#literally anyone who says they enjoy my art PLEASE KNOW I AM KICKING MY LEGS BACK N FORTH N GIGGLING WITH GLEE

[squuote]

You're just,, such a big art inspo,, your Narrator also is just such a fantastic design,,, thank u for your hard work,,

WAAAGHHH HI SHINA HI THIS ASKLITERALLY MEANS THE WORLD TO ME....THANK YOUU i am rlly glad people enjoy the design as much as i love drawing him and even now im still like. lowkey messing around with it and adding as i go hehe

BUT FR THANK YOU...this ask honestly helped me get through the week kfjdghfgk

[downwiththeficness]

A Need So Great-Chapter 2

Summary: Eva Moore is assigned to work the last year of her contract with the DEA in Colombia. She just wants to get to the end of her tenure, but she keeps getting drawn further into a string of murders in the city. It isn’t long before she’s forced to face the ghosts of her past.

Word Count: ~3,600

Warnings: None

A/N: For the purposes of this story, Carrillo isn’t married--or, if you like, divorced. A/B/O dynamics are prevalent, and they come with their own warning. The overall rating for this story is Explicit, although not every chapter will contain adult themes.

Chapters: 1, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8.5, 9, 10, 10.5, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21

Eva had no idea why she’d been asked to come to the scene, just that Steve had called her from the office and asked her to stop by.  There had been a murder. She parked a block or so away and headed to the motel.  When she got there, it was blocked off, but there were no officers around.  With a shrug, she ducked the tape and headed for the open door of the room, hitching her bag higher on her shoulder.

She saw the arm first, blood dripping down and staining the carpet. It was a woman. Eva breathed a bit and called out to see if anyone was there.  An officer popped his head out of the bathroom, looking angry.  

“Hi,” she said with what she hoped was a friendly smile, “I’m here from the embassy.”

He barreled towards her, arms waving angrily.  Confused, Eva slipped her hand into the pocket of her jeans to show him her badge.  That...made things worse.  She was grabbed, the officer yelling, his hand tight on her arm.  Eva felt her fight or flight kick in and she tried to jerk out of his hold. She managed to get her arm free, but he caught her by her purse, yanking her further into the room.  

At the end of it, she was cuffed to the towel rack in the bathroom, her purse sitting by her feet. She’d been told to ‘sit’, and that was about the extent of her understanding of the incident.  Exasperated, Eva waited for him to leave.  Thankfully, he closed the door behind him, giving her the opportunity act unobserved.

“Fuck this,” she sneered, one leg kicking out to snag the strap of her bag.

 Carefully, she tugged it towards her, aware of the sound she might be making. One ear trained to the sounds outside, she made as little noise a possible to get at her goal.  It took some serious finagling, but she managed to get inside. From its depths, she pulled a paperclip that had been holding together a pack of reports, bending it between shaking fingers.  The cuffs were standard—she knew how they worked.  One pin, serrated edges caught on a single lip. They used these in America, too, and she’d become pretty good at getting out of them over the years.

As she unlocked the first cuff, Eva caught sounds of movement outside, voices talking in agitated tones.  She bent to the second cuff, fingers shaking. The door opened and she tucked her hands into her side, hiding the loosened binds from whoever might come at her. Eva knew her expression looked pretty damn guilty, though she hadn’t done anything.  She didn’t have the time to school her features into something more innocent.

The door swung open and Colonel Carrillo—Horacio, as she’d learned—stood in the doorway, looking surprised. He took up the entire space, filling the room even though he hadn’t yet stepped inside. Eva could not help the little spike of...something...that fired up at the sight of him. It was as if her body would scream ‘yes, please’ every...single...time.  Habit had her holding her breath at first, just to get her bearings. If she breathed too deeply of him in the first few seconds, it was harder to maintain any sense of control.

When he didn’t speak, she offered him a trembling smile, “Hi.”

Her wrist turned as slowly as she could, lifting the pin and loosening the cuff soundlessly.

“Hi,” he echoed, before blinking rapidly, as if to refocus. “How…?”

“Steve called, asked me to stop by. I think I scared your officer.”

He looked behind him, she slipped the cuff from her wrist, keeping her hands next to the towel rack, hidden by her body.

When he returned his gaze to her, he put one hand up in a ‘stay’ motion, “I’ll get the key.”

Eva laughed, a short, curt thing, “Don’t bother.”

Turning her shoulders, she lifted both hands, the cuffs dangling from her forefinger. Wordlessly, she offered them to him. His eyes dropped to her outstretched hand, and she could see his jaw clench. She kept her breathing shallow, though there was little she could do about the way her mind analyzed his scent, cataloged his body language. Surprise. Soft amusement. Pride, perhaps. An undercurrent of something dark that she recognized, but refused to name for the sake of her sanity.

He stepped deliberately out of the doorway, gave her a wide berth to exit. Eva was grateful.  Though she rejoiced in the hormones that flooded her in his presence, she didn’t like the thought of making a fool of herself—which, she knew would happen if he got too close. It was enough to enjoy the excited feeling she got when they were in a room together.

It occurred to Eva that it might not be a positive reflection of herself that she was more worried about the alpha in the room than the dead body.  She was aware of him at all times, a wave of heat that fanned out from him to lay heavily on her skin. It was too fucking distracting, but she liked it so much that she gave herself a pass.

Javier walked in with another officer, who took one look at his superior and high tailed it out of the room. She folded her hands in front of her, annoyed that Steve hadn’t even bothered to show up when she wasn’t even supposed to be at a crime scene.

“What am I doing here?”

“You’re here,” Javier explained, “To help us figure out who did this.”

Eva rolled her eyes, “I’m not a crime scene investigator.  I’m a data analyst.”

Behind her, Carrillo shifted on his feet.  The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as she clocked an exhalation of frustration. Her hands tightened as she resisted the urge to run a palm down his arm, to soothe him.

“You’re told us you were here to ‘see what you can see’.  Well—what do you see?” Javier had both hands in his pockets, she could see the butt of his pistol peeking from a holster from underneath.

She stared at him, anxious about what he was trying to prove, or get at. Javier was grumpy, prone to bouts of pettiness and self hatred.  He wasn’t cruel.  She knew cruelty. It was unlikely that he was trying to make fun of her, or trick her.

Looking down at the body, Eva took her in.  She was pretty, mid-thirties, dark hair that was gray at the temples. Naked, splayed on her side, hand tucked into her chin. Her clothes were...nowhere to be seen.  But, the killer had left a scarf, possibly hers.  It was laid across her like a sash, melding in with the curls of her hair.

“This was deliberate.”

Javier scoffed, “Yeah, a murder is pretty deliberate.”

Eva shot him a baleful glare, saying, “Look at her.”

He did.

“Look at how pretty she looks, look at her pose, her face.  Its...art.  She’s like a fucking Botticelli.”

Carrillo moved again and Eva lost focus. She closed her eyes, feeling him edge around her.  When she opened them, both men in the room were looking down at the poor woman.  

“If this guy thinks he’s an artist,” she began, then started over, “With any artist, there is a signature.  Its probably in the room somewhere. Maybe on her body.”

She looked over the limbs and she felt sympathy for her.  Someone killed her to make a statement.

“Why is the DEA involved in this?”

Javier wouldn’t meet her eyes, “She was one of my informants.”

Eva made a sound of understanding, a soft, sad thing.  She’d been killed as an example, not a statement. That made it worse.

“I don’t know what else to tell you,” Eva said, “I wish I saw more.”

Carrillo spoke, he was closer than she anticipated, she jumped a little, “You don’t have to tell us anything else.”

She looked at him, and saw that he was looking at Javier, a silent conversation occurring between them.   It frustrated her more than when they deliberately had conversations in Spanish, keeping her out of the loop.  Eva had picked up words here or there, a byproduct of living in the country, but she couldn’t even get close to following along.

“Yeah,” Javier agreed, eyes dropping to the floor briefly.  “Look, Steve and me are going to get a drink.  Day’s over, anyways.  Why don’t you come with?” When Eva hesitated, he continued, “Connie’ll be there.  She wants to meet you.”

He was inviting her in, Eva realized.  Giving her a little more access to the pair of them than was strictly called for in their professional working relationship. It was an invitation that she very rarely got, and had never accepted.  It surprised her how much she wanted to, now.

“You’re invited, too,” Javier added, gesturing to Carrillo.

Javier lifted his brows in question, looking to Eva for a response. She nodded, turning towards the bathroom to get her purse.

“Where is this place?” She asked, lifting the bag over her shoulder.

Javier gave her the address—it wasn’t far from where she lived, she could walk there, if she wanted.

“Okay,” she breathed, “I’ll meet you there in, like, twenty minutes? I’m parked a bit away—missed the sign the first time.”

“I’ll walk you to your car,” Carrillo said, already heading outside.

Eva gave Javier a little nod and followed him, eyeing his broad form as he walked ahead.  His legs were longer than hers.  At five foot nothing, she had to do a little skip to catch up. They ducked under the caution tape wrapped around little posts, Carrillo holding the tape up and away from her.

“How do you like Colombia?”

The question took her off guard a little.  He’d been extremely polite to her during their interactions, but never veered from discussing the work.  

Eva considered it, “Its pretty, here. I like how green it is. My last assignment was in a literal desert in Nevada, so this is a nice change.” She added, “I haven’t seen much, though, outside of what’s on the road to work. My handlers like to tell me that I’m a consultant, not a tourist.”

Why was she talking so fast? Eva pressed her lips together and gripped the strap of her bag to keep from rambling.

He gave a low chuckle, “If you do decide to become a tourist, take someone with you. It can be dangerous, here.”

She looked up at him, expecting to see a look of condescension on his face.  Poor little omega, protect them at all costs, keep them locked up and safe.  Instead, Eva could only see a kind of hesitant concern. She liked him even more for it.

When they reached her car, Eva unlocked it, throwing her purse in the passenger’s seat before turning to look at him.

“Thank you, for walking me.”

He regarded her with curiosity, and it hit her that this was the first time they’d really been alone together. Their brief encounters always had the buffer of another person, another scent in the air to muddy the waters. Right now, all she could smell was the clean earthy smell of the country, and him.

“Why aren’t you afraid?” he asked, looking genuinely curious.

She let out a soft, amused breath, “Of what?”

“Me.”

The way he said it was so...matter of fact.  As if it would be a given that she should look at him and feel fear.

“Why would I be afraid of you?” she asked, her head tilting to the side.

He ran a hand through his hair, “A lot of omegas are.”

Eva could see why they would be. He had about a hundred pounds on her, could take her down easily, if she ran. She tried not to think about how that thought excited her.

Her jaw unhinged as she tried to respond.  A couple quick quips filtered in and she dismissed them. This was an honest question.  She should give an honest answer.

“You’re not a threat to me.”

He wasn’t.  Not in the way that other alphas had been.  They both knew that he could have pressed his advantage already, could have used her hormones against her to get at something he wanted. She’d heard how he closed his cases, that he was ruthless, calculating, violent. His unfailing courtesy, the space he continually gave her, was noted and welcome.

His head dipped down and to the side and he took a step forward, “I’m not?”

“No,” she confirmed.

Although, she could feel a tense kind of anxiety rise up as he approached. Heat rose to her cheeks, and for once she was glad for the fucking unrelenting sunlight of the country. Eva was always a little pink when she went outside.

“How do you know that?”

She swallowed, watching him advance another step, the movement smooth and unhurried. He was maybe five feet away, now three, “If you wanted something from me, you would have taken it by now.”

Carrillo stepped into the last little bit of her space, hand resting on the open door beside her. Again, he asked, “How do you know that?”

Eva lifted a shoulder, his eyes followed the movement, “You don’t strike me as the kind of man who waits to have it handed to him.”

He smiled, a little sarcasm in his voice, “You’ve gathered all that in, what, five interactions?”

Six, she correctly mentally. Each one burned into her memory as solidly as his scent. It swirled around her and she found herself squeezing her keys into her palm in an effort to keep her body from leaning further forward, from pressing her nose to the sensitive gland just below his ear where it was most fragrant.  She could mark herself with it, with just a little bit of pressure and friction. She could take it with her for the rest of the day.

“I know what man looks like when he wants to hurt me,” she offered by way of explanation. “You don’t look like that.”

His mouth thinned in displeasure, or maybe annoyance.  He tapped his thumb once on the door, stepping away, but not far.

“Its unwise to confuse restraint for,” he searched for the words, “Lack of...want.” Followed by, “See you at the bar.”

Eva watched him go for a few seconds.  He didn’t look back. With a shake of her head, she got in the car and started it.

The bar was dark, despite the daylight still filtering in. Dark, and smoky. Eva caught sight of her coworkers at a table not far off from the entrance. She gave a little wave, making her way towards them.

As she sat, a blonde woman approached, a couple beer bottles in her hand. Eva clocked her as an alpha immediately. She smelled like cinnamon and citrus.

“Hi,” she said warmly, “I’m Connie.”

Eva shook her hand and accepted the beer, “Eva.”

“I didn’t know what you drank, so I guessed,” she gestured to the beer as she sat next to Eva.

Touched by the consideration, Eva simply said, “This is fine, thank you.”

“So, Steve tells me you’re a consultant.  Must be exciting.”

Eva shook her head, sipping, “Its really not.  I just deal with the paperwork. And, apparently, the occasional crime scene.”

Javier had the good grace to look away. Connie smiled and leaned into her husband.  He wrapped an arm around her, kissing her at the hairline. Eva could see that they were very much in love, she hoped it could survive his occupation. Not many relationships did.

“I mostly sit at a desk,” Eva said, to keep the conversation going.

Connie smiled, “So you’re bored out of your mind, reading Steve’s reports?”

Eva returned the smile, “Pretty much.  I’ll take bored any day, though. Beats the hell out of getting shot at.”

Her expression faltered, but Connie recovered quickly, “Where are you from?”

“Louisiana, for the most part.”

“How’d you end up here?”

Eva shrugged, unphased by the rapid questions Connie lobbed at her, “Probably the same way you did. I went where they told me to go.”

“They,” Connie said with emphasis, “Can suck a lemon.”

Clearly, there were some unresolved issues with regard to Connie and the DEA.  Eva thought it might be nice to hear a few stories from her, just to see if she saw the same things that Eva did.

The door to the bar swung open and Carrillo walked through.  Eva kept her expression as neutral as possible, but had to suppress a curse when she realized that the only open seat at their table was to her right. She rolled the bottle between her thumb and first three fingers, offering a small smile of acknowledgment when he sat.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, flagging down a waitress, “Had to reprimand an officer.”

Eva wanted to ask if it was the same officer who’d detained her. She didn’t.

While the men conversed around them, Connie leaned over, “Are you like them?”

Eva hummed in question.

“Living and breathing the job?” This was said in a conspiratorial tone.  Connie’s expression was both secretive and open, a strange combination of the two.

Shaking her head, Eva eyed the rest of the table, consciously measuring half a second for each so as to not linger where her eyes kept wanting to look, “No. This is just where I ended up.”

“Oh, thank God,” Connie breathed as she grasped Eva’s shoulder, “Finally, I’m going to have someone normal to talk to.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Eva responded, tipping back her beer and setting it on the table, empty. “I could be completely insane.”

“I’ll take it,” she tipped a bottle at her.

Eva huffed, noting that Connie was a little low, “Sure, okay. You bought me a beer, let me return the favor.”

And that was how it went for a while.  Steve telling a story, Javier chain smoking, Connie rolling her eyes, and Eva...Eva did her best to keep her blood at a low simmer. He’d admitted to her that he wanted her, and she didn’t know what to do with that information. Though he looked relaxed, Carrillo had returned to the overly polite manner that had colored their previous interactions.  It made her want to poke at him, just to get a reaction. She resisted, just barely.

“I looked you up, you know.”

Eva was startled out of her thoughts by Javier, “Really?”

“Yeah, found your last boss.” He was looking at her sidelong, gauging her expression.

Forcing her body to relax, Eva gave him a placid smile, “How is Vanessa?”

He lit a cigarette, “She’s good. I asked her what you were like?”

“Oh no,” Eva shot back, rolling her eyes with a little laugh.  

“She said you’re quote-unquote ‘willful’.”

“She’s not wrong.”

Eva could be pretty stubborn when she wanted something, a trait that not even her husband had been able to beat out of her.  A trait that had survived prison and working for the government.  Stubborn trait.

“She also said you get results.”

Eva made tipped her beer at him,“Again, not wrong.”

He waited a beat, his mouth twisting just a bit, “She said we shouldn’t be friendly with you.”

A cold hand ran down her spine. God, it was the same old song and dance with his job, wasn’t it? She swallowed down the disappointment with her next swig of beer.

“You want to tell us why she said that?”

Eva put a hand to her forehead, rubbing at the space between her brows, “The short answer is that its classified.  The long answer is that you already know why.”

He stubbed out the cigarette, blowing out the last of the smoke from his lungs, “If you get results, I guess I don’t care much about the things you’ve done.”

Unable to keep the sneer from her voice, she said, “I’m so glad I have your approval, then.”

“Alright,” Carrillo cut in, hands rising between the two of them, “We’ve been over this. Can we move on?”

Eva glanced at him and made a noncommittal sound, lifting her beer to salute Javier. He returned the gesture.

“You’re going to have to explain all of this to me,” Connie said lowly as the conversation resumed.

Eva laughed a little, “Absolutely.”

“Good, you can do that in aerobics class.”

Eva frowned, “What?”

“I need a partner and you look athletic.”

Eva was athletic, had been her whole life, “Um…”

“Great, there is a class tomorrow night.  Local gym, not hard at all.”

“Um…”

“You’re free tomorrow, right?”

She was, technically, free, “I mean, yeah…”

“Okay, you’re coming with me.”

As Connie pushed away from the table to get another round, Eva looked at the group, “What just happened?”

Steve’s smile was sympathetic, “Sorry, she does that.”

“Is there a way around it?”

“Nope.”

Eva looked back at Connie, then shrugged, “Okay.”

The sun had sunk by the time they left. She’d traded numbers with Connie, agreeing to drive over together after work. When Eva looked through the windshield, before pulling out of the parking spot, she noticed that Carrillo had watched her go to her car. He was standing near the curb, finishing a cigarette, keys hanging from a curled finger.  She gave him a little wave from over the steering wheel, turning the ignition.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #291

“clothes trailing from the backdoor, to the bedroom, and i don’t even know your name.”

What was the last health scare you had? So I got blood tests done recently to check multiple things, and I got pretty nervous when my doctor stood beside me going through the numbers and what they meant. I was afraid she was going to tell me I had diabetes (runs in the fam, and my diet hadn't been great) or something, but I was fine. What is your favorite food to cook? Something in the microwave lmao. Do you listen to bluegrass music? Ew. What was the last novel you read about? Well it' s part of a series so it'd be hard to explain briefly... but dragons. That'll do ig, lol. If there is a tree right outside your window, what kind is it? There's a small one. Idk what it is. What is your favorite filling for a piece of chocolate? Caramel. What is your favorite thing to draw? If you take a look at my work history... I apparently love drawing meerkats screaming for one reason or another lmao. Do you like abstract art? Not very much. There are of course exceptions to this, but it's definitely not my favorite and sometimes doesn't even feel like "art" to me. Would you ever want to be a painter? No. My Painting course in school taught me it's too damn stressful, the idea of messing up. Even though it's technically fixable. There's just a lot about painting I don't like. I'd much rather draw and color traditionally. What is your passion? Some of my biggest consists of gay rights (or really just equal rights as a whole), meerkats, pacifism, photography, just art in general, stuff like that. I feel things very deeply, so there's really a lot. What fascinates you? NATURE!!!!!!! SO MUCH ABOUT IT!!!!!!!!! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! Do you have art on your walls? In my room, I have three of my meerkat projects on the wall with my meerkat collection, and my Pyramid Head/Halo of the Sun overlap drawing is with my Silent Hill stuff. What kind of collection would you like to start? I have a decent amount of stuff, but I really would love to pump up my SH collection. It has SO much merch that I would die for, stuff is just mad expensive. If I was to start a new collection, bitch I need Markiplier stuff so bad, I'm too awkward to ask for that shit for holidays 'n stuff. ;;_;; Do you enjoy the sound of birds chirping? I sure do. If you had the money, would you travel the world? I feel like I'd go to less locations than most people you could ask this question, but I'd definitely go places, yeah. If you could travel the world, which country would you want to go to first? South Africa. Make my meerkat dreams come true. :') Do you get drunk? I haven't before, and I don't actually aim to when I drink (which is very rare) and I'm apparently no lightweight, so I doubt I ever will. Don't feel like I'm missing out, honestly. Do you get high? Nah. Have you ever used a prescription medication to get high? No. Does sunlight make you happier? Guys. This is science. I used to hate the sun so much, but it's good for you. Open your windows on a clear day; your body will thank you. It takes getting used to, but please, don't coop yourself up in the dark. Do you live a boring life? My life is excruciatingly boring. Like not to sound depressing, but half the time I wish I wasn't even alive because I'm so bored lmao. Have you ever gotten soap in your mouth for cursing? Do you think that’s right to do to kids who curse? No, but it's been threatened upon me. I don't support it, no, but then again I don't believe in traditional "profanity." My hypothetical four-year-old could say "that fucking hurt" in our own household, and just a simple word indicating (s)he was really in pain wouldn't faze me for a blink. I do believe out of respect though, that you should educate your children when "profanity" isn't allowed, like in school and such. You don't shove potentially toxic shit into your kid's mouth to teach them something. What age do you think is appropriate for kids to start watching horror movies with lots of gore? This definitely depends on the child. Are they spooked easily? How mature are they? Do they understand what's not to be replicated? It would vary with the film, too. Do you have any wind chimes outside your house? How many? No, but I'd love to. Wind chimes are great. Do you have a flat stomach? Would you ever wear a belly shirt to show it off? I hate my stomach more than I do any other part of my body, so guess. Would you ever get a sleeve or a half sleeve on your arm (we’re talking about tattoos)? omfg hell YES Do you think your biological parents love each other? They're long-divorced and Dad's been remarried for a long time while Mom only has negative shit to say about him, so like... What's one movie you’re dying to see but haven’t had the chance to see yet? *Dying* to, I don't know if one exists. Birds of Prey probably tops my want-to-see list, though. Harley moving past Joker? Girl you fuckin go ilu. What’s the biggest promise someone’s ever made to you? Did they keep it? To never leave me because of my illnesses. Nope, he sure didn't. Does thunder & storms scare you? Nah, not usually. It's funny, I was TERRIFIED of them as a kid, especially if I wasn't with my mom, but now I find them beautiful and sometimes even relaxing. Now, wind, I fucking hate wind. I associate bad winds with tornadoes, so fuck outta here w/ that. Google, Bing, or Yahoo? Google. Do you sing in front of people? NO. Who are you the most uncomfortable around? Groups of older men. Are your parents overprotective? No. A recent creation that you’re proud of? I took family pictures for a repeat client recently, and I'm really happy with how some came out. Who’s your favorite comedian? Living, I'm unsure. It was John Pinette. What makes you squeamish? Vomit and fecal matter top the list. Do you have any online friends that you wanna keep, but not meet? Maybe a couple that I don't know too well? Should cloning ever be allowed to happen? No. I see a lot of potential problems with that should it become a serious thing. Who would you live with if you got kicked out tomorrow? Probably my dad. What’s a pet your parents never let you have when you were a kid? A snake. I was eventually allowed though obviously, and now Mom loves Venus, though she won't hold her. Who do you wish you could change, if anyone? It's not my job to change anyone else. You have to want to change. Has your house ever been broken into? No, but my childhood home almost was by a gang. My older sister and her best friend were home alone at the time. Thank fuck they didn't get in, but they left a gang flag on our porch. Would you consider yourself a good flirt? I have no idea. What color do you wear most often? You mean to tell me black isn't the only primary color in people's wardrobes? Do you like your hair? Disregarding the fact it gets oily way too fast, yes. Have you ever driven while under the influence? No, I would absolutely never. Did you enjoy your last kiss? Yeah. Would you ever take boudoir photos for a significant other? (or have you?) Considering I literally love boudoir, I would if I didn't hate the fuck outta my body and would be too embarrassed to ever do it. What is your biggest guilty pleasure? Maybe makeup guru channels lmaooo. What is a movie that you thought you would hate but actually ending up enjoying? I'm unsure. I don't really go into watching a movie I think I'll hate, especially when I watch so few movies to begin with. Do you like where you live? I'm not a fan of the suburbs, but it's a better place than where we were. Are you a jealous person? I'm learning that apparently I might be, at least sometimes. Is there anyone you want to fix things with? There are a few. Last time you walked further than a block? I couldn't tell you. I walk a few feet (that's not an exaggeration) and am in pain because of the muscle atrophy in my legs. Is it easy for you to accept loss? NO. NUH-UH. NOPE. Do you get dessert normally while out to eat? No. Who was your first kiss? Jason, my first "real" boyfriend. Have you ever found a stray dog & found its owners? Not that I recall. Would you ever tell your mom about the things you’ve done sexually? Not everything, no. When was the last time you told someone you love them? Last night. Who was the last person you talked to last night in person before bed? Ma. When was the last time that you were genuinely happy? Good damn question. Have you ever dyed your hair? Plenty of times. Have you ever fallen asleep with the last person you kissed? Yeah. When was the last time you changed in front of someone? I don't know; when you hate your body enough, you'll do a lot to avoid that. Last person you kissed, have you cried in front of them? Yes. Ever dated someone who was gorgeous but they had a conceited personality? No. A conceited asshole is the last kind of person I'm dating. Would you prefer a kiss on the cheek or neck? Well I mean what's the vibe lmao Do you like to cuddle? Yeah, if we're a close couple and it's not too hot. Have you ever suspected anyone of cheating on you? Nah. Could you ever be friends with the person who hurt you most in life? I wish we could, but even if he was willing, I don't think "friendship" is possible between us. What is something “cheesy” that you own? Ha, I have this feminine-looking "she believed she could so she did" wall decor thing... I can't remember if I bought it or if it was gifted. What is something that gets your creative juices flowing? MUSIC!!! What drink are you most likely to order at a bar? Some kind of margarita. What is the most interesting class that you took in high school or college? Mythology, I guess? When was the last time that you’ve ever played Spin the Bottle? I never have to begin with. If you were an adult film star or a stripper, what would your stage name be? I can't even try to entertain this question. Even if I WANTED to be one, I would never be hired. I couldn't seriously think of a name. Have you ever wanted to be a cheerleader? No, not even when I was one as a kid lmao. Have you ever been dumped? What was the reason for it? Yeah. The first one, he couldn't handle my depression anymore. With my last partner, we kinda had a mutual agreement that to save us from potential later heartbreak, we needed to work more on ourselves right now. What was the last R-rated movie you watched? Hm. Idk. Have you ever asked someone out? Yes. Have you ever had lice? No. What is the most childish thing that you still do? I mean, with RP, you could argue that I still "play pretend." Have you ever watched a movie you knew you shouldn’t? As a kid, I'm pretty sure I was not supposed to see whatever Scary Movie film it was when I did, aha. Have you ever wanted to try LARP (Live Action Role-Play)? Nah. I'm awkward enough explaining I just write it. If you could go back in time and erase one thing you said or did, what would it be? The "thanks for sending me to the hospital" message to Jason. Has your boyfriend or girlfriend ever embarrassed you? Jason did before, if we're counting past partners. Have you ever thought about cheating on your partner? I never thought of that in any relationship, no. Have you ever been caught checking someone out? Not to my recollection. Not that I even do that much. Have you ever cried because you missed your parents so much? Oh, absofuckinglutely as a little kid. I had BAD separation anxiety from my mom. Have you ever posted something on social media that you regret? OH BOY HAVE I!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Have you ever ding dong ditched someone? No. Which is worst: Snakes, scorpions, or spiders? I adore snakes. Some spiders scare me, especially if they catch me by surprise. Scorpions aren't native here, so I've actually never come across one, so I'd probably be more curious than frightened. Is there an attic and/or a basement in your house? An attic, yeah. Have you ever been bitten by a tick? Has anyone not? Well, I suppose this depends on your environment. Playing outside in the country as a kid a lot, and especially walking through tall grass to reach fishing spots with Dad, I've had lots. I'm terrified of parasites so those were never fun times. What color is your mom’s car? White. Have you ever had a bird or a squirrel in your house? No. How high off the ground is your bed? The average, ig. What is the cutest breed of dog? That's such a hard question, but I think I tend to lean towards pugs, though I don't support breeding them or any other type that is a medical catastrophe. What is something other people say you’re good at but you think you’re not? Holding a conversation. I call BS. What does your bedside lamp look like? It's a creamy color with a floral design. It was already here at the house when we moved in. Do you like your neighbors? I don't know them. Does your room need to be cleaned? I need to finish decorating it... and dust the dresser. What was the last bug you saw? Ugh, a fucking ant. This house has had an ant problem before, and now they're showing up in my room here and there. Do you place any value in gender roles? Literally zero. Are your platonic relationships just as valuable as romantic or family ones? Well, I suppose it would depend on the person. How strong is that platonic relationship? Are you in love? Do you want to be? I don't think *in* love anymore, no; I reasoned myself out of that. I think most people WANT to be in the name of companionship, and being a pretty hopeless romantic, your wild guess would probably be right. Would you be happy with a life without romance? I'd live. Are you religious? Do you think your religion is ‘correct’? No. If you aren’t religious, do you wish you were? Why? Nope. Religion only ever brought me confusion, pain, and frustration. Are your choices fated or of your own free will? I am very much a believer in free will and that you sculpt your own fate. Was your childhood happy? For the most part. What are you missing from your life? Excitement. Would you fight for your country? Do you feel a sense of loyalty to your nation? No. And if my country did something fucked up, I wouldn't stand with the masses just because I live here. What’s the latest YouTube channel you’ve discovered and binge-watched? Snake Discovery, like, hardcore. Does it snow where you live? Every now and then, but it's super rare for the snow to stick, and it's maybe even rarer that we get a good or fun amount. Do you think your hair looks better long or short? UGGGGHHHHHH I AM SO MUCH HAPPIER W/ SHORT HAIR. Do you enjoy editing photos on your phone? Not really on my phone, no. I don't have good image quality on my phone, so editing tends to make it worse. What’s your favorite thing to do on your phone? Play Pokemon GO if I'm actually in a place with spawns. Which season do you wish would last longer? Sigh, autumn. At least here, the colorful phase is pretty short. It's like... green leaves one day, a beautiful display for a week, then the trees are bare. It's still my favorite season, though. Do you have neat handwriting? Yeah. Did you dream of becoming famous as a kid? Nah. Do you get on Facebook every day? Pretty much. What was your favorite girl group when you were growing up? Spice Girls, duh. Would you ever consider naming a child after a family member? No. I've got nothing against people who do, but I've just never seen the appeal of it at all. I would want my hypothetical child to have their completely own identity.

[raendown]

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 5014 Chapter: 7/9 Rated: T+ Summary: When his brother disappears coming home from town Madara goes looking for him only for both to end up taken prisoner in a castle hidden by magic generations ago. The candelabras talk, the furniture sleeps, and a great white beast hides himself away in the eastern wing. As he uncovers the story behind this place and gets to know the last small group of ‘survivors’ Madara gradually makes a new home here in the least likely of places.

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Chapter 7

Gently swirling the contents of the flask in his hands, Madara watched the translucent liquid rotate in small waves for a few moments before lowering it to resume rolling the glass between both palms as he had been for the past several minutes. In general he’d never been the type for nervous fidgeting but Hashirama's suggestion had confused him and awoken a strange nervous energy of sorts.

“This medicine is for Izuna,” he said slowly.

“Yes,” Hashirama agreed, “but I believe it is important that you take some as well.”

“Why would I drink someone else’s medicine?” It seemed a waste, especially after the happy discovery that it did not disappear at the midnight reset.

Hopping closer along the kitchen counter, Hashirama lifted both hands to still his movements, the wicks in his candles thankfully unlit. “It may do you some good as well. My brother assisted me in reading several of the journals we did not look through before and one of them mentioned that those who spend time near a person infected with your brother’s illness may contract it themselves.”

“But I’m not sick! I’m not coughing or anything! Wouldn’t I have shown some kind of symptoms by this point?”

“Ah, there lies the rub. According to one physician’s notes the illness may lie dormant for months or even years without any signs until something awakens the symptoms. I believe it was referred to as latent tuberculosis – and I also believe that you may have been infected.” Hashirama's candles gripped him tightly as one might clutch at someone’s fingers. “Please, my friend, allot yourself a portion of this medicine. It would not do to cure your brother at last only to fall ill yourself instead!”

Madara lowered his gaze to stare at the flask again, turning that information over in his mind. He’d heard of that before. One of the farmers he used to serve at the inn had stopped coming in to the village square when people finally put two and two together to realize that any pregnant woman who came in contact with him tended to lose the child. They called him a ‘carrier’, although what he was carrying Madara had never bothered to figure out. He himself would never have a wife, what with his attraction to men, so he hadn’t cared much to learn about the exact dangers.

After promising Hashirama he would think about it Madara disentangled himself from their odd embrace and hurried away. The flask slipped neatly in to his pocket for later while he strode through the halls towards the front door. His limbs began to shiver the moment he stepped outside but it was easy enough to put up with a bit of shivering when he knew he would be sweating through his coat very shortly.

True to an earlier promise, Tobirama had thrown himself in to the task of training Madara in the use of a gunbai with surprising enthusiasm. Six out of seven days they met, ran through a specific set of warm up stretches to loosen their muscles, then sparred until the massive weapon began to slip from Madara's grasp. Apparently he could only be considered a master of the art when he could endure any amount of abuse without ever allowed the gunbai to leave his grip. Considering how tired he usually was at the end of their daily exercise Madara had quickly built an appreciation for the strength of warriors in Tobirama’s time. They must have taken battle quite seriously.

Struggle as he might, in the end Madara was forced to admit defeat when he could not convince his arms to lift the weapon he had fallen in love with even one more time. The entire bottom half of his body was soaked through from stumbling around in the snow but his shirts were damp only with the sweat from his own body as he jammed the gunbai in to the ground and leaned heavily on it in an attempt to catch his breath.

“Your abilities are growing at an admirable rate,” Tobirama mentioned, already politely cleaning the blade he preferred to use for their training sessions.

“Right,” Madara snorted. “My ability to get clobbered in to the ground.”

His friend granted him a fond smile. “Would it make you feel better to know that I would be much less of an opponent were I blessed with my natural size once more?”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“Truly I am not. I was trained as all my brothers were but I had other pursuits which caught my interest and swordplay was not one of them. What makes me formidable now is the sheer size of this cursed body.” With a wry twist of his mouth Tobirama gestured down the front of him with one massive arm and Madara paused to consider that.

“I guess if you didn’t have arms the size of my calves you wouldn’t pack so much of a punch, yeah. You’d probably still grind me in to the dirt.”

Coming forward to help him stand and leading them both towards the armory, Tobirama hummed. “Would that I could pit you against Hashirama instead. You may not see it but I do: your stamina has already improved by leaps and bounds, your movements are stronger. Already you may have surpassed my abilities.” Oddly enough he even looked proud to say so rather than the clenched jaw of forcing out an unwanted admission as Madara would have expected from anyone else he’d ever known.

He kept his silence as they made their way inside the armory to finish cleaning their weapons and put them away. Proper storage and care of one’s things was something Tobirama was rather vehement about, though Madara happened to feel the same so it wasn’t exactly a lesson hard learned. As much as he usually enjoyed the few moments when it was not considered weird to lavish tender affection on an inanimate object, though, his thoughts drifted to other concerns as he went through the motions today entirely on autopilot. Neither of them spoke until the gunbai and sword were both hung back in their proper places and Tobirama was already turning for the door when Madara's voice called him back.

“Sometimes,” he began slowly, “you have a good day and the way you talk is almost hopeful. But then other days you talk like you expect to live forever stuck in time the way you are.” Unsurprisingly Tobirama’s expression immediately turned somber.

“It is not being outside of time’s flow that bothers me but–”

“Yeah, I know, the body. But the body isn’t yours. You just acknowledged that yourself.”

“Perhaps. But it is the form I deserve.” One of Tobirama’s hands slid down to press against where the fur covering his legs rose up over his hips as well.

Madara turned a little more towards him and very carefully did not fold his arms in an effort to avoid confrontational body language. “No it isn’t. No matter what mistakes you think you’ve made – and we all know you made none – that doesn’t make you a beast or an animal or anything. If anything that probably makes you more human than ever.”

“How, precisely?” Tobirama asked incredulously.

“It’s in the nature of humans to make mistakes.” Madara shrugged. “It’s what we do. We’re imperfect and we try our best but it’s just…it’s human to fail.”

He wasn’t really surprised to see Tobirama look away from him uncomfortably. If he ever did get all of these idiots back in to their human selves the first thing he was going to do was smack Hashirama upside the head for never saying half the things this man so clearly needed to hear. None of these thoughts should have been allowed to take hold of him. If Madara had been around back then he would have been kicking in doors to give Tobirama a piece of his mind, telling him all the things he needed to hear no matter how badly he didn’t want to hear them.

A blind man could tell that his words had already made the other uncomfortable but Madara was merciless. Better late than never.

“I won’t bother dragging the whole argument out of the closet, you already know my opinions on what happened and your lack of blame for it all, but I just…do you really see yourself as not human anymore just for that? Even after all this time?”

“Would any human do to another what I did?” Tobirama asked quietly.

“Yes! Lots of them! Literally any one of us would kill one person to save the lives of a hundred others, especially if that one person was already dying and happy to have their suffering end.” And oh how those poor people had probably been grateful to have their suffering end.

Tobirama looked away. “It was not one person but hundreds,” he insisted. “That is different.”

“No, it really isn’t.”

Madara almost reveled in the frustration he could see behind his friend’s eyes. That was good. Frustration was another human emotion and the harder Tobirama fought to prove his point the more opportunities Madara would have to show him how he was wrong. And he had always loved proving people wrong.

“You were born a human,” he went on mercilessly. “You learned as a human, you grew as a human, and from that ripped up portrait I caught a glance of you looked pretty damn human to me. But if you’re so damn determined to be a monster then answer me one question. How does that make you any different?”

“I…I do not follow…”

“Does the form of a monster determine its insides? Can you tell from looking at a man whether he teaches children or murders them in their beds? No. So just because what you might call a monster has some kind of twisted body or ugly outsides that doesn’t mean the insides are ugly too. You don’t know! Maybe the monster under your bed just really needs a hug or something!”

Barely remembering he was trying to keep his body language open, Madara propped both fists on his hips and nodded in approval of his own points, silently enjoying the flabbergasted way Tobirama was staring at him. It wasn’t often he got to flap the unflappable king of cool. Or so he sometimes referred to Tobirama in his head. Whether it was the era he’d been brought up in or just his natural composure the other had a tendency to remain calm and utterly in control of himself at all times – or until Madara said something that hit one of his weak points.

It felt like a good sign that it took a couple of minutes for Tobirama to compose himself enough to speak again. Clearly if he wasn’t speaking he was thinking because this was a man whose brain simply never shut off but as long as he was giving consideration to the right thoughts Madara decided he didn’t mind the wait.

“You are…unlike any other I have ever met,” was the final conclusion.

“Eh? I guess you haven’t met a lot of decent people in your life.” Madara paused thoughtfully. “Or maybe you just haven’t met enough assholes, Izuna tells me I’m an asshole all the time.”

A look of fondness flashed across Tobirama’s face. “Your insistence upon seeing me as more than I am is both flattering and delusional yet I cannot seem to bring myself to request that you stop. It is more than I feel I deserve and…I appreciate it.”

“Oh yeah well your definition of what you deserve is wildly skewed.”

“Perhaps because I prefer to dwell on more pleasant things. Such as yourself.” Tobirama smiled in an oddly hesitant way but Madara only smiled back without questioning it, snorting a little with amusement.

“It’s been a long time since anyone called me pleasant,” he admitted.

“A travesty. You should be appreciated more often.”

Eyeing his companion a little sideways, Madara hummed. “If you are trying to sweet-talk me in to a change of topic it won’t work. I’m still determined to show you how very humanly stupid you are being. Although I’ve got to admit that a little flattery never hurts anything, you could stand to say a few more nice things to me.”

“My good friend, I could spend the rest of this day listing your better qualities without ever repeating myself.”

“Damn.” Removing one hand from his hip to scratch at the back of his head, Madara laughed. “You must plan to talk really, really slow then. I don’t have all that many good qualities.” It was all he could do not to leap in to the air and pump both fists with joy. Tobirama had called him a good friend. Considering him a good friend meant the other was forming new attachments and doing that meant that he was not so disconnected from his humanity as he thought. Madara couldn’t wait for the appropriate moment to turn around and shove that big step forward in the other’s face.

Underneath the calm mask of Tobirama’s twisted features Madara thought he saw a moment frustration but it was gone in the next instant so he dismissed it. He did have to admit that his responses probably sounded a little flippant and Izuna had always told him how annoying it was when he gave off an impression of not being invested in the conversation. If that was it he did feel a little bad. He was very invested. Other than Izuna’s health there was nothing more important in his life these days than helping Tobirama learn to see himself as human once again and not just because doing so would return to him his own freedom.

No, he wanted Tobirama to remember his own humanity because they were indeed friends now and he wanted his friend to remember, above all else, the feeling of happiness. His own brand of freedom. What could ever be more important than that?

“Well,” he broke the silence, ready to let the subject drop for now. “If you want to say more nice things to me then maybe we should go inside where it’s warm so I can feel my toes again.”

“Ah, my apologies. I sometimes forget about…”

“Feet?”

“Yes,” Tobirama agreed with shame coloring his tone. That simply wouldn’t do.

Madara headed for the door and tossed over his shoulder with a smile, “I think that’s one of the things where you got the better end of this deal. Do you know how much I would love to just never stub my toe again or never worry about cold feet when I go to bed?”

“How is it that you always manage to put a positive spin on everything?” Tobirama asked as they stepped out in to the snow. “You have more talent for it than even Hashirama.”

“Don’t tell him that, he’ll take it as a challenge.”

Another triumph in his favor, Tobirama cracked a smile. “If you wish to avoid his enthusiasm then perhaps you would consent to spending more time in my company. My days are always brightened by your presence. It would please me greatly to know more of you.”

“Not a bad idea,” Madara admitted.

“You approve?”

“Definitely. I mean, we already agreed that we should get to know each other and now we have; now we’re friends. It makes sense for us to spend time together.” Madara sent his companion a conspiratorial grin. “And if it gives me an excuse not to listen to Hashirama compose poetry for his wife then all the better.”

Once again a flash of frustration appeared on Tobirama’s face that he didn’t understand but Madara let this one go unmentioned as well. Questioning Tobirama’s unexplained miniature temper tantrums was probably just as dangerous as asking Hashirama why he was in such a good mood on any given day. Although he was willing to bet that Tobirama would not respond by launching himself in to lengthy poetic speeches that he would then have to tune out, for which Madara was grateful. Just imagining it was terrifying.

Trudging back through the snow was terrible when Madara's legs felt as though they might turn to jelly at any moment but it was made less terrible by Tobirama kindly walking ahead of him and widening the path they had made to come out here earlier. For all the conveniences of having the world reset every day this was one inconvenience he could have done without; it would have been nice to shovel himself a nice path to use but what was the point if it would only disappear? Wasted effort. And Madara wasn’t about to tire himself out for nothing when he already got all the exercise he needed during their sparring sessions.

After detouring towards the stables for Madara to be sure his old mare had enough hay and water they made it inside the castle and paused for him to peel off all the extra layers now soaked through with sweat and snow. Learning how to wield a gunbai involved an unsurprising amount of getting knocked on the ground. Hashirama found them as Madara was contemplating taking his shirt off as well and walking through the halls bare chested until he could go bathe.

Strangely, Hashirama did not have a cheerful greeting for them. Or any greeting at all.

“Have either of you encountered Mito recently?” he asked the moment he saw them. Both shook their heads and Tobirama reminded him that they had been outside for the last couple of hours as they usually were this time of day. “If you see her would you be so kind as to let her know I am looking for her?”

“Of course, brother,” Tobirama replied.

With that Hashirama was gone again, hopping off down the hallways at speeds that threatened to send him tripping over his own metal base. Madara tilted his head to one side.

“That’s weird.”

“I agree. He is not normally quite so abrupt.”

“Oh, yeah, that too. I just meant it’s weird because I don’t think I’ve ever seen Mito outside of the kitchens unless she’s with Hashirama.”

Tobirama looked down at him with brows furrowed in thought. “She was no great lady before she married my brother. I believe the kitchens give her comfort because she was raised there, a simple cook until she caught the crown prince’s eye.”

“Damn. I didn’t know that.”

“She would likely not wish for you to know.” His friend glanced at him sideways with a conspiratorial smile and Madara laughed. Without being told he never would have guessed that Mito had been raised as anything other than a proper lady in the royal courts. She certainly had acclimated well to such a massive promotion if her usual cool demeanor was anything to go by.

The anomaly was an easy one to put out of their minds, the two of them resuming the paths they had intended to take now that their training was done for the day. Tobirama walked with him until they reached the hallways that led towards the royal apartments. As they spent more and more time together Madara was slowly learning more and more things they agreed upon and one of those things was the necessity of bathing after such strenuous activity. Not many things struck him as more disgusting than the idea of going about the rest of his day reeking of sour armpits. He’d gotten enough of that stench from the patrons who frequented the tavern perhaps a little too frequently and he had less than zero desire to be like those animals in any sort of way.

Izuna sat comfortably ensconced in the window seat when Madara entered the room, nose buried in a book and sock-covered feet tucked under his thighs where they were curled with anticipation. He always had loved a good adventure story. For a moment Madara couldn’t help but stop and stare, admiring the flush of color where there had once been tired and waxy skin, the shine coming back to long dark hair. His brother looked healthier now than he had in years and he continued to improve with every day that passed. It was amazing what access to actual medicine would do after years of being sold a shitty half-potent brew to keep him coming back as a repeat customer. If Madara ever saw that witch doctor again the idiot was going to come away from the encounter without all his vital body parts intact. That was a guarantee.

“Bath?” his brother asked distantly without looking up. It was incredibly annoying that he found it easy deciphering the twirling flowery script Madara could not, able to enjoy whatever book he wanted to from the library.

“Please tell me the water’s still hot,” he pleaded.

“Mn. Should be. I haven’t bothered to check.”

Madara grunted and stumped on through to the water closet. Even in the current times it was a rarity to find homes outside of the big towns that were built with indoor plumbing. The fact that this castle had such luxuries available was well worth the fact that to heat the water for his bath still required a small fire under the tub. It was better than hauling water in from the well as he’d had to do all his life. The tub was even make of copper with four clawed feet holding it up above the ground, much more comfortable than the squat wooden barrel Madara was used to crawling in to.  

To his absolute delight the small fire he stoked up before going outside had gone out not too long before, leaving his water a delicious burning temperature he was able to enjoy by submerging a towel before his body so he wouldn’t have to sit directly on the heated copper bottom. Sinking down in to the water was bliss upon his tired muscles and Madara was glad no one but Izuna was close enough to hear the shameful drawn out moan that echoed around the room in appreciation. There really was nothing like a good hot soak after a hard day’s work. And considering that his life had been fairly soft compared to others he felt he was only just beginning to appreciate things like this now after signing on to turn his muscles in to jelly six out of seven days a week.

Although he couldn’t say that he minded. In an odd way the soreness of his muscles felt good, felt like tangible proof of the progress he was making both in his own skill and in convincing Tobirama to see himself as human. The more time they spent together the more his friend seemed to be opening up and revealing new facets of his true self. For him to ask that they spend even more time together must be a breakthrough. Madara grinned smugly, sinking down to hide his expression under the surface of the water, and mentally gave himself a nice pat on the back. Obviously he was such a good friend that Tobirama wanted them to get even closer!

His intention was to soak just long enough that he could lift his arms without feeling like he wanted to scream but by the time he pulled himself out the water had gone cold and the shadows in the room were stretching out much longer than they should have been. Apparently time had slipped him by as he relaxed.

No longer half as sore as he had been, Madara was almost tempted to hum pleasantly as he dried himself off and dressed again in the clothes he’d left in the bathroom earlier, checking first to make sure Izuna hadn’t caught any mice to leave in his clothing again. It was wonderful to see his brother regain some energy but he could have done without the resurgence of the pranks they used to pull on each other when they were young. Once he was successfully covering in mice-free clothing Madara wrestling a brush through his hair until he was able to separate three portions to braid together. The gilded mirror hanging over the sink told him that he’d done a decent enough job, nothing fancy but better than the raggedy drowned look he usually sported walking around with wet hair.

On his way back through the bedroom he double checked the position of the sun through their window and wrinkled his nose. He might be a little late for dinner. Mito hated it when he was late. Hopefully she didn’t overcook anything in retaliation as she so often threatened to do to Tobirama when the man got too lost in his head to remember food.

“Coming?” he called, pausing at the door. Izuna’s face lifted from the book he’d been reading with a glassy eyed look which said he also hadn’t realized the time.

“Five more minutes?”

“And get yelled at by the lady of the house? Not a chance. If you’re not coming now then I’ll bring you up a plate later.”

He watched Izuna wrestle with indecision before finally sighing and setting the book aside, unfolding his legs to stand then pausing to stretch. By the time he finally made it over to the door Madara was tapping one foot impatiently.

“On your own time,” he insisted with heavy tones of sarcasm. Izuna stuck out his tongue.

Together they wandered through the hallways towards the lower floors where Mito should be whipping up her latest delicacy, Izuna patiently listening to his big brother recounting an afternoon of training that probably sounded pretty identical to al his other stories about training. When he could get a word in edgewise he immediately derailed the conversation to talk about the rich fantasy world he’d been reading about and that was just as interesting so Madara decided against scolding him for being so rude. It was always a pleasure to see him so invested, so vibrant.

Instead of the usually cheery voice hailing them as soon as they walked in to the room, however, both of the Uchiha brothers were surprised to find the kitchens empty but for little Kagami dangling from an oven handle and struggling valiantly to open the massive door with his tiny wooden weight. Madara leapt across the room to rescue him, setting the toy soldier on the countertop instead with his heart racing in his chest.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” he demanded. “Do you know what the ovens could do to you? What if you caught fire!”

“I did not want for you to go hungry, I was only trying to cook dinner!” Kagami scuffed one foot in to the counter while Madara and Izuna traded looks of confusion.

“Mito cooks,” Izuna pointed out.

“Exactly. Which begs the question again, what do you think you’re doing?” Crossing his arms, Madara lifted one eyebrow in his best impression of a disappointed Tobirama. Nothing got this boy talking than the idea that he had somehow disappointed his idol.

Just as predicted, Kagami pouted. Then he defied expectations by perking up and shaking his head with some measure of authority. “Mito-hime is not here. Hashirama-sama went to find her; he sounded very worried that she was not preparing so I thought to cheer everyone up by doing so myself! Then Hashirama-sama would not have to worry and you would not have to go on with empty bellies!”

For a few moments the two of them stared down at the boy in search of any hints that he wasn’t telling the whole truth. It was a futile effort, though. Kagami was almost more honest than Hashirama and he had no reason to lie to them. Eventually Madara scooped him back up and carefully transferred his small body away from the work station, depositing him in Izuna’s outstretched hands with a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He really was glad they had taken such a shine to each other.

“You forget that we’ve lived alone for years; I can cook for myself just fine. It might not be quite up to the standards Tobirama is used to eating but I’m sure he’ll manage to choke it down.”

“It is weird that Mito’s not here with dinner waiting though,” Izuna chipped in, already seating himself on a nearby stool.

Madara hummed with his head shoved inside the closest pantry door. “I agree, it’s not like her. Hashirama will find her though. She’s probably just off distracted with a book or something like you were before I dragged you down. Everything’s fine.”

He didn’t need to look to feel the weight of Izuna’s eyes on him, to read the silence for what it was. Kagami happily began to chatter about something inconsequential and they let him. That was, after all, the point of pretending that everything was normal. Neither of them wanted to upset the poor boy until they knew for sure that anything was amiss.

But his brother had hit the nail on the head. It was very strange for Mito not to be here in the kitchen with dinner ready, stranger still that she would pass up on an opportunity to scold them for deviating from the schedule she had set for their meals. Whether because of her modest upbringing or a need to prove herself worthy in her new station Mito was a woman who thrived on order, everything where it was supposed to be and always at the right time. It might have been possible that she really had simply fallen victim to distraction as he suggested and that she might come flying in to the kitchen with tight-lipped apologies to scold him for using the wrong frying pan.

Or – Madara's fingers tightened around the onion he held between his palms – it was possible that his gut was right and something was very wrong. They wouldn’t know until Hashirama found his wife.

[tfw-no-tennis]

One Piece Readthru

heyo ive decided its time for me to catch up on the one piece manga finally!! i last read it uhhh sometime late 2018?? MAYBE early 2019....anyways ill be liveblogging it, basically for myself but if anyone is interested then enjoy lol

so w.out further ado hers 927-931 hya 

uh ok i left off kinda in the middle of the wano arc, so im scanning thru some stuff to see what i remember.....i dont really remember what the deal is with that ginger (?) pompadour guy lmao. theres a lot of new characters and intricate politics in this arc from what i remember. 

i havent really gotten spoiled for anything....i know that something bad happens to kid & killer, somethins up w/sabo (but we dont know what), luffy fights kaido (more than once i think?) uhhhhh we get roger flashbacks and hear the yonkous bounties....thats abt all i really know. so im hype to find out what else has gone on....

im gonna start around 927, i defs read this but i want a refresher 

wow its amazing how sanji can oscillate so fast from being unbearable and annoying to like one of my favs

i loveeee the panels where those dudes start trashing sanjis soba stand and usopps like lol lets back up yall we KNOW sanjis boutta kick some righteous ass....YESSS

franky supplexing a guy....ily franky 

toko!!! i forgot abt her!!! cute kid, whats her deal? iirc she works at the uhhh wherever komurasaki works and she almost gets murderized later

sanji and little kids is so cute ;_; more of that and less stuff of him being gross w/women 

ok exposition....i do remember a lot of this

928, i feel like i remember this stuff so ill kinda blow thru it 

oh yeah i remember luffy n the prison shennanigans....good times

and kidds here too, talkin abt how he lost his arm trying to fight shanks...lol dude 

dude is really like oh i couldnt take down shanks, so ill aim for a different yonkou, im sure this will go much better a second time (and down an arm)

omfg i forgot abt this dude who apparently sold his FAMILY to get money for komurasaki....

i think we’re supposed to feel bad for this dude and think komurasaki is cruel or w/e but man honestly i just respect the hustle. girl knows whats up

HVBJSDKFBDS I FORGOT THE HILARIOUS LINE WHERE SHES LIKE ‘I HATE POOR PEOPLE <3′ IM....its literally like a weird twitter shitpost lmaooo

they cut immediately from komurasaki to tama asking momo if he has a sister....LMAO SUBTLE......

i dont even remember if that twist was spoiled for me, but either way it was my like immediate thought upon komurasakis intro lmao 

ok 929!

omg kanjuro selling some-drawn fish lol

OUGHHH CARROT AND THE OTHER MINKS....i miss carrot sm i hope she shows up more :( i really wish she would join the crew....

lmao that guy calling zoro a pretty boy and saying girls are probably all over him....zoros like uh ew no im gay 

OOOH PLOT SHITTTTT....caesar and doflamingo name drops...

VEGAPUNK HM [eyes emojiey]

orochis defs gonna get fucked up at some point. his design reminds me of wapol and other like corrupt king archetypes 

oguhfdbsjkgjdfbh laws head basket i forgot abt that. also i love when people call him traffy thats weirdly cute 

oh right the other supernovas who became kaidous bitches are here to fight...i recall that fight somewhat 

920 time! 

oh yeah the weird place where all the poor starving people laugh constantly...inch resting

OHH YEAH BIG MOM!!! man i definitely read a lot further than this lmao. w/e i was SO fucking hype when she showed up, imo the whole amnesia thing is pretty lame. we’ll see where it goes tho 

the art here is just so good oh man. the panel of big moms ship charging up the waterfall while she laughs? fantastic 

EPIC arrival. i hope big mom gets to do cool stuff even despite the impending amnesia

i ALSO hope her kids get to do cool shit too. im still holding out for a zoro vs amande battle (if shes even there? i dont see her, but thatd be such a waste)...and smoothie vs robin....

and she wants zeus back....NAMI FIGHT??? PLEASE???

oh its bdsm dinosaur guy....hmm never thought id type that

LMAOOOO law is like Dont You Dare Fucking Snitch On Us and usopp is like uh luffy pls come pick me up this guy is too hardcore

FINAL BATTLE thats so dramatic law please

sanji saying he’ll protect usopp omfg

oooh theyre destorying all the soba shops....here comes sanji to bring the PAIN

OMFG THE RAID SUIT i forgot he busts that out....hilariously quickly all things considered

931! ok but first my obligatory thots on how sad i am abt how the women of op look nowadays lmao revisiting old one piece just makes it all the more obvious how ridiculous its gotten....like nami and robin dont even look human, its insane, and the sameface has gotten so bad...idk i miss when op women used to look normal and could just exist without being Sexy Women bc that was a thing at the beginning and i really loved that...now its just like wow all titty no waist legs are 100x longer than normal....not to mention the writing for women in op has gone way downhill...ugh. ANYWAYS onward 

ofc as soon as i say that theres a rlly cute and p normal looking cover w/nami...i love her sm shes my fav character thats part of the reason this bothers me so much lol 

i miss her short hair tho...the long hair is pretty and i like her different hairstyles but i defs prefer the short spunky look. i wish she wouldve gotten a cool bellmere-esque haircut after the timeskip at least

ok im p sure i didnt read this...? i dont remember hgbvhjaksdfk

GERMA THEME SONG HBVJSDUIFJBSF are you telling me that the raid suit activation process involves a THEME SONG....please i need to hear this. thats so fuckign funny

‘GERMAAAAAAAAAAA’ [sanji doing an unironic magical girl transformation] IT CANT BE OVERSTATED HOW HILARIOUS AND AMAZING THIS IS LMAOOOOOO 

i think we saw this w/his siblings during whole cake but i forget lmao

of course franky and usopp are like OOOH FUCK YEAH 

HHBDSJKFJSB the implications of law knowing Exactly who that is....like i really need to see an omake of a campy power rangers/sentai/whatever-esque show/comic with all these germa personas omfgggggggg

and law having read the comics is SO funny 

also. sanjis hair is SO unfortunate lmaooo

O SOBA MASK HBVHSJDKUFJBDSK

germa was the bad guy group in the comics....good lmao 

law was defs a fan he knows ALL the lore LMAOOO

A BABY SANJI....and then sanji being weird. skip! 

ironic hows theyre like oh shit gotta challenge this dude so he doesnt destroy the town and their fight is gonna level the place anyways lmao 

oh i did read this i think cause i remember all those ninja busting robin for sneaking around

which ok theyre ninja but robin could grow eyes for surveillance so it doesnt make much sense that shed be caught so easily...alas

THAT GUYS HEAD HBVHJFKD LMAO

oh yeah then big mom washes up w/amnesia lmao. i hope that plotline doesnt suck, i dont have too much hope...normally i really like amnesia plotlines and honestly i think itd be cool to explore w/like one of the strawhats but in this case it just seems kinda like a lazy way to take big mom out of the game :/ my prediction is she’ll get her memory back at a certain time thats convenient to the plot, just in time for like an all out war w/kaidou and the straw hats and the yakuza maybe? we shall see (possibly) 

ok its past 6 am so its bedtime. more later! 

[i-writeandread-blog]

A Portrait of a Tortured You and I - Chapter 2

Authors Note: I don’t edit or proofread usually when trying to get content out quickly, so I am aware there may be issues with my use of past and present tense. Please know I will fix any and all errors!

I was snapped back to reality, when I heard the horn blow on the ferry.  It was pulling up to the dock.  I was equal parts excited and nervous.  This wasn't my first rodeo, I had been to over 50 concerts, traveling all over the world to see Mars, I was also a Camp Mars alum... but this was the first time I had left the comfort of my home since I had been brutalized. 

Life has a funny way of surprising you though.  Since the attack, my sisters and I have made up.  I don't think we would have, had the unfortunate not happened.

Since I received the anonymous letter and check, I started working on getting better.  I still wasn't out of the woods.  The occasional panic attack and nightmare still happened.  I didn't know if they would ever go away, but they were becoming less and less.  I did have a few issues getting on the plane, but I used the breathing and grounding techniques that my therapist was teaching me.  And here I am, ready to finally enjoy life again.  I was so anxious to get to the island and get settled in. 

Some of the Echelon that I was still friends with were meeting up with me and it was all about strength in numbers.  That gave me comfort knowing that they had my back in the unlikely event I began to panic.

I looked around seeing many unfamiliar faces and was slightly confused.  Having traveled a lot to the European shows, I expected to recognize people I knew, but alas I didn't.  We began to load onto the ferry, everyone in a rush.  I felt a bump and a push and at first just chucked it off as everyone being so eager and not looking where they were going.  I felt an attack coming on and steadied myself against the railing.  "Okay, you've got this. Breathe in, now breathe out." I did my breathing exercises and didn't care if people thought I was crazy.  It subsided and I went to give myself a figurative pat on the back when I turned around and saw an unwanted familiar face.

"No one is buying it, freak!" She was laughing and acting so smug.

"What is your problem, Natalie?" I asked.  I honestly wanted to clear the air with her.  I knew I'd be seeing her at a ton of events going forward, as I had been for the last fifteen years.  I'd like to be able to enjoy our precious time with the band without having to constantly worry about problems with her.

"You honestly don't know, do you?"  She grinned, all the while looking at me very curiously.

"No. I've never had problems with you.  In fact, when you were writing that Jared smut, I was your biggest fan, always complimenting you on your writing.  Last years camp we even enjoyed some time together. So Nat, what's the deal?"

"You don't get to call me Nat anymore.  Just do me a favor and fuck off."  With that she stormed off into a group of girls all high five-ing her and congratulating her on a job well done being the biggest bully.  The saddest part of this was that Natalie is a 44 year old woman acting like a 20 year old.  It wasn't cute.  Not by a long shot.

I was on edge the whole ferry ride which lasted approximately an hour and twenty minutes, but felt much more like an eternity. My eyes were constantly darting around and anytime the boat rocked, I felt absolute dread. I was repeating a sort of mantra over and over in my head, “you’re gonna be in the presence of Mars soon. It’s going to be the best time!” I just knew once I was there and settled, that I would finally be able to let my guard down. I would be able to relax and have the best time.

We pulled up to the island and from the boat, I could see the beautiful art installations and hear the sounds of laughter mixed with music being played on loud speakers. I was home, in my element. Memories of previous camps creeping in my head and replacing all the negative ones from the past year. I watched as Natalie and her groupies got off the boat before me. I was wishing and trusting that she’d forget that I was here, now that she was also on the island.

Check in was literally right at the dock and there were many faces I recognized there, I sighed a great deal of relief. Walking up, I presented my ID, passport, and my booking number. A cheery girl many years my junior, took my items and said, “Hi, Catherine, how was your trip here?” I smiled, “it has been uneventful up to now.” I didn’t need to tell her all of the details, she was just making small talk. “Okay, you are in.... hmm. I don’t see your booking, that’s strange. Hold on a second.” She turned and walked off. I was growing more nervous by the second. Was my email from Shayla fake? But if so, how did I end up with $3,000 dollars? I started putting pieces together. Maybe the email was fake and my parents gave me the cashiers check. This would be so awful, if true.

I was told to step aside while someone else took over that computer and was checking more guests in. I couldn’t breathe and I started crying and shaking. The place I was supposed to feel most at home in was now not feeling so homey.

The girl came back and asked to see any printouts I had from AiW. I fumbled around looking for the email from Shayla and any correspondence directly from Adventures, I grabbed the first thing which happened to be the original confirmation when I bought the package in January.

She took it from me and cross referenced something on an iPad. “Hmmm, I see this booking existed and then it was canceled. But, I also see your name is on the list of attendees. We don’t finalize the list until all payments are made. This is odd. Do you have proof of payment?” I didn’t have that, but I was able to show her the email from Shayla after digging around once more in my bag. “Oh, well I guess this actually makes sense now! Okay, so you had the moonlight tent package. Let me find you one that’s available since we don’t know which one you’re supposed to be in, anyway.” She found one that had a bed free and loaded up my bags onto a golf cart. I told her I didn’t mind walking, and set out to find my tent.

I hadn’t seen any of my friends yet as many people were still being ferried over and we all had different boat times. It was peaceful. The sun was shining, birds were chirping, the music was a great selection of garden variety pop and rock. I was actually feeling great, now that it appeared the email wasn’t fake at all.

As I was walking, I caught a glimpse of Jared and Shannon talking over by some trees. They were wearing swimming trunks and smiling as they talked. I thought to myself that they looked extra adorable and almost tripped from not looking where I was going. I heard a voice that I would know anywhere shout, “watch your step, the ground isn’t even!” Shannon chuckled as he spoke to me from a distance. Jared looked in my direction and waved. I kept going and finally found my tent. Number 4, one of my lucky numbers. I was at peace.

My bags were sitting on the only available bed and I made my way over to it, to start making my little space my own. I heard someone walk in, but they must have walked back out because I never did see anyone. Once, I had made myself comfortable, I decided to lay down and allow myself time to soften up. I needed to unwind in the worst way and the quiet was really tranquil.

I rested for what was likely to be about an hour, but I have no actual idea as I hadn’t looked at the time. I was awoken from reverie to a commotion outside the tent. And I drew my legs up and started rocking back and forth.

The problem with being out in the real world was that everything was so unpredictable. Loud noises were everywhere, no matter the cause... they were most always innocent. People fighting... that was a hard one for me, but I saw my share of it in the airport between husband and wives, or parents and children. Now, here on the island there is it’s own set of issues. I needed to know the cause for the arguing. I needed to know I was safe. So I cranked my neck forward to get a really good listen.

“Ughh, I’ve looked all over for someone who can help me and I can’t seem to find anyone that cares or knows what to do! I’m going to just start screaming. Maybe that will get someone’s attention!”

I instantly knew it was Natalie.

“Don’t worry. This is a great opportunity. We can fuck with her as much as we want.”

“Hahahaha, no! I don’t want to be anywhere near her. She’ll play the victim no matter what and then I’ll get kicked off the island. Nooooo thanks!”

“No one has to know.”

“That’s true! Oh wait, there’s Shayla. Let’s get her attention.”

“Shayla, we desperately need your help!”

“Not now ladies. I’m looking for someone. Can it wait?”

“No, it can’t. We are stuck in a tent with someone we don’t like.”

“That’s hardly a reason to throw a fit. Can’t you just ignore each other?”

“Me? Of course! I can avoid her, but it’s not me to worry about. Catherine, will be the problem. She’s gonna hurt me in my sleep or something. She’s really unstable.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. She was actually trying to make me sound like I was a monster. What’s worse is we were to share a tent for three nights. I became violently ill and threw up right there in the bed.

“Did you say Catherine? Where is she?”

“Hell if I know.”

Shayla stepped inside and took notice of me.

“Oh my goodness, are you okay, Catherine?”

I nodded. “Let’s get you cleaned up and out of here. There was a mistake at check out. This isn’t your room. I’ll have someone clean up in here, don’t worry.” I went to protest, but she waved her hands at me. She picked up a towel and wiped my face. I was so humiliated. I had known Shayla for a few years and she was always so kind, we were nothing but acquaintances so to have her help me when I’m at my lowest was really humbling and extremely embarrassing. She handed me clothes from my suitcase and I quickly changed into them. “You ready?” I sighed, then nodded.

Shayla had her arms around me and walked me out of the tent. She gave Natalie a stern look and said nothing. We took a few steps and I overheard a scream followed by, “that nasty cunt threw up in here, how fucking gross!” Shayla reassured me and told me to just ignore it. I tried, but I still couldn’t get over how things were unfolding. I was still so confused as to how it ended up the way it did with Natalie.

We arrived at some bungalows and Shayla motioned for me to follow her. At first, I thought this was where she was staying or maybe it was first aid. I was really perplexed, but I followed her in. She turned around and said, “I’ll have your things sent here. Is this room okay? I wanted you to have something peaceful to wake up to, this was the only room with a direct view of the sea.”

“Shayla, I’m completely baffled. This isn’t my room. Why am I here?” I had to ask because I knew there had to be a mistake. “I must have forgotten to tell you, the donor upgraded you to the VIP experience and this was meant to be your room from that moment on. Unfortunately, when I went into the system to change everything, there was a glitch so it erased your booking entirely. You shouldn’t have been in that tent and it’s my fault you had to experience that unpleasantness.” She looked truly sorry.

“Shayla, you couldn’t have known. But is there anyway you can refund back some of the money to whomever paid for me? I’d like to just be where I was if I had paid my own way?”

“Catherine, I’m under strict orders to make sure you have a smooth vacation and that you have a wonderful time. I can ask, but I don’t think there’s a chance that they will allow that to happen.”

“Shay, who was it? I won’t say anything, I just am a little freaked out that someone did this for me.” I pleaded with her to tell me. Honestly, I was more scared now then I had been traveling here alone. What if this person meant me harm?

“I can’t say. But they’re not a threat to you. I can assure you of that.”

“Okay, whomever it was is trustworthy? I have your word?”

“Yes. Now, I suggest you do whatever it is you need to, because your itinerary is completely full starting in about an hour.” She handed me a paper filled with activities and times. She was right, completely full, starting with front row seating to the soundcheck.

[arcana-foolsjourney]

an angsty arcana fic literally no one asked for

content warning!

ultimately a hopeful story but wanted to warn anyway: depression, suicidal ideation, vague reference to self harm

So, disclosure - I am bipolar, and have struggled with some pretty major depressive episodes my whole life.  And it made me wonder how I would react if I learned I had been brought back to life, if I were in the apprentice’s position...and here we are. This story is set post-game, after apprentice and co have finally thwarted the Devil’s plot (though I’ve envisioned the world at large not understanding the apprentice was the one who saved the day - I enjoy anonymous heroes I guess).  

MC is unnamed, gender neutral, and there is no explicit romance (though Asra is the love of my life so that might creep through).  I hope you guys enjoy this, and I’d love to hear your feedback.  Be well lovelies. * * * * * * * My name is MC.  I am a student of the magical arts, trusted adviser to the Countess of Vesuvia, and magically bound to the Fool, first and last card of the Major Arcana.  I have come back from the dead, helped save the city from the plague, and defeated the Devil’s’ scheme to enslave the world - all the worlds - to his will.  When I walk down the streets people talk about the Hero of Vesuvia.  They don’t know they’re talking about me, but I do.  I can’t believe it, but my friends say it’s true.  Asra, Muriel, Pasha, Nadi, Ilya…my friends.  They call me a hero too. 

Tears blur my vision as I curl up on the beach, burying my face in my arms.  If only they could see me now. 

“MC?” 

I jump, hurriedly wiping at my eyes, but it’s no use.  Asra is rushing towards me, concern clouding his features.  “What’s wrong?”  He drops beside me in the sand and puts a hand on my shoulder. 

“Nothing!”  I twist to my feet, away from his touch.  There’s a tight coil within me, and it’s threatening to break.    If he shows concern now it might come loose. 

Startled, he stares up at me, one hand still floating in the air.  Slowly he lowers it, then glances around at my hiding spot, frowning.  “What are you doing all the way out here anyway?” 

“How did you even find me?” This spot on the beach is some distance away from the docks of Vesuvia, the sandy stretch interrupted by massive boulders, forest pushing toward the shore.  It’s a lonely spot, far away from where anyone ever goes.  I imagine the looming visage of the Lazaret, out there in the waters ahead, has something to do with that. 

Asra rises slowly to his feet.  “I had a feeling.  Followed your footprints.”  He gazes out at the island, expression darkening.  “Seriously, why would you come out here?” 

“I don’t know, I feels pretty appropriate to me.  Sort of like home, right?”  My laugh is bitter and empty. 

Alarm flares on Asra’s expression, and I know I said too much.  “MC, what is going on?”  He approaches again, reaching out like he wants to hold me.  “You’ve been acting so odd lately… like there’s a shadow dragging on you.” 

There it is again, that hollow laugh - I can’t keep it in.  “You noticed that, huh?”  Internally I berate myself.  I’ve been trying for so long to not let him see me like this - if he doesn’t back off he’s going to ruin everything.  Rage flares within me, then dies just as quickly, replaced with shame.  What is wrong with me?  I turn my back on him. 

“...Of course I noticed.”  Even without seeing him I can hear the hurt in his voice.  “I’ve always noticed.  Please, tell me what’s wrong.”  Once again, I feel his hand on my shoulder, and something snaps inside of me. 

“I shouldn’t even be here!” I cry, whirling to face him.  “Okay?!”  I point out towards the Lazaret, dim and hulking in the twilight.  “That’s where I should be.” 

Asra’s face is ashen, and he shakes his head, eyes wide and quivering.  “No, no, don’t say that, please - “ 

“Why not?  Why shouldn’t I?”  My words come out in a rush, and I feel my eyes burning with tears that I’m too furious to shed.  “I died, Asra.  Finally!  I was dead.  I was done!”  I laugh again, a frantic sound devoid of mirth.  “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to be done?” 

“What do you mean?” Asra whispers. 

“I’m saying I hurt, Asra.  I’ve always - it’s like there’s a wound inside me.”  I clutch my chest, scrambling to find the words to finally explain the feelings I’ve worked so hard to keep inside.  “I don’t know where it came from, but it’s always been here.  Like a knife, twisting.  Things can be completely fine, I’ll feel great, like I’m on top of the world and then suddenly, it just - falls away, and suddenly there’s nothing left but cold and hurt and empty and I don’t know why, it doesn’t make sense but I can’t make it go away and I can’t stop it and I’m just - I’m tired, Asra.  I’m so tired of hurting so much!”  I choke on a sob and wrap my arms tight around myself, trying to pull this flood back in, but the damage is already done. 

His face is a blur now, my unshed tears preventing me from seeing his expression, but I see him step closer and feel his intention just the same.  

“No, don’t - “ I step back.  “Don’t touch me right now, I can’t - I can’t - ”  I can’t look at him anymore.  I stare out at the sea, and the Lazaret blooms in my vision, suddenly filling my sight.   

“I remember next to nothing of before you brought me back, but one thing did come to me.  When you told me what you’d done.”  Asra says nothing, waiting in terrified silence for what I say next.  There is no way to stop it from coming out now. 

“I remembered why I went to apprentice with Julian…  I wanted to find the cure, of course.  Wanted to help people, ease their suffering, but I also knew - “ I take a deep, shaky breath.  I want to scream.  Instead I just say, “I knew there was a good chance I could catch it, and die too.  And that would be okay, because I would be helping people, and then I wouldn’t have to…hurt.  Anymore.” 

I stare over the water, feeling the darkness crowd close as the sun sets.  In a tiny voice, Asra asks, “Do you wish that I had - that I hadn’t brought you back?  Do you…” he can’t bring himself to ask it but I hear the question anyway.  Do you blame me for this? 

My sigh seems to come from the depth of my soul.  Too late to hold back now.  “When you first told me, and I remembered what - what I just told you.  I was so confused, and then it explained so much of what I’ve felt since I woke up again - that those things I’ve felt, I’ve always felt, that knife has always been there.  I’ve always been broken.  And that I had a chance to fix it, and then had it taken away…” the memory of the realization still tastes bitter in my throat.  “I was angry,” I whispered.  “I grieved my missed chance.” 

Finally I glance at him. “I don’t want to blame you for bringing me back.  And sometimes I can be glad that you did, but sometimes…I just want to be done.” 

“MC…” I shrink from his voice.  It’s too raw.  I can’t do this. 

“Asra, please, I need to be alone.” 

“No, listen,” his voice is frantic.  “We can fix this, just let me - “ 

“Asra, please!  Just leave.” 

“MC, I can’t - I just can’t leave you alone!  Not now that I understand - “ His eyes are streaming with tears, but I cut him off anyway. 

“You don’t understand!  How could you?!” 

He falls silent, looking stricken, but after a moment he nods.  “You’re right.  I’m sorry, I just mean that, now that I know how much you’re hurting - “ my heart constricts in my chest, and tears threaten my eyes again.  Asra winces, as if he felt it too, and then whispers again, “I’m so sorry.” 

Silence hangs between us for a long moment, and I stare resolutely out to sea, unable to meet his eyes or even look at him now.  I’m afraid if I do, everything will spill out, even more than it already has.  What would I do if this dam broke now?  Cry?  Scream?  Kick and claw and bite in fury?  Or just collapse on myself, the void in my center at last causing the rest of me to buckle? 

Finally Asra speaks again.  “I know you want to be alone right now.  I don’t want to hurt you by staying when you don’t want me to.”  His voice cracks, and I can tell he’s still crying, but he’s doing his best to hold himself together.  He’s trying to be strong for me.  I hug myself tighter, feeling guilt curl up in my gut, but I can’t bring myself to offer any sort of reassurance. 

“Do you mind if Faust stays with you?” he asks.  “She can keep an eye on you, keep you company, until you’re ready to come home?”  There’s a fearful tone as he asks. I think he’s worried I won’t want to come home.  I can’t speak at all, now.  I close my eyes and nod.   

A moment later I hear Asra’s footsteps retreating across the sand, and then I feel a nudge against my leg.  Friend?  Faust’s voice is small and tentative.   

“Oh, Faust,” I whisper, sinking to my knees.  The sobs I’ve been burying well up again, and suddenly my eyes are spilling over.  I curl up, folding into myself, press my head into the sand and grab my hair in my fists.  But it doesn’t help.  It’s all coming up - the pain, the rage, the terror and guilt and worthlessness and what does it matter, who cares about magic or the Arcana or saving the world if this feeling, this horrible dark emptiness, remains?  What’s the point of being brought back to life if this pain is still waiting for me?  The knife in my heart twists again, and I am sobbing - wretched, screaming sobs.  Everything hurts so much. 

I feel so alone. 

Then I feel a slight squeeze around my shoulders.  Faust must have crawled up without my even noticing.  She doesn’t say anything, but her weight coiled on my back is comforting, and her scales feel cool on the back of my neck.  Ever so slightly, the pain loosens its grip. 

I don’t know how long I stay there, weeping in the sand, night deepening around me as the waves start creeping back in with the tide.  But Faust stays with me through it all, until eventually the sobs begin to wane.  I wipe my eyes and try to bring my hitching breath back under control. 

“You must think I’m pretty pathetic, huh?” 

Strong. 

“I’m not strong.  I just spent all night crying on a beach for no reason.  I don’t understand why I feel this way - there’s nothing so wrong that it should hurt so bad.  It doesn’t make any sense!”  My heart constricts, with each word, and I drop my head back down.  “I am pathetic.” 

Faust bops the side of my head with her snout as she repeats again, Strong! 

“How am I strong, Faust?” I mumble despondently, face buried in my hands. 

This time her touch is gentle as she boops my cheek.  Still fighting. 

I close my eyes as tears threaten to overtake me again.  But they feel a little different, now.  Less harsh.  Or maybe I just feel less cold inside. 

Eventually I wipe my eyes and straighten up slowly.  My muscles creak in protest after being so tightly wound for so long.  Ultimately I just flop back on the sand, stretching my limbs and arcing my back until something pops and I sink back with a groan.  Overhead the sky is alight with stars, a great river of light splashing across the sky. 

A breeze passes over me from the sea, and I slowly sit up, pulling my scarf tighter around me as a shiver. My eyes feel heavy and swollen from all that crying, and I’m thirsty, and I still hurt.  But as Faust curls up on the top of my head and I look out to sea, I can almost forget about it for a moment.  The lights of Vesuvia glow in the distance, illuminating the docks and the shore as the surf breaths over the sand, sea foam the color of starlight above.  Moonlight reflects on the crests of the waves.  In the distance, the Lazaret is visible as a silhouette against the stars, but for a moment it lacks its menace.  Then a shooting star streaks over its towers, and even it becomes beautiful… even if only for a moment. 

Better? 

“Things have gotten better, haven’t they?  We’ve all endured so much but, we’re still here…” I glance down at my forearms, at faint lines of old scars.  “Not the same.  But we’re here.” 

I look out over the ocean again for a long moment, breathing in the water’s heartbeat as the waves move in and out.  Finally I sigh.  “Let’s go home.” 

When I return to the shop, I’ve barely closed the door behind me before Asra rushes out of the backroom.  “MC!” he exclaims, and though he looks like he wants to rush toward me, he restrains himself.  I can tell he’s watching for cues on how to act, in case I still don’t want to be touched.  I appreciate it even as I feel guilty, and I can’t bring myself to look at him for more than a moment.  His fluffy hair is extra tousled, as if he’s been running his hands through it, the way he does when he’s upset.  

Worse, he’s clearly been crying, maybe as much as I have been… “I’m sorry,” I mumble. 

His arms wrap around me, hesitantly, and when I lean into him he pulls me close, crushing me against his chest and leaning his head against mine.  “I’m sorry,” he says.  “You don’t have to be.” 

“I don’t know why I have to be this way.  I don’t know why it has to hurt so much.” 

His hands grip me tighter as he begins to sway, rocking my gently.  “I don’t know either.  I wish I could make it go away.  I know I can’t - “ he pulls back, just enough to meet my eyes.  “I know I can’t really understand what it feels like, but… I can feel a little of it.  Like an echo, here.”  He touches his mark gently.  “I can only imagine what it’s like to have to carry all of it.” 

Unable to speak, I bury my face in his chest, and he holds me again.  “I should have payed better attention,” he whispers.  “I should have realized sooner…I am so sorry, MC.  If I could have helped you - “ 

“You did help,” I say, squeezing him gently.  “And maybe if I’d told you all that sooner, you could have helped more.” 

“What can I do?  How can I help you when you feel this way?”  His voice is breaking with emotion - pain, hope, devotion.  My heart swells with it. 

“I don’t know, Asra, I - I guess, just.  This.  Listen to me.  Hold on to me.  Tell me I’m not - I’m not alone.”  How many tears can I cry in one night? 

Suddenly his hands are on my shoulders, and he’s looking me right in the eye.  He’s crying again too.  “You’re not alone.  I’m here.  I’ll always be right here.”  Without breaking eye contact, he slides his right hand down, until it rests lightly over my heart. 

I smile, and do the same to him, until we stand together, holding each others’ hearts in our hands.  “I’m here too,” I whisper.   

Faust winds around my torso, flickering her tongue lightly against Asra’s fingers as she squeezes me tightly.  Not alone. 

I laugh, sniffle, and the three of us hold on to each other, swaying in the quiet darkness of the shop.  The familiar scents surround me - drying herbs, wood smoke - Asra, who always smells a little like the sea - and though I still hurt, I feel okay.  

Maybe a part of me will always hurt.  This black void inside has always been there... maybe there it will always remain.   

Maybe that’s okay, too. 

“Hmm?” Asra questions. 

Oh. I hadn’t realized I’d said it out loud.  Asra’s looking at me curiously, eyes still wet but shining again.  “I was just thinking, even with things are really bad, like tonight…” I pause, not quite sure how to articulate what I am feeling.  Asra waits patiently, rubbing my shoulders as I ponder.  I think back on the way the sea looked, shining beneath an ocean of stars.  “Even when everything hurts, there is still something precious.  I mean, even tonight - you should have seen the shore tonight.  Even the Lazaret looked beautiful.” 

He winces at that, looking away, old guilt shadowing his eyes.  “That’s hard to imagine.”   

“It was,” I assure him.  “There was even a shooting star.” 

“Oh?”  He looks at me, and his face softens in a smile.  “I wish I could have seen it.”  Then he grins and says, “Maybe there’ll be more!  Want to go to the roof and see?” 

I smile for what seems like the first time in a long time.  “I’ll make tea if you grab blankets.” 

Laughing, Asra pulls me into a hug and twirls me around, before taking my hand and leading me upstairs.   

Later, as he, Faust and I huddle together under a quilt, cradling steaming mugs of tea as we point out constellations, I know that it’ll be all right.  I’ve spent my whole life fighting off this void - this hurt has always been there, and I doubt it’ll ever really go away.  But when it comes back, and I forget what it’s like to feel anything different, I can remember tonight. 

I’ll remember that I’m still alive.  I’m not alone.  That there are beautiful things in even the worst places.  I’ll remind myself that even if I can’t feel it right now, I will be able to again.   

I’ll remember sitting on the roof with someone who loves me, wishing on shooting stars.   

I’ll remember that it gets better.

[fatgirlwritesscenarios]

Dancing Shoes and Silver Strings: Chapter 1

((So...my three day weekend is coming to an end- sad llama- so it’s probably not a good idea for me to start a chaptered fic, but here we are! I literally don’t even know where this came from. Out of the clear blue, that’s where it came from. I don’t know! I just thought the idea of Soonyoung being head over heels for someone who wasn’t a dancer, but a musician- kind of like his polar opposite, you know?- was cute! I had this idea of him staring all starry-eyed at them while they tune their instrument or played a song just for the hell of it. Anyway, we’ll see how this goes. I don’t foresee this having a lot of chapters, so it should end quickly, but cleanly. Bear with me! And enjoy!))

((P.S.- The song Y/N is paying is “Prism” by Lindsey Stirling. Just in case you want to look it up and listen to it.))

Pairing: SoonyoungxChubby-Black!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 1,983

Summary: In Soonyoung’s eyes, you hung the moon and 3PM is the only time it’s acceptable for him to openly admire you without coming off as creepy. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The walls in the dance studio shook and absorbed the bass bouncing in every corner, quick moving feet scuffing the shiny wood floor while a chorus of voices meshed together, competing with the blasting music. The air was heavy with sweat and body heat, but Soonyoung doesn’t notice or care, too lost in the rhythm and beat of his newest choreography. After four consecutive hours of non-stop dancing, his body aches and begs for relief, but he just needs one more minute…one more move and perfect pivot.

The song ends, as does his dance. Flawlessly, I might add, and those who were watching him and his dance mates practice broke into impressed applause. Soonyoung smiled bashfully, but doesn’t hold back the pride swelling in his chest. They have been working on that number for the past week, preparing for an upcoming competition, and it was only right then that they finally executed it perfectly.

“Hyung, how did we do this time?” Chan, their youngest yet one of their most talented members, asked through his panting, sweat trickling from his temple.

“Not a step out of place,” Soonyoung answered with a grin, looking at his three main dancers and then at the rest of the troupe, “Everyone, you did an amazing job today! We finally got the dance down to a T. I’m proud of all of you!”

The small group applauded themselves with Jun, Minghao, and Chan standing off to the side, the three of them just radiating their own sense of accomplishment.

“The competition is next week, so make sure you take care of yourselves until then. Continue to practice on your own and make sure to attend the rest of our club meetings. I should be getting the competition schedule soon and will keep you guys updated. Break!”

Everyone clapped and then disbursed, gossiping excitedly amongst each other. Soonyoung went over to where he placed his duffle bag, dropping down next to it with a deep sigh and rummaging around in it for his towel and water. Jun, Minghao, and Chan joined him once they cooled down themselves, chattering about classes, professors, upcoming projects and the competition. Soonyoung, for the most part, just listened while scrolling through his emails and social media, chuckling some when Chan started complaining about his Korean History professor being a hard-ass.

“I swear she has a personal vendetta against me! Every single time she poses a question to the whole class, she picks on me first to answer it,” he explained, leaning against the wall, “She doesn’t call out anyone else by name. Just me!”

“Maybe she’s got a thing for you and that’s her way of making you notice her,” Jun joked, laughing at the disgusted scowl marring Chan’s features.

“Ugh, I think I’m gonna be sick,” Chan grumbled, taking a swig of his water, “She’s as old as my mom!”

“I thought you liked the noonas,” Minghao joined in, smirking.

Chan’s eyes nearly bugged out, “She’s not a noona anymore!”

Soonyoung laughed at Chan’s distress, holding his stomach and nudging Chan’s leg with his foot, “Hey, think about it this way: if you play along, you’ll be set for an ‘A’ for the rest of the semester.”

“NO!”

The three older boys had their fun teasing Chan, the younger threatening to walk out if they didn’t shut up, but Soonyoung pulled back and busied himself with his phone again when a Snap from Seokmin came through.

It was a random shot of his laptop with what looks to be a new project he was working on for Video Production, the caption ‘Prof might actually kick me out for this one’ pasted over it. Soonyoung smiled, always amused by Seokmin and his antics, before swiping out of the app…and that’s he saw the time.

2:55 PM. His heart dropped into his stomach. “Shit, I have to go!” he exclaimed, jumping up and snatching his bag off the ground.

“What’s the hurry?” Jun questioned.

“It’s almost 3!” was the only answer he got as Soonyoung sprinted out of the practice room; he didn’t need to say anything else, though. The grinning boys already knew where he was running off to.

With renewed strength and vigor, Soonyoung ran as fast as his tired legs would allow him to through the university campus, drawing curious gazes as he sped past groups of his peers. He cut a 10 minute walk in half and arrived at the Performing Arts Auditorium in just under five minutes, crashing through the doors and stumbling towards the seating area. Luckily, the lights had been dimmed where he entered and none of the theater kids at the front noticed him or his noisy entrance.

With a hop and a skip, Soonyoung quickly took a seat in the middle row, close enough to the stage to see everyone clearly, but far away enough to not be spotted easily. Panting breathlessly, he eyed the small number of students studying the musical arts that were scattered on the stage, searching for one musician in particular, the only reason why he broke his personal best sprinting record to be at the auditorium in the first place.

“I don’t see her,” he mumbled to himself, craning his neck to try and look around the piano set off to the left, “Did I miss her? Did she not come?”

Disappointment started to creep up on him, Soonyoung slowly deflating in his seat until; “Y/N, where are you?! We’re getting ready to rehearse now.”

He sat up ramrod straight, eyes wide and ears tingling as the most lyrical voice he’s ever heard in his life fluttered in the air, “Coming! Coming!”

There you were: gorgeous, stunning, as adorable as a puppy in a teacup. Your bushel of sun-dyed curls were pulled away from your face and into a thick ponytail, displaying that nose so broad, those eyes so sweet, and those lips so full. Dark skin like mahogany and chubby, plump body reminiscent of a Renaissance-era painting, you scuttled back onto the stage and slid into your seat, a soft cloth in hand that you used to wipe down the strings of your violin.

Soonyoung felt all the air in his lungs rush out in a swift gust, his heart performing a happy little dance as a result of seeing ‘the love of his life’ as he liked to call you. He watched you giggle and chat with your friends while carefully tending to your violin, a gun-metal silver piece that you lovingly polished and tuned with gentle hands. Soonyoung was so strung up on you, he actually felt jealous of your violin.

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen, let me have your attention please,” the musical director called over the din of gossiping youth, silence immediately following, “As you know, the showcase is in one week and while I am well aware that all of you are practicing hard and taking advantage of the open auditorium and the practice rooms, I thought it would benefit the lot of you to practice your pieces together in the same order that you will appear in the showcase. Give each other proper feedback and help where you can, okay?”

A chorus of okays filled the air, the director smiling before holding up a sheet of paper in front of her, “So let’s begin. First, we have…”

Piece after piece was performed, a combination of duets and solos that came in one after the other. There would be fifteen performances in total and Soonyoung would wait- however impatient- through every single one until it was your turn. He entertained himself by studying you: how you sat with your hands folded in your lap and your ankles tucked under the chair, how you paid close attention to each piece and smiled encouragingly if anyone stumbled. Oh, that smile- so perfect and welcoming. That smile was what captivated him the very first time he saw you. He dreamed of that smile, mostly of it being directed at him, but the chances of that happening were slim to none for one reason…

You didn’t even know he existed.

Before Soonyoung could start sulking over his non-existent love life with you, the director calling your name broke his thoughts and made him perk right up. You took to the stage in excited steps- almost skipping, really- and your engraved violin in hand. Your fellow performers, and the small audience that liked to watch the musicians practice in the auditorium, clapped encouragingly for you, their collective energy buzzing in anticipation for your performance.

Soonyoung perched himself on the edge of his seat, his eyes fixated on the way you spread your feet just so, turned your body at a comfortable angle, tucked the violin underneath your chin and then…

And then…the first notes fluttered in the air, singing a playful song that tickled your insides and made you smile. Soonyoung sighed dreamily, folding his arms on the back of the chair in front of him and planting his chin in the crook. He floated away with your song into a realm of colors and crystals, cotton candy clouds and lollipops. Your violin sang and shrieked its joy under your fingers, your hips moving to the beat of the song itself. The expression on your face was pure elation as you lost yourself to the music. Playing that violin, you looked the same way Soonyoung felt when dancing:

Immeasurably happy.

All too soon for Soonyoung, the last notes sliced through the air and faded into silence. A nanosecond later, the auditorium filled with applause. A flustered smile played across your lips, one you tried to hide behind your hand, and you bowed in gratitude towards the audience and then the other musicians. You took your seat right after and Soonyoung no longer cared about the last three acts that came after you.

At the end, once everyone had their run, the director took to the center stage once more, clapping proudly for her students; “Good job, everyone! That was spectacular! The showcase is going to be an amazing event. You all did so well!” she praised, the musicians preening, “Well, then, I believe that is all for now. You are free to remain and practice if you would like, but remember the Advanced Theater class will be arriving in an hour. Oh! And before I forget, please show your appreciation to Lee Jihoon for stepping in as our accompanying pianist for today since our regular one has the flu.”

Everyone’s head turned- Soonyoung’s mostly snapped- to the baby grand piano where a rather short male with dyed auburn hair and dimples deeper than space had been sitting and playing. Jihoon nodded to the other musicians with a polite smile, bowing his head respectfully while the rest greeted him and thanked him in kind. Soonyoung didn’t even notice that Jihoon had been there the whole time. He had been busy focusing on more important things such as you and your adorable giggles that added at least one year to his life each time he heard them.

“Have a good day, everyone! See you at the showcase!” the director said, promptly making her leave of the auditorium.

Mindless murmuring filled the air as soon as she bid her goodbye, the musicians mingling amongst each other and gushing about the upcoming showcase while Soonyoung sat rooted to his seat. He wondered, with eyes shifting back and forth between you and Jihoon, if he was finally lucky enough to have found a direct line to meeting you in person. From the friendly smile that Jihoon gave you as he approached you and the way you interacted back with him- speaking animatedly as if you were old friends- the answer was clear.

He was lucky enough, he did find his link, and he 100% planned on taking full advantage of being Jihoon’s friend to get close to you.

Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4

[yeslabyrinth]

MOST COMMON QUESTIONS (ACCORDING TO REDDIT)

  As a consumer of all things improv, I research as many blogs, books, and videos as possible. This includes the subreddit r/improv. The nice thing about reddit is that if you subscribe to any niche subreddit, you can start to see the most common questions that arise, and it's kind of a reflection of the culture around that particular subject. Today, I want to pull from this hivemind the most commonly asked, and repeated questions on r/improv, and just give me take on them.

1) ANY EXERCISES TO DO BY MYSELF TO PRACTICE?

  I will give you a couple things to practice, but I also have some thoughts on this question. First, I love your enthusiasm, person who asked this question. You're probably new to improv, you love it, and you want to be doing it all the time. I empathize with you completely. The thing is, improv is ALL about playing with another person. It's about building something TOGETHER with other people. So, while there are things you can do by yourself to practice some of the skills you're doing, you are not going to gain much from playing with yourself aside from getting a little better at characters, or object work, or sharpening an accent. To really get great, you're going to have to practice with others. It's kind of the best, and worst part of doing improv. Whereas if you wanted to get good at piano, you could just hide in your room all day, putting in your 10,000 hours to master piano. With improv, those 10,000 hours will come with some company.

Now, instead of exercises, I think the best thing you can do to improve your improv chops is to just be present in your real life. Notice how people talk, notice when you meet people, notice when you think, "they were such a character", and think, "what made them that way?" Notice how people act when they think no one is looking. A lot of improv is playing real, and to the top of your intelligence, so study your fellow humans, and take account of your own habits, and idiosyncrasies, and bring those to your play. The other piece of advice is the opposite of this, but it works well too. Study film, and all forms of fiction. Knowing the tropes of genres, and the tropes of life can help you play in scenes. You can think, "oh, this scene feeeels like a slasher film scene", and you can play the role of a person in that film. Art imitating life, imitating art, and so on forever.

2) I'M STARTING IMPROV TONIGHT, AND AM NERVOUS. WHAT DO I DO?

Oh, man. EVERY single improviser had these nerves before their first class. It doesn't matter if they were the class clown, super shy, a theater major, whatever. You're literally about to practice how to be funny on the spot. That can be super intimidating to anyone. I did a post on this already

https://yeslabyrinth.tumblr.com/post/166045247048/its-okay-to-sweat

, but first off, it's great that you feel this way. I've only had two students I would say I haven't enjoyed teaching, and it's solely because they thought they knew everything. They could have used some self evaluating filter that allowed them to be vulnerable, and honest with their emotions.

Secondly, be certain that everyone else in the room is a bit nervous, but your first improv class can, and should be an incredible time. You will begin learning an artform that encourages support, trust, and letting go of fear. You are not in this alone, and you never will be. Any curriculum worth a damn will be showing you this from day one, minute one. Let's say worse comes to worse, and you take this class, and realize it's not for you. By just trying something new, and getting outside of your shell, you're doing a great thing. So many people go through life, and never allow themselves to be in a position where they might "fail", and that is the ultimate failure.

3) HOW DO WE KICK OUT A MEMBER OF OUR GROUP?

This is always a tricky situation, and of course, how you handle it varies a bit depending on why it is your group feels like you need to kick someone out of it. The best thing is to always be direct about this. If you are feeling this way, and you talk to your other teammates, and they too feel this way, than you first need to see if cutting them is the only option. Sometimes, just a conversation with them can be the kick in the ass they need to shape up. Sometimes, they are too problematic, or will never change their ways, and you have to cut them. Make sure when you bring this topic up to the group that you don’t try to use your opinion to skew everyone else’s mind. I may start the conversation with, “How does everyone feel about Pat?”, and let them speak. If everyone else seems to be cool with them, than maybe it’s you that has the problem, and you need to just talk with Pat one on one.

Noting a fellow improv teammate is always a tricky thing. Ideally, if your problem with them is based on their play style, and choices they make, the instructor should be noting them on these things, and not you. But, if your problems are more personal, like you don’t like them as a person, or think that there is no way you, and this person can be on a team any longer, again, be direct. The more you try to tip toe around it, or just make a decision like sending an email that they are cut out of the blue, the more problematic you will make the situation. Having a conversation about not wanting to be with someone is hard, but avoiding confrontation by doing something very passively confrontational is even worse.

4) HOW DO I KNOW IF I’M FUNNY?

Wow. This is a weird question. For one, it assumes that only the class clowns, or the constantly witty people in life are the “funny” ones. To be a good improviser, you need a lot of skills. Listening, honest reactions, noticing what’s absurd, making choices, recognizing a pattern, living in the moment, etc. But of all the major skills, being funny is actually not a prerequisite. I know a lot of amazing improvisers who wouldn’t say they are very funny, but consider themselves good at improv. In fact, the “funny” people, often struggle in improv because they need to do something other than to be the center of attention. They need to support, and often their jokey moves can undercut a scene, and cause resentment with their fellow players. In general, being a naturally funny person is a good thing, and can give you a leg up in improv if your whole life you have been doing bits with your friends, but with enough practice, an “unfunny” person could quickly surpass some “funny” person in improv.

All that said, I think the top comment from u/Rhynick on reddit nailed this answer with this comment. “You’ll be a lot funnier when you stop worrying about it.”

5) HOW DO I SHUT DOWN SEXISM/HARASSMENT IN A SCENE?

I feel slightly odd answering this question being a white, bearded dude in improv, so let me say talk to women in your improv community about this to get a better answer. These are just my thoughts from my experience. That of a white dude.  This question has come up a few times this year, and unfortunately, I expect to hear more, and more about it in the future. In the reddit threads, a woman would give an example of a man who would often turn their scenes sexual, or made comments about their appearance off stage that made them uncomfortable.

The first thing you have to do, is tell this person that what they did made you uncomfortable. In a perfect world, the coach would notice you are uncomfortable, or just notice the sexism of the scene, and call this person out in front of everyone. Even if they didn’t intend to do this, I think being called on your shit is something that needs to happen more often, and ANYTIME anything like this comes to light. If you personally don’t feel safe having this conversation, please get with someone popular in the community to help you have this conversation. No matter what, the person who did this needs to know it’s not cool.

So, in my experience, if you confront someone who does this, they will have one of two reactions.

1) They say they didn’t mean to, apologize sincerely, and say they will change.

2) They make up excuses to reason away how what they did was fine, and you’re being too sensitive.

Even in the first scenario, where the person seems sincere in not meaning to make you feel this way, and they feel that it was not their intent to do it, you need to let them know that intent does not matter. They made you feel uncomfortable, and they need to know it. Any human worth a damn will agree, and be more cautious in the future. They will not make excuses, and try to paint themselves as the victim. 

For this second person, get them the fuck away from the community if at all possible. We should have ZERO patience for this shit. If it happened once, and they seem to not take any responsibility, what will happen the next time? Who will they do this to next? If this person is in some high position of power in the community, all the more reason to get them the fuck out of there. Oh, and one last thing to remember, BELIEVE WOMEN!

That’s all the answers I have for today. If you get a chance, look into reddit.com/r/improv It is a small but growing community, with lots of great people trying to help each other out.

[onespoongirl]

Let Sleeping Wolves Lie | Chapter 1

Pairing: Stiles/oc/Lydia (polyamory)

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Read on ff.net or AO3

Summary: Beth has just moved across the Atlantic to be closer to her father, who lives in Beacon Hills, but she arrives just in time for a dead body in the woods and something monstrous prowling the school hallways. American teen sitcoms really didn't prepare her for this.

Word count: 6740

Chapter Index

Chapter 1: From Wales With Love

On the other side of the room, the alarm clock went off sounding like a meltdown at a nuclear factory, and Beth's eyes shot open. She lurched across the room to turn off the infernal device before it woke the entire neighbourhood. Her sleep heavy and cumbersome fingers fumbled with the buttons before she finally found the right one. The silence that followed was heavy. She sank down on the desk chair, resting her head on the cold surface of the table, willing her eyes not to fall shut again because if they did she would fall asleep again regardless of her uncomfortable position.

With a groan, she staggered to her feet and turned on the light, which made her squint her eyes. She had only lived in Beacon Hills for three weeks but already her room showed a distinct Beth-ness; the cream walls were decorated with countless photographs, which hung from strings with pegs. Some of them were Polaroids and some were printed from the computer. Up against one of the walls was a shelf system with camera equipment of varying degrees of age and functionality. In the corner lay an old Nikon F2, that Beth had bought intending to repair until it was clear that her talents lied in photography and not repairing cameras.

The door to her room cracked open and she looked blearily at the head that peeked through the crack.

"Dad sent me to check on you to see if you're up. He also told me to throw your alarm clock out of the window, although he used some more expletives."

Chloe opened the door wider when it was apparent she didn't have to use it as a shield. Her rumpled appearance made it clear that she had also just gotten out of bed; her normally straight and shiny hair was mussed and tangled and her eyes were still crusted with sleep.

"That alarm clock is the only reason I'm still not a drooling mess." Beth stifled a yawn behind her.

"Who says you're still not a drooling mess?" Chloe asked playfully and swiped at Beth's face.

Beth dodged and gestured rudely at Chloe with one hand while wiping her mouth with the other. She could hear someone making breakfast downstairs, and a delicious smell of bacon drifted up from below. In the kitchen she was met with the sight of her father standing before the stove, juggling what looked to be three different pans all at once. He already looked ready for the day, even though it was abnormally early in the morning, or abnormally early for a teenager who'd just enjoyed a long summer holiday. His hair, just as curly as Beth's, laid perfectly coiffed on his head and did not resemble the rats nest currently sported by Beth.

"'Morning dad," Beth said as she stepped over and peered into the pans. "Are you making a full English breakfast?"

Jaime only spared her a glance before he diverted his full attention back to the cooking. "Good morning, Beth. We wanted to give you a good start on your first day of school." The baked beans had begun to smoke a bit and he quickly removed the pan from the heat.

Chloe had walked in after Beth and gotten two mugs from the cabinet, which she was filling, with coffee. "I Googled Welsh breakfast but that's with fish or something, so I vetoed that."

Beth accepted the mug proffered by Chloe. "It's shellfish, actually. But this is great, it is. It smells just like home."

Jaime sent her a small smile as he tipped the fried eggs over on a plate. He hadn't said anything, which wasn't unusual as he wasn't very talkative in general, but he seemed anxious to make sure Beth was happy living with him. She didn't intend on giving him any reason to think otherwise.

"I trust you slept well?" Jaime asked in his measured voice.

Beth jumped up on the kitchen counter and watched Jaime cook. When she was younger, she had never understood his somewhat formal way of speaking, not just to her but to everyone. Other fathers called their daughters pet names and other terms of endearment, but Jaime had always been very reserved. It wasn't until she got older that she understood it was just one of his many peculiarities. "Like a rock. You'd really think I would've been too nervous to sleep last night, starting a new school and all."

In that moment, Louie sauntered through the doors. If Jaime looked ready to take on the day, Louie looked like he was ready to take over the world. He hurried over to the kitchen table and started to gather some stray papers. "Good morning girls. I'm sorry but I can't stay for breakfast, but I just got a call from Berger that I need to come in right away. The police found something in the woods last night and they want me to cover it."

"The woods? What did they find?" Beth asked while kicking her legs out, almost kicking Louie as he went past.

"If I told you it'd spoil the surprise," Came the muffled answer. Louie was trying to wrestle his day planner into his bag while simultaneously showing a piece of toast into his mouth.

"It'll take us like five minute to hear in school anyway. I swear this city is the worst at keeping secrets." Chloe got up and helped Jaime carry the food to the kitchen table.

Louie went over to Jaime and gave him a quick kiss. "I don't know if I will be home for dinner. It sounded pretty serious so I'm probably going to pull some overtime if I want the story ready for the morning newspaper." Louie turned towards Beth and Chloe. "Now girls, I know you've just had a long summer break but now playtime is over. Beth, you've never gone to an American school so this is literally the most important advice I can give you: cafeteria food sucks. The dough is made with sawdust and the macaroni used to be some poor kid's art project. Stay away from the meatloaf."

Beth snorted. "The food at my old school wasn't exactly four stars either."

"Well, then you won't have problems digesting whatever is in the mac n' cheese. Oh, and also, Chloe, please don't bite anyone, okay?"

Chloe threw a dishrag at him. "Aren't you in a hurry? Please?"

"Indeed I am. Have a great first day!" Louie ducked out of the kitchen and a few seconds later, they heard the front door close.

When all the food was ready, they sat down to eat. The beans were a tad runny but otherwise it tasted pretty much like an English breakfast.

"Are you homesick yet?" Chloe asked and nudged Beth in the leg. Jaime sent her a look over the rim of his coffee cup.

"Well, not really. As you said this is an English breakfast. If it had been a Welsh, I'd be absolutely inconsolable." Beth nudged her back. "But I am mostly excited, really. I've never actually gone to a new school - I mean a school with all new people."

"You already know a bunch of people, so it's not like you'd have to eat your lunch in the bathroom. Lydia seemed very excited that you were moving here." That was true. Three days after Beth had moved to Beacon Hills, Lydia had shown up at the front door and whisked her off to meet her friends, with varying success. Beth had liked most of the people she met, with the exception of Lydia's boyfriend, who was probably the one it was most important that she liked, but Jackson made it exceedingly easy to dislike him.

When they finished breakfast, Jaime started to clear the table. "You better get ready now or you're going to be late for school."

"Dad, I do believe you are right." Beth got up from the table and stretched her arms over her head.

"I call dibs on the shower," Chloe yelled and skipped towards the door.

"No! You'll use up all the hot water again!" Beth hurried after her but nearly lost a finger in the bathroom door. "I can't believe there's only one bathroom in this gigantic house!" She yelled through the bathroom door. The Sandoval house was big, though there were only two toilets and one shower, which normally wouldn't have bothered Beth, as the house she lived in Wales had been a lot smaller. The main difference was that she'd lived alone with her mother, and now she had to share a bathroom with someone who kept using all the hot water.

On the other side, Chloe laughed. "It wasn't a problem before you moved here, honey. I'll be quick I promise."

After Beth's shower, she had barely had time to get dressed after the shower before there was a knock at the door. "Are you decent?" Chloe yelled from behind the door.

"Not particularly, really," Beth yelled back.

Tentatively the door opened. Chloe peeked inside before she opened it completely. "Oh, good. I wasn't sure if you were talking about not being dressed or just you in general. But get a move on I want to get to school early to catch up. Also, that is cute. I approve." She nodded towards the dress Beth was wearing; an off-white, pinstriped dress that was a gift from her mum before she moved.

"Oh thank god, I was afraid I would have to change," Beth said while rolling her eyes.

Chloe walked forward and brushed invisible dust off Beth's shoulders. "They grow up so fast," she said with a thick voice. Beth only just stopped herself from burying her elbow in Chloe's gut. "But for real, though, we gots to go."

"Oh, wait a moment!" With a flourish, Beth grabbed her camera bag from where it was lying on the shelf. It was a Polaroid camera she’d gotten from Jaime and it was her most precious possession.

"Say cheese!" Beth said, holding it out in front of them. The flash went off and with a whirring noise and the camera spat out a picture. She grabbed it and put it in a small pocket on the camera bag.

"Okay grandma, can we go now? If you're not down by the front door in 5 minutes, I'm leaving without you." Chloe spun around and disappeared out the door.

It took Beth exactly eight minutes to gather all her stuff and get down by the front door; she knew because Chloe had yelled increasingly annoyed updates on exactly how long it took Beth to get ready.

"I need to go to the office first, actually. If you'd kindly show me the way that would be fantastic." They walked towards the school, which was just across the road from their home.

Chloe sighed loudly. "Urgh, fine. I'll show you the way but I can't be late. You have an excuse because you are new, you can just say you got lost, but I refuse to have the record for fastest detention in a new school year. Honestly, Beth, it's the first day and you're already dragging me down. I should just push you in front of a car."

"Your dad told you not to bite anyone, I'm pretty sure pushing someone into oncoming traffic is off limits too."

"Urgh, he says that all the time. I don't know who told him he was funny but they lied to his face."

They arrived at school early enough that many students hadn't yet arrived. Beth really hadn't been particularly nervous about starting in a new school, but standing in the car park she worried at the sleeves of her black leather jacket until Chloe’s stilled her hands.

"Look, Beth, it's not like you don't know anyone here, right. You've been to Beacon Hills once a year since forever and you've met a tonne of my friends and-and you know Chloe freaking Sandoval and if that doesn't give you an in with basically everybody then I don't know what will." Chloe sent Beth a warm smile until something distracted her over Beth's shoulder. "Actually, there’s Lydia. Already a friendly face." She turned Beth around and practically shoved her over towards Lydia who was standing by a silver beetle. "Ask her to show you where the office is," she said as she was already on her way to a group of people standing beside the school entrance.

"You're a rotten sister!" Beth yelled after her but kept walking towards Lydia.

She’d didn’t remember a time she didn’t know Lydia. Their parents were friends and it made sense that their children would get stuck together while the adult did their adult thing. They didn’t become friends proper before Beth found the joy of photography and they developed a sort of mutually beneficial relationship: Lydia loved having her picture taken, and Beth loved taking pictures. It helped that Lydia didn’t seem to have a bad angle.

In place of a greeting, Lydia looked disapprovingly down at Beth's feet. "Sneakers, Beth. Really?" She herself wore a formfitting, expensive looking coat and the sunshine made her hair look glossy.

"Yes, sneakers. They're very comfortable," said Beth and wriggled her toes. Lydia scowled at her and Beth answered with a blinding smile.

"They look like they've been prescribed by a podiatrist."

"Those shoes are bitchin' so I will take that as a compliment. Oh, what do you think of my dress?" Beth swirled around with her arms outstretched.

Lydia looked at her outfit with a calculating look. "It's acceptable, I guess. Not a fan of that jacket though, it makes you look like you just got out of an Iron Maiden concert."

"I'll take it," Beth said jovially and gestured towards the entrance, "shall we?"

Lydia smiled an almost predatory-like smile. She spun around until she faced the school, and started walking as if she was on a runway in Milan and not outside a high school in California. Even the wind seemed to favour her, as it provided a gentle breeze that made it look she was in the middle of a Kanye West music video.

Beth followed a step behind her, not wanting to interrupt Lydia as she asserted her dominance over the school populace. Besides, she could never hope to match Lydia's powerwalk.

Two guys were standing in front of the entrance to the school, right in the way of Lydia's march. One of them sported a mop of dark hair and the other an unfortunate buzz cut and a novelty t-shirt.

"Hey Lydia!" the shorthaired one said after Lydia's retreating form. She made no move to show she had even heard the boy.

When they got inside the school, Beth skipped up to walk beside Lydia. "Uh, I need to go to the office first. I need my schedule and stuff like that."

Lydia turned so her red hair whirled around her. She sighed as if showing Beth to the office was a heavy burden. "Fine. It's down that hall and to the left. There's a big sign in front that says Administration, so even you wouldn't be able to miss it."

"Wow Lydia, that cuts really deep. It's almost like you're trying to hurt me." Beth walked backwards down the hallway Lydia indicated, a playful smile on her lips. "You know I don't think you can sit with me a lunch anymore."

Lydia rolled her eyes and sighed as if she was dealing with a problem child. "Go to the office, Beth."

Beth saluted and turned around so she wouldn't fall over her own feet, and as she walked, she took the time to look at the school. It looked just as rundown as her old one, which was somewhat comforting. The students looked the same and she could hear the same type of "how was your summer" questions albeit with an American accent.

She opened the door to the office and was immediately met with a sour-looking secretary who didn't so much as look up from the screen as Beth stepped up to the counter. "Take a seat, please." She droned, sounding bored out of her mind. Beth raised her eyebrows over the secretary's attitude but nodded once and turned around to look for a place to sit. Behind her were some chairs pushed up against the wall, one of them already occupied by a dark haired girl who looked like she was about to burst from nervous energy. Beth threw herself into the seat beside her.

"Phew, I am so relieved that I am not the only new student here. It's bad enough starting in a new school but in a completely different country too is just a bit nerve-wracking."

The girl startled at the sound of Beth's voice. "Is it that obvious?" The girl combed her hair with her fingers and smiled nervously at Beth.

"A little bit. You're sitting in the administration office on the first day of school, looking just a tad … green. You're either new or you've already gotten in trouble and no offence but you don't look like a dastardly troublemaker."

"Oh, uh, well I'm not. A troublemaker I mean." the girl's smile became a little more genuine and Beth mentally pumped a fist in the air in triumph. "So, uh, what are you in for?"

Beth grinned. "Got five to eight for releasing the frogs from the biology classroom. That's something you Americans do, right?"

The girl laughed, which made the secretary shoot them an angry look over her monitor.

"I'm Beth, by the way."

"I'm Allison. Where are you from?" It looked like some of Allison's nerves had left her and she had turned so she faced Beth.

"Wales, though my dad has lived in Beacon Hills for years so I've visited about every summer and my sister goes to the school too."

"I imagine it's less intimidating starting here when you actually know somebody in this town," said Allison and looked around the room with a pained expression. Some of that aforementioned green colour returned to her cheeks.

"Maybe. Or maybe I'm just really good at hiding how utterly terrified I am," Beth said and sent her a reassuring smile, "fake it until you make it, right?"

Allison nodded and took a calming breath. Somewhere in the school, the bell rang and she frowned. "Um, an administrator was in here just before you, but he had to take care of something."

"I think that not having our schedules and not having a clue where to go is a good enough excuse being late." Beth leaned back in the uncomfortable chair and chatted with Allison until the door opened and a man entered.

"Miss Argent and Miss Vinther, I see you've become acquainted. I'm sorry for the delay but there were matters I had to attend to." He grabbed two folders from behind the counter. "This is your schedule and a map of the school where your lockers are marked. My name is Moris Cooper and I'm the school's administrator. If you have any problems, you can come to me. Follow me, please." He gestured towards the door and both girls got up.

"Miss Argent, you said before that San Francisco isn't the place you grew up." Mr Cooper looked at Allison while they walked.

"No, but we lived there for more than a year which is unusual with my family," Allison said, looking just as nervous as she had when Beth had first entered the office.

"Well, hopefully, Beacon Hills will be your last stop for a while. And for you too, Miss Vinther. You may not remember me but I met you a couple of years ago when there was an unveiling of the sculpture your father made for the school."

Beth tried to think back but it had been four years ago and she'd been introduced to a lot of people that day and none of them really stood out.

"Your dad's a sculptor?" Allison asked looking at Beth with curious eyes.

"Yeah, but he paints more than he sculptures, I guess." As Beth talked she tried to take note of the way to the classroom, but after the first few turns, she was totally lost.

"Ah, here's your classroom," Mr Cooper said and gestured towards a closed door. Through the glass pane, Beth saw a mousy teacher standing by a blackboard. When Mr Cooper opened the door and interrupted the teacher, he did not look enthused.

"Class, this is our new students Allison Argent and Bethan Vinther. Please do your best to make them feel welcome." With that, he headed out the door. Fortunately, there were two empty seats and Beth grabbed the first one that was in front of the dark haired guy she had seen earlier. She tried to smile at him but by the looks of it, he only had eyes for Allison.

Beth sat down and got her notebook and pencil case. She fiddled with the worn spine of the book Chloe had loaned her. She could hear her teacher drone on in the background in a voice one could only describe as uninspiring, so she sat back and let the over-analysis of the Metamorphosis wash over her.

Beth walked with Allison towards their lockers, which were almost right next to each other.

"Sweet, I've never had one of these," Beth said as she peered into her locker, "this day is just full of new experiences. What should I put in it?"

Allison looked at her from two lockers over with a bemused smile. "Whatever you want I guess, but I think the intended purpose is school books."

"Urgh, that's boring." Beth closed the locker and leaned her shoulder against it. She saw something that made her eyes glint with glee. "Hey Allison, don't look now but I think someone is looking at you."

Allison straightened up and peeked stealthily through her long hair at the dark-haired boy from their English class. The downright bashful smile she sported was pretty telling what she thought of him. "He borrowed me a pen." She said while biting her lips to hide the smile.

"Ooh, you know that means you're married!" Beth said with a cheeky grin.

"Beth!" Allison admonished but she still laughed, even when red appeared on her cheeks. "Honestly."

"What did she do now?" Like a creature out of a Dracula adaption, Lydia appeared as if she stepped out of the mist. "Never mind. That jacket is absolutely killer. See Beth, not everyone has to dress like they have a leather fetish."

"It's one jacket, Lydia, it's not like I've come to school in assless chaps."

Lydia pointedly ignored Beth. "So, where'd you get it?"

Allison looked between Beth and Lydia, a slightly confused smile playing in the corners of her mouth. "My mom was a buyer for a boutique back in San Francisco."

"And you are my new best friend," Lydia said with easy confidence that came from never having anyone really oppose her.

"No!" Beth croaked and clutched her heart. "Does this mean I'm not even a contender anymore? Shit Lydia, you're breaking my heart."

Lydia sent her a derisive smile. "You were never even a consideration, sweetie."

Beth's mock-horrified look was wiped away when a cloud of man-perfume announced the presence of Jackson who descended on Lydia's face like a leech. "Oh, hi," she said in a flat tone. Because of her friendship with Lydia, she couldn't be openly antagonistic towards Jackson, but by God, the boy made it difficult to remain civil.

"Hello," said Allison a little unsure which was understandable enough, since one of her conversational partners was just unceremoniously snogged in a school hallway.

Lydia detached herself from Jackson. "Oh, this is Jackson." She sent her boyfriend a playful look. "I didn't catch your name, actually."

"I'm Allison," Allison said and gave a small wave. She was holding her messenger bag in front of her kind of like it was a shield.

"We're in English together," Beth added, wanting to be a part of the conversation somehow.

Jackson spared her a look that clearly said that he didn't care, and turned back to Lydia. Beth had to fight the urge to stick out her tongue at him.

Lydia also pointedly ignored Beth. "So, this weekend there's a party."

"A party?" Allison asked, looking like she wasn't quite sure what to say to that.

"Yeah," Jackson said, "Friday night. You should come."

"Beth is the photographer," Lydia said with confidence. "She has all those cameras and now they can finally come to good use."

"I am? When exactly was this decided?" Beth leaned forward and shot Lydia a questioning look. "Because I don't remember agreeing to be your personal photographer."

"It was decided when you can't go two minutes without taking photos of whatever mundane thing is happening. Honestly, it's kinda sad how you use your camera as a security blanket. You know as well as I that you would spend the entire party behind a camera anyway, and now you're just in my employ."

"Great, does that mean you'll pay me?"

"No," Lydia snapped and turned towards Allison, "so what do you say?"

"Uh, I can't. It's family night this Friday. Thanks for asking."

Beth felt a pang of disappointment as she liked Allison and the party would be infinitely better if she were there to block out the Lydia/Jackson snogging session that would surely commence.

Apparently, Jackson was disappointed too. "You sure? I mean, everyone's going after the scrimmage."

"You mean like football?" Allison asked innocently. Beth wanted to shake her head vigorously. Jackson felt very fondly of his lacrosse and there was a high possibility of an angry rant if he heard any perceived slight against it.

"Football's a joke in Beacon," Jackson spat. "The sport here is lacrosse. We've won the state championship in the last three years." He sounded so smug that Beth almost gagged.

"Because of a certain team captain," Lydia said, never turning down a chance to brag. She adjusted Jackson's hair while practically letting him carry her entire weight.

"Well, we have practice in a few minutes. That is if you don't have anywhere else to go." Jackson turned towards Beth. "I know that it might seem confusing for your but in America, sport is sort of a big deal and we have to practice-"

"Piss off water-boy; I know what bloody practice is." Even though he only tried to get a rise out of her, she still raised her hackles at his condescending tone.

Lydia clicked her tongue in disapproval at the two. "And Jackson-" she shot him an acidic look- "is going to be late. So come on. Allison?" She waited for the girl to nod before she turned on her heel and marched down the hallway somehow making even the click of her heels sound angry.

When they arrived out at the field, the players were already running around on the field, swinging their sticks.

"Jackson wasn't kidding when he said lacrosse is the sport at Beacon," Allison said, as they sat on the bleachers. They were surrounded by students who, like them, had shown up to watch people play lacrosse.

"Yeah, I thought showing up and watching people practice sports was only something I did." Beth sat behind Allison and Lydia but was leaned forward so she could hear them over the loud whistles and yells from the players.

"You really like sports that much?" Allison asked with a smile.

"There was a local rugby team and I swear I was their biggest fan. Actually, I reckon I was their only fan because they really sucked."

Lydia flipped her hair over her shoulder and almost hit Beth in the face. "Well, this team is not some backwater soccer team. Winning actually matters here." She sounded so smug that you'd think she'd herself singlehandedly won the championship.

Beth was in the middle of a heated explanation on the differences between real football and rugby when Allison interrupted them. "Who is that?" She nodded towards the goal, where number 11 was standing looking back and forth with a somewhat lost look.

"Him? I'm not sure who he is," Lydia said, "why?"

"I thought you were the queen bee of this school, aren't they supposed to know all their little bee-lings?" Beth asked with a cheeky smile, and Lydia responded with an unimpressed look.

"He's in our English class," Allison said with a small, shy smile.

"He loaned her a pen!" Beth said excitedly, this time earning an annoyed look from Lydia.

"How wonderful," she deadpanned and turned her attention back on the lacrosse pitch.

Down on the field, it looked like number 11 was having some issues. "Um, he doesn't look too good." She leaned forward again as if she could get a better look at the guy who had grabbed his head as if he was in pain. "Shouldn't we-" she didn't finish her sentence before a lacrosse ball nailed him in the face. The only reason he didn't wind up with a broken nose was due to the helmet. There was scattered laughter around them.

After a couple of seconds, he got up again and stood ready at the goal. Beth winced as the next guy swung his stick but amazingly, enough Allison's pen-dealer caught the ball. Even buried under layers of protective gear she could see the other player's confusion. On the bench in front of the field buzz cut guy gave a surprised yell of encouragement.

The next player threw the ball closer to the ground but as before, the dude caught it neatly. He repeated that feat a couple of more times until the small crowd were cheering for him.

"It seems like he's really good," Allison said with a slightly dreamy expression.

"Yeah, really good," Lydia said, looking more surprise than amazed.

"Correct me if I'm wrong but isn't knowing all the best lacrosse players your thing, Lyds?" Beth asked from behind them.

“Don’t call me that,” she said absentmindedly. "That must have happened over the summer, there is no way that I didn't notice him last year."

"Someone must have eaten all their Brussels sprouts," Beth mumbled but she, like Lydia and Allison, wasn't paying attention to what came out of her mouth as Jackson had just stepped forward, looking like a scorned king ready to challenge a usurper. It was a tad overdramatic for high school lacrosse.

Beth held her breath as the ball soared towards the goal. Not surprisingly, the ball got stopped before it met its destination and around her people started cheering. Even Lydia stood up to cheer, but Beth was only confused for a second and a half before she saw the challenging look she shot in Jackson's direction. "That's healthy, that is," Beth mumbled, but it was drowned out in the ruckus. On the bench, the dude who she could only describe as strangely elastic looked to be having a celebratory seizure.

"I'm going to talk with his friend," Beth said and got up.

Allison's hand shot out and grabbed Beth's wrist. "Why?" She asked and looked at Beth with alarmed eyes.

"To find out who he is and, according to Lydia, which creature of the night he sold his soul to, to be this good at lacrosse." Beth gently pried Allison's fingers away from her wrist. "And besides, I am nothing if not aggressively friendly." When Allison's hand was gone, Beth turned around and climbed down from the bleachers. After a little difficulty getting past people without knocking them down, she plopped down on the bench beside buzz cut.

"That's your mate there, isn't it?" she asked and leaned forward, adopting the same stance as him.

The boy yelped louder than should have been necessary, which made Beth rear back with a confused look. He opened his mouth but it looked like his brain still hadn't caught up completely.

"Y-yes he's my ma-I mean friend." He looked at her like he wasn't quite sure she was sitting there.

Beth waited for him to elaborate a bit while she stretched out her legs in front of her. When he just continued to gawk she realised she had to prompt him a little more. "And his name is?"

"Scott!" Buzzcut almost shouted. Across the field, Scott's head snapped up as if someone had called his name. "Yeah, his name is Scott and you-you're Bethan right? We have English and Chemistry together." He still sounded utterly confused but now he at least seemed to have rediscovered the use of words without having to be prompted.

"Everyone calls me Beth, except my grandmother who thinks it's disrespecting Welsh culture. I'm fairly certain she has written me out of her will." She smiled at him but he just nodded thoughtfully, like they were discussing global politics and Beth hadn't just made a terrible joke.

They looked at each other for couple of long, awkward moments before Beth asked, "so what's your name-"

"I'm Stiles." They said at the same time.

They both stopped abruptly and Beth pursed her lips while they silently observed the players. She wasn't lying when she said she was aggressively friendly, she could talk with pretty much anyone, but for some reason the awkwardness of trying to talk with Stiles made her forget every conversational topic she had stored in her brain.

Stiles' was tapping a confusing beat on the bench. It seemed like he had to have some body part moving, lest the nervous energy would build up and he would rocket off to the moon. She crossed and uncrossed her ankles, desperately trying to find something to talk about. If there was anything Beth didn't do well, it was long uncomfortable silences.

"I don't even know the rules for Lacrosse," she said as she leaned her head back to enjoy the sun with her eyes closed.

"Wha-?"

She cracked open an eye and looked at Stiles. Instead of tapping on the bench, he was turning a lacrosse helmet repeatedly between his hands.

"The rules for lacrosse. I don't know them. I don't think I've ever watched a game of lacrosse even though I do watch a lot of sports. And we're not just talking the regular football and basketball, we are talking obscure shit." She stole a look at Stiles again and he looked at her with narrowed eyes. "A bunch of my mates and I once took the bus to Gloucester- that's in England -to a cheese rolling competition."

There was an unbelieving snort from Stiles, and she opened her eyes and levelled him with an even stare. He was leaning back on the bench and by the looks of it, only an exceptional equilibrium kept him from toppling down. "On top of a hill the cheese is released-" She stopped to truly admire the circumstances that led to her saying that sentence. "-and people leg it down trying to catch it."

"Is that true?" He asked, his voice somewhere between laughter and scepticism.

"No, I've never been. The rest of it is true, though. It's my life's dream to catch that darn cheese."

A smile spread across Stiles' face. "No ending world hunger or-or be ridiculously famous? You want to catch a runaway cheese." He snickered into his fist.

"Hey, don't you dare criticise my one true dream. I can get there with patience and hard work."

Stiles looked a little unsure about what he should say. "I-uh … at least it's doable I guess."

Beth nodded eagerly. "With low goals, there's less chance of disappointment," she said cheerfully.

"So, has Scott always been a bloody ninja at Lacrosse?" Beth asked when they'd been quiet for a time.

Stiles furrowed his brows as he watched his friend dance around obstacles like a ballerina. "No, definitely not. He has asthma but he hasn't used his inhaler today at all." He was leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and tapping a finger on his chin.

"You can grow out of that, can't you?" Beth leaned forward too, to try and make eye contact with Stiles.

The coach blew the whistle and the players gathered in a huddle. Evidently, the practice was over because the audience started to get up and move towards the school.

Beth got up from the bench. "Well, that's my cue I guess. Nice chatting with you, Stiles," She said with a smile and a little wave.

Stiles waved back absentmindedly but it was like the mention of his friend had snapped him out of any form of thought not concerned with Scott, who was standing in the middle of the field shaking his head like his ears were full of water.

When it became apparent that Stiles wouldn't answer, she threw up her hands and started towards Lydia and Allison, who were waiting for her by the bleachers.

"Did you find out his name?" It seemed that Allison herself realised how eager she sounded because she immediately tried to backtrack. "I mean-"

"His name is Scott and he used to have asthma but that it's maybe gone, apparently." Beth shrugged, throwing an arm over Allison's shoulder as they walked back to the school.

Allison wasn't fast enough to hide the infatuated smile that spread on her face at the mention of his name. It was incredible how fast she had gotten smitten, and by the looks of it, Scott had caught the love bug too.

"Did you talk about anything else? You were down there some time." Allison's hopeful voice made Beth smile.

Beth's smile turned into a grin. "Cheese, mostly." Allison snorted loudly and shot her a confused look. "Seriously, instead of asking me, who, by the way, has all of this information from a second-hand source, you could just go and talk to him." She gave Allison's shoulder a little squeeze.

"Oh no, I'm not going to do any dating. I am going to finish high school without distractions, that's the plan."

"I just want to say, for the record, that you were the one who brought up dating. It's 2012 Allison, people are allowed to have a friend of a different gender without the need of a chaperone."

Allison snorted and bit her lips. "You don't know my parents at all. I'm pretty sure my dad would prefer if I only have friends of the female persuasion."

"Oh, it's so much easier when you're bi and both your parents know. They can't very well ban people in general from your room, so I've never really had that problem. Besides, I seriously can't imagine my dad or Louie setting any sort of restriction on who can come to my room and not."

"Louie is …?"

"My dad's husband and my sister's father. My family situation can seem a bit complicated for the uninitiated."

"I am initiated and I still find it confusing," Lydia said. Her eyes were glued to her phone but apparently, she had been listening to the conversation.

Allison pursed her lips. "Okay, so your mom-" she paused to shoot Beth a questioning look.

"I actually have nine fathers."

"No you do not," Allison laughed and gave Beth a little push.

"You don't know that! I could be like that Arnold Schwarzenegger movie."

Allison laughed and waved her hand in the air as if she was trying to wipe out their current conversation. "Okay, we are getting off track. So your mom is Welsh."

"She is indeed. They met each other in London when my mom was working part-time in a gallery my dad's painting was showing in. When that didn't work out, he moved to California and met Louie. Actually, my maternal grandfather is Danish, so my roots are spread out over four countries."

"Four?"

"My dad's Mexican. You know where your family is from? As in before they were American."

Lydia had apparently found the conversation too boring because she had diverted her full attention back to her phone. "My family is from France. Argent means silver, actually."

"That's pretty cool. Do you know much about them?" They had reached the school and were walking through the halls.

"Not really. My parents never really talk much about them, only that it's a very old and influential family."

"Maybe you're actually royalty and your family escaped the reign of terror." Beth who up until now still had her arm slung over Allison's shoulder had to let her go so they could navigate the crowded hall.

"Lots of noble families escaped so that wouldn't be that special." Allison dodged two guys who were carrying some kind of paper-mâché monster. It seemed a little early to be doing projects for art class.

"Damn, I thought we had a French princess in our midst."

"Sorry to disappoint," Allison said with a cheeky smile before they all split up towards the different classes.

Next chapter

[keyofjetwolf]

I have technically been working on this since November, by which I really mean I wrote the first few paragraphs, jotted down some notes, and then barely touched it again for two months. It’s been sitting on my head that I hadn’t finished it for a variety of reasons. I finally committed to finishing it before I went to sleep on Sunday, and as my crawling into bed at 4:30 in the fucking morning will attest, I meant it.

This is my first attempt at creating anything in the Overwatch universe. In literally every sense of the word, it’s Holligay’s fault.

~2200 words. I hope you enjoy at least a few of them.

@docholligay​ said: “kick his ass for me." Pharah/Tracer

There were battlefields, and then there were battlefields. They wove through the tapestry of Pharah’s life, adding definition and casting shadows. Patches of blood and steel stretching across golden sand. The glint of sunlight reflecting across proud sky blue metal. A cold disapproving stare muting the surrounding colours. Some she mourned, some she celebrated, and still others she simply endured.

A hand brushed at the cuff of Pharah’s pants and a weak voice, drained of its usual energy and strength, croaked, “Kick his arse for me.”

Yes, “endured” was an excellent word.

Gentle brushing became forceful tugging. “Pharah.” Attention was what the voice wanted. Pharah crossed her arms behind her back, remained focused on a point straight ahead, and steadfastly refused. “Pharah! Avenge me, Pharah!”

A surreptitious kick did nothing to dislodge the fingers twisting into the crisp dark blue fabric. Pharah felt her eyebrow twitch at the thought of all the new wrinkles being born this very moment. Still, she could accept her ironing as a necessary, if unfortunate, casualty. There was no stand without costs.

Stand, she would.

Stand, she mus—

“Fareeeeeeehaaaa!”

Would it be possible to stand anywhere else? No. No, she was in too deep, now. Withdrawal would signal defeat, if it were even still possible. And, as Tracer hauled herself upward, grasping first one handful and then another of trousers, Pharah’s keen tactical mind centered on only one thought:

Far, far too late, you fool.

“Avennnggeeee,” Tracer hissed like a spectral demon. Still refusing to put any weight on her legs, she dangled from Pharah’s forearm and pawed at her tank top.

She would tell Angela their future meetings must take place in their room, or the kitchen, or the gymnasium. Perhaps the relative safety of Winston’s experimental laboratory. One of Talon’s many temporary bases they’d uncovered would also be acceptable. Anywhere but the recreation room. The recreation room was no longer a welcoming place for Pharah. Not for the first time, her arm itched with the desire to fire a rocket.

Pharah clasped her hands tighter. This had the unfortunate side-effect of giving Tracer a better purchase. Her tank top slid dangerously in one direction and then the other, until Tracer’s head popped up at Pharah’s right ear. As her arm wrapped around Pharah’s neck, Tracer beamed, unspeakably proud that she had conquered Mt. Amari.

“Feel I should plant a flag!” Tracer’s grin was audible. “Declare this land for queen and country.”

Pharah’s eyes flicked to Tracer, even as the rest of her remained stoic and resolute. “Your people did not fare so well last time you laid claim to Egyptian treasures.”

“We rarely do, love. We rarely do.”

A quick double pat on the shoulder was Tracer’s only other concession before climbing down from Pharah. Only she didn’t so much climb as she coiled into Pharah’s bicep, brought her feet up, and launched herself into a graceful backflip. She seemed to hover for a moment, not defying gravity so much as striking a friendly bargain to ignore it for a little while, before landing solidly on both feet. It was an absurd, unnecessary gesture, of the kind only Lena Oxton would work into her every day as often as possible.

Pharah reached up and made a show of brushing any lingering dirt from the launchpad of her arm. Tracer did not so much as acknowledge the action. “Right, so!” she began instead. “The avenging, then.”

“I am surprisingly uncompelled.”

It wasn’t because Mercy had just walked into the rec room, but had Pharah even the slightest moment of interest in Tracer’s plight, it would have disappeared the moment her wife appeared. Angela hadn’t spotted her yet, which only allowed Pharah the opportunity to steal a few precious moments to observe her at her least self-conscious. The way Angela’s eyes shone with intelligence and keen perception as she scanned the room. How her bottom lip curled inward as her teeth lightly clamped down, as they always did when she was lost in concentration. The delicate play of her fingers drumming against her thigh as she—

“So you’re letting ‘im get away with it, just like that?” Tracer was suddenly in her path, her arms crossed and head slowly shaking back and forth. “I’m disappointed, Fareeha, simply gutted.”

By and large, Pharah was not a person given much to philosophy and contemplation. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate those arts, and it certainly wasn’t that they were beyond her. Only that – either by requirement or design, Pharah couldn’t really say which – her life was governed by necessity. Simplicity. She was changing, of course. It was clear that her time in Overwatch would leave her with scars she could never have anticipated. That necessity, though, it was her guiding wind, and when it blew, Pharah listened to what she needed.

She needed to make Tracer shut up.

You could listen to what she wants and help her, the wind whispered in her mind.

There had to be something better than that.

You could kill her, the wind whispered again. It seemed to Pharah as though it shrugged. How a wind shrugged was a curiosity she didn’t think to question.

Aggravating as it was to admit, Tracer was vital to Overwatch. Beyond her effectiveness as an agent, which was without question superb, she was a kind of glue for the team, taking them from a loose band of warriors to something greater. They would fracture without her. Killing Tracer was out of the question.

It could never be said that Pharah was less than a consummate soldier. When a task needed doing, however unpleasant, she would see it done.

That didn’t mean it always had to be done gracefully. With a sigh that only began to hint at the degree to which she did not want to be speaking these words, Pharah asked, “What do you need?”

“Brilliant!” Tracer bounced over to Pharah, leapt up, slung an arm around her neck, and dragged her down until their faces were level. Dropping her voice, she whispered in Pharah’s ear like they were wartime conspirators. “And it’s so simple, yeah? All I need is for you to beat Reinhardt for me!”

They pulled apart, though their eyes remained locked. Tracer raised an eyebrow and grinned, nodding her agreement that this was in fact that greatest conspiracy of all time. Pharah stayed in her position, hunched over despite the fact that Tracer was no longer holding her in place. Neutrality was all she revealed. Stony, distant neutrality. Then:

“You are embarrassing yourself.”

Pharah neatly stepped around Tracer, who had somehow never anticipated anything less than enthusiastic agreement, and so was unprepared for everything happening. It afforded Pharah enough time to see Mercy staring right at her. She was smiling, and Pharah felt the corners of her lips curl upward in an involuntary response.

Until Mercy frowned a little and shook her head. She gestured to Tracer, by now so behind and forgotten as far as Pharah was concerned, and the smile returned with an understanding nod. Do whatever you were doing with Tracer, it’s fine.

It was like cold water gushed in Pharah’s veins. Her eyes widened and she shook her head. No. Please no.

But it was too late. Tracer again popped up and consumed Pharah’s vision. “I don’t mean BEAT beat, that’s ‘ardly a response for civilized and respectable individuals such as ourselves, now is it? Beat him at billiards!”

Tracer pointed, and sure enough, in the corner, Reinhardt was bending over the table, concentrating on making his shot. The pool cue seemed almost comically out of place in giant hands typically seen wielding a hammer larger than many Overwatch agents. He didn’t seem to notice the awkwardness, however, and sound of the balls clacking was quickly followed by the soft thud as several disappeared into the holes.

“HA! VICTORY IS AGAIN MINE!” Reinhardt roared, quite unnecessarily. D.Va, across the room, spat something in rapid Korean into her headset. Had anyone been listening, they would’ve heard “No, just my stupid grandpa. Again. Ignore him. And stop sucking, oh my GOD.”

Tracer crossed her arms and leveled a glare at Reinhardt. “’e’s a shark, ‘e is,” she grumped to Pharah. “Lost thirty quid, and me with a date this fine evening.” She lifted a hand to her chest and stared wistfully into the distance. “A gentle lady of ‘ighest tastes and bearing, deserving only the choicest lager in all the land.”

“And will she be graced with free peanuts as well?” Pharah asked, the faintest hint of amusement creeping into her voice.

Hands flung to Tracer’s wounded heart, and she took first one, then two, then a third outrageously exaggerated stagger. “I dunno how you do it, Ange,” she called over her shoulder toward Mercy, “bedding down with such cruelty night after night.”

Mercy giggled and sat on the couch, folding her legs gracefully under her. “It’s difficult, but we all must make sacrifices.”

The giggles only intensified as Pharah shot Mercy a cartoonish glare.

“That we do, love,” Tracer agreed, returning to Pharah’s side. “Such as the aforementioned arse kicking.”

What was most unnerving, Pharah found, was how there was no outlasting Tracer. They’d been at this for how long now? And the way Tracer was smiling at her, like she’d just woken up fresh from a full night’s sleep and ready to conquer the day.

Experience had taught Pharah to know when she was in an unwinnable situation. That a sacrifice now could mean more saved later.

But Tracer was a fighter as well, and she knew when she had her target dead in her sights. The problem was that experience had NOT taught Tracer to not be a cocky asshole about it.

“For meee…?” Tracer sang, leaning into Pharah with a smile that may have been charming to some ladies, but which only sparked a fuse in Pharah.

“Absolutely not,” Pharah said, stepping forward and nearly sending Tracer face first to the ground. “Not for you.” Her fist clenched, and once again her muscles twitched as they automatically tried to activate suit mechanisms that didn’t currently exist. She wanted to soar into the air, she wanted to survey her battlefield, she wanted to fire her last barrage.

All she had was her fist, however. It would have to do. Pharah thumped her chest and held it solemnly over her heart. After a moment’s silence, she said, “For Justice.”

Then she turned and marched toward Reinhardt. Tracer thrust her hands in her jacket pockets and watched her for a few seconds before strolling over to Mercy, still curled on the couch.

“Y’know you married a dork, yeah? You must do.”

“Fareeha certainly has her moments,” Mercy happily agreed.

“A NEW CHALLENGER!” Reinhardt roared.

“Sooo,” Tracer drug out, rocking back on her heels. “Thirty quid on Reinhardt?”

Mercy’s brow furrowed in confusion. “You mean Pharah.”

“ave you bet against your own wife? I’m no villain. You wound me, Ange, so you do.”

There was no response, save Mercy tilting her head and narrowing her eyes at Tracer. It was devastatingly quick and remarkably effective, as the confession spilled out almost immediately.

“Look, I said ‘e was a shark, didn’t I!”

Mercy failed to look impressed.

“I got me date tonight, Ange, ‘ave a ‘eart! I need to—“

A deep bass thud echoed in the rec room, and then another and another, each growing louder. Tracer’s eyes lit up, and something resembling an apology tumbled from her mouth. “You’rerightI’mbloodyterribleI’msorrynevermind.”

She got it out just as Winston entered the room. He smiled to see so many people present, and when he adjusted his glasses, it was almost certainly not due to nervous habit whatsoever. “Uhm, hello everyone,” his voice rumbled. “I’m glad to see we’re all—“

“Win!” Tracer cried, flinging herself at him with abandon. Winston looked startled, but caught her easily. “Pharah versus Reinhardt, match of the century, it is. ‘ow’s about we make a friendly little wager, yeah?, where— Oi!”

Just as smoothly as he caught her, Winston set Tracer on the ground and backed out of the recreation room. “Okay. Yeah. No.” he said, retreating down the hall.

Tracer immediately took off after him. “Winston! I just need— Bugger!” She screeched to a halt an inch before crossing the threshold. Swearing more aggressively under her breath, Tracer raced across the room, snatched up her chronal accelerator from its charge station, and raced out the doorway while slipping it on. “Y’did that on purpose, you big cheat! Get back ‘ere!”

Her voice trailed off as she ran after Winston. Mercy wasn’t even paying attention. The couch offered an ideal view of the billiards table, and the tank top left Pharah’s arms entirely exposed. The way she was chalking up the cue stick with such intensity… Well, this hadn’t been part of Mercy’s plan for the evening, but as she settled more comfortable into the couch, she decided she was willing to adjust.

Pharah leaned over the green felt of the table, lining up her shot with careful precision. She drew her arm, took a deep breath, and the game was on. For justice.

[lookbackmachine]

Brink! Oral History

[music]

00:06 Speaker 1: What up, Cinema? It's Chad Goes Deep reporting live. Dudes, when I'm scooting the S walks, I'm often mistaken for one dude, Erik von Detten, or as I call him, The Bear. And guess what guys? I'm never insulted. He has great hair, and from the movie I'm convinced he uses a leave-in condish, which is a good move. The Bear, Erik von Detten, also known as The Bear, inspired me to rollerblade, which I mastered in six months culminating my career in a sick Royale grind. The whole school saw it. He also taught me the importance of soul skating and full lettuce underneath your helmet. Or as it is also known, flow. His 1998 masterpiece Brink! Served as a benchmark for my development as an alpha male with heart from the tricks to the sick burns.

00:51 Speaker 2: Yeah, I want to win, but no matter what, win or lose, at the end of the day, I'm not you. So it's still a good day.

01:02 Speaker 1: I loved everything about this movie. My favorite part being when he chucks a chocolate shake in Val's grill. I copied that move when I was beefing with Dillon. It's over now. Alright, dudes. Now let's get down to Jake's script, which I've been told I have to read word for word. So this is going to be like a quasi-Chad Masterpiece Theater of sorts. Hope you guys enjoy.

[music]

01:55 Speaker 1: The Disney Channel began in 1983 like this. Goofy and Donald Duck costume characters were decked out in crisp white lab coats with their good friend, Donny Osmond, Beast. The ragtag crew was manning mission control to launch the signal to cable boxes around the country. The cost for the channel was less than $10 a month, and in six months they had 500,000 subscribers. Whoa, that's a lot.

[music]

02:19 Donny Osmond: And that as they say is just the beginning. In the months ahead you'll see more great movies for the whole family, more new shows that are fun to watch, easy on the eyes, and packed with the things that you want to know. The people at the Disney Channel want you to know that that's a promise, a commitment to bringing you and your family the kind of quality television you'll be glad to welcome into your home.

02:37 Speaker 4: All personnel, one minute to Disney Channel programming. Donny, will you start the audible count down, please?

02:45 Donny Osmond: Oh, you want me to start the countdown? Geez, this is an honor. [chuckle] Okay, we all set? All systems ready to go? Okay, you ready to roll programs in there? . Great, okay, here we go. Mickey Mouse, Earth station Mickey. Stand by to commence countdown.

03:04 Speaker 5: Mouse control, this is Earth station Mickey, you are cleared to commence countdown, Donny.

03:09 Donny Osmond: Here we go. Ready?

03:12 Speaker 1: The Disney Channel followed up their launch with their first made-for-TV movie, Tiger Town, starring Roy Scheider from Jaws. Not to be confused with Rob who was a gigolo.

03:23 Speaker 6: Roy Scheider, Justin Henry. In a special encore performance of Tiger Town.

03:31 Speaker 1: Dude, since then the Disney Channel has produced countless films for cable, but according to its official history, the first Disney Channel original movie or DCOM began with Under Wraps directed by Greg Beeman in 1997. Legend.

03:45 Speaker 7: The spirit of the mummy may be freed by the purity of the full moon and loosened to walk the earth.

03:51 Speaker 8: And he's walking your way on Disney.

03:54 Speaker 9: That's a mummy, cool!

03:56 Speaker 10: What are we going to call him?

03:57 Speaker 11: How about Harold?

03:58 Speaker 8: And it's up to these three kids to help him find his way back home.

04:02 Speaker 11: We don't have much time, right, Harold?

04:03 Speaker 8: Under Wraps tonight at eight-seven-central only on Disney Channel.

04:09 Speaker 1: Beeman would go on to direct a string of six Disney Channel Originals, but his most famous was On the Horizon. Hell yeah. In the '90s Disney had just purchased ESPN, and ESPN had just launched the X-Games, and inline skating was hip. Well, skating was much cooler but inline skating for Disney was pretty rad. And so, with its unique brand of synergy, the Disney Channel wanted an aggressive inline skating movie based on a children's story from 1865. I didn't know they had skating back then. And there's just one man to write it, Jeff Schechter. Not to be confused with Ryan Sheckler who skates.

04:46 Jeff Schechter: I always knew that I wanted to be a writer and thought I wanted to be a director too, and so I actually directed something and said, "This is way too much like real work." [chuckle] So I was like, "Yeah, I'm kind of happy to sit home in my pajamas and write something and be paid disproportionately well. I started working in editing in New York. I started for an apprentice sound editor and did it for about two years or so and read at that time a book by William Goldman. He's the guy who wrote Butch Cassidy, and Sundance Kid, and Marathon Man, and Princess Bride, and he wrote a book called Adventures in the Screen Trade, where he had all these different chapters. And there's a chapter on producers and a chapter on directors. And there was a chapter on LA. And the chapter began, and I'm paraphrasing, something along the lines of, "I find Los Angeles to be a dangerous and potentially very harmful place in which to live. And I recommend that anyone seriously considering a career as a screenwriter move there as soon as possible." [chuckle] So I read that and went, "I guess I'm going to LA." I threw everything I owned fit comfortably into a vehicle Sabre.

06:02 Jeff Schechter: And the big break came with the infamous Bloodsport II. It was a open writing assignment, I had written an action movie, the un-spec that the producer read and liked and he wanted to meet me to see if I was good for Bloodsport II. Basically, I quit my job about six months earlier, so I could just focus on writing. I had heard this principle that if you want full-time results, you have to do something full-time. If you do something part-time, you'll get part-time results. And it was true, I was writing part-time and working part-time, 'cause I needed the money. And I was getting, what I would consider, really good part-time results. Somebody would be interested in a script, they adapted it for a dollar. It was like part-time results. So embracing this, if you want full-time results, you got to do something full-time, I said, "Okay, I've got enough money for six months, and I'm just going to focus on writing for those six months."

07:00 Jeff Schechter: Worse case, I'm single, renting a cheap place. It's like, if it doesn't work, okay so I'll get another job. So literally, I was in month five and out of money, and I get a call from my agent saying, "This producer wants to meet with you." So I met with him, and it was just, there was no way I was not going to get that job. [chuckle] I was like, "I will do whatever it takes to get this job." I didn't say that to him, I didn't want to come off as desperate. I wanted to come off as confident, I guess. I had this good fortune. I'm from Brooklyn, and I've been in LA long enough for my broken accent to have diminished a little bit, so it comes out in bad ways [laughter] sometimes. But you put me in the room with people from New York and New Jersey, and it's like my old accent just bubbles up to the surface. As I go in to meet this guy, and then he's from New Jersey. He starts talking to me like this, and I immediately start talking to him back like this, and he was like, "Yeah, I really like your script, and we're talking." And every time he would say something like, "Yeah, well, I'm meeting with other writers." And I go, "No, no, there are no other writers." [chuckle] I turned into that guy. And then that happened two or three times in the meeting, and he wasn't put off by it, he actually liked it, because my people.

08:20 Jeff Schechter: So as soon as the interview was over, one of the jobs that I had been doing was I'd been working at a martial arts studio. And I had helped the Ester at the studio with a book on karate forms and stuff like that. So he had put a nice big picture of me in the front of the book thanking me for my help, and this is a picture of me doing this 12:00 side kick, which is something that I was able to do back then. [chuckle] If I do it now, I think I could do it one time, and then somebody has to carry me to the hospital. So I go, I race away from this producer's office, I go to the martial arts studio and say, "Master Cho, can I have a copy of that book?" So he gives me a copy of the book, and this is going to sound worse than it is, but it was really the only place where in the picture where there was room for me to write this. But basically, a 12:00 sidekick is one leg is on the floor and the other one is high over your head. And in that gap between my legs, [chuckle] oh my God, why am I telling you this. In that gap between my legs, I wrote, "There are no other writers." And I ran it back to his office and gave it to his assistant who gave it to him, and I got the job.

[laughter]

09:33 Jeff Schechter: I don't think I got the job solely because of my aggressive attitude, or [chuckle] my controversial autographing of that picture for him, but the action script that he read was a martial arts script, and it was a good sample. So I had at least the material to back up my Brooklyn attitude. And then the writing of Bloodsport II was actually very easy, because I didn't have to write out... It's a gajillion fights, this person versus this person, and set this match, and this round. And basically, I just wrote X fights Y, as much as you need, which was an old trick from, I think there was this writer, Lee Bracket, who used to direct Westerns. And I remember reading somewhere that Lee was notorious for when you have this cowboys chasing other cowboys battle going on. It would be like, "Cowboy chase, as much as you need," because what's the point of writing it, if you're just going to get stunt coordinators, and production concerns, and where it's going to be shot. So why you putting in all these things that everyone's going to just toss out anyway? So for all these fights, there's these 20 fights or whatever, in Bloodsport II, I just wrote, basically, this person fights this person as much as you need. These movies are not dialogue heavy, [chuckle] so it was easy in a way.

[music]

11:04 Speaker 13: The Kumite fought like the world's most awesome fighters. The prize, a ceremonial sword. A sword that one man will steal.

11:18 Speaker 14: Steal from James, it'll be suicide!

11:21 Speaker 15: Don't tell me my business.

11:24 Speaker 13: Now, sentenced to a life in hell.

11:27 Speaker 16: Why are you in this prison?

11:28 Speaker 17: Sold at a value beyond riches. It was to have been awarded to the greatest fighter on earth.

11:35 Speaker 13: His sword is rescued.

11:38 Speaker 18: If you wish to learn the Iron Hand...

11:40 Speaker 13: The ultimate lesson.

11:42 Speaker 19: I will show you.

11:43 Speaker 13: Is about to begin.

11:45 Speaker 19: Force is not the answer. It will break inside of you. Wear it as inside, it will never break. It is not about winning. It is about finding oneself.

12:00 Speaker 13: Because what he has stolen is a chance.

12:03 S?: What do you think all this is going to cost me to have the sword returned?

12:07 S?: One million American dollars.

12:08 S?: That's your price for your freedom.

12:10 Speaker 13: The prison that holds him is a path.

12:12 S?: It is a spiritual event.

12:15 S?: The Kumite.

12:16 Speaker 13: And the challenge that faces him is a war.

12:28 S?: You and me, soon just me.

12:33 S?: His arms are like cement.

12:35 Speaker 13: The world's greatest martial arts masters are facing the ultimate challenge. Bloodsport II: The Next Kumite.

12:52 Jeff Schechter: So I started off writing these action movies. I was just newly married, and we didn't have a kid, and I'm wanted to do something more family film friendly, so I wrote a spec script about a kid and a baby elephant, an action-adventure comedy family thing, and it attracted the attention of Warner Brothers, which hired me to do a production polish on a kid and baby panda movie called Amazing Panda Adventure. Right around that time I sold a big spec screenplay, so now I was on the Disney radar a bit, and they had another rewrite for a movie called I'll Be Home For Christmas with Jonathan Taylor Thomas. I did my work on that script, and then just one day I was on the lot, so I just stopped in at the office of the producer who was working on I'll Be Home For Christmas. And we're just talking, I said, "Hey, so what have you got going on?" He said, "Oh, we've got this thing, a TV movie for the Disney channel, I don't know if that's something you'd be interested in." I said, "Yeah, sure, why not? I'm between jobs right now." That was Brink! It was an adaptation of the Hans Brinker story.

14:04 Speaker 1: Hans Brinker, or the Silver Skates, was written by Mary Mapes Dodge, an American author who became obsessed with Dutch culture to the point where she would ask everyone she knew for them to recall anything they knew about the land. With Motley's history of the Netherlands as her load star, she wrote Hans Brinker and the Silver Skates as a way of ridding American children of their prejudices against the Dutch, who I'm guessing were very anti-Dutch. Weird. The book was a massive hit and is still considered a classic. The book was a massive hit then, and is still considered a classic. For sure. For this piece, I've gone ahead and hired my British friend Buttersworth, my dog. He's going to read this brief section to give you guys a feel for the novel. Please enjoy.

14:47 Buttersworth: Thank you, Chad. Meanwhile, with many a vigorous puff and pull, the brother and sister, for which they were, seemed to be fastening something to their feet. Not skates, certainly, but clumsy pieces of wood, narrowed and smoothed at their lower edge and pierced with holes, through which there were threaded strings of raw hide. These queer-looking affairs had been made by the boy Hans. His mother was a poor peasant woman, too poor to even think of such a thing as buying skates for her little ones. Rough as they were, they had afforded the children many a happy hour upon the ice, and now, as with cold red fingers, our young Hollanders tugged at the strings, their solemn faces bending closely over their knees. No vision of impossible iron runners came to dull the satisfaction glowing within. Chad, I just want to thank you for having me here today. It's been one of the great honours of my life. Good luck and goodnight.

15:58 Speaker 1: Alright, thank you, Butters. So guys, that's the gist of the story, and almost 80 years after it was written, The Walt Disney Company adapted it into a television movie for The Wonderful World of Disney, in 1962.

[music]

16:31 Speaker 21: Hans Brinker was a Dutch boy who lived in a small village by the Zuiderzee. His story takes place about a hundred years ago. In those days, Holland had all the quaint characteristics we have come to think of as typically Dutch. All the charm and the beauty captured and passed on to us in the paintings of the great Dutch Masters, such as Vermeer, Ruisdael, and Rembrandt. Here in the fishing village of our story, the men pursued their livelihood on the sea for six hard-working days each week. But on the seventh, they took their folks to church. And that is where they'd been on a particular Sunday in Spring when our story begins. Among the good burghers on their way home from Sunday Mass was a humble family of fisher folk, called Brinker.

17:25 Speaker 22: What a wonderful day for a sail.

17:28 Speaker 23: On Sunday?

17:29 Speaker 22: Why not? We've been to church.

17:30 Speaker 24: We can go to the coast and have a picnic.

17:32 Speaker 25: Please, mother.

17:34 Speaker 23: Alright, I'll take a basket lunch.

17:36 S?: May I invite Inga Landgre?

17:38 S?: Of course.

17:42 S?: Do you think the burger master will approve?

17:44 S?: Why shouldn't he?

17:48 Speaker 1: Fast forward 36 years and we arrive at Andy 'Brink' Brinker played with glorious glee by Eric von Detten, The Bear. He is a bear. In the updated version of Hans Brinker, Brink and Team Pup-N-Suds are in the junior X-Games against the dastardly sponsored team X-Bladz headed by Val. A quintessential douche. It's a battle between soul skating and corporate greed. Something I struggle with daily.

18:14 Jeff Schechter: I looked at the book, the source material and said, "Okay, what are these elements that I think were going to make a compelling contemporary drama?" Sort of the hook was it's the Hanz Brinker story but with roller-blades, so that much we knew, so I said okay, what's the world today? There's skating, there's competition, it's X-Games, you know, what's the family dynamic? Well, Hanz Brinker had an injured father, so we gave Brink an injured father, so I said okay, what does that look like? Well, there's going to be obviously stress in the family, and there's probably money problems, of course, the father's going to have to get well at the end because it's Disney. And we know Brink is going to win the event, so it's probably some sort of tournament. So it's like just looking at the source material and saying what's still resonating today? And then saying where would that fall in to the structure of a well told story? Everything just laid itself out pretty nicely. As I recall, it was a pretty easy process writing the script. The internet hadn't quite exploded then. I guess I wrote this in '97 or so, so I had internet. It was really slow and pokey and very text based, so there wasn't a lot to research online, but there were a bunch of skinny magazines and skate shops who were all selling these videos that people were making of aggressive inline skating, so I bought a bunch of the videos and did my research that way.

19:50 S?: Hey check it out. Jerk weeds at 2 o'clock.

19:53 S?: Hi ya, children.

19:55 S?: Excuse me, but I believe we out-skated your sorry butts yesterday, old man.

20:00 S?: Anytime you want to go at it again...

20:02 S?: Cut it out.

20:02 S?: Guess you heard about Boomer?

20:08 S?: Yeah. How long's he got to be out?

20:10 S?: A couple of weeks. For sure he's out of the invitational. Means there's an open spot on the team.

20:19 S?: Yeah right. Like we're going to try out for Team X-Bladz.

20:22 S?: Like any of you have the talent. I'm telling you so that you garments know you're not invited.

20:29 S?: Good you told us. Now beat it.

20:33 S?: You don't get it do you? Being a sponsored skater is cool. I get all the newest gear whenever I need it. I get my picture in every skating magazine on the planet.

20:44 S?: Oh, now I'm nauseous.

20:47 S?: And I make a lot of money. Just think about that. Being known as the best, but the pay at the same time. What could be sweeter?

21:04 S?: Hey, look. We don't care about any of that stuff. We skate for fun. We're soul skaters, right Brink?

21:15 S?: Right.

21:16 S?: Yeah, right. Why is it that the losers always say they're in it for fun? Come on.

21:25 S?: Could you believe that guy?

21:29 S?: Skating for money.

21:31 S?: Sell out.

21:33 S?: Okay guys, we did it. We came this far, and I'm not going to let you guys down, you hear me? Just remember one thing, win or lose, skating is what we do, not who we are.

21:47 S?: Man, that was like deep.

21:48 Jeff Schechter: There was a couple... There were a couple of moments that I really responded to, and there was one line that kind of changed at the last minute, and it was a little... I'm kind of happy it changed. I'll tell you, it was when Brink is talking to Gabriella after she's injured, she goes over to the house and she's all mad at him, and he says, "Look, I'm really sorry, I was just doing it for the money. I needed the money." She was like, "We all need money," and then she goes, "And that's how it starts. First you do something you love, then you do it for money, and then you're an adult like everybody else." But then, the line got changed to you do something for love, and do it for money, and then you're just a sell-out, right? But there was something kind of pointed about by trying to hold on to your youth by don't worry about the money dude, just do those things that are exciting to you and that you love to do, and don't grow up too soon Brink, was really kind of the message. But I changed that... I don't know, I felt like I was slamming adults or something like that. I don't remember if I took it upon myself to change it or if that was a note.

22:57 S?: Gabby, I'm really sorry. I honestly didn't think anyone would get a hurt.

23:15 S?: And I guess for once, you didn't think of everything.

23:19 S?: But Gab, you got to understand.

23:22 S?: You were the one who told me about soul skating, about skating from the heart, and only skating for the love of it. And I believed you because you were my friend.

23:36 S?: But it was only going to be for a little while. My family really needed the money.

23:42 S?: We all need the money, Brink. What does that have to do with it? That's how it starts, you know? First, you do something that you really love, and then you start doing it for the money, and before you know it, you're just another sell-out.

24:17 Jeff Schechter: So, I really liked that line, and then I had this other line delivered by Brink's father to Brink. Which is, you know, when he tells Brink that the measure of a person is who your friends are and how well you keep them.

24:35 S?: I didn't listen to you, dad. I tried out for the sponsor team.

24:42 S?: When I told you no?

24:46 S?: We needed the money.

24:57 S?: Not so bad buddy, that we needed you to disobey us.

25:03 S?: I know. I guess it wasn't just for the money either. I wanted to be a part of Team X-Bladz. I wanted to have my picture in every magazine. I wanted to be a somebody. I don't know if you get that.

25:31 S?: You know, you and me, we're a lot alike. I used to love being a construction foreman. [chuckle] "Hi, how you doing? I'm Ralph Brinker, I'm the construction foreman." I used to love saying that. People looked up to me. Then I got injured. Suddenly, no more construction foreman. You want to know the worst part about being on disability? I didn't know who I was anymore. I used to define myself by my job title. But you want to know something? After being laid off for six months, I finally figured out that construction foreman is what I do, not who I am. Andy, you are defined by the company you keep and how well you keep it, not by what you just happen to do. And kids who skate, come on, California, they're filthy with them. You, you are Andy Brinker. You are a good son, and you are a good friend, who just happens to skate. And tomorrow, if you never skate again, you're still Andy Brinker.

27:23 Jeff Schechter: The script was just a lot of fun. I don't want to sound immodest, I've written plenty of stuff where you read it and you scratch your head and you go, "This guy's a professional? [chuckle] The story's too convoluted," or whatever. But Brink was just... It was just a good, fun read. It was fun kids with welcoming personalities, and occasionally they would say something fun and the family dynamic was fun. It just was a painless, whatever 100 pages. And I remember before I turned anything in, it's always like you would proofread it three to four times. And I remember going back through Brink and after like the third or fourth time reading it, going, "Even though I wrote this, I'm still not tired of reading it." So I was like, "Okay, I hope... Maybe people won't like it, maybe it won't get approved by the studio. If it is, it's for some other reason, because this is a fine read." And they were very welcoming to the script, they really liked it, and yeah, went into production really, really quickly. The director, Greg Beeman, was very faithful to the script. Greg was my hero, he was really respectful of the written word and did the absolute utmost to make sure that that was reflected on the screen.

28:46 Speaker 1: The film had its writer, now all we needed was a director. Greg Beeman, director of Brink!

28:55 Greg Beeman: I originally wanted to be a comic book artist, that was my dream when I was like 15. And then a movie called Star Wars came out, and kind of the night that I saw it in the theatres, I didn't know what a director was, but I knew that I had to do that. Then, mostly through naivete, and not realizing that what I wanted to do was hard, I found out where George Lucas went to college and went to film school, and I was like, "I got to go there," so I went to USC film school and sort of like ever since I was 15 years old, I've been focused on being a director. So I went to USC and I made some student films, and one of them won some awards. And it wasn't instantaneous, it was like a long, slow, slugging away, but I have never had any other idea, ultimately, that's my big secret. So I'm stuck with being a filmmaker and being a director. So coming right out of film school, I got a few writing jobs, and then I also directed a couple of music videos. But then the first thing I ever did, I think I was just like 22 years old, I directed a, at that time they had something called the Walt Disney's Wonderful World of Disney on Sunday nights. So I directed two two-hour movies. And then the first movie I ever did was called 'License to Drive' with Corey Haim and Corey Feldman, and I think I was like 26 years old when I directed that.

30:08 Greg Beeman: At that time in the early '80s, and Michael Eisner had just come over and been the president of Disney, and Jeffrey Katzenberg was his second-in-command, they were newly there. So I think at that moment in history, they were looking for... The industry was kind of looking for film students, because I think the other thing that was happening in the world was the teen comedies were really big, and John Hughes' movies were really big, and I think there was a sense in the industry that if we get young filmmakers, they'll have more connection to teen material. So I think in some ways, that was my big break. In retrospect, I was exceedingly naive, but I wasn't also overly confident, but I just felt like it was normal to be doing this. I don't remember feeling incredibly nervous, even when I got relatively big opportunities, I just felt like this is what I wanted to be doing, and this is what I was going to do. It takes a little bit of a couple failures, which happened later before you actually can lose your confidence, which did eventually happen to me. The big one was Mom and Dad Save the World. So that movie took a long... It was held up from release for a couple of years, and then when it came out, it was a dismal failure.

31:14 S?: Finally, in motion pictures, that asks the age-old question, "Is there intelligent life in the universe?"

31:21 S?: You're welcome.

31:22 S?: The answer, is no.

31:26 S?: Doors.

31:28 S?: Teri Garr, Jeffrey Jones, Jon Lovitz, Kathy Ireland, and Eric Idle. Mom and Dad Save the World.

31:36 S?: You're a cute little fella.

31:39 S?: Directed by Greg Beeman. 'Mom and Dad Save the World', the film which opened nationwide on over 1,000 screens. The film the daily news said had broader laughs than Bill and Teds, and called it funny family fair like "Honey I Blew Up the Kid". Mom and Dad Save the World, now being released on home video with special foil packaging, and with each three bag you order, get 100 Mom and Dad Save the World recycle plastic bags to give out to your best rental customers. Mom and Dad Save the World.

32:15 Greg Beeman: And then I was kind of like out of the business, no one would hire me, my agents wouldn't return my phone calls. I think in the life lesson, if I've done anything right, which is the same as I had no better ideas as I just never quit. A handful of people that I went to film school with are still in the business and slugging it away, and still working and doing good with their own ups and downs. But I would say the bulk of people that I graduated with, in 1983 or '84, most of them are not around anymore. I didn't quit, which would have been the reasonable thing to do, so I eventually got a chance to direct TV, and I got a chance to direct a TV show called "The Wonder Years". That was the beginning of doing TV, which is almost exclusively what I've stuck with ever since then, and TV's been a good medium for me. I ended up having, for about seven or eight years, a very happy relationship with the Disney Channel. I got a chance to direct a Disney Channel movie called Under Wraps.

[pause]

33:30 Greg Beeman: Once I proved myself with Under Wraps, and once Under Wraps was a movie that they were really happy with, they started to just give me an enormous amount of freedom. It came onto my radar as basically a finished script. They had, I think Jeff Scheckter had originally pitched a version that was based on Hans Brinker and the Silver Skates, and I think he originally wrote a draft that was much closer to the original Dutch story, that I'm not that familiar with. X-Games and inline roller skating was just coming into the culture at that moment in history, and I think they had him kind of re-tool it. You know, the Disney Channel movies are a little more like how features are, once the script is finished, the director comes on board. And I think things were pushed pretty tight, I don't remember... I kind of remember I got the script and we went and made the script. I didn't do a significant amount of re-writing on it, there was a few things. Mostly we just went and made it.

34:21 Greg Beeman: It's one of the few experiences in my life where I just felt like I had an adequate amount of time to make the show. I think we shot for 24 days, which is an enormous amount of time for an hour and a half movie of the week. Usually, these days you might get 14 days or 15 days. It was hard. It was set in Los Angeles, and we filmed all up and down the coast, and mostly in Venice Beach and I also had my world record for most set-ups in a day. Every time you do a separate shot, and move on and then you move on to do another shot. I don't count how many set ups I do a day, as necessarily whether I'm doing well or not, but there was one day that I did 107 set-ups up in one day. A normal amount is like 30, 25 or 30.

[chuckle]

35:03 Greg Beeman: So that's the thing. There was another one of the competitions. I just remember going like... There was a big competition and we set up all these different ramps and stuff on the beach in Venice, north of Venice. I just remember about two thirds of the way through the day, I just kind of finished the acting scenes, but there was no way I was ever going to finish all the action, and I remember just being in dismay, like, "We're never going to make this day, we're never going to make this day." And my VP, who was from New Zealand, goes, "Yeah, give me your camera, mate. I'll go get some shots for you." This guy named Ernie Orsatti, who was the stunt coordinator, was like, "Give me your camera, I'll go get some shots." And I was like, "Okay, I'll go get some shots." So I grabbed five skaters, Ernie grabbed five skaters, and Rodney Charters grabbed like five skaters, and we just went off. [chuckle] And we had like six cameras and we just started doing shots, like, "Okay, you skate, go, roll, and jump, and do a twist and back spin, do a 180." So we just started getting shots, and shots, and shots, and shots, and shots, and at the end of the night, I had done 107 set-ups, which is still my personal best.

35:57 Greg Beeman: First off, let me talk about how the team I put together. So I mentioned that there was Bernie Caulfield. She was given to me by the Disney Channel. Did she do Under Wraps? Yeah, she'd done Under Wraps, so it was my second time working with her. And she brought the production designer on, who was great. I brought a cinematographer named Rodney Charters, who I'd worked with on Nash Bridges, and he was great. And in some ways, I think the secret weapon was there was a woman that I was friends with in film school named Lee Haxall. She'd been a post-production supervisor, but she was just transitioning into editor, and I knew how talented she was. So I kind of think Lee was the secret weapon of that show, because I shot a lot of film, just by nature. You know, there was just so much action, so many scenes and so many competitions, and Lee masterfully cut that show... And I will say in the course of... I told you I've had a 35-year career, I would say in my whole life, maybe there's four occasions and only two editors who ever show me the first cut, and I think, "Oh my God, that's better than I imagined."

36:53 Greg Beeman: Billy Wilder's famous quote is, "Your movie is never as good as your dailies, and it's never as bad as your first cut." Usually, the first cut that the editor gives you is like this disappointment where you go like, "Oh my God, I thought I knew what I was doing. Oh no, I'm in trouble." Like there... It's almost always a disappointment. But Lee's first cut of Brink was like on point, she just killed it. The way she put that film together and the way she cut all the music. The other thing about that movie, and you can hear I'm getting excited talking about it, it was a movie that I stayed with it from beginning to end. The kind of the way you do with a feature film, but which most people don't do in TV. You know, like I said, the script was pretty much 90% of the way there by the time I was given it, but I stayed all the way through post, like I stayed all the way through music, I was at the music recording sessions. In fact, it was the very early days of electronic and music, and there was a piece of music that we were trying to copy, and there was a part where I kind of imitate an old, southern preacher and I go, "You got to know yourself." So, in this downhill race, there's this throbbing beat with this guitar solo, and my voice is in there like as a kind of old southern preacher, and...

38:02 S?: Most skaters just flying down the course, neck-and-neck. This is the section in the course where the top speeds will be reached. Both totally in a tuck, whoever can be the most aerodynamic is going to start to pull away. 42,5 miles per hour. That is a new course record.

[music]

38:46 Greg Beeman: I really feel that Brink was very directed from beginning to end, because I was there from the minute I got the script to the time that we delivered it to air. I was involved in the color timing, I was involved in the music, I was involved in the sound effects mixing, and I really cared about that movie, and I put everything into it. In a weird way, as much as it was a Disney channel movie, I think we were doing some innovative stuff. And again, I got to credit the Disney channel people who didn't come at me with a lot of, "It has to be this. It has to fit into that box." They knew that it was kind of... They knew that the subject matter was kind of cutting edge at the moment. Like I said, rollerblading, and I think the X-Games had occurred twice, I think that there had been two X-Games, and it was a brand new thing. I don't know that I even consciously thought of it, but my approach, artistically, was to make it very raw, relatively raw, for a Disney channel movie. And they supported that. It didn't need to be presentationally too sedate.

39:38 Greg Beeman: And then the other thing that I think really happened... So besides the fact that I just got kind of a dream crew that worked in great harmony with each other, we also got the best skaters in the world. Because the X-Games was a brand new thing, and because at least rollerbladers at that moment in time had not got a lot of commercial promotions or sponsorships, we got literally the best skaters in the world as our stunt doubles, right? The people who were stunt doubling the cast were like world class X-Games skaters, and the stuff those guys could do was just crazy. I will say another funny thing that I always remember about the skaters. They were a different breed, right? Because the stuntmen have their own aesthetic, and I work with the stuntmen all the time, but when the stuntmen... If a stuntman wrecks or wipes out or gets hurt, God forbid, but it does happen, all the other stuntmen circle them, and the medic comes over, and everyone there is very quiet. And then when they get up, it's kind of like on a football game, and then everyone applauds... [chuckle]

40:38 Greg Beeman: Well, when the X-Blade guys, when they would wreck, like if someone went flying off the edge of a ramp and just crashed 15 feet to the ground, all the other guys would just look the other way, like it didn't happen, and the person would pick themselves up as best they could and run around the corner and hide. [chuckle] That was their aesthetic. If they got injured, they had to go off by themselves and suffer and work it out. The rest of their team just pretended like it never happened. And I just thought that was pretty funny.

41:07 Speaker 1: So, they cast The Bear, which if you didn't know, is Erik von Detten's nickname. Nice. Erik told Romper that he asked his mom what would happen if he got into acting. She said, "You wouldn't be able to go to school anymore." And then he said, "Sign me up." Good story. Von Detten became a Disney mainstay, appearing in Toy Story as Sid, Lawson on Recess, and Escape to Witch Mountain in 1995. But now, he was taking on his iconic turn as Andy 'Brink' Brinker, The Bear. Which is his nickname.

41:38 Greg Beeman: And Erik was someone who was kind of a star at the time, from the Disney Channel point of view, so I think he did audition but he kind of, the job was his to screw up, basically. Everyone at Disney Channel was excited for him. But I would say that the rest of the cast was pretty much brand new people. And after Erik, though, it was all a bunch of new people, right, who didn't have a lot of credits, and so it was just the vibe of people who came in and auditioned and felt right for the part, right.

42:07 Jeff Schechter: It's funny, I had some reservations 'cause the production company showed me the casting. Yeah, when I saw Erik von Detten, I was... I'd always imagined the kids in Brink seemed younger. I thought they were like, 13-14, and this was more like 15-16. I know it doesn't sound like a big deal, but yeah, but if you look at Eric von Detten and Sam Horrigan, they look like they are older teens, and I was thinking that, "Oh, God, we're going to get into the Jay North syndrome here," which is, Jay North played Dennis the Menace on television. And he had all his, "Gosh, Mr. Wilson," like his annoying kid stuff. And so, but Dennis the Menace ran too long. So when Jay North was 10 and doing that and saying those lines, it was cute. When he's 15 and saying those lines, you're going, "Ooh, this kid needs help." [laughter] It's not cute anymore, it's disturbing. So I was concerned that because I wrote it feeling very young and enthusiastic, that casting these older kids would be like, "Uh, this is just creepy." But it did not come to pass. The cast delivered the lines, and they turned what would have been awkward in the chore stuff into just useful exuberance.

43:29 S?: Hey, Gabriella. Ever get arrested for impersonating a boy?

43:34 S?: No. You?

[laughter]

43:36 S?: Yo, guys. What up?

43:39 S?: Uh... Lateness?

43:39 S?: Dude, choreness! My mom made me clean my room before I could leave.

43:43 S?: Fine, but we missed the bus. Now we're going to be late and have to wait to use the pit.

43:46 S?: I don't think so! Haha!

43:51 S?: Wait, wait, wait. Wait a minute. Wait a minute. You're not thinking about skating to the beach, are you?

43:55 S?: Why not, Jordy?

43:56 S?: Well, guys, it's like a million miles away!

44:00 S?: Ah, Jordy, Jordy, Jordy! When you woke up this morning, did you say to yourself, "Today I'm going to talk or today I'm going to skate?"

44:07 S?: Yo, what's up, fam?

44:09 S?: It's just not normal, that's all.

44:11 S?: Ralph, please.

44:13 S?: No one should be that happy all the time.

44:15 S?: What's the matter with being happy? He's a great kid!

44:18 S?: It's just not normal.

44:19 S?: Yo, let the games begin!

44:21 S?: Then why don't you wear something that doesn't look like somebody just let the air out of it?

44:25 S?: Dad, kids at school are down with this style.

44:27 S?: What's for lunch today, dad?

44:28 S?: What's your least favorite?

44:30 S?: Bologna on white with extra mayo.

44:32 S?: That's what I made for you!

44:33 S?: Oh, yeah. Peace out!

44:37 S?: No, that's not it.

44:38 S?: You know what your problem is? You're just no fun to skate with. You got beef with me, you take it up with me Sunday at the championship.

44:48 S?: Oh, we'll get it on for sure.

44:53 S?: Did you really throw that vanilla shake in Val's face?

44:57 S?: Chocolate.

45:01 S?: How did it feel?

45:02 S?: It was cool. And it was so [45:04] ____. [chuckle]

45:09 Greg Beeman: I guess I like that one where he goes, "What are you doing in the bathroom?" "Noneya!" "Noneya? What is noneya?" "Noneya business!" I thought that was so stupid. I don't know. I know. Noneya business. I know, it's so lame. It starts like a dad joke.

45:25 S?: We got more stuff now than when you left. What's in the bag?

45:31 S?: Noneya.

45:33 S?: Noneya?

45:35 S?: Noneya business.

[chuckle]

45:41 Greg Beeman: You know, ironically, Schechter and I didn't spend a ton of time together. We had a couple of meetings. And he was on set a few days. But as I said, the script was mostly finished. I think, I maybe gave one or two rounds of notes. And actually, I do have... It's kind of like, I'll be teasing him, but I think it's okay. [laughter] He wrote this one thing, that to me, is like still this famous story in my personal history, where there was a scene that was about... I think it took up about one-third of a page. And the one-third of a page effectively said this, "They show up at the competition. It is the biggest thing they've ever seen in their lives. They're overwhelmed, but they skate their hearts out against the fiercest competition they've ever met and win the day."

46:26 Greg Beeman: And then I remember, just like Schechter going like, "Dude, that's a minimum of one day of filming. You can't write a third of a page that's going to take me a day to film. Whatever you do, I don't care, you don't have to add any extra words. You just have to space this out, so it takes up at least a page, or a page and a half." [laughter] You can't just go, "They faced the stiffest competition of their life and win the day." [chuckle] That was the competition in the middle when Brink is skating for the X-Bladders and his friends turn on him. I was fine that that's all he wrote, but the film business is gauged on how many pages you shoot per day. [laughter] So if you only write a third of a page, and it takes me two days to shoot it, I need you to write more pages. Take the same amount of words and put more spaces. [laughter] It's funny.

47:15 Greg Beeman: All my memories of that show are good. I remember it being very hard. It was just hard to get all the shots we needed. There was a lot of pretty cool shots in that movie too, just in terms of set-ups and camera work. We were on a motorcycle. We just had a low mount on the front of the motorcycle. And the thing that I did, which I actually kind of ran and personally placed, I placed all these orange cones in the foreground. And then there were two skaters, Chris Sayer and Laura Lee Connery were going down this hill in Long Beach. And I think they were going about 40 miles an hour. They just tucked, and they went so fricking fast. And then at the bottom of the hill, there was this gigantic pit, like a balloon pit that we laid out.

47:51 Greg Beeman: So they just went 40 miles an hour down the hill, and then their only option was just to bail out into this giant balloon. And the camera was just going so fast. And they were going so fast. And then the orange cones are just blurring through the foreground. It's one of my favorite shots I've ever done. And then the other shot that I remember just loving, it's when Brink and Val stare off at each other before the race. They just had a couple lines of dialogue, and the camera's circling them on a super low Steadicam. The camera was super low, and I just circled them, and circled them, and circled them. And then, I did it again going in the other direction. It was always my intention to kind of jump cut that. But the way the camera is circling them and the jump cuts that happened... And after, Brink was like a, from their point of view, a big mega hit.

48:33 Greg Beeman: Because I know that 10 years later, I got a residual check, that was a check for about $5.45. But it was for the 600th re-run of Brink. And I was like, "Holy sheesh, Brink re-ran 600 times!" That movie used to play in the '90s over, and over, and over, and over, again. It was literally on, I think every day for a long time on the Disney Channel. Once Brink happened, the people at the Disney Channel just gave me a lot of... A lot of freedom. They would offer me all the scripts that they felt were their best scripts. And they would kind of like... I did have an enormous amount of freedom to make them the way I wanted to make them. And it was really fun. And I really got along with that group of people. I think it was just a really good relationship.

49:12 Greg Beeman: There was a women named Carol Rubin. There was a guy named Gary Marsh, who I think is still there. And then there was a guy named Michael Healy. Those were the three top executives. And I just really liked them, they liked me. After Brink they just gave me a lot... It's true that they didn't give everyone that kind of freedom, but they did give it to me. So that was great, it was a really great relationship. I used to do six or eight TV episodes every year, and then I'd do a Disney Channel movie every summer. That went on for six or seven years. I eventually made that movie called, "Miracle in Lane 2" for them, where I won the Directors Guild Award. That was another very successful movie. It was a really great time in my life where... Also at that time in my life, I had little kids. So my little kids were watching my movies and going to the sets of my movies. I felt really happy at that time in my life that I was making film that my kids could watch, and that I could be proud of.

50:05 Jeff Schechter: A couple of years later, they wanted to do "Brink 2" and that, there was some thought that that might go as a feature. But it neither went as a feature nor as a TV movie. The project just kind of went away. Because it was going to be a feature, they wanted to pitch it before writing the script. So we had worked out a whole pitch for what the story would be. And we went in and we pitched it to the executives at Disney Features. And then it kind of just dragged on as I recall, for a while. And then eventually, it just faded away as a project. I think, because what I heard, and I don't know if this is true, that they were developing at that time, something in the aggressive sports world, so I think they felt that they didn't want to have too many projects in that same familiar...

51:07 Jeff Schechter: No, I really don't remember. It's just probably, 18 years ago, 18 years and several hundreds of hours of film and TV writing behind it. I remember an idea got floated early on that Peter, Brink's friend, was hurt in a skating accident, and so something was like, they were skating to raise money to get him the operation that he needed. But I don't remember if that actually ended up in our finished... Here's what our story is.

51:43 Speaker 1: So guys, the Disney channel had a run of original movies that became cultural touchstones, like Johnny Tsunami, yes. Alley Cats Strike, [chuckle] nice. And Halloweentown, whoa, scary. And then the eclectic schedule seemed to fade away. Bummer.

51:58 Greg Beeman: I think it was just kind of happening. There was this woman that, as I said, named Carol Rubin, she was very passionate, and Michael Healy and Gary Marsh, they just were very passionate, and they started taking risks. I think they also felt the sort of sense of freedom to just take risks and not feel like they had to fit into a certain formula. You know then later came the monolith called High School Musical, and that broke the mold. After High School Musical, I was kind of not doing Disney Channel Movies anymore, but then I think I kind of look back in my own observation, is then suddenly there was a feeling of obligation to always repeat High School Musical. Before that, during the '90s when I was there, there was just a sense of like, "Do we have a great story?" Although it always had to be positive. They always had to be kind of colorful. There was certain obligations, but for the most part, I think they felt a certain freedom to just find a great story as long as it revolved around positive family values.

52:57 Greg Beeman: So I did a lot of different kinds of movies, like the Miracle in Lane 2 was like another... It was just a great script. Again, it was a script that was given to me kind of whole-cloth, it was finished. And when I read that, I was like, "This is one of the best scripts I've ever read." And it was written on spec by two Mennonites in Indiana about a kid with spina bifida who won the national soap box derby race. It was crazy. Who thought that would be a great script? But I loved that script. Yeah, and don't get me wrong, High School Musical is a great movie. I love it. All I'm saying is, I think, subsequent to High School Musical was the first time I think that suddenly there was a need to catch that lightning in a bottle again and again and again, whereas in the '90s, I don't think that was the driving force. The driving force was, "Is this a great story? Is this a unique story?" And so I just happened to be... I happened to be doing those movies at a time that suited me for sure.

[music]

54:23 Greg Beeman: You know what's been a really nice experience for me is that what's happening to me now is that young people who are coming into the film business, people who were like 22, 24, 26 year-old, 28-year-old PAs or assistants or actors, like, they loved that movie. It's funny. That movie was very, very important to... If you were 6-12, maybe to 14 years old, in 1997, you watched that movie a whole ton of times. And I was just working on a show called The Rookie, and there's an actor... I got to look up his name, Titus Makin. When he found out I directed that movie, he literally went like... He started shaking. He goes, "I saw that movie everyday of my life. It's the reason I skateboard. It's the reason I have a skateboard in my backpack right now." So that's kind of my new experiences that the people who are young people in the film business now, that it was a very important movie to them. And that makes me feel really good. Brink was, and continues to be one of the happiest experiences I've ever have. It was a really, that was just something where everything came together. Brink brought nothing but good into the world.

[maliciousnature]

My Toxic/Abusive Relationship Survival Story

2 years ago I couldn't walk for 3 days, because I was in an abusive relationship. I didn't go to the doctor, or call the police because I was afraid that things would only get worse. I was stuck in a toxic relationship that was a cycle, and I hated it. I felt imprisoned and helpless because the person who did this to me on a regular basis would say that it was because of "love," but I knew it wasn't true and so I had to find a way out. It wasn't until later that year, when my resolve changed my life. 3 years prior, I had met a person that seemed like any normal person would, he was helpful, cheerful, and kind, we got along and ended up moving in together. His manipulative, controlling, and abusive behavior didn't appear immediately, but I should have seen the signs. First it was the way I spoke and my appearance that bothered him. I talked too much, too loudly, too softly, I sang too often, I had unnatural colored hair, didn't like to wear t-shirts or jeans. Which lead to verbal abuse, saying I was too stupid, too slow, too dumb, too ugly, etc. Then it was aggression. Getting angry at me because I had a different opinion, because I didn't want to listen to that song, because I didn't want to bleach my hair blonde. Then there was the hugs that would almost literally suffocate me, holding my hand too tight until it hurt, grabbing onto my arm hard enough to bruise, or punching me. People ask, "Why didn't you contact the authorities?" FEAR. (He would break things, punch holes in the wall, and even pull out a knife or a baseball bat aiming it at me.) It was a cycle, a pattern, that I got sucked into. He told me he loved me, but he would hit me, then tell me that he only acted that way because he loved me, then he'd say that he didn't mean to hurt me, that it was an accident and that it wouldn't happen again, and I would forgive him, because I believed him at first. About 6 months in, I knew I had to find a way out, but I was stuck and scared, and I couldn't get my family involved.

So I threw myself into art. I had never been so productive in art, until I used this median to escape the crippling reality that I was in a toxic and abusive relationship that I couldn't get out of. It was a cage in the deepest pit and there was no key, no map, and no sign of any hope of it changing, but there was a silver lining. It had been 3 years, and no one knew what was happening to me. I hid my bruises and never brought them up. (He was always suspicious and aware of my behavior, keeping tabs on everything I said, did, or posted.) If I did something he didn't like, I was sure to get another bruise somewhere. I worked and went to school but it wasn't enough. It was a temporary relief from my situation, and provided me a few hours of rest from having to be this thing that looked like me but wasn't me. To avoid punishment, I molded myself into his ideals, wants, needs, neglecting my own, and putting up with the trauma that kept me awake at night, fearing that it would be my last night alive. Living that cycle until July 2016. Slowly I had moved items back to my parent's house, little by little until all I had left were a few boxes and the TV my mom bought me. I told him that I was leaving, and that I was taking the TV. He threatened me, got mad, calling me a slut and whore, I held firm in my resolve, but it escalated. At one point as I was gathering my things, he hit me with a broom using enough force for it to snap, but I moved in time to block it with my leg. Seeing that I blocked his attack, he then tried to scare me by picking up his metal baseball bat, while also degrading me. After 3 years of keeping my mouth shut and taking the hits, I was so tired of it, and fought back, pushing him away but he was stronger, quicker and knew how to fight. He quickly pinned me in a choke hold strong enough that I heard a pop and my ear started ringing in pain. He then threw me onto the floor bombarded me with punches, before kicking me in the ribs so hard I lost my lunch, as well as felt like something had burst, it was a hot burning pain that felt like molten lava inside of me.

Crying in pain on the bathroom floor, curled up in the fetal position, I THOUGHT I WAS GOING TO DIE THAT NIGHT. Everything seemed to slow down, immense pain flooded through me in deep waves, I held onto my ribs, feeling sick to my stomach, thinking to myself that this was it. I started saying my "goodbyes" hoping that somehow my words would reach the ones I love, saying "I'm sorry that it would end this way," and that I hoped they would live happy lives despite my not being able to see them ever again. But then, alone in the locked bathroom, I heard a voice. (Probably from being delirious from pain.) It sounded like my grandpa. By this time he had already been dead for two years, and I could hear him clearly as if he was right next to me, and he said "Melody, everything will be okay, come home, I love you." I didn't know whether it was the adrenaline finally kicking but the pain dulled enough for me to get up, which was difficult because my leg had been also kicked and bruised from before, but it didn't matter right now. Because right now what mattered was getting out. AND THAT'S WHAT I DID. I got up washed my face, wiped my tears, took a deep breath, and walked out of that bathroom. Without saying a word I picked up the boxes I packed up, taking anything else I would need, including the tv. AND I LEFT.

I NEVER TURNED BACK. From that moment forward I had made a promise to myself that I would never make myself miserable by forcing myself to be something I'm not, and putting up with abuse. I was done with being a puppet, and wanted to be me. It was tough, I was broken. I had abandoned my true self for 3 years, and was left a shattered person. I had nightmares that made me feel like I was still there, being abused. I had nightmares of that night on the bathroom floor in pain for months before they started to fade away. I was afraid to leave the house, and still no one knew. It wasn't until one day, around the end of October 2016, that I woke up in pain from the cuts all over my body realizing what I had done. I tried to bury my pain inside, with no one to talk to, it ate away at me, and lead me to drink copious amounts in attempt to commit suicide. I broke down crying. I couldn't remember what happened the night before, and I knew I needed to tell someone, but I was afraid that it would drive the ones I love, further away from me. I felt like I was a monster that deserved to die. BUT I REACHED OUT. I talked to my closest friends and family, but the pain was fresh and it was difficult to keep together. I was a crying mess, feeling as though I was only burdening them with my problems. Despite my fears, they were very kind to me and tried their best to console. It helped me feel a bit better, but I felt empty. I DIDN'T KNOW WHO I WAS ANYMORE. I had spent years molding myself into everything that I wasnt, and because of that, I forgot who I really was, and I didn't know what to do. I WAS LOST. Slowly I started picking up hobbies that I enjoyed again. I started writing, reading, playing video games, working on art. Anything to keep my mind occupied so that I wouldn't fall back into depression. I still couldn't sleep at night, so I started spending nights on drawing, while taking naps during the day. LITTLE BY LITTLE I MADE PROGRESS I started singing and dancing again. I started to get back in shape and was able to lose 60 lbs in the first year since coming back.

It has been about two years now, since all of that, and it no longer holds weight on me. I have mostly recovered, I'm happy, and healthy, and most important I CONTINUE TO MOVE FORWARD I cannot erase my past, I cannot remove it, I can only learn from it, and continue moving forward. I cannot let someone else determine my life story, nor can I live in fear. It is not easy, but everyday I wake up and I see myself today, remembering that I AM ALIVE💜 ▪WHAT I LEARNED FROM MY EXPERIENCE▪ Despite everything that happened, I couldn't hate him. Sure I hated what he did to me, but I couldn't hate what he had become because he was shaped by his experiences and environment. He had a troubled childhood and didn't know any proper ways of dealing with stress or anger. I learned that no matter what walk of life we traverse from, we are each riddled with our own bullets of pain, and that is why I can't truly hate him or anyone. Everyone has their own scars that are healing and IT'S OKAY TO NOT BE OKAY, ☆ as long as you don't inflict pain on yourself or others, and instead use it productively.☆ ▪USE YOUR FRUSTRATIONS TO CREATE▪ It can be anything like exercise, playing sports, drawing, painting, writing, music, building something, etc. ▪YOUR LIFE IS WHAT YOU CHOOSE TO DO OR NOT DO▪ I thought that I was stuck but I realized that I was only stuck because I let my fear keep me in that cage. ▪PLANS AREN'T ALWAYS FULL PROOF, ALWAYS HAVE AN EXIT STRATEGY AND DON'T BE AFRAID TO ASK FOR HELP▪ I was able to get out because I planned carefully, but plans aren't always full proof, so it's always good to talk to someone and get help when in any situation. I was lucky that I survived, but talking to my friends and family has put me at ease, and I now know that if I ever need help, they have my back. 💜So PLEASE if you're going through something terrible but you're afraid, try to reach out to friends, family, and the appropriate authorities if you need help!💜

[samanthasroberts]

The Blissful Highs And Sh*tty Lows Of Dating Someone Older

I’m 29 years old, and I’ve dated all across the age spectrum in my decade-and-a-half-long bout in the dating world. I’ve dated younger men, younger women, older men and older women.

By the time I reached my early 20s, I kicked the boys to the curb (no disrespect gents, but I’m just a big ol’ lezzie creature). But let me tell you, sweet kittens: Gender aside, I’ve found in my vast searches that I much prefer to date up. And I’m not talking about “up” on the societal food chain. I’m not talking about “up” as in “social status” (F*CK social status). I’m talking about up as in grand ol’ AGE.

Basically, if you aren’t currently collecting social security checks, I’m not interested.

JUST KIDDING. I’m most definitely NOT into dating the super old. I’m just interested in (and currently am dating) someone notably older than little 29-year-old me. Seven to 10 years is ideal.

I’m a Millennial who doesn’t really enjoy doing Millennial things. In fact, I’m sort of like an old Upper East Side lady trapped in the body of a downtown Millennial.

I would rather sip cold white wine at a posh hotel bar with a stunning view of the city than take drugs and feverishly dance at the club. I’m allergic to public transportation. I abhor the taste of beer. I don’t like house parties in sh*t apartments that smell like a sea of dead rats are festering in the fridge.

My nightmare scenario is smoking cigarettes outside of a dingy bar on the Lower East Side (or, worse, Bushwick) with self-important 23-year-old hipsters, freezing my ass off listening to them talk bullsh*t.

No. I would rather hang out in cigar bars with a salt and pepper crowd whilst drinking dry gin and engaging in heated debates about the Israel/Palestine conflict.

I like to wear pretty dresses without being gawked at by 20-somethings in ripped denim who smugly ask me “Why are you so dressed up?” (Because I’m f*cking fabulous, you hipster douchebag). I like to go out to dinner for Christs sake.

So yes, there are a lot of kickass aspects to dating someone older than you: maturity. Civilized behavior. Mentoring. A sense of being “taken care of” (bully me as you will, I like to be “princessed��� from time to time, and I don’t give a f*ck if you think that’s lame. My girlfriend doesn’t have any complaints).

That’s not to say there aren’t some, er, “challenging” aspects to amature relationship, like having to go home at midnight when you’re still ready to go wild. Or feeling acutely insecure about the lack of money in your bank account or being deemed nothing more than “arm candy” by their friends.

Dating someone older than you is a fierce, frustrating yet wonderfully eye-opening learning experience with a plethora of highs and lows.

Highs and lows: dating

High: They know how to take you on a “proper” date.

Most Millennials idea of a proper date is the good ol’ Netflix and Chill, which basically means you get all pretty and dressed up only to find yourself at some dude’s sh*tty apartment, scrolling through Netflix for 25 minutes before you have disappointing sex.

Not on my clock, kittens.

There is still romance left in this cruel, cold world. And based on my personal experience, you’ve got a better stab at finding it when you date a real adult.

To adults,a date is a proper dinner. With wine. With reservations. So when you get all lovely and douse yourself with a stealth splash of your very expensive limited editionChanel No.5 fragrance, it’s not being wasted sitting on a crummy couch somewhere deep in Brooklyn.

Low: You feel generally poor most of the time.

I don’t know about you, but I’m broke as a joke. I live in Manhattan. I pay an arm and a leg to live in a six-story walkup and literally live paycheck to paycheck.

Every time I swipe my credit card at Walgreens, I hold my breath, gaze up into the bleak fluorescent drug store lights and say a little prayer, Please go through. Please go through. Please go through.

Normally, I really don’t give a flying f*ck at the pathetic number in my bank account. If I can just keep my account out of the red, I’m pretty proud of myself. I’m young, I live in New York City, I survive, and I love my life. So who cares about money? Not me.

Well, until I start dating someone older.

All of a sudden, you accidentally peak into the number in their bank account when they’re checking their balance in the back of a Taxi, and you see double digits. In both savings and checking.

You suddenly realize they have 401Ks. They own things, like cars. They have multiple credits cards for which they’ve been approved.

And all I have is $250 in my checking account, and the only card I have is a Sephora beauty insider card.

Highs and lows: friends

High: They have interesting friends.

One of my favorite parts of dating up is the interesting, dynamic group of friends they’ve garnered in their years. They’re fascinating, chic, sophisticated creatures who prefer to ruminate over a nice glass of Vino rather than toss back tequila shots all night long.

And you can actually have intellectual conversations about life, love and art!

Low: Sometimes those friends can be condescending as F*CK.

Oh, the looks you get from jealous, bitchy eyes when you’re the youngest girl in the room. Ignorant entities cut you with their glances, squeeze one another’s arms and nod to each other knowingly: “Oh it’s clear why theyre together.”

As if you’re some sort of uncultured bimbo. As if you’re merely arm candy. As if you’re the pretty little decoration to the person you’re dating.

Nothing fills me more with rage! I’m far too opinionated to be anyone’s puppy.

However, I do quite enjoy the look on an old girl’s face when I’m able to quickly outsmart her, outwit her and out-sophisticate her within minutes of her bestowing a condescending comment upon me.

Highs and lows: sex

High: The sex is better.

It takes time to get comfortable in your body. It takes time to learn what the hell you’re doing in between the sheets. It takes heaps of trial and error to get really, really, really, really good at sex.

Which means dating someone older than you also means dating someone more sexually experienced than you.

I don’t know about you, but I’m not interested in being anyone’s “teacher” in sex. I want someone who can surprise me with her intense sexual prowess. Show me something I don’t know. Make me come like I never came before.

Low: They suck at sexting.

From my experience, sexting is most definitely a Millennial phenomenon. The generation before me can crush it with phone sex, but they’re at aloss when it comes tothe fine ART OF THE SEXT.

But it’s okay. The great thing about dating people who areolder is they don’t have massive egos that get in the way of them listening to you. Age has made them wise. They’re inherently faster learners than us youngins.

It’s also nice to teach your older lover a thing a two, you know?

Source: http://allofbeer.com/2017/12/20/the-blissful-highs-and-shtty-lows-of-dating-someone-older/

from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2017/12/20/the-blissful-highs-and-shtty-lows-of-dating-someone-older/

[jimdsmith34]

The Blissful Highs And Sh*tty Lows Of Dating Someone Older

I’m 29 years old, and I’ve dated all across the age spectrum in my decade-and-a-half-long bout in the dating world. I’ve dated younger men, younger women, older men and older women.

By the time I reached my early 20s, I kicked the boys to the curb (no disrespect gents, but I’m just a big ol’ lezzie creature). But let me tell you, sweet kittens: Gender aside, I’ve found in my vast searches that I much prefer to date up. And I’m not talking about “up” on the societal food chain. I’m not talking about “up” as in “social status” (F*CK social status). I’m talking about up as in grand ol’ AGE.

Basically, if you aren’t currently collecting social security checks, I’m not interested.

JUST KIDDING. I’m most definitely NOT into dating the super old. I’m just interested in (and currently am dating) someone notably older than little 29-year-old me. Seven to 10 years is ideal.

I’m a Millennial who doesn’t really enjoy doing Millennial things. In fact, I’m sort of like an old Upper East Side lady trapped in the body of a downtown Millennial.

I would rather sip cold white wine at a posh hotel bar with a stunning view of the city than take drugs and feverishly dance at the club. I’m allergic to public transportation. I abhor the taste of beer. I don’t like house parties in sh*t apartments that smell like a sea of dead rats are festering in the fridge.

My nightmare scenario is smoking cigarettes outside of a dingy bar on the Lower East Side (or, worse, Bushwick) with self-important 23-year-old hipsters, freezing my ass off listening to them talk bullsh*t.

No. I would rather hang out in cigar bars with a salt and pepper crowd whilst drinking dry gin and engaging in heated debates about the Israel/Palestine conflict.

I like to wear pretty dresses without being gawked at by 20-somethings in ripped denim who smugly ask me “Why are you so dressed up?” (Because I’m f*cking fabulous, you hipster douchebag). I like to go out to dinner for Christs sake.

So yes, there are a lot of kickass aspects to dating someone older than you: maturity. Civilized behavior. Mentoring. A sense of being “taken care of” (bully me as you will, I like to be “princessed” from time to time, and I don’t give a f*ck if you think that’s lame. My girlfriend doesn’t have any complaints).

That’s not to say there aren’t some, er, “challenging” aspects to amature relationship, like having to go home at midnight when you’re still ready to go wild. Or feeling acutely insecure about the lack of money in your bank account or being deemed nothing more than “arm candy” by their friends.

Dating someone older than you is a fierce, frustrating yet wonderfully eye-opening learning experience with a plethora of highs and lows.

Highs and lows: dating

High: They know how to take you on a “proper” date.

Most Millennials idea of a proper date is the good ol’ Netflix and Chill, which basically means you get all pretty and dressed up only to find yourself at some dude’s sh*tty apartment, scrolling through Netflix for 25 minutes before you have disappointing sex.

Not on my clock, kittens.

There is still romance left in this cruel, cold world. And based on my personal experience, you’ve got a better stab at finding it when you date a real adult.

To adults,a date is a proper dinner. With wine. With reservations. So when you get all lovely and douse yourself with a stealth splash of your very expensive limited editionChanel No.5 fragrance, it’s not being wasted sitting on a crummy couch somewhere deep in Brooklyn.

Low: You feel generally poor most of the time.

I don’t know about you, but I’m broke as a joke. I live in Manhattan. I pay an arm and a leg to live in a six-story walkup and literally live paycheck to paycheck.

Every time I swipe my credit card at Walgreens, I hold my breath, gaze up into the bleak fluorescent drug store lights and say a little prayer, Please go through. Please go through. Please go through.

Normally, I really don’t give a flying f*ck at the pathetic number in my bank account. If I can just keep my account out of the red, I’m pretty proud of myself. I’m young, I live in New York City, I survive, and I love my life. So who cares about money? Not me.

Well, until I start dating someone older.

All of a sudden, you accidentally peak into the number in their bank account when they’re checking their balance in the back of a Taxi, and you see double digits. In both savings and checking.

You suddenly realize they have 401Ks. They own things, like cars. They have multiple credits cards for which they’ve been approved.

And all I have is $250 in my checking account, and the only card I have is a Sephora beauty insider card.

Highs and lows: friends

High: They have interesting friends.

One of my favorite parts of dating up is the interesting, dynamic group of friends they’ve garnered in their years. They’re fascinating, chic, sophisticated creatures who prefer to ruminate over a nice glass of Vino rather than toss back tequila shots all night long.

And you can actually have intellectual conversations about life, love and art!

Low: Sometimes those friends can be condescending as F*CK.

Oh, the looks you get from jealous, bitchy eyes when you’re the youngest girl in the room. Ignorant entities cut you with their glances, squeeze one another’s arms and nod to each other knowingly: “Oh it’s clear why theyre together.”

As if you’re some sort of uncultured bimbo. As if you’re merely arm candy. As if you’re the pretty little decoration to the person you’re dating.

Nothing fills me more with rage! I’m far too opinionated to be anyone’s puppy.

However, I do quite enjoy the look on an old girl’s face when I’m able to quickly outsmart her, outwit her and out-sophisticate her within minutes of her bestowing a condescending comment upon me.

Highs and lows: sex

High: The sex is better.

It takes time to get comfortable in your body. It takes time to learn what the hell you’re doing in between the sheets. It takes heaps of trial and error to get really, really, really, really good at sex.

Which means dating someone older than you also means dating someone more sexually experienced than you.

I don’t know about you, but I’m not interested in being anyone’s “teacher” in sex. I want someone who can surprise me with her intense sexual prowess. Show me something I don’t know. Make me come like I never came before.

Low: They suck at sexting.

From my experience, sexting is most definitely a Millennial phenomenon. The generation before me can crush it with phone sex, but they’re at aloss when it comes tothe fine ART OF THE SEXT.

But it’s okay. The great thing about dating people who areolder is they don’t have massive egos that get in the way of them listening to you. Age has made them wise. They’re inherently faster learners than us youngins.

It’s also nice to teach your older lover a thing a two, you know?

source http://allofbeer.com/2017/12/20/the-blissful-highs-and-shtty-lows-of-dating-someone-older/ from All of Beer http://allofbeer.blogspot.com/2017/12/the-blissful-highs-and-shtty-lows-of.html

[adambstingus]

The Blissful Highs And Sh*tty Lows Of Dating Someone Older

I’m 29 years old, and I’ve dated all across the age spectrum in my decade-and-a-half-long bout in the dating world. I’ve dated younger men, younger women, older men and older women.

By the time I reached my early 20s, I kicked the boys to the curb (no disrespect gents, but I’m just a big ol’ lezzie creature). But let me tell you, sweet kittens: Gender aside, I’ve found in my vast searches that I much prefer to date up. And I’m not talking about “up” on the societal food chain. I’m not talking about “up” as in “social status” (F*CK social status). I’m talking about up as in grand ol’ AGE.

Basically, if you aren’t currently collecting social security checks, I’m not interested.

JUST KIDDING. I’m most definitely NOT into dating the super old. I’m just interested in (and currently am dating) someone notably older than little 29-year-old me. Seven to 10 years is ideal.

I’m a Millennial who doesn’t really enjoy doing Millennial things. In fact, I’m sort of like an old Upper East Side lady trapped in the body of a downtown Millennial.

I would rather sip cold white wine at a posh hotel bar with a stunning view of the city than take drugs and feverishly dance at the club. I’m allergic to public transportation. I abhor the taste of beer. I don’t like house parties in sh*t apartments that smell like a sea of dead rats are festering in the fridge.

My nightmare scenario is smoking cigarettes outside of a dingy bar on the Lower East Side (or, worse, Bushwick) with self-important 23-year-old hipsters, freezing my ass off listening to them talk bullsh*t.

No. I would rather hang out in cigar bars with a salt and pepper crowd whilst drinking dry gin and engaging in heated debates about the Israel/Palestine conflict.

I like to wear pretty dresses without being gawked at by 20-somethings in ripped denim who smugly ask me “Why are you so dressed up?” (Because I’m f*cking fabulous, you hipster douchebag). I like to go out to dinner for Christs sake.

So yes, there are a lot of kickass aspects to dating someone older than you: maturity. Civilized behavior. Mentoring. A sense of being “taken care of” (bully me as you will, I like to be “princessed” from time to time, and I don’t give a f*ck if you think that’s lame. My girlfriend doesn’t have any complaints).

That’s not to say there aren’t some, er, “challenging” aspects to amature relationship, like having to go home at midnight when you’re still ready to go wild. Or feeling acutely insecure about the lack of money in your bank account or being deemed nothing more than “arm candy” by their friends.

Dating someone older than you is a fierce, frustrating yet wonderfully eye-opening learning experience with a plethora of highs and lows.

Highs and lows: dating

High: They know how to take you on a “proper” date.

Most Millennials idea of a proper date is the good ol’ Netflix and Chill, which basically means you get all pretty and dressed up only to find yourself at some dude’s sh*tty apartment, scrolling through Netflix for 25 minutes before you have disappointing sex.

Not on my clock, kittens.

There is still romance left in this cruel, cold world. And based on my personal experience, you’ve got a better stab at finding it when you date a real adult.

To adults,a date is a proper dinner. With wine. With reservations. So when you get all lovely and douse yourself with a stealth splash of your very expensive limited editionChanel No.5 fragrance, it’s not being wasted sitting on a crummy couch somewhere deep in Brooklyn.

Low: You feel generally poor most of the time.

I don’t know about you, but I’m broke as a joke. I live in Manhattan. I pay an arm and a leg to live in a six-story walkup and literally live paycheck to paycheck.

Every time I swipe my credit card at Walgreens, I hold my breath, gaze up into the bleak fluorescent drug store lights and say a little prayer, Please go through. Please go through. Please go through.

Normally, I really don’t give a flying f*ck at the pathetic number in my bank account. If I can just keep my account out of the red, I’m pretty proud of myself. I’m young, I live in New York City, I survive, and I love my life. So who cares about money? Not me.

Well, until I start dating someone older.

All of a sudden, you accidentally peak into the number in their bank account when they’re checking their balance in the back of a Taxi, and you see double digits. In both savings and checking.

You suddenly realize they have 401Ks. They own things, like cars. They have multiple credits cards for which they’ve been approved.

And all I have is $250 in my checking account, and the only card I have is a Sephora beauty insider card.

Highs and lows: friends

High: They have interesting friends.

One of my favorite parts of dating up is the interesting, dynamic group of friends they’ve garnered in their years. They’re fascinating, chic, sophisticated creatures who prefer to ruminate over a nice glass of Vino rather than toss back tequila shots all night long.

And you can actually have intellectual conversations about life, love and art!

Low: Sometimes those friends can be condescending as F*CK.

Oh, the looks you get from jealous, bitchy eyes when you’re the youngest girl in the room. Ignorant entities cut you with their glances, squeeze one another’s arms and nod to each other knowingly: “Oh it’s clear why theyre together.”

As if you’re some sort of uncultured bimbo. As if you’re merely arm candy. As if you’re the pretty little decoration to the person you’re dating.

Nothing fills me more with rage! I’m far too opinionated to be anyone’s puppy.

However, I do quite enjoy the look on an old girl’s face when I’m able to quickly outsmart her, outwit her and out-sophisticate her within minutes of her bestowing a condescending comment upon me.

Highs and lows: sex

High: The sex is better.

It takes time to get comfortable in your body. It takes time to learn what the hell you’re doing in between the sheets. It takes heaps of trial and error to get really, really, really, really good at sex.

Which means dating someone older than you also means dating someone more sexually experienced than you.

I don’t know about you, but I’m not interested in being anyone’s “teacher” in sex. I want someone who can surprise me with her intense sexual prowess. Show me something I don’t know. Make me come like I never came before.

Low: They suck at sexting.

From my experience, sexting is most definitely a Millennial phenomenon. The generation before me can crush it with phone sex, but they’re at aloss when it comes tothe fine ART OF THE SEXT.

But it’s okay. The great thing about dating people who areolder is they don’t have massive egos that get in the way of them listening to you. Age has made them wise. They’re inherently faster learners than us youngins.

It’s also nice to teach your older lover a thing a two, you know?

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/2017/12/20/the-blissful-highs-and-shtty-lows-of-dating-someone-older/ from All of Beer https://allofbeercom.tumblr.com/post/168750131097