#leave the beloved classics that you clearly do not understand alone

[atlantic-riona]

full offense but if you write a book about Neverland or Peter Pan and have there be a romance between Wendy and Hook I am sending you outside to consider your crimes. don't bother coming back inside until you repent

[trashcatsnark]

Cyberpunk 2077 Spoilers and just opinions on how everyone in game is just way too nice to johnny given his personality in my opinion

Okay I know I just made a post about how I would have loved if Smasher didn't remember who the fuck Johnny is. But I also just generally wish people in the game gave less of a shit about Johnny.

Which I get sounds mean, but I'm going somewhere with this.

Johnny's arc is based around him realizing that his selfishness and cruelty got him nowhere, then deciding to change for the better, to right his wrongs before he's wiped from V's mind. He's meant to be a selfish, violent asshole who's obsessed with changing the world, but until now was never willing to change himself. It's actually very interesting to me that he has this conflict of ideas where he preaches about external change but is so stuck on the idea of remaining true to himself that he refuses to do any internal changing; saying he wants to world and the people in it to change when he speaks about the fan, but until the grave scene any notion that he's changing in the slightest is met with dismissal and disgust. And his turning point culminates at that grave scene where he realizes all his behavior got him was an unmarked shallow grave in an oil field. He's forced to confront that he didn't leave behind the legacy, the memory, that he thought he would.

But...the issue is, that's not really true. Johnny is suppose to be having this realization that no one fucking liked him, no one could stand him, that no one remembers or cares that his asshole self is gone.

However, other than the grave scene, we don't actually see any evidence of that. And even the grave scene is undercut with the fact that, part of Johnny's sorrow is seeing that no one is mourned him. No headstone, no marker, no memorial.

BUT HE HAS A NICHE IN THE COLUMBARIAN, RIGHT NEXT TO ALT!!!! It's just under his birth name, (though i do have a theory regarding that that could explain it, but thats a post for another day or in twenty minutes when i decide no, I can't be quiet) And he never comments on the columbarian niche.

Culturally, his music and Samurai is still extremely well known. Hell, his music gets played more than Kerry's and Kerry is a current artist. He's got fans who are still dedicated to him and his career. There's graffiti asking where he is. People still wear Samurai merch, there's pants with his face on them.

Even the people he hurt; don't really seem that bummed out or like they hate him. Rogue calls him a bastard, leaves him during the date, and gets mad if he ends up in V's body permanently. But, overall, she falls right back into her 2013-2023 habits. Johnny says with a cocky attitude in Tom's Diner, that she'll dance to any tune he sings her. And she does. Drops everything to go after Smasher once Johnny shows up, "Johnny being back changes things.", gives V a replica of his jacket, asks V if he talks about her, and depending on the ending even dies for him. Doesn't matter that Johnny was a cheating bastard, she still jumps when he calls even fifty some years later.

Kerry gets mad at first and then is just happy his friend is back in some way/shape/or form. Time to get the band back together!!!! And I get that he's depressed to the max, so I can totally understand why he's just happy to have something. But, we don't really see any of Johnny's shitty behavior being addressed beyond initial anger and yeahhhh johnny's an asshole.

Him being a dick is treated more like a quirky personality trait at times, like oh that johnny with his devastatingly cruel words and tendency to put everyone around him in danger, aint he a rascal.

Even AI Alt who at first is blaming Johnny for her death with basically very little reason to change her mind, ends up admitting that to at least a degree she still cares about him. That she wouldn't have even considered helping V if not for him.

So, why the hell does Johnny really feel like he has to change, other than V who's still hurt and holding him accountable to some degree. Rogue still fifty years later came running when he called. Still has fans who see him as an anarchy legend. His music is still beloved. Sure Arasaka threw him out without another thought, but that's Arasaka.

Like, to me it would have been so much more impactful. If yeah, okay he still has some fans who think he's awesome, like the vinyl seller. His music is even still a big hit on classic stations. But the people who knew him, who were hurt by his shitty fucking personality, want nothing to do with him when they realize he's back.

I would have loved if Rogue had just told Johnny to fuck off at first. As much as I love the scene of Rogue being in the room after Johnny's bender. Give me V waking up alone, pissed at Johnny's bender and asking what the fuck he has to show for it. Because all Rogue did when she realized it was him; was throw a punch and tell him to never fucking talk to her again, that she's done with his shit and has been for over fifty years. And now Johnny is hit with Rogue and V both hating his guts at the same time. Give me V who's determined even though Johnny fucked up his promise, they won't fuck up theirs. So, they decide to talk to Rogue, maybe at first they're not even allowed in the Afterlife. Rogue telling him not to let V through unless Rogue has a chance to see them, to check to see if it's really V or Johnny. Because Rogue doesn't want Johnny near her. V having to talk to Rogue and just say, I get it, you hate Johnny and have every right to. Not my favorite person either. But I promised I'd help him axe Smasher, if you're willing to help at all, I'd appreciate it. If not, I understand too. And Rogue having to decide she wants to kill Smasher more than she wants to avoid Johnny, but V better keep him on a tight leash.

Like, i think that alone, actually seeing that yes, when you treat people like shit. They don't want you around, would have been much more pivotal and impactful in his decision to change and let him have to fight harder for it, have to beg V to beg on his behalf.

V having to beg Rogue to agree to the date, he's trying to change, seriously. Just one try and if he's the same dick weasel he was before, beat the shit out of him. Rogue being really fucking resistant, trying to explain to V, this is what he does.. don't let him manipulate you kid.

Just shit like that, him having to beg Kerry to give him a chance to do the reunion show, that it'd be good for both of em. Just god, I want Johnny to more clearly feel the consequences of his actions. Rather than everyone just being like, yeah he's a butthole, but Johnny's just sort of like that and I'd still die for him. Everyone's a Johnny simp and mood, but also, THAT DOESNT LEND ITSELF WELL TO HIM ACTUALLY CHANGING HIS BEHAVIOR

[vegalocity]

In your Oblivion fic, do you think red son would have some ptsd of what happened with Porty clone? Like he still trying to return to his old life but has flashes to what Porty clone did to him or it could also be like he tries to attack MK in another evil scheme but he can't bring himself to hurt his beloved Xiaotian, ooooor i read somewhere that red son would have trouble talking about what happened and would lie unconsciously about what Porty clone did to him

ooohhhhh Afterstory trauma i love thinking about afterstory trauma!

(funny how I got this right after i finished up that art there -x files theme-)

TW: discussing addiction

Okay so Yeah Red Son is totally walking out of this with some new nightmares thats for sure, If we assume the ‘fixing’ process was done in more of an ‘addressing the magic elements enabling this’ way, thus enabling more of a ‘snap out of it’ sort of fix, he would definitely WANT to return back to Business as Usual, but find himself unable to

But I think what would really bother him isn’t in the classical PTSD way like fashbacks and stuff, so much as it would be really leaning onto the addiction aspect of this whole thing. Cuz like, Red Son didn’t really have any coping mechanisms to deal with stress before all of this, that mental state, no matter how unhealthy and messed up it was, had been a releif from constant pressure, that was part of the reason why he fall into it so easily. And I could imagine that THAT’S the hardest thing to get rid of. That if he’s working on a project or pounding through a thesis and it’s just.. a LOT. If he’s just really highstrung and stressed over it-

-he might find himself still wanting it. Fantasizing about the darkened club with the neon lights and how he’d feel when the music played, how there was no space in his head for stress and anxiety...what would be the harm in testing out if that old trigger still worked? He could just lock the door and set an alarm like he used to and take just a liiiittle hit-

The words are on the very tip of his tongue and his fingers are positioned in a snapping motion when he catches himself. It’s bad enough having his autonomy forcibly taken away, but the fact that he’d been convinced that he wanted it was the part that wasn’t shaking so easily, because he still doesn’t HAVE a healthier way to deal with stress, so he’s stuck constantly disgusted with himself for still wanting the only relief he’d ever had from it.

I think he might not be able to trust that he was ‘fixed’ as it were, with that lingering desire as proof.

Sure he’ll provide tech for his parents schemes but lowkey plead to not have to go out into the field for actual missions. Not until he can trust that he’ll be okay, that he WON’T immediately fall back into that mindset the second he sees Xiaotian the Noodle Boy and fall to his beck and call. Though then the worry comes if he’s being too obedient to his parents too, was he always like that? He'd always wanted their approval sure, but he would also be fine with acting alone, didn’t he? Did- Did he really always want their approval or did he not care as much but he’d been convinced he did to make it easier for him to fall into line? Did he ever actually have feelings for Xiaotian The Noodle Boy or was THAT a lie too to let the clone sink his claws into him easier? How would he know? how COULD he know? Should he treat any desire to please someone else as a red flag? Should he be acting more rebellious just to make sure?

And maybe that part of him that still longs for the peace oblivion would give him whispers that it would be so much easier if he still had someone who could just TELL him what to think about all of this, no matter how little sense that made in the context of the problem itself.

He doesn’t show up for battles for AWHILE. And the first time he does he doesn’t even fight, just lingers in the shadows, so if there ARE some lingering effects at least nobody will see him struggle with them. I don’t think he actually REMEMBERS a lot of what happened granted how much Porty Clone was fucking with his memory, or if he does it doesn’t completely feel REAL, like the memory of a dream, but the first time he claps eyes on Xiaotian after all of this is when it all properly snaps into focus, and he finds himself caught between three very extreme reactions, rage, fear, and unsettlingly, longing. He- he wanted to hurt the damn Noodle Boy for all he’d put him through intentional or not, no he wanted to run to turn heel and get the fuck out of there before anything could go wrong, No he wanted to- To....

No that’s the bad one, that’s the one that wasn’t his. Xiaotian’s eyes flick to the side and unintentionally meets his gaze, and for a moment the longing almost wins anyway because he remembers, he remembers clumsily trying to seduce him on that disgusting lumpy couch and his warmth and his scent and- He chooses fear and runs.

He doesn’t go back out into the field for a long while if he can help it.

Ideally his parents did find out about all of this beforehand so they’d probably be understanding and leave him to work things out on his own.

..

...

though if a bitch wants some extra fucked upery i wouldn’t put it past at least Iron Fan to try and see if there’s anything that... lingered... that they could use, like imagine how fucked up it would be if Red just feels like he’s in the zone while tinkering and is maybe excited that that means he’s deriving joy from his work again and that HAS to mean he’s really on the mend only to accidentally evesdrop on a rare yet INTENSE argument between his parents...and finds out his mother’s been using his more fragile mental state and possibly making him WORSE because ‘he’s more efficient like this, doesn’t talk back near as much’

Well he’s certainly gonna be talking back NOW-

If we go That way then Red Son hits a proper rebellious phase, actively fighting off any upset he has over disappointing his parents because clearly that’s not him. he has to not actually care, he HAS to, feeling physically sick at the idea of them looking at him with disappointment is just another thing the clone DID to him. He’s fine. He HAS to be fine.

And he should probably look into doing something different with his time because he is NOT helping with any schemes if he can’t find it in him to even FACE their enemies, AND his mother has been messing with his head while he’s at home when he’s running support staff.

Possibly even moving out for awhile because oh geez he doesn’t feel safe in his own home anymore.

[rosaline-kei]

If it's ok may i request a yandere!armin x mikasa fanfic set in the aot world? If that's comfortable for you of course.. I loved your fanfic, Bared and I am in desperate need of some arumika content.

Disclaimer: I do not own Shingeki no Kyojin / Attack on Titan nor its characters.

Title: Yandere

parts: 1/2

Synopsis:  Unknown to everyone but his victims, there’s a side to Armin that he dedicates to protecting his beloved.

Rated: T / M (I’m not that sure; but it’s a fanfic about yandere so there’s that. Read it at your own risk. I might finalize the overall rating depending on the second part.)

Pairings: Armin Arlert / Mikasa Ackerman 

Read it also on / Please Leave a Review at: my Ao3 / FF net (might post there soon.)

A/N: i’m chill with writing yandere stuff i guess? But remember guys, don’t be a yandere in real life lmao. I hope this was okay, considering i don’t really watch/play yandere animes/games?? I think?? Except for the classics y’know, like Mirai Nikki haha. That aside, thank you for enjoying Bare!  (which y’all can read on my Ao3 lmao). Also, the time period / current time setting of this is messy but shhh....... 

-

Control.

While many cadets would think otherwise, Armin had always struggled with control, sometimes even more than Eren.

Murderous urges never ceased to come creeping up his spine, crawling its way into his heart; strangling it and him entirely—pleading for him to let them go. To let loose whenever anyone goes a little too close to her; whenever anyone dares to invade her personal space, trespassing in his territory.

But Armin knew how to play his cards. Behind his innocent and naïve appearance, deep inside the insanity that dances around his heart like a frisky pup, he was an intelligent and strategic man, who knew how to play this game.

Killing Eren was never, could never be an option. Even if that reckless boy dragged Mikasa down into the turbulence that surrounded him, even if that dense idiot carelessly spat insensitive rubbish in Mikasa’s direction, even if one day he might finally become a sensible man, who was capable of loving her—he can’t kill him. And it was not just because they shared a history together, because they shared a bond.

It was because he knew Eren’s death would send Mikasa in a spiral down into the depths of hell or null. He had the horrid chance of witnessing it once; the impact of Eren’s death on Mikasa.

And it was because he loves Mikasa, he didn’t want her to suffer through that again, so he kept Eren and a few others that appeared to be close (but not that dangerously close) to Mikasa. He didn’t, and never wanted to see her hurt. Besides, he would often think, there are other fathomable and less bloody ways of making her mine, before anyone else.

For now, Armin wasn’t fixated in eliminating the ‘what if’ possibilities where Mikasa winded up with someone else that wasn’t him. For now, he chose to instead focus on his next step in this messed-up game. And for now, in this game, he decided to let them live.

Call him obsessive, but the blonde was lovesick.

Armin didn’t remember how his feelings escalated into this splendid travesty; how this wicked side of him woke. What he did remember was that one day, a day where Eren was absent, a day where it was just the two of them, a day where Armin really had the chance to admire and marvel in the Ackerman’s heavenly presence, did he start to fall.

“Armin…? Are you alright?” Mikasa asked softly, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “You appeared… troubled earlier, was it because you saw him?” The concern emanating from her tone was enough to throw Armin’s senses off a cliff; and that was barely an exaggeration. Anything, and maybe everything that came out of her mouth was considered a melody to Armin.

Her.

Her.

Her.

Everything about her was a soothing melody. Her voice, her breath, her heartbeat. Even just her looks. That much was enough to compose a symphony in Armin’s head.

“No… it’s nothing.” Armin assured with a hum as he turned towards her direction, putting on the brightest smile he could manage in the dim-lit room that they were to rest in. For a motel in the underground, this far exceeded Armin’s expectation. Despite the poor lighting along with the peelings of decayed wallpaper hanging loose from the cracked, yellowed walls, Armin had honestly anticipated for the condition of this room to be much worse, with insects possibly crawling about, spiders readying to defend their territory or hunt.

Regardless, as long as Mikasa was comfortable, it was fine.

That aside, the last thing Armin had expected was to see that man who harassed him back then, when he was forced to doll up, dress up as Historia Reiss. Then again, the fact that the two of them were ordered to investigate these parts of the underground for clues regarding a separate issue (one that was fortunately not about Eren being kidnapped, again) was even more unexpected, bewildering even. The crippling world existing on the surface was chaos enough, and Armin would’ve had expected for Levi to keep them around in case that Ripper would show up since they were vital members of his squad. Or at least, not send two cadets on a mission alone, having to navigate the unfamiliar underground the first time by themselves, with a poorly drawn map that could’ve been mistaken with a child’s doodle. Then again, as much as he’d like to question his decision, he didn’t have an opportunity to. Who knows what was going behind the scenes? Armin couldn’t help but ponder.

On the bright side, he was alone with Mikasa.

On the darker side, however…

“If anything, I should be asking you that, Mikasa.” Armin remarked, his smile and other features morphing into something more worried. “You looked… uncomfortable, out there.” It took him every ounce of effort to not let his maliciousness seep through and poison his tone when he thought back to the stares Mikasa received—particularly by one herd of obnoxious barbarians that were bold and foolish enough to cackle out inappropriately snide remarks about her oriental features as they made their way towards the bar.

It made his blood boil.

“…I just don’t understand why people like them exist, that is all. I don’t have time to be concerned with people like them.” She said coldly; a tone and sentiment Armin hoped to never be on the receiving end of. What’d he ever do if Mikasa were to hate him? Or if Mikasa were to find out his… tendencies?

Armin didn’t plan to find out. He was a curious soul, but not that curious.

Slowly, Mikasa shifted herself slightly to the left side of the bed before patting the vacant right side. “Lay down… there’s room. Besides, that couch looks like it could be invested with termites.” She offered calmly, resisting a yawn.

“E-Eh?!” Armin stuttered, face flushed. He had been too busy… scheming, and had forgotten that there was a possibility of them having to share a bed.

It wasn’t the first time but… he wanted to feel her warmth, so badly, so desperately. He wanted to cling onto her, and never, never let her go. He wanted to be close to her, to be overwhelmed by her godly presence again and again. It would just be the two of them. No distractions, nothing.

Unfortunately, Armin had to reject, or rather postpone her offer, as reluctant as he was.

His hand stretched back, scratching the back of his neck nervously. “I… would love to, but… I haven’t eaten any dinner yet since we left. I saw a store selling bread nearby, so I’ll head there for a bit.”

“What?” Mikasa’s eyes widened, shocked to hear that he was running on an empty stomach. “I’ll come w—”

“No, it’s fine!” Armin reassured. “You need to… rest. Please.” He didn’t want to trouble her.

Despite his plea for her to rest, she stood up in protest, stomping her way towards him. The fierceness in her eyes clearly made it evident to him that she was against the idea. Cute, he thought. He adored how dedicated and devoted she could be to the people she made room for in her heart, he greatly appreciated her concern, but…

“But it can be dangerous—”

“If I don’t come back within forty-five minutes… then come looking for me.” Armin smiled. “Don’t worry. It’s just a quick stop, and I’ll head back. I can handle my own.”

Mikasa looked at him, stared with him eyes brimming full of genuine worry, concern and conflict. It made Armin’s heart skip and flutter. That look served a reminder to Armin that she cared about him, so much.

After a long tangible silence that stood between them (that Armin didn’t break, couldn’t break. He was too hypnotized by her looks; by her), she finally resigned and with a sigh, “Fine.” She said.

Armin was perfectly capable of handling himself, she knew that. He wasn’t weak. Even if he didn’t excel in physical strength as much as she did, he made it up with his brains; his intelligence that always aid in his and their escape in whatever tricky predicaments.

“But… please,” She muttered, her hands reaching out to grab his free hand, holding them closely, tightly. “Don’t stay out too long… the later it gets, the more ruffians are out there.”

“U-Uhuh!” Armin nodded, savouring her touch, her warmth, feeling the heat rising to his cheeks and a mad rush of blood surging. It was thrilling, and an expression nearly slipped from his control.

Control Armin, control. He reminded himself. Now wasn’t the moment for Mikasa to witness how much she had an effect on him. He was practically wrapped around her finger, in some sense, and he didn’t mind. It was relieving, he was glad.

Perhaps if it wasn’t just the two of them, he would have more control about his expressions that had a possibility of exposing what he felt for her. He loved her, but at the same time, what he felt for her was more than that.

There was no going back, now.

Once Mikasa had let go, he left, knowing that there was no time to waste.

As he left, he felt a wave of ecstasy swinging within him as he relished the lingering warmth that Mikasa’s hand had imprinted on his. Ahhhh! The warmth is all the same… He thought, humming to himself as he skipped towards his destination. Her touch is all the same… ah… sometimes I just want it all to myself.

Upon arriving at his destination, his humming stopped, and what took over was a determined look mixed with some animosity. Taking a deep breath as he re-calculated his plans, he entered the bar with a thirst for vengeance.

[alexanderlightweight]

Cryptids of Brooklyn

(somehow the text got deleted so putting it back in.  Malec (shadowhunters) prompt fill for @crispyoperawolfdean​.  Might not be quite what you were expecting but I hope you like it!  I had a lot of fun with it and thank you for the prompt!

If there was one thing anyone knew about Alec Lightwood -and almost everyone at least knew of him- it was that he was cold, eviscerating and just about the most vicious attorney in New York.

His clients thought of him with an almost alien sense of distant and somewhat terrified adoration.  He had little charm to speak of, instead working with blunt facts and ruthlessly twisting words and happenstance to sound as though what he said was the law.  

There were rumors -well hidden ones- that at one point in time, one of his clients had actually decided to plead guilty rather than work with him.  No one was sure if that was truth or a myth, but there was little doubt that it could have and probably had happened.  

For all the rather redundant and overused jokes made about lawyers and sharks, never was such a comparison or joke made concerning Alec Lightwood, as there was one glaring difference between the two ruthless predators.

Sharks smiled, Alec Lightwood didn’t.  

-

In the same city, but quite a different world from the one Alec Lightwood resided in, was Magnus Bane.  A young man with a brilliant mind and after quite a bit of hard work, a small kingdom made up of a variety of businesses.  Magnus was beloved by many, inspiring to all and even those who hated him tended to admire him with the reluctance of someone knowing they were being petty out of jealousy, rather than a justified dislike.  

His most well known and popular business was Pandemonium.  A thriving club that was a close distance away from yet another one of Magnus’ enterprises, Edom.  An upscale, classy and frankly gorgeous hotel that Magnus was rumored to live in, he didn’t.  Magnus Bane instead lived in a very discreet but wonderfully luxurious Brooklyn penthouse that only six people knew the address of.  The floor of Edom that he kept reserved for himself was where he had his parties and occasionally, where he stayed when his schedule became a dungeon filled with paperwork manacles designed to entrap him for hours on end.

All in all, the two men had such drastically different careers -not to mention lifestyles- that such a story containing both of them should normally have been titled in such similar fashions as to some of the great classics; The Two Towers, A Tale of Two Cities, The Road Not Taken and such on and so forth.  However, the eye of the beholder is often led awry and that is why this written articulation is not so aptly named.  Instead, the most fitting name for our tale is more likely to run along the lines of: Besotted, Ardent Admiration, Disaster Gay and Dad Jokes: A Guide to Accidentally Wooing Your Soulmate.  

-

To the world and the masses who thought it their business to know everyone else’s, Alec Lightwood was chronically single the way other people chronically breathed.  It was his way of life, he clearly didn’t know any other way to live and no one who knew him -or of him- could fathom it changing.  Ever.

Magnus Bane had a very different history.  A beautiful tapestry of love gained and lost and set aside that broke many hearts not his own and had many in mourning when he shifted his focus from romantic whimsy to that of business.    

It would be then, quite a surprise to many, to find that not only was the public perception of both gentlemen so vastly erroneous, it in fact bordered on blasphemous.  

No, the fact was that it was providential intervention that Magnus Bane had little to no reason to jaunt about New York’s finest court rooms, as his poor husband’s workplace persona would have quite melted in his presence.  For while he could in fact smile, even with that particular trait Alec still did not quite make the parameters to be inferred as a shark.  No, Alec Lightwood, or Lightwood-Bane as his legal name happened to be, rather turned into a jellyfish when his husband was nearby.  A rather useless but electrified blob all around.  

It was pure happenstance that their paths remained uncrossed in the public eye.  Alec being something of a private person, only in the fact that he cared little for others opinions and Magnus far too busy to deal with one more detail.  The secrecy of their romance and the obscuration of their marriage were all quite unique and coincidental happenings.  

Their first meeting was during a major power outage that attracted far more attention than they did and which had in fact turned into a first date which quickly became a slippery slope of tender and intimate romance and quite ridiculous gestures.  Their engagement was short and, while Alec loved his family dearly and Magnus loved his friends, both agreed that they could do an anniversary party later down the road.  This wedding was for them and if they told those they loved, it would be less about Magnus and Alec and more about everyone else knowing better and attempting to take over.

There was a very good reason why Alec’s family didn’t have their address and it was going to stay that way.

Out of all of this, the crux of how they stayed decidedly so under the radar came down to one abstract point of reality.  Human infallibility.

It was a struggle for people to comprehend the fact that someone like Magnus Bane even existed on the same plane of reality as someone like Alec Lightwood.  Therefore, the idea of them interacting -let alone being acquaintances- was so far outside their realm of understanding that it was concluded to be impossible.

Therefore, a number of people had what they assumed to be rather strange and oddly timed hallucinations, such as: ‘oh look, there is Magnus Ba-... no.  Nope, never mind.  That isn’t him.  That can’t be him.  I’m fairly certain I saw Alec Lightwood with him.  This is a delusion.  I must be ill.’  As such, in order to not be buried under vitriol by their online peers for their hallucinations, such sightings were never reported and instead were buried deep in the mental abyss of things one does anything not to think about.

In other words, Magnus and Alec Lightwood-Bane were the cryptids of Brooklyn.  

-

It would come as no surprise that Magnus knew more people than he didn’t and had more favors owed to him than he himself owed.  As it were, he continued to do favors.  It left other people quite in his debt, while he himself mostly managed to benefit from it.  As it were, he had been doing a long time acquaintance, Luke Garroway, the favor of letting his step-daughter and  pseudo-step-son work at his main office.  

It was temporary work that they split between themselves as they were both still in school.  It was also a decision that he regretted immediately.  

While his relationship with Alec was carefully contained, the rest of Alec’s family did not seem to share the same ability when it came to their personal lives.  A few months after hiring the duo Magnus learned that he had hired what may someday be Alec’s sister.  Either by way of Clary’s father marrying Alec’s mother, or because one of Alec’s siblings was besotted with her.  

As Magnus had a firm policy on not mixing business with his personal life, he felt rather disgruntled.  It didn’t help that neither of the two were particularly suited for office work and were more inclined to impulsive choices than anything involving well-reasoned decisions.      

The way he found out involved a rather alarming mixture of tea.  Both verbal and liquid.

It was a maudlin office day.  One that had started far too early and Magnus had been forced to leave a large and beautifully comfortable bed and a delightfully warm and sleep-muddled husband to get ready for a tedious day at work.  A quick exercise, a hot shower and a perfected beauty regime had passed in the blink of an eye and yet had been only just long enough for him to enjoy coffee and toast with Alec before he left.

As was the usual go of things, he was one of the very first to arrive.  It meant he could look over a few of the other offices, see that things were in place and settle down to make a rather large pot of soothing tea that he would take with him to his office and settle into an armchair as he perused his schedule for the day.

As Magnus adored plants, he’d had his designer include a very active and flourishing plant decor.  Which meant that when Clary and Simon both entered the outer office where they worked, the fact that his door was open was obscured by a rather gorgeous and lustrous monstera named Augustus.  

“Alright Fray, spill.  How was dinner with your new fam?”  Simon said, as usual he was overly loud and unfortunately Magnus could invision his eyebrows dancing as he teased Clary.

“It was really good, mostly good.  Great even!”  And that was the ever excitable and somewhat self-absorbed Clarissa.

“So why did you text me so many key smashes?”  Simon asked and Magnus mentally waged a very small skirmish on whether or not he wanted to get up and shut his door.  He was very comfortable where he was and he wanted to finish his tea rather than alert them to his presence.  They both had an appalling -he was working on it- lack of office etiquette and had decided he needed to be inundated with questions and that it was their right to barge into his office.  

“Well Maryse,” Clary started and Magnus nearly spilled his tea, “her last name is Trueblood so I thought that was her kids name too.  Turns out her kids are Alec, Izzy and Max Lightwood.”  

Magnus could hear the way Simon choked at that tidbit.  Also, he was going to strangle Lucian.  

“No fucking way, Fray!  You’re future bro is Alec Lightwood?  Guess you have a new bestie to bail you out of trouble.”  Simon teased.

“No, I won’t.  Because he’s a complete asshole and emotionless jerk.”  Clary exclaimed and Magnus’ grip tightened on his cup.  “He didn’t even pretend to smile at me and when I tried asking him about his life he wouldn’t tell me and then when Izzy tried to share stuff, he shut her down every time she started talking about him.  And, he said it was because he didn’t trust someone he’d just met to keep it to themselves!  The nerve of him.”

Considering the fact that Clary was currently spilling everything to Simon, and had a notoriously bad habit of telling everything to everyone, Magnus couldn't see why she was so offended.  It seemed a rather intelligent choice on his husband’s part.

“Rude,” Simon agreed, “wow. I always thought that maybe he was nicer with his family.  So he just doesn’t have a personality?”  

“If a personality can consist of a miserable lump of a human being who is never going to find love or happiness and just enjoys making other people feel terrible, than no.  He doesn’t.”  

“Savage.  I love it.”

In any other situation, Magnus might have felt indignant on his husband’s behalf.  However, Alexander could be quite standoffish and Clarissa’s rather... abrasive need to insert herself into everyone else’s everything would clash with Alec’s indifference to new people.  Especially since he knew this was the first time Maryse had seriously dated since her divorce and he remembered Alec coming home from that dinner, miffed on being interrogated by a little girl who had started in on why he was wearing a band on his ring finger.  Alec did not like it when people demanded things from him.

Instead, Magnus took a very long sip and decided that he was very much looking forward to whenever Alec’s next surprise visit to the office was.

-

It ended up being a few weeks.  Magnus was busy with travelling and Alec had a few very intense and complicated cases.  

It was Magnus’ good fortune that only Clary was working that morning and while he missed the first part of their interaction, he definitely was aware of something amiss when he heard Clary’s voice rise in volume with a, “no, I am not going to check and see if he’s busy.  You don’t have an appointment and I don’t care who you are Alec, you can’t just waltz in here and think you can use my connections to Magnus Bane because our parents are dating!”

When Magnus pushed his door open, it was to the sight an indignant Clary standing at her desk with her arms crossed.

“If I wanted an appointment with Magnus I wouldn’t ask you,” Alec said and Magnus admired the way his voice dripped with derision and the mocking arch of his eyebrow.  

Deciding to spare them all even more of a headache, Magnus smoothly interjected, “that’s because Alexander never needs an appointment, hello darling.”  

If there was one thing Magnus could be proud of, it was the way Alec’s complete demeanor changed for him.  All irritation ebbed away, as smooth as a tide flowing back home to the depths of the ocean.  Alec’s face transformed into the tenderest altars of adoration even as Magnus cupped his cheek and was gifted with a kiss to his palm.  

They both ignored Clary’s stuttered shock and Magnus pulled Alec in for a kiss before wrapping an arm around his waist.  

“Ah yes, Clary I think you’ve met my husband before,” Magnus said.  At his side, Alec pressed a kiss to his hair and Magnus could feel him shaking with laughter.  

[mageicalwishes]

Crying In My Prom Dress - Chapter 4

Read on AO3: here

Read the previous chapter (on Tumblr) : here 

Summary: The Leaver’s Ball marks the end of the school year. The end of their time at Watford. Baz has a confession to make before it’s too late. But, will he ever pluck up the courage to tell Simon how he feels? 

Inspired by the song “Prom Dress” by Mxmtoon.

Chapter: 4/7

Words: 1,850

Simon

I’m supposed to be concentrating on dancing with Agatha, but all I can think about is Baz. He’s late. He’s never late to anything - He’s far too perfect for that. Sometimes, when I oversleep he throws something at me (to wake me up) and gives me a condescending lecture about how “Punctuality is important”. So, I don’t know why he’s late. He said he'd be here. Why isn’t he here?

Agatha’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts. “Simon. What on earth are you doing? You just stopped moving. Are you going to go off or something - Your magic is all weird again. If you’re going to go off, I’m going to leave,” she scolds. She looks lovely today. She’s wearing a beautiful flowy blue dress (she said our clothes’ colours had to match), and her hair is in a low bun which she’s decorated with little sparkly gems. Baz wears his hair in a bun like that sometimes - Minus the gems (Obviously). I like buns. You can see people’s faces better when their hair is in a bun.

“Sorry, Aggie. I’m not going off, don’t worry. I just zoned out. Sorry,” I say, starting to move to the music once again. Her lips quirk upwards slightly at that. She doesn’t smile much anymore when she’s with me. Not properly anyway - Just little half smiles. Sometimes I worry I don’t make her happy. I want to make her happy, I really do. Me and Agatha don’t always get along (she says she doesn’t like getting dragged into all my “shenanigans”). I think she wants me to be more normal, really. I do too sometimes, so I understand. I know being with me is difficult for her - Especially when I go off (she hates when I go off). But even if she doesn’t like what I am, I still want her to be happy. She’s always been good to me. She always invites me to Christmas at her house. And, she buys me nice clothes. She even helps me with my missions sometimes. She’s good at all that girlfriend stuff. But, sometimes I think she might want us to break up again. She’s broken up with me a few times. I broke up with her once too (after the whole “thing” with Baz in the woods). I don’t think I want to break up again, though. I like having Aggie - It’s nice having someone to go to dances with and stuff.

I do my best to keep dancing, focusing on sticking to the steps Baz taught me. I don’t want to ruin the night for her - I just have to stop thinking about Baz. He should be here, though. Dev and Niall are here, he was supposed to arrive with them. I wish I knew why he didn’t.  

————————————————————————————

I’m dancing to some Abba song with Agatha, when the chapel doors fly open behind her, smacking against the walls with a loud crack. I whip my head around, and there he is. Baz - Standing in the doorway, a smug smirk plastered across his face. He knows everyone’s eyes are on him. Arrogant prick. He must’ve cast an “Open Sesame” to ensure his presence wouldn’t go unnoticed - He always has been a drama queen. I hear Penelope sigh behind me (we haven't spoken much this evening, as she's been busy dancing with some guy from our Magickal History class, but I know she's probably thinking the same as me right now). He swaggers across the room to where Dev and Niall are standing, throwing me a teasing wave as he walks past. Classic Baz - Just sauntering in as if he owns the place. I feel Agatha pulling at my wrist, trying to pull my attention back to her.

“Simon. Come on. Just for one night, just ignore him” she pleads. I wish I could, but people like Baz just demand attention - I can never seem to keep my eyes off of him. I feel my magic bubbling up within my veins. I’m not angry - Not really. I’m actually quite glad he’s here, I was beginning to worry something had happened to him. Not that it would matter if something had. Well ... I’m not sure if that's really true - I think we’re sort of friends now. I want to be - It felt much better being friendly with him these last few days, than it ever has fighting him. He’s actually quite nice to be around … When he wants to be, that is. I mean, I’ve always wanted to be around him - But that was only because I thought he was plotting. But it feels different somehow. I don't know. He's here now, though - So, everything is okay. I feel very hot and I think I’m blushing - This dumb suit has far too many layers. Anyway, I really need to get back to concentrating on my dancing, Aggie would probably be upset if I just stood here gawping at Baz for the rest of the evening.

————————————————————————————-

Baz has been standing talking to Miss Possibelf for the hour (I know because I’ve been stealing glances at him over Agatha’s head the whole time). He looks a bit sad? His face looks the same as normal (I’m not sure Baz actually knows how to express emotions on his face), but his eyes look dull and he keeps raking his hands though his hair like he's stressed. I wonder what’s wrong. Dev and Niall are both preoccupied with their dates - So, Maybe he’s just lonely? Where’s his girl? He can be incredibly charming, and Baz is certainly attractive enough to have gotten himself a date. All the girls in our Chemistry class practically drool over him, they’re always arguing over who gets to partner up with him - He could’ve easily convinced one of them to go with him. Hell, Agatha would probably have gone with him if he had asked (she says nothing happened in Fifth Year, and I believe her, but I know she definitely wanted something to). Maybe I should go and talk to him. I mean that’s clearly a stupid idea - Agatha would be mad at me if I ditched her to talk to him (she thinks I’m obsessed him), and I’m almost definitely the last person Baz would want to talk to right now. But, he really does look upset - Maybe he’s desperate enough to actually appreciate my companionship.

I’m about to give in and go over to him, when he marches off towards the bathroom. I should follow him. I need to know what’s wrong. Not that it really matters - Just, it could be something serious. I drop Agatha’s hand and pull my arms back towards myself. “I’m just going to pop to the loo,” I explain.

She sighs, crossing her arms over her chest. Uh oh. “You’re going after Baz aren’t you? I’m not stupid Simon, you’ve been staring at him the whole night,” she says, exasperated.

“No,” I lie. That was dumb. Everyone can always tell when I’m lying - Penny says I always talk with an “upward inflection” when I lie, I don’t really know what that means, but it’s very annoying. Agatha definitely knows.

“I’m right here, and it’s like you don’t even care. All you ever do is look right through me straight at him. It's like I'm just an inconvenient distraction to you. Merlin, Simon! You're so obsessed” she says, turning to walk away from me.

“Agatha, wait,” I plead, grabbing her wrist loosely. She turns, her eyes meeting mine once again. “Just go and dance with Baz. Clearly he’s who you want to be with. I’ll go dance with Penny, she’s been begging me all evening. But, I’m done being second best, Okay? I’m done. I deserve better than that, and you deserve to be with who you want. Let's just stop pretending to be something we're not."

“Wh- What do you mean you’re done?” I ask.

“We’re over, Simon. It’s clearly not working between us. You’d rather chase your roommate around than be with me. And, this just isn’t what I want anymore. I don’t feel the way I should feel about a boyfriend about you, Simon. And, it’s pretty obvious you don’t feel that way about me either.”

“But, you’re my destiny. We’re meant to be together,” I argue.

“So you’re destined to spend your life with someone you don’t love? Simon," she says, laughing sardonically. " I’m not your destiny. I’m not some prize you win when all of this is over. Just go and talk to Baz. You don’t have to stay with me - Neither of us really want that. It’s fine, Simon. Just go.”

“Okay,” I say, staggered “I’m really sorry, Aggie. I never meant to upset you.” I mean it - I never meant to make her feel like I was ignoring her. I mean she’s not really wrong - I’d rather be with Baz right now. And, I have been paying far more attention to him than to her this evening. But, it’s not in the way she makes it sound. I didn't mean to upset her. And, I don't want to date Baz. I probably shouldn’t have been paying more attention to him than my girlfriend (well, ex-girlfriend now), though. Maybe when we were doing our dancing lessons he used his vampire thrall against me (I read about thrall in the library once, it's pretty wicked). Maybe that’s why I can’t seem to tear my eyes away from him. That would explain it (Well, it would explain why I've been doing it recently, anyway).

She smiles softly at me then. “I’m going to go find Penny, okay? " She says. And then, she's gone - Leaving me standing alone in the middle of the dance floor. I think I should cry (that’s what people normally do when they get broken up with), but I don’t really feel like I need to. I thought I loved Agatha, but now we’re over I don’t really feel that bothered. Maybe Agatha was right about us? I mean, I’m certainly not heartbroken - I’m more embarrassed than anything. It is fairly humiliating to be stood here like this. Based on how I'm acting it certainly doesn't seem like I was in love with her - The people in the movies would never have such a lacklustre response to being dumped by their beloved. I've never really been the best at understanding what I'm feeling, though. Oh well. I still really need to find Baz. I need to find out if he's alright.

I turn and take one last look at Agatha - She’s found Penny and they’re spinning each other around the dance floor, smiling at one another. I guess Agatha isn’t that bothered either - That’s good, I’d feel terrible if I ruined her night. Contented that everything is alright, I turn and hurry towards the bathroom after Baz.  I really hope he’s still there.

[most-likely-terrible-dr-imagines]

Hello!!! Could I request the dr2 boys showing their s/o something about their talent and then they slip up and accidentally give their s/o a black eye or somehow injuring them? S/o isn't angry at all though they laugh it off after their boy is done freaking out over them. Sorry if you've done it before or if it's too complicated!

This was adorable, and very fun to write! I only wrote four of the boys in question (Teruteru, Hajime, Nagito, and Souda) so a part one will come out soon, I just couldn’t finish it today because of time restraints. 

- Modaca

Teruteru Hanamura

Admittedly, he had never needed to show off in front of anyone before. He would normally just let his food speak for itself, rather than trying to be flashy by flipping an egg a certain way or anything.

Not saying he didn’t know how, he used to mess around a lot before his mama had gotten sick when they cooked together. 

Yet when his adorable S/O asked to watch him cook, he wanted to make it as entertaining as possible. 

He did those fancy pancake flips, set onions in a shape of a volcano and did the classic fire in the volcano, when threw his utensils around. 

His ego grew whenever they complimented him, and his normal concerns about safety slowly slipped away. 

Not the basics like don’t leave the fire on or don’t throw knives, but what he had done was go to flip a pot in his hand after getting it out of the pantry. 

While also not realizing how close they had gotten to try and help him if he was too short to reach. 

Smack

Right in the eye.

“Oh my, S/O, I-I’m so sorry!” He had shouted, his accent coming out all too much in midst of his panic. 

“This? This is just a little mark, don’t burn anything Teru.” 

“But you’re still holding it! Please say you’re not bleeding. I’ll get the first aid kit.”

That’s when they started laughing, quickly taking their hand off their eye. “I’ll just get an ice pack, it isn’t bleeding or anything. You should keep going, I’m really looking forward to trying all of your dishes.”

Hajime Hinata

As we all know, he doesn’t have a talent, so he’s been experimenting and learning new things. 

His S/O had been encouraging him the entire way, showing him talents that had been at the school in the past but weren’t in the school’s current roster. 

“Ultimate clown... Are you serious?”

“I know, I thought that was Nagito’s talent, but it turns out it was an actual thing. So why don’t you start with juggling? I brought some oranges in my lunch for you to try. Just start with one.”

“Is it really juggling if there’s only one?”

“Work your way up.”

With only one, he had done quite well, he was very coordinated so they gave him a second orange to work with.

There was a bit of fumbling, he would manage to make one round but then accidentally drop one. 

“Come on, Hajime! You can do it!” They had encouraged from where they were standing. 

They thought they were a reasonable distance, just a couple feet but enough to still watch him clearly. 

“Whoa that was a gr-” 

Then they got an orange straight to the forehead, dramatically falling onto their butt afterwards. 

“Shit- S/O, I’m sorry.” The orange that he had actually caught had quickly been discarded to the side as he came to their aid. “Are you okay?” 

They were quick to laugh at him. “You’re so cute when you’re concerned about me.” They said, quickly kissing him before standing back up. 

“Now, get the oranges. Keep going, Hajime!”

Nagito Komaeda

Actually showing off his luck wasn’t something that he could just do on command, it was too random to just show off. 

He could rely on it to get out of certain situations, but on the same scale it usually came with terrible consequences. 

So he wouldn’t purposefully show off, especially not to his S/O. After all, if something bad were to happen, then what if it were to happen to them...?

Yet sometimes they would bare witness to the amazing things that he could do. 

These were one of those times. 

S/O had been decorating their room, throwing some paint around to make it look more homey and currently they were doing the higher part of the wall so they had been on a ladder. 

Nagito wanted to help them out, so of course he had come over and did whatever they asked of him. 

At the time he was stringing up some decorative lights on the other side of the room, and when he went to plug them in... No dice. 

“Hey, S/O, the lights aren’t working. Do you want me to go to the store and buy some more?” 

Normally he didn’t spend a lot of money despite the fortune he had ‘accumulated’, but he didn’t mind spending every dime on them (or any of the ultimate’s if they asked, he just didn’t like spending it on himself).

“Nah, it’s probably just a broken bulb, I’ve got a couple extra somewhere.” They said, beginning to climb down the ladder. 

Unfortunately, there had been a misstep and down they went, directly into their boyfriend’s arms as did their thick paintbrush... Directly onto the top of his head.

“Aw, you caught me.” They laughed. “Your luck really does come in handy.” 

At that he gave a small chuckle, leaning a bit to put them back onto their feet, and slipped the paintbrush...

Directly into their eye.

Immediately he was sent into hysterics, about the fact that it was his fault because of his luck and if trash like him didn’t hang around them then they wouldn’t have hurt their eye in the first place. 

“It’s alright! I squinted before it hit me, it’s no worry.” They said, furrowing their eyebrows. “Besides, my worries all on you now. I have to love you until I convince you you’re not trash.”

“... That’s-”

Kazuichi Souda

He had been so excited to show them this new car he had been working on. 

It was just simple repairs but it was commissioned by a pro racer, that alone was the coolest but the guy being pro meant that once it was over Kazuichi would have made a lot of money off of it.

(he promised them the best date of their life, despite their objections that he should save it.)

Regardless of it not being created by his, it belonged to a pro! He really wanted to show his S/O. 

So of course they had followed him all the way back to the school’s garage where said car had been. “You should see the engine on this, baby, it’s amazing.”

“I’m not sure if I could quite understand it as well as you.” They laughed, just happy to be there. They loved seeing Souda so excited about these things. 

“Just the aerodynamics of the car as a whole!” He gushed about it, he was able to talk for a good bit before explaining that he needed to go underneath it and make sure everything was in working order.

Still, he welcomed them to stay, he liked having company. The garage got lonely after a while. It didn’t hurt to have some help to get him the tools he needed so he wouldn’t have to keep going in and out from underneath the car. 

So they got him the tools and talked to each-other for a bit. 

“... And then Ibuki started a fire!” They finished up their story they had been telling their boyfriend, standing up and going over to where his legs and feet dangled out. 

“Hey, it’s getting late, you want me to walk and get some food from across the street?” They asked.

And Kazuichi, not realizing that their beloved had been standing right in the way, had rolled out from underneath the car. 

As a result he one of the wheels ran over their toes. 

The tiniest “Ouch...” Had been their only complaint, knowing well that it was their own fault for getting in the way, so they didn’t deserve to complain. 

“Whoa, hey!” He shouted frantically, popping up and about to pick them up in order to sit him down... Until he remembered he was covered in grease. “I’m so sorry S/O, just sit back down.” 

“Can you still stand on it?” 

“Do I need to get you some ice?” 

Various questions came out of the boy’s mouth, making it nearly impossible for them to respond, only their laugh making him quiet down. 

“It’s okay, Kazuichi! I was in the way, next time I’ll learn.” 

“... So do you still want the food?”

[robininthelabyrinth]

Tear Into Your Soul - Training Week 4 - ao3 link

Fandom: Naruto Pairing: Hashirama/Madara/Tobirama

For @writhingbeneathyou

Something will probably have to be done about Izuna.

Hashirama smiles vacantly at his best friend’s younger brother as he continues to rant. Despite their proximity, Izuna never really became his precious person - but he is Madara's, and thus Hashirama considers Izuna to be his by proxy and thus important - no matter how annoying he might be sometimes.

Izuna had stormed into Hashirama’s office at full Uchiha boil, which would be funny except for how it’s keeping Hashirama there when all he wants is to go back to rejoin Tobirama and Madara already.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Hashirama interjects when Izuna stops for air, keeping his tone polite. Far more polite than Izuna deserves, really, what with his implications and innuendos suggesting that Hashirama has taken his beloved brother off to be murdered or tortured or for some other nefarious purpose. And, sure, there might have been some kidnapping involved, but Hashirama’s intentions are hardly nefarious! Madara’s getting everything he’s ever wanted, and everything Hashirama’s ever wanted, too. What’s the problem? “As I’ve already told you, we went out on a secret high ranked – sorry, S-ranked – mission. I got the summons telling me to come back and I did, even now a second time –”

And oh, Hashirama loves his village, but someone is definitely going to die for that.

“– but I’ll be going back out to join them soon enough. Your brother is not at any serious risk.”

Izuna crosses his arms in front of him. “And I’ll be going with you.”

Hashirama manages not to snort aloud at the thought of Izuna walking in on some of the scenes between Madara and Tobirama that he’s been recording for himself in the little hideaway he put them both in. He doesn’t think Izuna will properly appreciate what Hashirama is doing.

Pity, that, because Hashirama’s plan is working so well.

If he can just pull this off, Hashirama will get to keep his most precious people close to him, Madara will get a haven from all his worries, and Tobirama will finally, finally get to have someone (other than Hashirama) who loves and adores him the way he deserves, with all the intensity of true Uchiha obsession.

All Hashirama wants is for his beloved ones to be happy, and he truly, sincerely believes that their happiness can only be achieved when they’re with him. So, really, when you think about it like that, it’s practically incumbent upon him to do whatever it takes, anything it takes, to seize that wonderful happiness for all of them. And no matter how difficult, that is a duty he is more than willing to take on.

(For Madara, Hashirama would and has crushed his own clan into meek compliance, all to enable them to obtain their mutual dreamed-of village of peace.

For Tobirama, Hashirama would raze down forests, and for him that’s saying something.

There is nothing he will not do for them – nothing, that is, but let them go free…)

“There’s no need for you to come along, Izuna,” Hashirama says sweetly. “We’re perfectly safe, or as safe as you can get on a mission.” His smile broadens, beatific and radiating inner peace in a way he knows is extremely irritating, especially to people who – like Izuna – think he really is that dumb. “After all, we already have the three strongest shinobi in the village on the job.”

Izuna doesn’t quite manage to hide the way the reminder makes him scowl. Tobirama’s superior status rankles and eats away at Izuna, Hashirama knows, but after how gloriously Tobirama defeated him – Tobirama’s brilliant mind defeating the Sharingan at last, even the great Mangekyo Sharingan itself – there can be no question anymore.

Tobirama is the third strongest – Izuna only the fourth.

After all, Tobirama had all but killed his rival, while it was only through Hashirama’s mercy that Izuna yet walks the earth.

Mercy, yes – and patience. 

Oh, Hashirama has learned all about patience, this past decade or so. He was an impatient child, he acknowledges as much: he should never have asked Madara to choose him over his family by the riverbank – they were young, weak; they could never have stood together against their parents for their peace, not when their brothers would have paid the price for it. They should have laid in wait, grown strong, and then they could have acted, acted together, and things would have been different, better.

He didn’t wait, and now he has to work twice as hard to fix what he broke – but fix it he will.

Madara wants to choose family over Hashirama?

Fine.

(It’s not fine.)

Hashirama will weave himself and his Tobirama into Madara’s conception of family so permanently that they can never be plucked out: he’ll plant the seeds now and let them grow until Madara’s heart and soul are ripe for the harvest.

He knows what he wants and he knows how to get there - and he knows that he will use all of his resources to get it.

Even the resources that don’t yet know they are his.

Like - say - poor, ignorant little Izuna.

After all, what Izuna doesn’t know won’t hurt him -

- until Hashirama decides that it will.

“Listen to me, Senju,” Izuna says heatedly, putting his hands down on Hashirama’s desk. It’s almost offensive how free he feels with Hashirama’s personal space, but then, he thinks of Hashirama as a soft-hearted fool, a perception Hashirama has done exactly nothing to dissuade him of. It’s far too amusing. “I’m going to get straight to the point –”

“Oh, good,” Hashirama says innocently. “I’d been wondering when you were planning to do that.”

“You –! I know you're up to something. My brother never leaves home without warning or telling me –”

“My fault entirely,” Hashirama cuts in smoothly. “I’m afraid I sprang the mission on him last second – forgot all about it until it was time to head out. You know me: I’d misplace my head if it wasn’t attached!”

He laughs, even as Izuna seethes. Mostly because it makes Izuna seethe; if Izuna wasn’t so set in his belief that Hashirama is a blithering idiot, he might actually realize that Hashirama’s been mocking him this entire time.

“How long is this mission supposed to last again?” Izuna finally demands, as if Hashirama hasn’t already told him five times.

“We should be back a week after we first set out.” 

“If he’s a single day late –”

“Isn’t the usual worry date four days out?” Hashirama wonders. “Or at least two, for short range ones? Do you not trust Madara to be able to complete a mission, is that it? You should have more respect for your elders.”

Izuna makes a frustrated sound like kettle boiling. “Listen, he’d better be back on time, you hear me?”

“I hear you. I’m not sure I understand you, but I certainly hear you.”

Izuna scoffs. “Just make absolutely sure he’s back in one piece, or else -”

“I’ll always do my best to take care of Madara,” Hashirama assures him. “He’s very precious to me.”

“Yes, yes, your ‘precious people’; the whole world knows about your stupid Will of Fire and your precious people…!” Another scoff. “I’ve just about filled up on it. Tell me the instant my brother gets back.” 

Hashirama watches as Izuna storms out.

Shaking his head, he gets up to go: with Izuna gone, there’s nothing keeping him here, and he has high hopes for what Madara and Tobirama have gotten up to in his absence. Madara’s been positively mad for Tobirama ever since he left them alone that first time, worshipping every inch of him with classic Uchiha obsession; it’s all working out very well according to plan.

An Uchiha tracker does try, not-so-subtly, to follow him out of the gates, but Hashirama loses him easily, just as he does the one who follows far more subtly, seeking to use the shadow of the first as a dodge. Izuna’s loyalists, of course, but Hashirama is not respected throughout the many nations and nor revered among the many clans as the God of Shinobi because he would fall for such an insipid little play as that.

Yes, something will clearly have to be done about Izuna.

After losing his tails in the forest, Hashirama doubles back to the secure little outpost where he’s left his brother in Madara’s tender care.

Hashirama grins in earnest as he walks into the room: they’re on the bed, Tobirama lying flat on his back, eyes glazed over with pleasure and moaning as Madara thrusts into him, kneeling between his splayed legs.

Delightful.

Hashirama wonders if either of them really needed the infusion of aphrodisiac he included in the tea he served them that morning before he returned to the village, or if he would have walked in on them like this regardless, but dismisses the thought as irrelevant a second later; there’s really no harm in being certain, after all.

“Having fun without me, I see,” he remarks cheerfully, shedding his clothing as he comes forward to kneel by the bed. He’s been hard since he left the office, and after the aggravating day he had he thinks he deserves a nice treat. “Madara, push him forward a bit, will you?”

Madara obliges him, and Tobirama hangs his head back over the side of the bed, opening his pretty little mouth to take Hashirama’s cock without even the slightest bit of urging.

The position robs Tobirama of all autonomy: with one leg wrapped around Madara’s chest and the other draped over Madara’s arm, his back arching and his neck hanging low and supported only by Hashirama’s hand, he’s being held entirely aloft between them, shifting back and forth with their thrusts.

Entirely at their mercy.

Perfect.

“That’s wonderful, Tobirama,” Hashirama praises, even as he fucks his brother’s throat without much concern for the difficulties of the position. Tobirama’s a trained shinobi, lithe and flexible; he can handle it. “Very well done; you’re getting so good at this. Madara, isn’t he getting good at this?”

Madara scoffs a little. He would sound remarkably like his younger brother but for the fact that his version comes across as rather fond instead of condescending.

“Enjoying teaching your baby brother to suck your cock, Hashirama?” Madara asks, not slowing his thrusts in the slightest. “That turn you on?”

“It’s a hard job, but someone has to do it,” Hashirama says virtuously. It’s ridiculous enough to make Tobirama actually laugh around his cock, a delightful feeling, and it brings a smile to Madara’s face. “Might as well be you and me, wouldn’t you say?”

“Hashirama…”

“Besides, I’ve already taught him that. This is just a new position. Like a graduation lesson!”

Madara barks a laugh. “You’re absurd.”

Hashirama grins and reaches out to reel Madara in for a kiss, tasting Madara’s laughter on his tongue even as he enjoys the feeling of Tobirama’s hot little mouth, the way he moves his lips and tongue along Hashirama’s cock to try to make it better for him as he thrusts in, glorying in his brother’s submission.

This is how it should be, he thinks to himself: Madara happy, distracted from the worries and the weight his clan has placed on his shoulders; Tobirama safe between them, safe and loved and appreciated the way he should always be, and would never believe just from Hashirama alone; and the three of them concerned with nothing but the great joy of being together, a joy that grows all the greater for being shared.

This is how it should always have been.

This is how it will be, if Hashirama has anything to say about it. He’s going to make this beautiful present into his future, his permanent future, and absolutely no one will stand in his way.

Especially not Izuna.

Hashirama wonders idly if it’s time for Izuna to have another little relapse of that lung complaint of his, the one that stems from that little snarl of scar tissue left over in his chest from the battle wound he incurred from Tobirama’s sword. All perfectly natural, of course; the Uchiha medics themselves confirmed that it was truly amazing that Hashirama had managed to keep the scarring to such a minimum amount.

And if their iryo jutsu is not strong enough to see that within that scar tissue there is the tiniest little dab of foreign cells, mostly dead and entirely dormant unless awakened with the Mokuton, that once upon a time came from a species of tree called ficus aurea –

Well. That’s just too bad, isn’t it?

Hashirama smirks a little at the thought – he takes the opportunity to slide his tongue into Madara’s mouth, to mercilessly grind into Tobirama’s face, enjoying the uncomplicated pleasure they were both giving him – but ultimately decides against it.

Annoying or not, scheming or not, threat or not, Izuna will remain untouched for now.

After all, the true purpose of the so very aptly-named strangler fig is to ensure that Izuna will not waste his life in battle: Madara loves and fears for his last brother, the bastion of his sanity, and Hashirama knows that although Madara is saddened by Izuna’s mysterious condition, he is secretly pleased that it does not impact his life in any serious manner and cannot fully hide his lack of regret that Izuna has been forced to resign from the front lines, trading battle for administration in his new role as the head of T&I for the village.

No, best not to do anything: Madara would only worry if he found out that Izuna had another attack while he was gone, starting coughing and clutching at his chest as though something had curled around his lungs to press all the air out, and Hashirama wants this week to be one that Madara remembers with untainted joy.

Maybe another time, if Izuna continues to be so irritating.

“Oh, I missed you two,” Hashirama says, continuing to kiss Madara. He likes kissing Madara, and he’s got over a decade of kisses to make up for; he could spend all day doing just this. Having his cock sucked at the same time doesn’t hurt, though, especially since Tobirama has really become quite frighteningly skilled at it given the short amount of time he’s had to practice. “You know, I haven’t come at all this morning; isn’t that a terrible shame?”

“No, you’re terrible,” Madara breathes against Hashirama’s lips, breaking away a little, but still fond, still laughing, and not pulling away the way he had been at first. No more struggling, no more attempts to escape: Madara’s forgotten all about that. It’s amazing how pleasure can break a person so much more thoroughly than torture, something professional torturers like Izuna never seem to realize – or else he’d be far more worried about his brother’s friendship with Hashirama than he already is. “Absolutely terrible, Hashirama. Did you put something in our tea this morning?”

“Who, me?” Hashirama asks, leaning forward to nip slightly at Madara’s neck – Madara likes a bit of pain with his pleasure, Hashirama’s found, and he’s already got all sorts of plans on how to best use that to maximum advantage. “I’m hurt at your, mmm, terrible insinuations. As if I’d ever do something so underhanded. Me, a sweet, good, innocent little shinobi…”

Madara laughs again.

“What makes you say that, anyway?”

“We haven’t been able to keep our hands off each other all day,” Madara says. “You did, then?”

“Obviously I did. There’s no such thing as an innocent shinobi. When did you notice?”

“Not until afternoon,” Madara concedes, which is hilarious: that meant they’d already been at each other all day without thinking anything was strange about it. “I’d decided to try riding Tobirama –”

“Oh, did you now?” Hashirama asks, delighted. He’d had to guide or force them into trying all sorts of new positions and techniques, but he’s also had nearly five days of almost non-stop sexual play to distract them by now; they’d stopped even mentioning their other obligations at this point. And now they were starting to innovate on their own! “Did he like that?”

(He wonders if this satisfaction what it feels like when you finally break a feral animal's spirit to your yoke. He thinks it might be.)

Madara smirks, smug as a rooster strutting amongst the hens. “I’d tell you to ask him, but…”

“His mouth is otherwise occupied, yes. Good, good. How’d that give it up?”

“Well, he came pretty quickly –”

“Virgins,” Hashirama sighs, tutting a little down at a now-blushing Tobirama. He does so love humiliating his so-proud brother, a pleasure he reserves only for himself and no other, though perhaps if Madara is very good and very obedient Hashirama will consider letting him in on the fun. “Really, Tobirama, and here I thought you were doing so much better…”

“He did a perfectly respectable job of it,” Madara says, and oh, Hashirama loves how he’s defending Tobirama’s honor, even if there’s nothing really to defend.

Izuna’s going to be in for a nasty little surprise the next time he tries to cast aspersions on Hashirama’s little brother just because he’s a sore loser who can’t admit his own failure.

Hashirama really hopes he’s there to see it happen.

“And?” Hashirama prompts.

“Well, he got hard again right after,” Madara says wryly. “And given that he was still inside of me at the time, it was – noticeable.”

“I’m sure it was,” Hashirama says, laughing at the thought. He’ll have to watch that scene later; he can just imagine the looks on their faces. “Should I not have done it, then?”

Madara snorts. “Like me telling you to stop would have any effect –”

Good, he’s learning.

“– but as it happens, I’m more interested in getting my hands on some of that stuff, whatever it is. I can think of four different missions it would be perfect for.”

“I’m not sure I’m pleased with you thinking about missions while fucking my brother,” Hashirama scolds his best friend lightly, though he doesn’t disagree. It is, in fact, extremely useful. “Don’t let us down, Madara; put your back into it or don’t bother.”

Madara’s always been marvelously competitive, and it doesn’t take much more than a few more goads before he’s really rutting away in earnest; Hashirama can lean back on his heels and let Madara’s thrusts move Tobirama’s mouth along his cock, no effort required.

It takes only a few more minutes for Madara to come after that, and then he curls up on the bedsheets and watches as Hashirama kneels back up to properly fuck Tobirama’s mouth.

Mindful of his visually-attenued audience, Hashirama makes sure to pull out and come on Tobirama’s face at the end.

“Lovely,” Madara says, his eyes heavy and lidded with post-orgasm languor. “Hashirama, you can handle clean-up, can’t you? Since this is all your fault, anyway.”

“Seems only right,” Tobirama agrees, his voice raspy, his throat well-used. “Go get some water, anija; we’re positively filthy.”

“Work, work, work,” Hashirama complains cheerfully, even as he does get up to get water and towels to help clean them both up. “That’s all you want me for, I knew it. I’m just superfluous free labor…”

“Shut up, anija. We’re sleeping now.”

“Damn right.”

Hashirama pretends to grumble, but he’s immensely pleased when he settles in between them, pulling both his brother and his best friend into his arms. He’ll deal with their insolence later, when he’s less content, less happy.

This is everything he wants in the world, right here. He’s going to keep it.

No matter who he has to sacrifice to do that.

[smartchicken]

Hi I show up every time you post which is haha, so funny, but I just wanna know if you've figured out that I'm a desperate bitch yet and if not, I'm a desperate bitch and I like your stuff. You're cool (also what're your thoughts on a road trip AU featuring young!Tony with a lot of trauma under his belt alongside honourably discharged Bucky who's forgotten how to live but they meet in the middle and it becomes a little easier to breathe)

-chokes-Oh manFirst off, i really would like to encourage people to just randomly describe themselves in my inbox.SECOND this is the first time I've replied to an ask with the mobile app and i don't understand why it's not automatically double spaced, it's really fucking with me, but I'm about as likely to do something about it as i am to tell my phone to auto-capitalize "i". I just Don't CareTHIRDLYROADTRIPokay first off I've had a very few good roadtrips and only one was "Long" (~18 hours) BUT i have great stories from those and now i am picturing not only a young Tony maybe on the run or just trying not to be home, and poor Bucky who got an honorable discharge but got fucked over because that's the American way, but all the avengers because the best roadtrip is when there's two cars and by about halfway through you're straight up enemiesSo like, car 1: Rhodey, Nat, Pepper, Bucky, and Tony. Car 2: Steve, Clint, Phil, and Sam. Because those are who i currently feel like giving a fuck about. Car 1 starts with a disadvantage because 5 people in one car always sucks but like, ride or die bitchesSo I'm sort of imagining this as BlackPepper combining their friendgroups in a fucking into the fire way like sink or swim love each other or else. Because it's that or awkward lunches for six months and they clearly don't have the time for that. I assume there is plotting going on because we all know it plotting redheads, but they probably lost control of the situation at one point because roadtripLike I'm imagining a college au so get in that mindset. I feel like Pepper immediately put her foot down about Tony, who's the only teenager there even though he acts like an old man. Pepper is just like okay Tony HAS to be with me or Rhodey at all times or I'll fuck everyone up Nat i stg i will kill your friends to death if they look strongly at my precious baby and Nat looks a this stubborn little asshole who is at once fearless and terrified and she's like, fair enoughBut Bucky, right? I know I'm a Tony fangirl but I'm not forgetting about Bucky. Cause Bucky went into the army at 18 and he came back three years later a different person. Steve didn't go with because a) he's a twiggy artist and b) Sarah would have murdered him after she destroyed the entire us military tbh. Bucky's a freshman, the only one in the group even though he's older than most of them. He's been back for like 6 months now and probably shouldn't even be dealing with college life but he's Bucky and lbr he's not gonna cut himself any slack. But by golly his friends love him and will absolutely fight everyone for him, even himself. So while Pepper's like "protect my son" Nat is like okay let's try to make sure Bucky's with Steve because they're kinda codependent but we're letting that happen for now because we have bigger fish to fry, but on the dl because currently Bucky won't admit to any issues under penalty of death.So day of the roadtrip. I dunno where they're going probably tourist shit they're just like get in the car we'll head for such and such and go from there. My only frame of reference here is Florida so I'm picturing them having to drive at least five hours before they have any reason to stop.Oh! Yes so first stop is gonna be a spring or river or some sort of water shitSoGetting ready to go is Hell they have to fit enough shit for nine people into two regular sized trunks. So they've gotta clean literally everything but the spare tire outta those("Fuck it, leave the tire," Clint suggests. He's packed all of a backpack and, incomprehensibly, his bow with three arrows and he's absolutely going to reek in about two days and probably didn't bring any shampoo or a toothbrush. It's probably like, a t-shirt, some boxers, and swim trunks. He'll wear the same shorts for a month he doesn't care. "If we get stuck on the side of tree road, I'll feed you to buzzards for sport," Pepper says pleasantly. She knows him a little better than most of Nat's friends because her and Clint half live together. They get along fine but Pepper progressed to threats much quicker than Clint is comfortable with. He thought about telling her it was hot but decided he liked his balls intact. "Just shove over the duffle," Bucky said. Tony's being quiet but he's got a toolkit packed in case anything goes wrong; there'll be no stuck-on-the-roadside on his watch. )So they get the trunks sorted and there's a couple bags in the backseats but it's good enough. Then Phil shows up (when did he leave???) and stuffs some blankets and pillows into both cars. "My family likes roadtrips," he says. His eyes are dead. Phil is not including himself in his family here. Phil tried to beg off but Pepper couldn't get Happy and Nat couldn't get Scott etc etc for various missing people and Phil agrees to come because, ultimately, these socially-challenged morons need a voice of reason and that's not Pepper or Nat OR Sam, no matter what they think(The truth is they're all reckless idiots and Phil's no exception but combined they can keep each other safe-ish or at least get in trouble together)((Tony didn't want to come either but more because he doesn't want to get underfoot. But Rhodey and Pepper made the mistake of trusting his "I'm fine" and leaving him alone for a few weeks at school exactly once. Pepper had hugged him and said "Pretty please?" and Tony's no good at turning down requests, especially from his few, beloved friends))(((Nat took a different approach with Bucky, who didn't want to come either. "If you don't come Steve won't come and then you'll have to say at Steve and Sam's wedding that it was delayed all because you skipped out on the best roadtrip ever.""It is going to be awful," Bucky said. Nat gave a particularly Russian shrug. Bucky sighed and gave in. He didn't exactly wanna spend a week in the dorms alone anyway.)))And then they really just wanna get going what the fuck guys it's already evening should we just wait til morning no fucking way shut your mouth we're going n o wPepper and Nat manage to be together, and they manage to pay Tony and Bucky special attention, as intended. But uh. Oops?It's Rhodey driving with Pepperi the passenger seat, mostly out of habit; they've done short road trips a lot at this point and it's always Rhodey driving to start, Pepper up front so Tony can nap in the backBut uhTony's in the middle in the back, with a pillow and a tablet in his lap. He's putting on a good show of being Totally Fine, but he's clearly tense. Bucky's smooshed against the door as much ash can, broadcasting discomfort like a cat in the rain. Nat leans against the door too, trying to be considerate, but Pepper starts texting her urgently( TOUCH HIM!!!!!hes so tense wtfNat I love you trust me and touch him a littleAnd Nat shifts over just a bit, so her legs are against Tony's, and for a second he freezes, and then he finally loses some of that tensionTOUCH STARVED?????? Nat texts Pepper, alarmed for this kid.His dad sucks, is Pepper's take, and Nat scowls and gets comfortable, pointedly touching Tony without pushing into his space.)MEANWHILE Phil is the odd man out but he's driving so it kinda works. Clint's in the passenger seat because Clint is a no good dirty cheater, and also has very stern, specific instructions from Nat. Steve and Sam are the most comfortable of the entire group, and within an hour they've got their feet a little tangled, not cuddling but not-not cuddling, and Steve's dosing a little cause he took a motion sickness thing and it always makes him a little sleepy"So Pepper seems terrifying," Clint says to Phil as an opener. They probably should've hung out at least a little before this because Pepper and Nat are the only things he can think of to talk about (and maybe it's not helping that Phil is weirdly hot and serious and he's seen him smile a couple times and he's trying to figure out how to see it up close but it turns out it's not hard cause right away Phil grins and chuckles a little and Clint thinks he's maybe having a heart attack)"So does Natasha. Or is it just Nat?""Sometimes it's Natalia," Clint says automatically, which isn't very helpful. "Uh. What are you studying?" Which is stupid and cliche but Phil manages to turn it into an actual conversation and in the backseat Sam's texting the whole thing to Bucky, who keeps sending back strings of emojis that aren't always sensible but like, Sam totally gets it. And then Sam gets a text of the top of a head of messy dark brown curls and a string of panicking emojis. There's a suspicious blushing emoji in there though and Sam snickers to himself. Steve wakes up with a little "hm?" which is too cute for words so Sam just passes him the phoneTony started off working on his tablet but he hasn't slept in...a while and he's been stressing about this but now he's in Rhodey's familiar car and Pepper's got classic rock going kinda quiet and Nat snuck her toes under his leg and he fights it for a while, but eventually he slumps over, and he doesn't even notice himself sliding towards the warmth that smells like machine oil and leather. Tony looks small and sweet and quiet and Bucky likes to watch him sometimes, when he can, even though he feels like a creep. It's just that Tony seems so alive in a way that Bucky can't really capture. Like he's so tired but so full of life and fire and maybe that's optimism he's not sure but he thinks it might be. Everyone always seems tired on campus, or young and stupid, or just so unrelatable. And it's not that he can relate to Tony so much as he wishes he could. Like watching the moon in the surface of a lake and being afraid of the ripples. Bucky slowly relaxes, lulled into it by Tony's quiet breathing, and Nat gives him a very obvious thumbs up, with a certain look in her eyes, and he catches Rhodey's eye in the rearview mirror, so he slides down a little, slowand quiet, tucks an arm around Tony and lets himself relax, puts down three phone and stares out the windowThey stop at an all-night walmart when Clint suddenly realizes they don't have SUPPLIESWATER SUPPLIES!!!Bucky and Tony go in, with Clint and Phil, to get Supplies, while everyone else stretches their legs or texts demands for snacks.They grab a bunch of stuff, everything that looks even mildly amusing, Tony sleep-fuzzy and relaxed from it, and in line him and Clint attack each other with pool noodles, earning a few glares from other shoppers, but they're laughing too!much to care. There's not really room in the cars for everything but they make it work and they're all wide awake then, everyone chattering for the last two hours before they realize they should've arrived by now and then Rhodey stops (he was the one leading) and there's dogs barking and they're in a trailer park andPhil calls him just to ask, "What the fuck Rhodes."They all get out their phones and they're yelling directions at Rhodey and they're lucky he loves them because seriously they deserve death at this point. They pull up to the park at 5am when they should've been there at, oh, 1 or so no one's sure how they got so turned around but they made it yaaayAnd then "Fuck," Pepper says. "Tents."And that's where I'm leaving this for now cause I'm tired of typing on mobile but tbh i wanna write a college roadtrip now. I'm just imagining a lot of cuddles at this point everyone gets maximum hugs plz. Also i can't tag this??? So thanks mobile

[sammy-writes-stuff]

The Stranger, Ch 26

Chapter Twenty-Six: Rapunzel

Start.  Previous.

TW: Blood, violence, dying, death mention, tears, pain, swears, attempted suicide mention

Carrie lay back on the couch and tried to follow Joan’s instructions exactly. Talyn had put on low calming music and was busy drawing the curtains.

“…So, if you’ve ever seen Sherlock, it’s kinda along the same lines.” Joan explained carefully, sitting on the ground next to the couch. “You have to literally construct a space within your mind that you can escape too.”

Carrie frowned and shuffled a little, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to relax. She took a steadying breath and thought of her room at home.

“Imagine every detail, build the room from the ground up.”

Her bed in one corner…her overloaded desk in the other…

“Imagine several more doors along one wall. Each of these represents a different part of your mind: one door for memories, one for emotions…things like that. Whatever feels right to you.”

Memories were behind a red door. Emotions behind a blue one. Another random purple door popped up without her even thinking about it.

Carrie lay there for ages, constructing every detail of the rooms and really feeling her way around her mind.

“You’re doing really well.” Joan said, after what felt like hours. “Now it’s time to try and retreat there entirely, out of Thomas’ body.” Their voice was gentle, but firm. Carrie swallowed, but nodded.

“Okay.” She muttered. Carrie began constructing herself there, focusing clearly on how she would fit in this space, when something strange started to happen. “Wait…”

“You can do it.” Talyn said encouragingly. Carrie just frowned harder as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing.

“There’s…there’s a hole in the wall behind me.” She was shocked that she hadn’t seen it before. The wall looked like it emptied into a void full of…nothing. Breath-taking abyss. Peace.

Her hand rose up to touch it, craving its safety, its promised solitude, its inherent relief.

She jerked her hand back like it had been shocked and gasped sharply as an image flashed across her mind…

Carrie had been crying.

She had failed something.

She was running home with her tail between her legs.

Rounding each corner faster and faster…

“Someone is…screaming…” Carrie muttered, trying to pinpoint the high-pitched noise that seemed to have started.

“Screaming?” Joan asked warily.

Carrie pushed the grim memory away just before she could see herself yanking the wheel, feeling sick. She looked around in her mind palace once more, and for the first time noticed how grey and drab it all seemed. The wall with the hole was spreading before her eyes, bits flaking off and flying away. She turned to her memories door and bit her lip, wanting more than anything else to run in there and lock the door. Surround herself with the comfortably numb security of the past…before she had decided to throw it all away...

Stupid. Dumb. Reckless...Deliberate? The crash was her fault.

The screaming grew louder.

“Joan…she’s crying…” Someone said, Carrie couldn’t tell who.

“Open your eyes…Carrie open your eyes…”

Carrie turned, and finally started to comprehend the hand she had been dealt.  

The screaming was coming from the purple door.

This wasn’t Heaven or Hell. It was Purgatory.

The abyss was beckoning behind her. Carrie had a feeling it would take her home.

Carrie looked at her hands…really concentrated on them…they swam a little under her scrutiny.

Not real.

She took a step towards the purple door.

Purgatory…time to pay her due.

~

That moment was so full, it seemed to last a lifetime. It moved in slow motion, but so much happened that it made Roman’s head swim…

Or maybe it was the sword sticking out of his chest.

Several things happened at once, but Roman only had eyes for the man at the hilt of his beloved sword.

There was screaming. His bed was in pieces all over his room, a dark pulse of energy having burst forth from Virgil in his panic. The real Logan and Patton had been thrown back by this display also but seemed conscious. Virgil stood in the rubble, panting hard. Roman couldn’t connect the dots exactly, all he could focus on was the burning pain in his chest and the way he felt like going to sleep…

“Thomas get out of here.” Virgil screamed, in his unholy voice. Thomas, who looked beyond utterly confused, scared and hurt, obeyed instantly – closing his eyes and sinking out…

“What did you do?!” Apathy hissed, changing back into his classic form.

“Roman was DYING! Actually DYING! He was vulnerable and without him the connection will break down regardless! We don’t have to faff about with Thomas!” Deceit shrugged. He began to twist the sword buried in the Prince’s chest before he was tackled by the raging force that was Patton.

Glasses blown away by Virgil’s blast, cardigan long gone, the man in the polo shirt screamed and punched Deceit in his borrowed face. Watching Patton fight his double was almost such an odd sight that Greed didn’t see Logan coming for him until he also was on the ground and receiving a few choice blows.

Apathy just put his hands up when Virgil turned to look at him.

Roman chuckled a little as his vision filled with stars. His family…they had won…they had saved Thomas…

Logan had Greed and Apathy tied together in one corner, then turned to aid Patton in his struggle with Deceit who had by now returned to his dapper form.

Roman tried to stand. He wanted to look dignified, after all.

He just keeled over on his side, but someone managed to catch him and lower him to the ground gently.

“SHIT…SHIT…RO NO!” Someone sobbed. Roman smiled blearily back at the dark blob above him.

“Virgil, stop!” Another said. “You can’t remove the sword, it’s holding everything together for the moment…just put pressure around it.”

“Son?”

It was quiet, measured. Roman frowned. Why did these people sound so…god what was the word for it? He couldn’t think.

“Did we win?” Roman looked around at the three-people cradling him. Logan grimaced and used a spare cloth to wipe some of the blood away that was leaking from Roman’s mouth.

“Yeah, kiddo. We won. You won. It’s all going to be okay…”

“Oohhh PATTON’S LYING!” Deceit called, bitterly laughing from his spot with his accomplices. Patton raised his hand sharply and they disappeared.

“M’sorry.” Roman started coughing and Logan lifted him slightly, so he could rub his back.

“You’re so stupid…”

“Virgil.”

“NO! WHY…I DON’T UNDERSTAND!” Virgil yelled in frustration. “WE’RE A TEAM AND YOU HAD TO DITCH AND BE THE FUCKING HERO.”

“I was already bad.” Roman closed his eyes in a grimace.

“What…what do you mean?”

“Carrie…” Logan muttered. “Carrie was starting to see through Roman’s creations and imagery. She spent the most time in your room, besides her own…which you created in the first place…all those nights you spent in Carrie’s room too…”

“My room didn’t feel good.” Roman nodded, not really able to string his thoughts together coherently and sending himself into another blood-splattering coughing fit.

“That doesn’t matter now.” Patton cooed, brushing Roman’s hair out of his eyes. It was a peaceful act, but it made Roman start to feel how vulnerable he was.

He let a few tears slide out of his eyes, and he dimly registered Logan getting up for the first aid kit and to go find a book on the topic.

Forever the nerd.

Roman laughed.

“I think I see an angel…” He muttered, staring blindly upwards.

Virgil bit back a comment on the dramatics. If Roman would live…he would never comment on his dramatics again…

Roman reached up to try and grab the hand stretching down towards him. It was bathed in silver light.

“What are you doing?” Patton sounded less calm now.

“She’s not Alice.” Roman muttered.

There were hurried footsteps as Logan returned with the first aid kit, his glasses fogged and cheeks red from his own tears.

“He’s…he’s actually…” Virgil sounded like he was in shock. “No....”

“Roman look at me.” Logan said, gripping a pair of scissors nervously. “You guys hold him down, I have to cut his shirt away.”

Someone grabbed his elevated arm and Roman whined softly.

“No, she’s going to help me…”

“Ro, please…” Someone tearfully pleaded, keeping his arm firmly at his side as he tried to struggle.

“I’ve nearly got it…okay let go…” Logan pulled away the front of Prince’s ruined shirt and sash, leaving the sword sticking out just above his stomach. “Put pressure around the wound but don’t bump the sword…”

“I love you guys.” Roman lifted his arm again with the last of his strength and gripped the hand. It was warm and smooth under his calloused grip, and he let his arm slacken in her embrace.

“RO!? LOGAN WHAT’S HAPPENING???”

“I don’t…I don’t KNOW!?” Logan sobbed.

“She’s not Alice.” Roman repeated, a little firmer, as the warmth in his hand started to spread down his arm. “She’s Rapunzel.”

There was a blinding flash of white light that made Logan, Virgil and Patton scramble back from the Prince.

When it faded, the Prince was lying there alone, shirt still tattered, torso still bloody, but the sword plainly absent from his chest.

Next.

[garywonghc]

37 Practices of a Bodhisattva (Part One of Three)

by Jetsunma Tenzin Palmo

In the next few editions of Gatsal we will go through a very important text on Lojong or mind training called the 37 Practices of a Bodhisattva. This was written in the 14th century by a monk named Thogmé Sangpo who was born in 1296 near to Sakya in western Tibet. From a very early age he exhibited great qualities of compassion and caring for others. There is a story from when he was just a toddler: children wore a fleece-lined chuba – kind of long jacket tied at the waist - and one time he went outside in winter and when he came back inside he was naked. His parents said to him, “What have you done with your chuba?” and he said, “Oh there is a being out there who was very cold”. So they went and looked outside and there was a bush which was covered in frost and so Thogmé had put his chuba over it to keep the bush warm.

His biography is full of these charming stories of how even as he grew older he went to immense trouble for the sake of others - especially those who were in difficult circumstances such as beggars, poor people and so forth. Thogmé became very learned and the Abbot of several monasteries. He was extremely well known and beloved in his day. He died in his sixties which was a good age by Tibetan standards since at that time people didn’t live long. He wrote many books but the one which has become a classic in Tibetan literature is known as Gyalse Lalen. Gyalse means literally sons of the victorious one, meaning Bodhisattvas and Lalen means a way of practising. So it is usually translated as The 37 Practices of a Bodhisattva.

Our nuns at the DGL Nunnery also study this text because it is accessible to anyone – monks, nuns, lay people whether Buddhist or non-Buddhist - because it deals, as all Lojong texts do, with how to make use of the difficult circumstances in our life, especially our own mental defilements which give us so much trouble, as well as the problems caused by others. Lojong texts show us how to make use of those difficulties by transforming them and taking them on the path. So it is a very practical text.

At first it might not sound very realistic for us ordinary people but actually the advice is highly practical since taking adverse circumstances and using them as our practice is very important for everybody.

I received a commentary on this text from the 17th Gyalwang Karmapa, and also a short explanation by the Dalai Lama himself and also from Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche. But most of the verses are pretty obvious.

So as in most traditional texts the text starts with the invocation explaining for whom this text was composed. So he starts by saying Namo Lokeshvaraya. Lokesvara means Lord of the Worlds which is another name for Avalokiteshvara or Chenrezig or Kuan Yin.

Chenrezig is the bodhisattva of compassion so an appropriate object of obeisance for a text dealing with the Bodhisattva’s way of compassion. Manjushri is the Bodhisattva of Wisdom and he is invoked in those texts dealing with philosophy, logic and so forth, but those texts which are dealing with the heart and how to incorporate compassion into our daily lives invoke Avalokiteshvara or Chenrezig.

So, the text reads:

Though he sees that in phenomena there is no coming and going, He strives solely for the sake of beings:

Phenomena here is the word dharmas, meaning ordinary things, just outer things. As we all know in Buddhism there is a great emphasis on impermanence and the momentary nature of all outer and inner phenomena, that everything arises and disappears momentarily like a flowing river. It looks like the same river but moment to moment the water is changing, moving, moving, moving. So everything is like that, everything comes into being and disappears again, instantaneously, although in our perception it looks like a continuity.

So since impermanence is a very fundamental axiom of Buddhist thought we might ask why it says he sees that in phenomena there is no coming and going? Here it is dealing with ultimate reality. In our ordinary, relative way of seeing, things come and they go, things are up, they are down, things last forever or they disappear. But in ultimate reality all these dualities no longer pertain. So there is no coming and going, there is no higher and lower, there is no annihilation or endless existence. All these opposites, all these dualities are transcended in a state of how things truly are. So although Avalokitesvara is the Bodhisattva who represents compassion, his compassion is naturally from the point of view of his perfect wisdom.

The images of the 1000 armed Avalokitesvara which represent his endless compassionate activities on behalf of all beings, in each hand there is an eye which symbolises that he sees the situation accurately, both from an ordinary and from a transcendental level. So he knows how to act, or how not to act, because sometimes it is better to leave matters alone, even though we would like them changed. So he sees things with the total clarity of an enlightened mind therefore he sees that on an ultimate level there is no coming and going, that all dharmas are in a state of suchness which is beyond the temporal idea of the constant flow of phenomena.

The first line praises Avalokiteshvara’s wisdom, the second line relates to his compassion. So because he sees the transcendent, the ultimate, then on a relative level with compassion he constantly strives for the sake of others. It’s very important that wisdom and compassion come together, otherwise we can be very compassionate but if we don’t see things clearly, we often can mess things up. We have a good motivation but we don’t understand the situation because we see things very narrowly. But Chenrezig sees things vastly and just how they truly are. So from that infinite perspective he is able to spontaneously act in a way which is of ultimate and relative benefit for beings. He combines ultimate and relative truth.

Therefore, this is Chenrezig who is also the sublime teacher, meaning our root guru. Or you could think of His Holiness the Dalai Lama or the Gyalwang Karmapa who are also Chenrezig.

To the sublime teacher inseparable from Avalokiteshvara, the Protector of Beings, I pay constant homage with respectful body, speech, and mind.

In Buddhism we have the three doors meaning the body, the speech and the mind. So, we pay homage, why? To our teacher, who is inseparable from Chenrezig. The buddhas and bodhisattvas such as Chenrezig and Tara are not separate from us, they are our true nature. This is who we really are, if only we could see clearly. We think we are ordinary sentient beings but we are not. This is our tragedy.

But the teacher, a genuine realised being, Lama, understands that. It’s not that they are inherently different from us and so in Buddhist meditations we absorb either the deity or the Lama or both together into ourselves, thinking that our minds and their minds are mixed together like water with water so that we recognise that there is no distinction. The distinction comes from our side. We think we are ordinary and they are special but that’s part of our delusion and so we have to work away, cleaning and polishing. It’s like a beautiful silver pot which is so thickly tarnished that it looks black. So we have to keep polishing until we get back to the silver which has never, in it’s essential nature been tarnished. However much outer guck there might be around it, if we diligently clean then there it is, shining. This silver pot has been there all the time, it hasn’t gone away and come back when we clean it, it is always there but we don’t recognise it. All we see is the black covering. Whereas the great Mahabodhisattvas and the Lamas, the true genuinely realised Lamas, they are very much in contact with their silver base and they do not have tarnish in the way that we do. But the essential nature is the same, their silver is not better than our silver. This is very important to remember.

The perfect buddhas – source of happiness and ultimate peace – Exist through having accomplished the sacred Dharma, And that, in turn, depends on knowing how to practice it;

The buddhas like Shakyamuni Buddhas, on a relative level, had to strive for countless aeons in order to clear away the tarnish and come back to their true metal and how did they do that? All the buddhas of the universe, how did they become Buddhas? They became buddhas by actually practicing the Dharma. It is very important that we practice all this, that is why this text is so important.

We have to practice it, we can take it with us and use it, it’s not high philosophy that we need to go away and think about, that is all up there somewhere in the sky. This text is absolutely down to earth, which we can all use, all day with whomever we meet, in fact we need to meet people because then we can practice.

1. Now that I have this great ship, a precious human life, so hard to obtain, I must carry myself and others across the ocean of samsara. To that end, to listen, reflect, and meditate Day and night, without distraction, is the practice of a bodhisattva.

Samsara is sometimes described as a wheel but it is also very often likened to an ocean because just as an ocean has big waves so in samsara we are tossed up and down endlessly. Sometimes we’re up, sometimes we’re down and then we’re up again and we’re down again. It’s just endless and the problem is that we’re caught in the waves and we’re thrown up and we’re thrown down and so we get very battered by life. Let us remember that all these waves going up and down are on the surface. If we go down into the depths of the ocean we come upon whole realms of calm and quiet, all the way down to the ocean bottom, with all sorts of fascinating fish and marine animals and monsters of the deep as we meditate. But mostly we are living our lives on the surface, tossed up and down by our thoughts and emotions, so in that circumstance, what do we need?

So we need a boat because even though the boat also goes up and down, we are not completely drenched and gradually the boat moves to the other shore. The Buddha himself many times talks about this shore and the other shore, the other shore being liberation. So to get to the other shore we need a boat, we can’t just swim because it’s too far and we get tossed up and down too much all by ourselves.

So therefore we need a boat to carry myself and others across the ocean of samsara. Now we have this great boat, which is the Dharma, but it is also this precious human life so hard to obtain. Every single one of us has a precious human birth. Now we might think, ‘well billions of people have a precious human birth, so what?’ But it’s not true. A precious human birth does not mean just being born as a human. There are many categories which make a precious human birth – like being born in a Buddhist country, having all our faculties, having faith in the Dharma and finding a teacher and so forth. We are not born in the higher realms where everything is too pleasant that there is no incentive to practice and we are not born in the lower realms where there is so much misery and suffering that we are completely caught up in our own paranoia. Nor among the animals who, lovable as so many of them are, do not have the ability to really practice the spiritual path in this lifetime.

What makes a human birth precious? Think how unique we all are. For a start we can read, that’s very rare in this world! But what is even more rare is that we can read and comprehend. Do you know how rare that is? Even among the Tibetan population, there are many monks who can read all the texts but they don’t know what they mean. However we can pick up a book on Dharma and providing it’s not too obtuse, we can get something out of it: the words have meaning. Certainly if we pick up an ordinary book on basic Dharma practices or biographies of Lamas or other great teachers, we can understand them easily, you can curl up with them.

Tibetans usually don’t, apart from an advanced Geshe, a Geshe Lharampa or a good Khenpo, he wouldn’t just sit down with a book, read it and enjoy it, only if he had already studied it. So we’re all educated, we can understand concepts which we have not met with before, the mind can grapple with, can think about it. Here it says:

To that end, to listen, reflect, and meditate Day and night, without distraction, is the practice of a bodhisattva.

Well, day and night without distraction might be a bit much, but first we have to study. So back to this precious human birth. What makes this human birth so precious? We are all born in countries where we are allowed to think what we want. How many countries in the world we would not be allowed to think what we want. Where we could not just go and change our religion if we felt like it or read books on every kind of religion or go to Dharma Centres if we want to. In many countries of this world, either there are no Dharma Centres and even the word Buddha is never heard or even if there are Dharma Centres you are not permitted to go there because you belong to another religion. That’s much more common than normally we are conscious of while living in India or America, Europe or Australia. But those are not the only countries in the world.

So we have our human birth and we are probably relatively healthy and anyway we can think, our minds are clear. We have the freedom to think what we want, to read what we want and above all, we have the interest in the Dharma. That is the most important of all. Do you realise how rare that is? I mean here we are in India, which is supposed to be a spiritual country. How many people are really interested in any Dharma? In the sense of really wanting to transform themselves, not just get the gods to make their children healthy and pass their exams and get more money and a better job, which is mostly what people pray to the gods for?

How many people go to the temple to pray for enlightenment for the sake of all sentient beings? How many people even go to the temple to pray for the wellbeing and happiness of others outside of their family circle? So even to have some aspiration outside of our own self-interest is rare, very rare.

I was brought up as a Spiritualist and every week we had séances at our house. At that time I was around 7 or 8 years old. Even at that young age I noticed everyone was asking these spirit guides, “My Aunt Edith is having an operation next week, is she going to be alright?” or all the time wanting to get in contact with someone who had died and I thought “Here we’ve got these people on the Other Side, let’s ask them something of meaning. They might know or they might have a different angle on it.” So I asked them “Well is there a God?” I thought they might know. The spirit guides replied “Well of course we don’t really know, but what’s going round in the spirit realms is that God isn’t a person, but ultimately there is light and love and intelligence.” So I thought, “Yeah I’ll buy that.”

Ultimately there is light and love and intelligence in this universe. And we are it, we carry that within us, its not just something out there, it is within us. This is what we are trying to re-connect with, our original light and love and intelligence, which is who we really are. So it is important not to get so distracted by extraneous things, but to really remember what we are here on this planet for. Why having this precious human body is so precious because if we waste our life again. Otherwise we are living basically like a well-trained animal – what do animals want to do? For instance our dogs at the DGL Nunnery, they want to be fed, they want to be comfortable, when it’s cold they snuggle up in the sheltered places, when it’s warm they go lie in the sun, when it gets too hot they go and lie in the shade again, they want to be comfortable. They want to eat nice food, and if they’ve not been neutered, then they want to mate. If a strange dog comes by who looks threatening, they will fight them to preserve their territory, but if it’s a doggy friend, then they will play around together.

Well, if we lead our lives basically on that level, we might as well have come back as a pet dog. In fact, in New York there are more pet shops than there are beauty parlours! Pets have become like children really, all these pets with their little bows, their little tiaras and their little jackets. Anyway, the point is, if all we want is to be comfortable and petted, loved and admired, then we might as well come back as a poodle because we have wasted our human birth. It is very hard to get a well endowed human birth which has the freedoms and the endowments and if we waste this opportunity now, it will be difficult to regain that in the future.

All the causes and conditions have come together because of our past efforts in other lifetimes, so if we don’t make efforts in this lifetime it’s going to get lost again, because we are not making the right causes and conditions. So now is the time because in the future, we don’t know.

Now, the Dharma is here, the teachers are still here, the books are still here, we have the freedom to listen and practice, nobody is stopping us. So if we don’t make full use of this opportunity, then next time, who knows and even later in our life, who knows. The only time we can be certain of in our lives is right now, so this is very important.

What we have to do is listen, reflect and meditate. First, we have to accumulate the knowledge, we have to listen. Traditionally in the Buddha’s time, things were not written down, so therefore in the sutras they always talked about listening because they didn’t have books. So first of all is to listen, this includes reading, studying, downloading off the internet, all of that, any acquisition of knowledge is considered listening. So it means to study the dharma. We take it in, we read about it, we hear about it, then we have to think about it. It’s not enough that we just take it in. It’s like food, we take a bite but then we have to chew it in order to digest, we don’t just swallow it in great big lumps! So we have to think about what we have read, what we have heard and really try to understand. If we have doubts, that’s fine, no problem, we do not have to believe blindly, it says that we have to believe because we understand. So if you don’t believe something then put it aside for a while, or go and study more.

Almost every year when I was staying in Lahaul I would go and see my Lama, the former Khamtrul Rinpoche, and I always had a long list of questions from my retreat. I used to keep a piece of paper beside me and when a thought, a question would come up then I could write it down and forget about it, I didn’t have to keep it going in my mind. So when I went to see my Lama he would lean back and say, “Where’s your list?” and I would bring out the pages with all my questions. I think Rinpoche kind of enjoyed it because the questions went up and down and all over the place and occasionally he said “Oh nobody ever asked that before, I have to think, hmmm.”

But some things I just really didn’t believe and he would say “It doesn’t matter, just put that to the side for now” and sometimes he would laugh and say “Everything you read in the books isn’t true” and he even said, “Well we just write like that to frighten people into being good!” But the point is that one doesn’t have to just believe everything because otherwise we’re frightened that a thunderbolt from heaven is going to come down and hit us! It’s not that, it’s an intelligent believe, a belief based on our own reasoning.

Sometimes I call Buddhism enlightened common sense because once we hear it, we think, ‘yes, that makes sense’. But if we hear and think, “hmm that doesn’t sound right”, then put it aside or maybe study more about it. Maybe we didn’t understand it or maybe it was just a provisional truth which isn’t ultimate truth anyway. Perhaps it was just what people believed in society at that time. We don’t all have to believe that the world is flat with Mount Meru and the four continents but that is the kind of cosmology that was current in those days. Nowadays nobody gets burnt at the stake for believing that the world is round. The world is round, the world is flat, in any case it’s all empty!

So think things through, really try to understand, and if we don’t understand, then read more about it, think more about it, ask questions. Reflection is a very crucial part of the Dharma. Then, most important of all it says meditate. But actually the word Gompa literally means to become accustomed to or familiar with something. So what we have to do then is practice it, put our ideas into action. One of my Lamas said: first you hear and study, then you think about it, then you become it. And that’s the point. It goes from the head down into the heart and we transform. Then spontaneously what we say, what we think and what we do comes naturally from our understanding.

This is very important, because otherwise mere learning is not going to help us. One time I went to see Trijang Rinpoche, who was the Junior Tutor of His Holiness the Dalai Lama and his first question of course was ‘Who is your Lama?” and I said Khamtrul Rinpoche and he replied, “Ah, Kagyu! Well the thing with the Kagyupas is that they practice, that’s the emphasis with the Kagyus” and he turned to his secretary and he said “At the time of death what is going to help us – a head full of book knowledge or genuine understanding and realisation in the heart? You know, we don’t need to study so much, what we need is to study, understand what we have read and then really practice it and put it into our heart, that is what is going to help us.” Otherwise it is just endlessly learning, learning, learning while nothing inside is transforming. Someone says something nasty to us and we get all upset and defensive and think “How can they do this to me?” Then what is the use of all this learning? We haven’t learned anything.

So it’s very important, these three things. First we have to study to know what we are trying to do, then to really think it through so that we really understand it and then incorporate it in our lives and become it. So we’ve got work ahead.

Day and night, without distraction, is the practice of a bodhisattva.

That means whatever happens, even if we are watching a movie, try to see it from a Dharma point of view. It’s quite terrifying, how much people act out their emotional defilements and negativities and without anyone ever thinking there’s a problem here. It’s supposed to be a romantic drama so there is all the attachment, all the jealousy and all the anger. The point is, whatever situation we find ourselves in we should at the same time be observing it with clarity of mind and openness of heart and in this way, day and night we are constantly practicing the way of a bodhisattva. There are not times off if you are a bodhisattva . It’s 24 hours, seven days a week – what can I say?

We shouldn’t be too frightened by these verses.

2. In my native land waves of attachment to friends and kin surge, Hatred for enemies rages like fire, The darkness of stupidity, not caring what to adopt or avoid, thickens – To abandon my native land is the practice of a bodhisattva.

This verse does not just refer to our outer native land. It doesn’t just mean that we all have to go across the world in order to practise, because we take our mind with us and it’s our mind which has all this attachment and hatred and the darkness of our unknowing.

On the one hand, people get locked into habitual relationships. How often people are reacting to each other due to old habits without even really thinking about it any more. So many negativities come up because it’s just the way they act and talk to each other nowadays since it’s much easier to do that with people with whom we are familiar. Maybe in childhood we had already started up the patterns and so these continue on and on.

In that way it’s good to be able to get away and maybe get some new perspective through being in a different environment where we can try to incorporate better ways of dealing with people. But the problem really is, our ‘native land’ means our ordinary habitual responses, this is what we have to leave behind. So the way to leave them behind is first to be conscious of them.

The waves of attachment that surge within and around us: we are lost floundering in this huge ocean of caring about people and worrying about them and fearing they are going to leave us and then happy again when they tell us that they love us…. Parents with their children, couples in relationships, all of this, there’s so much going on that it’s very rare to relax in a calm quiet lake. Mostly the waves of our hopes and fears send us surging up and down It is all our attachment. Attachment doesn’t mean love, there’s a huge difference between love and attachment. The Buddha said the cause of our suffering, of our Duhkha is attachment, clinging and grasping. But love and compassion which are essential qualities on the path are very different, actually the opposite of attachment and grasping. It’s one of the most difficult points for us as ordinary sentient beings to really be able to understand and make that distinction because in our society we believe that the more we are attached the more loving we are. But it is simply not true. Attachment is a tricky one but basically attachment means I want you to make me happy and to feel good and love says I want you to be happy and feel good. It doesn’t say anything about me. If being with me makes you feel happy and good, wonderful, if not then so be it. The important thing is that love allows us to hold things very gently instead of grasping tightly. It’s an important difference, really it’s a very important difference.

Therefore I tell again and again the story of my mother. My father died when I was two, so he was out of the picture and my mother brought up my brother and me by herself, Then my brother was in the Royal Air Force in Malaysia, so there was only me left at home and my mother and I got along very well. She also was interested in Buddhism and happy to entertain whatever Lamas or monks that were in London at that time. We would go to Dharma meetings together. Then when I was nineteen I got a letter from India telling me that there was work for me and to come. I remember running through the streets to meet my mother who was coming from work, and saying to her “Oh, I am going to India!” And she replied “Oh yes dear. And when are you leaving?” She didn’t gasp “You’re going to India! How can you leave me, your own poor mother! I’ll be all by myself with no-one to take care of me and look after me as I’m getting old!” Nothing of that - she never said that ever. That’s not because she didn’t love me but because she did love me and she wanted what was right for me, even if it did not include her. And afterwards when I was in India, every ten years she would write, “If I send you a return ticket, will you come back for a month?” and so every ten years, I went back for a month, saw my mother and came back again. She also came to India for one year, she loved India – it was very different from now. She loved it, she loved the Indians, loved the Tibetans, but she got sick from the food so she had to go home to England. But that was love.

There’s an Australian cartoonist called Leunig and he did a series on how to respect and show love for others and one of his examples was holding a day old chick in your hands that you hold very carefully, very gently because if you grasp it - no more chick! So it’s like that.

Love is this outpouring of caring and wishing well, wishing the other to be happy, but not with yourself stuck right in the middle of it. Not grasping: I want you to be happy but that’s only if it includes me.

So therefore because we get so caught up especially with our families and it is very hard to be unattached to family, then it is given as the example for leaving the homeland. However it doesn’t necessarily mean that we have to leave home. What it does mean is that we have to start thinking in a different way about our loved ones. In a way that genuinely cherishes them and wishes them well but allows them to be who they are without trying to manipulate them or make them say and do what we want them to do because that would make me happy. Just allowing them to be who they are, giving them the freedom to have their life, whether or not that includes us.

So we start with those we are close to, this is who we practice on. We practice on those that we love and those that we are close to, how to love them without grasping, how to genuinely love them, as they are, whatever they are. I remember when I was 15 or 16 my mother one day out of the blue, she just said to me ‘I want you to know that there is nothing you could ever do that would cause me not to love you.’ That’s love. I wasn’t doing anything but I appreciated the thought and I knew it was true. Whatever we do, our mother is there for us but without trying to manipulate, just allowing us to be who we are and loving that.

[areadersjoy]

Summary: Sam and Dean split up to figure out what needs to be done.

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: N/A

Note: the boyos go and be boyos in this one. another boring one, my apologies. but, we’ve got to start somewhere! - K

Posted: 05/14/2018

Chapter 3 : White Lie

"What the hell was that? Why did you have to go and give him a card?!" Dean turned to ask his brother after pulling over.

"He's just a kid, Dean. He doesn't have anybody," Sam said, eyeing his brother in a confused matter. Why was he acting like this?

"Is there... Something you want to talk about...?"

"No. But now that kid might call us and that's just gonna throw us off track of what we actually need to get done," Dean huffed.

"So... You're worried about him interfering with the job?"

Without a reply, Dean pulled back onto the road again, and took right off back down the road in silence. He was clearly angry about something. Sam knew better than anyone to not to bother Dean. It wasn't wise to play with fire.

When the brothers got back to the motel, they began to talk strategy. It was decided that Dean would go out and figure more about the recent disappearances and their relation to Penny's. Sam was going to be dropped off at the library so he could work on his laptop and dig deeper into anything that he deemed as necessary. Normally they would do these things together, but they had been to this town before, so they knew the basics already. They just needed to clarify some things and get a new set of eyes on the situation.

When Sam was dropped off at the library, he sat himself down at a table and dug straight into the disappearances. When they had been there eighteen years earlier, it was obviously Vampires, there was no doubt in the world about it. And when their father had hunted them down, he and Dean took care of things. Or... Had they? Was history repeating itself?

As he dug deeper, Sam found that things with this Vampire theory he had pieced together wasn't adding up. Eighteen years back, the Vampires were going after younger-aged people. But now--if these were Vampires--they were going after both younger, and middle aged people. More people had disappeared now versus back then. Only four people had went missing eighteen years prior in a span of two months, and over the last three months, twelve people had gone. So if these were Vampires, were they from the same pack? And if they were, why were they changing their patterns? This left Sam to think about more things. What could they actually be after?

Without thinking twice, Sam's fingers went over the letters on his keyboard, his mind not even fully comprehending what he was doing, until the name appeared on his screen: Daniel Price Kentucky. He knew Dean would have something to say about this--probably something to dismiss it--but Sam just wanted to know more about this Danny Price character. It couldn't hurt to look, could it? After all, he was Penny's son. And now his mother was missing--he was alone. How could Sam not sympathize with a boy who's mom was gone--even if it was temporarily.

When his search finally appeared, Sam took a few minutes to file out the results that didn't correlate with what he had looked up. Since he didn't want to sit there for eternity to file out every person named Daniel Price to ever be associated with Kentucky, he just spent a few minutes before finally opening a few different pages to begin a different, side investigation.

Spending the next hour and a half with his eyes glued to his laptop screen, Sam figured out everything he could about this Danny. It wasn't the easiest to find anything on him apart from yearbook and class pictures. When he attempted to expand from the pictures, nothing much came from it. Deciding to dig deeper into his ancestry, Sam discovered that the kid really had no family other than his mother, and his late grandfather. So that leaves one question... Who dined and dashed? Whoever the guy was, he wasn't going to be easy to find, especially with the clean record that Penny had. It's not like he mattered anyway at this point... Right?

With the information that he had gathered, Sam had decided that the time had come for him to head back to the motel, in hopes to beat his brother back. In the back of his mind, he was hoping that he could settle down at least a little bit before Dean showed up again and started giving directions.

--

On Dean's end, he had made his way to the hospital. There was a blood drive being held that week--ironically. What better of a situation for those blood suckers to come a-running?

Dean made his way in, his eyes going over every square inch of the room he had just entered. As the dirty blonde arrived at the desk, he looked down at the clipboard, and picked up the pen, scribbling down his name. There was at least ten people ahead of him. He knew he wasn't about to sit there for two hours to get his blood drawn by some trainee and then get a child-sized apple juice. He could go outside and take his own blood and go buy his own damned apple juice! Deciding to go at this the classic Dean Winchester way, he looked right to the young nurse behind the desk. "Hey there, sweetheart. Do you know how long I'll have to wait? I have a little brother that I have to pick up at the library soon. He's studying up for a big test he has coming up over at the library," he grinned.

At first when he began to speak, a scowl was over the young woman's face. But the second she laid eyes on Dean, she went starry-eyed. "Oh-I... I think I can... Move you up if you-you need me to," she paused to take a look at the clipboard, "Dean. We can't leave your brother waiting, now can we?" The woman bat her eyelashes.

Dean just smirked, nodding his head. "I would really appreciate that, ma'am. And little Sammy would, too," the smirk upon his face turned into a smile.

Standing up, the nurse made her way out from behind the desk, and across the hall. Dean turned around, and began to smugly lean against the counter.

In seconds, the young nurse returned, a bright smile on her face. "They're ready for you now, Dean!" She exclaimed, holding the door wide open for him.

Making his way over to the open door, he sent the young woman a wink before entering the poorly-lighted room. And soon, the door was closed behind him.

"Hi, I'm--!" Dean was cut off by the older nurse.

"Winchester, I know. Morgan brought in your file," she paused, pointing to the chair as she began to prepare everything, "sit. Pull up your sleeve as high as it will go."

Dean stared at her for a moment, blinking before he complied, sitting right where she had told him to, pulling up his sleeve. Clearing his throat, he decided this was as good a time as any,

"So, I'm in town to visit a friend, but I haven't been able to get a hold of her. But I know she works here. You might know her though."

"Really?" She asked in an extremely uninterested tone. "What's her name?"

Dean paused, licking his lips as he watched the nurse tie a rubber band around his upper arm. "Do you know a Penny Price?" He questioned.

Immediately, the scowl on the woman's face left, a sad look replacing it as she turned away, going to prepare the needle.

"I wanted to go visit Danny, Her son?" Dean pressed, "but I didn't want to scare the kid. I haven't seen him since he was... Five or six? Plus, I would want Penny to be there. And I can't get a hold of her." The nurse turned around, gloves on and all. Dean could tell she wasn't going to give him anything, so he decided to brainstorm. She wouldn't go for my charm--but it wouldn't hurt to try, right...? No--it would hurt! She's about to stick a needle into my arm! Damn it!

But then it struck him. He just had to lie even more than he already was! Screw the white lie he just tried to go with! Just go all the way! Looking away for a minute before looking back, Dean let out a deep sigh.

"It's just... Danny is my son," he let out. "And--I know it's way too late for this, but I want to help out with his life. It would be the right thing to do," Dean explained. The nurse stared at the man before her, his arm in her hands, in search of a vein to drain blood from. Dean could see in her eyes that she actually did believe him. Or... Maybe she was just as good as an actor as he was? Before Dean could open his mouth again, she found a place she liked, and roughly pushed in the needle, making Dean grunt. 

"So you're the dad, huh?" She asked in a dull tone, glaring right at him. "I can see it. Penny didn't talk about Daniel's father very much. But I can see a lot of you in the boy," she told him.

This made Dean nod, as he gave a fake smile.

"I'm... Glad. My legacy lives on, I guess," he attempted to joke. This made the woman give him an even darker look--if possible. Clearing his throat, he asked,

"so, is she here today at work?" 

"She... No. She hasn't been for a few days."

"What? Why not? Is she sick?!"

"No... I don't think so. She... She's missing," the woman sighed, shaking her head. "Poor boy of hers. After her father passed away a few years back, it was just her and Danny, no family at all. That boy's gotta be overwhelmed with all of those police officers on his back these passed couple of days," she paused, "now really wouldn't be the best time for you to see Danny. He needs family. Not a man he hasn't seen for most of his life."

"I understand," Dean said, pretending to hold his breath as she finally removed the needle from his arm, quickly beginning to patch him up. 

"The whole situation is strange, really. She didn't even show up at work that day. Her car did, but she didn't. So, Winchester," she paused once again, placing the bandage on him, "I suggest you get in your car, and drive right back out of town."

Taking in the information she was given, Dean nodded once again. Pulling down his sleeve and standing back up, he thanked the woman as he headed to the door, and soon outside, back to his beloved Impala. Once he sat back down, the only thing that went through his mind was the fact that he got no new information. But the more he thought about this whole situation the less it seemed like it had to do with vampires.

It was time to head back to the motel to see Sammy so they could talk everything over.

[filmista]

Out Of The Past (1947)

“Nothing in the world is any good unless you can share it.”

French director, Jacques Tourneur's ‘Out Of The Past’ has over the years become what’s considered the best Film Noir ever made, though it somewhat disputes over that title with ‘Double Indemnity’, a lot of people find one of the two the best. 

I have however during the time that I’ve been participating in Noirvember (there’s more to cover), obviously quite a few films in the genre, and I can instantly say without hesitation that ‘Out Of The Past’ has been my favorite one that I’ve watched so far.

It’s also save to say that outside the context of Noir and Noirvember, it’s simply one of the best films I’ve had the pleasure of watching, just one of those films that quite simply put leaves you feeling like you’ve just watched something spectacular and well crafted.

it makes me regret that I didn’t take the decision to participate in Noirvember earlier, anyhow it’s wonderful to immerse yourself fully in a genre, discover and learn about it and obviously watch a few films of it.

And Out Of The Past was along with Double Indemnity one of the films that my Cinema History book kept mentioning (probably one of the first books I’d try to save in a fire) and various corners of the internet kept recommending to me. By now I was immensely curious about the film, even so much as its film poster somehow exuded a certain cool.

So later I sat down to watch it. And I think it speaks very positively of the film, that I watched it with someone who’s absolutely not a fan of anything that’s not in color and so-called Classics, but she claims to have had as much fun with this one as I did.

When we were about ten minutes into the film, and the picture starts to craft an air of mystery and intrigue and you already know something’s wrong, she said “I love this”, “It’s already so suspenseful, it’s like one of those cheap detective books”.

And with that, she pretty much hit the nail on the head. I found out that Noir works closely with pulp fiction, which is actually nowadays usually considered quite cheap entertainment, the thing that’s considered a guilty pleasure to read; but they did sometimes have interesting themes in them, and filmmakers saw that and could work with it.

Noir’s a dark and pessimistic genre, it literally means black in French, that its name is European also has its reason, it’s what French critics started to call the genre, but it fits perfectly.

It originated in a pessimistic period, before and until after World war two, many of its directors and stars, we’re Europeans that fled Europe, so while it’s an American genre, it’s safe to say that it’s a genre in which both continents held each other’s hands.

War doesn’t bring out good qualities in humans generally, but even during wartime, people have been known to undertake courageous and goodhearted actions. And the genre, some films more than others reflect that.

Most of them very clearly seem to say the world is rotten and the people, even the ones that don’t know it are bad, sometimes they become forcedly so; but it very has the idea that everyone has the potential to become a bad person, a person capable of double-crossing and murder, murder seems to be written in capital letter M all over the genre.

Yet under all that seeming bleakness, pessimism, hopelessness and darkness, there are glints of hope and hints at the possibility of a happy ending, the tragic thing about the genre is that it’s acknowledged but it doesn’t go there, sometimes because it’s characters just can’t take that route, they just aren’t able to connect, and chose to either save their own skin or will take a route that’s going to going to endanger them.

And what I loved so much about ‘Out Of The Past’ is that it very much has those elements, and becomes in a way almost a retelling of a tragic, doomed to fail love story, only it shouldn’t have been doomed, the characters made it so themselves.

It very much plays with what other  films in the genre also play with, ambiguity between good and bad, and it has as I’ve mentioned all the elements of the genre, a troubled protagonist whose past comes back to haunt him, character’s smoking like chimneys, a femme fatale, pretty night scenes, and a large part of the story taking place in an urban environment.

But still something about this one is unique; as many people have recognized, out of all the Noir I’ve seen in November this is the one that’s really engraved in my memory. Some people say it doesn’t even seemingly look like Noir, at first sight.

It’s too bright and too sunlit, too much of it takes place in sunlight and in pretty surroundings, that have nothing to do with seedy, crime-filled streets of some films in the genre.

Still agreed it’s agreed that it is Noir, as it has in its storyline and in its cinematography typical elements.

But when I myself thought about it more deeply (and I’m not the only one) you can almost say that the film has two parts, one that looks less typically Noir and one that’s more typically so, night scenes, fights, double-crossing, playing with shadows. But amazingly it watches like one cohesive whole.

It might be somewhat of a lighter one in its genre, literally in its lightning, but also as in that it really builds your hope up and for a moment when you’re watching for the first.

You think everything even after the characters has been double-crossing each other like crazy, you still think it’s two lovers have a chance of being together, but then the film makes sure to remind you what kind of film you’re watching.

And that’s what I found so great about it, that it’s two lovers have moments of happiness and you see what could be there, and because of their own doing, it doesn’t happen, and it’s tragically and sublimely sad.

What I truly loved about this one is watching the relationships between characters, and watching Robert Mitchum and Jane Greer act opposite each other, there’s a ton of other actors in there (amongst them Kirk Douglas) but Mitchum and Greer compliment each other perfectly and it’s a joy to watch. Its storyline doesn’t even really matter too much, and it’s a challenge, to sum up...

Mitchum Bailey is a private detective who tries to say goodbye to his job after a few nasty experiences. As a garage owner, he tries to start a new life with his girlfriend Ann (Virginia Huston). His anonymity, however, is short-lived when thug looking Joe Stephanos (Paul Valentine) manages to trace him on behalf of professional gambler Whit Sterling (Kirk Douglas).

Whit was shot some time ago by his beloved Kathie (Jane Greer). Since then, she has disappeared from his life, as well as $ 40,000. Whit wants her and his money back and asks Jeff to go and investigate. Somewhat cautiously, Jeff takes the job, old habits die hard I guess.

He meets Kathie in Mexico. She tells him exactly what’s going on but nothing about the disappeared money. Jeff believes her, falls for the charms of this femme fatale and tells Whit that he was unable to find her. Soon, however, Kathie doesn’t seem as sweet as she looks anymore...

Does Kathie really care about Jeff? Does she love him despite her inability to endure difficult situations for him and despite her fatalistic attitude towards love? 

And how sincere is Jeff towards her? Has he succumbed to her again? These questions haunt your mind while seeing 'Out of the Past'. 

As traditionally in this genre, the riddles around a fateful love remain unclear. Who is lying, who is honest? Nobody can be trusted and that makes watching a film noir of this level is so irresistible.

And as it should be; you don’t get clear answers to all of these questions, and thus as I’ve seen in a lot of reviews, people speculate and come to their own conclusions when watching the film.

You see two interesting directions: In some Jeff is the victim. An innocent man, forced to make bad choices but who didn’t enjoy them, but who fell victim to the whims and seduction of a femme fatale, to them Kathie’s a monster, that tormented an innocent man, and there’s no real effort to look any further.

No one in the genre is entirely innocent, Jeff’s aware he’s being played but still consciously chooses for the woman he knows is no good, he still acted out of free will, no one really forced him into anything.

And then the femme fatale herself, a monster? Or just a flawed human being that made mistakes? As I mentioned when it comes to that, you see people mostly veering in one of these two directions.

Personally I think she’s one of the most brilliant characters in the film; Greer portrays her in a subtle yet confident way, that’s almost dizzyingly exciting to watch, she infuses her role with confidence (the kind of confidence of a woman who knows how beautiful she is) but at other times also a deep vulnerability and even fear.

Throughout the film she’s in a world that surrounds her with violent men she’s afraid of the man that she stole the money from, she believes he’d never leave her alone and would almost certainly come after her, and she turns out to be right. 

You can understand why she stole the money even, she hated the guy's guts and wanted to get away from him, and if you’re running away from a dude with anger issues, why not do it in a place with an agreeable climate? I certainly wouldn’t like hearing this: 

“You're gonna take the rap and play along. You're gonna make every exact move I tell you. If you don't, I'll kill you. And I'll promise you one thing: it won't be quick. I'll break you first. You won't be able to answer a telephone or open a door without thinking, 'This is it.' And it when it comes, it still won't be quick. And it won't be pretty. You can take your choice.”

The exciting element in Greer’s performance comes from, how composed seemingly even cold she seems throughout much of the film, but when you look closer there’s intense emotion, and she remains a riddle, a mystery.

I spent much of the film trying to read her, and she very much has both bad and good at her, she doesn’t regret shooting a man, and when Jeff fights another man, after she speaks the words “why don’t you break his head, Jeff?” she seems almost aroused watching the two men fight, which certainly indicates some twisted personality trait.

But then she also ultimately seems to really love him, as she later in the film goes back to Jeff and gives herself fully over to him, as she chooses to trust him fully, but he is at this point deceiving, maybe still in love with her, but certainly not willing to die for her, and he’s posing himself as more in love than he really is.

But at this time; Jeff has already decided she can’t be trusted, as he told her:  “You can never help anything, can you? You're like a leaf that the wind blows from one gutter to another.” and he’s unwilling to give her a second chance or to forgive, and on that tragic note, both their loveless fates are sealed. So it can also be regarded in my eyes as a tragic love story, maybe Jeff could even be seen as a coward in his inability to forgive in love. 

The big joy in the film, however, is how good Mitchum and Greer are (that and how beautifully filmed it is), while Greer seems to do not much else than bat her big doe eyes with their luscious lashes at Mitchum and make him fall head over heels with her, she has as I said a subtle emotionality, there’s depth to this femme fatale if it isn’t clear, I loved her performance.

And Mitchum’s Jeff has an air of indifferent, unforced cool, and seems to come across almost as if he doesn’t give a damn about anything or anyone that surrounds him, as if he’s somehow outside of present events, he only seems to care about either Kathie or ultimately himself.

Mitchum portrays this figure almost perfectly. Like Humphrey Bogart (who was considered for the role, but not even Bogie could be at two places at once ...), he has a certain inner peace about him, which gives him independence and self-confidence.

The man behind this film is French director Jacques Tourneur, who made his name in the United States in 1942 with both the artistically and commercially successful 'Cat People' (which is noted on my list of stuff I want to see). Tourneur was a master in creating the right mood and atmosphere and that skill came in handy when he made 'Out of the Past'.

The typical film noir look - with striking use of shadows and contrast - is certainly present here (the fight scene is a beautiful playing around with shadows as well as the scenes on the beach) but less dominant than in, for example, 'Double Indemnity' (1944). It makes 'Out of the Past' a film that looks pleasant and easy and literally and figuratively is somewhat lighter than its genre and contemporaries. 

Out of the past is a dark, cynical treat with an intelligent script, razor-sharp dialogues and a finale that stays with you. Highly recommended!

“If you're thinking of anyone else, don't. It wouldn't work. You're no good for anyone but me. You're no good and neither am I. That's why we deserve each other.”

[sextonsharpwinhalstead]

Ships: Could They? Would They? Should They? Part 2

So, the last time I did this I said that the sky was the limit and I meant it! (LOL) Also there are a few ships that I know are rare (my beloved rare-pairs) that weren’t even hinted at; as well as some obvious ageism issues and exclusion of cast members so here we are with Part 2. Also, I’ve taken liberties of developing each one with bits and pieces of canon and fanon.

*Side Note*

I don’t expect this to be as popular as the other; mostly because these characters aren’t as popular in the Tumblr Fandom.

April Sexton/ Natalie Manning

Ship Name: Mexton

Why They work: Both Nat and April have a great balance of hard work, drive, and compassion for their patients. They are both strong, inspirational, and have been disappointed or heartbroken in different ways by the men they have let into their love lives. April’s nurturing side would be great with Owen, and Natalie could step up in a stronger personality role for April who is often backed into a corner or allows herself to be taken advantage of. Dates would consist of breakfast in bed, gushy text messages, and Natalie serenading April with her violin.

Why They Won’t: The show was really awful about using their friendship to boost Natalie’s needs and if we went off of that then Natalie would be horribly not-supportive when April is going through hard times. April is a catholic Afro-Latina and from a pretty strict upbringing, being out wouldn’t be easy in those worlds. Also, I honestly think if April were to get into a femme relationship with anyone it’d be with Sarah.

Natalie Manning/ Sarah Reese

Ship Name: Meese

Why They Work: The episode when Natalie and Ethan removed a prototype from the little body-hackers stomach opened the nerdy-world of a young Natalie Manning we as an audience were not privy to before. But that girl still exists within in her and it would probably be a draw for nerdy Sarah. I could see them on dates to the Smithsonian, playing the crossword over breakfast in the morning, and playfully arguing over peer-reviewed medical journals. They’d borrow each other’s scrubs and Natalie would quiz Sarah on her boards; and missed questions would mean Sarah would be doing the laundry. Sarah would be in awe of seeing a classically trained violinist whose back-up was being a doctor and Natalie would easily bond with the prissier parts of Sarah’s personality. However…

Why They Won’t: Canonically, Sarah made it clear that she does not want children and Owen (although rarely seen or spoken about since season 1) is very much a part of Natalie’s’ life; it’s a deal breaker folks.

Sharon Goodwin/ Daniel Charles

Ship Name: Choodwin

Why They Work: Meticulous, wise, funny, and successful these two have always put their careers first (even to the detriment of their personal lives). When they talk you are for sure there is a story accompanied with their advice/musings. I could see late night coffee dates where they slowly disclose little surprising pieces of their history, maybe Sharon worked as a casino showgirl to pay for school and Daniel performed his own experiments with psychedelic medicine made popular in the 60’s (on himself). They have a friendship that slowly turns into something more and they don’t feel the need to label it; they just let it be. This is the mature, relationship goals, we all want and the peace that healthy drama-free love actually is.

Why They Won’t: There is a reason Daniel has been married 3 times and none of it seems good. Also, even though the show hasn’t mentioned much of her, Daniel has another daughter (aside from Robin) who Sharon would need to warm up to. Also, if we take into context the age of his daughter; we should ask ourselves how long it’s been since his last divorce and if he is even in a position to date again; Sharon too. I would hate to see some of his baggage and demons hurt Sharon when she’s had her heart broken not once (Bert) but twice (losing her first love to parasites) on the show. In all honesty I could live my entire life not seeing her cry again.

Will Halstead and Sarah Reese

Ship Name: Ralstead

Why They Work: Smarty pants. Everyone on this show is brilliant and has to be especially to be doctors, but there is smart-nerdy side to Will that seeps out in all kinds of episodes; he geeks out over medicine a lot. We have seen Sarah develop into someone who is way more confident in her abilities and willing to challenge the rules a bit more than she was in season one. They could meet on these overlapping personality quirks and interests. There would be dates where they traded off into nerd-world and then into classic fun.

Why They Won’t: Sarah is a lot more progressive socially than Will. I could see her being offended on a regular basis with some of his not so subtle sexist ways. Also, the show hasn’t stated yet but I can see Will being into more traditional life-steps: house, marriage, kids. We know Sarah doesn’t want kids and I wouldn’t be shocked if we found out she wasn’t into marriage either.

 Jeff Clarke/ Ethan Choi

Ship Name: Cloi

Why They Work: Bros’ that think they’re bros and then end up in bed together. They would’ve been bonding over their past lives in the military, swapping war stories, and trying to one-up the other in crazy hi-jinks from the past. I could see this ship beginning as the two of them going out and picking up women, having beers, and playing games but then eventually leading to quieter activities like staying in; instead. One thing would lead to another and they would wind up in bed together. I could see them being each other’s “first” in that regard.

 Why They Won’t: Machismo and homophobia would be the main stumbling blocks for this ship, one or both of them would not want to make the relationship public and it wouldn’t seem like a problem, but could you see how hard that would be in episodes like Monday Mourning? Or Cold Front? I think it would stress the little ship and it’d crack.

Will Halstead/Ethan Choi

Ship Name: Chalstead

Why They Work: Smart, hardworking, and both Chief Resident (although at separate times) these two could work. However, I could see this being another “secret relationship” but not because of homophobia but purely for professionalism. They are both incredibly focused at work and no one would even know they were together unless told. But at night and on the weekends the two can be found in bed reading medical journals, summing up the weird stories of the ED, and trying different restaurants.

Why They Won’t: Although both professional; Will is still the attending and higher on the totem pole. Even if they could be professional they are both still a bit egotistical and the fights would spill over into their home. Also, the rigid professionalism would begin to take a toll. I mean who doesn’t love a quick peck on the cheek from your partner or spouse before starting work?

Maggie Lockwood/ Will Halstead

Ship Name: Lockstead or Halwood (honestly, they have so many possibilities)

Why They Work: There are all kinds of ships that happen naturally on Med and Maggie and Will are one of them. They have a great friendship and on some ways canonically she is his only friend. A supportive friendship is always a great basis for a romantic one. This ship would be one where we watch as Will pines over Natalie and even dates Nina all while not realizing that the one person he doesn’t have to hide anything from is Maggie. He realizes out of the entire staff he is the only one that has met her family and she constantly looks out for him. In other words, the person you love has been in front of your face the entire time. She is feisty and not push over, something he definitely needs, and he has just enough confidence to take a powerful personality like hers on.

Why They Won’t: The nonsense Will has displayed with his treatment of Natalie and Nina. His behavior with Jennifer Baker; all of it would be a turn-off to Maggie. She is a charge nurse who understand order within the chaos but order none the less and that mess in season one with Will would’ve turned her off; also no one wants to be second pick…let alone third.

Maggie Lockwood/Sharon Goodwin

Ship Name: Goodlock or WinWood (a ton of name possibilities here too)

Why They Work: Maggie always has everyone’s back and none more than Sharon’s after Bert leaves. I could see Maggie bringing Sharon food, making sure she took care of herself, and sitting with her at night so she wouldn’t have to eat alone. They would reminisce about the old days of nursing together and Sharon would push Maggie to pursue more within that field. And although Maggie has expressed attractiveness to men like Connor and Jeff, women; in particular, make comments all the time on the attractiveness of both sexes without any romantic interest. In other words, the show has never clearly stated that Maggie is straight. Hanging out could lead to co-habitation, and then maybe more.

Why They Won’t: I could honestly see Sharon being into Maggie but then running from her feelings because it’s not what she’s used to. Also, this show has done NOTHING with Maggie as far as her interests go, she is work, work, work and so is Sharon; so, when would they have time to truly nourish this new avenue?

Jeff Clarke/ Sarah Reese

Ship Name: Cleese

Why They Work: This is the “It gets better” “Let me show you the ropes” ship. Sarah and Jeff could bond over the indecision they both have had in their careers. Jeff being military, then a fireman, and now a doctor. Sarah in the field but confused about which discipline to go into, emergency medicine, pathology, and then psych. She’d be shocked that he was flirting with her (just replace Noah in that “I watch you” scene and that’s how she would be). He’d be in awe of how smart she is. There would be a few dates and some really hot hook-ups…

Why They Won’t: …Before they realize there just isn’t a future there. He is a bit older and is still trying to get his footing and she is focused on being the best in psych. They would care for one another but would probably realize there isn’t enough common ground to sustain a relationship. They’d part ways amicably. (Also this is actually the rarest of ships as I don’t think these two even shared a scene together! photo courtesy of ChildofLoki)

Jeff Clarke/ April Sexton

Ship Name: Clexton

Why They Work: They both have heroic personalities. They are the type to go above and beyond to do the right thing in helping people and that compassion would be there but for each other. April helping Jeff dress his wounds after he is accidentally shot etc. Before White Butterflies, when we as an audience realized Jeff’s sole purpose on the show was to show Natalie’s ability to move on, I thought it would be a lot more fitting or realistic if he had been on the roof with April and almost kissed her. He always came across soft, and kind around her. He was the only one to implicitly express condolences to her about her miscarriage and then ask her how she was holding up. It was just that easy and no one else could do it. I could see him taking her for a drink and then they would hang out a little more and then….

Why They Won’t: But there is still only one resident spot and it went to Noah. How juicy the story-line could’ve been if they had decided to put Jeff and April together and then there would be tension about who got the residency, their break-up would be inevitable because Jeff (being the admirable person he is) wouldn’t want April to feel conflicted. He’d try and get the Hawaii residency and it would be this really sad ending to a “what could’ve been” ship.

Connor Rhodes/ David Downey

Ship Name: Dhodes

Why They Work: Connor respects brilliance and Downey was just that; brilliant, but also adventurous, wise, fun, and caring. His talent was renowned and that was what Connor would hope to be one day. Connor was not unlike Leah Bardovi in his wide-eyed admiration of David Downey. I think David saw a lot of himself in Connor as well as limitless amounts of potential. But often there were times when he looked at him that made me go…hmmm. It’s easy to cast Downey as the father-relationship Connor never had but it would also be a bit sexist of us to believe that men too can and do fall in love with other men because of “daddy issues.”

Why They Won’t: Cancer. Downey would still be sick and he probably wouldn’t want to begin a relationship knowing how heartbroken Connor would be that he couldn’t fulfill it (think “Me Before You” levels of unconsummated love). The scene when he emptied his ashes in the ocean would be even more serenely heart wrenching.

Sarah Reese/ Daniel Charles

Ship Name: Cheese

Why They Work: Could you imagine?! This would really be an illicit affair; Sarah sleeping with her mentor?! They’d be sneaking around and we’d be wondering why? How? All I could say is that the line would probably begin to be crossed after the Monday Mourning episode. Sarah being one of the few people to show concern for him, maybe she checks on him at home and vice versa for him. Seeing the other out of the work profession and opening new avenues for conversation could happen. Sarah doesn’t seem like the type to care about marriage and kids and that would work for Daniel because he doesn’t seem interested in doing either again.

Why They Won’t: Let’s be real…eww lol. Aside from the obvious father daughter vibes, this ship has platonic written all over it. I would hate to think the show would cross that line and put them together. Also, Daniel would be risking a lot of his integrity starting a relationship with a subordinate and the messy psych dynamic would be…well messy.

[tpf1138]

Where to even begin with this one…

The Fountain–what was meant to be Aronofsky’s splash into mainstream, Hollywood filmmaking–was originally supposed to be a hundred-or-so million dollar epic starring Brad Pitt and Cate Blanchett that spanned thousands of years, set everywhere from Mayan ruins to outer space, and with three intertwining stories depicting the eternal struggle between life and death.

A project this ambitious for a mega-budget studio film was simply not meant to be. Brad Pitt left the project to star in the safer, more generic Troy, and the film was subsequently shut down. But like all of the protagonists he’s written, Aronofsky doesn’t give up so easily, even if it means his downfall. He rewrote the script to accommodate a lower budget, got Hugh Jackman and Rachel Weisz to replace the original leads, and ended up getting the damn thing made.

And the result was one of the most divisive films of all time. When it premiered at Cannes for press and critics, it was met with a choir of boos. Meanwhile, when it was premiered in that very same festival for regular audiences, it received a standing ovation from the crowd. When it finally released for the public in theaters, it bombed at the box office and received none other than a 50% consensus rating on Rotten Tomatoes. And now, as more than 6 years have passed, it’s garnered something of a cult-following.

To many, it’s considered Aronofsky’s one true failure. To others, it’s a fascinatingly ambitious failure that’s more admired than enjoyed. And for weirdos like me, it’s a modern masterpiece. For today’s spoiler-filled installment of The Darren Aronofsky Retrospective, we take a gander at the director’s much-maligned, increasingly-loved, almost totally misunderstood gem, The Fountain.

“Our bodies are prisons for our souls. Our skin and blood, the iron bars of confinement. But fear not. All flesh decays. Death turns all to ash. And thus, death frees every soul.”

In case you didn’t figure it out the last two times, the main theme connecting every one of Darren Aronofsky’s films is of obsession, with each one representing different types. Pi dealt with the direct obsession of mathematics and patterns, and how they related to the construction of the universe. Requiem for a Dream was about the visceral obsessions caused by drug addiction, and how those very desires and euphorias ended up deteriorating the mind.

Meanwhile, the obsession at the center of The Fountain might be the most outlandish one Aronofsky has ever put to screen: The three protagonists of The Fountain are each on an existential quest to defeat Death. No, not the Grim Reaper, but the very concept of Death itself. No more dying, no more grief, just the comfort of existence outside of the great beyond. And you thought Ellen Burstyn was off her rocker for trying to fit into a skinny red dress.

The film is broken up into three separate stories, each one intercut and connected with the others in a style that was definitely a clear inspiration for the 2012 film Cloud Atlas, and with each segment starring Hugh Jackman and Rachel Weisz in the lead roles. The one set in the 1500s follows a Spanish Conquistador named Tomas (Jackman) who is searching for the fabled Tree of Life so he could save his beloved Queen (Weisz) from the Inquisition. 500 years later, in the present day, a doctor named Tommy Creo (Also Jackman) is attempting to search for a cure for his wife Izzy’s cancer before she (Also Weisz) eventually succumbs to the disease. Another 500 years later, an unnamed astronaut (Credited as Tom, played again by Jackman) is floating in the far reaches of space in a biosphere holding the Tree of Life. As he journeys to the mythical nebula of Xibalba, he’s haunted by memories of a ghostly Izzy, who continually goads him to look back at the past and “Finish it.” Whatever that means.

When the film originally released in 2006, the main criticisms leveled against it regarded its ambition. That it attempted to tell this grand, epic story spanning a thousand years that dealt with the metaphysical and the existential, using a mixture of Judeo-Christian and Mayan religious texts to give the story a grand, majestic, mythological stature… and that the movie ultimately crumbled under the weight of its myriad ideas. And here’s the thing: The critics are, in a way, kind of right. At 90 minutes, there was no way it could really expand on its concepts in a way that would satisfy those hungering for something with a surplus of philosophical depth, nor would it be able to capture the full breadth and scope of a story set within a 1000 year time-frame.

And yet, the film is a masterpiece, at least in the eyes of this overly romantic critic with a penchant to deeply respect anything of enormous ambition. Why? Because even with all the religious and philosophical mumbo-jumbo weighing on the film, they are ultimately not the main focus. What appears on the surface to be an odyssey through time, the cosmos, and the cycle of life itself, is in actuality one of the most deeply personal films of all time, next to classics like The 400 Blows and 8 1/2, as well as modern works of brilliance like The Tree of Life, Synecdoche New York, and Holy Motors. What may seem at first glance like a 2001: A Space Odyssey quickly reveals itself to be something more emotionally rich: A profoundly personal depiction of grief and its effects on the human psyche.

To understand what makes The Fountain such a personal endeavor for Aronofsky requires a small tidbit of backstory: One of the inspirations of the film was actually Aronofsky’s own experiences with dealing with mortality. In interviews, he’s stated how, in 1999, both of his parents were diagnosed with cancer when he was just thirty years old. Upon this discovery, he was forced to come to terms with his own mortality at a relatively early age, and then got the idea of a man attempting to save a loved one from an illness. He shared his idea to Ari Handel, a college friend who would later earn a PhD in neuroscience and become Aronofsky’s co-writer for the film, and the idea eventually blossomed into the story of a man attempting to cure the ultimate disease: Death.

As stated before, the initial criticisms were that of a film that didn’t know how to properly convey its numerous ambitious ideas. In reality, what these critics didn’t know was that this wasn’t a film about unlocking the secrets of life, death, and the meaning of the universe. Rather, The Fountain is a film about how we process death, and the existential crises that happen not within the vast reaches of the cosmos but within our very own subconscious.

The film has three protagonists, each one attempting to stop the process of dying from stealing away a loved one. Tomas must find the Tree to rescue his Queen, Tommy must discover a cure to save his Wife, and Tom must reach Xibalba to restore the Tree. But the authenticity of the stories is constantly toyed with as the film progresses. At first, we seem to accept that there’s some kind of Cloud Atlas thing going on where the soul of the Conquistador passed down to Tommy the neuroscientist, who may in fact be the younger version of the Tom we see in the future storyline (given the flashbacks to his wife). But then, we see that the Conquistador story is actually part of Izzy’s book. So that leaves the present-day and future storylines as the “real” canon, right? Soon, it doesn’t seem that way when Tom the astronaut starts having visions of the Queen of Spain urging him to “Finish it” as well.

When trying to figure out what this all means as someone expecting a film similar to 2001 where there’s philosophical, cosmological subtext to be found, there will inevitably be disappointment. Upon seeing it for what it actually is, however, it’s an emotionally rewarding experience. Izzy’s book (Which is titled, what else, The Fountain) depicting Tomas the Conquistador’s search for the Tree is much richer when seen from Izzy’s point of view of writing it. The casting of Jackman and Weisz as characters in the story is key to this as well. Izzy is clearly writing the book as a means of coping with her own mortality, and leaves the last chapter blank so Tommy can finish it and learn the lessons she did himself.

This leaves the future storyline, which is much more enigmatic in its nature. There are many good theories on what the space-set story represents, but the one that makes the most thematic sense is this: The story of Tom the astronaut is the final chapter of Izzy’s book, the one that Tommy is “finishing”, in which Tom ends his journey by learning to literally give up his quest and find peace in death. The result is a multi-layered depiction of grief that creates a strong emotional arc for the central character of Tommy.

Tommy must deal with the grief of his wife’s death by literally looking back into the past–both figuratively with Izzy’s book, and literally with the lesson Izzy was trying to teach him–in order to finish the pain of his grief. Meanwhile, in order to actually do so, he has to end it himself by finishing Izzy’s book and killing off Tomas, a character Izzy clearly meant to represent Tommy. But that wasn’t enough.

The creation of Tom the astronaut means many things to me. It’s ultimately the most direct visualization of the grieving process in the film: A single man, alone in the vast nothingness of space, with nothing else to keep him company but the Tree, a reminder of how he failed to save her, and a symbol of his unwillingness to let go of his lover’s memory. He traverses to Xibalba, a golden nebula where stars are born, its glow wrapping around Tom and his biosphere, teeming with a liveliness that he ultimately rejects in order to go further on his journey. As he ascends, he’s haunted by memories of Izzy & forced to confront the vastness of the cosmos and, as a result, the enigma of what lies beyond the grave. Finally, he reaches the star at the center: A dying star that, as Izzy pointed out in her research of Mayan culture, represents the Underworld in their mythology. To Tom, on the other hand, it’s the physical representation of the truth behind death that he must exploit to revive the Tree, and thus, defeat Death itself.

Instead of doing that, however, he sees the Queen of Spain, who was supposed to just be in Izzy’s book meant to teach Tommy his lesson, and in that moment he finally understands: He says, “I’m going to die,” with a sense of relief and deep satisfaction in his trembling, quivering voice. And through the lessons of the past, Tom can finally accept his destiny in the future.

However, the most fascinating thing about Tom’s journey is not how he comes to embody Tommy’s emotional arc. There’s actually more to it than just that. For example, if you were reading Izzy’s book, wouldn’t you find it odd that as you’re reading this fictionalized account of a Conquistador during the years of the Spanish Inquisition, you’re introduced to a character in the far future that’s never been referenced to before, haunted by memories of a character never seen before? But then, a realization: The memory that haunts Tom is Izzy, who is definitely not a fictional character in this movie’s universe. So imagine yourself reading this book, and in the final chapter, this character who you’ve never met before is mourning the death of the author of the very book you’re currently reading.

At that point, it becomes absolutely clear: Tom is not an embodiment of Tommy’s grief. Rather, Tommy literally wrote himself into the story. Think about it, in order to complete both the book and his emotional arc/grieving process, he had to insert himself into the narrative in order to externalize his grief and overcome it. If that’s not an apt metaphor for an artist like Darren Aronofsky making a deeply personal experience about coping with mortality, then nothing is.

The Fountain isn’t a film about unlocking the secrets of the universe. It’s a film, like his feature debut Pi, about learning to live without them. Search for order, and only chaos will infect your life. Embrace the chaos, however, and the world feels like it has more order than ever before.

So that’s ultimately what makes The Fountain something akin to Aronofsky’s 8 1/2, but how does the film employ his signature techniques?

If you’d seen just Pi and Requiem for a Dream, you’d almost be totally unaware that this was an Aronofsky film. Whereas those films were gritty and kinetic, The Fountain is vibrant, fantastical, and more gradual in its pacing. The film marks a huge evolution for Aronofsky’s style, displaying the first real proof of his incredible range as a director. He has a Danny Boyle-esque way of being able to assimilate into almost any kind of genre or style of filmmaking while retaining his own signature, distinct stamp on the project.

As different as the film feels at first, there are numerous techniques that remain the same. Matthew Libatique returns as Aronofsky’s director of photography for the third time in a row, saturating the film with a majestic, golden color palette. Meanwhile, the lighting and production design litter the film with little touches to each story that subtly connect the stories in interesting, visual ways. Some are much more noticeable, like a shot of a Mayan ruin turning out to be just a painting in the present-day storyline; while others are much more subtle, like a grouping of Christmas lights in the background that makes a present-day scene resemble the starry scenes with the biosphere in the future storyline.

This kind of attention to detail was what brought us into the mindset of Pi‘s protagonist and connected the stories of the four protagonists in Requiem for a Dream. The Fountain‘s aesthetic, on the other hand, accomplishes both. Much like the golden nebula that Tom must traverse through to confront his mortality, the colors give even the most mundane settings a kind of ethereal beauty and, in its own strange way, menace. It’s almost as if the world is being engulfed by the nebula itself, representing the protagonists’ ever-remaining fear that death is constantly encroaching towards all that he holds dear.

Aronofsky once again totally submerges us into the mindsets of his characters, while also simultaneously being aware of their flaws. As gorgeous as the visuals are, they actually represent a kind of paranoia for the protagonists. It’s almost as if Aronofsky is saying that death is not a dark presence, but a beautiful force that we as humans shun by default.

Of course, just a visual approach to the characters isn’t enough, and Aronofsky’s other staple of directing actors to their highest potential is evident here as well. This is easily the best performance(s) of Hugh Jackman’s career: Always sincere, always passionate, and effectively conveying that he’s playing the kind of men who are so single-minded in their pursuits that when one of them, in this case Tommy, finds a serum that can possibly prevent aging, he outright dismisses it because it can’t cure his wife’s brain tumor. And we totally buy into it because Jackman does not shy away from the fact that, as sincere and passionate as his three characters are, they’re almost reprehensible in their own way.

Instead of finding peace with the situation and comforting his wife during her final moments, Tommy constantly goes back to work so he could find a way to cure the incurable. On top of that, he seems outright dismissive of his own wife’s research. The scene that really brought the message home that Tommy is kind of an asshole was the one in a museum about Mayan culture, where Izzy is telling him about Mayan concepts of “Death as an act of Creation”, and he simply reflects them off, making candid, snarky asides rather than thinking on them like his wife clearly wants him to.

Further conveying this is in the scene of Izzy’s death, in which he continues to cling to his clearly-deceased wife. He performs CPR, repeats “Don’t die! Don’t Die!” as desperately as he could, and–in an almost cruel detail by Aronofsky–he performs mouth-to-mouth on her. This particular detail is not portrayed in a flattering light, as he’s almost slobbering all over her in his attempts to sustain her life. If scenes like that aren’t enough to convey that Tommy is completely imperfect, I don’t know what is.

And yet, Jackman’s Tommy isn’t totally deplorable either because of his aforementioned sincerity and passion. If he is acting purely on his own interests without regard for his wife’s own peace of mind, it’s solely because he loves and cares about her that much–almost too much–and it’s conveyed wonderfully in Jackman’s performance.

One of the best scenes in the film is the one after Izzy’s funeral, where Tommy is now alone in his home and remembers that his wedding ring is missing, a symbol of his own ignorance. Refusing to let go of Izzy, he literally tattoos a ring on his finger so that he can never lose it again. And when Jackman cries, he really goes for it. This isn’t the typical Hollywood sob where a single tear streams down the actor’s cheek. Instead, Jackman sniffles and wheezes through the scene in pure despair, his eyes turning completely bloodshot and his face whimpering like a baby that hasn’t been breast-fed in weeks. It’s a performance that comes purely from the heart, and the perfect kind for a project that’s as personal as this.

And before you ask me about the visual effects of the film, they pretty much speak for themselves. I mean, just look at these screenshots!

However, one of the few things that differentiates The Fountain from the rest of Aronofsky’s filmography is that Tommy might be the only Aronofsky character who doesn’t end with cruel punishment, instead reaching salvation and ultimately finding peace with himself. Much like Pi, The Fountainis ultimately about what we sacrifice in our search for coherence in a chaotic universe. Except whereas Pi‘s protagonist had to sacrifice every semblance of his humanity in order to gain peace of mind, Tommy undergoes a transformation and an arc that brings him to a literal embracing of death so he could regain peace of mind.

Looking back, this sort of development makes sense considering this is a story about personal introspection, and ultimately, an existential crisis doesn’t mean squat if the character doesn’t evolve from it. The same can be applied to Aronofsky himself, who clearly has a deep connection to what’s on screen. And the manner in which Tommy undergoes this realization is yet another virtuosic “montage” not unlike the one employed at the end of Requiem for a Dream.

Another staple of Aronofsky’s films is what I like to call “The Crescendo”, the final moments of an Aronofsky film in which everything continually builds and builds in intensity with the help of a Clint Mansell score and symphonic editing; bringing together numerous working elements into one cohesive whole. The final 10-15 minutes of The Fountain–set to what is perhaps the best track Mansell has ever composed, “Death is the Road to Awe”–is one of Aronofsky’s best “crescendos” alongside Requiem for aDream‘s finale.

Much like how Requiem constantly cut between numerous different stories at completely different settings in order to unify all four protagonists’ misery, The Fountain accomplishes that feat on a much grander scale. As Aronofsky cuts between the three separate time periods in segmented fashion, Mansell’s music steadily amps up in rhythm and volume as the time periods blur together. A Mayan temple guardian sees a vision of Tom the astronaut, Tomas the conquistador sees the star of Xibalba as soon as he drinks of the sap of the Tree of Life, Izzy takes a seed from the newly bloomed Tree and gives it to Tommy, etc. But what’s just as effective is that the score contains a period of absolute silence right before maybe loudest, most sudden orchestral cue in the history of cinema, right when Xibalba’s star blows into supernova. Aronofsky’s films usually end in a manner much like an explosion; The Fountain is the only one of his films that ends with a literal one.

As disorienting as it this finale is, the formalistic grandeur is enough to wash over you and allow a sense of awe at what’s transpiring on scene. It’s so deftly directed that it ultimately doesn’t matter whether you really “understand” it or not. Just letting Mansell’s lucid tones and the evocative visuals do the work is practically all that’s needed to “get” it.

Perhaps it ultimately doesn’t matter what The Fountain means, because what matters most is 1.) What it means to Aronofsky himself, and 2.) If it still works as a stand-alone experience. For my money, The Fountain is Aronofsky’s most beautiful, poignant work, and my personal favorite of his films. Normally when discussing a divisive film, I’d tend to point out that many will most likely disagree, but the fact that more and more people are discovering The Fountain‘s true meaning speaks to how exquisitely layered and resonant the film is. The Fountain is utterly brilliant, and perhaps in twenty more years or so, it will be recognized for the utterly gorgeous masterpiece that it is.

Of course, that doesn’t change the fact that it was deemed a failure back in 2006. And as such, as misunderstood as the film was at the time, Aronofsky still needed something of a “comeback” film to pick himself back up from the commercial and critical failure that The Fountain brought. His solution for a comeback film: A film about the obsession of comebacks. Typical, typical, Mr. Aronofsky.

Stay tuned next time, for a look at Darren Aronofsky’s Mickey Rourke vehicle: The Wrestler.

[vcg73]

Untitled M*A*S*H fic for Caitallolovesyou

These three chapters are all I have so far but I hope they give you a smile. (And that I don’t end up taking too long to write the second half!) Since I teased you with it I didn't want to keep you waiting.  *hugs*

Set post-series. Features Charles and Hawkeye, plus a couple of family members.

Chapter One

 She watched him, studied him, growing more concerned for him with each passing day.  Mother and Father seemed to notice nothing, but then, when did they ever so long as their children were behaving in a proper manner and not causing any sort of scandal?

 But Honoria Winchester was not so blind as they when it came to her beloved brother.

 Charles had been different since Korea. Quieter, more introspective, less inclined toward the bluster and bombast with which he armored himself against the world. And he never listened to his music anymore. That alone was cause for concern. Charles had been in love with the classics; Tchaikovsky, Beethoven, and particularly Mozart, since he was in short pants. Medicine was his particular genius, his profession and he had worked hard to refine his knowledge and technique until he was rightly regarded as one of the finest surgeons on the east coast; but music had always been his passion.

 Since his return, however, neither work nor play seemed to give him satisfaction. The music, in fact, seemed to cause only pain.  Their parents had treated the entire family to an evening at the symphony a month after Charles returned to Boston, intending to celebrate his safe return, but instead of enjoying the performance, his features had been set in a stiff expression all evening that could have passed as a calm smile if one did not question it too closely, but which appeared to Honoria to be more of a pained grimace.

 She had assumed that he needed time to adjust to being back in the civilized world. That he would be fine once he’d had an opportunity to adjust to his new position as Chief of Thoracic surgery at Boston Mercy hospital. Charles had always been a strong believer in the benefits of a healthy work and leisure balance, devoting full attention to whichever he was engaged in at any given time. However, the latter occupation seemed to have disappeared entirely.  Golf games and cricket matches with colleagues slowly disappeared from his schedule.  Gourmet dinners, formerly one of the highlights of his existence, seemed to give him indigestion and had given way to plain fare.  Evenings at the ballet or opera became increasingly rare. And he formed no attachments at all.

 It had been nearly a year and Charles had become obsessed with his practice to the point that he rarely seemed to leave the hospital. Her brother was gone when Honoria rose in the morning, and back home long after she had retired for the night.  He was using duty as an excuse to avoid seeing friends and family. When she had last seen him, a week ago, Honoria had been startled by the haggard look of him. Oh, he was tidy enough; immaculately dressed and properly groomed, but he looked as though he had not slept in weeks. He had also begun noticeably losing weight, suggesting that he did not eat as often or as healthily as he ought, and his formerly ruddy complexion was now unhealthily pale. He had clearly given up on his lifelong habit of a brisk sixty-minute constitutional at mid-day, to refresh him in body and mind.

 Sensing that the time to intervene had arrived, Honoria tried cornering him and talking to him, but he was a master at putting off conversations he did not wish to have. However, if he thought he was going to hide in his duty and be able to avoid her forever, Charles Emerson Winchester had another think coming to him!

 Quietly, clandestinely, Honoria slipped into her brother’s office at Boston Mercy and spoke with his secretary. She arranged for a two-week vacation, confirming her suspicions that he had already racked up enough hours on shift just in the past six months to have earned twice that amount of holiday time. Madeline even expressed relief, telling her (“Not that I would ever gossip about our doctors, you understand, but…”) that Charles’ colleagues had been after him to take some time before he ended up on the wrong side of the surgical table.  

 That, though likely exaggerated a trifle, steeled Honoria’s resolve. Come Monday, her brother was taking a break. Whether he wanted one or not.  

  ~*~*~*~*~

 “A vacation? My dear girl, I cannot possibly be spared for an entire week! There are patients, board meetings, a veritable plethora of duties which cannot possibly . . .”

 “Two,” she interrupted calmly.

 Charles spluttered to a halt. “Excuse me?”

 “Two weeks.  It’s all ar-r-ranged, Charles darling,” she said, taking a sip of tea and flashing her most pleasant smile at him. “T-two weeks in the c-c-country. You are taking what I believe is called a r-r-road-trip in the common p-parlance. Your colleagues w-w-were delighted to be rid of you. P-perfectly happy to c-c-cover for your absence. M-m-madeline was q-quite efficient about arranging things.”

 He gaped at her. “Madeline conspired with you on this?  The two of you went behind my back? The cheek! The treachery! The gall!  I’ll have her sacked at once!”

 She smiled even more brightly. “You won’t. In f-f-fact, I believe you sh-should consider a raise. J-just for putting up with you and your t-t-temper.”

 “My temper is perfectly fine!” he blasted, defying the statement with his own volume. He seemed to realize this and turned to pacing about the room instead. His voice was quieter but no less irritated when he continued, “This is absurd. I will not be herded along toward some idyllic pasture like a stupid sheep. I have duties, responsibilities, commitments you cannot possibly understand!”

 Charles continued on in this vein for several more minutes. He fretted and grumbled, not seeming to notice that he was receiving no counter argument until he abruptly ran out of steam and sat down in the chair across from his sister, fuming but silent.  Exactly as she had known that he would do if she remained patient.

 Honoria got up, setting her teacup aside and crossed to perch lightly on her brother’s knee, wrapping her arms around his neck and resting her temple against his, just as she had done when they were children and she was the one in need of comforting. Charles’ arms came around her waist, relaxing against his will as he responded automatically to the familiar gesture.

 “I’m w-worried for you, my Chuck,” she said softly, using the childhood nickname that nobody else on earth was allowed. “You aren’t w-w-well. You haven’t been yourself since the w-w-war, and I don’t think you will be until you t-t-talk to someone. I’ve arranged for that as w-w-well.”

 His lips primmed in distaste. “You know I don’t believe in that psychological twaddle,” he said, his tone noticeably less annoyed than it had been before. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not, and that isn’t w-w-what I m-meant.”

 Charles pulled his head back to look up into her face. “Not a doctor, then?”

  “Oh, yes. A d-d-doctor,” she said with a laugh. “J-just not that sort.”

 Charles struggled to maintain his disapproving air, but failed to resist her coaxing smile. Honoria had always known how to manage her big brother. His eyes narrowed curiously. “Where have you got up your sleeve?”

 “F-f-father is allowing you to b-borrow the Duesenberg,” she told him.

 A smile quirked his lips. “Is he aware of this generous act?”

 She batted her lashes innocently. “I’ll tell him . . . ev-ventually. Perhaps at the w-w-weekend.”

 Charles laughed in spite of himself. “You are a cheeky girl. I suppose I’m expected to drive to the scene of my own kidnapping?”

 “Of course,” she said. “D-d-driving is quite relaxing, I’m told. And the early s-summer s-s-scenery is lovely in M-maine. P-particularly the c-c-coastal towns.”

 Now he just looked confused. “Maine. What could anyone possibly find to do for two weeks in Maine? It isn’t as though we know anyone . . .” When she continued to smile expectantly at him, Charles suddenly put the clues together.  He wagged his finger scoldingly under her nose. “Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no!  My dear young woman, you cannot possibly be suggesting that I go to Crabapple Cove.”

 “I am, and you are,” she said succinctly. “You m-m-may think I paid no attention to your l-l-letters, brother dear, but I assure you that I d-did.  You spoke more often and more f-fondly of Captains P-pierce and H-h-hunnicutt than you probably knew. I b-b-believe it would do you good to s-s-spend time with someone to whom you do not have to exp-p-plain your ongoing d-difficulties.”

 “What difficulties?” he grumbled, wary but unable to avoid her now that she was so close and so openly concerned with helping him. “I’m perfectly sound.”

 Honoria stroked her thumb over his cheek, not nearly as round and rosy as it should have been, then traced one of the shadowy bags underneath his eyes. “Are you?” she said gently. “You c-came home, but n-n-not all of you returned from that place. Did it?”

 Finding himself unable to lie to her face, Charles attempted to avoid her probing gaze, ducking his head against her chest to hide his expression. He shook his head, not willing to risk his voice trembling.

 “I c-can’t understand. Not entirely,” she said, stroking the hair over his ear. It was getting too long again. “B-b-but I think your friend may.  I s-s-stayed in touch with the elder Doctor P-p-pierce after our f-f-family reunion. He’s kind; v-very sweet, once one m-m-moves past the endless b-b-bad jokes. From your letters, I s-s-suspect the son is m-much the same.” She had met and become friendly with the families of many of Charles’ colleagues and camp-mates during an event dreamed up by Dr. Hunnicutt and arranged by his wife Peg.

 Charles cleared his throat and said quietly, “He is. Hawkeye Pierce could try the patience of a saint with his endless buffoonery, but . . . he is a good man, and an excellent physician. I actually learned a great deal from him.”

 Honoria smiled, knowing that for Charles there could be no finer compliment. “There’s a w-weekend medical conference in M-m-manchester. It ap-p-pears to be roughly an hour from their h-h-home.”

 “So I may as well drop by while I’m in the neighborhood, eh?” he said, eyes beginning to twinkle as he caught on to the spirit of her plan. Honoria had known that he would handle this better if he had a legitimate excuse to make the trip. “Well, I suppose it might be good to get away for a few days at that. Weather conditions should be ideal for a spot of fishing, and it wouldn’t do to be rude.”

 Honoria kissed him on the forehead. “Thank you, Charles. S-sinclair will bring the car around f-f-for you at seven.”

 Charles raised an eyebrow. “And I suppose my bags are already packed for me too.”

 Hopping up from his lap, she smiled. “See you at b-b-breakfast?”

 Rising to his feet, Charles looked down into her face. “I suppose you think you’re very clever, don’t you?”

 “If I g-g-get my Chuck back, I w-w-will consider myself very c-c-clever indeed. And very blessed.”

 As she left the room, Honoria heard her brother mutter, “No child, it is I who am blessed.”

 Chapter Two

 The medical conference, if one could call it that, was an utter waste of time. The special topic of the gathering was advances in podiatry. Hardly something Charles found worth a three and a half hour drive north.

 Still, the journey had been scenic, the climate warm, with a gentle breeze that had coaxed him to roll his window down and breathe in the pleasantly fresh  air. He could not deny that it felt good to relax.  Perhaps he had been working too hard at that. To go somewhere new and allow his activities to go unscheduled for a change felt good.  His sister would be unbearably pleased with herself if he were to admit that she had been right, but that was a price he just might be willing to pay.

 Particularly if she proved equally prescient about his upcoming visit to the shore.

 Charles could not deny that he was nervous about seeing his old camp colleague. He had grown fond of many of the people with whom he had endured the hellish conditions of Korea; Colonel Potter, BJ and Hawkeye, Margaret, Father Mulcahey, and even that rapscallion of a Maxwell Klinger; but since the war, he had not spoken with any of them. In fact, he had done his best to avoid even thinking of that time, or anyone connected to it. He had wanted to believe that he could simply return to the life he had previously enjoyed, and put all of that dreadful business behind him.

 Unfortunately, reality had proved somewhat less accommodating than his daydreams. So long as he worked, he could center his concentration on that, and only that. Not unlike the marathon sessions of meatball surgery performed in that far away M.A.S.H. tent, where only the utter refusal to think of anything but the instruments and delicate tissues beneath one’s hands could get a person through the endless hours.

 No, it was his time away from the surgical table that frequently proved his undoing.  It was impossible to sit quietly enjoying a drink, or a game of cribbage, or a concert somewhere, and pretend that he did not feel guilty for his very leisure. For being alive, healthy and well-off, living a beautifully civilized existence when so many others had not received that same gift.

 How many young men, just boys most of them, had failed to returned to their homes and their own beloved pass-times because there had simply not been time, or advanced enough equipment to save their lives? Because a different patient with a slightly better life expectancy had been deemed more able to benefit from their limited resources, leaving the doctors with the grim choice to save as many as they could in the time allotted, and leave others to die?

 They haunted him, those boys. The soldiers, the civilians, the many prisoners of war whose lives and future contributions to their society had been destroyed by a damned ‘conflict’ that never should have touched them at all. Like that quintet of Chinese musicians whose bloody faces he still saw whenever he heard the beautiful strains of Mozart. Their faces and the sound of their poor but lovingly played instruments lived on in his dreams. They shamed him with their talent, and hope, and the endless joie de vivre that had driven them to embrace beauty in the midst of horror. Had enabled him to feel a little bit of normalcy in the midst of chaos.

 Right up until the day that they had died.

 Charles closed his eyes and swallowed, determined not to allow his thoughts to wander down that unforgiving path yet again. He was supposed to be taking a holiday, and he deserved a good one, damn it all!

 “Doctor Winchester?” a voice said from off to his left.

 Charles opened his eyes, startled by the familiarity of that voice. He turned, mouth already half open to greet his old ‘swamp’ mate, when he instead found himself facing an older gentleman wearing dark slacks and a shapeless yellow sweater with patches at the elbows. “Oh, er, yes? Yes, I’m Winchester.”

 The man smiled brightly and rushed forward to shake Charles’ hand, behaving for all the world as if he were greeting a long lost friend.  “I knew it had to be you as soon as Dr. Wickshaw started his lecture and I spotted that long-suffering expression on your face. My son described you to a T!”

 That was why this fellow looked so familiar. His crinkled blue eyes, long ski nose, and the voice were a dead ringer for, “Doctor Pierce, of course!” Charles shook the old man’s hand cordially in both of his own, determined to display his finest manners to combat whatever impression the son might have given. “It’s a sincere pleasure to meet you, sir.  Your son spoke of you a great deal as well. My sister informed me that you would be open to a guest, but I hope she wasn’t taking advantage, or bringing you too far out of your way.”

 Doctor Pierce dismissed the idea with a quiet ‘pshaw’ and a wave of his hand. “Glad to have you, son. And call me Dan. Any friend of Hawkeye is a friend of mine. He’d have come with me, but Rosie Maynard decided it was time to have her baby this morning, so I came on ahead.  The good thing about retirement is that there’s never a bad time to take a day off.” He grinned, his eyes sparkling with fun. “Now, what do you say we scram before one of these doctors catches on that we don’t belong? Wouldn’t do to get off on the wrong foot with these fellas!”

 He cackled at his own joke and Charles politely offered a wan smile. Oh, yes. This man was definitely a Pierce.  “Indeed.  My car is in the rear parking area. Will I just follow you back to your place?”

 The gray-haired man’s eyes danced. “Only if you want to drive at an old man’s walking pace.” He laughed. “And that would be one hell of a walk for me!  No, my neighbor was coming out this way to see his daughter. I just hitched a ride with him, since I knew you’d be driving. Figured you might like someone to show you the sights.”

 Surprised but not displeased at the idea of an on board navigator, particularly as he found himself unexpectedly liking the man, Charles nodded. “I hadn’t expected such forethought, but that is an excellent suggestion.”

 Doctor Pierce did not seem to take offense at his inference that thinking ahead did not necessarily run in the family. He simply chatted along in an amiable fashion about whatever came into his head as they walked outside. Then, “Oh, my.” He rushed forward to take a better look at their ride, circling the car like a treasure-hunter finding a lost tomb. “This is fine.  Just fine!  How’d you ever come across a beauty like this?”

 The man was all but drooling as he ran a gentle hand over the smooth red two-tone paint covering the right fender of the gorgeous 1924 Duesenberg Roadster, which had been kept in pristine condition for the past 30 years.

 “Father bought it new during a business trip to Indiana.  This car is Charles Emerson Winchester II’s pride and joy.”

 In fact, it was a mark of how concerned the man was that after Honoria’s explanation at breakfast of his son’s sudden journey out of town, Dad had expressed more concern for his health than for the borrowed auto.  Charles had merely had to promise upon the life of his future firstborn that he would allow no damage to come to it.

 Daniel Pierce grinned like he’d just won a surprise jackpot. “Now I’m definitely glad I didn’t drive here.  I’ve never had the pleasure of riding in a car like this one. If I happen to vanish on the ride back, just tell my son that I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

 Charles laughed, opening the door for the older man and then taking his time about getting situated in the driver’s seat, just to give his host a bit more time to enjoy the luxurious leather seating. It was refreshing to discover that not everyone in the Pierce family was an uncouth heathen.

  Chapter 3

 The journey eastward was a pleasant one. Charles was not in a particular mood to chat. In fact, he could not recall the last time that he had been; but his monosyllabic responses did not seem to deter his companion in the slightest. Like his son, Daniel Pierce had been blessed with an unlimited gift of gab, and he kept up a virtual soliloquy as they drove, discussing cars, music, and movies. It seemed that the town council had just approved the addition of a new movie theater to the outskirts of nearby Spruce Harbor, and it was the sensation of all its neighboring burgs, including Crabapple Cove. “Lines a mile long to get in, every Friday and Saturday night!”

 “And what film is the populace currently enjoying?” Charles asked, rather curious to know what rural America would be in such a fever about.  Popular cinema had never his particular entertainment vice, but he had learned to enjoy an occasional flick during his sentence in Korea. A M.A.S.H. unit tended to be either feast or famine as far as diversion went. Either one was up to his eyebrows in work, or all but desperate for some form of mental stimulation. Movie nights filled that bill, if only just, and at times the more simplistic or sensationalistic that film was, the easier it was to allow it to transport one away from the painful reality of their situation.

 His guide’s eyes lit up. “Heard they just got a new Monroe film this week!  “Gentlemen Prefer Blondes”, I think it’s called. Though if a woman built like Jane Russell came knocking on my door, I sure as hell wouldn’t  turn her away for her hair color!”

 The old man cackled in a lecherous manner that once again reminded Charles of his son, and he found himself chuckling along. “Neither would I, as a matter of fact, and I do take pride in being a gentleman. Perhaps it would best to experience this cinematic masterpiece for ourselves, and gather more intelligence on the matter.  Just to make an informed decision, you understand.”

 Pierce gave his shoulder a friendly thump. “That’s what I like to see; a man of science!”

 He turned to pointing out local landmarks as they approached his home, chatting about people and places he knew, urging his visitor to experience all that the village and nearby town had to offer.  It was clear that he was quite proud of his home, so Charles just nodded and smiled, and tried to pretend that he was not at all taken aback by the miles up miles of rural scenery, populated by little more than trees, farms, and the occasional bovine.

 To say that Crabapple Cove was small was to be entirely too generous.  It was miniscule.  A virtual blink and one would never know they had been there.  And yet, in direct contrast to its size (Pierce assured him that the outlying farms and independent properties that made up the rest of the town proper stretched far beyond ‘downtown’, which was apparently what they were experiencing now.) there was an absurdly enormous banner stretched across two tall poles as one entered it, urging visitors to be, ‘Welcome to Crabapple Cove, Maine!  Home of the nation’s finest blueberry pie!’

 “And is the confection worthy of such a boast?” he asked, sitting up a bit taller and enjoying a feeling of pride as he noticed the locals beginning to pop out of their homes and businesses to gawk at the beautiful luxury automobile sliding down their quiet streets. (Street? Charles could not swear to it that they had more than just the one.)  And given that he had seen nothing but farm vehicles and a couple of worn family sedans, he was not surprised. From what he knew of small towns, they probably would have been equally curious if he had wheeled in on an old velocipede. In a place where everyone surely knew everyone else, any stranger would be cause for curiosity.

 “Best pie on the east coast,” the other man boasted happily. “Berries are in season now, so you’ll have to find out for yourself.  For my dime, Jenny’s Place serves the best, but Hawkeye would argue for Mable’s Diner. Oh, this is it. Just pull up here to our left.”

 He eased his father’s car into an empty space along one side of a long board walkway next to a small office that he could now see had a sign painted in one corner reading, “Benjamin Franklin Pierce, M.D.”  Hanging from the doorknob was a tiny paper sign on a string that read ‘The Doctor is In’.

 It gave Charles an oddly warm feeling, while at the same time reigniting the butterflies in his stomach. The elder doctor Pierce had been nothing but kind and welcoming, but suppose the younger was only being polite in granting him leave for a visit. He might be no more pleased to have a reminder of their time in Korea than Charles himself had been during the past thirteen months.

 Luckily, his fears were put to rest before he had even managed to do more than shut the driver’s side door behind him.  The door to the little office came open and there stood Hawkeye, big as life and twice as noisy as he slammed back the door and jogged out to meet his visitor with a huge smile that caused his eyes to practically vanish into the deep laugh-lines surrounding them. He hopped off the boardwalk to vigorously pump Charles’ offered hand in greeting.

 “Charles, I never thought I’d hear myself say this, but damn if it isn’t good to see you.” He laughed and shook his head, still grinning from ear to ear as he admitted, “Thought I’d mean it even less, but it’s great to have you here.”

 It was strange somehow, to see Pierce dressed in a neat short-sleeved blue checked shirt and a pair of slightly wrinkled gray trousers, rather than the Hawaiian print shirt and loose army-green field issue of old. His hair seemed grayer now, and had been trimmed more neatly than Charles had ever seen it, as if in direct contrast to the slovenly appearance he had previously favored as a subtle middle-finger to military regulations.

 Charles found himself smiling back, clasping Pierce’s forearm with the hand that was not still being warmly clasped. “I know precisely what you mean, and I find myself sharing that sentiment. It’s good to see you as well. Thank you for agreeing to host me on such short notice.”

 “Glad to. We always keep a spare room warm for company. Don’t we, Dad?”

 Hawkeye let go of Charles, then clapped him on the back almost as if he needed the physical contact to prove to himself that he wasn’t imagining his old colleague into this incongruous place and time.  He looked to his father, who said, “Indeed we do, son. Indeed we do. Help me with these bags and we’ll get your friend settled in.”

 “That isn’t necessary,” Charles protested half-heartedly, privately glad that he did not have to personally haul all four of the suitcases his sister had packed. He was rather embarrassed as he looked over the wealth of belongings. “To be quite frank, I’m not certain what’s in most of these. My sister became a bit overzealous in her plans to ship me off on a holiday. She seems to have prepared for every possible terrain and climatological contingency.”

 Daniel just smiled, hefting the smallest of the four cases out and testing it for weight. “My late wife was like that. More prepared than the Boy Scouts of America, and God love her for it. Her forethought saved us from some sticky business more than once.”

 Between the three of them, they made short work of the luggage. Then the elder Dr. Pierce excused himself to go check on a few neighbors, leaving them to chat.

 “He supposedly retired when I came home to take over the practice, but he likes to keep his hand in,” Hawkeye said, flopping down on his side atop the neatly made guest bed and propping himself up on his elbow to watch Charles unpack. “They’re getting used to me, but you don’t replace an old country doctor overnight. And I wouldn’t want to. They keep the checker boards warmed up and the gossip mill cranking, just hoping he’ll stop in.”

 Charles allowed himself a delicate snort. “Sounds rather dull to me, but I suppose when one chooses a provincial life, they soon run out of options for entertainment.  Although your father was telling me on the way in that you just got a theatre in town. Very civilized indeed.”

 Hawkeye did not appear to be insulted by his slightly condescending tone. Indeed his grin just got wider. “Well it’s not your kind, filled with the music of classical snores in B Flat. It’s just a little one-screener, but they show a pretty decent variety of movies.  Abbott and Costello the first month, then we had a western. Did they show “Shane” up in Bean Town?”

 “I wouldn’t know,” Charles said dryly. “The wild west is not precisely my cup of tea, nor are sticky, crowded, childish pursuits in general. However, I am reliably informed that you currently have the beauteous Miss Monroe on display. For such as she, I would be willing to suffer the degradations of a public cinema.”

 The other man grinned. “You old dog, I always suspected there was a human heart beneath that rusty suit of armor. Or a human something anyway!” He cackled wildly at his own innuendo, making Charles roll his eyes and toss a pair of socks at his widely gaping mouth. He missed his target, but they did bounce satisfactorily off of his victim’s forehead, leaving a startled expression that was more than pleasing. Hawkeye sat up. “Say, you hungry? I could give you the grand tour, ending in the best steak and potatoes you’ve ever tasted over at Mable’s.”

 “And perhaps a sampling of the blueberry pie,” Charles agreed, feeling his stomach already growling at the mere thought. It had been a long time since breakfast, and the luncheon served at the conference had been more of a risk than he wanted to take.

 Hawkeye’s blue eyes lit up. “Now you’re talking.” He jumped up, calling something behind him about meeting downstairs in ten minutes as he abruptly left the room.

 Charles stared after him, a bit surprised to find himself smiling quite naturally for the first time in months.

 There was something refreshing about seeing his old camp-mate so seemingly happy and comfortable in this place. As if a rough-edged puzzle piece that could not be made to fit into a particular picture had been plucked from there and connected back into its own proper puzzle.  As unsettled and distressed as Pierce had been during his final weeks in Korea, even spending some time in a sanitarium undergoing treatment for a nervous breakdown, this tiny town appeared to have been the correct balm to ease his mind and spirit.

 Although he wished it very much, Charles doubted that being here would do the same for him. After all, it was likely the emotional connection of family and familiar sights that had helped Hawkeye, not the locality. And heaven knew that familiar surroundings had done little to soothe his’ own troubled soul . . .

 “Hurry up, Winchester! The town isn’t going to come up to your room and introduce itself!”

 The shout, coming up the stairs, startled him. He glanced at a small clock sitting on the table next to the guest-bed, surprised to see that nearly fifteen minutes had drifted by while he stood here woolgathering.  Shutting the suitcase, he picked up a light sport-coat that went well with the tweed trousers and button-down he had chosen for the conference and pulled it on.  A bit formal still, but what of it? It behooved one to make a good first impression, even when there was nobody worth impressing.

 “Coming,” he called down, quickly checking himself in the small vanity mirror attached to a dresser.  More than satisfactory. “One cannot rush perfection, Pierce.”

 A merry laugh echoed up the stairs. “We only have two weeks, Charles, and I’m starving. I’m sure the people of Crabapple Cove will be willing to settle for passable.”

  He found himself smiling again, and shook his head.  There had been a time when he would have sold a kidney to be rid of that man, and yet here he was. Unpacking his belongings into a guest room smaller than the linen closet back home, and about to embark on a guided tour through the place that had spawned one Benjamin Franklin Pierce and unleashed his madcap antics upon the world.

What’s more, he was happy to be doing so.

 Perhaps his sister had been wiser than she knew.

 TBC