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fixfoxnox · 2 years

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Something In The Orange - Part 20

Description: Roach is out of the hospital and back on base

Warnings: Mental Health discussions, guilt/self hatred, discussion of dubious consent/SA

Note: I am also posting this to my Ao3 if you would prefer to read it there

Word Count: 7.9k

"I swear I've known you from another time

And I caught you down the line, but I couldn't stop you moving

And when I found you by the riverside

It's waters wild and wide, you left me again"

"After Many Miles" - The Ghost of Paul Revere

“How are you feeling today?”

Roach shifted uncomfortably in his seat, letting his hands rub nervously over the fabric of the couch underneath him as he tried to formulate a response. “Fine,” he settled on after a moment. “Ready to get this over with.”

The woman across from him gave a small, comforting smile, “I know this is hard,” she folded her hands in front of her patiently, “Most people who I see struggle through these sessions. That’s okay. You should know that.” Roach didn’t respond, he only shifted nervously again before giving her a nod. “How was your time off?”

Roach almost gave a snort at the question, his mind calling back to the past month and a half of his life, all spent at home with his family. “Tiring,” he said after a moment, “I’m not used to spending so much time at home.”

“I guess your family spent a lot of time doting on you?”

“If by doting on me,” Roach shook his head fondly, “You mean watching my every move like a hawk. Then yes, they spent quite a bit of time doting on me.” His mind called back to the way his mother had refused to let him do anything for himself the first week or so after he’d been released from the hospital. The way his brothers had come by almost every day to check up on him.

The time at home had been refreshing to him. Sure, it was a little annoying to be home, only able to talk to the other members of the 141 over the phone as the team was forced back to work much sooner than him. And sure, it was a little overwhelming to spend so much time at home after years of coming back for only a week or so at a time. But it was also wonderful, so unbelievably wonderful.

He hadn’t ever spent so much time around his nieces and nephews. He’d seen them so often that he found it easy to understand why his brothers had decided to have so many of them. Spending time with his brothers again was a blessing. For the first time in this life, he was really able to appreciate the two men, really able to appreciate how much they cared about him. It made him mourn his childhood a bit, sad that he’d been so wrapped up in his own grief that he’d missed so much time with them.

Then there were his parents. He knew that they were happy to have him home, but he’d thought that he would be more nervous to spend so much time around them. He thought that those memories of his parents in his first life would begin to haunt him again. Instead, he found that he was grateful and so happy. He found that his mother's gentleness and his father's care in this life were enough to drive the fears that his parents in his first life had instilled in him away. There was still work to be done, still, things he was trying to readjust his mind to, but he’d found it had become easier to accept his life. He found that his first life didn’t seem to plague his mind so much.

He knew now, knew that he didn’t fit into his first life anymore. It had been something he’d been trying not to accept for some time. Something he’d been pushing down for what had to be years. He’d put his first life on a pedestal, held it in such high regard in his mind, he’d let it rule his current life. Not anymore. He really wanted to live, without those memories plaguing everything that he did. It was a sad realization, that he no longer fit in his first life, but there was happiness too. Happiness that he could finally let go.

Of course, nothing could ever be so simple for him, and, with the acceptance that he didn’t fit in his first life anymore came a new question, a new concern that plagued his mind. He didn’t fit in his first life anymore, but did he fit in this life?

He shook himself out of his thoughts, anxiety rising in his chest as his mind ventured into that rabbit hole. He focused himself back on the woman in front of him, forcing a small smile on his face, “It was nice being home, though.”

The woman watched him closely, it was like she knew what he’d just been thinking, like she knew his mind had taken a quick spiral before he’d come back to himself. She tilted her head at him, “How did your family handle your decision to return to the military?”

Roach winced at the question, he was sure it let her know that she’d landed on a sensitive subject with the question. “As well as they could.”

“I understand your mother isn’t a big fan of the military?”

“She isn’t a big fan of me being in danger,” Roach responded, his hands clenching at his sides, “She’s worried is all. She means well, but,” he trailed off, unsure of what to say.

He’d made things worse when he told them, he knew that, It was, primarily, because he’d attempted to avoid telling them. There were papers that were sent over, things he had to sign. An agreement that he wouldn’t be put back into the field until it had been signed off by a therapist. An agreement that he’d still get to be on base, still get to train with the 141 while he waited to be allowed back into the field. There were other things too, papers about his injuries, and statements that needed to be made about his time with Makarov. Reports took up most of the papers.

He’d intended to finish them up, sign them fully, and send them back before telling his family, ensuring that there was no way that they could try to talk him out of it. He was trying to avoid another incident like when he’d first enlisted. Another round of his family trying to talk him out of going back. He knew they would be more serious about it this time.

He’d messed up though. “But?” The woman asked kindly, “She didn’t take it well, I assume?”

“I messed up,” Roach said lowly, gripping the fabric of his pants tightly. His fingers were still ruined, he’d still been picking and chewing at the skin there. “I was going to sign all the papers, and confirm everything before I told them.”

The woman nodded, her eyes soft, “I’m assuming they found them?”

“Yes,” Roach responded, “I went outside with some of my nieces and nephews. I guess my mom went into my room to change the sheets or something, she saw the papers.” Roach took in a breath, trying to calm himself. There were tears that threatened to form in his eyes, he could feel them in the way that his nose began to twitch and sting. “She didn’t tell me at first. Told everyone else. Had my brother and his wife take me out to dinner, when we got back, the whole family was there.”

The woman across from him scribbled something down against the clipboard she had in her hands, her face serious. “They ambushed you?”

“An intervention is what my mother said,” Roach tilted his head back, looking up at the ceiling in hopes that it would help keep tears from falling down his face. It was nice to have someone confirm what he’d been thinking though, that it was an ambush. “I told them I didn’t want to talk about it. It wasn’t their decision, it was mine. Told them I was going back. Mom didn’t like that.” He brought his head back down, and brought his thumb to his mouth so he could tear at the skin there, his mind was a bit foggy with the memory, “We argued. Everyone just kinda let my mom speak for them, so it was really just me and her. She said she couldn’t understand why I would go back, why I wouldn’t just stay home with them. And I,” He cut himself off, biting against the skin of his thumb harder. He could taste blood in his mouth.

“It’s alright,” The woman said comfortingly, “I’m not here to judge you.”

“I got frustrated. I just started yelling. I told them I couldn’t stay there, couldn’t stay home for too long. Told them I went crazy if I was around them for too long. Told them I could,” tears fell from his eyes then, his breathing becoming shaky, “told them I could see the way they looked at me. Told them I knew they still thought I was crazy.”

“Your childhood,” the woman reached out, grabbing a box of tissues from the small coffee table between them and handing it over to Roach, he took it nervously. “In your file, it mentioned that you’d been to psychologists when you were younger. Said that they’d wanted to diagnose you with PTSD, but that the head doctor would never sign off on it.” She looked down at her papers, “Forgive my language, but I do think that doctor was a piece of shit.”

The words pulled a snort from Roach, laughter wracking his system for a few minutes. He was sure he looked crazy as he laughed, tears falling from his face that he tried to wipe away quickly, there was no judgment though, only a small smile sent his way. “That’s what my mom said,” he responded, “When I was younger. Our town was small though, no other place to go. But she held a grudge for years. Used to bake stuff for the entire building and add a little sign to it that said anyone but he could have some.”

“She sounds like she was very protective of you. Still is it seems.” Roach nodded, fondness flooding his system as he remembered his normally calm mother spitting out curses at the man because he’d refused to sign off on the diagnoses simply because there was no “identifying incident.” She’d nearly punched the man on several other occasions, something that had amused Roach, even when he was stuck in the body of a child. “I’ve amended your papers,” the woman gave him a nod, “With the information I have, it seems obvious to me that you were suffering from PTSD as a child. It’s understandable that being home for too long would bring up memories of your childhood for both you and your parents.” She tilted her head at him, watching him closely for a moment, “How did your family handle what you said?”

“It hurt them,” he shook his head at himself, guilt clawing its way up his throat from where it had been sitting neatly in his chest since he’d woken up in the hospital, “Mom just kinda went silent. Sat down. She just looked…empty?” He bit his lip, “I just felt so guilty after I said it. I left for a few hours and walked around the woods, and through town. My brother came after me. He picked me up about three hours later, drove me back home, didn’t say a word to me the entire time. I apologized to mom the next morning, she did too.”

“So you made up? That seems good.”

“I don’t know,” Roach shrugged his shoulders, biting at his fingers again, “I still feel so guilty for what happened, for what I said.”

“Did your mother seem to linger over it?”

“She was careful with me,” He noted, “Didn’t mention anything else about me coming back, though I could tell it still bothered her a bit. Other than that, it was like she just went back to normal,” he shifted in his seat again, trying hard not to consider that his mother had been more upset than she let on.

“It seems to me,” the woman started carefully, “That perhaps your outburst was a bit of a wake-up call for her. Maybe it made her realize that she’d still been treating you like she had when you were younger. Like she still needed to protect you.” She watched him for a moment, as though reading the twisted expression that had taken over his face, “You shouldn’t linger over things that you don’t know. If your mother seemed like she was okay, like she wasn’t angry, then she probably wasn’t.”

The words took Roach by surprise and he jerked back slightly. It was as though the woman in front of him had opened up his mind and peered directly at his thoughts. It was both impressive and scary how well she’d been able to read him. He took a calming breath, trying to keep from showing how her words had affected him. “Right,” he gave a nod, “It’s just hard not to linger over it, not to worry that I hurt her.”

“I understand,” she gave him a small smile, “But you can’t linger on things you can’t control. It isn’t healthy to fixate on what-ifs.” She leaned forward slightly, “We should try to challenge those thoughts, remind ourselves that some things are out of our control. I know it can be difficult, but it’s a good tool to help us practice some of that self-love in a simple way. We’ll have to train our brains to do that. Do you understand?”

Roach nodded hesitantly. What the woman was suggesting seemed much harder than she made it out to be, but he wasn’t going to tell her that. Silence fell over the small room for a moment and Roach shifted uncomfortably once again. After another moment, he cleared his throat, looking around the room. She was watching him carefully, it was making him more nervous than he wanted to admit.

After a moment, he opened his mouth to speak, “So,” he started, rubbing his hands against his pants to try to comfort himself, “Is that it then? I get to go back on duty because I talked about my mommy issues?”

The woman’s mouth quirked up slightly and she pulled her wrist up to check her watch. “With the rest of our time today,” she spoke softly as she started to flip through a few things on her clipboard, “I’d like to go over what you experienced during your time with Vladimir Makarov.”

The words made Roach freeze. This was the last thing that he wanted to talk about. “I don’t,” he started, “I don’t think that’s necessary.” His leg started bouncing up and down quickly, he forced himself to stop when he noticed the woman’s eyes shoot to the movement, watching closely.

“Nothing specific for now,” the woman assured him, “I just want to get a general idea of the things that we’ll be working through in our future sessions. You can just give me an overview and then we’ll move on to whatever you want to for the rest of the session or,” she gave him a small smile, “We’ll even cut the session short for the day so you can go get some rest.”

There was silence around the room as Roach tried to come up with some excuse or some reason why he didn’t need to talk about his time with Makarov. He really didn’t want to go through it with the woman. He hadn’t even been able to talk about what had happened with Soap and Ghost, he certainly didn’t think he’d be able to talk about it with a woman he hardly knew.

There was another part of him. A part that commented that, since he didn’t know this woman well, she would be the perfect person to tell. That part of him had been screaming to be let out for the past month. That part of him wanted and needed nothing more than to tell someone about what had happened, to have someone tell him that it wasn’t his fault, that he hadn’t done wrong. That he hadn’t betrayed his team. That he hadn’t betrayed Soap and Ghost.

That part of him often got buried.

“I don’t know what there is to say,” Roach shook his head, “I mentioned most of it in my reports.”

The woman tilted her head, “Yes,” she said, there was a slight note to her voice that told Roach that something else was coming, “Most of it.” She agreed. Her eyes caught his, “But there is a lot left out here isn’t there? Your report doesn’t mention the incident in Finland, the one mentioned in Lieutenant Riley, Sergeant MacTavish, and Sergeant Garrick’s reports from the incident.”

Roach froze slightly. He didn’t know quite how to respond to the woman in front of him, or the knowledge that she definitely knew that he’d left out that and likely far more information in his report. He just hadn’t been able to write everything down, so he’d settled on writing the bare bones of what he could stomach. “It,” he started slowly, “it must have slipped my mind.”

“I’m sure,” the woman’s voice wasn’t accusing as she added, “Just like the source of that stab wound you had must have slipped your memory. Or the broken nose. Or how exactly you got those wounds that Captain Price and Lieutenant Riley found you with.” She tilted her head at him, her eyes serious, but kind, “I’m here to help you, Sergeant Sanderson. In order to do that, I need to know what happened.”

Roach ran a hand over his face, his nerves shooting back up. He started tapping his heel again, he didn’t try to stop himself this time. One of his hands came up to his mouth so that he could bite at his nails and the skin around his fingers. He wrapped an arm around his middle, his eyes locked on to the rug on the floor rather than the woman in front of him. He took in a deep, shaky breath. The room felt hot. The room felt like it was closing in on him.

“I,” he finally managed to get out, his voice shaky, “It’s a lot.”

“I understand,” Her voice and the lack of judgment on her face calmed him just a bit. He felt like he could breathe a bit clearer, “We’ll start off abstract. On just vague general things. We don’t have to talk about anything in particular until you’re ready.”

Roach glanced at her hesitantly. Maybe it would be okay if he kept things vague. “I don’t have to…give detail?”

“Not until you’re ready,” the woman assured. “We’re going to work at your pace.”

“My pace,” Roach repeated to himself. There was a dizzying feeling that threatened to take over his mind if he continued speaking, but he didn’t care. He needed to talk. That part of his mind that he’d been shoving into a box needed some pressure released from it. “Okay,” he finally said, “Okay I think I can do that.”

The woman gave him a soft nod, “That’s good. Whatever you feel comfortable telling me, okay? I may ask some questions at the end, but all you’ll have to do is say yes or no.”

Roach nodded and he took a deep breath in. It was almost hard to force the words out, but once he began speaking, he found that they came easily, “After pretending to kill Price, Makarov sent men to find me. One of them stabbed me. Makarov killed him because of it. I passed out and woke back up in Russia.” He took another deep breath, “Makarov told me about the bracelet. He wanted me to kill someone for him. I,” he hesitated, but with a quick glance at the non-judgemental face that the woman wore he continued speaking, “I did it. He had me kill more people. He brought me to Finland to make me kill someone in front of the team. I attacked him after we left. He won.” He grit his teeth slightly.

His mind recalled what had happened next. His realization of what Makarov wanted. His words. The way he’d batted his lashes at the man and lured him in, playing into his fantasies. He nearly felt sick as he recalled the man’s hands against his skin, his mouth against his own. His mind went to Soap and Ghost again. They didn’t know. They didn’t know what he’d done. They couldn’t know. He skipped that bit and continued, “Within the next few days the team showed up, I went to try and stop Makarov, but he caught me off guard. He planned to take me with him again.”

He stopped then, swallowing hard as he listened to the woman across from him write something down in her notes. “I’m just going to ask a few questions,” she said softly, “The man who stabbed you, did you see Makarov kill him?” Roach nodded his head in response, sickness creeping up his throat once again as he remembered the sickening crack of bones echoing around the church. “There were several days between your injuries and when the teams raided Makarov’s compound?”

Roach was taken aback by the question, his body thrumming with nerves, “Yes.” He begged whatever God was out there that she didn’t ask him what had happened during that time. What he’d done during that time.

She paused for a moment, looking up at him in silence for several seconds, as though considering her words. Roach knew then that she was going to ask, in some form or another she was going to ask. “Captain Price and Agent Laswell mentioned that Makarov’s interest in you might not have been strictly for the use of getting to the 141.”

Roach took in a deep breath, “He seemed to think that I understood him. That we were the same in some way.”

The woman nodded slowly, “And his…interest in you, it never went further than that?”

Roach clenched his hands, his throat feeling tight. “He was obsessive,” he said simply.

“Yes,” the woman nodded, “But how far did that obsession go?”

Roach couldn’t stand the way that she was skirting around the question, trying hard to ask without actually asking. It drove him crazy. He took a deep breath before leveling her with a serious stare, “Ask what you want to ask.”

She tilted her head at him, as though considering if he could handle it. Finally, after a moment, she nodded, “Sergeant Sanderson, did you have a romantic relationship with Vladimir Makarov? Consensual or otherwise.”

Roach didn’t run from the room, but it was certainly close. His heart was pounding, his throat felt tight, and he was sure that his eyes were rimmed red. All of his plans of getting back to the norm of missions were flushed down the drain with several questions asked to him by a woman in a blazer. It was a bit annoying.

He barely watched where he was going as he marched down the hallways of the base, letting muscle memory guide him back to the room where he’d spent all of his nights since arriving at the new base. He hardly even knew where his own room was, but he had the path to this one memorized like the back of his hand.

During his month of leave, the team had been moved to a more permanent base in England. The area was unfamiliar to Roach, and the plane ride with his things had been hell, but he found that he actually quite liked their new base. At the very least, the rooms that they were given to use if they didn’t have a place off base were quite nice. Roach was almost upset that they hadn’t been at the base sooner. Almost.

He approached the door to the room, not even bothering to knock before swinging it open, stepping inside, and closing it with a little more force than he meant to behind him. The noise gained the attention of the other two men in the room. He was given a raised brow by Simon. He was on the other side of the room, slipping on his jacket and his fingerless gloves. His mask wasn’t on, but it was set off to the side.

Similarly, Soap was slipping his shirt over his head when Roach had barged in, his head turning to give him a smile in greeting. They were both getting dressed. Roach didn’t understand. “Are you guys going somewhere?”

“Well hi, to you too, Bug,” Soap gave a laugh.

Roach winced, guilt tugging at his chest as he realized how snippy his voice had sounded, “Sorry,” he gave the two an apologetic smile, his hands raising just enough that he could join them together and begin picking at the skin around his fingers again. Not even the warning stings of pain in his hands could stop him. “Just wasn’t expecting to find the two of you up and getting ready.”

“We have a team meeting,” Simon raised an eyebrow at him, “Didn’t Price tell you? You’re still allowed to sit in on meetings right?”

Roach shook his head. Captain Price had not informed him about any meeting. His jaw tightened, but he forced a smile as he replied, “I must have missed it in my email, you guys know i’m shit at checking it.”

There was a hum from Simon, his eyes watching him closely for several moments. “How did your session go?”

Roach gave a huff, making his way toward them all so that he could throw himself face down onto the bed with a groan. It pulled a chuckle from both of the men, a sound that had Roach feeling warm. “Terrible. I hate psychiatrists.”

In a moment, someone was sitting next to him on the bed and there was a hand rubbing soothing circles on his back. He didn’t have to look up to know it was Soap, he could identify the man by touch at this point. “I know it sucks, Bug, but it’s good for you.”

Roach gave a huff. “I just want to get back to normal. You know, missions and coming back to base to hold you guys' hands and shit,” he whined, pulling another laugh from Soap.

“You’ve been holding our hands,” that was Simon, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Not enough,” Roach responded, peeking up at him from the sheets.

“Well, good news,” he turned his head so that he could look at Soap, “You can hold our hands on the walk to the meeting room. I’ll even let you walk in the middle this time,” his last few words were said with an overexaggerated huff that pulled a grin from Roach.

Roach popped up from the bed, moving closer to Soap with a grin, “Yeah? With no complaints?”

“No complaints,” Soap held a hand up, “Scout's honor.” Soap leaned closer to him, his hand coming up to stroke his cheek gently. Roach leaned into the movement for a moment, a happy hum leaving his mouth as, for a brief second, his mind went pleasantly blank. That brief second ended when he closed his eyes happily, flashes of Makarov’s hands on his face making him pull back from Soap quickly.

It wasn’t the first time he’d pulled away from Soap, or Ghost for that matter. It was never their touches that had him pulling away. Never their kisses that made him separate from them. It wasn’t the reminder of what he’d done that had him moving. It was the guilt.

He wasn’t haunted by Makarov’s touches. Not in the way that others might have been. He didn’t dream of the man haunting his every move. He didn’t dream of those hands against his skin. Sure, when he thought about what he’d done he felt sick, but that wasn’t because of the memories. It was because of the guilt.

How could he let Soap and Ghost touch him? How could he let them love him the way that they do? How could he take that so easily when he knew that he’d betrayed them? How could he let that happen when he’d played into what Makarov wanted? How could he let that happen when he’d let another touch him with no complaint?

He didn’t think he was worthy of the love that they showed him. That open affection that they so easily gave to him. He’d been treading the line, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for them to learn what he’d done. Waiting for them to feel just as disgusted with him as he felt with himself.

He recognized the confusion on Soap’s face as he pulled away. He could see the look that Simon was giving him. He knew that they knew that something was going on. He was just hoping to hold on to them for a bit longer. For his own, selfish, reasons.

He popped up from the bed, pretending not to see the looks on their faces as he stretched his arms into the air, taking in a deep breath as he moved. “What time is the meeting?” He asked as he turned back to face the two.

Simon watched him for a moment before tilting his eyes down to check his watch, “Fifteen minutes. We should probably start moving if we don’t want to be late.”

“You mean if we want to be early,” Soap said with a roll of his eyes. He stood from the bed and made his way over to his shoes, slipping them on his feet quickly. “No way we’re going to be late when the meeting doesn’t start for another fifteen minutes. It’s not even a five-minute walk over there.”

Roach leaned against the wall by the door, listening to Soap and Simon debate back and forth on what was early and what was late. He picked idly at his thumb, biting his lip as he watched them, a sad sort of affection blooming in his chest. He loved to just watch the two at times, listen to them talk. He was glad to say that he was past the days of feeling like a third wheel in these moments. Past the days of his mind calling something in his first life to the forefront just to remind him of what he’d lost. Sure he’d lost, but look at what he’d gained. Even if he knew it wouldn’t last.

It was a few more moments before Simon was slipping on his mask and he and Soap were joining Roach by the door. Just as Soap had promised, when the three stepped out of the room, Ghost shutting and locking it behind him, he allowed Roach to stand in the center of their little group. One of his hands was taken first by Soap, the man pulling him closer to his side with a grin. A moment later and his other hand was gently taken by Simon, a small, comforting squeeze given to the limb. Roach pulled them both closer to him, practically squished between the two as they all made their way toward the conference room.

Roach could tell by the look on Captain Price’s face when he walked into the room that the man hadn’t told him about the meeting on purpose. He wasn’t mad at him. He knew why he hadn’t wanted to tell him.

Still, it did nothing to stop him from abandoning Soap and Ghost’s side as they went to take their seats, all to march up to Captain Price and glare him down. “You didn’t tell me about this meeting!” He hissed in a low voice. He didn’t need the rest of the team hearing his conversation with the man.

“I’m sorry, lad,” Price responded, his voice genuine, “I just thought, after your session, you might have wanted a day. I didn’t want to make you feel like you had to come.”

Roach reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose, a small sigh of frustration leaving his throat, “I appreciate that, Price, I really do.” He stopped to look at the man fully, “But really? If you’re worried about that then just tell me if I’m not feeling up to it that I don’t have to come.”

“I’m sorry,” Price responded.

“Just,” Roach shook his head, “Please don’t do it again. It’s really frustrating to only find out there’s a meeting because of Soap and Ghost. Doesn’t really make me feel like you guys see me as a valid part of the team.” His eyes widened slightly at the confession.

It wasn’t one he’d meant to make. His mouth was running faster than his brain could follow and filter. It was the truth though. He’d been terribly worried that after over a month away from the team and now the time that he would be off for his mandated therapy sessions, the team would grow comfortable without him there. That they’d realize that they didn’t need him anymore.

It was a stupid thing to worry about. But it didn’t stop his mind from whispering those words to him. It had taken to doing that more and more often now. What if they don’t need you anymore? What if they’re still angry? What if you’re fucked up for good? What if, what if, what if. It just kept going.

He thought back to his therapist's words from earlier, about trying to stop those what-if phrases from taking hold in his brain. It was much easier said than done, still, he tried. He took a deep breath, reminding himself that those were just scenarios. Unlikely scenarios. Not the reality. It seemed to help a bit, that pressure in his chest relieving itself slightly.

Price reached out to him, and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, “I’m sorry, lad. It won’t happen again.” He paused, as though hesitant, before adding, “You are a valued and valid member of this team Roach. Please remember that.”

Roach let out a small breath, the words calming those feelings in his chest even further. Though he was embarrassed by his words, it was nice to have someone else there to validate his feelings and give him some reassurance. “Thank you, Captain.” He gave Price a small, flashed smile before turning around and making his way to where Soap and Ghost were, an open seat between them saved for him. It made his heart ache with joy for a brief moment. That feeling disappeared from his chest.

The group waited several more minutes until Gaz finally stumbled into the room, his eyes locked onto his phone as he typed several things out rapidly. From the grin on his face, Roach knew that he was likely messaging Jackson. He couldn’t help but grin at Gaz, happy that two of his friends seemed to have found happiness together. He had to admit, they made a far better pairing than he’d expected.

Price cleared his throat, catching everyone’s attention and prompting Gaz to put his phone face down on the table. “Boys,” he started with a small smile, “As you all know, we’ve been tracking one of Makarov’s would-be successors,” his eyes shot to Roach at the mention of Makarov.

“Any news?” Gaz asked, leaning forward against the table.

“He seems to have found his foothold in the party,” Price crossed his arms, tugging slightly at his beard, “Laswell’s been monitoring his activity. He went off of the grid four days ago. Popped back up in Brazil.”

“He’s taking over Makarov’s weapons deals in the area,” Roach guessed, “Rojas?”

“Still locked up tight,” Price nodded, “Seems like he’s got someone else. Some new partner in the area.”

Soap gave a low whistle, an annoyed look painted onto his face, “Weapons dealers. Always popping up somewhere. Take one out and two more come from the shadows.”

“Any idea on the new partner?” Simon was the one who asked, leaning back in his seat to cross his arms.

“We didn’t have any leads on them, that was until about a day ago.” He tapped a few buttons on his computer before spinning it around to show the group a picture of a woman, “Francisca Costa, apparently she’s stolen nearly all of Rojas’ clients while he’s been in custody, including the ultranationalists.”

“How’d we figure this out?” Roach asked, squinting at the picture. Often times it was hard to follow when terrorists switched up who their shipments were from. Most of the time it took months to establish enough of a pattern.

“Because,” Price took in a deep breath, “It seems that Francisca was being monitored closely by another team.”

“Another team?”

“PMC,” Price responded, “Group called KorTac. They got in contact with us a few days ago, apparently heard that we were watching out for Makarov’s replacement, said that they had some information that could help us bring him down before he gets started.”

“That’s rather nice of them,” Ghost commented with narrowed eyes, “What do they want in return?”

Price took a moment, rolling his neck before he leaned down to place his hands on the table, “Joint operation to take out both Francisca and our target.”

“Absolutely not,” Soap responded immediately, pushing himself away from the table, Roach turned to look at him watching as his face twisted into anger, “I’m not working with a PMC again.”

“This isn’t like last time,” Price assured him, “It won’t be like last time.”

“How do you know that?” Ghost asked, “How do you know we won’t get fucked over again?”

Price shook his head at him, “I won’t let it happen. And,” he nodded, “Their group is smaller. Much smaller than Shadow Company. They won’t want something like that on their record for clients.”

There was a tense pause, silence hanging over the room for several moments. He’d never dealt with the Shadow Company of this life, but he understood the team’s hesitation to work with another PMC. He still felt the sting of betrayal from the Shadow Company of his first life, but he couldn’t say that.

Still, there was no reason that they had not to, at the very least, work with this new group. If it allowed them to cut off another head of the ultranationalist party before they could really get started, keep them scrambling for long enough for the loyalists to fully turn the tides, it would do wonders for them.

He leaned forward in his seat, fiddling with his fingers as he glanced at Ghost then Soap with a sense of anxiety laying over his shoulders. “How, uh,” he cleared his throat, feeling all of the attention in the room turn to him, “How many men do they want us to work with?” He looked around the group, “If it’s a larger number of people, that seems a bit suspicious.”

“KorTac isn’t a large group on its own,” Price started slowly, “They have thirteen operators in total, they want us to work with four of them. To match our numbers,” his eyes shot to Roach for a moment before he corrected, “our current numbers.”

“That seems reasonable,” Gaz crossed his arms, “What’s our timeline? How much time are we going to have to get to know these people before we have to trust them not to shoot us in the back?”

Price shot him a scolding look before responding, “They want to send them in ahead of time. Sometime within the next few days. They’re hoping that we can train together before the mission. Get to know each other and maybe even teach their people something.”

Roach nodded. The request sounded reasonable. If they were a PMC, they’d want a chance for their people to learn from other teams, and pick up new skills that they could market. The entire thing sounded reasonable, as much as it pained him to admit it. That arrangement would also allow the team the chance to get to know the people that they were working with, and scope them out ahead of time to ensure that they could trust them.

He pushed himself back in his seat and took a deep breath, “I say we do it.” He looked around the group, “I know I won’t get to go on the mission with you guys, but I can help in training. We can scope them out, make sure they aren’t suspicious.”

“Bug,” Soap commented quietly, “We can’t trust them.”

“After finding out Makarov had an informant who was working with us,” Roach responded, turning to him, “How do we know if we can trust anyone?” He looked around at the group, “I know I wasn’t with you guys during the situation with Shadow Company, but if you go around thinking you can’t work with people because you can’t trust them, we’ll never get anything done.”

Quiet fell over the room again, Soap’s face twisted into something sour. Roach felt bad, he understood his anger, but they couldn’t miss the opportunity they were given. Not when they could get ahead of the ultranationalists and even have the chance to help wipe them out for good.

Finally, after several moments, Ghost’s voice rang out, “Alright, but if they so much as breath wrong on one of us, that’s it.”

Price nodded to him, “Thank you, Simon.”

After another moment, Gaz nodded, “Alright, I guess.”

The group turned to Soap. He still seemed to be troubled. Like he didn’t want to agree with their words. He looked around at them all for several moments before he finally seemed to deflate a bit and respond, “Alright, but like Ghost said, if they breathe wrong. That’s it.”

It’s the middle of the night. He’s awake again. He should have known he wouldn’t be able to sleep. Not after his session. Not after the memories.

He slowly peeled himself away from where he’d been draped over Soap’s back and slid out from under the covers, scooting himself until he was able to pull himself from the bed and stumble toward the bathroom. He didn’t bother turning on the light in the room, he just stripped off his clothes and turned the shower on.

The water was cold when he stepped in, not given a proper amount of time to warm up. He didn’t have the patience to wait. It was practically freezing on his skin, pulling a startled gasp from him as his body tried to recoil away from the cold. After a moment, the water warmed up and he was finally able to relax under the almost stinging heat it provided.

He let himself lean back against the shower wall, closing his eyes with a sigh. Images flashed across the back of his eyelids, nothing more than nightmares. Scenarios his mind had created for itself, terrible terrible scenarios.

He took in a breath through the water splashing across his face, reminding himself carefully that they were dreams. They weren’t the reality. They hadn’t happened.

They will, his mind whispered back. Maybe Makarov is dead. Maybe he can’t hurt you physically anymore. But what you’ve done? What you did while with him? That won’t go away so easily.

Images flashed again. Hands on him. He invited them, fluttered his lashes and spoke low words. Low, careful words. He’d drawn memories from his time with Simon, and he’d used them with Makarov. He’d let the man touch him. Let the man kiss him. Let the man think that he’d given in.

He’d done it to survive. He knew that. It didn’t change what he’d done. It didn’t change how he felt. It didn’t change the sickness that crept up his throat. The guilt clogged his arteries and threatened to burst his heart.

His dreams reminded him of that. His dreams reminded him of what was to come. Of the looks of disgust that he’d be soon to see from Soap and Ghost. Johnny and Simon. The men he loved. They’d never want to touch him again, never want to see him again, they’d never trust him again.

He’d lose them. Just like he lost the Soap and Ghost of his first life. Just like he’d lost everything else. Just like he’d continue to lose. Anything and everything he cared about.

The water of the shower hid his tears, hid the evidence of his tears. He allowed the water to run, allowed himself to cry. He didn’t move, not even when the water of the shower began to run cold again, stinging his skin and pulling a shiver from deep in his bones.

Finally, when he didn’t think he would cry anymore, when he felt that he could control his emotions, he leaned forward to turn the water of the shower off. He was shaking as he stepped out, both from the cold and his own emotions. He let the water from his body drip to the floor, only grabbing a towel after a few moments of blankly staring.

He wrapped the material around his shoulders, using it more as a blanket than a towel. He stopped in front of the mirror in the small bathroom, taking in his appearance for several moments, trying to be sure that he didn’t look like he’d just spent an unknown amount of time crying his eyes out as his mind tore itself apart.

He traced his eyes over his body, stopping at the skin at his side that was still healing. He’d been warned by the doctors that it was likely going to leave a terrible scar because of how often it had been torn open. How violently it had been ripped apart. He brought his wrists up so that he could examine them. His left was slightly smaller than the right, still building back up muscle from the cast that had laid over it. His right had scar tissue already forming over it in a line from where Makarov had carefully cut it open. In time, it was sure to be nothing more than a line on his skin.

He took in another deep breath, lowering his wrists to his side as he did so. He gave himself another few minutes, calming the rapid beating of his heart, before lifting the towel and beginning the process of drying himself off. He wrapped the material around his waist before leaving the safety of the bathroom to step back out into the room where Ghost and Soap were still sleeping.

He kept his footsteps quiet, creeping across the room to retrieve a new pair of pajamas for himself and slip into them. He took his time with the movements, knowing that he would have to inevitably go back to bed and try to sleep. He had another session the next morning and there was no doubt in his mind that his therapist would be able to see if he hadn’t slept.

The team was going to have a busy few weeks ahead of them. With the members from KorTac arriving in several days and the preparation for their mission, Roach was sure that he was going to be busier and that Soap and Ghost would be busier as well. He only hoped that it wouldn’t impact how much he would get to see them.

He carefully stepped back toward the bed, lowering himself to the mattress carefully before scooting close enough that he could once again tuck himself close to Soap. He wrapped himself under the covers and pressed his face into the man’s back, taking in a deep breath and trying to appreciate the warmth of the other man.

Slipping back into sleep didn’t come easy. He expected it. His dreams weren’t pleasant. He wasn’t surprised.

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blackjackmagi83 · 2 years

Text

You Are My Heaven (1) - Sweep Me Off My Feet

Masterlist

AO3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: A short reader insert story of falling in love with pre-winter soldier James Barnes to post-Winter Soldier Bucky.

A fluffy tear jerker that’ll make you cringe or get butterflies and blush.

*Rewritten cause original was cringe (still kind of is)*

Note:

I can't even begin with how much I've rewritten this part of the story. I have come to the conclusion that I am awful at writing 2nd person and come to the decision to not write in that form again cause *cringe*🥲 I'm still not the happiest with this version and most likely in a short time with fix it up a bit better (Maybe) but I hope you all like this version!

I am working on fixing up the other parts so look out for that hopefully soon!

Playlist listed below along with the NEW story cover ♡

Hope you enjoy! ♡

Playlist:

Can’t Help Falling In Love – Elvis Presley

Until I Found You – Stephen Sanchez with Em Beihold

Put Your Head On My Shoulder – Paul Anka

Hold Me Tight – Evan Rachel Wood (Across the Universe Soundtrack)

1942 New York City, quite the place to be at this time. The raging war grew larger each day, waiting to swallow seas of people preparing to dive head first into it. It felt like the only thing that was on everyone's mind, the papers made sure it was at the very least. Pages upon pages of updates that weren’t classified to the public, detailing on what’s to come. It only grew the public's fear more. Mothers held their baby boys closer with each coming night, dreading the date when they got called for duty and most likely to their future graves. I almost could relate to the grieving mothers. A beloved baby sister who was trying to grasp the reality that my brother wasn't going to be coming home. A reality that I was nowhere near ready for, let alone accept.

My daze came to a halt at the feeling of getting my hip bumped by another, taking a moment to realize the bubbly woman beside me was deep in a conversation that I held no knowledge of the subject.

Great, I did it again…

My head turned towards her, attempting to connect the pieces of conversation my brain was able to catch. Something along the lines of a scandal at the salon and her mother fussing over the money she spent on the dress she had just bought for herself to wear tonight–I think–but nothing else seemed to fit together enough to fully comprehend. A wave of guilt washed over me at my terrible lack of focus tonight, further sinking when I caught the gleam of excitement as she spoke, still oblivious to my fogged state.

“--Who knows, maybe even let someone take my hands off you if you get my gist?” The beaming smile ceased at the sight of my furrowed brows, piecing together the puzzle of conversation that I had missed entirely, “You weren’t listening were you?”

My face pinched as I cringed, eyes apologetic towards the bouncing blonde, “I’m sorry–”

Her hands encased my arm in a firm hold, shaking it as if to rid of my clouded thoughts, “Get your head out of the clouds already, Y/N! With the way this war is going we only have so much time to enjoy such freedom and you are wasting it on daydreaming.”

Maria, one of the sweetest people I’ve had the pleasure of meeting in my young lifetime, was nothing but a stubborn, spitfire that is too passionate for her own good. So outgoing, never turning the spotlight down if it came her way but my most loyal friend since the two of us graduated highschool. Determined as a bull, she is the one who pulls me out of my comfort zone–more than I’d like sometimes–when she feels it’s needed, releasing the tension if pushed too far. A quality that was hard to find when befriending someone as shy as myself and I’ve never been more thankful.

“I wasn’t daydreaming.” Face flushing, I turned away from the pinned glare of green eyes, huffing under my breath with both annoyance and defeat, “Maria, you're lucky I even came out let alone having a man take me home tonight.”

Taking a man home was the last thing on my mind. Most men were preparing for war leaving only the memory of themselves in the form of soreness and hickies. Emotional connection wasn’t something many seeked during this time unless they sought after heartbreak purposely. Ignoring the sensitivity of my emotional state, even if I did go home with one, feeding into the temptation of lust, I would still be left with an emptiness that would never be filled. I rather sit and weep than deal with the emotional damage of loving someone romantically, knowing they wouldn’t return to me or lose their connection from months–maybe years–of distance and mental trauma of war.

“The only plans I have after tonight are a cup of tea and a few chapters from my book.” I looped my arm through her right one, refusing to meet her eyes still, “Maybe I’ll even eat a cookie before bed, just to spice it up a bit since apparently I’m such a bore.”

I didn't have to look at her to know a smirk was growing on her lips, the corners cracking as they peeked upwards. Smugness radiated off her in heavy waves, her eyes glinting with mischief, “But the unplanned ones tend to be the best and rather surprising darling.”

Should’ve seen that one coming.

A blush dappled my cheeks, further entertaining Maria at my innocence, “I guess I’ll never know.”

I’ve had experiences with men but very little if I could even count it as anything. One of the first boys I went out with had taken advantage of the less than intimate kiss, decided to try his luck at running his hands down the curves of my backside but didn’t get a chance to go further due to your brother coming into my room. It’s safe to say receiving a black eye was no invitation for a second date.

Maria pinched my side, tugging me closer as the bar grew closer, “Never say never honey, you could meet the man of your dreams tonight.”

For my sake, I beg to the heavens that I don't…

The bar doors swung open with a bang as the two of us entered, bodies painting the room with swinging dances, flirtatious chatter and an overall intoxicating presence that made my head spin the moment I stepped in. It was filled with mostly officers and women clinging onto their uniforms trying to hold onto their short summer romances. A few elderly lovers danced around them, sparkle in their eyes as if they had fallen in love with each other all over again. That's the kind of love I've always dreamt about, the most impossible love to find.

Maria's grip tightened around my hand as she dragged me across the lacquered floor, bumping into surrounding bodies that looked to have the least bit of care in the world as they pounded glasses of liquor. My eyes wandered around the room catching the glints of light shining on the stage as I was pulled through, dazed by the haze from cigarette smoke and suffocation the packed room gave.

I tugged at her arm when we took a moment to stop, Maria peeking over shoulders in further search of an open table, “Why don’t we just head back? All the tables seem to be taken.” I felt claustrophobic the longer I stood pressed against so many bodies, the sour smell of booze and sweat was beginning to make me nauseous, “We can try again another night, preferably not on a Friday night?”

Maria was less than pleased by my escape attempt, scrunching her face sourly, “No way! You’ll never get out of that retrid room otherwise. Look, there’s a table right over there!” Maria pulled me further towards the back of the bar, squeezing past lingering hands and bantering, the empty table in question appearing as if out of thin air, “How perfect is this little spot? Nice and quiet, all while getting a good view of tonight’s selection.”

I couldn’t help but to breathe a laugh at her openness, pulling my dress underneath myself as I sat in the wooden seat, my hands immediately playing with the ends of hair that shifted onto my cheek. An anxious habit that I still struggled to get rid of. I wasn't used to dolling myself up, showcasing myself into the light of curious eyes that surrounded me. I'm used to simple, blending into the crowds of New York with little fuss or worry of complications. I didn’t want to be in the spotlight, I didn’t like the attention of a thousand eyes on me, but when with Maria, that mindset gets twisted by those painted nails until all that remains is a whole new woman. Tonight was no exception. My hair is curled in brushed waves that tweaked up at the ends, the deep navy cocktail dress curving to my body without being overly tight. Maria even convinced me to wear makeup, showing me how to apply it since she is far more of an expert in the field than myself. When I appeared in front of the mirror, it was a stranger looking back at me. It felt overwhelming, looking back at the mature woman in the reflection, but the thrill of adrenaline that ran through my body had me excited for the night to come.

Maria pinched at the back of my hand, gaining my mindless attention back once again, “Alright space cadet, I’m going to go and grab us some drinks. I expect that baby tush to be sitting right there when I get back–unless afterall someone catches your interest–”

“Just get the damn drinks already.” A snort flew from my lips as I shoved her towards the bar, the sound of her laughter fading as she drifted further away from earshot.

I followed Maria’s perky figure, quirking a brow when she was stopped by a few officers leaning against the bar beside her. With a dip in her hip, the flirtatious charm turned on, twirling the short blonde strands around her finger, eyes skimming their uniforms with low lashes and her lip tucked cheekily between her teeth. The men melted into a pool of lovestruck hormones that filled their imagination with visions of her beneath their bodies, hollering and smirking with their eyes still glued to her. It was so fascinating to observe, noting the ease of skill Maria flaunted all while being innocently inviting to the opposite sex. A trait–talent–I sometimes wish I obtained.

Maria sent a kiss to each swooning man, giving a little toast with the prized beer in her hands before she made her way back to the table, an extra sway to her hips, “God I love being a woman.” Maria released a relieved sigh, cheeks warm with joy, “I will never turn down free drinks by looking pretty.” The yeasty liquid spilled from the opened top as she handed the brown glass bottle, sitting herself in the chair across from me.

The liquid was pungent, hitting the back of my throat with a sharper taste than I expected, nearly making me cough it down. But the coolness of it made me numb away from the taste, savoring the relief of heat leaving my fevered body, “One of these days you’ll have to teach me your ways with flirting. You make it look as if it’s the easiest thing in the world.”

Maria shook her head in disagreement, chuckling as she took another sip, “Absolutely not.”

My toe tapped at her shin playfully, “Oh, come on, I can’t be that hopeless?” Her head shook stubbornly again, mumbling ‘no’ repeatedly under her breath, “You’re the one who’s practically begging for me to have my panties around my ankles tonight. I can’t woo a guy if I’m fumbling over my words every other second.”

With a sigh, her head rolled to face me, “It’s simple Y/N, I’m selfish. If I teach you my ways you’ll never be home alone again or home at all for that matter. Even worse, you wouldn't spend any time with me! I’m not sure I could handle that. And don’t get me started on your brother who would put a target on my back if he found out you were anything but innocent. Sure be a hell of a sight to witness though.”

A heavy feeling sunk into an iron pit in my chest at the mention of my brother. I almost forgot about the deployment date but it was unavoidable, especially in a bar full of enthusiastic officers, ready to fight for their country. Avoiding it felt like a complete joke now, “Yeah, I guess you’re right, how stupid of me.”

Maria sighed as she took another sip from her beer, her thoughts morphing together something to fix her slipup, “Listen to me Y/N, I know you're struggling right now with your brother's deployment coming up but you need to keep living. Do you think he wants you drowning yourself in your room by yourself every night? No, he'd give you a shoe right in the tush and you know it! Now loosen up that frown, you're gonna get wrinkles.”

I knew she was right, but the panicked feeling only grew, settling like a diseased cell until it grew unmanageable. My cheek stung as back teeth nipped at the inside of my cheek, heartbeat drumming through my skull with quickening pulses that seemed to increase with each second passing.

The first stage of a panic attack…

Dread joined the cluster of emotions at the thought of having an attack in full bar, my lungs clawing inside my chest in a panicked plea for more oxygen. I almost gave in, my breathing pitching into near hyperventilation until the warmth of a hand wrapped around the trembling digits of my own, forcing my glazed sight to meet Maria’s. It was a soft, reassuring gaze, her fingers rubbing tenderly against the back of my hand, distracting from the panicked breaths and desperation to run out the doors.

“Y/N, I need you to do your exercises.” She demonstrated, inhaling and exhaling the way I needed to, “Deep breath in, hold for four, blow it out for another four. Can you do that for me?”

I felt my head nodding, following her instructions, the subtle relief of my breathing and heart rate slowing following soon after. The unbearable drumming dissipated and the slight shake throughout my body settled into barely a hum.

Her other hand cupped over our interlaced ones, radiating soothing heat up my arm, her eyes never leaving mine as I continued the exercise, “Good, now I want you to throw any thoughts you have out of that head of yours. I know it's not going to be easy, this will be your biggest challenge to overcome yet. Just remember you have people who will support you through it.”

I gave her a blank stare, both mentally drained and unamused by her words of wisdom, “How do you always know what to say to make me feel better?” A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth, further distracting me from the episode that just occurred, “Seriously, it’s almost creepy.”

She let go of my hand, returning to its place on the bottle as she rocked backwards in her seat, a soft smile gracing her lips, “Because it’s what you have me for.”

A comfortable silence grew between us, slowly sipping at the warming beer until there were only the sharp remnants remaining on the tip of my tongue. Maria barely touched hers, just holding it in her lap as her attention was more focused on those surrounding us, her body subconsciously swaying to the music from the band.

A loud smack quivered the table, sending a jolt through my heart at the sudden motion of her hand coming down against the table’s surface, “Alright I’ve had enough of this mopey, depressing gunk.” Her hand moved to reach out towards me, palm open with invite, “Come on honey, let's go show everyone how to actually dance.”

Curls invaded my vision as my head shook, leaning away from the awaiting hand, “You know I don’t dance Maria.”

A humorless laugh flooded around me, the manicured hand slapping at the top of my exposed knee lightly, “What a load of bull that is! Come on Y/N, these boys don’t know what a fine woman they’re missing if you just sit around the whole night looking like a lost little puppy.”

Stubbornness laced my features, pushing away the empty bottle from between my fingers so I could cross them against my chest, “I most certainly can. Let’s call it, playing hard to get? Give ‘em a little surprise when they pull me to the floor.”

The blank, defeated stare shifted into one of triumph as her line of sight caught something behind me, raising her hands in mock surrender as she backed off, “If that’s how you wanna play honey then that’s fine, but I don’t think you’ll have to play for too long.”

“Elaborate please.”

She leaned forward until her mouth almost touched my ear, “An officer with the most intense blue eyes I’ve ever seen, hasn’t stopped looking at you since we sat down.” A finger pointed towards the culprit, chatting amongst a group against the wall beside the bar, “The tall one in the uniform in the middle there.”

She smirked as I launched my body around the chair, nearly making it fall over. My eyes scanned over the room, hunting for this mystery man that was spoken of but all I was met with was the classic brown and gold uniforms placed on nearly every man within a two foot vicinity. With a roll of my eyes, I met her awaiting ones, “Half this bar is filled with uniformed men, it’s a little hard to tell who from who.”

Her gaze shifted behind me again, meeting mine with a mischievous glint, “Oh trust me, you can’t miss him. Look, he’s already making his way over here.”

“This joke is starting to get old–” I followed her line of sight, lazily skimming around until I caught the blue eyes she was referring to.

She wasn’t kidding…

Six feet of muscles dressed in military attire with the most charming smile I've had the pleasure of seeing was walking my way, watching me as he walked against the crowd. My breaths held a firm hold within my throat as I held eye contact, unable to break away even when he stood only inches from where I sat.

“Good evening ladies.” He nodded his head respectfully towards Maria before his attention returned to me briefly, intimidating but welcoming, “I hope you don’t mind–”

“Maria Elkwoods, at your service sir.” She was practically glowing, radiating with both excitement and smugness. Her eyes shot to mine, clearly reading ‘I told you so’ .

A breathy chuckle passed his lips, jolting my heart into a quicker rhythm, “Maria, would you mind if I take the company of your gorgeous friend here for a moment?”

Maria didn’t need to hear another word, jumping from her seat as if it burned, “Please, I thought you’d never ask! And don’t feel the need to return her, she’s all yours for the night officer. Have fun you two.” She winked, leaving the two of us with our jaws slightly gaped and speechless, at least I was.

The officer appeared amused rather than offended, shaking his head as another chuckle escaped him, “She’s quite something huh?”

“That’s an understatement.” I felt myself joining in the light laughter until our eyes met again, catching the words in my throat sharply as I watched him as if in slow motion take the open seat beside me.

Washes of light blue clashed with dark as the color got closer to his pupil creating an intense gaze that pinned me to the spot, intensely observant and calculating. I was already intimidated but something about his demeanor made my nerves settle into something manageable, allowing a shy smile to grace my features as I held his stare, “So, officer–”

“Sergeant James Barnes, but everyone likes to call me Bucky.” He reached his hand out, patiently waiting to take mine in polite greeting.

I could tell my shyness was slightly amusing to him, certain my face was flushing as red as the stage lights currently, “Y/N Y/L/N, no fancy nickname though unfortunately. It’s a pleasure to meet you James.” The callused skin of his palms rubbed roughly against the softness of mine, tingling as my fingers danced against his in a light shake.

His hand radiated with a warmth that traveled up my arm, gently tugging my hand closer as he brought his lips against the top of it, letting them linger, “Y/N...The pleasure is all mine.”

A foreign feeling bubbled to the surface within me as I watched his lips move, my name rolling off his tongue like silk, embedding my attention fully on him to the point my eyes hurt from not moving them away. My hand was locked in a gentle hold between his still, letting his fingers rub mindlessly against my palm as he spoke, bringing the feeling close to exploding. I wanted to scream it out, all while bottling it back up to avoid something I was completely unprepared for.

“--I’m taking it you’re not much of a dancer?”

My shoulders shrugged lamely, too distracted by the tingles his touch was leaving to give a proper answer, “I suppose you could say that. More of the stay at home with a book kind of gal.”

He perked at my words, straightening his back and tilting his head with interest, "What’s your favorite book?”

Is there supposed to be an answer to that question? I don’t think there's an answer…

“Oh there's too many great ones to choose from, I honestly can’t say I have one. Do you enjoy casual reading?” I cringed internally at how badly I stumbled over the words, holding back the distaste I held for myself by focusing on the buttons that adorned his jacket.

“I’m not much of a reader these days anymore, but I could reread ‘The Hobbit’ a hundred times and I wouldn’t get tired of it. There’s just something about it that I can’t get enough of. Kind of a bit like with you right now. You just keep drawing me in and I haven’t spoken to you for more than five minutes.”

God he was charming.

There was no stopping the raging blush any longer, defeated by the smoothness of his compliments. I felt as if I couldn’t breathe when his gaze was so intensely on me, piercing into me until I cracked and turned away, internally gasping for air once my eyes shifted to a poster along the bar’s back wall.

This new sensation building within me hadn’t stopped, wanting the freedom of release and take over my senses, placing me in the back seat while it steered me through all it wanted to do. It scared me with a heart pumping acceleration of rebelliousness, addictive and never fully fulfilling. I reached for it subconsciously but went a little too late, the comforting heat that wrapped around my hand vanished as Bucky pulled away to lean back in the chair, resting them atop his lap.

I turned my gaze back to him, curious of his sudden retreat, my hand closing into a clammy ball against my side. His attention was towards the dance floor, drowning out his surroundings just as I had done moments ago. It gave me a moment to admire the details of him, taking in the velvet that constructed his hat and the wrinkle-free uniform that shaped the athleticism of his body perfectly. It made me wonder of the strength that laid beneath it, how the muscles of his back flexed–

“What’re you thinking about?” My eyes pulled up to meet those blue crystals focused on my dragging stare, “It’s me right?” Bucky teased, his eyes almost twinkling with mischief.

I felt myself match his cockiness, my body suddenly jittery, “I was just thinking that–” The feeling could no longer be contained anymore, rising to the surface with a chilling intensity and boldness. Years of watching Maria flaunt her skills had taken its mark on me from the shadows, remembering to lower my lashes in a low lidded gaze forcing my pupils to dilate from imaginative thoughts, bringing forth the target with increasing desire. Resting a hand beneath my chin while leaning forward to show equal curiosity and reveal another advantage that hung in a small opening at your breasts, “--you should take me out on the floor and swing me around till I can barely feel my legs.”

It came out as if I held no control, the flirtatious and slightly suggestive remark surprising not only myself but Bucky as well. My eyes moved towards his mouth, his teeth grazing his bottom lip as a smirk began to form.

Scorching fire shot through my hand and soon after my body, in a mix of tingling anticipation and adrenaline, as it was pulled up to rest against his chest, “Shall we then?”

I felt everything let go as he spun my body around the dance floor, sweaty bodies flushing against us like a wall, never removing one of his hands from my waist. The atmosphere made me feel drunk, high even. An occurrence that held no explanation, but it was heaven. It felt as if I was internally melting, unfamiliar with the hotness running throughout my insides, feeding into the adrenaline that pumped heavily through me. The sound of the music pulsated through my ears until they rang, the instruments picking up into a lively jazz that flowed through my veins with its rhythm. It all clouded my senses with a thick curtain, becoming more dangerous as my vision remained lost, the only judgment of direction being the hands that curved up my spine as they dipped me towards the lacquered floor. The possibilities of those hands gave me a ravishing hunger, craving to feel them drape along the rest of my body with as much passion as this moment. It was the most intimate experience you ever felt.

“I thought you said you couldn’t dance?” His voice was morphed, dripping like honey through my ears.

A gasping laugh flowed from my lips, allowing his hand to twirl and pull me back against his chest, his heartbeat pounding against my own, “It’s no fun to give all your tricks away.”

Just as it rose, the music that made everyone’s veins pump with the beat of the trumpet and saxophone had ended with the bang of the drums, dropping the curtain along my senses into a clarity that made me dizzy.

Reluctantly, I drew away from him, allowing a space the length of my arms to form between us, my legs shaking from fatigue with each step, “Well, I certainly will struggle walking to work tomorrow so I guess you’ve accomplished my wish Sergeant.”

Bucky tugged back at my hand, stopping the distance I kept attempting to make from growing further, “Just that little jig and you’re already done? Come on gorgeous, the night has barely begun. I know you have more in you than that.”

The lively jazz music had settled into a swayful piano and soulful tone from the singer, pulling the remaining couples closer in a dance of intimacy. My heart ached to join them but time was ticking and I wasn’t sure if I accepted, if I would ever leave from between his arms.

“I have to get up early James-'' I played with his fingers in an attempt to unravel them from between mine–with little success–remaining stubbornly intertwined, “Has anyone told you you’re annoyingly persistent?”

A playful smirk laced his lips as his head shook, “You don’t know the half of it darling.” His grip along my right hand loosened enough to slide down my arm, placing it to sit along the back of his neck, the other still interlaced with his left, “One more dance is all I’m asking for.”

The distance I had succeeded at making, shrunk as my body flushed against his chest, hearts connecting in equal beats as if they were bonded, “One more and you’ll have to carry me home.” Our eyes locked, hypnotized by the power they held so strongly when connected.

I guess Maria was right…Maybe I did meet the man of my dreams tonight.

His head dipped to nestled at the top of my curls, smiling against the frizzed strands that loosened from their hairsprayed hold, “I can accept that.”

My head moved to rest along the curve between his neck and shoulder, allowing my eyes to close as our bodies swayed in a small circular pattern. It was blissful and serene, breathing in the mixture of his natural scent and cologne, sending me further against him in relaxation, radiating an energy from each other that felt so wholesome. Was I dreaming? Floating along the floor like clouds, in a slow waltz with a man that looked at me like I’m the most beautiful woman in the room.

I could live in this moment for the rest of my life…

“Could’ve fooled me with those moves you pulled before.” Bucky's lips were dangerously close to my ear, voice dripping like honey within it, “I never seen someone dance like that.”

I chuckled against his chest, shyly hiding my face within it, both reluctant to move from the comfort of it and because of the pink that returned to my cheeks, “You surprised me yourself you know.” The lights had dimmed, caging his sweat slicked face in an illuminating glow, meeting the intense blue orbs once more, trying desperately not to drown within the depths of them, “No one’s swept me off my feet quite like you have.”

Pearlescent teeth flashed down at me, soaking in my admiration, ”I guess we’re both full of surprises then Y/N.”

My cheeks twitched, the permanent smile plastered to my face aching but I couldn’t stop it even if I tried, “You don’t even know the half of it James.”

Bucky pulled my body impossibly closer with a delicate squeeze against my back allowing me to fully wrap my arms around his neck, his forehead lowering until it rested along mine. I could feel the thin layer of sweat that built up on his brow, a bead slipping from under his hat every so often as his body began to cool, the scent of beer fanning my face in light waves as his lungs regained full breaths, “Has anyone told you how beautiful you are?”

There weren’t any hairs to twirl along the back of his neck, buzzed too short but I still rubbed the shortened hairs fondly, my voice grasping playfulness as a brow raised suspiciously, “And how many times have you used that line Sergeant Barnes?”

“Only as many as you want me to.”

Hesitantly, his nose nudged against the tip of mine, silently asking for permission. Our eyes locked, lids dazed with exhaustion and admiration, “And if I want something else?” There was no hesitation accepting his invite, barely letting each other's lips touch in an innocent kiss.

His breath fanned over the sensitive skin of my lips as they hovered centimeters apart, coated lightly with the lipstick I wore, “You can have as many of those as you want too.”

This must be what Maria always talked about when you find someone who sends butterflies to your belly. The kind of feelings that make you hungry for more of that person, wanting every touch and smile, their voice playing in your ear for days. Only images of them flooding your memory with reality and imaginative scenes. That is how I felt as Bucky looked down at me, holding me as if I was molded to him like a piece of art, the missing link to a puzzle he desperately sought for.

Maybe this was the chance worth risking for…

The skin along his jaw was rough against my palms from freshly shaving, sliding them up to his cheeks to pull myself back to his lips, greedily craving them with a ravishing desire. Bucky mimicked my passion, fisting a hand deep into the curls at the back of my head while the other cradled my lower back.

Intoxicating was the best way to describe it, dragging me further into the depths of the paradise that was James Barnes and I wanted so much more. It was a kiss that made me lose sensation of my surroundings, full of new desires that enthralled me to explore and discover the man beneath the uniform.

My fingers danced along his jaw as I broke away, staring up at him with absolute certainty, “I think I’ll take you up on that offer.”

Part 2

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idontwanttospoiltheparty · 3 years

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what are your thoughts about yoko saying that john would sit her down to listen to pauls records and then cry while listening. do you think john regretted the way things ended up between the two of them? I mean by 1980 he was kinda back to saying a few things like the long and winding road was pauls last gasp and other than discussing bread from time to time, I don’t think they actually spoke or connected that much as they used to (and of course not seeing each other) + also accounts from ppl saying he didn’t like paul coming over or something so I just wonder what johns feelings for paul were at that time? did he just not like or care about him anymore?

I feel a bit out of my wits with this ask, tbh. I'm not super well-read on late-70s John, so it's hard for me to get into his headspace. From what I understand, reports on his feelings toward and relationship with Paul (and the Beatle era as a whole) during this period vary greatly. There's a post somewhere buried in my likes I have yet to get to that theorizes that perhaps John and Paul saw each other one last time mere months before December 1980. I'm also not quite clear on how definite their plans to work together again in 1981 were, though I've heard people refer to them.

(I guess what I'm saying is, I've seen a lot of stories about this period but I don't know much about the reliableness of the sources covering John's last years)

Regarding John being rude about Paul's music again during the 1980 Playboy interview: I get the feeling a lot of it is John generally expressing his frustration (with life as a whole, after many years of writer's block and ongoing mental health issues) and since the interview covers the entire Beatles discog, Paul was an easy target to project his issues onto.

Tangent-ish: I'm always struck by this comment of his on the Across The Universe recording being fucked where, only as a sidethought, he mentions that he was mentally destroyed at the time of recording, and says something ambiguous about nobody helping him, where it's not clear if he's referring to the song or his general state.

I think the thing with John is he liked simple explanations for things. He liked summarizing all problems in one sentence ("God is a concept by which we measure our pain") and having a one-size fits-all solution. This led him to many disappointments in life. (becoming disillusioned with the Maharishi, Paul [though obviously Paul also probably could have been more open towards John, but I have serious doubts about how effectively John communicated his needs to Paul], primal scream too probably. I'm feeling saucy, so throw in Allen Klein as well!) He also, by his own admission, let his current feelings taint his view of the past.

Basically, I think the Playboy interview is more symptomatic of his generally fragile state in 1980 than of some specific (new) issue with Paul. Also it's what happens when you let A-list celebrities with a habit of mouthing off without thinking answer questions however they want. SMH challenge this dude on some of his claims… Ask for clarification…

To go back to your first question, I also don't know how much of John crying while listening to Paul's music can be jotted down purely to his feelings towards Paul, rather than an amalgamation of many of his issues. Sometimes you listen to a sad song about a break up and end up missing your dead pet or something.

Feelings don't often make perfect narrative sense.

The bread situation was definitely not ideal, but I think that being able to talk normally about things like that can in fact be a road to healing a relationship. It's not the fastest, and yeah maybe something was fundamentally broken between them (but they did call. They lived on opposite ends of the Atlantic and could have easily just never talked, no?), but I do think even in the most vicious Before-After catastrophes between two people, it can be mended with time. And I'm speaking from my own experience. Love is always a choice you make. I don't know if they made that choice but I do think that at the very least, John was keeping that option, to choose to love again, open for himself until the end.

IDK Maybe this is too optimistic for some of you, but that's my gut feeling at the moment. Sorry that it was a bit all over the place.

#“too optimistic” this isnt even happy i just dont see these two as 100% doomed ig #definitely not later on; maybe they were never gonna make it through the 60s in one piece #but they were SUPPOSED to have all the time in the world to fix it #yeah paul is still closed off today………… but can a paul that didnt go through december 9th 1980 be compared to who we know him to be today #analysis #jp #mine #80 #ask #anon #john

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partiallyobscure · 4 years

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otp questions from this post <3 I just went ahead and did them with David and Michael lmao. it’s mostly my usual headcanons with my fic as the backstory but you don’t necessarily need to read it to understand. cw for light nsfw but it’s mostly tame.

Who is the most affectionate?

David is disgustingly affectionate. he lives to make people uncomfortable so he would be the absolute worst perpetrator of PDA. he and Michael have gotten kicked out of too many establishments all because David is constantly letting his hands wander. I don’t even think he’s aware of it at this point lmao

Big spoon/Little spoon?

they bicker about it a lot, but usually in bed, David ends up being the little spoon. he tries to start off being the big spoon but he always wakes up with Michael’s arms around his chest, specifically covering where the holes from the antlers were, even though the scars are long gone by now.

Most common argument?

usually comes down to who/what/where to eat.

Favorite non-sexual activity?

they love doing tons of stuff together, but they really like racing, watching bad sci-fi movies, and going on haunted tours around the country. they’ll really go the extra mile for the ghost tours and get huge cameras to hang around their neck and everything and act all tourist-y. it’s a great time.

Who is most likely to carry the other?

David fusses but Michael carries him around when he can or requests it. he doesn’t like to do it too often though because it always reminds him of that first time he did so, thinking he was carrying David’s dead body in his arms.

What is their favorite feature of their partner's?

Michael’s favorite feature is David’s mouth, especially when it quirks up into his signature smirk, but he can also tell a lot about what David’s feeling from what he’s doing with his mouth. David hates that Michael can read him so easily (even with their shared mental connection) and asks how the fuck he’s able to do that, and Michael always gives an enigmatic smile and swipes his thumb across David’s lips.

David’s favorite is Michael’s eyes. he could lose a whole night just staring into them. he can’t quite place the color, but they remind him of how the sky would look at noon and he gets a rush of nostalgia every time Michael looks at him. whenever they light up like when they’re with Michael’s family or when he’s talking about the coolest bike that he saw in town that day is David’s absolute favorite. and when only his eyes turn amber, before the rest of his face follows to match David’s, David falls a little bit more in love every time.

What's the first thing that changes when they realize they have feelings for the other?

not much changed on David’s end since he was attracted to Michael at first sight. he couldn’t let it show though so he just found excuses to touch Michael whenever he could, passing him the joint and their fingers brushing when Michael took the bottle and catching him when they fell off the bridge.

when Michael realized he started to share those feelings, he was confused at first considering everything that happened between them. he wasn’t sure if he wanted to hit David or hit on David when they first met, so those feelings simmered a bit until he could get to know David beyond their history. he doesn’t fully admit it until he realizes he’s the one David is pursuing and he has the ego boost from this combined with knowing there’s more to David than what he allows people to see.

Nicknames? & if so, how did they originate?

David likes how Michael’s name sounds too much to give him a nickname, but will sometimes hit him with a ‘babe’ just to see him flustered. Michael calls him Davey just to make him mad but especially in public.

Who worries the most?

Michael since he still can’t seem to shake the fact that he doesn’t need to worry anymore about human dangers. he still flinches and looks twice before pulling onto the highway and all. but mostly he still worries about his family and their perception of him and whether or not they see him as a bad person, despite their love and support. and of course, he worries about how he’ll be when the day comes that he gets older than them.

Who remembers what the other one always orders at a restaurant?

David knows Michael’s order all too well and specifically chooses restaurants that have at least fifteen kinds of burgers to choose from.

Michael swears David is making stuff up at this point whenever they go to a sushi place or a Thai place and he chooses something new to try every time. he knows David’s bubble tea order by heart, though.

Who tops?

Michael, but they’ll switch whenever David has had enough of Michael being too gentle with him.

Who initiates kisses?

David, but he’ll usually give Michael a look when he wants a kiss and Michael is happy to oblige. otherwise, since David likes gross PDA, he usually steals a kiss whenever he can.

Who reaches for the other's hand first?

David and it’s usually because he has to pull Michael along after he gets lost in his thoughts, more often than not after they feed.

Who kisses the hardest?

Michael. David nipped at his bottom lip once and that’s all it took for his fangs to come out and sometimes, it gets a little bloody.

Who wakes up first?

Michael. he has to practically drag David out of bed most nights because he’s too comfortable.

Who wants to stay in bed just a little longer?

David as stated above lmao. who knows how long dude was batting it up before he could sleep in a bed again.

Who says I love you first?

Michael and it was out of frustration.

Who tells their family/friends about their relationship first?

there’s no one to tell at first since they were keeping it secret, but Star finds out first and is initially upset, mostly about being lied to. grandpa eventually finds out next and then Sam stumbled across them by accident, so...both of them technically spill the beans together each time lmao

What do their family/friends think of their relationship?

Lucy is supportive and likes David a lot. she knows she should probably resent him for turning Michael, but he really seems like a boy who was in a bad scenario and is making due with what happened to him. she also knows Michael has been a good influence on him and trusts the two of them are doing what they need to to survive. her and David bond over shit talking Max and the best kind of wines.

Sam was understandably skeptical at first, but he and David came to an understanding and they’re cool now. they bond over music and David eventually comes around to really enjoying board games because of Sam, mostly because he wins every single game. Sam even refers to him as his brother-in-law.

Star took longer to come around but she mostly listens whenever Sam tells her what they’re up to. she’s also mostly relieved that she dodged both of those bullets and can live her own life how she wants to now, grateful that the boys gave her an escape and that Michael helped get her human life back.

Who is more likely to start dancing with the other?

both of them suck at dancing, but Michael will spin David every now and then when a cheesy slow song comes on, or Careless Whispers and they both crack up.

Who cooks more/who is better at cooking?

when they’re back spending time with Michael’s family, David is usually the one helping Lucy in the kitchen. he’s chided Michael before about joining in, especially with the big holiday dinners but Michael is always there to lick whatever spoons and bowls clean when they make dessert.

they vow to take a cooking class or two while they’re out on the road but never do.

Who comes up with cheesy pick up lines?

Michael. he usually gets them from Sam.

Who whispers inappropriate things in the other's ear during inappropriate times?

David, 100%. inappropriate times being at all times because of the whole telepathy thing.

Who needs more assurance?

David, that Michael still wants to be with him and doesn’t resent him for turning him. but also Michael that he isn’t a monster and that he’s only doing what he needs to to survive.

What would be their theme song?

SOOOO MANY but just from my drive to work today: Possum Kingdom by the Toadies fits TOO well. Michael by Franz Ferdinand too obviously. I’m curating a playlist for them here at the moment if anyone’s interested lmao

Who would sing to their child back to sleep?

please don’t give these two a child

What do they do when they're away from each other?

they’re not usually too far from each other but David gets a little mopey until he can see Michael again. he’s protective so he doesn’t let Michael too far out of his sight. Michael feels a little part of himself missing when David’s not with him, so he’ll do whatever he needs to do quickly or just take David along with him.

one headcanon about this OTP that breaks your heart:

despite all the time David has had to mourn and grieve, he still misses the other boys every day and sometimes it gets really painful. his only regret in life is not easing Michael into the vampire thing more before turning him, but he was under a time constraint from Max so he didn’t have much of a choice. they still get into shouting matches very rarely about whether or not Michael was the catalyst for the other three’s deaths and David’s very deep, hidden fear is that he’ll never learn how to accept it and one day, his emotions will take him too far and Michael will get sick of his guilt trips.

one headcanon about this OTP that mends it:

Michael does blame himself for David’s grief, because how could he not. he feels like the constant source of David’s sorrow when it comes to the boys but also his ecstatic love and it pulls him in two directions. he listens intently whenever David tells him about his past and his time with the boys and asks what they’d say or do if they were there with them right now, and it continues into the modern era. Michael asks what kind of blog Paul would have (music reviews and fashion), what Marko would name his Instagram account for bird photography (vampigeons), and how many followers Dwayne would get on tiktok for posting thirst traps. David knows Michael cares and is trying to keep the spirit of the lost boys alive.

#i miss my fic ok i wanted to expand on it a little 🥺#the fluff overload tag comes in handy here #my fics #the lost boys #david/michael emerson

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latenightcinephile · 3 years

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#718: 'The Golden Coach', dir. Jean Renoir, 1952.

One of the most bizarre things that happens with this list happened once again when I was reading up about Jean Renoir's The Golden Coach. Heading to the Wikipedia page, which is where I usually start, I found not much had been said about the film, except for Andrew Sarris's remarks that it was "an international failure" upon release. This seems to be pretty common with films on the list - it's apparently a requirement that good movies be detested originally - so I went to the book itself to see what Tom Charity of Time Out had to say about it.

Turns out, not much either. Charity provides a brief plot summary, quotes Truffaut, who called The Golden Coach "the noblest and most refined film ever made", and says that Vivaldi "provides the soundtrack", which is a bit too active-sounding, considering Vivaldi had been dead for two hundred years at that point.

So, why is Renoir's film on the list? I'm not really sure. But I quite liked it, so it's worth exploring.

Jean Renoir is not well-known for his later films, of which The Golden Coach is one. His major fame came with the release of more realistic satires in the 1930s: La Chienne (1931), Boudu Saved from Drowning (1932), La Grande Illusion (1937), La Bête Humaine (1938), and The Rules of the Game (1939). Despite their often comic plots, these films were steadfastly realistic and drew on local times and places. The release of the latter film was disastrous, though. Despite frequent re-edits, French audiences detested The Rules of the Game and Renoir's known Communist sympathies resulted in the film twice being banned. When the Germans invaded Paris in 1940, Renoir fled, first to Rome and then to the United States. He made several films in Hollywood - some critically acclaimed, others not - before returning to Europe a decade later. It was then that he began work on a loose trilogy of films about theatre and artifice. The Golden Coach is the first.

The film really belongs to its lead actor, Anna Magnani, who brings such vivacity to her performance that the rest of the cast are basically just dancing around her. She plays Camilla, a performer with a commedia dell'arte troupe in the role of Columbine. The troupe has come to 18th-century Peru to perform, and are forced into a contract with the local innkeeper, who insists on being reimbursed for paying their ship's passage over to the new world. The only reason that the troupe's performances are successful is that two men become smitten with Camilla: the Viceroy (Duncan Lamont), a milquetoast with all the money and none of the sense, and Ramon (Riccardo Rioli), a famed toreador. Ramon's attentions make the commedia popular with the masses, and the Viceroy's make it popular with the court. The Viceroy even gifts Camilla with a golden coach, causing jealousy among the other nobles, who threaten to have him stripped of his post. In the midst of these two men, and a third, Felipe (Paul Campbell), Camilla's happiness in the theatre is steadily eroded and almost completely replaced with the difficulties of real life. Only a last-minute resolution worthy of a Shakespearean comedy returns everything to rights.

Pictured: an unappreciative audience. Peruvian philistines.

Some writers theorise that Renoir's turn to more overtly theatrical subjects are partly autobiographical: that is, after what could be called an exile from his home country he made these films as a sort of manifesto about the importance of performance - that imagination and playfulness are far more important than most cinema critics believe them to be. Audiences shunned his work, this theory goes, and so Renoir felt compelled to put forward this particular vision. As well as this, though, Sarris remarks that The Golden Coach has a melancholy undercurrent to it, most notably in the final moments of the film. Camilla is drawn back to the stage, reassured by the leader of the troupe that the only place she will ever find happiness is when she is pretending to be someone else. Camilla notices that the Viceroy, Ramon and Felipe are all gone. "Part of the audience, now," Don Antonio (Odoardo Spadaro) tells her. "Do you miss them?" Camilla pauses. "A little," she says, before Renoir cuts to a wider shot of her standing at the proscenium arch. In this scene, it's unclear whether Camilla actually can find happiness in the theatre. What is most important throughout the film, it seems, is the idea of possibility. Real life will eventually force Camilla to choose one of the lovers, and yet her decision at the end (to give the golden coach to the bishop, and therefore to stop the Viceroy from being overthrown and to have Felipe and Ramon released from prison) returns all three of the men to the role of potential love interest. It's interesting that the arrival of the bishop feels like such a deus ex machina, because within the wider frame of the film it makes very little sense. Camilla suddenly hits on a 'solution' that seems to conveniently restore everything to how it ought to be, but it does so in such a quick and efficient way that it feels very artificial.

Does it happen at all? At the beginning and end of the film, the curtain rises on a stage which shows part of the Viceroy's palace (the image seen above, with the Viceroy’s chambers through the door at the upper left, and the street behind the golden coach at the lower half). The opening and closing moments are explicitly a stage play, but the camera moves onto the stage and enters the world of the 'play' seamlessly. What was two-dimensional becomes three-dimensional. My gut interpretation of what is happening here is that the viewer is drawn into suspending their disbelief, as they do with all films. We enter the world of 1700s Peru, and the plot carries on happily enough until the end. Camilla has to choose between an unsatisfying but real end to her story, or to retreat into theatre and fiction. She chooses the latter, and the implausibility of it is so violent that it throws the viewer back out of the fictional world, back to the other side of the stage. We're back in the audience again, with the complicated people who don't fit neatly into a comedy plotline.

What we do get to do, though, is reflect on what we're seeing. There is a vibrancy in The Golden Coach that doesn't appear in many of Renoir's other films. Renoir makes the images colourful and lively, and this vibrancy is in itself entertaining. We're made to laugh at the antics, the effete lip-service that the nobles give to the king, the duels seen briefly through open doorways, and the timing of the commedia plays themselves. The mediocre acting (outside of Magnani) gives the film a roughspun, poor-theatre quality which is invigorating. We probably can't do what Camilla does and immerse herself permanently in this world, but Renoir's film makes no secret of the fact that he clearly thinks it's vital that this world exists, and that we're able to visit it from time to time.

#1001 movies #The Golden Coach #Jean Renoir

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zayamoone-old · 4 years

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TF2 Mage AU

A Team Fortress 2 AU where magic exists and I change the storyline.

Hi! I don’t post here often, so I thought I’d change that by posting something that’s been occupying my thoughts for a while: a TF2 mage AU! When I discovered that a mage AU didn’t exist (at least, not any that I could find), I just had to take it upon myself to make one of my own. So, here are all of the ideas I currently have for the AU! Note that (eventually) this will become a written story. How long that will take, I have no clue. I still need a plot (if you have any plot ideas please please let me know; I’m desperate).

Basic Premise/World Info

The premise of the AU is, obviously, that mages exist. When people reach a certain age, they are allowed to start learning a single type of magic. There are many different magic types, ranging from elemental magic to dark magic. When a mage reaches a certain skill level, they are given a Familiar. They do not get to pick their Familiar- their Familiar picks them. They then keep their Familiar as a pet. The Familiar’s state of health, life span, and mood are synced with their owners (so for example, when their owner is sick the Familiar is sick, when the owner is sad the Familiar is sad, when the owner dies the Familiar dies, etc.). There are some people who choose not to take up a type of magic. These people are creatively referred to as Nomages, and in some cultures are looked down upon (though the same could be said about Mages).

Some things to clear up about the altered side of the AU are 1) The BLU team does not exist; I never saw a need for the two teams, and having them both just leads to basic and generally overused plot lines, 2) Australium doesn’t exist!! No immortality crap, 3) Gray Mann is the younger brother of Redmond and Blutarch (Red and Blu are still twins) and does not have a ridiculous story of him being able to talk since birth and being raised by eagles and whatnot, and 4) Saxton Hale is not very important to the plot. In fact, he’s actually dead in this AU. I wasn’t going to include him at all because I don’t like him and I couldn’t figure out how to fit him in, but a friend of mine actually had a cool idea for him being dead that I’ll elaborate on later.

Anyways, with all that out of the way, it’s time to introduce the characters!

Characters (headcanons and other details will be saved for asks)

Offense Classes (Elemental Mages)

Scout

Name: Jeremy Andrews

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Straight

POB: Boston, Massachusetts, USA

Age: 27

Magic Type: Wind

Uses his magic to move faster, jump higher, and knock back enemies. I’d imagine he’d also use it to propel himself past or over enemies to land in front of or on top of them.

Decided to learn wind magic for basically the canon reason: he wanted to get the upper hand in fights, and also wanted to manage to beat his brothers to fights. So, instead of Speed magic, he decided to take up Wind magic since not only did it make him faster, but it is a great tool for fighting.

Soldier

Name: Jane Doe

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Pansexual, he really has no preference

POB: Minneapolis, Missouri, USA

Age: 50

Magic Type: Earth

Uses his magic to reach high places and throw literal boulders at people; basically a replacement for his RPG.

Took up earth magic to thereotically assist him in WWII (because if he’s a mage, they’d have to accept him, right?). He also found being able to throw destructive boulders to be incredibly helpful in any fight.

Pyro

Name: ???

Gender: Nobody knows, everybody just refers to them as a they or an it.

Sexuality: Aromantic asexual

POB: ???

Age: ???

Magic Type: Fire

Fire.

Idk what to tell you man they just really like fire.

Doesn’t have the optical mask; they see everything as it really is, but their behavior towards fire and death and destruction remains the same. They still like unicorns and rainbows.

Defense Classes (Trait Mages)

Engineer

Name: Dell Conagher

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Mostly straight, but he leans both ways. Ultimately, he doesn’t care much about relationships.

POB: Bee Cave, Texas, USA

Age: 43

Magic Type: N/A (Nomage)

Doesn’t see a need to learn magic, he already has enough skill in the engineering field.

Was mainly hired because his family worked for the Admin’s family for decades. And also because, y’know, he’s one of the smartest people on the planet.

Heavy

Name: Mikhail 'Misha' Morozov

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Bisexual

POB: Dzhugdzhur Mountains, Khabarovsk Krai, USSR

Age: 57

Magic Type: Strength

Uses his magic to make himself inhumanly strong whenever he so chooses. This means he can switch from oh so gentle to strong enough to crush bone in seconds.

Took up Strength magic after he escaped the gulag to better protect his family, should the need arise.

Demoman

Name: Tavish DeGroot

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Straight

POB: Ullapool, Scotland

Age: 49

Magic Type: Leaping

His magic basically just lets him jump really high (higher than Scout can go with his magic). This lets him shoot/throw grenades/bombs from more effective and destructive distances.

Mostly took up Leaping magic just to get his mom off his back about him learning magic. His father was a Leaping Mage, so Demo simply followed in his footsteps.

Support Classes (Arcane Mages)

Medic

Name: Dr. Ludwig Humboldt

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Gay

POB: Stuttgart, Germany

Age: 45

Magic Type: Necromancy

Familiar: Archimedes - Dove

Uses his magic to revive people, heal people, and communicate with the dead.

Took up the controversial art of necromancy to aid in his job. This eventually cost him his medical license.

Ngl I'm super excited to write Necromancer Medic I'm really happy with this concept help

Sniper

Name: Mick Mundy

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Straight

POB: Whyalla, Australia

Age: 28

Magic Type: Shadow

Familiar: Hunter - Australian Shepard

Uses his magic to teleport into and transform into shadows. This is helpful for sneaking in between watchtowers and passing people unseen.

Began learning Shadow magic before he was even a sniper. He has always been an introvert and wanted to be able to get through crowds unseen and hide from people without being found.

Despite his young age, he already has a Familiar. He's just that much of a professional.

Is actually from Australia and the Mundys are his birth parents.

Spy

Name: Eugène Baudelaire

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Straight

POB: Bordeaux, France

Age: 46

Magic Type: Mind

Familiar: Jacques - Birman

Uses his magic to read minds, bend wills, and use telepathy. These abilities all have some limits, but they are incredibly useful nonetheless.

Always enjoyed being sneaky and deceitful as a child, and as he got older he started learning Mind magic. This combined with his cunning nature and Dell's cloaking technology makes him one of the most stealthy and dangerous men in existence.

Although he denies it, he loves Jacques more than anything or anybody else. He'll often let the cat curl up on his lap while he's reading a magazine in his smoking room.

Other Characters

The Administrator

Name: Helen Callaway

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Aromantic asexual. People are horrid.

POB: Bristol, UK

Age: 56

Magic Type: N/A (Nomage)

Runs Team Fortress and uses them for her own needs.

A family friend of the Manns who took over TF after all the Mann brothers were m y s t e r i o u s l y murdered.

Miss Pauling

Name: Allison Pauling

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Closeted lesbian

POB: Like. America or something. (Madison, Wisconsin for now idk)

Age: 31

Magic Type: N/A (Nomage)

A close friend and long-time assitant to the Admin. Eagerly helps her run TF.

Redmond Mann

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Straight

POB: England or somewhere, idfk. The Manns are British or something right?

Age: 89

Magic Type: Fire

Before his and Blutarch's death, he ran the RED team. After his death, the remains of his team consisted of only Pyro, Engie, Demo, and Spy.

Never used his magic. They only reason he learned Fire magic was to try to get the upper hand on his twin.

Blutarch Mann

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Straight

POB: Ditto

Age: 89

Magic Type: Ice

Ran the BLU team before he died and the two teams were merged. After his death, his team consisted of only Scout, Soldier, Heavy, Medic, and Sniper. Since he had more people on his team at the end, he counts this as a win for him.

Also never used his magic. Learned Ice magic also to try to get the upper hand as his brother. Their magic types basically cancelled each other out, so this was not helpful in the slightest.

Gray Mann

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Straight, but couldn't care less

POB: Ditto

Age: 84

Magic Type: Shadow

Familiar: Delta - Bald Eagle

After he murdered his older brothers, he took over TF Industries and merged RED and BLU to create Team Fortress.

Took up Shadow magic in preparation for the day he would get what he wanted. It also comes in handy for literally anything illegal.

Saxton Hale

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Straight

POB: A U S T R A L I A .

Age: 37

Magic Type: Strength

Ran TF Industries in its early days alongside the Mann twins before he died.

Learned Strength magic to better wrestle animals. That's it.

Idolized by literally only Soldier. Everybody else is like "Yeah no that guy was an idiot."

Wow. That was a lot to write, and I did it all in one sitting. It is late. I am losing the ability to comprehend any thoughts.

So anyways, I'd love to hear your guys' thoughts on this!! It's a heavy WIP, so I'd appreciate feedback and suggestions ;) Also, please feel free to submit asks about the AU!! It'd help a lot with its development! Also, plot ideas would be MUCH appreciated. Literally the only thing that ever prevents me from writing is my inability to come up with a plot. So if you have literally ANY ideas, please do submit them via an ask! I'd love to hear them, no matter how stupid you think they may be!

That's all for now! I'll post writing and art for the AU whenever I get around to that. Stay tuned, and please do send me your thoughts! I'll see you all later ✨

#tf2 #tf2 au #tf2 scout #tf2 soldier #tf2 pyro #tf2 engineer #tf2 heavy #tf2 demoman #tf2 medic #tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #tf2 administrator #tf2 miss pauling #mage au #alternate universe #tf2 mage au #necromancer medic #sniper would totally name a dog hunter

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brave-clarice · 4 years

Text

“Clarice” Liveblog: Episode 1

Here are my extremely unfashionably late takes! They’re long, so strap in if you want.

okay, I genuinely thought the scenes in Gumb’s basement were ripped from the film for a second. extremely well done.

I both appreciate that they’re acknowledging the Bureau-mandated psych eval Clarice would have to go through (not sure she’d have to have another one a year later?)...

...but I sure wish they hadn’t chosen to open this show in a therapy-like session. it’s going to be subject to enough NBC comparisons as it is.

gosh, Rebecca Breeds is so pretty, and in the same almost, idk, elfin kind of way Jodie Foster is.

“Bride of Frankenstein”! a novel reference! and a Hannibal Lecter reference even though they can’t use his name! I’m excited

I was afraid of this part, though--everyone’s going to call her “Clarice” aren’t they?

it’s very significant that in the books, Hannibal is virtually alone in using her first name to address her; even Ardelia calls her “Starling.” but of course this series chose “Clarice” as its title, so...

“the checkout lady at the Safeway asked me to autograph a melon” omg

so Clarice has supposedly been “mandated” to see an FBI therapist for an entire year? hmm.

tbh, this feels kind of like a proxy for Hannibal’s scenes in the movie, especially with the therapist calling her “Clarice.” not sure if I dig it.

“...given that your last therapist was an inmate” Hannibal reference #2!

they’re explicitly talking about Hannibal without being able to name him and it’s hilarious, frustrating, and immensely satisfying all at once.

there’s no way to avoid talking about him altogether without being disingenuous to Clarice’s eventual character arc, so I’m glad they’re ripping off the band-aid early

“you let that relationship be intimate” Yeah, Clarice and Hannibal’s relationship IS intimate and YOU! SHOULD! SAY IT!!!

it’s kind of ridiculous for this guy/the show not to acknowledge that little trainee Clarice was sent to see Hannibal by someone who should’ve known better. That Crawford was doing it with the intention to save lives doesn’t mean he didn’t use the shit out of Clarice.

that’s not to take away her agency or minimize the choices she made after she met Hannibal. She wouldn’t have been in a position to make those choices if Crawford hadn’t arranged it, though.

even if they don’t have the rights to Crawford’s name, either (I have to assume that’s the case) couldn’t they at least mention this??

“hasn’t seen her own family in years” Are they actually going to address Clarice’s maybe-dead-maybe-not mother (depending on the canon they adopt, book or film) and possible siblings??? Please tell me they are!

Clarice’s “egregious” PTSD doesn’t have much to do with Buffalo Bill ofc, and this therapist seems to be making excuses to be the first in a long line of men getting in the way of Clarice’s career goals...

...which she recognizes and confronts him about. Call him out!!!

*Anthony Hopkins voice* That’s my girl.

the way she’s been written in this scene gives me a lot of hope going forward! she’s funny, she doesn’t take any sexist bullshit, she’s calm and polite but you get a glimpse of the rage underneath.

wow, they promoted Senator Martin to Attorney General!

the opening credits (if you can even call them that) are a let-down, though

she has her beads!

can anyone who’s not Hannibal please stop calling her Clarice

wonder if they’re going to touch on any of the extreme tension that existed between Senator Martin and Clarice in the novel? they didn’t interact in the movie, but in the book, Martin is under intense stress, and it doesn’t go smoothly.

of course in “Hannibal,” Martin invites her to “ride horses,” so they obviously reconciled after Catherine’s rescue and kept in some kind of touch.

and speak of the devil: horses! (and Catherine)

“I can’t have a reputation, I’ve only done it once” Thank you for being the voice of reason, Clarice.

“Paul Krendler” *ugly screaming commences*

“you don’t have any people, Clarice” Aaand that’s the plot of the Hannibal novel!

looks like they even gave her the ring Jodie’s Clarice wears!

oh yeah, this Krendler looks like a sumbitch if I ever saw one. No one will ever be as perfectly cast as the dude in Silence imo, but a much better fit than Ray Liotta.

“small carat, but it’s a sweet ring” A very in-character observation probably directly informed by her comments about nail polish in Silence.

she mentions this victim’s nail polish (!) being “tasteful,” and I shrieked a little again.

I understand it’s necessary for Krendler to be a douche, but there’s not even going to be any payoff for the audience (or Clarice) when Hannibal eats him, so boo.

wait...wait, why aren’t Clarice and Ardelia in their Alexandria duplex? They’re not just best friends, they’re roommates! For the entire seven-year story! GIVE ME THE DUPLEX!!!

BUT points for Ardelia bringing Clarice a treat, since she was always leaving her candy bars in the Silence book!

Clarice interacting with the washer/dryer is a nice nod to the books, too.

speaking of... “What did we learn in the laundry room back at Quantico?” For some reason this line made me actually cry, I guess because this whole episode has been such a love letter to something I love so dearly, and it’s making me emotional.

FIRST PRINCIPLES!

DESPERATELY RANDOM!!!

wow, the men in Clarice’s new office giving her lotion as a hazing “welcome” gift is awful, and now I’m just mad (which is the point of the scene ofc).

so this ex-military OC is the John Brigham stand-in, I take it?

if that means John Brigham won’t be here, No Thanks.

Clarice telling him she’ll drive...a tribute to Dana “Why Do You Always Have to Drive?” Scully, perhaps (who was herself inspired by Clarice) as well as a nod to Clarice’s love of cars?

“Why do they call you the bride of Frankenstein?” Sorry, I don’t have the legal rights to tell you about my last intimate relationship.

“Already on my way to West Virginia Granny Witch” Look, this show could crash and burn from this scene on, and it would still have been worth it just for these first 25 minutes.

I like that Clarice is shown wanting to help people, and the scene of her with the baby is a nice call-back to the eventual shoot-out at the beginning of “Hannibal”...but I hope they don’t try to domesticate her too much. Clarice needs her hard edges. To be tough (reasonably so)--a cub growing into its big cat’s claws.

also, somehow I doubt that Miss Valedictorian spent her six years in the Lutheran home “changing a lot of diapers,” but sure, okay. If her siblings are alive in this, she might have changed their diapers!

even though Krendler’s a real dickwad so far, he’s not slimy enough for me. Needs more grease.

“I got a call from your therapist who’s concerned that you might genuinely flip out” I really do not like this subplot Sam-I-Am. Aren’t the huge glass ceiling/Boys’ Club obstacles enough?

seriously, though, I know Hannibal tells her that the metaphorical lambs will come back--at the end of Silence, though, she’s at some kind of temporary peace, not in danger of “flipping out” any time soon.

if Esquivel really is our Brigham stand-in, I’ve got...problems with that. He was Clarice’s teacher and became her friend, not some Krendler double-agent. (Also worried they’re setting him up as a love interest for her which...eesh, no thanks.)

and sorry, I actually hate that Catherine kept Precious the dog in this.

I have no problem with Catherine being a character, or with her interacting with Clarice...that said, I don’t know if her being shown as severely traumatized and reaching out to Clarice as a form of emotional lifeline is...a good idea?

I understand the symbolism of Catherine’s smashed mirror, but...smashed mirrors are already a Thing in this series (albeit not Clarice’s chapter in it), and that’s all I can think of here.

Catherine’s a victim of unthinkable trauma. Nevertheless...she’s talking to the woman who saved her life. Who risked death to do it. I just don’t like the way this scene is written. Apparently, in this show’s canon, Catherine hasn’t gotten the help she needs. But Clarice isn’t her therapist, and it’s upsetting to have Catherine being all “I’ll never be safe and neither will you.”

how does Catherine remember “the mannequins, the autopsy table”?? And why is she throwing them in Clarice’s face?

I’m going to stop talking about this scene now because it’s making me angry and a little upset, which is maybe the point? I just don’t think it’s written well. If Catherine’s going to be a recurring character, I hope she’s shown getting professional, medical help.

Clarice finding the victim’s papers in the box of pads is a direct callback to her finding the photos in the jewelry box in Silence. Nice.

let’s agree that Hannibal and Crawford are both in Ardelia’s (too-cutesy-for-me) book

another nice little X-Files homage?

I have some qualms about that big climax, but...meh. It was capital-F Fine.

Yikes, this is a full week late. Thanks for reading this entirely-too-long post through to the end, if you’re still here!

To sum up my thoughts...

The Good:

the visual connections to the Silence film (that green coat/blue knit scarf combo in particular)

Rebecca Breeds’ performance overall so far

Clarice’s strong writing/characterization

her sense of humor and her inclination to call out bullshit

maybe it was just me, but I also got a sense of Hannibal’s influence on her in some of her dialogue--her blunt observations--and I love it

Ardelia Mapp

the repeated in-your-face references to Hannibal Lecter

the respectful, non-exploitative way the victims were treated by the narrative.

let’s just say, not all Harris-inspired shows managed to do this. :)

the many, many allusions to the novel

“you let that relationship be INTIMATE” !!!

The Bad:

the near-constant implication that all Clarice’s trauma stems from her experiences in Gumb’s basement

I just don’t understand this one...it’s not supported by the text imo

the “Clarice-is-a-psychological-loose-canon” subplot

almost everyone calling her “Clarice”

NO DUPLEX IN ALEXANDRIA! Boo!

Esquivel maybe replacing Brigham

the narrative choices they’ve made surrounding Catherine so far.

Seriously: please let Catherine seek/get help instead of screaming “HELP ME” at Clarice, who after all risked her own life to save Catherine’s, over the phone.

The Ugly: Paul Krendler, lol. Confession time: I also don’t care for the way they’ve styled her hair. Not sure why it bugs me, it just...does.

Overall, I’m thrilled to death with this. I was so afraid it would be disappointing, so even if it’s not a five-star episode (and pilots rarely are), it’s a great beginning! It’s beyond amazing to see our girl on the screen again. Just this hour-long episode did her character way more justice than the entire Hannibal film. Despite its shortcomings, it’s such a loving homage to characters and a story that mean a lot to me, and I love it just for that.

Going forward, I’d like to see more of Clarice as a person. Her hobbies and interests--cars, sharpshooting, running, fashion magazines stuffed under her bed, horseback riding, her total inability to cook...anything would do. I of course want to see more of her with Ardelia. I want to hear more about her backstory and find out which version of it (truly orphaned when her father dies or sent away by her mother) they’ll choose to explore. And while we all agree that this show is about Clarice and she don’t need no man, I won’t lie: I’d gobble up more sly references to Hannibal. He’s her endgame, after all.

I’d also like to really see the warrior underneath. There are flashes of her in the last twenty minutes of this episode. But Clarice Starling is a big cat, she’s a warrior, she’s between iron and silver. I’d hate for her to spend most of this show doe-eyed and traumatized. I want her to be ferocious, to see the woman who’s a match for the monster.

Krendler needs to get nastier. He should make us feel like we need to shower. In the novels, he wants to use Clarice--only for her body. And when she won’t allow him to, he takes his revenge. That’s what makes him so particularly awful. Let’s amp him up here.

And finally...maybe I’ll appreciate Catherine’s scene more on a second watch. Maybe I’m not being sensitive enough to her trauma, her struggles. But I didn’t like the way that scene was staged or scripted, and I didn’t like the suggestion that she just hasn’t gotten help after a year and is subsequently taking her pain out on Clarice on some level. I hope future episodes handle this subplot, and her character, a bit better.

Please let me know if you guys would like me to do another of these monstrosities for the next episode. (I promise it won’t take me an entire week this time!) And thank you again for reading!!!

#Clarice Starling #clarice #cbs clarice #rebecca breeds #media [cbs show]#char [clarice starling]#I'm sorry again about how amazingly late this is heh #you've probably all watched and processed by now and have moved on to Episode 2 but I am slow

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tf2hcs · 5 years

Note

can i get uhhhhhhh.. trans merc head canons?? maybe found family?? thanks!

you can DEFINITELY get trans merc headcanons. comin up hot. i have so many headcanons pertaining to the mercs being trans that i can’t fit them into one post, so i’m just gonna do stuff related to transitioning here, and if you wanna hear about how i think they realized they’re trans or came out, ill do a post about that too

Soldier:

you know how cis people think that you have dysphoria ur whole life and then you get The Surgery (The Surgery) and it all goes away that very day? and that’s just. it? solider is the only person on earth for whom that holds true

he has rod-insert phalloplasty and double incision top surgery

Jane Doe is actually his real birth name, it doesn’t give him dysphoria so he just kept it

his phalloplasty used his arm as the donor site, so he’s got a patch of pinkish skin on his left arm

he transitioned pretty early on, maybe in his early twenties. he’s known he’s trans since he was a kid

shaving gives him INTENSE gender euphoria

Scout:

he just went on T and boy is he excited

he runs in his binder (dumb) and frequently binds with bandages (dumb), so he has at least one deformed rib. twinsies

like as SOON as he finds out medic is trans he asks for top surgery & gets it. he gets periareolar top surgery

when medic explains to him that periareolar top surgery keeps nipple sensation intact but double incision doesn’t he immediately starts calling the other mercs “numb-nips”

“it’s my shot day someone come stab me in the așs”

he didn’t choose his own name, his mom chose it for him when he came out. if he chose it it would’ve CLEARLY been tommy, as a tribute to tom jones

Medic:

double incision top surgery

i know this is wildly unrealistic but it’s tf2 so i will claim it. medic gave himself top surgery and instead of giving himself nipple grafts he just like, carved a smiley face and star of david on there

he knows the most about trans health and history out of all the mercs (partially because he’s old, partially because he’s a doctor, partially because he’s more involved in the community than the others)

because of this the other mercs come to him for help with trans issues a lot

he wants to have a baby biologically SO bad. so so bad. i think i get this headcanon from how lovingly he holds that baboon baby in the comics

he works really hard to preserve his fertility throughout his transition and as he gets older. he doesn’t end up being able to have a baby until he’s in his 50s but he’s so happy when he does

i could go off about my dad medic headcanons for hours but ill save that for another post if u guys request

Demo:

double incision top surgery for this guy too

talks about being trans all the time (every time i watch meet the demo and he says “i got a manky eye, i’m a black scottish cyclops” i mentally add transgender to the list)

constantly jokes about how he “blew it off” (you know what “it” is)

he has relatively bad dysphoria his entire life, but being open about it really helps

he doesn’t even know soldier is trans until he asks about the skin graft on his arm. he sees him use his rod implant and he just accepts that that’s how penises work

you know how being skilled with explosives runs in the degroot family?? my personal headcanon is that transness is also genetic to the degroots. both of demo’s parents were trans. ill talk about this more in another post if u guys want

Heavy:

no top surgery, his chest is a little large compared to a cis guy’s but his overall size makes it look more normal

if he ever does get top surgery, though, he gets inverted T/anchor incision

he has PCOS. he got a hysterectomy when medic was rooting around in there for the first time and noticed the cysts (”there will be so much more room in here once we get rid of your uterus!!” “room for what?” “…oh, you know”)

i think he might get full meta?? (as in metoidioplasty) i cant decide if he’d want a vaginectomy though. help me decide

Spy:

double incision top surgery. he paid top dollar for it, it’s very nicely done

he refers to his top surgery as a “mastectomy” (which is the correct term but like, who says that)

he gave birth to scout. he was pregnant when he met scout’s mom, and after he gave birth to scout he ended up leaving him with her. i cant decide if it was more of a “can you please take my baby” situation or a “im going to the store to get milk” situation. either way though i don’t think scout’s mom would’ve objected to keeping him, he was an adorable baby

he owns so many packers. he gets them custom made. he has them displayed in his closet like designer wigs

Sniper:

no surgery at all! he never plans on getting it either. that’s why he has the vest

his chest is like, small and somewhat muscular. you guys have seen skinny trans men with muscle tîtty before i don’t have to explain this to you

actually i want you to take this discord screenshot. i said this last thursday

he’s one of the most obviously trans mercs because he just insists on dressing like he based his outfit off the wikihow article for how to pass as male

i can say a lot more about my trans hcs for sniper in another post but im trying to keep this one at a readable length (failed step one)

Engineer:

no top surgery!

i think he has simple meta or maybe full meta without a vaginectomy (*epic rap battles of history voice* you decide)

he transitioned much later in life than the other mercs, his transition only actually started like five years ago

Pyro:

they’re agender!!

AFAB with no surgery or HRT

they use they/them pronouns or alternating he/she (”he’s not here, is she?”)

there’s not much to say about pyro’s gender! they just don’t have one

OH HOLY SHIT DO THE MERCS THROW THEM A GENDER REVEAL PARTY

ASKFLDLJSDKFLJDSFLKSDJFDLSKFJLSK

BONUS

Miss Pauling:

you know how when some trans women start hrt, they get really bad cravings for pickles? miss p has that like hell

she eats a hot pickle in her car every single day. it gets to the point where the people who work the graveyard shift at mcdonalds remember her (she has a habit of ordering “a fry container full of pickle slices”)

she takes estrogen but she doesn’t have any surgery! i dont think she ever gets any

scout very nervously explains to her that he’s trans at one point and all she can do is blink and say “did you think i was cis”

thank you for taking this journey with me. now imagine how long this list would’ve been if i didn’t narrow it down

#Anonymous #tf2 #team fortress 2 #soldier tf2 #scout tf2 #medic tf2 #demoman tf2 #sniper tf2 #pyro tf2 #miss pauling #engineer tf2 #spy tf2 #heavy tf2 #headcanons #trans rights #long post #ask to tag #the holy grail of tf2 trans rights.

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brideofcthulhu10 · 4 years

Note

Ok I’m at work and I cannot stop thinking about a soulmate au with Dwayne (because he’s my fave) where a psychic or someone tells him that he’ll meet someone with like a specific tattoo or birthmark

Sure thing! Currently the child birth post is taking a lot longer than I expected, I’ve only just finished the David segment, I still have Paul, Marko and Dwayne to go but hopefully they’ll be done before Wednesday.

Dwayne’s Fate

Halloween rolled in and yet the plethora of tourists never seemed to cease. All over the boardwalk they flocked to every newly decorated attraction, sporting cheesy plastic masks, sharing caramel apples, hugging each other as they went into the haunted house... Dwayne couldn’t help but feel the sharp pang of envy overtaking him. The young native pushed his mess of windblown black hair from his face, utterly tuned out while Marko and Paul were scoping out the beach honeys clad in bikinis and shorts. Instead he leaned on the handlebars of his bike, watching the couples pass by. Eighty-One Years.

He had been a vampire for eighty-one years. In all that time he’d never considered anything outside of his own pack, his coven of brothers who had become vampires alongside him. It was decades of wild nights! He thought he could never want anything else. But when Michael waltzed in and swept up Star and Laddie... he felt almost dark, in a sense.

Something changed in him the night he came back. He wasn’t sure how. What mattered was that he, and his brothers were alive once again. Well, not alive, but still. Now he was back to terrorizing the night time streets of Santa Carla like he always had. Only, it wasn’t like always. A part of him wished there was something more to all this. He had hoped one day to settle down when he was still alive but opportunity seemed to be almost gone by this point. Drumming his fingers on the handlebars of his bike, Dwayne grew increasingly impatient remaining in place. Swinging his leg over his bike he sighed with Marko turning to watch the road hog waltz away.

“Hey, Dwayne, where you headed, man,” he called, looking up.

“For a walk. I can’t sit here all night like you suckers,” Dwayne retorted, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets. Silently he wove through bustling crowds, barely lifting his eyes. Anyone who was in his warpath quickly learned to dodge him. Thoughts plagued his head, more than he had before to the point they were cluttering against each other.

“You there,” a voice called over the unruly sounds of Santa Carla. Dwayne hadn’t thought much of it until an elderly woman quickly wove through. “You! You! Yes, wendigo-boy!”

The term gave him pause, looking back at the silver haired crone waddling his way still pointing her dried up finger until it was inches from his nose. “Yes, I could sense the aura of you and your friends across the way. Your dark presence is unmistakable.”

Dwayne swatted her hand away with a grimace, taking a step back. “Bug off you old bat, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he hissed, turning from her.

“Your past may not define your future! It is not too late to find one who can bring light to your darkness,” she insisted, running in front of him.

Again Dwayne groaned, This broad was persistent. Even when he tried to walk away a third time she managed to swoop around him.

She was easily in her late 80′s with wiry silver hair barely contained in a low hanging bun. Feathers stuck out of her hair, clanking armfuls of metal bangles rang whenever she moved her hands. Each boney finger cracked, dawning a ring on each that barely hung of aged flesh. Beady brown eyes practically stared into his center which made it impossible to to look at her face. Whenever she spoke he could see her crooked snaggle tooth accompanying her worn voice, raspy as if she had swallowed sandpaper. Wrapped around her burnt orange dress was a worn leather belt chipping away sporting a purple satin bag tied around it. Whatever it was she wanted to discuss was not going to wait. When his internal debate grew to be too much, she finally snatched him firmly by his wrist and began to pull him where she was determined to be. There was no point in questioning any of this, all she did was answer in stupid riddles.

"All will be answered! But you come with now, otherwise you will miss it! Then who knows when it'll happen again."

"It". Whatever this "it" was carried some weight as she used the term frequently. Although reasonably irritated, something in Dwayne felt the need to follow. He resisted the urge to rip her arm out of it’s socket, and instead rapidly shuffled his feet so he didn’t step over the hobbling broad who couldn’t be more than five feet tall- even when she wasn’t hunched over. The way she wove through tourists was eerily timed. Almost perfect. Nothing caught her off guard. Bobbing and weaving. Worst of all no one was moving, everyone around them seemed utterly oblivious to her presence! Pulling him forward she shuffled her way to a small caravan. The dusty old piece was barely illuminated by a single light hanging over the door, wedged between the old donut place and the Santa Carla Gift Shoppe.

Still clutching his arm, they continued up creaking wooden steps that practically sang as he carried himself atop them. He can as convinced any moment this whole thing was going to collapse. The red door swung open slowly on it's own. Must've been rigged or something to do that. Meanwhile Dwayne had to duck just to avoid hitting the doorway, not that it mattered to the scatterbrained lunatic he decided to follow. Only when they were indoor did she finally release his hand and immediately shut her door behind him. It was decently bigger than what was let on initially. Tucked away behind a thick red curtain was a bed built around an arching stained glass window. It must've been somewhat decent before, athough this woman was such a hoarder you wouldn’t be able to tell at first. What books didn't fill her towering cases were strewn about the the floor in piles. Pages were stained with ink, notes written in old languages stuck to the walls between massive oil paintings depicting glorious battles, mystic creatures, ancient ones he had never seen. Plants were either hanging from the ceiling or over grown in corners. Dwayne made the mistake of sniffing at the strange red mushrooms poking out a dense pot of wriggling soil. He immediately recoiled watching worms surface just to burrow beneath the cakey mud. There were chattering cages hidden behind the bedroom curtain, ones he couldn't see into. Lined up along the wall was an oak desk draped in a velvet purple fabric coated in metallic gold zodiac symbols, completely covered end to end in bizarre herbs, animal parts, even live critters kept in an array of apothecary jars. Shelves held more, beakers of unrecognizable fluids bubbling over rickety bunsen burners. Thick crystals caked in dust jutted out beside a faded wooden box with bizarre pieces of jewelry spilling over, cobwebs gathering in untouched nooks. Rather than lamps or lanterns she had candles everywhere. Dribbling onto the floor, pouring over wrought iron candelabras, wiggling wisps of light spilling around the corners. By the kitchen space were cabinets sporting different colors of even more candles, many carved into with unfamiliar writings. When Dwayne picked up a dirty bottle covered in cobwebs off the crowded oak desk, there was a loud THWACK that made his ears wring.

“Ow! Hey-!”

Before he turned around she had a broom to his face and smacked him again. “No touching,” she demanded, yanking the bottle from him.

“If I wanted to, I could kill you, you old hag,” he snarled, rapidly stepping towards her with fangs bared. Again, broom.

“Hush! You are not as your bothers are. You desire the knowledge, yes?! You shall not get a word if Alma is dead. No use then!”

Dwayne grumbled a sour huff, rubbing the top of his head. Again he questioned his personal sanity for humoring this hag wielding a mighty broom.

All the while the self proclaimed Alma shuffled around him, snatching up handfuls of bottles and plopping then atop another overcrowded table. Repeatedly she used the words "fool" and "knows nothing" clearly referring to him. Mostly because every time she said those words she'd look over her shoulder at him.

Black as night, her worn iron stove roared when she stoked the fire withing it's oven. Just atop the surface was a heavy black kettle nestled above a scalding red coil. It rattled and hissed, moaning when plumes of steam billowed out into the air. She mumbled and “harumph”ed her way through the caravan. Clanking down a tea set on a worn old silver tray she rapidly shuffled back to her stove to retrieve the screaming kettle still singing it's tune. Without missing a beat she dropped something inside it. It took two trembling hands she poured the water over the strange herbs she had previously retrieved into two cups. The dainty porcelain pieces were etched in golden, ancient writings atop another circular table covered by a deep blue table cloth. With that, she plunked herself atop a creaking old chair, staring at Dwayne with those beady eyes .

‘Why the fuck am I still here with this old bat?’

Dwayne barely managed to fit in the rickety old seat that squeaked beneath his weight, staring down at the petit cup. The muddied liquid still bubbled, steam spiraling to carry an unbelievably sickening scent. Not necessarily horrible, but utterly confusing. The more he looked at it the more it seemed alive. “I am not touching that.”

“Hush! Nonsense! You shall drink as Alma does, and you will see.”

Dwayne hesitated, watching her sip at the herbal concoction. This was clearly the dumbest decison of his afterlife, but he had already died twice. What was there to be afraid of?

“On the boardwalk.. you called me ‘wendigo’. What makes you say that?”

“I can see your true form,” she calmly explained, setting down the cup. The leaves barely floated at the base. If he turned his head he swore he could see it forming into the shape of a fanged jaw wide open. “Blood and flesh pave your future, but even those who dwell in darkness deserve a lantern to ease the suffering.”

So, she knew what they were. What he was. “Then why help me if you know I’m a vampire,” he questioned, expecting the tea to be brewed with holy water.

“It is not my place to judge your path. I have come across many of your kind in my years of living. They all do what they must. So, drink.”

Dwayne hesitated once more, only to lift the beverage to his lips. It was bitter. The taste was reminiscent of biting into tree bark, all he could do is scrunch his nose.

Then, Alma’s figure began to vibrate. He could see pieces of her breaking off, the room surrounding him peeling away, like old paint off a dirty wall. Strips crumbled to his feet. He attempted to move only to find himself firmly planted to his seat. There was nothing. No sound, no sight, only black.

With a sharp inhale he opened his eyes to streams of orange. A... sunset?

Dwayne was amazed he could even remember what a sun set looked like. However, there was nothing that could take away the memory of the fire that filled the edges of the sky. Drips of night seeped in, miles of tall wheat grasses swaying in the breeze enveloping him. Still wedged in place he could only sit there, savoring a sight he would never see again.

But when he heard it, and he froze. A laugh. A twinkling bell chiming from far away. Flashes of E/C orbs flickered holding the sun within. A pearly smile whispering his name so softly it sent chills running down his spine. S/C as smooth as satin running a hand on his arm. The face cut in and out, but what he continued to see over and over was a symbol. An inky raven with wings draped over a woven dream catcher. Thick cords wove between each other into intricate details, each hole giving him pieces of who she was. Yes, she. He could hear her voice vibrate through the air. Not what it was saying, but only the sounds it made. “Alright alright, enough,” a raspy voice commanded.

Dwayne finally jumped up and out of his chair, crashing back down to earth and only the dusty floor of Alma’s caravan practically wheezing for air. He felt like he had just been running for hours!

“Come, come let’s not be dramatic,” Alma snorted, shuffling over to take his tea over to her rusty old wash pan piled with dishes.

It took a moment to get ahold of his bearings, swearing if he had a heartbeat right now it’d be jumping through his ribs. “What... the fuck... did you give me?!”

“No time for that, child. The bird is waiting for you just beyond the docks,” she began to babble again. Bird? Again that raven flashed before his eyes while Alma pried him off the floor.

“Wait- but I don’t- will you quit shoving me?!”

Alma continued to yank him until he was out the door barely catching himself as they ran down the steps. “Oooh any minute, any minute. No time for dawdling!”

Quickly she took him by his arm and swung him back out into the crowd, stumbling into a young woman who nearly yelped.

“Oh shit are you okay,” she asked. A few girls giggled at him until she made a face, waving them off. “Sorry I didn’t see you there. Are you alright uh-?”

Just across her collarbone sat a raven tattoo nestled across her chest with winds spread over a dream catcher trailing into her shirt, the trickles of beads left hidden in her blouse. When he looked into those perfect E/C orbs holding the sunset beneath them he could only smile, setting her heart immediately ablaze. With a massive blush tinting her cheeks an adorable crimson hue she pulled him to his feet, unaware once he was standing that she still had not let go of his arm. Looking behind him Dwayne still expected to see the batty old woman sitting outside her caravan. Instead... there was no one in sight. No caravan either. Just an empty alleyway only sporting a few dented old trash bins overflowing with garbage. Slowly he turned back to the girl, positioning himself closer as his crisp smile beamed over cinnamon flesh.

“Well what’s your name first?”

“Y/N,” she spoke with a tender tone, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Y/N. I’m Dwayne. Nice to meet you, princess.”

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rebelsofshield · 4 years

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Star Wars: The Clone Wars “The Phantom Apprentice” -Review

The Clone Wars creates a horror movie of inescapable dread in the game changing, “The Phantom Apprentice”

(Review contains episode spoilers)

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Maul and Ahsoka Tano are now face to face. As the battle for the future of Mandalore unfolds around them, it becomes clear that something much larger is at stake. The fate of the galaxy hangs in the balance and everything that is known will change. And our heroes and villains are powerless to stop it.

It’s been known for quite a while that the end of The Clone Wars would tie into the events of Revenge of the Sith. The show has been on a collision course with this darkest installment in the Star Wars saga ever since it premiered in 2008 and now the inevitable moment has arrived. Everything in the galaxy is about to upend itself and the feeling of dread and tragedy hangs over everything. While The Clone Wars has dipped its feet into the horror genre before, director Nathaniel Villanueva and writer Dave Filoni have created a half hour experience of impending dread and terror.

The Clone Wars was always going to end in heartbreak. Revenge of the Sith was the inescapable end point for this series, but the unspoken cruelty of this series is in the unaware insignificance of its own cast. Ahsoka Tano, Rex, Maul, the Mandalorians are doomed to be side notes in the galaxy altering Skywalker Saga. Their narratives are twisting, emotional, and undeniably engaging but they will never escape living in the margins of the adventures of the mythic figures they count as their friends, allies, and enemies. There is a knowing futility to Filoni’s script for “The Phantom Apprentice” that pervades everything. We can be watching titanic battles unfold on the streets of Sundari and daring lightsaber duels, but it’s all for nothing. Composer Kevin Kiner, still the only musical talent that has come close to mirroring and expanding off the legendary work of John Williams, turns the aural landscape of this conflict into a sound that can only be described as Star Wars meets Hereditary. We are never once made to feel comfortable. There are no hints that this will work out. It won’t.

Like the standout season finale to Star Wars Rebels’ second season, the title of “The Phantom Apprentice” is deceptively nuanced. It’s actually in conversation with three different characters, one of whom never actually appears on screen.

The most obvious of the three is of course Maul, the original apprentice to The Phantom Menace. I’ve never hidden my adoration for the long, strange character arc that Lucasfilm Animation has taken this formerly one note villain on. Sam Witwer, Dave Filoni, and the rest of the creative team have transformed this former Sith assassin into a perpetually broken and emotional frail man that is never more than a few steps away from collapse. First hinted at in one of his first appearances on this series, Maul was always aware to some degree of The Clone Wars and the larger machinations of his master. The pieces were always in place and now Maul is slowly realizing that the end goal of his master’s decades long plan is finally upon them. And it terrifies him. Long gone is the confident Maul who thought he could carve out an Empire for himself in the shadows of the galactic underworld. After Darth Sidious’s humiliating beatdown of him in “The Lawless” and the murder of his mother in the Son of Dathomir comic series, it’s now clear to this lost Zabrak that his master is the most powerful being in the galaxy and something to be feared above all else. Witwer plays Maul’s former anger and jealousy at having his dreams of grandeur robbed of him as a transformation into existential collapse. He realizes that he really is nothing more than a cast aside bit player in the revolution that is about to come and he is determined to stop it from happening. Not out of any kind of good will or redemption, but out of his own desperation for survival and relevance.

I’ve always been a tad skeptical of one of the final confrontations of the series being a duel between Asoka Tano and Maul. Not at all because Ahsoka isn’t capable of taking on a character like this wayward former Sith. She’s more than proven herself able and “The Phantom Apprentice” more than sells that Maul is definitely not acting at full capacity. (We’ll talk more about that fantastic confrontation later along with the rest of the stellar action here.) Instead, I was concerned that this clash would feel hollow. Ahsoka and Maul do not have an existing relationship prior to “The Phantom Apprentice.” Their big climactic meeting of sabers could have been nothing more than a set piece that was created only because they were the only characters free during the Revenge of the Sith era to have one. That is very thankfully not the case.

Filoni smartly positions Maul and Ahsoka as two sides of the same coin. As Maul was eventually cast out and discarded as useless by Darth Sidious, Ahsoka was also tossed away by the Jedi order by their own dedication to doctrine and lack of trust. Both are victims of their respective order’s worst qualities and exist as relative outcasts. However, the true dramatic irony of it all is that by doing so, both Ahsoka and Maul are arguably in better positions to survive the coming slaughter and possibly put an end to it. Sure, Maul’s argument for their teaming up to stop Sidious is mostly self-serving (even if I suspect that it does have some root in the sad sack of a Sith’s perpetual need for companionship and belonging), but Ahsoka considers it for a moment because she can see the truth in it all. It’s a fascinating moment and the fact that it feels emotionally genuine is a true feat of Ahsley Eckstein, Witwer, and the entire creative team. We can’t not acknowledge that incredible shot of the shattered glass and embers blowing through the wind as Maul’s fateful offer is made.

The final apprentice is of course Anakin Skywalker. Perhaps the most startling development of “The Phantom Apprentice” is Maul’s revelation that he is more than aware of Anakin’s eventual slip to the Dark Side and it was probably in the cards for quite some time. (His moment of post-mortem pity for Dooku is a fun wink to how doomed all of Sidious’s apprentices were on their eventual march toward Anakin’s ascension.) It recontexualizes so much of the final days of The Clone Wars and of Sidious’s plan itself. Of course as Anakin’s fateful seduction to the Dark Side is occurring parallel to the events of the Siege of Mandalore it is more than fitting that Maul is not the only one with Anakin on his mind. The brief call between Obi-Wan and Ahsoka comes from a place of compassion, but it ultimately serves as further example of Ahsoka’s suspicion of the Jedi. She sees a kindred spirit in Anakin at the moment that the Council betrays his trust and how could she not. The fact that Ahsoka and Maul’s duel happens mostly as a retaliation to the assertion that Anakin will fall speaks to her unbreakable trust in her surrogate older brother. It ends up playing as a bit of a fight for Anakin’s soul. Hope versus despair and denial versus inevitability.

And what a battle it is. Dave Filoni mentioned at Star Wars Celebration last year that they brought in original Darth Maul stunt actor Ray Park to assist with the animation for this fight and it certainly shows. While it may not be the most sprawling duel ever or as brutal as Pre Vizsla and Maul’s duel to the death, The Clone Wars has never featured a confrontation as fluid and dynamic as this one. The constant back and forth of the upper hand and the emotional instability of both fighters gives this encounter a strange edge that ratchets up the tension even if we know both combatants are destined to make it out of this alive. The final stage in the scaffolding that holds up the city of Sundari is a standout and brings to mind a similarly stellar set piece from Mission Impossible: Rogue Nation.

It’s not just our phantom apprentices that get in on the action this week. A claustrophobic showdown between Bo-Katan and Gar Saxon in an elevator shaft is one of the most inventive set pieces that the series has produced and Villanueva sells it with a cluttered intensity that never loses clarity. A prolonged battle between the liberating forces and Maul’s loyalists is similarly brutal and striking with sweeping tracking shots of the action that smartly know when to cut into the carnage and when to transfer back to other scenes. It brings to mind some of the great multi-tiered battles in Star Wars history and it once again gives big screen live action installments of the franchise a serious run for their money.

A few random final thoughts!

It seems only fitting that Almec would be gunned down by one of his own allies. Gar Saxon is poised to take over Almec’s position as the self-serving Mandalorian leader in the era of the Empire and there’s certainly some poetry in this sort of cyclical killing. Poor Mandalore. Planet’s not going to sort itself out anytime soon.

Jesse lived! I’m sure every one of us clone junkies were prepared for one of our last surviving 501st boys to fall to Maul this week, but through some small glimmer of positivity the newly minted ARC Trooper survived. I’m not sure we can be as hopeful in coming episodes, but I’ll take the positivity where I can find it.

I actually really loved Maul’s cameo in Solo: A Star Wars Story and it’s nice to see “The Phantom Apprentice” tee that up with the blink and you’ll miss appearance by Dryden Vos. Was really hoping for a tiny line of dialogue from Paul Bettany, but I guess that’s as good as we’ll get for right now.

Sam Witwer remarked several months ago that the scripts for the final arc of The Clone Wars were the best the series ever produced and it’s hard to argue with that. Never before has this saga had more on its mind or felt as emotional or consequential. It’s a nail biting stunner of a chapter and I’m genuinely in awe that we are only half way done. Buckle in folks. This is when the pain really begins.

Score: A+

#Star Wars #The Clone Wars #Clone Wars #Star Wars: The Clone Wars #review #reviews #The Siege of Mandalore #Ahsoka Tano #Maul #Dave Filoni

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our-time-is-now · 4 years

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May 29-30, 2019: Beautifully cheesy

(previous play)

You can find more information about the authors, translators, content warning and additional information about the plays in the pinned post on our blog.

Wednesday, 10:17 pm:

Matteo: *Hans and Linn had suggested Lasagna as a flatshare-dinner and have relatively quickly taken over the reins* *Mia and Matteo mostly sat at the kitchen table and tasted the wine that Hans had bought* *there has been a lot of laughter, a lot has been eaten and even more has been drank* *in between he thought that it's strange that the mix of 4 so different people somehow does fit together really well* *after dinner Hans got out some liquor that apparently is totally in at the moment and which unfortunately was also pretty tasty* *now, at almost half past 10 everyone is more or less sprawled out on the sofas in the living room* *Matteo is pretty drunk and really laughs about every stupid joke Hans is telling* *hears him say: "... and then I told him sorry, but you can't tell anyone that you're an artist, even I could draw that better"!* *Mia laughs and Matteo jolts* Shit! *he gets up but staggers so much that he has to sit back down* David! I have to get to David! *all three of them laugh and Hans shakes his head: "Sorry, sweetheart, but we won't let you into the Berlin night-traffic this drunk".* *Matteo shakes his head and tries to get up again* But I told him that I would come... to him... tonight... *Mia pulls him back gently but determinedly: "I'm sure he understands, just text him"!* *Matteo grumbles but takes out his phone* *types on it, grumbles, types some more and gets annoyed* Doesn't work... *Hans gets up and holds out his hand: "Give it to me, I'll do it"!* *it says a lot about Matteo's level of drunkenness that he really gives him the phone* *Hans deletes Matteo's jumble of letters and then types a message to David* WhatsApp Matteo/David: Matteo: Hello David, this is Hans, Matteo is so drunk that we would rather not let him leave tonight... *he stops when Matteo wildly waves his hands in front of his face* Tell him that I'm soooooo sorry! *everyone laughs and Hans continues typing* He says he's sooooooo sorry, but I think when he's sober tomorrow I'm sure he'll call you. :-) Good night, butterfly-boyfriend <3 *Hans sends the message and hands Matteo's phone back* And now we'll watch an episode of Ru Paul and then we'll all go to bed!

David: *has really spent his evening doing research on surgeons and mastectomy online and has written down three doctors that he wants to contact on Friday* *at some point didn't feel like researching anymore and instead has sketched a little to get his head free* *lost track of time and at some point flinches when his phone vibrates* *looks at the time and realizes that it's pretty late* *immediately thinks of Matteo and wonders when he'll be here while he opens the message and reads it* *hesitates for a moment but then answers* WhatsApp Matteo/David: David: Hello Hans, thanks for the information. I hope you had a nice evening. Good Night! *puts the phone aside and leans back* *thinks it's nice that Hans has told him and really thinks that it's more responsible for Matteo to spend the night at the flatshare instead of walking to him drunk, but is still a little sad that he won't see him tonight* *at the same time he thinks it's ridiculous and has to grin because for one, they have only said goodbye to each other 5 hours ago and they'd also see each other tomorrow anyways - he'll certainly manage one night without Matteo* *sketches some more and turns on music and around half past eleven he gets ready for bed* *when he lies in bed he realizes that apparently he has gotten so used to Matteo's clinginess and cuddling that he can't really make use of the space in his bed and the freedom of moving his arms freely* *tosses around a few times and tries to find a more comfortable position* *while he tosses he wonders whether Matteo's already asleep and takes his phone twice to text him, but then doesn't because if Matteo was really so drunk that he wasn't able to text him himself, then he either wouldn't be any less sober or would already be fast asleep sleeping it off* *misses him and feels weird because Matteo isn't that far away and it's only one night where they aren't together* *at some point does fall asleep, but it's restless and he dreams wild things and constantly wakes up because he thinks his phone vibrated or someone rang the doorbell* *every time it takes some time for him to fall back asleep*

Matteo: *thanks to the alcohol did fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow* *wakes up during the night and automatically feels around for David* *grumbles slightly when he touches nothing but the mattress* *pulls the second pillow closer, but that isn't a replacement either* *grabs his phone to check the time* *sees that it's 3:22 am and that he maybe shouldn't text David, after all* *briefly considers getting up and going over to David's* *shakes his head at himself* *wonders if he really is one of THOSE people who can't even spend one night without their boyfriend* *tries to fall back asleep but it's difficult* *only manages to fall asleep for a moment and wakes up two more times* *one time goes to get something to drink and one time goes to the bathroom* *tries to talk himself into thinking that he didn't wake up because he missed David* *shortly after 8 gives up trying to fall asleep and gets up to shuffle into the kitchen and make some coffee* *sends David a text knowing that it will reveal his dependence, but doesn't care right now* WhatsApp Matteo/David: Matteo: Okay, we tried the whole sleeping alone thing, I'd say we won't do that again... what do you think?

David: *wakes up again shortly after 8 because he had the feeling that his phone vibrated* *feels like he barely slept when he reads the message* *has to read it twice to understand it in his overtired state and has to smile automatically* *writes back* We tried, but I, for one, failed miserably. I miss you! When are you coming? *feels somehow calmer now that he has heard from Matteo but is still bone-tired* *has to laugh quietly because apparently it was the same for Matteo and he wonders what it says about him and their relationship but comes to the conclusion that they seem to be wired very similar*

Matteo: *immediately smiles when his phone beeps* *reads the message and smiles even wider* *answers* WhatsApp Matteo/David: Matteo: In one cup of coffee and one shower... so half an hour? ;) *thinks that all of his friends would probably make fun of him for being so addicted to David* *right now, doesn't care about that at all*

David: *feels the phone vibrate in his hand and only realizes then that his eyes have fallen closed again* *reads Matteo’s message and looks at the time* *writes back with a smile* WhatsApp Matteo/David: David: Hurry up! Maybe you’ll even manage in 28 minutes! *stretches and throws back the blanket* *thinks that he could go shower and make some coffee because if he stays in bed, he might fall asleep again and might not hear the doorbell, after all* *hopes that he’ll be able to have a little afternoon nap with Matteo* *so puts on some coffee, gets some clean but comfy clothes and goes to the bathroom to shower*

Matteo: *grins broadly when he reads the message and quickly answers* WhatsApp Matteo/David: Matteo: I’ll try my best! *pours himself some coffee and pours the rest in a thermos and puts it on the kitchen table* *puts a post-it on it that says “fresh coffee, I’m at David’s, enjoy :) M.”* *slurps his coffee, showers hastily and gets ready just as quickly* *throws some clean clothes in a bag because he brought back dirty laundry from David’s yesterday and then leaves* *manages to get there in 25 minutes and rings the doorbell*

David: *has finished showering and just taken his first sip of coffee when the doorbell rings* *checks the time and grins because it really took Matteo less than half an hour* *puts his mug down and shuffles to the door to buzz him in* *leans against the doorframe to wait for Matteo and smiles when he finally sees him coming up the stairs*

Matteo: *beams when he sees him and might go upstairs a little faster* *greets him even before he arrives upstairs* Hey… *kisses David when he arrives and wraps his arms around him* *drops his head on David’s shoulder* Missed you…

David: *returns Matteo’s greeting with a smile* Na? *starts to spread his arms a little even before Matteo is completely up the stairs, returns his kiss and then presses Matteo to him* *grumbles because he feels so good and has to smile into the hug at Matteo’s words* Me too… I’m so pitiful I couldn’t sleep half the night… *closes his eyes, breathes in the typical Matteo-smell and realizes again how tired he still is* *pulls Matteo into the apartment while still hugging him and releases the hug only a little once they are inside* I only had one sip of coffee, I really need more to not fall asleep again immediately… *grins slightly and asks* Kitchen or my room?

Matteo: *nods slightly* Likewise… *gets pulled into the apartment* *drops his bag on the floor and takes off his jacket while David closes the door* Then kitchen and coffee, otherwise we’ll fall asleep again… or no coffee, and we go have a nap?

David: *grins slightly at Matteo’s suggestion and longingly looks into the direction of the bed* *laughs quietly* Okay, you won. We’ll go back to bed… but I’ll put the thermos in my room for later… *pulls Matteo toward him again and kisses him* *murmurs into the kiss* I have catching-up to do… *lets go after all and quickly goes into the kitchen* *takes another sip from his mug, grabs another mug and the thermos and puts it on his nightstand before he drops down on the bed and reaches his arms out for Matteo* *is glad that he didn’t put on his binder in the first place to be more comfortable*

Matteo: *laughs with him and nods* Good… *kisses him back* Me, too… *grabs his bag and goes to David’s room and drops the bag on the floor* *kicks his shoes off and then crawls onto the bed and into David’s arms* *kisses him again before he lies down next to him and basically fully attaches himself to his side* *after some time quietly says* Do you think that we’re very pathetic for not being able to spend one night apart?

David: *quickly pulls the blanket over them before wrapping his arms around Matteo* *feels how he relaxes immediately, closes his eyes and simply enjoys having Matteo with him again* *has to grin slightly at his question and starts to run a hand through his hair* Hmmm… I felt pretty pathetic last night. But I feel better now that I know that you felt the same way… *runs his lips over Matteo’s forehead and kisses him slightly* *at some point quietly says* So we either have to do the whole sleeping apart thing more often to get used to it again… or we… simply are one of those awfully cheesy clingy couples that really aren’t able to spend one night apart…

Matteo: *hums slightly when David runs his hand through his hair and closes his eyes* *slightly nods in agreement at David’s words* *opens his eyes again and looks at him* *shakes his head* Sleep apart voluntarily? Noo! *has to think about Jonas asking if they’ll turn into one of those couples and has to laugh slightly* I’d say we are one of those awfully cheesy couples… *puts a hand on his cheek and kisses him slightly* Somehow I don’t really care what others think… as long as you are there…

David: *grins slightly when Matteo is so vehemently against sleeping apart* *nods in agreement and murmurs* I agree! *adds* … but we’ll scratch the “awful”! We are one of those incredibly beautifully cheesy couples… *gets kissed and then notices once again how his heart starts to beat a little faster out of love at Matteo’s words* *murmurs agreeingly* As long as we’re together! *briefly hugs him closer and both are quiet for a moment* *at some point quietly says* It hasn’t even been three weeks, but I feel like you’ve been there a lot longer… so… familiar and good and much and… *grinningly grumbles and hides his face in Matteo’s shoulder* Argh… I’m getting cheesy… maybe we really should sleep some more…

Matteo: *nods with a grin* Okay, beautifully cheesy… *wraps his arm around him* *hears his words and has to swallow slightly* *kisses his hair when he hides his face* I think so, too… and we just agreed that we are cheesy… *kisses him again and cuddles into him* … so we can enjoy that now… I think it feels wonderfully right… and I never had that… so… *shrugs one shoulder and then kisses David’s shoulder on which he lies* … okay, let’s sleep some more…

David: *nods slightly when Matteo says that it feels wonderfully right and murmurs quietly at his next sentence* Me neither… *smiles when Matteo agrees to sleeping some more, takes his face off his shoulder so that he can breathe better and pushes one of his legs between Matteo’s to be a little closer to him* *opens his eyes again for a moment to be able to look at him and smiles when he realizes how comfortable he feels having Matteo so close to him* *leans forward again to kiss his lips and murmurs* Sleep tight, Florenzi… *closes his eyes and falls asleep within minutes*

(next play)

#Druck #og druck #davenzi #matteo florenzi #david schreibner

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nancypullen · 4 years

Text

Where Is Home?

We talk about retirement a lot. A LOT. The mister wants out of the south because he hates the hot, sticky weather. I want out of the south for a variety of different reasons. He tears up when he thinks about leaving this house. I get excited thinking of a house with better storage, maybe even a walk-in closet and a big pantry. He loves the idea of townhouse living and all of the freedom it provides. I love the idea of half a football field between me and a neighbor. I wouldn’t mind being snug against a neighbor if we were in a walkable little town and I could have a white picket fence. As we age into our golden years I want to be on city water and city sewer. I do not want to be ninety when the well runs dry or the septic system has a fit. Nope. No, thank you. We have discussed towns from Maine to Arizona and are constantly trading articles about property taxes and real estate markets. Night after night I search Zillow, Realtor, Trulia (oh, those handy dandy crime maps!) and so on. I’ll send Mickey a house in Maryland to admire and mention that it’s just two hours from the world’s cutest grandgirl. He responds that he loves it. Then I send him a townhouse near Tucson and he says the same thing. I’m getting nowhere with this guy. Side note: Yes, I know Arizona gets very hot, but it is not humid. HUGE difference. Also, Arizona has two enormous positives - we could escape allergies and my hair would behave. If you had my hair you’d know that’s more important than the property taxes. Two major negatives would be that it’s too far from family and I can’t imagine never experiencing another autumn. I’m happily willing to give the townhouse idea serious consideration. I know that Mickey would love to never weed eat and edge another yard. Remember the good old days when no one did that? My main issue with townhouses is that they all tend to be multiple stories - sometimes three floors. Wherever we retire, that’s where we’re going to die. I don’t want to be unable to navigate my own home when I’m old. Same reason I refuse to have a basement laundry, I don’t want to drag baskets of clothes up and down basement stairs when I’m a little old lady. You know damn well a cat would trip me and Mickey wouldn’t miss me until he got hungry. Of all the chores I’d be willing to expire while doing, laundry is not in the top three. We’re not lottery winners so our options are limited. When we sell this house we’ll make a tasty profit that will allow us to find a comfortable home - nothing fancy, but we won’t be in a box under bridge. I can make any home pretty, but the bones have to be good. I’m more concerned with structure and mechanics. Who needs a beautiful house with a bad roof or an hvac system on its last leg? The region definitely determines what you get for your money. For the same price you can have this sort of square footage in the south (complete with inground pool)...

or you can opt for proximity to Portland, Maine and get this.

The second house is new construction, but it’s itty bitty, has well water and septic, and is missing the all-important garage that we’d need up north. This is a struggle, people. We just want a nice little house in a nice little town, hopefully one that will meet our needs as we get older. Other items on our wish list? Small town living with easy access to a larger city and a decent international airport. Part of my hunt includes exploring each town’s library website (a vibrant, busy library says a lot about a place) as well as their Facebook page. Looking past the mouthy keyboard warriors that lurk on every page, you can still get a good idea of the town’s vibe. Let’s see - fair property taxes, decent cost of living, small town feel, good airport, seasons...sounds like we should stay put and just endure long, sticky summers, right? Ugh, no. Our reasons for wanting to relocate are so much more than just the summers. Soooo, months and months of searching keep leading me to one state that ticks all of our boxes and then some. Minnesota. A myriad of cute towns surround Minneapolis and St. Paul, all with easy access to the fabulous airport. I’m crazy about New Ulm (I love a town with lots of festivals) and I wouldn’t be heartbroken to live in Mankato, Owatonna, or a number of others. Real estate is affordable, taxes are fair (and are used wisely!), all four seasons are present and accounted for, and quality of life seems really good - from healthcare to education to crime, they seem to have a handle on it.

and you knew there was a but, right? We could happily move there knowing that we’d be close to at least one of our kids. Matt lives in Minneapolis and the thought of having him nearby warms my heart. But he’s weighing the pros and cons of an opportunity that would take him to the east coast and more likely to far flung parts of the world. It’s quite possible that he’d be gone in a flash and we’d be in Minnesota, once again far from family. Right now we’re a day’s drive from everyone except Matt. Truly, we could do it in a day but it would be a miserable thirteen to fourteen hours. I have scoured Maryland and settled on a little place called Ocean Pines. It’s okay, a bit further than I’d like to be from airports, etc - it’s between two to two and a half hours to Baltimore, D.C. or Philadelphia’s. That also means it’s just two hours from my favorite little girl. That would be HEAVEN. But who retires to one of the most expensive states to live in? Would it make our golden years miserable? Who wants to pinch pennies when you should be enjoying life? HELP!! Where is home? I left Alaska more than twenty years ago, the mister was a Florida boy - we don’t want to live in either place. I love the prairie, he loves the mountains. At one point we were looking at real estate on Prince Edward Island (affordable and gorgeous!) but Canada doesn’t want us. Seriously, we filled out the online immigration form. We wouldn’t be able to live there year round and I can’t imagine having to go squat across the border for a couple of months every year once we’re old and rickety. There are pros and cons to every place we’ve looked. No spot is perfect and we have to decide what we can and can’t live without. If someone could just plop this house down next to my grandbaby I’ll shut up about this forever.

Imagine that house surrounded by hydrangeas in the summer. I don’t think that’s too much to ask - just a little pink house near some people I love. Some snow would be nice now and then. What a lovely dream. This boring blog post has been brought to you courtesy of my latest level of boredom. It was either this or go dust the bedrooms, so you had to pay the price for my laziness. My plan for this evening is to watch the Golden Globes and through that maybe find something interesting to watch. We’re approaching the first anniversary of when we locked down here on the Pullen spread and we’ve run out of shows to binge. Remember how naïve we all were when we thought we’d watch Tiger King and then lockdown would be over? At least we’re headed in the right direction now. That’s something. I’m thrilled that my mother is fully vaccinated and so is Dr. Matt. A handful of my dear friends are also protected now. I’ve lost some friends to this horrible virus, including the husband of a dear Rat Patrol member. Our little group now includes a widow for the first time. There’s been so much heartbreak over the last year. I’m ready for it to stop. Okay - what a crazy, rambling post. I think I’ll go dust. It’s probably more productive. If you’re still here, you deserve a cookie. Treat yourself! If you happen to know of the perfect town (I really just want to live in Stars Hollow) send me a message! I’ll put my dust rag down and check it out! Sending out lots of love on this drippy Saturday. Stay safe, stay well, stay sane. XOXO - Nancy

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letterboxd · 4 years

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Boxing On.

Chick Fight star and former competitive figure skater Malin Åkerman tells Gemma Gracewood about the meditative power of boxing, how Margot Robbie inspired her to become a producer, and her adoration for Tilda Swinton.

One of film’s earliest preserved specimens is The Gordon Sisters Boxing (1901), a 90-second curio in which sisters Bessie and Minnie Gordon go at it with boxing gloves, in full petticoats, in front of a genteel scene of a formal garden with fountain centerpiece. It’s theatrical yet strangely thrilling, possibly because women’s fight films are few and far between.

There’s 2004’s po-faced, Oscar-winning Million Dollar Baby, Priyanka Chopra’s 2014 turn as Indian boxing star Mary Kom, and last year’s Fighting with My Family, a good-time, must-see starring our girl Florence Pugh as a pro wrestler. But a global sports-fighting industry stacked with female champs hasn’t really translated into big screen chick-fights. The best woman-on-woman fight scenes are usually contained in narrative action (the airplane scrap between KiKi Layne and Charlize Theron in The Old Guard was one of 2020’s highlights on that front).

And that’s, in part, what attracted actor and emerging producer Malin Åkerman to Chick Fight, a story set around a secret underground women’s fight club founded by a therapist to give her patients a physical outlet for their rage. “I love boxing,” says Åkerman. “It’s not a man’s sport. It’s an everyman’s sport, it’s an everywoman’s sport. It’s a very cathartic experience for me because afterwards I feel like I’ve gotten everything out.”

Åkerman plays Anna, a 40-something financial and emotional disaster whose bestie introduces her to the club once she hits rock bottom. That friend, Charleen, is played winningly by comedian Dulcé Sloan, with a fun turn by Fortune Feimster as the fight club referee, plus Alec Baldwin as Anna’s booze-loving trainer, and former WWE star Kevin Nash as her recently out father.

Malin Åkerman and Alec Baldwin in ‘Chick Fight’.

Though she has has starred in more than 40 films, Åkerman is new to producing (Friendsgiving is her other film out this month). The hunt for projects she could take the lead on began after the jolt of missing out on a role uniquely suited to her: Tonya Harding in I, Tonya. “I grew up as a figure skater, I competed nationally in Canada for ten years,” Åkerman says, recalling that she hit up her team: “I just said, ‘How come I didn’t even get called in for this?’ And they said, ‘Well, because Margot Robbie built it from the ground up. She produced it.’ I went ‘aaah’ and a light bulb went up over me and I went, ‘Alright, that’s it, I just have to take things into my own hands and start finding material’.”

Chick Fight was scripted by first-time feature writer Joseph Downey, who strives to create female-led stories. Some aspects feel contrived—a rivalry between Anna and Bella Thorne’s Olivia in particular; Alec Baldwin in general—but Åkerman worked with director Paul Leyden, a good friend, to enhance “the female perspective and the female voice” in the script. This comes across in scenes between Anna and Charleen, which tingle with no-bullshit connection. “I think that the important message in this film was sisterhood. It’s so important to focus on the fact that women supporting women has so much power and strength. We need to stick together and we need to be this force of unity.”

In the pursuit of more projects, her lockdown has been a whirl of Zoom meetings with potential writers—a silver lining of the pandemic. “I’ve had time to focus on searching for new material. Just taking the bull by the horns and creating the material that [I] wanna create. That is the way to go.” Åkerman herself is partial to “films that breathe”, giving No Country for Old Men, Babel and Call Me by Your Name as examples. “I just think there is so much art involved in those types of films.” Javier Bardem and Tilda Swinton stand out in her “Rolodex of actors” as particular fascinations. “Anything Tilda does, I will watch.”

Malin Åkerman, Dulcé Sloan and director Paul Leyden on the set of ‘Chick Fight’.

Those films and artists, Åkerman readily adds, are “a long shot from the kinds of genres I usually get myself involved in”. Chick Fight, on the other hand, fits neatly in the Åkerman universe—a breezy comedy that balances silly training montages with meatier questions. While above ground, it looks like a classic comedy, the underground cage fights are filmed at high-speed to allow for the visceral, glossy slow-mo shots that come part-and-parcel with today’s movie fights—roundhouse kicks, fists meeting bones, spit and blood flying—and sound effects to match. “That guttural, animal instinct is so amazing to be able to release,” Åkerman enthuses.

It feels important to note, given the David Fincher elephant in the room, that Chick Fight’s only commonality with Fight Club is the three words “secret fight club”. Åkerman says the films that more directly influenced Chick Fight are Rocky (“this is the comedic version of that underdog story”), and the buddy-movie vibe of Thelma & Louise. “That’s the closest to this that we could get. It’s that ‘enough is enough’ feeling. I just love that film. It’s, like, ‘Fuck the system and fuck society as it’s been created and told us to be and not to be. Let’s break down those barriers’.”

The Thelma & Louise connection feels especially strong in Anna’s very sudden economic descent from small business owner to evicted, unemployed and dispossessed. It’s a clear-eyed statement, in the middle of a comedy, on the lack of a social safety net in America, particularly for women—and on the importance of finding your own community (and for many, choosing your own family).

Åkerman was born in Sweden and raised in Canada; both are countries with stronger systems in place for social support, and pro-women policies. “Everything seems a bit more logical over there.” On pandemic-ridden, post-election America, she says, “That's been really interesting, to take into account what kind of country we’re actually living in and what needs to be worked on. I hope that we continue to move forward and not backwards as far as women and equality goes.”

Among the many downsides of the coronavirus pandemic, one is the closure of gyms and sports clubs, an inconvenient side-effect at a time when exercise—an outlet for stress and frustration—is so beneficial for mental-health management. Which brings us back to the joy of boxing: “Most of us have so much on our minds; life is so full of anxiety, or stresses, and it’s so hard to shut that off.”

“Some people are able to shut up their brains by actually sitting and meditating. My brain just gets much louder when I do that, so if I am able to just concentrate on not getting hit in the face, I am completely out of my mind and in my body.”