered at his mother's old house.

"Get away from me," he demanded, looking past the figure, its laugh taunting him.

He looked back at Noah, who broke his agreement to keep his head down, seeing him fall to his knees as he watched his friends hang from above.

Matt called out for his brother, but to no avail, flipping off the figure in front of him as he ran to Noah's side.

"It's not real," he said, breathing as if he'd been running for hours.

"It's my fault," Noah cried, his face coated in tears, shoulders heavy with each sob, "They're gone and it's my fault."

"No, they're not. Come on, look at me."

Matt grabbed the sides of Noah's face, staring into his eyes. "I know you're in there. Find me! Listen to my voice!"

Noah's eyes rolled back, a scattered web of black mold covering them, taking them back into his head. Matt grabbed Noah's shoulders, shaking him violently.

"No, no no no! You get your ass back here, Noah!"

Noah's body began to crumble beneath him, the darkness bubbling up, taking his remains with it.

Matt's knees hit the pavement, his body covered in soot and blood, vigorously wiping the remnants from his eyes. He collapsed entirely, his head pressed into the sidewalk.

"Noah, fuck. Come back to me."

His mind flashed visions of Noah's body eroding under his fingertips, the scent of ash and dirt clogging his sinuses. With everything he was, Matt cried, harder than he had for Vinny, harder than he had for himself.

"I'm ready," he whispered, shakily outstretching his arms to the sky, "Come

on, Vinny. Help a guy out."

His body flinched as he felt a hand on his shoulder, turning around to see Noah's face.

"You okay?"

Matt looked up, eyes darting around the evening sky and the world around them.

"Wh-What? What happened?" he muttered, his face stained in anguish.

"Keep your head down. Do not look up. You hear me?" He said, making eye contact. "Let me handle this."

I'm nodding, chewing this delicious Snickers. Let me tell you, I love Snickers.

"Fuck you!" Matt's screaming, and I'm looking up, looking around. Everyone's dead, hanging like ornaments, black, hot blood coming out of the ground. And bugs, so many fucking bugs.

But there's Katai, at the edge of it all, holding a hand out to stop me. So I stop, and they disappear, with everything else.

What the hell was that?

Matt's in a crouched, fallen position on the ground. I don't know what the hell he's doing. Put a hand on his shoulder, idiot.

"You okay?"

He's looking up at me like he's just seen into the eye of hell.

"Wh-what happened?"

"Um...what..what happened for you?"

And he's hugging me, like I've never been hugged before, like I'm somehow a light for him, and he can't stop filling his darkness.

So I'll hug him back, because he's my friend. I'll hug him the same way, because I'm twenty two years old, and Matt's the only thing I know exists right now.

Finally, he's pulling away, wiping his face. "Nothing. It's not important."

I don't know how I know this, but I know he won't tell me. I could beg him and he wouldn't tell me. Call it a hunch, but I think he saw me die back there.

"Matt, is everything okay?"

He nods, smiling at me.

"Everything is great. Let's get back to your place before it rains."

In front of Noah's door stood a middle aged woman, her short blonde hair blowing wildly in the wind.

"Who is that?" Matt asked, his voice low as he raised an eyebrow, turning to Noah.

"Darlene. My mother." Noah grit his teeth, jaw clenched, not meeting her gaze.

"You don't talk about her."

"She's nothing to me," he said, gathering his jacket closer to him. "She stopped caring about me the moment Jane died."

She crossed her arms, huffing as he and Matt approached. "Where the hell have you been?" She barked, flicking her arm outward, shrugging to the sky.

Noah stepped back, glaring at her. "Why are you here? Did Ula call you?"

"What?"

"Ula? ....My neighbor?"

"No, that woman did not call my phone. Why the hell would she call me, Noah?"

He shook his head, "I was just asking. What are you here for?"

"Noah, you need to get your shit together, there's a pile of cigarette butts spilling over this ashtray, I bet it smells like a god damn bar in your house-"

"Darlene, why the fuck are you here?"

"Oh, that's lovely. I raised my son to curse at his mother! Another fantastic result from my only living kid." She whipped her head around to face Matt, grimacing as she eyed him over.

"I'm Matt," he said, outstretching his arm to shake her hand. Noah glanced sidelong at him and he pulled his arm away before Darlene could react.

"And you are?"

"Noah's friend."

"Ha! Right. And you're here because?"

"Don't question his welcome. Why are you here, Darlene? I'm not asking again."

She turned to Noah, her eyes like brands on his skin. "I'm going out of town. You know the garage code. You need to come over on Wednesday and water my plants."

"What? I'm not doing that," Noah muttered, Matt noticing the way Darlene positioned herself to tower over him despite her slight frame. Noah was a solid foot taller, but the way she projected herself was the kind of intimidating that isn't always worth confronting, and Noah shrunk in her shadow.

Matt squared his shoulders, tensing his jaw as he watched Noah's body language, feeling protective over him. He knew that he'd do anything he had to, but in the same breath, he knew he couldn't shield Noah from her words.

You can deflect a bullet, he thought, but you can't make a sponge stop being a sponge.

"You will do that. Responsibility. Your father is sending a check to the house for you, come get it Wednesday, but do not step foot in my house unless you can do me that simple favor."

"Where is dad? Can you give me his number?"

"Noah, you don't even have a god damn cell phone, what do you need his number for? He sure as hell doesn't want to talk to you."

"I'm sensing a lot of animosity-" Matt started, Darlene swatting the air in his direction.

Noah took a breath, about to say something, but over Darlene's shoulder was Jane's face, standing behind her, the ground beginning to quake under their feet. Noah quickly found Matt's eyes, sharing a look of panic, Darlene seeming unphased as she continued to yell at him.

Jane's body seemed to root itself in the cement, branches snaking outward, splitting the ground beneath her. She howled, her voice like a curse, as if it could crack open the atmosphere and darken the sky.

Noah slammed his eyes shut, tapping his fingers on his pants, counting sevens.

"Noah, do I need to call that quack? What was his name? Ripley? Do you need to be in those four walls to straighten yourself out?"

He opened his eyes and Jane was gone, Matt's face crowded with confusion. And then he realized what she'd said, and quickly blurted, "You can't-"

"Oh, I can, and I will. You've got five boxes of shit at my house. Take them with you Wednesday. The garage code is Jane's birthday, as you should know."

"You mean their birthday?" Matt perked up, ignoring a stern look from Noah.

Darlene blinked at him, an irked, firey look on her face. "Excuse me?"

"Jane was Noah's twin. Which makes that his birthday too."

She smirked, scoffing. "Who are you to speak for my family?"

"Matt, don't-" Noah sighed, but Matt cut him off, speaking directly to Darlene, his eyes raging.

Matt's hands shook, lungs full of anger, composing all of the pain and rot and thoughts into one single outburst.

"Who are you to think you know the first thing about what it means to be family to anyone? You fucking abandoned your son because you decided to quit being a mother. And now what? Come to his doorstep, talk to him like he's shit? Treat him like he's not worthy of you?"

"He owes me!" She yelled, her face splotching red in anger, "He is the reason my baby girl is gone!"

"You weren't even a mother to one kid, what makes you think you ever could have handled two?"

Darlene's eyes widen, her face going sour as her hand wound back, smacking Noah across the face. He stumbled back, pressing the back of his hand to his cheek, the coolness from the air soothing the heat from the impact. She spit at Matt's feet, stomping to her parked car.

"I have no children," she hissed, slamming her door before peeling out of the parking spot.

Matt directed his attention to Noah, whose face had a large red welt forming over the skin.

"I'm so, so sorry. I had no idea-"

"...'s fine," he said, quickly unlocking his door and ducking inside, Matt following quickly behind.

"It isn't," Matt said, grabbing an ice tray from the freezer and cracking the cubes out, bundling them into a hand towel from the counter.

"Here," he pressed it gently to Noah's face, wincing at a bruise beginning to form near the top.

"Thanks," Noah mumbled, taking the ice from him.

"You okay? Fuck, Noah. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Seriously. I would have wound up with one of these any way you spin it."

Matt leaned forward, dropping his head in his hands.

"Is she always like that?" he asked, standing up and tossing his jacket on the chair. He started gathering trash from across the floor, Noah rolled his eyes, knowing he couldn't stop him.

"Let me help-"

"No, ice your face. I need to keep busy," he insisted, rummaging through cabinets to find cleaning supplies.

Of course, she's always like that. But how do you tell someone you're a pawn, a marionette at the end of a fraying string, the sum of words and ill wishes cultivated by your own mother?

When I was a kid, they always said sticks and stones could break our bones but words couldn't hurt us. I mean, they said that shit constantly, like they could speak it into existence. They were wrong.

Because I'm a concoction of insults and burnt edges, I'm a stick of dynamite lit from both ends, I'm a cracked panel, a shattered window, a busted tree branch. I'm everything they said wouldn't happen, I'm the whispers in the hall, the casket lining stained with embalming fluid, I'm the punchline of this god damn joke.

Don't tell me that hurts less than a broken bone.

How do you tell someone you're sorry? Like me, standing over Jane's empty grave, tossing a daisy on top of her pink casket, wondering if perhaps, maybe, in some other universe, she's in there. Knowing that her body is a conduit. Jane. My twin. She'll never know peace, she'll never know rest, she'll never get to meet the angels and touch the pearly gates like everyone always said she would. Instead she'll rot, just like me. Just like me.

Maybe we are still connected, after all. Bittersweet can't exist without the bitter, I guess.

"Yeah, she is," I say, because Matt needs an answer, I can see it crawling in his skin.

"You deserve better," he tells me, but he's wrong.

We paint karma so pretty. Wondering if we deserve this thing or that thing, must deserve the good more than the bad, must keep being good to get good.

Truth is? We deserve all of it. Whether it's heaven or hell, the sear or the healing, because we're human and we're all so fucked up.

But what does that mean for sanity? Because it'll dig its claws into you and shove you over the edge one way or another.

I'm fucked up, and so is Matt, and so was Jane, and so is Darlene. Maybe I haven't cried bloody mary this time, but yeah, I deserve it.

There's something so sinister about Karma. She'll rip through your skin if you let her.

"What about your dad?"

"I think he's in Milwaukee," I say, but I can't recall where he is. Some place starting with M.

"Was he an asshole?" He's tying a bag of trash, tossing it onto the porch.

"Nah. He just got sick of me."

"What?"

"When he picked me up from the facility. I told him the truth," and I did, and he hated me for it.

"That what? You see Jane?"

I'm nodding, and fuck, this welt hurts.

"He told me not to tell Darlene, to just...swallow it."

"That's why you got so good at hiding."

No, I go so good at hiding because everyone thinks I killed Katai.

"You didn't, though," he says, filling a glass of water.

...Did I say that out loud?

"Katai was like, your best friend as a kid, yeah?"

"Yeah."

He can tell I don't want to talk about them, glancing at me and giving me a small nod.

"Should we, uh..talk about Jane? What just happened out there?"

"I'd rather we just...didn't," I say, and that's true, because it won't help. It could never help.

"Good plan," he laughs, smiling at me from across the room.

I just close my eyes, letting the day take me.

"Go get some rest," he says, knocking my feet off of the table. "I'm here if something tries to fuck with you."

It isn't that they're gone with Matt around, because they're not. I feel them even more now, like thick needles puncturing my skin, building up in my brain, ready to explode. But I feel stronger, somehow, like maybe I can actually beat this. I know better, I do. But this is the most hope I've felt in awhile.

God, if you're real, if you can hear me, don't let it be for naught.

I'm in my bed, covers pulled up to my chin, curtains open for light. And my mind goes to Vinny, and the things he wrote in his journal.

** THREE YEARS AGO**

"Do you think you're better?" Dr. Ripley asks, crinkling open the wrapper around his butterscotch candy.

"I think...I might be."

"Okay, that's a start," he says, a smile on his face. "So tell me, what do you think you could still improve on?"

Noah stirs in his seat, burying his neck into his sweater as he sits back in the chair. He shrugs.

"I'll tell you what I think. I think you struggle primarily with trusting yourself."

"What does that even mean?"

"That means you're nervous, and rightfully so. Noah, in most cases with trauma victims-"

"I'm not a victim."

"Of course," Ripley continued, "You're a survivor."

Hardly, Noah thought.

"Anyway, it isn't foreign for people to experience self doubt. What we need to do is work on it and build from it, because, Noah, I do not think you need to remain in our care."

"But I'm not better yet?"

"I think you are. You know, I understand that you're nervous, scared, even. And that's okay. However, what's more frightening is not knowing yourself."

Noah looked to the side, tapping his arm in intervals of seven.

"We will keep working on it, okay? I'm here to help you."

Noah nodded, but to himself he scoffed.

I'm far beyond help.

Disclaimer : Characters I own are Matt Pivouz, Vinny Trovato, Lucia and Peter Trovato, Ula Santiago, Dr. Ripley, David, Anya, and Remy. I do not own the others. I’ve added a bit of a flare to them for the sake of this piece, but they do not belong to me.

Tag List : @teamtomsato @nuttatulipa @lovethemarshalltwins @europeanguy @breaumonts @fullbeaumonty @choicesatnight @spectrelier @brightpinkpeppercorn

#amen amen #noah marshall #it lives in the woods

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maevefiction · 6 years ago

Text

Your Light in the Mist - Chapter 22

Midway through my Chicken Ambrosia the adrenaline high wore off, and I hastily excused myself in order to rush headlong to the ladies room as panic set in. I locked the door behind me and sank slowly to the floor, not giving a single thought as to its cleanliness. The shakes began, my entire body shuddering and quivering, ears ringing and vision blurring. Images of Will cycled through my mind’s eye, like a poorly coded website slideshow that shifted too quickly and transitioned awkwardly, harshly jerking from one photo to the next. Scenes from when we were together, snapshots of the altercation at the viewing. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop them, couldn’t turn them off. Eyes open or closed, there they were.

Doubt overwhelmed me, about what I’d done tonight, and before. About how this would affect Tom once the media latched onto any of it. More than anything else, I felt ashamed. Ashamed of what a shambles I’d allowed my life to become back then, ashamed that I’d never had the balls to face up to it until now, ashamed that my choice of partner had been so abysmal.

Memories of our intimacies surfaced, causing me to feel desecrated and profane. Though short in stature, Will had been attractive when we met, exotic, with a borderline androgyny many men proudly displayed in the late nineties. The beauty that appeared on the outside, unfortunately, was not an accurate depiction of what lay on the inside. Perhaps I’d been too shallow to smell the rotten underneath the surface, or just too damaged. Or too drunk. A composite of all three, maybe. And for the love of all things holy, as well as all things not, how hadn’t I noticed how thoroughly and consummately unintelligent he was?

None of that mattered, I supposed, because if he decided to take any of this to the press, the only thing the public would be presented with was a very carefully selected unflattering video or photograph of the man, with a caption that went something like ‘Tom Hiddleston’s girlfriend, Maude Gallagher, assaults former husband, Will Bonaventura, at mother’s wake’. I could only hope that his lack of wit would prevent him from considering such a thing as a means of vengeance, but such hope was almost certainly false, as he’d always been clever enough to take advantage of anyone and anything that crossed his path if he deemed it beneficial to him in some way.

“Maude, for a smart woman, you sure manage to do some seriously dumb shit. What the fuck were you thinking? Goddess, my ass. More like village idiot.”

There was a knock at the door, and I was about to yell ‘occupied, be out in a minute’ when I heard Tom’s voice, muted but strong, on the other side.

“Maude? Everything okay?”

It wasn’t, but I didn’t think it appropriate to shout out that I was fucked up and in need of a cocktail, so I dragged myself off the tile, stood and unlocked the door. Upon opening it the noise of the band hit me full force my brain’s response was ‘Maude, we need to get the fuck OUT of New Orleans RIGHT NOW’.

Tom’s expression shifted from mildly concerned to genuinely worried upon seeing me, and he gently walked me backward as he pushed his way into the room. Hands on my shoulders, he bent and met my gaze directly, speaking softly.

“What’s wrong, love?”

My eyes squeezed shut as I shook my head, back and forth, back and forth, like a metronome. He leaned into me, body warm against mine.

“Maude, talk to me. Let me help.”

A sigh escaped me as I opened my eyes and found his face inches from mine, his breath on my lips.

“I fucked up, Tom. Royally. Like, really, really seriously fucked up.”

His head tilted to the left, a hand reaching up to smooth my hair back from my forehead. “I don’t believe that for a moment.”

I laughed, a hollow, near-maniacal sound. “I can’t believe it myself, but I did so nonetheless. What I did was so, so stupid. Universally stupid. I wasn’t thinking of anyone but ME. So, so selfish. And STUPID.”

Frowning, he leaned back so his weight was no longer on me, then rested his hands on my hips. “You are not stupid. Or selfish.”

Shaking my head again, I threw my hands up in the air at shoulder level. “Oh, but I am. What happened with Will. Epic mistake. Beyond epic. I didn’t stop to think about the consequences of my actions. Me. ME! Miss social media and PR expert. I didn’t, not for one single fucking second, stop to consider what effect my assaulting him could have on YOU, Tom. We go public with our relationship yesterday, so we’re totally on the radar, and then I proceed to punch my ex-husband in the face and knee him in the balls. In public. With YOU THERE. If he goes to the press with this…my GOD. You have an impeccable, scandal-free reputation, and I may have ruined it in the space of twenty minutes. Christ, what the fuck am I going to tell LUKE? He should fucking fire me…how will this make HIM look? Fucking hell!”

“Maude.”

“What? Even if he leaves out the assault part…BOOM, it’s public knowledge that I’ve been married before, and to whom, plus the rest will all just come out with it, or shortly thereafter. Because I just HAD to shoot off my big fucking mouth to settle a nearly decades old score with someone who means NOTHING to me. Pointless. Stupid. I’ve failed you completely, on a professional AND personal level.”

“MAUDE.”

“WHAT?!” Realizing I’d raised my voice to an unacceptable level for a public restroom, I cringed. “Shit. Let’s try…what?”

“Step back from this. View it as if we’re both your clients and you’re completely outside of it all.”

“But I’m not.”

Both of Tom’s eyebrows rose as he took my hands in his, but he remained silent.

“Okay. Fine. Poof…I’m an outside observer.”

“Now, what advice do you have for us? If we leave this restaurant, or if we arrive at the funeral tomorrow, and the place is crawling with reporters…what do we do?”

“I…Maude…answers their questions. She needs to be truthful. She might want to consider presenting an abridged version of her story. How old she was when she married him, under what circumstances, and that she found out he was cheating on her with her mother and then filed for divorce. That he married her mother as soon as it was final. No need to mention more than that unless pressed. If the assault comes up, she should say punching him was out of line, but that kicking him in the balls was self-defense because he lunged at her. Maybe blame the punch on grieving and stress. You should…”

He interrupted me. “I’ll stand with you, hold your hand, and be honest, no matter what I’m asked.”

I shook my head. “I was going to say you should just remain in the background, actually. Or not be there at all.”

“Not happening.”

My jaw tightened as I tried to hold back the thoughts I’d decided to keep to myself, to no avail. “Thomas. As much as I appreciate your wanting to be supportive, let’s be real…part of you has to be embarrassed, if not downright disgusted, by the fact that I was married to that man. As well as re-evaluating my so-called intelligence, and perhaps my sanity, because I willingly chose such a partner. God knows I am. Though in my defense, I was drunk for essentially the entire duration of our relationship.”

The laughter began in his chest, slowly working its way upward, finally bursting forth from the mouth he’d been fighting desperately to keep closed. My eyes narrowed as a frown contorted my features.

“Maude. Good Christ. I’m sorry, it’s not really funny, but…” He inhaled sharply through his nose, then exhaled through his mouth as he attempted to contain himself, his expression turning earnest. “Maude. Are you embarrassed or disgusted by MY poor choice of previous partners? Not exactly cream of the crop, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“No. Of course I’m not. I’d like to dispatch them without prejudice, but disgusted? No. Not with you, anyway. And as far as embarrassment…they should be the ones who feel that way because of their behavior.”

He rested his forehead on mine, leaning against me once more. “Well, there you go. That’s precisely how I feel as well.”

“Good. But you should know that that I’m disgusted with myself over it. And I’m not just embarrassed…I’m MORTIFIED. I mean I slept…”

His lips on mine interrupted me, warm and wet, his mouth tasting of fennel and wine. He’d hesitated when it was offered, but accepted a glass when I squeezed his thigh under the table, only taking a few sips when Barty proposed a toast, then a few more with dinner. I pulled my hands from his, reaching behind him to grab his ass and propel his pelvis forward. The whine that escaped him was exquisite, and I felt him fully harden against me.

Breaking the kiss, I whispered in his ear. “What’s the matter? Hand job in the car not enough to tide you over until after dinner?”

He answered, the sound somewhere between a growl and a broken moan. “Noooo.”

My tongue traced the shell of his ear, then in behind it, stopping to lave at the spot behind his earlobe that would inevitably make him squirm. “Would you like to fuck me, Thomas? Right here? Right now?”

His hands rolled my dress above my waist, panties absent, having been previously sacrificed to clean us up in the car. I unbuttoned and unzipped his pants and slipped them down over his hips, resting my hands there, thumbs on the indentations just below his belly button. He grabbed my left leg at the knee and lifted, weight pressing me against the brick wall as I wrapped it around his waist and he entered me, sinking in to the hilt as he began to thrust urgently.

“Your hand on me was thrilling, Maude, but nothing, NOTHING can compare to your pussy. Being inside you. So hot. So wet. Clamping down on me…”

I squeezed, and his words morphed into a long, low moan that I smothered with my lips, sucking his tongue into my mouth. His movements grew rougher as he pounded into me, grunting like an animal, and I came, walls clenching around him, trying my damnedest to be quiet. He buried his face in my neck to muffle his own cries, hands cupping my ass and clasping me to him.

We remained still for several moments until his chuckling tickled my neck, and when I began to fidget he raised his head to meet my gaze. “You weren’t kidding about the heels making it easier to fuck you standing up.”

There was a knock on the door, and, frankly, I was surprised it hadn’t happened sooner. I grabbed some toilet paper, mopped up what I could, then pulled my dress down. Tom zipped himself up and began washing his hands. When the knocking sounded again, this time firmer, I replied loudly.

“Sorry, be right out!”

There was no answer, and as I washed my hands and began drying them, Tom unlocked the door and opened it. I peered past him to see a startled young woman, skin the color of mocha, eyes a glowing amber, with black, spectacularly curly hair reaching her shoulders, looking as if she’d seen a ghost.

His face wasn’t visible to me, but I knew the megawatt smile was firmly in place.

“Terribly sorry for the delay. My girlfriend wasn’t feeling very well, I’m afraid.”

She gave him some serious side eye as I peeked over his shoulder. “Yep. I feel much better now, though.”

She laughed, a deep, rich, melodic sound, then looked Tom up and down. “Oh honey, I’m damn sure you do.”

We exited with as much dignity as we could muster, and the woman was still laughing as the door closed behind her. On our walk back to the table, Tom snuck in a slap to my left ass cheek just as my right foot was about to land on the floor. It knocked me off balance, and the heel of my right shoe hit the tile at the wrong angle, slipping out from under me and turning my ankle in the process. Down I went, like a sack of potatoes right in the middle of the restaurant, just a few feet from where Anne and Barty were sitting. Tom was squatting at my side in an instant, panic in his eyes. My first thought was ‘fuck, I hope my cooter isn’t hanging out’, but it was quickly replaced with ‘fucking ow ow ow OWWWWW’ when I shifted and my right ankle moved, sending white-hot, searing pain shooting through me.

Tom ran his right hand through his hair, then leaned in to examine me more closely as he got on his knees. “I’m a fucking IDIOT. Are you all right? Fuck. What am I saying?! I know you’re not all right…I saw your face just then when you moved your foot. Is it broken? Oh my god, I am so, so, so sorry…” He’d begun to tear up as he reached in his pocket for his phone. “Do you need an ambulance? Let me call for help.”

I grabbed his wrist. “Hiddleston, don’t you DARE dial 911. There is no way I’m leaving here on a stretcher. Take off both my shoes and help me up. Please.”

His bottom jaw moved to the right, eyes still on mine, color drained from his face. “You’re hurt, and we don’t know how badly. You shouldn’t do anything without obtaining the opinion of a medical professional first.” Lowering his chin to his chest, he continued to berate himself, mumbling about how stupid he was, that he’d acted like an overgrown thirteen year old and now look what he’d done. I could see his pulse pounding in his neck, and the rapidness of his respirations began to worry me…I was all too familiar with the symptoms of an anxiety attack, that was for fucking sure.

My hand left his wrist and settled on his chest, over his heart. “Tom. It’s okay. I’m okay. It’s just a sprained ankle. Not my first one, either. It’s okay. You’re okay. I love you. Breathe, baby. Breathe. Nice and slow.” I watched him inhale through his nose and exhale via his mouth several times. “That’s it. There you go. Everything’s fine.”

A few nearby tables were staring, and Anne and Barty had made their way over to us. I held my other hand up and proceeded to address the nearby onlookers from my spot on the floor, nearly shouting to be heard over the band.

“Apologies for the disruption. Sprained my ankle. Everything’s cool. High heels are NOT my thing. Party on, folks.” There were shrugs, raised glasses and a few verbal well wishes as everyone went about their business.

Anne pointed at my ankle. “That’s already swelling, kiddo. Looks like you’re going to need a trip to the ER.”

Tom had placed his hand over mine, and when I glanced back at him I observed that most of his color had come back. I made a half-hearted attempt at taking off my own shoe, but he sprang into action and removed the one from my good ankle first, then set about doing the same for the injured one. I winced at his touch, and he cringed.

“Yank it right off, dude. Fast. Please.”

He nodded, and I had to bite my lip to keep myself from screeching like a banshee as he pulled it over my heel and off my foot. When I caught sight of his crestfallen face, I prodded it with my tongue and tasted blood. Barty brought over a chair.

“Here ya go, son. I’ll help you get her up, all right?”

Tom shook his head. “Thanks, Barty, but we’ll be fine.” With that, he positioned himself on my right side, squatting again. “What’s the way to do this so it will hurt the least, love?”

“Stand above me, in front of me, and lift me up by my armpits? I’ll use my left leg for support. It might not hurt less, but at least my dress will stay…down.”

It was a challenge, but we pulled it off in one try, and he lowered me to the chair as if I was a fragile piece of china. Kneeling in front of me, hands on my thighs, he smiled gently. “I’m going to go and bring the car round to the front entrance, okay?” I nodded, and he stood, kissing my forehead along the way.

“I’ll be right back.” A mischievous smile. “Don’t go anywhere.”

My eyes rolled back into my head. “Well, I had been contemplating a nice long run, but…”

Anne brought some ice from the bar and tried to get me to put my leg up on another chair, but I refused. The ankle felt fine just as it was, mainly because I was holding my leg so my foot remained suspended an inch above the floor, and I knew if I moved even one iota that would change in a most unpleasant way. Tom was back in three minutes flat, gracefully navigating his way through the tables toward me. He stood to my left, bent over halfway, slipped his left arm under my knees and the other around my upper back, hand in my armpit.

“Arms around my neck, please.”

“Ummmm…are you planning on carrying me out of here?”

There was no reply, only the sensation of him beginning to lift me. I rolled my eyes again as I wound my arms around his neck. Anne and Barty went out ahead of us to assist with the doors, and the entire restaurant stared as Tom carried me through the building and out the front, and there were smatterings of applause and several whistles.

When we reached the car he set me down so my back was towards the door opening. Balancing on my left leg and using my arms to slow my descent, I managed to sit down and twist to the side, but my injured ankle remained up in the air and outside the vehicle. Tom bent my right leg at the knee, eased the car seat back as far as it could go, then worked my leg slowly into place. When my foot touched the floor I grabbed the sides of the seat, muttering ‘fuck me’ as I held it up again, and Tom ran back into the building.

Anne leaned down, passed me my bag and heels, then stuck her head inside. “Maude, honey…that man is a keeper if I ever saw one. You know that already, though, don’t you?”

“I do.”

She smiled. “Good. The way the two of you look at each other…it makes me want to write romance novels.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You already write romance novels. Granted, the romances are often dark, disturbed, misplaced, unrequited and thoroughly inappropriate…but still. It’s romance.”

Her mouth opened to comment, then closed without saying a word as Tom returned, several small, white towels in hand. He grinned.

“From the kitchen. Only cost me one selfie.” He placed them on the floor in a pile, fluffed them up, and I set my foot down gingerly. The pain was tolerable.

“Nicely done, Hiddleston. Thank you.”

He kissed my briefly, buckled my seatbelt and closed my door. As soon as he got in the driver’s seat and started the car, I opened my window to say goodbye to Anne, then Barty, whom I advised that I’d decided to have him handle all the mortgage bullshit in my absence, as well as any other crap that might come up. He said handling shit was his specialty, laughing as we pulled away.

**************************************** Tulane Medical Center was the closest emergency facility, located approximately 2 miles from Palm Court. Tom wanted to carry me in, but I sent him along on his own to find a staff member to bring out a wheelchair for me instead. Getting out of the car sucked balls, but being pushed around was oddly relaxing. Registration was first, and there wasn’t anyone else waiting, which I took as a good indication that we might be out of there before tomorrow morning. Then came the vitals check, and I could tell that the attending nurse recognized Tom, mainly from the way her hands shook when she took my blood pressure, periodically sneaking looks in his direction and clearing her throat. She escorted us to an exam room that more resembled a pastel holding cell, where we were instructed to wait for further assistance after I hefted myself onto the exam bed. Another nurse appeared immediately, early forties, short, blonde and plump, dressed in light pink scrubs with hearts on them. Her voice was entirely too cheerful, whipping the rainbow sorbet colored curtain shut behind her but leaving the stainless and glass sliding door open.

“How we all doin’ tonight? I’m Sharon. I just have a few questions for you, and Dr. Luthra will be along shortly, all right?”

I nodded. “Hi, Sharon. I’m Maude, and this is Tom.” He was seated in a chair across the room. As I pointed in his direction I noticed that he’d removed his tie and undone the first three buttons of his shirt. I bit my lip, and it stung as the cut there reopened.

Sharon smiled widely. “Nice to meet you both.” Her eyes moved to the chart in her hand, then back up to my face. “So, took a spill, did you?”

“Oh yeah. Three inch heels. Lost my balance. Fell in front of the packed to capacity crowd at the Palm Court Café. Though I think my ankle hurts worse than my pride, for the moment.”

She patted my shoulder. “You poor thing. The tortures we endure to make ourselves pretty!” Her head shook back and forth, and she walked to the foot of my bed to examine my injury.

“Hoo boy, that is swollen. Lie back, please.” She lowered the head of the bed until it was flat, then raised the foot as high as it could go. “I know that feels odd, but keeping the ankle above the heart will reduce the swelling. Dr. Luthra’s going to want an X-ray for sure. Now, how would you rate your pain on a scale of one to ten, ten being the worst pain you’ve ever felt?”

“Right now, it’s a five. But when I put weight on it or move it around it’s an eight.”

Sharon marked her chart and nodded. “Currently taking any medications?”

“Yes. Birth control pills. Ortho Tri-Cyclen. I skip the placebos to suppress menstruation. Approved by my gynecologist.”

She frowned slightly, marking the chart again. I sighed, silently bemoaning how disappointing it was that women still got all fucking judgy about such things. Periods suck, and when you’re on the road all the time, they suck even harder. Why not make them go away? And why care about what I do? It’s my body, after all. “Any allergies to medications?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

The smile had returned to her face, though now I knew that her jovialness was mostly an act. “That’s all for now. The doctor will be in as soon as he’s able.”

Tom got up and dragged the chair he’d been sitting in over to my bedside, turned so he could face me. I held out my hand.

“Hiya.”

He grasped it and squeezed gently. “Hello.” Lips brushed my knuckles. “Maude, I…”

The index finger of my other hand wagged at him. “If you’re going to apologize again, don’t. Shit happens. I could have just as easily wound up this way all on my own.”

The right corner of his mouth curled up in a tiny smile. “Okay. How about I thank you instead?”

“Umm, sure…for what, exactly?”

“It’s my fault you’re injured, and there you were, sprawled on the floor, hurting, and I just…lost it, I suppose. You knew exactly what to say, though. I felt better instantly, calm, ready to do what needed to be done. So thank you for that. I only wish I could alleviate your pain in a similar fashion.”

“You’re welcome. Anxiety and I go WAY back. I know how to shut that bitch down…”

At that moment, Dr. Luthra knocked on the outside of the room’s glass and entered. If I had to guess, he was barely my age. His hair was jet black, eyes a chocolate brown, and sported a neatly trimmed mustache.

“Miss Gallagher, I am Dr. Luthra. It is my understanding that you’ve injured your ankle. How is your pain?” I was unable to discern whether his accent was Indian or Pakistani, but it didn’t matter…it was beautiful, precise and somehow calming. Accents had always fascinated me…the same word, spoken in a completely different way, yet meaning the same thing. To me, they transformed language into music, and our whole world into an orchestra of verbalized thoughts.

“That’s correct. My pain is…eh.”

Dr. Luthra laughed. “Would you like something for it? We prefer to use non-narcotic…”

I interjected. “That’s fine by me. I prefer to not take them.”

He laughed again. “Oh, a tough cookie, are you? I’ll have the nurse come in with some Tramadol before you go, then. It will ease the pain and reduce swelling, which is very important, but normally has no effect on mental acuity. After tonight the maximum dose of ibuprofen should probably do the trick. Have you consumed any alcohol today?”

“Nope.”

“Good. Now, let me take a look at that ankle, okay?”

I nodded. Tom let go of my hand, got up from his chair and began to move it, trying to avoid being in the doctor’s way.

Dr. Luthra motioned him back down. “No, no, you’re fine there. Keep holding her hand. She’ll need to grab onto something, I’m thinking. I’m going to have to rotate the joint and push and prod to gauge the level of sprain, and then we’ll do an X-ray to be sure nothing is broken. If that is the case, I’ll then apply an aircast walking boot. Crutches may or may not be needed…we won’t know until we put on the boot.”

My hand flew up in the air as if I was in a classroom. “I’d like to apologize in advance for the long list of profanities that will soon be assaulting your ears, Dr. Luthra.”

“Thank you, Miss Gallagher. I appreciate the warning, and am hoping I hear something entirely new to me.”

Tom chortled. “There’s a very strong possibility that you will, Dr. Luthra.”

Three hours and a surprisingly minimal amount of swearing later, I was booted, on crutches and ready to get the fuck out of there. The diagnosis was either a first or second degree sprain…the only way to tell for sure was an MRI, which I refused. The boot would need to stay on everywhere but in the shower for at least seven days after wearing it for the first twenty-four hours straight, and whenever I was on my feet for another seven after that. If it didn’t seem to be healing by that point, I’d need to see an orthopedist and perhaps undergo physical therapy. Which sounded like a boatload of fun for my first two weeks in England. The nurse who assisted with the boot noticed that I had no shoes and brought me a surgical sock to wear so I wouldn’t have to wander around barefoot. I’d been on crutches the last time I’d sprained it, back in high school, and back then there was no boot, only an ace bandage wrap. The boot was pretty funky, black plastic with an air splint inside. I could almost put my full weight on it, but Dr. Luthra figured that was because of the Tramadol and instructed me to use the crutches anyway. Tom had paid close attention as to how to remove it, put it back on, and re-inflate the air bags because, despite the fact that it wasn’t supposed to, the Tramadol had made me more than a little loopy and my attention span was close to nil.

On the way to the car I yelled ‘whee’ every time my body swung between the crutches, which Tom graciously ignored, though he did load me into the vehicle and shut the door rather quickly. I whipped out my iPod and plugged it into the auxiliary jack, then turned to him as soon as he sat in the driver’s seat, giggling madly as he started the car.

“Tommy, do you know what time it is?”

“Oh, Tommy, am I? Yes, my love. I know what time it is. It’s approximately eleven twenty-seven. PM. Like it says there on the dashboard. ” He pointed at the lit-up digital clock.

I swiped at his arm, fingers barely brushing it. “No, no. Not THAT kind of time. THIS kind of time.” I cranked up the stereo volume and pressed play on my iPod. “It’s SKRILLEX time!”

The eleven minutes it took to get back to the hotel were probably some of the longest of his life, but he did seem to enjoy Ease My Mind and Breakin’ a Sweat. Kyoto, not so much. He even asked me nicely to skip it. Which I refused to do.

We took the elevator to our room, and I wound up requiring his assistance while changing clothes after getting my dress stuck on my head. After he wrangled me into a T-shirt and some underwear, I flopped on the bed and sang my favorite parts of Closer by Nine Inch Nails at the top of my lungs. He’d quickly stripped naked and slipped into his running shorts, but the T-shirt he’d intended to put on hung limp in his hand once I reached the chorus.

You can have my isolation You can have the hate that it brings You can have my absence of faith You can have my everything

Help me Tear down my reason Help me It’s your sex I can smell Help me You make me perfect Help me become somebody else

I want to fuck you like an animal I want to feel you from the inside I want to fuck you like an animal My whole existence is flawed You get me closer to god

Though it was a challenge, I managed to focus in on his face after he let the breath he’d been holding out in a loud whoosh, the sound stilling my voice. His eyes were closed, cock tenting his shorts, hand around the T-shirt now gripping it so firmly his knuckles were white. I stared, my eyes roaming all over his body, admiring his taut stomach, the curve of his chest, the freckles that peppered his skin. The bed creaked as I began to push myself off of it to go him, and his eyes flew open at the sound. At first, they were almost frighteningly dark with desire, but then he blinked several times, breathing deeply, and the next time our gazes locked they’d returned to normal.

He closed the distance between us and put his hands on my shoulders, pushing me back down on the bed. His voice was unevenly modulated, betraying the war waging within him. “You, my love, need to rest that ankle. I’m going to get some additional pillows from the loft bed, and then I’ll read to you, if you like.”

The reduced processing speed of my mind was astonishing. He’d brought back the pillows and situated me on the bed, lying me down with my leg propped up so it was above my heart, before I was able to formulate an answer.

“Yes. I’d like. Read to me.”

He settled in by my side, Interview with the Vampire in his hand, kissed me softly and began.

**************************************** It was Tom’s voice that had soothed me to sleep, and it was his voice again that awakened me. But this time, there was nothing at all soothing about it. As the fog of dreams slowly lifted, I realized he was on the phone.

“Mum. I know. I’m sorry I didn’t call, and I’m sorry I didn’t mention any of this to you. I was planning on bringing her to meet you in person after we got to London. I honestly don’t see…” A pause, then he spoke again, volume raised and obviously agitated. “That isn’t anyone’s business but ours, now, is it? And you’re divorced yourself…why would it matter to you in the slightest that she’s been married before?” Minutes of silence. “Oh, come on. She’s doesn’t need a dime from me, Mum. She’s got her own career, and her own money.” A long pause, his tone softening when the conversation resumed. “Listen, I appreciate that you care about me and want what’s best for me. So much. Yes, it’s sudden. Yes, it’s all happening incredibly fast. Yes, I do tend to jump headlong into things. I know that. But Mum…this is different. She’s different. This is it. Maude is…she’s…she’s the part of me that I’ve been missing all my life. The other half of my soul.” He’d gotten up from the desk chair, which he’d moved across the room. “No, I’m not overly romanticizing anything. That’s how I feel. And so does she, for which I am thankful beyond words. I can’t believe we’re having a row about this…it’s terrible. Trust my judgement, Mum, and don’t pass yours on her until you’ve had the opportunity to know her. That’s all I ask. Because this is the real deal. I’m asking her to move in with me, and I’m reasonably certain her answer won’t be no.” More silence. I shifted on the bed, and the damn thing creaked yet again. “Mum, I’ve got to go. Again, I’m very sorry you found out that I have a woman in my life because Emma saw it online. I love you. Talk to you soon.”

He hit the end call button, walked over to the bed and sat down next to me. “Good morning, gorgeous. How’s your ankle?”

I sat up, leaning back on my hands for support. “Hurts like hell. So…anything you’d like to tell me?”

Tom sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Nothing I’d like to tell you. But things I should tell you? Yes. How much of that did you hear?”

“Entirely too much.”

He bit his lip. “Okay, then. So, actually, there’s one thing I would like to tell you. Well, ask you, really. I was going to wait until we got to New York, but…I…erm…will…fuck, this is terrifying…no, no, not what…it’s… even though I think I know, what if you don’t…that’s what’s terrifying…”

“Thomas, are you attempting to ask me if I’d like for us to live together?”

His head lolled back, eyes closed. “Yes, thank you. Yes I am.”

“Allrighty then. Yes, I would. We pretty much already are, aren’t we? I said ‘live together’ because ‘move in’ seems weird since we’re both away from home so often, but the particulars don’t really matter. All I know is that wherever you are, I want to wake up next to you whenever possible.”

He began to pull me onto his lap, but stopped when I winced and settled for embracing me instead. “I love you, woman. Thank you. Yes, we already are…I guess I just needed to say the words. I agree, particulars don’t matter. We’ll work that out as we go. Maybe we should look for a new flat, at least in London, something we pick out together? How much stuff do you have?”

I laughed. “Books. I have lots of books. Other than that, not much. My apartment is fucking TINY. So. Anyway. Care to fill me in on how your mother, who obviously hates me already, discovered that I’m a divorcee?”

“Oh. Right. That. I’ve been on the phone all morning…I’m surprised you slept as long as you did. First with Luke. Then my sister Emma, then Luke again, and then Mum. And I’m sorry about her behavior. Once you meet, everything will make sense to her. I’m sure of it.”

A yawn contorted my face, arms stretching way up above my head. I glanced at the clock, figuring it was much too early for Luke to be up, but it read eleven AM. “Shit, it’s that late? Good lord. Oh, sorry. Carry on, Thomas.”

“Luke was up because their flight leaves at eight. And it’s five PM in London now. Anyway, it appears that nearly every publicly available detail about your life has made its way to Tumblr, as well as every other corner of the internet. With no involvement whatsoever from Will, as it would appear.”

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and grabbed the crutches from the floor next to it. “Well. Band-Aid right off indeed, I guess. I have to pee. Would you mind getting my laptop out and putting it on the bed for me?”

He nodded, and I used the toilet without further injuring myself, which felt like a huge accomplishment. The computer was waiting for me, as was my phone. Tom had gotten up and was scrolling through his own phone as he paced. I opened my browser and searched my name on Tumblr. Post after post, the basic facts correct…Will’s name, my mother’s name, the fact that we’d divorced and he’d married her, her funeral details. Other than that it was endless speculation as to the how and the why of it all. There were even photos from when I’d been at my heaviest, taken at various conferences, most likely obtained from the conference websites. And then I saw the pièces de ré·sis·tance…a somewhat racy photo Norman had taken of me, and one of us holding hands at Comic-Con in 2010, him kissing my cheek.

“Jesus motherfucking Christ tap dancing on a fucking saltine cracker. Have you seen…?”

“Yes. The photo of you and Norman, and the one he took of you are on the Daily Mail. Along with the video we made. It’s not an altogether unfavorable story, actually…”

I’d opened the site as soon as he mentioned it and scanned the article quickly.

Tom Hiddleston confirms romance with Prosper PR Social Media Director, Maude Gallagher

- Sorry, ladies…Tom Hiddleston is officially off the market. A video the couple posted on Hiddleston’s Tumblr blog Tuesday confirmed the rumors that have been swirling over the past several weeks. Gallagher’s first task as newly appointed Social Media Director for Prosper PR, of whom Hiddleston is a client, is working solely with Hiddleston to re-vamp his online presence. According to our sources, the totes adorbs pair are currently in New Orleans to attend the funeral of Gallagher’s mother, Mary Bonaventura, who passed away on Saturday. A native of New Orleans, Gallagher left the Big Easy for the Big Apple in 1998 after the tragic suicide of father Sean Gallagher, and shortly thereafter divorced her husband of fourteen months, William Bonaventura. Founder of Maude Gallagher, LLC, an internationally known social media consultation firm with such A-list clients as Anne Rice, Arnold Schwarzenegger, and Robert Downey, Jr., Gallagher is no stranger to the celebrity dating scene, either, having spent some one-on-one time with Walking Dead star Norman Reedus in 2010. The two were snapped canoodling at Comic-Con, and Reedus included a boudoir-style shot of Gallagher in a 2013 exhibition of his photography. Hiddleston is set to begin promo tours for his three soon-to-be-released films over the next two months, Crimson Peak, I Saw the Light, and High Rise, followed by the filming of Skull Island this fall.

“No, I guess it could have been much fucking worse. We even got a ‘totes adorbs’. And I suppose, on some level, I’m grateful that they outed me without my having to do it myself. But was it really necessary to mention that I dated another actor? Like, five years ago? And post photos? Where did they even FIND those? Tom, I did give him permission to include it in his exhibition, but never gave a thought to…”

He looked up from his phone. “Twitter. They found them on Twitter. Norman’s Twitter, to be precise.”

Eyes cast downward, I struggled to grasp what he was saying. Tramadol was officially on my ‘keep that shit away from me’ list. Though at this point, the blame could be placed on a multitude of other things. Like the fact that Tom screaming ‘you’re just a pathetic little famewhore’ in my face kept repeating over and over in my head, like a Vine video, six seconds, endlessly looping. I told myself that I’d forgiven him, that I had no right to mention it again, but the tears began to spill over anyway. I felt his weight on the bed at my side, then his arms around me, cheek pressed against mine.

“Oh Maude…I’m so sorry. It’s reminded me of the awful things I said the other night, and if I’m upset I can’t even begin to imagine how you feel. It’s okay.” His voice broke. “Please don’t think I’m angry with you. I’m not. And if you’re angry with me, I understand.”

I wiped my tears away, sniffing. “I’m not angry. But yeah, it’s circling in my head, like a vulture or something. Sorry. I’ll get over it. I just…I feel like…I don’t know. Like I did something wrong. Even though it was before I knew you. Does that make sense? I guess that’s why I had the breakdown about Will yesterday. Even though I didn’t know you when I was…you know…whenever I think about it, it feels like I betrayed you somehow. Same thing with Norman.”

He nuzzled my neck, stubble tickling me. “Yes. It makes sense. I feel horribly guilty when such thoughts cross my mind. Which has never happened to me before, I might add.”

My logic kicked in suddenly. “How did you know those came from Norman’s Twitter account?”

He leaned back so he could see me, arms still holding me tightly. “He told me they did.”

“I’m sorry…what the fuck do you mean ‘he told you they did’?”

“He phoned me earlier, after he’d seen them. To apologize.”

I could feel my brows rise as my head tilted to the side. “You talked to Norman. On the phone. When he called to apologize.” He nodded. “What was he apologizing for, exactly?”

“For causing us any additional stress, especially at such a difficult time. He noticed yesterday that they were being re-tweeted, and then he saw the Mail article. While he thought it was tasteless that they’d felt the need to use something he considered art as a sensationalist tactic, he was pleased they’d at least gotten the timeframe correct. He said he rang your phone, but when he got voicemail he figured he’d try mine.”

“Where the hell did he get your number?”

“Guillermo.”

“Clever. I can’t ever imagine anyone being pissed at him no matter what he does. Did he actually use the word ‘tasteless?”

Tom smiled. “I believe his exact phrasing was something along the lines of ‘Those assholes, how fucking disgusting is it that they take something so beautiful, a work of art, man, and twist it into a sex sells scandal clickbait bullshit item? No respect for women, man. Or art. Fuckers.’”

“That’s more like it.” Finding myself at a loss for words, I clicked on the photo to enlarge it. Tom stared at the screen and began rubbing my back. I felt compelled to explain the circumstances of how it had come into being, but figured he wouldn’t want to know, so I slammed the laptop closed. “This is really, really, REALLY fucking awkward. I’m sorry it exists, and I’m sorry you had to see it, and that someone I used to date took it…”

“Don’t be sorry. I’m glad to have seen it. He’s correct. It is a work of art. You’re a work of art, Maude. How could anyone resist capturing a moment like that? I took a look at some of his other photography online…he’s quite talented. Everything is very spontaneous, visceral…yet perfectly composed.”

My head turned in order to face him. “This is hurting what’s left of my brain, Thomas. Do you, like, LIKE Norman? Because…that would make it like fucking Seinfeld all up in here. Worlds. Are. Colliding.”

Tom guffawed. “Let’s leave it at I no longer thoroughly DISlike him, shall we?” His laughter ceased, but a faint smile remained. “When I saw his name come up on my phone, I’ll admit it…I was significantly less than delighted. But after we spoke for a bit I realized that it mustn’t have been an easy thing for him to do, either…yet he did it anyway. It was a very kind gesture. When commenting on the article, he blurted out ‘wow, man, I had no idea she was married before’, and in that moment any residual jealousy I’d been harboring simply vanished, because it became clear to me that you’d been absolutely truthful when you said you’d never loved him.” The look I shot him made him blanch, and he let go of me and put his hands up in a defensive gesture. “Not that I didn’t believe you before. That came out wrong. Fuck. Sorry. What I meant was…it…I…”

My hand squeezed his thigh. “I know what you meant. That I never cared enough about him to want to reveal anything of importance finally solidified what I said for you. It was a very kind gesture, though, and I want to say thank you. Maybe we can call him together later?” Tom nodded. “Good. Now I’m going to tell you how that work of art came to be.” He shifted uncomfortably. “It’s actually pretty funny. We were heading out to yet another party I didn’t wish to attend wherein I’d inevitably encounter drunk and angry Norman. I’d met him at his place, having stopped along the way to get a cup of tea, and pretty much as soon as I walked through the door I tripped over his cat and spilled it all over my shirt. His ex-wife kept some clothes there for when she was in town dropping off or picking up their son, and when he told me to help myself I laughed and laughed. Because, Helena Christensen…supermodel. He said she liked to wear oversize stuff when she travelled and that something that would fit me for sure, so I decided to prove him wrong. That white man-tailored shirt was the largest thing I could find, and I put it on and walked out into the living room and posed, my way of saying ‘I told you so, jerky.’ Before I could say a word he grabbed his camera and started shooting. In the end I wound up wearing a KISS T-shirt instead. Much to my dismay. So. There was nothing boudoir about it. At all. Just clumsy me entertaining the masses. Though I guess I do look kind of hot. That’s the only decent thing my mother ever gave me…a really nice rack.”

He swept my hair aside and ran his tongue across the back of my neck. “Mmm. You’re even hotter now. Which reminds me…that song from last night…”

I was perfectly cognizant of what song he was referencing, but was reluctant to discuss it as there wasn’t enough time for a proper fuck fest before the funeral. I opted to make a most likely fruitless attempt at diversion. “YAY, you DO like Skrillex!”

“Well, perhaps, but that Kyoto one is…no, that’s NOT the song I’m talking about.

“These aren’t the droids you’re looking for?”

His eyes rolled so far back all I saw was white. “Closer. THAT song. It took Herculean effort to not shag you senseless, in case you were wondering. But I knew you were impaired, which would have made doing so inappropriate, in my opinion…but perhaps you’ll sing it again for me later?”

An evil grin broke out across my face. “I guess. As long as you comply with my demand and let me fuck you like an animal afterward…”

His groan was interrupted by my phone ringing. It was Barty. I hit the answer button and put him on speaker.

“Good morning, Miss Maude. How’s the ankle?”

“Hurts like a mother f…it hurts bad. But once I have some ibuprofen I’ll be right as rain. Just a sprain, and they gave me a walking boot. Which is wicked stylish, of course.”

He laughed. “I’m guessing y’all haven’t watched any local news this morning. Am I right?”

Tom frowned. “We haven’t. Is something wrong?”

Barty laughed some more. “Not exactly. In fact, I’m of a mind you’ll think that something is very, very right when I tell you about certain events that occurred overnight.”

I poked the phone. “Well, now I’m excited. Spill it, oh great solicitor.”

“Approximately five minutes after one in the morning, the security alarm sounded at the Winchester residence. They’re at 2469 St. Charles…right next to your place. Been there since 2001 or so. It was a break in, and they recognized the perpetrator when they went downstairs, baseball bats in hand. It was none other than one William Bonaventura, drunk, brandishing a knife and raving about how he didn’t care what anyone said, he was taking what’s his. He proceeded to carry several pieces of furniture, several electronic devices and an array of knick-knacks out to a truck in the driveway before the police showed up. He then took off and drove said truck, which turned out to be stolen, down the street and crashed it into a telephone pole. When they arrested him they discovered that he was not in possession of a valid driver’s license, but was in possession of two ounces of marijuana and had a blood alcohol level of two point one percent. I have yet to see the laundry list of charges against him since there’s been no arraignment, but I do know that he will do a minimum of ten years for the armed robbery alone.”

I glanced over at Tom, grinning like a Cheshire cat. As was he. When I spoke, I found it impossible to contain my exuberance. “Soooo…the fucking idiot went out, tied one on, got pissed off and decided to get even, stole a truck and then robbed THE WRONG FUCKING HOUSE? This…this is…ohmyfuckinggod…I know it makes me a terrible human being, but the SCHADENFREUDE. Bwhahahahahaha…”

“Miss Maude, it does no such thing. Stupid is as stupid does, as Forest Gump’s mama used to say. And that boy…all he’s ever done is stupid. Well deserved, I say. You go on and enjoy it. My apologies, but I have a client arriving in a few, so I must be on my way. Give me a jingle when the title for the house is ready for transfer.”

Tom and I both shouted “Thank you, Barty!” and I ended the call.

Speechless, all I could do was shake my head back and forth slowly. I caught sight of the clock, noticed it was eleven forty-five and began to freak out. “Shit. Shit shit shit. We still have to shower and get dressed…” I looked down at my aircast. “Fuck. How, exactly, am I going to shower? It hasn’t been twenty-four hours yet, and I HAVE to shower, because I’m all hospitaly and icky…”

Tom rose from the bed, went to the desk and picked up two garbage bags and a roll of duct tape. “Got these from the maintenance person this morning. We’ll just wrap the boot so it won’t get wet, and I’ll help you stand if you need me to. I already showered, so all I have to do is dress.”

His thoughtfulness reminded me of the depth of my love for him, and he for me. It surged through me, eclipsing everything else I was feeling. “Thomas, you are just…just…thank you. Thanks for taking care of me last night, and all this week, and…”

A kiss cut me off, and he knelt between my legs, cautiously lifting my foot and slipping the bags over the boot. “It’s my pleasure, Maude. Having someone to care for…having you to care for…it makes me feel whole. Complete. And so very, very blessed.” The smile he flashed as he finished taping and held out his hands to help me up turned me into a pile of goo. “Come on, now. Time to get you nice and wet.”

I snorted. “Hiddleston, I’m already nice and wet.”

He rested my weight against his chest, hand slowly working its way down my belly and inside my panties, chuckling as I shuddered when he made contact, fingers delving between my folds. “Of course you are.” I whined when I felt his hand disappear, only to reappear as he brought his fingers up to my mouth, tracing my lips. I stuck out my tongue to lick them, but he pulled them away and thrust them into his own mouth, sucking eagerly for a moment, then releasing them with a pop. “Wet and delicious.”

I gasped, then a throaty moan followed. “THOMAS. PLEASE. STOP.”

He laughed as he grabbed the crutches and handed them to me. “Never, woman. NEVER. Shower time. Move along.”

“Fine. Fucking bastard.”

“I do love you so, my Maude.”

My eyes narrowed as I scowled at him. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” I placed a tiny kiss on his jaw. “I love you too, Thomas. Let’s get this shit over with so we can run away to New York. The Carnegie Deli is calling my name, baby, and you’re buying.”

“I’m buying?”

“Did you honestly think I’d forget about our last bet? About the number of notes on your first Tumblr post? Please. It’s a free meal. That stays on the hard drive for-ev-er.”

His mouth crashed against mine, tongue searching, tasting of me. He broke the kiss within seconds, leaving me even more frustrated than I’d already been. “I remember. And I can’t wait. For dinner, for New York…and everything after.”

I grinned in spite of my case of ball-less blue balls. “Me either, baby. Me either.”

#your light in the mist #chapter 22

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i-growl-growl-growl · 7 years ago

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The Beast within the Dark Forest

Genre [Rating] : vampire au, angst

Length: 3539 words

Pairing: Minhyuk x Reader

Summary: After you’ve grown up hearing tales that have been told for a century of a dreadful creature lurking in the dark forest just beyond the outskirts of your town your curiosity gets the better of you and you go in search of the beast despite all the warnings told in the tales.

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For a thousand years there have been tales of a creature that roams the dark woods alone, a creature so dangerous and terrifying that not even the bravest of our countrymen dare to go near the edge of the mystical forest that was sprouted and grown from the deepest sorcery of black magic. Everyone tells the tales of the evilest being known to mankind keeping a watchful eye on our small town that resides just a mile away, waiting for any unlucky soul to enter whether it be man, woman, child, or animal and those of whom have dared to enter the inhospitably cursed woodland in the past have vanished without a trace, never to return, be heard from, or seen again for they had entered the territory of the most dreadful being to ever walk this earth which only goes to prove that the tales are true and that everyone shall stay away if they value their life.

I grew up hearing these tales just as anyone who has lived since the beastly year of 2017 has. 2017 was when it all happened, the year that the forest was born and, along with it, the beast. “It was the year of utterly untamed chaos!” as the elders whom had lived to witness it would say “From start to finish, a year well rounded for the doom and destruction of life as anyone had known it before!” Those chants have since been passed down through generations upon generations as part of the tales, not a word of it forgotten or fiddled with. August 27th, 2017, that was the day that the world as we know it now was born.

If ever my family found out that those tales so commonly told had ignited a curiosity and desire within me to enter the woods and find the creature, even if only to see it with my own eyes moments before I’d perish like the rest under its merciless, malevolent whims, they’d surly call for the matrons to come and whisk me away until sense has been brought back to my mind. For that very reason I have kept my thoughts and desires to myself, never have I shared any of this information with anyone not even my closest friend Hyungwon not even before he had gone missing days ago. Maybe he had ventured into the dark woods, I nor anyone else would be surprised in the slightest if that revelation were to be true, maybe he had wanted to see the creature for himself like I had, there’s only so little time before people, even the most cautious ones like myself, get a bit curious about it, or very.

I know that my curiosity cannot hold out any longer, it can no longer be contained therefore I shall leave for the forest tonight. Without a word, without a sound, without a trace, I shall let my curiosity drive me into the abysmal depths of hell that lie beyond the sanctuary of my home within the small town that resides just within reach of the accursed realms of the creature’s domain. Tonight I shall go and I shall not return until I’ve seen the beast, if I am to ever even have the chance to return at all that is.

The sun is setting, my small hometown becoming smaller from behind me as I trek through the fields that lead to the forest. I have nothing but a backpack filled with water bottles and food and several flash lights, the clothes on my back, and the shoes on my feet as my possessions now. No one shall notice I’m gone until the sun has gone down, I was summoned to run an errand to inform old lady MonMon that my family is out of radishes and would pay handsomely for a batch of hers come tomorrow morning. By the time anyone has become suspicious of my disappearance I shall be far from sight or reach for I shall be beyond the rows of the dark forest that call to me evermore as I come nearer to them.

Upon my arrival at the entrance of the forest I stop in my tracks but only to spare a final glance of the town behind me. Even from this place afar I can still spot the roof of my house, its chimney releasing fading streams of black smoke into the air. This is the last I will see of my home, this is the last time I can say an unheard good-bye for I will not step down, I shall not back away and chain my curiosity any longer, this is the last time I will head the warnings of those who tell the tales, I will go into the dark forest and I won’t come out, dead or alive, until I’ve seen the beast!

I know not the reasons for everyone’s worry. The tales have been lies as of yet. Surly I would’ve been dead by now if the beast were real, I’ve trekked through the dark forest for hours and not a living soul or sound has been seen or heard. If this so called beast were so dreadful and was the cause for the vanishings of those who’ve entered before myself then why has it not come to rid me from this world like it supposedly had with the others? A fraud, a scam, a true tale of tales, nothing but dark humor preached in such a way to make that it seems believable, a true master of pranks is what it is. For a thousand years everyone has been told lies! This dark forest is nothing but an abnormal forest that just so happens to appear as if it was cursed well I tell you what! I shall return home with the truth, this is just another forest, with nothing to fear other than, possibly, the same predators that reside in this sort of habitat- bears, wolves, rabid squirrels and such!- There is no curse, those who have vanished have vanished not from being sighted by the beast, they have vanished in other natural ways- probably dying of thirst or from losing they’re way but not from being offed by a beast! HA! To think everyone has been so gullible enough to believe such nonsense! There is no creature! There is no Bea…….

A twig snapping off in the distance grabs my attention, bringing me out of my infuriated quarrel. The sound is not too close but not far. I stop in my tracks to listen, if an animal is close then I will hear another snap of a twig somewhere before it is upon me if I am its target. I dare not move, for if I do I could draw attention to myself and might not hear the animal approach closer. I must stay still, I must find the whereabouts of the following creature with only my ears as my aid. My senses fail me however for there is no following sound to be heard. All is Silent. All is sound. I let a few moments pass, speedily giving my scarcely lit watch a quick glance to check the passing time. Three minutes, I let three terribly long minutes pass before I straighten myself out, feeling vacuous for believing that anything would happen to me. Once I’ve shaken my limbs from their stiffened state I resume my travels, turning around to head home to bring awareness to the dim-witted fools before the light of my flashlight lands on something before me stopping me in my place.

The sight of my eyes lands on the torso of a male counterpart, particularly his clothed chest. He wears a burgundy button up shirt with a black jacket covering most of it. A studded belt wraps around his waist where the pants are tucked over the remainder of his shirt, it matches the rest of his clothes perfectly despite the offset of the grey studs against the otherwise red and black toned outfit. Remembering to be polite, I refrain from shining my light directly in the man’s face as my eyesight aims upwards but I do have the urge to look up and see who it is that has followed me therefore I shall.

A gasp escapes me as the profile of the male’s face comes within view. He is stunning! Gorgeous! an ethereal sight for eyes that have only ever seen men with dirt dusted beards and mud stained faces. Surly his clothing should’ve given me a hint that this man was like no other that I’ve ever seen before, he must be a partisan of a higher family to afford walking about in such an a’ la mode manner, especially this deep within the oh so cursed woods. I feel doltish for not thinking of it beforehand. My eyes want to avoid him for the poor act that my mind had played but his sharp gaze enchants me, captivating me to continue gazing at him. He has high set cheeks with a mildly sharp jawline, his nose is properly set- not the sort you grow accustom to seeing when you live in a place such as I had where men’s noses are often crooked, sporting a broken look,- his eyebrows are thick, his eyes are a cat-like narrow with just a slight touch of roundness to them, and his lips are nearly full with a deep pink tint. He doesn’t seem overly muscular or emaciated like the men back in town. There is a word for people with structures like his that I’ve heard from overhearing conversations when I’d run errands in town, what is it?, ah yes, lean, this man is perfectly lean- well, at least in the sense that I’ve come to know that it means. All in all I am impressed, charmed solely on his looks alone.

When I look back up to his face again, I see a smirk played across his lips, his eyes narrowing with a gleam of mischievous intent. That’s when I notice the color of his irises, they’re an unnatural candy apple red with a gold traced ring around them.

“Who are you?” He asks with the same smirk, his head tilting from side to side slowly as his eyes seem to devour me. His voice is like smooth silk that could churn any woman’s heart to butter when he speaks, “What’s a beauty like you doing in so deep in these woods?”

“I’m …….” I reply, remembering to be kind but becoming cautious as he continues to stare me down, my nerves sending an edgy shiver through my spine, “I came here in search for the beast from the fairy tales but I’ve been made a fool just as all the others. I shall make my return to town to inform every one of their silly, nonsensical beliefs. Good day to you sir, or, if you’d like, you can follow me back. I see you have no flash light with you, it’d be a shame for you to lose your way if I left you behind. I’m sure your family will be looking for you at this point in time. Join me if you’d like.”

“Ah but it’s you who shall be joining me. Not the other way around” he derides briskly with a chuckle. His eyes becoming daggers as they scrutinize me.

“Pardon me?”

“I said, it’s you who shall be joining me” he reinstates with a stern tone in his voice, the smirk fading as he lifts a foot to approach me slowly, menacingly, like a predator sneaking up to its prey except I am facing him and can see every move his body makes.

With every step that he takes towards me I take a step back. “I don’t know what your intentions are mister but I’m not here to cause any trouble and I don’t intend to be made a fool again by falling for someone’s cruel pranks so you can stop what you’re doing and go back to town with me or I can leave you here to fend for yourself, I won’t let myself be a victim to anything any longer and I won’t deal with anyone threatening me.”

The man halts but the gleam in his death staring eyes continue to stay locked on me. “I thought you were looking for the beast” he deadpans with a miniscule quirk of his head to the side, the smirk returning as he sees the surprise and unnerved nature that he has put me in, my body ready for a fight or flight show down.

“I am.”

“Well, you found him or rather I found you” he replies with a sinister smile creeping onto his face. Only then do I notice the anomalous stretch of his mouth where elongated canine teeth have stretched the skin as they nearly protrude from his mouth. His nails are long and pointed at the ends like claws and his skin had seemed to be inexplicably pale when I first noticed him but now everything was putting itself together and the more I thought about it the more this man presented the exact profile of a creature they define and talk about in those terrifying tales to the older children in the town, “Vampires.” No, No, No, this is all a prank, vampires aren’t real! Even if they were what would be the odds that this man is one of them? Surly this is a prank as I expect it to be.

“So you’re not going to run huh?” he asks in a quizzically amused fashion as he begins approaching me once more “from the look on your face you’ve already figured out what I am. Most people would’ve begun running for their lives at this point.”

“Ha!” I snicker “you’re only pretending to be a vampire!” I spit out “vampires aren’t real! You’re just using the surroundings and the fact that I’m alone as an advantage to pull of whatever prank it is that you’re trying to pull. I may run but it won’t be because I believe you’re going to suck my blood or any of that rubbish!”

He laughs whimsically at my outburst, it is a long throaty laugh that sends chills down to my core, a laugh with evilness laced within it that reeks of doom. “Ah, my sweet darling, you really are such a fool.” He shakes his head at me, his lips pursed in a fine line that clearly states his disapproval at my brazen temper and denial of the occult that he claims to be a part of, his feet still carrying him towards me while mine stagger backwards to ensure that a distance is kept between him and I. “I wonder if you will think the same as I do actually suck the blood out of you.”

When my feet have failed to keep a significant distance between me and the menacing stranger my flight mode triumphs and I find myself running in an unknown direction. All that’s known as my feet carry me away from the stranger is that I’m racing away from a threat of ultimate danger and death as I blindly jump over fallen logs that I see moments before being upon them and scratch myself with the thorns of wild bushes and low hanging tree branches as I run past them. The more I seem to run the more dense the forest becomes around me, it’s like it is growing and attempting to swallow me alive as I run through it, trying to get a sense of which way I should go to get home. Before long my clothing is caught by a branch of a tree but as I jerk away and tear at my clothes to be released the situation only becomes worse, my clothes become tangled in the branch and I’m left with the choice of risking being killed by the psychotic stranger or stripping out of my shirt and light jacket to escape.

As I begin to pull my trapped hand through the sleeve of my jacket, a branch from another tree strikes at me as if guided by magic to prevent my escape. The strike manages to catch the back of my free hand before the limb wraps itself around my wrist and pulls it until it is spread at an angle above my head that hinders it useless. I then attempt to tug my other hand out of the caught clothing on its own since there is no other way for me to release myself from the branches grasps before the man will be upon me since I assume he isn’t far behind. I can feel branches slithering up my legs like snakes wrapping themselves around their preys and I try to shake them off but they to, just as the branch binding my hand above my head, have a firm grasp on me then tug at my legs until they are spread as far open as they’ll go.

Once I’ve become completely trapped I have no other way to escape other than to risk someone, like the man, hearing me and coming to my rescue. I scream as loudly as I can for help and struggle against the holds of the branches keeping me in place but all is silent and the limbs won’t let me budge all that much.

Fear and defeat begin to settle in when the same silence that I was met with when I entered the forest welcomes me as I catch my breath. As I continue wheezing for air, I hear a noise from in front of me. When I look up hopefully I’m only met with dread as the man from before steadily makes his way towards me. I struggle in my binds as I meekly beg to be let go but he only sends me the same sinister smile as he had when he had threatened me.

“Now Now darling, there’s not much for you to fear. I promise to go easy on you if you do something for me in return” he offers in a cheery tone with a dash of slyness intermixed.

“Oh yeah, and what would that be? You want me to be your slave or something?!” I hiss, trying to seem unperturbed by my impending doom, once again struggling against the holds of the branches as he comes nearer and near to me.

“MM, something like that” he affirms “be good and stay still while I take my fill from you and if you do I will let you live but as my blood slave, I can smell you better than any of the others I’ve had in the past, your scent is so delicate and delectable, I can only imagine how you truly taste as my mouth waters for you. You shall live with me here in the forest within my mansion until it is time for me to track down others who have entered the forest then you shall help me capture them and bring them to their doom as they had so willing signed their lives away once they entered my domain. You shall live a lavish life with top of the line clothing and you shall dine like a queen but you must be with me as my slave. What say you to my offer?”

As he now stands before me, mere inches separating us from each other, I glare up at him. The vile words on my tongue, as sharp and harmful as the strongest poison of which I wish to spit out at him are stuck in my throat. With a deep gulp I only let out a daring “NO.” I would rather his suck me dry, fill me back up with my blood and bring me back to life only to suck me dry again before letting me really die than be his slave and let him touch me and help him murder others.

The man doesn’t look surprised at my turn down of his deal. “I expected as much” he shrugs nonchalantly before that irking smile appears again, the smile I so badly want to wipe off of his face “but in the end I’m the one who seals the deal. Sorry sweetheart, but you’re mine now.”

Before I can protest the man sinks his teeth into the flesh of the nape of my neck. The elongated teeth descending deeper into my flesh until they’ve nearly stabbed through my external jugular vein. The pain blinds me, my screams silent from shock. I can feel the rush of my blood being forcefully sucked into his fangs as he laps at the areas where extra blood spill into his mouth with his tongue. When I feel myself becoming weak, fading away from consciousness, I feel a tug from the holes where the vampire’s fangs had bitten into me before the lapping of his tongue intensifies over my neck. Before I complete succumb to the darkness washing over my body as I faint ever so slowly I hear a voice speaking to me.

“My name is Minhyuk.” The voice say with impassiveness “I am your master now.”

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paharvey99 · 5 years ago

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No Waitrose October 6 - Day 14

Day 14

I appeared on a panel at a conference today. The panel was in London, so I got up at 6am and went to London. I had breakfast at Brighton station, from the Curry Leaf Café stall. The Curry Leaf Café is a great curry house in Brighton that opened a few years ago and now has various outposts across the city, including at the station. You can get a full curry with all the trimmings should you wish, but I went for a bacon sandwich this morning, which I shoved down me as I was waiting for them to announce the platform of the Gatwick Express service to London.

I have great brand loyalty to the Gatwick Express these days. It’s the only train between Brighton and London that has a reliable Wi-Fi, plus it’s much quicker than Southern or Thameslink. If you’re paying £61 for a day travelcard to London (yes, sixty one pounds) you at least want to be able to pretend to be doing some work on the train.

Don’t worry, I’m charging that £61 to expenses.

Arrived in London and had to join the scrum at Victoria tube station. Ended up waiting for a train while standing at the very edge of the platform, I really hate doing that. I don’t know how people do that every day, it’s horrible. The thing I was going to was near Angel tube, in Islington. I did the panel thing and then went for some lunch at Pho, as it was lunchtime and I really fancied some noodle soup. Plus I could charge it to expenses. I don’t think I’ve ever been to Pho, but I was the only one in there at lunchtime and it was a bit sad all round really; one of those chain restaurants that used to be trendy, but now is a bit dull and average. I paid the bill and got a train home.

The person I live with and the three year-old I live with met me at Brighton station, as the former had to go into work for a work thing. I took the three year-old I live with around town for a bit. The last month or so she has really got into shopping, she’s so sophisticated. Before they met me the person I live with and the three year-old I live with had spent 40 minutes in Home Sense, carefully perusing every aisle, even the pet toys.

We nipped down into North Laine to the Brighton Sausage Company, which does exactly what it says on the tin, and I bought six Bratwurst. The Brighton Sausage Company also sells cheese, and they had some cheese out to try, so the three year-old I live with and I tried it. It was a young pecorino, apparently.

The three year-old I live with was asking to go to the book shop, as I’d basically promised to buy her a book at the weekend and then hadn’t and hoped she would forget about it. She hadn’t forgotten about it, so we went to Waterstones and she picked out a book about a fairytale hairdresser or something, it was a real drudge. Seeing as I had committed to buying a book I thought I ought to make it a half-decent one, so I went looking for something half-decent. Generally anything that is a 20 or 30-year anniversary edition seems a good bet, as those ones by rights should have a bit of re-readability to them.

I found a 35-year anniversary edition of Not Now Bernard by David McKee, but it wasn’t a huge hit. Then I remembered she loves Michael Rosen, so I went looking for Michael Rosen books and found a picture book version of his poem Chocolate Cake, which I remember thinking was hilarious in Mrs Hickson’s class. It went down a storm, proper gurgly giggles and everything. We bought it and got the bus home.

Back at home I made some tea for the three year-old I live with and tried to combat the tiredness that was kicking in. The three year-old I live with must have sensed I was at a low ebb, as she decided to choose this moment to insist that I read Mr Men stories to her while she ate her pork and noodles. Seriously, have you read the Mr Men books recently? The pictures are great, but the stories are abysmal. I was losing the will to live, so when she’d finished eating I played the guitar for a bit and she jumped on the bed, which is a fun new game we have.

In the bath the three year-old I live with asked me to put Mick Cave on my phone, which was quite amusing. I put on the Nick Cave song Breathless, as she has got into it because of its unexpected cartoon rabbit video. Then she asked for another Mick Cave song with the rabbits and I had to explain for the second night running that Nick Cave doesn’t have any other songs with cartoon rabbits in them and that if she goes around expecting Nick Cave to be surrounded by animated woodland friends she will be sorely disappointed.

I put on the song Red Right Hand to show her what Nick Cave is really like and her face fell. “Does he not do the rabbits?”, she asked sadly. No he does not.

Somehow, the three year-old I live with was asleep by 7.30pm, which is almost unheard of, so I found myself with an unexpected hour or two in the evening. I filled it by making myself some tea, as the person I live with was still out at her work thing. I made a Chinese-inspired spicy tomato pork thing with lots of veg in it. It wasn’t remotely authentic, but it was quite tasty.

After that I cut my hair. It was getting a bit long and untamed, and there’s really nothing you can do with my hair apart from just trim it back. I realised years ago that it made much more sense for me to do this myself with some trimmers, so that’s what I do. Then the person I live with got back and expressed dismay that I had cut my hair, then laughed at my new haircut. Despite this, I am very pleased with it.

Didn’t go to Waitrose.

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saturatethe-written-whitewa-blog · 7 years ago

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oikawa rarepair week 2017, day 1.

oikawa rarepair week, day 1: height / birthdays / soulmate

pairing: oikawa tooru & kuroo tetsurou

Everyone was once a child, though they do not remember much of a time so pristine, except for a broken line of memories (featuring blinks of things they hope are memories and not settling concrete to fill in abysmal gaps,) and the most embarrassing of stories that are unforgettable, sometimes twisted a little bit from what originally was, the kind that's passed around when you come with faces you've seen before until everybody's too distracted by the frozen display in their minds and the trapped laughter set free.

When Oikawa Tooru was a child, he did not know, did not want to know, what soulmates were (Now, a long enough time later, he knows- maybe a little too much,) far too busy adventuring through the mapped territories of fields as golden as the sunset he still needs to squint to see, skipping past the bobbing headpieces of plants he didn't know the name of until his legs would become itchy and he'd grumble as he scratched them painful. Between then and Oikawa's sixth birthday, Iwaizumi Hajime was added to the newness of Oikawa's ever-awake span of sight through an event too everyday to make its own landmark in the lost city of Oikawa's childhood, an example of dull concrete to add distinctiveness to the landmarks pointed to heavens, that would scratch the soles of Oikawa's bare feet if he ever took a trip and went back stinging with nostalgia.

Nothing particular happened when Oikawa turned six, it was just the earliest birthday party he remembers. The cake was a flavor he decided, on his next birthday no less, that he didn't like, iced with vanilla and eaten with plastic forks because Oikawa's stumpy fingers are yet to become the ferocious setter's fingers that they are now, the friends he had invited, found at their own pockets of the small fraction of Miyagi, he doesn't have now, with the exception of Iwaizumi, who only greeted Oikawa a happy birthday because his mother told him to through a pinched smile and a poke of an elbow enough that Iwaizumi frowns and blushes.

(The parent Oikawas were scared that Tooru would have stabbed a child's eye out, it's ridiculous, they know, and they still breathed with relief two hours after the last of the guests parted with one last wish of wellness for good measure; the last of the parents' tasks were to pick up the plastic utensils on the floor, including the ones that'd been stepped on and snapped with a frightening sound. They put Tooru to bed without so much as a fuss, wiped icing from his mouth with the same shirt that's rubbed against lots of presents wrapped in colors from baby blue to lemony yellow only hours ago.)

Now, if you look below instead of ahead at the outline that appears much larger when you're no farther than fifteen footprints from it, there's some more concrete that goes unnoticed. Weeks have passed, weeks are forgotten. Oikawa learns about soulmates then, in a suddenness that doesn't surprise him; children belong to the same species, tried and tested, though they really do seem strange, entirely different. He was with Iwaizumi, doing something typical of the summertime high, when words start falling onto his wrist with the speed of whipping winds, and they stay there no matter how frantically Oikawa scrubs at his wrist, no matter how many tears he lets darken the ink. Iwaizumi had no idea what to do when Oikawa cried, now, Iwaizumi's got a hold of the tip of an inkling- which is better than nothing, he supposes.

The words are something everyone receives at their own times (and some don't ask for it, similarly to a mid-life crisis, or any sort of crisis- unless you were the flowering kind of strange masochist that liked flavoring days with the feeling of suffocation.) Whether they want it or not is not up to them (but choosing to obey it or covering it up with pretty cherry blossoms or the forlorn look of a deer was a choice they were offered.)

The words are the first thing your soulmate says to you, or so the old wives' tale goes. The connection doesn't come at the swift blow of an instance. It was vague and unexpected with an impact still all that groundbreaking, a cruel touch of the gods that tied strangers together with a thread so fine only their eyes can catch it in the rough world of misguided youths and minds lost to business.

(Iwaizumi gets his before his eighth birthday, in a show not as spectacular as Oikawa's waterworks display. The words on the wrists of Oikawa's parents were a gentle "I'm sorry, were you going to borrow this book?" and "No, no, we can share it- I'm, um, Oikawa..."

Iwaizumi had taken Oikawa back to his parents, a journey of careful steps and gentle telling of Oikawa to stop crying (Oikawa doesn't stop crying, Iwaizumi understands,) as if Oikawa had been bitten by a wild animal, though the scared look that pours over Oikawa's eyes like poison dismays Iwaizumi all the same. Oikawa learns he's awful at looking like he isn't crying, and he's having a hard time keeping up with the sturdy pace Iwaizumi walked in. Iwaizumi only keeps looking ahead, and he still does nineteen years later.

The Iwaizumi of six years recognizes the half-open door of Oikawa's house before Oikawa does. Modest, welcoming everything from early sunlight to a neighbor asking for one of the spare tires they keep in a garage too dark for Oikawa and Iwaizumi to want to play in; what was not welcome, however, were animals from the street: dogs, cats, anything else on four legs and a brain turned so famished that it loses all rational thought. An exterior and interior painted just as how they had first purchased it when they were but young and inexperienced and twinkling from the honeymoon. Breaking and entering, all that, was a caution softly reassured by the iron will of Oikawa's dad, who still remembers a few things from the days when he was a teenager that only sought liberation from academical expectations.

Iwaizumi takes to the inside of the house, door unlocked and warm enough not to protest when its slammed curtly as Iwaizumi exclaims too many things all at once. Oikawa's parents are stirred from the stuffy lull of television and iced water, and they would have responded to Iwaizumi with slurred words if they were so careless as to miss the rare, panicked look that possesses Iwaizumi's usually unshakable countenance.

(Iwaizumi was never scared, even when faced with the moist, curious frogs that wandered after the rains and always made Oikawa cry if he'd ever touch one or if ever one touched him.)

Oikawa's parents swarm the newly-turned six year old as they investigate his free skin for any cuts, grazes, scrapes, blink openly a few times when they discover none. Oikawa's words were nothing more than blurbs, unhelpful; his eyes were still teary, the swell of his cheeks pushing down the drops, and his hands were busy crumpling appall onto the hem of his shirt.

Oikawa's parents made their conclusions quickly- the words on his wrist were bold, washed in tears, hard to miss.

Oikawa tells them about the words on wrist when his speech gains some kind of coherency, most of them he had trouble reading, and his parents only take on pitiful faces and take Tooru by his hands and lead him inside with a promise of an explanation. Oikawa's mother smiles at Iwaizumi and tells him to come inside, too. Iwaizumi is given a cold drink, one he doesn't recognize, but it sets his tastes buds ablaze with the sharpness of tropical fruit; Iwaizumi furrows his brows and wonders whether he likes it or not.

Not beside Iwaizumi, Tooru and his father sat, and the middle-aged man tried the best of his jests until Oikawa smiles in between his sniffles. Oikawa drinks the mysterious drink, too, and he doesn't go 'blegh!' in disgust like Iwaizumi expects him to, instead finishing everything fast enough the ice cubes clink against its comrades in shock. Oikawa asks for seconds, finishes only a quarter of the new glass and his dad laughs and finished it for him.

Meanwhile, Iwaizumi only realizes how hot the outside had been when he can feel the sweat on his skin like clothes he wasn't actually wearing when he braves the mightiest of the what the taller electric fan blows at him. Oikawa's stopped crying, sat between his parents who wonder how to begin their talk, and Oikawa's lips shine because of the drink that fills him enough he pats his stomach ("Like in the TV!" Oikawa pronounced 'TV' in a way that makes his dad crack up again, and his mother hides a snort well behind the back of her hand,) and not because of the tears caught and occupied on his trembling lips earlier.

Oikawa doesn't remember exactly about what his mom explained to him, but it was something about soulmates and love and promise and all the other things Oikawa was only supposed to care about later. Oikawa tries not to think about it too much, but it'll always be there, when he reaches for a bar of soap his parents know but forget that he can't reach, when he peeks through his fingers and four times out of ten Iwaizumi barks at him not to cheat, but Oikawa does it anyway, until Iwaizumi's temper is turned rotten and Oikawa has to make a promise as thoughtlessly as a businessman has to write a check.

He was six years old, for God's sake, and Iwaizumi was, too; they were supposed to remember things like the inedible rock-looking objects they'd put into their mouths regardless or the insects they'd try to give names to, and keep in cups to look at until they learn nothing interesting is going to happen. He was six years old, for God's sake, he used 'badder' instead of 'worse' had gotten corrected in second grade quite loudly by a teacher just after Oikawa had, just as loudly, argued that "No way! Iwa-chan's badder than me at cards!" and it takes him a while, but he does start using the word. They were kids hardwired to want a good time, no matter what nook or cranny they find themselves in.

Oikawa doesn't know what to make of soulmates, for not even his closest of friends know about it, not even the ones that are years older and heads taller than Oikawa and Iwaizumi are, not even the neighborhood girls who talk about foreign things like stickers and braids. Without anything to define it by, the talk about soulmate withers quickly, gets forgotten for most of Oikawa's childhood, gets lost in a sea of things that will never have light shed on it.

The next event Oikawa can remember in his timeline of broken lines and gaps recklessly replaced, sort of like a constellation but without the intricate prettiness, is in a year he can't put a name to, but it's when he first picks up a volleyball, rough and strange in his hands, tilting his heads with the weight of the questions he can't wait to ask Iwaizumi, so unaware.

(Oikawa doesn't know how much of his years are going to be consumed by the sport until he picks up another volleyball a second time that week, and then a third.)

Nineteen years later, Oikawa wishes he could be as careless as he was in his childhood, could wake up at not paralyze his brain cells with worry, could play with Iwaizumi for as long as the sun blazes. Nowadays, he feels like he's made of more parts preservatives and ramen than he is circulated oxygen and capillaries.

Oikawa's thankful for the busy life, because he forgets all the things he doesn't want to think about, like soulmates- especially soulmates. Oikawa knows better than to fuss about unimportant things, like the words that define something of a person's dreams is unimportant (which, to Oikawa, is, or so he likes to convince himself.) Two out of five of his friends (and that's a simplified fraction, because Oikawa has far too many contacts than he knows what to do with besides group projects and contrived smiley faces and besides the people that really mattered were at the top, labelled with witty sarcasm,) have already fled with their soulmates, e.g: Matsukawa and Hanamaki, and the notorious two were even happier turning Oikawa's daily life into a bittersweet species of eternal torment.

(Oikawa realizes then that's he's the kind of fellow that didn't ask for the words to flow on his wrist that one summer afternoon.)

It's not exactly a trouble to wake up with it, though some days he feels stupid when he's got a literal joke on his wrist and the person beside him has something polite and adorable like: "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to!" or "Isn't that a little bit too much coffee?" or "This your seat? Oh, you too, buddy?"; Oikawa's forever favorite is Iwaizumi's, a funny little thing about sardines that he laughs at just thinking about, definitely in a sad attempt to nurse his own feelings back to a sense of stability.

If he could put a name to the feeling, it was something like a cursed black sheep (he's proud that he stills remember that English idiom from once upon a school day in third grade,) among a pictureesque meadow of cloud-like whites that sing baa-baa, meh-meh, or was that a goat?

Oikawa can still remember, clear as ink, when Iwaizumi was old enough to understand how the less happy parts of the world worked, he had laughed long and loud enough Oikawa's face turned a pretty red and he'd spent the rest of the day pulling his sleeves as far as they would go. Iwaizumi, however, thoroughly wore himself out cackling at the oddity on the wrist of an oddity itself; Iwaizumi's face had kept the color of red pepper a little longer, and the breaths he took were more remnants of laughter unreleased than sips of oxygen.

Oikawa's distracted from his reminiscing, blessedly, for the pit of shame was a treacherous one, by the ringtone he'd chosen from his ultimate days in Aoba Johsai, caught surprised by Makki's contact photo: a picture he'd taken a fair summer day, with sunglasses ridden on the top of his head and his beverage spilling gloriously on his shirt for everyone to laugh at.

(Makki had asked Oikawa to take a picture of his OOTD, because Mattsun would always laugh and it would make Makki laugh, the picture losing the essence of its solemn moment. And Iwaizumi's fingers, unlike the rest of his body, were shaky and trembled for no reason at all, like when he'd brought over the iced drinks or when he'd held a camera phone for the first time. A fly had buzzed a language into Makki's ear, startling him and his drink, sloshing out of the cup and onto his shirt. Oikawa took the picture anyways. When Makki, quite flustered, asked him to delete it, Oikawa sneers and sticks his tongue out; Makki's tissue, thin as Iwaizumi's patience with Oikawa, does some sticking of its own: onto his shirt, a cause for more of the group's laughter.)

Oikawa views the new message involuntarily. Any distraction was as valuable as gold to him. He'd books to read and ink to waste and more than enough nighttime to regret it all.

hanatikimook1 sent a photo

hanatikimook1: look at us free and not doing any last minute school work because we know how to do shit on time oikawa t-hoe-ru: ffs oikawa t-hoe-ru: i have better things to do than look at you and mattsun making bad kissy faces oikawa t-hoe-ru: btw oikawa t-hoe-ru: i make better kissy faces (◕ε ◕｡ )

oikawa t-hoe-ru sent a photo

hanatikimook1: hahahahaha in what universe? oikawa t-hoe-ru: this one

Oikawa sets his phone down where he vaguely remembers putting it the last time, ignoring it when it hums another few times. He focuses on the unfinished things in front of him for a record-breaking two minutes without any stretched, exasperated groans. Oikawa had made the mistake of resisting a cup of coffee that makes his fingers feel like he's pulling some beast out of Hell, but it did good to feed him the illusion of wakefulness, without it, he feels as disoriented as a newborn calf and he's surprised his handwriting hasn't crossed each other yet in an underwhelming explosion.

Oikawa's phone makes another noise, and what the hell, he hasn't even continued his work yet, but he picks it up anyway for another bite of the distraction. He sees his reflection in the screen unlit, all tired and heavy with the unfulfilled urge to yawn and all wrapped up in bags (no, not the ones decorating the underside of his eyes,) ready to be thrown away the next morning. Oikawa had another personality in the campus, a whim to be set apart from the zombie-made college students that donned clothes as dark as their moods.

Oikawa blinks, feels more awake at the sudden self-awareness and he turns on his phone again hoping that the feeling is more long-lasting than until he finishes reading Makki's ridiculous text messages.

Oikawa's work, an essay fueled by a total of two hours, on and off, of sighs, self-indulgent breaks and invisible tears sits to collect Oikawa's neglect. Oikawa knows it's a bad thing to leave it for his phone, and the Oikawa Tooru several minutes more regretful in the future is going to feel it settle into him like a disease.

(With all these late nights made early mornings and just as many lectures on proper health from friends, family, Iwaizumi and a starving lack of opportunities to actually put the plan into motion, Oikawa thinks something's bound to happen to one of the organs he's got in him. He would have Googled it if the voice of reason in his head reminded him of the essay he'd covered with purposeful ignorance, so he texts Makki a quick "srsly i have to finish this shit" and he receives a "sure lmao sux to be u" that Oikawa rolls his eyes at.)

(He spots the words on his wrist again, grunts, and it makes him roll his eyes, too.)

Oikawa groans another groan, but it doesn't change his circumstances. He would have liked to spin in his chair if he was not so weak as to get dizzy after the first one, or do something, anything, that felt freeing if he was not shelled up in the darkness. Oikawa despises the essay the further he constructs it with each odd syllable he can think of. The man-made lights are his only companion, because he's sure even Hanamaki and Matsukawa have already tangled themselves in appendages and giggled and poked noses until they fell asleep for this was the ungodliest of hours. Oikawa yawns again, feeling complacent when it takes him more than a few flicks of the touchpad to scroll to the top of the document, where the bold text feel like screams at Oikawa's eyes.

It takes all Oikawa has to skim through what he's made, relying far too heavily on the spellcheck he knew the laptop had. He decides that it's enough, reassures himself that little bit more that nobody really gives a shit anymore, that even the smartest one in class (and Oikawa, resigned to the bitter spot of second place,) probably sat in front of a screen as begrudgingly as he did, probably groaned into the closed windows as much.

Oikawa sighs as he gets up, Alright, he tells himself, with this much cleared away I should treat myself.

And that was how he tried his best to keep the door as quiet as possible as he sneaked out into the protesting night gusts and slow, chilly, anticipating, he makes his way to the convenience store, frequented enough that one of the cashiers that worked a ten hour shift had become fast, good friends with Oikawa. Obviously, he wasn't there when Oikawa enters the convenience store- the cashier was probably somewhere, happily sleeping, and Oikawa was scornfully kept awake by the pressures of the older society.

The cashier working there doesn't greet him, good, because Oikawa doesn't want to greet him either.

The cashier looks like he's seen better nights of sleep, and as Oikawa, probably the only customer-and-meathead stupid enough not to tuck (or be tucked,) into sheets at this hour passes past the cashier that chooses to remain in silence, they both swear a voiceless oath to the night, and all its terrible beauties.

Oikawa gives the man in the refrigerator's glass door his best zombie look (that's his reflection, by the way, for all yous just as without sleep as our dear Oikawa Tooru is,) wicked enough to make blood curdle, turn milk sour, and make babies cry.

The temperature of the refrigerator's insides make him lose the feeling in his fingers, and the cheese slices he began craving out of nowhere are far away enough he has to tiptoe despite the six-feet-and-something he's put between himself and the soap-white tiles of the floor.

The dairy products section of the local outlet of college students' everything-you're-ever going-to-need, or so one of Oikawa's friends liked to call it (a guy that knew how to make just about anybody laugh, and distinctive hair the color of a yellow flower Oikawa can't name for lack of sharpness of his thinking,) was not a fraction of the quaint store that Oikawa visited a lot, only when he was hosting a friend that liked to milk in their coffee, or cheese on their toast. Oikawa's territory was the section with all the kinds of instant ramen, ranging from extra spicy to seafood that smelled exactly like seafood.

This foreign land, marked by a sign with light blues and whites and a beaming cow with a bell around its neck, introduced itself coldly; Oikawa wishes he were examining the racks of instant ramen instead, secure and organized, his lifeblood, practically; wishes he entered the store sometime other than the first hours of post-midnight, like perhaps the embracing warmth of the endings of an afternoon. Here is all pale colors and brand names Oikawa puzzles himself trying to wonder how they'd come to conceptualization (the ramen packets had unusual names, too, but bias was a force just as powerful as the sorts like centripetal works and inertia.)

Oikawa takes his cheese slices and doesn't stay for longer than he has to. The refrigerator resumes its closed position with a last condensed breath.

Kuroo has no more reason being outside than that Kenma had wanted something unhealthy to eat, and Kuroo, out of kindness, and because he'd already been rudely awoken anyway, volunteers to buy it for him.

Kuroo leaves behind his sleeping clothes for something more decent, although there was nobody around to critique him, and he enters the store with a handful more of sleep than our Oikawa Tooru, stricken open-mouthed by a yawn.

Kuroo, by the purest of coincidence or the decisions of a god made ages ago finally falling into rightness, walks past where Oikawa has a hand buried deep in a coldness Kuroo's already shivering from just imagining. He buries his own hands deeper into whatever he can bury them into, coddling the coat he's glad he's put on. He's got earbuds on, a gift from Bokuto when their friendship was still a new, shy thing.

The song flooding his senses into a state that makes him feel that least bit more alive was what kept Kuroo from counting his footsteps and tipping over afterwards.

He passes Oikawa without even a first glance, unimpressed by his backside, and to a superficial eye, the god's structure of a plan would have crumbled into ridicule. But look on some more.

"Stupid hoes is my enemy, stupid hoes is so whack. Stupid hoe shoulda befriended me, then she coulda probably came back."

Oikawa, he. He had no words. Just all the profanities he'd taken under his wing all molten and acidic and clawing to escape from his mouth. His mouth opened and closed, so cross his head would have burst in red color and empty steam if it were a cartoon, and the offender, in a big coat and a carefree gait, continued to walk past.

Those were the exact words on Oikawa's wrist, the same kind that ravaged him, annoyed him, and they seemed to glow in sick joy. All Oikawa has in his left hand is the packet of cheese slices with liquefying frost, and in his right is a fist.

He doesn't know why, but he throws the cheese slices at the passerby, hits him right in the back of overgrown horrors he called hair.

The cheese slices make a pathetic thunk on the tiled floor and are nearly stepped on as the stranger turns around with an offended face.

"What the fuck?" he asks, in a voice so eloquent (charming, even, if Oikawa's mind wasn't on imaginary caffeine and painfully real willpower,) despite the accent of early morning tiredness.

"Don't 'what the fuck' me, you're the one with the hideous taste in music!"

The stranger pauses, or maybe it's a malfunction in time, and his eyes go wide as if Oikawa's just split his head on the display case standing next to them.

"It's you!"

Oikawa flicks his hair. "Oikawa Tooru, at your service."

There was no handshake, no kind greeting. Just silence as the two regarded each other differently. The stranger's eyes were the kind of gold he could get addicted to, injure himself on a jagged stone for.

(No, not stranger, Oikawa corrects himself, but soulmate.)

"Wanna go somewhere? Get to know each other more, develop something stupid and typical and a little bit too far into the wild side?"

"Well, since you asked, Tetsu-chan, take me to the Tokyo tower?"

Oikawa tells Iwaizumi all about the story of how he finally met his soulmate, of course he has to tell Iwaizumi. Oikawa tells Iwaizumi everything. At the end of it, Oikawa was expecting a congratulations, maybe lavished with it and a platter of praise, but all Oikawa receives is a deadpan and a "Why the fuck did you throw a pack of cheese slices at the person you're supposed to spend the rest of your life with?"

(After some very deep thought and reflection, Oikawa comes to the realization that, yeah, why the fuck did he throw a pack of cheese slices at the person he was supposed to spend the rest of his life with?)

#oikawararepairweek2k17 #oikawararepairweek2017 #oikawararepairweek #haikyuu!!#haikyuu

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meeedeee · 8 years ago

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Final Fantasy FXV: Thoughts RSS FEED OF POST WRITTEN BY FOZMEADOWS

When I first heard that FFXV was going to break with franchise tradition by having an all-male central team, I was more than a little surprised. Final Fantasy has always been distinguished as much by its memorable – and central – female characters as by any other element; which is why, somewhat paradoxically, I never felt particularly angry about the switch, either. As a whole, video games are still male-dominated in a way that frequently sets my teeth on edge, but Final Fantasy has a strong line of credit with me: whatever my thoughts on the state of gaming as an industry – and while criticism of Square Enix’s decision in this context is nonetheless valid – I felt I could still attempt the game itself.

Thus far, at roughly eight hours in – which is, I’m aware, not very far at all – I’m enjoying myself immensely, though possibly not in a way that was intended. And in order to satisfactorily explain why that is, I first need to say a little about my history with the franchise.

The first Final Fantasy I ever played was VIII, which always made me something of an oddity among my friends: unlike everyone who started the series at VII or earlier, I had no established sense of how the combat system ought to work, and so took the VIII model, which was a widely-hated departure from canon, as my yardstick for the series. This meant I was not only frustrated by the traditional setup used in VII and IX, but irritated by the more cartoonish character designs. Which isn’t to say that I disliked either game, exactly: just that they were always less beloved to me than VIII and, later on, X and XII, whose advanced graphics and combat systems more closely resembled what VIII had been trying – with, admittedly, more ambition than success – to achieve.

Even now, XII remains my favourite Final Fantasy. The writing and voice acting were both incredible, and even though Vaan, rather than Ashe, was the POV character, I loved the departure from canon that made him a non-romantic participant in her narrative. By contrast, XIII was a clusterfuck, so much so that I quickly set it aside as unplayable: the writing was naff, the voice acting melodramatic (with the single exception of Sazh), the premise confused and the combat frustratingly garbled. I couldn’t understand how the best aspects of XII had been so thoroughly disregarded, and as such, I never bothered with the sequel, which makes XV the first new Final Fantasy I’ve played since 2010.

Aesthetically, then, XV is paying a great deal of homage to my favourite games in the series – VIII and XII – which predisposes me to love it. The opening premise of an invading empire and a missing heir to the throne is evocative of both Galbadia and Archadia, with Noctis’s early quest to recover lost weapons from ancient tombs running a close parallel to Ashe’s quest in XII. The fact that Noctis, Prompto, Ignis and Gladio spend the game driving around in a sports car might seem ridiculous on the surface, especially if you’ve got a preference for the airships of VII, IX and XII, but only if you’ve forgotten the convertibles and jeeps of VIII, where driving on the worldmap was also a feature, and where fancy cars were a staple of the more dramatic cutscenes.

In fact, there’s always been something of a roadtrip vibe to a lot of the Final Fantasy games, and not only in terms of the main party journeying thither and yon across multiple fictional worlds. The many flashbacks to Lord Braska’s pilgrimage in X show him broing it up with Auron and Jecht (to whom Gladio bears more than a superficial physical and vocal resemblance), while their decision to sphere-capture their adventures is a clear forerunner to Prompto’s photography. VIII didn’t lack for female characters, but the initial SEED test features a grumpily all-male party, with Squall, Zell and Seifer forced into a temporary alliance. Squall and Zell were always something of an odd pair, but delightfully so, and their dynamic has been revived – and, I’d argue, improved – in the byplay between Noctis and Prompto. Likewise, Ignis’s dry drawl and dryer expression are more than a little reminiscent of Balthier, though his dutiful priorities make him a closer equivalent to Auron and Basch.

In other words, the four protagonists of XV are themselves a homage to the male relationships of previous Final Fantasy games, and quite clearly so. Together, they interact much as you’d expect of a quartet of twentysomething men, joking and snarking at each other in equal measure. The writing and voice acting aren’t as good as XII, but they’re nowhere near the abysmal mess of XIII. I’d peg them as being on par with X: naff at times, but somehow endearingly so, and overall engaging. Granted, the background plot is complex – it helps to have watched the prequel movie, Kingsglaive, and there’s also an accompanying anime series – but part of what makes the quartet watchable is how clearly established their friendship is: we’re getting to know the characters by how they know each other.

As far as the gameplay and levelling systems go, I’ve got no complaints thus far. Even without being able to run through the full tutorial for fighting – my version kept glitching when it came to learning how to warp – I’ve still found it intuitive to use. It’s a dissimilar combat system to most FF games, in that it’s not turn-based, but neither is it as blindingly fast-paced or poorly-designed as the system used in XIII, and the ability to warp to targets makes for some engaging tactical options. It helps that I’ve just come off a huge Dragon Age: Inquisition jag: my preferred approach to combat in both games can best be described as “running in headfirst with a large sword and hitting things until they fall down,” with magic and projectile weapons left on auto until or unless I’m specifically forced to use them. Players who favour different tactics might have more complaints to level here, but for my purposes, it works just fine.

But what I’m really loving about XV is the extent to which – I assume unintentionally – it’s both hilarious and heavily queercoded.

I’ll deal with the latter first, because it’s arguably the more contentious point. Let me be clear: I’m not for one second giving Square Enix props for deliberately creating queer representation here, because I don’t think for a second that it’s what they actually meant to do – or at least, if they’re trying to muddle vaguely in that direction, then they haven’t had the guts to confirm it. Culturally, the lines we draw been homosocial and homosexual behaviour tend to be as historically arbitrary as they are fiercely policed, with any overlap subject to argument on both sides. But cultural differences is, I suspect, a large part of why XV reads the way it does: the game is originally Japanese, and in trying to cater to both Japanese and Western masculine ideals, Square Enix has wandered into what plays as a rather spectacularly queer compromise.

First and most obviously, there’s the wardrobe issue. Clearly, the all-black leather aesthetic is meant to look Manly and Cool and Deeply Heterosexual In A Traditionally Masculine Way, and if the designs were simple, functional and militaristic, then that would probably work, even given the youth and beauty of the characters (more of which shortly). But Final Fantasy, like a great many Japanese properties, is famous for its distinctive clothing designs, which means the characters look less like soldiers and more like scene kids en route to a metal concert. Specifically: Noctis and Prompto look like they shop at Hot Topic, Ignis is wearing Cuban heeled boots, driving gloves and seme glasses (seriously) and Gladio consistently looks like he’s posing for a Grindr photo. Like. I’m aware that he’s meant to be the most hypermasculine straight male self-identification fantasy of the four, what with the scar and the tattoos and the devastatingly Japanese mullet, but generally speaking, ripped guys in open leather shirts and tight leather pants are more visually reminiscent of Mardi Gras than the military. I’m just saying.

The fact that you can customise their outfits (to a degree), and that picking a new wardrobe changes their stats, isn’t a new development: in fact, it’s something the franchise first introduced with dress spheres in the all-female X-2, which makes its presence in the all-male XV a subtly pleasing symmetry. And yet it runs up against a standard of masculine gaming: changing your armour is one thing, because armour is Manly, but changing your clothes – which, stat bonuses or not, is what we’re functionally talking about – is something else entirely. It’s a truly strange demarcation, because there are plenty of instances where video game characters change outfits of their own accord, in cutscenes or for plot-specific purposes, or where the change represents a specific, all-over upgrade. But the option to alter the appearance of male characters for largely aesthetic reasons – to change how they look to you, the player, in clothes that are recognisably modern and fashionable – is not, I suspect, a common feature of games aimed at heterosexual men, nor is the in-game implication of the characters toting around a bunch of fancy matching outfits a particularly straight-coded thing.

And, okay. Even though we queer folk often telegraph our identities through fashion, there’s a degree of reductive stereotype inherent in judging sexuality on the basis of clothing choice, and if that were the only issue here, I wouldn’t have brought it up. (Except, of course, to point out the truly delightful ridiculousness of watching four goth boys run around the countryside in full club gear, often while complaining about the temperature. It’s like they’re headed for Glastonbury with monsters.) But the queercoding of XV is a package deal: it’s not just the clothes, but the clothes in combination with the characters themselves, the dialogue they’re given, and the way the four of them occupy the game.

Specifically: Final Fantasy is a gaming franchise that’s well aware, historically speaking, of its very large female fanbase. Even though the majority of the games have male protagonists, they’ve traditionally been designed for a straight female gaze – and more, I would argue, a teenage female gaze, given that the characters are usually in their teens or very early twenties – in line with aesthetics more Japanese than Western. Former heroes like Cloud, Squall, Zidane, Tidus and Vaan might be formidable warriors in-game, but they’re never beefed up: they’re overwhelmingly built lean, with much longer, more stylised hair than you typically see on masculine Western characters. They wear jewellery – often visible in their base character designs, and not just as a hidden accessory slot – and offhand, aside from various weird lines around Cloud crossdressing in VII, I can’t think of any real instances of sexism or misogyny from those characters that aren’t actively shut down. In fact, the number of female characters in the earlier games ensures that, in addition to any love interests, the leading men also have platonic female friends – something that’s still damnably unusual in most forms of media, let alone in video games.

All of which, thus far, holds true in XV, too: Princess Lunafreya, Noctis’s intended bride, is his childhood friend, as is Gladio’s sister, Iris. When the game begins, Noctis and his friends are travelling to meet Lunafreya before their (politically arranged) wedding; when everything goes awry because betrayal and empire, they’re forced to regroup and end up hanging out with Iris, who has escaped to the city of Lesallum. That’s where I’m up to so far, and what immediately stands out to me, as someone who spent a not inconsiderable portion of their adolescence and early twenties hanging around single straight guys, is the fact that the quartet barely ever talk about women at all. And the thing is, I can see why it’s been done! Final Fantasy has a heavy female fanbase, and in any case, they’re not the sort of games where the male soldiers sit around reminiscing about sexual conquests. But contextually, because of the way the game is presented – four friends driving and talking shit in real time, mocking each other, while initially on the way to see one of them married – the lack of talk about sex or romance of any kind is jarring.

Which isn’t to say the subject of women never comes up at all; it’s just that, when it does, the overwhelming impression is of dialogue written with a female audience in mind, but without any awareness of the queercoding implications of its delivery by these particular male characters. This means, for instance, that there’s a scene where the boys find a magazine article about Lunafreya’s wedding dress, and all of them start cooing about how beautiful it will be; Ignis notes that the dress is bespoke, designed by Vivienne Westwood, and Prompto starts enthusing about how pretty Lunafreya will look in it. In Hammerhead, the buxom mechanic Cindy, whose character design is clearly meant to please the straight male players, is someone who, in real life, you’d expect a bunch of straight boys on an ostensible stag trip to talk about. Except that they never do; and instead, the one time there’s a reference made to Gladio “chatting someone up,” it turns out to be a grumpily endearing scientist who wants you to go catch some frogs as penance for interrupting her research.

And then there’s Noctis taking a tour of Lestallum with Iris. Throughout this mini-quest, you’re given a set of binary conversational options to either encourage Iris in her enthusiasm for the town, or to disapprove. Then, at the end, she coyly suggests that being on the tour was almost like a date – an assertion you can either play off lightly, or outright deny: pointedly, there is no option to agree. If you deny, she laughs and says “you could at least play along for once,” suggesting that Iris knows Noctis isn’t interested in her and is willing to tease him about it – an odd thing to include, if you don’t want the audience to wonder about his preferences.

A little earlier in the game, Prompto asks Noctis what he ought to take more photos of: apart from declining, the only options are “me” (meaning Noctis), Ignis or Gladio. Again, there’s a gameworld logic to this – the photos are ultimately viewed by the player, who gets to pick which character they want to record the most – but in terms of the impact in setting, this is not an outstandingly heterosexual moment. Very possibly, there exists a group of straight bros whose designated photographer is happy asking, “Hey bro, which of our friends do you want to see more in pictures?” in an established No Homo way, and if so, more power to them. But if you want to find a context where that sort of exchange is an everyday thing, then look no further than the queer regions of Instagram. (Plus, it’s kind of conspicuous how often Prompto, when assessing the day’s photos, comments on how good Gladio the Perpetually Shirtless looks.)

And then there’s the occasional quirks of dialogue and voice acting: choices that, again, would be minor on their own, but which collectively become suggestive of something specific. Early on, Cor sends Gladio, Prompto and Ignis to make a distraction at a military blockade while he and Noctis sneak inside: the gambit is successful, and when the group reunites afterwards, Gladio says cheerfully, “The Niffs couldn’t keep their eyes off us!”. To which Ignis quips, in reference to Noctis and Cor’s arrival, “You spared us their attentions.” Offhand, I can think of about a dozen different ways to word that exchange that don’t remotely brush up against innuendo, and which are far more colloquially and contextually apt besides. The eyes/attentions combo is the kind of thing you’d expect a pair of femme fatales to say after seducing the guards and knocking them out in an action movie. (The fact that we don’t actually witness the initial distraction only adds to its ambiguity.) And yet, this is what they’ve gone with.

Other examples are smaller, but they all add up. Whenever you find new ingredients for Ignis to cook with, he stops to announce, with particular vocal flamboyance, that he’s just thought up a new recipe (exclamation mark!), and whips out a notebook to jot it down. (“I’ll taste test for ya,” Gladio says, in a playfully growling tone that always seems to have one eye on the bedroom.) And then there’s Prompto, who I’m inclined to think of as a confused bisexual puppy, whose voice turns dreamily fanboyish when discussing Cor’s exploits, and who gets just as excited on receiving Cor’s praise as he does at the prospect of seeing Lunafreya in her pretty wedding dress.

Put this all together, then, and what you have are a bunch of young men who are, by Western standards, more pretty than handsome, dressed in fashionable clothes and accessories that are more evocative of queer or queer-friendly subcultures than not, and who care enough about their appearance to have multiple outfits on hand at any given time. (You can, if you’re willing to sacrifice an accessory slot to aesthetics, buy hair gel for them to use.) These men are knowledgeable about fashion, have a platonic concern for the women they encounter, are constantly photographing one another for each other, have zero comments to make about the stupidly hot female mechanic unless they’re praising her competence, and whose idea of “chatting someone up” apparently means “talking to the grumpy frog lady about the local wildlife population”. This isn’t me leaping to conclusions, here: in the immortal words of Buffy Summers, I took a tiny step and there conclusions were.

All of which is a way of saying that, thus far, I’m delighted with Final Fantasy XV, though not in the ways I’d expected. The characters and setting are a homage to my favourite games in the series, and while I worried the absence of female characters would grate on me, our quartet of bumbling chocobros is stupidly endearing. At this point, Noctis is functionally useless as a prince: even when he’s recognised, the local yokels have no qualms about asking him to take their deliveries or run their errands, and while random sidequests are an RPG staple, they’re usually somewhat tailored to the protagonist’s perceived status. In FFXV, everything is rendered hilarious by the fact that Noctis is a prince, and is seen as a prince, and is still being asked to catch frogs in a swamp and grab shit from some random marketeer’s broken van.

(He’s also gloriously introverted: in dealing with people, his responses usually vary from monosyllabic to resigned disinterest, but when you come across a stray cat in need of feeding – a tiny sidequest that’s a deliberate throwback to Squall doing likewise in VIII – he talks to it at greater length and with more enthusiasm than he otherwise displays with anyone.)

As far as I’m concerned, FFXV is a magic road trip with a bunch of queer boys who have their wardrobes together, but not their shit. I can identify. And so, I suspect, can everyone else who’s fallen into the trashpile of this visually beautiful, thematically mishmash game. I honestly don’t care about the random anachronisms, like the fact that they’re carrying smartphones and fighting magic robots, but still using paper maps and newspapers, to say nothing of using a fucking dog as a messenger for vital correspondence through a warzone – or rather, I do care, but only because the clear discontinuity of it somehow plays as a feature instead of a bug. The entire thing ought to be ridiculous, and it kind of is, but pleasingly so, like a cat in a Halloween costume. The characters don’t take each other seriously, which frees the player up to do likewise – to laugh with them, rather than at them. And frankly, I’ll take that over XIII’s self-important melodrama any day of the week.

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