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waitimcomingtoo · 4 years ago

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fine line - p.p

chapter 4

pairing: Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Synopsis: there’s a fine line between love and hate and you and Peter dance it on a regular basis

Series Masterlist and Regular Masterlist

“Would you stay with me?” You asked timidly, assuming the answer would be a definite no.

“Of course.” Peter nodded, making you recall the time your dad told you he would surprise you. Peter sat down next to you, giving you your space but still close enough to comfort you. You heard him chuckle after a beat of silence and looked at him curiously.

“You know, that’s the first time you ever called me Peter.” He commented, looking at you with a half smile.

“I’ve called you Peter before.” You insisted in your hoarse voice.

“No. I would’ve remembered if you did.” He chuckled. “You always call me Parker.”

“Oh. I guess I do.” You realized as Peter reached forward and wiped your tear with his thumb. You held eye contact with his and he dragged his thumb down your cheek, letting his warmth assuage your pain.

“Thanks.” You mumbled, giving him a weak smile.

“No problem.” Peter said sincerely. “This is the longest we’ve been in a room together without yelled at each other. It’s also the closest you’ve ever let me near you.”

“Sorry.” You said as you got ready to move. “I can move over-“

“No, it’s okay.” Peter stopped you by placing a hand on your arm. “I want you close.”

You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth to hide how happy his sentence made you. Despite how awful you treated him, he was always kind to you. Usually his generosity made you even angrier, but you didn’t have the strength to hate him tonight.

“You shouldn’t be nice to me. I’ve never been nice to you.” You shook your head and look down at the box of tissues in shame.

“I believe in treating people how you’d like to be treated. You’re also letting me be nice to you, which is a nice change.” Peter cracked a smile as he brushed your wilting curls out of your face. You leaned into his hand for a moment, closing your eyes as you finally felt peace.

“I don’t hate you.” You said suddenly, making Peter raise his eyebrows. “You said I hated you before. I don’t, really. I’m sorry I made you think I did.”

“I’m sorry too. I know this hasn’t been easy for you. I didn’t even want to move in. Mr. Stark insisted, he thought I’d be able to keep you company.” Peter laughed slightly, feeling the irony of his statement.

“Then why did you?” You wondered. You always thought it had been Peters idea to move in as a way to reap the full benefits of being an Avenger, but it turned out you were wrong.

“My aunt just got this job at a charity and she absolutely loves it, it just takes up all her time.” Peter explained. “It’s the first time I’ve seen her happy since my uncle passed and I didn’t want her to chose between her job and taking care of me, so I moved in here. I…I didn’t know Mr. Stark was gonna take me on all the missions and stuff.” Peter said softly. “I never meant to take your place.”

You opened your mouth and quickly shut it, feeling incredibly stupid and guilty for how you’d been treating him.

“I didn’t know that. Any of that, I didn’t...I didn’t know.” You said quietly as your eyes filled with regret.

“You and I don’t talk much.” Peter shrugged sadly. You tilted your head to the side, looking at him sympathetically in an entirely new light.

“You were right before, you know.” You told him. “I am jealous of you for being my dads favorite.”

“Y/n, I was just saying that.” Peter apologized. “That’s not how I really feel and it’s definitely not true.”

You looked straight ahead at your deep blue bedroom walls and let out a sigh, knowing the impending conversation wouldn’t be easy.

“He wanted a boy.” You said after a beat of silence, busying yourself with your fingernails so you wouldn’t have to look at him.

“What?”

“When he adopted me. He wanted a boy.” You explained further, feeling a blush of embarrassment cover your face and neck.

“I’m sure that’s not true.” Peter shook his head as he shifted a little closer.

“Yes it is.” You smiled sadly. “They did all these family matching events at my foster home when I was a kid and he would always stop by. I always saw him talking to the boys. He never signed any papers though, I think he was just browsing.” You chuckled, and Peter did too.

“You don’t have to tell me if it’s difficult to talk about.” Peter said kindly as he rested a hand on your knee.

“I want to tell you so you can understand.” You insisted, feeling like this was your best shot at an apology.

“Okay. I’m listening.”

“I never got picked.” You came outright with it. “I would show up to these events in my best dress and biggest smile and watch all my friends get taken home by some family, even if it was just for a test run, but nobody ever picked me. It gets to you after a while.”

“I’m sorry. I had no idea.” Peter sympathetically squeezed your knee.

“No, it’s okay. If some other family had wanted me, I wouldn’t have ended up with my dad.”

“You’re really strong for being able to see the bright side of all this. I don’t know what I would’ve done.” Peter shook his head as he got a look into your history.

“I appreciate that.” You smiled softly at him, letting him know you were no longer upset.

“How did you end up with Mr. Stark?” Peter wondered.

“He came pretty late one day, after an event had been going on for a while. He had Pepper with him that time, I guess he finally convinced her to come. By the time he arrived, all the boys had already been taken, and I could just see the disappointment in his face. Then he made eye contact with me.” You smiled to yourself. “I had seen him there so many times, but this was the first time we interacted. I had on this fluffy pink princess dress to make myself look more presentable. He saw me and laughed.”

“Princess. That’s why he calls you princess.” Peter made the connection.

“So you’re not as dumb as I thought.” You teased him, playfully this time, as you nudged him. “He bent down in front of me and asked if I’d like to live in his castle for the week, and I said yes. After the week was up, he brought a suitcase to my foster home. He said my suitcase matched his because we were a family now. It was the first thing that had ever been mine, you know? Not a hand me down or anything. It was mine. Those suitcases are all worn out now, but we still use them for every mission. At least, we used to.”

“Thats why you were upset he threw his out. Y/n, I’m sorry. I didn’t know any of this. You never - - You don’t talk to me.” Peter’s voice was pained as he got the full picture of why the fight had upset you as much as you did.

“I know. And I’m sorry for that. I know this doesn’t justify why I treat you the way I do, but I hope it explains it a little.” You looked at him apologetically. “It’s dumb but I always saw those suitcases as a symbol of our family. And then he goes and throws them out to buy one for you. Not that I would need one anyway since he stopped bringing me on missions and I just, I don’t know, I felt replaced.”

“That’s not dumb.” Peter insisted. “Mr. Stark likes having me around but I could never replace you. You’re his daughter. I know he spends a lot of time with me but that doesn’t mean he wanted a boy.”

“That’s not the only thing, though.” You continued. “When I got to his house for the first time, before the tower was even built, he already had a room set up. Blue walls and little shirts with sports slogans on them told me what I already knew. He wanted a boy. He wanted you.”

“Bold of you to assume I’d ever wear a shirt with a sports slogan on it.” Peter slipped a joke in, making you chuckle softly.

“Yeah, well. You check all his other boxes.” You reminded him. “You’re smarter than me, better at technology than I am, and you’re a freaking superhero for crying out loud. I can’t do half the things you can and he knows it. And when you guys save the world together or build these amazing inventions, it’s like you’re rubbing in all the things I could never do with him. It just reminds me that you’re what he wanted.”

“So are you. He loves you.”

“I don’t doubt he loves me. I just doubt I’d be his first choice.” You shrugged sadly. “You and I are both orphans and if you hadn’t had your aunt and uncle to take care of you, you would’ve ended up in the same place as me. And if you had been there that day at the event…”

“You think Mr. Stark would’ve chosen me, not you.” Peter finished your sentence, and everything made sense to him at once.

“Yeah.” You whispered as tears filled your red rimmed eyes once again. “I’m sorry I don’t call you by your name. I’m sorry I’m mean to you and push you away. But you have to understand, you’re not someone I ever wanted to know. And when you say things like him preferring you, I believe you.”

“I never should’ve said that. I wish we had this conversation when I first moved in.” Peter sighed heavily. “I would’ve understood you so much better. And I…I wanted to understand you.”

“You did?” You jerked your head back in surprise at his statement.

“Yeah. It was kinda a bummer when I realized my mentors extremely beautiful and intelligent daughter hated me.” Peter chuckled as he rubbed the back of his neck. “He talked so highly of you, I wish you could’ve heard it. He’s this world famous billionaire inventor and superhero and his greatest accomplishment is his daughter. It made me really excited to meet you. And then…”

“And then I made your life hell.” You squeezed your eyes shut in embarrassment as you finished his sentence. “I’m sorry, Peter.”

“It’s okay. I still liked you, even if you were mean to me.” He smiled sheepishly. “I could tell you were funny and nice from when I heard you talking to other people. I just didn’t understand why you didn’t like me.”

“I feel like we could’ve been really good friends by now if I hadn’t been so quick to judge you.” You pouted as you looked at him. “I thought you were taking advantage of my dads money of something. You’re actually a really good guy. I should’ve listened the first 50 times me dad told me that.”

“We can still be friends. I think I’ll be around a while.” He teased your usual hatred of him being around as he bumped his shoulders against yours. You laughed as you moved together, feeling grateful for the second chance he was giving you. Something he had said clung to the back of your mind and in the name of being honest, you brought it up.

“Do you…do you really think I’m beautiful?” You asked curiously as you looked at him. A blush spread from Peters nose bridge all the way to the tips of his ears when he realized you caught his subtle compliment.

“Um, don’t you?” He shrugged, answering your question with a question to put the ball back in your court. Your lips twitched into a smile before you looked away, feeling flustered in place of your usual disdain.

“To answer your question from before, my date was lame.” You shrugged. “Harry was on his phone the whole time, something about fantasy football? I don’t know, I wasn’t listening. Rich people are like, super boring.”

“I thought you liked him? Last I heard, you wanted to be his girlfriend.” Peter couldn’t help from rolling his eyes as he spoke.

“Oof.” You clicked your tongue. “If you haven’t figured out by now that I played up my feelings for Harry to make you jealous, then maybe you’re not smarter than me.”

“You wanted to make me jealous?” Peter repeated for confirmation. “It worked, but why?”

“Do you want to know the number one thing that annoyed me about you?” You asked him, the fight a distant memory now.

“I don’t know. Do I?” Peter chuckled as he rested his head in his hands to look at you.

“No matter how much I disliked you,” you shook your head and shrugged slightly, “I always liked you more.”

“I thought you said you would never like me.” Peter recalled, a hopeful smile tugging at his lips.

“Yeah, well,” you moved closer to him, sitting on his thigh and resting your hand on his shoulder, “I guess I had a change of heart.”

“Well.” Peter looked up at you with a fire in his eyes. “What ever am I going to do about that?” He said slowly as he drummed his fingers on your leg.

“Yeah. What are you gonna do about it, Parker?” You brought back his old nickname to really push him.

“I have a few ideas, Princess.” Peter mumbled before crashing his lips to yours. Your hands immediately went to his hair, tugging it for all the times he made you stressfully tug at yours.

“You drive me crazy with all your eye rolling.” Peter said between kisses as he pushed you down on the bed. “Nobody is that annoyed all the time.”

“Every time I saw you in the lab I hoped you’d burn your hand on the benson burner.” You confessed as you trailed kisses on his jawline.

“I hate when you leave your cereal bowls out. Do you know how disgusting almond milk looks when it’s left out? Ugh it made me so mad.” Peter groaned as he pinned you to the bed.

“I hate when you’re in the kitchen when I’m baking. You’re so annoying.” You whined, tilting your head up to kiss him.

“You’re so annoying.” He shot back as he pulled you closer.

“I cannot stand you.” You shook your head before kissing him again. “At all.”

“That makes two of us, princess.” Peter gave you a cocky smirk as his hand traveled up your leg.

“I told you not to call me that, daddy.” You shot back, making Peter gulp. You laughed wickedly and propped yourself up on your elbows. “Thats what I thought. You’re all talk.”

“That wasn’t fair.” He growled, teeth grazing your earlobe now.

“You just can’t handle it.” You teased him.

“I think I’m in love with you.” Peter said simply as he pulled his shirt over his head.

“Same.” You laughed at the irony. “Now shut up and kiss me.”

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xjoonchildx · 5 years ago

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guarded | jhs x reader | chapter one: fan mail

summary: you’ve tried to separate yourself from your infamous crime family, but a new case has your carefully-constructed world crashing down around you. now you have to figure out how to heal old wounds and handle the new man who enters your orbit.

pairing: hoseok x reader

genre: mafia AU, E2L, slow burn, tsundere, eventual smut

rating: 18+

word count: 2.8K

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | EPILOGUE

***************************

You stare at the words for a moment before folding the paper in half and slipping it back into the envelope you pulled it from.

Honestly?

It’s not the first time you’ve gotten a threat. It happens from time to time in this line of work.

But this note plucks a chord of anxiety inside of you. Must be the eleven missed calls you suspect go hand-in-hand with your little love letter. Your phone hasn’t stopped buzzing for a half-hour now.

“Are you okay?”

Hyejin’s voice filters through your thoughts. She’s taken stock of the strange look that crosses your face in the split-second before you school your features back into a mask of calm.

She’s observant like that.

“Oh yeah, it’s nothing,” you say, shaking your head. “Just some fan mail.”

Your phone buzzes against the papers on your desk -- again -- and Hyejin raises an eyebrow.

Make that twelve.

“Tell you what,” she says, standing to stretch her legs. “I’m ready to go blind from reading these files and I could use an Americano. You want one?”

“Actually yes,” you exhale. “That’s exactly what I need. You’re a lifesaver.”

She gives you one last are you sure you don’t need to tell me anything? look before opening the door to your office. You reassure her with a soft smile but the second the door to your office closes, you blow out one long, heavy breath and reach for your phone.

you: what the hell? [ 3:15 PM ]

namjoon: this can’t wait [ 3:15 PM ]

you: clearly [ 3:16 PM ]

namjoon: come in ASAP [ 3:16 PM ]

You groan.

Namjoon knows you avoid that place at all costs.

It’s not a good look for you to be seen there -- and so as a rule -- you’re not. Your brother is usually understanding about your stance on the matter. But it’s not like him to push so there’s probably a damned good reason why he’s summoning you to his office like some wayward employee.

You glance back at the stack of files on your desk, riddled with notes and highlights. Even after a morning spent tag-teaming with Hyejin, there’s still a shitload of work to be done. But then you look back at that envelope sitting on your desk and pick up your phone again.

you: give me thirty minutes [ 3:19 PM ]

namjoon: okay [ 3:19 PM ]

Paperwork is going to have to wait.

*****************************

You’re not a moron.

You know what people say about your family, what they say about you.

You know what they whisper when you show up to charity galas and fundraising dinners. You know what they murmur the second their false smiles fall and you turn your back. They say that the money that paid for your prep schools and top-notch legal education is blood money; paid for by one of Seoul’s oldest and most powerful crime networks. They say that you took a job prosecuting crime to assuage for your family’s sins.

They’re not wrong.

Your father -- your cruel, unsophisticated father -- shelled out top dollar to put you in fancy schools and fancy clothes and fancy riding lessons. He threw elaborate birthday parties where he showered you with extravagant gifts in front of guests who were only there to celebrate because they feared turning down the invitation.

So others saw your material good fortune and mistook you for a pampered mafia princess. None of them had to come home every day to the stench of death and destruction. None of them had to endure the gossip and the looks and the cold shoulders.

That was a burden you shared with only one other person.

You and Namjoon huddled together during your lavish and turbulent childhood, leaning on one another for strength because no one else understood. He was the only safe harbor you had in the storm you both lived every day.

And then you left.

You walked away from your father and the Gajog and crossed the country to study law. Far from the vicious gossip and prying eyes and violent drama that always awaited you in Seoul. You walked away and decided that you weren’t going to live that life anymore.

But you also walked away from Namjoon.

Now it’s a cold comfort, seeing your brother seated so naturally at the throne of power your father vacated when he died. The old-school brute-force organization your father ran for decades is a thing of the past. In its place, a well-oiled, highly-organized machine -- making far more money and far fewer mistakes.

Namjoon single-handedly pulled the crime syndicate into a new era, dusted it off and dressed it up. He legitimized parts of the business, took up residence in one of the city’s most expensive buildings, and basically dared law enforcement to come get him.

They still haven’t.

And there isn’t a day that Namjoon doesn’t cross your mind.

There isn’t a day that you don’t pray that the menace that existed inside your father never takes root inside of your brother. You pray that he can shoulder the burden of his responsibilities without rotting from the inside out.

If anyone can, you tell yourself, it’s him.

**********************

Namjoon cuts an imposing figure behind his grandiose wooden desk.

He’s seated when his assistant first opens the door to his secure private office, but as soon as you follow her inside he makes to stand.

He looks so tall now, you think -- as though it’s been years since you’ve seen him.

In reality, it’s only been a few months since your last brief encounter, but it’s still hard sometimes to recognize the handsome, polished man in front of you as the kid you grew up with. You’re hit with a pang of regret that it’s been so long since you’ve seen one another face-to-face.

Two men stand guard on either side of Namjoon’s desk, which doesn’t surprise you. Your brother is always surrounded by guards these days.

The only one you recognize is Min Yoongi, who gives a slight bow in your direction as you cross the broad expanse of the office. You’re certain you’ve never seen the second man, who stands eerily still on your brother’s other side. You can feel the stranger’s stare from a distance and avert your eyes.

You bow to Namjoon and take a seat in the plush chair facing his desk. A fond look passes over his features but when he opens his mouth to speak his tone is businesslike, serious.

“I know you don’t like coming in here,” he begins carefully, “and so I have to apologize for asking you to make an exception. I hope you understand this can’t be helped.”

“Yes, of course,” you say softly. “Sorry it took me a while. I’m buried with a new case.”

Namjoon nods.

“That case is the reason why we’ve run into a bit of trouble in the past few days,” he admits. “Some of our friends across town are pretty upset about it. Apparently very agitated and hoping to leverage the fact that you’ve been assigned to this case to their advantage.”

“I see,” you murmur.

You knew the men you’d been assigned to build a weapons trafficking case against were part of a rival organization -- but on paper they were low-level foot soldiers, considered expendable in a business like theirs. Why the Ssijog were so worried about losing a couple of nobodies from their ranks was a bit puzzling.

“I guess that explains this,” you say, reaching into your bag for the letter delivered to your office.

You hand it to Namjoon and he reads the words with a tight expression before turning it over to the man you don’t recognize. It’s a relief when the stranger’s focus moves away from you and onto that paper. You take the opportunity to get a closer look at him.

The first word that comes to mind is sharp.

Everything about the man is sharp -- from his meticulously tailored suit to his severe jawline to the angles of his body. Intense dark eyes set in honey gold skin and black hair carefully styled off of his face. You’re caught staring when his eyes snap up from the paper and back to you.

You clear your throat, gaze darting back to your brother.

“They want you to make this go away.”

You sigh.

“I can’t do that. I don’t have that kind of authority. And besides, it would attract all the wrong kinds of attention to me and -- “ you pause, choose your next words carefully, “ -- to my ties to this organization.”

Namjoon concedes your point with a slow bob of his head.

“Right. So we have a problem,” he admits. “Because the message we’re getting is that they’re willing to do whatever it takes to get what they want. And it’s been made quite clear to me that hurting you is not off the table.”

You take in a deep breath.

“This is Jung Hoseok,” Namjoon says after a short silence, motioning to the stranger at his side. You straighten when the man acknowledges you with a barely-there bow.

“I’ve assigned him to your detail.”

“Detail,” you repeat slowly. “Like a bodyguard.”

“Exactly like that.”

“Namjoon, I -- “ you look away from the man to turn your attention back to your brother, “-- I can’t have one of your guys following me around. People are going to talk.”

“Amsaja,” he sighs, “They talk anyway.”

You bristle at his use of your childhood nickname.

You know it’s meant as an endearment but it still feels infantilizing in front of his men -- one of whom hasn’t seen you in years, one of whom knows nothing about you at all. You’re a grown woman, a successful prosecutor, and more than just Kim Namjoon’s little sister.

“Joon -- “

There is annoyance behind the way you fire off his name and one of your brother’s eyebrows lifts in warning. A silent reminder that in this room, in this building, in this realm, he is the absolute authority. You swallow back the argument on the tip of your tongue.

“Namjoon,” you start again, this time with a restrained calm. “Please. Let’s have this conversation in private.”

He drums his fingers across the surface of his wooden desk before nodding his agreement and raising a hand to motion his guards out the door. You wait until both men are gone and the heavy door to Namjoon’s office clicks shut to speak again.

“You’re putting me in a terrible position here,” you exhale. “I’ve worked so hard to -- distance myself. I can’t walk around with a reminder of my family history at my heels.”

Your brother stands from his seat and walks to an ornate sideboard, pours liquor from a heavy crystal decanter into a highball glass. He takes a slow drink before speaking.

“You are worried about your image; I’m worried about your safety. Those two concerns are not equal. Not to me.”

Your face heats at the kernel of truth in your brother’s assessment.

Certainly, it’s about how it looks, but it’s so much more than that. It’s about the life you’ve worked so hard to build away from the drama surrounding your family name. It’s about a future that depends on the burial of your past.

Namjoon leans against his heavy wooden desk, arms crossed.

“You should know me by now,” he continues. “If I thought these were empty words, I wouldn’t have bothered you with them.”

“I know that,” you admit quietly. Doesn’t make the pill any easier to swallow, though.

“Hoseok is under orders to stay with you at all times. Obviously, he won’t be physically at your side while you’re working, but he will be close by. And he will be staying at your apartment for the time being.”

You blink. “In my apartment?”

A flash of irritation crosses your brother’s face. “Yes, in your apartment. I’m privy to information you don’t have.” He takes a long drink from the highball glass. “It’s necessary until we have this situation under control.”

“I don’t know this man,” you argue, and that eyebrow lifts again at the rising heat in your tone. “Can’t you give me Yoongi or Seokjin or someone else?”

“No.”

“Thanks for considering that, Joon.”

You don’t even bother to hide your displeasure now, climbing out of the plush chair and walking over to the massive window that makes up the back wall of your brother’s office. You look down at the street. From this height, the cars below look like toys and the people look like ants.

Namjoon joins you in front of the window, drink in hand.

“I don’t want to fight with you, I want to protect you. Jung Hoseok has worked for me three years now and he spent many more years serving in the military. He is the man I want for this assignment and I need you to trust me on that, too.”

You say nothing, staring out the window and feeling suddenly exhausted. You hate everything about today -- the letter, the case, this arrangement you now have to endure. You hate that this is the first real conversation you’ve had with your brother in months and you’re locking horns.

“Okay,” you whisper after a while, reluctant to let the tension escalate. Your brother has asked so little of you since you severed ties with the Gajog -- and effectively, with him. You swallow past the taste of guilt when you turn to look him in the eye.

“I’ll play ball, Jaegyueo.”

Your brother seems to soften when you use his childhood nickname in return, shoulders relaxing as he takes another sip from the highball and looks out over the city he basically runs.

“Thank you, Amsaja.”

*************************

Hoseok

“Has she seen this?”

Hoseok stares down at the glossy photograph in his hands.

There’s little to be gleaned from the details in the picture. There are no shadows, no reflections, no personal items to give away any clues as to who took it or when.

You are asleep, one bare shoulder peeking out from underneath your plush bedding -- your hair spilling out onto your pillow. You appear blissfully unaware of the danger standing just a few feet away.

“Hell no,” Namjoon exhales. “And I would like to keep it that way. She’d probably never sleep again if she saw that shit.”

Hoseok hands the photograph back.

“I need the two of you to figure out who got into her apartment. And then I need you to bring him here.”

Namjoon doesn’t finish that train of thought -- he doesn’t have to. Hoseok and Yoongi hear clearly everything he hasn’t said.

“We’ll find him,” Yoongi vows, and Hoseok nods his agreement. “It’s gonna be handled.”

Namjoon scrubs a hand down his jaw, eyes still glued to the picture on his desk.

He’s an uncharacteristically even-tempered boss, particularly in this line of work. Seeing him this unnerved is unnerving to Hoseok, who’s seen him handle countless shitty situations with an unnatural calm.

“She’s my sister,” Namjoon says quietly. “I don’t expect any of you to understand our dynamic, but I need you to know that her safety is my top priority.”

“Understood,” Hoseok murmurs and in that moment, the heavy door to the office opens wide. Namjoon shoves the photograph into his desk drawer.

Hoseok studies you as you trail Namjoon’s assistant across the length of this massive office.

The first word that comes to mind is small.

You’re much smaller than Hoseok imagined you’d be, basing that assumption almost entirely on Namjoon’s tall and solid frame. Physically, you are nearly the opposite of your brother, delicate features set in smooth skin, any appearance of height owed directly to the high-heeled shoes you’ve carefully matched to your business suit.

Hoseok notes that you have the same stubborn set to your jaw, though -- a defense mechanism that slips momentarily when you lock eyes with your brother. He catches the brief flash of sadness in your face before you manage it away.

In the years he’s been with the Gajog, he’s only heard your name a handful of times -- almost always followed by hushed exchanges and pained expressions. Never once has anyone breathed your name in front of Namjoon, though. That appears to be an invisible line everyone understands not to cross.

But now you’re here, in the flesh. One piece of the puzzle revealed.

Hoseok watches your exchange with Namjoon with curiosity. It’s not the easy back-and-forth one would expect to see between a pair of siblings -- but there is an underlying affection between the two of you. A quiet respect.

Amsaja, Namjoon had called you. Lioness.

Hoseok doesn’t see a lioness when he looks at you, though.

He sees a rich girl desperate to prove how much better she is than her own flesh and blood. He sees a social climber so eager to make a name for herself in this city that she walked away from her own brother to make it happen.

This is the moment that Hoseok decides that you’re not the kind of person he could ever respect.

Because unlike you, he would never put ambition above loyalty.

Never.

**********************

tag list:

@yoongbug @brilliantlybasicb @lemonjoonah @illnevertrustmyselfagain@sunkissed75 @taetaewonderland @shadowhale

#hoseok smut #hoseok x reader #bts mafia #hoseok mafia au #bts tsundere #btscreatorscorner #btswriterscollective #ksmutclub #ficswithluv

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ollieofthebeholder · 4 years ago

Text

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Tumblr tag || Also on AO3.

Chapter 38: Statement of Kieran Blackwood, regarding...choice. Recorded direct from subject, twenty-fifth of March, 1997.

[CLICK]

KEEPER

When did you start using these for official statements?

GERTRUDE

If this were official, I would have you write it down. Most of the people who come in with a statement simply fill out the forms provided by the Institute.

KEEPER

So why not have me write it down? Why bother to listen?

GERTRUDE

Because I suspect that what you’re about to say would be…unwise to add to the Archives.

KEEPER

It’s not related to that statement, if that’s what you’re getting at.

GERTRUDE

I don’t think it is, no.

But I do think that, whatever it is that brought you here, it may not be something that needs to be available to everyone. I’ve begun recently making audio recordings of statements that I want my research to be…private, shall we say?

KEEPER

Or we could say “secret”.

GERTRUDE

(heh) Fair enough. Any live statements that I feel could be…useful, to myself or my successor if need be, go on the tapes as well. In this case, I suspect it may be both.

KEEPER

You may not be wrong.

GERTRUDE

Besides. I don’t know that I’ve ever had another…devotee of one of the Powers walk in off the street and offer me a statement. Call it curiosity.

KEEPER

I can certainly assuage that, Trudy.

GERTRUDE

Don’t call me that.

KEEPER

Sorry. Occupational hazard.

I’m sure you know how that goes by now.

GERTRUDE

I suppose I do.

Statement of Kieran Blackwood, regarding…

KEEPER

Choice.

GERTRUDE

Recorded direct from subject, twenty-fifth of March, 1997. Where would you like to start?

KEEPER

At the beginning, I suppose.

KEEPER (STATEMENT)

As long as there have been lighthouses in England and Ireland, there’s been a Blackwood manning at least one, probably dating back to the Dover Castle in Kent and leading all the way down to my father. My earliest memory is of him holding me as we stood on the railing, the beacon flashing across the night-darkened sea, keeping safe any ships that might be sailing by. He took his responsibility seriously, and so did I. I remember telling my best mate, a boy whose family lived next door to where Ma and I lived, that I was going to be a keeper myself one day. He asked how I knew, and I told him it was what we Blackwoods always did.

I told Dad that, too, and he took me on his knee and explained a few things. He said the Blackwoods had always been lighthouse keepers, not because we wanted to, but because we had to. He said I was going to be starting school in the fall and that I was a bright lad, so I’d have choices he never had. He told me he wanted me to do the best I could, and that when the time came, I could choose to be a keeper if I wanted, but it had to be my choice.

He died that winter. There was a bad ice storm, and while he was scraping the glass clear, he forgot to shield his eyes when the light came around. It blinded him, and he lost his balance and fell. Hit the rocks at the base. They found him washed up on shore the next morning. Ma took poorly and was in bed for a few days when we got the news, and I went to stay with my best mate until she could get up, but she never quite recovered. I was afraid Ma would want to move back to Ireland where her family was, but she said we had roots too deep in the Bournemouth soil to leave it now. Wasn’t until years later that I found out how little money we had—we couldn’t afford to leave. Then again, if Grandmother hadn’t left us her house, we wouldn’t have been able to afford to stay.

I still wanted to be a lighthouse keeper, but by the time I was ready for the eleven-plus, I knew I couldn’t. For one thing, Ma got into hysterics any time I mentioned it—like it would somehow be more dangerous than anything else I could have done, just because it killed Dad—but for another, they were beginning to automate lighthouses by then. Every year there were fewer and fewer jobs, and I’d have been lucky to get one. My grades were all right, but I knew I wouldn’t pass any of the tests needed to be a keeper.

If I couldn’t do that, I decided, I’d do something on the sea. My best mate and I used to play at pirates some when we were little, and we talked about doing that, but of course you couldn’t really do that. We thought about the Navy, too, but we agreed that whatever we would do, we would do it together. By the time we were sixteen, though, I knew I wouldn’t make him. He was smart, top of our class. I barely scraped by with a pass. So we made another deal, him and I. I’d go into trade, learn to sail, to fish, and he’d go on with his education, get a degree in business. Together, we’d build our own fishing company, go out together. Someday, we said, we’d have our own business, a business we could hand down to our sons if we wanted, if they wanted.

I found a job with a fishing crew. Deep-sea stuff, extended voyages. The money was good, so I could take care of Ma and save up a bit, too. And winters were my own, so I could spend them at home. I was a bit of an outcast among the crew, though, and not just because of my age. Even when they were together, they were silent and…distant. The captain was one of the owner’s sons, so of course he was too high and mighty to talk to any of us, but I always felt like he was…watching me. Like I’d disappointed him, even though I did everything right. I felt sometimes like I was the only one with connections on shore—not just Ma, but Walt. We were right close. Looking back…there might’ve been more there than we ever admitted, but it just wasn’t done.

Then I met Liliana.

Walt introduced us. Actually, he was just starting to date Sarah at the time and they needed a fourth for dinner, so Sarah invited her along. I won’t say it was love at first sight…truth be told, I won’t say there was ever love. I’m still not sure Lily’s actually capable of feeling positive emotions towards other people, to be honest. But we had some of the same interests, then. We both liked to dance, we liked the same books, the same foods. She introduced me to her father just before I went out that year, and the old boy and I hit it off, so when I got back in the winter we started keeping company again.

Ma died in January, and Lily came to the funeral, which I appreciated. The four of us got a bit drunk that night, and…well. I was getting ready for the next salmon run when she told me she was in the family way. I was just considering my options when Walt called and asked if I thought the crew could use another sailor, because Sarah was expecting, too. He was leaving school immediately—they needed the money.

I—I couldn’t let him join the crew. It felt like a waste, and I knew he’d want to be there for Sarah and the baby…and I kind of hoped he’d be there for Lily and mine, too, since I couldn’t be. Besides…something about Captain Lukas gave me the creeps. I wouldn’t willingly subject anyone I loved to to that. Luckily, my father-in-law had just mentioned to me that he needed a general handyman about the place. The pay was just as good, and Lily and I had made our home base not far away, so it seemed perfect. We had a quick double wedding, and I went out with the fishing run.

She gave birth right after I got home. We were a bit early back that year, come to think of it, but at the time it never occurred to me that there was anything odd about that; we’d hit quota, that was all. I didn’t love Lily, I told you that, but my God, when that doctor laid the baby in my arms and told me “it’s a boy”, I fell in love then and there. Walt’s boy was born about a month later. There’s a picture somewhere of the two of us, sitting on Alastair’s porch, rocking a pair of sleeping babes and talking.

At least, I hope it still exists somewhere. Brings me comfort thinking it does.

Walt died right when he said he would, three weeks before the fishing run started. The three of us went to the funeral, but Sarah screamed at Alastair before it even started. Accused him of killing her husband.

GERTRUDE

I can’t imagine—

KEEPER

Oh, it wasn’t. Complete accident. The old man wasn’t even home at the time, he’d taken the boys to a science exhibition of some kind. And I’m the one who found him, come to that. Sarah was just hurting and needed someone to blame. But it ended with her ordering us to leave. The look on Walt’s boy’s face when I pried mine away from him and said we had to go is one that still comes to me when I’m having trouble sleeping.

KEEPER (STATEMENT)

My boy and I got a lot closer after that. That boy was my world. My light. The beacon that drew me back to shore. I started calling him Wickie before he could talk. Lily hated that nickname, but then, she hated a lot of things.

She—she wasn’t strong. I don’t mean her health, necessarily, although I know it was a hard pregnancy and that’s when her troubles started. I mean her mind. It was so—easy for her to give into despair. We’d never been close, but we got further and further apart every year. We’d probably have fought more often than we did, but I wouldn’t put Wickie through that. Instead, I’d absent myself. That didn’t help.

Plans. Choices. They never go the way we mean them to.

I gave it one last chance, and it’s one I’ll probably regret to my dying day. The Lukases have a Christmas gala every year, but you have to be an officer on a vessel or serve fifteen voyages before you get an invitation. Suppose it’s to make sure you’re loyal enough to deserve it, but maybe it’s also to make sure you know the rules. I don’t know. The year Wickie turned eight was my fifteenth year with the crew, so I got the invite. It included the whole family. Lily was actually enthusiastic about it, but…she didn’t want to bring Wickie. Said he wouldn’t behave. I—I’m the one that insisted on giving him the choice. Of course he said he wanted to come.

I wish I hadn’t let him.

There were no other children there. That should have been my first clue something was wrong. None of the other sailors even had spouses or sweethearts. I was the only person besides the Lukases themselves who actually brought my family. Maybe the only one who had a family to bring.

I talked Lily into a dance or two. We used to like it, once, and for a song or two it seemed like we’d got back…well. It didn’t last. She said she was tired and wanted a drink. I found her a seat at a table where she and someone from the shipping side of the company could ignore each other and went to fetch her something, and I was looking around for Wickie. I—I found him, eventually. He was off to one side, looking scared, looking…lost. One of the Lukases—Peter—was talking to him. He seemed perfectly friendly, but I could see the fog rolling off him, threatening to engulf my boy. Didn’t seem to be anyone else who could see it, or maybe everyone was just ignoring it. He reached forward to tuck a curl behind Wickie’s ear, and the fog curled that much closer.

I admit I had a bit of a reputation for fighting when I was in school. Never unprovoked, mind you, but…well, between the fact that I was half-Irish and the fact that my best mate was darker than some people liked, I got in my share. I don’t have a temper, but I do have a protective streak a mile wide, and I’m not above acting on it.

As you might imagine, breaking your boss’s son’s nose isn’t exactly the sort of thing that looks good to your employers. I got Wickie and Lily and we left then. Took me the better part of the next week to convince Wickie it wasn’t his fault I’d got in a fight, but it rather put a damper on our Christmas. At the beginning of January, I got a rather terse letter from the Lukases telling me I’d not be welcomed back to the crew.

I…I didn’t tell Lily. I certainly didn’t tell Wickie. Lily was starting to get sick, I couldn’t have told you what it was, but we needed an income and now all we were getting was the bit she picked up at the tailor’s when they needed her. I was desperate to try and come up with something, anything, but nobody was hiring. I swear to you I was about three days away from coming to you and asking if you’d take on a new assistant when there was a knock on our front door one foggy night.

(heh) The fog should have been the clue, really, but it wasn’t, and like a fool, I opened the door. Peter Lukas was standing there. I almost shut the door in his face, but he told me he felt bad about me losing my post on the crew. Said my boy deserved better than an unemployed father, and he was there with an offer. Against my better judgment, I listened.

His family owned a lighthouse, he said. One it was important to keep lit, but just then it was without a keeper. He wanted to offer me the position.

I didn’t believe what I was hearing for a minute. The idea of actually getting my childhood dream after all…and from someone I had every reason to hate? I knew there had to be a catch, so I asked, and I was right. Peter told me it was a stag station, meaning no families; Wickie and his mother would have to stay.

I—I laughed. I asked him how big a fool I thought he was. I’d already told him once to stay away from my boy, and if I wasn’t there, what was to stop him from going after him? Peter took the contract out of his pocket and showed me a clause that explicitly said he would stay away from my son, as long as I kept the light. He gave me the paperwork and told me to think it over, and if I was interested, to sign it and send it back and it would all be taken care of, but warned me I’d have to leave by the time the season started.

That night, with Lily and Wickie both asleep upstairs, I read over that contract with a fine-toothed comb. It all seemed airtight. The pay was decent, enough to keep up with Lily’s medical bills at least, and the tasks were exactly what I would have expected. It wasn’t until I got to those last clauses that I realized what the catch was. It explicitly stated that the Lukases would stay away from Wickie as long as I held the position—but it also stated that I had to do the same. Should either one of us break the taboo and talk to him, it would be fair game for the other to do the same.

I didn’t have much time to think about it. The season was only a week away. I thought about asking Alastair, but I knew what he’d say—not to have anything to do with anyone tied to those things. He’d never been thrilled I worked for the Lukases anyway, but at least before I’d had some distance. This was…worse, somehow. I thought about taking Wickie and absconding in the night, but—but I couldn’t do that. He’s smart, Trudy, he can do so much, and I knew if we were on the run he’d lose so many opportunities.

There was only one choice, in the end. I signed the contract and mailed it off.

The night I left was the night I would normally have left for the fishing run, so I just…let Wickie think that was where I was going. Went through our usual routine. We had alphabet soup and cherry preserves for dinner, then I tucked him in and sang the old sea shanty I always sang the night before I left, to put him to sleep. Once he was asleep, I went downstairs to talk to Lily.

I won’t repeat the things I said to her. Suffice it to say I made sure she knew I wouldn’t be back, and…I let her believe that it was what she’d accused me of before. That I was leaving because of her, because I didn’t want to deal with her and her issues anymore. I left that night knowing I’d well and truly burned that bridge behind me.

Peter Lukas met me at the docks. We didn’t speak. Ignoring all the ships preparing to go out, we went down to the shore and began to walk, silently, until all others had faded away and it was just us, the sand, the waves, and the grey of the pre-dawn sky. And then…there was a door. An old oak door with a brass knob, supported by no structure, standing on the beach and waiting. Peter stopped, pointed at it, and said, simply, “The door to the Light.”

I didn’t ask questions. The time for questions was past. It was my last chance to choose differently…but even if I hadn’t signed that contract, I don’t think I could have chosen to do other than what I did. I shouldered my bag, took a deep breath, and strode through the door.

And I took up my duties as the Keeper of the Light.

It has no name. It needs no name. It’s just…the Light. Fifteen feet in diameter, made of brown stone, it stands on a mountain overlooking, not the sea, but a desert. A vast, impenetrable desert, with nothing as far as the eye can see. The beacon it shines over this desert is not white, but red, bathing the sands periodically in light the color of blood.

The first day I was there, I did an inventory. There were all the things I remembered my father having when I was a wee nipper, things I only vaguely remembered the purpose of, but I knew I’d learn quickly. I’d been told the light would be fully equipped at all times, and it was. The oil was full, there were plenty of fresh wicks, and all the tools were in perfect working order. There was a single bed, big enough for a single man to sleep, although not particularly comfortably. There was a table with one chair. There was one plate, one bowl, one cup, one fork and spoon and knife. The cupboards, I had been assured, were fully provisioned, but I wasn’t yet hungry, so I went to look at the rest of the light.

There were no windows, but there were pictures on almost every wall, each one framed in a different frame. Each picture looked like it was a windowpane, which I thought odd. Then I looked in one, and I couldn’t hold back a gasp. It was a window all right, and one I knew. It was looking into Wickie’s bedroom. I could see him, as clearly as if I was right there, hair rumpled with sleep, looking absolutely devastated. Lily was standing there, too, holding a picture in one hand. I think it was the photograph of the two of us he keeps on his nightstand. She must have been taking it away.

It hurt. I looked away and went to look at another picture. There was a little boy in it, looking—terrified. Upset. Like he wanted to cry or scream but didn’t know if he was allowed. He was reaching a hand out towards a house, where a young man was looking into an open door. He looked like something inside had caught him off-guard, and—something dark, something inside, was reaching out like it was going to grab him. There were cobwebs in all the corners, but they were part of the picture.

For a moment, I didn’t know why it was there—but then I gasped again. I recognized the boy, or thought I did. It looked like Walt, exactly like Walt had at that age. Then—then I saw the eyes. Walt’s eyes were blue, a bright, bright blue that outshone the ocean. This boy’s were a warm and guileless brown. Like Sarah’s. This was Walt’s boy.

The pictures aren’t static. They aren’t of things that were. I realized that as the days, weeks, went on. They change from time to time. I’ll see Wickie working away on his knitting, or Walt’s boy curled up with a book, or one of them standing outside and looking at the sky. It lets me…keep an eye on them, I suppose. But it aches. It’s the ache of separation and loneliness. I can’t look at them too often.

The only place to see out is from the railing around the light. It looks out over the desert, and from there, I can see everything. Doors appear periodically, more old oak doors with brass knobs supported by no structures. They never last long. Sometimes people stumble through them, and then the doors disappear. The people wander the desert. Their paths cross all the time, or go alongside one another, but they never talk, they never see. Each person in the desert believes themselves to be alone.

I can hear them sometimes. I hear them talking, desperately reaching out. They’re all looking for someone, all missing someone. They run for the doors when they see them, but they don’t always make it, and they don’t always see them. I wondered about those doors, about where they led…at first.

Three months in, I found out.

I was doing a perimeter check of the lighthouse, around midday. A door appeared, just in front of me. I walked closer to it, and it didn’t move. For me, the doors stay. I hesitated, then grasped the knob and opened it. The room beyond was dark, the hands of the clock indicating it to be later in the evening than I knew it to be where I was. Time doesn’t move the same way there, I supposed. Then I realized where I was. I was in Wickie’s bedroom. He was curled up asleep, having a nightmare, poor thing. I wanted to go over and comfort him. I’d actually taken half a step over the threshold when I stopped, when I remembered.

Choices.

I had the choice to go in, to see my boy, to hold him and let him know I loved him and would never stop. But if I did—if I do—then Peter Lukas can get at him. He’s so young, I know the—I know they don’t normally go for children, but…I worry. I can’t risk opening that door.

They keep appearing. More and more frequently. And now…the more attuned I am to the Light, the more I know what I’ll find on the other side. And it’s hard not to go through.

I can redirect them. Sometimes. Or maybe I can just open another one. One every…well. To me it’s one a year. But that’s the thing. As I said, time doesn’t move the same way in the desert that it does everywhere else. It’s been about a year, as far as you’re concerned, since I signed that contract and took the job. For me? It’s been more like ten. But I can a door and let it take me wherever I want. I’ve done it when the temptation is too strong. The last time was Christmas. (sighs) Wickie started in chorus this year. His first concert…I could have gone. Could have stayed in the back of the room, maybe, and just listened, just seen him. But what constitutes contact, what violates the contract? I couldn’t risk it. So I did the next best thing. I opened a door and went to Bournemouth and saw Walt’s boy. Didn’t talk, didn’t tell him who I was. Just stood on the shore next to him for a while. I wanted to…but I didn’t.

I don’t even know if he remembers. I couldn’t hurt him by giving him more memories. That would just make the loneliness worse when I did leave.

GERTRUDE

And you used one of these doors to come here.

KEEPER

That I did.

GERTRUDE

Why?

KEEPER

Thought you’d want to know. Honestly, I half didn’t expect to see you here. I assumed I’d have to wait for you, but your assistant—what was his name? The one that looks like he’s about twelve?

GERTRUDE

Michael.

KEEPER

Michael, aye. He told me you were in. Suppose it gets down to time being weird again.

How was it?

GERTRUDE

How was…what?

KEEPER

The funeral.

…You did go, didn’t you? Come on, Trudy, I know you’re all about keeping your past away from your present, but—

GERTRUDE

Don’t call me that. What are you talking about? What funeral?

KEEPER

Gertrude. What was Tuesday?

GERTRUDE

…My God.

KEEPER

Aye.

Lily wouldn’t be pleased to see me. Or you, for that matter. But Wickie…Lily’s making it all about herself, I’m sure. You know how she can be. I just…I hoped if I gave you my statement, you’d at least look in on him for me.

At least make sure he’s okay.

GERTRUDE

I…I’ll see what I can do.

[CLICK]

———

[CLICK]

GERTRUDE

Final thoughts.

Well. I…I don’t know what to think. This is…useful information to have regarding the Lonely. And I’ll certainly be on the lookout for any old oak doors with brass fittings. But as for the rest…

I checked. Alastair Koskiewicz’s funeral was today, and I believe I have missed it. But I may be able to at least pay my respects. I will have to be discreet if I do. Lily made it very clear she wants nothing to do with me, and I have done my best to respect that. And I know I am…observed more often than I would like. The last thing I want is to draw anyone’s attention to Martin.

I don’t think I should tell him who I am.

And, since the Keeper’s statement mentioned it…I listened to Walter Sims’ statement again, and the dates he gave for both his own death and Alastair’s match exactly. I believe I will make one last attempt at reaching out to the Stoker family, especially now that Daniel will have been born. Perhaps they’ll be more likely to listen now. I don’t know what precautions they can take, but…they should (heh) at least have the choice. At the very least, perhaps they’ll be prepared when the time comes.

[CLICK]

———

[CLICK]

[STUNNED SILENCE, BROKEN ONLY BY THE SOUNDS OF SOMEONE—PROBABLY PAST MARTIN—STRUGGLING NOT TO CRY]

TIM

…Fuck.

PAST ARCHIVIST

I-I didn’t…I had no…oh, God.

PAST MARTIN

(tearfully) W-Walter Sims…was—was that—?

PAST ARCHIVIST

My father.

He—I never knew he—gave a statement. Or that he…

Was that the grandfather you told us about?

PAST MARTIN

Yeah.

[PAST MARTIN MAKES A SOUND—A LAUGH? A SOB? BOTH?]

Guess that explains the cherry thing, huh?

PAST ARCHIVIST

(softly) I guess so.

TIM

So—hah, so you two knew each other?

PAST MARTIN

I-I mean, we were two. That was…that was a long time ago. I didn’t—

PAST ARCHIVIST

No. Neither did I, I—

[FABRIC RUSTLES, A STARTLED “OOMPH” FROM SOMEONE WHO CLEARLY WASN’T EXPECTING AN ATTACK HUG]

PAST MARTIN

Sorry, I’m so sorry, I—

PAST ARCHIVIST

No, Martin, it’s not your fault, it’s—it’s not your fault.

It’s not your fault.

TIM

That statement…your dad’s statement. Do—do you think it’s…in here somewhere?

PAST ARCHIVIST

I don’t—I don’t know.

Basira, she, she said she got as many as she could. There might be some that—I don’t know, Tim.

PAST MARTIN

(uncertainly) W-we could—we could look?

PAST ARCHIVIST

Yes. Yes, if—if you could do that, that would…

I’m sorry. I-I need to—I’ll be right back.

TIM

Jon. Be careful, okay?

PAST ARCHIVIST

I’m just going outside. I’ll be fine.

[CLICK]

———

[CLICK]

[MUFFLED SOUNDS OF THE STREET]

PAST ARCHIVIST

(muttering to himself) …won’t be sensible…I know he worries, they both do. Last thing I need to do is make that worse, but God, after that—

BREEKON

‘Scuse us.

HOPE

Jonathan Sims?

PAST ARCHIVIST

Yeah, wh—? Oh, sh—

[THE PAST ARCHIVIST WHEEZES AND COUGHS AS THE WIND IS KNOCKED OUT OF HIM]

BREEKON

Miss Orsinov wants to see you.

HOPE

Says she changed her mind.

PAST ARCHIVIST

No, please, I—

[VAN DOOR SLIDES OPEN, A LOUD THUNK AS THE PAST ARCHIVIST IS SHOVED INSIDE]

[DOORS CLOSE AND ENGINE STARTS]

PAST ARCHIVIST

Oh, God.

[CLICK]

———

[CLICK]

[HIGH HEELS CLICKING ACROSS A HARDWOOD FLOOR]

ELIAS/JONAH

Ah—Sasha.

[FOOTSTEPS STOP]

SASHA

Yes?

ELIAS/JONAH

Coming back from lunch?

SASHA

…Yes?

ELIAS/JONAH

I’m a bit busy today, so I don’t really have time to get down to the Archives. Please let Tim and Martin know that Jon will be out for a few days.

SASHA

…Sure.

Is…everything all right?

ELIAS/JONAH

Perfectly.

I just have something I need for him to do. It might take some time. I’m sure he’ll explain everything when he gets back, but meanwhile, do make sure your colleagues stay on task, will you? No doubt you have a lot to work on.

SASHA

Yeah, of course. We’ll keep things running smoothly while he’s gone.

ELIAS/JONAH

Thank you, Sasha. I knew I could count on you.

(under his breath) Reliable old Sasha.

SASHA

…Thank you.

[FOOTSTEPS RESUME, CHANGE TO A SLIGHTLY MORE HOLLOW SOUND AS IF SOMEONE IS WALKING DOWN STEPS, SLOW TO A STOP]

[SOUND OF NUMBERS BEING DIALED ON A PHONE]

[THREE TONES]

AUTOMATED INTERCEPT MESSAGE

The number you have reached is not currently in service. Please hang up and try again.

SASHA

Shit.

[CLICK]

#ollie writes fanfic #leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall)#tma #the magnus archives #the formatting's better on AO3 #isolation tw #gaslighting tw #loneliness tw #kidnapping tw

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hanofearl · 4 years ago

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Burn Resources, Get Money

While having a business plan on hand at all times may seem cliché, it is actually the mark of an efficient and well-thought-out business. Business owners who do not have a business plan can often be stumped when put in an impromptu networking situation. They also may cause their business to fail because they have no direction where they want to go or no plan for how to get where they are going. A business plan is essential to the success of your business because it determines how various resources should be allocated and enables strategy in interpersonal settings.

Spend Wisely and the Rewards are Mighty

Businesses always come with budgets and it is the responsibility of the business owner to determine how the budget should be spent to obtain various types of assets. These decisions can be difficult, but spending money wisely can result in positive growth for the business. However, unwise decisions can lead to heavy losses to the business and even can result in business failure. Having a business plan can help determine what are wise investments and what are wastes of money.

For example, having a business plan can help determine if the business needs to hire new people to help run the business[1]. Whether it’s a personal assistant or an accountant or another professional to lend their services to the business, it’s important to be able to attract people with talents and skills that the business owner or other employees don’t already have[2]. It diversifies your business and grows the business’s potential[3]. The business plan allows for easier determination if hiring help is cost-effective or is a waste of resources.

Another resource that needs to be invested in wisely is renting office space. Rent is a financial obligation that is often fixed and can be a financial drain if the space isn’t used[4]. It may be more financially prudent to buy instead of lease. The business plan helps determine how much your business has the potential to grow and if investing in space is worth the financial risk[5].

Networking Events are Strategic Social Interactions

The idea of networking may seem daunting to the new business owner. It may seem like a forced and manipulative way to talk to friends and family. Or it may be hard to remember the reasons someone should invest in the business on the fly. However, networking is essential to business growth. A business plan allows for ease in talking with friends, family, lenders, and investors about why they should care about the business.

The act of starting an independent business can be scary for friends and family. They will want to know exactly what the direction is, how the business is going to get there, and if there are contingencies for things going wrong. All these concerns can be assuaged easily if there is a business plan[6]. It provides an easy way to answer all these questions and can also calm personal anxieties about the business by being a reminder that there is a plan and it’s not all unknown[7].

Having a business plan on hand sets anxious feelings investors and lenders can have as well. Investors and money lenders are essential because they help get the business off the ground and help it grow to reach more clients. They need to know how risky investing in this business is and what are the advantages of investing in this business[8]. A business plan prepares for addressing these issues intelligently and honestly, which helps grow the business[9].

How to Be A Wise Spender and Strategically Social

These skills are hard to learn, but ultimately extremely rewarding in the end. As a freelance typesetter and book designer, I have a unique skill set that will help me have a successful business. There are not as many freelance typesetters as there are freelance copyeditors. My plan is to use purchased resources and networking to grow my business so it can sustain my lifestyle during grad school in the way a part-time job would.

There are quite a few purchasable resources that I will need to have to have a successful business. Firstly, I will continue my subscription to the Adobe Creative Cloud, which is approximately $32 a month. While this may seem expensive to some, it is an essential resource for typesetting and book design. Having a Creative Cloud subscription gives me access to InDesign and Adobe’s vast array of fonts and other free resources. It is also industry standard to use the Creative Cloud, so I need it to remain competitive with other freelancers. Secondly, I plan on selectively investing in fonts when I find ones that I like enough to reuse multiple times. This will be a rare purchase, due to the wide variety of Adobe fonts, but it may sometimes be necessary. I will need to be especially judicious when buying fonts. Lastly, I will probably invest in some kind of website subscription so I can display my design portfolio effectively. I will have to ruminate for a long time about this, since there are some free website building platforms that are good. I may want to save money, but I also may want to look more professional by spending money on my own domain name. All these decisions need to be taken into consideration with great care, especially since I currently don’t have a constant source of income.

Networking will also be essential to building my freelancing business. I know a few people heavily involved in the small publishing scene in Utah, so I will let them know I am open for business and will post on the Facebook groups for networking that I am on. I also have a couple contacts in the New York book publishing scene, so I will reach out to them and find out if they know of any online freelancing communities that I can join. Additionally, I will also probably become that annoying person on social media that posts all the time about my small business. I may need to create social media pages separate from my art accounts just so it doesn’t get too confusing for any of my followers. I am uncomfortable when I feel like I am manipulating my friends, but I am going to have to do these things to be a competitive freelancer.

Conclusion

The business plan allows for business growth by determining how resources should be allocated and aiding in interpersonal business practices. A business needs to have potential to grow to succeed in the market. If there is no potential for growth, the business is essentially dead in the water. There will be no investors, no clients, and no hope at explaining bankruptcy to friends and family. A business plan is essential for success.

Bibliography

Berry, Tim. “15 Reasons You Need a Business Plan.” Entrepreneur. March 13, 2006. https://www.entrepreneur.com/article/83818.

Now from Nationwide. “What is the Importance of a Business Plan?” September 19, 2019. https://blog.nationwide.com/importance-of-a-business-plan/.

Nunn, Les, and Brian McGuire, “The Importance Of A Good Business Plan.” Journal of Business & Economics Research, vol. 8 no. 2 (2010) 95-106.

[1] Tim Berry. “15 Reasons You Need a Business Plan,” Entrepreneur, March 13, 2006. https://www.entrepreneur.com/article/83818.

[2] “What is the Importance of a Business Plan?” Now from Nationwide, September 19, 2019. https://blog.nationwide.com/importance-of-a-business-plan/.

[3] Nationwide, “What is the Importance…”

[4] Berry, “15 Reasons…”

[5] Berry, “15 Reasons…”

[6] Berry, “15 Reasons…”

[7] Les Nunn and Brian McGuire, “The Importance Of A Good Business Plan,” Journal of Business & Economics Research, vol. 8 no. 2 (2010) 95-106.

[8] Nunn, “The Importance…”

[9] Nunn, “The Importance…”

#editing #business plan #editing and publishing #researched writing

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imaginariumpod · 5 years ago

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For the defense of slowing down: a study of slowness in cinema.

Leisure - Poem by William Henry Davies

What is this life if, full of care,

We have no time to stand and stare.

No time to stand beneath the boughs

And stare as long as sheep or cows.

No time to see, when woods we pass,

Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.

No time to see, in broad daylight,

Streams full of stars, like skies at night.

No time to turn at Beauty's glance,

And watch her feet, how they can dance.

No time to wait till her mouth can

Enrich that smile her eyes began.

A poor life this is if, full of care,

We have no time to stand and stare.

For the defense of slowing down: a study of slowness in cinema.

This article is one that I have been meaning to write for a while and that is very important to me in a lot of ways, but also I feel like with the amount of people staying at home and who have had to slow down their pace of life one way or another in the past months, it just feels oddly relevant. A lot of people have been forced to ease the pace of their lives, and have had the time, maybe for the first time in years, to spend on things they couldn’t before. People who have been trying to take care of themselves in any way they can, by maybe learning how to cook or bake bread, maybe finally having the time to just take a nap and not feel any guilt because they aren’t productive.

This might be more personal than usual because I feel like I really do need to put this subject in perspective to myself first, and then in perspective to the general context and climate that is shaping our world. We live in a culture where productivity is valued more than anything, where you are expected to go above and beyond, and to run yourself to the ground in the pursuit of success, of money, of efficiency. If you don't have a side project or four, it might feel like you are a bit of a failure because don’t you know you have to take advantage of every opportunities out there to make a name for yourself ? This hustle culture that is becoming predominant everywhere, but especially in western culture, is definitely a byproduct of capitalism in a way it never have been seen before. You only have to take a look in the self-help section of a bookshop or a library to feel exhausted : The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People, The Power of Habit: Why We Do What We Do in Life and Business, or Ready for Anything: 52 Productivity Principles for Getting Things Done.

While I think being a hardworking person and trying to be productive in order to achieve your goals, there’s definitely a point where it’s too much for one person to handle, and when this constant stress of needing to be successful all the time and to always go above and beyond what is needed becomes a societal expectation placed on all of us, that’s when it becomes dangerous. There’s a certain climate that is saying that we need to be constantly productive to be valuable to the system, or else, what is the point of you existing.

And my friends. the only point is you being alive. And being content. and that’s what matters in the end.

The point isn’t to further a corporation’s agenda, the point isn't to exhaust yourself trying to play the game of a system that is designed to fail you. The point is that, maybe, someday, you wake up a bit earlier than usual, and you drink your tea in a world that is still quiet and peaceful. The point is, maybe that you feel safe, that you feel content, that you feel loved, and you have the time to just breathe.

And to just be.

Take a breath.

So most of my friends know this, but I feel like I need to share this to give my proper perspective on this subject. Before finishing my Bachelor’s degree in Art History, I had previously done two years in architectural design. It seemed like a good idea at the time, it was a creative endeavor that seemed fulfilling and yet also a smart move practically speaking. I wanted to be able to find a job after finishing university, and maybe continuing on to grad school to eventually become an architect. That was the initial plan when I was 20 and started university. Fresh-eyed, full of hope and determination.

Those two years were a nightmare.

To sum up really quickly, I was so stressed and anxious, I ended up having constant panic attacks and breakdowns for a whole month, every single day of that month, which made me take the difficult decision to give up on that degree. I had an actual burnout before my 22nd birthday and had to take a full year off to recover from this.

I think it’s then, that I truly was hit by how dangerous fatigue and exhaustion could end up being, both mentally and physically. How, when pushed by the constant pressure to perform and to catch up to a standard that keeps rising, and to a speed that keeps getting faster and faster, one is bound to crack at some point. The stress and anxiety that this puts on people can easily get to be too much to handle. That year off, being forced to slow down, to reconnect with myself and with who I am and with what I wanted from life really was one of the most beneficial things to me and I just wanted to give a bit of my story to make you understand where I am personally coming from, when it comes to slowing down, and to slowing the pace of life. Unfortunately, most of us have a story that resembles this in some way shape or form. I know I was incredibly lucky to be able to take that year off, and it's a privilege many of us might not be able to have.

So this is why I think i can say, that for a lot of us, we are just tired. We are so tired. I know I am exhausted. Life can just be so tiring, there’s this really fine line between being productive and having an active life and being run to the ground. It’s a fine line that a lot of us thread, and it can get overwhelming very easily. Indeed, «life has become fast-paced, as people try to live up to these expectations. Yet, while many people might be materially affluent, their quality of life and work-life balance are often unsatisfactory, and potentially lead to stress and burnout (Schor, 1998).» I feel that especially for the current modern life experience, a lot of us can relate to that, in ways it may not have been felt before in previous generations. Time has always been precious, but it just feels like there’s never enough hours in the day to be able to finish all the things you want to do.

The luxury of time. Time to do nothing.

It might seem that we have more time, but «that free time is used to cram more activities into the day and to travel further to work». Which means that we are all trying to manage to do everything at once, whether it’s working, and trying to continue learning, and needing to keep yourself in shape, and to keep your space clean, and also needing to keep a social life, and sleeping well, and etc and etc. It feels like you always have to do this and that and the list of expectations and goals to meet is never ending and constantly adding up. Indeed, «it is not just free time that people desire, but more time for meaningful things». You are just one person, and there’s only so much one can do before it gets to be too overwhelming. And in those moments, I think it’s important to just. Take a deep breath and Slow down.

We need rest. we need fulfillment. I think there’s a lot of disenchantment toward modern life, by the dream that have been sold to us since we were young. Just work harder and you’ll make it. Work more hours, do more things, put yourself out there, run yourself ragged to the ground and then you will finally get what you deserve (money ! fame ! success ! love ! Family ! Friends! ) and yet all we have is exhaustion and stress and anxiety and pain. I think this whole context has made it so that there’s a resurgence lately of an appreciation for slower media, whether we are talking about movies, books or something else.

I think it can be really interesting to mention the newest Animal Crossing game (Animal Crossing : New Horizons) that has been played by a lot of people since its release, which has been considered like «the video game equivalent of a relaxing getaway — and we could all use that kind of respite right now.» Those kind of slower paced games where you have to build your own life and take care of a city, village or, in this case, island (slow-life simulation games) let players exerce control in their island in a way they feel they might not be able to in their own live. This is a very wholesome game that players can get really engrossed into, and that can provide them with much needed relief and escapism from the troubles of real life, when things get really hard. Those type of games also need you to take things slowly, one step at a time, which I think is very interesting when we think about low-stress sources of entertainment.

«In this, the game forces you to take it one day at a time. You can bypass this by "time traveling," or setting your Switch system clock ahead of time to advance quicker than the game intends for you to, but this isn't how it's meant to be played. You're supposed to feel a sense of slow, but meaningful progression throughout the course of your island adventure, and artificial time changes take away from that»

I could also mention the growing popularity of the cottagecore aesthetic on various social platforms such as tumblr, Instagram and twitter. While being predominantly a visual and aesthetic trend, cottagecore does reflect a growing desire by younger people in their teens and early 20s to have simpler and slower life. Dreams of just living in a tiny house, with maybe a vegetable patch, and all of the time in the world to just bask in the sun. As «[a]n obvious backlash to the hustle culture embodied by Fiverr ads, cottagecore attempts to assuage burnout with a languid enjoyment of life’s mundane tasks.» This aesthetic trend then seems an answer to the growing consumerism and rapid pace of life.

This seems like an unattainable fantasy to most of us, which is why I think a lot of people have been gravitating toward those aesthetics and ways of thinking and living. «It’s a romanticised idea that we could leave behind all the stress and craziness in our lives to go live off-the-grid, where emails can’t reach us and our only task is baking bread or making jam. » I know this isn’t something that everyone longs for, but to me, this sounds like a dream and something that seems like a distant hope. I do wish I could take some time off in a small cottage or mediterranean house, maybe not forever, but maybe spend a few months with the freedom of having the time to myself and using that time the way I desire. Just so one can breathe, reconnect with oneself and have enough energy to keep moving on. «Cottagecore is the perfect escape, it’s soothing and calming but it’s also relatively attainable. Maybe we can’t all go live in a cabin in the woods, wearing nothing but flowy dresses while tending to our garden of wildflowers. But we can learn to cross stitch, we can bake bread, we can buy some watercolours, we can have a picnic in our backyard.»

I am always so anxious about so many things and the only thing I want at any given moment is to have a small house and no responsibilities greater than doing the groceries and watering the plants in my garden. I think that life has gotten very hard and difficult to handle, what with the climate crisis, the political unstableness, the economical unstableness, the rise of the alt-right, and now the whole global pandemic going on, it’s easy to understand why people would feel drawn toward comforting things : « Rebecca Jennings ties a push for coziness in branding (and trends like cottagecore) to the feeling that "things are bad, and people are anxious about whatever ongoing horrors are metabolizing in geopolitics, the environment, and capitalism." »

I want to be safe financially and fulfilled. I want to have the time and space to do the things I really want to achieve instead of giving my time away to a system that does not care about me.

I want to have the calm of heart that I have lost years ago and that I yearn to regain.

nostalgia & aesthetic

There's an aesthetic of nostalgia that is really present in a lot of slow living content and slow media. I don't think ANY of us want to go back in time where things weren’t better for any of us unless you maybe are a white straight cis man, and even then.... In my opinion, slow living and wanting to slow down is not a rejection of technology or modernity in itself, but inherently a rejection of capitalism. You do not have to be productive to be valuable, and to be deserving of happiness, of peace, of love and of dignity. You deserve all of that no matter how useful or not you are to the capitalist system. It’s not about going back to oppressive social norms, but moving forward from them.

I also feel like slow living brings a self care as deeper than the shallow superficial and capitalist self care that's being sold to us. I’m not going to deny that it feels nice to do an extensive skincare routine before sleeping, but there’s a lot to be said about a nightly ritual that makes you feel more grounded in yourself and taking care of yourself and the body you inhabit versus the gigantic capitalistic machine that is the Beauty Industry™. The same way the simple acts of taking of yourself and taking the time to slow down can be a revolutionary act of self-love, they can also be taken advantage of and capitalized on by the huge capitalist industries that use wellness, self-care and self-love as marketing tactics. In our era, it feels simply impossible now to get away from the “treat yourself” campaign. Industries have tapped into the real desire of people to live a more meaningful and happier life by making it mostly into a trend, and not an intentional change to someone’s lifestyle to make it better.

I am of the opinion that slowing down shouldn’t be a trend, but a very deliberate act taken in order to take care of ourselves, of our mental health and our physical health. I think it’s a very essential need that we have to not feel burnt-out and to not feel trapped and stifled by our own lives, and having the space and energy to pursue our dreams and desires.

(Not to say the culprit is capitalism … but the culprit is capitalism) (also not to advocate for revolution on a public platform but revolution)

What I mean by slow media, and slowness in media is that content that tends to be more of the slice of life genre. They are peaceful, quiet. Maybe nothing much happens at all, but it rings very true and very real. Those moments of calm are soothing when maybe the rest of my life really is not. The way someone relates to art and media is very personal and can vary a lot, but the escapism that this sort of stories provides and I feel that with the faster pace of life that has become the norm, it might become something that we seek more often than not.

To me, this sort of media feels like relief.

slow cinema

Cinema has long been a medium that is very efficient at communicating epic and grandiose stories. Movies that are jam packed with action and drama and heightened emotions and tension. And while those movies can be very good and entertaining, I think there’s also a place in the world of cinema for movies that are slower. In fact, there’s a distinct genre of movies where the focus is not on a very fast paced plot or extravagant action scenes and dramatic events, but where the importance is placed on the mundane. Where the slow moments of everyday life and the quiet emotions that we all feel take precedence. It’s possible to name filmmakers such as Yasujiro Ozu or Agnes Varda.

We could also talk about movies such as the Before Trilogy by Richard Linklater (Before Sunrise (1995), Before Sunset (2004), Before Midnight (2013)), where each movie spans a very short period of time and consists entirely of conversations between two people. Those movies are slow, ordinary and yet extraordinary in the sense that it’s two people who have found each other and are speaking and connecting. There’s nothing much that’s happening in those films, and yet it’s impactful.

The movies made by those directors who tend to favor slower cinema often showcases a simpler plotline, but a more complex emotional arc. They are full of slow and quiet scenes, which makes those movies soothing, calming and nostalgic.

What is slow cinema though ? in the academic sense, slow cinema is often defined as «a modern cinematic production trend that emphasizes slowness and duration of time» Even though there’s a lot of more contemporary cinematic examples of slow cinema in more experimental movies such as directors Abbas Kiarostami or Tsai Ming Liang whose movies are very much in line with what is slow cinema. When it comes to slow movies, «Flanagan writes that the stylistic features of ‘slow films’ are “the employment of (often extremely) long takes, de-centred and understated modes of storytelling, and a pronounced emphasis on quietude and the everyday,”» The techniques used in slow-paced movies will often communicate a romanticization of everyday life, of routine, of moments that are quiet and peaceful.

There’s a lot of emphasis put on the passage of time, whether it’s a slow drag of time, with nothing much to do, the quiet moments that punctuates our daily lives or the years passing by and the plotlines in those movies spanning years, generations and even lifetimes. I think this is one of the reason why this kind of cinema can be really relevant in our times, where we feel that time is a precious commodity that isn’t ours anymore, and where time is filled with the pressure of being constantly productive, slow cinema poses itself as the antithesis of that.

«Slow Cinema situates itself solidly within art cinema both in aesthetic and methodology: it is defined by authorship that hinges on the representation of reality. It carries with it a disposition towards the consumption of time that forces the audience to labour through and critically engage with the film itself.»

It’s possible to see that this type of cinema is something that’s very sought after lately, as proven by this letterboxd list The Absolute Beauty in Everyday’s Mundanity, which has been liked by a total of 6,092 people at the moment of writing this article (including me). Containing 209 movies that fit into what the list maker considers as being slow movies that showcase the beauty of everyday life, this list demonstrates that there’s a very definite space for movies that have a more deliberate pace and who, instead of trying to heighten the stakes and action constantly, do take the opportunity to just. Slow down.

An enchanted month.

Elizabeth Von Arnim (1866-1941) was a english author active during the early 20th century. She wrote both fictional and non-fictional books, and the ones I have read from her are very in this vein of slow living, taking the time to just sit in a garden, and let time heal you. It's from her book Enchanted April (1922), which is one of my favorite books and that I wholeheartedly recommend, that the consequent 1992 movie, released by the BBC, was adapted from.

Von Arnim made a point to give a prevalent place in her books to the spaces where one could feel at ease and free from the constraints dictated by social norms and what people might expect from you : «In the garden, Elizabeth von Arnim could think, reflect, and distance herself from the oppressions and duties of the highly rigid and strict German culture that she had adopted through her marriage to Count Henning von Arnim. In observing the varying seasons of nature in conjunction with an active pleasure in literature, she perceived the garden as a metaphor of her life in terms of the development of her soul, and in this context, she believed herself to be in "the process of becoming".» I think it’s possible to draw a parallel between the demands of life that are growing increasingly harder to handle. While Von Arnim puts is mostly in relation to the social norms that were in place during the 1920s, it’s possible to see that the desire for slowing down during the 2020s stem mostly from a tiredness of the ultra-capitalistic world we live in.

The story of Enchanted April starts during a dreary month of march. Grey. Tiring. We have all went through months like these where the responsibilities and list of things to do, and slow drag of the days gets to be unbearable. Mrs Lotty Wilkins sees an a journal advert to rent a castle in Italy for a month, and under the grey drizzling London skies. And she yearns for that moment of respite. Far from her obligations, from her nagging husband and being able to take time for herself for the first time in years.

Eventually, four immensely different women will end up in this castle in San Salvatore, Italy, for a whole month. Each of those women have a distinctive purpose in this book, but they all seem to be looking for something similar: an escape from their frantic and boring daily life, a relief from routine, from the lack of connection and intimacy that they feel. In the midst of those charmed italian gardens, you feel like they can finally take a breath, loosen up and rest.

«She moved about with quick, purposeful steps, her long thin body held up straight, her small face, so much puckered at home with effort and fear, smoothed out»

And just reading that, or watching the movie, gives me a similar respite. The sun lits all the shots, the wind blows gently in the tree leaves, and the clothes that are worn are looser, more comfortable. This movie is charming, humorous and delightful. But most of all, it’s slow paced and soothing. You have drawn out scenes where nothing much happens but the moments are peaceful and reassuring. I rewatch it every april, because while I cannot take a month off to spend it in an isolated italian castle, oh god I Yearn So Much For It.

Even though, this story is set during the 1920s, thus being a contemporary story written by Von Arnim, I cannot help but feel that this story is one that is still deeply relevant today, in the 2020s. The thoughts of the characters seems very familiar and relatable : «For Lady Caroline Dester, the process of change is longer, more involved, and more isolated. She approaches San Salvatore with a “dream of thirty restful, silent days, lying unmolested in the sun, getting her feathers smooth again, not being spoken to, not waited on, not grabbed at and monopolized, but just recovering from the fatigue, the deep and melancholy fatigue, of the too much”»

In Enchanted April, this month in Italy is a moment of quiet rest for these four women, bt also a time dedicated to oneself and to introspection. «Initially, each woman desires to be alone for long stretches of time: Mrs Fisher in her room, Lady Caroline in a chair in the top garden, and Mrs Wilkins and Mrs Arbuthnot in the gardens and hills. Each is free to reflect on her life and begin to have a clearer understanding of herself in relation to others. »

A late afternoon:

Yasujiro Ozu (1903-1963) is one of the prominent filmmakers in Japan during the first half of the XXth century. His movies had a very distinct style and technique to them that made his work really unique to himself. A lot of filmmakers tried to replicate or imitate the stylisation of his work, but there was something in Ozu’s work that was very particular to the period of cinema he lived in. He was active from the later half 1920s until his untimely passing on his birthday in 1963. This means he lived through the Second World War as well as through a time of great change and evolution in the world.

It’s possible to write a hundred pages on Yasujiro Ozu alone because there’s a lot to say about him and his movies, whether it’s about the narrative and the story he chose to portray or the techniques and stylisation that characterize what is an Ozu movie. I thought it was relevant to mention him when talking about slower movies and slower paced media, because of the impact that he had on film, especially when it comes to using the medium to tell stories of lost and quiet moments.

With the increased modernity and a rapidly changing world, Ozu’s films, such as Tokyo Story ( 1953), Late Spring (1949) and Floating Weeds (1959) tried to capture the very modern life he and his contemporary were experiencing and the way they dealt with these changes. Even though Ozu’s movies were particularly specific to a certain period and country, it’s indeed impossible to disassociate Ozu’s movies from the fact that they were made in Japan, and that Ozu went through the pre-war, war and post-war era and continuously made movies during these times.

Which means that his films do reflect a certain time in Japanese history which makes them incredibly specific and contemporary to the society he lived in. «However, I believe that the film is less about articulating the value of modernity against the challenge of tradition than observing the subtle state whereby the former unknowingly pervades the latter. In this sense, rather than the overt manifestation of free movement outside of the home, the trivial motion inside the confined domesticity are a more essential element in Ozu’s films. In other words, in Ozu, modernity exists within the everyday, a stable flow that undulates but hardly overflows.» Nonetheless, the issues and subjects tackled in those movies, such as intergenerational conflict, the difficulty that people have to catch up with a world with values that are rapidly changing, and modernity. Those problems are a universal experience, but were communicated in a unique lense through Yasujiro Ozu’s movies.

The focus of most of Ozu’s films is centered around the familial unit, and the conflicts and moments that arise between them as life moves forward. The everyday moments in a world that gets harder to navigate each day. The story of a daughter who is pressured to married, and the dilemma and conflicts between the societal expectations that people have of her, her own wants and needs and also the desire to be able to strike a balance between those two elements. I think that this, while not being necessarily being a universal experience, can still be an incredibly relatable one.

Once she gets married, she needs to move forward with her life and leaves her widowed father to live alone, which really showcases the simple and universal realities of real life. The plotlines of Ozu’s movies focus on simple and universal conflicts and problems, the stories he tells through those movies are nonetheless things that are universal and. the way he presents them are beautiful, quiet and, most importantly, real. «More broadly, Ozu’s omission of important events also speaks to his interest in the mundane, his desire to uncover the emotional nuances within small talk, daily routines, and other “boring” details of everyday life.»

There are quiet moments of silence, of rain falling while someone is folding clothes or eating. Laughter and companionships. Tears and pain and love and hurt and all of the very important emotions that compose the human experience. «the great filmmaker used to evoke a sense of melancholy and poetry in everyday existence.» which is something that truly is a balm to the soul in my own humble opinion. There’s a lot of vulnerability in this slowness, a very real sadness and emotionality that is very raw and yet mundane in its encompassing universality of the human experience.

The stylistic choices that Ozu decides to take all tend toward this one goal of showcasing the quiet movement of life, while hinting at the tumultuous feelings that people might feel, and the world around them. His movies were simple and slow but very meaningful as well. «Ozu’s films often violate the stylistic conventions of mainstream filmmaking. For example, one “rule” in classical Hollywood cinema is that every shot should clearly and obviously advance the narrative. Yet Ozu’s films frequently feature what commentators call “pillow shots” – namely, shots of landscapes, objects, or interiors that have no apparent connection to the protagonists and what they’re doing plotwise.»

His movies focus on the relationships between people and the world they inhabit, and the growing modernity, and also capitalism, of it. «As you’ll quickly come to see, Ozu is hardly a fan of modernity. In films like The Only Son, Late Spring, Late Autumn, and An Autumn Afternoon, he suggests, among other things, that economic modernization has engendered inequality, feelings of alienation, empty consumerism, and the Americanization of Japanese life.» Those feelings of alienation that we currently feel toward our own lives, our own time and our own time are very relevant for us in 2020. While I do think that those movies represent a certain time and a certain context, and you cannot talk about Yasujiro Ozu without really contextualizing both him and his work, I think it can be really relevant to today. Ozu made movies for himself and for the society he lived in but that doesn't mean that those movies can’t still be important today.

Ozu did impact international cinema, as can be seen for exemple with the movies of Wes Anderson, as seen in this visual essay that compares their body of work. both narratively and stylistically. I won’t go into more details about Anderson here, because he is one of my favorite directors and i hope to write an entire article on him soon, but i thought it was relevant to mention this. Most importantly, Yasujiro Ozu left an imprint on japanese cinema that can still be seen to this day in contemporary movies. I could mention filmmakers such as Naoko Ogigami, with movies such as Rent-a-cat (2012), Close-Knit (2017) and Kamome Diner (2006), all movies that have a decidedly slower pace and kinder vibe to them. Hayao Miyazaki and the movies Studio Ghibli produced also are an example of that slower cinema, but we’ll touch upon this a bit further down the line.

(rent-a-cat [2012] d. Naoko Ogigami)

a little world of our own

With this in mind, it’s easy to see that there’s a sub-genre of japanese cinema that really make a concerted effort at incorporating the concepts of slowness in their stories, whether it's the slower pace of the story or actual slow living principles. Those movies often address the fantasy of leaving everything behind (your work, your problems, your issues, your sadness) to go live in a small town or quitting your job to follow your dreams, or simply to feel like your time is yours again. This list on letterboxd which showcases many movies of that genre in japanese cinema (currently 157 movies on date of writing this article)

A good example of this type of stories would be the duology of the Little Forest movies, as well as the subsequent korean adaptation in 2018. These movies were both adapted originally from a manga by Daisuke Igarashi. Little Forest : Summer/Autumn (2014) and Little Forest : Winter/Spring (2015) follow the story of a young woman who leaves her busy city life to go back to her hometown and decides to live in a slower way, taking care of her vegetables and living according to the seasons. The two movies are infinitely slow, focusing on the main character cooking, resting, eating, and eventually resolving the conflict that she has with her mother. The life she lives in these secluded parts seems uneventful but happy and calm which seems all that she desires. She doesn’t need to contribute to the capitalist system of society to be deserving of being able to live in peace, and this makes her feel less alienated from the world she lives in.

Spirited away

I also don’t think it’s really possible to mention slower moments of everyday life in cinema without talking about the movies that probably were the first introduction to this for many of us. The movies of Studio Ghibli, with Hayao Miyazaki at the helm of it, are little masterpieces of animation. The movies are intended for a younger audience but can be appreciated by everyone. Studio Ghibli movies are another example of filmmaking that manages to capture this slower pace in media. Between all of the adventures and events that are happening in those movies, there are moments of slowness. Of calm. Of quietness.

As Robert Ebert told to Miyazaki, during an interview with him « I told Miyazaki I love the "gratuitous motion" in his films; instead of every movement being dictated by the story, sometimes people will just sit for a moment, or they will sigh, or look in a running stream, or do something extra, not to advance the story but only to give the sense of time and place and who they are.» Miyazaki proceeded to explain what this concept was for him «"We have a word for that in Japanese," he said. "It's called ma. Emptiness. It's there intentionally."» Those slow moments between the action are very deliberate, to slow down the story and to slow down the pace. Contrary to the generally accepted school of thought in modern Hollywood cinema, which is that every single scene needs to move the story forward, Miyazaki lets his story and movies breathe. This way of building the story gives it an added sense of calm and soothingness, but also it gives it another sense of realism. Instead of following a strict narrative outline, this fluidity makes the story feel more real and relatable.

Despite being an animated movie set in a very obviously fantastical universe, Studio Ghibli movies tend to be very realistic in the way they portray the characters, their complexity, and also what are the real underlying conflicts. For example, in Kiki’s Delivery Service (1989) «The primary conflict isn’t about magic—it’s internal and invisible and wholly human: Kiki’s brief period of lost motivation and artist’s block. She gets it back when she wants to help Tombo, whom she loves. Simple as that. She doesn’t have to wage an epic battle to prove her worth» The stakes might seem lower in this movie, very mundane and ordinary but I think this is what makes it so special.

The quiet moments and details that might seem innocuous and useless at first and slower the pace of the movie in itself, are ultimately what gives it this feeling of genuineness. It lets the characters and the plot have the space to evolve and to grow.

« Although these scenes may seem slow or unimportant, they give space to develop the characters and to heighten dreams or feelings the characters are having such as feelings of isolation, wonder, or anxiety. It is in these moments of stillness that the audience can contemplate with the characters and feel what the characters are feeling. These moments remind the audience the importance of stillness in such a fast paced world and highlights the beauty of a slower paced life»

Studio Ghibli movies insert those slower moments in between more faster paced and action packed scenes but also in the midst of world-changing events such as wars, as shown in Howl’s Moving Castle (2004). This demonstrate how people still live on during those crises, even with the danger looming over their heads. Which is something that I think can be very relevant in today’s time where the past twenty years have been increasingly more unstable and the … few months of 2020 were a Shit Show in itself, if you want my opinion. So this kind of media gives me hope that we can live through this, that moments of happiness and peace are still to be found.

A charmed life

Slower cinema is something that has existed for as long as cinema existed, but I do think that it’s a very current feeling to want to be able to slow down the pace of our lives, and be able to enjoy time in a more meaningful way. Personally, I know life has gotten ridiculously hectic for me in the past two years, and while there’s a lot I always want to be doing and I’m very happy about how my life is coming together, this doesn’t mean that sometimes, it doesn’t feel Very Overwhelming and alienating to constantly feel the need to be productive. What we can bring to the capitalist system isn’t what determine the worth and value of who we are as people. «"As speed is seemingly equated with efficiency and professionalism, however, slowness can become a way of signaling an alternative set of values or a refusal to privilege the workplace over other domains of life.”» I hope to be able to live my life on my own term and to be able to spend time on things that are important to me and feel like my time is my own.

Slow media is everywhere lately, whether it’s in cinema, books, games, but also in a more broader sense with the slow life movements, the minimalist trends, but also a general awareness of sustainability, the amount of mass production and mass consumerism in our modern world.

In order to sustain that fast pace of constant production of things, you inevitably have to sacrifice on either the quality of the product, the work conditions or on the materials in order to be able to keep up with the extremely high rhythm sustained by capitalism. It can also be compared to the fast work pace imposed on people who work on the sets of movies or video games for example. I think we all heard of the debacle with the Sonic (2020) movie as well as Cats (2019) and the pressure that was put upon the vfx artists to re-do the movie and complete it extremely fast, which brought poor working conditions on them.

Slowing down is, in my opinion, of the utmost importance for us to be able to live better, but also to be able to do better things. To have better working conditions, to be able to have a better craftsmanship, people having more time to do things and do them better instead of scrambling to constantly catch up to a production rhythm that is just simply way too fast. This ties in with the environmental aspect of slowing down, because if you take more time to make things that are of a better quality and that will last for a long time, there won’t be such a need for a constant production of those things but unfortunately that’s capitalism Babey.

a quiet respite

Ultimately, the act of slowing down and taking a stand against the fast pace imposed on us by the constraints of capitalism is a very personal one, but I think it's worth considering. And when it’s not possible to actually slow down, I hope those movies and these slower medias can give you a respite even if life isn’t giving you much of one. I do think that having the opportunity to meaningfully slow down the pace of your life, and taking the time to think, breathe, and reconnect with the more mundane parts of your life can be beneficial, especially when there’s a constant pressure to perform and to excel in this fast-paced modern life.

I just hope we can try to take care of ourselves deeply, connect with ourselves but also with each other. We need time to feel, breathe and actually live and not just beat to the drum of a corporation and of this sadistic capitalist system who will never care for you. Corporations do not want you to slow down and they want to get your money by any means necessary, which we have obviously witnessed a lot during this Global Pandemic. Which is why I think there's a real pushback against this fast pace of life and the mass consumerism, by slowing down,

On this note, i hope you appreciated the article, i hope you are taking care of yourself during those hard times and i hope the media you are consuming is something that makes you feel better, and i hope you don't put too much pressure on yourself.

please just breathe. hopefully it will be okay.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Slow Life & Slow Cinema :

Matthew Flanagan. 'Slow Cinema': Temporality and Style in Contemporary Art and Experimental Film. University of Exeter as a thesis for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy in English in October 2012.

ZEESTRATEN, J. Strolling to the beat of another drum: Living the ‘Slow Life’, Master’s Thesis, Lincoln University, 2008. <https://pdfs.semanticscholar.org/e0c6/f533e7d8f9254eddbadc0fe6dbb7d4a5ea8c.pdf >

SCREENING BOREDOM THE HISTORY AND AESTHETICS OF SLOW CINEMA Orhan Emre Çağlayan. A Thesis submitted for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy in Film Studies University of Kent February 2014

ELSON, Logan. Slow Cinema Modality: Applying Bordwell to Tsai Ming-Liang, Trent University, JUST, Vol. V, No. 1, 2017

LAVIN, Mathias. Prolonger Ozu, avec Kiarostami, Akerman, Hong Sang-Soo.

FLANAGAN, Matthew. Towards an Aesthetic of Slow in Contemporary Cinema, 16:9, 2020 <http://www.16-9.dk/2008-11/side11_inenglish.htm>

RASSOS, Effie. Everyday Narratives Reconsidering Filmic Temporality and Spectatorial Affect through the Quotidian, A Thesis Submitted in Fulfilment of the Requirements for the Degree of Doctor of Philosophy School of Media, Film and Theatre University of New South Wales August 2005

LETTERBOXD. The Absolute Beauty in Everyday’s Mundanity. Hungkat, 2020. <https://letterboxd.com/kun/list/the-absolute-beauty-in-everydays-mundanity/>

LETTERBOXD. A Slice of Japanese Life. Seraphimjc, 2020. <https://letterboxd.com/seraphimjc/list/a-slice-of-japanese-life>/

Enchanted April:

BOLLARD, Jennifer Jane. The Felicitous Space of Elizabeth von Arnim, Master’s Thesis, University of Canterbury Christchurch, New Zealand, 1995 , <https://ir.canterbury.ac.nz/bitstream/handle/10092/11887/Bollard_thesis.pdf;sequence=>

VON ARNIM, Elizabeth. Enchanted April, Waking Lion Press, 2008 (first published 1922)

YOUNG, Katie Elizabeth. More than "Wisteria and Sunshine": The Garden as a Space of Female Introspection and Identity in Elizabeth von Arnim' s The Enchanted April and Vera, Master’s Thesis. Brigham Young University, 2011. < https://scholarsarchive.byu.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=4032&context=etd>

Yasujiro Ozu:

The Cinema Cartography, Yasujirō Ozu - The Depth of Simplicity, Youtube video, 2015 <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2G7oeyOsfSg>

JOO, Woojeong, The flavour of tofu : Ozu, history and the representation of the everyday. PhD thesis, University of Warwick, 2011.

BETH, Suzanne. Destruction, puissance et limites du cinéma dans les films d'Ozu Yasujirô, Doctorate Thesis, Université de Montréal, 2015. <https://papyrus.bib.umontreal.ca/xmlui/bitstream/handle/1866/13600/Beth_Suzanne_2015_these.pdf?sequence=2&isAllowed=y>

EMERSON, Andrew. The Beginner’s Guide: Yasujiro Ozu, Director, The Film Inquiry, 2019

<https://www.filminquiry.com/beginners-guide-yasujiro-ozu/>

Criterion. The Signature Style of Yasujiro Ozu. On film. 2015 <https://www.criterion.com/current/posts/3836-the-signature-style-of-yasujiro-ozu>

Thompson, pp. 19-20, 327-331; David Bordwell, Ozu and the Poetics of Cinema (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1988), pp. 73-74.

CATLEY, Anna. Wes Anderson & Yasujiro Ozu: A Visual Essay, Youtube, 2015. <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rbXRpiVO1po >

Little Forest:

SREEKANDAN, Nikhil , Little Forest: Film Review , The Inkline, 2018. <https://the-inkline.com/2018/06/17/little-forest-film-review/>

https://snackfever.com/blogs/magazine/a-refreshing-cool-breeze-found-in-the-little-forest

Studio Ghibli:

EBERT, Robert. Hayao Miyazaki interview. 2002. <https://www.rogerebert.com/interviews/hayao-miyazaki-interview>

The Magic and Artistry of Studio Ghibli’s Films, The Artifice, 2017 <https://the-artifice.com/magic-artistry-studio-ghibli-films/>

JAREMKO-GREENWOLD, Anya. The Low-Stakes Pleasure of Kiki’s Delivery’s Service. on Birth, Movies, Death, 2017. <birthmoviesdeath.com/2017/07/18/the-low-stakes-pleasure-of-kikis-delivery-service>

STEY, George Andrew.. Elements of Realism in Japanese Animation, Master’s Thesis, University of Ohio, 2009. <https://etd.ohiolink.edu/!etd.send_file?accession=osu1250700496&disposition=inline>

Cottagecore:

SKELLEY, Jemima. Cottagecore Is the Soothing Online Aesthetic We All Need Right Now, The Latch, 2020. <https://thelatch.com.au/cottagecore-aesthetic/>

HAASCH, Palmer. People online are flocking to 'cottagecore,' an online aesthetic that idealizes agricultural life, to calm their hyper-stimulated nerves, The Insider, 2020. <https://www.insider.com/cottagecore-isolation-aesthetic-tumblr-explained-social-distancing-2020-4>

SLONE, Isabel. Escape Into Cottagecore, Calming Ethos for Our Febrile Moment, New York Times, 2020. < https://www.nytimes.com/2020/03/10/style/cottagecore.html>

animal crossing:

VINCENT, Britanny. Find fulfillment in Animal Crossing New Horizons' slice-of-life gameplay, CNN underscored., 2020https://www.cnn.com/2020/03/30/cnn-underscored/animal-crossing-new-horizons-review/index.html

WEBSTER, Andrew. ANIMAL CROSSING: NEW HORIZONS IS A CHILL, CHARMING LIFE SIM THAT PUTS YOU IN CONTROL, The Verge, 2020. <https://www.theverge.com/2020/3/16/21179238/animal-crossing-new-horizons-review-nintendo-switch-features>

#slow living #cottagecore #slowness in cinema #cinema #film

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popwasabi · 5 years ago

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Lockdown Lookback: Catching up on the past months’ Pop Culture

Aaaaannnd we’re back!

It’s amazing what a little pandemic can do to shake you out of your creative cobwebs but if we’re all going to die, I want to make sure all my pop cultural hot takes are up to date at least.

Many of us are already on lockdown and many major movies including “007,” “Black Widow” and ummm I guess “Mulan” are all getting pushed to the backburner as no one is leaving their God damn homes unless they’re told to!

(Didn’t realize the thing I wish I had more of in the apocalypse would be sweatpants...)

But there’s still plenty to talk about from the previous months and other hot topics I have been meaning to write about but just hadn’t found the time or energy for. Life has been hard I think for just about all of us these days thanks in no small part to this pandemic. For me personally, I’ve had two different vacations canceled because of the virus and currently working understaffed at my job which is considered essential. Not to mention my therapist is on call only at this time and both my martial arts schools have been suspended, so I can neither talk nor punch my feelings out of my system.

So, I might be just a LITTLE on edge at the moment.

(My internal monologue for most of these past few weeks, more broadly years...)

Anyways, I digress, you come here because you like to read my highly unprofessional takes on pop culture and genuinely to those who have cheered me on from the beginning thanks, you guys are my prime motivators. But anyways let’s talk about all the shit I was supposed to write about these last two and a half months.

“Birds of Prey” was a hot, but needed, mess

Earlier last month I got to see the sort of sequel to the much-maligned “Suicide Squad” in “Birds of Prey and the…waaaay too long of a title for me write here.” I had cautious optimism for it because it looked strange and off the beaten path of most comic book movies and seemed to promise at the very least a fun time at the theater but it’s still also a DCEU movie so the floor was pretty low on its possible quality as well.

In the end, the movie is kind of bit of everything; the best and worst parts of the DCEU.

In terms of the good, it’s definitely outside the box, a sort of fem Deadpool first person story as told frenetically by Harley herself. Margot Robbie is, of course, still quite great at this role and you can tell she’s having a blast as this character. The humor is mostly good and visually the bright colors and cinematography pops on each screen and on that front there isn’t much to complain about.

But as a DCEU movie it does suffer from some narrative imbalance partially due to it’s psycho storyteller but mostly, and more than likely, due to corporate editing that probably axed an entire dance number that I was honestly looking forward to from the trailers.

(Seriously, I actually wanted to see the full unedited version of whatever hell this ended up being.)

It’s definitely in the “could’ve been better” camp of comic book movies but you know what? I’m still glad it exists. You know why? Because comic book movies dominate our blockbuster culture right now and if the genre wants to survive, at least artistically, it needs some outside the box films like this. I HATED “Joker” but I appreciate that it opened the door for stranger, more unique takes on a genre that is getting increasingly more stale. This movie falls into that unique category too.

(Also, to all the faux-intellectuals and alt-right nerds making a culture war out of “Sonic” vs “Birds of Prey” *kindly* reevaluate your lives please...)

We’re at the point now where comic book movies should be getting weirder, not more formulaic, and that means swinging for the fences even if a couple don’t quite make it out of the ballpark. If it takes a few not so stellar takes on the genre for Hollywood to greenlight a truly fantastic one I’m all for it.

In any case “Birds of Prey” doesn’t quite end nor continue the DCEU’s recent hot streak but it is enjoyable enough to where I would be more than open to a sequel. It’s worth a watch.

The Mandalorian and The Witcher: Two shows about violent mercenaries and fatherhood

Both these shows are old news at this point, but I did want to talk a little about both for a bit if you would have me.

First, “The Mandalorian” which was Disney+’s flagship production to begin its streaming chapter late last year is definitely a more than welcome addition to the galaxy far, far away. It’s pretty easy to feel fairly jaded about Star Wars these days given how flat the new trilogy ended but for what it’s worth “The Mandalorian” was a good mix of nostalgia bait and something new and interesting for fans to chew on. Its production value is obviously top-notch, no doubt because of all the Disney money pumped into it, it’s well-acted and thrilling and fun from start to finish. It plays heavily on the genres that influenced the series, primarily westerns and old samurai flicks, and fans of those will certainly enjoy the homages to them all.

The series was something of a coming out party for Deborah Chow who directed two of the season 1’s best episodes. Her steady hand, eye for details and tributes to Asian cinema throughout really gave the series an extra kick at times and showed how Star Wars can evolve still. Chow is set to helm the upcoming “Kenobi” series and one can only hope that she *really* leans into the samurai genre for that show.

(Hopefully, there are some “Yojimbo” vibes in there somewhere...)

The Mandalorian’s best and worst parts though are its semi episodic nature making each episode easy to digest as a one-off but also lacking some narrative tension between each. It plays kind of like a Saturday Morning cartoon to both its benefit and detriment with bite-size easy to digest plots and dialogue for the viewers but not offering a ton of depth beyond that.

The Mandalorian himself is also kind of a Gary Stu. His armor is basically impenetrable and far and away the best killer onscreen typically, making more than a few action scenes lack real stakes and tension. Baby Yoda certainly helps at times to make him more vulnerable and puts him in precarious positions plenty of times but outside a few moments (mainly episode 2 and to a lesser extend the final episode) he’s just a little too overpowered to be a more interesting character.

But this show and frankly the Star Wars series as a whole is meant for kids, no matter what the neckbeards try to tell you (violence =/= adult), and that’s not necessarily a bad thing either. Plenty of kids productions can be both great and even sophisticated and while I wouldn’t say “The Mandalorian” is either of those it’s a good and fun kids show for the fans.

(And yes I’m aware that the books, some comics, and games have touched on more adult stuff, you weirdos. But how would you describe the overall tone and presumptive audience of the movies and TV series as a whole, guys??)

As far as “The Witcher” goes it also has a bit of an episodic style to it as well with an overarching, albeit, convoluted story that runs parallel to it. The first 3-4ish episodes can be classified as a quasi “Game of Thrones” clone leaning perhaps a little too heavily into the tropes of that series. Once the series finally starts leaning into its real identity, a dry-witted hack and slash fantasy, the series is much more consistent both tonally and narratively.

Henry Cavil is solid as Geralt of Rivia and the supporting cast of Joey Batey as Jaskier, Freya Allen as Ciri and even more so Anya Chalotra as Yennefer are all great in their respective roles delivering some great moments throughout the season.

(And lest you forget this earworm...)

“The Witcher’s” early season struggles keep it from being as tonally or narratively consistent as “The Mandalorian” but where the monster slayer beats the bounty hunter is that it has overall more compelling drama and has more to say, leaning much more heavily into the thematic greys of the plot. There are tons of problems with “The Witcher” on a story-telling level but you can definitely say it cares more about adding some depth in between the more pulpy aspects of the story which is something you can’t say as much for in “The Mandalorian.”

Of course, I’m partially overselling “The Witcher” a bit here, it’s not anywhere near “Game of Thrones” best (yet at least), and on the flipside one could argue that “The Mandalorian’s” more subtle sense of story-telling does its themes better. But when it comes down to these two shows you get somewhat similar story-telling ideas, mostly involving both characters and their smaller counterparts, in two very different genres with equally diverging conclusions to their respective seasons.

(🎵 Toss an “Oof” to your Witcher...🎵)

All in all, they’re both good and worth a watch and I think they deserve a chance to evolve and hopefully showcase more of what they have to offer moving forward.

“Parasite” wins Best Picture! Many people have some hot takes, including the president...

Last month one of my favorite films of 2019 “Parasite” won Best Picture at the Oscars. It’s a movie that is becoming increasingly relevant as elites and celebrities alike are getting front of the line testing despite being asymptomatic in the middle of pandemic and think they can assuage our concerns and dread by poorly singing “Imagine” together within the comfort of their McMansions.

It’s about as a good time as any to revisit this movie, I mean where else are you going to go during this timeline, and at a later date I’ll write something more extensive about it eventually (hopefully) but first here’s a helpful video on one particular thing that came out after director Bong Joon Ho took home the night’s top honors:

youtube

“Cats” is still a fever dream of madness

Back in late December, I watched “Cats” for science, as I had AMC A-List and a friend crazy enough to join me. I figured it would be bonkers and unlike anything I had seen before in the worst way but even then, I don’t think I was truly prepared for what I ended up seeing that fateful night.

I remember quite vividly going to the bar inside the theater and ordering a stiff drink beforehand to numb the pain and the bartender asking “So what are y’all watching tonight?” and beginning to laugh manically like an insane asylum patient at the innocuousness of the question. Walking into the theater was like that feeling you get before getting on a particularly scary-looking rollercoaster at Six Flags but instead of the pre-ride jitters eventually subsiding to the eventual fun and joy of the ride, only a deep sense of existential dread built up and sustained itself through what felt like six hours of the most baffling thing put to screen in front of my eyes ever.

youtube

(The music that played in my head as I exited the theater...)

Have any of you watched the Stanley Kubrick movie “Eyes Wide Shut” before? You know the scene when Tom Cruise is walking around in his mask observing the strange occult sex orgy going on around him at the mansion? That’s kind of what “Cats” felt like except way more terrifying, somehow MORE sexual, and definitely crazier.

(Is...this some type of...intepretative dance to summon an eldritch horror??)

There’s a voyeuristic terror that comes from sitting in that theater room as you watch bipedal humanoid looking felines dance to confusing songs about “Jelicle” cats (whatever the fuck that means) and all other manner of things that should NOT take human form throughout it’s near-endless runtime. A lot was made about Rebel Wilson and the disgusting roach people she consumes but NO ONE warned me about the frankly HORRIFYING mice children in the same scene!

(I am not perusing the internet to find that image again for y’all. I have enough nightmares each night...)

The saddest thing about the whole movie is everyone, save for Ian Mckellen who seemed to be acting as if a gun was pointing at him offscreen and Judi Dench who looked 100 percent like a geriatric in her digi fur, was giving the movie their fullest effort in what can only be described as a Titanic-sized level of hubris by all parties involved. This movie really needed a “Chaostician” involved in evaluating the production for studio heads and shareholders because there were definitely NOT enough people on this project wondering whether or not this film SHOULD exist...

(Dr. Ian Malcolm coming to Universal Pictures to access the film.)

What has “Cats” wrought upon this world? The universe has been clearly out of balance since this movie came out and while I’m not saying it’s director Tom Hooper’s fault, I’m not saying it isn’t either.

“Cats” is one of those things, much like The Matrix that cannot be simply described but must be seen to believe. It’s one of the worst things I have ever seen onscreen but with the right group of people and a few stiff drinks it’s certainly an experience you won’t forget. Consider it for your next Google Hangout during this apocalypse.

Anyways, that about wraps up my thoughts on the last few months. Going to try to be more consistent going forward especially given how much more time I have now to write, for better and worse. But more importantly, just want to say stay safe y’all. It’s going to be a process to get through this and while things are more likely to get worse before they get better there will be a day when this all ends and some normalcy may yet return to our life but in order for us to get there we need to remain vigilant.

So stay at home, wash your hands, and if you want to watch movies just order it online for now and we’ll just wait until aaaallll this blows over…hopefully.

Don’t panic...

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mustangshelby04 · 5 years ago

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Boston Boy - Chapter 13

Kate and Chris followed the realtor around the two-story penthouse apartment. They were on the very edge of Tribeca with a great view of the Brooklyn Bridge. They had spent the last week looking at apartments. It had been three months since they had found out they were going to be parents. Chris had had to deal with some previous obligations, so their moving in together had been delayed some.

Scott spent a lot of time in New York, so he had been keeping Kate company. The press had gotten wind of Kate’s pregnancy. One of the nurses at the hospital in Florida had leaked the information to a local station. Then the twenty-four-hour news cycle had picked up the story while Kate and the Evans’ family were in the air flying to Virginia. By the time they landed, the whole world knew Chris Evans was going to be a dad. His family had been shocked, but excited.

Kate’s family, however, hadn’t been pleased. They were worried that their daughter hadn’t been in her relationship long enough and that she didn’t truly understand what she was taking on. Chris and Kate had spent a solid three hours with the serious grilling her parents had dished out. Chris had sworn (multiple times) that he was going to take care of Kate and their baby. In the end, they were still worried, but a little less so. The trip to Christmastown at Busch Gardens with both families together had been helpful assuaging the Allen’s fears some.

Since the news broke, the paparazzi had made it their mission to get as much as they could about Chris’s baby mama. Kate was almost constantly hounded for pictures and information. Her family was contacted on a regular basis. Even her biological father had been tracked down. That hadn’t gone over well with Kate. Especially since the man had tried to contact her. She had had a complete nervous breakdown over it which landed her in the hospital overnight. Lisa had come to be with Kate since she could get there faster than anyone. She had stayed with Kate until Chris had gotten there.

Kate had also been worried about everything affecting her new job, but Danielle had assured her not to worry about it. Chris gave her as much advice as possible. He had decided to ask Megan to help Kate out so she didn’t have to deal with the press hounding her. Kate was in almost constant contact with his publicist and had quickly become friends with her.

When Chris had finally come to New York to stay for a while, he and Kate had had their first true argument. He had lined up apartments to look at that were well out of her price point. She hadn’t found it fair that she couldn’t pay her half of the rent. After yelling at each other for over an hour and running April out of the apartment, they had finally come to a compromise that he would take care of the rent and she could pay the utilities. So, here they were, following the realtor around their fourth apartment in three days.

“This one has five bedrooms.” Lacy the realtor said. “The view of the Bridge from both of the terraces is just gorgeous! The kitchen has all the best, state of the art appliances.” She led them around the wall and into the living room. “And just look at that view from the great room!”

“It’s beautiful.” Kate said.

“The fireplace is fully functional. Gas, of course.”

“Of course.” “And this…. This is my favorite feature!” Lacy led them back around the wall into the kitchen and did her best Vanna White impression to show off the huge bookcase that framed the stairs. “I remember you mentioning having a lot of books, Kate. This would be perfect for you.”

“That’s pretty unique.” Chris said, admiring the bookshelf as they walked up the stairs.

“This apartment is unique. Each bedroom has its own bathroom. Even the guest bedroom on the first floor. The master bedroom is just grand! So much room! You have a walk-through closet with plenty of storage space. And there’s a bedroom right across the hall from the master.” Lacy’s eyes drifted to Kate’s baby bump. “Perfect for a nursery.” Kate rolled her eyes at Chris and he squeezed her hand. “The terrace is just up here.” Lacy led them up another flight of stairs and opened the doors to the private roof terrace. “It’s so cozy, yet so open.”

“And it has a hot tub.” Kate said.

“That’ll be your best friend after you give birth. Trust me.” Chris squeezed Kate’s hand again to keep her from snapping at the woman. “You’ll need that escape for some mommy/daddy time. So, what do you guys think?”

Chris looked at Kate. “I love the view.”

“It’s beautiful.” Kate agreed, heading back inside and down to the master bedroom.

“I’ll give you two a minute to talk.” Lacy walked out of the room.

“What’s wrong, babe?” Chris asked as she explored the walk-through closet, opening and closing the closet doors. “This place is great. It has plenty of bedrooms for when our families come to visit. There’s that huge terrace with grass for the dogs on the first floor. That kitchen is exactly the one you were hoping for. That cool built-in bookshelf by the stairs is amazing.” He took her hand and led her to the room across from the master bedroom. “And she may be sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong, but she’s right about this room being perfect for the nursery.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and placed his hands on her bump. “I can just picture the crib right there and your glider right there….”

“It’s a lot of money.” Kate said. “Hey, we talked about this. You’re not supposed to worry about that.”

“I know. I know! I just feel so guilty….”

Chris shook his head and turned her around to face him. “No guilt. Ok? My little family here deserves the best and if I can provide that for you guys, I will.” Kate beamed up at him. “What?”

“You called me your family.”

He shrugged and gave her a lopsided smile. “Well, yeah. You and Jelly Bean…. You’re my family.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to know if Jelly Bean is watermelon pink or blueberry blue?”

Chris laughed. “I’m sure.” He kissed her quickly. “So, what about this place?”

“Let’s do it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

His face broke out into a huge grin and he pulled her to him. They both laughed as he lifted her up into his arms and carried her out of the bedroom. Lacy was waiting in the kitchen, scrolling through her tablet. “We’ll take it.” They both announced.

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

Scott and Kate stood side by side watching the movers maneuver the couch into place while Gally and Dodger checked the new place out. Chris had gotten Dodger while in Savannah filming and Kate had instantly taken to the sweet dog. Dodger had been staying with her in New York while Chris had been gone. Poor Gally had been annoyed at having to move, then having to put up with a new dog, and then having to move again. Dodger had been good for the older dog, though. He got Gally to move around and explore. He was also super protective of Kate. He had quickly figured out that she was pregnant and had taken it upon himself to be her protector. Sometimes he wouldn’t even let Chris near her.

The movers looked over for approval and Scott directed them to adjust the couch slightly to the right. This had been the routine all day. The living room was the last of the rooms to get furnished. Kate and Chris had gone to Ikea (at her insistence) to furnish the apartment. Scott had tagged along and helped pick out the furniture. He had even helped design the closet of Kate’s dreams.

April walked into the kitchen with a large box and set it on the counter. “That’s the last box.” She announced before turning to look out the windows. “Man, this place is awesome and I am super jealous.”

“It’s not like you won’t be making use of one of those guest rooms as often as possible.” Kate joked.

“Of course, I will! At least until the baby gets here. Then I’ll just skip the screaming-through-the-night thing.”

“That’s cheating.”

“That’s life. Do you want help unpacking your pots and pans?” “I haven’t even figured out where everything should go, yet.”

“So, that’s a no?”

“For now.”

“Breather?” Scott asked, gesturing at the newly set up living room. “Sounds heavenly.” Kate followed Scott and April and took a seat on one of the recliners. “When does Chris get back?” April asked. “Tonight.”

“Of course, he missed the moving in part.” Scott joked. “Leaves all the heavy lifting to the girls.”

“Not very Captain America of him.” April laughed.

“Oh, he’s not getting entirely out of it.” Kate assured them. “I’ll make sure to leave some boxes for him to unpack.”

“Don’t lift anything heavy.” Scott warned. “You know you’re not supposed to.”

“Hence the leaving stuff for your brother to do.” Kate sighed and rubbed her bump. “You know that sneaky bastard actually bought this place?”

“Really?” April asked.

“Yes. He didn’t tell me until afterwards. Now he wants to negotiate helping pay the bills.”

“Kitty Kat, you should just let him.” Scott said. “My brother likes to take care of the ones he cares about the most. I think you kind of trump the whole family now.”

Kate laughed. “I doubt that. I could never trump y’all’s mom.”

“Ok, that’s true. But seriously, don’t stress yourself out over money. I know you like to be all Miss Independent, but just let him win that battle. You’ll both feel better for it in the long run.”

“He’s not your sugar daddy.” April said. “He’s your partner. Let him be your partner.” Kate sighed. “Fine.” She pushed gently on her stomach and rolled her eyes when she felt the funny bubbles speed up. “This one is having a dance party.”

“Can I join in?” Chris asked from the entryway. Kate turned to see her boyfriend standing there with a grin on his face, petting the dogs as they competed for his affection. “I left early because I hated leaving you to move in to our place without me. Oh! Don’t get up!” He rushed over to kneel down and kiss Kate before she could move any further.

“Hi,” She breathed, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck.

“Hi.”

“And on that note,” April stood up. “I’m heading out.”

“You don’t have to go.” Kate insisted.

“I do. I’ve got a deadline tomorrow and I’ve still got some things to finish for it.” She blew Kate a kiss. “I’ll call you later, lovebug.”

Chris squeezed in next to Kate and wrapped his arm around her shoulders as she put her legs over his. “The place is looking good.”

“Thank Scott. If there’s anything you want to move, just move it.” Kate said. “I’m not stuck on the floorplan.”

“I am!” Scott said, offended. “I worked hard telling those movers where everything needed to go.”

Chris laughed. “I think it looks great. We’ll leave it the way it is.” He leaned in and stage whispered to Kate, “For now.”

Scott threw a pillow at his brother. “That’s it. I’m leaving, too.”

“Oh, stay!” Kate protested.

“Nope. I’m giving you two time together. But don’t think you’re getting out of baby shower planning.”

Kate rolled her eyes. “Can’t you just give me presents without the fanfare and the corny games?”

“Hell no! My sisters, my mother, April, and I have plans. The Evans family has been waiting a long time for this.” He clapped Chris on the shoulder and kissed Kate’s cheek before walking out.

Chris looked at Kate, running his fingers across her temple and through her hair. “Hi.”

She pulled him to her and kissed him deeply. “Stop leaving me.”

“I promise you’re coming with me for the next trip.”

“Which is the Civil War premiere?”

“Yep.”

“Are you sure you want me to go?”

“Are you kidding? Of course, I want you to go!” “It’s just…. We haven’t really done anything in the public eye and I know you’re private and….” She trailed off when she noticed his patient smile.

“Babe, it’s not like the world doesn’t know who you are. But even if they didn’t, I want you there with me anyway. I want to show you LA and I want you to be a part of my life. All of my life.”

Kate sighed. “There’s also another factor that makes me nervous.”

“What’s that?”

“You’ll be escorting a whale around.”

“Shut up. You’re not a whale.” Chris put his hand on her swollen belly. “You’re absolutely gorgeous and the doctor says that you’re actually not gaining as much weight as you should be.”

“I know. I’m losing it. My mom says she did the same thing with me and my sister.”

He smiled at her. “So Jelly Bean is really moving around in there, huh?”

“You can’t feel it?” Chris shook his head. “You will eventually. Right now there’s a party going on in my uterus. Pretty sure Jelly Bean got a DJ for it.”

Chris laughed and leaned down to speak to her stomach. “Hey, kiddo, keep it down in there. Mommy needs some rest.”

“I think he or she is excited by all the moving around I’ve been doing today.”

“Then we probably should just be very still and not add to it….” Chris started to pull away with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Shut up and take me to bed.” Kate said. “I’ve missed you.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Chris leaned down and swept her up into his arms. She squealed and laughed before begging Chris to put her down. He relented at the stairs and followed her up, both of them stripping their clothes off as fast as possible.

When they got to their bedroom, Chris was happy to find that Kate had already gotten the bed set up and he pulled her to him as he sat down on the mattress. She stood in front of him in just her underwear and he placed his hands on her bump. He leaned forward and kissed a trail from one side to the other. Kate reached down and lifted his face to her.

“You are so beautiful.” Chris whispered against her lips.

She pressed her lips against his and climbed on top of him. He held her against him as he worked to get her bra off. Her breasts, which had already been voluptuous, had filled out some and he brought one of her nipples into his mouth. She groaned, eyes fluttering, as she ground down on his growing erection. Her nerve endings were much more sensitive these days and pregnancy sex was mind blowing.

Chris switched to her other breast as he palmed the globes of her ass. Her head fell back and her nails raked through his hair. His fingers dipped into the front of her panties and he groaned. “So wet.”

“No more foreplay.” Kate growled. She stood up and got rid of her underwear before yanking his off. Chris fell back onto the bed and Kate climbed on top of him. He let out a guttural sound as she sunk down on him. She began to rock on top of him and he grabbed her hips to help her keep her balance. Curses and moans fell from their lips as she rode him fast and hard. He sat up suddenly and turned them, popping out of her. She got on all fours and he took her from behind. She let out a yell as he entered her again at the same time he flicked her clit harshly. There were no sheets on the bed for her to grab, so her fingers dug into the mattress as she grasped for something to hold onto.

“Fuck.” Chris cried.

“Chris, harder.” Kate begged.

“I don’t want to hurt the baby.” “You won’t!”

“But….”

“Baby, please! I’m almost there.”

Chris growled and started to pound into her, still holding back some. He shuddered as he felt his balls tighten just before he spilled into her. A moment later, her orgasm hit her and her walls clamped down on him. He fell forward, his chest against her back. They stayed still as their bodies shuddered and began to recover from powerful finishes. After a long moment, Chris pulled out of her and they both collapsed to the bed.

When Chris finally found his voice again, he looked over at Kate. “Are you ok?”

“Are you going to ask me that every time we have sex?”

He chuckled. “Probably.”

Kate reached out and placed her hand on his cheek, rubbing her thumb against his beard. “Yes, I’m fine.”

“Good.” He kissed her palm. “So, are you ready for this?”

Her eyes widened. “You’re ready to go again?”

Chris let out his loud, energetic laugh. “Fuck no! I meant are you ready to live with me?”

Kate laughed. “Yeah. I think so. This experience can’t be worse than the last one, right?”

“Was the last one Asshole McGhee?”

“Yes.”

“Oh yeah.” Chris nodded. “This will be a piece of cake compared to that.”

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

Kate grumbled to herself as she put the dishes in the dishwasher. For the third night in a row, Chris had left the dinner dishes in the sink. They had been moved in and living together for three weeks now. Learning the other’s ways was a chore.

Kate hated leaving messes in the kitchen. Chris didn’t mind leaving the mess until the next day.

Kate did her laundry the way her mother had taught her by separating everything out. Chris just threw everything in the washer at once.

Kate used coasters to keep from having to clean rings off of surfaces. Chris had apparently never heard of coasters.

Kate kept things well stocked. Chris would drink out of the carton or pitcher and put it back with only a tiny amount left in the bottom.

“He’s been a bachelor for so long, I think he’s forgotten his manners.” Kate muttered.

She wasn’t a complete domestic angel, though.

Loose hair had always made her sick to her stomach, so she never cleaned out her brushes or the shower drain. Chris had had to clean the drain out once already and it was starting to pile up again. She also took up a whole side of the shower with her bath products. It amazed him how many shampoos, conditioners, body washes, face washes, and shaving creams one woman could have. And that didn’t even cover the hair products and hair tools she used! Those took up a whole cabinet of the vanity. Her makeup took up all four drawers on her side of the bathroom vanity. She also had feminine products taking up one drawer on his side of the vanity. Every time he stepped foot in their bathroom, he wondered where the hell she had kept all of it in her garage apartment.

“Hey, babe!” Chris called from the living room. “Come watch a movie with me.”

“Not right now.”

“Please?”

“I’m busy right now.” She lowered her voice. “Doing the dishes again.”

Her boyfriend walked into the kitchen and leaned on the counter. “Finish the dishes tomorrow. I promise it’ll be worth your while tonight.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her and she rolled her eyes.

“You are literally a horny frat boy.”

He scrunched his face up in confusion. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“I’m still debating. Why don’t you help me finish the dishes? Then I can come watch a movie.”

“Ok.” Chris sighed and pretended to roll his sleeves up. He completely missed that she was slightly annoyed with him. Once they were finished, she leaned against the counter for a moment and rubbed her belly. Chris watched her with a concerned look. “You ok?”

“Yeah. Just…. Ate too much and Jelly Bean is protesting the smaller space.” She gave him a small smile. “I’m going to go put on some PJs and then we can watch a movie.”

“Ok.” He leaned down and kissed her gently. “I’ll get the movie ready. Will you grab me a pair of sweats while you’re up there?”

“Sure.” She mounted the stairs and took them slowly. After changing into a pair of yoga pants and a big sweater, she threw her hair up into a high ponytail and grabbed a pair of Chris’ sweatpants. He was taking his clothes off as she came back downstairs and tossing them in a pile next to the couch. “Are we watching a movie or making a porno?”

Chris laughed loudly and shook his head. “Well, I was planning to watch a movie, but if you’re interested….”

“I most distinctly am not. That’s the last thing we need is a sex tape of us floating around out there.” She tossed him his pants. “Did you make popcorn?”

“We just ate.”

Kate blinked at him for a moment and then gestured at her belly. “I have no control over what this one craves. Start the movie and I’ll make some popcorn.”

“I can make it.”

She waved him away. “I’ve got it. Just start the movie.” Kate walked into the kitchen and opened one of the cabinets to pull out some popcorn. She tossed it into the microwave and watched it turn around and around. By the time she was finished, the movie had already started. She narrowed her eyes at it. “What is this?”

“That movie you said you wanted to watch.” Chris said, taking a handful of popcorn as she sat down.

“This doesn’t look like a movie I want to watch.”

“Yeah. It’s 28 Days Later.”

“Huh?”

“You said you liked it.”

“I never said I liked 28 Days Later. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’ve told you I don’t do scary movies.”

“I know. I thought it was weird that you wanted to watch this, but….”

“I don’t want to watch this!”

“You said you did!”

“I said 28 Days, Chris! I wanted to watch 28 Days! The Sandra Bullock movie!” She looked at the TV where zombies were starting to attack. “Fuck! Turn it off!”

“It’s just a movie, babe.” She surged to her feet and walked out. “Kat!” Kate slammed the popcorn bowl down on the kitchen counter and marched up the stairs. Chris turned the movie off and followed her. “Hey, stop!”

“No.”

“What’s going on with you?”

“I don’t want to watch a horror movie. Especially a zombie one!”

“Ok. We won’t watch it.”

“Nope, we won’t because I’m going to bed.”

“Ok. What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve been edgy with me all night.”

“Yes I have. Glad you finally noticed!”

“If you have something to say, then say it.”

“I don’t like the way you do things.”

“What?”

“You’re such a frat boy and I’m done debating about it. I don’t like this Chris!”

“Babe….”

“Don’t babe me. You never do the dishes.”

“I helped you do them tonight.”

“Because I asked you to. I have to ask you to help with them! You always just leave them in the sink and don’t rinse them or soak them or anything. That shit just gets caked on there and makes it harder to clean! It takes five minutes to rinse them and put them in the dishwasher! And you’re messy! I feel like I’m always cleaning up after you. I’ll have to go clean up your clothes in the living room!”

“I….”

“And what the fuck is up with you putting empty shit back in the fridge? Why can’t you just throw it away and add it to the grocery list? Why is that so hard for you? It’s common fucking courtesy.”

“Well, you’re no fucking picnic either!”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re so god damn OCD about every little thing! Lighten up!”

“I’m sorry if I like things clean and orderly, Chris! I didn’t know that would be such an issue! And don’t tell me to fucking lighten up! You lighten up!”

“And how hard is it to clean the shower drain? It’s just some wet hair!”

“It makes me physically ill to even think about loose hair! And with the amount of throwing up I’ve been doing carrying your kid, sorry if I don’t want to add any more to it!”

“I didn’t ask you to carry my kid!” Kate’s eyes widened in shock and she slammed the bathroom door in his face, locking it tight. “Fuck!” Chris knew as soon as the words had left his mouth that he’d pushed it way too far. He hadn’t meant to get so angry and he really hadn’t meant what he’d just said. “Kat, I’m sorry!”

“Go away!”

“Please open the door.” “No!”

“Please, Kat. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.” He sat down on the floor and leaned his back against the door, banging his head against it once in frustration as the tears fell down his cheeks.

Kate sat down on the edge of the bathtub and cried into her hands. She hadn’t meant to snap at Chris. She had been frustrated with him and then before she knew what was happening, she had exploded. She had meant to be rational when she was ready to talk about her issues with him, but hormones had gotten the best of her. Things had escalated too quickly.

“Baby, please open the door.” Chris said. His voice sounded horse and it cracked with emotion. “Please?”

“Why?”

“I didn’t mean it, Kat. I really didn’t. It was a stupid fucking thing to say and I didn’t mean it.”

Kate sighed and opened the door. Chris hadn’t been expecting it and fell backwards. He winced as his head bounced off the tile. “Oh!”

“Ow.” He looked up at her and chuckled. “Guess I deserved that.”

“A little bit.” She reached out to help him to his feet. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.”

“I shouldn’t have let it escalate like it did.” He pulled her to him. “I just love you so much and….” “What?”

“What?”

“You….”

“Oh.” Chris pulled away slightly to look down at her. “I said it.”

“Yeah.”

He grinned. “Felt kinda good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You mean it?”

“From the moment I met you, it’s been on the tip of my tongue. It felt really good to finally say it out loud.”

“You’re not just saying it to get out of trouble?”

“Hell no. I mean every syllable.”

“Good. Cause, you know, well…. I do, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you going to actually say it?”

“Maybe. Maybe I need some incentive.”

“Like….” He leaned down and kissed the spot on her neck just below her ear. “This?”

“Mmm….”

“Or this….” Chris moved his lips further down her neck, lightly biting her collarbone. “Closer.”

“How about this?” He reached up and gently held the sides of her face, taking a moment to look into her blue-green eyes. “I love you, Kat.”

“I love you, too, Chris.” She reached out and pulled him closer. He brought his lips to hers and her insides melted.

After a long, breathless moment, Chris placed his forehead against hers. “I’m so sorry, Kat. We need to start talking more openly instead of tiptoeing around each other.”

“I know.”

“Can we promise not to let our issues build and build till we explode again?”

“Well, I can try. Honestly, my hormones got me there and I overreacted. Once everything passed, I realized how stupid we sounded.”

Chris chuckled. “I’ll give you a pass for hormones.”

“Fair warning: I’m gonna use the hell out of it.”

He leaned down and kissed her again, rubbing his hand against her belly. “I’m happy you’re the one that’s carrying my kid. I can’t wait to meet our little Jelly Bean.”

Kate smiled against his lips. “Take me to bed, soldier. There’s makeup sex to be had.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Chris lifted her into his arms and carried her through the closet and back into the bedroom.

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medeafive · 6 years ago

Note

For the Buckynat smut-a-thon request: Mission Sex While on a mission, Nat makes Bucky extremely jealous when she starts to flirt or seduce the target. Bucky finally has enough of it which leads to some rough love making. Thank you for reading and considering this

Basically the inversion of Kitchen table issues.

She doesn’t know who thought it would be smart to place them on opposingsides of this illegal bio-enhancing drugs deal. Sure, covering both theseller’s and the buyer’s side might look good on paper, but in reality, itmeans they have to pretend not to know each other, at all, and not to beinterested in each other either. And she also has to get close to the guy whohas the formula for these drugs and she has to be quick about this before thedeal takes place. Which means at the presentation slash negotiation. Whichmeans under the twitching eye of her increasingly possessive boyfriend. Yeah,that was clearly not thought through.

She laughs and smiles, touching the target’s thigh while doing so. Heautomatically leans in. The presentation is still going on and James is sittingsomewhere behind them so he can’t even look away. She’s kind of sorry for him.

Her pen drops and she leans down, giving her target a clear view of hercleavage. He picks it up for her, her fingertips lingering a bit on his handwhen he hands it over. Men are so easy. She’s just stringing him along.

They focus on the presentation until she thinks of a snarky comment andleans over to tell the target in a low, flirtatious voice while meeting herboyfriend’s eye who pretends to be seriously unimpressed. She smirks, pullingback. Alright, maybe this is a little fun.

When the presentation is over, they get up and walk to a conference room,chatting about the results and the tech. The target doesn’t say much, instead focusedon slipping an arm around her shoulders in a supposedly collegial manner thatalso happens to bring his hand almost down to the swell of her breast. Too lowfor her liking but she plays along, as is her job. The few hallways seem quitelong to her.

James bumps into her when rounding a corner, knocking the target’s arm offher shoulder. She turns around indignantly. “Excuse me?”

“Oh,” he states coldly, which might sound more asshole-ish and indifferentif you don’t know better. “I’m sorry.”

Natasha snorts, turns around and walks ahead of them, punching in the codeof the conference room door and welcoming them in with a warm smile, except forher boyfriend who gets a warning glare. They sit around the table and starttalking money, which is boring, and delivery, which is a lot more important.She spreads her legs slightly so that her pantyhosed knee touches the target’sthigh. James pretends not to notice.

She bites her lip as if concentrating. The discussion gets a little heated.It’s funny to listen to them obsessing over a couple of hundred thousand dollarwhen you know that the deal will never be allowed to go through anyway. She’llmake sure of that. She gets up and pours her camp some water. A wet sheensticks on her lips as if accidentally. James gives her a hostile look.

Being on opposite teams here also means they can’t meet, can’t talk thisthrough, can’t assuage any fears. That will all have to wait until they’rethrough. The target touches her thigh gratefully when she sits down and drinkshis water in one gulp. Oh, he must be running hot. She wonders what he imaginesdoing to her.

The negotiators settle on a price and payment modalities and she writes itall down like a good secretary. The discussion now turns to the delivery. Thetarget still has his hand on her thigh, stroking and pinching her pantyhose.She tries to keep her breathing even as his hand moves up her thigh. God, shehopes they’re done soon so she can have a break from this guy.

James’ grip on the table tells her someone else needs a break as well.

They do meet before this whole thing is over because there is a singlesharp knock on her motel room door and he is standing there, fuming. “You can’tbe here,” she states flatly.

He snorts and walks past her into the crappy room. The sellers can’t affordluxury until they get the money. She closes the door and crosses her arms.“You’re alone?”

“Of course I’m alone,” she replies coolly. “And my boss is right nextdoor.”

“And the handsy scientist?” he questions rigidly.

“At his house across the city,” she says. “As I should also be so I can getthe fucking formula.”

He rolls his eyes. “You really had to do that while I was watching.”

“Actually, yeah,” she replies unfazed. “I don’t see him that often. And ifyou paid any attention, you’d know the deal is supposed to happen only threedays from now.”

“So what,” he states. “You’ll bed him tomorrow? Get his dirty hands allover where they don’t belong? That’s your plan?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she says. “I’m not sleeping with him. I just need toget into his house.”

He snorts. “Yeah, sure. And how else are you going to do that? Then whyeven bother getting all touchy-feely?”

“What’s your problem?” she interrupts coldly. “I stuck to the rules and I’mgoing to stick to the rules. Just because he’s harassing me…”

“He is an asshole but you definitely egged him on,” he insists. “Don’t playdumb. You knew what you were doing, you always do.”

“So what,” she returns. “I’m allowed to do my job. You don’t tell me shit.I didn’t throw a tantrum when you were totally not shagging that French girl.”

“I wasn’t shagging her.” He shakes his head. “Just get on the bedand tell me what you’re going to do with him while I suck the life out of you.”

Oh, that’s all he wants, reassurance. She grins, pulling her skirt up andsitting on the bed. “Don’t rip the pantyhose.”

He immediately rips the pantyhose and the panties too, for good measure.She rolls her eyes, leaning back a bit. He pulls her skirt up even more to lookbetween her legs. “Mhm. Touch yourself.”

She drops on her elbows and sneaks a finger between her legs, gatheringsome wetness before circling her clitoris. He makes a choked noise, causing herto grin and rub harder. He’s staring, nothing else. She groans, head fallingback.

His hands push her knees apart so he has a good view. She starts drawingpatterns, teasing hearts going around, 8-shapes and stars. Stars are thefucking best. But it’s mostly for show and she loses patience after a bit,rubbing harder without any finesse. Her hips arch off the mattress. She raisesher chin to grin at him salivating over her. Her head falls back again when shecomes, though rather shallow.

She smirks at him, catching her breath. “Again?”

He looks really helpless, standing over her, faltering between watching hertouch herself and doing it himself. It’s hard, isn’t it. She waits, lazilyrunning her finger through her folds.

He finally sinks to his knees, pulling her to the edge of the mattress.“So. Tell me.”

“Tell you what?” she asks playfully while he licks her finger clean.

He snorts, lapping over her folds. “Come on.”

She sighs, lying down. “Mhm. Well, I was going to go over tomorrow. Checkin whether everything is alright.”

He pushes his tongue into her by way of answer. She is in no haste tocontinue speaking, even more so now. She sighs and buries her fingers in hisdark hair.

He pulls back, clearly annoyed. “And?”

“Oh.” She pushes her blouse up to run her hands over the skin of herstomach. “Mhm. Well. According to the rules we agreed on, I was going to givehim a lousy hand job, make him feel like he pressured me into it so he doesn’ttell anyone I was there, take the formula and go.”

He hums, lips vibrating against her. She sighs again. “Yeah, I guess that’sit.”

He peaks up. “Wanna show me?”

“You want a lousy hand job?” Natasha asks with amusement.

He snorts, getting on the bed over her. “Why does it have to be lousy?”

She pulls at his belt and his pants. “Would you rather I give him a greathand job?”

He rolls his eyes while her hand dips down his pants. “Of course not. But Idon’t want a lousy one for me.”

“Be glad you’re getting anything,” she chides, rubbing him with her thumb.He steadies himself with his hands on her shoulders, pushing her down, eyesclosed. She submits and drops back on the mattress.

He opens his eyes to look down at her splayed out. Her hand continues topump him. “Show me your tits.”

She snorts, one hand going to the top button. “Am I supposed to doeverything?”

“Yes,” he replies, pushing her hand out of his pants. “I’ll take care ofthat if you need a second hand.”

She arches her back, popping the buttons one by one. He watches her nimblefingers while working up and down his length. She leans up to slip off the openblouse, his crotch on her eye level, then unclasps her bra and throws it to theside as well. “Happy now?”

“No.” He pushes his pants down to his thighs.

She rolls her eyes, laying down again. “You wanna give me instructions forthat too?”

He leans over her wordlessly and she’s a lot lower on the bed so his dickis above her face almost immediately, easily in her reach but also notobtrusive. She lifts her head and starts giving him little kitten licks.

He needs both arms to steady himself so he can’t push her around and shedoes what she wants. She lets his dick rest on her tongue, mouth open, thensucks on her way up. This is not a position for bobbing her head and shedoesn’t want to either, so she just caresses the tip with her tongue. Hegroans.

Eventually, he pushes her down forcefully with his left on her neck. Shealmost feels the metal underneath. No. Just her imagination. “Gonna ruin you,darling.”

“Then get to it,” she returns impatiently, rubbing her legs together.

He snorts. “Shut up and turn over.”

Anger flares up in her immediately. Oh no. No way. “I’m not your fuckingwhore, Barnes.”

Her tone makes him back down immediately. “Fine, then move up at least.”

She acquiesces to that, crawling up until she can place her head on thepillow. She waits, staring at the ceiling. His fingers trail up her thighs, thetips dipping in her cunt. She breathes.

His fingers slam into her without warning. She jerks up, screaming. Fuck.No, she has to stay quiet. He grins, slowly pulling his fingers back. “Shouldmuffle you if you’re gonna make noises like that.”

She tries to catch her breath, then goes out on a limp and nods. He does asurprised double take so she has to nod again. Finally, he carefully puts his righthand over her mouth. She groans into it when his fingers slowly push into her.She can breathe through her nose without problem. He smirks. “Oh, look at you.Pull your knees to your chest.”

She complies, his fingers reaching even deeper into her. She moans into hishand again. He starts fingerfucking her. She arches up as much as she can.

Her orgasm hits unexpectedly. She screams into his hand again while theother keeps going relentlessly. He’s grinning at the mess that she is. Shelicks his hand when she can spare a thought for it, glad that it’s the rightwhere he feels the rough wetness. He pulls it back, groaning and wiping it onthe sheets. “God, you’re dirty.”

“Hello kettle,” she shoots back. She’d rock her hips against his hand ifshe could but not while she is folded in half.

He snorts. “You’re still not gonna turn over, are you.”

“Nope,” she confirms, popping her lips at the last sound. “Not your whore.”

“I didn’t say that,” he complains, pushing his fingers in and out of heragain. “I’d never say that.”

“Then stop asking me to do stuff I don’t want to do,” she replies, grippingher shins.

He rolls his eyes. “Can I fuck you now?”

“Oh.” She smirks, leaning into the breathy voice. “Yes.”

He smiles wickedly, slamming his fingers into her again. She bites downhard on her lip to keep quiet. It’s not easy. “Want you helplessly fucked outbefore I fuck you.”

“Then we’re gonna be here for a while,” she replies, trying to stare himdown even though her head is spinning a bit.

“Sssshhh.” He leans down and sucks on her clit without slowing down withhis fingers. She groans. Okay, that’s better. His right hand finds her mouthagain so she can scream without worrying about being heard.

She does scream after only a minute, everything tensing up, her noisesmuffled. Still, not helplessly fucked out. He pulls her legs around his hipsand puts the fingers into her mouth. She bites him while licking them clean,again and again.

He pushes into her before she’s even done so she has to gasp and moanaround his fingers. He groans as well, stopping halfway. “God, Nat, you’redriving me nuts.”

She can’t talk so she just raises her hips and sucks his fingers in deeper,to the point where it’s almost uncomfortable and she has to be careful not togag. He groans and pushes the rest of the way into her.

She releases his fingers, not caring to dry them. “You’re gonna tell me howbad I’ve been and that you’re gonna punish me?”

He snorts, flicking his hair over his shoulder and starting to pull back.“Like you’d listen to that.”

“Then what are you gonna do?” she asks, raising her head.

“Fuck you.” He bites her lip and snaps his hips against her. “Already doingit.”

“Correct,” she gasps out, every thrust of him rocking through her. “Canconfirm.”

He rolls his eyes at her again. Oh, pissing him off is kind of fun. “Don’tbe a smartass.”

She has the perfect retort but it slips her mind when he slams into heragain. Groaning. She bites down on the soft flesh of her hand to keep fromscreaming. He grins down at her, undulating his hips. “Oh, look at that.”

He’s dragging over the right spots so her back shoots up, whole bodyconvulsing and contracting. He’s so fucking smug about it. But she can’t stopherself from showing him that he’s doing it right, doing her right, and she’snot sure she would want to either.

He’s nibbling at her breast now, giving her a break. She breathes in deeplyand yanks him to the other side by his hair. She also grins smugly when hetwitches inside of her. He tries to move up but she keeps her iron grip.

Of course, when he slams into her, despite the bad angle, his hair slipsthrough her fingers and he’s above her head again in a second. She snorts andopens her mouth but is cut off by another thrust. She screeches undignifiedly.He smirks. “You wanted to say something?”

Asshole. She digs her nails into his back until he hisses. Oh, now she canmark him all over. All hers. She pushes against his chest. “Stop.”

He pulls out of her, confused. She rolls over on her stomach and pushesherself up on hands and knees, eyes closed as if that helped her not thinkabout it. He has the good sense not to say anything because she would kick himoff the bed and call this whole thing off straight away. She holds her breathwhile he slowly slips into her. He groans, grabbing onto her hips and pullingher back onto him. She presses her eyes shut at the sensation.

His head drops onto her shoulder, his breath hitting her ear, as he slowlyslips in and out of her. She moans quietly. He starts nibbling on her ear.“Love you.”

She has to snort. “Weird thing to say right now.”

“True, though.” She jerks and he shushes her. “Really hard to pretend notto know you. Hate it. Hate watching that guy touch you.”

Her arms are shaking. Maybe she’s bracing too hard. “Yeah,” she breathes.“Sorry about that.”

He turns her head so he can kiss her, groaning. Snapping his hips knocksher out of his reach again. She lets her head drop, focusing on his sliding inand out, biting her lip. Fuck. She won’t admit it but she actually likes this.Her stomach is tingling. She pushes back against him and he slams into herharder. She melts into it, breathy moans, until she breaks, dropping andscreaming into the pillow, contracting and convulsing around him.

He grabs her shoulder and rolls her on her back, slipping out of her in theprocess. Her brain is on fire but she sees what he wants to do and snorts.“Really?”

“Just this once,” he breathes, wrapping his right hand around himself, upand down.

She rolls her eyes, arching up for his benefit and slipping two fingersdown her front for hers. “Fine.”

His eyes close. She watches him jack off above her, lazily drawing theRussian alphabet between her legs. Ж. Ж is the best. It’s even better when hedoes it with his tongue.

He makes a whimpering noise, biting his lip hard. She grins. Oh, look atthat. She turns up the volume on her sighs and moans.

He opens his eyes, leaning down until he’s only an inch or two above her,eyes on her face. She licks her lips with a smirk. He groans, hand turning intoa fist, and it all comes out, shooting on her stomach and breasts. She breathesheavily while he milks out the rest.

Her hand is still moving when he finishes and he notices, biting the softskin around her nipple. She mewls, rubbing faster. Her other hand grips hishair and leads him to lick his cum off her chest. Mhm. She arches against himagain. He focuses on her protruding nipples. Her grip goes rigid and a moanspills out. She gives in to the throes, thrashes under his mouth.

He slips down while she cools off, gently lapping her folds clean. She’ssensitive and pulls him back up pretty soon before he starts something he can’tfinish. He lies down next to her on his side and watches her grab a kleenex andwipe every drop of him off her. “That was okay, right?”

“Yeah,” she replies, tossing the handkerchief on the bedside stand. That’sfor throwing away later. “But I prefer it when you’re not pissed at me.”

He sighs, rolling on his back. “Think I got that out of my system.”

She snorts. “You’re not staying the night, if that’s what you’re after.”

“I’m not after anything,” he returns, pulling up his pants andfixing the general mess he is. “Stop ascribing me sinister motives. I justwanted to fuck you.”

“Uh,” Natasha interrupts. “Dominance. You wanted to feel like you own me.”

He snorts. “Really? No. I just wanted you to care about what I want. I justwanted to be assured you’d give me more than a lousy hand job.”

“That’s just a nicer way to put it,” she says.

He rolls his eyes. “It wasn’t about forcing you or making youuncomfortable. And I’m well aware there’s nothing I can do to stop you fromgiving that asshole the lousy hand job he doesn’t deserve.”

“Good, cause I’m still going to do that,” she replies, slipping off theripped pantyhose and panties. Now she’s all naked and he’s all dressed.

He sighs. “We never took that weekend off that we talked about, did we?”

She snorts. “Oh, we tried. But a robot riot, cyber terrorists, good old-fashionedHydra stuff, some intel here, some intel there…”

“Don’t forget the genetically manipulated spiders,” he adds with disgust.

She snorts, sitting up. “No way. We were so close to boning.”

“I was thinking about the actual spiders,” he clarifies. “But if it’s moreon your mind how worked up I had you, that’s great.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” she mutters, putting on her bra. “Alright, Igotta check in with my boss. Already late. Make sure he didn’t hear anything.”

He rolls his eyes and stays put. “You’re making me climb out of the windowagain, aren’t you.”

“Yes. Oh, and in terms of blasts from the past,” she adds, turning to grinat him mischievously. “I really think you need to practice your Russiansometime. Between my legs.”

#buckynat smutathon #buckynat #natasha romanoff #black widow #bucky barnes #winter soldier #my writing #fanfic

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sanctimoniousscrawlings · 6 years ago

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Prompt #1 : Lull of the Forest

Greenvale is quaint. At least that’s what the townsfolk say. Personally, I’ve never been fond of life here. Half the people here are ignorant and bigoted. They’re nosy and self-serving. Nine times out of ten I’ve found that the thick veneer of kindness and good ol’ fashioned neighborliness is born of duplicity, and to be quite honest it’s exhausting.

I’ve been saving money to leave since I turned sixteen and got my first job in the town’s only book store- a tiny thing, barely larger than my room back in my apartment. I’ve been thinking of moving to a big city- it may be too crowded for my taste but I’ve found that it has the opposite vibe to small towns. People start out assholish and then turn out to be kind. It’s a pleasant surprise.

Here I am ten years later with only half the cash I would need to get my own place somewhere I’d actually like to be. I’m scrolling through real estate sites and beginning to reconsider the whole roommate thing, much as I revile the thought of having to live with random strangers when my phone pings. It’s my best friend, Demeter.

D: omg Riley did you hear Me: oyg did I hear what? Me: and are you sure I can’t convince you to come with me D: Dylan is gone and certainly not, you know I can’t stand urban environments Me: pls tell me he absconded from the woods with his tail between his legs and the only thing he left behind was a trail of urine Me: I really don’t want him living next door to me again D: ... D: i heard the fairy house is a pretty grizzly scene Me: wow Me: guess i won’t have to live next door to him after all. neat. D: i know he was an asshole but do you need to be so blase about it? Me: only as much as he needed to chase me with a MIG torch Me: look, i know you aren’t supposed to speak ill of the dead (but honestly he shouldn’t have been such a dick) and I wouldn’t wish death on anyone- but I definitely don’t have to care that he’s gone Me: besides, he probably pissed off whatever’s in those woods. haven’t you noticed that when the people who live in that house are super cool, the hidden folk just play (mostly) harmless pranks- and they have never ever attacked children D: no, they just kill the parents and steal the kids Me: the bad parents. We both know the Bonners were abusing their kids. And pretty heavily. How many times did you call cps on them? D: ...monthly. But that doesn’t make it right. Those kids are probably scarred for life- and scared. Me: maybe. I think I might try buying the place tbh- I don’t even have half the money for a place in any of the cities I wanted to move to but I have more than enough for that place. It’ll be a dent in my funds, but I think it will be worth it. D: what Me: hear me out: I’m a misanthropist. They are clearly also not fond of people. Maybe we’ll get along. Plus, I can keep the deed to this place to protect the forest from the idiots in town moving in. D: First of all that’s a stupid idea. Second of all, you’re too kind to be a misanthropist. You’re just a curmudgeon. A philanthropic curmudgeon. Me: what Me: that doesn’t even make sense D: you’re grumpy af but I’ve never seen you do anything to cause even the people you hate the most harm. Hell, how often did you help Dylan with his homework or share your food with the delinquents who couldn’t afford lunch when we were in school. D: the whole “I hate humankind blah blah blah destroy all humans” thing is just a front because you always had this complex about helping everyone and it kept backfiring. And then after Ashe... Me: sorry, Demi, gotta go. I’ve got paperwork to fill out. D: DON’T YOU DARE MOVE INTO THAT HOUSE I S2G RILEY ANDREW FERGUSON

I know she cares but I really can’t deal with this right now. I’ve got a house to buy.

For the next two weeks, I avoid Demeter. I love her but she’s overbearing sometimes and I’m not gonna let her talk me out of this. All the paperwork is taken care of and fortunately, my lease was ending at the end of the month so this should prove to be a smooth transition. All my packing is complete and I get to move into my new place in another few days. My shift ended at the bookstore so I head back to the apartment only to find a grey slip of a man waiting for me. “Riley Ferguson, there you are. Your presence is required at the law office of Paz & Squalor. If you have some time to accompany me there, I urge you to.” His voice was strained and gravelly. “It concerns the property in the woods.” “Sure thing. Let’s go.” I wonder if there’s a hitch in the bureaucratic workings and if there is I’m damn well gonna sort it out.

An hour later and I’m in Ms. Paz’s office. She peers across the desk at me with a grave look on her face and I can see that she’s mulling something over. The look of concern in her eyes is disconcerting. She starts abruptly, clearly having decided to get on with whatever I’m here for. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Ferguson.” “Loss?” “Dylan Daniels. You are Riley Andrew Ferguson, correct?” I nod, but the confusion on my face doesn’t assuage her concerns. “He left the house to you in his will. And everything in it.” She opens a dwarer of her desk and pulls out an envelope, clutching it to his chest. “He also left you this.” She extends the envelope across the desk. “Sorry it took so long to get this to you. The police only found his will a few days ago- everyone was unaware he even had one until then. I just need you to sign some things.” She pushes a stack of papers and a nice pen across the desk. I’m too stuned to respond. “Riley.” She pauses and reaches a hand across the desk to squeeze mine. “I know this must be very hard for you. Take all the time you need.” The next few hours are a blur. I find myself at my desk, clutching the sealed envelope. There’s no way this isn’t some sort of prank. He probably has the entire town in on it- they have always distrusted me here. People gossip about what sort of mental issues I may or may have. “He has the autism,” is the most favored line I hear from the elderly ladies at the old rumor mill. I am a hundred percent sure they don’t even know what autism is- and to be honest that gets to me far more than them actually suggesting I’m on the spectrum. There are worse rumors of course. I have schizophrenia and murdered my own family in a hallucination. Or I’m a sociopath and did it in cold blood. Of course, it doesn’t matter that I was asleep in the back room at work at the time- trying to avoid going home. My boss is a little scenile and his word isn’t good enough to assuage the good people of Greenvale. They’d probably accuse me of doing Dylan in, too, if it weren’t for his proximity to the woods. Deep breath. I open the envelope. There’s a letter inside. When I pull it out, another piece of paper drifts down to the floor. It’s stained with graphite- the pencil must have been smeared. I reach down to pick it up and freeze before I can. I recognize my own writing on the small paper. What the actual hell? I pick it up and read it, wracked with anxiety. It’s a poem. It’s a poem I wrote in eighth grade. A flashback takes me back to when I wrote it. My first real crush on a guy. It was a boy I had P.E. with every year of middle school. I had just started dating a girl I rode the bus home with when I realized that I liked this guy and the poem quite bluntly reflected the turbulent emotions I was feeling at the time. I had a firm grasp on metaphors but even now subtly and nuance elude me when I experience emotion- which happens far more often than I would prefer. More importantly, why would he have this? How did he even- I’m hit with another memory. I wrote that the day that little demon stabbed me in the hand with a pencil. I still have the black mark under my skin. Bastard gave me my first tattoo. He must have taken it from my binder when I was in the nurse’s office. Okay. But why would he keep this? It was fuel he could have used to burn me before I came out my senior year. I remember the letter. With some trepidation, I begin to read it.

Riley,

I was really hoping to tell you this in person. Frankly, I’ve been trying to for years but you evaded me at every turn. You can’t evade me at this one, though. My death ensured that- that is unless you’re not reading this and I misjudged your caliber on the whole fairy house thing. I don’t know, I figure you’d thrive there for some reason. I think Walt Whitman said something about the strongest tree in the forest is the one that sprouts against all odds.

My eye twitches at the butchering of the quote and that he confused Walt Disney with Walt Whitman, but I carry on.

Anyways, sorry not sorry for rambling. I like you. No, that’s putting it mildly. I think I’ve been in love with your weirdness since we first sat together in that class. I had hoped you wrote this poem about me but was too afraid to ever ask you about it. I know it’s no consolation for the animosity I displayed toward you, but I was just so terrified. Your presence left me unsettled and we got stuck together so much after that. So I reciprocated and instilled the fear in you that you put in me. It was wrong and I really am so sorry. Now you know how I feel, though. I bet the creatures of the forest got me. If I’m right, you owe me a kiss when next we meet, wherever that may be.

Love, Dylan Daniels. P.S. And I mean love. P.P.S. I know I got the quote entirely wrong. I bet you did that thing where your eye twitches when you can’t correct someone cuz you’re frustrated. That will be another kiss. P.P.P.S. No dictionaries were harmed in the writing of this letter. P.P.P.P.S. Well, I might have lit one on fire after.

I feel disgusted after reading the letter. He was an asshole and a creep. A knock at the door startles me into yelping. I catch my breath to answer it and Demeter pushes her way in. “Sit. We’re talking.” I do as she says; I’m still reeling from everything I just found out and Demeter is the last person anyone should ever piss off. She may be a kindly teacher and a great friend but not even the gods can save someone incurring her wrath. “You got the house, didn’t you.” It clearly wasn’t a question but I nod quietly anyways. She sighs. “Well, if anyone from this town could thrive there it would be one of us, but still. What were you thinking?” I stare into the nether. “I don’t know anymore. I don’t even want the house now,” I murmur. “It’s tainted. He even ruined the fairy house for me.” “What do you mean? You knew he had lived there when you made the ridiculous plan to swoop in on it.” I silently proffer the letter and poem without looking at her. She lets out an incredulous whistle. “Well... He tried to put his heart in the right place. I think. Ooh, girl, this boy was a mess.” She pauses, squinting at the letter. “Wait. Did he leave you the house? Holy hell.” Demeter stayed the night. I woke up the next morning to a note on my bedroom door: I’ve reconsidered the roommate thing. Be back soon, packing my stuff. If they didn’t already, the townsfolk were about to think Demeter insane, too.

Days later and we were moved into the house, though I was still uneasy. He left a lot behind- including some nearly new furniture. Probably for the best given how spartan Demeter and I both lived. I brought a desk and computer while she brought house plants and a bed. The house was old and quirky and had an air to it that we both adored. The rear garden was pressed right up against the old forest; with the fence having rotten away long since the tenants before Dylan had lived there, a new one was half built in its place- and wildflowers had overtaken most of the space. All except for one tree that sat in the center of our new yard, between the forest and the house. The entire rear half of the house had large beautiful windows that faced the forest, as well as a massive section of glass doors that opened up to the rear garden, almost like an entertainment area, thanks to the simple stone porch. “Oh, I am so fixing this up.” Demeter sounded giddy, standing in the decrepit garden. “We’ve totally got this.” “I hope so.” I can’t shake the uneasy feeling I’ve had all weekend. “I’m heading in to set up some of my supplies.” I leave Demeter to her own devices and get to work in the back room with the enormous glass doors. After a few minutes, it feels as though the very air is weighing on me. I open the doors wide, not paying any mind to the dangers of the forest. Let them come, they’d probably make better company than 99% of the good townsfolk of Greenvale. The invigorating scent of the forest fills the room and I’m suddenly in the mood for oil pastels.

It’s been a week now and I still feel trapped whenever I’m in the house. I feel as though I’m being watched any time I’m on the property. The eyes from the forest seem more curious than anything- it’s inside that I feel I’m in danger. After going on an unnecessary shopping trip for the umpteenth time since moving in, I decide to be productive and prepare a basket of food for those that dwell in the forest. Fruits, nuts, pepitas, and even some actual food I cooked up. I set the basket out back, near the treeline, and go back to the room I claimed for my studio. When next I look outside, the basket is empty and moved closer to the house. I hope they enjoyed it.

I get home earlier than Demeter and begin to make a habit of leaving food out for my new neighbors- including a dish of milk on my window sill. Each day, the basket is returned closer and closer to the house. I begin finding gifts of seeds, flowers, and odd trinkets in the returned basket. Demeter joyously nurtures the seeds into all manner of strange and exotic plants. One day, when the house is feeling particularly stifling, I decide to go to the forest edge to get away from it. I find a cozy spot beneath a tree and start writing. I hear the basket being moved but I’m too in the flow to pay any attention- that is until I notice a curious fox looming over my notebook. I don’t want to spook it so I continue writing. Eventually, the fox lays its head on my wrist, watching the pencil soar across the pages. I suppress the urge to make a high pitched noise in joy at this blessing. My trips to the forest edge became more frequent- as did the fox’s joining me. I started bringing treats for my new friend who cozied up to me as I worked. One day, when Demeter was out later for student conferences, I went out to the back porch- still outside but sheltered from the storm that had rolled in. I mistakenly drifted off to sleep to the sound of rain- and far more easily than I could have fallen asleep inside the house. I awakened to find myself wrapped in a fine silk cloak lined with the softest fur I have ever felt in my life- and I pet a lot of cats. I also note that I am now inside and the doors are shut. It’s already morning, as well. Demeter is in the kitchen, making herself a quick breakfast before she heads off to work. “I’m glad to see you made it home safely. Did you bring me inside?” “What? No, you were asleep on the floor when I got home last night. I feel like it’s the first time you’ve slept since we got here.” I grunt noncommittally and leave the room. Later on, I return the cloak, folded in the basket with yet another assortment of tasty goodies. This time I'm reading rather than working on one of my projects. The fox returns once more and- to my joy- curls up in my lap. I stroke his soft fur while I read and eventually I can hear the soft contented snoring of my vulpine buddy. I'm so comfortable that for the second day in a row I make the mistake of falling asleep outside. This time, as the beams of morning sunlight drift through my eyelids, I’m in my room. The luxurious cloak is covering me once more and the fox is curled up next to my head. The Prompt Next

#part 1 #I've been at this for almost six hours and need to stop #writing prompt #Lull of the Forest #the prompt is the post before this one

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jinjojess · 6 years ago

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Jess Watches Akanesasu Shoujo Episode 12

I have saved this episode for a week so I could enjoy my Christmas by rolling in yuri trash. Too bad it decided that it suddenly wanted to fucking real talk.

I still don’t see what was so threatening about the angel wings in and of themselves

hey Yuu, I know you just poured your heart out at me, but here, have my walkman as a consolation prize

in all seriousness, the wordless exchange here is a nice example of “show don’t tell”

Mia is the only one who ever seems willing to actually try and DO something about whatever’s going down--everyone else just wants to stand like a meter away and gape

awww, Yuu trusts Asuka and is subtly telling her she expects her to return

and now she’s explicitly telling the others

Chloe, why does your hair look so off-model this episode?

another good “show don’t tell” detail is this pan of the footsteps, where envoy Asuka walks in a straight line while Asuka prime is all over the place

trying the Ransom of Red Chief strategy, I see

this thing about money from one fragment being taken to another and becoming essentially counterfeit is giving me flashbacks to Michimune’s election

please, envoy Asuka, don’t act like you don’t want chikuwa. it’s a universal constant, like Mia rejecting aspects of femininity, or Yuu being a big gay

so I’m not a twin, but I’m pretty sure that I’ve never started liking a food because my sister did

see, I told you. Kyou-chan just gets erased from existence in most iterations of the universe

awww, babby Asuka and babby Yuu had matching keychains!

okay so this anecdote is reminding me of the time my sister and I were playing in the long jump pit at the local high school while my parents walked around the track, and we dug so deep we hit dirt, then decided it would be a good idea to bury our Simba figures there. naturally, when it was time to leave, we couldn’t find them, and our dad had to dig up the entire sandpit to find them for us. it was an awkward car ride home

creators decided to get real avant garde this episode, yeah?

sure, nothing says emotional strength like bottling up your emotions and refusing to address them

okay, now THIS is interesting character development

this discussion of how grief is essentially a selfish emotion, and that despite everything we always have our own self-interest at heart, of how we find ways to torture and punish ourselves to assuage the guilt we feel for being so selfish, and how that too is ultimately self-serving... it’s good shit

Yuu, your parents are kind of shitty? like they’re dragging you into a taxi and leaving your friend, whom they presumably know, out in the fucking rain as a young elementary-aged kid?

that said, the refusing to cope as a coping mechanism is a very realistic reaction to deep personal loss

this show is so stupid sometimes but it’s starting to ramp up the actual meat of its thesis and you know what? it’s pretty poignant

Asuka’s two true great loves: Yuu, and her more serious self

angel wings for everyone!

I really hope the implication is that Kyou-chan is only so wise and insightful because he’s the mouthpiece through which Asuka tells herself things she’s learned--if he really was just that #deep then that’s kind of over the top

so like the whole “dead person lives on through you” thing is certainly a cliche, but it’s also true. so while I appreciate the sentiment and I think it’s appropriate, I would have preferred a different way of conveying it

packing up the stuff in Kyou-chan’s room is a more symbolic and powerful expression than the speech, I think

oh, you wanna go to the same university as Yuu, eh? you wanna share rooms, eh? you’re doing it for Yuu’s sake because she believes in your potential, eh??

Yuu’s cute either way, but man I hate how pop culture is all “ew, lose the glasses!” for girls because GIRLS IN GLASSES ARE CUTE, DAMMIT

pffft, you forgot Mayuki’s name

also she thinks you’re all fucking insane stalkers, good job

hey, Asuka, you aren’t bad at English

damn, Mayuki, you thirsty for Annie, ain’cha

HAHAHAHAHAHHA you just fist bumped Takkun like it was some emotional gesture

congrats on becoming a main character, Mayuki

Seriasuka, are you seriously so fucking dumb you can’t make it harder to tell that you stole miso?

I do like that it’s left ambiguous though

oh hey, you finally got your equalizer, Asuka

So...is this it for the season, or what? This episode certainly has an air of finality about it, but there’s a lot of unanswered questions still.

Some I can deal with being unanswered and still having a satisfactory ending--Yuu’s ditched her glasses, looking more like sexy!Yuu, which hints that she’s working herself up to living as her true self and confessing properly to Asuka (or moving on to be with someone else); not seeing Asuka transform is fine, since we’ve had Seriasuka here to do that the entire series so far; we don’t need to find Kyou-chan because he was within us all along; Seriasuka’s fate is fine by me as ambiguous.

Things that were never addressed that I’d like to know about: the biggie is the eventuality that the Twilight King will try to come back for their fragment, or will continue to wreck havoc in other fragments. The main thing was wanting to defeat the Twilight King so as to restore the fragments that were consumed by Twilight, and I can’t think that Asuka out here living her best life is going to be cool with leaving that as is. Wanting to take care of the clutter in other fragments in episode 10 was the right idea, but for the wrong reasons, whereas now we’re positioned to do the right thing for the right reasons--i.e., not out of a sense of guilt and having to take the place of someone because you feel complicit in their death, but because it’s want YOU want to do.

(Yes, there’s indication that Seriasuka is back because of the miso theft, but that could just mean that Seriasuka wasn’t actually consumed and was just incapacitated. Besides, if all is right in her world, why would she need to steal miso? Why wouldn’t she choose some other, less intrusive method of leaving a mark on the fragment for Asuka prime to find if that’s all she’s there for?)

Even if the Twilight itself is actually leaderless and more just a force of nature, like...entropy marches on, self-actualization or not. Does Twilight only feed on fragments where the inhabitants are especially vulnerable? Because that seems like a difficult thing to fend off.

Plus we still don’t get much of anything resembling closure from sexy!Yuu, who’s been in the show since like episode 2. Where’d she come from? Where’d she go? What happened to her Asuka, Cotton-Eyed Joe? I mean I don’t necessarily need all of those questions answered, but it’d be nice to at least like...see how she fits into the ending.

It’s a shame, because this anime gets much, much better as it goes on. It starts off pretty generic and silly, but it ends up tackling some pretty heavy issues that normally aren’t really discussed in Japan, especially when it comes to girls. There’s all these forms of love on display: self-love; familial love; romantic love; platonic love between close friends; even love for one’s community. The way the story shines is because it doesn’t elevate any one of these to be more important than the others, and that’s so damn refreshing!

Based on what I’ve seen Akanesasu Shoujo doesn’t have great reviews so far, which I can understand from the front end of the series. If you stick it out and let the fanservice and formula fall away though, the series does a couple of very interesting, very subversive things. Not a classic, to be sure, but I’d recommend it if your tastes align with mine.

#Jess watches Akanesasu Shoujo #Akanesasu Shoujo #Jess watches #long post

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olicitysecretsanta · 7 years ago

Text

We Three Queens

Hi Kathi (@smkkbert), I am your Secret Santa! I hope this season has been filled with much love for you and your loved ones. I adore so much of your fanfiction, and for your gift I’ve written you a Queen family holiday fluff fic. I hope that this story brings you some joy! Merry Christmas xo - Shelley (@smoakmonster)

Summary: A look into three Christmas adventures of Oliver, Felicity, and William.

Word Count: 3810

xoxo

2017

“What about this one?”

Oliver adjusts his grip around the eight-foot frasier fir, spinning the tree for inspection, sap sticking to his fingertips and branches prickling his skin.

Yet even as he struggles in the bitter cold–not quite as cold as Lian Yu, but his hands seem to be forgetting that–and feigns more casual control over the tree than he actually feels, the matching frowns both his wife and son are wearing fill his chest with an inexplicable, bubbling warmth and help keep him steady.

“I don’t know.” Felicity tips her head, biting her lower lip as she studies the tree with about as much intensity as she often studies her computers in the bunker, as though the decision were a matter of life and death and not merely a few inches in height preference.

At the rate his family is taking to make a decision, propping up this tree for another five minutes just might be the death of him.

Masked gunmen and Mirakuru soldiers and doppelgangers…and the Green Arrow is going to be undone by a Christmas tree. It’s fitting in a way, he supposes.

“What do you think, William?” she asks.

William shakes his head. “Yeah, this one’s no good. I think we need to go taller.”

“Taller?” Oliver counters.

“I agree,” chimes Felicity, ignoring Oliver’s huff of impatience. “And more poofy at the bottom. More Christmas-y.”

Oliver shoots her a half-irritated-half-amused look as he begrudgingly relinquishes the tree still clinging to his skin and moves into the nine-foot section.

But before he can so much as reach for yet another potential candidate, his wife lets out an excited shriek and darts ahead of him, running with unabashed glee to the large, easily ten-foot display tree standing at the center of the lot.

“William? What is your expert assessment? Should we do the lean test?”

William nods enthusiastically.

Oliver just shakes his head with a slow, contented grin, watching Felicity and William sway from side to side in synchronized fashion and walk the circumference of the base of the tree and run their hands through the long, bristling branches.

“Dad, I think this is the one.”

“I agree,” Felicity nods gleefully under her gray beanie, her face beaming with a smile he’s never had the strength to refuse and her cheeks blooming with a radiant pink from the cold that somehow makes her even more appealing than usual. She’s even more giddy about this endeavor than William.

“And it’s a noble fir, so it’s less likely to shed–not that we’re allergic, but better safe than sorry, right?”

“Felicity,” Oliver practically whines her name.

“Oliver,” she whines right back, matching his deep tone. “Come on, this tree is perfect.”

“This tree is excessive.”

“Says the guy who once told me his friends were participating in a–” she lifts her hands to perform a playful air quote, her ring catching a brief flick of sunlight– “‘scavenger hunt’ using black-ops level security.”

Oliver shuts his eyes, moaning a sigh, feeling the weight of determination drain from his body.

He knows he’s lost. But strangely, it doesn’t feel like a defeat. Surrendering to her is nothing like his battles on the streets or the cosmic battle that used to rage within himself. No, this surrender is peaceful, easy, right. This is why he’s kept fighting his enemies and chasing his fears for so long, for the sake of silly, simple, wonderful little arguments about tree decor. To have gingerbread house competitions that involve more face stuffing and flour throwing than actual crafting. To watch and learn and listen, in awe, as the woman he loves lights eight candles with quiet reverence and dignity and teaches his son to do the same. To delight in storing Queen family heirlooms inside of old MIT moving boxes. To race out of bed in the middle of the night to answer the cries of his son, only to crawl back into bed and curl his body around his wife and press his feet in between fuzzy socks and whisper words of comfort against her neck to help keep her nightmares at bay, too.

As a husband and a father, it’s his job to protect his new family. And yet, they’ve done more to save him than he can ever do to save them in return. He’s used to protecting a city of strangers through violence. While he has the physical training, at times he feels unequipped to lead his family to an emotional safe haven. How does he protect the hearts of the people closest to him?

By savoring the simple pleasures and slower rhythms. By enjoying the little, life-building things. By keeping his promises and coming home to these two remarkable people who grow a little more remarkable every day, the people who’ve taught him how to laugh and love and live again.

Like today.

“Well, if money is a problem, Mr. Mayor,” Felicity continues, pulling him from his thoughts, “then I would be more than happy to contribute to the Christmas fund.” She tips her head at him, giving him the I’ve-never-had-a-real-Christmas-before-and-we-are-doing-this-for-William look. But she’s also teasing him, enticing him.

Exactly like the day they met.

He shakes his head as the warm memory floods his senses like that afternoon cider. He can still see her so clearly, so vibrant, so young and innocent. He can still see that cherry red pen being plucked from neon pink lips. He can still feel himself shaken by the encounter, down to his innermost being. So much so that that was the first day his hand stopped twitching.

But like all old habits, they find a way to wander back. And he feels his hand twitch again now, one last time. Only instead of an incessant nervous tic, his thumb runs in a lazy circle back and forth, just enough to rub against the metal wrapped snugly around his ring finger, the cool texture soothing him deep into his soul.

“Okay,” Oliver concedes. “I think this is the one.”

He lingers on her for an intentionally long time, unguarding his thoughts and pushing his heart out and open onto his sleeve, just for her. When she finally sees that he’s referring to more than just the tree, she smiles and blushes slightly, of course. She still blushes often under his steady gaze, because like him she’s still learning how to be loved. If only he could show her how desirable she remains to him, how being with her feels a bit like waking up Christmas morning every morning, filling him with hope and wonder, as startling as it is settling.

2018

Waking up next to her husband on Christmas morning hits Felicity with unexpected giddiness. For one, she is miraculously up before him. For two, this day marks only the second time she’s really ever experienced Christmas properly. (Vegas showcases and her time in the hospital do not count.) For three, she really cannot wait to give him his Christmas gift.

Hopping out of bed, Felicity makes her way to the kitchen to begin working on breakfast. It’s taken a year of being the wife to a masterchef, but Felicity has finally learned how to make a decent omelette. And by decent, it is literally the barest of minimums. Because nothing can compete with Oliver Queen’s superior cooking skills.

To be honest, not much can compete with Oliver Queen’s skills in general.

“Hey.”

Including the ability to sneak up on her like a big cat.

“Hi,” Felicity breathes, as his hands wrap around her middle, pressing her back against his warm chest. She sinks with ease into his embrace.

“You didn’t have to do this.” He nuzzles her neck, sending small, happy thrills peppering down her spine.

“I wanted to.”

Oliver gives her head a quick kiss, while his left hand slowly meanders underneath her (his) shirt. The cool brush of his ring over her belly button shoots an eager chill straight to her core, and on its own her own left hand comes up to join his on top, their rings clinking against one another like a small toast.

They spend a long time like that, wrapped around each other, swaying softly in the kitchen. Moment by moment, Felicity realizes she likes the feel of his hands over her belly a lot, especially now since…

“Is this my surprise gift?” he whispers at her ear.

She starts, and for a moment panic floods her veins that he has somehow read her mind or that she’s reverted to old habits of just blurting out her thoughts.

But when he doesn’t elaborate, she sighs in relief, realizing he’s just referring to the omelette. And she knows what he’s doing. The man may have given up torture, but he still knows how to get the information he wants.

“Hm, nice try, mister, but–” She spins around, and her words get caught in her throat at the site that greets her: Oliver wearing a pair of long, Rudolf the Rednosed Reindeer pajama pants, that on anyone else would look absolutely ridiculous but on him are surprisingly adorable.

He was most definitely not wearing those last night.

Or any night.

Where has he been hiding them?

“Felicity.”

She glances upward, nibbling on her lower lip.

“My eyes are up here.”

“Right.”

He’s wearing that annoying charming smirk of his, and normally she would rise to the obligatory marital banter occasion, but right now she is far too preoccupied.

Immediately, his demeanor sobers, matching hers, and he closes what little distance there was between them, running his hands in slow, soothing strokes up and down her arms.

“Hey. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” she answers immediately, to try to assuage the fear he wears so openly now, now that he has more to lose, now that they are a real family. “Well, not nothing. Something is going on. Besides just…this.” She waves to the Christmas tree and pile of presents containing a blend of blue and white and red and green wrappings.

He waits for her to continue, staring at her with that intense marksman’s gaze, those deep sea blue eyes pouring into her with so much vigor, the waves of his love crashing into her, slowly eroding away all her haunting self-doubts. She’s never been able to resist this power he has over her heart, a power that he never abandons or abuses.

“I um…I wanted to wait to do this until William was up but–”

“Are we opening presents yet?!” William bursts into the kitchen, full of energy, effectively severing the moment.

“Later,” Felicity mouths.

Oliver nods and lays a soft kiss on her forehead and then leads her into the living room to begin their first annual Christmas morning ritual.

Felicity loses herself for a while in the joy of watching Oliver her husband and mini Oliver her sweet stepson laugh and comment on each other’s wrapping “skills” and stick bows in each other’s hair. William revels in her presents to him, a new video game and Star Wars: The Last Jedi ultra HD blu ray special edition, which he gets her to promise to rewatch with him that night. And she wholeheartedly agrees.

For so long, she’s never known what’s it like to have a normal family. Being an only child raised by a single mom who didn’t fully understand her was a lonely time. She never wants William to feel left out of his own family. Not that she regrets her childhood. She loves her mom. She loves having her dad back in her life.

But she also loves her new family–their family. They’ve always been a kind of family, a mix of broken hearts coming together form a beautiful mosaic; but making it official has given Felicity a renewed sense of peace, filling in the last of the cracks of her insecurities, like cement in between bricks, keeping her grounded, giving her a foundation, a sense of belonging, a home.

She’s loved the slow and steady and chaotic mixing of their lives this past year, the merging of traditions of three legacies and the subtle making of new ones, like Felicity teaching William about the festival of lights and him helping her light the menorah, like Felicity and William volunteering to be the guinea pigs for Oliver’s mayoral holiday party dessert contest, like listening to Oliver and Thea reminisce about extravagant Queen Christmases past.

Of all of them, William has certainly had the most traditional of Christmases growing up. And Oliver and Felicity have tried to treasure and sustain that sense of familiarity in his life, to teach him that it’s okay to celebrate, even after you’ve lost someone you love, to give him everything their own parents never could.

The evidence of William’s sense of security and gentle spirit comes in his own gift giving, in an ugly snowman sweater for his dad that Felicity and William spent an hour searching for at the mall, and in the small sterling silver Star of David necklace he gives her, along with a smile.

Seeing the little star, a piece of her heritage, twinkle against her skin takes her breath away.

“Do you like it?” William asks in a quiet voice, so unsure.

She can only bring herself to give him a wobbly smile in return, barely holding back the happy tears. She knows hormones are partly to blame, but still. It means a lot.

And suddenly, she can’t hold back her secret any longer.

“Wait,” she cries, stopping Oliver and William in the midst of picking up discarded ribbons. Two pairs of blue, searching eyes meet hers, both drawing her in, both filled with such surprising innocence and deep need to protect the innocent.

“How about some coffee?”

“What?” Oliver asks at the same time William says, “I can have coffee?”

“Umm…” Oliver frowns, and she misses whatever else he says to William in Dad Voice, because she’s darting away to the kitchen to find the hidden mugs she stashed away yesterday.

No going back now.

And she doesn’t want to. Keeping this from Oliver for almost a week has been torture. She wanted to tell him right away, but things with the team have been stealing her and her husband’s time and attention, and he’s been so worn from dealing with crime on the mayoral front. They’ve barely seen each other all week, and it’s a Christmas miracle he’s managed to get the day off–

“You’re not having any?” William asks, when she sets down the half-filled coffee mugs.

Felicity sighs a short laugh at just how perceptive her stepson can be. Are all kids his age like this, or is he just super smart and special? Maybe she’s biased, but she likes to believe the latter is true. Maybe she needs to start researching kids in general, all things considered.

“Um…no. Let’s just say I’m giving up coffee in the new year–pretty much all caffeine in general. But I was thinking the two of you could have some for me…for the both of us.”

With a shaking hand and a pounding heart, Felicity runs her fingertips over her stomach just as the two Queen boys examine the mugs in front of them.

When Oliver looks up from his WORLD’S BEST DAD mug, he’s not wearing the jaw-dropping look of shock she was expecting find. In fact, he barely looks surprised at all, more…contented, almost as though…

“You knew? How did you…” she breathes as he stands up and approaches her, her words cut off when he bends down to quickly kiss her stomach.

“I found the pregnancy test in the bathroom.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

He shrugs. “I figured you’d tell me when you were ready.”

He runs his hand through her hair, tucking a few strands behind her ear.

“Are we ready for this?” she whispers.

He smiles with his eyes first, her favorite smile, the corners of his eyes boasting deep wrinkles that mark a life filled with so much endurance and recently so much laughter. And just like that, she remembers what she’s always known: Oliver will be the best daddy ever.

“It’s not like we’ve never been parents before,” he replies easily.

“But this is different. Oliver, a baby–”

“I’m going to be a brother?!”

William abandons his one chance at coffee (his own mug stamped with the words Brother, Est. 2018 in baseball jersey cursive white font) to join them.

“Yeah, buddy,” responds Oliver, far too casually, like this sort of thing happens every day, pulling his son into a side hug.

“Is that okay?” Felicity asks in a quiet voice, her own insecurities sounding very much like this young man’s own fears from just a few minutes ago. They share a kindred-spiritedness, her and William, both knowing what it’s like to lose a parent at a young age, both too smart for their own good sometimes, both needing Oliver Queen on a very deep and terrifying level. Their respective loses have bonded them in some ways, while keeping them apart in others.

It’s also one thing to accept being a parent, to accept that this child will call her mom and there may never come a day when William will be able to do the same. She knows he’s happy to have her in her life, and she’s happy just to have the chance to be a part of it. But it’s another thing entirely to ask William to be happy to have a sibling right away. One day, he might. She can wait for someday.

She doesn’t have to wait very long, though. Because the next thing Felicity knows, she’s being swallowed into a group hug as two different arms wrap snugly around her. The Queen boys give the best hugs.

“It’s more than okay,” mumbles William against her side.

The words are simple but profound. Life-changing in the best way.

Suddenly William jumps back. “I’m not hurting it, am I?”

Felicity chuckles. “No. No, the baby’s like the size of your finger right now. It’ll be awhile till I start to…show.”

Felicity glances up at Oliver, who’s beaming at her, his face mirroring the tingling joy spreading through her. She may be the one pregnant, but she’s pretty sure he’s the one glowing.

2019

Another loud wail has his dad calling his name.

“Hey, William, can you come take her for a minute? I need to check the oven.”

Despite her loud cries in protest, William happily accepts the squirming baby into his gangly arms, moving her soft little head upright into the crook of his elbow with practiced ease, like holding a football. A very loud, always wiggling football.

“Shh, it’s okay, Ladybug. It’s just me,” William tries to soothe his baby sister, rocking her gently as he takes her around to look at all the pretty, bright Christmas lights sprinkled on the tree.

His little Ladybug just makes an unamused face, turning as red as her namesake, and lets out another unpleasant scream.

“She’s not hungry, is she?” William calls over his shoulder.

“Felicity just fed her,” Dad hollers from the kitchen.

William groans, wishing he could help but never knowing exactly what to do to calm his wild sister down. Sometimes she just wants mommy, and of course tonight mommy has to work late via a conference call in the bedroom.

“It’s okay,” coos William, over and over, whether to ease her cries or to repress his own anxiety, he doesn’t really know.

For a while, nothing works. None of his dad’s tricks work, no amount of soothing strokes or back pats or half-lullabies or ornament distractions. And he’s pretty sure he’s about to be partiality responsible for this baby crying herself to death, when an idea finally strikes him.

“You don’t mind if I show you your Christmas present early, do you?” he asks gently.

And like magic, her crying slowly subsides, sending the whole loft into an overwhelming, peaceful silence, like the sudden end of a rainstorm. He can tell she’s likely about to start up again and soon, as she throws him a skeptical look, waiting for her promised entertainment.

He smiles brightly, digging with one hand into the box tucked under the far corner of the tree, and then pulling out two rattling objects.

He shakes the first one, a small dreidel covered with soft, fuzzy blue fabric, which captures her fancy immediately. She reaches for it with a gleeful squeal.

“That’s for your mom. Your mom’s Jewish, and every year we celebrate Hanukkah She taught me how to light the menorah, and I can teach you one day, if you want. I know a couple of words in Hebrew, too, but I’m not really good at saying them.”

His baby sis smiles at that, giving him her best toothless grin, shoving one soft corner into her mouth to gnaw on it.

William lets her play with that for awhile, pulling out the second rattle covered in more baby-friendly fabric, this one a deep forest green.

“Dad helped me make this one.”

Her eyes latch onto the little arrowhead rattle, one that looks exactly like the arrows recovered a numerous crime scenes. And he knows that look of wonder and intrigue. It’s the same look he no doubt wore the first time Dad brought him down into the bunker, the first time he officially met the team and watched Dad put on the Green Arrow suit.

“I know it’s hard being the kid of a superhero,” William whispers, softly slipping his index finger into her small open hand, her tiny little fingers curling around his to make a fist. She’s already so strong. Just like her parents. Just like them, their family.

“But I promise, I won’t ever let you end up alone,” William vows, echoing the same promise Dad made to him years ago, back when he tried giving up saving the city to be there for him. But William doesn’t need his dad like he did before. This baby, though, needs him, needs all of them.

She listens to him in rapt attention, like he’s telling one of his classic comic stories.

In the absence of Auntie Thea, and with his dad and stepmom and extended family taking up the mantle of saving the city, William feels it is his job to ensure this very loud, very lovely little human knows how precious she is to this family, to him. He intends to show his sister what it means to be a part of this unpredictable but always loving family. Just like his dad did for Auntie Thea.

“Merry Christmas, Ladybug.” And then he gives the fourth and his favorite Queen a kiss on top of her silky smooth head, snuggling her close, keeping Star City’s most important treasure safe.

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