#his name is supposed to be a the most heavy handed reference to david and Goliath possible bc his entire thing is he just kills titans

[liamhaydn-blog]

Joshua & Fury: reading of the resumes.

You can’t read any discussion about Anthony Joshua for long without seeing reference to his resume. The resume is usually brought up as the first line of defence to any criticism slung his way, and is perhaps the only line of attack that is still being used by AJ fans as to why their man still deserves more credit and praise than Tyson Fury. 

The resume line is used by noone more than Eddie Hearn, who mentions it before every fight, after every fight, win or lose. The names by now reel off his tongue, and near everyone from what I have seen is in complete agreement that AJ has put together one hell of a record. 

This has always somewhat baffled me, and I will explore why here. First of all since April 2016, every fight he’s had has been a World title fight. His last 8 fights have been for 3 organisation’s belts. When you are the champion of those 3 organisations, you will have to fight decent fighters, to justify you holding onto so many belts. Also these organisations want you to face their mandatory challenger now and then, the chances are someone ranked #1 will be a pretty good fighter. Does a unified World Heavyweight champion really deserve so much credit for fighting fairly solid opponents?

Comparison is often made to Wilder’s defences for example, and for sure it does seem that Wilder is a bit of a flat track bully, who didn’t seem to particularly mind some easy knockouts over less than stellar opposition. Though it still remains hard to fairly compare his level of opponents to Joshua’s. Joshua gets bigger crowds than anyone in world boxing, he’s for years now sold out big stadiums in a matter of hours, he’s simply one of the biggest stars in boxing with huge PPV numbers. This to say, they can afford to pay opponents big money. The big money that is required for a credible opponent. I don’t think that has always been the case for Wilder, who himself was not getting anything like big money until having been World Champion for a while, let alone his opponent. 

This is not to completely excuse Wilder, the fact an agreement was never reached to fight Dillian Whyte in all the time he was mandatory challenger, its quite bizarre to me why Wilder seemingly did not ever fancy that fight. And I do think that unlike Wilder, AJ has and always will be willing to face anyone, be it Wilder, Fury, I don’t think him a coward or someone who would doubt himself enough to not fancy them fights. 

The reason for the AJ-Wilder fight never materialising whilst both were champion, I don’t believe was down to AJ himself, though I believe its possible his team and promoter wanted to keep him away from Wilder for a little longer, to further build up his experience. But for Wilder’s part, I never got the impression he was particularly falling over himself to get the fight either.

I digress, but the point is that though I believe AJ has been more up for a challenge and a real fight than Wilder has, it’s not quite as simple as just looking at who their opponents have been for defences and not including the context.    

The most common comparison presumably in the whole of boxing is AJ’s resume against Tyson Fury’s. As stated earlier, this is often something used by AJ fans, and Fury’s resume is the one main critique levelled against him by virtually everyone who wishes to put him down. 

Again, it often seems a little without context. A man who has defended or attempted to defend his world title 9 times is always likely to have fought more decent fighters than someone who has never defended before, that seems obvious. Fury is mocked for never having attempted a World title defence, (aside from the fact its not really his fault from a boxing standpoint that he was unable to defend his belt for 2 years due to being side-lined from the ring for medical issues, nor was it his fault he was robbed by judges in Los Angeles in his first fight with Wilder, therefore delaying his ability to make a first defence) and yet also mocked for a supposedly weak resume, when the two things kind of go together as one rather explains the other. Your resume is unlikely to be great without a world title defence.

Looking at Fury’s resume, his best opponent prior to fighting for the World title was Chisora. Now the fact is, this was already not a great time for Heavyweight boxing, swathes of very average Heavyweights were getting the chance to lose to the Klitschko’s, so it shouldn’t be too surprising Fury didn’t have to fight off many stern challenges to become the top contender. One challenge could have been former Cruiserweight and Heavyweight World Champion David Haye, again not really Fury’s fault Haye pulled out of the fight twice. One man he did face though was Chisora, who in their first fight was 14-0 and 27 years old. The 22-year old Fury went into the fight as the underdog. They fought again 3 years later, inbetween these bouts Chisora became one of only 4 men to lose to Vitali Klitschko without being stopped. 

Chisora is regarded as a journeyman for the 11 losses on his record, but the fact is nobody has ever had an easy night with him, barring Fury in their rematch. Chisora arguably won a very close first fight with Whyte, and was having another very close fight with him in the rematch before Whyte found a great knockout in the 11th, Usyk did not shine against him in the same way he did against Bellew and Joshua, and he was very unlucky to not win a decision against former World Champion Joseph Parker. Not bad for a journeyman. But Fury certainly made him look like a journeyman in their second fight, showing exactly how a big man should fight against a little man, he didn’t let Chisora lay a glove on him and beat him up all night until Chisora’s trainer finally took mercy on him and pulled him out after 10 brutally one-sided rounds. 

The next ‘name’ on Tyson’s resume is Wladimir Klitschko, who was on a run of 19 successful wins in World title fights, and hadn’t lost for 11 years. On the Champions adopted home patch of Germany, Fury won a unanimous decision infront of 50,000 Klitschko supporters, to give the Ukrainian his only defeat by decision in 69 fights. Not a bad win I suppose. 

Often used to mock Fury’s resume is the name ‘Sefer Seferi’ and yes the fight was a joke and a bit of a waste of time, but it was Fury’s first fight for 2 and a half years, yes he could have fought someone a bit better ofcourse, but I don’t think it would have been wise to fight anyone fans would consider a decent fighter on his very first step on the comeback trail. 2 months later was Pianeta, again I don’t think it’s that surprising that when you’re fighting for the second time in 3 months after a long absence, and your plan is to fight for the World title less than 4 months later, that the level of opponent you’re facing is not that high, that seems to be fairly logical. I think facing Deontay Wilder for the WBC title just 6 months into the comeback made up for it in fairness. 

Going into their first fight, Wilder had faced 40 men and knocked them all out. It’s fashionable now after the beating Fury gave him in the rematch to dismiss Wilder as a bum, a never-was. But it’s simply not true. He’s 6 foot 7, incredibly heavy-handed with one of the most concussive punches in Heavyweight history. Fury fought him in his prime after the best win of Wilder’s career, an 8 round stoppage of Luis Ortiz, who at the time was for sure a worthy contender. Fury himself was 6 months back after a 2 and a half year absence, mostly spent trying to damage his body to the same extent his mind was damaged. After outboxing him for 9 rounds, Fury picked himself off the canvas to box his head off some more, until in the 12th round Wilder landed one of the hardest and best 2-punch combos he’s ever thrown. One of the only true knockout punches ever landed to somehow not result in a knockout. Fury won the fight but as we know was robbed and given a draw.

Between this fight and the rematch, Fury is again mocked for the two names he fought inbetween. Tom Schwarz and Otto Wallin. First of all it was kinda strange why these 2 fights were even necessary and they didn’t just do an immediate rematch, or even 1 fight inbetween, 2 seemed excessive. But financially it worked out great for both men, Wilder who was able to cash in for 2 more fights as Champion, and for Fury he could get into a run of real activity which helped him immensely for the rematch with Wilder. Schwarz was rolled over as expected, but Wallin inflicted 2 huge cuts on Tyson which left him fighting nearly the whole fight with only 1 eye, still winning nearly every round. Which is surely quite impressive, given Wallin is now deemed by Hearn a highly credible opponent for Whyte, one of the division’s top fighters. 

In the Wilder rematch, Fury produced what was I think the best performance by a Heavyweight this century. He did what noone thought he could do, which was bully the bully, beating him with power not just cunning. As I said, now Fury has done it so easily, people will talk about how Wilder was rubbish all along, never beat anyone etc. but if anyone thinks AJ or Whyte or anyone else would just as easily stand up to Wilder’s power, speed and explosiveness, I think they are very mistaken. Whether Wilder will be the same fighter with his air of invincibility shattered after defeat remains to be seen, but it would be great to see him in the ring against Britain’s other top fighters. My prediction is, it would see Fury’s win and performance elevated even further. 

Fury now faces Wilder for a third time, and whilst I like most consider it a shame Fury wasn’t able to move onto new challenges, if he wins, it’s another excellent win. I don’t consider it any easier than a fight against AJ would be. It’s true that AJ is a better boxer than Wilder, but still vastly inferior to Tyson, so I don’t see how he provides much greater threat from a boxing standpoint, he’s not going to outbox Fury in a million years. So the only threat to Tyson posed is power, Wilder has a higher KO % than AJ despite fighting nearly 20 more times, lets his hands go more, hits harder, is more dangerous with a single shot than AJ, so therefore I feel the most dangerous fighter to Fury, as he himself has said many times, remains *to this day* Deontay Wilder. 

Now to really the point of the article, Joshua’s resume. After amassing 14 knockouts in 14 fights, all coming in the 3rd round or sooner, the Olympic Gold Medallist had become Britain’s most talked about and hyped prospect ever. His 15th opponent was Dillian Whyte, a 16-0 fighter with 13KO’s. Whyte has since gone on to garner a deserved reputation as one of the division’s toughest and respectable fighters, but that’s now. Going into when AJ actually fought him, he had faced absolutely nobody. He had 6 amateur bouts including a win over AJ, moved to kickboxing, came back to boxing and had 9 pro fights before being banned for drugs. Whyte was out the ring for 2 years, had 5 fights back then fought Joshua. 

So at the time of the fight there is no doubt that whilst AJ was seen as a future World Champion, Whyte was not seen as anything of the sort, just an ‘opponent’ there for AJ to get another fast and emphatic knockout. The emphatic knockout came but not before experiencing adversity for the first time, as in fight number 15 of his career AJ faced someone who could take his leather and land some of his own, before succumbing in the 7th. Despite the rawness of Whyte, he still had enough heart and talent to provide Anthony with his first career test. 

Next fight, AJ fought for the World title, facing what most regard as a terrible World Champion, Charles Martin. He may have walked this earth like a God, but he fought in the ring like a Big Bum Dosser, against AJ anyway, who took him apart in 2 rounds. Martin appeared for all the world like a man woefully out of his depth, dutifully accepting his beating for a good payday. A win over Gerald Washington has since seen an attempt at the rehabilitation of Martin’s image from Eddie Hearn no less, who now lists the conquest of this man as proof of AJ’s greatness, who next Gary Cornish? 

AJ made his first World title defence of his IBF crown against Dominic Breazeale, who was at the time ranked #13 with the organisation. Joshua won in the 7th round. His second defence was against Eric Molina, who AJ dispached in 3 rounds. Another 2 men recently listed by Hearn to demonstrate AJ’s strong resume. In the same interview, he criticised Wilder for having beat noone..except he’s also knocked out both Breazeale (in 43 seconds) & Molina. A decision win over Breazeale was also enough to show Hearn that Wallin was a worthy PPV  opponent for Whyte, so are they good wins or not? I’m not sure, I guess it depends on who we’re talking about, AJ or Wilder. 

Next up saw AJ transition into a UK stadium fighter when he met Wladimir Klitschko at Wembley Stadium to attempt to add more belts to his collection that had recently been vacated by Fury. Having been soundly beaten by The Gypsy King, Klitschko had gone from 39 to 41. The feeling for a lot in the UK at the time was, it’s a good time to beat a good name to earn some credibility against an old, past it champion. That looked to be the case when AJ dropped Wlad in the 5th but there was still some life in the old dog yet when the very next round AJ hit the canvas for the first time in his career. Wlad took control of the fight with AJ struggling for a second wind having used up a lot of energy, with stamina issues affecting the 250-pounder. There was a few rounds where AJ was too tired, not throwing, concentrating everything on trying to recuperate, that you’d think Klitschko could have stepped it up and gone for the finish.  Whether age stopped Klitschko from pushing on the gas or he felt confident he could see out a decision, he didn’t do it and AJ found the best punch and single moment of his career in the 11th with a huge uppercut which signalled the end of Wlad’s chances. It was a great fight which AJ did very well to win, but it had been by the skin of his teeth. 

After Pulev pulled out of their proposed fight, Carlos Takam stepped in as a late replacement. Given the lack of time, this wasn’t a terrible replacement, he is tough and comes to fight, ensuring the fans will atleast get to see a few rounds. But he has lost to every name fighter he’s faced, including Journeyman Chisora. So Chisora isn’t a good name on Fury’s record, because he loses to every good fighter he faces, but Takam is a solid name on AJ’s record, despite the fact he was knocked out by Chisora. It’s all very confusing. 

To hold 4 belts, AJ then faced Joseph Parker, the holder of the WBO title, winning the vacant belt with a home decision against some chubby kid, Andy Ruiz. At the time, Parker had a very good reputation, but the fight was a stinker, with AJ disappointing his legion of fans as he was taken the distance for the first time. Parker has since lost to Whyte and in my opinion deserved a draw at best with Chisora having been dropped in the first round, and now will have to fight a rematch for a more emphatic win. Since the AJ fight, he’s looked a fairly average heavyweight, seemingly quite lucky to have ever held the World title, having not done anything since to make anyone believe he could ever hold it again. 

The next defence came against the small and light for a heavyweight 39-year old Alex Povetkin. Looking at him, not much of a threat would perhaps be expected to a man of AJ’s size and stature but for 6 rounds he gave Joshua a very competitive fight until the fight was ended by the Champion’s power in the 7th. Povetkin had gone the distance with Wladimir Klitschko despite being dropped four times, and probably deserved a second shot at the world title sooner than 5 years after that. The 39-year old was still a credible challenger but with his best years behind him. 

Then on June 1 2019, came the infamous AJ US debut. After a fight with Big Baby Miller collapsed due to his drug use, in stepped Andy Ruiz, who had a similarly large belly but 4 inches less in height than Miller. It was obvious what would happen next, AJ would announce himself to US audiences with a quick knockout. Ruiz hit the canvas for the first time in his career in round 3. AJ, one of the best finishers in the sport, jumped on him. What happens next usually, is roared on by tens of thousands of Brits, AJ punches and punches until his opponent goes down and stays there. This time infront of an audience of stunned Americans, Ruiz comes off the floor to land a shot to AJ’s temple which changes the course of the fight and both men’s destinies. Ruiz puts AJ down and the champion never recovers, unable to regain authority or control in the fight, he is victim to Ruiz’s barrages and decides not to fight on in the 7th, recognising after being dropped yet again, that it’s not going to be his night. 

After losing the Brawl In Montreal, Sugar Ray Leonard knew he had to get his conqueror Roberto Duran back in the ring as quickly as possible, whilst he was out partying, piling on the pounds and not training. AJ applied the same thinking, and like Leonard in the ‘No Mas’ fight took on a completely new approach for the rematch. Andy Ruiz has very fast hands, its not wise to trade with him up close. He does not however, have fast feet or particularly long arms. AJ maintained his discipline in the rematch to comfortably outbox Ruiz for 12 rounds, boxing from distance, never tempted to go for the knockout. Ruiz weighed in at an enormous 284 pounds, 16 pounds heavier than before. 

Performance and result wise, the Ruiz rematch in Saudi Arabia is perhaps the most impressive of AJ’s career to date. The 32-year old Ruiz still has to prove however, if he is truly a top class fighter, or whether he just produced the performance of a lifetime and got AJ on the right night. If AJ had beaten Ruiz first time round it would not have been seen as a particularly significant triumph, but due to the credibility he only gained as a result of beating AJ, this conversely amplified the achievement of Joshua gaining revenge in the rematch. 

Joshua’s first defence of his second reign came against Kubrat Pulev after just over a year out the ring. Like Povetkin, Pulev was approaching 40, had fought for the world title whilst a younger man and lost to Wlad Klitschko (Pulev being stopped in 5), he was also quite a short and light man in comparison to the giant figure of Joshua. With only 14KO wins in 29 fights, Pulev looked the ideal opponent for AJ. He was durable and well conditioned, and came to win but he stood right infront of AJ, with no head movement, so AJ moved his head for him with brutal uppercuts. If you stand infront of Joshua and don’t have much of a punch or speed to threaten him with, he looks brilliant and he did at times on this night, despite even against this opponent being reluctant to fully commit to power combo’s, the memory of Ruiz at MSG clearly not yet banished, but the win came in the 9th round, AJ’s first stoppage win for over 2 years. 

AJ’s second reign as champion was alot shorter than his first, defeat coming in his second defence against former Cruiserweight king Oleksandr Usyk. Usyk had come under vast criticism it shouldn’t be forgotten for his first 2 performances at Heavyweight. Many people, though I personally don’t agree, thought that his fight with Chisora was very close, he certainly wasn’t sending fear into the hearts of the division. But Usyk has only failed to win 15 fights out of over 360 amateur and pro for a reason, and he thoroughly outclassed Joshua. The fight would have been hard enough, and not a guaranteed win even if Joshua hadn’t got his tactics so completely wrong, but he atleast would have been in with a chance. Usyk, thought to be too small for a heavyweight, didn’t look small in with one of the divisions giants, because he didn’t fight like a small man, he didn’t allow Joshua to feel physically superior, and showed no fear or respect for his power. 

I won’t be suprised atall if Joshua rights his wrongs in the second fight, by doing what he obviously should have done in the first fight. Being rough and nasty, throwing as the saying goes, with bad intentions. But why it takes a 2-time World Champion with his experience a second fight to realise this I have no idea. Having a “chess match” fight with Usyk is maybe something you do in sparring to learn some useful things, you don’t do it infront of 70 thousand with your belts actually on the line..It was one of the most incredibly naive things I have seen from an experienced champion. It struck of a man in a bit of an identity crisis, who can’t decide what type of fighter he is inside the ring, nor what his boxing persona is outside it, in the lead-up to fights.

As another mistake AJ seemed to repeat from the first Ruiz fight was he seemed all pally with Usyk and too relaxed in the build-up. It could just be a coincedence but he was nice and pissed off with Pulev before getting in the ring with him, and he produced the right performance. I know Usyk is a difficult guy to dislike, but he’s gonna have to try. 

Strangely, Hearn also listed Usyk on AJ’s resume. I don’t see much good of having good names on your resume if you lose to them, otherwise we may aswell declare Kevin Johnson a great, as he’s fought everyone (and lost to everyone, but I guess that doesn’t matter). If AJ wins the rematch, he deserves credit for it, as it would for me be the best win of his career, given the age of Klitschko and Joshua’s personal circumstances of 2 defeats in his last 4. But I don’t really get this thing of “give AJ credit for taking the fight”. Its the mandatory challenger for one of his belts, he has to fight him, or else give up that belt. Why would you become world champion just to give a belt up because you have to face someone good? talk about giving credit for the bare minimum.

This questioning of AJ’s resume, is not to criticise him personally. I have no doubt before he retires he would if up to him fight Wilder, Fury, whoever else who is up there at the time, and if he does so he will lose plenty more times, because his chin and tactics are not of the standard of some of the other guys, but he will lose and come back and keep trying, and I respect that. But in conclusion I think up to this point, with no Fury or Wilder under his W column, he is getting a lot of credit for wins against guys who when listed as a collective are fairly solid names, but when taken individually, are not so great. Whilst Fury’s list has less solid names, there are names who can be taken individually and are great standalone wins. 

The way I would describe it is would you rather take a couple of 10′s to bed, but not many 6,7 or 8′s? or would you rather take a few 6,7 or 8′s but never a 10. I know which I would prefer. 

[brightbeautifulthings]

Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace

"'What if sometimes there is no choice about what to love? What if the temple comes to Mohammed? What if you just love? without deciding? You just do: you see her and in that instant are lost to sober account-keeping and cannot choose but to love?'"

Year Read: 2014, 2020

Rating: 5/5

Context: It's hard to know where to begin writing a review for this book. I read it for the first time in graduate school in about five weeks (alongside everything else I had to do in grad school, so I don't recommend that), and it basically blew my mind. At the same time, it's hard to imagine tackling it any other way for the first time. Despite its difficulty, there are things obsessive and immersive and, appropriately, even addictive about it. Full immersion might be the only way to read it for the first time, and I obsessed about it for months afterward. Since I'm not on any deadlines, I took it more slowly this time (21 weeks) so I could enjoy the writing and the nuances without the pressure to finish. For my less coherent weekly updates in real time, see my blog posts. Trigger warnings: Everything, everything. Death (on-page), child death, animal death, suicide, suicidal ideation, rape, pedophilia, possible incest, child abuse/abusive households, graphic violence/gore, eye horror, severe injury, drug use, addiction, alcoholism, mental illness, depression, OCD, grief, racism, ableism, transphobia, sexism, inexplicable hostility toward Canadians.

About: If it's difficult to know how to write a review, it's equally hard to describe what Infinite Jest is about. It's about so many things, tennis, addiction, communication (failures), and entertainment among them, but I'll do my best. Beneath all the numerous characters, timelines, and subplots, the main plot is about a film so entertaining that it kills anyone who watches it, robs them of all desire to do anything but watch it until they die, and what a faction of Canadian assassins will do to possess it. The auteur is James Incandenza, a suicide whose son, Hal, is a prodigy at Enfield Tennis Academy. Next door to E.T.A. is Ennet House, a drug rehabilitation center where Don Gately, former thief and Demerol addict, is taking it day by day to stay sober. Though they don't know it, Hal and Gately are connected, and the deadly Entertainment and those who seek it draw their paths closer and closer together.

Thoughts: It's rare to find a book that is actually as smart as it claims to be, but IJ is--certainly much smarter than I am, despite all my attempts to make sense of it. It starts off strong and doesn't let up for several hundred pages, which is a huge achievement all by itself. Wallace excels at writing extremely polished sections that could almost function alone as short stories, and the first chapter is one of my favorites in all fiction. It's reassuring, I think, to start the book off on a strong note, in case we worried we were in for a thousand pages of tedious slog. It can be both, but it's often heartfelt, insightful, and funny as well, and the payoff is well worth the effort. I don’t know how Wallace manages to pack every page with so much meaning. Anybody can put tedious lists in their books or make reading purposely difficult (and I have attitude about writers who do this for no reason), but there’s nothing haphazard about this book, despite its size and varied focus. Everything seems utterly intentional. The conversations are really top-tier; Wallace has a great ear for how people talk, and it's a fascinating look at how communication works and doesn't work.

Thematically, I think the book succeeds on more than any other level, including plot or structure. If we could say this book is "about" anything, we would almost certainly start with the themes and not the plot, which is often secondary to whatever point Wallace is trying to make at the moment. It takes an in-depth looks at things like addiction, depression, loneliness, failed communication, sincerity v. irony, critiques of postmodernism and metafiction (while being very meta itself, at times), and the very specific selfishness of an American culture that insists on freedom even to the point of self-destruction. At times, it feels a little heavy-handed or like it was yanked right out of an intro to philosophy course, but I suppose something in a thousand pages has to be obvious if we're ever going to pick up on it. A lot of these themes resurface in his other work, from "This is Water" and "E Unibus Pluram" to Orin Incandenza's Brief Interview style Q and A (and he would be a perfectly fitting character in that book).

The characters are some of my favorites in literary fiction as well, particularly the Incandenza family and Don Gately, and to a lesser extent Joelle Van Dyne (although Wallace typically doesn’t write female characters very well, and she comes with some issues). Hal and Gately couldn't be more different; Hal excels at everything he's ever done, and Gately has a record that includes accidental homicide on it. Hal is the hero of non-action, since little that happens in the book is engineered by him, while Gately is closer to the more typical hero of action, who defends the undeserving at great cost to himself. Yet their struggles with addiction are similar, and they both manage to be incredibly sympathetic characters. In my opinion, the book is always at its best when we’re with Hal or Gately, but I’m strongly driven by good characters. Despite being dead, James Incandenza's presence is also felt all over the book, from the Entertainment he created to his haunting ETA and sticking beds to the ceiling (probably the weirdest ghost I've ever seen in fiction). He's a tragic character in a book full of tragic characters. The others are too numerous to name, from the other tennis players at ETA and recovering addicts at Enfield, to the various bystanders populating Boston. We get brief glimpses into almost all of them, and while they may not all feel relevant at the time, most are memorable or heart-wrenching or slapstick funny, or all three. It's a book that contains multitudes.

That's not to say it's always on point though, and it isn't. There are a number of very serious problems with representation in this novel, and they're as bad as its detractors claim. A lot of the 90s humor aged very poorly, but that's not an excuse for some of the unabashedly racist depictions of African Americans, the uncharitable descriptions of Steeply's and Poor Tony's cross-dressing, or--however much I love him as a character--the fact that Mario Incandenza’s descriptions are ableist in just about every possible way. Wallace thinks he's capturing "voice" when he's really encouraging harmful stereotypes. The humor of the novel often doesn’t depend at all on these stereotypes and would in fact, be a lot more funny if I wasn’t spending so much energy cringing at it. So many of the little racist and ableist asides could have easily been edited out of the entire novel to make it less offensive. There are also sections where he seems at pains to be as gross as possible for its own sake. There are plenty of things grim or uncomfortable or flat out distasteful about this book, but sometimes the graphic violence kind of jumps out and stabs you in the eye, say, with a railroad spike.

If there are times when I was totally absorbed in the little tragedies of the Incandenza family or Gately's struggles, there are plenty more where it's like pushing something heavy up a hill. No lie, some of it is slogging through tedious minutiae and various experimental writing styles (some more successful and less offensive than others). Wallace has a gift for purposeful tedium; it’s at its peak in The Pale King, but he gives it a nice warm-up round here. The novel is difficult and meant to be, since Wallace maintained that some of the best pleasures are the ones we have to work for, and he's not totally off base. There's something very satisfying about living, for a time, in a book that spans a thousand pages, that demands focus and perseverance, and manages to give back (almost) as much as it takes. The book is always structurally interesting, but it starts to get more complicated toward the end as various characters and plots begin to almost slide into one another. I forgot how frustrating it was to near the end and realize--again--that it wasn't going to wrap up with any kind of satisfaction; the various plots slide, but they don’t meet. I thought if I paid closer attention on a second read that I would pick up more of the plot things I’d missed on my first, but I think the problem is that those answers simply aren’t to be found in the actual text. Of course, they can point us toward various conclusions, and the novel certainly encourages us to speculate and make connections, but I don’t think the actual answers are there.

That brings me to some of my final thoughts, for now. There's no doubt that this is a hugely successful book, and I believe it accomplished exactly what Wallace meant it to do. He jokingly referred to it as a failed entertainment, much the way Jim considered his lethal Entertainment a failure, but I have the sense that Wallace, unlike Jim, failed on purpose. The book purposely pays more attention to structure and theme than it does to plot or character, yet the plot and characters are hugely compelling for what we see of them. Imagine the book it could have been if he had paid equal attention to all of them. Wallace attempted to create a book that people wouldn't want to stop reading. Reaching the end certainly encourages us to begin again, as the first chapter is actually the last in chronology, but that trick only works the first time. By my second read, I realized that starting over wouldn't help me fill in any of those blanks or answer any of my questions, and I was content to let it go. On the one hand, IJ depends upon its structure to tell the story it's telling. On the other, think of the book it could have been if it spent more time telling a story and developing its characters and less time belaboring a point. It's one of the best books I've ever read, and the tragedy is that I think it could have been even better.

[xxisxxisxxis]

Deleted Scenes: Gateway Drug

Tag List: @unknownoblivion  @edwardtriggerhandzz  @haileynicoleseavey17  @cierrasixx19  @oskea93  @mgkobsessed  @sharon6713  @itsametaphorbriansblog  @miriampraez  @allie-mcginn @xpoisonousrosesx  @rebeccaphillips14  @nicholeh7 @lilmou5ie  @tamedhearts  @divaanya  @6ixx6ixx  @ratedrkohardychick91  @floregrohlssard  @oldschoolimagineblog  @thanks2pete  @abaldboi  @liith-ium  @caos18blog  @ytwahsog  @scarecrowmax  @random-internet-user-4471  @solohqrry  @sparxx27  @kaitieskidmore1  @cruecifymesixx    @meetthesixxter   @sublimeprincesswasteland  @arianareirg  @girlnight-terror

@fancywasmyname1  @teller258316  @ggorehorror  @blowinmeupwithherlove  @xrosegoldwolfx  @mylifeisjustafeverdream  @redlipscrystalskies14 @str4nge-haze @reigns420 @sixxseconds2love @leatherandheels @dogmom2014 @allyouneedislove-mp3 @n0-self-c0ntro1 @viinceneil

.

.

.

"More Than One Way to Get to Hell" -- 1986

"Tansy, come on, now we don't have all damn day to get this finished." Diane calls from the other side of the door while I'm grasping Tansy's shaking hand while she adds finishing sprays of hairspray to her curls. 

"Tansy," I start. 

"C-Can you hand me my purse?" She asks me softly and I nod, handing the little black purse to her. 

She pulls an unlabeled bottle out, opening the lid and pouring two pills into her palm. 

"Tansy--"

"--I overdid it on coke earlier, Viv, if I don't calm my shit I'm gonna embarrass myself on national television." 

"Tansy!" Her mom barks. 

She takes the pills and swallows them down with her juice, standing up and walking to her dressing room door. 

"Thank fuck, come on." Her mom tugs at her arm to take her to the sound tech and he hooks her up to her mic. 

"Mama, I'm nervous." She takes harbored breaths. 

"No need to be nervous, Tansy. You're just interacting with a man in front of a camera. Let's not pretend you don't do the same thing every night." She mumbles to her and I glare at her mother, horrified. 

"I feel like I'm gonna puke." Tansy says next. 

"No, no, look at me." Diane looks her in the eyes. "You are not going to screw this up. You are going to go out there and get more exposure to get more people talking about you, to get more offers, to get more money. We do what has to be done to get what we want, and what we have to do isn't always what we want to do, but--" 

"--But it has to be done." Tansy finishes for her, defeated. 

"Exactly." She says to Tansy, fixing her smudged lipstick. "You already embarrass me on a daily basis, Tansalyn, and you will not embarrass me today. Not over this." She demands.

"Our first guest is a well-known model to men, and some women, here in America. In a span of just four years she has appeared in 56 issues of Playboy and counting, declared the magazine's most consistent model, was very recently announced as 'Playmate of the Year: Miss 1985,' and was the muse for the 1983 Def Leppard hit, 'Photograph.' With no sign of slowing down anytime soon--not that any of us want her to--please, give a very warm welcome to the very beautiful, Tansy Lyn." 

Tansy takes a heavy breath inward, and I give her a smile. 

"You got this, go." I assure her and she nods, holding back tears, seemingly programming her mind into autopilot, a scarily convincing, beaming smile on her face as she steps out, waving at the audience. 

I watch her on the monitor, and my heart breaks. 

She deserves an Oscar. 

Diane watches, too, evaluating her in her mind. 

"How are you?" David asks Tansy, kissing her cheek before the two sit down. 

"I'm good." Tansy replies, crossing one leg over the other. "Hi, everyone." She waves again to the crowd and they whistle and cheer. 

"Now, when they told me you'd be on, um, I did some fact checking, as one does for an interview," he starts. 

"Okay." She replies. 

"And I want to get the record straight on your name, because I've heard Tansy Lyn, and I've heard Tansalyn, which the second option is just a mouthful so…"

"Well, my nickname is Tansy and originally my name was supposed to be Tansy and my middle name was supposed to be Lyn."

"Don't you dare." Her mother sneers quietly to the monitor. 

"But my dad had been drinking a little bit when my mom's water broke and so when it came to naming me, they had decided on Tansy Lyn Reilen, but my mom was in recovery, resting, and my dad couldn't write very well because he was drunk and so he asked a nurse for help and she asked him what my name was going to be so she could write it in herself, and he said 'Tansy Lyn,' little did he realizing he was slurring. So my legal name is Tansalyn." 

"Oh, my God." Diane squeezes her eyes shut. 

"And you reworked it to Tansy Lyn." 

"Yes." 

He tries not to laugh, but the audience doesn't hold back, not that she minds at all. 

"Wow, well, Tansalyn, I know you're busy and so the fact you were able to be here really means a lot, so thank you, again, for being here. Although I'm not so sure it was too far out of the way for you." 

"No, no, not at all." She assures him. 

"Because you live here, don't you?" He asks. "Or are you back in L.A.?" 

"I mainly live here, and then I go back home often to visit and stuff if I don't have work." She explains. 

"And you work a lot." He states. 

"Not that much but--" 

She quits talking when he raises his brows, making the audience laugh. 

"You don't work that much? Are you kidding me?" He leans down and grabs a magazine, holding it up on the desk for the camera and crowd to see. "This is you in your first issue of Playboy." He tells her, flipping through it to find her picture.

"Oh, Lord." She groans before he shows the audience. "Can you do that?!" She asks next, as her naked body is on display, but the monitor shows her bare chest blurred out. 

"Now, this was October of '83, and how old were you when this was taken?" 

"Just turned 18." She explains, her face turning slightly red under her makeup. 

"18, and since then," he starts piling on more and more magazines and men throughout the crowd yell and clap and whistle, Tansy tightly closing her eyes and chuckling nervously, "you've gotten Miss July of '85." He puts that issue aside, before grabbing a final one from the top of the tower of Playboys. "And this is the more recent one, your shoot for 'Miss 1985'." He says next, grabbing several magazines at once and putting them back behind his desk before sitting down and holding it up to show her on the cover. "Absolutely beautiful." He comments. 

"They edit and airbrush and everything but thank you anyways." She exhales, rubbing her lips together. 

"Well, we don't have editing and airbrush and everything in person and I'm telling you, you are a very pretty woman." He assures her and she smiles. 

"Thank you." She replies. 

"So, you started only four and half-ish years ago, and you've been in every issue since then?" He asks and she nods. 

"Yes. Some form or fashion I've been in every one." 

"But you don't work a lot." He reminds her what she said earlier, sarcastically.

"I meant no model works a regular 9 to 5." She clarifies. 

"Got it, got it." He puts the magazine down. "It couldn't be like a 9 to 5 because when else would you all  find the time to go out and party with rockstars?"

"Not all of us party with rockstars." I assure him. 

"So this isn't you?" He holds up a picture with Tansy, Robin Crosby, Nikki, and Jon Bon Jovi. 

"I didn't say I didn't party with them, I said not all models do." She explains while he and the audience chuckles. 

"Now, I know, I think, this fella is Jovi." David points to Jon and she nods. "The rest my mind blanks on." 

"Jon, who's obviously sings for Bon Jovi, and then Robbin Crosby, he plays guitar for Ratt, and then Nikki Sixx, who plays bass for--"

"--The Church of Satan's worship team." David cuts her short and she laughs, along with the audience. 

"No, no. No." She states. "Mötley Crüe." 

"Ah, tomato, tomoto." He shrugs and she shakes her head a little. 

"What was happening here?" He asks, referring to the photo and the camera zooms in on it. 

"I think, honestly, Nikki paid rent on time for once and just invited a bunch of people over to celebrate it." She explains. 

"So, there doesn't need to be a reason to drink and party and 'what not' when you're a rockstar." 

"Not really, no."

"When do these guys have time to write songs, then?" 

"I've seen them buckle down and get to work when they need to."

"Really?" 

"Yeah." 

"And you buckle down, too, obviously."

"Well, I--"

"--I want to know what your boyfriend thinks of all of this." He says next and she raises her brows. 

"Oh, he loves it." She tells him. 

"I bet he does." 

"No, really, he does, he's very proud." She continues.

"He isn't jealous or anything like that?" 

"To an extent but he understands that this is my job and I've always wanted to do it since I was a little girl and so he supports me completely." She nervously scratches at the back of her neck with her freshly done nails. 

"You've always wanted to model nude since you were little?" Letterman asks for clarification and she looks slightly stumped by the question, opening her mouth to speak, but nothing coming out. 

"Speak, Tansy, damnit." Her mom whispers to herself. 

Tansy starts laughing off her shock. 

"Modeling in general." She tells him. 

"Oh, oh, good." He grins. "So, your mother is here with you, Diane."

"Yes." 

"She's so lovely." He says and she smiles. 

"Thank you, she is. I love her to death." 

"She seems very...um…focused." He adds. 

"Very much. She keeps me in check, she always has."

"Oh, I bet. Were you ever in sports or anything like that?" 

"I cheered in high school, and did competitive cheer-nastics, and competed in beauty pageants--not that that's a sport but just to give you an idea of where she learned to keep her thumb on me to keep me in line." 

"That's where I was getting at because she very much seems like the type to keep your eyes on the prize." 

"Oh, yes." 

"What does she think of your career as of now?" 

"She's my manager so I don't think she has any qualms with what I do because if she did she wouldn't be as involved." She shifts her legs. 

That was an understatement. 

I realized over years of witnessing her mother contribute to the toxic shitshow starring Tansy as the lead, that I didn't quite know Tansy's mom as well as I had thought. 

I'd later find out things such as this…

"Competition is in two weeks and you call that a front tuck? Tansy, I've seen drag queens do better than that." 

...And this…

"You being first runner up in a pageant full of sand lizards and beached whales is the reason your father drowned in his own vomit."

"I was five when he died, mom." 

"And eleven years later you're still proving you aren't worth the money I spend to make you a winner." 

…Also…

"He knocked that slut Tami up, didn't he?" 

"I don't want to talk about it, Mama." 

"Just say 'yes' or 'no' so I can know whether I won my bet on it or not." 

...And...

"I slept with your ex-boyfriend, Tansy, big deal." 

"He was the love of my life, Mama, what the hell were you thinking?!" 

"Oh, Jesus, he was with you for two years, Tansy, get over yourself. It's not like it would have lasted to begin with."

"Seriously?!"

"You would've eventually found out I was giving him blowjobs when he'd come over to see you, anyway, because if I didn't do it, it wouldn't have gotten done right. Now wipe those damn crocodile tears." 

…Last but not least…

"I wouldn't stay with a man who let his friends abuse me, you know. I don't know why you're too weak to just leave him."

"Because he said it's not gonna happen again, mom. Just drop i--ow! What the hell?!" 

"I told you last time I slapped the piss out of you it wouldn't happen again. Just because he says it doesn't mean a thing…ugh, and quit wearing so much goddamn makeup. I'm tired of my palm being covered in gunk every time. And quit crying. You can pose with your pussy out but God forbid you handle a little corporal punishment." 

Tansy's rehab therapist had her work cut out for her...for sure. 

"And your dad?" David questions next.

"He passed when I was five, so…"

"...I'm sorry to hear that." 

"No, don't be. I'm sure he's proud of me. I know that might be hard to believe for some dads, like, your daughter being in Playboy, but he'd always told me I could always do whatever it was I wanted to do with my dreams and even if he's not proud of what I'm doing, he's definitely proud of me going after and achieving what it was that I wanted." 

[lady-literature]

what a lion cannot manage chp 2

dadmight here we gooo!!!

Ao3 | chp 1 | chp 2 | chp 3 | chp 4

Izumi’s home is a small place. Not suffocating or anything, but the town is too nosy for its own good and word travels fast. When someone new comes to town, it’s not long before everyone is talking about it.

The whispers of a man renting out the old cottage at the edge of town piques Izumi’s interest.

No one’s interacted with him much and he seems to keep to himself, but lack of information has never stopped the gossip mill from running before. He’s kind and polite from what the shopkeepers have seen when he leaves his house for food. That and he is, apparently, absurdly tall.

Besides the mystery of it all, there’s nothing really eye-catching about this particular rumour. Nonetheless, Izumi finds her ears pricking to attention every time he’s mentioned. Unbearably curious, despite herself.

***

For a while, the man seems like more of a ghost story than an actual person. Only showing up at the shops when they’re least likely to be busy. Only walking through town when he must.

Then, out of nowhere, it’s as if he can’t bear to stay in his rented house for anything other than sleep.

***

Toshinori has always been restless. Always moving and fighting and becoming

And here, hidden away in this sleepy town with no villains to fight or people to save, with a wound in his side that aches with every breath, he feels as if it’s clawing at his very skin.

He’s here to recover, far away from the action in Tokyo or Hosu or any place where he's actually needed so he won’t be tempted.

The doctors recommended he take it easy for six months. Mirai—Nighteye, he should say now—told him to retire.

As if that was ever actually an option.

Toshinori agreed to stay out of Heroing for two months, and that’s only because of the combined efforts of Torino and Recovery Girl and David.

He’s not even sure how David found out about it, what with him being on I-Island with Melissa (but Toshinori has a sneaking suspicion it has something to do with Nighteye). The trio were persuasive though, and Toshinori never stood a chance when David pulled his trump card: Melissa’s puppy dog eyes.

It’s nice that they care and worry, but Toshinori isn’t made for sitting still.

He’s restless and the phantom cries of victims he’s not there to save ring in his ears like bells as he tries to relax.

Finally, he decides enough. If he sits still for even a single second more he’s going to tear out of his own skin.

***

He’s been in town for perhaps two weeks (twenty-nine days since he defeated him, twenty-five since he’d woken up in a hospital bed, twenty-four since he realized he’ll never be the same) and it’s not enough time for him to be walking around as much as he is but he can’t help it.

He’s not staying cooped inside for two months.

Toshinori keeps to himself for the most part, stays on the outskirts of things like he normally does when he acts civilian.

Since the beginning of his career, he’s carefully kept Yagi Toshinori and All Might separate. Two different people as far as anyone outside a select few are aware. He’s gone years as unrecognizable from All Might and while he’s not quite worried someone will recognize him, old habits die hard, he supposes.

Even now, when he looks like death warmed over, there’s always a chance. He doesn’t normally stress about it so much, but he’d rather hide the fact that the number one Hero is hiding away in a tiny farming village along the coast. And that means not drawing attention to himself.

He’s only partially successful.

***

The first time Izumi sees him, he’s walking through the park.

She’s walking on her hands across the balance beam because she and Kacchan started taking gymnastics. (Kacchan wanted to take a combat class but was shot down by his parents until they could trust him not to attack another child with his newfound fighting skills. So Izumi got to choose their activity instead.)

The man is hurt. Badly. The heavy tang of blood hangs off him like a coat even from all the way on the other side of the park and she almost falls off the balance beam with the force of it.

But, what almost seems worse is that… underneath the smell of blood and pain and hurt, there’s only… him.

No lingering scent of others, of people who should care for him. Just the cinnamon earth of his own scent drenched in blood and the stale smell of strangers. Even humans, people who don’t purposefully scent their family and friends, smell like each other just by the nature of being close.

Izumi can’t imagine being that lonely. Can’t imagine living in solitude like that, with so many people around her and yet none who are close enough to touch and-

And, well. Izumi’s known around town for sticking her nose in places it doesn’t quite belong. She figures this is just much of the same if you think about it.

***

There are few people Midoriya Izumi has met that she didn’t like and fewer still who didn’t like her in turn.

If asked, Izumi will say this is because she is very good at making friends.

If asked, Katsuki will say it’s because she’s a goddamn freak.

(He won’t say so, because he’s not quite that articulate, but what he means is that there’s not a person dead or alive who can withstand the sheer strength of her will. Not a goddamn person on Kami’s green earth who can be near her for longer than a few minutes without being irreversibly changed.

It’s just a law of nature.

The sky is blue. The grass is green. Reality and the people within it bend to the desires of Midoriya Izumi.)

***

Toshinori has seen this girl running around town, normally with that loud boy at her side, but sometimes on her own. He’s heard about her more.

Everyone he speaks to seems unable to keep themselves from bringing her into the conversation.

She’s the one who plays chess with the elderly at the park, and who climbs up trees for kittens and always seems to be the first to look for runaway dogs. She reads to the younger kids at the library and helps out with craft activities.

He knows so much, Toshinori feels as if he’s already met the girl.

He continues to think that all the way up until he actually meets her and realizes he’s barely scratched the surface.

***

Izumi is good at patterns. Her mind is a bright chaotic whirl of thoughts and ideas and information at all times and it’s laughably easy to put it all together and find repetitions and relations.

Figuring out when the lonely man is going to be passing through the park again is no different.

He sits on that same park bench again, practically collapsing down onto it. His breath is short and his heart is pounding with the exertion of just walking. Izumi briefly wonders what happened to him. Then, she wonders why he’s pushing himself so much because that seems more pressing a matter.

She skips up to him and the smell of blood and pain is enough to make her dizzy but Izumi is determined, okay?

“Hello!” she greets brightly, hands clasped behind her back and smiling.

The lonely man startles. “Ah, hello?”

“Hello!” she repeats, “People call me Midoriya Izuku. Do you like checkers?”

“Uh…” The lonely man blinks, clearly taken aback. “Yes? Do you-?”

She hops a bit in place, excited. “Great! Come play with me!” she reaches up to grab his hand and tugs him over to the stone tables set up for the games. She’s very careful about the amount of strength she uses in that action, just like Nona taught her to be.

Normal little girls shouldn’t be able to throw around things twice their weight.

The lonely man moves easily, probably because he’s surprised by the action. He follows her though and that’s what matters.

He’s confused and a bit awkward at first which Izumi thinks means he doesn’t spend a lot of time around kids. Maybe he doesn’t know what to talk about. What do adults talk about? Her skulk normally talks about magic and whatever new creature has decided to snoop around their forest, so that's out. And he doesn’t smell like he’s a farmer.

So there goes most of her reference points for this kind of thing.

They’re four moves in and she can tell he’s trying to ‘let’ her win. Her ears flick in annoyance and she sets herself up for a move that will wipe him out in seven turns without taking any of his easy captures.

Maybe he likes Heroes? That’s what Izumi normally defaults to and it works most of the time. Who doesn’t like Heroes?

“Who’s your favourite Hero?” she asks, watching him move a checkers piece without even really thinking about it. He’s not even trying.

“Oh, uh,” he clears his throat. “I’m not really sure. I don’t… don’t really keep up with them anymore.”

Izumi blinks and tilts her head. She doesn't miss the ‘anymore’ part.

“Come on. You had to have a favourite at some point,” she insists. “Someone you looked up to and admired! And you can’t say All Might because, obviously. I mean, he’s my favorite but there are a bunch of other Heroes! Like Ectoplasm! Or Gang Orca! Or! Or! There’s even all those American Heroes? Like the Hulk! Or there’s Spiderman. He’s new but he’s super friendly from what people have seen! He goes around helping people even if it’s not villain related and just generally interacts a lot with everyone. There’s a lot about him on the American forums despite him being so concentrated on a small area. I would-”

Izumi stops, realizes she’s been rambling about nothing again and blushes. “Sorry. I get excited.”

The lonely man is quiet for a second and then laughs. It’s quiet and huffing and sounds a little like it hurts but it also sounds happy and that makes Izumi happy. She giggles too even though she’s not quite sure what they’re laughing at.

“All right,” he gives, raising his hands in surrender. “You’ve convinced me. If I must choose, I’d say I have a… fondness for Titania. She’s a little before your time but-”

“Oh! Titania the Strong? Or the Fairy Queen?” she asks because sometimes Heroes have the same name.  People reuse them or pay homage to someone they liked or carry on a legacy. There’s been an active Dread Pirate Roberts ever since the second generation of Heroes.

She tries to think if there are any other Titanias. Ones who stopped Heroing before she was born. She can’t think of any, but back when quirks first popped up and people started calling themselves Heroes they weren’t all that good at documenting them.

They’ve only just started to get better at that.

The lonely man stares at her in surprise and oh. Right. He doesn’t know.

Most people in town do, but he’s new. He doesn’t know of her fascination with Heroes or how her memory is near eidetic. The knowledge bank in her mind is massive and a large part is dedicated to Heroes (to their quirks, to the power they wield, to the ways they use them because it’s always best to have plenty of tricks up your sleeves).

“…The Strong. Young Midoriya, how do you-?”

“I like Heroes,” she says before starting to rattle off what she knows about the Hero. “Titiana wasn’t very well known outside her prefecture but those in it were said to love her. She saved a lot of people and interacted with civilians regularly on patrol. Personable and kind. If she didn’t confine herself to such a small area it’s likely she would’ve become quite popular even without a flashy quirk.” Izumi pauses, “She reminds me of my mom, actually. Only funnier. They say Titania liked to make jokes.”

The lonely man is quiet for a long moment as he moves another of his pieces into a position that makes him easy pickings. Izumi ignores it as she takes her turn.

He clears his throat, then, “She did.”

Izumi snaps up to look at him so quickly her neck cracks. Her eyes are wide and amazed as she looks at the lonely man. “You met her? That’s so cool!”

His lips quirk at the corners. “I did. She was…” he clears his throat again and it’s then that Izumi notices he smells… sad. That’s not what she wanted! “She was one of the best women I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.”

“Oh.”

Izumi feels bad now. She didn’t mean to make him sad. And he sounds like, like he misses her. Izumi’s heart breaks, just a little bit and she hops down from her chair to stand in front of him.

Did he used to smell like her? Is she why he stopped getting close to people? Did he lose her?

Izumi’s mind spins and spins and spins. She doesn’t know. Too many variables. She needs more data.

But not now.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you sad,” she says. “When I feel sad, I get hugs and it makes me feel better. But some people don’t like hugs so Mom says I’m supposed to ask first. And, and you’re sad and I think you need a hug so do you want a hug?”

“I- I don’t-” the lonely man looks flustered now. Wrong-footed. Izumi tries to smile at him reassuringly.

“Mom says I give the best hugs!” she encourages. “So I’m sure you’ll feel better.”

After a long moment, the lonely man softens. “Well I- I suppose a hug wouldn’t hurt.”

“Great!”

She has to stop herself from launching at him, wary of how he’s still hurt and smells of blood. She’s not quite sure where it is but she’s very careful of where she puts her hands and is careful not to squeeze too tightly.

After a few seconds Izumi asks, “Do you feel better now?”

“Yes,” he answers, like he’s surprised by their truth. “Yes, I do. Thank you.”

She nods, satisfied. “Good.” Then, she turns and barely looks at the board before clicking her piece in a series of jumps that takes out half his side and leaves her at his home base. “Queen me, please!”

The lonely man blinks, opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again and laughs. Then, he does as she asked.

***

They play four more games after that with the lonely man actually trying after his sound beating in the first round. Izumi even lets him win the third one.

They talk about random things, Izumi driving most of the conversation by bouncing around random topics and babbling aimlessly. The lonely man doesn't seem to mind too much, and comments on things whenever she pauses long enough for him to get a word in edgewise.

By the time Izumi has to go home for dinner, the lonely man doesn’t smell as sad and Izumi finds she really likes him. He even ruffles her hair before she goes scampering off into the woods. He flattens one of her ears unintentionally but she can forgive that. He can’t see them after all.

He’s also familiar in a way. Almost like Kacchan was familiar, but just a bit different. She’s not quite sure what it is, but he’s nice and friendly and Izumi likes him.

“Did you have a good day, sweetie?” Mom asks her when she gets back home.

Izumi smiles up at her with all her teeth and says, “Yeah! I made a new friend!”

***

Her lonely man introduces himself the second time she finds him.

He calls himself Yagi Toshinori but his name tastes strange on her tongue. Not quite a lie, but not a truth either.

Yagi Toshinori may be his birth name, but it is no longer the name that holds power over him, at least not completely.

Izumi calls him Yagi-san and wonders what he called himself for so long that it changed his very being.

***

It’s somewhere around week two when Yagi-san first coughs up blood around her. He was laughing, a sound she takes such joy in creating, when he suddenly began coughing. A second later, the smell of fresh blood, thick and heady, filled that air and Izumi nearly had a conniption.

They’re in the park and her worried exclamations and mother henning draw the attention of most, if not every, parent in the vicinity.

They’re all rightfully worried and it takes a while before everyone’s calmed down enough for him to give some story about a swollen throat and how it’s already being taken care of.

He’s lying about it, Izumi knows, but he’s uncomfortable and concerningly red from embarrassment.

She lets him get away with it this once.

The parents give him wet wipes and napkins and well wishes that he gets better soon to his utter surprise. Like he hadn’t expected to be given kindness so freely.

Izumi smiles as she waves them all away, thanking them for helping and thinking, not for the first time, how much she loves her town.

***

She goes home smelling like human blood that day.

It takes almost half an hour for Izumi to calm everybody down enough to explain what happened without worrying them more. And even after that, all her cousins (all at least a decade older than her and all starkly human thanks to the curse everyone will only mention in passing) crowd around her and fuss for hours.

She manages it with only resigned exasperation because they did the same thing when she killed the kelpies causing havoc in the lake last month. (She isn’t sure what the big deal was then and she’s less sure now. Killing supernatural threats is basically her— the skulk’s— job.)

***

She spends six hours that night researching diagnoses where patients coughing up blood is a symptom, and as a result, completely ignores her homework.

She doesn’t like a single word she reads.

(Kacchan yells at her the next day about it but they're both weeks ahead of the rest of their class. He’s really only upset because he can’t compare their answers for the physics homework.)

***

It’s a badly kept secret in the skulk that Izumi will be the next Matriarch.

It doesn’t matter that she’s the youngest or that she’s hardly fox-like at all. Because that’s not how skulks work. They’re not human royalty and it is not about lineage.

Foxes are selfish creatures.

They aren’t quite known for their loyalty, not when there are wolves of legend who will beat themselves bloody for their packmates. That doesn’t mean foxes aren’t loyal, it just means they’re craftier about it. Sneakier and cleverer than their brutish cousins.

(Secrets are more easily kept when fewer people know of them. Loved ones are safer if no one knows to go after them.)

Skulks are just as close and beloved as packs, and the one who reigns at the head of a skulk is not there on power alone, not like the wolves’ alphas.

A skulk’s head is chosen, not fought for. And Izumi has been marked thrice over, by Magic and Fate and her own choices as she grows from girl to woman. Izumi has the will of a leader, the heart of a mother and the ability to inspire all she meets.

Midoriya Izumi will one day rule the skulk, the forests, the whole of Japan.

There is no one else it could be.

***

Days turn to weeks and Izumi keeps tracking Yagi-san down whenever she can. Sometimes they sit and just people watch and other times she demands he play games with her, something that makes him sit down and relax because while she doesn’t know specifics, it’s obvious he’s badly hurt.

All those books she’d scoured say the same thing: that he should be taking it easy. Something he is not doing himself so she does it for him.

He’s also been getting thinner since she met him. Cheeks growing gaunt and limbs becoming bony, like he’s losing muscle mass. Izumi, once she notices, starts bringing him snacks whenever she can. Random things at first that he turns down half the time to her disappointment and frustration.

It must show on her face one too many times because after a while, he sits her down on their bench and explains in fits and starts about his condition. 

Yagi-san was badly injured and lost his stomach. He can’t eat like he used to and isn’t really hungry anymore. His lungs are damaged, which is why he coughs up blood and can’t breathe right.

He tells her a laundry list of trauma and Izumi listens but can’t quite help the horrified look on her face; she’s still too young to have learned to school her expressions.

“That’s… that’s awful,” she whispers, eyes trained on the part of his abdomen he kept gesturing to, the place of such horrific pain.

“It’s okay,” he reassures her and her eyes flick up to meet his. He’s smiling, something warm and wide and so familiar but can’t quite place. “I’m a tough one, my girl. I’ll be alright.” 

Izumi presses her lips together and lets him change the subject. But while he speaks, her mind is a whirl of plans and ideas and things she needs to do.

***

Her mom ‘accidentally’ runs into Yagi-san at the market one day.

(Things like that are never accidental for a fox, nevermind that her mom’s as human as Kacchan. She was born in a skulk and that makes her other in a way normal humans aren’t).

Yagi-san sees her first and his face lights up, “Little Izumi!” he greets.

She waves at him, head tilted back almost all the way as she grins up at him. “Hi Yagi-san!” she yells because he’s so tall. It must be hard to hear her, especially with his human ears. Those miss everything interesting.

His eyes turn onto her mom and he gets very red suddenly. Embarrassed and shy, like he was when she first met him. “Ah, apologies,” his hand rubs the back of his head, “You must be her mother.”

Mom smiles, but her eyes are studying him, flicking over his form, quick and analytical.

“I am, people call me Midoriya Inko,” her mom offers her hand. He shakes it. “You must be Yagi-san. It’s nice to finally meet the man behind the legend. Izumi talks about you a lot.”

Yagi-san looks delighted at that. “Does she?”

“Oh, yes. It feels like I already know you with how much she goes on,” she tells him then turns to Izumi. “And you’re right, sweetheart. He really is too thin.”

“Right!” Izumi exclaims, causing Yagi-san to startle. “That’s why I needed all those bentos! He doesn’t like to eat on his own, so I have to make him.”

After he’d told her about his injuries, she’d very carefully read and researched what one should do after a gastrectomy like his and came away with a thousand and one rules for eating he most definitely was  not following.

It made her more than a bit upset that he’s not taking care of himself like he should be. That he acts so cavalier with his health.

Her mom nods gravely, very serious. “Of course. It’s important to stay healthy.”

“See!” Izumi spins on Yagi-san who looks frozen in mortification, “Even Mom agrees and she’s always right.”

His eyes flick between them both for a long moment before his shoulders slump and he grins, small and wry at them both. “Well if two Midoriya women are telling me that, how can I hope to argue?”

Izumi grins with all her teeth because she’s won and you can’t spend excessive time around Kacchan without picking up some habits.

Mom and Yagi-san talk for a while longer, mostly probing questions from her mom disguised as boring grown-up stuff and small talk. Yagi-san answers them all correctly as far as Izumi can tell. He doesn’t lie once which is good because even if Mom can’t hear his heartbeat she knows how to tell when someone lies.

They leave that day with Mom’s stamp of approval and a skip in Izumi’s step.

***

Mom must have given some sort of signal because now Yagi-san can barely walk out of his house without being accosted by her skulk.

It must be really confusing on his end, all these random people coming up to him suddenly. Not all of them even look like Midoriyas because the townspeople still think there’s only half as many of them as there really are and they want to keep it that way.

They all come away liking him though, some enough to continue interacting with him regularly. Which is good, because he needs more friends. Though, Aunties Emi and Isami tease him so much she’s not sure he’ll ever stop being flustered.

(The best part though, in Izumi’s opinion, is that they all help her keep an eye on him. And, more often than not, they’ll place some sort of fruit or snack in his hands before running off and leaving him in confusion. Izumi laughs whenever she’s there for it to his utter confusion.)

***

Aoi plops down next to her on the couch one day, arm thrown over her shoulders and bright pink pixie cut hair tickling her cheek as she bumps her head into Izumi’s temple and hums lowly because it’s the closest her human vocal cords can get to purring.

Izumi’s classifying plant life for biology, something she normally doesn’t stop doing until it’s finished, but she looks away from them now because Aoi’s her favourite cousin. She’s never said so out loud because she'd rather die than hurt anyone's feelings, but the entire skulk knows anyway.

“He’s weird like you,” Aoi says with no lead-up or explanation.

Izumi grins as Aoi ruffles her hair because she understands immediately and takes that for the compliment it is.

***

Yagi-san touches her casually now. Ruffling her hair, guiding her with a hand on the shoulder, tugging lightly on her wild curls. It’s like he was waiting for permission or something.

It’s nothing she’s not familiar with. Her skulk does it all the time, both to scent mark and provide comfort, and Izumi spends most of her time invading Kacchan’s personal bubble for those same reasons.

Yagi doesn’t know about scent marking like she does because he’s human, wholy and cleanly even if Izumi can sometimes feel a nuclear reactor humming with all the energy hidden away in his chest. (And isn’t that just another reason he’s so strange? Izumi wonders what his quirk is sometimes, but never asks. She doesn't think she’d get the real answer if she did.)

He doesn’t know, and doesn’t seem like an overly touchy person but he touches her and it feels like when her mom pushes her bangs back and presses a kiss to her forehead. Affectionate and soft and Izumi can’t help leaning into every gesture like she’s starved for it.

***

The next day, Izumi greets him with a hug and he smiles that oh, so familiar smile and Izumi feels like she swallowed the sun.

***

The townspeople whisper, carefully outside of Izumi’s range of hearing for once, about the man she follows like a duckling and the growing bond everyone can see.

They were wary at first. They knew so little about this odd stranger.

But with Izumi running around him like a tiny, babbling dervish, unintentionally dragging him into every conversation she starts, it doesn’t take long for them to get a read on the man. It’s almost amusing how he had tried so hard to keep to himself only to fail the moment she crashed into his life.

A month and a half after he showed up, the townspeople can confidently say that Yagi Toshinori is good people. Earnest and kind in all the same ways Izumi is and uniquely awkward and well-meaning in others.

The townspeople whisper, and laugh, and can’t help but think how good it is that little Izumi’s found herself such a lovely father figure.

***

He asks her, one day, why she spends so much time with him when she has so many friends her own age.

The look she gives him makes him feel like he’s asked a stupid question. The words that come out of her mouth immediately after make him breathless.

“Because I like you,” she says as if it’s just that simple. As if Toshinori hadn’t spent decades interacting with people who only liked him because he’s All Might. As if this little girl, hidden away in this idyllic town, saying she likes him as Toshinori, isn’t the most important thing he’s heard in years.

“Ah,” is all he says to that and Izumi goes back to eating her popsicle, only now she’s unashamedly leaning into his uninjured side.

Something warm in his chest blossoms and Toshinori can’t help wondering what exactly he’s gotten himself into now.

***

She brings Kacchan to meet Yagi-san not long after that. She’d been waiting for her skulk to stop harassing him so much, so it had taken longer than she wanted.

Kacchan was starting to think she’s purposefully keeping things from him—which she is, but not this. And the things she is keeping are mostly not her secrets to tell anyway (not that it makes her feel any less bad for having them).

The two know of each other, of course. It’d be impossible for them not to know with how much she babbles at them both about the other.

Kacchan is… unimpressed at first. Loud and disrespectful and really just himself in a bad mood because he’s bad at meeting new people.

Yagi-san takes it all in stride even as her best friend swears enough to make a sailor blush. She can see he’s wondering why Izumi picked him, of course, because everyone does after meeting Katsuki.

She watches from where she’s lying along the top of the monkey bars as they circle around each other, curious and trying not to show it. That is, until Kacchan grows bored with that and starts challenging Izumi to ridiculous contests.

She sighs but accepts every one because, while Kacchan is indeed the self-destructively competitive one, he doesn't hold a monopoly on that trait within their friendship.

Yagi-san gets roped into playing referee and rewards the winner with head ruffles and blinding smiles. Well, he at least tries to. Izumi accepts the affection just fine but when he reaches for Katsuki, her best friend snaps his teeth at him the moment contact is made.

Yagi-san pulls back immediately, eyes wide, but Kacchan hadn’t screamed at the top of his lungs or exploded something so Izumi knows it’s all mostly for show.

She'll have to explain that to Yagi-san later.

***

There’s a saying, in Izumi’s family. A saying that falls from the lips of every fox in the world. A silent oath one whispers from the day they’re born with magic in their veins.

Shual Nephesh, serve thou for thyself.

There’s a duty every leader picks up when they are placed in power, but it is only foxes who truly carry its weight with them. A shimmering gem tied tightly around their throat, both great honour and deadly noose combined.

Matriarch, be thou for the skulk.

There’s no oath for a Hero to take. Nothing regulated or standardized besides the flimsy laws riddled with loopholes and flaws that Izumi could dance around with her eyes closed. So, she makes her own.

Hero, be thou for the people.

***

There is no new weight to her wrist, no new gemstone to tell of her Promise.

The shackle she wears like a badge of honor has been there for years already after all.

***

Two months come and go and Toshinori… stays.

Torino and David both called the day before he was planning to go back to Tokyo, to go back to being All Might, and they begged him to stay just a bit longer. Well, David begged. Torino yelled at him for ten minutes until Toshinori could get a word in edgewise.

After a long pause, Toshinori agrees, to all their surprise.

He wasn’t going to leave, even before they called to beg and he knows what the reason why is, even if he won’t admit it.

He’ll have to leave eventually. Sooner then he might like because he can’t just stop being All Might… but he can stay a little longer.

The world hasn’t fallen apart without him yet.

***

He does call into his agency, of course, and requests as much paperwork as possible be faxed to him.

He’s still restless and antsy and even if he’s not in the field there is plenty of administrative work that needs to be done as All Might. He’s been ignoring it for too long.

Rika, his manager of all things relating to All Might’s image, is no doubt having a fit about his abrupt and continued absence, but he can trust her. She’s no doubt handling the media circus with an iron fist and cunning mind like always. 

She doesn’t let him touch his social media accounts or anything really relating to PR, but she does send him a list of charities to choose from. He’s always like picking which ones to send donations to and make scheduled appearances at.

She also sends him a veritable mountain of things that need his signature, half of which are for merchandising and things like that.

He signs them all without looking.

He’s also faxed the backlog of Assistant Heroes—not ‘Sidekicks’, there were few words he disliked more than that old relic—applications that have piled up in his absence to sort through. Even with the rigorous standards themselves and what few Heroes All Might does have at his agency sorting through the applications before they ever arrive in front of him, there are still dozens that have piled up.

People who work with him have to uphold certain standards. That's something both him and Rika agree on. They can’t have some Hero with a lousy attitude associated with All Might. The press would have a field day with that kind of scandal and Toshinori can’t stand those types of people anyway.

The employees at his agency are held to a higher standard than others. It’s why it’s so prestigious in the first place. His Heroes have to be brave and kind and put the people first above all else.

They may not ever be pillars like him, but Toshinori will be damned if they aren’t beacons of good.

Toshinori is, was, and always will be, firm on this stance. 

He, of course, has to hide all that paperwork from Izumi—because that’s a thing she does now. Knock on his door and spends time at the cottage he’s renting. She does her homework at the kitchen counter while he keeps himself busy doing the less flashy sort of Hero work.

The problem is, she's a curious sort of child, and interested in most everything her eyes land on. She’s made a habit of poking her head over his shoulder while he’s sorting through sensitive documents, keen eyes dancing over the page, and scaring the shit out of Toshinori.

She stares at him with those all too knowing eyes as he scrambles to hide it from her. After the third time it happens she thankfully stops but there’s a contemplative look in her eyes that’s sure to give him stress headaches.

***

“What do you think he’s doing?”

Kacchan doesn’t look up from the math homework he’s checking for her. He also doesn’t ask who she’s talking about because there’s really only one person it could be. “Kicking ass, probably.”

“Kacchan,” she pouts from her place sprawled across his living room floor (they never hang out at her house, for all the obvious reasons). “Be serious.”

“I seriously think he’s kicking ass.”

“Aren’t you worried?”

Kacchan looks up to glare at her. “Why the fuck would I be? Izu, it’s All Might. He never loses. He’s fine, you goddamn bleeding heart.”

Izumi guesses he’s right. All Might’s never lost a fight. It’s what makes him so amazing. It’s just. There’s something at the base of her stomach that won’t let her let go of her worry. It’s been three months  without a single sighting.

That’s… unheard of.

“Stop moping!” he yells, the sugar-burnt crackle and pop of his quirk jolting her from her melancholy.

“Careful, Kacchan!” she shrieks. “You’re going to burn the paper.”

Kacchan snaps his teeth at her but there’s no real heat in it. It’s playful, or as close to it as he gets. “I am not! And stop slacking and check my fucking history worksheet, you freeloader.”

She sighs and flips back onto her stomach. “Yes, Kacchan. Of course, Kacchan. Anything for you, Kacchan,” she gripes fondly.

“And don’t you fucking forget it.”

***

“Young Midoriya?”

“Huh?” Izumi startles from her thoughts for the third time this game. Realizing what she’s done, she blushes and hides behind her hand of cards. “Oh! Sorry, Yagi-san. I can’t seem to focus at all today.”

He smiles, warm and bright. “Not a problem, my dear.” He sets down his hand, choosing instead to give her his full attention. “Something on your mind?”

“Yeah. Just… I’m worried, I suppose.”

He hums encouragingly. “About?”

She blows out a heavy breath. “It’s been three months since anybody has seen All Might.” Yagi-san’s shoulders stiffen. Talking about All Might always makes him uncomfortable but she needs to get this off her chest and he’ll listen. “He’s never disappeared like this before.”

Yagi-san coughs into his fist. “Ah, well. Perhaps he is doing undercover work?”

Izumi gives him a look like she thinks he’s being particularly thick. “He almost never does undercover work. He’s not suited for it and there’s plenty of underground Heroes who can do a better job. He normally respects that.” She pauses, thinks that over. “And even the few times he was recorded to be associated with undercover jobs, there had been plenty of credible sources saying he’d been seen doing small acts of heroics. Community service, charity work, helping people cross the street, things like that. But, right now, it’s practically radio silence. All Might’s never just,” she waves her hands helplessly, “cut himself off from the public before.”

Yagi-san blinks at her and, when there doesn’t seem to be an answer to that forthcoming, Izumi keeps going.

“I just- I can’t stop thinking maybe he’s hurt? Or that something has happened to him? Kacchan says I‘m worrying over nothing but sometimes I just get these feelings, right? Like there’s someone out there who needs my help and… and this is one of those times.” She huffs a humourless laugh. “But again, Kacchan says I’m being dumb because why would All Might need my help? I’m ten! What can I do?

“But I just keep thinking how Sir Nighteye is still in Tokyo and hasn’t said anything official about his whereabouts and David Shield is still in America and there’s just nobody else that All Might has to lean on, at least not to public knowledge, and if those two people aren’t there for him then who is?”

By the end, Izumi has to take a deep breath because she hadn’t breathed once while she word-vomited all her worries at him.

When she looks up, Yagi-san is staring at her with an expression she can’t really read.

Quieter, she says—because she’s never been able to leave well enough alone and if Yagi-san doesn’t understand then who will?— “He saves everyone, but who’s there to save him?”

Yagi-san laughs.

Not a mean one, not like he’s laughing at her, but more like he was so surprised by her that he can’t contain the sound. Uncle Kazuki did that sometimes. Probably because Uncle Hikaru is more than a handful and he made the mistake of marrying him, or so they say.

“You truly are one of a kind, my girl. I’ve never, in all my years, met someone with a heart as big as yours.”

Izumi blushes to the tips of her hidden ears at such a high compliment and picks up her cards just to hide behind them. “I think we should finish our game.”

He gives a quiet chuckle but picks up his cards. “Okay, okay. But, for the record, my dear?” Izumi looks up at him and finds him smiling at her, small and soft. “I think there’s a lot you could do to help him.”

***

He watches Izumi and Young Bakugou run around each other, playing some strange amalgamation of tag and marco-polo where Izumi’s blind folded and only allowed to use her hearing and sense of smell to sniff out her friend.

It’s quirk training made into a game, something ingenious only she could come up with.

Izumi is doing well at locating Bakugou, head swiveling in whatever direction he’s in despite the blind fold, but she keeps tripping over and running into things, paying too much attention to her friend and not enough to her surroundings.

She does eventually catch him, pouncing on his back and sending both of them to the ground. Toshinori smiles despite himself as it immediately transitions into a wrestling match.

Not for the first time since coming to this fantasy of a town, does Toshinori think wistfully of a world where things were different. If he didn’t need to hold up the world, if people were kinder, if the world was safer. If, if, if.

Toshinori wanted a family once, before he picked up all these mountains he should’ve climbed. He still wants a family—doesn’t think he’ll ever stop—but he’s practical enough to know it’s too late. To see it’ll never work out.

(He ignores the part of him that says it’s closer than he thinks. Ignores the way any thoughts of his future—the ones where he forgets he’s going to die in eight years at least—all have a child in them. A little girl with wild green hair and freckles and a heart big enough to cradle the world.

His mind ignores them, but his heart is soft and weak and tucks it all in his chest, safe and sound for those rainy days.)

***

Time skips along, as it’s wont to do.

Izumi dances into eleven years old with all the joy and brightness of a girl on top of the world.

Her magic grows more with each day and after the fourth time she comes home dragging some sort of creature behind her, the skulk starts whispering about having her begin training before the traditional fourteen years old.

She joins aikido at the suggestion of Yagi-san while Kacchan gleefully dives into kick-boxing after hounding his parents for three months. Izumi keeps up with gymnastics but Kacchan drops out to join the wrestling team.

It’s all vaguely concerning from an outsider’s point of view but it’s nice that he has an outlet.

For all that she’s growing up, Izumi is still much of the same. Still sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong and dedicating most of her time to helping other people, no matter how important the task, and staying at the top of her classes with Katsuki right next to her.

What little free time she allows herself is divided between all the people she loves. She’s busy, but she’s always been busy. Always right at the thick of things when they happen which is just how she likes it.

It’s the best three months of her life, a bright summer she enjoyed to the fullest. Her magic has been practically singing in her veins because, until she becomes a Hero, until she takes her rightful place at the top, as a Protector, this is as close to perfect as she’ll get.

That, of course, means it can’t last.

Because perfect things never do.

***

Yagi-san leaves, because he has too.

She’d known that for a while now. His job is important, even if she’s not quite sure what it is he does.

He always dances around the question when she asks. Saying he works in relation to an important agency that helps keep people safe. He’s always adamant of how much he loves it and she can see the wistfulness in his eyes sometimes. Like there’s places he wants to be other than here.

And so, Izumi resigns herself to watching him leave her. Braces herself to lose this growing, fragile thing in her chest she can’t put a name to.

He leaves the week after her birthday and she’s there at his house to say goodbye. She expects this to be the last time she sees him, she expects him to leave and not come back just like the father she never met and doesn’t want to.

What she doesn’t expect is for him to press a phone into her hand, a single number already programmed into it, and tell her he’ll keep in touch. She doesn’t expect him to get on his knees so she can look him in the eye as he Promises to visit, to come back, whenever he can.

She tries hard not to cry, because her lonely man gets so flustered when she does, but she can’t help it. She sobs and throws her arms around his shoulders, clinging to him because even with the Promise she knows it will be too long before she sees him again.

She has so many things she wants to tell him. So many things to say and do and none of the time.

His lips press against her forehead. “I’ll miss you, my dear girl.”

But, perhaps she’ll still get the chance. Just… later.

“I’ll miss you, too.”

***

Kacchan, Aoi, and her mom all gang up on her the following days, trying their hardest to cheer her up and get her mind off things.

Her mom makes her favorite foods and Aoi teaches her magic tricks she’s not supposed to learn until Nona officially begins her training and Kacchan only grumbles a little when she takes to clinging to him like a heartsick koala.

It’s the last one more than anything that makes her realize how worried they must be. How badly she must be moping for them to be so worried.

Kacchan may not actually care about how much she’s in his bubble, but he does like to complain about it, loudly and vocally. He’s really very mean and if Izumi couldn’t always tell when he’s lying she’s sure she’d never made it to being his best friend because she’d be crying too much.

But she’s worrying everyone and it’s not like she can’t text or call Yagi-san. He gave her the phone for a reason (though a whole new phone seems a bit much).

Izumi tries not to be so sad.

It only works a little.

***

Two days after Yagi-san leaves town, All Might saves thirty people from a hostage situation, rescues two potential kidnap victims and stops three robberies all before two in the afternoon.

Izumi sees the news articles almost immediately because even if she’s sad and breaks into tears every couple hours, she’s been keeping her ear to the ground about any sign of All Might for weeks now. There’s pictures and videos and stories of his escapades everywhere and all anyone is talking about is where he’s been.

Izumi finds a video of him, barely thirty seconds long, of him apologizing for his absence. Some official story that’s nothing but lies falling from his tongue because it had taken Izumi all of five seconds of hearing his voice before everything clicked.

Izumi is smart and clever and sees things no one else does and she can’t believe she’d been so blind.

All Might’s face smiles at her through the screen but Izumi can’t hear what he’s saying because all she can see are bright blue eyes. Bright, familiar eyes and a familiar smile and familiar laugh and and and-

And her lonely man is the number one Hero.

She closes her laptop and screams.

[captcas]

Last Night

LAST NIGHT

Pan's curse is coming. Emma Swan has a lot left unsaid and only one night to make it happen.

read on ao3

If the world was ending, you'd come over, right? The sky'd be falling and I'd hold you tight. And there wouldn't be a reason why we would even have to say goodbye.

A curse was coming–– of course a curse was coming, is a curse ever not coming–– but for some reason Regina looked more terrified than usual.

“We’ve beat curses before, we’ll do it again.” “That’s a nice sentiment, Charming, but not curses like Pan’s.”

Emma could tell when Regina was bluffing or being overdramatic, and she kept waiting for this to be one of those times. Now she is sitting here three days later coming to terms with the fact that she was going to lose everyone once again. Regina had already decided Emma would take Henry over the border, that was non-negotiable, but what about her mom, dad… Hook.

Anyone who was brought over with the first curse would be displaced. Dropped somewhere in the “real world”, without magic, without their memories, without their family . She feels like a child when she whines about how unfair it all is, but she’s tired of being the bigger person. Two years ago she wandered into this town expecting to drop off the crazy kid and high-tail it back to Boston. She didn’t expect to become best friends with her mother, find and confide in her father, and develop feelings for Captain Hook.

There it is, the elephant in the room she’s been tripping over since the moment she ran into Killian Jones at Granny’s her second day in town. He sat at the counter nursing a cup of soup and a tumbler of rum and, when she sat three stools away, he glanced in her direction. His blue eyes were hypnotic and when they caught hers, the connection could only be broken by Ruby dropping a grease covered paper bag between them.

Five days later she saw him again in the exact same spot except, this time, with only the rum. When she sat next to him, he merely looked at her out of the corner of his eye before muttering, “you again,” not so subtly under his breath.

“I’m sorry, did I do something to you?”   “Not a thing, love.” “Not your love. Have a nice night.”

She chuckles to herself as she remembers the extreme distaste they had for one another for no apparent reason. It was the moment he saved her from Jefferson that turned their relationship around and when he had her back after Graham and the custody/sheriff battle with Regina… she no longer felt alone. He always seems to be right there, his eyes never falling off of her for more than a second or two. She’d think it was creepy if he didn’t continually prove himself to be a better man than the legends the locals were quick to share of the dastardly Captain Hook.

When the first curse broke, there was a lot of emotion. Killian and David had actually become close friends but as soon as their memories returned everyone was quick to turn on Hook, everyone except Emma. She herself can understand good people turning to bad habits. It didn’t take long for her mother to step in and remind everyone that each person deserves a second chance and that Storybrooke was that chance.

Between their first year together in Storybrooke, getting swept back to the Enchanted Forest, climbing a beanstalk, and their adventures in Neverland, Hook has become one of the most important people in her life. Maybe that’s why now, as a proverbial Armageddon approaches, he’s the only one she can possibly want to spend time with. Henry will, understandably, be with Regina and she cannot bear to think about the look on her parents’ faces should she spend the entire night with them.

This is definitely how she finds herself standing at the end of the docks with a bottle of rum and a pit in her stomach. She doesn’t do emotional confessions and goodbye kisses, but she also doesn’t usually have all her time cut short by a curse threatening to rip apart everything she’s built.

“If you take a picture it’ll last longer, love.”

Emma can’t help but jump at the way his accented voice cuts through the silence.

“I wasn’t staring, Hook. Just deciding if I actually wanted to talk to you tonight or if I’d rather spend the night being smothered by my parents.”

“Parental clinginess and emotional crying or rum with a pirate. It seems like you’ve stumbled yourself right into a conundrum.” He’s smirking as though he’s already won and somehow he’s now standing at the end of the ramp leading to his ship… a mere foot from where her feet feel glued to the floor.

“Keep talking and the choice will actually be quite easy, Jones .” She’s not sure if it’s the implication of her leaving or her teasing use of his last name, but his gaze suddenly turns stoic and serious. It hits her that by this time tomorrow he won’t be Jones anymore. He won’t remember who he is, losing another piece that ties him to his long lost brother. He won’t even remember Liam, his name meaning nothing more than it’s Irish origin. She gives him a soft smile, not sure how else to calm the storm she’s watching brew behind his eyes. She holds up the bottle, “I brought rum! Let’s go.”

She grabs his hand and he all but flinches at the unexpected contact. She’s never been this forward with him, not since their kiss in the foliage of Neverland, but it’s the last night they’ll ever see each other so she figures there is little to no consequence.

Emma leads him to his ship, the deck feeling like an old friend after becoming two years acquainted with it. They spent many days aboard the vessel in Neverland and she feels at home among its rigging and hardwood. Hook is the first to break the silence, “I suppose this is my last night with her as well.”

Awhile back Emma would’ve been confused as to what he was referring to but she knows him well enough that she also knows the fear of losing his ship is probably as great as losing anyone else in his life. It’s the only thing besides his name that connects him to his brother and he’ll lose that too. She’s not sure how to answer so she offers him an understanding smile and the bottle of rum. As he takes a swig, she involuntarily shivers, her body realizing she isn’t dressed for the chill the night has taken on. Ever vigilant, Killian quickly removes his heavy leather duster, placing it gently on her shoulders.

“It will be more comfortable below deck, love.” She nods and follows him down the steep steps to the small dining area. Her eye flickers to the captain’s quarters, remembering the especially cold night on their journey to Neverland where he offered his bed and she insisted they share. His sturdy warmth enveloped her and ever since she’s craved it like the most addictive of drugs. They’ve had very little time alone since that night, her father protective and her mother clingy for the daughter they’ve had so little time with. She must visibly wince at that thought because Killian shoots her an inquisitive look. “It’s just–”

“Aye, your parents. If you need to go to them, I understand, Swan.”

“I need to be with you.” The gravity of her words doesn’t escape her and they seem to hit Killian like a brick. Before she can backtrack, he hurriedly walks towards her. She thinks she hears a shot glass shatter against the floor as he bumps the table, but she is too busy forcing her brain to remember this moment. She pleads with it to never forget the way his eyes darken as she loops her fingers through his belt loop, curses be damned.

In no time at all he’s kissing her. This kiss has every bit of emotion as the one in Neverland. It’s riddled with everything left unsaid and everything they want to say before they’re ripped apart. He cradles her head as he walks her backwards, lifting her with no effort to lay her on the table. She hears more glass shatter but she’s only focused on the man whose eyes have haunted her dreams for two and a half years. Her hands begin to cramp from clutching his undershirt so desperately, ever worried that if she let’s go the curse will consume them sooner than predicted. He’s chasing every kiss, their foreheads or lips never parting, as though he’s convinced separating will secure their fate.

“Emma…” It’s not a question, but a plea. It’s as though he’s carving her name to memory, hoping to etch it into the fiber of his being. She takes a moment to breathe and looks directly in his eyes, no longer afraid of the emotion he’s kept hidden behind them.

“Don’t be a gentleman, Hook, there’s no time. We have less than 24 hours and I want you to hold me. I want you to hold me and I want to tell our stories. I want to live through all the things we’re being cheated out of. I want to fall in love with you, Killian Jones.”

“As you wish.”

His mimicked sentiment from their time in Neverland shoots shivers down her spine. Then he’s kissing her and they’re losing layers and Emma is feeling everything she’d been silently dreaming of for at least a year. Then it’s over and she’s scared to move, scared to lose it all. She doesn’t… he doesn’t. They lay there entangled in every way possible until Killian speaks up, “I can’t believe I’m going to lose you.”

Emma doesn’t know how to respond. She doesn’t do deep conversations, she runs. So she sits up and pulls her tank top over her head. “Scariest thing you’ve ever encountered on your 500 years of adventures.”

Killian rubs his hand over his face and laughs, Emma knows it’s at her inability to be serious about… well about anything, but he answers cheekily, “I assure you, it’s closer to 300. Either way, you without your morning coffee puts  the fear of Poseidon into me.” Emma swats at his chest playfully and gently kisses him.

They do this for hours. Playful banter, gentle kisses, heated make out sessions…  everything which should’ve slowly progressed over months or even years, they desperately cram into one final night. Not falling asleep until dawn hits the horizon and their tiredness overpowers their need to be together.

. . .

Emma wakes up to the sun in her eyes and a firm arm wrapped around her waist. She finds herself once again unwilling to move. It’s only amplified by Killian’s even breath acting like a metronome on the back of her neck as, in sleep, he pulls her closer than she thought possible. She grabs his hand, still entwined in hers, and kisses each knuckle. Hook begins to stir and slowly his breaths become kisses to her spine. She flips around to face him. He smiles softly through his ruffled hair and mound of blankets, “Good morning, love.”

“Morning,” Emma reaches for his hook, careful not to roll onto it, but only finds skin. She sees him flinch as she gently caresses it with her thumb. “Killian…”

“I’ve known I was going to love you since the day we locked eyes at–” “At Granny’s, I remember. Me too… I just had to see it over your big head… and my walls.” She kisses him softly, reveling in their last moments before reality inevitably sets in.

“I wish we had more time, Swan.”

“Me too. Killian I–” Emma phone buzzes loudly on the wood floor. The screen lights up with a selfie of her and her father from the night the first curse broke. She quickly rolls out of bed, wrapped in the covers and grabs her phone on the last ring. Gesturing for Killian to keep quiet, she puts the phone on speaker.

“Dad?” “Emma! Where are you? Doesn’t matter. Get to Regina’s as fast as you can. She’s figured something out–” “Ok, I’ll be right there. Should I, uh, let Killian know?” “Yes, he should come too. See you soon, Emma… Killian.” Emma blushes at her father’s detective skills and Killian’s ears turn bright red, but before she can answer, David has hung up.

“It seems we really are fitting everything into the last few hours, darling, even the cringy family moments.” He chuckles and his laugh is bright but the sparkle is missing from his eyes. There is sadness there and it hits her in the pit of her stomach. She moves back to the bed, positioning herself between his legs. Emma grabs either side of his face, hoping her gaze expresses everything she doesn’t have the guts to say and Killian gently grabs her chin between his thumb and forefinger. He dips her chin for her and kisses her on the forehead. She feels tears well up in her eyes, as his find their way through the cracks in her fingers. She gives him a soft smile, allowing a tear to escape down her cheek as well. Killian brushes it away with his thumb, “We should go, love. Whatever your father needs sounds important, we shouldn’t keep him waiting.”

“You’re right. Killian, I–”

“I know, Swan. Me too.” She’s grateful he isn’t pushing her to pour her heart out in sappy goodbyes. Although at times it can be infuriating, she’s grateful he can read her like an open book. They clean up what they can and head off to Regina’s together, neither wanting to chance a look towards the ominous purple fog creeping its way towards the center of town.

“There’s not a day that will go that I won’t think of you.” “Good.”

[bisexecutioner]

Origins

James Greene.

The record she held, stamped with an old Alliance seal, became crinkled by the routine pass of her thumb nail. This small note was all she possessed of her father’s name, proof of infantry service in the North. Business had been going well, and as such, she had enough free time on her hands to pursue this personal venture. It had been pushed off for long enough.

Her sabatons thudded heavy against the worn streets of Darkshire. She did not traverse here often, except on a few occasions to restock supplies. The locals were foreign to her; she was able to feel their stares through the mail coif she’d chosen to keep her ears covered. Muddled ancestry may prove to complicate things, especially when it came to her father’s treason.

She slips into the inn like a ghost, stopping at the rail to survey its current denizens. They all bore similar characteristics: thin, not well-fed, wiry with hardship. Unforgiving faces lined the bar. Her attention drew to one in particular — he sat at the end, hunched over a burning cigar, his hair as dark as the inky blackness that permeated their surroundings. Much like her own. 

She approached in a gait of swaying confidence, nodding her arrival to the barkeep. Her order was uttered in hushed tones. He was slow to pour out two doubles of absinthe, passing one of them down to Victoria’s target.

Ceren peers down to the arrival of the bright green vice. When he looks back up, Victoria had already slipped into the seat beside, removing her gloves to make herself more comfortable. She ventures, “Mr. Greene?”

His lip curls on the spot. He pushes the glass aside, apparently unimpressed by her offering. “S’my old man’s name. Not mine.” 

Victoria doesn’t meet his gaze, not yet. She splays her hands to inspect her fingers, a show of patience. “I see. How shall I refer to you, then?”

She could hear the groan of the stool beneath him as he shifted his weight towards her. “Depends who the fuck is asking.” His tone spoke to an inherent temper, one that made her lips curve. This should be fun.

“Victoria Greene. And no — I do not believe it is a coincidence.” Now she glances up to meet his hard visage, icy blue eyes and stern disposition. He looked older than she thought he was. She supposed that was product of the environment. “I don’t suppose you have any light to shed upon his name?”

Ceren huffs. The muscle in his jaw draws tight, and he promptly rolls his face away from her. “Bug off.” He takes up the shot, sniffs it twice, then finds it adequate to throw back, eyes squeezing shut against the potent taste. 

Victoria sucks on her front teeth, undaunted. “Ah, well. I expected as much. Could you point me in the right direction to find him, then?”

“Been dead for years.” Ceren grunts back.

Her hands clasp together abruptly. “Brilliant. So there is a family plot I could visit? Let us hope he’s not up and walking around, hm?”

The dark-haired fellow bristled immediately, wheeling in to meet her nose to nose. “Don’t know who you think you are, but I won’t be asking again—”

“...On the contrary, Mister.” She purrs her interruption. “I’ve told you exactly who I am. And I’m the one asking questions, to my knowledge, which you have been horribly slow to answer...”

He reaches towards her then; whether it was to strike, intimidate, or halt remained to be seen, but she wasn’t about to find out. Catching his closed fist in a hand, she twists his wrist at an awkward angle with jarring strength, prompting him to cry out. The barkeep reacted almost instantly, moving with intention to break them up. To which she hushed: “I wouldn’t do that.”

Floorboards creak. Mayhem’s massive body cast a shadow over the lot of them. What remained of the tavern crowd cleared at the sight of the worg, who roused from his position outside at the first sign of conflict. Lips peel back to reveal his maw of sharp fangs, a low growl rising from the throat. The barkeep steps back and Victoria releases Ceren in tandem.

“The fuck you want from me then, huh?!” Ceren snarls out, cradling his wrist in a hand. He watches the canine with increasing wariness. “Don’t have shit to say. He was a sad, drunk man. Pathetic pissin’ cunt. S’all.”

“Walk.” Victoria instructs. She points toward the entrance, jerking her chin that way. “I need to see his name. Then I’m out of your hair.”

Ceren wasn’t a man who responded well to orders. That said, the rabid mutt at her heel was enough to convince him on. The pistol he could see sheathed at her hip helped too.

David. Mathew. Mary. All bore the Greene name, laid side by side in the lot. A smaller stone was hidden to the side, revealed only as she reached down to brush the moss away. Evan. Judging by the dates provided, he’d only been a child when he died.

Ceren stuffed his hands into his pockets, eyeing their surroundings while smoking up a storm. Victoria’s jab carried weight; it wasn’t uncommon to see the walking dead around these parts. “Trying to say you’re my sister or somethin’? Wouldn’t put it past him.”

“Gods, no.” She murmurs, rising up to her full height. “...Though if my judgement is correct, our fathers are related to one another.”

Ceren pauses. After a long moment he offers with relunctance, “...Pop mentioned a few brothers. Most of ‘em shipped out to the city. Can’t blame ‘em for getting out of here, can you?”

Victoria’s gaze lifts to the foggy, teal-mist sky, watching her breath materialize on the frozen air. Her eyes lid for just a moment.

“...No. I suppose I can’t.”

[ @harsh-counterpoint ]

[florrickandassociates]

TGF Thoughts: 4x06-- The Gang Offends Everyone

Thoughts under the cut. 

Another long episode, yay! But it’s a minute shorter than 3x04, so I feel slightly better about it. 

Lucca bought herself a Birkin bag with a portion of her poker winnings. Clearly she knows it’s a status symbol, but the second she realizes people are noticing it, she’s slightly embarrassed. Or maybe I’m reading this wrong. I think she wanted to impress everyone and show off and then started feeling uncomfortable. I am a little shocked she decided to take it to work.

Tbh I don’t think I would notice if someone carried a Birkin bag into my office.

Marissa knows a lot about Birkins, which tracks. As she says, she was raised around rich people. I would bet ELI knows about Birkins and the types of stitching too. 

Landau is back with an absolutely ridiculous idea: Running Adrian for President in 2024. Landau mentions that this year we started with a diverse field of candidates but “no candidate of color went the distance.” I know what he means but could he maybe phrase it in a way that doesn’t make it sound like it’s the candidate's fault? Also, question, what is running Adrian as a candidate early on going to do other than create more noise in the field and prevent people from unifying behind one candidate? 

(And, surely, there are more qualified people to run than Adrian Boseman, but this is TV and I will be quiet about this.)

As far as I can tell, this plot is about forcing Adrian into a new realm where optics matter more than money, thus forcing Adrian/the audience to confront a lot of the choices Adrian tends to make. 

They want him to stay on the stage until Iowa so black voters can “see themselves up there.” So it’s almost like their plan is to pick a moderately convincing candidate they know will lose in order to appease black voters??? What’s the point, to say they care but not enough to find a candidate who could actually win? Maybe I’m being too cynical. Or maybe it’s because it involves a fictional character that I’m so critical.

That said, the way Landau/the DNC have been written on this show? They CLEARLY are not supposed to actually understand black voters.

Just… don’t turn into season 7 of TGW, show. Peter running for president was such a poorly executed idea. 

I can’t tell if this plan would be to run someone in 2024 no matter what (meaning if Biden doesn’t seek a second term or if we have to deal with 4 more years of 45) or if it’s contingent upon 45 being reelected. If the latter, then that means that Adrian, in his own self-interest, would.... Want 45 to get reelected? Odd thought.

Adrian promises he won’t tell anyone and shakes on it. He immediately tells Liz.

I love how Diane’s name is on the letterhead but she is almost never looped into conversations like this. This is more personal than professional so it obviously makes sense that Liz would be the one he confides in, but it happens more generally too. 

Liz kind of mocks the idea of Adrian being the future of the party, and Adrian accuses her of being jealous. “What are your positions?” Liz wants to know. Good question. Adrian jokes that Liz could be his policy adviser, and Liz reminds him she brought the DNC in to begin with, used to work in government, and knows how to pronounce Kamala Harris’ name. All fair points. Adrian is definitely the more charismatic of the two (and he’s been on Cable News-- he went viral in the universe of the show AND in the real world for it!) but charisma is the kind of thing that matters far more than it should in politics. 

“Are you saying former prosecutors are unelectable, or just black female former prosecutors?” Liz attacks. IMO Adrian hasn’t really thought about it and is just parroting what the DNC said. And this is why Liz would be better at the job than Adrian, but it will never matter because no one is ever going to ask someone like Liz when they could ask someone like Adrian. Which is, I think, Liz’s point: she’s not jealous so much as she is incredulous at how this opportunity just appeared out of nowhere for Adrian when he has no experience, no policies, and no stances. Liz has all three (maybe not policies, but I bet she knows where she would stand if she needed to make policies) but no one is asking her to run.

“Would it kill them to recruit a woman every once in a while?” Liz wonders after Adrian’s gone. Precisely. I don’t think Liz wants this for herself-- but when she sees it go to Adrian, she sees how it’s not going to any of the other qualified black women who want it more than Adrian. 

Adrian goes to see his client, a swimmer, and says they’re changing strategies because of the politics. This may very well have been his plan for a while, but putting this scene right after the other two definitely makes it feel like Adrian is doing this for his own image.

I feel like most TGF characters are motivated by some combination of power and stability. Diane and Adrian want to have power, so they compromise on their principles to get ahead or make their position as prestigious as possible. Liz (who is actually a bit like her former rival Alicia in this!) compromises on her principles when it means not getting into fights that aren’t worth it or jeopardizing job security; Lucca is usually the same way and doesn’t wade into controversies. I have lots of thoughts on this I will probably come back to as the episode goes on and we see more from Liz.

This is one of the more case heavy TGF episodes, and it’s one of the more interesting, layered cases they’ve done. An aspiring Olympic swimmer has just missed the mark for going to the Olympics. As far as I can tell the underlying issue is that the meet was rescheduled from 2019 (normal timeline) to 2020 to let another swimmer have more time to prepare. I can’t tell if the timing ceases to matter once they switch strategies (right now they’re arguing it’s racial descrimination) or if it’s just forgotten as the episode progresses. Seems to me like that’s where their case is the best-- if they moved the date to advantage one swimmer, for any reason, that’s a pretty bad look.

How is it possible that this dude who played Bree’s sex addict boyfriend on Desperate Housewives and was on The Americans and a few other NYC filmed shows is only just now showing up on TGW/F!?!? 

Memo 618 leads Diane and Julius to compare what they know. Julius explains what spooked him; Diane explains the Visitor. In the middle of all this, Marissa interrupts to share the news of Lucca’s new bag-- heh. 

I assume the middle 3 numbers of Visitor’s phone number are blank because the writers wanted to use the fact they couldn’t print an actual number to add MYSTERY! Citing the bible, Julius decides to call Visitor to get more information.

Marissa brings Liz around to see the Birkin. Something weird about the name partner coming in to admire something one of her employees owns, no? Lucca’s hidden the bag but shows it off. Liz is mesmerized by the bag (my guess is even if she had the money she’d never consider buying one-- she says it’s a good investment but idk how much she means that) and Lucca’s really embarrassed to keep explaining why she spent 20k on a bag.

Marissa wonders if Bianca bought it for Lucca. “Jesus, you are a one woman surveillance state,” Lucca says to Marissa after Marissa confesses she’s looked up the price of the bag. She is a natural investigator, yes.

Lucca explains she bought it with the poker winnings, and Marissa calculates that Lucca must have won a lot if she was willing to spend 20k on something inessential. Marissa starts her guess low-- 200k. She finally gets the number out of Lucca (or at least the range it’s in) and tells Lucca she needs to talk to David Lee about taxes and accounting. 

On the one hand, very glad to see Marissa is knowledgeable about this. On the other hand, Lucca and David Lee are both family law department heads, so the implication that David Lee knows the ins and outs of gambling laws as pertain to St. Lucia while Lucca doesn’t know that winnings are taxable. I’m fine with David Lee being better at this than Lucca-- he’s a slimeball and has more experience-- but Lucca shouldn’t have to be told this. And this is the second time this season we’ve seen something similar happen.

(Another reason I’m fine with David Lee being better at the job than Lucca in general: we have seen time and time again that DLee isn’t just good, he is worth compromising the mission of your firm to have on board. So as great as Lucca is, not sure we’ve seen any evidence she is THAT good at this point in her career!)

The racism angle doesn’t work in court because the opposition brings in the argument Adrian was going to go with originally: the swimmer who beat Adrian’s client’s time is trans. Now if he wants to represent his client, Adrian has to be on record saying someone trans shouldn’t be able to compete as the gender they identify with. 

This is one of the more interesting approaches TGF could’ve taken to deal with trans rights, so it’s also one of the more interesting cases they’ve done in a while. This is one of very very few places where there could be a compelling case to look at sex assigned at birth instead of identity. So the writers focus on that, all the while acknowledging that even raising this question is pretty fraught. 

“Okay. From race to trans. Let’s go,” the judge says as we head into the credits. P sure that is not the right language to use but also VERY certain this judge has not fully wrapped his head around the concept of people being trans yet. 

Awww, using a Fountains of Wayne song over the credits is a really nice Adam Schlesinger tribute.The song doesn’t go super well with the credits but this is such a nice gesture I don’t care. 

Something else I like about this tribute is that it dates this episode. The reference might not be as easy to get in a few years, but since the characters can’t address COVID-19 (since all this was filmed pre-pandemic), this is going to be one of the only in-show ways to contextualize these episodes. (I would not be surprised if there is some sort of reference next week, and I am holding out hope for some sort of animated video or epilogue song (like the end of BrainDead))

This episode was written and directed by women! 

Adrian for some reason demands Liz-- and not any of the other black female lawyers at his firm-- join his case. This makes sense if we assume that the default state of RBL name partners is “doing what they please when they please because actual work is for associates and bigger cases are for STRL”. Otherwise it seems like a huge waste of resources. 

Liz immediately understands the optics are important in the case but also to the DNC. 

Adrian goes to talk to Charlotte about the DNC, and his timing is awkward… she wants to move in with him! (I didn’t realize his secret gf was that serious!) But Adrian is worried that since Charlotte is corrupt, she’ll be an issue for his campaign. Here is a thought: don’t take an opportunity that will invite scrutiny into your life but ultimately not lead to any type of lasting success unless literally all you care about is power? Adrian can say no! Of course, if he doesn’t want to say no… there’s his answer to all the dilemmas.

Charlotte understands this better than Adrian does. He promises her “issues” won’t impact his campaign, but he’s gotta know that’s complete bullshit, right? Her issues would absolutely disqualify him. He swears there will be no impact but… LOL. I don’t think he gets to be the one to swear there will be no impact. 

Lucca and David Lee’s meeting, in which David Lee is the right mix of professional and scheming, reminds me so heavily of the great scenes where he handles Alicia’s inquiries about divorce. David Lee was overused in late season TGW but this is reminiscent of him at his best. I’m glad that TGF is using him appropriately.

Here’s something stupid: Lucca spent $20k of the money BEFORE SHE HAD THE MONEY IN HER POSESSION. David Lee realizes the problem immediately. Lucca, astonishingly, doesn’t. Lucca is not an idiot. 

Adrian successfully gets Liz to join him on the case. Case stuff happens.

Julius and Visitor have lunch. Visitor tries to get Julius to play along. Julius continues to resist, then Diane appears. Visitor isn’t scared and threatens Julius and Diane. How else was this going to go? 

Marissa and Jay tail Visitor (this is slightly less ridiculous than the 5x10 Kalinda car chase, but only slightly) and lose him… but find Rachel Dratch, who was also trailing Visitor! Interesting.

Adrian asks Landau about his relationship with Charlotte, without any specifics. Landau gives the obvious response: “Get rid of her. Do it now.” Adrian is like, why? And Landau says “You said there was corruption there.” Yes. This is pretty damn obvious. Also this ends one of two ways: Adrian dumps her and the DNC thing proceeds, or he doesn’t dump her and then the DNC dumps him the second they do some investigative research. 

Alicia is in Lucca’s phone contacts!!!!!! (Maia’s ex, Amy, and Barbara Kolstad are too BUT LET ME HAVE THIS AND PRETEND IT’S SPECIAL.). 

Bianca calls, or maybe Lucca calls (this makes no sense because Lucca says hello first and it says incoming call from Bianca, but we see Lucca scroll through her contacts and Bianca asks what’s up). Bianca wants to do a celebration dinner, on Lucca. Lucca, knowing the power differential, can’t say no. 

Case stuff happens! Liz hates being on the wrong side and refuses to do a redirect!

Ugh the judge misgenders the swimmer. Ugh. 

A bunch of associates present Adrian and Liz with a petition to drop the case because they are on the wrong side. Good for them! 

Adrian says they’re not being hateful, it’s just a strategy. Sure. A strategy that, if successful, will set dangerous precedents. 

Adrian explains he’s actually just defending their client. As always, I don’t find this excuse satisfactory. Do you really need the business of this one swimmer? Is it worth being the one to essentially fight against trans rights? I feel like the answer to that is pretty clear. 

This case may be one of the more interesting ways to discuss if/when sex assigned at birth matters, but when it comes to whether or not Adrian/Liz have to be the ones fighting to count a trans woman as a man… that answer is way, way more clear cut. They absolutely do not need to take part in this. 

I appreciate that Liz is unhappy with this strategy and wants no part of it and admits that the associates/assistants are right. Liz also understands that this is generational and Adrian is like “Liz, I’ve won awards from covering every one of the letters LGBT” in his condescending tone. Liz, correctly, calls him out on basically trotting out the equivalent of “I have a black friend”.

Liz suggests reframing the case and leaving out the “anti-trans tone”. Adrian says “Not if we lose, Liz. Now this is not about politics. This is about rules. Are the Olympic rules fair, or are they not? That’s all.” Man, his tone is so insufferable sometimes. He always seems like he’s belittling whoever he’s talking to. He is also completely wrong here. And, as Liz points out, that’s never all.

Lucca and Bianca have dinner and Lucca still says nothing and still gets stuck with the $3,000 bill. I feel like the firm could probably pay for that as client maintenance? 

Charlotte lists out all the things she’s received as payouts. Some are small-- tickets to the bulls after an endorsement, a friends and family discount at Neiman Marcus after a zoning issue (seems pretty illegal), a speaking engagement for a judge after a favorable ruling… got a Mercedes with no money down… and she fucking bought shares in a tech stock before the IPO was announced. Well those last two seem like trouble. Any of these are potential problems, something involving stock and tech and IPOs? ANYTHING involving her getting nice things like Neiman Marcus discounts and a Mercedes? Those may be smaller scale but people would LOVE to hate on that. So she’s corrupt as fuck. No way out of this. OH ALSO SHE WAS TIPPED OFF ON WHEN TO SELL THE STOCK. Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah. And this is just what she admits to Adrian.

I wonder if this would trouble Adrian if he weren’t in the running for the presidency.

Adrian asks about 618. Charlotte says it won’t be a problem “because it’s the solution”. ?????? 

I have never understood this relationship and I continue to not understand this relationship.

Case stuff happens.

I’m not sure how Liz’s new strategy is any less anti-trans. She isn’t either, so she gives up mid sentence and sits down, telling Adrian “You want this, you do it.” That’s kind of like taking a stand? I know Liz isn’t going to rock the boat that much, not in the middle of court, but like, how much does standing up for what you believe in matter if all you’re doing is saying you won’t personally do something without fighting further? Liz gets as much of a say here as Adrian and the third person who would get a say is Diane (well, and STRL but shhh) and Diane would 100% take Liz’s side. So how much credit can I really give Liz? 

Does anyone really think someone would just decide to be trans to get a competitive advantage?!?!?! Jesus. That’s wild. 

Diane goes to talk to Rachel Dratch (Linda, here). Even though Jay and Marissa found Linda’s address they didn’t bother to look at her occupation?? She’s a court stenographer and she recognizes Diane.

She knows all about Memo 618 and shares her knowledge with Diane. 

Who is behind it? The Office of Legal Counsel.

How does she know this? Well, there’s a handy TGF short (YAY!!!!!!) to explain.

I love the little joke about how they won’t ever mention censorship in China in the song. Haaaaah.

The Secret Law in the song is so friggin’ cute. I love it. 

The explainer songs that explain largely unfamiliar, complicated topics are the best. And it’s perfect to deploy one here, since this is one of the most crucial concepts of the season and something that most viewers are going to WANT an explanation of. Like, I don’t need an explanation of Downton Abbey or whatever some of the lesser songs of last year were-- but I do want answers about Memo 618.

Is there a good article about some of the real cases of this happening? I assume in most cases Memo 618 is just a stand-in for whatever legal-sounding bullshit was in real memos that secretly shaped the US, but I’d be curious to read more about how this works. 

Linda gives Diane a few examples, like one about FDR and the Japanese internment camps (I did find an article from The Atlantic about an OLC memo from the same time, but not sure if it’s the one being referenced.) I am just going to assume that “M. 618” close up they show is faked. As I said, Memo 618 is more about putting a name to the idea that powerful people can author documents that shape the world but go unquestioned. I don’t think the point is that it was literally this same memo… just the same sort of bullshit.

The “Torture Memos” are another example. I appreciate the show telling me where to look for more information. There’s a ton of info around this.

I don’t believe this lip reader stuff but also don’t care.

And finally this circles back to the claim in 2019 that a president can’t be indicted. Is it a law? Nope, a memo from 1973. This is real and fascinating. 

I think the show’s approach is REALLY working here. It trusts that I can separate fiction (the lip reading, Memo 618) from fact (the spirit of Memo 618, what it means to have an entity that can make its own rules without oversight) and gives me the reference points I need if I want to dig further. It’s a satisfying way to pay off their mystery, and very much in keeping with the spirit of the show.

Linda basically explains Memo 618 as a placeholder for a law. Justify now, create the law later. Yikes.

Case stuff happens! There is a very odd last minute twist here in which the RBL client loses (yay!) but then another teammate is intersex so they try to disqualify her instead??? Wtf? Did we need this?

David Lee has sushi with Bianca and pushes Bianca to get Lucca her money. Bianca had no idea her friends never paid up (did Bianca not pay her share?) and Bianca, who CAN hassle her friends about this, gets on the phone immediately. There’s a funny montage of David Lee being confused by sushi while Bianca gets Lucca her money. 

Bianca asks Lucca why she didn’t tell her she hadn’t been paid! I’m glad to see Bianca cares, but I totally get Lucca’s hesitation. She explains she’s uncomfortable talking about her own money because it feels wrong. Huh, wasn’t she literally always talking about money on TGW? 

Lucca says she’s not sure she can get over this and be friends with Bianca. Because it’s not just money to people who don’t have it. I fully understand this discomfort. I haven’t ever befriended a billionaire, but I get it. I do want Lucca to have a friend though! I think if they’re just candid about this and don’t always do expensive things (and they sever the fact that Lucca is an employee…) they could still be friends! 

OOOH this Piper Vega looks familiar bc her sister is Alexandra Daddario. They have the same eyes.

The RBL client gets to go to the Olympics. Yay? Why did we get this instead of follow-up on the associates’ petition.

Lucca thanks David Lee and he reminds her that he gets money for managing her money. Fair point. But I think he’s got more of a soft spot for her than he cares to admit. Is managing a million and a half really going to help him that much? I imagine he deals with far bigger fortunes on a daily basis. 

Adrian says he took care of his issue, which hopefully means he broke up with Charlotte? He’s all in on the DNC.

Like, I want Adrian to be happy but Charlotte has seemed like a corrupt sexy plot device in every episode??? She makes me actively uncomfortable bc she comes across as a sex object AND ALSO a bad person?? So if they break up… good? 

Lucca arrives home to find a gift on her bed… lots of money. Is this how this arc ends or is there more (/was there going to be more without a pandemic?)

I do NOT like the zoomed out shot of Lucca that ends the episode. She is in such an awkward position on the bed???? It looks like a crime scene??? 

Season finale is up next. I’m sure it’s gonna be weird. And what a title it has.

[shinjukuspiritcommittee]

Health and Sports Team Building- Prologue

Here it is, the fruits of my labor and my passion project I hinted at in my update post the other day. I’ve been always meaning to write an event around my Housamo OCs (btw I have fan OCs for this game) and after some planning and delving more into how they’d fit into the world that is Housamo I decided to write this kind of event. Yoyogi has my favorite cast of characters as you may know, and I feel they’re the perfect cast for events like this since they tend to shine well when it comes to friendship and such. I hope you guys will bear with me and this project of mine for about 5 parts or so.

~~~

“Have you peeked through a window before? It could be for any number of reasons- because something caught your eye, maybe you were looking for something specific or maybe just on a whim. What did you feel? … I see. While it depends on what you look at, I often find myself curious. I can’t really say I know why. But I just want to see what’s going on… what it’s like on that side of the window. Maybe I’m just nosy. Or maybe… uh, it’s nothing…”

~~~

It was quite the busy week at Yoyogi Academy now with summer closing it’s doors and autumn in full swing. Plenty of the student and faculty were quite excited for a certain day that was coming up and quite a longstanding tradition at the school. This day was really one of the handful of days Yoyogi students excelled at- the national Health and Sports day, so naturally the school was alight with excitement and everyone buzzing around to get their preparations in order. There was one student in particular who had been eagerly awaiting for a chance like this…

He had finished packing all his repaired work orders into his ever reliable duffel bag and put away all his supplies back into their proper closets and shelves. It was definitely a hefty workload to manage as of late, but somehow Tatsuya managed to clear it all before club practice ended for the day. You see, Tatsuya is a member of the Yoyogi Kendo Club. However it’s a club consisting of only two people, one of whom already had arrangements with Tennis club, so as of late he found little reason to attend practice. Even less with the fact they don’t attend competitions as nearly as often as they should given their low head count. His peers live and breathe off these competitive natures which he understood and totally supported, but he didn’t have that edge with Kendo. He had begun to question why he didn’t have any attachment to the sport recently which led him to smaller revelations…

As he was locking up the room a familiar voice called for him. “Tatsuya!” He turned to find Yui, his club mate, peer, and close friend, coming to him from down the hall rather excitedly. “Oh, you’re all done for the day?” Tatsuya nodded in response. “Perfect~. That means you can come out with us. Since we finished practice early, the seniors and a few of our classmates invited me out for some food, wanna tag along? You can be my plus one~.” She made sure to add extra emphasis on that last bit as though it was supposed to be incredibly enticing.

“I’ve got these orders to deliver.” Tatsuya answered with his usual calm manner.

“Well, duh. We’d go after you’d do all of that. We could even lend you a hand. If not, then I don’t think they’d mind the wait.”

“Nah, it’s alright. I wouldn’t wanna make them wait on me. You enjoy yourself though.”

“Oh…” Yui was disappointed in his response, but she did her best to not let it show beyond her initial reaction. “A-Alright then. Just um… text me when you’re done. I’ll bring you something on the way back, yeah?” Tatsuya gave her another nod and watched her off. There wasn’t any super serious reason or thought process why he turned her down. As of late they hadn’t been hanging out as frequently, in no small part to Tatsuya’s workload ever since classes started back up. Not only that, their peers have really started taking a liking to Yui and he wouldn’t want to drag her down or embarrass her. After all, he was the dorky kid brother in her eyes.

Tatsuya went about his deliveries practically routine at this point. Often giving the uniforms to the team captains or instructors around campus, and delivering individual orders personally. While his work couldn’t hope to compare to Ms. Arachne’s, he still helped students maintain their clothes for as long as possible. While he rather enjoyed spending hours working on these sort of things, the one part Tatsuya absolutely dreaded was the delivery part of the day. Not necessarily because he had to run around campus and praying his clientele hadn’t run off for the day, though still being a minor annoyance, he more dreaded what would happen if he did find them.

Wow, thanks! Another great job done by the Den mother!

You really are like a Den mother you know? It suits you!

I can see why the upperclassmen call you Den mother, thanks!

“Den Mother…” Tatsuya found himself murmuring it with a displeased tone. It seemed that stigma was starting to bleed into the underclassmen as well. He didn’t mind helping his peers or the heavy workload, but did they really have to call him that? What a frail title that was. How gentle and unintimidating that name was. He could’ve had a cool nickname like a superhero or something more run of the mill for his talents. But no, his peers had to start calling him Den Mother…

On his way around campus he noticed one of the underclassmen coming back onto campus seemingly out of breath. He recognized them as Kyuma Nakatsugi, a baseball player from the first year class. Out of concern Tatsuya rushed over to the first year rather quickly. “Ah, Noboru! D-Don’t scare me like that!”

“What are you doing, Nakatsugi? I thought baseball practice wasn’t on today.” Tatsuya asked, still keeping his usual demeanor.

“W-Well, I...” Kyuma struggled with coming up with an answer for his upperclassmen. In part due to how tired he was and not being the best liar when on the spot.

Tatsuya noticed him struggling and decided to cut to the point. “Never mind all that, you’re exhausted. Here, let me help you to the infirmary.”

“N-No, it’s fine really.” Kyuma panted out. “I just forgot my water and… didn’t realize the jog without it would be this intense.” Typical attitude of a first year. Totally ignoring the necessities when starting out new regiments. Taking pity on the first year, Tatsuya reached for his own water bottle and silently handed it to him. Kyuma’s eyes lit right up. “Oh wow, thanks!” He said before gulping it desperately. When Kyuma had sufficiently quenched his thirst he let out a big sigh and panted one final time. “Thank you, Noboru! You’re really kind. I’m starting to get why Gunzo refers to you as Den Mother.” There it was.

“No need to thank me. Just don’t forget your essentials when you go to train or whatever.” Tatsuya sighed. “You can keep the water bottle, I have a spare.” With that Tatsuya went on his way briskly. While it was subtle, Kyuma couldn’t help but notice a twinge of something in Tatsuya’s expression. Maybe it was because Tatsuya forced out a smile… Anyways, now that he had water, he didn’t want to keep David waiting…!

Tatsuya was able to shake off most of the frustration from the day. He had to stop by the infirmary today anyway, not because of a delivery, but a… requirement of sorts for the upcoming Health and Sports day. He entered the Nurse’s Office making sure no one really saw him enter on his lonesome. The school’s medical doctor, Mineaki Arima. He was rather busy as his desk with numerous papers flitted about. “Instructor Arima?” Tatsuya said as he wandered inside.

“Ah, Noboru. All done for the day I’m assuming?” Tatsuya nodded. “Good, good. Please have a seat.” Mineaki gestured to the chair right in front of his desk. As Tatsuya did so, Mineaki fished out for a particular file he had kept away in his desk. “This is the list of all your approved activities…” Judging by Mineaki’s tone it wasn’t something to be happy about.

Sure enough, the list was a lot smaller than what he was anticipating. “Seriously…? Only that much?” His heart sank at the list. Just a mere handful of activities.

“I’m sorry, but those are all the activities I was able to approve you for. Your health comes first, after all.” Mineaki explained. “Even then, I wouldn’t recommend you partake in all of them just because I’m worried about the strain you might put yourself under.” As he tried to soften the blow with concern, Tatsuya had fallen silent, eyes unable to tear away from the list. “Are you alright?”

“…Thank you for getting me this much.” Tatsuya said rather softly.

Mineaki took a moment to think before he spoke again. “To drop formalities for a second Tatsuya, I do understand where you’re coming from, but as your doctor I can’t put a risk to your health. Please just try to enjoy yourself during the day.”

Tatsuya paused for a moment trying to process what was being said. “I guess you’ve got a point. I’ll do my best.” While it may not have been the best chance in the world, it was still a chance.

~~~

“Have we… met before?”

[awkwardnessandbaseball]

So, now that we’re here, at the second to last chapter, I thought it might be time to let you know that there will be a companion piece! I’ve written a few key scenes from Killian’s POV to be posted after this story is complete! YAY!!!!!!

Once again, so many thanks to: @cspupstravaganza, @sherlockianwhovian, @lassluna

Tag list: @quirkykayleetam, @squidvisious, @carpedzem, @kmomof4, @revanmeetra87, @capnjay21

AO3 if that’s your jam: Prologue | Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7

I’d Pick You (and Your Little Dog, Too)

A Captain Swan Pupstravaganza Story

Summary: According to everyone in the known universe, Emma Nolan’s dog is supposed to lead her to her soulmate. But she’s not even sure if she wants that. Soulmates are pretty idealistic, don’t you think?

Chapter Six:

Emma isn’t surprised when David walks into the station starry-eyed on a Thursday in the spring. She knows he proposed to Mary Margaret the night before, and Emma knows -- knew before David even bought the ring -- the answer was yes.

There’s never been any question for the two of them. David knew before Mary Margaret even adopted Charming. He knew that the fourth grade teacher at Storybrooke Elementary with the big eyes and the bigger heart was it for him. She made his heart stutter and his mouth run dry before she even said a single word to him.

Emma’s happy for David, truly. She’s long since forgotten her fears about heartbreak when it comes to her brother and his soulmate. She is not, however, excited about what comes out of his mouth after he tells her the news.

“She wants you to be her maid of honor.”

“What?!” Emma winces at the high pitch of her voice. “I’m… I barely… why?”

David smirks at her. It’s the same face he made when he had to spell out the fact that Killian should move in with her. Smug bastard.

“Mary Margaret doesn’t know a lot of people here, you know. And you’re also her brother’s soulmate. And her soulmate’s sister.” He’s started ticking off reasons on his fingers. He raises a fourth finger, opening his mouth, but Emma stops him.

“Okay, okay, fine. I get it. It’s just… maid of honor?” Emma drops her head into her hands. “That means planning stuff like a bridal shower and a bachelorette party, doesn’t it? That’s a lot. I barely know the woman myself, I don’t even--”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about any of that.” David’s smirk morphs into a full-on smile. “We’re getting married in two weeks.”

“What?!” Emma screeches again.

“We don’t want to wait anymore! We just want to… be married.” David’s gone wistful now, surely imagining lots of little Nolan babies running around their little loft apartment.

“How are you planning to put together an entire ceremony in two weeks?” Emma crosses her arms over her chest, eyebrows nearly into her hairline now.

“We’re going to City Hall,” David says with a shrug.

Emma’s still skeptical.

“I don’t know her very well, but Mary Margaret seems the type to want a big wedding, with all of her family, and lots and lots of flowers.”

David rolls his eyes.

“Yes, you’re right. But we just want to be married now. We can have another ceremony later with all of that stuff.”

“So now I have to be Maid of Honor twice?”

“Yes.” David’s firm answer leaves no more room for complaints. This is important to him, clearly. He doesn’t ask Emma for much, and really, this isn’t even an imposition. She loves Mary Margaret, loves her for David especially. She’s just never really had a friend close enough to warrant a bridesmaid conversation, nevermind Maid of Honor.

Besides, most of her friends haven’t even bothered to tie the knot. They’re just… together.

"If it helps," David adds, "Killian's my best man."

“Fine,” Emma agrees with an eyeroll, but there’s a smile on her face, too.

****

For only having two weeks to plan what Emma has begun thinking of as The Wedding of the Century, David and Mary Margaret have done a lovely job. Mary Margaret found a beautiful, if simple, white dress that also came in light blue, so she bought the matching one for Emma to wear. She’s got a small bouquet of silk hydrangeas, the color almost identical to Emma’s dress. There’s a matching flower tucked into David’s tux.

Charming and Rascal wear collars of the same blue, and they’ve somehow finagled flower crowns onto Princess and Procella. It’s all very cute, and it makes Emma just a little bit sick, but also warms her heart just a tad.

And Killian.

Emma had suspected that her boyfriend would clean up nicely. She’d asked him not to shave -- loves his scruff too much -- and he’s listened. His own boutonnière brings out the color in his eyes, making them shine even more brightly than normal. And when they meet Emma’s from across the makeshift aisle at City Hall, they darken just a bit.

He watches her, intently, throughout the entire ceremony. And she watches him watching her. She’s overly self-conscious, but not enough to control her surprisingly emotional reactions. She bites her lip while David says his vows, a mixture of pride and something else she can’t quite name. And when the officiant instructs David and Mary Margaret to kiss for the first time as a couple, a couple of tears fall.

She’ll deny it later, but they’d hired a photographer, so she knows there’s proof.

Damn.

They invite all of their friends to a small reception at Granny’s. She’s cleared out all of the center tables and given them full control of the jukebox. David plays about fifteen slow songs in a row, and normally Emma would be griping, but… it’s so hard to complain about anything when Killian’s holding her with one arm around her waist, his prosthetic hand lingering at the small of her back. She glances towards her brother, who hasn’t stopped staring at his wife since the officiant announced her as such. Killian squeezes her hand, bringing her attention back to his face.

“I wanted to give you something,” he says, looking unsure for the first time all day. “Can we step outside?”

Emma worries for a moment, unsure of what he could possibly have to give her and why he looks so concerned, but she follows him regardless. It’s chilly outside, now that night has fallen, and he drapes his leather jacket around her shoulders.

“Emma, I don’t think it’s any secret that we’re meant to be, right?” He glances at her, still wary, even after all this time, that she’ll deny the fact that they’re soulmates. She nods, unsure where this is going. “It’s just… we never talk about it, and that’s fine. But today, watching David and Mary Margaret get married and take that next step, it sort of got me thinking.” There’s the ear scratch Emma has been waiting for. He reaches into his pocket, and her eyes bug out of her head.

“Killian, I don’t--”

“Calm down, Swan, I’m not proposing.”

The nickname calms her down more than the words. Ever since he’d learned her mother’s maiden name, Swan, he’s taken to referring to her as such, claiming it ‘suits her’ more than Nolan, and that it has more of a ring to it. She doesn’t care why he uses the name, but she does love the way it rolls off his tongue.

Love.

She’s been thinking the word more frequently recently, in relation to Killian. It’s never I love you, but rather that she loves some part of him, some habit of his. She doesn’t love him, not yet.

Does she?

Does he?

“This was my brother’s ring,” he’s saying now, pulling a large ring out of his pocket. It’s on a chain, one that’s clearly well-worn, far from the shiny silver she suspects it once was. “And I’d like you to have it.” He finally meets her eyes.

“Your brother… are you sure?” Emma reaches out hesitantly, touching the worn edges of the ring. It feels heavy, but not in weight.

“Aye, I am. I… I love you, Emma. And this is the best way I can think to express that.”

“I love you, too.”

She does. She’s sure of it as soon as the words leave her lips. Of course, then Killian is kissing her and they’re both laughing because it’s such a simple thing -- just a few words, really -- but it’s as though they’ve been dancing on eggshells without realizing it, and as soon as they admit the truth about their feelings, the floor turns back into concrete and they’ve found their footing again.

She loves Killian Jones, and she’s going to wear his brother’s ring around her neck for the rest of her God damned life if that makes him happy.

A low whine comes from near their feet, where Rascal and Procella would apparently like some attention, please.

“Ah, I almost forgot,” Killian says as he reaches into his pocket again. Instead of another ring, he pulls out a plastic bag with two cookies. One is shaped like a ship, the other a hook. He hands the ship to Procella and the hook to Rascal. Both dogs run to lay together under a table. They share both cookies.

Killian wraps an arm around Emma’s shoulders and they watch their dogs together. It’s strange to Emma, still, that Rascal knew Procella was meant to be a part of their lives even before that beautiful little stray golden retriever chose Killian. The order of events is all sorts of backwards, but it doesn’t matter, not really. Because they’re here now. She reaches up and holds the ring steady against her chest.

******

“Hey, where have you been?” Emma asks Killian a few weeks later. He’s punctual by design, always arriving home between 5:15 and 5:30, but it’s nearly 7.

“Hmm?” He looks up at her, as though he hadn’t expected her to be home. “Oh. Work ran late. Nothing to fret over.” He finishes untying and removing his boots before stepping into the kitchen and kissing her on the cheek.

“I ordered pizza, it’s in the fridge,” she tells him. He’s acting nervous, or secretive, or some other adjective that has a negative connotation when using it to describe your normally open and honest boyfriend.

“Thanks, Swan.” He reaches in and grabs a couple of slices and gets to work wrapping them in foil and heating up the oven.

“What’s wrong with you?” Emma asks.

He finally stops moving, turns to face her.

“What do you mean?” He tries to keep his face even, she can tell, but his jaw twitches and a blush rises from his chest up to his neck. His eyes are staring just past her head, as though he thinks she won't notice.

“You’re keeping something from me, Killian. You never get home late, especially without calling. And now you won’t even look at me.”

Rascal has joined her, sitting just behind her feet and staring at Killian, matching Emma’s intensity. Killian glances between the two of them, tension obvious in the set of his shoulders. Finally, he rolls his eyes.

“You two are impossible. Come on, then.” He reaches over to turn the oven off and then slides his sneakers onto his feet. Emma stays glued to her spot in the kitchen, entirely unsure of what’s happening. “Are you coming or not?”

“Coming where?” Emma asks, but she moves towards the door and pulls her sneakers onto her feet as well.

“Can you just… trust me? Please?” He holds his hand out to her, one eyebrow raised.

She takes it, and he leads her out the door, Rascal and Procella right behind them as they climb into the car.

--

“Why are we here?” Emma asks, slowly extracting herself from the passenger’s seat. They’re at the docks. She comes here sometimes, though not as much in the last year or so, when she needs to think or clear her head. Ever since she’d run away as a kid and ended up here, the water has tended to calm her down when she needs it most.

Killian doesn’t answer right away. He’s watching her face, like he’s memorizing it. It’s nearly dark out, the summer sun setting behind them as they face the open water.

“I came here a lot, when I first moved to Storybrooke,” he says finally. This is news to Emma, although she’s never shared her feelings about the water with anyone but David, so she can’t fault him for keeping this to himself. That said, it still doesn’t explain his strange behavior, or what they’re doing here together right now. “The water calms me down when my mind won’t stop moving. So I came here. The very first time, I saw you.”

This gets Emma’s attention. She’d thought, all this time, that the first time they’d seen each other had been at Granny’s Diner. But apparently that was a lie.

“Oh don’t get all narrow-eyed on me, Swan. I didn’t know it was you. It was dark out, so I couldn’t tell what Rascal looked like, especially from a distance. I only figured it out recently.” He clears his throat, then reaches out for her hand. She offers it to him more out of habit than desire, but she doesn’t take it back either. “I was talking to David--”

Emma groans at that. She hates when David meddles in her life with Killian. David’s a romantic, and he wants Emma to constantly be swept off her feet, but Emma just wants things to continue as they’ve been going.

“Listen, David wanted me to propose here, but I’m not doing that, so give me a little credit here, okay?”

For the first time since Killian came home late, Emma laughs.

“Continue,” she tells him.

“I was talking to David, and he mentioned that you came here a lot after what happened with your parents. That the water seemed to do something for your nerves that he couldn’t, and then that even Rascal couldn’t.” Killian looks at her again, waiting for confirmation. Emma nods. “So that got me thinking, and that’s when I realized I saw you on my very first night in Storybrooke, out here at the docks.”

“You’re a wonderful storyteller, Killian, but I’d love for you to get to the point.” She’s smiling.

“I bought you something,” he tells her as he starts walking, finally. They reach the water and he points to a boat. “It’s just… I wasn’t sure if you’d like it. But it’s large enough to hold the two of us, plus Rascal and Procella.” He’s speaking quickly now, rambling. “I just thought that, instead of this being a sad place for us where we go when we’re feeling lonely, we could… together, I mean, come out here when we both need to get away from everything else.”

“You bought me a boat?” Emma asks quietly.

“Aye, I did.”

“How do you… how did… Dammit, Killian, you know me better than I know myself and it’s driving me insane.” She’s laughing again as she hugs him, arms thrown around his neck.

It’s a fucking boat.

“But why all the secrecy?” She releases him and eyes him skeptically. “This is an incredible surprise. Why would you want to hide it?”

“Ah, I’m renaming her.” Then, the ear scratch Emma loves so much. “I didn’t want you to see her until she was done. I just bought her today. Signed the papers and all.”

The Jewel of the Realm is painted in beautiful, if faded, lettering along the side of the boat.

“What’s wrong with the name it has?” Emma asks, but she knows it doesn’t feel right. It’s so regal and dramatic -- really better suited for people like her brother and Mary Margaret. Killian raises an eyebrow at her. “Yeah, you’re right. So, what’s the new name?”

“I was thinking about The Jolly Roger,” he says with a grin.

She loves it.

“Sounds like a pirate ship.” She bites her lip.

“Oh, I plan to do loads of pillaging and plundering while aboard this ship, my love,” he says with a kiss against her hair. A shudder goes down her spine.

“When do we set sail, Captain?”

“Not yet, I’m afraid. This,” he gestures vaguely around the docks and towards the general direction of the boat, “is why I didn’t want to tell you yet.” He looks down at her, exasperated but also with a sparkle in his eye.

“There’s something else,” she says, pointing at his chest. “There’s more to this that you’re not telling me.” It’s not accusatory. Whatever else he’s hiding isn’t a bad thing, she can tell, but there’s still something there.

“Can you let me have one thing, Swan? My God,” he groans. “It was Liam’s boat. Okay?”

Emma stops smiling.

“Liam? Your brother?”

“Aye. She ended up passing through a few hands, as he didn’t exactly have a living will or anything, but I finally tracked her down. It wasn’t cheap, but I got her here.” His ears are bright red, and he won’t look at her.

“You never talk about Liam, you know,” she says as she takes his hand hand guides it to the ring hanging from her neck. “Not even when you gave me this.”

“It was… it was a long time ago.” He swallows a thick lump in his throat.

“You don’t have to talk about it, Killian.” She reaches up and cups his cheek. “But I’m here if you want to.”

“He… it was a car accident,” Killian looks at her, gauging her reaction, as always. She gasps, realizing not for the first time how alike their lives have been at the most unexpected moments. “Same one I lost my hand in.” He holds up his left hand, as if proving something. Emma grabs it and places it on her own waist. “He’d been talking to me, trying to tell me something, I can’t remember what. I know we were fighting. It all happened so fast. He looked at me and I remember the anger in his eyes, and then someone ran the light and it was over. I woke up in the hospital.” He shrugs, trying to pretend he’s okay.

“Let’s get on the boat,” Emma whispers after a moment of silence.

“What?”

“We don’t have to go anywhere. But it’s yours, right? Have you been on it yet since it got here?”

“I did an inspection, but that’s all,” he admits.

“So let’s get on.”

They climb on, Killian’s footing much surer than Emma’s, but he guides her. Rascal and Procella have no qualms at all, hopping aboard like they’ve been on boats their entire lives. There are two seats, but once Killian settles into one, Emma perches herself in his lap. It wouldn’t be safe if they were out on the water, but they’re still tied to the docks, sitting still as the water laps around them. They all sit in silence, even the dogs.

“I love you, Emma,” Killian whispers into her shoulder.

“I love you, too.” She turns and kisses him. It’s slow at first, and then it’s not.

Emma supposes they’ll have to christen it again once it gets its new name. When she tells Killian what she’s thinking, he growls into her mouth and they don’t leave the boat until after midnight.

[upstartpoodle]

Month of AUs Day 4 - Alien

So welcome to Day 4 (sort of) of the Month of AUs! This one’s a bit longer compared to the last one so I’m putting it under the cut.

*****

“Oh my God, what has my life become?,” Elizabeth Chynoweth, regular joe with a regular job who had managed to find herself stuck in a very irregular situation, muttered to herself as she stood at the kitchen sink, filling up the kettle with enough water for two. “This is mad. Bonkers. Insane. How on earth have I come to this?”

Of course, there was no real point in asking that question, for Elizabeth knew exactly how she had reached this--quite frankly--bizarre point in her life. It had all started when she was driving home along the creek, ready to spend a nice, relaxing evening indoors with a bottle of wine and a good book after a relatively normal, boring day at work. That was when the shooting star had fallen, so very close, almost sending her skidding off the road; when she had dared to step outside the confines of her car and clamber down into the crater to investigate. That was when she had seen it--not a shooting star but the broken and twisted remains of what must have once been a sleek black space-pod, with thick dark smoke billowing out of it, and the strange figure that had hauled himself out of the wreckage, bleeding dark blue, turning to her with luminous eyes as wide and as afraid as her own before he keeled over in a dead faint. And that was when she had realised that she couldn’t simply leave this injured man--injured alien, alien--out there alone and without aid. So it was then that she had called in a favour from a friend of hers, and before she knew it, she had been helping a surprisingly calm Dr Dwight Enys (really, he had made an impressive job of only mildly freaking out considering what she had been asking him to do) patch up an honest to God extraterrestrial in her front room.

“I’ve done all that I can for him, I think,” he had said, running a hand, stained with blue blood, through his auburn hair. “I don’t know how severe these injuries are for one of his...s-species,” he stumbled over word, the look on his face as baffled and as disbelieving of what he was seeing as Elizabeth was herself, “or how fast he’ll heal. Or even how he’d react to painkillers. I really have nothing to base this on at all. He may look...well...a little human, but he’s not-- I mean, blue blood. We can hardly take him to a hospital.”

Elizabeth nodded in agreement, staring down at the unconscious figure, laid out upon her sofa. He did look somewhat human--two arms, two legs, blond hair that was drying in soft curls now that they had managed to wash out the blood that had been sticking to it. Despite his humanoid shape, however, he had a number of features that were distinctly inhuman. It could be seen in his too white skin that didn’t quite match that of any human she had ever come across, in the slightly strange slant of his facial features, the pointed tips of his ears, the unnatural glow of his bright blue eyes that she had glimpsed for just a short moment at the crash site. Other than the colour of his blood, though, the most obvious indicator of his alienness were the peculiar markings he sported, like the pattern on a circuit board, which glowed the exact same colour as his irises. They covered the whole of the left side of his body, she had seen when they had had to cut away his ruined clothes--heavy, expensive robes adorned with elegant embroidery, now burnt and tattered and bloodied in a pile on the floor next to her feet--to gain access to his injuries, right from his ankle to his temple. Dwight had been quite fascinated by them, muttering under his breath about bioluminescence and other terms she couldn’t quite catch, but his patient’s condition had prevented him from dwelling on them. They were mostly covered now that they had put him in a pair of Francis’ pyjamas and an old dressing gown that he had left behind when he moved out, and a thick blanket to keep him warm and comfortable, but some were still visible along the left side of his neck and face, and on the back of his left hand where it rested, limp, across his stomach. By all rights, she thought, the mundane clothes should have made him look more ordinary, but if anything, he looked even more out of place now than he did before.

“You know, you’re going to have to keep him hidden, right?,” Dwight pressed when she made no reply. “There’s bound to be people out there who’d have bad intentions towards him if they find out about him. That could put a target on both your backs. And on mine.”

“I know” Elizabeth said. But even as she said it she could barely believe it, barely believe this was real and happening and that that was a real possibility--

“Do you?,” Dwight interrupted her downward spiral into complete and utter panic as he turned to face her, the expression on his kindly face very serious. “Do you know what you’re getting yourself into? What we’re getting into?”

Elizabeth couldn’t quite contain a choked laugh that sounded more like a whimper.

“No, not at all.”

“Who would, I suppose?,” admitted Dwight with a sigh. “But it’s too late to turn back now.”

And that, she reflected, was how she had ended up with an alien man, bandaged and wrapped in her ex-boyfriend’s dressing gown, curled up on her sofa in the adjourning room, watching a repeat of one of David Attenborough’s documentaries with an intense fascination which she knew couldn’t have translated entirely into understanding, given that his command of the English language currently consisted of a small list of words that he had picked up over the past few days, and of her name. She had managed to teach it to him a little while after he first woke up, in an attempt which her brain kept comparing, much to her chagrin, to that one scene from Tarzan. Unfortunately, his attempts to teach her his had been less successful, as his name consisted of a long string of sounds which he had rattled off with ease, but which she suspected human vocal chords had not exactly been designed to replicate.

Honestly, the whole thing’s mad, she observed to herself once again as she put the kettle to boil. Completely and utterly mad. But it’s just like Dwight said--there’s no going back now. I decided to help him that day and that’s what I’ll do, even if it is just giving him somewhere to stay whilst he heals up. With that in mind, she reached out, grabbed the box of teabags from its place on the counter, and headed out into the living room, where her peculiar guest lay, completely engrossed in the sight of a thorny devil searching for water on the TV, a small frown upon his face as he followed the movements on the screen with his gaze.

“George.” She called him by the name she had taken to using for him--it was about as close as she could get to the first syllable of his ridiculously long name (the others, sadly, still completely eluded her). He glanced up at her, tilting his head to one side in a manner reminiscent of a quizzical owl, in a way that told her that though he understood that she was referring to him, he thought her very odd for not simply calling him by his proper name. “Would you like some tea?”

She held up a teabag from the box to illustrate her point--though he may not understand all he words, she knew that would convey to him the general meaning of wat she was asking him. He perked up immediately upon seeing the box. Though he had been deeply suspicious of it at first, he had quickly developed a liking for the drink.

“Please.” This was one of the few English--or indeed Earth--words that he knew. Elizabeth smiled at him before heading back into the kitchen, box in hand. Well, she thought wryly, if she were going to end up harbouring an alien in her home, at least she had had the good sense to choose a polite one.

A few minutes later, she returned to the living room with two steaming mugs of tea in each hand, receiving a quiet “thank you” from her guest as she placed one on the table beside him to cool down. Then, carefully, so as not to jostle him, she sat down on the edge of the sofa and, taking a small sip of her own tea, reached for her tablet, opening up the news.

“What the--?,” Elizabeth stared openly at the headline which greeted her-- “EXPERTS DENOUNCE LEAKED IMAGE OF POSSIBLE STARSHIP WRECKAGE AS HOAX.” Beside it was a faint, fuzzy picture of something huge and bulky, it’s outline too precise and straight to be an asteroid, with the exception of the numerous places where the...whatever it was...appeared to have sustained significant damage, specks of what looked like shrapnel floating around the periphery of the image, as if they had been blasted off the main structure by some massive explosion. She stared at it, clicking on the article and skimming through it’s contents at lightning speed. “‘Experts have spoken out over claims that the viral photo of what appears to be the remains of a starship proves the existence of life on other planets... The photo first emerged...Tuesday...on the Twitter account of... Claims of a NASA source...unsubstantiated and unlikely...’ Oh my God, what--?”

“El-iza-beth.”

That immediately caught her attention, drawing her away from the article and back towards her alien guest. He always said her name in that way--enunciating every syllable, so careful to get it right that it made her ashamed that she had not yet managed to afford him the same courtesy--but there was something very serious, agitated in his tone that made her sit up and take notice, suddenly uneasy. He was staring at the picture of the wreckage with an even greater intensity than he had afforded to David Attenborough, his tea quite forgotten. Then, he raised his good hand--the left one, with the markings; the other was still bound up in a sling, not yet healed from his crash--and pointed towards the image.

“Mine” he said.

“Yours?,” she asked. “This...this is your ship?”

“Yes. My...ship.” He tested the foreign word on his tongue, frowning at the awkwardness of it. 

His markings pulsed brighter and, all of a sudden, an image flickered to life between them. It didn’t startle Elizabeth as much as one might have expected--she had seen him do it several times already. The first time had been when she was trying to explain where in the universe they were with the aid of some diagrams from an encyclopaedia, only to leap back in shock when an intricate, three-dimensional picture of the solar system appeared in front of her (after the surprise had worn off, she had become sidetracked teaching him the names of the planets, with varying success). On a couple of other occasions, she had seen him summon up a screen which she had just about been able to gather was some kind of extraterrestrial equivalent of a Skype call. He was clearly out of range here, however, and, unable to connect for what she remembered as being the third time, he had let out a string of sharp, frustrated, impatient words in his own tongue, the bite of which somehow suggested to her that he was a man accustomed to being in control, and most likely (she recalled the fancy clothes he had worn when she first found him) one who was used to giving out orders and having them followed. He seemed to be drawing these...holograms, for want of a better word, from some kind of database, but she couldn’t see any object on him that he was using to do so. Indeed, the only connection between himself and the images, as far as she could tell, was his markings, which glowed bright whenever they appeared. It made Elizabeth wonder if they were not a result of biology, like Dwight had initially presumed, but of technology--an implant or something similar that allowed him to access and project the pictures --but how it worked, she hadn’t the faintest idea.

The image before her now was unmistakably of a starship--or at least the blueprint of one. Despite the haziness of the picture accompanying the news article, she recognised the outline of it. The only difference was that this one was whole, undamaged. Swallowing, she stared back down at the image on her tablet, vicious holes blasted in its hull, ripped savagely apart.

“Oh God, what happened to it?,” she gasped. “What happened to you?”

He made a frustrated noise at that, the image flickering away into nothingness as abruptly as it had appeared. She knew why--he hadn’t the words to answer her, to express to her how he had come to be here in a way which she could understand. And would he even want to talk about it if he had?, she wondered. She was still almost a complete stranger to him, after all, even if she had helped him. And so is he to you, she reminded herself, swallowing convulsively.

“Where are you from?,” she asked instead. It was a question she had asked before, when he first woke up, but he hadn’t understood enough to answer then. Now, however, with the image of that wrecked ship--his ship--staring her in the face, she burnt to know more than ever. “I am from Earth, here,” she added, placing a hand on her chest, as he regarded her quizzically, not sure if he understood. “Where are you...?”

She trailed off as understanding flitted across his features, and an image suddenly appeared between them once more. It was the picture of the solar system. There were little rows of figures next to the planets now, she noticed, that had not been there before. Letters. Names. They were the planet’s names, she realised, the ones that she had taught him, recorded in his own alphabet beside each one.

“Here,” he said, pointing to the third planet away from the sun. “This...Earth.”

“Yes, but--”

She wasn’t sure what exactly he was trying to communicate to her, but she cut herself off as the image changed. It wasn’t the solar system anymore, but galaxies. A great, whirling, swirling myriad of galaxies, a map of the stars.

“You...Earth...are here,” he continued, pointing to a galaxy which she supposed must be the Milky Way on the far edges of the map. “I...,” he turned towards a much larger galaxy near the top of the image, “here.”

“I--” Elizabeth stared at the two galaxies--at the distance between them--with wide eyes. “But I-- Oh God, that’s so far! It’s so far!”

And it was. It was the kind of distance that, even with her inexpert eye, she knew that human technology would not have the slightest hope of traversing within a lifetime. Once again, she was struck by just how foreign and alien and-and downright impossible her unexpected houseguest was, but far more than that, she couldn't help but wonder over what hope he had of finding away to return there, to that far away galaxy. Would he ever be able to get back, without his ship, or a way to communicate with his people, whoever they were? She would be of no use to him in that regard after all--not with her boring office job and her relevant qualifications being a grand total of a GCSE in Physics, the content of which she had promptly forgotten the moment she stepped out of the final exam.

He must have seen something of her thoughts in his face, as, with an unhappy downturn of his lips, the image flickered and changed, no longer showing that map of galaxies, but an unfamiliar sun, orbited by unfamiliar planets. Slowly, he pointed towards the fourth planet from its star, large and surrounded by several moons.

“Home,” he said; the light from the projection reflected in his glowing eyes, sad, resigned. “My home.”

Elizabeth stared at the little planet circling about its sun, not quite able to face the look in his eyes, too raw and painful. It hovered there for a few seconds, before it, too, vanished, like the picture of the ship before it, and he turned away so that all she could see was the outline of his patrician profile, markings dulled to their usual faint glow. His eyes were fixed on the carpet, jaw clenched tight, as if to do otherwise would be to let loose a torrent of emotion he was not yet ready to share with a stranger. Elizabeth let out a quiet breath. What must it be like for him, she wondered, to be stranded on a strange planet amongst strange people, with only documentaries in a language he could barely speak and the realisation that he had no way home to occupy him? Lonely, she thought it must be. Terribly lonely, and frightening, for all that he tried to hide it.

“Hey,” she said, reaching out carefully to take his uninjured hand in both of her own. He started at the unexpected touch, turning back to her with wide eyes, but he didn’t pull away from her. “Ssh, it’s alright. I know you must miss your home, but you can stay here as long as you need. You’re not alone--I’m here to help you, I promise.”

He tilted his head to the side at her words, frowning, and she realised with a sigh of frustration that he probably understood barely any of what she had just said. She was just about to try and rephrase it in a way that he could gauge the meaning of, however, when he spoke up, quiet and uncertain.

“Stay...here? With you?” Though his tone was guarded, and he was still tense beneath her hands, there was a look of hope in his eyes that was too real, too genuine to be hidden behind his caution. Elizabeth smiled at him encouragingly.

“Yes, with me, for as long as you need,” she said. “And I promise you, everything will be alright. I’ll make sure of it.”

[blissfulparker]

Iced latte—final mob!tom

Summary→tom is one of the most infamous mob owners of London when one day he spots a woman in a coffee shop and falls in love with her but finds something darker

Warnings→ sadness, death

A/n→ hi! I’m so sorry this took forever to get up mostly because I wanted to hold onto the series for a long time! It was supposed to be up yesterday but it wouldn’t upload. Anyways I hope you guys enjoy this just as much as I did, it was a rollercoaster and I loved making this for you guys! Also I know a bunch didn’t tag so I’ll tag the rest when I reblog it!!

“Alight checkmate.” Lizzie smiles as she knocks your peice off the board.

“How the hell do you always win?” You look up at her and she shrugs and smiles.

You had been playing the same game of chess for a little over an hour with Harry Potter and rain hitting the window in the background. Tom had left for the night, tonight was the night he was going to kill your father, Harrison had been up here but got bored of watching the same game of chess so went back to his room to take a nap.

“It’s one of my few talents.” She says as she takes a sip of her beer.

“Lizzie you have like three talents and catching food with your mouth is not one of them.” You laugh and she hits you with an almond.

“Are you okay with him doing it?” She asks you referring to tom and your father.

“Yes,” You gulp, you’ve never met the man but you still know it’s right. “It’s for the best.”

“I just want you to know that when you kill someone they’re gone forever.” She puts her hand on your shoulder and you nod your head.

“I know.” You tell her. “That’s why it’s okay, my father would’ve used me for power and glory. He would’ve torn my relationship with tom apart and would’ve changed my life for the worse.” You tell her and she nodded knowing you were right.

“That stupid dog won’t stop barking.” Lizzie gets up and opens the door to let Tessa run into the room they’re in. “Is harrison awake?” She asks as she closed it and turned to you.

“No, he said he was going to take a nap, she probably just heard us in here and got lonely.” You scratched the dogs head as she fell into your lap.

“Not because of the dog barking but because I thought I heard someone.” She shakes her thoughts away thinking it was probably nothing.

“You probably just heard the wind, or maybe Harrison is awake.” You shrug grabbing the remote changing it to the prisoner of azaban.

“You’re right.” She says sitting down on the couch. “Maybe we should get some sleep too.” She suggested.

“Yeah you’re—“ you were cut off by the sound of walking. “Haz?” You shout wondering if he came in to check on you two.

Lizzie looked at you in fear, she knew that was Harrison and you knew too but tried to hold it together. Lizzie got up ready to lock the door but right when she got up a man taller than the both of you opened the door.

You’ve never seen Lizzie in terror until now, her green eyes grew wide and her small body froze in fear. She knew the man wasn’t here for her but she had to protect you because that’s what felt right.

“Move out of my way sweetheart.” Sebastian whispered to Lizzie and if it was like her last burst of confidence she’d bulit up she shook her head.

“Lizzie move.” You tell her and she looks behind to you before stepping back still facing the man now almost shielding you from the man.

Sebastian came up to you practically pushing Lizzie out of the way. He came to stroke your face and you managed to build up the courage to spit in his face. He wasn’t going to kill you, he needed you alive and you knew that.

A hard slap came to your cheek, “that wasn’t very nice sweetheart.” He tells you.

You try and stand there with confidence, no fear reaching into your eyes, no scream for help, you wanted to deal with this and pull out every ounce of hate you’ve ever felt and put it on him.

“You’re father wants you and so does tom, I want you dead and you already know that. You are nothing, do you understand me? I was supposed to be in charge of David’s mob never you, it was never going to be you and I will make sure of that.” He says lifting his hand with the gun.

Lizzie saw this as almost a sign, she panicked not wanting him to kill you right in front of her but she made a mistake of her own.She stepped right in front of you shielding you from him. You could see the terror in her face though the glare in his eyes.

“No!” You screamed as he held the gun up now to her chest moving it out of the way but it wasn’t soon enough, the loud boom erupted though the room as the gun had went off. The bullet went through Lizzie then hit you in your left shoulder.

You managed to grip the gun and pull it up and away although he managed to still shoot and he held the gun up pressing down of the trigger setting it off to where it hit right on his shoulder knocking him to the floor as well.

You looked down as saw you Lizzie lay pale on the ground, the black and red carpets now a deeper shape of red then before. Blood oozed out of the both of you, your shoulder dripping onto her. Her eyes were watery and more grey then green in the moment, her hair was still soft brunette as ever, but her skin was cooling by the minute.

“It’s going to be okay.” You cried into her as you pressed down on the wound in her chest hoping to keep her alive a little longer. “It’s going to be okay Harrison is on his way I can hear—“ she cut you off so she could speak.

“I want you to take are of Tom, Harry, Harrison, Sam, I want you to take care of yourself.” She grabs your hand. “I love you and you know that, but I need you to hear it one last time.”

Her grip slowly loosens, it’s as if you were deaf to everything else, you only foucsed in the girl who brought so much light into this life and had given you so much without asking. Harrison came into the room shouting your name but it was as if you were underwater as he did so. His voice was loud as he stepped over a body to get to you and Lizzie, coming behind him was Harry who had stopped at the door to see the sight that unfolded in front of him. The girl he had admired laid dead on the carpet floor of his brothers living room.

Harrison had pulled you off of the young girl who was only 18, he placed his hand over your wound for you had forgotten it was even there. You looked at her as if she was the only one in the world in the moment.

“Shit Harry, get the car she was shot.” Harrison says before he hands you over to harry.

You watched with heavy eyes as you were being dragged away from your best friend and Harrison who was trying to find a pulse on the girl. You felt your body get picked up by two more people as they dragged you outside to where a car awaited for you.

“(Y/n), I need you to stay with me okay keep your eyes open. Tom has been alerted but I need you to be awake.” Harry says as he holds a cloth over your wound and you grip into his arm now realizing the pain of everything. The pain was in your heart and that stung the most.

“Elizabeth...” You croaked out and Harry had found the strength to produce tears of his own.

“Everything’s going to be okay.” He whispers before proceeding, “Tom is coming David is dead okay? Your father is dead. Lizzie will be fine.” He spoke but you had felt yourself already drifting off, it was as if you were tired and tried your hardest to stay awake but failed. Everything was blurry and loud, that much you can recall.

“Good morning Tom,” you placed a gentle kiss on his shoulder. Tom slept peacefully next to you stirring slightly knowing that his wife was now awake.

“G’morning my love.” He groans before rolling over and pulling you into his chest giving you a big kiss.

“How’d you sleep?” You asked and he smiled almost drifting back into a sleep.

“Wonderful with you next to me, how much time do we have alone before the monsters come in?” He smiled referring you the young boy and girl who managed to come in every morning to get cuddled or tickled depending on which parent they go to.

“No much time.” You grabbed his face kissing all over before you could go any further you were disturbed by the sound of a small girl running into the room.

“Daddy—“

You awoke in a white hospital room, the sound of beeping filled your ears and the time read 3:45am. The room was empty of people, no tom, Harrison, or even Harry. You wanted so badly to leave but the patch on your upper shoulder held you still.

“Mrs. (Y/l/n)—“ before the nurse in the scrubs could even finish you corrected her.

“Holland, Mrs.Holland.” You correct her and she nods coming over with a clip board.

“Lovely to see you awake, you took a pretty hard hit in the shoulder I see. I have people waiting outside to see you they would like to come in now, I’ve reminded them you need to rest and not to move.” She smiled at you, she was too normal for that the world you lived in currently was far from normal.

“I want to see Elizabeth Manchester.” You tell her and the woman pouts.

“There is no Elizabeth Manchester waiting outside for you, I’m sorry miss.” She says while getting up to the door. On the other side of the door stood a heartbroken Tom, his hair was messy, his eyes were drained, he lacked color in his face.

“(Y/n),” Tom pushes his way into the room seeing you on the bed heartbroken as well.

“Where is She?” You whispered already knowing the answer but wishing it’d change.

“I’m sorry,” He lets a tear of his own slip. “Fuck I tried everything.”

The memories were vivid, everything played back in your mind like a movie. She was gone, all you had was Tom and Harrison. She was the last person you knew that reminded you what it felt like to be normal.

You fiddle with the dimond ring on your finger letting it come on and off, you couldn’t cry anymore, there was nothing left to feel. Tom had assured you over and over again that everything was going to be perfect for this night but you knew his perfect was different than yours.

“Did you do it?” You asked refusing to make eye contact.

“Yes.” he whispers and you let out a chuckle.

“Does it ever effect you? The way you kill people? Do you feel it inside of you or did that feeling spark for the first time tonight?” You asked him and he stared you dead in the eyes.

“I feel everything every time.” He tells you. “But I push it away, you will never see it.” He tells you and you roll your eyes but didn’t want to argue with him.

“I want to talk to Harrison.” You say and tom scrunches his eyebrows. “Now. I want to talk to Harrison now.”

Tom gets up and leaves the room. Your hands move to play with the small locket on your neck that contained a photo of you and Lizzie when you traveled to America one summer. It was the best summer of both of your lives, oh how you wanted to go back.

Harrison walked into the room shutting the door behind him. One thing Harrison had that tom didn’t was the truth about Sebastian. He still had that and tom didn’t know.

“Is he dead?” Was the first words that came out of your mouth.

“No,” He tells you. “He got away but Tom knows he did it but still doesn’t know about you and Sebastian and if he comes back or I find him I will—“

“Leave him alive.” You tell him and he furrows his brows. “I want him to suffer for what he did, he murdered an innocent child. I want him to watch his life fall apart.”

Harrison of course was shocked, he didn’t know if you were just angry or if that’s how you actually felt.

“Do you still love Tom?” He asked out of the blue.

“I will always love Tom for who he was back the day I met him, I will never love Tom for everything he does.” You mess with the ring once again. Silence fills the room before you break it.

“Harrison, promise me one thing.” You ask and he looks up, at this point Harrison would do anything for you. You reminded him so much of his sister.

“If I ever have a kid with tom, make sure to hide me.” You hold his hand. “I want my child far from this mafia but close to their dad. I will never in a million years ask for my child here so promise me you’ll hide me.” You beg, this might be the hardest secret he will ever hold yet.

“I promise you.”

It was a promise that could never be broken, a promise that would keep you safe, a promise that would keep you alive.

You remembered the first day you met tom like the first time you saw the ocean, you couldn’t take your eyes off of him. When he entered the room it was like he became the star of everything. Although when he entered your shop he watched you be the star, you will forever be his star. There is always beauty behind madness, his just happened to be making him iced lattes.

Permanent taglist: taglist: @lynnbeaan @actorsdamn @your-daily-dose-of-fangirl @sunshine-peter @ironspiderguy @mdgrdians @dreamymeliorism @roaringgoodshow w @built4broadway @strugglinggryffindorkid @1mychalia1 @grace-sully @didanyonesaybuckybarnes @embrace-themagic @bloodysleepy @thebonanamuffin @thellamalord @flowerchild8341 @cade-james @random-stupid-stuffs @joyfulspider @sad-broken-crayon @mylinkmyrules @carry-on-ms-believer @queenmissfit @skeletalwolfcat @gingerpeachyy @condy-wants-a-cookie @dennythepooh @zon-chan @fandom-fangirl07 @gabriels-gumdrop @whatam3ss @jamaicaa-blakee @thetributethatvolunteered @o-brienwrites @smexylemony @spn-worm @fucking-reddie @stranger-marvel @darlingtholland @sylvirstars @supernatural-strangethings-1980 @pvnk-bivch @spideyyypeter @lubrielx @authorpocketcow @swoozi224 @abunchofmaraudersfluff @redridingthroughthehood @sammyskyler2000 @usuallyweepingnacho @tom-hollands-eyelash @capandbuck @delicately-written @emmyfignewton @spidcr-man @laramitk @captianbuckyy @kira-marieee @spiderdudeparker @emilyle23 @tomshufflepuff

Iced latte tags: @pignolithecookie @lemirabitur r @yourwonderbelle @spidermendes @ikbenplant @alina-barnes @infin-itywar @thebadassbitchqueen @parkerless @acociara @quacksonhq @euphoricmads @kattholland @thors-revengers @jaebeanz @spiceygrethan @spacemarkimooo @thatprofessionalfangirl @marvelismylifffe @wussupbixch @jollyholland @petersfilm @mac-dermarco1 @accalialionheart @delicate-tom13 @juice-for-holland @getmealife @greenarrowhead @nebulafading @shootingstarsaretearsofheaven @avenirectioner @kira-marieee @casualprincess77 @itsmyfuneralokay @loxbbg @morgannope @youshutthefuckupville @allurasparker2

[marauders70s]

So I just watched Crimes of Grindelwald and I have a huge rant list.

Spoilers (obviously). 

Also, I did not like hardly any of it, so I’m sorry. Don’t pick a fight with me after reading a post entitled rant list and then be upset that they are all rants.

- wow AMERICA yeah jo we know what you think of us. it’s obvious in our de-tonguing geneva-convention violating (i know it’s not around in 1927 okay) inhumane treatment of not just grindelwald but apparently all the prisoners and animals we keep in cages (i know our prison system is inherently terrible i’m very aware) but to transport him like a paralyzed stroke victim drooling to a thestral carriage on a Dark And Stormy Night really just is lazy writing on why we should dislike aurors without giving anyone a plot, dialogue, or exposition

- this guy who has been posing as Grindelwald....since the beginning? since when? they cut out his tongue?? but then? it’s just forked? there’s magic? like? could they grow the tongue back?? they can regrow bones in harry’s arm but okay

- this thestral carriage chase scene is really CGI explosion heavy turned actioned film and mostly consisted of me being like what. what. WHAT. wait what. wait who is that. what. why wouldn’t he just disapparate. what happens to these thestrals. okay. what. grindelwald can just dissolve wands since when can people do that why didn’t voldemort do that why didn’t harry do that this presents problems

- okay look david yates and co. you had this incredible opportunity to create an entire wardrobe of WIZARD FASHION in THREE COUNTRIES, most notably the fashion capitol of the world and what did you do you put every single person in trench coats and random muggle garb. Also, not even cool wizard hats. No. Just muggle bowlers and mobster hats.

- Does Newt have a job. If so, what is it? How can he pay for this lovely house with magical modifications? Don’t you have to get a contractor to put that in? Did he do it himself? How does he pay Sad Girl In Love With Protagonist tm? Does he pay her? How did they meet? Why do we never see her again?

- For a movie entitled ‘Fantastic Beasts’ we really gloss over looking at any of the in-house beasts, learning anything about them, or doing anything except a CGI palooza.

- Wow Queenie and Jacob are here ‘hope you don’t mind we let ourselves in’ ah yes rude american trope again. who on earth would do that. also this entire time jacob acts like a goon and newt is like let’s take the enchantment off and i’m like hi that’s hella nonconsensual you’re basically raping and kidnapping him and jacob is somehow okay with this. newt is somehow okay with this. 

- ‘please don’t read my mind’ um dude you’re talking AT her??? 

- movie glosses over how jacob got his memories back with a throwaway line of unbelievable dialogue. If obliviate only worked on bad memories, Hermione Granger really needs to go to family counseling with her parents. 

- mysterious postcard is exposition over really dumb journalism error that could have been easily fixed within seconds by sending an owl because owls don’t need addresses, something queenie conveniently forgets by not knowing how to find her sister

- queenie is a Dumb American for cheap laughs by letting a woman say something in french, laughing, and saying she doesn’t understand anything only for the droll French woman to repeat it in the exact monosyllabic voice. Apparently everyone entering/leaving a country needs to register a visa or something, which is conveniently circumvented by going through a muggle port? It’s unclear. Queenie herself does not seem to have registered.

- French Ministry of Magic is gorgeous. Has a cool roots to iron elevator. It is also probably improperly named as they put ‘American Ministry of Magic’ despite America not having ministries or ministers outside of some serious religious stuff. They put all this effort into creating MACUSA but didn’t use it.

- Is it just me or does the MoM change the interior every time I see it.

- Queenie is devastated she can’t find her sister in a city of millions despite having magic, a means of communication that is foolproof, and enough money to find a hotel and wait to meet up. Queenie is overwhelmed that other people think in their native language. Instead of finding this helpful for tuning out a crowded city (like she does on the daily in New York), she somehow finds it overwhelming even looking for Newt/Jacob. 

- Random woman is Silence In Queenie’s Head. I literally never learned who she was except Hard Bitch Kills Toddler. Or why Queenie can’t hear her thoughts. (Plot twist she’s Bella Swan).

- Toddler didn’t get his own little casket in the French mourning cart. Nice of Grindelwald to give a supposedly muggle family a funeral cart when he could have transfigured their bodies into armchairs or something. (Muggle supposed after he makes the remark about a ‘thorough cleaning.’)

- No one in Paris uses French in spellcasting. Spells are still English-based. 

- Dumbledore is a dramatic bitch for gloves and rooftops. It’s a very specific brand of Gay. 

- Don’t kill me but I don’t...hate? Jude Law as Dumbledore. He was still kind. But he wasn’t auburn and that was dumb. 

- Unclear why Jacob and Queenie have to live in shame and secret when they could move to another country especially when Jacob loves bread and would like Paris. This seems to be Queenie’s motivator which is thin as hell and I didn’t follow her ‘logic’ at all. LAZY WRITING.

- Queenie immediately doesn’t disapparate upon seeing Grindelwald. Queenie somehow gets into this rhetoric. Later Queenie does not get disgusted with apropos wizard-Hitler being like ‘they are lesser beings’ and she, who wants to marry one, is like ‘yeah they totally are because I’m basically Jacob’s mom.’ 

- Grindelwald, in addition to being played by Johnny Depp, is albino, has one mutilated eye with a bad color contact clearly visible in multiple scenes, and is British when it is specifically stated he went to Durmstrang and was expelled for Dark Magic (at Durmstrang, which is noted for its Dark Arts program). As an allusion to wizard-Hitler, I always inferred that Grindelwald was German or Austrian. 

- Wow Paris street magic carnival gave me LIFE and WOW and MAGIC feels. I loved the ducking through the barrier. 

- Weird freakshow circus gets blown apart but Newt only manages to catch one creature that is helpfully foreshadowed it can leap Paris in a single bound. It is a Chinese creature when no mention of Chinese magic, Chinese handlers, or any sort of Asian magic is referred to (except in the cringe-worthy case of the ‘South Asian blood curse of Nagini’ which is a whole other can of worms). In all likelihood, as China is one of the oldest civilizations, their magic and dragon worship would be more paramount. China cat’s serious Great Beast’s weakness is a cat toy. 

- Why is Nicholas Flamel....like that. Sure he’s like 600 years old but (a) is Jacob literally breaking his hand what the hell, (b) as much money and life as you could want does that mean he has to be like 100 years old forever that sucks that’s not even worth being immortal. (c) Where’s his wife. (d) When he goes to battle I thought he’d drink some elixir and be young again but...no.

- Nagini has no purpose in this movie other than to be snake slave and love interest and run around in a circus outfit with tits out bra off. She did not do a single useful thing.

- Wait I’m sorry WHAT you can like...fuck house elves now?? There are half-elves? How....you know what no thanks I don’t want to know.

- Credence, despite the last movie setting up an obscurial as like a suicide bomb, can relatively control mega destruction now and get back into his body fairly easily. No one even wonders why this lacemakers roof apartment exploded.

- Are he and Nagini in love? Are they escaped carnival freak bros? Why isn’t Nagini heading for the hills? She literally has no personality of her own at all.

- Paris is suspiciously white in this film. Especially for the 20s art renaissance. 

- I don’t know why Credence falls into Orphan Must Know Parentage Trope because it’s really overused and boring. And frankly the superfluity of ravens was really beating me over the head. Credence can like...do anything. He could get some money and go to a wand shop. He could just...disappear. I don’t know why he has to be so easy to track.

- By the way who is this weirdo tracking him for Grindelwald/the ministry. It’s very unclear. I never got his name. It’s probably one of the many death eater names they throw in to make sure you know these families great-grandparents are also running around being evil instead of, you know, regular people doing it. So he could be Travers. I guess. LAZY WRITING. 

= Now is a special segment on Hogwarts = 

- The layout of Hogwarts changes every time I see it. Why are the classrooms always different. Why would the wood still have carvings. Why is there a bridge over this lake which is different than the covered bridge leading towards the Forest that Harry and Lupin have a Serious Chat on. 

- YOU CANNOT APPARATE IN HOGWARTS GROUNDS. And don’t you try to tell me Dumbledore instituted that because it’s directly stated in Bathilda Bagshot’s Hogwarts, A History as being a longstanding charm with muggle repelling. 

- Everyone apparates onto the bridge and walks through the castle without anyone bothering them into the correct classroom right away?? Like did they get a copy of the teaching schedule? Did Peeves show them?

- Dumbledore did NOT teach DADA. Dumbledore taught transfiguration. He was still teaching Transfiguration when Tom Riddle went to school. So if Dumbledore is teaching Transfiguration, Minerva McGonagall would not be at Hogwarts because she taught transfiguration after Dumbledore. Pretty sure mcgonagall was too young in 1927 to be a professor. LAZY WRITING. 

- Just looked it up. Pottermore (official JK writing, btw) states that Minerva McGonagall was born in 1934. So she’s officially negative 7 years old and a professor. That’s GOT to be a record. Poor Rowan Khanna will never beat preconception tenure.

- Despite me being ecstatic to hear/see a young McGonagall, the camera never held still long enough for me to see a young McGonagall. Any far away shots only demonstrated despite this being 1920s, she was still dressing in the 1890s. McGonagall, despite the obvious laughs it was going for, would never use magic against a student.

- Haha this dumb neanderthal student is Grandpa McClaggen. 

- Dumbledore, being known for wearing really flamboyant robes, dresses in conservative three piece suit. 

- Why would you not go home for the holidays when you have to take care of a baby raven you can just put it in a box or your pocket for christ’s sake you’re carrying like 6 niffler babies at one time but you never even show them again

- Will say that young Newt’s casting is A++

- WHY ARE THE UNIFORMS NAVY BLUE. WHY DO THEY WEAR RED TARTAN SKIRTS. WHY DO THEY HAVE PHD EMBELLISHMENTS ON ACADEMIC REGALIA? Why do they have colored hoods when the original films (and books to boot) say all black robes. Why are these robes not even proper wizarding robes but just like...cambridge robes. 

- To be honest this boggart lesson is like?? insane?? how did it last for 70 years it’s honestly so unethical and cruel. I’ve ALWAYS thought this even reading it for the first time in POA I was like “people’s worst fears are spiders and mummies?” like my greatest fear even at 12 was people I love dying. The fact that Newt is more scared of a desk than Theseus dying is weird.

- “I don’t want to talk about my boggart” Leta LeStrange means there was an Incident where Dumbledore realized that some students don’t have Great Home Lives and yet persists in this lesson for the next 70 years knowing that multiple kids are going to have their parents abusing them as their greatest fear. 

- Corvus, as a name, just means Raven. How stupid. “Is your house crest a raven?” “Yes. Also my brother. Like if you were named Badger McHufflepuff.” “Oh don’t worry my name is just Lizard Lizard.” “Cool."

- No background or even hints at future background (e.g. they haven’t written it yet) on why Leta gets with Theseus even after the first film where he has a picture of Leta in his suitcase. 

- Theseus and Newt have no screen time interaction. They do not behave like brothers. They have no flashbacks. Even young Newt never interacts with his brother. There is no realism here that Newt says they have a complicated relationship or is annoyed by his brother. This exposition is just lazy writing with nothing on screen to back it up. 

- So you’re telling me Dumbledore had the mirror of erised for SEVENTY YEARS and yells at harry for looking in it for three nights. How did Dumbledore not go mad? Where did he get it? I feel like 70 years is a long time to have it. 

- I guess when you think about it yeah being 40 in the 1920s does put you on the mark to be 110 when Harry meets you but fuck the books did NOT explain HOW OLD Dumbledore was to me I always thought he was like hale and sprightly 70s/80s

- Okay so you’re looking in the mirror and going to just BRAZENLY FLOUT CANON and say his deepest desire looking in the mirror is to relive the memory of the blood oath? That’s exposition. That’s a memory. That’s a pensieve not a mirror. Your greatest desire has ALWAYS BEEN saving Ariana. And even if it was loving Grindelwald this is your GREATEST DESIRE like being together not reliving a blood oath just for the sake of audience explanation. LAZY WRITING. 

------ Back to other rants

- Most of this movie was me squinting being like ‘what’s the plot??’ and if there was a whiff of plot (”we all have to find credence’s birth records!”) most of it was me being confused “why does this matter?” “how did they all get there?”

- The confession of Newt trying to talk to Tina in the records room was painful. Not cute. Not even funny. Just so painful. It was like secondhand embarrassment but like...pity embarrassment. 

- I don’t know why Grindelwald has a map of a Parisian cemetery. I don’t know why he had to give it to Credence except as a big reveal. I don’t remember how Queenie got there. I genuinely DO NOT understand how Jacob got there much less passed through to the secret wizard place as a muggle. 

- No idea why the records lady was attacking them when Leta checked in twice (once as Tina). NO CLUE why they were the worst animated cats of all time or why they became multiple cats or even why when taken out of the French records they became even worse animated ‘real’ cats when they could have just used real cats. The entire chase scene was baffling and unnecessary. The records lady was not an agent of Grindelwald so no idea what’s up with her bee in the bonnet sorry for wrecking all your shit bye.

- I saw this movie less than an hour ago. I’m still confused how Leta, Newt, and Tina all teamed up or why they were cool teaming up or what. 

- This mausoleum has a Greek hellenistic statue of a man reclining for no apparent reason and these shelves are supposed to bear ashes right so why are you putting a dumb pop up book there. Why would Grindelwald’s agent remove the record in drag as an old lady? It was weirdly unnecessary. 

- Yosef’s exposition on how a white man literally imperiused and raped his mother was like WOW NO ONE IS GONNA EVEN TOUCH THAT???? and then for her to die in childbirth it’s like...my dudes wizards have cured so many diseases muggles haven’t you know they’re up there inventing the c-section with Julius Caesar and accio’ing babies out of utero like ‘gimme that catcher’s mitt she’s fully dilated.’ This whole “oh it was the 1900s” nonsense does NOT apply to magic. LAZY WRITING. 

- I immediately forgot what happened to Corvus’ mom. but whatever right? she’s just a disposable woman! this movie does NOT care about consent! much less women! haha they’re just flowers!

- ‘I killed my brother’ yeah i mean we saw that coming she was REALLY SURE he was dead. But I was 90% sure it was going to be a child accident like dropping him down the stairs or shaking him too hard to get him to stop crying and then swapping him with a live baby but no? so i don’t know i feel like you didn’t really kill him.

- this steamer going down is confusing. is it a muggle ship? if it’s a muggle ship than is Credence swapped a baby with...a muggle born wizard? Are their other wizarding families on the ship? If so then why did they drown? you can all magic out of there? your lifeboat wouldn’t go down? why even take a steamer ship to america? you can...apparate or portkey or floo or fly like this titanic nonsense makes NO SENSE. And if Papa LeStrange hates muggles so much why put his only children on an all muggle ship with a half elf (again why) who can’t do magic to protect them

- Finding Credence’s identity REALLY doesn’t need to revolve around the LeStrange’s sordid past. Steamer ships keep passenger logs. So. We really should leave the mausoleum now to go find that. 

- Yosef took an unbreakable vow to kill this white baby and it’s dead so is he released? He was released like...20 years ago. Why does he continue to hang out with these people? Your endless vengeance has rested? No need to team up with the sister you never knew? apparently (their family dynamic was also poorly/not explained). 

- Why is this mausoleum an underground amphitheater. Literally why it makes no sense. Is it supposed to bring up the first David Yates film OotP? I don’t know. It also has a lot of blue fire and people rapturing the fuck out of there (literally when did apparating involve staring up at the sky and blasting off in rocket smoke). Also in re this movie how can you be tracked after apparating (Newt/Dumbledore’s tail). 

- So if you touch this curtain do you automatically teleport to this amphitheater. Also what if you touched it by accident and were like OH SHIT HOW DO I GET OUT. Like wow this guy wasn’t kidding when he said there’s no wizard that can match him magically. This is like Charles Xavier Magneto Level 1 Mutant Power kind of shit. Not even Voldemort could do that. Big Power Too Big trope. Again. How did Jacob even GET there. 

- Johnny Depp wears leather pants. Costume department, get your act together.

- Grindelwald, continuing to be British, shows clips of the Great War, approx 1914-1918. While the tanks and biplanes were appropriate, there were also lines (assumingly?) to concentration camps and the nuclear bomb of Hiroshima, which wouldn’t take place until 1945. So is Grindelwald also a prophet? Is he a seer? They kept referencing this book of poems and prophecy but without letting us see it? it went along with my general ‘I’m getting the gist of this but not really the why because it doesn’t make sense.’ And then Grindelwald rumor mongers and uses fear tactics when one of the police aurors straight up KILLS A WOMAN like wow can we cool it with use of force/police brutality is this guy going to get written up or is he fire now? 

- Ethnically ambiguous Grindelwald supporter (only person of color) gets immediately incinerated for not being 100% sure of his side. When Credence feels the same way, he gets a couple of gifts. 

- Look, I didn’t start this way but I stan Leta LeStrange. She was honestly one of the only people and the only woman in this film with a personality. 

- Queenie stands still as weak, silly, expositional, dumb American. For those of you about to be like ‘She’s spying on Grindelwald! She’s the greatest legilimens that ever lived!’ I just want to beg you to reconsider because if you’re right and if the writers get wind of that you know they’re going to have her like teach little Tom Riddle something just BECAUSE everything has to connect. 

- Poor Jacob he seems okay with being stranded in another country. Is his bakery okay? Do his friends know he isn’t dead? He is super super super brave throughout this movie despite his main comedic strength in the other movie being nervous. But this time he’s like meh firefights and large monsters.

- Credence I understand going over. Nagini continues to not be a character and did not go with Newt and Crew. 

- Wasn’t even sad for Theseus because again, Theseus had little to no character development except being a Whipping Boy to authority. Theseus and Leta never interacted in any meaningful way. Their relationship didn’t even seem real. I wasn’t even sad.

- I feel like Leta isn’t dead though because who the fuck else is carrying this LeStrange line to give birth to Rabastan and Rodolphus. 

- At this point everyone apparates AGAIN to Hogwarts. This time I guess a ghost went and alerted Dumbledore because he’s waiting. But yeah like come on in for tea Newt but fuck all those kids they can wait here. 

- What is this plot?? Is there a plot?? What is going on??

- Who gives someone a wand like this hi I hid it up my sleeve touch me my boy I long for your touch.

- This is a phoenix, not a Raven. Newt is a sad ordinary bird but you’re a bright beautiful phoenix. Apparently phoenixes can grow up in ONE DAY. Foreshadowing Dumbledore is foreshadowing. LAZY WRITING this is so stupid. The books would have been EXPLICIT about a fourth child. 

- Maybe he’s a cousin. Close relative, perhaps? *Pleakley voice*

“He hasn’t got a brother?” 

Dobby shook his head. 

Literally where I’m at right now. 

- ABRUPT ENDING IS ABRUPT I didn’t even realize this was the end of the film because the score, cinematography, and writing did NOT cue me that this was winding down. I literally was like ‘how long does this last’ and then it was like DAVID YATES. Okayyyyyyy. 

- Anyway my sum feeling upon the lights going on was: what the fuck. was there a plot. there were so many loopholes. i was confused about many things almost the whole time because nothing was fleshed out and if they threw enough CGI at me I’d be patched up. 

Final rating: It matches up pretty well to the middle film of The Hobbit trilogy. 

[shadi612]

Happy Valentine's Day, darling pandom! Here's my (very belated) remix of UC and a little bit of a gift for my favourite fandom  

AO3 (x)  (1/?)

(I found love) Where it wasn't supposed to be

I.

“What a scam”

This is not how she wanted to spend Valentine’s Day. Or any other fucking day for that matter.

Because you see in all her twenty-four years on this earth she never had to do this before. Not even as a stupid sixteen-year-old schoolgirl. She’s never been careless (Not with this).

Then again, she never expected she would be:

A) In the middle of bloody Maine. B) In love with one of the town’s most dangerous men. C) Standing in front of a whole aisle of pregnancy tests on bloody Valentine’s Day, of all days. D) All of the above.

And you might ask Why she’s here on valentine’s day if she was in a long-term relationship with a man that never passed an opportunity to show her off to the town? Because said man had texted her that afternoon with a quick apology that their night of “debauchery and other vices” would have to wait and some rambling about an urgent job that she hadn’t paid much attention to as she texted Matthew back to let him know she wasn’t too devastated about it. Her mind was too busy worrying about other things, namely whenever or not she should get a very specific item from the pharmacy.

Which brings her back to the same thought again and again: These things are expensive.

Really expensive.

They were overpriced pee sticks, for crying out loud. And what's the difference between them? Paying an extra five dollars wasn’t going to change the outcome, was it?

She's not dumb or delusional, as the townspeople would often refer to her behind her back. Jill knows the signs that have obnoxiously hung over her head these past few days.

She's late. Three and a half weeks late. It's far too much time for her to blame it on stress (and wouldn't you be stressed if you shared your life with Matthew? Stress had become a default mode for her mind and body during the last two years. And, sadly, this wasn’t one of those times when it would go as easily as it had come.)

Add in a newfound state of fatigue mixed with a persistent soreness on her chest and the ever-suspicious bouts of nausea at unexpected moments and you'll get yourself a big, red flag. If someone came up to Jill and told her that these things had been happening to them, the first words out of her mouth would be “congratulations”. The sincerity of her words would depend on who that poor soul was.

But she also knows she’s not pregnant because being pregnant would unleash hell on her life. She’s buying the test so she can finally get Arabella off her back.

(“Oh, sweetheart” Bella’s voice had rumbled across the bookshop’s bathroom three days ago with a hint of ever-present sarcasm mixed with genuine concern.

“I used to be a nun. I know a girl in trouble when I see one” Jill had only managed to throw her a quick glare before emptying her stomach on the sink for the second time in less than four hours).

She would take the bloody test and get it over with and then maybe she would grab some Gatorade and crackers to soothe the persistent stomach bug that’s been ruining her mood for weeks (because that’s all there is to it. A bloody stomach bug).

"Close your eyes and think of England" she spits between clenched teeth before knocking a few tests into her basket with an impressive amount of determination.

She can do this.

Isn’t this some sort of milestone for your twenties? Going on a drinking binge, getting an apartment, a pregnancy scare and only a scare…

These are normal things. 

For the sake of appearances, she adds in some magazines and nail polish to her basket. She's under no illusion that this little piece of gossip won't be all over town in a near future but Jill's incredibly adept at playing pretend by now. And when she’s proven right (because she’s not pregnant. She commands herself not to be pregnant) the buzz will die down on its own accord if she just decides to not care about it in the first place.

The waiting line's short, even for Storybrooke. Jill easily spots Mister Gold and David Nolan ahead of her in the queue line, one of her hands reaching for the magazine she had taken before and she eyes it without much interest while partially listening to them. Maybe it would help her calm down.

“Two Valentines. Sounds like a complicated life.

“Oh, no, I-I just couldn't decide.”

So that was still going on, surprising absolutely no one.

Her ears filter out most of the men’s conversation once her eyes landed on the rather … colourful items the pawnbroker held on his own basket. She does not need that particular mental image. But there’s nothing else to do so she entertains her frayed nerves with some colourful and hilarious what ifs during the queue line in another attempt to calm down until the two men are out of her sight.

Mister Clark smiles at Jill when her turn comes and he’s a sweet man, she knows that much about him but the feeling gnawing at the pit of her stomach keeps getting worse and worse by the minute. She’s on the verge of running and just sending this entire thing to hell so she can go back to denial land when he offers her the bag with a smile. Idly she asks herself if pharmacists have their own version of a Hippocratic oath when he doesn’t comment anything about her peculiar purchase.

“Miss? Are you-”

“I’m fine” Her voice comes out rushed and squeaky as she hands him the money and politely tells him to keep the change. If the man has anything to say about her behaviour she doesn’t hear him while she sprints for the exit door like a red-handed thief.

The buzzing sounds of the streets make her peacefully numb to the outside world, just her and her spiralling thoughts walking into the night.

  II.

 Jill stumbles into the empty apartment with a heavy heart, a queasy stomach and feeling incredibly grateful that nobody can see the mess she’s now with her shaky hands and laboured breaths.

She’s not afraid, she’s panicking.

God, she can’t be pregnant.

What is she supposed to do with a child? She had been the only child born to two parents that cared more about the status their little bundle of joy would bring them than they did for the girl herself. What kind of mother could she ever become if she had grown up starved for love and attention from the two people that were supposed to give it to her unconditionally?

And what about the father? Maybe she could learn to love the child and avoid the mistakes her own parents had made with her but what about him?

He loves her, she knows that much.

He loves her in a possessive, passionate way that easily veers into obsession. An obsession she returns fully. But it’s the kind of love that could easily drown them both if they weren’t careful.

Nobody around them thinks they’re going to make it. They’re each other’s ruin they said. And god, she knows they’re doomed in so many ways, how bad they’re for each other in other ways but she also knows she’s happy. She’s so fucking happy.

He makes me happy is all that comes to her mind when she looks down to her white-knuckled hands gripping the bag on her lap.

There's a ring on her finger. 

It's simple but elegant and she found it a few weeks ago in one of her drawers, tucked inside a black velvet box resting peacefully between her earrings and one of his watches.

Jill had grown used to these tidbits of random affection, little presents and colourful boxes popping up around her as tokens of affection, so with a sigh of exasperated fondness she grabbed the box and opened the lid with giddy fingers. It could be a new necklace to replace the one she had lost a few days ago. Or maybe a nice bracelet to go with her pearl earrings…

This was different.

The ring’s cut was not the one you would find in a casual gift. It was far too elegant and well thought of. This type of cut worked for a very specific situation. 

He wouldn’t, would he?

Jill had sat on the bed for a good five minutes inspecting every inch of the ring before marching over to the living room where Matthew was sitting in the kitchen island with a cup of steaming coffee on one hand and the paper in the other. He wasn’t going to propose, of course he wasn’t. He wasn’t the “marrying kind” like Mrs. Redford used to say with an unhappy scrunch of her nose but for the sake of Jill’s mental peace she needed him to say it himself.

“Morning, darling” his eyes looked up before she had fully sat down in front of him, a smirk planted firmly on his face when he noticed how Jill held the ring at arms length as if its mere proximity burned her.

His face gave nothing away, just pure smugness. 

Typical, she huffed and slid the box across the table to him. She would be as stubborn as him if she needed to.

"Well?"

"It's yours"

Yours. 

It was her ring because he was proposing to her.

The frown on her face deepened as she stared distastefully at the ring on the table. He was doing it to drive her mad, she was sure of it. Only Matthew would be capable of turning a proposal into a headache. Couldn’t he be a grown-up about this? Couldn’t he have the guts to at least decently ask her Would you marry me?

No big romantic gestures needed, just a simple question.

"You're proposing to me?" Matthew raised an eyebrow at her, obviously amused at her reaction "You can't" she replied quickly as she realized she didn’t want to know his answer after all.

The frown on his face told her he wasn’t pleased with the situation either.

"Why not?" And now he was pulling the surprised card, acting like this kind of behaviour was acceptable. That she was being irrational by not understanding and playing along with it.

"Because!"

“Use your words, love” Matthew was even willing to throw her own words against her, leaving her to scold at him in disapproval. She hadn’t brought up the idea of marriage once, not even as a joke. This was all on him. 

Well, he could take his precious ring and shove it. 

“You’re impossible” 

“So I’ve been told” God, he was never going to take a single thing seriously in his life and she was stupid to think he would. Jill huffed out her anger and disappointment when she stood up, fully intending to lock herself in their room for the rest of the day or find something appropriate to throw against a wall to let out her frustration before strong arms wrapped around her waist and pressed her against his chest, effectively keeping her in the spot.

“I don’t feel like playing anymore, Matthew” She squirmed against him, slapping his hands away in a useless attempt to free herself.

“I know that being with me it’s not easy. That I’m not an easy person” his breath was hot and soft against the shell of her ear, making her squirming worse when he wouldn’t budge.

Damn him, damn him to hell and back for doing this to her

“But you must know that nobody ever had me the way you do” she had stopped fidgeting at the last part of his speech.

Jill knew. She knew perfectly well that he would kill anyone that ever wronged her and would burn the world if she asked for it. And she knew that for her (and her only) he was trying not to. He was trying to at least control himself for her like she was willing to let herself be free for him.

And she wasn’t about to say that she regretted it.

This man would be her downfall in the same way she would be his. He would make her crumble to ashes and rise again time after time with only the idea of them as an anchor.

He must have taken her silence as an invitation to slip the ring into her left hand and kiss the nape of her neck to put an end to their argument.

Jill couldn’t find the words quick enough as she turned on her heels to face him so she nodded slowly with a watery smile as her own promise of a forever finally slipped past her lips quietly “And nobody will have me the way you do, Matthew”.

(She did not cry, there just was a twinkle in her eyes as his lips kissed her like she was the air and he was suffocating)

This was her life now. With every messy decision and uncertain step she had taken in the last two years she –and only she- had sealed her fate with the golden band on her finger.

They said pick your poison so I chose you.

And maybe Jill is plenty of things but she’s always been someone capable of taking responsibility for her actions and her screw-ups, so she forces herself to walk into the bathroom to bite the bullet and face the music.

She lasts all of ten seconds before she throws the bag in the cabinet under the sink as far as it’ll go and fifteen before she calls Bella in the middle of what’s probably a panic attack.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up” The one time she needs Bella is the one time she decides to put her phone away.

It goes straight to voicemail the three times she rings her up and all it manages to do is frustrate her to the point she’s about to pull her hair off when she throws the phone on the couch.

Wonderful, just bloody wonderful.

Bella was going to owe her one and Jill was going to cash in that check big time once she was done panicking.

The dramatic schoolgirl she once was possesses her the moment she reaches over for a cushion to scream her frustration into a good five times before her responsible adult self kicks off the girl into the back of her mind and marches her self-pitying self into the bathroom.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Repeat. Breathe in. Breathe out. Repeat.

The words on her head are a pattern. It’s something methodical she can relay into and distract herself as she goes through the motions the test requires.

She doesn’t think she could have done it if she didn’t distract her mind. Any other time she would chastise herself for using such a cliché but those two minutes until her phone alarm buzzes are the longest wait on her life. The entire experience feels surreal to her, as if she was watching someone else sitting at the edge of the bathtub and stare at the test on the counter with everything else happening at both slow motion and fast-forwarding before her eyes when she stares at the test on her shaky hands.

It’s positive.

  III.

 The pink line stares back, mocking her.

 “Fuck”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

She wants to laugh. That was exactly what had gotten her here.

How could she be so stupid? They didn't use condoms every single time anymore and she had been off the pill for almost a year. This sort of thing was bound to happen.

So here she is, sitting on the edge of the bathtub at 2:00 am staring at a positive pregnancy test. Same test she’s been staring at sporadically for at least two hours now in between puking her guts out and cursing everything she can think of, said test among them.

The positive test. It's positive because she's pregnant. She's pregnant. Jill Redford is pregnant. She's carrying Matthew Kensington’s child and-

Matthew.

Matthew's going to be a father and that's a new load of information she needs to process.

Blimey.

Matthew is...

Well, he’s her Matthew. He's fire and impulsiveness and wildness packed in with a mop of brown curls and green eyes.

He's also ten years her senior, for crying out loud. This isn't the first time she's reminded of that fact but right now it perches itself on her shoulders like a heavy burden as she stares down at the stupid little stick on her hands.  Matthew is thirty-three to her twenty-four. He must have thought about this sort of things, right?

Oh, who is she kidding?.

Matthew is not the first person that comes to mind when she thinks of father material. He's not on her top five. Not even on her top fifty.

She loves him. She loves him against every reasonable impulse she has. And because she loves him she knows that parents are a delicate subject.

("They were gone one day. Vanished on thin air and never came back" Those were the only things that came up about the subject during one of their late night talks. Lucky, Arabella and his boys had become the family he needed after a rather peculiar childhood at the orphanage. A patchwork family she now was part of. She had no interest in knowing about people that had hurt him and he had no interest in sharing it.)

And oh god, Matthew and a child that will rely on him for guidance and love and to teach them the difference between right and wrong? Don’t make her laugh.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. She can’t think about this now. She can’t think about how deeply fucked they are at this moment.

She needs to find a way out of this. The first thing that comes to mind in her desperate state is that if she’s not pregnant then she doesn’t have to worry. Tests gave out false positives all the time, so if she took another one and it came out negative then she wouldn’t have anything to worry about.

Problem solved!

Half a gallon of water and three positive pregnancy tests later she’s back to square one. Also known as “completely fucked” and “up the duff”.

An upset sob comes out from the back of her throat once she slides down to the bathroom floor. It was useless. She can’t avoid it any longer and she’s so upset at everything that all she can do is let the frustrated tears run down her face freely with her arms wrapped around her knees.

[petroglifs]

Grayshaw

*Enjoy!

Science Fiction Book Club

Interview with Bruce Sterling October 2018

Bruce Sterling is a prominent science fiction writer and a pioneer of the cyberpunk genre. Novels like Heavy Weather (1994), Islands in the Net (1988), Schismatrix (1985), The Artificial Kid (1980) earned him the nickname “Chairman Bruce”. Apart from his writings, Bruce Sterling is also a professor of internet studies and science fiction at the European Graduate School. He has contributed to several projects within the scheme of futurist theory, founded an environmental aesthetic movement, edited anthologies and he still continues to write for several magazines including Wired, Discover, Architectural Record and The Atlantic.

David Stuckey: Have you considered a return to the world of "The Difference Engine" for stories or another novel?

*That won’t happen.

David Stuckey: If you were going to write "Involution Ocean" today, what would you change or do differently?

*Well, alien planet adventures are a really dated form of space opera.  On the other hand, they’re great when you’re 20 years old.  If I were doing a project like that today I might make it a comic book.  Or a webcomic.  It might make a nice anime cartoon.

Richard Whyte: In the 2018 'State of the World' conversation on the Well, you said you were in Ibiza working on a novel. Are you able to tell us anything about it yet?

*I dunno if I’m ever gonna finish this epic novel about the history of the city of Turin, but I seem to get a lot of work done on it when I’m in Ibiza.  It’s about Turin, but when I’m actually in Turin I tend to work on weird technology art projects and goofy design schemes.

*Also, look at this palace.  I’m supposed to work on my novel in the attic of this villa.  That’s pretty weird, isn’t it?  This villa was built in the same era as the book I’m working on, which has the working title “The Starry Messengers.”  Like this villa, it’s big and baroque and complicated.

https://fenicerinnovata.tumblr.com

Andrzej Wieckowski: We read 'Sacred Cow' for one of our short story reads a few months' ago. Were themes such as Bolton's historic connection to the Indian cotton industry and immigration to this country deliberate or unconscious? And as it's my home town - did you visit? :)

*There aren’t any towns in Britain without some historic connection to India.  As it happens I’m flying to India day after tomorrow to meet with some Indian science fiction writers.

*I used to hang out in Great Britain rather a lot.  Brexitania I don’t much care for.  It’s a hostile, troubled place.

Gary Denton: You were active in the Viridian sustainable design movement that many readers may not know about. Do you think that major corporations have taken that over and it is less fringe now?

*I tend to do activist stuff.  Also, you get more done if you don’t ask for any credit.  I’ve come to understand that a lot of my most influential writing was stuff that I never got paid for.  Some of it never got published.

*I was just at the Whole Earth 50th reunion about a week ago.  They’re a good example of a “movement” that was super-influential and somehow a dreadful failure at the same time.

*As far as major corporations, meaning large public enterprises with a lot of shareholders, I don’t worry about them any more.  It’s actually moguls and oligarchs who are the big problem nowadays.

Gary Denton: Do you also see a change in the major polluters now compared to 25 years ago?

*They’re a lot more violent.  Blood for oil, killing off opponents in sinister ways, not a problem for them any more.  They’re quite grim and red-handed.  They used to be engineers, but now they know that they are culprits.

Gary Denton: You once said that the cyberpunks were the most realistic science fiction writers in the 80's. Who do you think are the most realistic science fiction writers now?

*Could be the Chinese.

Richard Whyte: Whenever someone here asks about the angriest SF work ever, I always seem to end up recommending your fine short story 'Spook'. Do you think of it as an angry story?

*Well, not really.  It’s a rather severely disaffected story from the point of view of a person who’s not human and knows it.  “We See Things Differently” is rather an angry story; it’s about a terrorist assassin with a righteous grudge.

Eva Sable: What is the experience of collaborating with another author like for you? Especially when working with someone who, like yourself, is rather an individual. (Never met William Gibson, but he strikes me as someone who would be more comfortable working on his own)

*I tend to collaborate rather a lot.  It helps if the two of you are combining forces in order to learn something together.  Gibson and I agreed that we couldn’t possibly write a work like DIFFERENCE ENGINE alone.  We used to urge each other to do it, but eventually we just had to have a lot of long, abstruse discussions of what a book like that ought to do.

*If you read the stories I wrote with Rudy Rucker you can see that a lot of those texts are basically him and me discussing weird ideas.  We’ve got a reason to write those stories – a high-concept, and then there are pages of bizarre hugger-mugger where we push the concept as hard as we can.  Then we give up.

*Nowadays I spend a lot of time negotiating or collaborating with artists, designers, architects.  I don’t get jealous about the origins of good ideas.

Richard Whyte: Your 1980s SF criticism seemed very much in favour of 'Radical Hard SF'. To what extent do you think your own fiction 'takes its inspiration from science, and uses the language of science in a creative way'?

*I wrote a lot of that in the 1980s.  Nowadays I tend to write speculative work that’s more influenced by industrial design rather than by science.

Richard Whyte: In the early 1980s I believe you were associated with a group of like-minded SF writers known as 'The Movement', who were subsequently renamed as 'cyberpunks'. Overall, do you think this name change was a good or a bad thing?

*If people notice you, you’re gonna get a public slang name anyway, so it’s good if you can cheerfully put up with it.  As for forming like-minded groups, that’s a valuable life-skill.

John Grayshaw: Who are your favorite science fiction writers? And how have they influenced your work?

*Well, those favorites change with time.  In different decades of my own life I’ve had different ambitions for my own science fiction.  I tend to write pastiches.  Lately I’ve been writing a lot of “science fiction” that’s heavily influenced by Italian fantascienza, or, really, Italian fantasy generally.  

*I’m a long-time Juies Verne fan.  I wouldn’t describe Jules as a personal “favorite,” but I recognize him as a titan of my genre.  Knowing the personal details of the guy’s career as a working creative has been of a lot of help to me.

*I had a couple of professional SF writers who I regarded as my literary mentors.  They’re both dead now: Harlan Ellison and Brian Aldiss.

John Grayshaw: I heard that you are currently dividing your time between Belgrade and Turin, do you miss living in Texas? Or America in general?

*I’m back often enough that I don’t really “miss it.”  I find that if I stay in one place too long, I tend to miss travelling.  I  roam a lot.  If I get too old and tired to lift a suitcase and I settle somewhere, it probably won’t be Austin, Belgrade or Turin.

John Grayshaw: I recommend everyone read your essay "Cyberpunk in the Nineties" (http://lib.ru/STERLINGB/interzone.txt) to understand that Cyberpunk was a movement and can't be removed from its time and place...But a Cyberpunk aesthetic has emerged over the years and that is what writers like Neal Stephenson or Richard K. Morgan are emulating. Was this aesthetic conscious at the time?

*Well, we spent plenty of time fussing about it. A lot of that conceptual work doesn’t really show on the surface.  Aesthetics interest me a lot.  For instance, I’m the Art Director of the Share Festival in Turin, which is an Italian technology-art fair.  Italians are good at fussing about how stuff looks.

John Grayshaw: Did "Mirrorshades" have a theme? What directions or guidance did you give the writers?

*It didn’t have a set theme.  Mostly I was trying to pick work from colleagues I respected, that I thought put them in a good light.

John Grayshaw: Other than writing what are your interests/hobbies?

*I like design and technology art. Also I travel a lot.  I spend a lot of time in arcane online research.

John Grayshaw: Why do you think Steampunk has become a popular subgenre/aesthetic in the last 30 years?

*I think it’s about the craft aspects of steampunk.  Hobbyist people like the costumes and the gadgets.  It’s like traditional historical recreation groups, but with an alluring fantasy aspect.

John Grayshaw: Can you explain why you have said that Artificial Intelligence is a bad metaphor?

*I think the AI metaphor gets in the way of actual progress in the field, with actual hardware and software.  Rodney Brooks explains the problem a lot better than I can, and nobody can understand his explanations either.  That’s not exactly fair – actually I get what Rodney’s saying enough to more or less agree with him.  He’s an expert, so I’d refer you to him.

*”Deep Learner” and “neural net” are kinda better metaphors than “Artificial Intelligence,” but they’re still metaphors.  We haven’t created sharp, focused words for what these odd devices really do. “Intelligence” is not what they’re doing.

John Grayshaw: Cyberpunk was a dark look at the future. Do you feel optimistic or pessimistic about the future?

*People always ask that.  People in Russia never thought that cyberpunk was “dark.”  Also, whenever you get to “the future,” no matter how scared or happy you are about some particular historical episode, there’s always more future on the way.  Eventually people are dead, so if you ask  if I’m optimistic or pessimistic about the 20th century,  the whole idea sounds silly.  The future is a kind of history that hasn’t happened yet.

John Grayshaw: In cyberpunk technology often contributes to society’s ills. What lesson do we take from this? That we must learn how to live with tech or that we should reject it and live like the Amish?

*Kevin Kelly kinda likes the idea of living like the Amish.  Kevin’s an interesting guy.  If I myself wanted to “live like the Amish” I’d probably move to Christiania in Denmark, where at least they have reggae music.

John Grayshaw: Do you keep up with the latest technologies? Or do you stay "off the grid?"

*I do both, actually.  I’m generally so “off the grid” that I’m not even in its time-zone.  I don’t have a business card, there’s no  settled mailing address, I’m never on Facebook, and no one knows my phone number.  Like they say in the world of electronic privacy, “I have nothing to hide, but I have nothing I want to show you, either.”

John Grayshaw: Do you think people will have "immersive" VR type experiences on the internet in the next 20 years?

*They have it already.

John Grayshaw: What do you feel is your legacy?

*Hard to say.  It’s like asking a Beatnik writer what “his legacy” is.  The Beats wrote a lot of more-or-less memorable stuff, but there’s also the existence proof that somebody was able to live like that, and that is their legacy.  I lived in a different historical period than the Beat writiers, but a lot of the stuff that entertained and engaged me is also quite archaic nowadays.  I don’t thing people aspire to emulate Bruce Sterling, but they  do like the idea of operating in the same cultural spaces that I do.  That something lively can exist between “science” and “fiction,” or between “cyber” and “punk,” that’s a valuable thing to know.

[lucky-clover-gazette]

season 4 first watch impressions

under the cut are my thoughts and my new overall series episode ranking (spoilers)

ep1 - uss callister

- by far my favorite of the season

- a perfect blend of comedy and tragedy 

- i would have loved this as a full movie

- honestly nanette is amazing, like she owns her smarts and sexuality and never gives up i love her

- male coder: “it won’t work, i’ve already tried”

nanette: “well i haven’t” HELL YEAH

- i honestly loved all the ‘crew’ characters, even the gym rat boss

- i especially enjoyed the speech from the boss to robert, where he’s like ‘i acknowledge that i was an ass, but dude, YOU PUSHED MY SON OUT AN AIRLOCK’

- also the fuckin casual dialogue between the monster and bad guy and the crew

- OHHH BOY AND THE FACT THAT ROBERT’S GONNA ROT TO DEATH IN HIS APARTMENT BECAUSE HE PUT ‘DO NOT DISTURB’ ON HIS APARTMENT DOOR, HELL YEAH

- ‘oh my fuck’ 

- 10/10, watch it now

ep2 - arkangel

- preface: the kid playing young owen teague and his family were actually really close with my family when he and my little sister were kids. it was goddamn surreal to see that lil guy talking about porn when i remember him being, like, eight. but nice going nick, keep kicking ass lil dude

- okay so this episode was... conflicting 

- the opener made sense, but in some ways i thought it was TOO obvious and indicative of the episode’s message and tone. i can’t help but wonder if it would have been better just starting like five minutes in

- her father looked like counselor healy from orange is the new black, so that was distracting

- okay jesus christ lady, i get that losing your kid is scary, but implanting her with ‘optional’ optic spying and censoring software is such a massive violation of her privacy. like, it’s one thing when she’s tiny, but how the hell are you going to feel okay with yourself as a parent when she’s an adolescent? 

- the blocking especially pissed me off. that’s so fucking dangerous. either this woman is just very stupid, or very desperate

- at least the narrative established that it kind of was the latter. when her father gets sick, the mother has to care both for both her father and her child. that’s a lot. but still not an excuse for such mental violation of a quickly-growing human being

- young edgelord and sara are fucking adorable

- sara’s self-harm and rage issues are not, however,, and i’m glad that her mother took her head out of her ass and ditched the tablet

- is it just me or is fifteen-year-old sara kind of an idiot? like i get it she’s grunge and artsy, and i loved her giving a treat to the dog, but she seems to be almost hanging out with owen teague because he deals, and not despite it. like i get that i’m supposed to buy that their romance has kind of a subtext of him ‘teaching’ her about things, but like the underage sex and coke are kinda yikes. i feel like he definitely should have had more restraint, and although what the mother does is royally fucked, he and sara are also both to blame

- all right, so the smoothie motif. what a great narrative tool. the miscarriage pill was the most clever part of the episode. sara’s reaction was very well-acted, and the standoff between her and her mother was intense as hell

- i liked that sara’s rage issues remained into adolescence. i was glad that the tablet got wreckt, but i can’t help but wonder if it would have been more effective to have her rage-smash it prior to her mother coming come, leaving the pieces for her to find. the actual beating up of the mother with the tablet seemed to literal, too much sinking in the message. there were moments in crocodile and hang the dj that were the same way. 

- the ending, with sara hitchhiking in some stranger’s truck, was very smart. the ambiguity of a young girl, on her own, hopping in some stranger’s vehicle, is powerful without much explanation. any parent would be horrified by this; that’s what i don’t think we actually needed to see the mother screaming sara’s name and bleeding to understand the horror of losing a child to the unknown

- this one definitely gives me the most complicated feelings of the season; on one hand, it had a lot of great devices going for it. on the other hand, it was over-written and at times trying too hard to be ‘black mirror.’ the grey morality and ambiguous ending reminded me of a literary short story, which i love in my TV.

- 7/10, watch it if you liked most black mirror episodes that weren’t san junipero

ep3 - crocodile

- ah yes, the ‘i watch black mirror to be fuckin ashamed of humanity’ episode

- idk man, i liked it. it was bleak, and fucked up, but i’m all about that downward spiral. i liked that the story kind of began in three different places and then tied together. just as i had with ‘hated in the nation,’ i love police procedural stuff

- also damn, it was freaky as hell to see the straight-laced white blonde soccer-mom type being a despicable murdering sociopath!!! like, gotta go kill an entire family of POC, including a goddamn INFANT, and then see my kid’s show, that’s great. i was so happy when she got what she deserved. 

- all right, so i had one MAJOR PROBLEM with this episode: why the fuck did they make the son blind? the guinea pig twist was so GOOD, and mia fuckin killed a BABY, they didn’t need to further modify that!!! this is another example of black mirror doing just a tad more than it needs to make the audience feel horrible. 

- okay black mirror, we get it, that song is your thing, but can you maybe slide it in as a less glaring easter egg? 

- 8/10, but only if you’re into dark shit and bad endings

ep4 - hang the dj

- not nearly gay enough

- seriously, the entire episode i was unable to focus on the main characters because i kept looking around this Tinder-esque 20′s dating paradise and saw ZERO GAY OR LESBIAN COUPLES. i’m so surprised by this, especially after ‘san junipero.’ at first i was like, maybe this is like society’s way of encouraging procreation because of population decline, but that wasn’t the twist at all. no reason for nearly everyone to be hetero

- THAT BEING SAID, i see you. bi amy. even before the girl partner, i was aware that she used ‘they/them’ pronouns when referring to hypothetical partners. i just wish we could have seen more gay couples in the background (for example, at the choosing ceremony thing, it coulda been two dudes of something)

- uh okay, so everyone loved this episode, and it was okay. some of the banter and jokes were funny and relatable, but honestly, this wasn’t *that* good. the plot wasn’t super original (reminded me a lot of ep1 of hulu’s ‘dimension 404′) and the execution was kind of suuuuuuper basic. like, black suited Enforcers with tasers? a massive matrix wall? the whole thing seemed so predictable and just... basic as hell. 

- but shit man, amy was cool. loved that character in a vacuum. 

- honestly if someone could explain the reasons for loving this episode, i’d like to hear them. because i just don’t get it, man. maybe it’s because i’m gay, or young, or single, or unexperienced... but i just wasn’t very impressed

- 6/10, not even fuckin close to ‘san junipero’ lmao 

ep5 - metalhead

- black and white seemed sort of pretentious, not gonna lie. i think i would have preferred the dirty palette of ‘white bear’ post-apocalypse

- i am all for these female protagonists this season. hell yeah

- soo those corpses in the bed were heavy, but i actually kind of wish we got to see more of that? like, the remains of humanity after the dogs attacked? also, more small explanations for the dogs’ attack would have been interesting

- loved the chase and fight scenes. i can see how they’d be boring, but the moments of conflict between man v. machine were fucking awesome

- K N I F E  D O G

- anyone else get serious farenheit 451 vibes?

- the teddy bear thing was dumb. i don’t think we needed to see what was inside the warehouse. yet another time black mirror threw in just a little more than we needed

- okay so belle keeps alluding to the fact that she has safe family members out there somewhere, so am i to believe that there is some place where humans are safe from dogs? if so, why the actual fuck did she leave? i can’t believe it was just because of fuckin teddy bears

- alllllll the david lynch vibes

- 7/10, but you gotta actually pay attention to the visual details to get the best parts

ep6 - black museum

- BOOOOYYYYYYY! this entire episode i waited for the fuckin shoe to drop and then SHE! DID! THAT!

- the amount of callbacks to previous episodes was,, nice,, but also it was kind of annoying??? and unnecessary? 

- the museum owner was reaaaaaalllly annoying, which is think was intentional. what a fuckin sleaze. in comparison, i thought that jon hamm in ‘white christmas’ was still a somewhat charismatic narrator, but this dude was just yikes

- so, the first story was... kind of a lazy reach? idk, it just felt kinda like a parody of black mirror itself. i get the entire ‘mad science’ vibe they were trying to evoke, but as opposed to the next story, this one had very little to say about human nature. black mirror works its best when it tells stories that use technology as a way to analyze humanity; this one really didn’t (we all already know we’ve got weird kinks)

- the second story was better, but, like, SUPER heartbreaking. poor carrie. i don’t think her husband should have done The Thing at all, honestly, I don’t believe that he couldn’t have seen what happened next coming. it’s like the arkangel mom again; either these characters are just SUPER present-oriented, or just fuckin dumb

- the most tragic moment in this season was ‘monkey needs a hug.’ i felt nauseous 

- okay, now for THE TWIST! the accent drop was a great touch, and i loved that she was poisoning him the entire time. also fuck white men and supremacists, and fuck the museum dude for enabling them. 

- the ending was great. i liked that her mom was chillin with her. the building blowing up was very tarantino. loved her a lot

- 8.5/10, boring in the beginning but the end is worth it 

and now.. 

BLACK MIRROR EPISODES RANKED (AS OF SEASON 4)

1. U.S.S. Callister

2. Nosedive

3. Hated in the Nation

4. San Junipero

5. Fifteen Million Merits

6. Be Right Back

7. White Bear

8. White Christmas

9. Black Museum

10. Crocodile

11. Arkangel

12. Metalhead

13. Hang the DJ

14. Playtest

15. The Entire History of You

16. Men Against Fire

17. Shut Up and Dance

18. The National Anthem

19. The Waldo Moment

[houseofvans]

ART SCHOOL | Q&A with Martin Ontiveros (PDX)

The art wizardry of Portland based Martin Ontiveros has appeared in various galleries, albums, posters and has even been transformed into diabolical toys and figurines. Ontiveros’s graphic ink and brush style is meticulous and bold, transforming his horned and demonic creations into fun and bad-ass pop occultism. We’re excited to chat with this ink sorcerer in our latest Art School where we talk about technique, studio days, and what is coming up for him the rest of this year. 

Photographs courtesy of the artist.

Introduce yourself?   Hello, I’m Martin Ontiveros, also known as Martinheadrocks, illustrator and wizard. “Marty” to my closest friends and family. I live in Portland Oregon, I’m left-handed/ambidexterous and I have a large ginger cat/familiar named Zeus. Nice to meet you.

How do you describe your art to folks who have never seen it before? Pop-occultism? Creature Chic? What you might find inside an ancient tomb or temple from a previously unknown civilization.

Who were some of your early artistic influences that really inspired you to draw? It started with Star Wars in 1977, and Mad Magazine, especially the work of Jack Davis. Childrens book art by Jim Flora. Books and movies about UFOs, cryptids, phenomena, ghosts and black magic when I was a kid. Later it was Heavy Metal Magazine and the underground artists of the 60s and 70s, S. Clay Wilson, Greg Irons, Spain, etc. 80’s punk and metal pioneer artists like Mad Mark Rude and Pushead. Derek Riggs and his Iron Maiden covers. 

Lots of rock album art. Fantasy/conceptual artists like Mike Ploog, Boris Vallejo, Frazetta, Richard Corben. That was all the stuff that built up the desire, but what really got me drawing were the indie comics of the 80s with people like Marc Hansen, Matt Wagner, the Pander Bros, David Boswell, Dori Seda, Mary Fleener. I really really wanted to make comics by the time I was 17-18. I’ve since discovered it’s not for me. Art of the Ancient World, Mesopotamian and Mesoamerican in particular. There’s more to this list, I’m an old man now and have seen a lot, but we don’t have all day.

What’s a day like in the studio for you? And take us through your artist process –from start to finish on a piece. I used to start work when it was already well into the evening and would go until after the dawn, but in the last couple years I’ve reversed that schedule. Now I usually get up around 4am. I still get the benefits of nocturnal studio time that way, at least until the sun is up—no one bothers me and it’s quiet. I’ve become a Daywalker—I have all of the vamipre’s strengths and none of the weaknesses.

 A typical day is trying to stay focused while fending off my own distractions (I’m ADD) and steering around having to leave the house for anything, ha. I always start with a bit of doodling to warm up a little, then jot down a thumbnail sketch of whatever’s on the agenda that day—usually very small and rough, just to set the composition and borders. 

Sometimes I’ll spend extra time fleshing out details on certain aspects of the drawing, say a helmet or insignia. Then I’ll figure out my dimensions and either draw to size or use my trusty proportion wheel to do it smaller if need be. Next is the hard pencil stage. I like using 2H or 3H lead which is rough on the paper but much less messy than a soft lead. I don’t work with a loose outline, I need a solid and tight map to work from and when I have it on lock, I’ll transfer it to my final surface. 

That method goes for both a black and white ink piece or a painting. I’ll warm the brush up by laying our some strokes on scrap paper and when I feel like I got a grip on it, off I go. If it’s a painting, I lay all the color and shading out first, then put down the linework. And even if my pencils were tight, there’s always room for improvisation, a tweak or two, especially when I’m inking—some happy accidents come up now and then. I should mention that I sometimes have to chuck a drawing and start the process all over again, even if it’s close to completion because if it isn’t working, screw it. It seems wasteful and time consuming and I could probably avoid it by going digital, but I choose to do it old school.

What’s your tool of the trade medium-wise? And is there a new medium you’re looking to try in 2018? I swear by my brush and ink. Nothing gives me more satisfaction. The artists I’ve always admired most are handy with a brush line. Not to say I don’t like pens, it’s just that I’m not as steady using one and leave them for doodling. I love papier mache, it’s not a new medium to me, but I’ve yet to know how to make the time to do it more so let’s say that that is my goal for 2018. If there was any other medium that I’d choose to do over drawing, it would be that.

You’ve worked on many collaborations with bands and created some awesome cover art and posters. What has been your favorite collaboration and what would be a dream collaboration be? Oooh. That’s a toughy. I did a tour shirt for Mastodon this past year and I have to say that was likely the pinnacle so far. When I caught their show later, it was thrilling to see people buying it at the merch table and to know there’s maybe hundreds more out there wearing it. Dream collaboration…probably the Melvins. Or Alice Cooper? But with the Melvins I know I could just probably do me and not worry about whether or not I’m a good fit. I’m not what you would call “conventional”.

What are you listening to when you’re painting your various creatures and demons? Give us five bands you’re checking out at the moment. I listen to music when I sketch/conceptualize and switch to podcasts or play a favorite movie or show when I’m really into the process, it’s comforting to hear people talk during the heavy work for some reason. It’s another long list but some of my go-to bands are High On Fire, Sleep, Windhand, Black Cobra and Slayer. That’s if I want it crushing. If I’m doing something trippier, it’ll be Om, Black Sabbath, Pink Floyd, Dead Meadow, that kind of thing. Podcasts are generally true crime or comedy.

What’s been the hardest challenge being an artist? What do you tell folks who want to travel down a similar path? I don’t recall the artist’s name who said it, but to paraphrase, the quote was that art can often be a dark and lonely pursuit for us. I believe he was referring more to the fact that we spend a lot of our time working in solitude which is inherent, yet it can also weigh you down emotionally. That really speaks to me, even more so because I’ve also wrestled with depression for most of my life. 

Your work can be so entwined with your sense of self-worth, so I suppose the hardest challenge for me is to not let my heart sink when something I make doesn’t receive the attention I hope to get for it. People can be fickle though. I try to remember that, and move on to the next thing. With that in mind I guess I tell folks to make sure they get out of their lairs when possible and share their frustrations with other artist friends, foster a support group of sorts because it helps to know you aren’t alone out there with all these feelings. That and maintain a regular paying job when they start out, because man…it can be tough making a living at it.

In another dimension, what would you be if you weren’t an artist? I’d be that weird old sorcerer living somewhere in the woods that the villagers speak of in whispers. Benevolent, but not to be trifled with. So, not too much different from what I am in this dimension, just with blue skin, maybe.

What are your favorite Vans?  Chukka Low? Old Skool? Era? (I had to look up the actual names). Basically low padded ankle with laces, and always dark colors with a black toe because I don’t like my vision being drawn down to my feet moving under me. I honestly don’t wear any other brand of kicks. I keep a pair of Slip-Ons for doing things around the house. Vans makes good jeans too.

What’s the art scene like in your part of the woods? What do you like the most about where you’re living these days? The scene that I know here is primarily illustration, at least that’s what I keep my eyes out for. Lots of sweet, supportive people without attitude and many that are good friends. There aren’t as many galleries as there used to be but there are other venues to get your work out there. I’m now in a part of SE that I’ve never lived in before, at the edge of being outside of Portland proper but only just so. It’s mellow and quiet here and most things I need are within walking distance. I got a couple stores, a good Mexican food place, a bar, you get my drift. I do wish some of my besties lived closer by though. And a decent art supply store.

Since this feature is called Art School, can you give us your most helpful art tip? This probably won’t make me popular by saying it, but learn the difference between homage and theft. Yes, it’s fun to pay tribute to an artist’s style or someone else’s pop culture/intellectual property now and then, I’ve done it, we’ve all done it, not shaming that…but the difference is, if ALL you’re doing is copying, it comes off as creatively lazy. I don’t care how many followers you may gain from it. Come on. If you’re skilled enough to copy someone else’s shit, you’re skilled enough to make up your own content. Raise the bar, people. Don’t lower it.

What’s on the horizon for 2018? New merch in my shop, a group show in Mexico City, more band stuff, my first trip to NY ever, toy releases, designs and customs, a collaboration or two, hopefully a couple of conventions later in the warm months. I’d like get back into painting on a larger scale and figure out how to take it slower in general, make my work really level up, you know? There’s always room for improvement!  

Follow Martin | Website | Instagram |