#he would go to her concerts and sit at the back with the pretentious middle aged guys and think no one understands her like him

[raspberryjellybrains]

RIP Morpheus you would've loved Mitski

[mrs-nate-humphrey]

how do u think a dair + serenessa double date would go? 👀

i tried my best, but tbh i think it’d be chaotic because i feel like the kind of things serena and vanessa would do on dates vs the kind of things dan and blair would do on dates would be wildly different! so if any of these options feel ooc that’s probably why. this was a fun ask though! and i came up with 5 potential double dates so hopefully at least ONE feels correct....

under the cut, because it got long (of course it did) 

pre-date, dan & vanessa get ready together, and blair & serena get ready together. i think blair would do fishtail braids for serena or something, and serena would give blair input on what to wear, zip her dress. they'd fix each other's make-up. dan and vanessa would be doing the same thing! vanessa fixes dan's tie (she's had practice with nate's ties after discreet make-out sessions at his WASPy relatives' place, she knows how to fix a tie) and smooths down his suit. dan probably does something elaborate or fancy or pretty with her hair, braiding ribbons in or something (he grew up with jenny, he knows how to help a girl look fancy for a special occasion).

option 1:

they'd meet at a neutral location, like a park or something, and vanessa and serena would walk around slightly ahead of dan and blair, arms looped together, talking excitedly about something that dan and blair exchange puzzled looks at. dan and blair would walk around too, more leisurely, not really saying much but just enjoying each other's company? or maybe the would talk a lot because, well, they're dan and blair. eventually, blair reaches out for dan's hand and holds it and dan turns a fascinating shade of pink

they're in the park for an hour, until they either get bored or get kicked out for hanging out in the kids area because they're making the children wait lkhfdlkfgklgf. i think vanessa and serena would spend a lot of time on the merry go round while dan and blair stare at them with disappointed horrified wonder, like "how are they going so fast and not throwing up?" / "i don't know" . dan and blair would just sit on swings and not swing LKFHLKDGH.

after this, they do dinner at a posh restaurant, blair's choice. 

option 2:

art gallery date!

dan and blair are being their lovely pretentious selves, going deep into symbolism and historical context and interpretation of paintings using different frameworks and like - vanessa knows enough to join them in the debate, but like....

serena is right there staring at various pictures and saying things like "this shade of green is so calming and soothing, makes me think of peppermint" or "if i could only see one colour for the rest of my life, it'd be this violet" or "this blue feels so melancholic" and vanessa finds herself so so so curious about what serena means, and she really wants to know what her girlfriend means, so she loops an arm around serena's waist and asks all the right questions (she's not trying to ask the right questions, she genuinely wants to know), all "what do you mean by that" or "why do you think that is" or "melancholic how? could you give me another example?"

serena is touched that vanessa actually wants to hear her interpretations as opposed to being academic or whatever

meanwhile dan and blair are two seconds away from yelling or frothing at the mouth. they are looking at a picture of sisyphus and arguing about what it means.

"do we do something about that?" serena asks. "nah, they're flirting," vanessa says.

db disappear for a hot minute, and when they return, blair's lipstick smudged on dan's face, serena and vanessa do a GREAT JOB at keeping their expressions neutral

option 3:

beach date! blair hates it because of all the sand but then dan piggybacks her everywhere and she's too busy having fun to really think about the sand. until dan runs right into the waves and she's shrieking, and she's like, humphrey do you know how much these clothes cost, and he thinks she's going to cry or something, and she knows he thinks that, because the next thing he knows, she's pushing him back into the water and he's spluttering because he actually dressed up for once (yes, he dressed up for the beach, his fancy ass girlfriend is totally rubbing off on him)

serena and vanessa just look at them like why are our friends like this

serena gets a surfboard and vanessa watches her and cheers

dan and blair are both just lying on a picnic blanket (vanessa's picnic blanket, now covered in seawater, thank you very much) and laughing so hard that vanessa goes, 'hey, are you both sober? did you show up here drunk?' and that just sets them off again

option 4:

open mic! blair bullies dan into performing a poem, and he goes, i know you write too, waldorf, so you’ve got to do something as well, and she does!! she’s never really thought of herself as a writer before but at that minute, she does. 

vanessa gives serena a poem she’s written on the back of a receipt from some coffee shop, and serena goes and performs it, and dan and blair are both like, why didn’t you perform your own poem? and vanessa’s like, i wrote it for serena to perform. it’s a poem meant for serena in every possible way 

they want to tease her for being a sap but they unfortunately have no ground to do so 

after this they go to some nice, fun, extremely casual eatery in brooklyn and blair complains loudly and at every possible opportunity but once they’re actually there, she’s all smiles. she steals the salad off dan’s plate

serena talks to vanessa later, about ‘did you give me a poem to ensure i wouldn’t feel left out?’ and vanessa goes ‘no i gave you a poem because i wanted to. because i can’t stop writing poems about you and you mean so much to me’ 

option 5: 

vanessa takes all of them to a lesbian concert

blair’s initially awkward about it like ‘i don’t want people to think im a lesbian!’ and dan is like “you can just kiss me in that case” and vanessa is like, “funny, nate never complained about that”

later, blair talks to dan about how the real reason she’s iffy about this concert is her hugeass crush on serena from when they were kids, and she’s over it, but sometimes she remembers it and it always hurts

and dan, to her surprise, gives her a hug and tells her about the hugeass crush he had on vanessa, and how she took him to these concerts all the time before she left and he kept wondering what it meant, because it always felt like a date, their bodies always smushed close together because of the way the crowd would be, and he tells her that it hurt, but he wants to go to a concert with blair, to make new memories or whatev

blair is like ‘nothing about this experience sounds appealing’

dan is like, ‘give it a try before you judge it’ 

and blair does and she hates the crowd as expected so she and dan sit outside together and she feels mildly awful about making him miss the concert, but they’re near one of the doors and they can still hear the music and blair thinks the band isn’t half bad and she tells him that, and dan laughs, like, ‘see? i knew you’d like them’ and blair gives him an incredulous look and kisses him 

and keeps kissing him

serena and vanessa come out of the venue laughing, faces pink and flushed, and they look at dan and blair, who are standing there and smiling and looking sort of quiet and at peace and happy despite leaving in the middle

vanessa checks on blair, and blair smiles at her and says it’s all good, and v believes her, because she looks really happy

[ziggilbert]

[DYLAN O’BRIEN, CISMALE, HE/HIM] WHO’S THAT? OH IT’S [EDWARD “ZIGGY” GILBERT]. I HEAR THEY’RE [21] AND ARE KNOWN AS [THE SHUTTERBUG] AROUND [NEW YORK]. THEY’RE ALSO A [JUNIOR] AT [NYU], HAVE A VOICE LIKE [NEWTON FAULKNER] AND ARE A PART OF [BARTENDER AT CALLBACKS, FREELANCE PHOTOGRAPHER]. THEY’RE KNOWN TO BE [CREATIVE AND UNDERSTANDING] AND [CYNICAL AND PRETENTIOUS]. SOME PEOPLE SAY THEY REMIND THEM OF [LEATHER, THE CLICK OF A CAMERA’S SHUTTER, LIVE MUSIC & THE WAY ICE CLINKS IN A GLASS]. ONLY ONE WAY TO FIND OUT! [BEE, 21, SHE/THEY, GMT]

BASICS

Full Name: Edward Patrick Gilbert

Nickname: Ziggy. Zig. Zigzag.

Birthday: January 22nd

Age: 21

Zodiac Sign: Aquarius

Hometown: Paramus, New Jersey.

Sexuality: Pansexual

Grade: College junior

School: NYU

Occupation: Bartender at callbacks, freelance photographer

LIKES/DISLIKES

Likes: Photography, reading, writing, live music & city skylines.

Dislikes: Orange juice, horror movies, idling, phonecalls & putting in his lenses.

TL;DR BIO

Ziggy (or if you want him to hate you, Edward,) was adopted at the ripe old age of 9 by his father Elliott Gilbert. Their bond is the one thing Ziggy believes is eternal, as of yet. He grew up travelling around the country with his dad, helping backstage, taking photos, and developing a love for music. The little time he spends on the stage himself he prefers to take a backseat with a bass guitar, but he adores the atmosphere of all kinds of concerts. More than that, he loves to take pictures - photography is his passion, and while his dad tries to nudge him towards the spotlight, he’s content to capture the magic from elsewhere.

FULL BIO

Elliott had no plans of having a child when he adopted Ziggy. As a single young man still determined to travel as much as possible and perform, it wasn’t in the picture for him. Ziggy was born and ‘raised’ by a distant high-school friend of Elliott’s, one who didn’t picture herself as a mother either. They weren’t in touch when Ziggy was born. They briefly rekindled their friendship at a party, until Elliott learned she’d left her young child at home alone. Slowly but surely he found himself intervening more and more, trying to encourage his friend to take more responsibility as a parent until things came to a head, and he couldn’t go on without getting CPS involved. His intention was to stick around in New Jersey for a few months to step in as a foster parent while legal issues were sorted through, but when the time came, he couldn’t bear to give the kid up. For a long time, Elliott hardly saw him. He hid, tucked away in his room, refusing to say a word to the strange, kind man who always had a crazy outfit and a song to sing. It was safer in his home though, less eerily quiet. It was rarely blaringly loud, but there was always, always music. At home, in the car, everywhere - it became synonymous with that new, unfamiliar feeling of safety. A few months in, Elliott got his first smile out of Ziggy, and a few words too. He owed that to a stack of David Bowie vinyls and his own unending patience with the boy. To this day, Ziggy swears he knows each and every last word of Bowie’s discography, and in his head it often plays in his dad’s voice. Elliott was his world. He sacrificed many crucial hours of performing to catch him up with homeschooling. They spent just about every moment together, up until Ziggy was finally ready for middle school. He was terrified of the concept, but Elliott had the perfect trick up his sleeve for that - his very first concert.

It was just a typical open mic night, and yet it was a whole lot more. Ziggy had never seen anything like it - Elliott liked to joke that his eyes stayed the same size as his favourite records for weeks after that night. Instantly, he was obsessed. Even through his protective earplugs it was a sound unlike anything he’d ever heard, an electric atmosphere that took every last shred of dullness out of his life. By the time the end of that summer rolled around and Ziggy was due to start at school, he had his very own bass guitar and a little experience of performing with it. Middle school wasn’t a particularly kind place, but Ziggy withdrew to the back of the room in most cases. Kids weren’t nice to each other - the best thing to do was to not interact with them. He kept his head down, got his work done, and came alive on weekend nights. This was when his first camera came into the picture. He was getting a little more independent - Elliott could leave him at home with a sitter on the occasional weeknight and not worry about him being terrified the whole time. He could spend more time working on his career, and so he needed promotional material. On a whim, he asked Ziggy to snap a few pictures for him one weekend, and he loved it. It was the perfect excuse to slip into his own little world. All of a sudden he could take that atmosphere he loved so much and capture a moment of it, one he could keep forever. It was the perfect hobby for him. It escalated from there. Random aesthetic shots of things around the house, or in town, nature, people, buildings - anything he could get away with photographing, he would photograph. Plenty of the shots were garbage, but he started reading up. He studied shot composition and exposure, all sorts of aspects of the art. Suddenly, every Christmas and birthday came with a new lens, or a tripod, or even another camera every now and then - he was obsessed. When high school came around, he was lost behind his lens. He had passing acquaintances with, people he could sit with at lunch every now and then if the need arose, but his life was backstage or on his blog, and they weren’t welcome. He didn’t go to homecoming dances or proms, but he made a killing taking everybody else’s pictures for them - at his senior prom, he was hired by the school itself. His portfolio was sizeable, and his grades were solid. Enough for him to land himself a place at his father’s alma mater, NYU.

College was a fresh start. It was weird, watching his father walk out of his dorm once he was all moved in - but he was ready for something new. He branched out a little; he joined study groups and filled in to play bass for a few bands here and there, but his friendships were largely casual. Dating was very much the same way, but he learned a lot about himself through that. He didn’t like talking about himself much, which shut a lot of relationships down before they even start, but he could hook up with just about anybody and have a good time. It was harder to get photography work in the big apple, but he kept the avenue open, and still gets the occasional event to work at. In the meantime he realised a little extra, more steady income would be helpful, and so he picked up work at Callbacks. Bartending was nice; people came in, spilled their woes either over the bar or through the microphone, and he had fun. He learned a lot, without having to open up much himself, and there was always music. What more could he want?

[recentanimenews]

Those Snow White Notes – 01 (First Impressions) – Challenge Issued

AOTS Alert. Repeat, we have an Early AOTS Alert. Those Snow White Notes is an absolute joy to experience from beginning to end. Its absolute banger of a first episode tells a story of inspiration, loss, loneliness, listlessness, self-worth and self-actualization, jealousy, love, and much more—so much it feels like a little self-contained mini-film.

Oh yeah, did I mention it centers around a shamisen player, so the show’s music is supervised by The Yoshida Brothers, in addition to being directed by the fellow who not only gave us the tone-setting first episode of Rakugo Shinjuu, but both seasons of the excellent Master Teaser Takagi-san, of all things? We’re clearly dealing with some talented folks, so it’s amazing it doesn’t feel nearly as pretentious as it should.

A lot of that has to do with how simply and how efficiently the story is laid out and how easily it is to slide into the lives it follows. We start with Sawamura Setsu and his big brother Wakana listening through a cracked door as their grandfather plays to a transfixed crowd. An aside: I’m probably not alone when I say the sound of a well-played shamisen activates my sense of musical awe in addition to my ASMR, resulting in persistent goosebumps every time I hear it…or even think of it!

That said, as soon as the sweet music is over, the warm scene is replaced by a face-slap of a bitter winter scene, in which the Setsu is leaving home. When his gramps died, his “sound” disappeared too, so he’s going “somewhere loud” in hopes he can get it back. He doesn’t know if Tokyo is that place, but he knows he can’t stay home, saying “there’s nothing here anymore.”

We’re only two minutes in, and we’ve already learned so much while being treated to what is the first but hardly the least shamisen number. (It’s also clear I’m going to end up writing way too many words in this review! If only we had an editor around here…)

SWN’s next efficient-yet-effective character portrait is of Tachiki Yuna, an actress/model who is paying the bills with a hostess club job, having to keep smiling and pretending to be happy to be there even after her agency notifies her that she was passed over for a role. After her shift she’s encouraged by her boyfriend Taketo’s texts, and she considers herself fortunate to “have a man who’s talented.”

Yuna happens to be in the bustling streets of Roppongi when Setsu literally bumps into her after getting temporarily dazed by the sheer brightness of the city lights. The two part ways, but Setsu immediately bumps into some less savory characters who start to beat on him. It’s here we learn that Yuna has a heart of gold, as she comes to the Setsu’s rescue with some karate kicks.

After dreaming about his grandfather essentially telling him to stop playing the shamisen if he dies, Setsu wakes up in girly pajamas in Yuna’s cozy apartment, and she cooks the two of them breakfast. Setsu learns that Yuna is a 22-year-old gravure model. Yuna learns Setsu is a Tsugaru shamisen player, but he can’t play for her because he’s “empty inside”, which just happens to be how she’s been feeling lately.

When Wakana hears from Setsu in a letter, he assumes his little brother just went to Tokyo to get laid. But seeing in Setsu a kind of kindred soul, she proposes he continue living with her and doing the housework until he can get his sound back. Before long, a week passes, the longest he’s ever gone without playing since first picking up a shamisen.

Yuna takes Setsu to a restaurant to meet her great and talented boyfriend Taketo along with his band, and Taketo is revealed to be a preening, self-involved jackass who is far beneath Yuna. Setsu intervenes when he sees Taketo trying to extract some serious cash from Yuna to pay for studio he’s renting. He then tells her he’ll be too busy writing music to hang out later that night.

When Yuna and a bandmate have to hold Taketo back, Setsu peaces out, running through the crush of people and noting just how much noisier Tokyo was than a bumpkin like him could have imagined. He gets caught up on a word his gramps used about his sound—”disgraceful”—not because Setsu sucked at shamisen, but because all he ever did was imitate his gramps.

But right here and now Setsu is mad and wants to express it. He wants to play. So he sits down beside the river and plays. Yuna happens to pass by as he’s starting to play, and while he’d later describe the performance as rough and ugly due to the rust of a mere week, but Yuna and I become entranced.

As someone who can only understand between 1-10% of any given spoken Japanese sentence, the language itself is a kind of music, although I know enough words and phrases to know that it isn’t, so it remains separate from the real thing. But pure music like Setsu’s strumming transcends words as it expresses emotions, ideas, and memories of both player and listener.

In Yuna’s case, she’s transported back to her meeting with her agent, who was trying to get her to audition for racier movies and TV. Rightfully insulted by the insinuation she’s nothing but a pretty face and body, she throws a glass of water in his face, and is warned that she won’t go far if she turns such jobs down.

In the midst of listening to Setsu’s raw and angry performance, Yuna takes comfort in knowing even if her career doesn’t amount to anything, at least she has a good man in Taketo. She stops by the good man’s place to find him with having slept with some other woman, to whom she says “you can have him” and leaves as Setsu’s piece comes to a bitter, final note.

When Setsu comes home, Yuna is still awake, and tells him she heard his music. When she did, she realized they’re not alike at all. Setsu isn’t a “sad person with nothing going” for him like she is, and so she can’t help but feel jealous of him. She says she’ll be going away for a while, and asks him to vacate her apartment while she’s gone.

Another day, Setsu encounters Taketo on the street, who is preparing for a concert with his band. Taketo decides to use Setsu as a hostage, telling Yuna he’ll break his arm if she doesn’t show up. For this shitbaggery, Taketo is promptly punished with a Karma Kick from Yuna, coming to Setsu’s rescue once more.

She apologizes for involving Setsu in her drama, but with the wind kicked out of Taketo, she needs to ask for him to be involved a little bit longer. They need someone to go out there and entertain the crowd until the scumbag recovers. Just like that, Setsu finally gets a stage and a crowd on which to test whether he can get his lost sound back. Three guesses as to whether he manages this.

The ensuing powerhouse of a performance by Setsu calls to mind the best music scenes of Your Lie in April, only in this case the crowd was expecting a rock band, not a Tsugaru shamisen player. As he nervously tells the initially confused crowd, he plays “Jongara Bushi”, and as he does, he recalls in black-and-white memories what his grandfather had to say about the peice.

Gramps described the beginning as passionate and hot-blooded, but it starts to calm, grow progressively sadder and heartrending, weakening and waning. He’s basically describing a life. But, unlike a fiery youth who calms down in middle age and eventually withers and passes away, “Jongara” claws its way back, refusing to be beaten down, issues a challenge with its final furious crescendo.

The crowd watches in dead silence, just as Yuna did, and you can’t help but think of what is flashing through their heads while they listen; while they’re being taken on this roller coaster ride of powerful emotions. Just like April, the stage lights illuminate dust motes to give the simultaneous appearance of snow and magical sparkles. Setsu is casting a spell on everyone in that hall with his sound, and not even Taketo can deny its power.

Not only that, but the performance is being live-streamed on the internet, where even if it doesn’t go viral, it’s being watched from home by someone Setsu is sure to meet at some point; perhaps someone who like him has been around shamisen music enough to know that by their standards his performance was just okay. But I’m with Yuna, Taketo, and rest of the crowd: that was fucking awesome.

Also awesome? Yuna doesn’t take Taketo back. They’re done, and he knows he “lost himself a good woman”, even if Yuna would argue that she’s good at anything. Also, while I’m sad to see her go, Yuna does go on her trip to find her…well, not sound, but I guess to find what it is she can contribute to the world and feel good about it. Modeling and porn were decidedly not those things, but I hope the show won’t lose sight of her journey.

Setsu continues to live in her apartment after she leaves, but Taketo tends to come by a lot, so it’s clear that while he’s an asshole, he and Setsu will probably continue to interact with each other, if not outright befriend each other. While Setsu has the kettle on, he recalls walking Yuna to the train station, gives him a kiss before pushing him away and boarding the train with a final wave goodbye. Assuring him that whatever girl he ends up with “will be very happy”.

Back at her apartment, Taketo says that Setsu seems most alive when he’s playing, but if the shamisen is what gives him life, then sooner or later that world will “drag him in.” Taketo is hitting the nail on the head when their talk is abruptly interrupted by the most ridiculous occurrence in the episode: on the snap of a woman’s fingers, the door to Yuna’s apartment is forced open, a smoke bomb goes off, and two SWAT officers flank a glamorous woman with silver hair, blue eyes, and an April O’Neil jacket.

She’s here for Setsu, whom she calls “Baby-chan”, and Setsu calls her Umeko, but I know from the initial description of the show that this is his mom…who it’s immediately clear is a lot. Looks like however much of his sound Setsu believes he’s found in Tokyo, Umeko will have an unnegotiable say in his life…at least as long as he’s still a kid!

By: sesameacrylic

[strange-destinations]

could you do the fic commentary thing for 'time & twinford' and 'something else that makes this tune complete'? :D

I’m going to do ‘something else’ here, and maybe if I have the mental energy I’ll do ‘time and twinford’ a bit later (since that one’s a long one whoo boy). Is there any particular scene for that fic that you maybe want me to do...? it might be a bit easier that way.

something else that makes this tune complete commentary and rambling under the cut!

It hadn’t even been intentional.They had been sitting around in Irving’s office in the White Rabbit, talkingabout everything and nothing – just two not-so-normal friends on a dangerousplanet spending time together over a not-too-great bottle of wine – and at somepoint, Benny had mentioned old Earth music and Irving had got up to open up oneof the cabinets to reveal the genuine-looking ancient antique record playerthat he had apparently been keeping for this exact moment.

I really, reallylove the idea of them just sitting around some nights and chilling – trying toget to know each other properly, since there’s a lot about each other that theydon’t know yet.

Brax is just pretentious enough to have an ancient record player hidden in his office, just waiting for the right moment to use it. Change my mind.

“Atmosphere,” he explained,picking out a record from a smaller shelf below it, and positioning itcarefully on the device.

Benny leaned back in her chair.“Or maybe you’re just finding an excuse to show off again.”

“Or maybe it’s that, yes,” heallowed, and brought the needle down. The faint static of the turning recordscratched cheerfully for a second or two, and then the sweet strains of jazzpiano echoed through the room, quickly followed by the crooning of a woman’slow, smooth voice.

I love Ella Fitzgerald. Like, a lot. So this is probably just me projecting onto characters (again)but I really feel like she’d be a singer that both Brax and Benny would enjoyand listen to. I toyed briefly with the idea of using the Isley Brothersinstead (because Benny canonically loves them a lot) but ultimately I decidedthat the Isley Brothers was more of a her-and-Seven thing, and that herrelationship with Brax needed to be somewhat removed from anything she sharedwith his brother. If that makes sense?

The song in question is Paper Moon, of course – my favorite version.

“Ah, dear old Ella,” Benny saidfondly, smiling. She took a sip of wine. “You know, the Doctor took me to seeher once?”

And despite what I said in the previous note, the Doctormanages to make an appearance anyway. Damn that guy.

For once, Irving didn’t seemannoyed at the mention of his brother. He just checked the needle on the recordplayer to make sure it was in place, and then came around the desk to sit nextto her again. “As did I. A remarkable woman. 1967, I believe. Her and DukeEllington, live at –”

“– live at Jazz àJuan ,” said Benny, eyebrows raising.

Okay, so my favorite jazz recording of all time is this one – which wasrecorded at the event I reference. I love the song anyway, mainly because it’sa wonderfully catchy jazz standard that isn’tabout love for once, but – this recording in particular? It’s so good, guys. It’s just pure,unadulterated joy and wonderfullyskilful improv, and Ella and Duke areclearly having so much fun doing it – you can hear them laughing and occasionallymissing notes and all the rest, and that somehow makes it so much better. I can’timagine what it would have been like to witness live.

There was silence for a second,broken only by the sound of Ella Fitzgerald’s sweet, clear voice.

“You were there?” Irving asked,genuinely surprised by this revelation.

“We must have both been,” Bennysaid. “Huh – that must have been before I even knew you existed. Smalluniverse.”

“Indeed.” Irving leaned on onearm of the chair. “I’m sorry I missed you, then.”

Someday I will write the fic of them accidentally bumping intoeach other in the dark at a jazz concert, and having a delightful littleconversation then that neither of them remember later for various reasons. Thisday is not today, or probably anytime soon. And even if that didn’t happen – I reallyjust like the idea of them both being at the same concert without realizing? It’sa nice sort of symmetry.

“It would’ve been a different sortof first meeting,” Benny agreed. They listened to the music in comfortablesilence for a while, and then she placed the glass on the desk, and stood,extending a hand to her friend. “C’mon.”

Benny is slightly drunk. Justkind of tipsy. She wouldn’t be suggesting this otherwise.

He looked up at her, unimpressed.“Bernice –”

“I can’t dance alone.” Shewiggled her fingers in his direction. “You put on the music. You should’ve seenthis coming.”

Reluctantly, he stood, settinghis drink aside. “I suppose I must have.”

Benny took his arm, and he loopedhis fingers around her other hand, and together they fumbled their way into aslow, clumsy pseudo-swing in which she stepped on his feet twice before finallygetting the hang of it. It wasn’t anything very complicated, but it felt right.

I – aaaaah I wantto comment on this, but I really can’t think of anything to say.

“Have we danced before?” Irvingasked, maybe sensing the familiarity about the way she was holding herself.

“With you? No,” Benny said,although she knew that wasn’t really what he was asking. He frowned slightly ather, a faint downwards curl of the lips, and she sighed and relented, steppingsideways to avoid colliding with a chair. “Once or twice. Mainly at some ofyour – at some of his parties. Never for very long,” sheadded, thoughtfully. “I’m clumsy as all hell on the dance floor.”

I’m nearly certain that they’ve danced in canon – maybe inone of the anthologies set on the Collection? It feels like the sort of thingthat they would end up doing at one of Collection!Brax’s charity balls or whatever.It was almost certainly a lot more formal and rigid than this – a lot lessrelaxed on so many levels.

Come to think of it, I would have loved do some sort ofjuxtaposition here between Collection Brax & Bernice – immaculate fancydress, prestigious ballroom, lots of important people from across the galaxythere for the Collection, and a strict dancing style set to rigid music – vs LegionIrving and Benny – weekend clothes, back room of the pub they own, just themand their family, bopping around to jazz music while laughing like nerds. Butas it turned out, I only ended up writing that second bit.

The first bit only exists in my imagination, I guess.

“We’re the same person,” hereminded her, although he didn’t sound too happy about it.

She stopped dancing for a second– bringing them swirling to a stop in the middle of the room – and looked up athim; looked at him properly. He was nearly an entire foot taller than her –always had been. His face was familiar. It was the face of the man who hadensnared her, stood by her, killed her husband, betrayed her; died right beforeher eyes. And yet he was none of those things. He was different, here and now –it was sometimes hard to remember, but it was important. He cared. Not justabout her – about all of them, and that was really more than she could say forthat other version of him.

“No,” she said. “You aren’t.”

This pretty much speaks for itself, to be honest.

There was definitely some affection between Collection Braxand Benny, but it took an entirely different form than what it is here. Like Isaid before – it was far more strained, and there was always thatemployer-employee relationship over the top of it – not to mention all the shitthat Brax got up to behind and not-so-behind the scenes.

She clasped her hand properly inhis, and he smiled, tentatively but genuinely, and put a hand on her back, andas the last strains of Paper Moon faded out, they danced likeit had been choreographed – like they had done it a million times before. Asthey twirled to a halt again, Benny squeezed Irving’s hand, and he squeezedback, and she grinned and leaned in to hug him. Incredibly, he hugged back -long fingers spreading out evenly over her back, leaning down to meet her. Sheopened her mouth, about to say something, but then –

Have I mentioned lately that Benny is so much shorter than Brax, in my head? I feel like I haven’t,actually. And that’s a tragedy. Massive height differences make friendships so much better, guys.  

Flash. The most brilliant, warmlight, filling her up inside so absolutely that she couldn’t imagine how shehad ever lived without it –

– and then something changed.

They are both completely, absolutely at ease with each otherhere – although neither of them is probably prepared to admit it. That’s theonly way that this fusion could have ever happened in the first place.

Tall – ridiculously tall, infact. Excellent. Dark hair still – only makes sense, really; a bit messier thanthey would have liked, but can’t be helped. One single hoop earring – well,that’s new! ( For you, maybe. ) ( I never said I objected. )( Well, good, because – )

Okay, so, two things. Two - the appearance of their fusion isa bit shaky in my head, and that’s why I haven’t described it all that muchhere, and also haven’t drawn them yet. And two – the thing about fusions (atleast, in my head) is that if the two-or-more people involved in them arein-tune enough, they will end up being perfectlyfused – so much so that you really can’t tell where one ends and the otherbegins. (Resist the urge to make a Scherzojoke, etc, etc.)

The only reason that they have a brief little internal backand forth here is (I seem to recall?) because the fusion is still kind of ‘settling’,so to speak – things are falling into place. When they fuse again later, there’sno internal conversation because they’ve fallen completely into sync and there’sno need for any dialogue between them – they’ve become one person.

Wait.

Wait, wait, wait –

They looked down at their clothes– a curious mix of Irving’s carefully curated, immaculately tailored suit; andBenny’s somewhat less-than-immaculate casual clothes.

I can’t wait until I figure out what this actually lookslike.

“Oh, Goddess,” they said, eyeswidening, and then, “dear Rassilon – we didn’t. But – we did.What? How? I – how!? ”

In retrospect, this particular line of dialogue doesn’t makesense – at this point in her timeline, Benny no longer swears by the Goddess(whiiiich I forgot whoops) and with Time War in mind – although I’m still nottoo sure where Legion falls with Brax? Nobody really does, though – it’sunlikely he swears by Rassilon either. I don’t know, guys.  

The record was still playing.Ella was still singing – something different, more unfamiliar. They frowned,shook their head, and paced quickly across their – across Irving’s office andpaused, briefly delighted, when they noticed how long their stride had become,and then – “no, this is an emergency –” and they took theneedle off the record player, rendering the room silent, and resumed pacingagain.

Surprisingly – or maybe not-so-surprisingly – one of thisfusion’s quirks is a tendency to get randomly distracted by tiny things, andthen immediately kicking themselves into getting focused again. I like to thinkof this as Benny going off on a tangent and Irving going “Benny. Rambling.” – orsometimes the inverse. But it’s all internal, of course.

“We’re all right with this?” theyasked themselves aloud, because talking to themselves felt like a very them thingto do, and then they answered it with a, “yes, I think so,” and a, “good,excellent,” in response to that, and then they swivelled on their heel so theycould press their hands against their - Irving’s - no, their desk.

Another quirk of theirs: both Benny and Brax talk aloud tothemselves on occasion – which is just one of those things that comes withexisting in an audio-only medium, really! It’s only right that their fusionshould take that to the next level – holding elaborate conversations andarguments with themselves near-constantly.

“All right,” they said, “I’m herenow - this is me, so - I need a name. Right? Yes.”

They froze in place, becoming asstill as a statue in less than an instant, and thought for a moment.

I had this really good mental image of the fusion being ableto just straight-up freeze in  place whennecessary – and being able to do that uncannilywell. This is a combination of Brax’s ‘stands so still you think he’s astatue’ thing and Benny’s well-honed ability to freeze at the slightest soundof something extremely dangerous and growly in the tunnel/hallway/forest/etcbehind her.

I also feel like I introduced these three things a bit tooquickly? The pacing of this story is honestly Majorly Off.

“The Art-chaeologist,” they saidsuddenly, and then grinned, and then scowled, and almost immediately unfused –Benny and Irving being both practically thrown across the room in oppositedirections – Irving ending up in an undignified pile somewhere near his desk,and Benny hurtling the other way – knocking a chair askew enough that itactually broke into two, and landing face-down in the carpet.

“ No ,” said Irvinginstantly, picking himself up off the ground. He was still scowling.

The first concept for this fic that I had was this exact scene.It’s not quite as funny as it was inmy head when I first thought it up, but it comes pretty close, I hope.

Benny just laughed, turning overso she was facing him. “Come on – it’s perfect. You know it is.”

“No, no, no. Fusionis a unique and remarkable ability of my people that has been developed andperfected over our many centuries of existence. It is more-or-less sacred. Iabsolutely point-blank refuse to be the title of our –” and here he paused,like he was almost unsure of himself, before continuing right on, “ – our fusion besomething as commonplace and undignified as…” His face twisted unpleasantly.“…a pun .”

Brax, your Time Lord is showing!

But he’s right. ‘The Art-caheologist’ is a bit too undignifiedto suit them, unfortunately. If it were any other characters, I would have justrolled with it, but Brax – Brax isn’t standing for this nonsense.

“All right, all right,” Bennysaid, leaning back and rolling her eyes. “Killjoy.”

A moment passed.

“If we wanted to be extremelypedantic about naming conventions and so on,” said Irving slowly, and a tinysmile found its way onto his face, “…an acceptable name for us – them – wouldbe ‘Irverfield’.”

Now it was Benny’s turn to scowl.“If you do that, we’re never fusing again.”

About naming – these were the only two names I could come upwith for the fusion. And, regrettably, neither of them really seem to fit properly– hence, them both instantly shutting the other down. I’m still really unsureabout what to call the fusion – if anybody has any ideas at all please contact me.

He lost the smile, too. “Yes.About that.”

She was about to make anotherjoke, but then she caught the stricken look on his face. “I’m guessing youweren’t expecting that.”

“No. You were?”

“I – “ She made a so-so motionwith a hand. “I mean, I knew that it could happen – the Doctorand all, you know – but like I said – we’ve danced a few times, and it neverhappened before, so it didn’t really cross my mind until it happened, and thenI went, oh, right .”  It wasn’t like she hadn’t done itbefore. Travelling with the Doctor tended to expand your horizons in very unexpectedways.

I left it intentionally vague here because I wasn’t entirelysure if Benny would have fused with the Doctor at any point. (It’s implied shedid, but I didn’t want to outright say it just in case Rae (or me) wanted to dosomething different with the AU.)

“I see,” he said, and didn’telaborate.

She looped her arms around herknees, peering over at him. It didn’t look like either of them were planning ongetting up yet, and she was content to just sit on one side of the office forthe moment – he looked like he needed the space. “Everything okay?”

“I didn’t even think humans andTime Lords could fuse,” he said quietly.

She blinked. For once, she was inthe relatively unique position of knowing something about Gallifreyans thatIrving didn’t, and she wasn’t sure if she liked it. “Huh. Really?” The Doctorhad never mentioned anything like this – fusion prejudice, or whatever. But itsounded about right. “One of those things that Time Lords frowned upon, huh?”

He just nodded.

I.. feel like I should say something here, but I’m not sosure how to put it? In essence, I took the whole xenophobia thing that the TimeLords have in canon and tried to recontextualize it in this universe – and whatI ended up coming with

“That must have been prettyshocking for you, then,” she realized, and then leaned forward. “I... haveabsolutely no idea if this is a personal question for you lot or not, but –when was the last time?”

I feel like it would bekind of a personal question, but Brax doesn’t really mind. It’s kind of alongthe lines of asking when you last had sex, or went to the dentist, or touched aplant.

“That I fused?” A kind of twistedsmile. “Nearly a century, I’d say.”

Benny puffed out her cheeks,surprised but trying not to show it outwardly. “Ouch. Been a while, then.”

“That’s putting it lightly.” Hepicked at the carpeted floor absently with his fingers. “And before you ask, itwas no-one of consequence. Rather an impersonal affair, really. Not worthspeaking about – certainly not enjoyable.”

it was narvin

Benny winced. “I’m sorry aboutthat.”

Irving glanced up, surprised.“Don’t be. It was, like I said, quite a while ago.”

“Still.” She pressed her lipstogether, and then said, “hopefully this was a bit better, than.”

“Oh, it was ,”Irving replied without even pausing to think about it. He didn’t exactly smile,but his expression became lighter and his eyes crinkled up around the edges.“You’re a remarkable woman, Bernice Summerfield.”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” shereturned, mouth quirking upwards, and for a second or two there was justcomfortable silence between then.

I love them I love them I love them

And then Irving stood up.

“One more time?” he offered, witha sort of half-smile, stretching out a hand to her. “Only if you want to, ofcourse, but –” he hesitated, and then admitted, “it’s been a very long timesince I’ve had the chance to do this with anyone at all –”

Benny accepted the hand withouthesitation, cutting him off.

He took a breath, and then setoff into a direction in a pattern that turned out to be a waltz. The first fewsteps were more than a little awkward – this time, it was Irving’s turn to stepon her feet – but then they settled into the rhythm of things.

“No music?” she asked.

Irving smiled properly, and thenhummed, briefly, and sang, in a surprisingly clear, strong voice, “ itdon’t mean a thing – ”

I often wonder if Brax can sing – canonically, I mean. Myheart says yes, absolutely, but thething is, I don’t know if he would.He’s a bit of a showoff – but I don’t really know if he’s quite that brand of showoff, you know?

She got it instantly. “– ifyou ain’t got that swing, ” she joined in, voice not quite as clear ashis, but still in-tune; and they twirled in a tight but neat spiral, movingaround the tiny space of the office. The waltz turned into a quick two-stepkind of rhythmic jive,

“ Doo-wah, doo-wah,doo-wah, doo-wah, doo-wah – ”

There is something that’s just really delightful aboutsinging with a friend unaccompanied, especially if the singing in question was completelyunplanned. Ditto goes for dancing.

This song is the same one I referenced earlier – the Duke& Ella version that I linked above, that they both saw without realizing theother was there.

They started off singingtogether, but then Benny started laughing at the delightful absurdity of thesituation, and Irving chuckled, and although they were both still trying tokeep going, they didn’t end up getting much further than that. And as it turnedout, it didn’t really matter – because as Irving, still chuckling, pulled Bennyinto a loose twirl, the room flared with light again, and when it cleared –

– well, they had either bothvanished entirely, or were both still remarkably pleasant, depending on whichtheories of being you subscribed to, personally. But either way, the personthat was left alone in the room was hugging themselves and still laughing.

UGH Freudian slip – I meant to say ‘present’, not ‘pleasant’.Oh well.

Semi-deliberate reference to the Steven Universe Stevonnie fusionepisodes here. I always loved that image of the camera panning up as they twirlaround, hugging themselves, looking just superhappy.

“Aha!” they said, straighteningup with a wide smile on their face. “I’m back – excellent. ”

And then there was a considerablepause as they realized that neither they nor the two people that made up theirwhole had any idea what to do next. They hadn’t thought that far ahead.

This is mainly because I didn’t think this far ahead either.

“Well, then,” they said, slowly.“I suppose I should... hm.”

There was a knock at the door,and then it opened almost immediately, revealing Peter, who apparently hadn’tbothered to wait for a response before entering. He was looking at a clipboard,and so hadn’t actually noticed the fact that Benny and Irving no longertechnically as separate entities. “Irving, Jack needs you to sign for that newshipment of shot glasses.”

I have no idea how bars are supposed to function. Is that obvious?I thought for like five minutes about what sort of thing Peter would need Brax tosign for and the best I could come up with was shot glasses which is kind of pathetic tbh.

“I’ll get right onto it,” theysaid automatically, reaching for the clipboard. “Here, let me –”

Peter frowned. “You sound weird.Are you-?”

And then he looked up at them,and he dropped the clipboard, and let out a brief, very un-Peter-like shriek.

They backed away from himimmediately, raising their hands defensively. “Peter, listen – we – I –”

“Dear god whatdid the two of you do, ” Peter panicked, backing up againstthe wall. “Is this some time travel thing? Did you both try to travel to thesame spot at the same time and get horribly meshed together, or –”

“Hey – I hardly think I’m ‘horrible’ –”

“– is thispermanent?” Peter pretty much screamed at them. “I can’t handle thisif it is! I already have terrible family issues already, what the hell amI supposed to call you if you’re two people at once –”

Peter is freaking out because he can’t take having anotherweird pseudo-parental figure in his life – he’s had too many of those anyway,and the only thing that could get weirder than his mum and his…… uncle???? fusingat this point is the Doctor turning upsuddenly to get in on the fucked up family issue fun.

“ Don’t worry this wasintentional,” they yelled back. “Kind of! Absolutely! Definitely! Andit’s not permanent, we can probably unfuse if we just – um– ”

“That does not inspireconfidence!”

“Peter?!” Ruth hollered from downthe hallway, and there was the sound of running footsteps for a few seconds,before she burst into the room. “I heard a scream – oh my god! ”she added, staring. “How - just. How? ”

They were beginning to come tothe fascinating conclusion that, based on the surge of immense affection thatthey felt whenever a new person entered the room, both of of the people theywere made of cared a lot more about the residents of the White Rabbit than theytended to show outwardly. Which, in the case of Benny, who pretty much wore herheart on her sleeve; was more than a little impressive.

I need to write more Legion!fic – and actually while I’m here talking about this, let me just mentionthis real quick – a particular duo I want to see interacting more is Irving andRuth, because as far as I can remember they get literally no substantialinteractions in canon at all. Andhonestly I think there could be something really soft and adorable there? Ijust don’t quite know what it is yet.

“Hello. Yes.” They cleared theirthroat. “Let’s see – I am the fusion of your two friends; this was absolutelymeant to happen, maybe; they are both perfectly fine and rather enjoyingthemselves, and I prefer to go by ‘they’ and ‘them’ rather than any explicitlygendered pronouns. Is there anything else?”

A note on the fusion’s speech/etc – I had a super difficulttime trying to figure out how to mesh Benny and Brax’s particular ways ofspeaking. I think I ended up writing them a bit too much Brax-wise than I wouldhave liked. I ended up going for ‘Brax’s diction/phrasing, with Benny’s slangand terms/occasional phrasing thrown in’.

Ruth stared, and then blinked,and then stared again. “Okay. Wow. Um, I’m gonna need amoment.”

They nodded, and then lookedaround the room, taking stock of what was going on. They were taller thanusual. One chair was broken. Peter was now standing in the corner, face pressedto the wall. He appeared to be having a small breakdown. Ruth had her eyesclosed, and was apparently thinking hard.

All in all, it wasn’t the worst waythis particular situation could have gone down.

“Hi, Irving,” said Jack, walkinginto the disaster and immediately making things a million times worse. “Hi,Benny.”

I love Jack, a lot. I feel like he’s that one person in yourPhilosophy & Ethics class who always chimes in with the statement orwhatever that makes the professor just stare at them blankly for a full tenseconds before their brain manages to reboot.

“Hello, Jack,” they said, with atiny, awkward wave in his direction. “Although, I suppose – technicallyspeaking – I’m not either of them anymore? It’s complicated. And, speaking ofthat, I’m now accepting suggestions for potential names for myself. So pleasefeel free to submit them now, at your convenience.”

Jack nodded, thought for half asecond, and then said, “the Art-chaeologist.”

They smiled pleasantly, and thensaid, “Jack, you’re fired.”

“Worth it,” he said, nodding.

Benny cares more about siding against Jack than she does arguingfor that (amazing, wonderful) pun, apparently!

..I don’t actually have any further notes for the rest ofthe fic (or maybe I’m just tired), but I should mention before I sign off fornow that the Legion family is very important to me.

Sorry for taking so long with this :D

[thisguyatthemovies]

Three for one

“Diane” (not rated, drama, 96 minutes, directed by Kent Jones) is the story of a woman, Diane (Mary Kay Place), who is on the doorstep of her senior years and is dealing with as much as life can throw at her. Her son, Brian (Jake Lacy), is a heroin addict who seems on the verge of death. Her cousin, Donna (Deirdre O’Connell), with whom Diane has had a close but trying relationship, is in the final stages of cervical cancer. Diane is surrounded by people older than her who are dying off. Her best friend, Bobbie (Andrea Martin), is dealing with many of the same issues as Diane but tries to be a stabilizing influence. Diane handles all of this with (mostly) a certain grace, but as we find out, she has even more on her plate than it seems. Diane is one of those people all of us knows – a tireless giver who rarely stops to take care of herself. She enables her son by doing his laundry and checking on him regularly, even though he’s an adult and is abusive toward her. She works at a soup kitchen, where she absorbs the stress of the less fortunate. She’s perpetually in her car, going from one do-gooder stop to another. The story in “Diane” is minimal; it is day-to-day life, with conversations typical of people living a lower middle-class, blue-collar existence. The only drama here is seeing what happens to Brian and which characters pass away. The film is an honest, poetic and often depressing look at life, the aging process and dying, with a focus mostly on women. This is the first narrative film for writer/director Kent Jones, who previously has made documentaries (including “Hitchcock/Truffaut”), worked as a film critic and is the director of the New York Film Festival. He knows his way around film. “Diane” is a linear narrative (with a few jumps ahead in time that are unannounced) that plays it straightforward except for some artsy flourishes of filmmaking in the second half. Place, a veteran character actor, is the real star here. She manages to convincingly portray a character who is both worn down by life and burdened by guilt but still hopeful and helpful. She makes Diane easy to root for. Martin also is outstanding as the perfect best friend, one who can be blunt but change the topic when the conversation requires it. “Diane” is a film that can be emotionally taxing but ultimately rewarding if you hang in there.

“High Life” (R, art-house science fiction, 110 minutes, directed by Claire Denis) is as much a series of beautiful, disturbing and confusing imagery and patchwork of ideas as it is a cohesive film. Robert Pattinson stars as Monte, who is part of a space mission that is sending a crew of male and female death-row inmates toward a black hole in the far reaches of the universe in hopes of finding a perpetual energy source for Earth. If you put murderers in close quarters and send them into outer space for many years, you would expect things to go horribly wrong, and they do. Making matters a lot worse is a nurse, Dibs (Juliette Binoche), who not only is charged with taking care of the crew but also is trying to get the female crew members to successfully reproduce. This isn’t accomplished through familiar relations among the crew members; in fact, that is forbidden. Instead, Dibs collects sperm from the male crew members (all except Monte, who has chosen abstinence from any sex) in exchange for drugs. When her efforts are failing, she drugs the entire crew so that they sleep, then forces herself on an unconscious Monte, collects his bodily fluid and uses it to inseminate Boyse (Mia Goth). When we pick up the non-linear narrative, Monte is taking care of that baby, and they are the sole survivors of the mission. “High Life” jumps back in time to tell us what happened to the rest of the crew, and it is not good. In fact, not much in the film is pleasant, which is likely the point. “High Life” features many uncomfortable scenes of violence and sex. It is, to put it lightly, a difficult watch. French director Claire Denis (who co-wrote) seems to be making a statement about the awfulness of solitude and the failings of prison systems. She also is making a statement about sex (self-gratification is a big part of the film, and there is even a room where crew members can go to relieve the tension, so to speak), but it isn’t obvious what that statement is. Pattinson is solid as Monte, who seems to be the only one of the crew not cracking up. Binoche’s character is like a sexy, even more cruel version of Nurse Ratched from “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.” “High Life” is slow, disjointed, twisted and plays like a collection of those head-scratching short films you might see at an art gallery. It’s not for everybody, not by a long shot. But if you find the combination of pretentiousness and perversion appealing, go for it.

From the moment Aretha Franklin belts out her first note in “Amazing Grace” (not rated, concert documentary, 87 minutes, no director), the audience knows it is in for something extraordinary. The Queen of Soul was at the height of her popularity and artistry when, in early 1972, she decided to return to her roots and record a gospel record. This would be no ordinary album. It would be recorded not in a studio but at the New Temple Missionary Baptist Church in Los Angeles, where her childhood friend, the Rev. James Cleveland, led the congregation. Franklin would record the album over two nights, backed by her band, Cleveland on piano and the Southern California Community Choir. Filmmaker Sydney Pollack was commissioned to document the proceedings, but it would be four decades before theatergoers saw his work because he and his crew failed to synchronize image and sound. (The album became Franklin’s biggest- selling record and is the highest-selling live gospel album of all time.) Under the guidance of producer Alan Elliott and with the help of modern digital technology, sight and sound were matched, and the results are nothing short of miraculous. Franklin enters the church on the first night like a champion heavyweight boxer, and when she launches into Marvin Gaye’s “Wholly Holy,” she instantly commands the room; it’s as if time stops. Franklin’s voice is sublime -- a mixture of power and soulfulness and all the right notes. She is all business here. Except for a brief behind-the-scenes moment when she discusses with Cleveland what key a song is going to be in, she does not talk on microphone until thanking the congregation at the end of the second night. She might seem reserved or even indifferent except that it is obvious from her stunning performance that she is zoned in. “Amazing Grace” doesn’t use any fancy film techniques, and that is part of its beauty. Excepting some split-screen shots near the end of the film, it is presented as it happened. It does not include interviews with the participants or any analyzation; it’s just the supporting cast and Aretha with that amazing voice. Pollack and his cameramen are visible throughout, but that does not distract from the performance. Many times, the cameras zoom in tight on Cleveland and Franklin, so close that it seems the movie audience might get wet from their profuse sweating. A lesser performer might be overshadowed by Cleveland, who when he isn’t performing serves as a sort of master of ceremonies/show promoter. But this is clearly Franklin’s show. “Amazing Grace” includes some lighter moments (mostly provided by Cleveland), and it includes some wonderfully poignant scenes, like when Franklin’s father, the Rev. R.L. Franklin, has finished speaking, sits back down in the audience and then gets up again to use a handkerchief to wipe the sweat away from his daughter’s face while she plays piano and sings. “Amazing Grace” took more than 45 years to see the light of day, it took several years to produce from Pollack’s footage, and Franklin herself stopped it from being shown a few years ago, vaguely hinting at legal reasons. Now, it has been released about eight months after her death, and the wait was well worth it.

[cleopatroclus]

the story is only a tragedy if the god loves you back (a short baphomet x morrigan fic) [read on ao3]

title from this poem. alternate title: Listen, I Think We All Knew This Was Just A Matter Of Time.

*****

He only has the one photo of her.

Not one of her performing, even though she’s amazing performing. But she’s always amazing. He doesn’t need a photo like that, even if she would let him take one -- the ones her more daring fans try to take, drunk on the shadows of the underground and the pale of her eyes.

They’re much too presumptuous, the ecstatic teenagers in black nail varnish and fishnets, too presumptuous by half; lifting phone cameras up to try and snap a blurry flashless photo they can’t wait to post to Instagram when they get home at three in the morning, smelling like cigarette smoke and earth.

Everyone who takes the risk gambles badly, thinking they’ll be the one in ten, thinking it’s an urban legend, thinking anything but the truth:

That when they fall into bed exhausted but wired and scroll through their pictures from the night, they’ll see a photo they didn’t take in between the group selfie at the pub up the block and the hasty snap of the profane graffiti on the steps of Victoria station.

It’s always different, because of course it would be: a hospital, a bedroom, a kitchen floor. Your home. A place you’ve never been. The road. The woods. The sea. The wreckage of a car, or a fire, or sometimes no hint at all -- nothing to prepare for, nothing to warn against the worst day of your life.

Maybe you know the person. Maybe you just had your first date. Maybe you’ve been married for fifteen years. Maybe you won’t meet for another four.

It doesn’t matter who they are; in the photo you didn’t take, they’re always dead.

There are online photo blogs and communities dedicated to posting those pictures, analyzing and obsessing over them, networks desperately trying to find the people in them. All of which Baphomet finds a bit morbid -- though he guesses, really, he’s one to talk.

He doesn’t have a photo of the two of them, either.

He has dozens of photos of not-them, of them before: Cameron and Marian, not Baphomet and Morrigan. B.C., not A.D. Pre-concert selfies, mostly, all done up in black and eyeliner. Playing roles without realizing. A grade-school level exercise in foreshadowing and dramatic irony.

It’s not the same.

He gave her a photo, a few weeks back, taken half-jokingly on a fan’s snatched Polaroid when he had just come offstage, shirtless and grinning and covered in sweat because for all its merits leather really didn’t breathe, and he’d had to peel the damned jacket off and what felt like half his skin with it.

Privately, he wasn’t sure if she’d want the photo. If she’d give him a look of cool mocking and hand it back, or slide between aspects without warning and tear it to shreds with steely crows’ teeth, snarling curses at him.

He didn’t always know the Morrigan the way he’d known Marian, even though he acted like he did. Maybe by acting like he did, he made it true. Who knew. Point was, he was never sure of her. But he gave it to her like he knew she’d want it, and whatever the reason, it seemed like she had.

Whatever the reason, she didn’t throw it away. She kept it.

That was less than a month ago. He’s had the photo of her for almost a year.

No one knows the loophole to the nine out of ten rule, because it wouldn’t matter anyway: you can take a photo of the Morrigan, and live on unpunished, so long as she gives you permission.

The morning he took the photo was two days after he’d become a god.

Two days since not-Marian-but-still-Marian had shown up at his window. Two days since she’d asked him to fall with her. Two days since, knowing the consequences, he had.

They were in bed, and it was early so she was still sleeping. She was more Marian when she slept than Morrigan, beautiful and pale without her grease paint war paint, hair a dark tangle and covers slipping down her bare shoulders.

It was still a little unsettling, if he was honest. Cameron had woken up with her like this a hundred times in a different life, in a room that probably wasn’t more than a square mile away from them in the city above. But Baphomet hadn’t. It was different now. Everything was different now.

He was sitting up against the headboard next to her with the sheets tangled around his waist, trying to download a bootleg of the latest Captain America movie to his phone using the shitty service in the underground, when a Twitter notification popped up cheerfully:

@amaterasuwu, @wondalandrecordsUK, @baalallday, and 500 others are Tweeting about: #RIPLuci.

He glanced over automatically to see if the cheerful chiming sound had woken the Morrigan, but it hadn’t.

He knew Lucifer was dead. He knew the Morrigan had tried to save her. Knew she’d failed. She wasn’t talking about it, and he wasn’t asking. There was TV footage bouncing around all over the online stratosphere, but he hadn’t watched it.

It had only happened yesterday. Some people were kind, in online memoriam. Some people weren’t.

A lot of them posted photos: Lucifer had encouraged them at her shows, so they popped up by the thousands. Ecstatic selfies in line for a show. Glamour spreads from magazines. Out-of-focus stage shots from meters away, her drenched in the red of her favorite lighting cue. Photos of her in last night’s clothes out on the street, laughing and flipping off the camera with her hair in disarray and white heels dangling from one hand.

Baphomet hadn’t even met her, of all the Underworldly ironies -- there hadn’t been time -- although he’d obviously known of her, well before he was ever a god.

So he couldn’t pretend the sudden knot in his chest, seeing the outpouring of anonymous tributes in 140 characters or less, was down to grief. He wasn’t noble enough for that. No, it was fear, pure and simple. He didn’t want to die.

The thought crept into his head, sunk claws in, and wouldn’t leave: all they had was two years, and she hadn’t even made it that far.The panic that seized him at the thought was immediate, and inexplicable.

It had been happening a lot more than he had expected it would. Fear of mortality, that was.

He’d made this deal, he’d chosen this, because he wanted power more than anything and he wanted Marian even more than that. He’d thought he was prepared for the consequences.

(She’d asked and he’d fallen, and it wasn’t fair to blame her for that but nothing about this was fair, so he did anyway.)

It was fucking stupid, because he already got to be here with her and go to sleep with her and wake up with her and he’d be an idiot to ask for anything else on top of it. It was a privilege he would kill for, hypothetically, and die for, literally.

But he didn’t have a photo of her. And somehow, having realized it, he couldn’t stand it.

It shouldn’t matter. A photo wouldn’t save his soul or save her life. It wouldn’t change anything.

But still, the fixation was singular and unshakable. He knew without knowing how that this one stupid thing was the only thing that would make the panic stop.

“Marian,” he murmured, and her pale eyes opened, took a moment to focus on him.

She didn’t always respond to the name. Whether it was to punish him for using it, or because she truly didn’t acknowledge it as hers anymore, he wasn’t sure and wouldn’t ask.

She was much more likely to in the mornings, in that hazy dream state between sleeping and waking when she was more girl and less goddess.

She asked the obvious question wordlessly, sleepily, one dark brow pulling up in a curious arch. He could practically hear the pretentious pseudo-Shakespearean-whatever: What is it? Why are you waking Mistress Morrigan before the appointed hour?

He held up his phone and mimed snapping a photo. “Can I?” he asked quietly.

The Morrigan rarely looked surprised. She looked surprised now, he thought. Like he’d done something she hadn’t expected of him, and couldn’t tell if that was welcome or not.

After a long pause, she nodded. He expected her to sit up, to fix her makeup, to pose regally. He assumed the yes was conditional, and he had already accepted any condition she might give him.

But she just lay there, curled up in the blankets and watching him with half-lidded eyes, expression soft and very far, in that moment, from the untouchable queen of the underground done up in black lace and laces.

(It didn’t matter. She was still, always, the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.)

Even with permission granted, he hesitated once he had the camera focused on her. He stared at her image on the screen, a study in black and white and shadowy greys, watching the faint rise and fall of her chest with her breathing. His thumb hovered over the capture button.

What if the vague hand-wavey bullshit magic that dictated the pictures didn’t work? What if permission wasn’t enough?

What if, just for one photo, he had to see the Morrigan die?

“You won’t,” she said quietly, reading him the way she always had and always could.

He was startled at first more by the words themselves than their content -- he’d already learned it was rare for the goddess to slip out of her grandiose third person narrative to address him directly. She was still watching him as she said, “You are the exception. You are always the exception.”

She didn’t say it like she was happy about it, or like she wasn’t. More like it was a fact, inarguable, something boring and categorizable about him to file next to the color of his eyes or his (former) middle name.

She said it, and he believed her, because he had to. He took the photo.

He had to dare himself to look at it, like he was seven years old. Squeezed his eyes shut tight, then opened them again, before he did.

It was a photo of her, lying tangled in sheets and shadows, just like he’d taken. He felt almost weak with relief, suddenly.

She rolled over onto her other side, away from him and the unwelcome LED light of the phone’s screen. “If that photograph appears on the Internet, the underground’s triple-queen will seek terrible retribution,” drifted over her shoulder. The menace of the words was somewhat lessened by the fact that they ended in a yawn.

He couldn’t help his smile, in the dark. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder, and she made a sleepy sound of acknowledgment, like a tsk only fonder.

He only has the one photo of her, but it’s more than enough.