#it took me forever to colour balance this and i just realized how bad the first image looks

[big4andfriends]

Hiccup/Jack/Astrid manips for @polyamships monthly prompt of "Calendar"

Hiccup and Astrid celebrate Snoggletog every year, as citizens of Berk. Jack can't join them every year, as he has obligations around the world, and the Guardians often need his help around their major holidays. But when they can get together, they always make time for Jack <3

[duvetsandpillows]

Lucky One

Pete Davidson x Reader 

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Swearing, mention of needles, slight angst, drug use

A/N: This is my first Pete fic but I think I will definitely be writing more. Please let me know what you think!

I sat in bed, joint in one hand, lighter in the other. I’d been staring at the wall for the past half hour or so, drowning in my thoughts, forgetting the joint I’d been fiddling with was there to be smoked.

I was thinking about everything and nothing all at once. Have I taken my antidepressant? What do they do with the bagel holes? You’re gonna be alone forever. Don’t forget your earring is behind the back left leg of the desk. New thoughts beginning before the last one could end. I was exhausted yet I hadn’t done anything to warrant feeling so drained. I’d only left my bed to piss.

“Hey you home?” I glanced over at my door, reality setting back in, before realizing how messy my bed was; sketchbook and pencils scattered everywhere, weed crumbs and ash from not paying attention to what I was doing and empty monster cans. I kicked as much as I could off the end of the bed before putting the long forgotten joint to my lips and sparking it. The door slowly opened, Pete standing in the doorway holding a bag and a coffee.

“Whatcha doing in bed B?” he asked climbing into the bed handing me the coffee. I took a toke and thanked him while passing him the joint.

“I just don’t feel like moving. I feel like shit, my brain won’t stop for just a second. I just want everything to stop.” My voice breaking as I began to fight back tears. He blew smoke into the air, putting his arm around my shoulder, pulling me into his side, handing me the joint.

“Breathe B, you’re gonna be okay. I know that sounds like bullshit but I’m here to help you through it.” I took a take and wiped a stray tear from my eye. “It’s always been me and you hasn’t it, that’s not gonna stop now. Did you take your antidepressant today?”

“I can’t remember,” I squeaked, letting the tears win the battle. Pete put his other arm around my chest and squeezed tight, resting his hand on the back of my head and rubbing his thumb.

He would whisper little pick me-ups every few minutes while I cried. “At least you didn’t walk straight into a street light like I did.” I looked up to see him pointing to a small bruise on his forehead. “I saw a woman carrying a dog in a baby sling thing and then boom! Street Light.” I giggled before taking a deep breath and wiping my tears with my sleeves.

“I guess you could say she threw you off your rhythm.” He rolled his eyes and pushed my head playfully before chuckling.

We’d been friends practically our whole lives, yet it was rare for us to talk about deep shit. Not because we didn’t care but we were good at talking each others minds off all the bullshit. 

“Movie, smoke, munch? I brought gushers and twizzlers.”

“Only if I get to pick.”

“Obviously, you always pick.” I scoffed and sat up, rolling my eyes.

“Bullshit, we constantly watching The Mule.”

“Not my fault you can’t appreciate a masterpiece,” he said as he grabbed my rolling tray from the end of the bed and I began flicking through Netflix for something to watch.

“Your hair looks nice by the way,” he mumbled, eyes focused on rolling the joint. I glanced over at my reflection in the mirror, I looked as if I’d just climbed out of the hedge. I smiled and thanked him, deciding to put on Knocked Up.

Pete told me what he’d been up to all week and who the guests were gonna be while we watched the film. I made him a twizzler ring and he attempted to make me a bracelet but he couldn’t work out how to get the knot to stay tight.” After a couple more joints I sat up on my knees and faced him.

“Could... I maybe colour in your tattoos?” I asked, placing my hand on his leg to stay balanced, realizing how high I was after not moving for so long.

“Yeah of course, which one first?” I smiled and pointed to the unicorn on his arm and leant off the end of the bed to grab my pens, Pete grabbing hold of my foot as I almost fell off. After I’d finished the unicorn I moved onto the direwolf underneath. Pete was flicking through the pages of my sketchbook as I added icy blue to the eyes.

“Y’know,” he started, passing me a joint, “I reckon you could be a tattoo artist. You could even practice on me.” I stopped and looked at him a bit taken back.

“I’ve never thought about it before.”

“Maybe you should.”

Once I finished the direwolf I looked up to see Pete had dozed off, I smiled and pulled a blanket over him, moving the sketchbook off his lap. I rolled a joint and glanced at the open drawing of a group of clouds I’d been working on but hadn’t yet worked out what should accompany them.

I thought about what Pete said and picked up the sketchbook and a pencil. I smoked while drawing Frank the bunny’s head from Donnie Darko. It was my favourite film and Pete had watched it with me countless times.

After an hour or so I finished the outline and most of the infill with different shades of blue. I felt Pete roll over and put his arm across my lap. I looked down to see him, eyes half open, observing my drawing.

“That’s amazing.” His voice gruff and low.

“Thank you,” I said passing him a monster from my bedside table. He sat up partially and took a sip before handing it back to me. “Good nap?” He nodded and laid back down into my side.

“You should put that on me,” He kicked his leg out from under the blanket and pointed to the side of his thigh. “Here would be perfect.”

“If you’d like.” He sat up again and gently tore the sketch out of the book.

“Come on then.” I frowned and tilted my head slightly. “There’s a guy that could do this now, you could get one too?”

I stared at him in a bit of shock, not expecting him to actually want one of my pieces on his body. I thought he was saying it just to be nice. Also as I’d never considered getting a tattoo before. Not because I didn’t like them but more because I was nervous; I wasn’t great with needles and if tattoo’s would suit me.

“You up for it?”

“What if I look awful with one?” I blurted, Pete’s smile morphed into confusion.

“Why would you look awful?” You always look great.” I could feel my cheeks getting warm and I couldn’t help but ever so slightly smile. “Plus I think you’d look hot with one,” he mumbled handing me the sketchbook, open to a small drawing of a sheep I’d done high while watching Shaun the Sheep.

“It’s small, if you want it to be hidden then it’s easy.” I looked down at the doodle and thought about it for a moment.

“Fuck it lets go.”

I sat on a chair next to Pete watching as the tattoo artist, Jon, carefully traced over the light purple outline in dark blue ink. I began adding to my sheep. A few clouds in the background, similar to the ones on Pete’s.

“What you doing?” I handed him the paper, glancing over at his leg, in awe at how it was turning out. I looked back at Pete who was smiling at the drawing. I held out the pencil to him, when he didn’t notice I poked his arm with it.

“Ow, dick,” he said pouting and rubbing his arm. “What am I meant to do with this?”

“Add something to it, you got a piece of me,” I pointed to his leg. “Your turn.”

“I can’t draw like you and-”

“And I don’t care. Draw.”

While Pete drew, not phased at all by the needle going in and out of his leg, I chatted with Jon, asking him question about how he became a tattoo artist and what it’s like. I was slowly becoming more interested the more I watched him work. Once he was done he turned to me.

“You ready?” he asked, I nodded nervously and Pete passed him the design. Pete swapped places with me after taking a look at it in the floor length mirror. I decided to get it on my arm as I decided I wanted to always be able to see it now Pete had added to it. I told them I didn’t want to see it until it was finished, wanting Pete’s addition to be a surprise. I looked over at Pete, nerves starting to kick in a little.

“Have I ever told you I’m not brilliant with needles?” He chuckled and took my hand in his.

“Yep,” I winced as the needle hit my skin. “Like the time you gave blood because you thought that nurse was cute and threw up all over him before fainting.” I chuckled before biting the inside of my cheek and gripped his hand tight. “You’re good, just keep your eyes this way,”

Pete kept chatting with me and rubbing his thumb on the back of my hand, keeping me distracted from the pain.

“Should I be nervous with what you drew? It’s just clicked how much trust I’ve given you.” He pursed his lips, holding back either as smile or a laugh. “Pete...”

“Nah nah nah, it’s not that bad, but you said to add a bit of me. Trust me you’ll love it.” I raised my eyebrows before gripping his hand again, feeling a muscle in my arm unintentionally spasm.

“You’re good, it happens sometimes, we’re almost done here.”

After ten more minutes it was all done and he was wiping it up. It was aching it a little but I was really excited to see it.

“You ready to see it?” I nodded and looked at my arm to see the best tattoo I could imagine. The clouds were a beautiful combination of greys and whites, my sheep now with a spliff in its mouth and a second, slightly wonky looking, sheep with a spliff also in its mouth and sunglasses on. It kind of looked like a child drew the second sheep but I loved it even more for that.

“I put our initials at the bottom so we don’t forget who is who.” I giggled looking at his scruffy handwriting underneath. “So... what do you think?”

“I fucking love it!” I said wrapping my arms around him hugging him as tight as I could. “Thank you Pete.” I pressed a kiss to his cheek and let Jon wrap my arm up in cling film.

We grabbed some Taco Bell on the way home, I was designated DJ and he driver. I was, questionably, rapping along to Colson and Corpse’s new song while Pete laughed at me. He slipped his hand into mine, giving it a small squeeze and continued driving and started rapping along as if that was a normal for us to hold hands. I smiled and gave his a squeeze back even though I was a bit shocked. Shocked but yet it felt normal.

“You can roll the next one, my arm aches,” I said flopping onto my bed.

“Is that gonna be your excuse for the next week?” 

“Did it work?” I looked up to see him shaking his head and chuckling as he picked up the rolling tray.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.” I smiled and winked as it sat up. 

“You’re lucky too, you get to look at this cute face all the time.” Pete leant forward and took my hand, pulling me into his lap.

“What would you say, if I asked you out... to dinner or something?” I wrapped my arms around his neck and furrowed my eyebrows.

“What like a date?” His smile and confidence drained from his face immediately and I had to force myself to hold back a laugh.

“It doesn’t have to be no, I just- aw fuck.” I started pissing myself laughing, holding onto him tight to keep my balance.

“Yes I’d love to go on a date, if you hurry up and roll that joint, I teased winking at him, swinging myself off his lap. “I’ll even put on The Mule yeah?”

“I’m definitely the lucky one.”

[pixieposts]

Dice Prompt 33: Ew that is so sappy I just might vomit

Want some self-indulgent fluff with a side of my secret addiction to poetry?  Cause that’s what you’re getting.  

AO3  

“You know you could just talk to him”

“I have no idea what you mean, I am reading”  

“No Cay, you’re holding a book up and occasionally glancing at it” Beauregard flicked his cheek, her voice rising as she continued to speak “in between staring at Fj—”  

“Shh!” Caleb glared, cutting her off “okay okay I was looking, I was not staring, please keep it down”  

She sighed, but the smirk on her face told him that it was sarcastic.  

“Some sister you are”  

“This is literally exactly what sisters are supposed to do, who even reads at a party?  Do you want me to talk to him for you?”  

“Absolutely not”

She bumped her shoulder into his suddenly, throwing him off balance and sending his book sliding across the old hardwood floors.  He cursed, shoving her back and standing up as she laughed, eyes locked on his errant book.  

As he caught up to it and stooped down, it was swiped from the floor by a large green hand.  Caleb swallowed and stood slowly, feeling his cheeks heat as he looked up into Fjords smiling face.  

“Beau messin’ with your books again?”  

“You could say that, ja”  

Fjord flipped the book open, and the heat in Caleb’s cheeks turned fierce, spreading to his ears and neck.  Fjord read with a curious look on his face, amber eyes trailing across the page.

“I never saw you as the poetry type” Darrows voice teased from as he walked up “Pablo Neruda?”  

Fjord smiled and shrugged “it’s not mine, but I like it” he turned back to Caleb “you highlighted this one, a favourite?”  

“I--well in a way, yes... I only read it this morn--”  

“Bitter love, a violet with its crown of thorns in a thicket of spiky passions, spear of sorrow, corolla of rage: how did you come to conquer my soul? What brought you?”

Caleb tried not to shiver as Fjord read, his low, smooth voice doing the words a service that Caleb felt his own never could.  He made the almost-anger that Caleb had associated with the sonnet soften into something so much more vulnerable, almost sweet.  Fjord smiled and held out the book, still open to the page he had been reading from.  Caleb took it slowly, a jolt like lighting going through him as their fingers brushed, and he could almost convince himself he saw a similar expression flash over Fjord's face.  He held the book to his chest, taking a steadying breath and mentally cursing Beauregard.  

“Th-thank y--” “Do you have any other favourites?”  

They blinked at each other for a moment, then Fjord chuckled and shrugged.

“Sorry, I just figured if you’ve been reading it, you might have some favourites?”  

“I... do not usually read them out loud, I likely would not do it justice”  

“Well” Fjord’s smiled softened “I won’t force you, of course...”  

Caleb felt the familiar flutter in his chest when Fjord’s eyes found his again, and he opened the book instinctively, flipping through the pages.  

“I loved you without knowing I did; I searched to remember you I broke into houses to steal your likeness, Though I already knew what you were like.  And, Suddenly, When you were there with me I touched you, and my life stopped.”  

He stopped reading, realizing with a sudden jolt that the room had gone quiet and the weight of many eyes was on him.  He looked around in horror, seeing that yes, in fact, this was his worse nightmare.  Everyone was staring, Beauregard’s expression dropped from good-natured teasing to guilty horror as she caught his eye.  He looked up and met Fjord’s amber eyes, a look of shock on his face.  

He dropped the book and ran.  

He ran all the way out the door of the old duplex, down the three blocks to the nearly identical one he shared with Beauregard and Jester, and up the stairs.  He fumbled with the key, collapsing against the inside of the door the second it was closed.  He panted, chest heaving and lungs on fire as he tried to calm himself enough to get up without falling.  His legs ached, his head ached, his chest ached.  He absolutely could not ever go back there, in fact, he should probably just start packing now.  He couldn’t face them again, not Beauregard or Jester, and definitely not Fjord.  

Eventually, he dragged himself up and into the shower, pulled on his most comfortable pajamas, locked his bedroom door and burrowed down into his bed.  

Maybe he could just hide out in here forever.  

---

He did hide, for a good three days in fact.  He managed to sneak food into his mini-fridge while the others were sleeping off the hangovers from the night before and knew his housemates well enough to know when he was safe to use the bathroom without running into them.  Beauregard knocked at one point, speaking in the tone closest to kindness, telling him that everyone got so drunk they wouldn’t even remember (“and it wasn’t even so bad anyway man, you’re good at reading out loud and stuff!”).  He elected to ignore her.  

Jester slid pictures under his door, a couple from her instant camera that showed the three of them at the beginning of the Cursed Evening, and one that she had drawn for him.  It was pretty, and abstract piece with almost floral patterns hidden in the colours.  He hung it up... but still did not speak.  

He checked his socials almost obsessively, looking for any mention of his social faux pas.    

Being one of the awkward quiet kids paid off sometimes, it looked like Beauregard was right about everyone forgetting.

By the end of the fourth day, he felt nearly ready to face the world again.  In an effort to test the waters he crept out of his cave that evening and threw together an easy dinner of pasta with meat sauce.  Half because he was sick of cold food, and half because it was something that both women would be distracted enough by to only tease him for a little while.  Just as he was setting the table he heard the tell-tale sound of keys in the lock.  He turned and pinned on a sheepish smile as the door opened.  

Jester walked in laughing, but her eyes went huge when she caught sight of him standing there.  

“Uhhmmm...”  

Before she could explain, Beauregard walked through the door... followed by Fjord.  

They all paused, staring at him as he stared back, feeling the colour drain from his face.  He cleared his throat, setting down the last plate.

“Hallo.”

“Hey Cay” “Hi Caleeeb”  

He looked at Fjord, whose cheeks had gone a ruddier shade of green, as he coughed.  

“I um... I have extra, if you want to stay”

“No, I—well actually that would be—that is...” Fjord stumbled over his words before setting down his bag and pulling out Caleb's book “I came to give you this, and maybe talk to you?  If you want I mean”  

“Oh” his instinct to be polite kicked in as he nodded towards the living room “ja sure, do you want to-?”  

“Yeah, yeah that works”  

He heard the shuffle of the girls tossing their jackets and shoes and making their way to the table, and his nerves ramped up.  They would definitely be eavesdropped, but there really wasn’t anywhere else to go in the house at the moment.  He stopped in the middle of the living room, wishing absently that he had tidied up more today.   There was a moment of mildly uncomfortable silence, before Fjord stepped closer to him, a sheepish look on his face.  

“So... I wanted to return your book” he reached and rubbed the back of his head with one hand, the nervous tick was endearing and Caleb felt his expression soften “I also... well, I wanted to—want to apologize, for what happened”  

“Apologize?”  

“Yeah, I kinda pushed you into reading, and I shouldn’t have, it was shitty of me when I knew you’d probably be uncomfortable” he looked down, face dark again “You just have a great voice, I wanted to—well, it doesn’t matter, it was shitty”  

“Oh” Caleb blinked in confusion “Well, thank you?  You did not need to apologize; I do not blame you for it.” he paused, the rest of Fjord’s statement settling in his brain “you... like my voice?”  

“Yeah” Fjord looked up, a tentative smile on his face “it’s nice, I like your accent.  Why do you think I started going to those books and wine things Jester set up?”  

“Oh” Caleb repeated, feeling like more of an idiot every time he said it “I-I never thought about it, well, no, I did think about it but I thought you were into Jest--” he bit his tongue, trying to stop the waterfall of stupidity that seemed intent on flowing from his mouth.  

“You thought I liked...Jester?”  

“Yes?”  

“No”

“Oh”  

They stood and stared at each other for a moment, Fjord's expression softening to a fond smile.  He stepped farther into Caleb’s space, holding up the book slightly.  

“You’re smart Cay, really smart, but I think you maybe missed a few points here”  

“Explain them to me?”  

“I started going to the wine nights because I liked listening to you talk, I asked you about your books, and your cat, and I wanted to hear you read the poem at the party because I like your voice.  I like you darlin’, not Jes”  

“You like... oh”  

“There you go” Fjord flipped the book open, revealing a scrap of paper being used as a bookmark “you missed part of the poem you know”  

Joy soared in Caleb's chest as the understanding that not only did Fjord like his voice, but he also liked him settled there.  It filled him with a new kind of warmth, and sent a bright smile across his face.  

“I know, tell me anyway?”  

“When you were there with me I touched you, and my life stopped: You stood before me, ruling me.  And you reign:   Like a wildfire in the forest, and the flame is your dominion”

He reached out as he spoke, capturing a lock of Caleb's hair between his fingers.  The red of his hair only looked more vibrate against the rich green of Fjords skin.  A wildfire among the trees.  

Caleb blushed, pulling his eyes from where Fjord held him to catch his gaze instead, and found him staring back.  As they stared, Beauregard's voice rang out from the adjoining kitchen:  

“Ew, that is so sappy I just might vomit.”

Caleb caught the mischievous glint in Fjord's eye only a moment too late.  

“If you didn’t like that, you’ll hate this”  

And then Fjord was kissing him, soft, almost chaste really, but with one hand in Caleb’s hair and one still trapped between them holding the book... it was perfect.  

[nazyalenskyism]

Let’s Get Married 3

Let’s Get Married Part 3 (Let’s Get Married)

Summary: Guess who got married! A/N: PLEASE READ: From this point on, anything labeled as "THEN,"/"18 months ago" refers to the week during which Chapter 2 (I've Been So Far Gone Lately) is set during. Anything labeled as "NOW" or "18 months later" is set in the present day. Sorry for any confusion!

Ao3: Let's Get Married Part 3

18 months later (NOW):

David Kostyk came back from his break like always, with a mug of tea from his wife in one hand and a stack of files from Nikolai in the other, ready to dive into the documents for the day. The first few files were standard, he was signing off on others’ work, making sure everything was up to date and properly formatted but it was when he hit the fifth document that he found something amiss. He pushed his glasses up his nose, bending down to make sure that he read the file correctly. No, that couldn’t be. That would mean that--Oh no.

David picked up his receiver, punching in numbers he knew by heart, this was going to be anything but a quiet morning like he’d hoped. “Genya, you need to see this.”

                                                            ***

“Nikolai Lantsov!” he glanced up at the mention of his name, surprised at the sight before him. Genya marched into the room with Tolya and Tamar walking determinedly behind her while David trailed behind them, clutching a stack of papers in his hands. Nikolai glanced at his watch, it was only 11 AM, they didn’t have their daily meeting until 2 PM, that was odd.

He raised a brow, easing back in his chair, “can I help you?”

“What’s this?” Genya exclaimed without any preamble, grabbing a paper off the top of the stack in David’s hands and slapping it onto his desk.

“Paper, I assume, darling Genya.”

“I mean what’s on the paper,” she snapped, “it says you’re married.”

Nikolai paused, drawing the paper towards him, “you were at the wedding,” he glanced around, “you all were. In fact, you were the only people there.”

“You were supposed to get divorced,” Tolya interjected, “that was the plan.”

“Plans change.”

“Nikolai, you were supposed to be married for six months, a year at most.” Tamar frowned.

“It’s just been more beneficial than we’d originally thought.”

“What?” Genya asked, scowling at him.

“Well, we realized it would be better for our taxes, for one.” he ticked off a finger with each additional reason he gave. “People don’t ask for our numbers when we go out anymore and my parents and brother hate both of us so they leave us alone. One glare from Zoya and deals are signed in record time, I don’t have to suffer through terrible parties alone anymore, and Zoya has to be nice to me,” he furrowed his brow, “well sometimes. Actually not nicer but--”

“What are you going to do now?” David interrupted.

“What do you mean?”

Tamar spoke up, “you can’t keep this lie up forever, someone is going to find out, it’s amazing they haven’t already.”

“Yes,” Genya nodded, “what if you meet someone, and want to get married? What are you going to do then? Or what if someone asks you why you don’t live together or why your prenup with Zoya is basically giving her 50% anyways?”

“We’ve been too busy,” Nikolai said dismissively.

“Busy? She spends half her evenings hanging out at your apartment or with us. Even if that wasn’t the case, Nikolai, you always make time for important things.”

“It’s not important at the moment.” He understood their confusion, he had been surprised at first too when Zoya hadn’t asked him to call things off three seconds after they had officially gotten married and secured the company as his. In fact, she hadn’t brought it up at all. Not once in a year and a half and neither had he. It felt like they’d struck some sort of perfect balance, and the last thing he wanted was to destroy their peace. No, when Zoya wants to end this, I’ll agree, but until then I won't be the one to ruin this.

“It is important!” Genya looked as if she wanted to shake some sense into him, which was odd, usually only Zoya had that look on her face. Speaking of Zoya, it had been a minute since he’d spoken to her, not since he’d brought her coffee to her office this morning, all the way on the other side of the floor. He should send her a text about dinner tonight, he had found a fantastic restaurant whose specialty was her favourite dish and wanted to take her. He pulled his phone out of his waistcoat pocket, smiling as he typed a message he knew would make her roll her eyes, chuckling at her response.

“Hey!” Genya snapped her fingers in front of his face, startling him from his texting. “Nikolai, if you don’t think this is an important thing to do at the moment, what do you think it means that you like spending time with her, that you trust her with all your secrets? How you don’t care about what anyone else has to say about you, everyone but Zoya? The rare time she compliments you, you light up like a Christmas tree! Not only that but…” Genya trailed off, twisting her wedding band around her finger, glancing around at her friends for a reprieve, but they were all avoiding her imploring gaze.

“But?” Nikolai prompted. He could feel his ears burning, but he wouldn’t allow his friends to see how Genya’s words had impacted him.

“You know what,” she sighed. “Nikolai, you know why you don’t want to change things and it’s the same reason she doesn’t want to change things either. Both of you want this and there’s a reason why, a reason that would make you both a lot happier than you are now.”

Nikolai stood abruptly, he’d had enough. “As always, your advice is appreciated but unneeded. Now if you’ll excuse me I have an appointment and before that, as per the request of my friends,” he gestured to them, “I need to start filing for divorce.”

                                                               ***

18 months ago (THEN):

“I found something,” Nikolai whispered, sliding up behind Zoya and gently touching her arm before slipping a drink into her hand. In the ballroom behind them the party was in full swing but out here on the terrace overlooking the gardens there was barely a buzz. They’d moved outside because they hadn’t wanted their conversation to be overheard by someone at the party. If anyone found out what they were planning on doing they would be in big trouble, to say the least. She arched a brow, and took a sip of her drink and he took it as an indication to speak. “There’s a clause in the bylaws that states that someone other than the intended heir of the company can inherit it if they challenge the intended heir, get a majority of votes from the board, and are over thirty.”

“Nikolai, you’re nowhere near thirty, there’s no way you’re going to be able to stop Vasily from getting his greasy hands all over your company.”

He shot her a bemused look, “my company?”

“You know what I mean,” she snapped. “That can’t be all you found, keep talking.”

“Well,” he began slowly, “the only way we get around that is, there’s a clause that says you have to be thirty or married.” A deafening silence stretched out between them, both trying to gauge the others’ reaction. Zoya spoke first, surprisingly.

“So, when’s the wedding? What should I get you, cash or something off the registry?”

“Nazyalensky, I didn’t say that I was going to get married.”

“Come on,” she said, looking up at him, “this is your life’s goal. If you don’t secure the company now, then your brother or that old creep Aleksander will take what’s rightfully yours.” Her finger jabbed at his chest, her eyes alight with passion. If he didn’t know any better, he would think that she believed in him. “You are the only person who can and should be running it. It’s yours Lantsov, it always has been.”

Nikolai felt a kernel of warmth unfurling in his chest as Zoya whipped away from him and back towards the skyline, the faintest blush colouring the tops of her cheeks. Open admissions of friendship always made her ill. Nikolai drew in a breath, preparing to be eviscerated for what he was going to say next. “Would you?”

She squinted at him, “would I what?”

“Would you marry me? Hypothetically. If you were an eligible bachelorette in the city?” Zoya cut him a quick glare, “hypothetically, yes. Anyone would be stupid not to.”

“And do you consider yourself smart?” he said.

“Nikolai…” she faltered, “don’t.”

“Don’t what? It makes sense, doesn’t it? We already know each other, we don’t have to draw up an extravagant prenup, I’ll gladly give you half of what I have, we can get divorced a week after we get the company, and go on with life as usual.”

Zoya shook her head at him, “and what will people say when you and your ex-wife are working side by side every day, with no bad blood? And getting divorced a week later, that makes it so obvious that you only did it for the company.”

“Fine,” he said simply. “If you can tolerate me for a couple of months, we can stage some big fight and break things off. We’ll say that we were young and in love and made a stupid decision.”

Her hand went to the chain around her neck, rubbing the locket absently. “I don’t think this is a good idea Nikolai.”

“Nazyalensky,” he stepped closer to her, “we’re running out of time and I don’t think I have any other options. I wish there was another way but if this is the only way, I will do it, but I would rather it be with someone I trust. And hey, it’s only six months, then we’ll be back to how we always were.”

Nikolai waited for a minute, then two, then what felt like forever before she finally spoke. “Okay.” She turned towards him, “okay, but no big wedding. Just us, the officiant, Genya, David, Tamar, Tolya, Nadia, and my family. Just the ten of us.”

He took her hand, “what about all my friends?”

“What friends,” she scoffed.

Nikolai pouted, “harsh.”

“Honest.”

He laughed at that, pulling out the small box that had been sitting against his chest all night. He popped it open before flipping it towards her, cherishing the faint flicker of disbelief on her face as he slipped the ring onto her finger. He knew what she was thinking; it was huge and sparkly, the two things she liked most.

“You idiot,” she slapped his chest, “you knew about this already, why did you wait until now to tell me?”

“I wanted to have the ring ready,” he protested, admiring the excitement painted onto her exquisite features as she admired the glimmering ring in the moonlight. “I didn’t think you’d agree unless I had it.”

“You’re right, I was just feeling extreme amounts of pity towards you tonight, otherwise, even your desperation wouldn’t have been enough. ”

“Ruthless,” Nikolai smiled, “now, shall we tell the others?”

Zoya took his outstretched arm, “let’s.”

“Ah, ah.” Nikolai chided, “it would be a little obvious if we stepped out of the party to get engaged, no?”

“Ugh, fine,” she groaned, slipping the ring off her finger, and reluctantly placing it back in the box. “You’re right, it clashes with my outfit tonight anyways. But I’d like it back as soon as possible.”

“Let me finish putting a little something together. We should at least be able to have a little fun with it.”

“Alright,” she sighed, “but no public proposal.”

“No public proposal,” he agreed, “just us. Like always.”

                                                        ***

18 months later (NOW):

“What is it, Genya?” Zoya sighed, stepping around a tourist glued to the center of the sidewalk, her phone tucked between her shoulder and ear as she gripped the box of baklava against her chest. Nikolai always got peckish in the afternoon and the sweet was his favourite snack and if she’d learned anything in life it was that a well-fed Nikolai was a more productive Nikolai.

“Care to tell me why you’re still married?”

“Hm?” She eyed the window display of the boutique behind her, while waiting for the streetlight. Nikolai would love that sweater and the blue would bring out the gold in his eyes.

“Hey!” Genya snapped at her, “why didn’t you tell us that you’re still married?”

“Should I have?”

“Yes? Obviously yes!”

“Okay,” Zoya said, not seeing the issue, “so now you know.”

“You were supposed to get divorced a year ago, why are you still married?”

She sighed, it was so simple, how did no one else get it? “It was better for our taxes, people don’t ask for our numbers when we go out anymore, Nikolai’s family leaves us alone. It makes it easier to deal with all the stuff from when Liliyana--” she broke off, clearing her throat, “it makes business deals go smoother, we can bail each other out of stuff. It just makes things easier.”

“What if you meet someone and want to get married, or even date them? Or what if Nikolai does?” Zoya frowned, turning away from the boutique door she’d been about to open, crossing the street instead. She hadn’t thought about that before. Nikolai was a romantic, she’d seen it in action, and while he’d never been in a long-term relationship in the time she’d known him, he had been on dates where he’d gone all out. What if he was even slightly interested in someone and pushed aside the prospect of a relationship with them because he felt that he owed her something? She didn’t want that.

“I know. It’s just-- we’ve been busy.”

“That’s exactly what he said.”

“We’ll get around to it, we will.”

Genya seemed to pick up the weariness of her voice and simply said, “I know you will,” before hanging up.

Zoya slumped into her car, resting her forehead against the steering wheel. When did things get so complicated? He’d asked Zoya to help him because it was supposed to be uncomplicated when it was her. When had she let herself fall into this so badly that she genuinely questioned her ability to extract herself from it?

Her phone chimed and she saw that her last conversation with Nikolai had been deleted from their message history, the one where they’d been making dinner plans. Instead she saw a new message under their conversation from last night simply reading, “we need to talk. I’ll pick you up at 7.”

Zoya exhaled through her nose, punching out, “Okay.” in response before tossing her phone into the backseat. It was ridiculous to think that anything about this arrangement had ever been easy. The night that Nikolai’s parents had thrown them an engagement party had been proof enough of that.

[industria-adastra]

Inside the mirror do you see? (someone else in that body)

Summary: She’s running. From what, she doesn’t know. The winking flash of a mirror passes by and Madoka catches a glimpse of the screaming cosmos.

Note: I want to write a coherent fic with plot but mind said no so here we are now. Anyways dm me or smth if you wanna talk about madoka ig, random people reading this.

-----

Tap, tap, tap. Madoka’s heeled feet echoed with every step she took within this strange black and white hallway. With every step she took, the environment around her would shift-not in colour, but in the patterns and shapes it appeared in. From swirling spirals to zooming zig-zags, the confusing landscape was ever-changing and almost nauseating to watch.

Madoka continued until she found that she had reached both a large mirror and a dead end in front of her. Slowly, her pace decreased until she was simply walking towards the mirror. Nothing was reflected there.

How strange.

Almost as if in a trance, slowly, lightly, her fingers touched the glass. It shattered upon contact, an eldritch scream echoing through her head as she flinched. When she forced her eyes to open, a horrifying visage of a snarling sun, masked partially by a half-moon was what greeted her. It slammed its arms-made out of the void and stardust-onto the mirror, shattering it even further. Darkness seeped through the cracks, reaching for her.

Ancient fear filled her bones, dread pumped through her veins.

Madoka turned and ran, scrambling to get out, ignoring the changes in her surroundings, ignoring the gentle hums and repetitive sighs of happiness. Only knowing that she had to get out get out get out quickly quickly before-!

An invisible barrier shattered, and before Madoka knew it, she was looking around to see desolate ruins of what she knew was Mitakihara city. Pink eyes darted around frantically, taking in the scenery. Shallow waters flooded the ground, and the broken remains of concrete buildings littered the floor. All that was left standing was a lone, barren tree.

The wind howled and shrieked, clawing at her as wailing laughter grew louder and louder. Large pieces of rubble started to rise, balls of colourful fire burst into existence, signalling the arrival of the giant floating doll ( Witch ). She was dressed in a blue gown edged with frills, framing the giant metal gears that protruded from it’s torso. On her white cylindrical head were two pointed hats, each with a translucent veil attached to the pointed end. And on that bone white face was only a red painted smile. A smile that never changed as she continued to rain destruction upon Mitakihara’s ruins. Even without a mouth she managed to laugh, a loud distorted thing that could’ve been mistaken for the mad laughter of despair.

(What is this?)

Madoka watched with undisguised horror as everything was rendered to dust. As a brave, brave girl darted around, trying in vain to bring down that giant doll. And not even a moment’s notice later, that same girl was batted away by a makeshift bat of concrete, steel and glass.

Someone was screaming out a name.

Madoka ran, faster, faster. She had to, no. Needed to end this. She could do it. She could do it. She just had to–!

Unconsciously, her left hand opened to clutch a rapidly forming bow. And as she skidded to halt, without her even realizing, Madoka had already aimed and fired. From her bow came a thin pink arrow that pierced through the doll and the heavens, scattering the clouds with its might. Her mind was blank, as if she was running on auto-pilot, waiting for something.

That something came in the form of a resounding boom that shook the earth. Almost immediately, a dark mist burst into existence. And suddenly, the ground beneath her cracked and shattered to reveal nothing but ink black muck that crashed into Madoka, knocking her off balance and submerging her under darkness. Balance lost, Madoka frantically flailed around, trying to get free, to claw her way out of this prison. To reach that pink light that she just knew was out there.

She was suffocating, drowning in potent despair and fear that almost completely overwhelmed her. Her heart beat erratically, telling her that she needed to leave leave leave please why? . Indescribable agony jolted through her like never-ending shocks of electricity. Thoughts that weren’t her’s were her’s swam through her mind, rendering it a jumbled mess. Madoka had to get out she still had to find her. She needed to find her and save her save her she had to save everyone. And to do that she needed to let go. This way everyone would be happy, together and forevermore. But she couldn’t give them salvation in such a useless useless shell. She choked, clawing frantically at her chest, at her throat, back arching as Madoka let out a silent scream.

And then, she knew no more.

-

She reached her arms out towards the sky, becoming bigger and bigger. Her salvation enveloped the world, bringing them all to her paradise, her heaven. She had to become bigger. She had to. This way she would bring salvation. For everyone. To everyone. She would give salvation to everyone. No matter who they were, no matter if they were good or bad, they would all receive her salvation. Young or old, they would all be saved. Animal or human. It didn’t matter as long as they could all be saved (by her). Wasn’t that nice? Wasn’t that nice? She would save them all from this never-ending misery. No more pain, no more suffering, no more despair. They would all be happy together. Happy together because she helped them all be happy together. She was happy too, because it was all for them. All for them.  She created this paradise for them. She gave salvation to them. She alone was their saviour.

Everyone would be happy, together and forevermore with her. Together and forever and forever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever ever ever ever–

-

Pink eyes snapped open, and Madoka woke up to the warm early morning sunshine. Her heart was pounding, wild with overwhelming fear of something. Hair on edge, eyes wide open, Madoka carefully sat up. Her body ached with strange phantom pains, and as she slowly stretched several cracks could be heard.

“What was that dream all about?” She mumbled to herself, not expecting an answer. Her fingers dug a little deeper into the bedsheets. A calming haze started to settle on her mind, taking with it most of the memories about that strange, strange dream she had. It trickled away like fine sand until there were barely any (purple) grains left.

Madoka closed her eyes and flopped back down onto the bed. Nothing but a large cage and arms stretching out towards a darkened sky came to mind. She sighed, eyes opening again. Her dreams were starting to become stranger and more incoherent. It was probably nothing too important, so she stopped trying to think any further about it.

Yeah, it probably wasn’t that important.

...Right?

[jimlingss]

The Colour of Our Voices [8]

Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 8.5 OR Chapter 9

➜ Words: 2.5k

➜ Genres: 98% Fluff, 2% Angst, Slice of Life, Broadway!AU

➜ Summary: He wasn’t supposed to hear. He wasn't supposed to know. But the instant Jimin came into your life and pulled the curtains back, you couldn't hide backstage anymore. You were no longer merely a phantom of the opera.

cr.

You don’t speak to Jimin anymore.   Ever since the meltdown, seldom do you see him despite being neighbors. He’s probably made an effort to avoid making you uncomfortable.   Sometimes you do see him, times when you’re throwing the garbage or coming home from work. And when you do, he always looks tired. Dark circles lined beneath his eyes, lips lopsided in exhaustion. It’s expected considering the show was coming up. Jimin has to be working hard.   But you still can’t help wondering what he’s actually doing, if he’s sleeping at all, if he’s eating well.   Maybe it’s the guilt speaking inside the recesses of your mind. The remorse has been eating at you alive after all.    It was a one-sided rivalry. One-sided resentment. He didn’t know.    Jimin really had no idea what he was doing to you.   You want to apologize for how the way things ended between you two — but you don’t know if you want to make amends. You don’t know if you can. If you deserve it after what you’ve said to him.   The both of you have truly become strangers. It’s like how it always should’ve been.   But the ticket he had given you weeks ago still sits on your kitchen counter, abandoned. It haunts you, and reminds you of the past — the many nights shared with Jimin, his sweet words and compassionate personality that never failed to cheer you on. How blameless he really is in all of this. How you’ve single-handedly turned him into a monster inside your head.   You can’t eat — your appetite left long ago with your conscience.   //   You wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat.   It’s not from a nightmare, the one you usually have where you’re on stage and everyone’s staring while you’re unable to sing. The nightmare of your lips parting but no notes are able to stream out. Rather, it’s a dull pain in your upper abdomen that has shaken you from deep slumber.   In the midst of your drowsiness, you peel off your covers from your hot body and barely reach over to flicker on the lamp on your bedside table. You roll out and stumble across the floorboards to your bathroom.   You grip the door frame and move to sit on the toilet. After ten minutes, you nearly fall asleep again, but nothing releases from your bowels. You flush, get up, and move to the cabinet.   The fever medication is taken with a glass of water and you go back to bed.   //   “You’re late,” someone from the female ensemble says, not with malice for once. Her voice is ridden with slight concern. You wonder if your exterior is that bad to warrant sympathy from the people who couldn’t care less about you. “You’re already on thin ice with the director.”   True to her word, Director Kang is looking at you from the corner of his eye.   You nod, breathing out of your mouth. You were late because it took you some time to go up and down the stairs at the subway station. The dull pain hasn’t gone away.   “Try not to be late tomorrow. It might be the only excuse he needs to fire you.”   “Okay. Thanks.”   The coffee run takes you an hour long. You have to go up and down the stairs, balance all the cups of coffee while the world around you is spinning at a different axis. The pain of your stomach becomes increasingly sharper as time goes by as well. And you’re forced to stop a few times, unable to keep walking.   Everyone’s disgruntled when they receive their cold drinks, mumbling under their breaths, but you try your best regardless.   You have to stop when you’re sweeping too, gripping your waist when the pain shoots through your body. You push through in spite of how much it hurts, of how you’re feeling like you’re being stabbed.   When lunchtime rolls around, you can’t take a bite of your sandwich. Even the fresh deli meat can’t compel you to take a single bite. It’s excruciating, and you abandon the food to bumble towards the washroom with hopes of relinquishing the ache. But instead, you feel something stir in the pit of your stomach. You end up running to the nearest stall, vomiting into the toilet bowl. Bile comes up your esophagus, burning, and once your body has calmed down, you flush the toilet.   You come out to rinse your mouth, not realizing that Taeyeon was there the entire time. She’s touching up her makeup in the mirror, but spares you a quick glance. “Are you...alright?”   “Y-Yeah, I’m fine.” You dab at your forehead with damp paper towels, wiping away your sweat.    You’re shivering, suddenly cold, so you hastily run your hands over hot water.    “Is it bad period cramps?” Taeyeon asks.   “I’m not on my period.”   “You’re not pregnant, are you?” She laughs but when you don’t answer, she immediately goes stiff. The pretty girl gasps in horror. “Oh my god. You aren’t, are you?”   “That’s not possible,” you tell her with a sigh.   The rest of the work day goes over painfully. Literally painfully.   You don’t know what it is. The ointment brought from home doesn’t work well. The fever medication doesn’t seem to be working either. It’s not food poisoning, you can’t do anything on the toilet and vomiting has no effect.   Yet when you push on your stomach, the pain worsens.   It’s a miracle when you manage to drag yourself home, wobbling up the stairs while hanging onto the railing and the other hand bracing yourself against the wall.   You use anything possible in your vicinity to steady yourself, but you give up halfway.   You are physically unable to continue.   It hurts, the pain dizzying.   Suddenly, someone’s shaking you.   “Y/N?”   You look up past your foggy vision, discovering a cute brunette with brown irises rounded like a puppy’s. The boy is gazing at you and tears gather at your lashes, stinging with an emotion of yearning overwhelming you.   “Jimin?”   “Are you okay?! You fainted!” The back of his hand presses against your forehead and then he withdraws. “You have a fever.”   “I...I’m fine.” You get up, but you stumble into him. Jimin catches you against his body. “It’ll pass, I can’t miss work.”   “Who cares about work?” he says almost angrily.   You can’t argue with him — you’re too exhausted, the pain of your stomach excruciating. You hear your name being called several times, but you grip onto your stomach, unable to respond.   And that’s when you feel yourself being lifted up. Onto Jimin’s back.    He’s piggybacking you, and in your dazed state, you realize he smells of shampoo and soap scented of fresh oranges. He’s also warm, body radiating heat, his backside firm. You didn’t know his shoulders were broader than they looked.   “Jimin…” you murmur his name.   “Excuse me!” Once outside, he calls out to a nearby woman in desperation, shouting at the top of his lungs. You can hear the way his voice warbles. “Can you please call a cab for us? She needs to go to the hospital!”   The taxi comes within three minutes and he thanks the woman who wishes you both luck. You feel Jimin put you in the backseat, holding onto you tightly.   You pull him closer, cold. The sheer agony concentrates on one side of your abdomen and it never stops. “J-Jimin…”   If this is how you die — it’ll be so pathetic. More pathetic than how the rest of your life has been. Your parents would be crying tears of disappointment, not sorrow.    But he disrupts your thoughts, arms wrapping around your shoulders. “I’m here. It’s going to be okay…”   When the pair of you have arrived at the hospital, Jimin coaxes you to hold onto him again and he hoists you onto his back with the help of the female taxi driver.   “Can someone help us, please?!”   Jimin’s voice sounds far away, but it’s desperate. You don’t know why he’s trying so hard for someone like you — someone who’s said such hurtful things to him.   Soon, you’re wheeled away, and when you peel back your eyes, the fluorescent lights passing by blind your eyes. You feel your body being rocked from the force of the stretcher being pushed, disoriented with the strangers surrounding you — but then you hear your name being called again by someone familiar.   By someone with a smooth timbre, one that you’ve heard sing many times over.   You find Jimin’s eyes and that frown again, the one that messes up his cute features, that makes the knot between his brows. You wish you could press your finger against the wrinkle and banish it away forever.   Your hand is squeezed. “I’m here.”   You nod, nerves calming, and no sooner are you brought in for an abdominal ultrasound, blood taken, urine tested. They give you painkillers that temporarily take the sharp pain away and you’re able to breathe again.   Through it all, Jimin sticks by your side, holding his coat and your own, standing back to listen to every word the doctor has to say.   “When did it start to hurt?”   “L-Last night.”   The doctor hums. “When was the last time you ate?”   “I...don’t remember.” You couldn’t eat lunch — you skipped breakfast. Now that you think about it, your throat was parched too. You couldn’t drink water either.    “Can you show me where it hurts?”   “Here.” Your fingers press against the swollen area.    The doctor notes, making some last notes before he puts down his clipboard. “Well, Ms. Y/N. Taking a look at your tests and the ultrasound, I think it’s safe to assume you have appendicitis.” What. “Your appendix ruptured. We’re going to have surgery as soon as possible to get it removed.”   You nearly sit all the way up, forgetting about your condition. “R-Right now?”   “In five minutes.” The doctor smiles in an attempt to put you at ease. “Don’t worry. It’s a really simple surgery and the success rate is really high. We’re just going to make a small incision about four inches here and we’ll get that sucker out of you. There’s a chance of infection afterwards, but we’ll give you antibiotics and you should be fine. There’s no cause for concern really once we get it out of there.”   He briefly goes over what the recovery will look like, how long it’ll take, how fast you’ll be out of here. But that doesn’t do much to lessen your anxiousness.   “Thank you, doctor.” Jimin nods and the doctor leaves with the nurse, the latter who will come back soon to prep you for surgery. But you’re not ready. Far from it.   “I-I can’t miss work, Jimin.” Your arm reaches out and he grabs your hand immediately, giving a firm squeeze. “He’s going to fire me.”   “I’ll talk to the director.” His voice is stern, expression solemn. You’ve never seen Jimin like this before. “You can’t go into work like this.”   You want to cry. It’s so sudden. One second you’re on your way home and the next you’re in a hospital, laying in a bed to be brought into the surgical room. “I’m already on thin ice with him.”    “He’ll understand. Or I’ll make him,” Jimin whispers calmly, almost upset at how you’re still so worried about work in these last moments. “You can’t just get up and go to work, okay? You have to do this surgery.”   “But...I can’t afford it.”   “I’ll help you.” His hand gently squeezes yours once more, comforting you. “It’ll be alright.”   “I’m scared,” you admit after a moment.   “It’s okay.” Jimin leans in close, searching your expression. When your eyes lock with his, you nod. Somehow, you believe him. If he told you that the ocean was pink, you’d believe him. “You’ll be okay. Promise. I’ll be right here with you. You don’t have to worry.”   No one is here but him. Out of everyone you know in your lifetime, only Jimin is present. And true to his word, he stays right by you, until the last moment where you’re brought into the surgical room.    “Your boyfriend really cherishes you, huh?” the older nurse asks as she’s fiddling with your IV, sighing wistfully with a softened smile. “How long have you been together?”   In a split-second, you decide to spare her from the awkwardness, not wanting to put her in an uncomfortable position and have to apologize. “Oh...um….three months?” Your voice is muffled behind the oxygen mask.   The anesthesiologist smiles as well. “Young love is always sweet. Alright, Y/N, just breathe in deeply, okay?”   You listen, inhaling deep breaths. Your lids become heavier and heavier as if you were drifting off to sleep.   The last thing you think of is Jimin. How nice he smelled, how warm he felt, and the way he held your hand.

When you come to, it’s dark outside.   You can barely remember anything. It was surreal as if you were still trapped in a dream-like state and now all the memories you have are mashed together. You vaguely recall being woken up by the anesthesiologist, how the doctor said something about antibiotics.   But now after a long sleep, you feel more conscious.   Your eyes flutter and your heart monitor beeps every time your heart pumps. The IV is still in your arm, but you feel something else on your other hand.   The tips of your fingers presses against soft skin that isn’t your own.   You loll your head over to look.   It’s Jimin. He’s in the same clothes as he was hours ago and he’s fallen asleep in his chair. His head is dipped down, neck nearly snapping and will probably ache when he wakes up. Though for now, he’s in a deep slumber, chest rising and falling at a constant rhythm. His hair shags down his forehead, eyes shut tight. His lips are plump and pouted, cheeks rounded. And his hand is limp in yours, having held it as he drifted off.   You wonder if he’s trying to pay back the favour. Maybe he’s trying to make it up to you. You did teach him after all, helped him get into Broadway even when it was against your will. Maybe this to make you both even. Or perhaps he simply felt obligated to help you….it’s not like you can ignore a person who’s fainted in a stairwell….   But you don’t understand why he’s still here.    Why he’s stayed by you even when you’re okay now, at this time of night, and when the surgery is over. He has gone beyond the duty of a neighbour, beyond paying back debt. Jimin’s still beside you after all these hours, holding your hand. Even after all the mean things that you’ve said to him. After you told him you hated him. How does he not hate you?   “I’m sorry.”   A tear escaped down the side of your face, dripping onto the pillow.

[raleigh-ocean]

not even hell can do us apart

11. "I almost lost you" kiss

Words: 1, 568

send a ‘kiss’ and i’ll write something!

Rubbing her eyes with more strength than intended, Wilhemina tried to get rid of the thick layer of tiredness that was trying to paralyze her.

When she tried to open her eyes, the only thing she saw was a terrible brightness that blinded her after all that time underground. But as soon as her eyes started to get used to it, the summerish view of a park started to appear in front of her.

Where was she?

Apparently she was sitting in a bench, under the shadow of a big willow. Even when she was dressed in her favourite black outfit, her body didn't feel the heat as strong as it should be in mid June in Los Angeles. Perks of having low corporal temperature.

It took her a couple minutes to recognize the place, but after that Wilhemina felt a painful tug in her heart. But she didn't move for some reason, only lifting her hand to her face to touch the light weight that were her old glasses, resting over the bridge of her nose.

This wasn't real, was it?

Taking her cane with strong grip she tried to stand up, failing to do so when her legs decided to feel wobbly all of a sudden. Annoying. But out of sheer stubbornness she managed to do it after a few more tris. How long was she there sitting? The idea of walking forward felt right, so following her gut she walked out from the shadow area to start walking slowly to the open area of the park.

People around her seemed to not notice her for some reason, not that she cared.

When she reached the other side of the open area, another shadow zone, she felt a soft tingle in the back of her neck that made her turn around. Wilhemina didn't know what she was doing but it felt like the right thing all the time.

Until she saw you in the distance, walking to the bench where she had been sitting.

Then the paralyzing sensation took over her body, anchoring her to the ground by her feet and by her heart. Wilhemina realized that she was having that nightmare again without missing a beat, so the first thing she did when her breathing started to feel heavy was close her eyes to tell herself that wasn't real.

It wasn't real anymore.

However, when she opened her eyes to encounter the darkness of her room, she was still there. Standing in that hidden area while you seemed to enjoy the sun in the other side of the open area while reading, apparently. Her feet didn't feel like moving at all as much as she wanted, waiting for several minutes that she already knew the outcome of. A sob got caught in her throat. Waiting for you to stand up and start calling her time and time again, herself letting her phone ring each time till you grew desperate and look around before walking away from the park to go find her in her apartment, only to find Oberon lazily lying in her bed and lie down with him, waiting for her to appear at any given moment.

She had memorized each one of the messages you left in her voice mail.

Yet still, that didn't happen.

You kept enjoying the sun and the book in your hands.

Wilhemina kept being anchored there, close to you yet so far.

Until the heaviness disappeared and she used her cane to balance herself again. Was she able to run towards you without tripping? Was she able to actually run? Oh for fuck’s sake, she didn't care at this point. How long has it been since she sprint? It didn't matter her back at this point, she wasn't feeling it anyways, so she decided to let herself prompt forward and start her run.

Soon the dizziness from not having something to support herself with overcame her, but she didn't stop.

When Wilhemina opened her mouth, she felt breathless for a second but she managed to say your name as loud as she could.

You lifted your head from your book and then your smile was there like every time you looked at her. Breathtaking, healing, all for her. The last meters were Hell and when she thought she would make it to your side, the unbalanced feeling was too much for her and she tripped.

“Mina,” your laugh had this little worried undertone, but Wilhemina never touched the grass, her body being held by your arms. “Careful love, what were you thinking? I'm not going anywhere.”

Speechless as she was, Wilhemina couldn't help but let out the first real sob in forever. It shook her to her very own core but it didn't stop her to pull you into a kiss. Her hands holding both your cheeks as if you were her going to disappear while her lips were in yours. You were there, in bone and flesh; you were there after all, her heart hurting as it did every night in her room at the Outpost, crying in silence herself to sleep because she thought you weren't there anymore.

The relief flooding her body, the feeling of almost losing you was too strong to handle it anymore.

“Babe,” she heard you chuckle against her lips softly, sending a comforting wave of warmth through her body. Your hands secured in her lower back while you took her with you to lie in the grass, Wilhemina on top of you. “But you did lose me.”

Only God knew how much that hurt.

“I'm sorry,” she cried that ever so softly in your lips, not letting you go from her grasp, and you held her closer while giggling into the kiss. Did you just read her mind? “I'm so very sorry.”

“I know you are love,” Wilhemina looked at you just to find how your eyes didn't look back at her with resentment. “But we are together again, so why to be sorry?”

Wilhemina wanted to tell you how awfully selfish she was, how much of a monster she became and why you should ran away from her instead of kissing her and holding her as if nothing happened. But you only helped her stand up again, letting your fiancée circling your neck to not lose contact with you and peppering kisses all over her cheeks.

Then she felt your hand sneaking to her chest, where the throbbing pain at that point was placed, and pressed your fingers softly in the damped part of her dress.

“I'm sorry you had to come here like this,” when Wilhemina looked down to your hand, blood stained fingers from the wound in her chest, she remembered the bullet piercing her body mercilessly. “You shouldn't have felt that much pain.”

“Y/N…” what was a bullet against a nuclear bomb, she wondered for a second.

“I closed my eyes at some point when I was in your room; when I opened them again, I was here,” why your smile seemed so freeing? A new kiss in your lips, full of every second you weren't together. “It didn't hurt at all Mina.”

Chosing to believe in your words, Wilhemina tightened her hug and closed her eyes just in case this turned out to be a nightmare and you disappeared again. But her gut told her otherwise. She had too many questions for you, too many kisses she wished to give you; and the strong walls she had built around herself were all destroyed for you to come back to her without fighting your way to get her again.

“Are we in Hell?” a muttered question against your neck, feeling your laughter get to her through your skin as a soft trembling.

“I'm not sure babe, for me it looks a lot like Heaven,” there was a soft swift change around you two and Wilhemina took a peek through her eyelashes to discover her clothes weren't black anymore and she was dressed in purple like the day you parted ways. “I didn't know I was that bad to you, I mean, sometimes we got a little kinky but-”

“You are such an idiot,” Wilhemina huffed, making you laugh again but she didn't pull away from the hug like she used to do when you got like that.

“An idiot worth to go to Hell for, I presume.”

Wilhemina thought all that time that the day she crossed the line, you wouldn't be there. That she was going to a completely different place to be punished from all the wrong she did, to make her pay every single suffering she inflicted.

Maybe the knowledge of having been able to save you and not done it so was enough punishment.

“So, you promised me the best carbonara for lunch,” you only leaned back enough to look at her, that playful smirk she loved appearing in your lips. “How about we get it for take out and have wild sex at home before lunch?”

But if it meant she would spend the rest of the afterlife with you, then she was pretty much content to receive whatever it came her way.

“Not even death can keep you satisfied.”

“Did you see yourself?” your laughter made her smile for once in months. “I told you once purple is the colour that suits you best. You are to die for, honey.”

[overwatchworks]

A Tale of Two Dragons

I had the absolute pleasure to work on a collab with the amazing @mgenjo for this Shimada brothers piece. They had an amazing idea for it and we went back and forth yelling about our boys to create this story and this incredible piece.

I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did working on it with such a talented artist and creative mind! Thank you so much for the opportunity, I had a blast! 

“Otōsan! Tell us the story again!”

Hanzo rolled his eyes at his little brother’s exclamation. He was twelve years old and still liked their father telling them stories before bed. It was childish, and yet, Hanzo found himself pulling up his blanket higher and looking to Shojiro expectantly. Their father set his hand on Genji’s head, then sat down between their futons. 

“Which story would you like, Genji?” He asked quietly, though, there was a knowing look in his eye as Genji motioned excitedly with his hands.

“You know the one! With the dragons!”

“You mean the one where they were grounded for not going to sleep?”

“Otōsan,” Genji whined, Shojiro smiling as he leaned back against the wall. Hanzo rolled over to face him, Genji doing the same as their father took a breath.

“My family tells of an ancient legend about two great dragon brothers: the Dragon of the North Wind, and the Dragon of the South Wind,” Shojiro started, looking at each of his sons in turn before continuing. Genji glanced at Hanzo, smiling before turning his gaze back to their father. 

“Together, they upheld balance and harmony in the heavens. But the two brothers argued over who could better rule their land. Their quarrel turned to rage and their violent struggle darkened skies.” 

Shojiro’s voice rose as he held up a hand, sweeping it down as he spoke. He narrowed his eyes, tone changing as he paused, Genji kicking his feet under his covers.

“Until the Dragon of the South Wind struck down his brother, who fell to the earth, shattering the land…The Dragon of the South Wind had triumphed, but as time passed, he then realized his solitude. The sweetness of victory turned to ash.”

Hanzo stared at the tatami mats, fingers tapping against his pillow lightly. He pursed his lips as Genji leaned in, waiting for their father to continue.

“For years, the bereft dragon’s grief threw the world into discord, and he knew only bitterness and sorrow. One day, a stranger called up to the dragon and asked, ‘Oh dragon lord, why are you so distraught?’ The dragon told him, ‘Seeking power, I killed my brother. But without him, I am lost.’ The stranger replied, ‘You have inflicted wounds upon yourself, but now, you must heal. Walk the earth on two feet as I do. Find value in humility. Go to bed when your father asks you--”

“That’s not how it goes!” Genji interrupted, Hanzo blinking out of his slight daze.

“Are you the one telling the story? I think not, little sparrow,” Shojiro teased, Genji giggling as his hair was ruffled fondly. Hanzo chewed on his lower lip.

“I don’t like this one. Can you tell us a different one?”

“No! I want to hear the rest of this one, it’s almost done anyways! Please, Otōsan!

“Genji, we hear this one all the time--”

“And I like it! The dragons are so cool!”

“Boys. I will finish this one, and tell another, how does that sound?”

Genji nodded, Hanzo sighing before sinking back down into his bed. 

“Very well, then.” 

Shojiro cleared his throat, demeanor changing to add theatrics the story once again.

“‘Only then will you heal.’ The dragon knelt upon the ground. For the first time, he was able to clearly see the world around him, and he became human. The stranger revealed himself as his fallen brother. Reunited, the two set out to rebuild what they had once destroyed.” 

Genji rolled over and clapped, Shojiro smiling at him before turning to Hanzo.

“See? It is a quick story. Now you can pick one.”

Hanzo didn’t bother explaining that it wasn’t the length of the tale that made him uneasy, murmuring something about a different story he no longer wanted to hear.

---

Hanzo winced as the needle bit into his skin again, ink seeping below the surface. Marks that would stay there forever, marks he was proud to bear. His dragons, drawn by the clan’s elder tattoo artist, perfected over generations of Shimadas sitting in the same spot he was, needles piercing their skin, marking, claiming. 

The elder had appraised him before his sixteenth birthday, circling around him time and time again, his leathery eyes narrowed. Finally, he had tisked and bowed himself out to start working on the initial design. Shojiro had been proud, Genji excited. Hanzo had blue ink tracing up over his arm the next day, the needle starting sharply just after it had been cleaned and prepared, piercing in clean, black lines. 

Genji watched avidly for the first few minutes, asking if Hanzo was okay, if it hurt much.

“I’m okay. It’s not that bad,” Hanzo replied truthfully, even as the sting of the needle continued to press consistently into his forearm. 

It was fading with each line Hanzo endured.

Genji became bored after ten minutes, which was expected. Hanzo would stay in the chair, still and silent for another four hours before he was given a break, which was expected. They were back at it again as soon as the elder tattoo artist was ready. 

---

Hanzo cleaned his arm carefully, rinsing cool water over it. He had been training with his bow--nothing too strenuous, and he had made sure to cover it properly. The lines were almost complete. Details Hanzo had been staring at every night before he went to bed etched into his skin precisely, eloquently. 

Scales that already seemed to shift and move over his skin, even without colour. Fine lines of fur placed meticulously across the dragon’s back and tail. Delicate, intricate swirling storm clouds with bolts of lightning dancing across them. The dragon’s face, its mouth parted in a growl, ready to strike. 

He had been told colouring it would take at least another four sessions. There was to be blue ink covering most of his arm, so the dragon would stand out starkly against the raging storm. Hanzo trailed his fingers over it lightly, following the beast curling around his arm. 

“Anija!”

Hanzo blinked and looked up into the mirror, past his own reflection. Genji waved at him, hair still sticking to his brow, face red. He must have continued practicing while Hanzo went to clean up. 

He had watched his little brother train for a bit; the strokes favouring his left side needed work, always leaving his right open and vulnerable. But he was fast and agile, footwork mixing in seamlessly with his coordination and strikes. Hanzo had found that if Genji didn’t think he could win--as he often did when the two sparred together--he would work less on making his strikes clean and more on out-stepping the enemy. It won him a few rounds, until Hanzo caught on to the pattern. 

Genji always seemed to do better when he was not really trying. 

“Your hair is a mess,” Hanzo commented offhandedly, Genji grinning as he sat down next to him. He was still breathing heavy, heat coming off him in waves. Hanzo grimaced at the touch of his slightly damp hand on his tattoo.

“Go wash your hands! I have a colouring session in an hour, and I don’t need your sweaty paws giving me an infection.”

“I just want to look!”

“Then just look.”

Genji tilted his head as he looked at the dragon, hands going back to rest in his lap. Hanzo lifted his arm and showed it off a bit, a small smile growing on his lips as Genji’s eyes seemed to sparkle.

“It’s so cool! I can’t wait to get mine, then we can match!”

“That’s only if you get it on your arm, too. The elder might think it’ll look better somewhere else,” Hanzo told him, Genji making a face.

“But it’s my tattoo. I’ll get it where I want.”

“If you say so,” Hanzo shrugged. Genji stood up and bounced slightly on the balls of his feet.

“I want to see it again when you’re done with today’s session.”

“I’ll make sure and show you, if you’re not asleep.”

Genji grinned, then ran out of the room.

“I’ll probably be up playing that new game I got! You can play it too if you want, it has a co-op mode,” He called, voice fading along with the sound of thumping feet. 

Hanzo shook his head fondly, then went to go disassemble and clean his bow and arrows. 

---

The dragon’s eye was golden, shaded to have depth, standing out against the deep blue of its scales. It watched him constantly, both an assurance and unsettling at the same time. Half completed in blue and gold, just like the dragon on the tapestry in the main hall. The Dragon of the South Wind intertwined with his brother. 

Hanzo didn’t know why he was recalling such a story now, in the middle of his meeting with the clan elders and his father. He must have zoned out. Shojiro was speaking in that tone that indicated he was unhappy with something, though, Hanzo hadn’t figured out what, just yet. Genji’s name popped up, the elders shaking their heads. 

Hanzo finally started to listen again.

“He has been doing everything we ask of him. Genji does not need further conditioning,” Shojiro argued, Hanzo looking between him and the elders thoughtfully. 

“I hardly think playing video games and going out to spend the clan’s money on frivolous activities is ‘doing everything we ask of him’, my lord.”

“Then what would you have him do, if not be the child he is?”

An elder glanced to Hanzo at that, his eyes narrowing. He said nothing, however, sitting back and watching the argument commence. Hanzo figured it was just another pair of eyes making sure he was doing what he was supposed to. 

“He can still be a child, but he must pick up more responsibilities. He must become more involved with the clan before he strays too far.”

Hanzo watched Shojiro’s jaw work, clenching slightly as he held the gaze of the woman that spoke up. 

“We can add to his training schedule and require more attendance to clan business, if you wish, but I will see to the additions myself.”

“Very well.”

The elder that had looked at him before caught Hanzo’s eye again, not looking away this time. He shifted in his seat, uncomfortable under the hard stare, cold and unwavering. Hanzo tried to focus on the meeting instead, the feeling of being watched following him even after it ended and he went to his kendo training. 

---

Hanzo peeled off the protective layering over his tattoo, Genji gasping as it went on full display. It was beautiful; the colours bold and shaded to perfection, the design made to stand out and give a sense of majesty. Power. 

Hanzo could feel it, the way the dragons settled in his skin, a persistent presence. One to be called upon should he ever wish to. Only a Shimada could control the dragons, only a Shimada had that gift. The tattoo merely symbolized it, gave a visual connection to the mystical one. 

“It’s amazing,” Genji murmured, Hanzo tilting his arm this way and that to let it catch the light. 

He loved it. Deep, navy blue with shimmering gold cut through, black lines stark against the tan of his skin. The ink still fresh and shining. 

“They said I can get another one when I turn twenty-one. I might get matching ones on both my arms, like Otōsan’s. And you’ll be eighteen by then, you can get yours too.”

“I’d make mine green, though.”

Hanzo huffed a laugh.

“Of course you would.”

“I’d get it on my right arm too, since it’s the one I hold my katana with. Sounds cool, right?” Genji looked up at his brother the same way he always did when he expected him to agree or praise him, eyes wide and expression open. 

Hanzo gave him a little half grin, ruffling his hair and messing it up more than it already was. Genji made a noise of surprise, pulling back and swatting at Hanzo’s hand before trying to fix the style. 

“Yeah, that’s pretty cool.”

“Young master.”

Hanzo turned, brow raising as his posture straightened. A cold expression settled on his face, turning the corners of his mouth down and drawing his brows together. His attendant bowed briefly, then gave him an equally blank stare back.

“Your presence is requested in the Eastern hall.”

With a sigh, Hanzo stood, Genji watching him as he leaned back on his hands. 

“Very well, I will be there shortly.”

The woman bowed again, then walked away swiftly. Genji eyed her as she left, then tilted his body towards his brother.

“When you’re done with the meeting, you want to go get something to eat in town? Rikimaru is having a special on their ramen, they have a new flavour I think you’d like,” He offered. Hanzo gave him a look, brows furrowing slightly as he shook his head. 

“I cannot.”

“What? Why? You did all your training for the day, right?”

A nod, Genji frowning at the motion.

“So, come with me.”

“I have other things to attend to, Genji. This meeting is just one of the evening.”

“Oh,” Genji murmured, eyes drifting down to the floor before he stood fluidly and shrugged, hands going into his pockets.

“Well, if you change your mind, I’ll wait until your work is done.”

Hanzo fixed his yukata, going to the door and turning to Genji just before leaving.

“Do not bother, just go without me.”

---

Genji grit his teeth and tried to wriggle his way out from Hanzo’s headlock, face red and sweat dripping from his forehead. Hanzo held fast, dropping his center of gravity slightly and widening his stance, not allowing his brother to hook a leg behind his and sweep it. He was getting sloppy, too easy to defeat. 

Going out almost every night partying, drinking, and staying in a club until the early hours of the morning was taking its toll. Hanzo had a feeling he was doing drugs on top of that as well. He certainly wouldn’t have been surprised if it was true. 

Genji finally slowed his struggles and tapped Hanzo’s forearm, gasping as he was let go.

“You do not even try anymore. Your form is lacking, your attacks too rushed. Steady your breath, keep your focus. Again!” He snapped, Genji throwing a glare his way. 

The younger Shimada had been acting out more and obeying less, ever since he had realized he could without much consequence. He did what he wanted while Hanzo was stuck with shouldering the burdens he left behind. The elders were starting to nag on him about the behaviour, but he would push back, give Genji the benefit of the doubt. 

Something he had taken from his father, the urge to protect Genji from what he had to endure. He gave in to far too easily when it came to the young sparrow. He took a strange sort of pride in shielding his little brother from the harshness of the clan, that innate sense driving him to side on Genji’s behalf every time the elders had a complaint.

“He will come around, just give him time.” 

“I will speak with him, he listens to me.”

“I will do it for him, then. He can take the next one.”

“Let him do what he wants.”

Hanzo brushed off his gi, their fight wrinkling the fabric, dirtying the white with stains of brown. 

“We’ve been at it for almost an hour. How many times do you have to beat my ass into the ground before you’re satisfied that you’re better at judo?” Genji grumbled, wiping his forehead and pushing his hair from his face. Hair that had recently been dyed green. Vibrant and obnoxious, screaming for attention. 

Hanzo hated it, but he couldn’t deny that it fit his brother. 

“At least once more. We go until you can beat me.”

Genji groaned, then shook his head. Waved a dismissive hand towards his brother as he walked towards the exit of the dojo. Hanzo’s nostrils flared, eyes narrowing.

“I’ve got somewhere to be tonight, I’m already late because of you. You can beat me up again tomorrow.” 

Hanzo’s jaw tightened as Genji left the dojo, slamming the shoji door shut as he went. 

--- 

There was a weight Hanzo didn’t know his father had been bearing for him until he was gone. Shojiro’s ashes sat in front of him, and Hanzo had never felt it so acutely. Overbearing. A burden he was not ready to carry. But he had no other choice. He had been training for this moment his whole life, and yet, it felt like he was just a child waiting for someone to tell him what to do and how to do it. 

Shojiro’s death had been untimely, Hanzo rather young for having to take the mantle of oyabun. The elders were constantly watching him, whispering in his ear even at his father’s funeral. Any moment they had, they would share their ‘deepest condolences’ before murmuring something about him needing to be ready as the next head of the clan. 

Hanzo couldn’t stop staring at the box his father’s ashes were in, his mind oddly blank. He felt a muted sort of sorrow, face remaining stoic and stony while the Buddhist priest droned on with words he didn’t hear. His stomach churned, hands shaking slightly where they were pressed against prayer beads. 

Genji was crying quietly next to him, eyes downcast. For once, he was at the house and sober. Hanzo was just glad his brother was with him. He would not have to go through the day alone, even if Genji was there for their father, not him. 

The funeral felt like it lasted for a week; three days dragging by, each one slower and heavier than the last until finally, Shojiro was simply a memory. 

And Hanzo was suffocating in the legacy he had left behind.

---

Genji’s tattoo had been started soon after their father had died, though, months later, there was still only half finished line-work on his right arm. Hanzo had mentioned it more as the weeks passed by, though, they had not talked much. 

A Shimada tattoo was something to be proud of, a blessing only given to those with pure blood and strong hearts. Those with the will of a dragon. Not to be left partially completed or brushed aside, as most of Genji’s responsibilities had been as of late. 

Hanzo kept him at a distance now that he had more work to take care of, more business meetings, more deals to strike, more assassinations and black market trades, always more. He would not let on that he was struggling with it on his own, because to admit that would be to admit a weakness. And weakness was always exploited. 

The elders had been speaking with Hanzo more about the unruly behaviour of his brother, the conversation shifting in a dangerous territory. 

“Genji’s actions need to be reigned in before he does something you cannot cover for him. He needs to step into his role in the clan, his family, or he will become a burden that needs to be cut from it.”

Hanzo clasped his hands in front of him, taking a moment to gather his thoughts before responding.

“I will see to it that he understands the position he is in.”

“My lord, if I may speak freely,” An elder spoke up. The same one that had been watching him when he was still learning from his father, the same one that had been whispering to him for years about what he needed to do for the clan with the promise of greatness in his future. 

Hanzo nodded once, sharply. 

“You have done nothing but try and help Genji, take burdens off his shoulders and allow him the freedom he takes so brashly, and what have you gotten in return for this effort? For years, you and your father took on what he would not so he could do what? Party, drink, and waste himself away late into the night.” 

“When people in town think of the Shimada name, is this what you want them to imagine? A boy with no respect or shame, using his family as an excuse to get what he wants? They should respect and fear the Shimadas, their power and reach, as they do for you. They know who you are, what you stand for. Perhaps it is time to let Genji know this as well, or teach him if he refuses to listen to you.”

Hanzo leveled the elder with a cold gaze, eyes flicking to the side after a moment.

“Perhaps you are right…”

“He is meant to be at your side, assisting you with your work and bettering the clan. That is what he was born to do. You have followed your path, and here you stand with an empire at your command. He is straying from his, and you see the havoc he is wreaking, yes? He needs only a few...Corrections.”

“I will see what I can do.”

“Very good, my lord.”

---

Genji had not listened. Time and time again, he walked away from Hanzo trying to reason with him, asking for help, laying his trust out only to be pushed away and proven wrong to have given it. Their conversations turned short, full of bitter comments and resigned tones. 

A rift had grown between them over the years; Hanzo could not quite tell when it had started, but it was a cold and gaping thing now. Left unattended, chipping away at the edges to widen the distance between them with every argument, slammed door, and frustrated shout. Some things left unsaid, some things where too much was said. 

Hanzo knelt on the tatami, the ridges digging into his knees. His chest was bare, the air around him cold and biting. Winter was setting in early this year. He felt as ill-disposed and distant as the wind blowing through the grey skies, whipping the clouds into storms. 

At the sound of metal hissing, his hands clenched into fists on his knees. He could feel the heat of it by his right shoulder, the two dragons of the Shimada clan crest burning a livid orange at the end of the brand. 

“It is tradition. The mark of the Shimada clan. The mark of the master,” They had told him. Hanzo had not argued, gone through the motions of binding himself to the clan symbolically before it would become yet another marking to carry with him forever. 

He had murmured oaths into the silence, listened to those returned to him as oyabun, people promising loyalty and unending fidelity to the clan, to him. Genji was not among them, as he should have been. As Hanzo had asked him to. 

He did not flinch as the heated metal was pressed to his arm, the smell of burning flesh the only thing that made his expression change. Just a slight wrinkle of his nose, quickly corrected into the wall of stone he had perfected. That stench never failed to make Hanzo’s stomach turn, disgust as potent as the smell. 

The pain set in when the brand was removed, stinging and throbbing across his shoulder. Unpleasant, but he’d had worse. 

The ceremony finished as monotonous as it had started, everyone bowing low as Hanzo stood and faced them, now as the oyabun. His title was merely made official, but nothing would change. 

For a brief moment, Hanzo wondered if this was the life he had always imagined he would have.

---

Hanzo stared at the polished wood of the table, feeling disconnected from himself. Body and mind distant, uncoordinated. Words spoken without really processing or feeling.

“Very well, I will do it.”

---

Hanzo sat poised and still, like a statue. It was almost as if he was one now, cold and hard as any stone. Sculpted by the clan, maintained by his duty to do right by them. He was waiting. Genji should have arrived ten minutes ago, but Hanzo had not expected him to be on time. 

There was not much Hanzo expected of him anymore. 

Such potential, gone to waste by his own devices. They could have built an empire together, but Genji had chosen to walk away from his birthright, discard it as though it meant nothing to him. Maybe it did mean nothing to him.

The shift of weight down a hallway had Hanzo’s attention, soft footsteps coming to a halt behind him. Genji stepped into view, wearing his training gi--the one with the sleeves torn off. It was the first time he had been at the estate in over two weeks; he had left after their previous fight, both brothers angry and frustrated, neither willing to budge. 

Hanzo lifted his head, hands settling on the weight of his katana resting in his lap. He had just finished cleaning it, meticulous and precise. It would be a short meeting, no matter the outcome. 

The younger Shimada held something in his hands, sitting down next to Hanzo and setting it between them.

“Hey. Thought you could use some of this. It’s your favourite.” 

Hanzo glanced at the sake bottle Genji motioned to, a frown curving his lips. It was his favourite, but now was not the time to get drunk and sloppy, as Genji might. A mere token of goodwill could not help him now. 

The silence became uncomfortable after a moment, Genji sighing and leaning back on his hands. He had always done that, ever since he was little. Something about that thought struck Hanzo wrong. 

“You wanted to talk? I’m actually glad, I’ve been meaning to do the same,” He continued. Still at ease, eyes distant as they looked out to the city lights twinkling just beyond the balcony. Hanzo’s grip tightened on the hilt of his katana.

“I feel like we’re just...We’re definitely not the people we used to be. And I think that’s setting us further and further apart. I miss when we were younger and you…” Genji trailed off, eyes shifting to his brother before he took a breath.

“I don’t like what we’ve done to ourselves, I guess. But, I still don’t want to change for the sake of something I don’t believe in, Hanzo.”

They’d had this conversation dozens of times, and dozens of times, Hanzo had snapped at him for saying that. Now was no different. Old habits coming to haunt him again.

“Of course you don’t. You have not for years now, and it has done nothing but cause me more problems.”

“Anija, I’m not here to fight you on this. I just thought we could talk without it turning into an argument, for once,” Genji sighed, a hand going up to tug his hair from his forehead. 

Hanzo caught sight of his tattoo, dark lines and scales left half finished. His arm went back behind the curve of his body to support his weight, hiding it again. 

“I have tried to speak with you time and time again--”

“I know, okay? You just repeat what the elders shove down your throat, and I’m tired of hearing it. I know I’m a disappointment and a disgrace to the clan, I get it. And they know I don’t care what they think or want to do what they tell me. That’s not going to change. But I’m here to talk to you, not them. I need to talk to you, Hanzo.”

Hanzo’s lip twitched just slightly. If that was truly how Genji felt, so be it. He stared at the tapestry of the dragons, bodies intertwined in green and blue, working together in harmony. 

Standing up took more effort than it should have, his body feeling heavy. As if he was not truly in control of it. Anger flared bright and hot in his chest, the dragons rumbling low as the words of the elders came back to him. 

Genji had flown away long ago, left him behind, chained to the cage of the clan to uphold on his own, and he had not looked back. He had left him alone, even after everything he had tried to do for him. Genji had disobeyed the clan, and it was Hanzo’s duty to maintain order. 

So he would.

“You are not going to change, then?” Hanzo murmured. He could hear the resignment in Genji’s voice as he responded, and there was a bite of annoyance there too. It only irked Hanzo further.

“That isn’t the point I’m trying to make, but no. Not if it’s going to be like this, I won’t.”

Hanzo was quiet for a long moment, then he nodded to himself. His katana caught the light as he unsheathed it, the motion quick and practiced. 

“So be it.”

---

The gardens were lovely at night; there was a peace to them that could not be found anywhere else. Soft, orange light cast on the smooth grey of stone pathways and patches of vibrant grass, littered with cherry blossom petals. The moon was full and bright. 

Hanzo’s fingers dripped with blood as he wiped his katana clean of the crimson staining it further. The stench of smoke and ash followed him as he set his blade down and walked back to his wing.

---

Hanzo walked past Genji’s room and paused, brows furrowing as he backtracked and looked inside. Still empty. Genji avoiding home after they had fought yet again. Hanzo walked inside silently, closing the windows with a soft tap. They must have been left open after Genji had left, again. 

Hanzo understood why he didn’t want to be there, but he had not seen his brother in a long time, too many days passing in a blur to count anymore. He missed him. There was no one else for him to talk to, no one else he trusted the way he trusted Genji. There had not even been a call. 

He had asked around the estate earlier that day, talked to servants and guards of Genji’s, but none had seen him. There were a few that gave him hesitant looks every now and then, but it was to be expected. Hanzo did not often ask where Genji was, anymore.

A headache flared behind Hanzo’s eyes--he had been getting more of those lately--and he grimaced. Sleep was alluding him, although, Hanzo had only been having nightmares lately, waking in a cold sweat most nights. He remembered arguing with Genji last he had seen him, a bitter sense of regret nagging at him for acting out of anger again. 

While Genji’s habits were to distract himself and run away from his problems, Hanzo’s were to become frustrated with them, unable to let go or see different solutions once he had the one he wanted in mind. It had caused him more issues than not when it came to dealing with his younger brother. 

Hanzo sighed and went past his own room. It was late, and a walk in the spring air would do good to clear his head. He thought about the dreams he had been having lately; gruesome images with red smeared across his vision, someone shouting and pleading, the wreckage of something at his feet. It wasn’t easy to deal with, but these things tended to happen to trained assassins. Sleep never came easy, and the dreams were never good ones. 

Walking through the garden was nice, the weather still cool and dry enough to be pleasant. He tried to remember how long Genji had been gone for this time. Was it weeks? Or had it only been one or two days? Hanzo could not recall. Perhaps Genji had been right all along, maybe he was overworking himself. 

Stepping over the sakura petals and following the stone walkway, Hanzo made it to the main hall. He was silent as he wandered inside, noticing some scratches in the floor. Hanzo knelt to examine them. Ran his fingertips over the splintery wood, that small strand of hair slipping from behind his ear as his head tilted. 

Those had not been there before. He stepped closer to the katana on display, resting on a pristine stand, a chip in the blade. Blood on the scroll hanging behind it, a cut running through the bottom. Hanzo sucked in a sharp breath. 

Something snapped.

Genji stood there in front of the scroll, brows furrowed in confusion. He shook his head, motioning to the katana in Hanzo’s hands.

“What is this? You know fear tactics don’t work on me anymore. I’m not a child.” 

“No, you are not. Which is why I can no longer protect you from them. You made your choices, Genji. Now you have forced me to make mine.” 

“This is ridiculous. I will not fight you anymore. If this is how you’re going to continue to treat me, I’m leaving. For good. I have something I’ve been working on, people who see me for who I am and what I want to be. I’m not going to stay trapped here forever. I hope that one day you can do the same,” Genji told him, gaze bright and fiery. 

He turned and began to walk away, Hanzo gritting his teeth. The katana moved in a flash, Genji grunting and stumbling as it cut clean through his heels. The first drops of blood splattered in a little arc as Hanzo flicked the sword back up into a defensive hold.

“You will not walk away from the clan this time, brother. I let you stray too far, and now, it is my duty to fix that mistake. You have left me no other options,” Hanzo whispered. 

He felt the first tears slide down his cheeks as Genji looked up at him from behind his shoulder, eyes wide with fear. Never had Genji looked at him like that before. Hanzo felt something in him shatter, a voice in his mind telling him to stop, this is your little brother, don’t hurt him. 

But the blade swung again and again, Genji shouting as his arm was sliced open, again and again. Deep gashes across his body, more stains on the floor, on Hanzo’s clothes. He fought back, reached for the katana on display, Hanzo’s own blade chipping it with the force of his blow. 

But he was already losing. 

He always had against Hanzo. 

Genji scrambled back, clutching at the wall to try and push himself to his feet. A tear ripped through the bottom of the scroll behind him, his blood staining the paper, spreading like ink. Genji collapsed again with a cry of pain.

“Hanzo, don’t! Please…!”

Blue crackled along Hanzo’s tattoo as he raised his arm, an odd sort of numbness blanketing his mind as he watched his dragons burst forth. The katana sang, the force of the beasts being unleashed upon it, upon Genji, creating an ungodly chorus. Genji’s screams and pleads were drowned out in the ethereal growls and roars. Blue and red mixing in a cacophony of sound and colour. The dragons dissipated, leaving a ruined Genji in their wake. 

Hanzo stepped closer to his body, looked down at the arm partially torn from his torso. Black lines of ink shaping scales and clouds, red smeared across it in streaks. Unfinished. 

Genji had wanted it to be green, some time ago, had wanted it to match Hanzo’s. 

Blood dripped from Genji’s lips, eyes staring up at the roof, unseeing. It smelled of ozone and burnt flesh. Hanzo’s nose wrinkled slightly. He looked up at the tapestry of the dragons again, unable to recall the story his father had once told them at the moment. 

But he did remember it was Genji’s favourite story. 

Hanzo blinked, taking a shuddering breath as he heard voices behind him, barking out orders. 

“Dispose of the body. Take care no one sees, and clean this mess quickly.”

Hanzo watched as guards and a few of the elders filed into the room, the latter watching him with a cold sort of approval. It made him feel sick, but the emotionless mask settled into place, hiding what he felt inside as easily as it always had. Hiding the pain in his heart and the tears, the way he felt like he was falling apart, breaking and crumbling. 

“My lord, you must stop!”

Hanzo frowned. The voice had not come from anyone in the room. 

Hands grabbed at his arms, and he pulled away with a shout, back hitting the scroll. His katana fell with a clatter, an attendant jumping away from it. The woman stared at him as he looked around the room with wide eyes, heart racing and a cold sweat on his brow. His hands shook, heart pounding and breathing uneven. 

“My lord?”

Hanzo’s gaze darted to her, then down to himself. There were cuts along his hands and arms, blood warm and stinging as it ran in little rivulets down his palms and fingers. He dropped to his knees, body curling over as he gripped his head. 

“What have I done?! What did I do to him?!”

“My lord, please, I don’t know what you mean…”

“Where is Genji?! Where is he?!”

The attendant looked down at him, brows furrowed and lips pursed. Hanzo felt like he was going to throw up. Tears joined the blood running down his cheeks. How many days had Genji been gone?

“He is dead, sir.”

Hanzo swallowed thickly, his father’s story on repeat in his mind along with the images of Genji’s broken body at his feet. Genji was dead, struck down by his brother, and Hanzo was choking on the ashes of what was left of himself.

---

[chubbyooo]

Blurred Lines : Chapter 6 - The Temple

yaaay chapter 6 is finally here, continuing Kavaraas adventure 

After dispatching the Weequay on the mysterious planet Kavaraa and Theron head inside the planet to search for the dark presence

Kavaraa caught her breath as she stood over the last of the crazed weequay “i think that’s the last of them” she hoped anyway all this fighting was tiring her out

“not exactly a heroes welcome is it” Theron said as he holstered his blaster, the weequay had turned on them very quickly after leading them to the temple. Kavaraa suspected some level of control either from the temple or the presence within had forced them into fighting. As a result she had tried to kill as little as possible but unfortunately some were unavoidable.

“yeah not exactly, let’s get back to the temple we still need to investigate” she said, the temple was clearly made by an ancient force user judging by the structure but the big giveaway was that the door could only be opened by a force user. As they made their way over Kavaraa began to concentrate making sure to think peacefully, she muttered the Jedi code under her breath as she raised her hand and concentrated on unlocking the ancient temple. Her mind began to wonder as she concentrated, to recent events, why she was here and what that all meant, as she did her hand began to close into a fist before she heard a crash which snapped her out of her trance. As she opened her eyes she saw the door was open and bits of rubble were scattered at the bottom of the door.

“you know i probably could’ve done the same with a few thermal detonators” Theron said with a cute grin on his face, oh yeah so much precision in a thermal detonator

“oh yeah i’m sure you could” Kavaraa said with a coy smile where did that rubble come from was it her? probably not this temple was pretty old 

“you okay there Kav?” Theron looked concerned Kavaraa realized she’d just been standing still for a bit 

“yeah fine sorry i was somewhere else for a second” they should probably head in she was already delaying their time off with this little escapade no use in standing around. They headed into the temple and Kavaraa closed the door behind them as she did they were engulfed in darkness “oh woops i uh didn’t think it’d get so dark in here” she began to fumble around in the dark before bumping into Theron and then she lost her balance feeling herself fall onto the ground. Then a sudden bright light illuminated the chamber she put her hands in front of her eyes to block the light.

“is that better” Theron was holding a flashlight with his hand out “how did you end up on the floor?” but she bumped into him what?

“i bumped into you and fell over did you forget” Kavaraa was confused if not Theron then what

Theron shined his light on something behind her “i think you mean you bumped into that crumbled statue” oh god she bumped into a stationary statue she was so embarrassed “is that how you see me” he said with a smile

“no no of course not sorry i didn’t mean to i uh” Kavaraa wasn’t sure what to say

“honey i’m messing with you cmon get up off the floor” he extended his hand out and pulled her back up “one of the most powerful Jedi huh” Kavaraa knew Theron was messing with her but she thought she’d lean into it

“you wanna test that theory” she said trying her best to look intimidating

“ah uh yeah probably not” aw he was so cute when he was flustered Kavaraa gave him a quick peck on the cheek before heading down the corridor. They continued down the corridor until they found a large circular room with a skylight letting the in the sunlight “what do you think this was” Theron said clearly not that familiar with Jedi architecture this was probably a common area for peaceful meditation or a training room one or the other.

Kavaraa however saw an opportunity to get him back for the floor thing “looks like a ballroom to me” she said gesturing some dance moves

“why would Jedi have a ballroom that doesn’t sound right” he said scratching his head

“oh it’s actually more common than you think” This wasn’t true but Kavaraa wished it was true maybe she should add a ballroom to her temple “some Jedi enjoy a good bit of dancing” she said beginning to dance “maybe we should you know to appease the temple” she said turning on her holopad for some music

https://open.spotify.com/track/06rPFgQsKS607RhYIqCmGq?si=pFLhKXC2Tk6afToxAFuCig

“i don’t think that’ll be necessary Kav” This was gonna be a hard sell but she could do it

“cmonnnn it’ll be fun” Kavaraa had began to properly go for it she had no idea if it looked good or bad she didn’t mind “nobody's watching cmonnn” 

“ugghh fine” yessss another win for Kavaraa, Theron began to awkwardly move his arms back and forward aww he was at least trying she should help she grabbed his arms and began to try and dance with him. They began to try to dance with each other both a little awkward but enjoying the idea of it. It took Theron a little while but he began to loosen up and they began to try and do more than just mild arm movments and shimmying on the spot. Kavaraa thought she’d try a spin she went for it but Theron wasn’t concentrating and didn’t catch her oh no she thought as she tumbled onto the floor witha crash.

*music stops*

“oh my god are you ok i’m so sorry” Theron quickly ran over as Kavaraa started laughing to herself

“yeah i’m fine you big dummy” she smiled at him before kissing him suddenly “ make sure to catch me next time we do that” Theron was blushing as Kavaraa stood up and picked a corridor to head down. They continued to explore the tunnels for about an hour before they found a clear direction to the main chamber, Kavaraa could sense the dark presence getting stronger as they made their may towards the main chamber.

“man it’s so dark in here i feel like something is gonna jump out at any second” Theron looked nervous 

Kavaraa knew what she had to do she reared back a bit “BOO” she jumped out at Theron but he didn’t even flinch “what why weren't you scared” Kavaraa said pouting

Theron smiled at her “you do that every time we go to these sorts of place” damn it he was right as well she did always do it “I've kinda grown wise to it, you need to raise your game” he said smiling

“challenge accepted” Kavaraa said with a devious smile

“wait no forget i said that” Therons regret was immediate realizing the mistake he just made hehehe she was gonna eat him alive with her scare. They reached the end of the tunnel and came to an odd door, it was inscribed with planets on circular movable discs.

“oooo oooo oooo a puzzle” Kavaraa could hardly contain her excitement she loved puzzles. She studied it for a second before saying “back in two seconds” 

“wait where are you going” Theron said as she dashed off, she just needed to look through that skylight again. She made her way back there looked at the stars and came back. Without a word she began moving the discs to around until the door clicked and opened. “how did you do that” Theron looked taken aback and perplexed she should explain

“those planets are the ones which can be seen from the sky so i checked where they were in reference to a compass and then moved them around to the right positions” Kavaraa was intensely proud of herself she loved riddles and puzzles and the solve was always the best part but now on to more important matters

“well colour me im-” Theron started 

“BOO” Kavaraa said out of nowhere, Theron jumped back in surprise nearly losing his balance 

“god dammit Kav is that all you’ve been thinking about since i said it” he looked annoyed but in a good way

Kavaraa giggled “hehe yeah you gave me a challenge i had to win” she was now double proud of herself 

“let’s head down don’t wanna wait here forever” Theron said recovering from the fright she agreed and they headed down into the main chamber. They entered a large expanse of a room with a large shrine at the end of it sitting at the top of the shrine she saw a hooded figure kneeling down in front of the alter, she recognized them as the dark presence she could sense this may get ugly she thought...

[unrequited--desires-blog]

To all the things left unsaid:

Believe it or not, even remotely finding the courage to write this took a lot; considering that there would be the slightest possibility of giving this to you, of course. Anyway I guess you could say I fucking took my chances , I mean this is your fault and you said you always wanted to read my writing. So here goes nothing… See at the start I saw the world as a utopia of only blacks and whites , rights and wrongs, many fucks and more fuck-ups. I was blinded by all the perfectly ensembled things that I saw; nothing was ever unbalanced or bent. I was so devoid of colour that I had no fucking idea what it was like to exist around anything faintly tinted. It was like I was wearing a fucking visor 24/7 on my head - but between you and me I secretly knew that it was my way of protecting myself; Ignorance was fucking bliss. So I isolated myself from the real world and chose to avoid it. I built a house around me with 4 walls, two black and two white. The house had doors obviously, people could open them and enter, and we would exchange our gifts on special occasions. But it wasn’t that simple with me , I had conditions you see; once you enter you inevitably have to leave and you were never allowed to stay. That didn’t tend to work well with people. Even the ones who visited multiple times, they certainly never came back. I was always told that people come and go, so normally I simply let them come and fucking go. Imprudently, the mere realisation that some people tend to leave things behind didn’t occur to me. Yes, people do come and go but they never truly leave you. The ones that get the furthest away from you, ironically end up being the closest to your heart . Guess who learnt that the hard way? Fucking guarded, I built gates around my house after that, just for extra reinforcement. And then I met you. Now let me be frank, when I first saw you, holy-fucking-shit didn’t you look like a nerd? You were wearing the fucking school blazer and you were quite reserved and you had nice hand-wiring and a resting bitch-face even though your smirk didn’t pass by me - but whatever. At the same time I found you intriguing (weirdly enough I know). Now , keeping in mind, this was before I screamed at you for being and intrusive twat.( I felt bad about that). Any-fucking-way after that I came to the conclusion that I hated you. I wish I remember how I got over that but who knows? For all I remember I made a bet and me being a competitive twat, I never like to lose. Easily enough, I accidently pulled you and as I was pulling I saw you for the first time. You were sweet , endearing and something about you was extremely earnest. Oddly enough, we were more alike than I thought. We both needed something, an entertainer. I’d fuck with you and you’d make me laugh and we were both so fucking good at the game. We lied to each other and disguised the truth because we knew that we had our own personal rules that we obliged to. You had morals; I kissed you, your lips were cold and bitter. I had none- (obviously) -and when I tasted you, I never gave in and I made sure I was hot and sweet. The perfect fucking balance. Perfection. Glorified? Probably. According to the laws of physics, both opposite forces of any kind must be equally distributed to become balanced at all times. That’s pretty hard. We weren’t very good at that. I blame fucking oestrogen and testosterone. The lust was pretty surreal. We were practically governed by our hormones that we ignored all of rationality that could possibly exist around us. Fun wasn’t it? I have a confession. Now if you’ve ever read about love in science’s perspective you’d know that it’s nothing but chemicals and coincidence. It makes perfect sense, you have coincidence, where you meet the person. Here you get hit with like instantaneous lust. So chemically speaking your body releases hormones, high levels of sex hormones and fucking dopamine and its fucking pleasure followed by the lovely low levels of serotonin( literally decodes into chemical obsession). That translates into attraction. Then the enemy of any normal, rational human; oxytocin. This fucking bitch provides you with unwanted attachment issues and any hopes for long-term relationships (probably your biggest fear). So my confession is that I never believed in love and to this day (although I am not as much a love atheist as I previously was) still question it. I believed in science and observations. From what I saw, at first, people seemed almost high of love (fucking hormones) at the beginning and then slowly and painfully it fades until it just becomes ordinary. Or worse, you end up resenting your significant other. Either way there was never a happily ever after. Consequently, I chose to trust in lust, attraction, companionship and symbiotic relationships. This hopefully explains my promiscuous tendencies. Whilst we were lost in our sexual era, I think we forgot how to communicate (besides physically) and you lost all communication as a whole. Many conversations without destinations was always our problem. That wasn’t great for me. Previously, my only moral in the so called love shit was use and abuse (I know horrible, but its what helped me survive and meet my-uncalled-for selfish needs). Not abuse physically-rather emotionally. How-fucking-ever, I was not used to being treated in the same way back in return. The universe and its irony. But you, I have to say, you fucking excelled. I had the withdrawal symptoms of taking heroine away from a junkie. Fuck. I got granted the epiphany of a lifetime. This fucking intruder broke down the walls I built for my lovely home and left me vagrant. I was a naked mess, really. So I did what any normal junkie would do. I searched for an alternate recreation and it was way too fucking easy. Once I got my first hit in a while, it punched me straight in the fucking face. It was worthless, empty and so fucking hollow. It wasn’t what I needed but what I wanted. Far from it honestly. Pathetically, I cried and I cried like a little bitch. Worst-of-fucking-all-for-some-fucking-reason I felt these things I’ve never quite encountered giving the circumstances, such as guilt and regret and exposed with a hint of humiliation. I was truly bewildered. Touching isn’t it, feeling for the first time? Since I lost my house , I had nothing left to lose. With that came this loss for caring followed by the lingering fear of being completely liberated. That’s why society made rules to follow because once your free it becomes quite arduous to actually give a single fuck. Me being me, I was unconventional in my situation and I told you the truth about everything expecting nothing in return. I spat little bits of my pride with every word. Did I give a shit? No. And I let go. I wasn’t shaded from all the things we never said because like I mentioned before, I didn’t believe in love. But the irony of life always slaps in you in the face because I saw it; love. I saw it when I looked at you and I heard in our silence and felt in everyday that I spent without you in every way of the word. Did I become a believer? No. Seeing is believing they say-but I only saw you. When you have nothing left to lose you why should you start to give a fuck? With loss come the evitable lost. Lost is defined as denoting something that has been taken away or cannot be recovered. What’s lost can always be found; recovery is hard when it comes to an addict and just when I managed to tremble my way out of it, you came back. You know that feeling when you find something after losing it for what feels like forever? Ingratiating really is the true definition of that. I was back to my void with you. I wasn’t seeing black and white anymore. I saw you. You were blue and I was red; the primary bases of the colour spectrum. You were the colour of a newly formed bluebell that consumed my crimson soul. Every day I was whirled into your pool and into your myriad shades of blue sinking deeper and deeper into your vacuum completely free of gravity. The thing about sinking is that you slowly start to lose your consciousness as you painfully become deprived of breathing. Oblivion never scared me though. So I let myself sink and deteriorate into you. Here, where each sound is different, every shade of blue was so iridescent and every laugh became a spiral of translucent bubbles, I felt safe-contrary to the popular apprehension accompanied with that of aquaphobia. Our game of desire was toxic. Wrapping your arms around me, your mouth accentuated the gratifying chaos that the colour of your breath created, destroying the inflamed-red, atmosphere that shielded me. Every touch was enticing and you captivated me. I let you. I was so caught up in your vehement blue that I loved you with my eyes as much as my body. In white light, when red and blue collide you get a frequency of 750 THz , until you reach the longest and intimate end of the spectrum. Unequivocal and fated, when you touched me I became a lilac sky and you just simply decided purple just wasn’t for you, pulling apart my seams with every intoxicating trace of your fingertips. Drowning. At the bottom of every ocean its always pitch black and the presence of the deafening silence creates a lingering sense of discomfort. You left me there and what I felt was used. I wasn’t a stranger to the solitude you always create. So if anything you left me where you found me. I can’t say that I didn’t see it coming; love isn’t blind, it’s more like the creator of shaded faith and high expectation. Science never found a definition for love. Innocent until proven guilty? There is no proof. To me, love is nothing but a natural muse, nothing but a physical tactility that leaves you lost in thought and hormones. Were you the lost clarity of it or simply the missing proof? I found some parts of you eventually and I realized that fear is your demagogue. It provokes you and giving in, no, actually giving up is the only way to avoid it for you. Neglecting the things you need is just a coping mechanism because you are so afraid to feel something real. It has this hold over you that is almost inexplicable.  You think that you’re winning, you indulge in it, almost obey it and in return you get what you want and the rewarding fortification that comes with it devours you. You never seized your gaze long enough or held me for too long and I get it. The sheer thought of loss frightens you because it aches. I know it does. No one likes to lose a game, especially you. All the ups and downs and the highs and lows for nothing. Nothing isn’t a deficit. The problem with nothing is that it leaves you hollow and bare. I’ve learnt that no entity in the world compares to the pain of being empty. It makes perfect sense; not a single thing hurts worse than not hurting at all. So in this game of two we were both defeated. Is ignorance really bliss or is it just an aid in forgetting the things that you don’t want to occupy your mind with right now? You helped in rebuilding my walls and I’m settled back home again on my blank street in my opaque world, this time I don’t have doors. On the same street, in a different world with different colours and shattered pieces that I failed to amend, is where you stay. 

[danuwritero]

Your always so opena md curious about Ocs! Tell me about YOURS

They’re all garbage. 

Every one of them. 

Especially fandom ones. All awful. 

But there are a few I’m genuinely proud of so I’m gonna talk a little about them. ((This became a bunch of headcanons I’m so sorry)) 

Shiloh Varela/Xiong Feng ((Put them together because I also love this pairing)) 

Once upon a time Feng’s name was Freddie and the ship name was Shreddie. But then I changed Feng’s nationality/ethnicity and lost the greatest ship name of all time. I guess now they’re Sheng, or Feloh. 

Literally Bob and Linda Belcher from Bob’s Burgers. Shiloh is Bob, Feng is Linda. 

Due to having schizophrenia, Shiloh has terrible short term memory. He would forget to brush his teeth, shower, go grocery shopping and make dinner if he didn’t write little notes to himself that are stuck around the house. He’s still the more responsible and mature one between the two of them. When they eventually have a family he’s definitely the stricter parent and the glue holding everyone together. 

They first met when Shiloh had to visit the hospital for another counselling session and Feng was a nurse just starting his first day. Feng was nervous and making some mistakes and forgetting which nurse/doctor was who and Shiloh helped him out. Mostly because internally he was like what the fuck are you doing???? Do you want to lose your job????? Stop????? And Feng asked if he wanted to grab some coffee sometime, not being subtle with the flirting on who he thought was an off duty doctor or another nurse because of how much he knew but was later told nah that’s a patient, how embarrassed are you? A patient could do your job better than you. 

Feng nearly drowned as a kid and was declared dead for a full minute before reviving. Ever since that day he could see what he believes to be ghosts. He’s also terrified of large bodies of water, like oceans, lakes and swimming pools. The very thought of swimming makes him physically sick.

Feng also enjoys music and keeping fit. He plays piano and the guitar and can sing really well. His parents kind of hoped he’d get into the music business seeing as their family did comprise of a lot of successful musicians and artists, but Feng is nervous around large crowds and suffers from stage fright. Literally the only people he can perform in front of is his family, which includes Shiloh. And with Shiloh it took a full two years before he became brave enough to sing for him. 

Feng still wrote songs and poems for Shiloh though, keeping them all in a small journal until he felt ready to share them. Shiloh keeps every single one and whenever he feels especially shitty he takes them out to read. 

Shiloh was severely abused by his parents as a child, resulting in him being distrustful and closed off from people, especially from figures of authority. He was also later disowned by them after his diagnosis of schizophrenia, them saying they didn’t want a nutcase in their home. He legally got his name changed and never ever talks about them.

Feng has colourful tattoos over most of his body, particularly his back, both of his arms and torso. 

Feng dresses “smart casual” whenever he leaves the house. You know the whole suit jacket over printed tee and dark skinny jeans sort of look. But when he’s home it’s mostly pajama pants/sweat pants and Shiloh’s hoodies and there’s no colour co-ordination. This wasn’t a look he bombarded Shiloh with by the way, it crept in slowly over time. 

Feng is the best cook. Shiloh is alright, like he knows not to burn things and does what the recipe tells him to, but Feng knows how to balance spices/herbs and cooks everything to absolute perfection. Despite his godlike powers over food he’s not the one cooking most of the time. That’s Shiloh. And Shiloh fucking lives for the nights when Feng is in charge of dinner. 

They’re engaged and it was Shiloh who proposed. His brain sort of short circuited when he realized he had that option. He literally stopped everything he was doing to find Feng and be like, “We could get married! We could be husbands!” 

Shiloh is pretty much the house husband. His mental illness means he can’t find regular work. He attends a public college for art and does commission work when he can. Feng and Feng’s family help support them financially.  

Shiloh’s biggest pet peeve is people who tell him his commission prices are too high. His response is always go find someone else then. He makes free art pieces for Feng’s family because they help them out so much to begin with. His clothes are always covered in some paint or chalk or oil pastel. They also always smell like the inside of one of those art and hobby shops.

Artemis Hale ((Thief OC)) 

Is a trans man and has successfully hidden that fact from practically everyone around him for years. 

He’s around his early to mid twenties. 

Rose up in the ranks of the Watch rather quickly due to his successful arrest record. This makes him pretty unpopular among his fellow Watchmen and the criminals of the City. He does not give a shit. 

He isn’t afraid to die and he views people who rely on violence and intimidation to gain respect as cowards and assholes. This makes him pretty much immune to the Thief Taker’s fear tactics. 

He’s good at reading people and has no problems handing control over to another person when they need it. Such as with Garrett and Orion, two people who had reasons to suspect, fear or hate him. He willingly gives them control over their interactions, making himself submissive to them. Something he never does for the Thief Taker. 

Loves researching about the old religions. Pretty much hides his copies of the books the Baron had burned several years before. 

Is a very patient and calm person. Like nothing can rile this fucker. On the rare occasion that it does he just walks away to be pissed in peace. 

He and Madam Xiao-Xiao are close friends, bonding over their shared love of history and the old religions and being transgender. They talk shit about the Thief Taker over tea. Sometimes wine too, it depends on how bad the week was. 

He shares Garrett’s views on murder. Hale will never even consider killing someone unless they have him backed into a corner and he’s got no other options. And every death rests on his conscious. He’ll forever wonder if there was something he could have done differently to prevent it. 

Is a descendant of Artemis from the original trilogy. 

He suffers from resting bitch face and has a one dimpled smile. I see him as something like the Black Knight from Monty Python. 

Thank you so much for the ask! :) 

[hagarenmovie]

[Translation] Yamada Ryosuke x Dean Fujioka Nihon Eiga No. 72 Interview

In this interview, Yamada Ryosuke and Dean Fujioka talked about the film, their approach to their respective roles, their filming experience, and most importantly, how mesmerized they are with each other’s beauty and talent. :) 

Special thanks to weibo user 草莓要配白巧克力 for the clear scans.

You can see the magazine’s photo shoot between these two here 

Born under a lucky star-----?

--- Since it was the first time you two co-starred, what were your impressions of each other?

Yamada: I wondered what kind of person he was. Doesn’t he give off a mysterious impression? When I watched him on TV, he looked like a prince who stepped out of a shojo manga. Even in the eyes of men, he was cool.

Dean: (Smiles)

Yamada: I wanted to find some weaknesses. I wondered what he was not good with. When I met him on set, he was extremely friendly. The more I know him, the more I realize that he has no flaws. “There are [actually] people like this” was what I discussed with (Winry’s actress Honda) Tsubasa on set.

[T/N: He just called her Tsubasa in the original text, not Tsubasa-chan or Tsubasa-san.]

--- He does not have any flaws, does he?

Dean: Quite doubtful though (laughs).

Yamada: Er, is there something [I should know]?

Dean: There are a lot [of flaws]. If I start listing them, it will probably go on forever (laughs).  [Now,] the following lines are indeed “coming out of a manga”. If I have to describe your face, it is one I can look at forever. It’s like he was born under a lucky star. When I look at Yamada-kun's face, I feel so very fortunate.

Yamada: I'm happy to hear that (laughs).

Dean: I don’t think it would be possible [for someone] to be born under such a star. Although you may think you heard a strange comment, it is precisely the line to use to if I am describing such a person.

---- How was it like to co-star?

Yamada: I truly admire his attitude in tackling the role. Although we have only worked together in this project, [I think] he understood every bit of the role properly, from the expressions and gestures, the way to show it... His whole characterization was like painting an artwork, and he was cool as a man.  He took everything extremely seriously.

--- Dean-san's Colonel Mustang was awesome indeed.

Yamada: Well, he really was Mustang. I am a huge fan of the original work, and since Mustang is as popular as Ed, [initially] I was really worried about his casting.  When it was decided to be Dean-san, as a fan of the manga, [I felt everything] would be okay now.  Looking at him on set wearing the uniform, I thought “Mustang is here”.

Dean: Thank you very much.

Yamada: There was a scene where Dean-san snapped his fingers and then fire erupted everywhere. I think only Dean-san can create that image. It was so cool.

Dean: Everyone knows that all you need is one glance and you will feel Yamada-kun’s presence; I think this is a talent he is born with. But while Yamada-kun is attractive, at the same time, he is very rugged. Speaking for myself, I felt that he is very strong. Even when he was playing the character Ed, he was very lively and Yamada-kun’s acting was just right.  I think that as a real life person, he was able to draw out the charm of the original manga character, this man is cool to the core. Somehow I became interested to hear many things about him, like "How did you get started with your current job?" Whether it was good to ask them, I don't know (laughs).

Yamada: No, no, it's okay.

Dean: Tell me everything. As far as the Japanese entertainment industry is concerned...I have only 4 or 5 years of experience in Japan, so there are a lot of things I do not know. In a sense, I think that this film is representative of Japan in the 2017/2018 season. I was very interested in how they adapt an original manga that has [such widespread] appeal, even from the overseas; actually I am working in another country, and everyone have heard about this work.  As the lead actor of such a massive project, he must have a very strong will to play the role of Ed.  Even if you act a certain way, [there are more that] are conveyed by the eyes and the delivery of the lines; in other words, it is not just about acting. Even if you played the role as you understood it, it may not come out easily, since there are parts of you that are exposed, whether good or bad. In that sense, I think that Yamada-kun on screen as Ed will grab the hearts of many people.

Yamada: Thank you very much.

--- Dean-san said, "As Ed, there is a strength [within him]".  How do you prepare yourself while on set?

Yamada: I'm not talking about creating a role here, but I do make it a rule to not carry the role with me [while we are not filming]. If I take a role with me, then I cannot talk with the staff, and indeed it will be impossible for me to talk to anyone who plays the role of an enemy.  I don’t think that is an entertainment show. Of course, I was there in the position of the lead, but because I was also Yamada Ryosuke, the person, Dean-san asked me a lot of things, for me as well, I asked him about filming overseas and private stories, and I listened to the music Dean-san made privately.  To go further, even if someone told me not to socialize with the actors on the homunculus side (the homunculi trio are the antagonists) during filming, it would be impossible to do.

Dean: You were mainly talking about games on set (laughs).

Yamada: We were doing that (laughs). Regardless, I am not that type [of actor]. I can switch to the role when we start shooting.

--- Anything else you you guys talked about?

Dean: I ask things like who likes comedy and stuff (laughs)

Yamada: Dean-san, I like comedy (laughs).

Dean: Yamada-kun told me about a number of comedians.  We were watching videos together, Maple Superalloy and so on (laughs).

The Deep Connection between Ed and Mustang

--- How was the role of Ed?

Yamada: Ed is an existence I have known since I was a child, so I do not have to force it.  I already have a [firm image of him] in my mind.  [Instead], I thought about how I could paint the role with my own colours.  I could not break the character by what I do but I also have to make sure that I do what I intended to do. So I thought about how to properly mix the [two objectives].

--- Romi Park-san, who voiced Ed in the anime, had said in the media that Ed was a really hard role.

Yamada: After the filming ended, I had the opportunity to eat with Park-san, while we talked about the difficult experiences that are only known to those who have played Ed, I felt that I also gained some insight into what it means to play Ed.

Dean: Oh.

Yamada: I could not perform [this part] using minor acting; if I can’t let what was inside of me emerge explosively in an instant, I could not play Ed [that way].  I poured everything I have into the role, so hopefully, you will find [my performance] convincing.

--- About how the way Ed talks?

Yamada: I [had planned on] changing the tone of my voice. I asked Park-san’s and we talked for about 4 to 5 hours, and I had a strong impression of Ed in my mind, but [by the time] I heard Park-san’s thoughts on Ed as someone who had played the role for many years, the movie was already finished, so I made an impossible request of the director, “Could I do that part again?”, so there were some parts where I did re-dubbing again. I was glad we [him and Romi] had been able to talk.

--- For Dean-san, how was it like to play Mustang?

Dean: At first glance, you do not know what kind of person he was. Was he a good person or was he not very good?  However, he was actually very strong willed and prepared, therefore, sometimes it seemed like he was emotionless; he was the best friend of Lt. Colonel Hughes played by Sato (Ryuta) san and he was also concerned about the brothers Ed and Al, right?  He was caught between his relationships to others and the feelings he held for the opposite side, but still, he moved forward with a strong will.  I thought it was important to maintain a balance there.

--- In the film, Colonel Mustang was a “leading man” type, but in the manga, he also had a comedic side.

Dean: When I read the manga, there are times when he was in proper human form and there are times when he was shown in the “three-head form” in comedy mode.  I wondered how the “three-head form” could be shown in the live action film (laughs). I was interested in reading those in the original work.  However, this time, [Roy Mustang] was drawn as the “adult form” [in the film].  If the “three-head form” can be shown in future, I think you will Roy Mustang exhibiting a different type of charm.

[T/N: Santoushin refers to the style of drawing human figures where the head is literally ⅓ of length of the body. I’m just going to call it “three-head form” because I have no idea what the correct term should be.  The adult form / human form refers to the serious side and “three-head form” refers to the comedic side of Roy Mustang.]

--- This movie was also filmed in Siena, Italy. Yamada-san, how was it in Italy?

Yamada: As expected, if I film in Japan in this costume, it would be fine if I felt in character. Since at crank-in for any work, I would feel a bit uncertain [about the character], so for me, it was a great thing that we could crank-in in Italy. That scenery, atmosphere… it was just like the world of Hagaren, so by shooting in that [environment], I was able to get into [the character] for the duration.  Then there was the train. It is not on a regular schedule; the train only runs once or twice a year.

Dean: That's right.

Yamada: Ten hours, we shot all the scenes at once without leaving [the train].  Although it was tough, it was a valuable experience.  That said, the filming [conditions] were quite shabby (laughs).

Dean: What? Where (laughs)?

Yamada: We spent ten hours on the train and those were wooden chairs without cushion.

Dean: Ah! I see, I see.

Yamada: We could not go to the bathroom. And for meals, we just had bread and apples for the whole day… It was just a [long and glorious] story though (laughs).  I had never been in such a situation before, so it was hard to get used to it, right? However, the Italian and Japanese crew held my hand and encouraged me with, "Just a little bit more and we are done!"  Since it was bright until 10pm over there, they could take forever to finish shooting (laughs). Although I was only there for two weeks, I was able to get past these challenges, finished [filming there] with a sense of Ed’s character intact, and approached the shoot in Japan with a positive feeling. Because there were a lot of important scenes that were filmed in Japanese.

--- Dean-san did not shoot in Italy, but the Toho Studio's set was also magnificent.

Dean: Well, I was excited [to see] the scale of the set. [I wondered] what kind of filming will start from there.  There was an overwhelming use of CG in this project, and I had once participated in a CG heavy work in China.  Having the [prior] experience, I tried to imagine the different approaches [to CG] used by different countries in various scenes, as that provided good stimuli and discoveries.  Director Sori was amazing.  While filming, the complete image was firmly planted in the director’s head.  There was no confusion at the production stage, and the lack of hesitation was really amazing.

Yamada: He was amazing.

Dean: Our eyes would meet, he would say "For this part, please do it like this", it was just [the right thing to say], so I also had a lot of confidence in doing it and I thought that was wonderful.  While filming, I was looking forward to the finished product.

--- The relationship between Ed and Mustang was not very serious on the surface, but there was a [shared] understanding deep inside their hearts and I think it was great. You can see it in the movie too.  

Yamada: In this work, [Ed] was a child living among adults, right?  While he was a State Alchemist, he was the youngest; he counted Hughes as one of his close friends and allies, Mustang was a tough but trustworthy presence, and Ed was going back and forth between all these relations.  I think that being thrown in the midst of the adult world, Ed was nipping at adulthood in this very charming manga.  Still, Mustang and Ed were connected by a warm friendship that could not be seen.  Mustang’s background was not explored in the movie yet.  However, Hughes and Mustang did have a meaningful conversation.

Dean: Yeah, yeah.

Yamada: For me, I want [Mustang] to be characterized properly. In the future, if there is a 2nd or [even] 3rd part, I think we will definitely delve into [his story], and if someone who is not familiar with “Fullmetal Alchemist” saw this, [they will finally know] there was such a past for Mustang, so I think they will now understand how he got to his position and that he was aiming for the top. Then, as their impression of Mustang changes, the way they look at Ed will also change accordingly. I think everything connects to the relationship between these two people. Because I already knew it, so it shall be (laughs).

Dean: (Laughs)

Yamada: I want people to know this properly. Otherwise, they do not understand why these two people are in such a relationship.

Dean: That's part of the background, if we look at Ed and Mustang’s relationship in real life, they do not hang out every day, so when they saw each other after a long time, they will update each other; they have that type of relationship.  When he hears the other person’s stories, there is a feeling of “wow” and regret [at the same time]. He may think that it is something he wanted to do himself, so by leaving a memento of the time they were apart, they become the inspiration of the other person, and the relationship is properly updated.  I think that such a provoking relationship is very important, perhaps if things are to continue as is, a friendship will emerge… well, that is how I feel.

Yamada: [Ed and Mustang] were chasing after different things, but I guess they were similar. Both of them were very strong willed (laughs).

Dean: (Laughs)

Yamada: So, sometimes there were conflicts between them, but there was a certain respect as well, even though they did not want to admit it.

Dean: I chose a different approach, perhaps they were the same fundamentally. Since those two resemble each other, I wonder if there would be conflicts.

What underlies the stars' styles?

--- There is a scene where Yamada-san jumped from the height of about 7 meters at the beginning of the movie. When the director [wanted to] proceed with rehearsals, you said you would do the real take right away. Weren’t you afraid?

Yamada: No, I was scared. However, even if we rehearsed [the scene], it would not change the fact that I had to leap [off the building], so even if the rehearsal was good, it would not have helped.  So, I said, “let's just do the leap!”  There was nothing else left to do because even if I was afraid, it could not be helped.  I was already out there.

---Did you cultivate that kind of resolve while doing this job?

Yamada: What is that? I guess it is my personality.  I've been doing things [based on gut] feelings since I was little.  It is like “I will do anything!” (laughs).  I think there were many times where my feelings were aroused at this film set.  As this is my first time appearing in a world famous property, there were many things I could learn from this role, and since I have put every experience I have accumulated in my life so far into this role, I feel that I have renewed my resolve for the future again.

--- Next, for Dean-san's Colonel Mustang, there was a great deal of heat.

Dean: Oh, the fire was hot (laughs)?

--- Although the fire was hot too (laughs), in the second half, there was nothing but heat. You could not go to such a place with normal level of awareness.  Of course Dean-san was acting, but even in variety shows as an example, you take every single thing seriously.  You put your heart and soul into it.

Dean: Thank you for your kind words. I'm glad [to hear this]. Working as an actor, I spend a part of my life in a role, so shouldn’t I completely pour that part of my life in there?  Since I am doing what I desire to do, I want to treat it with importance.  Everyone wants to make their life better, but it can only be done through their own hard work.  Every single job, even when I am not working, one way or another, my life is changing based on the path I chose.  I have this feeling whether I am acting or working with music and other things.

--- Finally, please tell us what you think is the charm of the story.

Yamada: I think this work properly described the fundamental weakness that exists in human beings.  It is a masterpiece in fantasy entertainment where even the antagonists, the homunculi, were fully formed emotionally.  “We are not human beings, but we wanted to be thought of as human beings.”  Since these weaknesses are shown, it grasps at your heart and touches your soul.

Dean: The last words of Lust (the name of the homunculus played by Matsuyuki Yasuko) sums it up the best.  I thought you were a hateful enemy a while ago, but it seemed to have come a full circle.

Yamada: That's right. Every single character has a background story and his or her own personality and each character is portrayed very delicately. I think this is one of the charms of this work. In the manga, [the motivation for each action] was clear, so it was also very easy to read.  I would like to take a peek into [Arakawa] sensei's head. I wonder how she came up with such a story.

Dean: There are many metaphors and symbols drawn from the real world in this work, so won't those images be conveyed to those who have a strong desire to see them [better] by real life actors working on the live action them?  I think it is normal for young children like Ed and Al to want to see their mother again.  However, because they missed their beloved mother,  the brothers took the wrong approach and the two paid a price.  In order to return his brother Al to his former body, Ed took a series of action with a selfless (self-sacrifice) intention, I think that emotional side strongly appealed to the viewers by filming with real people. Even the homunculus, who are the antagonists, has such a place in the story; Mustang pushing forward with a strong will in order to reach his goal; things happening at times that pushed emotions and advanced the story; and all other characters had a delicately drawn backstory; since this work is unique in the film world, I think many people would like to see it.

"Director Sori talked about the charm of Yamada Ryosuke"

I think that Yamada-kun’s sense as an actor was outstanding, but Ed is a very masculine role. I saw [Ed] as an unparalleled, explosive force (laughs).  I asked myself what would I do if Yamada-kun was really quiet or very feminine (laughs). However, when we met, [I noticed] he was very manly. He was Ed and it was fun for me to make request after request. Sometimes when I asked for impossible things, there was disgust written all over his face. However, he would still respond brilliantly. For example, there was a scene in the beginning where he had to leap from about 7m tall. It was a very difficult scene because it was a leap in the middle of an action scene, but he did it without difficulty. When I said, "Yamada-kun, let’s rehearse the jump", he said, "It's ok. Just do the real take." "Well, don't you want a run through to get used to it?" I said. "I do not want to jump many times." So just like that, I turned on the camera, and I saw Ed wearing his heavy coat flying through the air. I thought it was soooooo cool (laughs). He is a movie star indeed! I guess he's a gutsy guy. When I asked him whether he was afraid, he said “Scary!”  He added, "Even if I am scared, I have no choice but to do it.” As someone who carried the responsibility of the lead, he could not hamper [the production], I think that the staff responded to his spirit, and the other actors were also considerably fired up by his earnestness.

"Director Sori talked about the charm of Dean Fujioka"

The enthusiasm for everyone on set was unusually high, you wouldn't know it unless you were there. Mr. Dean was very masculine and he was the one who spread the enthusiasm on set. Everyone had expectations and he met that expectation. Since he was someone who could fire up the passion of those around him, the excitement level went up steadily, so when we finally reached the climax, it was awesome, wasn't it? I don't think I had seen such a Dean Fujioka before. I think the passion on set was possessing Dean-san. Dean-san, with the heat contained inside him, was absolutely amazing. Noticing it, I could tell that the switch had now been turned on. At first glance, he looked like a cool guy, but once the switch was flipped, he couldn’t be stopped. I think the young people around him was also switched on [as a result].

Because he is rich in sensibility, I guess there was an understanding [between him and] Yamada-kun. Although there were sparks flying when these two men were acting together, but once the scene was done, it seemed like they obtained some sort of understanding of each other. When I was watching Yamada-kun and Dean-san, I felt like I was actually seeing the relationship between Ed and Mustang. While they were not stuck together on the surface, it seemed that these two were completely connected at the root level. You got to admit it.  I think that it was great that these two men were able to see each other and foster a good relationship as men and as actors.

[violent-optimism]

My Ranking of all the MCU films so far

Hey guys! So now that I have finally caught up and watched every single film from the Marvel Cinematic Universe (to date) I will now rank them from worst to best!

Just an FYI: Some of you will probably not agree with some of my choices, and that is perfectly fine. This is just my personal opinion.

Here we go!

#19: The Incredible Hulk (2008)

The Hulk has always been one of my favourite superheroes, and as far as I am concerned this movie completely ruined him. The CGI looked like a video game, the narrative was terrible. No redeeming qualities whatsoever. Just not a good movie at all in my opinion.

#18: Iron Man 2 (2010)

I actually saw this one in the theater, and I kinda wish I hadn’t. However, unlike the previous entry I wouldn’t say it’s a completely awful film. There are a couple decent/funny moments. But for the most part, it’s not great and I don’t think I’d watch it again.

#17: Thor: The Dark World (2013)

I seriously cannot believe I wasted my money TWICE to see this in the theater. I was pretty disappointed by this movie. The villain had no clear motivation. The romance was so awkward and the majority of the humor just didn’t work. The only redeeming qualities are the performances of Hemsworth and Hiddleston.

 #16: Iron Man 3 (2013)

Now, I don’t think this movie is actually that bad, but it’s just not quite as good as some of the other high caliber MCU films. I liked that they addressed Tony’s mental health issues and the film has a pretty good ending. This movie won’t exactly waste your time, but there are other films more worthy of it.

#15: Thor (2011)

While not NEARLY as bad as its sequel, the first Thor film is a bit cheesy, clunky and predictable. That being said, it’s a visually impressive movie with some pretty fun and hilarious moments. At this point I feel kind of neutral about it. It ain’t no Ragnarok but it’s not as terrible as the second installment.

#14: Iron Man (2008)

For the very first film in the MCU line-up, this one is pretty good. Right away we know exactly what kind of person Tony Stark is, and the first half of the movie is surprisingly suspenseful and emotionally charged. It has a few humorous and bad-ass sequences. Unfortunately, it doesn’t really stand up in comparison to some of the later MCU films. That being said, it’s still a pretty good time.

#13: Ant-Man (2015)

Now the only reason I put this above Iron Man is because of how much it exceeded my expectations. I really didn’t think it was going to be that good, but it was. Not a perfect film by any means, but I was surprised at how entertaining and funny it was. I suppose my only complaint would be that unless you are really into Ant-Man as a character, it’s not that memorable of a film.

#12: Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 (2017)

Don’t get me wrong, I did think this film was very enjoyable for the most part, I just don’t think it was as good as the first one. I think what I liked most was the development of the relationship between Gamora and Nebula. I did think most of the humor was good, but there was so much of it that it ended up feeling more like a comedy rather than a super-hero flick.

#11: Captain America: The First Avenger (2011)

There is no denying that Chris Evans was cast perfectly as Captain America/Steve Rogers. He is someone you can really root for, which is what makes this movie so successful. However, the film is very cheesy at parts, and some sequences are slowly paced, but overall it’s a very entertaining movie and a great introduction to one of the MCU’s most important characters.

#10: Guardians of the Galaxy (2014)

Personally, I do think this one is better than the sequel. All of the characters are introduced perfectly, and their interactions are written in such a clever way. I also think this movie has the better soundtrack when compared the sequel, and the humor is not as overblown. I guess my only complaint would be that it kind of feels like the film makers were trying to copy the Avengers with the whole “team doesn’t get along at first but then they do” scenario. It definitely works, but it’s not the most original idea. Overall, very well done.

#9: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)

Although the Sam Raimi Spider-Man films (excluding the 3rd one) will always be close to my heart, I have to admit that this movie was really good. I really enjoy Tom Holland’s portrayal of Peter Parker. He has an innocence about him that makes him so likeable, and you really want him to succeed. I also thought the humor in this movie was perfect, and Michael Keaton was not just another boring Marvel villain. Overall, I would definitely see it again.

#8: Captain America: The Winter Soldier (2014)

To be honest, I don’t think this movie is QUITE as good as the Tumblr community thinks it is. However, it is pretty darn good. Some of the action and fight choreography is absolutely stunning. I love how it feels like a spy/espionage film while also displaying themes that the MCU is known for. I love the developing relationship between Steve and Natasha, and how this film exposes their true colours. Really well done.

#7: Thor: Ragnarok (2017)

Again, I don’t think this movie is as incredible as the Tumblr fans say it is, but overall I did enjoy it quite a bit. A lot of the issues I had with the previous Thor films are not in this one.The Director must have realized that the previous Thor films just weren’t working, and decided to give this one a fun, energetic spin that I think was the perfect choice. Of course, I have to talk about my favourite actress, Cate Blanchett, who KILLS IT in this role (no pun intended). With a brilliant aesthetic and motivation that makes sense, she might just be my favourite MCU villain yet. In my opinion, this is the best Thor film so far.

#6: Black Panther (2018)

Alright, now we’re getting to the really good stuff! This movie took the world by storm, and it’s not hard to understand why. With a cast full of talented and diverse actors, Black Panther is unlike any Marvel movie we’ve ever seen before. I can’t tell you how unbelievably refreshing it is to see a film that is not 90% white people, it’s the other way around! Although the story is a tad predictable if you’ve seen The Lion King, the action is superb, the visuals are beautiful, and the script is very well written. Wakanda forever!

#5: Avengers: Infinity War (2018)

Without getting too much into spoiler territory, I will say that this film is probably the most ambitious cross-over I have ever seen in all of cinema. The crazy part is that the directors actually managed to tell a clear and concise story despite the fact that they were dealing with something like 30 characters in one film. Emotional, suspenseful, thought-provoking and hilarious, this one hits all the marks that it should in the most surprising ways.

Still not sure what to think about that ending though....

#4: The Avengers (2012)

I don’t know about anyone else, but when I first saw this movie it totally blew my mind! It truly is an epic movie with some of the best writing I’ve ever heard/seen. While I feel that fans obsessed over Loki a little too much, he is a fun villain with a pretty clear motivation. This movie also introduces Mark Ruffalo as Bruce Banner who I think is by far the best actor to portray the character. I feel like this is the movie that started the trend of MCU films that were actually really good. It’s a really entertaining ride from beginning to end.

#3: The Avengers: Age of Ultron (2015)

I know exactly what some of you are thinking: “Oh my god she thinks Age of Ultron is better than the first one are you freaking kidding me”. Yes, you are correct. I do think that Age of Ultron is better than the first Avengers, and I seem to be very very alone in that opinion for some reason. Basically I think that this film has everything that made the first Avengers film good with a couple things that make it even better:

1) The character interactions are more complex and interesting

2) The stakes are a lot higher and the heroes suffer more

In a nutshell, that is why I think it’s better than the first one. To be perfectly honest I’m not really sure why Tumblr hates this movie so much. I get that nobody really likes the Bruce/Natasha pairing but is that really a valid reason to hate the entire movie? I guess I’ll never know.

#2: Doctor Strange (2016)

Unless you’ve been counting, I doubt you saw this one coming up so high on my list. It wasn’t until I started thinking about my ranking that I thought: “Wow, I LOVE Doctor Strange!” Not only is Benedict Cumberbatch an incredibly talented actor, I always liked this film because it was a marvel film that didn’t feel like a stereotypical “marvel” film (if that makes sense). Aside from having a visual style I don’t think I’ve ever seen before, I think my favourite part about this movie is the progressive character arc that Stephen Strange goes through. By the end of the film he’s not a completely different person, but his priorities have shifted and he wants to help make the world a safer place. Also I can’t talk about this movie without mentioning the SOUNDTRACK, oh my goodness the soundtrack. Here’s the link, listen and be amazed: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jc0KNrpFka8

#1: Captain America: Civil War (2016)

It took me a little while to figure it out, but I definitely feel that this movie is my favourite in the MCU so far. Sort of a scaled-down version of Infinity War, this movie has a lot of characters, but the story is balanced so well that you barely notice. The comedy is really good, and is countered with scenes of irreversible emotion. Everything ties together so wonderfully, and despite the long run time, the movie is extremely well paced. Although it has one of the more darker endings in a marvel movie, it still manages to end on fairly positive note, which I love. I don’t know what else I can say to praise this movie, so I’ll end it right there.

Wow, that took a while! There you have it folks, my personal ranking of all 19 MCU films so far. If you took the time to read all of this, thank you so much for doing so. Hope you guys enjoyed it!

[ii-thiscat-ii]

Inspired by this hc.

On Ao3

“I hate this. I hate this I hate this IhatethisIhatethis.”

Mabel was staring at the mirror in the school bathroom, leaning on the sink.

They were alone there. She had run out in the middle of class, after one too many comments, one too many sympathetic looks.

Dipper hardly remembered what had been said. That was irrelevant.

Mabel squeezed her eyes shut and kept the words going, flowing together into a single meaningless stream. Her emotions stood out to his eyes like wounds in the air. Painful flashes of panic growing rapidly, small bubbles of pitch, blue-sharp hurt rising and bursting with nasty pops, all accenting a thickening haze of muddled anger and sadness and pain.

Just a few months into high school. It was not supposed to be like this.

“I hate this I want it to stop I wish it would stop,” she continued.

He had no idea what to do, so he hugged her from behind, burying his face in her shoulder and holding her close with his arms around her chest and his wings around her waist. It was all he knew how to do.

“I wish I didn’t have to, I wish you could do it,” she said, and that…

That…

Tugged at him.

A wish like that?

This sincere?

Voiced out loud?

That

Felt

Like

Permission.

“Gaahhhh!”

TOUCH!

The next breath he drew burned like it was seared into his lungs. The sharp light from the ceiling lamp branded itself into his eyes, all sharp contrast and hard realness. The echoes of his own shout were too loud and not loud enough.

He was drowning in senses.

Everything was too much, and yet he wanted it so desperately he tried to take it all in at once, and was overwhelmed by the realness of it all, from the pain of his fingers being clenched against the sink to the comforting scratchy feeling of his sweater against his…

Wait a second.

He was hyperventilating. Adrenaline rushed through his veins.

He calmed that down in an instant. He just had to think about it, and his body obeyed. It was easy.

He took a couple deep breaths, and slowly adjusted to the world very abruptly being real again.

Eyes opened. Mirror in front of him.

Mabel stared back, eyes glowing yellow and slit-pupiled.

Oh fuck.

The real Mabel was floating up above his (her?) right shoulder, looking just as flabbergasted as he felt.

“Whoa,” she said.

“I had no idea I could do that,” he said, in a single, whooshing breath. “I didn’t mean to! I’m sorry, I think I can undo it…”

“No, wait,” Mabel said, reaching out to put an insubstantial hand on his (her?) shoulder. “Just wait a second, bro.”

Dipper grabbed her hand instinctually, and apparently he could do that, and he also knew that he could choose not to, could choose to pass straight through her like everything else would in this state, as it had with him when Bill had done the same to…

“Mabel?” he asked, voice wavering with more distraught confusion than he would have liked.

She put her other hand on top of his (hers?) again, and this was such a strange reversal of roles, her floating and insubstantial and him standing on the floor like a person…

“You don’t have to undo it right away, right?” she said. Then she looked away for a second, almost embarrassed, before she looked back. “I mean, you’re kinda, uh, possessing me now, right? And that’s actually perfect! ‘Cause I didn’t want to go back to class, and now I don’t have to, ‘cause I’m a ghost!”

“Mabel,” he said again, disbelief tinging the word. “Are you really okay with staying like that? It’s… I- I know it’s not… pleasant.”

“Pssh,” Mabel said, waving the sentiment away. “Hey, no more panic attack.”

“I… suppose that’s true.” Dipper almost smiled. It was. The colours of her emotions had followed her out of her body, and were now settled on a vague haze, still tinged towards negativity, but no longer boiling into painful bursts.

“Of course! It’s me!” Mabel said proudly, putting her hands on her hips and curling her floating legs up behind her like a proper little ghost. “I’m always right. But enough about me, for now, how are you doing, bro?”

(Things were real, he could feel things again, it was all real, it was all good, oh god this was just like Bill, it was real, he could touch things, he could feel things, touch was good, sound was good, sight was good, pain was good, no it wasn’t, yes it was.)

“I’m… okay. I’m doing okay,” he said. “Had some minor sensory overload. I’m good now.”

“You don’t mind being a girl for, like, half a school day?” she asked.

Dipper blinked, then blurted out, “That was literally the last thing on my mind.”

“Okay, great!” Mabel grinned, then she got very close to his (her?) face and furrowed her brows. “But if you’re gonna pretend to be me, you gotta do something about those glowing eyes. Think you could do that?”

The answer sprung to his mind like it had been waiting for the question. Small perception-based illusion centred on the face. Simple enough at full power, should be impossible in a form this limited, but limits no longer exist for you-

“Yeah, I can,” he said. “Shouldn’t be too hard. I’ll just…”

He stared into the glowing eyes in the mirror and bit (her? His, for now?) his lip, concentrating.

The immense power that had been at the back of his mind for months, constantly threatening to overwhelm him, was distant now. The solid realness of the world around him felt like a barrier between him and it, preventing him from reaching it as easily.

A trickle still came through when he pushed, tingling pleasantly through his body and leaving a wonderful burn on the inside of his skin.

Weaving it into the necessary shape around his eyes was easy, instinctive, and then his eyes looked normal again. Exactly like Mabel’s eyes usually did.

“Like that,” he said.

Mabel ooh-ed and clapped her hands. “Awesome,” she said. “Now no one is going to suspect anything, no matter how long we stay like this!”

Dipper’s objections died on his tongue as Mabel grinned at him. Instead, he nodded and tried to smile back.

He had no idea how to handle this.

Possession?

That was wrong. That was capital-b Bad, and Demonic, and Evil, and every horrible thing he ever remembered Bill doing, and it was too much like him in ways that turned Dipper’s stomach. (Metaphorically. Literally, this was not his body, and he had an iron grip on it. No one’s stomachs were being turned here.)

On the other hand, he was not about to stab himself (even if that would probably feel wonderful), and Mabel was okay with it (even if this had to be terrifying for her), and he would give her body back the second she wanted it (despite how much he wanted to keep it forever, and how easy it would be to keep it from her.)

The world around him was still too crisp, every miniscule crack in the tiling of the walls and speck of dust on the floor stood out too clearly. Even the sound of his own breath felt too loud, and the feeling of breathing was disturbingly unfamiliar.

And he loved every second of it.

If he was drowning now, that was only because he had been dying of thirst. The world was still too much, but he wanted it that way, he wanted the way it bordered on pain, filling needs in his mind he had not even been aware of.

He had not realized how much he missed such simple things as breathing, as feeling the air against his skin as he moved. There was a wonderful taste in his mouth.

Slowly, slowly, he settled into his own (Mabel’s) senses and could let go of the sink without the changing sensory input overwhelming him. Balancing was a little harder than he remembered it, but he got the hang of it quickly.

Then he heard approaching footsteps, stopping in front of the door.

“Mabel?” said the voice of Mabel’s teacher, whose name Dipper had never cared to remember. “Are you in there?”

His heart tried to start racing again, but he kept it down and quickly cleared his throat.

“Yeah,” he said. “Coming!”

He almost stumbled over his feet when he turned towards the door, but he caught himself before he fell, and then he opened it.

The teacher stood outside, bluish grey clouds of concern hanging around him. “Are you feeling all right?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Dipper said, a little louder than he had meant to, so he adjusted down. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just… I needed a bit of air. I’m good now.”

The teacher stepped back and studied his face for a second. “You’re bleeding,” he said.

“What?” Dipper said, lifting a hand to his lips, and yes, that was blood.

At least that explained the taste. It was a lot nicer than he remembered blood to be. He must have bitten through his lip earlier.

No, no, not his lip. Mabel’s lip. He had to keep that straight. He was borrowing. Only borrowing. None of this was his.

He ran her tongue quickly over the wound on her lip to check it out.

“Oh, right,” he said. “I don’t think it’s very deep. It’ll probably heal up in a few minutes. Um, I’m sorry about running off; should we go back to class now?”

The teacher’s concern roiled around his head as he glanced between Mabel’s red-rimmed eyes and bloody lip, and the classroom down the hall. Small bubbles of green-tinted pink worry shot through it, likely as he thought about the class he had left to their own devices.

Coming to a decision, he looked Dipper in the eyes. “You know you can always come to me if you want to talk about something, right?”

Dipper nodded, and tried to look as un-troubled as possible. He was not quite sure if it worked. He had never been a great actor, and he was not sure if wearing someone else’s body was helping or making it worse.

Either way, the teacher seemed to accept it, because he nodded and started walking back towards the classroom.

Dipper took a deep breath, revelling in the feeling of air filling his lungs, and glanced at Mabel, floating beside him. She gave an encouraging nod, and he smiled back and followed the teacher.

The sounds of the classroom ahead flowed through his ears in a wonderful buzz of voices, as strong and as strange as every other sense touching him, promising hours more of the most bizarre experience he had been through since, well, since that summer.

He could get used to this.

[irrfahrer]

🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺

The flowerbouquet laying beside the door to the small house had dark yellow petals that shimmered like gold in the early morninglight. Hafa looked down on them curiously, the Healer would often put flowers infront of the hemisphere-shaped hut to dry in the sun yet those were different as they were neatly bound to another with a cord, and carefully put before the hut, almost artfully, almost lovingly. In the morning the street was still empty and the orange sunlight from the small, weak burning sun of the system only started to cut through the mist with stark bright streaks like broiling blades. The Duros decided that those flowers had not been put infront of the door to dry by the Healer so she carefuly leaned forward to pick them up- it was a more tedious act than she had expected for bending her knees was hindered by the thick layers of barkbandage the Tynnan had wrapped around the burned flesh until over the knees to not only keep the burns clean while they were healing but to also prevent anything pushing against the wounded legs too hardly and cause Hafa pain. With a huff the Duros slung a long blue arm around the bouquet, the flowers shimmering in the orange light like pieces of jewelery, and then straightened her standing. It needed a little more balancing to hold the flowers in one arm and still continue leaning on her crutch- after all the Healer would scold Hafa when she would risk falling over just to pick up flowers- but after a little work she managed to lean her slim shoulder against the door to press it open and walk inside the small hut.

Inside the hut hung the air so thick and heavy Hafa was sure she would be able to grasp it, if she would just have a hand free. The single room was round and plantpots were put on the walls of thr hut from which were growing ranks like a veneer along the height of the room. The healer was standing by a low table loaded with heatingplates on which where standing several pots. The scent of fresh cut grass and petrichor, like from a forest after a long heavy rain, rose from the bubbling pots. Hafa knocked the end of her crutch against the metaldoor to alert the young Tynnan that she had entered the hut:  “Fluffy, somebody left you-” ”Call me Fluffy again and I will rip off your kriffing arms and beat you back on the kriffing gourney you just stood up from -when? A week ago after I had spend two kriffing weeks with you bedridden and halfmad from gangere? Do you want to risk going back there?”, The Tynnan interrupted Hafa without skipping a beat, her ears turning after the Duros voice like the ears of a attentive Lolth-cat, yet she continued to cut the blue ranks she had put on a cuttingboard on the table. Hafa grimaced when her red eyes wandered automatically to the gourney standing at the side of the room- she did not knew exactly how she had felt the two weeks she had spend in the Halers house as she had pushed the memory of pain and fever and sickness hasty at the back of her head like a dity secret but whatever she had expierenced while her legs were rotting away under her, Hafa never wanted to even think about it ever again. She was sure the Tynnan had treated her with the best of her abillities, as after all now Hafa was since one week walking again on her own legs and the flesh on her legs was burned and purple from wounds, but it was healing, yet although she was thankful for this the woman did not wanted to ever spend another night in the Healers house as this would mean she might feel like she had felt when gangere had reached for her mind like a rotten hand. ”Ziv, somebody left-”, the woman started, but was again interrupted. This time the Healers voice was not stern, but almost a little playful with a quit amused melody dancing behind her words. The liquid in the pots smelling of grass and old forests continued to blubber quietly and the Tynnan shoved the cut blue ranks into the nearest pot to boil. ”A kriff closer, but not enough. Try again, please, Hafa.” The Healer was now clearly joking and Hafa rolled her eyes a little: ”-Odiz’Zee. somebody left-” ”Better! Thank you Kriffing much.” ”Just let me finish the damn sentences!”, the Duros huffed. ”Never, I am having too much kriffing fun right now!”; the Healer laughed and leaned her head back, grinning with sharp, carnivorous teeth. Still he Tynnan did not wasted another moment or annoyed Hafa any further, and instead grabbed a few small bowls and then toddled over to Hafa to carefully grab under the other womans arm and help her through the room to the gourney the Duros realized she still did not liked very much. She wondered if she would ever start to like such medical gourneys again or if they would be forever linked to the purple burns where once the flesh of her legs had been. A blue finger as thin and boney as a popsickle pointing to the flowers on her arm as Hafa stopped, standing beside the gourney: ”...someone left you the flowers outside. They are pretty. You happen to have a secret admirer, Odiz’Zee?” Zivs ears twitched, yet she only gave the flowers a short glance before turning back to the Duros. Her red eyes were fixating on Hafa, eyeing the colour of the Duros skin that was pale but yet not so lightly blue or discolored to show any signs of sickness, to the other womans stance that was wobbly but not so weakly as she had been one week ago, only for the Tynnans eyes to end on the bandages on Hafas legs that had turned grey from the dust on the street but had nonthless not askewed. “Oh? Do I hear Jealousy? Don´t worry the only one I am going down on is you.” , a crooked smirk creeped on the Tynnans muzzle as she literally knelt down before Hafa to put down the bowls of herboinment on the floor. Then she carefully broke the resin she had used to stick the pale, thin treepark to the others legs with a sharp claw and remove the worn down bark: “Literally, your bandages need to be changed and after you I am having another patient, so sit the kriff down now.” Hafa tensed a little, pouting almost childishly. She felt like a child refusing to sit down on the gourney, yet she could also not bring herself to just sit down: “I am serious!” The Tynnans ears flicked again and her red eyes shot up to Hafa, ran over her eyes, her face, her tensed stance. There was a sound suddenly cutting through the room and Ziv took a deep sniff, her head tilted to the side like a attentive animal. The next second Ziv reached to the side and grabbed for a stool standing near to shove it beside Hafa: “As am I. Sit the Kriff down, cub!”

A second of quietness slowly sank down on the two women, wrapping around every breath, tensed look and the silent glance Hafa gave the stool. Eventually she sat down carefully, Zivs small paws steadying her arm to lean on. Not wasting a moment the Tynnan knelt down before Hafa again and with nimble paws she took off the layers of bark off the burns that covered the other womans legs and cleaned the burns properly with a stark of vinegar smelling gel. When Ziv had put on the bandages made of bark first she had explained that Voss-bark was producing chemicals in its bark to fend off insects that would bite into the wood to build nests for larves and those chemicals were antiseptic. So the bark, as thin and white as linenbandages, were a proper replacement for clothbandages. Hafa looked down on the flowers now laying in her lap, her thin blue finger stroking ove the petals that were as soft as velvet beneath her fingertips:  “Leaving flowers is actually very romantic. They are  beautiful. Someone must be thinking about you lovingly...” As a answer the Tynnan chuckled, whiskers flicking in amusement although the smile did showed a little too much sharp teeth to be soothing: “Ha! For you maybe. For me its a stash of new Healing-Herbs that I do not need to collect myself now.” Hafa looked down on the other woman, blinking: “They are healing-plants?”

“No, Not those. Just some kriffing bloomy stuff.”; The Tynnan grabbed for a small bowl and opned it, its scent rose into the air of the small room- earthy and wooden, like the scent of the joinery Hafas father had often sit in to build toys for her. Inside was resin that was as gold as ember and carefully Ziv sticked the new layers of Voss-Bark together on the edges and lightly to the Duros blue skin with resin to fix the bandages in their position and prevent dirt to get to the wound until the bandages would need to be changed again. “Huh?”; Hafa grunted  confused, yet Ziv only gifted her with a wink and a sly grin that showed the sharpness of the Tynnans teeth in all their glory. Now with her patient taken care of properly that crooked grin on the young womans muzzle softned a little, just a little, when she eventually stood up again and looked over to the flowers that lay in the low afternoonlight shimmering as if made of gold like precious jewelery. “They are good to heal a bad mood, though. Most flowers are, sometimes even those who kriffing bite.” There was a flicker of loving admiration in the Tynnans eyes, a flicker like she was looking at her favorite piece of art. She had always loved flowers from the second she had been old enough to walk out of the Temples-Céche to visit the Templegardens and even more when she had started to study botany under the Agricorps teaching. Ziv had no good eyes, so when she was told something was beautiful, she could only judge that after she had literally pressed her muzzle against it, yet flowers were colourful even when they had in her eyesight not a certaine form and their scents always stroked around the Tynnans keen nose like a parfume even when the flower itself was plain. Flowers were always beautiful, they were beautiful when not seen as they grew on a far away planet, and they were beauiful when plain and they were beautiful because they simply grew against all odds, despite wars and catastrophes and politics and weather and destruction, to bring more life and beauty in the galaxy. As if the flowers were made of fragile glass Ziv ran gently her callouse fingers over one of the petals- it was soft and cooling beneath her skin as she hummed: “Thankfully this do not bite. Thank you for bringing them in Hafa, they are very beautiful. ”

Suddenly a loud knock cut through the quiet room loud like thunder, Zivs ears jolted promptly up and Hafa almost jumped off  the stool. The bouquet of golden flowers dropped rustling to the floor. Before the metaldoor the muffled voice of the patient after Hafa sounded impatient over to them past the happily gurgling inside of the pots on the heatingplates, past the flowerpots, past the gourney and past the golden flowers on the ground. The soft smile on the Tynnans fluffy face dropped and she huffed, stepping beside Hafa to help her sliding off the stool and grab the crutch:  “Now get up, get home safely and kriffing favour yourself, I only want to see you back in my care until next week again for another bandage-change.”

[ @Anonymous ]

[lisab1991]

Beauty and the Beast live action 2017: a character/credits analysis

So, I recently rewatched the Beauty and the Beast live action remake for the umpteenth time (it never fails to amaze me every. single. time), and gosh did I have a hard time trying to rein in my emotions at multiple points in the movie (seriously, I get that not everyone gets as emotional as I do, but if this movie doesn’t bring tears to your eyes at least once, we cannot be friends). I mean, the music (Alan Menken, you genius man), ADAM!, Evermore, “He took me there. I know what happened to Maman.” “Then you know why I had to leave her there. I had to protect you. I've always tried to protect my little girl.”, “Belle? BELLE! YOU CAME BACK!”,”At least I got to see you, one.. last.. time..”, his empty blue eyes as they gaze up, unseeing, the transformation, ADAM!.. Okay, I think you get it, even the ouverture brings tears to my eyes. I was never one to stick around for the credits at the end of a movie. But boy am I a sucker for the Beauty and the Beast credits, especially the first part during How Does A Moment Last Forever?. I admire the credits for their artistic quality and how well the lyrics fit. But then I got to think about the meaning behind it. So I felt the need to plunge into those credits and try to analyse them as best as I can.

Beware, this is a rather large post.

Alright. The Royal Celebration Ball comes to an end, I’m still on cloud 9 and the credits appear. Celine starts singing. How does a moment last forever? How can a story never die? The first character to come into view is, of course, the female lead: Belle. Above her name, the depiction of an open book, the pages turning. A book may come to its closure when you get to the last page and read ‘The End’, but its story never truly dies; the moral of the story lives on inside of you.

Can we just admire how happy she looks? She’s at peace with the world and her happily ever after. She’s wearing her iconic yellow/gold ballgown, a gown which I truthfully had to get used to when the first promotional pictures were released, but I’ve grown to love it and now, I absolutely adore it. It’s perfect and I even prefer it over the 1991 gown. It does suit Belle’s practical nature and still looks sophisticated (especially the bodice!). Plus, her necklace is my favourite piece of BatB merchandise that I own. They could have displayed her in her village dress, but I think that part of Belle(’s past) is already represented in the blue background. I’ll get back to that later. No, instead they show us Belle in her iconic ballgown. It fits the setting, it fits her new beginning and her story. Her village dress would not have fit the promise of a better future, because it stands for the memory of a past she’s eager to leave behind. That does not mean that she’ll never wear (similar versions of) it again, but it just does not fit here. Another option would have been to let Belle wear her Royal Celebration gown. I personally love that gown. I'd buy it if I had the chance and wear it as often as I could. So why not let her wear that dress in the credits, other than the fact that the golden gown is the iconic one? Belle always stood out from the crowd because she was considered odd and too far ahead of her time. And that is not a bad thing. But it can get lonely. You can start feeling lost, like you lost your place in the world. During the credits, wearing her white gown, could have caused her to stand out even more again. Look at the colours in each segment of the credits. They are perfectly balanced, in harmony with the characters. Now you’re probably thinking: But had they chosen to display Belle in her Royal Celebration gown, they probably would have used a different colour scheme for her. That is true. But, the golden gown was also a pivotal segment of Adam and Belle’s story. It made them come to realizations, selfless actions and acceptance of the inevitable. Let us go back to the depicted book I previously mentioned, just for a second. Books teach you important life lessons. Belle learned that being different from others is not a bad thing at all. Adam accepts her for who she is, he delights in it. Merde, the guy gave her a library because he saw how happy it made her. (Note to future significant other: here’s a challenge for you. Try to surpass that. You probably can’t. Unless you do have a personal library you're planning on giving me. Then I’m all yours.) They’re the same on so many things, they complete each other. They’re both sides of the same coin, yin and yang, keeping each other balanced. So at the end of the movie, Belle has learned that it is okay to be different, to stand out from the crowd. She also found where she belonged and discovered a purpose. So she fits in, more or less, but still stands out because she won’t back down for what she believes is right. That is who she is (and I salute her for that). She won’t give up fighting for her cause. Belle is surrounded by a golden blooming rose and a golden baroque ornament (just like Adam!), against a blue background. I’ll get back to the blue blackground when I discuss Maurice. But the roses, that’s something that unites Adam and Belle. The rose stands for so many things. In Belle’s case: her past (the rattle), her love for the mother she never knew and her longing to know more about her. The rose also symbolises her childhood and her childish innocence. But it also brought her a new beginning, a new life, love, and because of that love she can and will travel the world, have adventures in the great wide somewhere, and not just live adventures through her books. Her story is only just beginning.

Then there’s Adam: It is love we must hold unto. Never easy, but we try. Those lyrics were made just for him, I’m telling you! The atmosphere changes; we see a darker image that pans out; it’s the depiction of Beast!Adam, but as the rose blooms, his past melts away and the background changes, lightens, and we see the castle emerge. Adam doesn’t exactly smile, but it’s clear to me that he’s happy. He looks us in the eyes with a confidence that speaks for itself. He’s ready for the future, ready for his life with Belle. And let us not forget: the man had a horrible childhood; he lost his mother and was brought up by his terribly cruel father. Like Belle, the blooming rose stands for his new beginning, a second chance. He’s learned to love, managed to tear down the walls surrounding his heart and step out of his own shadow, a shadow which his father had cast as he “twisted [Adam] up to be just like him...”

On to his outfit. He’s wearing his blue Royal Celebration outfit, one that I absolutely love. It’s pale blue, which stands for the freedom to break free. And boy was he able to break free. Their mutual love is what saved him, and now he’s celebrating life, love and the trust that better times will come. I think the choice by depicting Adam in this suit is striking. Displaying him in his Trash Prince outfit from the Prologue? Nah, not an option. Because like Belle, he’s leaving the past behind. They could have depicted him in the ensemble he wore when he died/transformed into his human form.. But minus the stunned expression, I think..

Ha! As you can see, cloning a background is not really my specialty. But then again, no. His Royal Celebration outfit suits his ‘new me’ far better than that plunging neckline. During the Prologue, he danced with every single girl who was lucky enough to catch his eye. During the Royal Celebration Ball, he only danced with Belle, because all he could see was her. This is character development, peeps. Now if that doesn’t overflow you with feels, I don’t know what does.

Then there’s Gaston. Being the great hunter he is, he has antlers framing his name. Sometimes our happiness is captured.. And.. a mirror appears. “You are the wildest... most gorgeous thing I have ever seen. Nobody deserves you. But at least I know our children will be beautiful.” So.. he is his own happiness? I’m not much of a pro in Latin, but ‘Vanitas vanitatum et omnia vanitas’ sure applies to him, I’d say. Luke, hun, I love you. But Gaston? Not so much.

Papa Maurice! I feel so connected to him, because his fatherly love reminds me of my own parents. Somehow a time and place stands still.. That wistful look, a small smile playing on his lips as he looks down and away.. The world and time did stand still for this poor man, on more than one occassion. First, in Paris when he was forced to leave his dying wife behind in order to safe their daughter and provide her with a safe(r) future. I can imagine that this was, by far, the most difficult decision he’s ever had to make. Then, when Belle took his place as Adam’s prisoner, allowing him to escape. And once again when Belle convinced him to help her get out of the wagon so she could travel back to the castle to warn Adam and be with him for evermore. “Your mother was... fearless. Fearless.” In those moments, Belle must have reminded him of his poor wife, and how much she resembles her. His name is framed by gears, symbolizing his craftsmanship and his music boxes. The background, like Belle’s, is sky blue, and like I promised, here’s my little analysis on that. Blue stands for intelligence and creativity, but also strength, wisdom and trust. It symbolizes openness; the sea, the sky. But I also think an open mind. Maurice and Belle are both openminded, they don’t judge others for who they are. Blue also means being sincere, reserved and quiet, and the dislike to make a fuss or draw attention. That doesn’t necessarily apply to Belle, but I think this does apply to Maurice, especially during the first scenes when he’s in his workshop and preparing for the market. He likes his life to be simple, peaceful, unlike the awful conclusion of his life in Paris. Live and let live.  But as you can see, clouds are rolling in. Some of them white, others darker and ominious. Maurice moved to Villeneuve with Belle to give them a fresh start. The people there are simple, they do the exact same things every day. They’re used to routines and mind their own business (well in theory, mostly). He regarded Villeneuve as their safe haven, a chance to start anew. And like Maurice told Belle in his workshop: “This is a small village, you know. Small minded as well. But small also means safe”. Well until then, at least. Because said small minded people are easily convinced that the unknown is a threat and should be eliminated. Everyone who stands in their way, is regarded as an equal threat as well and deserves the same treatment, leading to Maurice’s imprisonment. As a parent, he’s always tried to protect his daughter. And later on, he realizes he might have been too overprotective. He sees so much of his fearless deceased wife in their headstrong daughter, leading to his fatherly pride battling with his fatherly concern for her wellbeing, wanting to protect her but at the same time realizing he’ll have to let her go at some point. I love how we see Maurice at the end of the movie, during the Royal Celebration Ball. He’s painting on canvas again, a hobby/profession I think he left behind in Paris when he fled. Ignoring the fact that he painted his music boxes, of course. It seems he wasn’t that out of practice, anyway. He looks truly satisfied, a small blush on his cheeks as he watches his daughter dance in the arms of her prince. I think nothing makes him more proud than to see his daughter so happy, and it brings out the best in him too. I think he found his purpose again, knowing that Belle is taken well care of, and that she found her dream.

Love lives on inside our hearts, and always will.. LeFou, my precious! Oh how I love LeFou. Like Adam and Belle, his story is only just beginning. He‘s starting a new life, free from the shackles that tied him to a life of abuse. Yes, abuse. You see the theatre masks above his name? It’s not because his character was meant as ‘just’ some sort of comic relief. The poor guy was keeping up a brave smile while at the same time he was falling apart. Life with Gaston wasn’t easy for him, even though he kept telling himself that LeDuo was all that mattered, thus making himself believe the lie. The dark clouds symbolize that life of darkness, of standing in the shadow of a man who wasn’t worthy of his love and support anyway. Because LeFou is really not a bad person. He is good at heart, we’ve seen that multiple times when he tried to defend Maurice, even though it was to no avail, and later when he rescued Mrs. Potts and switched sides. Mrs. Potts was right: LeFou was “too good for him anyway”. The yoke he was carrying was just too heavy for him to throw off, and can we blame him? I think not. But, dawn is breaking. The promise of a new life, a brighter future. He gets his own chance at happiness with Stanley, and I couldn’t be happier for him. Gone are the times of pretending, of acting like he was fine and it didn’t really matter. He still has a long way to go, but with the help, love and guidance of Stanley and his newfound friends at the castle (especially Mrs. Potts! I can totally see her taking him under her wing) his healing process can finally begin. And I’m already proud of him.

Minutes turn to hours, days to years then gone.. Lumière. Light of my life. I think we all need a Lumière to brighten things up once in awhile. That is why I love the way he is depicted here, alongside his enchanted self, of course. I really like the design, and it does suit his personality. He is a showman, doesn’t do things the half way if he’s convinced it is the right thing to do. His outfit resembles the colour of the sky we see here; a warm soft hue of sunlight, making it appear as if it’s on fire. Lumière means light and it is what he is in every way imaginable. He is the guiding light, he’s bright, he gleams, he shines. Plus, his wig is a work of art. If Adam would be the leader of a secret clubs of dandies, I think Lumière would be his S.I.C. 

But when all else has been forgotten..

Still our song lives on...

Maestro Cadenza and his Diva, Mme De Garderobe. I think it’s only fair to give them a joint analysis, after so many years of being apart. They are dressed in the same ensembles as they wore during the Prologue, and of course they are accompanied by their enchanted selves, their colour palettes and extravagance matching perfectly in both human and enchanted form. Cadenza’s name is framed by music notes and ribbons flow through the air behind Mme. And once again, the lyrics fit like a glove! Gardenza’s music and songs are a major key to breaking the curse. The Maestro's accompanying music to many key scenes, like the Prologue, Days in the Sun, the title song that is actually composed by him, the Finale.. it all gives the magic of this movie an extra dimension. Mme. De Garderobe, as Mme. de La Grande Bouche, was already an opera singer in the stage musical. By introducing Cadenza in the live action movie, thus ignoring the subtle chemistry she had with Cogsworth in said stage version, is a wonderful addition if you ask me. On to the backgrounds. They have hints of purple in it. Purple stands for lots of things, like ambition, extravagance, creativity and grandeur. What other couple applies to these qualities? None, I’d say. They are ambitious and creative, composing and singing songs even during the enchantment, they are extravagant and simply radiate grandeur. It’s not just a plain coincidence that Adam wanted them to perform at his débutante ball we saw during the Prologue, you know? They are the best, and so he had to have the best. Purple also means devotion and magic. Think about it. As far as we know, the only couple to be found within the castle walls who haven’t seen each other in years because of the curse and are still very much devoted to eachother, are Cadenza and Mme. De Garderobe. Talk about relationship goals. The only way they were able to ‘converse’ was through their darling dog FrouFrou or one of the servants. It must have been so lonely for both of them.. (Not that it wasn’t for M. Jean and Mrs. Potts (and Chip), but M. Jean lost his memory of them. He knew he was missing something, or rather, someone aka his family, but he never knew for sure what it was until the curse was actually broken.) 

Maybe some moments weren’t so perfect..

Plumette. What a Queen. I would have liked to see so much more of her. I was so happy they actually gave her a name that resembled her lightness and - of course - her enchanted self. Little Plumeau. So much better than Fifi, Marie or Babette, depending on which previous movie/musical version you’re more familiar with. I’m very  disappointed we only got to know so little of her, other than that she’s playful and graceful and sweet and perfect. And Lumière’s girl, of course.  

Maybe some memories not so sweet.. But we have to know some bad times..

Ahahahaha! That has to be the understatement of the year. Agathe. Our enchantress/village spinster-turned-beggar-turned-medicine woman-turned-life saver. Because yes, Belle professed her love for Adam but it was a) after Adam died and b) after the rose died with him. Technically speaking, the curse was permanent. But Agathe, out of the goodness of her heart, reversed the curse, conquered death and all was well again. She’s dressed in gold and, if I may say so, she has gorgeous hair! The rose and baroque ornament kind of resemble that of Belle and Adam, but hers are white with golden details in it. I wasn’t sure if it was a rose (I’m not that much or a floral expert) or perhaps a white carnation (that’s really a wild guess) or something completely different. But, let’s say it’s a rose for now. After all, Agathe loves roses, or so it seems. The red rose she offered Adam before she cast her curse resembles love. Because there was no love in his heart, he had to find it in himself again and earn it in return. A burgundy red rose stands for a love that has yet to be realized, so I’m going with that explanation for the red rose. But a white rose.. A white rose means a new beginning and hope for the future. Her job is done, Adam learned to love another and earned love in return. By reversing the curse and bringing him back from the dead, she’s given him a new beginning, a fresh start and a second chance at life. He’s no longer the selfish and unkind prince, but a loving and kind man.

The golden details of the flower and ornament, along with the golden colour of her attire stand for success, achievement and triumph. The question if the enchantment and how far it reached was a real necessity is a topic of discussion, but I think we all agree with the fact that Agathe’s enchantment was successful and that she achieved her goal. Love triumphed, saved the day and all is as it should be.

Or our lives are incomplete. Then when the shadows overtake us.. One thing I’ll never understand is why Chip had to be cursed as well. Yeah okay, he was there, otherwise he could have run off and that wouldn’t have been exactly helpful either. That is, if he made it out in time. And if he did, he probably wouldn’t remember his mother, the castle, his friends.. And/Or if he did (or didn’t) his father propably wouldn’t remember him anyway and no one would believe him. He’d be considered as a boy who had lost his mother/parents and was probably making up stories because he felt lonely. That would have made it even more sad. Either way, it all just doesn’t make much sense to me. I get that Agathe cursed the servants as some sort of redemption for them as well for not standing up for Adam to protect him from his father. I’m not sure if they would have been successful though if they had. I’m sure Adam’s father would have fired them on the spot, so I’m not certain if they would have had a chance at all to make a difference. But that was years before Chip was born. Oh, you can't judge people by who their father is, now can you? applies to Chip as well in my humble opinion. You cannot judge him because his mother failed to stand up against Adam’s father. He’s an innocent child. You can’t hold that against him. Now that I think about it, do you remember Mrs. Potts’ frantic cries for her son as she followed him into the ballroom? I mentioned it here in one of my headcanons that was brought to life after reading some old Beauty and the Beast comics. We all know how proud, selfish and unkind Adam was, but according to Mrs. Potts he also had a soft spot for Chip:

In said headcanon I added the following observation which I’m still planning on incorporating in my (sadly currently still neglected) fic:

Is this why the producers decided to have little Chip race into the ballroom as the curse took its effect? Because Chip actually looked up to Adam, and because they were actually friends? Because Adam secretly enjoyed Chip’s company, regarding Chip as the little brother he never had?

It gives me chills every time I think about it. Perhaps Agathe was aware of the close bond between Adam and Chip, and because of that she wanted to prevent Chip from turning into the same man as Adam was, afraid that Chip would see Adam as a (albeit bad) rolemodel. Thanks for breaking my heart in tiny little pieces, Disney.

Just when we feel all hope is gone.. We’ll hear our song and know once more... Henri Cogsworth. Surrounded by cogwheels and the dial of a clock, before the image pans out, revealing his enchanted self. Former military man, current (cynical, pompous yet cowardly) majordomo and head of the household. I can imagine he was rather satisfied that he no longer had serve in the King’s army, but was even happier when he started working at the castle to avoid his wife, Mme. Clothilde, who he left behind in Villeneuve. I think it’s safe to say he’s quite disillusioned with love, judging his far from enthusiastic reaction upon hearing his wife calling out his name and his rather spontaneous wish to be turned back into a clock again. Or his observation that you’ll feel slightly nauseous when you know you have found ‘the one’. Whether or not he once thought that of Clothilde, will forever remain a mystery (in canon, that is). I think Cogsworth is not an easy man to love. You’ll have to approach him in a certain way, be able to break through his stern and cranky personality traits. From what I have seen of Mme. Clothilde, though we do not know any specifics of their life together, she’s not a subtle and easygoing kind of person either. She’s a tough woman, far from a mere damsel in distress. She’s learned to fend for herself, a character trait that would be helpful to any military wife I’d say. They say opposites attract, but in their case they probably clash. Even so, she must love him and has certainly missed him, judging the way she hugs him over and over again, to Cogsworth’s great dismay. By the end of the Celebration Ball however, he’s happily dancing with her and they do look content to be close to each other again. My idea is that he does love her, but is not so fond of her public displays of affection. Even though he is a rather cowardly man in times of danger, he was a military man after all, judging his military awards and decorations he proudly wears on his uniform. It could also mean his eagerness to keep up appearances, always wanting to appear to be in charge and in check of his emotions. He may try to appear being indifferent to love, but I think he does love in his own way, without showing it. Because he doesn’t want others to think him weak? Even now, when the lyrics mention love, he frowns and looks away. Perhaps his cogwheels are in dire need of some much needed oiling..

Our love lives on.

Mrs. Potts, the sweet motherly head housekeeper and loving mama to Chip. And, of course, loving wife to M. Jean, Villeneuve’s potter. Golden embellishments in the sky form the image of her enchanted self. She’s smiling sweetly at us, inviting us to accept a rather adorable teacup that’s in her hands. I’d like a herbal tea, please. No no, no lump. Thank you Mrs. Potts, how very kind of you. *sips tea* Now where was I? Ah yes, Beatrice Potts. She’s a firm believer of love, and is perhaps the only one in the castle who had faith from the very beginning until the very end that all would be well. Perhaps it is because of her gentle nature that she kept believing. Or perhaps because of her love for her own son and husband, eager to be reunited again and be a family once more. Either way, no matter how many years have gone by, she’ll stop at nothing to ensure that Chip will have his days in the sun again. I feel as though she is the mother hen who keeps everyone together. She’s the one to turn to when you need advice, when you’re in trouble or just need a shoulder to cry on. She’ll provide you with the best kind of advice, helping you see things differently, motivating and encouraging you. She’s open-minded and always ready to forgive, like she did with LeFou.  And even if you don’t want to hear it, she’ll sternly confront you to tell you what you need to hear. She’s the voice of reason, has the biggest heart imaginable and has the patience of a saint. She believes Adam can change, has faith in him and tries to help in a motherly way, no doubt seeing it as a chance to atone for not helping him all those years ago by protecting him from his awfully cruel and abusive father. I think we all need a Mrs. Potts in our lives once in a while.. Whoever that may be in your case; your mother (or father), sister (or brother), grandmother (or grandfather) or best friend. And, perhaps, at the same time, you can try to be a Mrs. Potts once in a while as well. Because after all, we all need posivitism, hope and forgiveness in our lives.

That’s it, everyone. You have just read my musings after an entire week of analysing. Thoughts/ideas/additions are more than welcome :-)