#i need to collect clips of every speaking role he's ever had now

[br1ghtestlight]

crying everytime i watch this clip im so serious. whyyy </3

[somewhatgreatexpectations]

To Die For (Wanda Maximoff/ Reader)

Hello! It is with great joy and a little bit of sadness that I present you all with the final part of “Love Goes”. This part in particular is inspired by Sam Smith’s “To Die For”. Pieces from Endgame are used but very little. 

Summary: The aftermath of Endgame, how will Wanda navigate and what will happen to Y/n. 

“I long for you, just a touch of your hand. You don't leave my mind. Lonely days I'm feeling like a fool for dreaming… Sunshine living on a perfect day while my world's crashing down.”

Hope. That was all Wanda had left. She knew that she couldn’t let it waver for even a moment. Allowing the hope within her to waver would be the same as accepting defeat. Accepting that you weren’t coming back. That was something she would never allow herself to believe. 

Like you told her, you and her were a happy ending. It’s the only ending she could ever envision for herself. The only life she wanted. The only life she’d accept. You and her. Together. Happily.

It had only been a week since the fateful battle and you had been transferred to a S.W.O.R.D. facility since. What worried Wanda most was that you still hadn’t woken up and hadn’t shown much progression since arriving. 

She could still feel you though. 

Wanda would allow herself glimpses into your mind and could see the vibrancy that still existed within. Your heart was still beating, and your mind was still your own. Even if you weren’t awake, you were still you.

The thought brought comfort to Wanda despite the circumstances. It kept hope alive in her heart.

It was only a matter of time until you were awake and in her arms again. At least that’s what she kept telling herself. 

The situation could have been worse though and she knew that. Shortly after you were transferred to the facility she learned the full details of how exactly Thanos was defeated. How Tony and Natasha had given their lives in exchange for the outcome. As much as the news saddened her, she couldn’t help but feel a selfish sense of relief that you hadn’t been dealt the same fate. 

Her life – her heart - felt as though it was hanging in the balance. You were all she had. All she wanted. If she lost you she knew there would be no recovery for her. She’d drown. Sink to the bottom with no chance of resurfacing if you weren’t there to pull her back up. 

The warmth of your hand in her own anchored her. It always did, but not as much as being in your arms, or hearing your voice. “I’m drowning.” She whispered against your hand. “I’m drowning, Y/n. I need to hear your voice, see you open your eyes, and have you hold me and tell me everything is going to be okay. I’m drowning, and you can’t save me until you wake up.” Her lips trembled slightly against your hand as a single tear fell down her cheek.

The days and nights had blurred together for her. Both of which were spent unwaveringly at your side. The only disruptions often came in the form of varying people in the facility checking your vitals or injecting new medications into your IV that they informed her should wake you up soon. 

Besides the worry and fear she constantly felt, there was a sense of bitterness that the only one who had come to see you or her during your time in the facility was Fury. That was only when you were still at S.H.I.E.L.D’s location. It was upsetting to her that Steve had yet to visit you considering the history you two shared and how close you two had always been. Considering how you had been willing to risk your life for him on multiple occasions. 

Today was Tony’s funeral and she was reluctantly leaving your side to pay her respects for a short while. Also, to give Rogers a piece of her mind.

When the funeral concluded she wandered over to the lake to collect her thoughts and emotions. Taking in the beautiful day around her, a stark contrast to how she felt internally. The perfect day felt wrong when it still felt like her world was crashing down within her. 

As she was staring out the lake, preparing herself for what she wanted to tell Steve, Clint walked up to her. “Hey, kid.” 

Wanda kept a neutral face and merely nodded at him. “Hello.”

There was hesitation in the way Clint stopped at her side. “You have every right to not want to talk to me right now.” He began seriously, his head ducked shamefully. “I wanted to go visit Y/n… Check on you. I did. I just-… It’s been hard accepting that Nat’s gone, you know? It’s not an excuse for not being there. It’s just where my head was. I’m sorry, Wanda.” 

As much as Wanda wanted to ignore him, she knew she couldn’t. “I understand.” She replied softly, her gaze still on the lake before her. 

“I wish there was a way that I could let her know that we won. That we did it.” Clint admitted quietly to her.

Wanda shifted her gaze to him. “She knows.” There was a small pause. “They both do.” Despite not being awake, she liked to believe that you knew.

Clint wrapped a comforting arm around her and she leaned into the embrace. 

“Wanda.” A somber voice caught her attention as she turned to find Steve standing there with his hands folded behind his back. “A word?”

Clearly not wanting to be caught in the crossfire, Clint stepped back. “I think that’s my cue to go.” He pressed a kiss to the top of Wanda’s head. “I’ll do better, okay? Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be by to visit Y/n soon.” Wanda nodded slightly at his words as he walked away. 

When Clint was out of the vicinity, Steve stepped into his place. Wanda’s jaw clenched. She was more upset at him than anyone. She knew if roles were reversed you would have been uncompromisingly by his side.

“What do you want?” She asked, her tone cold.

Steve’s face remained neutral despite her tone. “How is she?”

A bitter laugh escaped her lips at his question. “How is she?” she shook her head in disbelief. “You have a lot of nerve asking that when you’ve had a whole week to go see for yourself.”

A heavy sigh escaped his lips. “Look, Wanda, I understand you’re upset with me but I-“

Wanda rounded on him, her eyes livid. “Upset? I am far passed upset, Rogers. I’m furious. Y/n needed you and you abandon her. She would have done anything for you! She idolized you!”

Each of Wanda’s words impacted Steve, she could see that, but she didn’t stop. He took it. “She thought you were her family and you couldn’t even be bothered to go see for yourself if she’s okay! You don’t even care-“

“Enough! That’s not true!” Steve roared. The accusation that he didn’t care seemingly being the final straw. Wanda recoiled in surprise. “I feel guilty, okay? I feel like the only reason that she’s in there in the first place is because of me. I couldn’t face her. I didn’t deserve to.” His volume didn’t lower as the emotions he was holding in finally boiled over. 

“You know she wouldn’t have blamed you.” Wanda eventually replied, her tone still clipped.

Steve rubbed a hand down his face. “I know, but I do. I blame myself. She was trying to protect me, and she only felt like she had to protect me because I couldn’t stop him the first time. She got hurt because I couldn’t get to her fast enough. She’s my family too.” 

As much as she wanted to be angry with him, she found it much more difficult when she learned of the guilt that seemed to be weighing heavily on him. “You know Y/n would have done that either way.” She confessed quietly. “She would have tried to stop him regardless of who she was defending. That’s who she is.”

A weak nod was his only response. Wanda wasn’t sure if he believed her. “How has she been?” Steve repeated, hoping for a genuine answer this time.

“She still hasn’t woken up.” Wanda began unsteadily. “They keep injecting her with new serums everyday saying that each one will wake her up, but it never does.”

Steve closed his eyes at the information, his expression distressed for just a moment until he schooled his features and put on a brave face for Wanda. “She’s going to wake up. I know she will.” 

Hearing the words she had been telling herself from someone else brought Wanda a small sense of comfort. “I know she will too.” She turned to him. “I’m going to get back to her now, she needs me. Go see her.” 

“I will.” He nodded firmly, his words definitive. “I have to return the stones in an hour and try and see if I can undo something. As soon as I do that I’ll be immovably by her side. I’ll stay with you until she wakes up. You have my word. She has my word.” There was purpose in his voice. 

Wanda quirked her lips up slightly at him and nodded without a word. She knew he meant what he said. She walked off to her car to begin the drive back to S.W.O.R.D’s medical branch of the facility. ___________________ Her heart dropped when she entered your room, only to be met with an empty bed. On numb legs, she ran out and stopped the first worker she saw. “Y/n Y/ln. Where is she? She was here just an hour ago.” 

The employee looked around nervously. “She’s been moved. I believe it would be in your best interest to speak to the director.”

Wanda’s brow furrowed in confusion. “The director? Why?”

“His office is located on the second floor, third door on the left.” The employee informed her meekly before scurrying away. 

Practically running, Wanda reached the office in minutes, throwing the door open. “Ms. Maximoff.” The man who she presumed to be the director greeted her, an unnerving smile on his face.

“Where is she?” Wanda demanded, not caring about anything other than being reunited with you. “Is-is she okay?” Anxiety began to build within her and press against her chest making it harder for her to breath. Her nails dug into her palms.

The man gestured for her to sit in an empty chair, she ignored the request. “My name is Tyler Hayward. I am the director of S.W.O.R.D.”

Wanda merely stared blankly back at him, her jaw clenched tightly. “Where. Is. Y/n?” She enunciated sharply, her patience fading. 

The unnerving smile never faltered on Hayward’s face. “That is the unfortunate part, Ms. Maximoff. You see, while you were gone Ms. Y/ln suffered from some brain hemorrhaging. We were able to stop it, but it seems her brain has suffered an extensive amount of damage. We ran some tests and it appears she has lost all cognitive function. She is just a shell now. She only has another day or two at best. I’m sorry.”

Wanda’s world stopped at his words. She immediately shook her head. “That’s not true.” She said shakily as tears began streaming down her cheeks, the weight on her chest getting heavier, forcing her under. She couldn’t breathe. “That’s not true. Let me see her.” 

Hayward gestured forward to the large window in his office. “They’re running some tests on her now, but so far the data has remained conclusive. There is no longer brain function.” Numbly Wanda walked up to the large window and glanced down, feeling the life drain from her at the sight of you. Pale and on what looked like an experimentation table, surrounded by several S.W.O.R.D. scientists.  “I’m afraid it’s time to start talking about letting her go.”

Wanda spun around to face him angrily. “Let her go?” she cried, her voice cracking. “She’s all I have.”

Hayward held his hands up slightly. “It’s only a matter of days before she’s unable to breathe on her own and her heart stops being.”

Empty. That’s what she felt at his words. She wanted to scream. Her powers reacted to the emotion she was feeling before her mind did as the glass she was leaning on shattered. Without hesitation she floated down to where you were. Her heart hammering in her chest the closer she got. 

The world around her went dark and the only sight she was able to take in was the way your chest weakly rose and fell with each breath. With shaking hands, she raised them to your temple as feeble wisps of red floated from her fingertips and disappeared into your mind. 

All she saw was darkness. 

“I can’t feel you.” She whispered brokenly, the pain in her chest overcoming her. The sensation composing her entire being as everything within her collapsed. She was alone, and she knew she wouldn’t recover. Then everything went dark around her. ________________________________

“Darling, have you seen my notebook? I’m running late for my meeting with my editor and I can’t seem to find it anywhere.” You questioned hastily as you rushed into the kitchen and skidded to a halt in the entry way. Looking around the area with a frazzled expression on your face.

Wanda looked over from her place by the stove and waved her hand, the notebook floating from under your arm to directly in front of your face. “You mean this one, dear?” She asked with an amused smile. 

Sheepishly you plucked the notebook out of the air as you made your way over to her. “What would I do without you?” You leaned forward so your lips rested gently against her own.

“Mmm,” Wanda mumbled with a smile as she spoke against your lips. Her arms resting comfortably over your shoulders. “I believe your mind would fail you, sweetheart.”

Your hands fell to her waist as you pulled her closer. “That’s for certain.” You replied easily with a loving smile. “Have I told you how beautiful you look today?”

A small blush spread over her cheeks. “You have not but thank you. You look beautiful as well, darling. I’m beginning to get jealous that your editor gets to spend the day in your presence. Speaking of…” she trailed off and glanced pointedly at the clock.

“My meeting!” Your eyes widened as you pressed one last loving kiss to her lips. “I’ll be going now. I love you, darling. I’ll be home soon!” You shouted as you began running out. 

Wanda shook her head at you, the smile on her face never faltering. “I love you, too, dear!” She called after you, pretending to catch the kiss you blew to her as you rushed out the door. She sighed happily and leaned against the wall of the kitchen. 

The end.

 . . . . . .

“Glad you were able to make it, Rogers.” Fury said seriously as he shook Steve’s hand. “And Ms. Romanoff. Welcome back.” He shook her hand as well. 

Steve nodded easily in response. “Of course. You know that I’d be here in a heartbeat for Y/n. Wanda as well.” Both followed Fury into a large make-shift tent located in the woods. 

“What exactly are we dealing with?” Natasha asked, confusion lacing her words.

For a moment Fury seemed to ponder her question. “We’re not entirely sure.”

“Does Wanda even know that she saved Y/n? That she was never gone?” Steve questioned seriously, his arms crossed as he stared at the screen before him. 

Fury shook his head. “No. It seems Hayward convinced Wanda that Y/n was gone, no brain function. What Wanda didn’t know was he had gone rogue. Every serum they injected in Y/n kept her in her comatose state rather than attempt to wake her up like they were telling Wanda. I’ve looked at the files that my inside contacts gave me, and it seems Y/n should have been up in the first day or two to recover from minor brain swelling.”

“Why are they doing this though?” Natasha questioned as she looked over the chart. Steve’s jaw was clenched as he listened to each detail.

Taking the chart from Natasha, Fury turned the pages until he found what he was looking for and handed it back to Natasha. “Right there. It seems that Y/n carries a rare mutant gene that they could extract and essentially build an army with. They believed that if they removed Wanda from the picture they could continue the experiments and eventually wipe Y/n’s memory to use her as a weapon. Turn her into a super solider… but much worse because of her powers.” There was an edge to his tone. “They are very interested in her ability to manipulate earth and metal. They had considered Wanda briefly as well, but the perfect opportunity presented itself with Y/n. That’s why they insisted on her transfer to their facility.” 

“How do we get them back before Hayward gets to them?” Steve questioned quietly, a dangerous tone to his voice.

Instead of answering Fury gestured to the woman who had been sitting and listening to the conversation. “Wanda isn’t letting anyone with ties to your past in. Fury already tried. She won’t let you or Natasha in.” They both stared at her. “I didn’t introduce myself. Sorry, my name is Darcy Lewis. Astrophysics. Big fan.” The bespectacled woman rambled. 

Natasha smirked, an amused glint in her eye. “Okay, Darcy Lewis, what’s our next step?”

“We’ll do whatever it takes.” Steve finished powerfully as they all watched you and Wanda share a sweet kiss before the credits began to roll on the screen before them.

Well, that’s all folks! 13 parts completed! It’s been a journey writing this and it is by far the longest thing I’ve ever written. This story has become my baby and it always brings me so much joy to read your comments and seeing others enjoy it. I had a plan for this chapter since the moment I began writing this story but it was so hard when it came down to writing because of the most recent episode of Wandavision, so I tweaked it a little. Was it a sadder or happier ending? You may never know. Thank you all so much for taking this journey with me. I hope you enjoyed. 

As always, thoughts and comments always welcome. :)

p.s. I brought back Steve and Nat but I couldn’t figure out how to make Tony surviving make sense or fit the story, sorry. Still love Tony. 

[blackfemmecharacterdependency]

12. The Apex is Falling

This is the longest chapter of this story at a whopping  6819 words. I hated making a chapter that long for this fic in this fandom, but like... I just couldn’t break it anywhere that I thought about. So, sorry about that bit, folks. I don’t know if anything here is necessarily triggering, mostly just sort of sad and troubling.

Previous

The Monroes did not appreciate the amount of retroactive damage control that they had to do behind Grace’s former behavior, however. As it was, they did spin the story in order to paint Grace as a girl who felt threatened and needed to defend herself. They were mostly disappointed that she lied to them and that her lies weren’t buried. If she was going to lie, she could have at least made sure that it never saw the light of day! Her mother wasn’t currently speaking to her and her father was being as extreme in his rules as ever before. She had embarrassed them. She embarrassed them at the Corn Dog Express, and CERTAINLY when the assault allegations arose. She didn’t see the need to point out that the first was actually Simon, not her, because her mother had been very vocal about how stupid it was to leave her wallet behind, “As though Simon ever has money!”

It wasn’t worth explaining to her that Simon usually carried her small items in his pockets when they were together and she had presumed that he had her wallet. It wasn’t worth speaking at all, because her mother was so infuriated with her that after she completed her obligatory bitching about things, she began her unscheduled silent treatment. Nothing that Grace would say would matter until Mrs. Monroe deemed her worthy of regaining her attention. 10 year old grace would have fallen apart. Soon to be 16 year old Grace just took her verbal berating with a grain of salt and the mental note that Simon was on her shitlist.  

Their birthdays weren’t too far from each other’s. Simon’s fell towards the end of August and hers was about a month later, so they generally combined birthday efforts, and this year, they were turning 16. That meant a lot of big things for Simon. He was going to be liberated from his parent’s guardianship, he had his permit and only needed to take a test for his license, he would be old enough to work a real job, and all of those combined things meant that he would legally be an adult. This is extremely important to him. 

Children had no power. They couldn’t make money. They couldn’t legally drive. They couldn’t find a home and live by their own rules. It was an excruciating reality, and no matter how much he tried to prove his worth in the real world, as long as he had no legality to his adulthood, people didn’t take him as seriously as they should have. He didn’t like that. This was the first birthday that he was looking forward to since his childhood. 

Grace wasn’t as stoked about hers. She was so disinterested that she wanted them to have their birthday party closer to his birthday, instead. Her mother absolutely shot that idea down. She was going to have a very big and deliberate Sweet 16 party and was going to invite every single famous person that she now knew, along with the most upstanding students at the academy, and the children of politicians and entrepreneurs that the Monroes respected and valued. Simon didn’t mind waiting a month for a party like that, at all. Plus, it would give him time to maybe gather up the nerve to ask her out, officially. Her birthday was technically September 23 at 6:45 am, but the party was on Saturday the 22, and would still be happening at Midnight, which would be considered her birth date. So, he wanted to ask her then. He wanted to get her a gift. Not to add to her hope chest like all of her tribute trinkets, but something that would show that she was his. He had ideas for years. A lot of them, very expensive, ergo impossible. Some of them, complicated, ergo improbable. He wanted to do something that he had the power or skill to do, that was also a worthy offering to her of himself and his emotions, and still have it be something that she would also enjoy.

He was fortunate that as her long term right hand, he had the power of the Apex on his side. The rich kids at school who lived for her were more than willing to contribute to his cause and her girl sect went above and beyond being helpful in arranging things and assisting in his planning process. The main mission was complete secrecy. He didn’t want anyone involved to speak with anyone else about their role or donation. He wanted it to be a surprise to her and everyone else. He wanted to woo her in the most memorable way and to create something so magnificent that there wouldn’t be a single doubt in her mind that here was a man who wanted her more than anything. He smiled to himself thinking about his elaborate gesture.

“What are you smiling about?” She asked, looking up from her book. He blushed, thinking about her wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him on the lips, then looking at him with love in her eyes, ready to be everything to him. “Simon, really. What the heck are you thinking about right now?”

“Being happy,” he said. She narrowed her eyes and stared at him suspiciously. “What are you thinking?”

“That I have never heard my Simon speak about being happy in the almost 6 years that I’ve known him, so you’re obviously one of his little figures, but life size and able to communicate… and I don’t doubt that Simon has the smarts to create such a thing, but the funding… I’d be confused on where he got the funding.” He let out a little chuckle and leaned back in his seat. He was working on his assignment again, but he was still smiling to himself. Weird.

That wasn’t the only weird thing that he did lately. He began to keep himself up more. It wasn’t that he didn’t take care of himself, but he was more of a functional, hygienic than the extra care that he was now taking into stuff like his eyebrows and fingernails. He used to just either let them grow out of sheer apathy, clip them out of annoyance that he’d let them get too long, or chipped them in his day to day and bit off the crooked parts when he did. Now, he seemed like he was giving himself manicures. His nails looked healthy and cared for. His cuticles seemed nourished and smooth. And he smelled amazing now. Like, not like he picked up whatever antiperspirant was cheapest when he passed the aisle, but like he was making attempts to be fresh and clean and… attractive! “OH MY GOD, YOU’VE got a crush on somebody!” she said.

She saw a shimmer in his gray eyes and she laughed and looked around. “Who is it? I know that she’s Apex. You’d never look twice at a null. BUT… I have no idea what your type is. I remember whenever you would get all clammy whenever that redhead girl came around.”

“What? No I didn't. I would always get nauseated, because she always had on so much perfume that it unsettled my stomach and made me feel like I’d break out in hives.”

“So… not her, then.” She studied around the campus. “I’m gonna find out who she is.”

“What will you say to her?” He asked, and rested his tongue on his upper canines as he smiled at her.

“Hi, I’m Grace. I’m sure you know me as one half of Grace and Simon, also known as The Apex. I’m here to tell you that it’s your lucky day, because Simon himself has his eyes set on you. I strongly recommend that you give him a chance. I can’t make you, but it would really be in your best interest, because he’s an amazing guy… And if you hurt him, I’ll fucking kill you. Hahaha… Just Kidding! Unless you hurt him, and then I’m not.” 

He started laughing and something settled in his eyes as he looked at her. She stopped smiling, slowly, and collected her things, “I should get to dance so that I'll have enough time to tie these locs up. Are you… gonna tell her, ever? Or, is it just something that you like having in your mind for nobody else to taint?”

“Will you stop looking for her if I answer this?”

“Scouts honor.”

“You’re not a scout.”

“Half of me is,” she said and gestured towards him. He laughed again. This was the cheeriest that Simon had been.

“Okay, well… I’m definitely going to eventually speak to her about it.” His smile was very warm and he looked… genuinely happy. Like, she couldn’t remember ever seeing him so much so, not even when they were doing great fun things together. It was like he had some sort of peace that he found. She HOPED that she wasn’t going to ruin that for him.

“Well… What if… she’s not interested in you?” She asked, trying not to look right at him as she asked.

“Wouldn’t it be in her best interest to give me a chance, since I’m such an amazing guy?” He asked back, still smiling, still content.

“I did say that.” She nodded her head. “And I did mean it, but what if… she doesn’t, you know, think of you in THAT way?” Now, his smile faltered and he thought for a while. She wondered if he was registering what she was trying to go around saying.

“Why wouldn’t she?” he asked, concerned. She moved her legs nervously, dancing around and he stood up, grabbing his things to walk with her. “What’s wrong with me?” He asked.

She shook her head, “Nothing. But, what if… well… what if she’s like me?” He looked confused. “Like… What if she never thinks about stuff like that? What if she once kissed the person that she loved more than anything and it only registered to her as something soft and wonderful… but nothing like the way that people describe kisses are supposed to be? What if she thinks that you’re the best thing on earth, but… she just doesn’t feel certain things? Would you still want her, if she can’t want you in the same way?”

“Are you… coming out as something, Grace?”

“I guess so. I’m just… I guess with you moving on to other relationships, I’m wondering where I stand.”

“There will never be anyone that comes before you…”

“That’s a bad start, if you like somebody else, Simon. But, that’s not what I meant. I mean, I know that you have certain feelings. I’ve seen it. I don’t have those. Someday, when our friendship isn’t enough to fulfill your connection with someone, I guess, I’m wondering if you think that somebody like you would be able to connect with somebody like me… when I can’t reciprocate everything.”

“Are you… Like… Asexual?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “I’ve never had to think about it before. The only guy that I’ve ever been close to has always been my best friend. I’m just warning you. Fake relationship that we’re having in front of my dad aside, you should ask yourself if you would still want this girl if she was… like me.” 

“I would… I do,” he said nodding his head.

“You didn’t even think about it.”

“I don’t have to think about it. I’d want you, no matter what.”

She playfully elbowed him, “You mean “her.” 

He caught her elbow and her attention when he did so. “Could you? Being… the way you are? Do you want to have somebody who wants you?”

“I don’t want to be alone, and I have feelings, if that’s what you're asking. Just… not the ones that people our age tend to seek out. I could absolutely fall in love with a wonderful person and want to spend all of my time with them and be as fulfilled as somebody can be… But, I already have that. I guess it just now occurred to me that getting older maybe means losing that, because you’ll eventually want and need more, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to deliver what needs you might have. Or the next person. Or the next...” Her eyes were a little damp. 

Simon heard what she said, and it even made sense to him on some level. However, looking at her, with the school approved scarf tying her locs up and forward, her face all natural and flawless, save the tears trying to form in her eyes, and her long, perfect legs bouncing nervously just thinking about losing him… What she was saying just didn’t really matter to him. It couldn’t matter. What she was saying meant that he might have to move on from his soul mate. He didn’t WANT to hear that part. He heard the part that did matter to him.

I could absolutely fall in love with a wonderful person and want to spend all of my time with them and be as fulfilled as somebody can be.. I already have that.

He smiled and wrapped an arm around her. She sank into his side, as usual and they kept walking.

.

The number 16 was lit up in the sky with fireworks. It was set to be there all night. If it began to fade, the paid pyrotechnician would release another. The attire was “Heavenly Extravaganza,” and they were calling it her “Celestial Sixteen,” instead of “sweet.” All of the hired help were dressed in white, silver, and gold gaudy Victorian styled costume, and Mrs. Monroe literally had a set built in their ballroom, to have a tower upon which she and Mr. Monroe could sit on “heavenly thrones.” Her Queen of Heaven outfit was much like something you might see in a very high budget film about a royal queen, and her husband’s suit matched. The Monroes and Simon were dressed in gold, with jewelry and sparkles.

Grace and Simon had both been taken to a styling center. Their outfits, hair, body, and things that Simon wouldn’t have even thought about were all surrendered to Mrs. Monroe’s team of professionals to have them be flawless for their entry. Simon was listed as Grace’s escort, but her mother had worked very hard to make sure that they had the matching attire she had for this vision of hers, and that there was no possibility that they forgot to do anything, if left to get themselves ready. Grace was more used to this than Simon was (even for the school dances that he always attended with Grace, he was styled, but generally took care of himself besides that). He didn’t usually have to do a spa day and detox, and sophisticated beauty treatments. He liked it though. 

Simon felt like a king. Grace felt like a doll.

She hated these appointments. Sure, she felt wonderful afterwards, but that was typically short lived once she had to get prepared by the team. She was pressed into a dress and standing for the time it took to steam it to be certain that there were no wrinkles, then getting placed into the vehicle - tonight a white limousine covered in bling crystals, and driven to the estate, where all of her Apex fans would be clustered outside, but barricaded (Simon convinced her mother to sell tickets to stand outside of the property and watch Grace come down the red carpet).

The sun had not yet set and Grace could see countless faces that had no real characteristics, except for lipstick prints on their faces that they had their friends kiss on or drew on themselves or something, in varying degrees of red (none of which were Apex Red), and inexpensive formal attire. She was much better at remembering attire than faces, and she didn’t know any of these fans, so it was lipstick marks and public school prom gowns that she and Simon walked down, towards the party, where Apex members that Simon hand selected were allowed to stand on the sides and receive them without barricades (guards were nearby). 

Simon felt like royalty. Grace felt like a spectacle.

Simon had been to Monroe events before. This topped everything! Mrs. Monroe had allowed him to collaborate with stylists on his attire, and they customized things based upon some of his wishes and on the design of Grace’s gown. He was allowed to be behind the scenes and work with planners for various details and things. 

Grace hadn’t been the least bit interested. She never was and quite frankly was a little annoyed that Simon was so into it, but she didn’t press too hard, since she knew he liked setting up scenes for his figures and stuff and guessed that this was all similar for him. She ragged on him about it a little bit, but got bored with it, since he paid her very little attention.

After that, she spent the party planning time writing music and working on songs. Mrs. Monroe wanted her to learn a dance for the party, but she shrugged her shoulders and said, “Simon and I can just do the waltz we did freshman year.” Simon looked at her like she was out of her mind.

“I don’t remember that dance!” he said, laughing uneasy.

“I didn’t say Simon and you, I said you need to learn a dance,” Mrs. Monroe told her. Grace had her tongue stuck out, thinking as she wrote down notes on sheet paper and hummed, with her mother and Simon’s voices barely registering to her. “Grace!” She snapped her head up and the woman shook her own head and said, “Simon, handle her,” before walking off, heels clacking on the floor. 

Grace laughed and imitated in her exaggerated British accent that she used to mock her mother, “Simon, handle her.” But, Simon didn’t laugh along or join in. Instead, he clasped his hands together and bit his lip. “Oh, what? Don’t tell me that you’re about to start sticking up for my mom, too?”

“Noooo… But, the party is very important. Your dad worked really hard to fix the incidents surrounding your name…”

“Which were brought on by your explosion in the mall…” She reminded him. He bypassed the reminder.

“And now, we have to focus on the leader of the Apex being worshiped, and your reputation being restored. You said that your image is important to you. Your mom is literally bringing your image into the heavens. Have you SEEN the Black Madonna piece she had made from her delivery photo?”

“That wasn’t a delivery photo. I was days old when they did that photo shoot. A team made her look like a beautiful glowing new mother. There ARE no delivery photos, because she, and I quote, “Actually somehow looked ugly while ruining her body with my arrival and didn’t want anyone in the world, not even me to ever see her less than stunning.” She destroyed photos from the actual birth.”

“Okay… But, did you see the artwork?”

“I see that you seem to be trusting the adults. We don’t trust adults. We don’t listen to our parents.”

“You listen to your parents all the time!”

“I mean, yeah, when I have to, but like… YOU don’t have to!”

He sighed and sat down next to her. “You’re about to be an adult, Grace.”

“Hell no, I’m not. I’m about to be 16, and instead of doing some cool shit with my best friend, I’m gonna be hosting a knock off Met Gala with literally a ballroom FULL of strangers. I don’t know any of the people on the guest list, and I certainly don’t know people who were exploited by you and my mom just to see me get out of a shiny ass limo and walk.” She tossed her music book aside and touched his ponytail, “Wouldn’t you rather we went through the motions, then got out of the limo, gave the kids on the sidelines their little tickets’ worth, then I just kick off my shoes and we take off running to go camping in the woods and play Chubby Bunny?”

He scoffed and threw his head back. “So, whenever I try to defend your honor, we’re not kids anymore, but whenever I try to help fix your image that you blame me for messing up, then you want to be 12 again?”

“No, when you react violently to a simple mistake, that’s childish to me, but it's perfectly fine to say a big screw you to these societal pressures and have fun with my best friend, for my birthday!”

“How do you know this won’t be fun, Grace? Several people, including me, have worked hard to make this a memorable night for you… And you don’t even seem to care.” He got up and grabbed his backpack. She felt horrible. Maybe she was a childish brat, after all. 

“Simon…” 

“I have college exams coming up,” he said, softly. That was his version of a goodnight.

“Simon, I’m sorry. You’ve been working really hard to make up for the corn dog thing. It isn’t your fault that my parents are still punishing me. Not directly, anyway. I should have noticed that you were putting in all of this planning work for me, for us. I just… You don’t have to do it. I’m happiest the days that we just get to spend time together. I feel like we never get to anymore. Like the old days, when it was just you and me. I guess for me, getting older means losing everything that I consider precious and the closer my birthday gets, and the more adult you act, I just… I don’t know. It’s a lot.” She hugged herself. “But, you have a point. This will help my image and I should be grateful that everyone is working so hard. Especially you.” She kissed him on the cheek and he turned an instant bright shade of red, overmatched only by the Apex Red print she left there. He took a deep breath and gave her an affirming nod. 

So, she sucked it up and decided to be here tonight and gave it her all.

There was dancing, mingling, her mother announcing things over a speaker system, from a hidden mic attached to her person, and a presentation of gifts - something that Grace just knew Simon was responsible for. It was like whenever kids gave tribute to her at school and he’d tell them, “All right, you know the drill, line up and present tribute as your dues to be able to call yourselves members of the Apex.” 

But, tonight, there were Apex members with Simon’s kiss… She recognized his lip prints, as she noted tonight… lined up, very military in their movements, holding gifts in one hand and their fists into the air with the other. Grace smiled, in confusion, glanced at Simon, who was seated on the other side of the tête-à-tête with her. He was looking at the display. Simon felt like the world was about to become his. Grace was frightened that hers was about to fall apart…

Because with every presentation, every declaration that each kid seemed to be making on Simon’s behalf, traveling their memories of friendship with gifts that were brought as symbols of sentimental moments that she and Simon shared… she realized that this wasn’t just some tribute from Simon for her birthday. This was a very bold declaration!

Every gift was beautiful and brought up some of her fondest memories of them, and when Simon knelt in front of her and presented her with the final and most important gift - a charm bracelet, with charms of each of those gifts in his presentation, with an inscription “The Apex is Forever,” and in front of ALL THESE PEOPLE, friends, family, strangers, fans, celebrities, hired help, and whatever phones and cameras were present, he said, “The only thing that makes sense is that we’re together. Will you accept this as a token from my heart and take me as your man?”

What did that even MEAN? Was this for her father’s benefit? Shouldn’t he have discussed something so extreme with her? And what was she supposed to do with all of these eyes on her? With his eyes on her? 

“Gray Eyes…” She was sweating and about to cry and breathing hard… “You’ve always been my man, Man...” she said. There were cheers from just about everyone, except her parents. Her mother threw her father a displeased look, but the man just looked right back at her with a note of satisfaction. Her mother got up from her throne and went down the winding staircase of the tower to leave. Her father stood and thanked everyone for coming out to Grace and Simon’s 16th birthday party. 

Grace went to go find her mother as Apex members got out of her way, random strangers congratulated her on her new relationship, and friends crowded Simon to celebrate that they pulled it off. Simon barely noticed her leave, but when she paused in the doorway and looked at him, they made eye contact. He looked slightly confused, but when she turned to continue her exit, he continued talking to Apex.

“Mom?” Grace called, knocking on the boudoir door as she entered. The woman had already gotten out of the dress, but the elaborate hive of a hairdo, graced with celestial embellishments would take longer. Grace was shocked that the dress didn’t take longer, but she realized when she picked it up to avoid trying to cross over it in her own, that Mrs. Monroe had ripped it off. “Are you okay?”

“He isn’t right for you,” Her mother said, staring at the reflection behind her in her vanity. “You and I both know it. You think that I don’t pay attention, but I do. He isn’t right for you, and you’ll regret this.”

“I thought that you wanted me with my best friend. It was Daddy who wanted me with someone in my class.” Now, he’s paying Simon to make me a kept woman and suddenly my best friend isn’t right for me? “Did you two switch roles?”

The woman rolled her eyes, “Your father is settling, because he thinks that a man can fix anything. Forget about the fact that women historically have been doing all of the heaviest lifting without any of the credit, whether it’s been in the workplace or in the home. The driver told us that there was something wrong with you, and we didn’t listen. We knew that we raised you to make good decisions, with morals and intelligence. The moment you introduced me to Simon, I saw that he was a bad decision. But, you talked to us, and we heard you out. This was your best friend and you wanted us to treat him like someone you cared about, and so we did. You never ask for much. It was one small task to take an unfortunate child into some of our charity. Now, look at you… some miserably defected boy’s golden goose.” She snatched up her makeup removing cloth and shook her head, “Your father is settling. You’re settling, and you’ll regret it.”

Grace grabbed a foot stool and set it next to her mother, “I didn’t know what to say. I had to say something and I couldn’t just shoot him down in front of all those people. The public would burn me at the stake for that, and Simon would be hurt, and Daddy would be displeased. I don’t even think you would have liked that.”

“Why do you think he CHOSE tonight to do this?” She asked. “You think that he just thought this was the right time to show you that he cared? He wanted an audience. He wanted to put you on the spot. He wanted to control the situation so that he could have some control over your answer! Don’t be fooled, Grace. Simon is a smart boy. He knows who you are and how you are. He knew what to say and do to get you to say yes and you fell for it.”

Grace was getting fed up with her mother’s accusations. She thought the woman had grown to like Simon, at least. She was speaking about him like he was still just some shaggy boy in a shabby suit to her. “He didn’t purposefully put me in an uncomfortable position, Mom. Simon may have a lot of problems, we ALL do… but he does love me and he would never do something to make me stressed out on purpose or try to dominate me!” 

The woman finally actually turned her face to Grace, and Grace would never forget the look of certainty in her eyes whenever she said, “Simon doesn’t even know what love is, and neither do you. What in this world would make you think that he is able to give you something that he has never been given before, himself?”

“Because, I know that I give him my love. He knows it too...” Grace said in a low voice, unsure of the truth in that, even as she said it. 

Her mother scoffed and turned back to the mirror, a bemused partial smile on her features. “Whatever it is that you two give each other… You’ll regret it, Grace. Mark my words. I haven’t changed my position at all. You should still make sure that you build a life with your best friend. My opinion is that Simon simply isn’t that. I don’t know if he ever was. You just regarded him as such because you had someone who you could control for once. But, he’s grown out of that, poppet. You didn’t even notice when he cut his strings and tied them onto you, did you? Of course not. Because, you love him. Because he’s your friend. Love makes you stupid. Friendship makes you weak. And you let him make you both.”

On principle alone, Grace was going to take her relationship with Simon as far as it could go. Just to prove that her mother was wrong. “Well, you didn’t seem to mind him whenever you needed my strings pulled.” 

Her mom was wiping off makeup. “I minded. I just knew that I have more control over him these days than I do over you. Simon may have surpassed your tactics, but the world will burn before he’s ever able to match my skills. You’ve just gone so wrong that you don’t know which way to go. Maybe you do need professional help.” She sighed, “It’s sad. You had such potential, and you’re going to end up just like me. The trophy of someone who wanted the best, only to hoard your greatness...”

She left the boudoir, angrily and found Simon and her father on the terrace, watching the guests be led out of the event. “Hey,” she said. They both turned around to see her.

“I should go find my wife,” her father said and clapped Simon on the shoulder. 

“She’s not happy,” Grace warned, under her breath. Her father hugged her and gave her a soft happy birthday. She wondered if Simon hadn’t told him that would be a nice present. That just made it feel… less than, but the entire night had been unpleasant to some degree. Or, if she now was deserving of his affection because she had found herself a good man to tame her. That just made her feel sick.

When they were alone, she stared at Simon, trying to forget the things her mother accused him of, but… something had felt off about him for a while. It wasn’t his damn eyebrows, or his hygiene, or anything like that. There was something different about him. Something that made her uncomfortable. Something that she felt like needed to be addressed, but never wanted to, because it might put them in a bad place. 

But, those were her friend’s eyes. Gray eyes, that always looked at her with fondness, from the very first time they landed on her. “Simon… What you did tonight…” He smiled. He was extremely impressed with how well he pulled it all off! She had no idea that he had worked so hard for the most spectacular gift to the Apex ever - official confirmation of Grace and Simon, their OTP, their royalty. “You shouldn’t have.” His smile faded. Her face was stern and she didn’t seem happy.

“The Internet will talk about this night forever.”

“The Internet wasn’t in that room tonight! The Internet wasn’t put on the spot, in front of all of those people. The Internet didn’t just have their mother scold them for being stupid and weak enough to have a friend and to love that friend. You put me in a really uncomfortable position, Simon. You had the chance to tell me about this whenever we talked about how important this party was to you, and you didn’t say anything.”

“I didn’t say anything because it was a surprise… A surprise that I take it ‘the impossible to please Grace Monroe’ was not pleased with.” 

“I get why you felt like you had to impress my dad, but…”

“Your dad?” He laughed, but his eyes looked anything but amused, “Your dad? You think I did that for some empty promise to your dad?”

“Why else would you do it?”

“BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!” He shouted at her, almost right in her face. She was stunned. It was the most contradictory way of saying it that she had heard and she had heard her parents tell her this before with not the slightest hint of warmth or kindness. This… was actually terrifying. 

He must’ve realized that he frightened her, because he reeled himself in and placed prayer hands over his mouth as he waited for her next words. She couldn’t find any, so he broke the silence. “I didn’t mean to yell. You just… sound like you didn’t mean it when you said yes to me. You sound like you're backing out. You sound like you’re making excuses, when you could have just told me that you don’t want me.”

Her eyes were wide with disbelief. All of those things were true, but he was saying them like they were unreasonable, considering the atmosphere that she was faced with, not to mention this completely alarming reaction to even the possibility of those facts. “Simon… Do you remember the conversation we had about the girl you liked?”

“I remember the conversation we danced around about our feelings for each other,” he said. “I remember that you said that I’m amazing and that I deserve a chance. I remember you said, “I could absolutely fall in love with a wonderful person and want to spend all of my time with them and be as fulfilled as somebody can be.. I already have that.” I remember knowing that you were afraid to lose me, and now you won’t. I don’t know what’s been up with you. That conversation was the confirmation that I needed, to know that you know that we belong together!”

“I told you that I didn’t think that I could give you what you might expect out of a relationship...” Her heart was racing as she choked the words out, not wanting to upset him, but unable to stop herself from reminding him.

“Grace, I don’t care about your sexuality. That’s a part of you and I respect that. I just get sick and tired of us pretending that there’s not something between us.”

“I’ve never pretended that…”

“Then what’s the problem? You don’t really love me?”

“I do!”

“Good! We’re on the same page again!” He collected her into a hug and she started crying on his shoulder. 

Simon felt like… She gets it. She knows how I feel, I know how she feels, and everything is right in the world again. Grace had never felt more alone, misunderstood, or confused… but, at least she still had Simon. 

They could work through these feelings. She was obviously just projecting the doubts her mother had planted. This was Simon. Her Simon. Her friend… her man? That thought didn’t even sound right, but that’s what… what was happening? She stood and stared at his face. He was watching her suspiciously, like he was looking for a sign of her doubts from moments before. She had to do something that she had done before, but had never really thought about the fact that she had to do this with Simon… she plastered on a fake smile and cupped his face. 

He sighed and rested his lips against her forehead. “My Grace,” he whispered, holding her tight. She softened, willing herself not to feel tension with Simon. She wrapped her arms around him and rested against him. It didn’t feel quite right, but she knew these arms, this scent, the rhythm of this heartbeat, and that was what she guessed she needed, to deal with… whatever the rest of that stuff was.

.

“Since you brought it up, Grace… What do you think is the significance of that talk today?” 

Grace came out of her memories of she and Simon to look at the psychiatrist. Every time she pulled herself out of a memory of Simon and the Apex, she was faced with this woman, and she was brought back to reality - the real world, where Simon was no longer in her life and she was the most trapped she had ever been. 

The large glasses, large afro, the fullest lips and a wide gap between her teeth always reminded Grace of one of those cheap pieces of Black art in the beauty supply shop… but the doctor always was dressed in a business suit and had a blank facial expression. She didn’t smile or look sad or even seem to react to anything Grace said. 

That made it easier for Grace to confide in her about everything that went down between her and Simon before she landed herself in this place. That made her more open about the things he’d done to punish her, as well as all of the things she did that made her feel like maybe she deserved some of his punishment. Everyday she told herself that she didn’t, but when the person you’ve loved more than anything for nearly half of your life turns against you, turns everyone against you… “Maybe… Maybe I messed up. I should have just told him that I couldn’t see a future for us and that I would always be his friend and nothing else. I knew that he cared about me. I should have been more direct in telling him that couldn’t happen the way that he wanted.” The doctor blinked and nodded once. “And now, I’ve said something wrong to you.”

“It isn’t that you’ve said anything wrong, Grace. You spoke your true feelings, and that’s what you’re supposed to do here. It’s never wrong of you to admit your feelings. Now that you’ve stated them, I can help you sort through them again. Whenever you spoke with Simon that day - the day that you tried to bring back to his remembrance on the night of the party, did you tell him any lies?”

“No. I was completely honest with him about everything.”

“Why do you feel like you should have lied instead? How would you suppose it might have been a benefit to either of you, for you to lie to him?”

“Because, Simon couldn’t handle my truth. I was supposed to protect him. The people in his life always abandoned him. I was the one person who he thought he could depend on, and when I could have protected him and just told him that we were friends, and that was it, I told him that I loved him and had a fulfilling relationship with him.”

“Why do you think that a lie might have protected Simon?” 

Grace shrugged her shoulders, “I guess that doesn’t make sense. But, my relationship with Simon never did. When we were little, I could always tell when something was bothering him and I always tried to smooth him over. I always made it right. Then… we got older and I noticed less and less. I realized that a lot of the stuff that I said and did to keep Simon docile were probably the same kinds of things that made him so aggressive?” Grace needed the doctor to tell her whether this sounded right or not. She hardly knew anymore. What she did know was that when she was 16, she lost her best friend, and it took her two more years to even fully see that.

Next

[thevoidscreams]

Free bird

Hawks x winged!reader

Summary: Hawks helps pick you back up after you’ve fallen out with your boyfriend and helps you fly again even if it’ll take some time.

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, swearing, implied sexual assault, depression, breakups, past abusive relationship and a bit of mutual pining, Hawks loving you something fierce. Imma just say 17+ to be safe Words:  3796

What happened? How did things get like this? Sure things were never great but they were never this bad. So what the fuck happened?

There’s too much noise in this bar, there’s too much smoke, the people won’t leave you alone and worst of all they keep touching you.

More drunk girls have stumbled up to you tonight to grab or stroke your wings or pluck a feather than you care to try and count.

The bartender comes over to ask if you want anything else, you tell him the same thing every time. “Another rum and coke, less rum, no ice, and more trail mix please.”

You may be depressed but having a very shitty boyfriend. NO scratch that a very shitty EX boyfriend, does not mean you have to be bad or mean to others.

A soft thunk means the glass has been replaced and you reach out to pull it closer and peek through the dark liquid. The neon lights over the bar look funny through the soda and spiced rum. Debating on weather to take a sip of your drink you instead reach for a sourdough pretzel bite and nibble the salt off before popping it into your mouth. 

You’re not drunk, you don’t want to be drunk. You’ve been taking your time with every drink you order so you only have the pleasant warmth in your belly.

The last time you were drunk was the first time that the rat bastard took advantage of you. You were helpless to stop it in your inebriated state.

That was high school, a lifetime ago it seems.

These pretzel bits are good. Not as good as whatever these spicy green pea things are, but still, they slap. At least you have that going for you.

You lift your cheek off the bar and contemplate asking the bartender what mix this is but you don’t get the chance when the stool next to you is occupied.

The flash of red is unmistakable, and Keigo Takami peeks around the curtain you’ve formed with your wings and smiles. “There you are chickadee. I was worried when you didn’t pick up. I thought maybe you’d been kidnapped or something.”

You smile back, it’s sad, but it’s real and you suddenly feel like letting him wrap you up in his wings while you cry. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t pick up Kei. I’ve just been dealing with some stuff.”vv

With your wings drawn back he can see now just how bad you’ve been doing.

“Boyfriend blues?” He asked, he wanted to hit himself for feeling so hopeful that this would be the time that you finally left that good for nothing asshat. He knew about the fighting and gas lighting and emotional manipulation and how that bastard had kept you caged, unable to truly spread your wings and fly. Literally and figuratively.

“Well, yeah but it’s more like Ex Boyfriend blues.” You took a sip of your drink. “I’ve finally had it Keigo. I can’t stand it anymore not after tonight.”

The hot tears begin to pour down your cheeks and a gloved hand swiftly comes up to wipe them away.

“What happened?” He was dismayed at the tears pouring from your eyes. But if you meant what you said then you could be free of that cage. 

You pulled out your wallet and slapped a few bills on the counter. The bartender, ever a bro, pulled out a little plastic bag of trail mix and handed it over before collecting the cash.  You were gonna eat the fuck outta some green things when you were done crying.

“Can we go somewhere else and talk about it? Like your place or the park or... anywhere?”

Keigo nodded and took your hand as you left the bar. He didn’t push you to say anything as you walked, which he found odd. Usually you couldn’t get enough of the open air when you were together but now you just walked and he walked with you.

The park was quiet and empty this time of night and the lamps kept it comfortably lit as you looked for a quiet place by a duck pond to just sit and cry. The water was dark and the barest hint of plants swaying at the bottom gave it a foreboding look that chilled your spine. They reminded you of dark tendril reaching up to grab you and pull you into the dark depths of the pond’s waters. Not that there was really any depth the water came up to your waist at most.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked softly, trying not to sound nosy or pushy. You couldn’t respond right away, needing to think of what you were going to say and how to word the events of the night.

You bent down to pick off a little flat stone from the pond's edge and gave him a small nod. “Yeah,” You skipped the stone and it hopped away disappearing after twenty feet of so, “he’s mad that we were spending so much time together. Said that I shouldn’t be flying around with other guys. I told him it wasn’t his business which friends I spent my time with, that he didn’t own me. He got even angrier and I was planning on leaving and texting you to see if I could come spend the night at your place till he cooled down and that was when he-” Your chest heaved suddenly and a fresh wave of tears cascaded down your cheeks. Panic squeezed your heart like a vice. You could still feel his hands.

“When he what? Broke up with you?”

“No.” It was practically a wail when you said it, the sound of your cry echoed over the silent water, so much dismay and pain in your voice that it made him want to reach out and hold you close and never stop. Your wings pulled in around you as it to shield you from something.

“He,” you gasped and had to catch your breath “he grabbed my wing and, and he... he clipped my feathers! He clipped my wing Keigo!” 

You extended the limb, revealing to him for the first time the mangled primary flight feathers of your right wing. Your beautiful feathers were so short that you’d never be able to balance yourself in the air. The shortest ones had dried blood crusted at the base of the quills.  It would take at least two weeks for them to grow back in this condition. Until then you were grounded. A bird without flight.

Keigo saw red as he brushed his fingers over the wing and over the shortened flight feathers.

He’d kill him! He’d kill that rotten no good son of a bitch! How dare you do this!? 

Keigo seethed underneath his veneer of calm, his body shook violently with the rage held inside.

Your hands found his jacket and you pulled yourself into him, nuzzling the soft fur lining by his neck. “I can’t fly.” You sobbed. “I’ve never felt so helpless and pathetic.” Well, maybe that wasn’t entirely true but it felt like it was at that moment. “You’re not pathetic. Don’t say that.” He was going to be making some calls tonight. This wasn’t going to go unpunished. 

Keigo wrapped you up in his arms and held you close, his own wings brushed over yours in an attempt to soothe you. It worked like a charm, the feel of his wings against your own was like some kind of biological hack and the comfort it brought was greater than just about anything else. You’re body melted against his and the weight of everything settled over you like a blanket. Gosh you were so tired you could have slept right then and there.

“You’ll stay with me tonight okay? I’ll take you home and in the morning we can get all this sorted.” 

You nodded. “Sounds good. I’ll call an Uber, it shouldn’t take too long to get me there.” You pulled your phone from your pocket only to have it snatched out of your hands. Hawks pocketed the device before you could even unlock it.

“No need dove. I’m taking you home.”

His arms encircled your waist pulling you snug against him, instinctively you laid your arms over his shoulders and hugged him just as tight, pressing your face into his neck just above his collar bone. “Keigo are you sure about this? My wings might get in the way.”

He chuckled into your hair as he gave you a little squeeze. “Just tuck them in real tight and hold onto me. It’ll be fine you’ll see.”

You couldn’t see his face but you knew he was smiling his real smile and as tempted as you were to see it, you didn’t want to stop being close to him. 

Your wings were as compressed as you could get them and you gave Keigo the go ahead to take off.

His wings ruffled as he opened them and the sound of it was soft and pleasing. Your own wings wanted to spring open at the sound but you held them firm in place. “Ready?” He whispered it right next to your ear and the shiver that went up your spine had nothing to do with the light breeze. “Yes.” The reply was barely just whispered but he heard it.

The sudden feeling of leaving the ground without having to beat your own wings was beyond thrilling and alien. Before you knew it you were high in the sky, the park and it’s duck pond were the size of a quarter while the city became clear and visible around you. The lights of buildings, street lamps and billboards became a warm mosaic of colors as you squint your eyes to block out the details and just enjoy being high up without all the work. “You doing okay there dove?” Speaking over the wind was usually hard, but being this close made it easy to hear him. “Yeah, it’s so strange to be up here without flying on my own.”

He chuckled, “Maybe I’ll have to ask you to return the favor sometime.” There’s a lightness to his tone that is both teasing and sincere and your heart flutters at the idea of your roles being reversed.

“Yeah sure maybe the next time you over do it I’ll be able to swoop in and save your butt for once.”

He dips suddenly and your legs wrap themselves around his hips in a moment of panic.

It feels so intimate but all your winged companion does is hold you tighter. “I’ve got you don’t worry, I’ll never let you go, I promise.”

Of course he’s talking about flying but it feels like there’s so much more behind his words. You let them replay in your mind as you close your eyes and bury your face in the space between his neck and his coat. The deeply buried feelings you’ve been trying to deny have been bubbling up slowly over the time you’ve spent together tonight. No longer bound by the chains of your ex you’re free and now that you are there’s really just one thing you want. 

Him.

All too soon the flight is over and you stand on Keigo’s balcony.

“Here we are little bird. Home sweet home, or should I say nest sweet nest?”

You giggle into the lapels of his jacket, still holding him tightly, your thighs are firmly wrapped around his waist.

The balcony doors lead right into his bedroom, it’s a large room with ample space and a massive bed against the far wall, he lays you down on the mattress, letting his weight press you deeper into the plush material.

You stay that way for several long heartbeats. Keigo slowly releases you, you let your arms and legs loosen just as slowly.

“I guess there’s an elephant in the room we have to address huh?” The gentle tone of his voice does nothing to ease the pounding of your heart.

“Yeah. I suppose there is.” You return just as quietly.

He sighs and lays next to you, legs dangling off the edge of the bed.

“I guess I’ll start since I opened this can of worms. I uh-” he cleared his throat and tried to steel his nerves for what he was about to say. “I know you just got out of your relationship so the timing may feel off, but I have to tell you this...(y/n), I’ve been in love with you since the day we met and I- I... I hated your boyfriend, I know how wrong it sounds but I’ve wanted the both of you to break up so bad but not so I could get with you. I mean I wanted to be with you but that’s not the reason I wanted you two to split. It’s just he treated you so badly and caged you and every time I saw you cry or heard what he was doing or how he’d smooth talk his way back into your heart I just couldn’t handle it. I want you to be happy so much, I want you to be free and to be able to live the best possible life you can and I just want to be there for you, even if you don’t feel the same.” 

Keigo hadn’t realized that his eyes had gotten blurry as he confessed everything that was in his heart. Your eyes filled with tears again and you cupped his face in your warm hand so he’d turn to look at you. The sweetest feelings filled you completely as you stroked a finger over his cheek and you looked into his eyes.

“Is that true?”

Keigo pressed his face into your palm “Yeah, every word of it.”

“Well then it’s only fair that I be honest with you.” The hero looked a little scared by your words, as if he’s about to have his heart trampled on.

You took a soft breath, rolling on your side to face him you met his gaze and held it. “Keigo Takami. I’m madly in love with you.” 

His eyes widened as your words registered in his brain. 

“I know I have been for a very long time, but I never could bring myself to be honest with you or even myself. My heart knew but my mind was dead set that if I told you and I broke up with my boyfriend just to be with you then I’d be doing the wrong thing, even if it’s for the right reason. I can’t think of a time when you haven’t been there as a pillar of support for me. Every time he and I fought, when he’d lure me back in with pretty words and lies, when I was just having a bad day in general or when I was acting like a silly little girl instead of a rational adult. Every time I felt truly happy and safe it was with you. The first time you took my hand and pulled me up off the ground with you, encouraging me to fly and be free of the earth despite what others told me, what he told me. That was the first time I knew I was really in love with you, the first time that I couldn’t deny it. It scared the hell out of me I’m not going to lie, but the feeling of freedom I felt with you was bliss. I wanted to feel like that forever, but eventually I’d always go back to my cage and I’d be sad again. I’d stay in that cage because my stupid brain couldn’t get on board with my heart. 

‘If you break up with your boyfriend for another man then you’ll both look bad.’

It was one of the reasons I hesitated. That and I let his lies infect me. What if I really was just being childish and irrational? What if spending time with my friends was hurting not only him but me?”

You let yourself rest for a moment as tears cascaded down your cheeks. Keigo brushed them away with a degloved thumb. He let you take a few calming breaths before continuing. 

“All that time I let him use me and keep me caged. I feel like an absolute idiot.” 

Strong arms pulled you against him, wings wrapping around your back and brushing over your own feathers. With your face pressed into his shoulder you could smell him so well. He smelled like outside, rain and wind ;combined with his cologne and heat of his body it nearly lulled you to sleep. You continued to speak quietly.

“He did it because he didn’t want us to be able to fly together. I hate him for doing this to me. For doing this to us.”

Your phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out to read the notification.

It was him.

He’d left you no less than a hundred messages in the time you’d left. It was horrifying. They varied from desperate apologise to vitriolic accusations of cheating which contained language he was opposed to hearing a woman be called much less you. It made him sick, his fist clenched around the device to keep himself from throwing it across the room and breaking it.

Then the death threats. He saw red as his eyes scanned the screen. The details written out in little digital letters made his tremble. So much hate and scare tactics. He’d never let you go back to this monster in a man’s skin.

He couldn’t stand it anymore, locking the screen he tossed the phone away onto the bed.

“It was bad wasn’t it?” You sounded tired and scared. Keigo took a minute to reply, trying to calm the hate and rage building in his chest.

“Yeah dove, you could say that.”

You sat up, pulling out of his arms, but motioning for him to sit up as well.

“We need to talk about where we go from here.”

Keigo wanted you to stay with him, you were safer here and he could come home to you at the end of his shifts as a hero. It sounded ideal and simply amazing, but it wasn’t that simple yet.

“You may stay if you’d like, I only have one bed, you can sleep in it if you’d like and I can take the couch. However I don’t want you to feel crowded or pressured to do anything. If you’d rather stay another place I can help you out with it.”

Your heart beat wildly at the idea of being here with him. You didn’t want him to stay on the couch if possible you wanted to be in the same bed, he made you feel safe and you loved him.

“I’ll stay as long as you let me.” You smiled and took his hand, holding it gently. “But you don’t have to stay on the couch, I was hoping we’d stay together, I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be than with you.”

It was news that overjoyed the wings hero, but still there were more complex matters to discuss. 

“I’m happy to hear it. However we need to talk about us.” He squeezed your hand, trying to convey his love and warmth through the touch.

“I’m not going to date you right now.” He was firm but gentle when he said it, still you were shocked by his words given his earlier confession. You could only guess as to why.

“Is it because I just broke up?”

“Yes, but more than just that he hurt you, not just emotionally, and rushing into another relationship only hours after it happened isn’t healthy. I meant what I said, when I said that I loved you and please don’t think that I don’t want to be with you but you should take some time to get everything organised and settled before you do anything potentially life altering. Having your world and heart put through so much stress leaves a person emotionally vulnerable ya know? And I don’t want to take advantage of that.  Even if it doesn’t feel that way I don’t want to rush into things and ruin them before they have a chance to get off the ground. Ruining what we have and being without you would be like losing my wings. I couldn’t live like that.” He sighed and kissed the back of your hand. “I’ve given it some thought and I feel that this is for the best. I’ll be here for you, when you're healed and ready, whenever that is no matter how long it takes, I’ll be there. I may like to rush and take the things I want and it’s true I do move fast, but I want this done right and if it takes a while that’s okay by me. Just so long as it’s okay by you too.”

You were stunned, completely floored. His words were sobering, as unrealistic as it sounded you’d thought he’d want you to be his girlfriend immediately. You were both right and wrong.

 What he was doing, as much as it left a little sting in your chest was for your well being. He was serious about caring for you and his words proved it.

“Thank you Keigo. I don’t know what I did to deserve you.” You returned the kiss to his hand, less stressed than before and feeling like a weight you didn’t know was there was lifted.

“It’s not about deserving dove, I’m not giving you my love because you’ve earned it. I love you because you’re you.”

You slumped forward, fresh tears in your eyes. They were good tears though, ones of relief and love.

Keigo held you as you cried, it never made him feel good to see the woman he loved cry but he knew now that things would be okay.

You loved him and he loved you. One day something even more beautiful than what you had now would come from that love, for once he felt he could happily wait.

You cried yourself to sleep in his arms. Keigo was okay with this, laying you down on top of him felt natural and good. Your weight comforted him and your scent helped him clear his mind of all the dark that tonight had contained.

Eyes heavy and heart steady he was just on the edge of sleep, he turned and saw your phone. He’d never made the call he wanted to make.

‘Oh well.’ He smiled. He could always make it tomorrow.

“good night my dove.” He murmured into your hair and let peaceful sleep embrace him.

[artificialqueens]

Show me the Stars, Chapter One (Trixya) - Kite

A/N: It’s been a long ass time since I’ve posted to AQ, but here I am with a Trixya fic. Hope you guys enjoy it! Feel free to check out my concept art over on my tumblr @youre-a-kite. And if you’re feeling the space themed lesbian au vibe, check out my fic Artemis on Ao3, which features Branjie, Trixya and Scyvie in space.

Summary: Trixie is a tour guide in a planetarium who makes up the facts as she goes along, and Katya is an astrophysicist who takes the tour with the intention of calling her out, but doesn’t.

Trixie sighs as the gaggle of elementary kids start to screech when she dims the lights, plunging them into darkness. She waits for the teachers to regain control of the room, and nods politely whilst they apologise, but she knows it’s going to be a few minutes before the kids settle.

It’s the same story every day.

But on the plus side, it usually means she can shave five minutes off the end of her presentation. Ten minutes, if one of them needs the bathroom half way through.

“Good morning kids,” Trixie says, with as much enthusiasm as her slightly hungover self will allow. “My name is Trixie Mattel and I’ll be your tour guide today. Please remember that there is no eating or drinking in the planetarium. Now, raise your hand if you’ve ever seen a star.”

-x-

The door to the break room slams shut behind her.

“I swear to god, I’m quitting tomorrow,” she groans.

Pearl scoffs. “Bitch, you say that every day.”

“I know, but this time I mean it.”

This isn’t how Trixie pictured her life would work out when she moved to LA the moment she graduated college. Like every other hopeful out there, she was going to be a star. She thought she’d at least have a recurring role on a sitcom by now. But gradually, as her savings account has drained, acting classes had been switched for shifts at the makeup counter in the mall. The agent that she’d hired became a luxury that she was no longer able to afford. She’d taken a job at the planetarium because she figured it was the closest thing to acting that she could find, but, God, she fucking hates kids.

Her colleagues are the only thing about the job that she actually enjoys. She’d gotten the job through her roommate Kim and became friendly with the other pretty quickly. She’s never been one to shy away from social situations, especially not at work.

In the break room, anything goes.

Last week, their boss, Brooke, had pulled Trixie into the office to give her a lecture on ‘why we leave our personal lives at home’ when she realised that half of the tours started late one morning because her guides had been too busy grilling Trixie about the hickey on her neck from her Tinder date to keep an eye on the time. Honestly, that talk had gone in one ear and straight out of the other. She figured that it was pretty hypocritical, coming from the woman who’s almost definitely banging the chick who works in the gift shop.

“Trix’, you’ll like this,” Pearl tells her, beckoning her over. “When Violet was working the public telescopes last night, some old couple asked her to point them towards Ursa Major.”

Violet laughs loudly, “like I know where that fucker is.”

“What did you do?” Trixie smirks.

When their job amounts to little more than following a script and flicking the lights on and off at the right time, they all know how stressful it can be when they get asked a specific question.

Violet shrugs, “I just pointed upwards. What else was I supposed to do?”

-x-

After lunch, Trixie is leading the ‘Moons of the Solar System’ tour that is open to the public. On the one hand, the ratio of children to adults on these tours is always much lower, so that’s a positive, but on the other hand, members of the public come with their own set of problems.

There’s the entitled moms, who think that their kids should get to climb up on the displays. There’s the know it all dads, who like to jump in with a ‘well, actually’ every once in a while. There’s always a group of tourists who never listen to the ‘no flash photography’ instruction at the beginning. But every once in a while, there’s someone interesting or quirky or different, that makes her shifts just about bearable.

Pearl is collecting ticket stubs at the entrance to the planetarium dome, and gives Trixie a nod when the last members of the audience have filtered in. As she leaves, she closes the doors behind her and sets the lights so that they begin to dim.

“Good afternoon, ladies and gents. I’m Trixie Mattel and I’ll be your tour guide today. Please remember that there is no eating or drinking in the auditorium. Now, raise your hand if you’ve ever seen the moon.”

She rattles through the opening section about Earth’s moons fairly quickly. It’s the most boring part of the script by far, since even young kids will already know this by now. With feigned enthusiasm, she asks her audience participation questions about solar and lunar eclipses. Once she’s finished, someone raises their hand to ask a question. She prays it’s something she knows the answer to.

“When’s the next lunar eclipse?”

Trixie shifts uncomfortably. The woman’s blue eyes are piercing, waiting for her to answer.

“Um, some time next month. You’ll have to check out our website for further details.”

The woman nods, seemingly satisfied. But she’s barely into her segment on Jupiter’s four largest moons when the woman speaks up again.

“Which space probe has travelled the furthest?”

She has to use all of her willpower to force herself not to roll her eyes. The Lord really is trying to test her today. Quickly, in her head, she rattles through all of the names of the space probes that she knows, trying to pick the one that sounds right.

“Um, Galileo,” Trixie guesses.

The woman smiles, but says nothing.

“And how far away is-“

Trixie has to cut her off.

“I’m sorry ma’am, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave all questions until the end.”

The woman apologises, but it doesn’t make Trixie feel any less on edge.

The thing is, Trixie knows that he answers are wrong. She knows that she’s making up the majority of her script on the spot. And she knows that the parents here are lapping it up, planning to go home and brag to their book club friends about how their kids enjoy educational pastimes, because they’re just so damn gifted.

But this woman. Who’s teetering in skyscraper heels and watching her like a hawk. Who’s nodding along with the presentation, smirking softly to herself, like she knows something that everybody else doesn’t. Trixie is sure that this woman knows that everything she’s saying is bullshit.

Trixie sets up the projectors to play a short clip showing the names and sizes of some of the solar system’s biggest moons, then positions herself in the back corner of the room. Then, as if this woman isn’t odd enough already, she starts to look up at the dome. But she doesn’t look up like all the rest of the parents, with a semi-interested expression and frequent glances to her watch. She looks up in awe, like this is the greatest thing she’s ever seen in her life. Like nothing could bring her to look away, not even for a moment.

And it’s funny, because Trixie is as captivated by the woman as the woman is by the moons.

At the end of the presentation, Trixie is dreading the asking the audience for questions, because she knows whose hand is going to be the first in the air. So, she drags out the end of the show for as long as possible, praying that she overruns. When Pearl pokes her head through the door to give her the two minute warning for the start of Kim’s next group, she’s so relieved, she could kiss her.

“And that’s all we have time for today folks. Please exit via the gift shop on your right. Have a lovely day!”

She makes a beeline for the door, but of course, the woman follows her.

“Hold on, I didn’t get to ask my questions,” she smirks coyly.

Trixie sighs and gestures to the edge of the corridor so they can stand out of the way of the crowds.

“Look, I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing but-“

The woman holds up her hands in defence. “I’m not playing any games, I just wanted to know-“

“Save it,” Trixie cuts her off, and she really hopes she’s right because if not she’s just been very, very rude to a curious audience member. But then the woman grins and she knows she isn’t wrong. Trixie sighs. “Are you going to tell my boss?”

The woman shrugs and Trixie’s eyes widen.

“Look, I’m sorry if your kid didn’t enjoy the show or whatever. I’ll get you tickets to the next-“

“Ew, gross” the woman cuts her off by shaking her head, “I don’t have a kid.”

“Oh. Then why are you at a kids planetarium show?”

The woman laughs. Her teeth are perfectly straight and perfectly white, not that Trixie cares.

“My niece watched a show here last week, but the new facts that she learned turned out to be the biggest load of garbage I’ve ever heard.”

Trixie ought to be embarrassed, but really, she’s just annoyed. Why can’t this woman just leave a bad review on trip advisor like a normal person?

“Are you some kind of space expert or something?”

The woman takes a business card out of her purse and hands it over.

Prof. Yekaterina P Zamolodchikova. Astrophysics Department - UCLA.

“Jesus,” Trixie mumbles.

“No, Katya,” the woman replies, holding out her hand for Trixie to shake.

Trixie doesn’t shake her hand.

“Please don’t tell my boss, I really need this job.”

“Maybe if you really needed it, you’d be less terrible at it.”

Trixie shrugs. “That’s fair.”

Katya’s gaze sharpens. “What you’re doing isn’t right. Kids come here to learn and you’re just making shit up as you please.”

Trixie shifts on the balls of her feet. It would be easier to just let Brooke tear her a new asshole than have to put up with this. Maybe if she tells her before Katya has the chance, she’ll get to keep her job.

Trixie looks at her watch and sighs. “Okay, if you’re going to tell her will you at least tell her tomorrow, so that I get paid for the rest of the day.”

Katya looks Trixie up and down, then grins devilishly. “I’m not going to tell her.”

“You aren’t?”

“No.”

Trixie blinks rapidly, then stares at her, unaware of what they’re supposed to do now. Then, Katya gestures to the business card in her hand.

“See the address? I want you to meet me there at eight. I’m going to teach you what you need to know.”

Trixie narrows her eyes. “You’re a college professor and you want to teach third grade physics to a terrible planetarium tour guide…”

Katya shrugs. “Or I could tell your boss that you can’t do your job properly.”

“Fine. God damn it. Whatever. I’ll be there.”

Trixie had been warned of the unsavoury side of life before she moved to LA, but had never thought she would be blackmailed into being educated.

She looks down at the card in her hand, but when she looks back up, Katya is already walking away.

“How will I know where to find you?”

“You’ll know,” she calls back over her shoulder.

“This had better not be a trap so that you can kidnap and murder me,” Trixie shouts after her, earning her a few uncomfortable glances from nearby parents.

“No promises,” Katya tells her, then leaves the building.

[sistercelluloid]

Welcome to another edition of TINTYPE TUESDAY!

Does the current crop of Christmas movies make you yearn to go back to 1947?  I mean even more than you normally do?  Then let’s journey together back to that magical time…

…when the lovely Maureen O’Hara was ready to pretty much punch someone in the face. She’d just flown home to Ireland after back-to-back shoots on The Homestretch and Sinbad the Sailor, and was all set to curl up with a cuppa and relax for a spell. So just imagine her excitement when she was suddenly summoned off the sofa and clear across the ocean to New York to star in a little confection called Miracle on 34th Street.

Luckily for 20th Century Fox, she fell in love with the script the instant she read it.

Which is more than you can say for Darryl F. Zanuck, who didn’t want to make the “corny” film at all. Director George Seaton, who’d thrown his heart into the project, fought back hard—finally wangling a paltry $630,000 budget out of the cynical studio boss in exchange for a promise to direct The Shocking Miss Pilgrim, which Zanuck was willing to pour five times as much money into. (And which we all gather ’round the TV to watch every year! Oh wait…)

For O’Hara, a divorced working mother herself, the part of Doris Walker was an especially good fit, and also a chance to cast her glow on the kind of role rarely seen in films of the 1940s. (The powerful Legion of Decency found the portrayal of divorcées on screen to be “morally objectionable.”)

The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences will present a newly restored print of the Oscar¨-winning Christmas classic ÒMiracle on 34th StreetÓ on Thursday, December 11, at 7:30 p.m. at the Samuel Goldwyn Theater in Beverly Hills. The 35mm print to be screened is from the collection of the Academy Film Archive, courtesy of Twentieth Century Fox, and is presented as part of the AcademyÕs Gold Standard screening series. Pictured: Edmund Gwenn, Natalie Wood, and Maureen O’Hara in a scene from MIRACLE ON 34TH STREET, 1947.

Once the perfect leading lady was on board, the search for Santa was on. The first choice was Cecil Kellaway, who turned down the part but suggested his cousin, Edmund Gwenn. “I’ve never seen an actor more naturally suited for a role,” O’Hara later recalled.

So much so that until she saw him in street clothes at the wrap party, Natalie Wood—who said she’d been “on the cusp of not believing in Santa Claus”—thought her beloved co-star was the real thing. And this was no sheltered, impressionable child: known as “One Take Natalie” for her photographic memory, Wood was whip-smart and had what Seaton called “an instinctive sense of timing and emotion.” And if she O’felt Gwenn was Santa Claus, who are we to argue?

Unbeknownst to the thousands of spectators lining the streets of New York, Gwenn was also Santa Claus at the 1946 Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade, even greeting the crowd from the store’s marquee. To make sure he got ample footage, Seaton set up 14 cameras all along the route. “It was a mad scramble to get all the shots we needed because we only got to do each scene once,” recalled O’Hara. “The parade couldn’t stop because we needed a second take!”

In fact, in an era when soundstages ruled the day, almost the entire film was shot on location—during a winter so bitterly cold that the chill sometimes froze the cameras.”One scene was shot in Port Washington, New York, where a woman let us warm up in her house,” O’Hara later laughed. “The crew put the cameras in front of her living room fireplace to thaw out… finally the cameras defrosted and we were able to finish the scene. Her generosity was one of the miracles in Miracle on 34th Street!”

The closeknit cast also helped to warm things up. “John Payne was a wonderful person to work with,” O’Hara remembered. “And he became one of my dearest friends.”

O’Hara was especially close to her screen daughter: “I played ‘Mom’ to more than forty children during my movie career. But Natalie always held a special place in my heart. She called me ‘Mama Maureen.'”

The scenes in Macy’s were shot after hours, which thrilled the adventurous eight-year-old: “Natalie loved to work at night because she got to say up late. With all the shoppers gone, we walked through the store and examined all the toys and girls’ dresses and shoes,” said O’Hara. “It was a special time for us.”

“Mama Maureen” was also kinder and more lenient than Wood’s own notorious stage mother: “I brought a bag of chocolates for Edmund every day. We hid the candy from Natalie because her mother didn’t want her to have any.

“One day, Edmund got some chocolate all over his white beard, and Natalie spotted it immediately. We let her sneak some, but we made sure her mother never caught us.”

Wood found a special way to thank her movie mother for her much-needed warmth. “At least once a week, she gave me a little ceramic figurine she’d made,” O’Hara remembered. “I took them all down to my home in the Virgin Islands but when Hurricane Hugo hit, they were all literally blown away. I couldn’t find a single one.”

When the movie wrapped, the cast and director were pretty confident audiences would love seeing the film as much as they loved making it. But Zanuck remained unconvinced—and in another stroke of genius, decided to release the film in June, when, he argued, movie attendance was higher. This left the studio scrambling to promote a Christmas film without ever calling it a Christmas film. Which brings us to this head-smackingly odd trailer:

In it, the studio boss, who’s something of an imbecile (did Zanuck see this?), bellows, “What do you make a trailer for? To give the public an idea of what kind of picture to expect!” Then—Irony Alert!—they completely sidestep the fact that this is a Christmas movie. The boss wanders out onto the lot, buttonholing passing stars like Rex Harrison and Anne Baxter for their opinions of the film. They all love it, for wildly different reasons (Peggy Ann Garner calls it groovy!) but no one dares utter the “C” word.

Joining the long list of films that succeeded in spite of studio bosses rather than because of them, Miracle on 34th Street ultimately found its (sandal-clad) audience, recouping its skimpy budget several times over. And along with The Bishop’s Wife, it was one of two Christmas films vying for Best Picture at the 1948 Academy Awards ceremony. Both lost to Gentlemen’s Agreement.

Gwenn fared better, taking home the Oscar for Best Supporting Actor against a brutal field. Literally. Two of his rivals—Richard Widmark in Kiss of Death and Robert Ryan in Crossfire—played noir characters legendary for their viciousness. So the next time you see Tommy Udo push Mrs. Rizzo down that flight of stairs, just remember that ultimately, he was beaten by Santa Claus.

As you can hear in the clip below, the applause that greets his name—or as presenter Baxter would call it a few years later, “waves of love coming over the footlights”—make it clear who the winner will be. “Whew! Now I know there’s a Santa Claus,” Gwenn tells his adoring colleagues. “He’s an elusive little fellow… he turns up in all sorts of places under all sorts of names and disguises. The first time I met him, he told me his name was George Seaton…” And later, his voice breaking, “Thank you, all of you, for making the evening of my life such a happy one.”

Actor Edmund Gwenn (right) and writer George Seaton (left) holding their Oscars for the film ‘Miracle on 34th Street’, with presenter Anne Baxter, at the 20th Academy Awards, Los Angeles, March 20th 1948. (Photo by Archive Photos/Getty Images)

And finally, here a few bits of Miracle on 34th Street trivia to toss around the Christmas table:

Remember when Kris Kringle is taking his sanity test, and to show off his memory, he proudly proclaims that the Vice President under John Quincy Adams was Daniel D. Tomkins? Um, no, he served under James Monroe. Adams’ veep was John Calhoun, whose picture is too scary to put in a Christmas story. (Google him. Yikes.) So the next time you watch the movie with friends, be sure to smugly point out this mistake! (And never be invited back!)

Macy’s Christmas window displays were made by Steiff, famous for their stuffed bears and other toys. After the movie wrapped, the store sold them to FAO Schwarz, which later sold them, improbably, to the Marshall & Ilsley Bank in Milwaukee, where they’re showcased every year in the main lobby.

Gene Lockhart, who plays the judge, was also Bob Cratchit in the 1938 version of A Christmas Carol. And Percy Helton, who played the drunken Santa Claus, also popped up as the train conductor in White Christmas. Oh and speaking of making a bit too merry, here’s a Gimbel’s ad from the year Miracle on 34th Street came out:

The movie also gave us the gift that keeps on giving: the film debut of Thelma Ritter, who went on to win six Oscar nods while never moving out of Queens. And typically, she’s the one who sets the whole Christmas détente between Macy’s and Gimbels in motion.

Ever wonder what Kris Kringle and the little Dutch refugee who sits on his knee are talking about? Here’s the translation:

Kris Kringle: I’m happy you came! Little Girl: Ooh, you are Sinterklaas! Kris Kringle: Well yes, of course! Little Girl: I knew it! I knew you would understand me! Kris Kringle: Of course! Tell me what you would like to get from Sinterklaas. Little Girl: I don’t want anything… I already have everything… I just want to stay with this lovely lady. Kris Kringle: Do you want to sing something for me? Little Girl (singing): Saint Nicholas, little rascal, Put something in my little shoe! Put something in my little boot! Thank you, little Saint Nicholas! Saint Nicholas little rascal, Put something in my little shoe! Put something in my little boot! Thank you, little Saint Nicholas!

The house Natalie Wood bolts into at the end of the movie still stands, at 24 Derby Road in Port Washington. It looks almost exactly the same today, but for the addition of a window that changed the roofline.

It seems only fitting to give the final word to Maureen: “I’m so proud to have been part of Miracle on 34th Street.” And we’re so grateful you were. We still miss you, dear lady. And we’ll never forget what you told us:

TINTYPE TUESDAY is a regular feature on Sister Celluloid, with fabulous classic movie pix (and backstory!) to help you make it to Hump Day! For previous editions, just click here—and why not bookmark the page, to make sure you never miss a week?

TINTYPE TUESDAY: Behind the Scenes of MIRACLE ON 34TH STREET! Welcome to another edition of TINTYPE TUESDAY! Does the current crop of Christmas movies make you yearn to go back to 1947?  

[thecoroutfitters]

Written by Wild Bill on The Prepper Journal.

Editors Note: As preppers know there have been several TV shows that deal with the prepper lifestyle, from the extreme, Dooms Day Preppers, to the benign shows that show up on the DIY and HGTV networks to the wilderness builders of the “off the grid” lifestyle. Among these is Bear Grylls and his “Running Wild” Series. I thought a closer look at a couple of his adventures might be entertaining.

Bear Grylls is a little bit past his heyday in terms of his fame and the attention that’s paid to him. Some have questioned the accuracy of his various television programs and others have simply moved on to new shows and new TV personalities, as is the way of things. But one clever way Grylls has found around this, for those still paying attention, is by incorporating celebrities into his adventures. Who can forget his getting permission from the Secret Service to allow Obama to take a taste of a bear-discarded salmon in Alaska? All while surrounded by 60+ agents/snipers/staff. By performing feats of daring and survival not just alone, but alongside people who aren’t accustomed to such things, Grylls is sometimes better able to demonstrate the real difficulties of what’s going on. Or at least, that’s how it looks.

Running Wild With Bear Grylls is a show that’s been running for a few years now, and while 2018’s season four (4) didn’t quite get the same ratings as its predecessor, it’s been largely appreciated by audiences. Reviews for individual episodes were generally strong, and one all-encompassing write-up hailed it as an ideal form of summer television. This does indeed speak to its entertainment value, as well as an enjoyable slate of celebrity guests ranging from famous actors to athletes. But for his faults, Bear Grylls can still teach a thing or two about survival as well. So we wanted to look back at some of the most interesting tips from the season that just concluded.

Rappelling

Rappelling is not anything new for a Bear Grylls program, nor in fact is it new on this particular show. But one episode in particular – with actress Lena Headey – was particularly instructive. Headey is best known for her role as Cersei Lannister on the popular drama Game Of Thrones. Her character is brutal, tough, and savvy, but not one we frequently see performing any kind of physical feat. It was thus a little bit different to see Headey repelling down a cliff side with Grylls. A site devoted to all things Thrones carried a clip of the scene, in which Grylls actually gives some pointers rather than just helping her along. Rappelling isn’t something most people wind up doing without planning on it, but this episode was a nice reminder that it can be a very useful skill for time in the wilderness. One that every prepper should look into as a additional tool in their bag of tricks. Doing it the second time when you really need to trumps doing it for the first time in a real TEOTWAWKI situation.

Quick Protein

Tennis legend Roger Federer was perhaps one of the more surprising and interesting guests for this show. Earlier this year, at the Australian Open, Federer closing in on his 20th major title seemed like all but a certainty – and, indeed, he triumphed. But a year before that, at the same tournament in 2017, he lifted a major trophy for the first time in a few years. He was back on top of the tennis world, and it was only a month or so later that he met with Grylls to film their episode in the Swiss Alps. It seems odd timing in the context of Federer’s career of late, but he seemed to have a great time with Grylls in what was perhaps one of the safer expeditions. One nice tip though, unpleasant as it seems, was to eat a raw fish eye for quick protein. Of course, the two had to catch the fish. But it’s a nice reminder that in such a situation if you can’t cook or make a fire, you can at least eat parts of an animal raw to sustain yourself and get a spark of energy.

Starting Fires

While the Roger Federer episode may have focused on finding protein without cooking, an earlier episode in the season, featuring actor Joseph Gordon-Levitt actually concerned how to start a fire with limited resources. In that episode, Gordon-Levitt – who’s known for a wide range of film appearances, including 500 Days Of Summer, Looper, and The Dark Knight Rises – treks with Grylls through parts of Kenya. And at one point, after Grylls had told Gordon-Levitt to collect elephant feces, the pair use it as the base for a fire (which they set by directing sunlight through a camera lens). It’s not foolproof, but it’s a nice story to remember if you ever need to set a fire when lost in the wild.

While we as preppers know many other ways to start a fire, get some needed protein and fats and get down from a mountain, you have to admire his choice of fuels!

Be safe out there and Follow The Prepper Journal on Facebook!

The post 3 Survival Tips From Season 4 of Bear Grylls’s “Running Wild” appeared first on The Prepper Journal.

from The Prepper Journal Don't forget to visit the store and pick up some gear at The COR Outfitters. How prepared are you for emergencies? #SurvivalFirestarter #SurvivalBugOutBackpack #PrepperSurvivalPack #SHTFGear #SHTFBag

[scoutshonor56]

Light The World

Inaugural Address of President John F. Kennedy Washington, D.C. January 20, 1961

“We observe today not a victory of party but a celebration of freedom--symbolizing an end as well as a beginning--signifying renewal as well as change. For I have sworn before you and Almighty God the same solemn oath our forebears prescribed nearly a century and three-quarters ago. The world is very different now. For man holds in his mortal hands the power to abolish all forms of human poverty and all forms of human life. And yet the same revolutionary beliefs for which our forebears fought are still at issue around the globe--the belief that the rights of man come not from the generosity of the state but from the hand of God. We dare not forget today that we are the heirs of that first revolution. Let the word go forth from this time and place, to friend and foe alike, that the torch has been passed to a new generation of Americans--born in this century, tempered by war, disciplined by a hard and bitter peace, proud of our ancient heritage--and unwilling to witness or permit the slow undoing of those human rights to which this nation has always been committed, and to which we are committed today at home and around the world. Let every nation know, whether it wishes us well or ill, that we shall pay any price, bear any burden, meet any hardship, support any friend, oppose any foe to assure the survival and the success of liberty. This much we pledge--and more. To those old allies whose cultural and spiritual origins we share, we pledge the loyalty of faithful friends. United there is little we cannot do in a host of cooperative ventures. Divided there is little we can do--for we dare not meet a powerful challenge at odds and split asunder. To those new states whom we welcome to the ranks of the free, we pledge our word that one form of colonial control shall not have passed away merely to be replaced by a far more iron tyranny. We shall not always expect to find them supporting our view. But we shall always hope to find them strongly supporting their own freedom--and to remember that, in the past, those who foolishly sought power by riding the back of the tiger ended up inside. To those people in the huts and villages of half the globe struggling to break the bonds of mass misery, we pledge our best efforts to help them help themselves, for whatever period is required--not because the communists may be doing it, not because we seek their votes, but because it is right. If a free society cannot help the many who are poor, it cannot save the few who are rich. To our sister republics south of our border, we offer a special pledge--to convert our good words into good deeds--in a new alliance for progress--to assist free men and free governments in casting off the chains of poverty. But this peaceful revolution of hope cannot become the prey of hostile powers. Let all our neighbors know that we shall join with them to oppose aggression or subversion anywhere in the Americas. And let every other power know that this Hemisphere intends to remain the master of its own house. To that world assembly of sovereign states, the United Nations, our last best hope in an age where the instruments of war have far outpaced the instruments of peace, we renew our pledge of support--to prevent it from becoming merely a forum for invective--to strengthen its shield of the new and the weak--and to enlarge the area in which its writ may run. Finally, to those nations who would make themselves our adversary, we offer not a pledge but a request: that both sides begin anew the quest for peace, before the dark powers of destruction unleashed by science engulf all humanity in planned or accidental self-destruction. We dare not tempt them with weakness. For only when our arms are sufficient beyond doubt can we be certain beyond doubt that they will never be employed. But neither can two great and powerful groups of nations take comfort from our present course--both sides overburdened by the cost of modern weapons, both rightly alarmed by the steady spread of the deadly atom, yet both racing to alter that uncertain balance of terror that stays the hand of mankind's final war. So let us begin anew--remembering on both sides that civility is not a sign of weakness, and sincerity is always subject to proof. Let us never negotiate out of fear. But let us never fear to negotiate. Let both sides explore what problems unite us instead of belaboring those problems which divide us. Let both sides, for the first time, formulate serious and precise proposals for the inspection and control of arms--and bring the absolute power to destroy other nations under the absolute control of all nations. Let both sides seek to invoke the wonders of science instead of its terrors. Together let us explore the stars, conquer the deserts, eradicate disease, tap the ocean depths and encourage the arts and commerce. Let both sides unite to heed in all corners of the earth the command of Isaiah--to 'undo the heavy burdens . . . (and) let the oppressed go free.' And if a beachhead of cooperation may push back the jungle of suspicion, let both sides join in creating a new endeavor, not a new balance of power, but a new world of law, where the strong are just and the weak secure and the peace preserved. All this will not be finished in the first one hundred days. Nor will it be finished in the first one thousand days, nor in the life of this Administration, nor even perhaps in our lifetime on this planet. But let us begin. In your hands, my fellow citizens, more than mine, will rest the final success or failure of our course. Since this country was founded, each generation of Americans has been summoned to give testimony to its national loyalty. The graves of young Americans who answered the call to service surround the globe. Now the trumpet summons us again--not as a call to bear arms, though arms we need--not as a call to battle, though embattled we are-- but a call to bear the burden of a long twilight struggle, year in and year out, 'rejoicing in hope, patient in tribulation'--a struggle against the common enemies of man: tyranny, poverty, disease and war itself. Can we forge against these enemies a grand and global alliance, North and South, East and West, that can assure a more fruitful life for all mankind? Will you join in that historic effort? In the long history of the world, only a few generations have been granted the role of defending freedom in its hour of maximum danger. I do not shrink from this responsibility--I welcome it. I do not believe that any of us would exchange places with any other people or any other generation. The energy, the faith, the devotion which we bring to this endeavor will light our country and all who serve it--and the glow from that fire can truly light the world. And so, my fellow Americans: ask not what your country can do for you--ask what you can do for your country. My fellow citizens of the world: ask not what America will do for you, but what together we can do for the freedom of man. Finally, whether you are citizens of America or citizens of the world, ask of us here the same high standards of strength and sacrifice which we ask of you. With a good conscience our only sure reward, with history the final judge of our deeds, let us go forth to lead the land we love, asking His blessing and His help, but knowing that here on earth God's work must truly be our own.” 

It wasn’t that long ago - within just my short lifetime - when real men walked the halls of Washington.  Smart men.  Well-read men.  Brave men who felt they could make a difference, even if just a small one.  Men who thought beyond themselves and shouldered the burden and responsibilities of real public servants.  Men who respected our history and could see the big picture of the human condition.  Men who understood the complexities of governing and politics and the necessity of compromise for the greater and collective good.  Such was John F. Kennedy.

This is my official ruling that the current petty, vainglorious, bloated, and intellectually lazy impostor who now disgraces the Oval Office and everything it once stood for is from here on banned from my blog.  I simply no longer care.  You let him in the game America - you wanted him, well, you got him.  And no, I don’t want to hear any shit about a “stolen election”.  The fact that he was ever even seen as a viable candidate speaks volumes about our society today.  

I just did a count and see that I have written about this buffoon 20 times, both humorously and critically - and I  have nothing left to say.  There are better things to write about.

I originally started this post with a more pointed and detailed summation of my disgust, but then tonight I was watching a great special on PBS covering the photography of Rowland Scherman, who took many iconic and famous pictures during the early 60′s.  Among his subjects were the likes of Bob Dylan, Martin Luther King Jr., and John Kennedy.  Early in his career Scherman was the photographer for the Peace Corps (which Kennedy started), and during this part of the show the voice-over featured a short clip of the above inauguration speech.  Finding it moving and inspiring, I later looked up the entire oration.

Reflecting on American politics today, it made me want to weep; to throw up.  So in closing, my farewell characterization of Chief Cheetobrain Assclown is simply that he is the complete and total antithesis of John F. Kennedy.  The shallow, distorted, and flip-side reflection of Kennedy in a warped fun house mirror.  A sideshow barker promising the big stuffed teddy bear to any suckers stupid enough to pony up.

*oh yeah - one final caveat: I will  bring him out of retirement under one condition - when America has finally had enough of this reality horror show and Donny is thrown out of office in shame and disgrace – a bonus if it’s in handcuffs, for a long and sordid list of federal infractions.  When the people who represent us in government finally say, “no, YOU’RE FIRED!”

[jocelynbass1991]

Miracle Prayer To Save Marriage Wonderful Diy Ideas

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How To Save A Broken Relationship

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How To Stop Divorce Proceedings

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[panticwritten]

Breaking Furnace Book 1: Lockdown

Chapter 2: Highway To Hell

Here’s chapter two!

Table of contents!

All of my writing!

I’ve had to change quite a bit of formatting to post this on tumblr because I am a fiend when it comes to using different fonts and tools and junk in my writing. If you want to read this chapter with its original formatting, you can do so here.

I’m good at making up names for characters that spend .2 seconds in a story, but when there’s a character that ends up here for the whole story, they end up with five different working names and when the daydream is over they complain about it.

Remember that this is a daydream taking place in the Escape From Furnace universe, so keep that in mind if you haven’t read EFF.

Word count: 3518

Triggers for this chapter:

Unreality

Being misgendered

Suicide (brief mention)

As always, tell me if you need specific warnings.

Chapter three will be up Friday, December 29th, at 7pm PST.

If you like what I do here, maybe consider buying me a Ko-fi or checking out my Patreon! I love being able to put so much out for free, but this would be a great way to show support and also see cool new content!

~-S-~

It’s still dark.

I’m not sure how long we’ve been walking in silence, our hands swinging between us. Our deadened footsteps make it seem as though the ground is carpeted. It doesn’t take very long for me to get curious and check. On my knees, my hands grope much farther down than should be possible.

There is no floor.

So, we’ve been walking for awhile. Every once in awhile, I stop and turn in a different direction on a whim. Connor doesn’t ask questions or argue, staying right at my side. We might be getting close, but nothing is certain here.

I don’t even know if we’re going in the right direction.

“This should be fast,” I say. “Maybe a year.”

“If I know you, I doubt it.” He cracks a grin, and we both laugh. He squeezes my hand.

I open my mouth to reassure him, but catch a glimpse of a pinprick of light out of the corner of my eye. I stop and jerk my head to look so fast that Connor’s hand pulls out of my grip. Even in such darkness, the light is so faint I almost have to squint to see it.

“That’s it.” I don’t look at Connor when he speaks, nodding instead. He moves to my side and offers his hand once again. I take it and we walk toward that distant light.

It doesn’t take us very long to reach it.

The light pours from the cracks around yet another door. This one is metal, rusted. A grimy window lets even more light out. Finally, I look at Connor to find him smiling at me. He gives my hand a reassuring squeeze.

I look up at him. I decide to tell him a secret, a present before we begin.

“I’m going to change my name to Sawyer.”

I reach out, before he can respond, and push the door open. Our hands pull apart as the portal sucks us into a new world.

~-S-~

I land with a stagger in a disgustingly clean office. Two of the walls are windows overlooking a city, the other two are shining metal holding a sleek wooden door each. I glance around, checking for nearby witnesses.

No one.

I search frantically for clues, immediately locking onto an ornate desk and trying to figure it out. The desk is familiar, the one that I had in my first run through Furnace. Sifting through neatly stacked papers, I find my dead-name (my surname is Furnace here?) on envelopes and stationery, which also identify me as Chief Financial Officer in Furnace’s company.

God, no one can accuse me of being humble anymore.

The idea of being so high up unnerves me. I haven’t had that much influence in a legal way in my daydreams in a long time. Does that make me older? That would be impossible, I won’t be allowed inside the prison if I’m an adult.

I take stock of my body, patting the expensive dress suit I find myself in. My hair is in a tight bun and I find my fingernails longer than I can usually stand. All it tells me is that I have to be close to my real age.

Shit.

I’m about to panic when I catch sight of a card propped open on the desk. My desk. I scrabble for the card and stare at it in disbelief.

I’m fifteen?

I’ve been knocked back two years and I’m more successful than I’ll ever be in real life. Of course, this world is very biased in my favor and normal rules don’t exactly apply. In the real world, I wouldn’t be able to be the CFO of a major prison. In the real world, there’s no way I would be sent to an underground prison full of angry teenage boys, so there’s the reality of the situation.

The phone rings, and I jump so violently that the desk chair behind me rolls away. I take a moment to collect myself, then click the phone onto speaker.

“Yes?”

“Miss Furnace? I wasn’t expecting to reach you directly. Anyway...”

I frown.

Miss Furnace. I must have been a much different person here to earn such casual tone from Cross. I was obviously fine with the honorific miss — I doubt this version of me, in their ivory tower, would deem it acceptable if not.

It’s unnerving to hear him talk to me like an equal. Like he trusts me, like I’m on his side. Ignoring the knot in my chest, I listen hard to pick up on what’s going on.

“These preliminary designs for the German prison are fine, but Furnace is still waiting for those numbers. We aren’t certain that the costs will be explained as easily as they were out here. Maybe a strategic—”

“Why not have our own workers deal with the underground portion?” I pitch, retrieving my chair and sliding right into the role I’ve found myself in. “The suits will do it for free, that way we won’t have any nasty fees to hide. We’ll only have to shuffle some materials around.”

“Yes, we’ve talked about that,” he says with a touch of impatience. “We need a fall back. You told us you would have a decent cover before—” He breaks off, and the line is silent long enough for me to look up to make sure the call didn’t drop. Before I can ask, he speaks again, his distaste evident. “Perry. You’re here.”

I direct a cold smile at the phone. “Yes, I’m here. I trust we’ll be able to play nice for the time being?”

There’s a pause.

“Of course, dear sister.” His voice comes in a dangerous purr. Still, I release a tense breath. It’s been so long since we’ve clashed, and it’s a relief that he’ll leave all of that for within the prison.

“Perfect. I’m sure I’ll be able to find the cover on this desk soon enough. Can you send me the design? I’m sure you’ve made changes.”

“Consider it done.” I don’t miss the mocking tilt to his voice, but choose not to comment on it.

The line is quiet again, and I squint at a newspaper clipping. It looks relatively new and covers a rumor that I may be a murderer.

“How long have you been here?” I ask, lifting a folder labelled ‘Financing plan.’ This seems like a plausible hiding place for a cover story.

“Three weeks.”

“Oh? Well, these doors tend to have a sense of humor.” I flip the folder open and smile, spinning in my chair. “I found the cover story. Now, about this blueprint. Is this official or the one we’ll actually be building with?”

~-S-~

I’ve been so caught up in putting together the plans for this new prison and preparing for the day I’ll be questioned for those murders that I haven’t given much thought to my own plans for Furnace and Cross. I’ve had two conference calls with the CEO, some douche by the name of Tyler Jackson, about the particulars.

I’m actually having a good time. It makes me feel sick, though, in the moments I remember what’s happening underground. How long has Connor been in the prison from his perspective? I’m having a hard time getting sleep, worrying about him. I resist poking my head in the prison, though, knowing that it won’t help anyone.

Three days in, my secretary calls my office phone.

“It’s the police, ma’am,” she tells me. I smile, pleased. Finally.

“Do they have a warrant?” I continue typing up my plans for the German prison. Even if I won’t see it, I might as well finish what I need to.

“Yes.”

I tell her to send them in and end the call. I email what I have to Cross. I’m hoping he’ll know where I want to go with it. If not, he can complain about it later. The officers walk in as I’m closing my laptop.

I pause the world for a moment to consider how to deal with this. I don’t think it matters what I say, really—these people have a limited span of thought. NPCs that just do what they’re programmed to.

I gaze at the officers, at the familiar face following them in. What’s he doing here? I might as well play along, I suppose, since Damon’s here.

I return the flow of time to normal with a blink. I smile briefly in greeting before standing. I wouldn’t put it past Damon to do something stupid, but I’ll leave him alone for now.

“Do you know why we’re here, Miss Furnace?” the first officer asks, handing me her warrant.

Because I killed the family of a kid we framed for murder after they killed him.

“I assume it has to do with a nasty rumor.” I barely glance at the paper, then drop it on my desk with a shrug. I don’t care. “I’ve been expecting you. Sarah, my assistant, will be at your disposal if necessary.”

They shift uncomfortably.

“Actually, we’re here to bring you in for questioning,” the younger man says. I suppress a sigh.

Just throw me in the prison already, the back and forth will be hell for all of us.

“Of course.” I stand and push their warrant back at them. I shift my gaze to Damon in the background. “And you, what are you doing here?”

He quirks his eyebrows. “I’m here to act as your lawyer. Make sure they don’t twist your words around.”

We’ll talk later, I think, my frown deepening.

“Thanks,” I say dryly. That isn’t really what I meant.

“Promise?” His voice, tickling my brain, clashes with the words that actually come out of his mouth.

“Just doing my job.”

I narrow my eyes, and he shrugs. Wonderful.

The older officer coughs, and I turn to her. “We should be on our way.”

Still glowering at Damon, I stand. I push past them into the corridor beyond.

~-S-~

“What are you doing here?” I scold when we pull onto the street.

“What do you mean?” He laughs. My scowl deepens. Great.

“You should have stayed home.”

He doesn’t defend himself, changing tact instead. “What, exactly, are the charges?”

I groan, turning to look out the window. If he couldn’t take the time to look into it before blundering in, I might as well start at the beginning.

“From what I gather, a family went for a trip and didn’t come back when they were supposed to. I was in the same area. The family’s bodies were found in a river last month. Evidence came to light connecting me to it—and three similar killings.”

“Sounds like overkill to me.”

“I need to be sure I’ll end up in Furnace.” I catch my fingers digging into the skin of my inner arm and force my hands into my lap. This is not the time.

It reminds me, though, about the key around my neck. I pull it off, struggling with the knot of the string to avoid looking at Damon.

“If you want a conviction, this world won’t deny you,” he says, shrugging.

“I’m really good at making things go wrong.” The knot gives, and I abandon the rest of the necklace on the floor of the car. I roll up my sleeve and press the key against the skin just above my elbow in my inner arm.

“You’re fucking crazy, you know that?”

I look up at Damon, who’s watching me from the corner of his eye. I shrug and roll my sleeve back down, the key safely under my skin. If I’m right, it’ll show up on an x-ray as a plate in my shoulder.

“I’m doing what I have to do.” I mutter. “I need to go help Connor. He’s stuck down there right now.”

“Only because you put him there,” he murmurs.

I ignore that.

“You get to stay out here, and hopefully either—” I stop and frown, shaping the words in my mind before saying them and turning my eyes back to him. “Either kill yourself or get out of the city. You shouldn’t be here when I get out.”

He grips the steering wheel.

“I want to help.”

I chew the inside of my cheek, staring out the window.

“I don’t want you to be here when I break the prison open. You won’t like what you see. Please, go back to the Lounge, where it’s safe.”

He opens his mouth to speak, but is cut short when one of the officers taps on the window. We’re sitting in the station parking lot, the engine still idling. We both exit the vehicle and follow them inside.

~-S-~

“It stands to reason that Furnace might not be so trustworthy if you aren’t.”

I frown at the accusation. I’m the good guy here, god damn it. With little hesitation, I swallow the thought.

“I’m at the head of prisoner rights, keeping the kids who don’t deserve life sentences out of there.” I stop for a beat. It might be overkill, Damon might be right, but I have to be sure. “Just because a plumber commits insurance fraud doesn’t mean he’s bad at clearing pipes.”

Damon clears his throat. I throw him a dirty look, and the officer raises an eyebrow. I shrug, my eyes wandering to fix on the wall. I’m so tired.

“Are you saying you're guilty?”

“Maybe I am,” I say, my words barbed. She leans forward, surprised. “But those kids would be starving or dead down there if it were up to Cross.”

“’Those kids’ are guilty, Miss Furnace.”

I now care 90% less than before.

“Jurors should be screened better.”

We go back and forth like this for several minutes.

“Your lawyer doesn’t seem too interested in what you’re saying.”

I shrug again.

“Think what you want. Can I go?”

I get news that, obviously, I can’t go back home. I spend a week of more interrogations and staring at the ceiling of a cell. Damon comes back once more, telling me about two cases that come to trial on the same day as mine, then I don’t see him again.

~-S-~

I am the very definition of compliant the morning of my trial. Too many of the people we pass know me. Police officers, administrators, many of their eyes aren’t unkind when they nod to me, but I don’t have the memories attaching me to them.

I hope that my popularity doesn’t keep me above ground. Still, there isn’t any reason to put my safety in jeopardy.

We have to stop several times, as the key in my arm sets off each and every metal detector between my cell and the courtroom. It’s less annoying than losing my key would be, at the very least.

Finally, when I settle into my seat it’s behind a set of bars. A metal cage, setting me apart from the rest of the courtroom.

I plead guilty from the beginning, and I don’t bat an eye at the derisive remarks of the prosecution. When it’s my time, I stand. The effect is slightly marred by the bars, but it doesn’t matter. None of these people are real, anyway.

“I know you’ve already made up your minds, and I welcome it. I think the inmates of Furnace will be more reasonable than any jury I could find here.

“Thank you for your time.” I nod at the judge, then take my seat.

I’m convicted and sentenced to life in Furnace Penitentiary later that day.

~-S-~

Passing the commotion outside of Alex and Zee’s courtrooms, I frown. It’s not a coincidence that their trials were today, but I’m almost surprised that the two of them agreed to come back here with me. This has never been a good place for them.

But here they are.

I stride with purpose, releasing these thoughts. There’s no point in hysterics; after all, I’m actually guilty. I'm stopped only briefly by a crowd of reporters that my court-appointed escorts. Somehow, I still make it to the bus before my friends.

Monty and Jimmy, two other new inmates, already wait there. I give them an easy smile and they exchange a glance.

Of course, they don’t know who I am, though they should recognize me. These two aren't part of the game, so they only know me as a part of the prison’s corporate eye.

Alex reaches the truck first, and Zee isn't far behind. They both stare at me for a second before breaking into matching grins. Their hesitance isn’t easily hidden, though.

“You couldn't have skipped the trials?,” Alex laughs nervously.

I shrug, noting Monty and Jimmy watching us like we have two heads.

“Take it up with the door you came through. You ready for this, guys?” I curse the nervous tilt in my voice.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Alex says, and the tense awkwardness begins to fade. The three of us burst into laughter.

“Hey, quiet!” A guard says as he climbs in. “This ain’t no carnival ride.”

As we all settle in, I watch the guards. The two don’t seem concerned with us, merely joking between themselves. I’m certain that if we speak, they'll shut us up quick, so I keep quiet.

This is going to be a long ride.

~-S-~

When we finally arrive, my eyes rest on the Black Fort. What should be ominous hits me with a sense of nostalgia. It’s good to be back, even as an inmate. The truck stops, and the guards prompt us to exit ahead of them.

I step off the truck to see two blacksuits waiting for us They salute, and I wave it away.

“Sorry, boys, I'm here as a resident this time.”

They both grin and wink before barking at the others to get out of the vehicle.

I pause the world and try to prepare myself for what’s ahead. Zee and Alex stand behind me, ogling the frozen blacksuits.

“Would it be against the rules if I just—” Zee jerks a leg in their direction.

“Don’t be a dick. They should be on our side.” I smile and straighten the hulking mens’ ties. “It’s as much of a game to them as it is to us now.”

“So, if we aren’t here to kick some ass, what are we waiting for?” Zee asks. I look to the sky, at the clouds scudding by in the otherwise still world.

“Since I can choose my last experience on the surface as I am now…” I shrug. “I’m waiting for something.”

“What?” Alex watches me, then turns his eyes skyward as well.

I open my mouth to respond, but a sound from the truck distracts me. I narrow my eyes and flash to the back of the vehicle. Monty and Jimmy whisper behind the doors, but they freeze when my shadow falls on them.

They stare at me.

I stare at them.

We remain like this for at least a minute. They way they watch me, like cornered animals, tells me they’ll get on just fine in Furnace.

I can’t help laughing, but that doesn’t seem to help matters.

“Color me surprised, you two are supposed to be frozen!” I beckon them out with a smile and continue. “I guess this means you’re part of the team? That makes, um, two, five…” I pause, counting on my fingers. I grimace. “Eleven. No! If you count Lucy and Sam that’s thirteen!”

My frown deepens. That’s lot of people to coordinate. Not that it matters. If they’re letting me jabber like this, they might not even be sentient.

They hesitantly follow to join the other grinning boys.

“Right now, we’re playing everything by ear. We can’t make many plans until we get inside. I’ll explain everything on the way down, so all we have to do is pretend that none of this has happened.” A raindrop falls, and I grin. “Remember, keep your mouth shut and we’ll all get out of here. Time to move on!”

I turn to face my children and snap my fingers.

“Alright, maggots, line up,” a suit says, shoving us into a line.

The driver jumps out of the truck with a tablet. “Here’s the papers, just gotta sign ‘em out.”

The suits both scan their thumbs. Pride swells in my chest, unexpected. One of them catches my poorly suppressed smile and his expression softens. My friends give me weird looks, but I ignore them.

When the court guards pack back into the truck, the suits confer with each other. They lead us to the Black Fort in the rain with me at the front of the line.

“I’m proud of you all,” I say in a very quick, quiet tone. “Please tell the others. I don’t say it enough, and—”

“Shut it, Furnace.” The suit in front of me barks, glancing back at me. In that look, though, he hides a wink.

I leave the rain behind with a swell of gratitude.

[kyoune]

wisteria

i’ll cling to you.

fandom: midnight cinderella notes: suitors/reader, a collection of fluff drabbles for the suitors of midnight cinderella (minus one). mostly spoiler free (watch out for leo’s, at least)

alyn

the fairytales say that princesses are dainty little things. they dance, they wear dresses and chatter over afternoon tea, they find a prince charming, and live happily ever after. princesses do not handle blades - danger is not meant to reach them, for what is what knights are for.

damn what the fairytales say.

there’s no drop of royal blood in you anyways, and this is what comforts you when your fingers slide down the cold metal. it does not feel like danger, but it does feel like home.

“are you sure you want to do this?” alyn’s voice is paranoid, overprotective. you can’t blame him, because accidents do happen, and your smooth, clean skin is a temptation for calamity. yet at the same time, as princess elect of wysteria, you have but one duty, and a wound to your flesh is a mere paper cut compared to a kingdom without a ruler.

most of all, you remind him, luxurious silk gowns don’t go well with princess blood.

a sigh tumbles out, but so does “fair point”.  he reaches out and takes your hand in his, starting off with the basics. with his guidance, you mimic and practice the exercises, trying not to imagine the inevitable bloodshed and violence. his fingers trace the skin where it is most vulnerable, where it is most efficient to stick blades in, and now you know why pocket knives are such popular weapons, even for the common thief.

a stab to the heart, a simple knock to the head, just one little mishap and perhaps you’ll never see the light of day again.

“now, come at me. i’ll test you.”

alyn assumes the role of guard on watch, back turned. the veins in your hands pulse like a ticking clock, and as your arms lift up, you can just feel it, the adrenaline behind your force, the almost frightful thrill that shocks your body as you swing the blade forward -

.. and his fingers snatch your arm. alyn’s other hand steadies you, and he steals a kiss when you whirl around in confusion.

“not bad, not bad.” he laughs, “fierce is a good look on you.”

giles

of all the things you’d expect to see, giles sleeping, face smashed against the oak desk, was not one of them. sleep makes his face look gentle, less like a strict tutor and more like the kindhearted cat lover you know.

maybe it’s not that surprising. he wears many hats, some of which should not rest on his head. yet they fall on him anyway, for there is always something to do, something to achieve. for giles christophe, being busy is a way to prove that his life has worth, even if it meant he couldn’t be a knight, even if it meant he’d have to tire the hell out of himself every night.

without him, the palace could crumble. few men can carry the weight of a country on their shoulders. speaking of shoulders, you figure adding a blanket to those wouldn’t hurt; it is rather cold, and oh, those windows will need to be shut too. around his office do you go, your feet automatically moving, your hands cleaning up a bit here and there.

minutes pass until your hands latch on to some amethyst fabric, embossed in the wysterian crest. bunching it up around your fists, you deem it warm enough, and layer it upon his shoulders.

the moment it touches him, he springs to life.

“princess…?” your title cracks on his tongue, bruised by the grogginess of his voice. how tired he sounds could break your heart.

“please don’t worry about me.” you add, “and … take care of yourself more.”

giles says nothing, though the outer corners of his lips turn up gently as you tuck the layer in. a few more finishing adjustments, and you are satisfied with your work, heels turning to let him rest in peace.

before you can even take a step away, however, familiar hands intertwine with one of yours.

“i love you, princess.”

louis

the harp really does suit him. it’s the picture of elegance; the strings and the base are as slender as he, the notes resonate with an unmatched gentleness, and the way his fingers pluck at it is just so, so graceful.

“would you like to try?”

ah. you’ve been staring too long, it seems. the lovely chimes have long stopped, and the heat of iced eyes gnaws at you. expectant, the duke’s gaze lays down a heavy peer pressure, but you know he’s being nothing but kind - you’d never have the guts to ask or intrude otherwise.

he eases when you break out into smiles and nods, ice melting into water. a featherlight smile balances on his lips, which kiss your knuckles as he takes your hand in his.

lithe fingers cover yours, and while your mind spins into a spell, all you can think about is how this is exactly like your dance lessons: he’s close, you’re blushing, and god is your heart pounding. blond bangs sweep across your forehead for a second, and his warm, soft lips press a kiss to your nose.

“don’t lose concentration now.” his voice is soft, edging on teasing.

“ah, sorry!“

leo

he’s the rumpelstiltskin of words. smooth talker, charismatic aristocrat - he takes words and spins them into gold. whether it was written or spoken did not matter; he was a master of both. paperwork ran in his blood, his speeches just came to him, and on the tip of his tongue always lies a jest, a pick-up line. with them, he crafts a mask to hide behind, locking the secret of who he was behind insincere pleasantries and vague hints.

and you, your heart is too full of compassion, your tiny body can’t possibly hold it all. it’s why your emotions spill so easily on your face, your eyes and lips swinging from one expression to another. in a way, the two of you are opposites, leo with his cryptic, static smiles, and you with your whirlwind face.

maybe that’s why you don’t get him sometimes.

hovering over the palace balcony with his face pulled taut, the bureaucrat appears to be set in stone. red, red eyes burn downwards, as if daring to peek at the midnight blue above would hurt. for the fifth consecutive night, leo hasn’t seen a wink of sleep, and you are beginning to wonder if he’s fallen into the past again.

it worries you, and you want to say something, anything, but you know better than anyone that forcing words is treading on thin ice. the past is thick waves of flames and dead parents, the lost childhood that burnt down with the crawford estate. it is a past that you have no part of, because you are his future, the future of healing waters and happy memories, and he wants you nowhere near that fire, lest it start burning once more.

from the bedroom, you bore hores into his back with your own eyes, adamant. tomorrow he will be gone, off to sort his fiasco of a family, diving back into the matter he hates most. this time, however, you will not let him go alone.

“you know, i’d do anything to keep you safe.” it’s a phrase that sounds foreign on your tongue, so foreign that it quivers. but it does take his eyes away, distracts from whatever might be tormenting him.

“so let me come too.”

he breaks from his statuesque stance, pulls you close, and it’s a mess of limbs and stray bedsheets; his hair tickles your neck when he inclines for a cuddle, and there’s so much squirming that you fear the shuffling could reach giles’ ears. when you two finally settle, with you sitting upright and his head on your lap, the silence is replaced by laughter.

“thanks.”

robert

when robert had asked to paint you, you were excited. as crown princess, it really shouldn’t have been a big deal - portraits were nearly tradition to royalty, and never had they not been painted. but when you’ve spent the last decade of your life in the shoes of a commoner, however, such things were new; they were a privilege, a dream so far that it’d never be truer than a fairy tale.

but this was not how you thought it would be.

perhaps you’ve misconstrued his words somehow. hm… yes, yes that must have been it. rainbows of colours surround you, held captive in glass bottles. brushes of duck feathers and horse tail skim the floor lazily. the painter himself wields one now, dyed in some fusion of scarlet… and gently swipes the end over the curve of your lips.

it’s soft, and it tickles. clutching at the hem of your favourite dress, you bunch up the fabric in imitation of the courage you’re trying to muster, the courage to ask hey, aren’t paintings made on mediums such as canvases, and you know… not me?

before the words can even catch in your throat, robert slips his fingers under your chin, and tilts your face towards him. “what’s wrong, love?”

the affectionate term makes you flush.

“aren’t you supposed to be painting me and not on me?” it’s an innocent question, honest, but somehow it makes him raise a brow and chuckle.

“i’d have to paint your portrait sooner or later, princess. i just thought… something more personal would be nice.“ he smiles, and within that small quirk of his lip, you see mischievous intent.

so you play along.

“tell me what you mean by ‘personal’.”

another grin surfaces on his face, this one a tinge more wolffish. he leans in close, kisses the lip colour off your mouth, and prepares his brush in a new color, a pale peach.

“mmm…i’ll tell you when i’m done with you.”

sid

“they makin’ you study again, princess?” disdain stains the informant’s voice, his fingers clipping up the pages of the book with disgust, as if it were contaminated. “bullshit.”

he continues this game as he tours your study, long legs taking wide strides, sneering at every article. if you didn’t know him any better, he’d seem like he were impersonating the bureaucrats around you, with his nose pointed high, his steps taken with arrogance.  

you purse your lips, hide your smile. amused as you are, the matter of your duties takes priority, and the princess of wysteria has much more important things to do over entertaining her local bad boy.

at least, that is what you tell yourself, eyes endlessly fixated on him. damn him for being so alluring, so distracting in a way.

"I need to study.” it comes out colder than you want it to be, but hey, that’s not your problem. not like it’d affect him much, anyway; he gets this treatment from a fellow blonde duke all the time, does he not?

yet his face collapses in exasperation nonetheless, as if he were already tired of this “princess” thing. dark brows knit for a split second, and when they relax back, his voice takes on a sensual edge.

“really?” another book is tossed to the ground, “guess i’ll have to tutor ya myself.”

“and why, exactly, would you be a good tutor?”

“because i know shit.”

you can practically hear the grin in his voice. it’s his trademark smirk, the one you always want to slap off. or kiss off. either works.

“i really need to study, sid.”

and you whip back, intending to tackle your problem subject yet again, but what you don’t know is that sid has you too close to let you go.

the minute your skin flushes against the leather bound cover of the textbook, his hands have slammed down on either side of you, and the birch desk creaks in protest to the added weight.

“nah. you don’t.”

the man has you straddled in no more than three minutes. lips nipping at the tender side of your ear, he’s got a grin that taunts “just try to get rid of me”.

it would be worthless to resist. like a lion, sid arnault gets what he wants, and he will fight for it.

“fine. just this once, okay?”

your fingers press against the thick fur of his coat, slipping under the layer and peeling it off. the husky chuckle that chafes your ears is telling of his approval, and he glides his fingers down your thighs, tapping the bone of your knees before tracing to your hip.

“this,” he murmurs, “is the femur.”

“that’s… not what i need to learn.”

“yeah, i know. but see? i know shit.”

your laugh stifles into a gasp when he leans in and bites your lip.

nico

fevers are weird.

they’re cold, and then they’re hot. they’re somewhere in between that isn’t “warm” nor “comfortable”, and the only relief for the affected comes from the sweet unconsciousness that sleep brings. most of all, however, they are an unwelcome visitor.

much like nico himself, you suppose, though colds cannot react to chilled glares and whispers of “who let this child into the palace?”, to the unrelenting judgement of haughty nobles and veteran staff, the treatment that you know all too well.

it’s a miracle how all that cheer can fit into him, now that you think about it.

nico meier, he’s always sprightly smiles and spring flowers around you (or perhaps, for you). your personal butler and self-established cheerleader, there is not a day where he has failed to brighten you up, sneaking in extra food from the pantry, or making silly faces when giles dives into another one of his motherly lectures. it never mattered if blurred figures of nobility looked down upon him, it never mattered if it hurt to be an outsider, but what did matter to him was you.

you drench the towel in ice water, fold it into neat rectangles for his forehead. as the cloth wrings in your hands, your heart does too. he does so much for you, never complains, and yet… perhaps you’ve taken him for granted.

the flutter of weak fingertips halts you. nico’s eyes settle open, a hoarse “hey..” escaping as the butler attempts to wrangle on a grin. a few seconds pass, and he’s betrayed by his own body, shivering as he tosses around with a groan.

a finger to your lips, you shush him, ushering him back under the comforter.

“just for today, let me serve you.”

bryon

novels stack his desk, the tower of books neatly aligned in a pillar. normally, they wouldn’t matter to you; it’s usually yet another cocktail of history texts, spiced with a math book or two. if you were lucky, perhaps there’d be a pamphlet about stargazing or the native flora. today, everything in the queue alarms you: they’re all silly romance novels, a “guide to love”, and… wait, is he reading a book about pick up lines? the king of stein, a stoic with hawk eyes, byron wagner.. studying romance?

“bryon?”

you’re tempted to ask why, but the shock chains your voice away. he looks up, but only briefly, flashing his focus back down to a dog eared page.

“are you a library book? because i am checking you out.”

“…”

the intention is sweet. the execution? questionable. you haven’t heard of many men who could charm women with monotone lines. in fact, you haven’t heard of any, nor have you ever met any other man who would say such things with a gaze so sharp it could kill.

you suck in a breath, pretending as if you’ve just eaten a sour candy.

“did sid do th- no. don’t answer that. i already know.”

the king’s expression hardens at the response, forehead scrunching up in thought. it’s almost as if the cogs in his brain were visible, really; there they were, churning about what went wrong.

then, a minute later, he picks up the book and begins again.

“are you a -”

not even three syllables leave his parted lips before you press a hand against him, silencing his efforts. they were appreciated, they (honest-to-god!) really were, but it just doesn’t suit him, and you beg with desperate eyes that he gets the memo.

“is my performance… so intolerable?”

“well, it’s not very you.”

his dejection shows in the way his shoulders slump, his stature frigid as his brain goes back to the drawing board. you take it upon yourself to drape arms around him and kiss him on the cheek, but he’s unresponsive, unmoving. a mile-yard stare extending down his study, and his voice strains.

“what do I do with all these books now?”

albert

daisies splatter the meadow in patches here and there, splashes of white and yellow invading the greenery. though small by stein standards, it feels rather endless - though that may be due to the absurd amount of rabbits dotting the field.

you’d been told that it was the closest thing the country had to a petting zoo. correction: a petting zoo that specializes in only rabbits, but still, one nonetheless.

the brown fluff underneath your fingers feels like luxury. soft, light, and smooth, you wonder what kind of haircare products could achieve this sort of texture and sheen. surely, it would involve part intensive care and part good genetics-

“er… excuse me, princess of wysteria, but i am not one of the rabbits.” albert stammers, in that all too familiar, all too judging ‘what are you doing?’ tone of his. he’s part flustered and part annoyed, such a typical albert mood, and it makes you want to tease him more.

and so, hands still tangled in that neat, neat fluff of hair he has, you smile and nod, “yes, albert. i’m very aware of that.”

the sing-song tone makes his face contort into displeasure, and his lips sputter to voice a complaint. silly albert, always so stiff, even when you’re obviously playing games with him.

you sigh and offer him a practiced pout, fingers escaping onto benjamin’s fur. rubbing behind the rabbit’s ears, you coo, eye faking sorrow, “you appreciate my touch, don’t you?”

the bunny stares with wide eyes, innocent and unknowing. burying his nose into your palm, he sniffs, once, twice, and twitches before settling snugly under your attentive fingers, satisfied.

its approval elicits another string of babyish babble from you, and out of the corner of your eyes, albert huffs, giving in to jealously. ha! beaten by a mere bunny rabbit, hm?

scooting closer to you, his knees knock against yours, and the sensation of cold fingers running up your scalp forces a squeal out of you. the knight flushes to his ears, mumbles something incoherent in his bumbling.

“my hair is soft as well, princess.”

you don’t know what shocks you more: the fact that albert’s statement sounds like a complaint, or the fact that he’s acting a bit…. childish.

“really?” your response is mockingly dramatic, spoken to provoke. “I wouldn’t know.”

the shade of red he turns nearly makes you think he invented a new colour.

author’s notes: AHAHAHA (!!) i finally got all of it down…. if anyone’s curious why rayvis isn’t here it’s because i know too little of him to write him, and i fear writing the suitors ooc already… i’ve only done louis/alyn/leo’s routes so i have no idea what’s up with the rest and had to spoil myself

the title is just the alternative spelling to wysteria, which is both the name of the country and that really nice lavender plant. in the victorian language of flowers, its meaning derives from its tendency to cling to walls and grow, thus the flavor text.

pretend this is a celebratory piece for albert’s route coming out since i know i won’t be able to finish a piece for him before then

[josealtuveandarishapirolove-blog]

José Altuve & Ari Shapiro ❤ U

and

too

and as I type this and take stock

I’m also calculating how much holiday trouble I can make (having given up being inoffensive or anodyne), alternating between a fact-based article about fact-based journalism and a blog about Lauren Conrad’s body positive stretchy jeans, and subconsciously beta-testing performance indicators for an insta post

uhh yeah

my love is compromised

but that’s who I am: not 100% whole

my New Year’s resolutions were 1) getting a doll bed for my phone so I could tuck her in each night, 2) elevating my toilet reading, and 3) kissing friends on the lips

I didn’t do any of that

I prayed and read about feminism and gender identity

my sixth graders did some writing. One girl wrote about her plan to cartwheel over a couch. Another girl wrote about painting the night sky on a backdrop for an extracurricular she called Trauma Club

a boy described painting grenade lines on avocados

a few weeks later I had a dream where I saw the boy on a street corner. “Do you want to war with me?” he asked. “I’ve got a Longstrike Sniper Rifle and a Mega CycloneShock Blaster”

“no,” I said. “I do not want to war with you”

“awww,” he said, “but look at the crows overhead. They’re cawing with sorrow”

sorrow’s solution isn’t war, and there isn’t going to be goodness without it

I fkn agree about those crows overhead

“Jan,” “Feb,” and “March” JANUARY

FEBRUARY

MARCH

I cleaned the living room and went to bed

are you there, durable story structure? Are you there, meaningful artifice? It’s me, Derek

what’s this deception

(from my people: the dishonest editing of the Melania-staring-at-her-feet-during-the-inauguration-ceremony clip; the supposed #dapl photographs of tipis burning; the fake “drafts” of LGBTQ-related executive orders; 3 rows of cheerleaders vs. “personal cheerleading squad” at CIA)

me with fake hair

finishing a bottle of wine but unable to finish a glass

closing my eyes and pairing Harajuku Barbie with Jamaican Drake, and Roman Zolanski with Houston Drake

ignorant of the 10 Taylors

repeating, I will not live in the past, I will not

revert to nostalgia like Diana Ross’ ‘96 Super Bowl performance, the helicopter swooping her up because she's not sticking around

kay reverting for one sec

the gold dress @ 8:32!!!

kay b2b 

layered comforters

to a place so quiet my thoughts shake drops of water from the branches outside the widow

to a place so dark I wear a harness that’s festooned with flowers and bows, woven like a doily, and no one says anything

the fan hummed on 1

NPR played but I didn’t hear

Kelly McEvers, Audie Cornish, or Robert Siegel

only Ari Shapiro with his huffy-bike-with-pink-flares-on-a-gravel-driveway voice penetrated the astronaut foam around my head

he considered all things

debating space and funding for intentional provocation on college campuses, re-drawing the lines between what government law requires and what personal ethics suggest, and delineating parameters human civilizations desire and individual moralities expect

eyes closed

I imagined I was Ari’s secretary, answering phones and saying “Ari is investigating how referring to Taiwan’s Tsai Ing-wen as the ‘President of Taiwan’ could destabilize thirty-seven years of work, but sure, he’ll speak to you in his sexay graveled lilt”

despite my superficially strong chin, dishpan eyes, depression naps, and inability to engage my older brother on anything meaningful, I could

answer phones

maybe

I wasn’t gonna be like Obama and drop a 56-page article in the Harvard Law Review on the topic of criminal justice reform and the president’s role in reducing mass incarceration today

or toomar

but with Ari on the radio

and Channing modeling rising strong

I could get

despite chronic uncertainty caused by an inflammatory opportunistic provocateur with ideological inconsistencies / blank slate relying on establishment voices to “drain the swamp”

Cirque du Soleil aluminum cubes spinning in my airspace

and knowing for sure that shapeshifting parenting is abusive parenting

“unlearning abuse also means unlearning the abusive behaviors that you inherited as survival tactics” (Chachi Yaniré)

I did it

nah we did it

we got outta bed

with a work mindset

and looked outside

asking, how do we conduct opposition research on family members?

and other questions we never thought to ask

so vehemently and often

how long until climate change drives beachfront property owners to poor mountain communities?

how does the whole butter movement compare to the camel’s milk revolution?

how do we transform the story of a street protest into a cultural norm?

should I trust the professional computer security expert / “shoe cobbler” down the street?

should every student have a laptop?

which of the “gay” traits can be said to be primarily innate, and which are socialized?

do you love my long fingers, my petite nose, regardless?

steak house or gay bar?

pocket constitution?

how come it’s legal to pay someone to have sex on camera but not legal to pay them irl?

what’s sacred about the connection between body and mind?

when it comes to H-1B visas, shouldn’t we consider global needs 50-100 years from now over the contributions STEM workers can make to the national economy this market period? 

what’s our dream collective skill-set?

what’s the first line of resistance?

18-year-old George Harris placing flowers in the rifle barrels of National Guardsman in a 1967 march on the Pentagon (Bernie Boston photo)

licensed practical nurse Ieshia Evans facing Baton Rouge law enforcement for protesting the shooting of Alton Sterling (Jonathan Bachman photo)

looking listening learning

harder when “a point made by a subculture at home on Facebook might look funny to another on Twitter, which can read as evidence of a conspiracy to yet another on YouTube, which might be seen as offensive on Tumblr, which could be a joke on Reddit”

one slip of the mouth opens floodgates of history (institutional identities / historical selves matter more than shared experiences, even in friendships. Also, I am racist in ways I will never know)

growing up gay is “bad for you in many of the same ways growing up in extreme poverty” is bad for you (effects are more than simply learning to manage one’s manners and mannerisms)

some rural LGBTQ people foster community where they live (rather than contribute to queer flight)

the disadvantages of race, class, and gender are multiplicative (not additive)

neo-liberals speak in tones of uncompromising/absolutist moral righteousness while neo-conservatives advocate for relativism (like, “woke” is the same in-or-out language of ye olde evangelicals and rural militias, and more evangelicals than ever say officials who behave immorally in private can still fulfill civic duties)

wtf but

life is brief but spectacular

the elders know

elders who talk comfortably and knowingly about death and any/everything

like Margaret Atwood, author of The Handmaid’s Tale. She doesn't anger easily but stays surprised and puzzled, and loves Legally Blonde and Miss Congeniality

Pulitzer/Nobel Prize winner Toni Morrison: “They have this thing, maybe you can explain it to me, where you have a little bathing suit on but you cannot expose a nipple… I don’t understand what they’re talking about. It’s the first thing you put in your mouth when you’re born”

Patricia Michelson builds the perfect cheeseboard (mild to strong: goat cheese for a fresh start; then earthy, mushroomy, rustic; hard greiere, nutty and fruity; pungent and metallic blue for the grand finale)

we can listen & learn!!!

about the world and ourselves

like, feeling loved, cared for, and welcomed in my community no matter my skill set is a HUGE way I experience privilege

and I want more people to have that with me

like, I tell people I value unspoken civil norms but evidence says I suck at some of the explicit spiritual ones, like forgiveness

“pettiness has to do with being out of scale…You are being petty when a small or seemingly irrelevant detail generates disproportionate irritation”

nobody’s/everybody’s family is going to change

charizomai forgiveness interventions

I must practice

when we say happiness is an “inside job,” we lie. We pay for experiences that include people to talk to, like personal training

true culture change strategists and reconciliation-aries do more than discuss the effect of Pepe memes on national polarization. #selfcare is collective care, and We the People protect each other

kneeling on turf and walking one inch higher above cracks in the sidewalks, the visible congregation of shared values empowers us

think of the successes

judges striking down Muslim Bans 1.0/2.0

scientists backing up NASA's earth science data

journalists working out like Ruth Bader Ginsburg: leg presses, chest flies, lat pull-downs, one-legged squats, push-ups, and planks

if not, watching PBS’ NewsHour like she does

picking one thing to be a leader on, one thing to be a follower on, and one thing to make a habit out of

draining the swamp… of Hollywood. In the same way we’re thinking about where our food comes from, we’re thinking about where our art comes from and who produced it, and changing casting couch culture (same for halls of power and legislation sources)

tracking each phase of the backlash wave

like

when R. Kelly shows you who he is in 1994, believe him 

in many ways we made a better country

women illustrators designed emoji alternatives to the red stiletto

student activists at the University of Washington protested until Nike let a watchdog group inspect factories overseas

the 1/4 immigrant Seattle Symphony gave a free concert featuring music from the seven Muslim-majority nations

which is to say 

when you roll into the carnival

anything can happen

Harvard gave their “Humanitarian of the Year” award to Robyn Rihanna Fenty, who ran her fingers up and down her ponytail (40:45) and talked about her grandma giving advice on sharing a dollar (45:43)

Lebron called the president a bum

Grenoble, France replaced over 300 outdoor advertisements with trees and community notices... Scotland produced wind power exceeding the country’s electricity needs... the Australian same-sex marriage bill got signed into law... Saudi Arabian women gained the right to drive cars on streets and watch soccer in stadiums

new research shows child slavery has declined by 40% in the last sixteen years, and parents are spending twice as much time with their kids as they did 50 years ago

Andrew Puzder (former executive of Hardee's and Carl's Jr. with a $1 million+ base salary who wanted to keep minimum wage under $9) withdrew his nomination for Secretary of Labor

Astros second baseman José Altuve

shimmied

who woulda predicted such goodness???

we promised to stay sharp and bloom despite the conditions

Marcos Ramírez and Margarita Garcia Asperas put up a mirror and built a banquet table into the border wall, holding a communal dinner at the table to create the illusion of people eating a cross-border meal

Michael and I said yes to love even when it was difficult, even when we were cranky. We went to the Days Inn in Bellingham to hang out and set relationship goals. I love and count on him so much

I looked at Angelica Kauffmann’s “Cornelia Pointing To Her Children As Her Treasure” from 1785. The lady gestures I SEE YOUR JEWELS AND RAISE YOU MY CHILDREN, putting people over pearls

now we

help neighbor kids find their way

change the electoral map with our long-game/con

use the YOU ARE NOT ALONE shower curtain as a parachute

make “second-tier superpower” U.S. better than first-tier superpower U.S. by adding “reputation for extravagant generosity” to our military might and GDP

work to protect those we love with our voices, our currency, our social capital, our sacred swords, our courageous kisses infected with friendly bacteria

follow international ethics standards at dinner

loop the A Wrinkle in Time trailer

stop by my apartment in the next few weeks

there used to be a crack in the wall you could slide a piece of paper through, but our property manager filled it with putty

Oprah wants warriors

and if you're serious about joining my Golden Girls community in 2050, you should get used to coming over

I am a hermit unafraid to end on a weird note so let me add

my brother and I helped my parents move across the state. My dad drove the UHaul and my brother and I drove different pickup trucks. My dad has beliefs about how trucks should be driven, so we didn’t go over 55 mph

in some ways, driving on the road next to my brother while not being in the same car as him provided necessary bonding

and add that to the fact that

The Honorable Representative Maxine Waters has great ❤ 4 U

José Altuve & Ari Shapiro have great ❤ 4 U

& I have great ❤ 4 U

we’ve got lots of ❤ and goodness going around

if all goes according to plan, the first time you eat Bisquick sausage balls this holiday season will be the fourth or fifth time they’ve been served

come kiss me on the lips!

D

this newsletter endorses: 

Michael’s quarterly Spotify playlists

The New York Times’ Still Processing podcast

Margo Price and Loretta Lynn and Tammy Wynette

Fergie on journaling in the midst of holy war

the homosexual on Star Trek: Discovery

Fifth Harmony’s purposeful pop

venison sausages

drag queens

hair nah

Superstore

SWOT analyses

Medicated Blistex in lil’ tubs

Sufjan Stevens’ “Tonya Harding (in D major)”

strolling Hallelujah Lane to visit the Apostles (twelve live oak trees)

oregano oil: an anti-inflammatory, anti-allergenic, antimicrobial, antibacterial, antiviral, and antifungal miracle… that fights infections, regulates menses, and calms hypersensitivities... AT ONCE

staying on fire

credits: much-needed endless hug GIF by Tuna Bora ■ person in bed with wine and laptop post “pizza-party” illustration by Kathryn Rust ■ anger channeler GIF (”How can we channel our outrage and grief?”) by Wilhelmina Peragine ■ “Rise Up!” GIF by Mighty Oak ■ the first three of which I found in my fave newsletter of the year, the Ann Friedman newsletter ■ Same for the one below, Barbed Holidays by A.L. Crego ■ Still Processing podcast rec from Heidi Lally ■ parachute shower curtain and aviator wings reality by Betty Wetter / Scotty Boom Boom Cayton ■ Profile pic by Jonathan Ursin ■ Brené Brown’s Rising Strong from Gian Bruno ■ Oregano oil from Brandon Dombrowsky

[mateoshea-blog]

Pink Clouds & Pocket Lint

Part I

            “Grabmeuhcouplecokes… cotton mouth y’kno?” as Fast Eddie chokes out the last toke of the roach. Quickly, Fast Eddie stashes the funky skunky stuff into an old oxidized ALTOIDS can – MADE IN GREAT BRITIAN, NT WT 1.76 OZ (50g). Fast Eddie had this logic that if he collected all his roaches, he could pawn off the “1.76 OZ of homegrown” to some free-lancing left-brained Polo wearing yuppie college kid for 50 bones. If anyone could pull a stunt like that, it was Fast Eddie.

“Yafuckinkiddinme! ‘Spose I’ll hoof it across the street to PAULIE’S CORNER STORE since Pizza Face and Pretty Boy both got Cerebral Palsy all-a-sudden” – Yeah, that’s the villain I been scheming with since I got clipped from the umbilical cord. Fast Eddie, guy was a maniac with a potato head. But, his barber scalped a fade around his temples to precision. Jesus, I mean his barber was his actual wingman. He’d tell us to go to the gay barber. We’d be sitting in at SPEEDY’S CUTS while Fast Eddie was choppin’ the locks and we’d overhear,

“Fast Eddie what work will my soft hands be doing today?”

And Fast Eddie would dish it right back, “If you wanna play with more than these locks later, what would you want my sex hair to look like in the morning?”

Just like that, Fast Eddie had undercooked and greasy golden French fries atop his potato head. Slicked back and thin cut, ready to serve. Ready to be swallowed into a cheap customer’s mouth.             That’s why the drunks, gays, straights, in betweeners, freaks, creeps, geeks and neighbors all liked the fucking guy. Blue collar, told it how it was, and even offered a third hand when his other two were tied up someone else’s ass!

            I could see Fast Eddie still jerking around across the street. Shootin’ the shit with the local folk. More than just a “It’s so warm in here!” small talk guy. Nobody remembers the shmuck with a dull personality. Fast Eddie could make a blind guy fantasize about the cashier at PAULIE’S just by the way he worked his tongue into imagery. He had it.  Coupleuhcokes turns into Fast Eddie holding the door open for any pretty broad that gives him the slightest amount of eye contact (the polarizing effect of a good haircut). Perfect case study for Freud.

 The musty haze of the hotboxed jalopy paranoid the living daylights outta me! We could get high in any partatown and Fast Eddie always coerced us to smoking in his car. Never got to enjoy my high, could never even tell if I was even high at all. The mirrors read “OBJECTS IN THE MIRROR ARE CLOSER THAN THEY APPEAR” – that’s for damn sure. Mirrors were always staring at me with a never-ending time-warped nightmare. I’d get stuck in the mud with the Piggy’s that busted me with the joint that was burning away my dreams of CALIFORNIA COAST. I could only roll in this mud pit for so long until the objects in the mirror become reality.

            Julian senses that one of my classic paranoia episodes is imminent. An observant learner, personal therapist, and mediator. Some of his unpaid roles. He uses the crank on both doors to roll down the clouded condensated windows.

“Carlton man, you love riding on the shoulder” chuckled Julian as he lounged in the plush back seat of the Caravelle.

“This is why I hate smokin’ grass, now you’re speaking straight from the hole that I call your CHAFFED LOOSE ASS!”

“Naw man… see listen, you ride the shoulder too much. That motherfucker ahead is always driving 5 miles per hour under the speed limit. You let him. And he owns you. He holds you back. He controls the rate at which you reach your destination. Shiiiit, if you ever reach it. You can’t pass him, you stay leaning on that white cozy shoulder called COMFORTABILITY. When you gonna pass the mothefucker ahead of you that’s been controlling you? When you gonna take EXIT 52 towards IMFUCKINFREEVILLE?” 

I can’t even flip this one on Julian, “Yeah well I can’t ride yours and Fast Eddie’s coattails for too long now. IMFUCKINFREEVILLE has a population of some twenty million people. Once the weather vane in my oversaturated brain oozes out some hope and blows WESTWARD, I will pass that motherfucker ahead of me. No turning signal either. Imma trade in the cozy white shoulder for some dotted yellow cheese.”

“Carlton… that motherfucker dragging ass is YOU. Pass him with a prayer, leave him in the rearview.”

Julian, the backseat monk. Met him after I graduated high school. P.F. Flyer’s always crispy white, not ever one crease, not ever one scuff. Always thought he would become some materialistic rich prick. Prejudgment without contempt. Stupid me. Materialism attached to the developing brains of us high schoolers. Some shake it and others go to Universities to chase degrees that breed greed. Julian didn’t let the manmade cancer infiltrate him. He ended up rolling with us Proletariat outlaws. Somewhere, Karl Marx is grinning at me for my recruitment.

We had 30 minutes, precisely, to make it to the liquor store. Saturday’s were always the night for our bender.

Fast Eddie had this shit-eatin’ grin on his face when jogged back over the ’85 Caravelle, “Christ Almighty! Fast Eddie were you rubbing one out in PAULIE’S bathroom or sumthin’? We’re alloutta Jameson and you know we are 20 miles from the liquor store and it’s already 8:30!”

Liquor stores were no joking matter, we only found one that never had us show I.D. Plus, Fast Eddie grew a liking to the geyser that worked there. A sad babbling sack of space that got comfortable and stuck with one job his whole life. Bubbling and babbling, day in and day out. Shook so many times that he eventually became flat too.

“Pizza Face and Pretty Boy… always so self-interested. Gonna catch up to you shits soon enough.” Fast Eddie inserted the crusted key into the ignition of the Caravelle – DOOOP, DOOOP, DOOOP. God knows how many germs were on that steering wheel. Thick coats of compiled grease, excess secretions, and the fluids from various estranged females that Fast Eddie coxed in to his traveling fuck-pen. Law of superposition says oldest layers were on the bottom. I’d rather not know these things, but the smell invades my nostrils like the troops on D-DAY. Can’t even condition or desensitize myself to this aroma. Unrelenting attacks by the smell of Fast Eddie’s ball sweat and lingering remnants of a poor mans weed. I want to take a shower. 

“Saturday Night. Dropping the needle down on a dusty B-Side for all you crazed, erotic, and hormonal souls cruising around looking for trouble. How about that L.A. WOMAN track… 1971. The Doors.” Slick Tom, our favorite disc jockey the night of a bender. Always reliable to set the tone.

Fast Eddie pounced on the pedal as Jim Morrison screeched sonic sex through the speakers, “Oh shit yeah fellas, we’re on the move. ‘MR. MOJO RISIN!’”

We punched it onto RT. 5. The faster route according to Fast Eddie, but it was actually the scenic route for him. He loved cruising past the prestigious Victorian style homes and dissecting what kind of conversations happen between the walls of those monasteries.

Fed up with the scenery after 3 miles, Fast Eddie barks “I bet these rich prick Dad’s just read the STOCK MARKET page in section B5 of the WALL STREET JOURNAL and ask their rich prick wives and rich prick kids where they wanna go on vacation next once the rich prick Dad’s inside trade deal hits on Monday morning.” 

“Put the boner back in your pants, you’ll get your dividends too once you start pushing your roach filled ALTOIDS cans to the future homeowners of these fucking houses!”

Fast Eddie snapped right back at me, “I swear I’ll ash my next roach on that smirk of yours, Pizza Face. Maybe that’ll make you look more appetizing.”

Julian leaned in from the backseat, “AN ENDLESS PISSING MATCH, don’t your sacks ever go dry? Your testicles are attached right to your egos. Big swollen ball sacks swinging back and forth back and forth. Blowing your load all over one another day in and day out! It’s exhausting, your egos need a vasectomy!”

Just like that, right when Fast Eddie and I erupted, Julian cooled us down at the surface like molten rock. Crystallizing and metamorphosing into conglomerate. Needed him to flush our egos out. Needed to stop treating him like my urinal cake.

Fast Eddie swerved and weaved around the slow-moving masses of society that had no agenda for the night. Maybe they did. Maybe this is my self-interested motivations speaking again. I hated how maliciously Fast Eddie rounded the corners. Guard rails could’ve skinned my fingertips if I cracked the window open. This was Fast Eddie’s route. Knew every stop sign, timed every red light, and new all the lucrative hideouts where the Piggy’s patrolled.

            It was 8:47, the odometer of the Caravelle twitched another mile on the dash. Only two miles remained between the three Proletariat outlaws and our enabler.

            My second paranoia episode ensues, “Holy Shit Fast Eddie, you’re doing 55 in a school zone!”

            “Who says I wanna choke down Jameson tonight? I’ll turn into De Niro from TAXI DRIVER if you don’t shut the hell up”

            Just like that GUMBALLS GUMBALLS GUMBALLS flash in the mirrors. Objects in the mirror are becoming closer than they appear. Nightmare come true. I’m fucking doomed. We are fucking doomed. My self-interest putting me first.

            “GODFUCKINGDAMMIT EDDIE! Mile away, no traffic, all interstate and now I’m gonna get jammed up with the Pigs!”

            Fast Eddie retaliates, “Me, me, me! You squeal just like a fucking pig!” He takes the pressure from my brain and applies it to the pedal, POUNCE.

            Julian has been around Fast Eddie enough to know that he will go to extremes to prove a point, “Fast Eddie c’mon man be cool, WE all ain’t trying to get canned. WE got living to do.”

            Fast Eddie has that same shit-eatin’ grin that I seen earlier, “Fine I’ll pull this piece over. But, you don’t speak Pig Latin, got it?”

            “What the hell do you mean!”

That’s all I was left to work with during my waning moments of freedom. The cop high tailed it over to the Caravelle. Tiny hairs, all a half inch long stick straight up and down on the officer’s fat head. Level one blade to navigate his temples, had to be Fast Eddie’s barber. I’m sweating bullets. The plate tectonics of my face begin to emerge. Premature pimples surface and I feel the magma boiling under the crust of my skin.

            Fast Eddie rolls down the window, “HANDS ON THE WHEEL OR BRAINS ON THE WHEEL NOW”

            My stomach launches acid into the back of my throat. Fast Eddie complies. Answers to an authority figure. No finger-fucking around.

            “NOT ONLY ARE YOU THREE LITTLE SHITS A LIABILITY ON THIS ROAD, DO I HAVE REASON TO BELIEVE YOU WERE SMOKING MARIJUANA?”

            Julian hasn’t flinched and Fast Eddie’s mute. Fast Eddie’s still got that shit-eatin’ grin on his face.

“AM I SPEAKING FUCKIN GREEK? IS THERE MARIJUANA IN THIS VEHICLE, THIS IS THE LAST TIME I WILL ASK BEFORE I SHAKE YOU DOWN TO YOUR PALE PEACH FUZZED ASSES!”

            In my peripheral I see the ALTOIDS can staring at me. Rusted smile, MADE IN GREAT BRITIAN. 1.75 OZ – damn near weightless. But, enough weight to land me in the sin bin.

Enough to land us in the sin bin.

            The Cop begins laughing, I mean really fucking laughing. The wild Pig chased his pray down and now he is foaming at the mouth. Ha-HA-HA-hahaha’ing until there is no oxygen remaining in his bloated stomach. Almost as if the funky stuff has protruded from the ALTOIDS can and immediately hit his bloodstream.

“ALRIGHT FAST EDDIE, THESE ARE THE PROLETARIAT OUTLAWS EH? OUR MOUSE TRAP COULDN’T CAPTURE A RAT!” 

Fast Eddie’s dimples break out from his skin for the first time in a decade, “Thanks OFFICER LAFFERTY! Next hoagie from PAULIE’S CORNERSTORE is on me!”

“I’ll take the ALTOIDS can instead… when it’s full.” He replies. Walks away, swinging his Billy-club.

Fast Eddie peeps his dilated eyes into the corner of  the mirror, glancing at Julian. “Pretty Boy whatsamatta! You didn’t croak! You didn’t squeal! Conglomerate don’t crack!”

Julian boasted,“Yeah, RATS don’t survive by scurrying on the shoulder. Too scared to chase the dotted yellow cheese if ya know what I mean. I gotta eat, I mean… WE gotta eat.”

“Amen.”

And, just like that comfortability didn’t appeal to me anymore. Lit the roach, took a toke, exhaled. Puff puff pass to Julian puff puff pass to Fast Eddie, and back to me. Repeat. Fast Eddie inserted the rusted key into the ignition – BOOOP BOOOP BOOOP. Slick Tom was steady playing them classic B-Sides. Liquor store was closed. Detour: EXIT 52 towards IMFUCKINFREEVILLE. 

[blapis-blazuli]

Just curious- what are some of your favorite things about Tamatoa?

Hoo boy, I’ve been thinking about this for a while, so this will be long and somewhat spoilers-y, so I hope you’re prepared for an info-dump. Also, apologies if I get sidetracked a bit. There’s a lot.

I think what initially drew me to Tamatoa was how out-of-place he seemed with the rest of the movie at first. Everyone else is either a human (or at least humanoid) or a non-speaking creature, and then here’s this giant talking crab monster with a song that doesn’t fit in with the rest of the soundtrack (that’s not to say that it’s a bad song though; I love it in every language I’ve heard it in so far), and with a voice that (at least I thought) had a more obvious accent than everyone else’s. It wasn’t enough to distract me from the rest of the movie, which is a good thing, but by the time the credits came up (along with his post-credits bit) I had to know what was up with him. (Aside from the whole “my fave is a crab” deal; I’ve had a love for decapods ever since Pokemon Ruby/Sapphire/Emerald gave us Corphish, and I’d already picked out coconut crabs as a favorite because of Crabrawler, so that part at least made sense to me.) I ended up looking up his song on YouTube and listened to it again, only since this was an almost three-and-a-half-minute thing I could re-watch as much as I wanted which meant I could pay more attention to this part specifically and hopefully figure out exactly what it was about him in particular that fascinated me so much.

One of those things was that, looking at some of what he does during his song, he must’ve been a challenge to animate properly, namely with the coloration of his claws. It took me a long time to figure out that his claws seemingly turning into different colors wasn’t because of some kind of inconsistency, but rather because the lighting in relation to where he was in the area and which position he was in regarding the light source was effecting their coloration. (It is a cool touch, but for me it makes it hard to figure out what color they should be when it comes to making fanart of him with his claws.) There are other small details I noticed about his appearance, like how he has scratches at the “ends” of his claws, but I think the more subtle details I picked up on were the ones for his eyes. Like, one pupil is bigger than the other (makes sense given who he was based on/inspired by), his eye stalks can move independently from each other in a non-synchronized way, and how his eyelids have a small, raised edge on them. Another, more obvious fun thing would probably have to be some of the screenshots of him (especially regarding his facial expressions, a lot of which feature those distinct teeth of his), they’re just…

(See what I mean about the claw colors?)

They’re just so fun to look at! His Disney wiki page says that the animators had fun working on him, and I feel like those expressions show it. I think whoever’s decision it was to not give him a face that’s more accurate to what an actual coconut crab’s looks like in favor of one somewhat more identical to Sebastian’s made a good call.

Another thing I’ve found is that, story and character-wise, I don’t think he’s entirely as insignificant as some people say he is. Not only because he serves as something of an obstacle that Moana and Maui need to overcome in order to move the plot forward, but because we do find out a little more about this movie’s take on Maui through him. We find out Maui is an inspiration to not only humans but other sentient non-human creatures as well, and more importantly we find out about Maui’s more secret past, which not only does Tamatoa know, but he uses in order to make Maui feel weak and exposed, possibly in an attempt to get back at him for tearing one of his legs off all those years ago. Given that he knows about this, it’s entirely possible that he knows Maui more personally than anybody else in the film does, which leaves one to wonder what their past history with each other was like before the leg thing happened. Something else he seems to be good at is knowing how to try and get under other people’s skin with what little knowledge he’s given from others since it seemed like he might’ve been trying to get to Moana by bringing up her grandmother and (correctly) guessing what she told her, and then immediately following it up with telling her that her grandmother was wrong. Either that, or he knows what Moana’s grandmother said because that’s what his own grandmother told him, but he doesn’t care much for what the elders had to say given how callously he brought up how he ate his own grandma. Speaking of character comparisons, in a way, Tamatoa can also be seen as a foil to Maui: they’re both strong, vain when it comes to their physical appearances (Maui with his tattoos and Tamatoa with the acquired treasures on his shell), but Maui does what he does in order to make others happy and feel good about what he’s done for them, while Tamatoa seems to do what he does to make others fear him and feel good about his status of power over them. I think Tamatoa also kinda serves to show that if you do things out of pure vanity and don’t show any genuine care for others, things will ultimately not go your way since, out of all the characters in the movie, he’s the only one who gets a truly unhappy ending. If this movie didn’t already have a more dangerous antagonist in it, I think he has the potential make-up of an interesting main villain, but I won’t complain about what we ended up with; he’s just threatening and entertaining enough for my tastes.

With all that being said, the one major thing I thought of right away was that there was something about his voice that I really liked. I’ve had a soft spot for certain voices for a long time now, but I’m usually bad on picking up on “new” voices where I don’t know who voices them, if that makes sense. Since the official video lists his voice actor, Jemaine Clement, before the name of the song and the movie, I looked him up and both read and watched a few things about him, those mostly being interviews he did regarding Moana, where I found out a few more things:

Clement’s accent isn’t just something he made up for the movie like I first thought it was (in my defense, I don’t know many people from New Zealand), and I found it really adorable the first time I heard it?

Clement is bi-racial, with his maternal half being Maori, which is probably part of how he got picked for this role (the most notable parts of voice cast are of Polynesian descent, minus Alan Tudyk, the voice of Heihei, the rooster who doesn’t actually have lines). Apparently this isn’t common knowledge though, given how many people were and still are confused by why he was in it?

Clement was told to do his David Bowie impression for this part since that was a thing he did in his two-man band Flight of the Conchords (which took me until just recently to realize that’s a pun), even though that wasn’t what he was expecting to do when he first got the part.

This isn’t the first time I’ve heard Clement sing, since a couple different internet reviewers I’ve seen have used a couple clips from the Flight of the Conchords series in their reviews before, and because of one YouTube commercial that was played in front of videos for a while. This isn’t even the first animated movie character I’ve heard him voice, said character being Nigel from Rio. (And no, I don’t count Jerry the Minion from the first Despicable Me movie; nobody should.)

Clement was very surprised when he found out how many people love and relate to Tamatoa. He seems fine with it though, which is nice.

IthinkImightkindasortahaveaslightcrushonhimnowI’msoverysorry

That led to me wanting to find out more of whatever was going on behind the scenes with Tamatoa, and I found more than I was expecting for a character with overall very little screentime. The things I found?

Early on in the development process he was intended to be a headless giant, which would be both closer to a traditional creature from Polynesian mythology and fit his name more since Tamatoa means “warrior”. I’m not sure when they decided to change him to a crab, but I guess I can maybe understand why? Still, kinda interesting.

Upon hearing that Clement was chosen for the part, Lin-Manuel Miranda wrote “Shiny” with his David Bowie impression in mind, hence a huge part of how Tamatoa turned out to be what he’s like in the movie (which explains the different-sized pupil thing I mentioned earlier).

Clement was nervous about performing “Shiny”, which gave me an even better appreciation for Auli’i Cravalho (Moana’s voice actress), since if the guy who’s sung for years was nervous about the one song he was given, then I can only imagine how much pressure she must’ve been under with the songs she had to perform, especially since she’s a young newcomer.

Tamatoa is secretly insecure about himself, which was vaguely hinted at in the last line he has in the movie itself (with him lying defenseless on his back and pouting as he weakly asks “Did you like the song?”), but possibly could’ve been a little more apparent had some of his material not been cut out of the movie. Some of the lyrics from the demo version of “Shiny” that didn’t make the final cut were “it’s never enough/love yourself, get your armor up/they can’t see your heart is a vacancy,” which were supposed to be belittling Maui for wanting the humans’ approval so much, but given how similar he and Maui are and how differently the lyrics I bolded and italicized are delivered in comparison to the rest of the song’s demo, it sounds like they easily could’ve doubled as Tamatoa briefly lapsing into talking about himself again and/or having a moment of genuine pity for Maui. The former possibility would suggest that the reason he collects so much bright junk to put onto his shell (outside of it being an easy way to attract prey) would be to make himself seem more visually interesting to others, meaning he does care what others think of him. The latter would suggest that, while he clearly no longer looks up to Maui as he once did, he still has some basic sympathy for him.

Speaking of cut material, there was an interview where Clement talked about how he improvised a couple things going off the whole “I ate my grandma” line. One improvised part he talked about was how he made up a long apology for eating his grandma which somehow left him in tears, and another where Tamatoa admitted that he was only joking about eating his grandma and how he would never do that. I really hope to hear this and whatever else didn’t make it into the film one day, because I really want to know if it sounds anything like it does in my imagination. He also mentioned how he wished that Tamatoa had some more self-realization, and I kinda feel the same way, honestly.

People relate to him because they too want to be appealing but feel like on the inside “they’re actually just a crab”. I feel he’s relatable because he acts like he’s a tough guy who doesn’t really care about others, but he secretly does seek others’ approval of the things that he does.

In short, there’s a lot more that I like about him than I first thought, and thus I have a lot of favorite things about him. He’s just lots of fun for me to think about.

[silver-sphere]

Okay, so. Sense8 season 2.

Oh my god. What a ride. 

I just finished it in two days. Had to stop at 3am last night because I really couldn’t allow myself to lose more sleep, but otherwise I would’ve binged it for sure. Just finished the last ep and I’ll try to collect my thoughts.

~~SPOILERS~~

I love how this show goes out of its way to have a diverse cast. One of my only complaints about s1 was that although it did show gay men, lesbians and trans people, there were 0 bisexuals. I was kinda sad that even an amazing inclusive show like Sense8 fell victim to bi invisibility, but Zakia came along and fixed it (even though it was only with one sentence... still!). I also like that her being in a relationship with a man isn’t questioned at all. I didn’t think I’d like Capheus in a romantic relationship, but she does seem good for him.

But my favourite new character by far has to be detective Mun. He’s just perfect, so handsome (I felt my heart flutter every moment his face was on screen and seriously panicked when he got hurt) and I ship him and Sun so hard. I am absolutely sure they’re meant to be, even their names are symbolic as hell- sun and moon?! My Zutara heart is weak. And their chemistry is just amazing. Although I think a relationship between the two would be bad for their health, with all that fighting, haha! 

Speaking of Zutara... Kala and Wolfgang are still going strong. The bad boy with the heart of gold and the good girl who feels stuck- it’s such a classic trope but I just love it. They’re both so much more than their stereotypes and that makes it work so well. I love how they keep circling each other but their attraction is just too strong. They’re taking their sweet time, but that love confession really was something... I know they’re probably the most popular ship and although I wasn’t that big on them yet in s1, I’m really convinced now. I am SO going to write a crossover fic one day. 

I love how Kala got a much more active role this season. Same for Riley. But I still think there is a bit of a heavy focus on Will. It’s like, as progressive and inclusive the show is, it is still somehow obligatory to have a straight white man be the main character. I like Will’s character well enough, and I guess it’s a way to make more people identify with the show, but still. The scene with his dying father was very long and dramatic, and his grief was shown extra heavily too. Which is good television of course, but I feel like Sun’s grief over her father was addressed much briefer. Yes, she had her moment in the cemetery, and it was touching, but it was over rather quickly to give way for her major  albeit super sexy fight scene with Mun. I feel like Will’s grief dragged over a few episodes, while for example Wolfgang’s mother and Chapheus’ father only showed up for 1 flashback. We might get more on that later but it still bothered me. I did love how Will managed to turn the tables on Whispers. Of course his connection with Whispers and Sara Patrell is what drives the plot, but... this show has not 1 but 8 protagonists, and that is what makes it so great. The average American viewer might identify with Will the most, but this show isn’t only viewed by Americans! I was crazy excited to see Holland and even my home town on screen, to see my favourite actors walk where I walk every day! To hear Riley speak my language! That ties fans to a show. Brazil is home to the biggest fanbase- give them more Lito! Don’t portray him only like a drama queen! I really identify with Lito, his struggle with his identity and how overwhelming emotions can be, so I was really annoyed by how his emotions were ridiculed. (Although I liked the idea that he expresses the emotions that Sun cannot.) He doesn’t seem to be as well-rounded as a character compared to some others, but he has such a beautiful personality! I love how he says ‘family’ when he talks to Dani and Hernando. I really hope there won’t be relationship trouble looming for them in LA. They’re so precious, I really want them to be happy. I was kind of hoping he’d ask Hernando to marry him at the Pride, but I guess it’s still too early for him to be comfortable being so ‘out’. 

Those who are comfortable being ‘out’ are Nomi and Amanita. I love Amanita’s character, but somehow I’m not a very strong Nomanita shipper. I mean I like them and want them to be happy and teared up at the proposal, but I just don’t feel as strongly about them compared to Hernandito, Sun/Mun and Kalagang. Which is weird because as a wlw girl myself I thought I’d be more excited about a lesbian couple?? I thought they might break up when Nomi asked herself if she even believed in happy endings anymore, but I hope they don’t, even if just for the sake of defying the unhappy lesbian trope. I’m pretty sure they won’t- this show is way too positive to allow that trope to come true. Also I’m convinced Amanita is actually a goddess and thus immortal. 

That being said, I would’ve looooved more footage of the Pride in São Paulo. There were such amazing clips going around on tumblr back when they filmed it, and there was some great material of them all dancing and kissing and having fun. Would’ve loved to see that in the show. The chemistry between the actors is one of the major reasons I love Sense8 so much. 

I also really, really liked the idea of a global network of sensates. When I watch this show I just feel so connected to the world, and because I usually feel like an outsider that is really something special. I loved the scenes with other people’s clusters. It really is like the internet. Great parallels. Hope we’ll get to see more new clusters in s3!

Overall thoughts:

Capheus: Very relatable. Such strong morals and so much love and honesty. I’m very proud of my son. 

Riley: Strong mama bear, keeps the cluster together. I like the parallels with Angelica. I hope she’ll get to be the one to save everyone in the end- maybe birth her own cluster..?

Will: Also very proud of this son. He does his best. But... the good cop personality is a little predictable sometimes. 

Jonas: What... are you doing? I liked him so much in s1, the way he’d only talk in riddles but always seemed to care so much about his children, but now..? I might’ve preferred him staying dead even though I bawled like a baby during that scene to him turning to the bad side. But I’m sure there’ll be an explanation. 

Whispers: great villain but not very relatable. I like it when villains are human, understandable. He just likes power and torture. Where are his motives?

Kala: Oh girl. Listen to your own advice and don’t waste that brain of yours. You deserve so much happiness. Also- doesn’t she have the most amazing body?  

Lito: Speaking of amazing bodies... And I love how he is gaining confidence in his identity. My baby penguin. I just want him and his family to be happy.

Nomi: I love her speeches but... she really does seem to make everything about her. I don’t want to, but I get kind of annoyed by her sometimes. I can easily see why she loves Amanita, but why does Amanita love her? What has she ever done for her?

Wolfgang: Just... Why are you so good at getting yourself in trouble? Also, can we get a little more character development? 

Sun: My daughter. I’m so proud of her. I just want to protect her- even though she’s the last one who needs protection. I love how, although she fits the ‘every Asian knows martial arts’-trope, she’s not a Dragon Lady. She has a heart like a baby bird and that, combined with her fierce determination and her emotional turmoil makes her a very interesting character. I was sad she had to leave Cool Grandma behind, and kinda disappointed she didn’t burst Soo-jin out of jail too (I must admit I was hoping for romance there). But I really, really hope she’ll have a happy ending with her teacher, her dog and detective Mun <3 and Joong-ki’s face in pulp.

Finally, the plot is confusing as ever, but who watches this show for the plot anyways?

[she-willnotfall]

Why You Must Experience SEO 2019 At Least Once In Your Lifetime

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The particular ads that you often notice on various web pages proven and those that also show up on the rightmost side associated with search engine results are inorganic SEO examples. While I nevertheless see this trend in have fun with with many enterprises still within the midst of their electronic transformation, the convergence in the particular MarTech space is creating a lot of synergies and opportunities and this particular should be seen as the welcome development for brands plus agencies who are looking intended for an edge in regards in order to their SEO driven content marketing and advertising or outreach strategies. Along with the only complete certainty that SEO's, Website owners may have a lot of adjustments to make to internet sites under their care in the particular mobile and voice search scenery. The basics of GOOD SEO hasn't changed for years - although effectiveness of particular elements provides certainly narrowed or changed within type of usefulness - a person should still be focusing upon building a simple site making use of VERY simple SEO best practices - don't perspiration the small stuff, while all-the-time paying attention to the essential stuff - add plenty of unique PAGE TITLES and lots associated with new ORIGINAL CONTENT. Keyword research is definitely THE first step of any kind of SEO campaign. Register and raise the free donation for SEO Greater london every time you shop on the web. Local SEO - Optimize that localized content on your site to properly leverage local indicators, online reviews and business goods. Learn more about content material optimization for SEO here. Along with paid-search it offers a very focused audience, visitors referred by SEARCH ENGINE OPTIMIZATION will only visit your web site if they are seeking particular home elevators your products or even related content. From keyword filling to link buying, the SEARCH ENGINE MARKETING landscape has seen numerous black-hat tricks — and Google usually catches on. Chris Gregory, founder plus managing partner at Jacksonville dependent firm, DAGMAR Marketing, predicts that will AI and machine learning might have a big impact upon SEO in 2019 and SEOs who aren't technical will become Blog9T left in the dust. Some SEO professionals also advise that anchor textual content should be varied as numerous pages linking to one web page using the same anchor textual content may look suspicious to look motors. SEO trickery such since keyword ‘stuffing' in irrelevant written content simply won't cut it within the current day, with Google's algorithm taking over 200 components to ensure that it's ranks provide results with valid in addition to authoritative sites, it is next to on impossible to perform anything some other than work with the research engines to make sure top rated quality SEO results. From a SEARCH ENGINE OPTIMIZATION perspective, the principal keyword need to be at the beginning adopted by the other relevant key phrases. We cover every topic within the digital marketing sphere like SEO, technical SEO, local SEARCH ENGINE OPTIMIZATION, PPC, SEM, content marketing, CRO, analytics, backlink, marketing strategy, cellular marketing, social media marketing in addition to much more. Any SEARCH ENGINE OPTIMIZATION company has to be capable to create high quality articles on an ongoing basis. SEO is the process for making changes to the website to be able in order to improve its position in the particular search engines like google. Robert thinks that by 2019 most cellular searches will be conducted simply by voice by mobile devices or even virtual assistants in fact this is very important to obtain your positioning in the lookup engine ranking positions as quickly as possible. As the particular factors search engines like Search engines, Bing, and Yahoo use in order to rank sites are kept top secret and change frequently, we develop all known SEO best methods into every Squarespace site. Black hat SEO may get you to the best of SERP in a brief time, however, search engines such as google will most probably punish and ban the website more rapidly or later. If you have read from the beginning, a person know that links are the key SEO ranking factor. Presently there are 2 types of lookup engine optimization or SEO. Now, pay close up attention to the components of which make up on-page SEO, since this is where non-SEO professionals will be able to help make the most meaningful impact in their search engine rankings. Looking deeper: In present-day SEARCH ENGINE OPTIMIZATION, you can't simply include because several keywords as possible to achieve the people who are searching for you. SEO stands for Search Motor Optimization and refers to strategies you can use to assist ensure that your site rates high in the results associated with search engines for example Google. It blends ranks and search volumes in the manner that makes it even more relevant, insightful and easier in order to understand than any other SEARCH ENGINE OPTIMIZATION performance tracking approach. About: Advanced Search Summit will be designed for advanced SEO experts, digital marketers, and analysts with enterprise and mid-market sized businesses who want advanced tactics plus techniques. SEO stands for seo. ” It is the process associated with getting traffic from The Shocking Revelation of SEO 2019 your free, ” organic, ” editorial” or natural” search results on search motors like google. If you're planning about ramping up SEM initiatives to complement organic SEO, end up being sure to take a appearance at Google Adwords ' Lookup Ads page. The large a part of SEO is generating valuable, high-quality content (e. gary the gadget guy., blog articles and web web page copy) that your customers may find helpful. SEO alone cannot perform much for your business yet when combined with content marketing and advertising, social internet marketing, email advertising, mobile marketing and PPC marketing and advertising, it can help businesses achieve the pinnacle of success on the web. A greater number associated with people will stick to tone of voice search, so SEO specialists may need to adjust to this particular relatively new kind of lookup. Seo or SEO is usually a powerful method to generate targeted traffic to your web site and hopefully increase your base line. Whilst many marketing tactics rely upon you reaching out to your own audience, SEO gives you the particular power to achieve people whenever they are actively searching away information related to your solutions and products. White colored hat SEOs the actual suggestions of Google and other research engines like google. As Google's search engine outcomes become increasingly monetized and various other platforms such as Amazon plus YouTube gain more SoV plus search volume, I think jooxie is overdue for the focus associated with SEO to shift far through Google. Traditional SEO is usually focused on building (keyword relevant) links and (keyword relevant) content material. The main reason they may sometimes misunderstood is because which whole Internet underbelly of alleged SEO companies that you may pay to link to your own site on their networks associated with low-quality articles. However, before we obtain to our main event, I actually must note that after the 2017 edition of SEO styles launched last year on Lookup Engine Journal, we heard the couple of complaints about simply how long it was. After that your boss tells you if you're accountable for search engine marketing (SEO), too. Michael jordan Harling, SEO Specialist at Roman Blinds Direct, agrees with the particular consensus that voice search will certainly be the trend in 2019.