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consummate-deviant · 5 years ago

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I reckon I’m gonna talk about Hordak for a minute

So, I feel the need to talk about Hordak. This is, perhaps, not unusual. Once upon a time ago, writing stupidly long pseudo-essays about characters I rather liked used to be my thing… and it’s still a bug that bites me from time to time. The timing certainly seems right! Homeboy has been the topic of conversation lately, thanks to the recent release of She-ra season 4, and the manifold feels associated with it. I’m fond of Hordak, as it were, so I don’t mind sharing my perspective on the subject, since there’s some confusion as to his appeal.

The two stances I see taken on Hordak most often, by those who don’t like him, I should specify, are as follows:

A.) He’s an irredeemable villain who has done terrible things, and I don’t see why anyone would like him.

And

B.) He’s a lame, nonthreatening villain.

I’m not going to be engaging with mindset ‘B’ quite as much as with mindset ‘A’ in the following post, in part because the reasons why he’s so lame and nonthreatening are kinda tied to what I’ll be discussing by implication, but mostly because my response to mindset B can be summed up with the following: “You are not wrong, at all. However, that’s literally the entire point of his character, so while you aren’t wrong to be disappointed if you were hoping he would be a more measured, megalomaniacal sort, it’s also not a failure on the part of the writers, since his lack of suitability for the role he was trying to play was always going to be what his story was about.”

Mindset ‘A’, though... well... that’s a bit tricky. Ultimately “irredeemable” is a personal value judgment. The threshold a character must cross before one audience member feels they no longer deserve forgiveness can vary quite wildly from another, and while trying to pass one’s personal opinion off as an objective fact is something of a pastime on the internet, I am- and I cannot state this emphatically enough- NOT your dad… probably. At least, I hope to god… Look, odds are really good that I’m not your dad, so… you do your thing and shine like the crazy diamond you are. I probably can’t change your mind, and considering I don’t even know you, it’d be kinda creepy if I thought I could! What I can do, though, for those genuinely curious how anyone could consider him redeemable, is share my own perspective on the character, and why I think redemption is the direction the story is going, based on how I’ve read the text thus far… So I’m gonna do that. Let’s go over Hordak as he has appeared in the She-Ra reboot.

Part I: Season 1 Hordak

Now see, when we kick things off, I totally get where both the ‘A’ group and the ‘B’ group are coming from. Hordak, as he appears in season 1, seems ruthless, intimidating, and single-minded. Hordak doesn’t carry the conflict in season 1, serving as more of a background presence while Catra and Shadow Weaver, who have a more personal investment in the central narrative, do all the heavy lifting of antagonizing the heroes and angsting.

This keeps the attention off of Hordak, which is precisely how he likes things. When people aren’t going out of their way to interact with him, then it’s easy for him to control what few interactions he does have. That’s what season 1 shows us: Hordak, when he has perfect control over his own narrative. Every scene that features him is shot with a low angle, often with his form either concealed in shadows or with his face partially out of frame. When he speaks, he’s always calm and distant… but calm in that ‘he could totally fly into a rage at any instant’ way that keeps people on their toes. Pragmatic, taciturn, perfectly measured and groomed,… pretty tall! By any metric a reasonable person can measure a competent, intimidating villain, Hordak circa season 1 seems like he’d pass the test.

Part 2: Season 2-3 Hordak

Here’s the thing... though... about season 1 Hordak... that we learn pretty quickly when we transition into season 2: Season 1 Hordak is a massive fraud. Like, seriously, he’s a fabrication created out of necessity to hide a single, prevailing truth: Hordak is an awkward dork who is kinda terrible at being an evil overlord.

I’ve seen some people describe Hordak’s season 2-3 character development with the expression “You thought I was Ozai, but I was actually Zuko this whole time!” Now, I like this expression fine. I’ve borrowed it a time or two in the past, but with regard to Hordak, I prefer to phrase it like this: “You thought I was Emperor Palpatine, but I was really the Wizard of Oz this whole time!” The former expression gives someone an idea of the tropes of the character pretty well, but the latter does a better job, I feel, of showing the relationship between season 1 and later seasons with Hordak. Hordak is a competent, unflappable, all-seeing leader… hey, hey! Pay no mind to the man behind the curtain! Hordak’s past… as a mindless clone created to lead other mindless clones in a mindless clone army… has left him laughably unprepared for the task of leading others. He’s smart, like, in a general bookish sense, but he has no charisma, no interpersonal talents to speak of, and doesn’t really seem to have any grasp of how to motivate his underlings, save to reward talent with promotion.

Out of necessity, Hordak keeps his true self buried underneath multiple layers of protection. The first layer is the season 1 illusion: Delegate direct command of his soldiers to a single adjutant, interact with that adjutant just enough to keep them in line, and remain in his sanctum all day, like the geeky shut-in he is.

The first layer is pretty nice, and seems to have bought him quite a few years running the horde… but what happens if, say, some uppity Force Captain decides to pester him with personal status reports… or some absent-minded inventor decides to raid his lab for a six-sided hex driver? Personally interacting with his minions for too long will reveal the illusion he’s been hiding behind! Well, fear not... This is where the second layer of protection comes in handy.

Yes, Hordak’s second layer of defense: blustering, shouting, and intimidating. Threaten them with dire consequences for bothering him, let them visit the planet with nearly-enough-atmosphere for a few seconds… do everything in his power to frighten them so badly they never want to directly interact with him again. What should happen if this second layer fails him, though? They learn of the most terrifying secret in Hordak’s entire arsenal.

...There is no third layer…

Nope. If a minion is plucky enough to peak behind the curtain of his grand illusion, and then bold enough to stand their ground at the explosion of hot air that follows… he has basically no follow-up left. One of my favorite nonverbal scenes in the entire series is the moment where he realizes that his screaming is having no visible impact on Entrapta. There’s a look on his face that seems to say ‘What the hell am I supposed to do now!?’… like, it’s clear the dude has never needed a third step to scare someone away before.

Ah, but you, my savvy reader, have no doubt cottoned on to the error in my argument thus far. Establishing that Hordak is an awkward, introverted nerd doesn’t really change the fact that he built the Etherian horde. The fact that he’s not especially competent doesn’t change the bad deeds his committed! Well, rest assured, you beautiful person who can claim no paternal relation to me, I agree! However, characterizing Hordak like this goes hand in hand with the other big reveal of season 3: his backstory.

Now, cards on the table, I’ve been taking Hordak as he comes, and up until this point I didn’t really have any strong idea of whether they were going the big-bad or redeemed-bad route with him. It wasn’t until season 3, when his origin was revealed, that I genuinely began to suspect that the redemption path was where the writers were headed, because it re-frames his actions in a subtle, but pretty important way.

With no Horde Prime, when one looks at Hordak, they see a man who orchestrated a corrupt and oppressive system for his personal benefit, who holds others in disdain due to self-aggrandizement, and is motivated by a desire to be seen as greater than everyone else. That is a character who would be very hard to convincingly redeem. While I’m loathe to raise the specter of Steven Universe discourse here, it’s a lot like the notion of redeeming the Diamonds… and, while I have no strong feelings about that show one way or the other, suffice it to say I can at least see why their redemption is controversial.

Horde Prime shifts the context of Hordak’s actions, though. Now, Hordak is a man who perpetuates the very system he is, himself, a victim of, because it’s the only system he knows. His conflict with others is born from the projection of his own self loathing. Said self-loathing comes from his chief motivation, which is to be acknowledged as worthy by an authority figure who has no interest or desire in ever offering him that acknowledgment.

Such a character is still flawed and villainous, because of course it is. If a character has done nothing wrong, they don’t need redemption in the first place. It’s a lot easier to accept the struggles of a flawed character if they’re a victim of oppression rather than its source. To borrow the SU comparison one final time, the Horde Prime twist reveals to us that Hordak isn’t a diamond, he’s just another one of the countless gems caught in their system.

By the by, does “perpetuates a system they, themselves, are victims of, suffers from conflicts born of projected self loathing, and desire to be acknowledged by an authority figure who has no interest or desire in providing said acknowledgment” sound familiar? I hope so! It ties into my final point of the day.

Part 3: Season 4 Hordak (aka “Hordak and Catra have basically the same arc”)

Now, implying similarity in the character arcs of Hordak and Catra has, historically, been a fraught endeavor. Even I, Hordak stan extraordinaire, felt that we needed to see a bit more of where the writers were wanting to take Hordak before we went and made comparisons. Then season 4 happened… and guys… the subtitle of season 4 may as well have been “Hordak and Catra have basically the same arc.”

Well, that’s a bit of an oversimplification. Catra had people she could perceive as her peers, which granted her a social circle outside of her direct superiors whom she could feel camaraderie with, which added a dimension to the emotional turmoil she felt, but in broad strokes it seems to be a comparison that the writers are inviting us to make. Their alliance in season 4 is based around their commonality. They motivate one another by feeding into the insatiable hunger both of them feel for external validation… in that regard, they bring out the worst in each other, and thus season 4 ends with both of them brought to their lowest point.

At the end of season 4, if the princesses had never arrived, and Double Trouble hadn’t been there to finally force her to confront the emotions she insistently projected onto others, Catra would have assumed the mantle she claimed from Hordak. She would have ruled the horde, devoid of satisfaction or happiness, and any children she took into her numbers she would have treated in exactly the same way Shadow Weaver treated her, and the same way Horde Prime treated Hordak.

To escape that fate, she needed her chance to face the system that oppressed her, and then the chance to face herself… and only once she had done both, could she start to move forward again. That’s why we see the start of her recovery in the final scenes of the season. Catra did unspeakably terrible things- by the end of season 4 her atrocity count easily rivals Hordak’s- and not everything can be blamed exclusively on others, but we, as an audience, have seen enough of what made her the way she is… that’s why most of us are onboard with her eventual redemption.

Catra is, beneath all the layers of spite and illusions of who she thinks she should be, a sweet kid who ultimately wants to reconnect with a friend she fears abandoned her, and to be respected and appreciated by the authority figures in her life. Hordak is, ultimately, a hikikomori dweeb who, not too long ago, was content to spend the rest of eternity with his gamer girlfriend in his lab, pretending to put together a portal machine.

The villain of She-ra is Horde Prime, and the system he put into place to feed his arrogance at the expense of those trapped within it. For those inside that system, like Catra or Hordak, they don’t cross the line and become truly irredeemable until they are given a clear and unambiguous chance to escape from that system and change their life for the better… but refuse to grasp it. Even then… sometimes it takes them a little while to see the hand being offered to them… and sometimes that hand is in the form of a fist.

In conclusion

Look, guys, I’ll be real with you… I made a play at pretending that I wrote this for some point or another… but I kinda didn’t. When I get into a fandom headspace, words get stuck in my head, y’know? When they do, they buzz around like bees until I write ‘em someplace… so here we are.

I’m not so arrogant as to assume I can change anyone’s mind with my 4 AM word vomit about the emaciated bat villain in my favorite children’s cartoon. This is just a thing I wrote! Maybe if you agree with it it makes you happy, and if you disagree with it then it doesn’t get’cha too worked up! I was gonna include Hordak’s relationship with Entrapta into the proceedings… but honestly, that would have doubled the length of this thing, and would have been kinda tangential to the point. I may do a more shippy essay thing later on… but if there’s one thing I learned from the last time I wrote a bunch of these… it’s that planning them out never works well. I guess if people wanna see it I can write it though.

Anyway, I’m rambling, so I’m gonna letcha go! Thanks for listening to my TED talk. Remember, villains are an artform, people are complicated, and hot cocoa is the best winter beverage. I’m going back to fanfic writing until the next bout of insomnia!

#she ra hordak #entrapdak #hordak #she ra 2019

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ghoulgeists · 4 years ago

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I HAVE QUESTIONS!!! ABOUT FLINT!!!! a lot so have fun :D 4, 9, 10, 12 :) 13, 14, 17, 23, 27, 42, 44, 50, 56, 57, 59 (i think i asked this before but i forgot the answer lol), 61, 63, 67 !! also i ask about seaweed boy !! 3, 5 lol, 11, 18, 21, 30, 40, 44, 51, 59, 61, 64 !!! and a few for cadma !! 11, 19, 30, 36, 48, 53, 64, 69

UM HEWWO?!?!? THATS A LOT OF QUESTIONS! I am so excited to answer these...

Answers are under the cut! This will be... Long

Flint

4. If they could learn one spell that isn’t available to them at present, which spell would it be?

Magic in their setting is a little different, and these questions are dnd centric, but I think I can still answer this! Flint would probably be VERY interested in divination magic, of any kind. So spells that could divine futures, locate objects, or show hidden things.

9. Do they care about their appearance? How much effort do they put into presentation?

In public, appearance is a top priority. They mingle with plenty of people whenever they can, and it's important to them that they give others a good first impression, so Flint's grooming is off the charts compared to most people.

When they're crawling around in the ancient dust of a tomb, however, the way they look isn't nearly as important as grabbing as many valuable burial goods as they can!

10. How often do they lie? What situations cause them to be dishonest?

Flint's no saint, and lies plenty enough to prove it. Most of the time it's white lies to spare feelings or to get out of doing something, but the bigger lies come when people probe about their past. It's pretty obvious they don't want people to know about who they used to be, and the bigger the secret the bigger the lie they tell to keep others off their tail.

12. Have they ever been in love?

Plenty of times! Enough to count on a few hands. It's infatuation that strikes them most often, but they have been serious on occasion too.

13. What do they dislike about themself? Why?

They dislike how weak they can often be, as well as how easy it is to take advantage of them sometimes. It drives them to take the easy way out of difficult situations no matter the cost.

14. What is something they love about themself?

They love their body! All the little details from the way their hair curls, the blue of their eyes, their stature, etc. They're very comfortable, proud, and happy being themselves!

I think this is the first character I've ever made who wouldn't want to change anything about their body for any reason :'D

17. What do they dream about, when their dreams are their own?

Beyond gold and riches, they dream about travelling to destinations both new and old, discovery, and about what stories they'll tell when they're old.

23. How do they feel about nicknames, titles, or labels that have been given to them? How do they feel about their name?

Nicknames are encouraged, but only between close friends and significant others! They don't have any titles or labels because they're not quite that infamous. Everyone who knows them refers to them by their first name, and that's what they're comfortable with because it's what they're used to!

As for how they feel about their name, they don't have strong opinions either way. It's the name they grew up with so they can't just toss it aside, but it has bad things attached to it as well. I'd say they think it's a ledger of all their (mis)deeds, and that's about it.

27. How do they mourn?

They carry on. But they swear to do better.

42. What are three words they would use to describe themself?

Confident, gorgeous, and amicable!

44. What do they need to learn?

To stop sticking their nose into trouble.

50. Can they sing? Can they dance?

Yes, Flint can sing and sings often! They will occasionally busk for lodging funds if they are ever scarce a few dollars, and have a very soothing voice that ensures at least a few people will toss them some coins. As for dancing, it's not something they're interested in, but you could always coax it out of them you can promise you'll be a good dance partner :)c

56. What animal do they most relate to?

Probably a dog? Fiercely loyal and trusting, but with a good nose (figuratively) for who they should let in on their vulnerabilities to.

57. What makes them angry?

Injustice, and the ideology that law and order outweighs the importance of the human condition.

59. What is a quiet passion of theirs?

While not exactly quiet, they have a passion for music! Singing and playing the guitar is one of their favourite pastimes.

61. What kind of flower would they choose to pick from a meadow?

This is impractical, and they also aren't exactly found in meadows, but they would go for sunflowers. Something big and bold and bright!

63. What fight has scared them the most?

They haven't gotten there yet in the story I'm building around them, but any fight where someone almost dies and they're powerless to help is always terrifying! :^)

67. What makes them laugh?

Clever jokes, outrageous stories, and the thrill that comes from doing something dangerously stupid and getting away with it.

Tangle

3. What is their goal right now?

Two things: serve their unfathomable god to the best of their abilities, and get sweet, delicious revenge on the fishermen that almost killed him. The former is his current priority, because he knows he has plenty of years to hunt down his would-be murderers. Revenge is a dish to be savored :3c

5. Do they follow a higher power? What are their thoughts on divinity?

Before he met his patron the only thing he was concerned about was surviving. There's no time for gods when you're eking out a poor life in some nowhere village, after all!

After meeting his patron, there is honestly nothing in this world he could devote more time and attention to. So their relationship with higher powers and divinity etc all are attached by one string to a single entity!

11. What skills are they proficient in? Why?

Arcana, religion, and insight for obvious reasons! However he's also proficient in intimidation, because while he may look like a sweet boy he's actually kind of creepy (in an insane cultist kind of way), and that's sufficiently off putting enough that he can be rather intimidating.

18. Do they see themself as a leader or a follower?

lmao… definitely a follower.

21. Do they follow their head, their heart, or their body?

HMMM, I am not too sure about this yet, but probably his heart! He seems like he would be easily emotionally driven.

30. What do they seek out from others?

Open-mindedness! People who would be -cough- willingtosubmittotheoldgods -cough- -cough- I mean, people who won't judge him for his faith.

40. Do they enjoy poetry?

Nope! Not that he's had any exposure to the arts, though. I guess it would be more accurate to say he doesn't have an opinion :'D

44. What do they need to learn?

That he's not special, and his devotion to his god means barely a thing. He has in his mind this idea that he's some kind of glorious, special vessel through which his patron does its dark bidding, but in reality he's just a pile of meat labeled "minion." Until he learns that awful truth, he's got an ego about his position.

51. What is the most beautiful thing in the world, for them?

The rotten bones of shipwrecks stuck deep in the sand. They're a good source of materials, a home for the night, and they make lovely silhouettes against stormy seas.

59. What is a quiet passion of theirs?

It's done out of necessity, but they enjoy sewing up and mending clothes!

61. What kind of flower would they choose to pick from a meadow?

Nothing specific, just any bud or bloom he can find :'D

64. Do they value mercy or justice more?

Probably justice! Although he's indifferent to things that happen to others, he is technically seeking justice for what happened to him, in his own… special way.

Cadma

11. What skills are they proficient in? why?

Athletics, performance and acrobatics because he's an active, swole boi! As well as that he's proficient in stealth and slight of hand because he is a smooth criminal, and he's also proficient in religion for a reason I cannot fathom or remember the reason for.

19. What haunts them? What doesn’t?

Like most of my characters… the past lol… specifically, the people he's abandoned on a whim, and more pressingly his former captain, who kind of wants to spill his guts :')

What doesn't haunt him is his decisions to leave. In every instance he's left people he's found himself in a grander adventure, and he's thankful and at peace with those life decisions!

Essentially, he has the mentality that people only stay in your life for part of the journey. There’s no such thing as a lifelong partner or friend, so while he does remember people he’s left behind he thinks that charting his own course in life is more important that unbreakable bonds.

30. What do they seek out from others?

Damn good company! If you're an interesting person in any capacity Cadma will probably take a shine to you. He can't stand a stagnant lifestyle, and wants to surround himself with people who will bring adventure into his life.

36. What’s a secret they’ve kept?

It's not exactly a huge secret or anything, and anyone with eyes can tell because he has scales, but Cadma is very hush hush about his dragon ancestry and blood. It's caused him no end of troubles and he'd really rather people see him as a person rather than the inheritor of a rare bloodline.

48. What do they see in their future?

Adventure, and lots of it. Maybe a couple near death experiences too, which he is not so keen on but it comes with the job :')

53. Which is more frightening to them: day or night?

Night. Visibility is low and it's too quiet. Fires burn too bright. You have to let your guard down eventually.

It's not a fun time.

64. Do they value mercy or justice more?

Definitely mercy! Cadma believes in second chances, and sometimes thirds. He's needed his fair share of them, so everyone else deserves chances too

69. How would they describe their party members?

Good fun and better friends! He's never been with people so easy to latch onto emotionally, and MAN is he attached to them…

---

Thank you so much for the ask, ilu!! It's so much fun talking about my characters, I love them a lot and the opportunity to get it off my chest has been really nice uwu

I am still accepting asks! And I finally have a page with links to my character's tags, in case anyone wants to peruse!

pwease... talk to me...

#ask #ask meme #sydney-jielin #flint locke #cadma #tangle #ilusm....#wild weast

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egg2k16 · 4 years ago

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40 Fanfic Q’s Answered

the server wants answers, and they want them now!!! from this post

1. Describe your comfort zone—a typical you-fic.

Smut and pining all the way. Also, falling in love via laughing

2. Is there a trope you’ve yet to try your hand at, but really want to?

Eh...I don’t think so, I’m always 100% self-indulgent, so what u see is what I want

3. Is there a trope you wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole?

Anything that has to do w mega sadness, I just Don’t. I can’t write anything sad, and if I do, there’s certainly gonna be A Lot of comfort afterwards

4. How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Care to share one of them?

I have 91 wips, motherfuckers!!! My latest wip is a daddy month fic!

5. Share one of your strengths.

I think, since I’ve been trying to be sparser in my words, I’ve been able to better emphasize what isn’t being said

6. Share one of your weaknesses.

No action scenes from me are ever good, lmao

7. Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

It was late at night, when he started to cry.

He didn't want to cry, but he did.

It's been years since he's last let himself feel, or was it since he was last allowed to feel?

He choked on his sobs, uncomfortable with his tears. He's forgotten how to properly cry. His entire body is shaking, and the connections between flesh and wire hurts.

He stops crying. He starts crying again.

This continues for another few minutes, until he feels as if he can't possibly have any more tears.

He wipes his face, pulls the covers up to his chin, and falls asleep.

(from Twilight on the Sea) I really like this bcus I don’t think I’ve ever really typed out crying in this way, n I tried to make it feel like it was a lot

8. Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

Cass was quiet for a moment. “... you know what? Maybe I’ll just go up there and surprise you.”

“If you do, then you already ruined the surprise, haven’t you?”

“Eh, I dunno about that. Seeing my beautiful face is a shock for many people.”

“Oh, I’m sure of it.”

“Hey, Koda? I don’t know about you, but it’s really late here.”

“Really?” Koda asks, then remembers that time zones exist. “Oh crap, what time is it over there?”

“It’s midnight. What about you?”

“It’s eight o’clock. Only four hours difference?”

“Oh hey, that’s not so bad.”

“It reduces our time,” Koda said, a bit whining.

“Not if I have anything to say about it.”

“What are you going to do? Move here? Send for me?”

“You’ll see.”

(from Together) This was a gift for one my best friends on here, @suncatchr , and it’s about his ocs!!! I love this a lot bcus while it’s a soulmate au, it’s not ur average soulmate au, and I tried making it as original as possible! And this blurb, I just wanted them to effuse so much love w/o having to say love...cries

9. Which fic has been the hardest to write?

If this is by posted fics, then I remember writing Look What You’ve Done to Me was very very difficult, bcus, since it’s also a gift, for @daniel-bryan , I wanted to write it Good, n since my buddy usually wrote from the love interest’s pov, I felt a weird pressure to write Daniel Bryan’s pov as good as I could

10. Which fic has been the easiest to write?

2 of my fics in Spanish!!! My oc centric one, Rayos y Centellas, and my shyan one, oye cariño, solo pienso en ti ! Turns out writing in ur native tongue makes everything easier

11. Is writing your passion or just a fun hobby?

It’s a very passionate hobby!!! I just!!! try to pour all of my love into everything I write!!!

12. Is there an episode above all others that inspires you just a little bit more?

I’m not sure!!! I just watch movies n quietly scream to my gay lonesome bcus No One Ever Watches Movies ;-;

13. What’s the best writing advice you’ve ever come across?

To just keep writing n not stop for details or forgotten lore, bcus it’s important to write down what’s firing u up Right Now. Of course, it’s very difficult following that ;;-;;

14. What’s the worst writing advice you’ve ever come across?

“No adverbs!” “No ‘said’!” “It has to make grammatical sense!” sometimes things Need those

15. If you could choose one of your fics to be filmed, which would you choose?

Was gonna say my rewrite of the end of The Rover, but actually, my SPN fic Ube . Shit was peak inspired

16. If you only could write one pairing for the rest of your life, which pairing would it be?

Eridirk (Eridan Ampora/Dirk Strider from Homestuck) all the way. The one otp that’s stayed thru thick n thin <3

17. Do you write your story from start to finish, or do you write the scenes out of order?

A little mix of both, and tbh it depends on the fic, but I tend to write chronologically

18. Do you use any tools, like worksheets or outlines?

I’ve started bullet pointing my ideas out before writing my fics, and so far, it’s been helping me be more streamlined n get my things written out faster n clearer!

19. Stephen King once said that his muse is a man who lives in the basement. Do you have a muse?

Is the need for representation in all the niche movies I keep watching a muse?

20. Describe your perfect writing conditions.

In my dark room, w music blasting from my laptop, the TV w a soft hum, I have the perfect playlist to get the mood right, curled up in my blankies, n my plushie Sweet Pea by my side

21. How many times do you usually revise your fic/chapter before posting?

Zero, we rely on autocorrect & editing while typing and die like men

22. Choose a passage from one of your earlier fics and edit it into your current writing style. (Person sending the ask is free to make suggestions).

YOU DON’T SEEM SCARED.

Del Rio shrugs. “Working as a cop, it makes you numb to some things. It’s good, it lets you react to things as you should, and not how you’d want to.”

YOU SOUND SAD ABOUT THAT.

He makes a noncommittal noise. “It is what it is.” He eats another spoonful of his ice cream, then gets a thought.

“Can you show up?”

HOW SO?

“Can you,” he tries, waving his spoon around, “Manifest?”

I DON’T KNOW. I’LL TRY.

“I’m sure you’ll do just fine,” Del Rio assures, and he can feel the air around him smile. The...world, he thinks, around him shifts just slightly, and there seems to be a chink in the armor for a moment before it goes away, as if someone had wiped the glass clear. He realizes that this is her, trying to show up in a physical form, step out of the phone.

He doesn’t know where to look, but then his confusion wanes when a butterfly shows up, fluttering towards him. It lands near his phone, skitters a bit, flaps its wings.

“Lucy?” he asks, transfixed on the butterfly. Its orange wings are bright under the sunlight.

I THOUGHT I’D TRY SMALL, FOR MY FIRST TRIAL.

“Well, you certainly nailed it.” He smiled warmly at the butterfly, and he had the crazy notion that it smiled back at him.

(adapted from The Policeman , the first fic I posted!)

23. If you were to revise one of your older fics from start to finish, which would it be and why?

Yeah, probably The Policeman lmao, I remember it today n I cringe a little at the very obvious refs to other fandoms I made. Despite that, it continues being one of my best hits!

24. Have you ever deleted one of your published fics?

Never

25. What do you look for in a beta?

I’m just thankful to have gotten a beta in general in life at all

26. Do you beta yourself? If so, what kind of beta are you?

I beta’ed once, and since English is my 2nd language, I pointed out syntax confusion, typos, n continuity errors

27. How do you feel about collaborations?

Can be done, it’s just that I am frightened. Tried doing that, it fell thru, n the new thing that came up, I still have to hold up my end of the bargain ;;-;;

28. Share three of your favorite fic writers and why you like them so much.

cries omg ok so!!! Chancy_Lurking ( @lurkerviolin ) is one of my faves, n we’ve become friends, n their Felix+ Sense8 series is the reason for it all, and u know it’s good if it managed to make a friendship that’s last its good while, and also they’re so nice, and we vibe so well!!! thegoatz ( @daniel-bryan ) is also now one of my bestest friends ever, and I wuv him so much, he is such a good kid, n he’s so enthusiastic about writing, and I hope that spark never goes out!!! And adamwhatareyouevendoing ( @skatingthinandice ) bcus she’s doing a rewrite of The Last Kingdom where it’s all gay where it should be and vnjkdfsnvkd God, what a wonderful friend!!!

29. If you could write the sequel (or prequel) to any fic out there not written by yourself, which would you choose?

I actually technically am working on a sequel to @rettaroo ‘s A New Kind of Touch ! Another promise I have to hold up eventually ;;;-;;;

30. Do you accept prompts?

Sure!

31. Do you take liberties with canon or are you very strict about your fic being canon compliant?

I try to follow canon as much as I possibly can!

32. How do you feel about smut?

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

33. How do you feel about crack?

Eh, it’s alright. I don’t normally look for it, so I don’t really have a solid opinion on it

34. What are your thoughts on non-con and dub-con?

I don’t want to read it, but I have so far encountered it twice very amicably: once here in a ficlet, and another in a longer fic on AO3, and they were both very good

35. Would you ever kill off a canon character?

Probably not, I don’t like sad things!

36. Which is your favorite site to post fic?

AO3! I’m RedLlamas on it!

37. Talk about your current wips.

Lmao which one. The one I’m currently working on is an impregnation kink turned “oh no I actually do wanna have a family” feelings fic!

38. Talk about a review that made your day.

Gonna be real w u, the best comments I’ve gotten have mainly been from my friends, who either write a paragraph or two going into detail of the fic, or just send a one sentence comment that’s just “screams!” I’ve gotten very few paragraphs from other people, n they’re always so!!!

My friends are the realest :’)

39. Do you ever get rude reviews and how do you deal with them?

The perks of being a rarepair writer is that the only people who read my fics are the ones actively looking for content!!! And they can’t complain about my work because No One Else Is Writing For It!!!!!!

40. Write an alternative ending to [insert fic title] (or just the summary of one).

All my fics are masterpieces, so I’ll do a summary change! For don’t you just know (exactly what they’re thinking?)

Dakota finds himself in unexpected heartbreak, and the universe decides to bring him in the direction of a night club with a dancer with stars on his skin.

#post #about #sbbookclub #writing be like

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roughentumble · 5 years ago

Text

alright, so, like i said i would, here’s the unedited chapter/rough draft of chapter 8, under the cut <3

keeping it basically unedited, so there may be typos, jsyk

Leg bouncing, nails chewed, eyes unfocused-- Jaskier is the image of anxiety, thoughts running around his head in circles as he waits for Yennefer to come downstairs. He'd heard what she said about making Geralt a tea, something to ease his symptoms, but questions still plagued his mind, and all he wanted was some godsdamned answers. He slumps forward a little, elbows on the table, and puts his head in his hands.

He's so tired of worrying. No answers, no respite, just... constant, low-level worry.

Heels on wood. Jaskier's head snaps up at the sound and there she is, decending the stairs, looking grim. She crosses the room altogether too slowly in Jaskier's opinion. His leg starts bouncing again.

By the time she's seated across from him, he's about ready to jump out of his own skin. "Is he going to be alright?" The words fly out of him, a little too loud, a little too fast, before she's even fully seated.

She makes him wait until she's sitting and comfortable, legs crossed. "He's not going to die."

The relief is instant. Just hearing that simple reassurance from someone who actually knows what's going on has his shoulders slumping and tears springing to his eyes. He'd been nervous, of course, but-- he hadn't been aware *just+ how nervous until now. It leaves him a little light-headed, and his hand flutters to his chest to quell his racing heart. "Oh," he mumbles, "oh thank the gods." After a breif pause, he tacks on, "And you as well. Thank you."

Yennefer shakes her head, something approaching fondness in the corners of her eyes. "Always theatrics with you."

He makes an affronted noise. "Excuse me, I just got some rather earth-shattering news, I'm entitled to a little excitement. I don't know what's going on, unlike you people."

That seems to bring her down, expression turning serious once more. "Right. He's been keeping you in the dark, hasn't he?"

"Yeah." He says quietly, rubbing his thumb across the pads of his fingers, feeling the callouses there-- a nervous habit. "I tried not to let it show, but... he was really starting to scare me, there."

She sighs heavily, and mutters *'that idiot'+ under her breath. "Well. I can't tell you everything-- it's his job to come clean, not mine. But I can shed a little light on the sickness for you." Jaskier inhales sharply, eyes lighting up at the prospect of finally getting a little clarity. "Because that's exactly what it is-- a sickness. Not a curse." Jaskier's face falls. She continues, undettered. "Magical in nature, yes, hence why witchers can have it, but it isn't catching, so you're fine."

"So--" He sounds lost, "so you're telling me," but as he continues the words grow bolder, angrier, "*you're+ telling *me+," heated, loud, "that he knew it wasn't a curse this entire time? He's just been-- been lying to my face, while I worried and doted and... and he just, what, didn't deign to tell me?"

Yennefer raises an eyebrow. "Don't shout at me about it, I haven't misled you yet, have I?" He grumbles, but concedes her point, collapsing back in his chair. "Much better."

She gathers herself for a moment, then leans forward a bit, hands resting on knees. Her tone shifts from informative into something more serious. "You should understand that this is a very... private affliction. Not only is it incredibly rare, but it also only afflicts those who are rather... witholding to begin with. He didn't lie to be malicious. Even if he were the most open man in the continent, he'd still be rather reticent to dole out the finer details." Jaskier softens a little, goes back to rubbing his fingers together. "Were he not a witcher, and were it not for the tea I'm about to supply him, he very well could've ended up dead."

He looks up at her sharply, heart squeezing painfully in his chest. "He--?"

"Rake him over the coals for all I care. But before you do, understand where he's coming from." She meets his eyes, tilts her head a little, as if sizing him up. "Surely you've had your secrets? Things you were too ashamed to share, thoughts too private to make known." He nods, averts his eyes. "He's scared. And I normally wouldn't betray his trust in telling you that, but honestly, I think he needs you to know. He isn't being cruel, at least not intentionally. He's frightened, and ashamed, so he hid it from you. Because your opinion matters to him."

Jaskier remains silent, and Yennefer pauses as well, allows the words to sink in.

"Be angry if you'd like, of course. He shouldn't have lied to you. And he's being rather stubborn about it all, if you ask me. You don't have to let him off the hook. Just make sure, if you're going to make him squirm, it's for the right reasons." She finishes, sitting up straighter in her chair.

"All I wanted..." Jaskier folds his arms across his stomach, curling in on himself slightly. "All I ever wanted was for him to be *okay+."

She sighs heavily. "Yes, I figured as much." As she stands, she curses Geralt under her breath once more for good measure. "Do with the information what you will." She says in lieu of an actual goodbye, and then strides out the door, presumably to work on the tea she'd mentioned.

Jaskier lets out a groan and slumps against the table, laying face down against it.

His stupid, awful, bull-headed, stubborn ass of a witcher, running him ragged, making him worry over nothing while hiding the true depths of the danger he was in right under Jaskier's nose, shouldering the burden himself as if Jaskier hadn't talked himself blue in the face about how he wanted to help. Maybe Yennefer was right. Maybe he *didn't+ deserve to be let off the hook. Maybe that would finally convince him to stop being such a prick about this.

He keeps working himself up like that, letting his irritation simmer. The image of Geralt bent over, clutching flowers comes to him unbidden, and he feels a pang of sadness at seeing his witcher so fragile, so... *exposed+... but he waves the thought away.

He just needs to set some ground rules, give Geralt a piece of his mind, knock some sense into the guy. He's going to march up there and tell Geralt how it is, he decides, and he stands up abruptly, determined.

===============

Jaskier marches right up to the door and shoves it open. "We need to talk." He annonces to the room, hands on his hips. Geralt blinks up at him, startled. "Yen told me," he starts, and Geralt instantly goes pale, "Yen told me that it's *not+ a curse, and, you know what else I learned from my conversation with her? That you knew all along, and you lied to me-- what, jsut because you're a *big tough manly man+ and you can handle it on your own? Well, I've had enough! Enough of the godsdammed lies, and the evasiveness, and the-- the *bullshit+, Geralt! You can't just keep me in the dark about everything all the time!"

He ends up in front of Geralt, hands still on his hips, and not entirely sure what to say next. He's realizing that he should've maybe come up with an outline of his grievances. They feel a little jumbled now that he's saying them out loud.

"Do you have any idea how frustrating it is, how frightening it is, to know something's wrong but not know what it is, or how to stop it, or how to help? I've been, essentially, squirming under your thumb for weeks now with no respite, all because of your--!" He pauses for a moment as he looks down at Geralt-- really looks.

He looks at Geralt, ready to chastize him further, and sees his wide-eyed stare. Sees his hands cupped to his chest. More blood on his lips. More flowers in his hands.

He looks... hurt.

Jaskier melts a little, expression softening. "Oh, *Geralt+," he says quietly, stepping a little closer, "did you have another attack? Why didn't you *tell+ me, why'd you just sit there and let me yell at you whlie you're hurting?"

Geralt shrugs, eyes downcast, pulls in on himself a little further, and the moment stretches out before him, fragile, like spun glass. Something in Jaskier's chest aches, and he wants to shout, *no, no, don't do that, don't close yourself up,+ but he doesn't want to shatter the moment, doesn't know how to say it without making Geralt retreat further.

"I... I deserve it." He says quietly, head bowed.

Jaskier makes a pained sound and suddenly he doesn't give a shit about shattering the moment anymore, he just wants to comfort the man in front of him. He rushes forward, clambering into Geralt's lap, throwing his arms around Geralt's neck, tucking himself into Geralt's space to hold him close, keep him from curling in. "No, you dolt, you deserve to be-- be chastized for making me worry, not... not sit there in agony and get kicked whlie you're down! I swear, you're always overreacting, always torturing yourself for no reason..."

Geralt sits stock-still, hands crushed against his chest, trapped between himself and Jaskier's enthusiastic grip. "Did you honestly think," Jaskier continues, hugging him closer, "that I... what, wanted you to suffer, or something? Did you think I was that mad at you?"

He's tense as a rock, like any wrong move might incite Jaskier's ire. Like a cornered animal. He doesn't say anything, but that's more than answer enough. Jaskier lifts a hand and starts running his fingers through Geralt's hair. For a moment Geralt stiffens even further, but after a moment his shoulders start to drop ever so slightly, and Jaskier feels him relax by inches. His head eventually droops a bit and he leans it on Jaskier's shoulder, pressing his face into the crook. "I... I didn't want you to leave." He admits, voice small.

"Oh, my dear witcher..." Jaskier rests his cheek against the top of Geralt's head, still petting. "And... what, you thought that I'd go as soon as I found out how sick you were?" Geralt nods, and Jaskier makes an admonishing sound. "Geralt, never, I'd *never+..."

"Should." He mumbles. "Got every right to. 'M no good as a muse, like this."

"As a...?" Jaskier blinks for a moment, processing his words, then he places both hands on Geralt's shoulders and gently pushes him back, just enough to meet his eyes. "You really think I give a shit about that? You're my *friend+. I don't care about the music. I'm not going anywhere, okay? You could literally set up shop in a tiny town in the middle of nowhere as a shephard, and I'd still be right there with you. Well-- admittedly, I might go on excursions to nearby towns n' such, to get nice clothes and good wine, but, I'd still come back to you. Every time. No matter what."

"I... really?" He stares up at Jaskier in disbelief, and Jaskier smiles back.

"Of course... I'm so sorry I let you think otherwise, I... I thought you knew. Especially after our conversation the other day. You're not just a job or a muse, Geralt, I... I thought you *knew+." He says sadly, brushing some of Geralt's hair out of his face.

Geralt keeps staring, looking up at Jaskier like he's a revelation. Then, all too soon, he's curling back over, coughing into his hands. Jaskier leans back to give him space, give him air, but keeps running his hands over Geralt's shoulders soothingly, murmuring gentle encouragements.

When he straightens back up, his eyes look a little misty from the effort, there's even fresher blood staining his lips, and two new blossoms rest in his palms, shaking from the effort.

Jaskier reaches into his pocket and pulls out a handkerchief. He reaches for Geralt, and Geralt ducks back a little. "I... I don't need..." he croaks out, and Jaskier shakes his head.

"You may not *need+, but I want to, so." He reaches out again, slower this time. "So let me? Please."

Geralt stills, and Jaskier sets about cleaning his mouth for him, gently swiping the cloth along his lower lip. "Listen," he says gently, still dabbing at the red on Geralt's mouth, "if you don't want to give me all the details, you... you don't have to. Yennefer said it's... personal. If you don't want to tell me-- well, I'll still pester the hell out of you, we both know that, but... just don't lie to my face anymore, alright?"

Geralt swallows hard and gives him a single, weak nod.

===========

Deep down, Geralt knows that Jaskier is wrong. He knows that if he told Jaskier the truth, the bard would leave. Or, at the very least, would pity him, treat him differently, start pulling away, and the thought of Jaskier present but distant is almost more painful than the idea of him gone...

but he wants to believe him *so badly+.

Hesitantly, he leans forward again, and Jaskier accepts him back into the circle of his arms without complaint, lets him tuck his face back into the crook of his neck. Jaskier's grip is gentle and firm all at once, calming and grounding, and he never wants to move from this spot.

*Just for a minute,+ he thinks desperately, squeezing his eyes shut and sinking into Jaskier's touch, *just let me pretend.+

#writing tag #just cuz like it has some lines i liked that had to get cut and i didnt want them to vanish into the ether

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david-lynch-ate-my-son · 7 years ago

Text

Kastle College Professors AU Part 2

(A/N: So I made some decisions about Danny and Matt and Maria that I’m hoping nobody hates.)

Part 1 , Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Epilogue

READ ON AO3 HERE

“Hey Karen! Wait up!”

Hearing her voice shouted through the sedate silence of the library pulled Karen from a bout of particularly angry brooding. She stopped mid-stride, whipping around to see Dr. Foggy Nelson, looking red in the face and out of breath, running toward her down the hallway. He stumbled a little bit—barely avoiding a run-in with a group of students who were exiting one of the library’s private study rooms—and pulled a pained face. Karen felt a stab of affection hit her as she took in his appearance: unkempt hair tangled around his shoulders, glasses askew and slipping down his nose, tie coming loose under the brown tweed jacket he wore more often than he should. He looked like every stereotype of an absent-minded philosophy professor rolled into one, and it was rather endearing.

“My god, woman. I’ve been trying to get your attention for the last three hallways,” Foggy slowed to a jog, stopping in front of Karen with his hands on his knees. “Jesus, I’m out of shape,” he muttered to nobody in particular.

“Sorry, Fog,” Karen placed a comforting hand on his back, patting gently as he slowed his panting. “I was just…uh, in my own head.”

There was something in the way she spoke that had Foggy glancing up at her quickly. A tightness in her voice—a kind of forced approximation of calm that wasn’t anywhere close to fooling him. He took in her expression: jaw clenched tightly enough to give an orthodontist a heart attack, lips pursed, and eyes shining with what Matt and Foggy had long-ago deemed “The War Look.”

“Uh-oh,” Foggy stood up slowly, with the caution of a man approaching a dangerous animal. “What’s going on?”

Karen exhaled loudly, deflating her tensed-up shoulders. Leave it to Foggy to read her like an open book. She supposed there was no point keeping her irritation from him—he would find out what was upsetting her one way or another. Looking around surreptitiously, checking that nobody important was within earshot, she lowered her voice. “Fucking Danny Rand.” She whispered his name like a curse.

“Oh Jesus. What’d the trust-fund baby do now?” Foggy rolled his eyes. “No wait—,” he held up a hand when Karen opened her mouth to speak. “Let me guess…he tried to get his undergrads to call him ‘sensei’ in class? Or no—he tried to give them all ‘Chinese names,’ and then went on and on about how transformative his gap year in Hong Kong was when someone tried to call him out on it?”

Karen snorted out a humorless laugh, shaking her head. “No—I wish. I’m afraid it’s much worse than a little cultural appropriation this time.”

Foggy could tell that she meant it. Usually when they were complaining about Dr. Daniel Rand, it was for mostly harmless things—he’d taken the last everything bagel from the faculty lounge or mispronounced the name of a female colleague he’d known for years (because she’d rejected his dinner invitation the week before). But this time, Foggy could tell, Karen was genuinely upset.

“Let me walk you back to your office, huh? And you can tell me all about it,” he linked his arm through hers and began to steer her out of the library.

Stepping outside, they found themselves bathed in sunlight. Blinking away the dark spots as her eyes adjusted, Karen felt a tingle of annoyance that she should be in such a foul mood on such a lovely day. Yet, in spite of the cheery sunlight, it was still penetratingly cold, and they huddled together a little closer for warmth. Karen dug her free hand deep into the warm pocket of her coat and began leading Foggy in the direction of the physics building (it had been almost a month, but she was still getting used to the change of accommodations). Despite the biting chill, campus was bustling. The quad was covered in students bundled up in groups, sharing woolen blankets and passing textbooks back and forth. The sidewalks were a jumble of skateboarders and pedestrians, trying to avoid collisions while still maintaining a brisk pace. And there were even a few students practicing hacky-sack in front of the dining hall (which was surprising, because Karen hadn’t seen anyone play hacky-sack since that scene with Freddie Prinze Jr. in “She’s All That”).

“So….the Danny story?” Foggy prompted, keeping pace with Karen’s quick clip.

“Do you remember how we went out to Josie’s a few months ago to celebrate Matt’s article getting published? And he was being such a bummer, pouting all night because he invited Elektra, but she never showed?” Karen asked.

“Yeah, of course.” Foggy didn’t mention that he remembered that stunning red dress Karen had worn—the one with the slit up the thigh—and how every head had turned when they walked into the bar together. Probably trying to figure out what a woman who looked like her was doing with a slob like him. “But, uh, what does that have to do with Rand?”

“Well, do you remember that project I was telling you about that night? The one about the perspectival positioning of embedded journalists—how I wanted to research the complicated use of second-person pronouns to account for participant-observer witnessing?”

“Yeah, I remember. If I recall correctly, you were slightly tipsy and going on about Judith Butler and Barbara Dancygier,” Foggy smiled at the memory. “Sounded like a really great project.”

“Okay, first of all, I was not tipsy, okay?” Karen yanked gently on Foggy’s arm, forcing him to look at her. She pointed an adamant finger at him. “When I’m tipsy, I sing ABBA. And I was not singing ABBA. I was just really excited about the project—which you might have interpreted as my being tipsy.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” Foggy smirked, deciding against reminding her that, later that evening, she’d actually started up a rousing rendition of “Dancing Queen” with the rather frightening-looking bikers the table over. “Questionable sobriety aside, still not sure how this relates to Danny.”

“I’m getting there. Jesus—have you no appreciation for narrative?” Karen stumbled into his side trying to avoid a puddle. The last thing she needed was to muddy her favorite pair of suede ankle boots on top of the Danny shit.

“I’m sorry. Clearly I’m a story-telling philistine,” Foggy conceded facetiously, “as you were.”

“Anyway,” Karen rolled her eyes. “For the past few months, I’ve been compiling research on the topic to prepare an official research proposal. I mean, I’ve been spending every free moment cobbling together a lit review so that when I finally submit a proposal there’s no chance of it being rejected. I’m talking pronoun theory, witnessing theory, the works. This project, Foggy, has been my baby.”

Karen paused for emphasis, and Foggy made an affirming noise to show that he was still with her.

“Well, I’ve been collecting all of my research on my professional Google Drive rather than my personal, because it will mean less transfer when I finally start the project,” Karen paused as they reached the door to the Physics building, while Foggy held open for her. Unwinding her scarf and breathing in the heated air, she continued. “Problem is…my professional drive is connected to the department drive. Which means everyone in the department has access to it…” She trailed off.

Foggy stopped in his tracks as the direction Karen’s story was headed dawned on him, with sudden horror.

“Oh God. Tell me he didn’t.”

Karen made a humorless little noise and jabbed the elevator button like she wanted to jab Danny’s eyes out.

“Yep. He did,” she ran an agitated hand through her hair, yanking slightly. “I just sat through a two hour department meeting, during which Danny Fucking Rand proposed my research idea to the Dean of the college. And—because it’s a fucking brilliant idea—he was met with resounding approval.”

“What the fuck?” Foggy barely managed to keep his voice down as they stepped into the elevator and hit the button for Karen’s floor. “You didn’t say anything? Call him out on it?”

“No—I mean, what was I going to do? I hadn’t officially proposed anything yet, and we all know that resources in the department drive are fair game for anyone. Plus, Danny has seniority; I’m just a nobody. I fucked up—I should have been more careful.” Karen leaned back against the elevator wall, banging her head gently against its reflective surface. “Plus, you know Danny’s the Dean’s little golden boy. His family donates enough money to keep the department funded ad infinitum. I mean, he has a fucking research library named after him.”

“Still—there’s gotta be something you can do. He can’t get away with this,” Foggy’s voice was hard and adamant. He was just as upset, if not more upset, than Karen. This was something she adored about him—his loyalty. He was ready to brawl 24/7 for the people he cared about.

“Well, the Dean suggested Danny stop by my office some time to get my opinion on some of his sources, so maybe I’ll give him a piece of my mind then. Scare him a bit.” Karen pressed the heel of her palm into her eye socket until she saw spots. “I’m just so…disappointed. You know, I left the journalism field because it was so ruthless and cut-throat, and I didn’t want that kind of negativity ruling my life. But it seems like I just went from the kettle and into the flame.”

“Karen,” Foggy laid a warm hand on her shoulder as they approached her office door. “I got your back on this. Anything you need me to do, let me know. I know some people who could do some real damage.” He raised a conspiratory eyebrow.

“Foggy, stop pretending that your Uncle Darren is a hit man. We all know he went to prison for corporate fraud.” Karen reached out a hand to turn the door knob and push the door open.

As she did so, she was faintly aware of a clicking noise, followed by a whirring noise, emanating from somewhere inside the office.

As she threw the door open, it took her a minute to figure out what, exactly, she was looking at.

“Holy shit,” Foggy whispered under his breath with childlike awe.

Her entire half of the office was filled with a circuitous series of ramps, tunnels, wheels, and swinging objects built out of what looked like her own office supplies. Pencils taped together with napkins (the kind she hoarded from Mama Fu’s) stretched between them to create little pinwheels; highlighters connected end-to-tip, forming a makeshift ramp; binder clips, laundry pins, and a plastic spoon all rubber-banded into a miniature catapult. Papers and pencils and glue sticks and books all thrown together in the most impressive Rube-Goldberg she’d ever seen.

She was so caught up gaping at the improvised machine before her, that it took her a minute to track the billiard ball on her bookshelf as it rolled from one shelf to the other—falling down, down, down. She recognized it as one of Frank’s makeshift paper weights.

“This is so cool,” Foggy was staring wide-eyed from Karen’s side, giddy. He’d never seen a real Rube-Goldberg machine in action—and this one was pretty unbelievable.

The billiard ball continued in its loop around the office, knocking down a series of binders that had been propped up on Karen’s desk. She tracked it on its journey, until it eventually found its resting place. Rolling across the top of her desk, the ball hit her little statue of Socrates (an office-warming-gift from Foggy himself) head-on. As it tipped over, she noticed a little piece of paper taped to the bottom.

Stepping over the now-scattered remains of the Rube-Goldberg—snagging her heel on a stack of spirals and barely catching herself from an impressive tumble—she reached for the paper.

Holding it up, she took in the small, precise writing. She recognized it immediately as Frank’s—he always wrote in these tiny little capital letters.

Hey Dr. Page,

The next time you hold the office hostage to entertain my students, I’ll do more than Rube-Goldberg your side. I know a lot of experiments involving fire.

XX Frank

Karen stared at the note for a moment, before bursting out in a laugh so loud it surprised even her.

“What? What does it say?” Foggy tried to snatch the paper from Karen’s hands, but she was double over, grabbing her stomach as her shoulders shook.

“Fucking Frank,” she managed to get out, clutching her side. “The dramatic bastard.”

She was so busy laughing that she forgot, for a moment, how angry she had been about the whole Danny business. All she could think about was how long it must have taken Frank to set the whole thing up—imagined him hunched over her office supplies, his giant hands taping together her pen collection with such precision. All because he wanted to tell her off for monopolizing the office the other night.

It was ridiculous. It was hilarious. It was so Frank—and it was exactly what she’d needed to brighten her previously-shitty day.

Of course, Karen realized, as she spent the next two hours cleaning up the results of Frank’s little prank (which, she noticed, he had managed to contain completely to her side of the office), that this meant she’d have to get back at him. Frank had to have known that she wouldn’t take this without retaliation. Now, the only question was how she was going to go about exacting her revenge.

Frank had a little spring in his step as he made his way back to the office. It had been two days since the execution of the Great Rube-Goldberg Prank, and he’d yet to see Karen in person. Their schedules had gotten a little wonky—he’d temporarily taken over an extra lab for a colleague who’d been ill, and it had overlapped with the few hours of the day he normally spent with Karen in the office. Plus, she had been leaving work much earlier than normal (he would later find out the only reason she had been staying late was to gather research for the project that had been poached by Danny Rand), which meant they hadn’t had any late-night work sessions.

She had, however, sent him a selfie of herself posing, glaring at the camera, in front of the remnants of his Rube-Goldberg. “You won’t know when. And you won’t know where. But I will get you for this,” she’d written. Frank had chuckled out loud during the department meeting when her text came through, drawing the curious looks of his colleagues (who were not used to seeing Frank show any sense of humor). He’d hesitated for a moment, then saved her selfie to his camera roll. He couldn’t help it—she looked so cute with her arms crossed and an annoyed look on her face (which was slightly undermined by the upturned corner of her mouth).

Opening the door to the Physics building, he was looking forward to the verbal sparring session with Karen that he knew awaited him. It was strange how only a few days without talking to Karen—arguing with her about the stupid duct tape boundary or how many cups of coffee she could drink before it became dangerous to her health—had him on edge. Made him feel slightly untethered. Frank was a man who took comfort in routine, and Karen (somehow, sneakily, without him noticing) had become his routine. He’d grown accustomed to walking into the office (stepping over her coat, which always ended up on the floor), and seeing her bent over her laptop, clacking away. He was even used to the vanilla-scented plug-in she’d put behind her desk to cover up the wet, rainy smell they tracked in, and the way she would get a song stuck in her head for a week straight, humming it non-stop while she worked. (The week it was Steve Winwood’s “Higher Love” was the longest week of his life).

If Frank truly stopped to think about it, he’d realize that Karen had become the only constant in his life. Ever since Curtis had opened his clinic for veterans suffering substance abuse, he only saw him a few times a month. David Leiberman had recently transferred to MIT to take a position in the CompSci department, which meant Frank only spoke to him occasionally over Skype. There was Maria, who he saw less and less because she was spending more time with her new boyfriend; and there were the kids, but he only had them for part of the week. Karen was the only person he saw everyday—the only other adult he checked in consistently. It probably should have made him nervous, how much he had come to depend on her company in the month they’d known each other, but it kind of felt good. Nice. To have someone he could share his days with.

Heading toward the office, whistling under his breath, Frank paused when he heard an unfamiliar voice from behind the door. A masculine voice. He was all set to turn around and come back after Karen’s company had left, but he hesitated when he heard the voice speak:

“Come on, Karen. Don’t be like that. I didn’t steal anything from you, don’t be so dramatic. Isn’t 99% of scholarship all about collaborating? Sharing?”

There was a pause, then Karen’s voice, deadly calm.

“Collaboration?” Her voice was lower than he was used to hearing it—tinted with something dark. Frank felt a twist in his gut. “You think what you did to me constitutes collaboration?”

He could hear the male voice attempting to respond, but he was cut off. Frank knew he should walk away—that it was a private conversation—but he was rooted to the spot.

“I spent months curating those articles—gathering all of the information I would need for a bullet-proof proposal. And yeah, it was stupid of me to upload everything to the drive, but you knew that was my work. You knew it wasn’t intended to be shared.”

“But I—“

“No, Danny. You’re not stupid. You can’t deny that you knew you were poaching my work. That it wasn’t friendly collaboration. And you have the gall to show up at my office, asking for my help on a project you stole from me.”

Danny. A prickle of recognition crawled up his spine. He knew that name—why did he know that name?

“Look, Karen. What’s done is done, right? No use arguing about it now, because it isn’t going to change anything.” That voice—that smarmy voice. Frank knew it from somewhere. He felt a sharp stabbing of something uncomfortable at the idea of that voice speaking to Karen. “What are you going to do?”

Karen laughed bitterly, and it was a sound that rankled. Frank was so used to Karen’s carefree laughter—the kind that bubbled up out of her by surprise—that this hostile sound made him feel cold.

“What am I going to do?” Karen’s voice dipped lowly, and Frank had to lean forward to hear her. He felt a little bit guilty for actively eavesdropping, but it was his office too. And, as strange as it might have sounded, he was beginning to feel like Karen’s business was his business. “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do, Danny. I’m going to be watching you like a hawk. I’m going to be waiting with baited breath for your research to be published. And I’m going to read it with a fine-toothed comb, looking for every minor mistake you make. And believe me—there will be mistakes. Because from this point on, you will get nothing from me. All of the work you do will be your own; and you and I both know that you don’t know jack shit. And I’ll be waiting right there—patiently—to publish an evisceration of your article. I will rip it apart. I will make a fool of you. Do you understand me?”

Dead silence. Frank was pretty sure he could hear Karen’s quiet breathing if he listened close enough. As he stood there, frozen in place, it dawned on him: Danny Rand.

He did know that name—had heard it muttered under Karen’s breath like a curse too many times to count. He was the “trust-fund man-baby with a penchant for cultural appropriate and social loafing,” to quote Karen, that drove her absolutely crazy. And from what he could tell, Danny Rand was also the kind of asshole who stole other people’s research. The prick.

Frank briefly fought the urge to barge in and kick him out of the office—get him away from Karen. But she seemed to be taking pretty good care of him herself.

Attagirl, Karen.

An uncomfortable silence seemed to drag on from inside the office, and Frank shifted uneasily from foot to foot.

Finally, Danny spoke. His voice sounded falsely confident—like he was putting on a show of being unaffected, trying to save face. But he sounded uncomfortable, clearing his throat unsteadily. “Well, Dr. Page, if you truly won’t cooperate with me, I guess we are done here.”

Frank heard footsteps, and shuffled away from the door just in time for it to swing open, revealing a rather harried-looking Danny Rand. Head down, he brushed passed Frank without so much as a nod.

Tail between his legs, Frank thought with a smile. He stood outside in the hallway for a moment longer, giving Karen some time to recover from her confrontation. He knew her well enough to know that she’d need to take a few deep breaths after a showdown like that. He also knew that she wouldn’t want him to catch her off-kilter. Karen had her pride.

Counting to ten in his head, Frank pushed open the office door and tried to walk in like he hadn’t been standing out in the hallway for the past five minutes.

“Page,” he said gruffly, nodding in her direction as he headed toward his desk.

She jumped a little in her seat, startled by his entrance and still a little on edge.

“Frank,” she tried to cover up the little shake in her voice with a smile. Confrontations, no matter victorious she emerged from them, always made her feel shaky. What could she say—she was a lover, not a fighter. “Feel like I haven’t seen you in days.”

“That would be because you haven’t,” Frank pointed out, surreptitiously studying Karen from his peripheral vision as he unpacked his briefcase. She looked a bit rosy—her cheeks stained red and her lips trembling. But her eyes—they held something akin to pride. She was proud of herself for standing up to Danny. Good, Frank thought, she should be.

“Ah, yes, well…then I guess we solved that mystery.” Karen shrugged with a sheepish look, running a hand through her hair. “Actually, I think the last time I saw you was…before the little show you put on with all my office supplies, huh?”

“Yeah, I got your text. So glad you enjoyed my little gift,” Frank chuckled lowly.

“Yep. Definitely enjoyed the two hours it took to clean up,” Karen raised a brow. “The place was a mess afterwards. Well, to be precise, my side was a mess afterwards.” She pursed her lips, but her eyes were laughing.

“How can you even tell the difference between messy and clean over there, Page? You know, yesterday I almost tripped over a basketball on your side of the office. Where the fuck did you get a basketball from?” Frank made an incredulous gesture toward her area. “And don’t tell me you have a regular pick-up game with your buddies on the weekends, Page. I’ve seen you trip while standing still—there’s no way you play ball.”

“Wha—I did not!” Karen sputtered indignantly. “I have never once in my life tripped while standing still. You are a shameless liar, Frank Castle! I’ll have you know I am actually quite the athlete.” She jabbed her finger toward him in an adamant gesture. “And I actually confiscated that basketball from one of my students. Wouldn’t stop dribbling in class.”

“Confiscated from a student? So you’re telling me there might actually be one, single, solitary student out there who doesn’t get along with Dr. Karen Page?” Frank was having fun now, watching Karen’s hackles rise. She sure was a sight when she got all riled up—it sent a pang of something strong straight to Frank’s gut. Something like admiration, but a bit more primal.

“We actually had a talk after class, and I think we came to a very reasonable agreement about the dribbling business, I’ll have you know. I don’t think I’ll be getting a flaming bag of dog shit on my doorway any time soon,” Karen narrowed her eyes at him. “And you’re just trying to get me off topic—we were talking about the little stunt you pulled the other day. More specifically, I was about to tell you how royally-screwed you are, because I am going to get you back.”

“Oh, is that what we were talking about? I thought we were just shooting the shit. I didn’t know we were talking about entering into a blood feud,” Frank crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. Karen lost her concentration for a moment, admiring the flex of his delicious biceps. Frank noticed the direction of her attention and felt a smirk working its way to his lips. Noticing his smug look, Karen’s eyes snapped back to up to Frank’s.

“Look, buddy. Every feud with Karen Page is a blood feud. I don’t know any other way about it.”

“Why does that not surprise me?” Frank grinned.

“Because I am a force to be reckoned with, Castle.” Karen twirled a pen between her fingers, looking self-satisfied. “A take-no-prisoners kind of woman.”

“Damn right you are,” Frank nodded, his voice dropping into a lower register—one that made Karen’s insides clench. He was suddenly staring at her with such intensity, all humor gone from his eyes. Karen almost dropped her pen, startled at Frank’s change of tone. Startled that he’d agreed with her, and so forcefully.

“Yeah,” Karen smiled, “damn right I am.” She paused. “Hey, you’re not just agreeing with me because you think I’ll call off the feud, are you?” Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it, ma’am.”

A two weeks later, and Karen still wasn’t sure how she was planning on getting back at Frank. Not that it bothered her too much, not having a plan—Karen was a patient woman. She was more than prepared to wait for just the right opportunity to arise to exact her revenge. No matter how long it took. Though she was hoping that inspiration wouldn’t take too long to visit, because Frank had been busting her balls nonstop about her vow of revenge. Every time he came into the office, he made a big deal about poking his head around the door theatrically, as if looking for a trap. He’d put on a show opening his drawers, tip-toeing around cautiously, checking his seat before he sat down—all the while sending Karen faux-nervous glances as he went about. He was such a sarcastic little shit about it, but if Karen were honest with herself, she would admit that she kind of loved it.

On the plus side, she hadn’t heard from Danny since their stand-off in the office. She also hadn’t heard from the Dean, so she assumed that Danny hadn’t ratted her out for threatening him with academic, if not bodily, harm. So at least he wasn’t a fink, she’d give him that.

After their confrontation, Karen had felt a brief moment of annoyance at herself for letting the whole thing get out of hand. They were adults, for fuck’s sake, and highly-educated adults at that. They weren’t meant to be arguing and throwing shade at each other like bored housewives on VH1. All of that drama was meant to be confined to the undergraduate students, who were barely adults; not the professors, who were meant to be above such things. But all her self-doubt had flown out the window as soon as Frank had breezed into the office. He had a way of making her forget all of the things she had been so worried about moments before—sucked her into playful banter that made her feel lighter somehow.

As she shifted back and forth on uncomfortable high heels, a drink in her hand, Karen wished that Frank were with her now, if only to distract her from how awkward these faculty mixers tended to be. She could just imagine him standing next to her in the corner by the punch bowl, leaning over to whisper mean things in her ear about all of their least favorite colleagues. He’d probably make some snide remark about Dr. Wexler’s god-awful toupee, and Karen would have laughed gleefully as revenge for the time that he’d pinched her butt in the special collections archives when she’d bent over to pick up a book.

But when she’d left for the get-together earlier that afternoon, he’d informed her that it was his afternoon to pick up the kids and drop them off at their mother’s, so he would be late. It was a little weird to be showing up somewhere without Frank. Since they’d been forced to share their office space, they’d taken to carpooling to faculty events—unlike Karen, Frank actually had a car. It was mainly, he said, for driving out to the ‘burbs where his ex-wife lived. And Karen was never one to refuse a ride anywhere; it was just easier (and more eco-friendly) that way. Or, at least that’s what Karen told herself. And if she happened to breathe extra deeply while sitting in the passenger seat of his car, letting his Frank scent envelope her, then that was just her little secret.

“Hey there, Doctor,” Foggy’s voice broke her from her reverie, and she looked up to see her favorite philosophy professor approaching with Matt at his side. She was a little surprised at Matt’s presence—she hadn’t been aware that he’d returned from sabbatical.

“Doctor,” Karen replied, nodding at Foggy. “Doctor,” she repeated, looking to Matt.

“Doctor,” Matt replied, with a gesture toward Karen. It was a silly little bit they did every time the three of them got together—borne largely out of Foggy’s obsession with M.A.S.H.

“You know, Karen, every time I think you can’t get any prettier, you go and outdo yourself,” Foggy smiled, gesturing to Karen’s dress. It was a pale blue, strappy number, and it nearly matched the shade of her eyes. “I would ask Matt to corroborate, but, y’know…” Foggy gestured at Matt’s eyes.

“Come on, Fog, it’s not nice to make fun of the blind,” Matt tried for stern, but the corner of his mouth lifted slightly.

Karen was glad for Foggy’s company, but things with Matt were a little weird. They’d had a kind of “fling” a while back—nothing serious, a few dates here and there. And she’d thought they were on track for a real relationship. She’d liked him a lot—he was thoughtful and intelligent and empathetic (even if, as a Religious Studies professor, he could be a little self-righteous). But then his ex, Elektra, had shown up out of nowhere, and he’d dropped Karen like a bad habit. As far as she could tell, the fling with Elektra hadn’t lasted long either—which, honestly, serves him right. The story she got from Foggy was that Elektra got bored of Matt’s baggage and took off to somewhere exotic, which prompted Matt to take his sabbatical a little early to “get away from it all.”

But now, apparently, he was back. And Karen still wasn’t entirely sure how to act around him. She wasn’t angry at him, per se…it’s not like they’d really been dating. But she was a little bit hurt.

“So, Matt…” she started, a little awkwardly, and took a sip from her cup just to have something to do. “I heard you were working on your research with a group of monks. That sounds…fun?”

Matt chuckled, “Well, I’m not sure you go to the monks to learn how to party.”

“Hey, didn’t Jesus turn water into wine? That guy sounds like he’d be great at a party!” Foggy held up his own cup in a toasting gesture.

“I was in Tibet, Fog. Y’know…Buddhists? So no water to wine, I’m afraid. Though I did drink something called Chhaang while I was there. Not exactly Bud Light, but it did the trick.”

“You know, I bet more people would be monks if they promised to teach them the whole water to wine trick,” Foggy said, looking thoughtful.

“They’d get invited to more parties,” Matt pointed out.

“Get more chicks,” Foggy rejoined.

“Not that they would be able to do anything with the chicks.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes I man just likes to feel wanted, you know?”

Karen watched their exchange, shaking her head. Matt and Foggy were always like this when they were together—bantering back and forth like it was their job.

“Well, sounds like we better get the Pope on the horn, Fog. You’ve got some real effective PR advice to give out.” Karen made a sweeping gesture with her hand, as though she could imagine a billboard with her words written upon them: “Become a monk—never buy alcohol again.” Karen shrugged. “I guess nothing says religion like alcoholism.”

“The Pope wishes he could get me for PR. If I were in charge, I’d definitely play up the Party Jesus angle. Not only is there the wine thing, but also the fact that he hung out with prostitutes. Sex sells, you know.”

“I feel like I should point out that we are all going to hell,” Matt shook his head. “Blasphemers, the lot of us.”

“Maybe you’re going to hell, Matty. I do enough good deeds to make up for my transgressions,” Karen nudged Matt with her elbow, and he stumbled slightly.

“Pretty sure that’s not how Christianity works, Karen,” he righted himself, shaking his head.

“Eh, what does he know?” Foggy dismissed Matt with the wave of a hand. “Tell you what, Karen. When the Pope hires me on as a PR consultant, I’ll put in a good word for you.”

“Well thanks, Foggy. This must be what having real friends feels like.” Karen put a hand to her chest to show how touched she was.

“I don’t know why I hang out with you two,” Matt muttered under his breath. Karen stuck her tongue out at Matt, belatedly realizing that he couldn’t see it, causing Foggy to dissolve into laughter as Matt stood there looking confused.

And that’s how Frank found Karen as he walked into the bar where the staff mixer was held every year (chosen for its convenient location across the street from main campus). Laughing with her friends, head thrown back. Frank’s heart constricted suddenly at the sight, and he felt a whoosh of air leave him without permission. There, standing across the room, in a darkened corner, she looked like a fucking dream. Of course Frank had always recognized that Karen was attractive—since the first moment she’d walked through the door to his office, he’d had a healthy appreciate for the lines of her body, the depth of those blue eyes, the plushness of that smile.

But there was something different between the way a man admired an attractive woman he didn’t know, and the way he admired an attractive woman whose laugh he would recognize anywhere. It was different, knowing that Karen wasn’t just the kind of woman who turned heads on the street. She was also the kind of woman who picked up an extra bagel for you at the coffee place you like when she noticed you rushing in late for work; the kind of woman who wrote encouraging notes at the top of her student’s papers if they were having a rough semester; who looked at people she didn’t understand with empathy—always empathy—first, before reaching for hate; the kind of woman who stood up for herself, and didn’t take shit from nobody. The kind of woman you could talk to for hours, without even realizing the hours had flown by.

And that was special. That was more than just a pretty face. That was something Frank wasn’t entirely sure how to process as he made his way over to her little gathering of friends.

“Frank!” Karen said his name with such joy, it made a man feel good about himself.

“Hey, Kare,” he nodded, tucking his hands into his pockets. He glanced at her friends. He recognized the blonde—Foggy—as the guy Karen got lunch with a few times a week. Nice guy, as far as Frank could tell, if a little bit scattered. The brunette, however, he did not recognize.

What he did recognize was the way the other man’s back went ramrod straight as soon as he heard Frank’s voice. The way the man shifted subtly closer to Karen, until his arm was brushing the outside of hers. Yes, this was something Frank recognized instantly—the stance of a man who felt threatened, who felt the impulse to claim his territory. Which was, apparently, Karen. Frank’s brow furrowed—he didn’t like that idea.

“Oh, Foggy, you know Frank.” Karen gestured to Frank with her cup.

“Well yeah, you talk about him enough,” Foggy grinned, and Frank noticed the tips of Karen’s ears blushing a little pink. “Nice to meet you in person, though.” He held out his hand for Frank to shake.

“And I’m Matthew Murdock.” Matt didn’t wait to be introduced, sticking his hand out with a kind of confidence that bordered on arrogance. Just as Frank knew he would, Murdock squeezed his hand just a little too hard in a rather juvenile show of alpha-male aggression.

“Oh! Matt, you’ve been on sabbatical, so you haven’t heard,” Karen placed a hand on Matt’s arm to direct his attention, and Matt’s face spread in a shit-eating grin at the contact. “Frank’s my new office mate. Well, I kind of invaded his office until the liberal arts building is all dried out. So he’s gotta deal with me 24/7 these days.” Matt’s grin dropped, a change Frank didn’t miss.

“Oh?” He asked, “How interesting. I bet you’re just driving him crazy with how messy you are, huh? I swear, walking into your office used to be a real health hazard for me—not a very blind-friendly place.” Matt raised a brow as Karen wrinkled her nose.

“Actually, Karen’s not that bad,” Frank piped up, earning a smile. “We’ve actually got a little system going to keep it copacetic.”

“See, Matt! I’m not that bad,” Karen threw her hands up in triumph. “In fact, I think Frank’s beginning to rub off on me. The other day, I actually washed out all of my coffee mugs before I grabbed a new one.” She sounded so proud of herself, Frank didn’t want to point out that she’d only washed the mugs because she’d run out of clean ones.

“Well that’s character development if I’ve ever seen it,” Foggy said patronizingly. “Maybe in a few weeks Frank will get you to stop hoarding napkins and paper plates in your desk.”

“The man can’t do miracles, Fog,” Karen shook her head.

“No, I guess he can’t,” Foggy shrugged, “But you know who could do miracles? Monks! If we taught them the whole water-to-wine thing!”

“Are we back to that, Fog? Haven’t blasphemed the name of the Lord enough for the evening?” Karen played at being exasperated. Frank watched the exchange with curiosity—he didn’t know what they were talking about, but he liked that she looked so happy. Foggy made her smile, so he was okay in Frank’s book. Matt, on the other hand, he wasn’t too sure about. The man had been gazing at Frank intensely throughout the exchange, his unseeing eyes strangely forceful.

“So Frank,” Matt spoke up, “you married?”

Karen and Foggy exchanged a look, confused about the sudden change of topic. Frank almost snorted a laugh.

“Uh, no, actually. Divorced.”

“Huh—kids?” Matt pushed.

“Two of ‘em. Lisa and Frankie.”

“Must not leave a whole lot of time for you to date these days, huh?”

“I do okay.” Frank’s voice was tight.

“Oh, so you date a lot, then? Get around?”

There was a tense pause, in which Frank’s jaw ticked dangerously, then—

“Wow, Matt. You just met the man and you’re already trying to feel out if he’s single,” Foggy broke in, chuckling uncomfortably. “I know you’re desperate for some loving, dude, but I don’t think Frank swings that way.”

Matt snorted dismissively, and Frank’s lips drew down into a tight line.

Karen looked back and forth between Matt and Frank. Something weird was going on, but she didn’t quite know what it was. And she wasn’t sure she wanted to. All she knew was that it was a little bit uncomfortable. And that she was thankful Foggy was there to cut the tension.

“Just trying to get to know the guy who’s spending so much time without our Karen,” Matt said lightly, shrugging.

Our Karen, Frank noticed. He didn’t like the idea of Matt trying to claim ownership of Karen, like she could be owned. By anyone.

“Well, super weird get-to-know-you questions, Matty.” Foggy tried to break the edgy atmosphere with a laugh.

Karen was feeling increasingly out-of-place, so when the opportunity arose to dip out of the situation, she was quite grateful.

“Dr. Page,” a diminutive, grey-haired woman Frank recognized as one of Karen’s colleagues in the Journalism department suddenly appeared at her elbow. “So sorry to interrupt, but I was wondering if you might talk to my good friend Dr. Pike over there—he was asking about some of the work you did on that animal cruelty story on Phuket.”

“Oh, sure!” Karen felt relieved to be given an out. Turning to Frank, Foggy, and Matt, she shrugged. “Excuse me, boys. I’ve got some elbows to rub.” Frank watched her hair sway down her back as she walked away.

“Well,” Foggy rocked back and forth on his heels, eyes darting around the room. “I just saw them bring out a new round of appetizers, so I’m going to go grab a handful. Or two.” Foggy created his own little opportunity to escape whatever weird pissing contest Matt was trying to start with Frank.

Which left Frank standing alone, in the corner of the bar, next to Murdock. There was a strained silence, in which Frank looked around for an excuse—any excuse—to disengage.

“You know, I’m actually glad Karen had someone looking after her while I was gone,” Matt spoke, and Frank’s head jerked in surprise. Looking after her?

“Uh, well, I don’t really think Karen needs anyone looking after her. Seems to take pretty great care of things herself,” Frank heard the tiny edge of annoyance in his voice. He didn’t like the idea of anyone thinking Karen needed looking after. It was patronizing. Karen wasn’t a child, and she wasn’t a belonging. She was a human being—and a pretty damn great one at that.

“I can see how you would think that,” Matt tilted his head in concession. “She comes off pretty tough. But when you’ve known her as long as I have, you’ll see that she’s actually very fragile.”

When you’ve known her as long as I have. Frank knew the meaning behind that statement—it was Matt’s subtle way of proving how much better he knew Karen than Frank. Of bringing up the fact that they obviously had some kind of history together that Frank wasn’t privy to. It was a statement designed to stake a claim. But all it accomplished was convincing Frank how little Matt actually did know Karen.

Sure, she was a bleeding heart. All compassion and gentleness. But only with those who deserved it. When push came to shove, Frank knew, Karen was one tough woman. At her core, that’s what she was—strong.

“Yeah, I don’t know about that, Murdock.” Frank clenched and flexed his hands in his coat pockets.

“Well I do, Frank.”

Frank wanted to say something else, but bit his tongue.

“You know, Matt, I think I see a buddy of mine over there,” Frank gestured vaguely to the opposite end of the room, then remembered that Matt couldn’t see it. “I’ll see you around.”

He walked away with a bad taste in his mouth.

Three hours later, and the mixer was starting to wind down. Dr. Wexler and his bad toupee were listing slightly to one side, looking a little more than tipsy, Dr. Nichols had already ducked away into the ladies room for her usual crying spell, and Dr. Ramirez had made his final attempt at getting a karaoke version of “Turn Around, Bright Eyes” going. So, in other words, it was time to wrap things up.

Dipping into the ladies before heading home, Karen noticed a neon pink flier taped to the bathroom mirror.

“Feel like you have an interesting life story? Something to say? Want to volunteer to help out your friendly, neighborhood Journalism 101 students?

We are now looking for volunteers to participate in a journalism project. 2 hour time commitment, sit down and have your story told. Sign up here to volunteer.”

And then there was a QR code posted below. If Karen were a cartoon character, she thought, a light bulb would have gone off above her head.

All this time she had been waiting for the perfect way to get Frank back for his prank. Something that would annoy the shit out of him. Something clever—that he wouldn’t see coming. And here it was. Finally.

She pulled out her phone, took a photo of the QR code, and started typing in Frank’s contact information.

#kastle #kastle au #frank castle #karen page #the punisher

69 notes · View notes

its-love-u-asshole · 7 years ago

Text

Run and Hide [fic]

Pairing: Kuroo Tetsurou/Tsukishima Kei

Summary: Kei was never one to turn down a good scary movie. In fact, he and Kuroo loved them, both proudly proclaimed horror junkies and all. However, maybe they'd bitten off more than they could chew with this one...

Rating: T (mild suggestiveness, some cursing)

Warnings: none

Note: This was my big excuse to write fluff honestly, that’s what this is, useless fluff lmao. Oh, and also kurotsuki acting like huge scared losers. So there’s that. This fic is for @icecreamwithsprinkles bc we traded a lot of headcanons about this that really inspired me <3

AO3

“Are you sure you won’t need me to cuddle you?”

Kei chucked a pillow right at his boyfriend’s face, hardly needing to aim. He could pinpoint the other’s smug tone anytime, any day.

Kuroo dodged it with practiced ease, springing forward to wrap his arms around Kei’s waist in what he thought must’ve been a surprise attack. Although, some of the coolness (if there was any to begin with) was taken away when Kei noted Kuroo’s Chihuahua patterned pajama pants. The things never failed to make Kei die of laughter, they were so damn ridiculous, but the fact Kuroo owned them hadn’t been surprising in the slightest.

Kei snorted as his boyfriend nuzzled his neck from behind, a hold Kei was quite familiar with after years of dating. As comforting as the embrace was, Kei wasn’t going to give into it so easily, crossing his arms as Kuroo started peppering kisses on any exposed skin he could get to.

It took a considerable amount of effort to keep his breathing under control, given Kuroo’s knowledge of all the spots which made Kei melt in his arms. Despite Kuroo’s dumb pants, his arms and torso looked especially delicious in the tank top he was wearing as well, though Kei would never admit it aloud. It probably was also unwise for Kei to have thrown on Kuroo’s college sweatshirt after his shower, since now the comforting scent was working against him. Plus, it tended to ignite a spark of possessiveness in Kuroo from time to time…and maybe in Kei as well.

Kuroo knew it too, the bastard. Kei could feel the smirk on the other’s face as he mouthed at Kei’s exposed shoulder. Kei hummed at the sensation, tilting his neck to allow for better access. Sue him, it felt good, and he’d get back at Kuroo later.

“Mm, much better,” Kuroo whispered against Kei, lapping and nipping occasionally at the blond’s soft skin. Kei rolled his eyes, turning and grabbing Kuroo’s chin in order to bring him up into a kiss. In the years since high school, Tsukishima had gained a few more centimeters on Kuroo, and he never hesitated to use it to dominate their kisses when it suited him.

Kuroo hummed against his lips, pushing back with equal force to meet the challenge. Oh no, nuh-uh. Kei chuckled as he pulled away, separating them right as Kuroo planned to deepen the kiss.

“Okay, okay, slow down. You’re the one who said you wanted to watch this movie tonight.” Kei laughed at Kuroo’s pout, moving away to grab the DVD case in question.

It was a Friday night, so really, he could afford to mess around if he wanted to. But the whole reason Kuroo was teasing in the first place was because they planned to watch the newest horror movie. Kuroo had somehow managed to get a hold of it in good quality, though it wasn’t actually out yet, and Kei wouldn’t deny he was excited.

“I do, it’s supposed to be the scariest movie of the year,” Kuroo said, walking over to the couch to make sure all their blankets and pillows were in order (they both got cold easily, go figure). Kuroo had done the honor of setting up their snacks on the coffee table as well, and Kei had been eyeing the box of cupcakes for the past half hour. “Perfect for cuddling.”

Kei shot him a flat look, but agreed sharing body heat was one of his favorite things about their movie nights. Not to mention he and Kuroo loved anything related to the horror genre.

He and Kuroo frequently checked out horror movies on Netflix and in theaters, no matter how bad the ratings were. If anything, they would get a good laugh out of the truly terrible ones. Once a month, the theater on campus showed midnight horror movie marathons, with changing themes each time. It had become one of their usual date places, and it had yet to get old.

So of course, when Kuroo had walked home with the new film in hand, promising genuine scares, how could Kei say no?

“What makes this so scary anyways?” Kei asked as he waltzed over to the couch, handing the movie to Kuroo to put into their player. “I couldn’t find ratings anywhere.”

Kuroo smirked devilishly as he pushed the DVD into their player, collecting the remotes as he made his way back to the couch. The look meant no good to most, but to Kei it made things rather promising.

“Well, it’s of course banned in multiple countries,” Kuroo said, waving his hands as he plopped onto the couch.

Ah, you don’t say?

“Wow,” Kei drawled, moving into his usual spot between Kuroo’s legs before he sat back against Kuroo’s chest. “We’ve never watched one of those before.”

They both laughed, because for seasoned horror pros like them, they most certainly had. It felt like more and more movies were banned nowadays, and it meant nothing when it came to measuring the scariness of a film. They’d seen hundreds of ‘banned’ films which ended up being pathetic, but maybe they were just picky.

“I know right?” Kuroo continued, opening the movie’s main menu on the television. The design was minimalistic, accompanied with the usual eerie music. Already pretty mediocre in Kei’s opinion, but he’d reserve his judgement for the film’s actual content.

“Really though,” Kuroo said, pressing the play button before wrapping his arms around the blond and adjusting himself accordingly. “I heard it was hardcore, some online forums swear by it.”

“Hm,” Kei hummed skeptically. “We’ll see.”

The blond never trusted people when it came to horror movies and games alike. People were too easily spooked or grossed out. In all honestly, he and Kuroo hadn’t felt genuinely scared by a movie in a long time, and he wasn’t expecting this one to break the mold. It would take a lot for a movie to be included in their top horror films. Those were movies which had stolen sleep from them, had made them flinch at any noise in the darkness of the night. It was an impressive thing to do, given how dedicated they were as horror junkies. They’d seen some shit, and he wasn’t expecting this to offer anything truly frightening.

Oh well, hopefully it’ll be entertaining.

Kei reached up to nibble playfully on Kuroo’s earlobe as the movie’s logos passed on the screen, smirking along with his words. “At least if it sucks, we have other things to do…”

As stated before, it was Friday. They could afford to mess around, a lot.

Kuroo hummed, kissing Kei on the cheek in his usual sappy way, damn him. “And they say I’m the perv. Just don’t get too scared babe.”

Kei clicked his tongue, turning to see a creepy looking forest begin to fade in on screen. He dropped his voice to a whisper, reaching for the snacks they’d set out beforehand. “Of course, someone will need to protect you if you get scared.”

Kuroo gave one last laugh, eyes trained on the television. “Sure babe, sure.”

As the setting began to slowly lay itself out on screen, Kei couldn’t help but giggle to himself. This already looked terribly stereotypical and boring. Seriously, a house in a haunted forest? The music was hardly exceptional either.

It looked like this one would be another flop on a long list of rejects.

Whatever, at least it’ll be funny…

-Approximately 45 ½ Minutes Later-

It was not funny.

It was not even remotely funny.

Kei hid his face further into his pillow, letting his eyes peek out to watch the television. He could feel Kuroo’s hands gripping his sides tightly, his whole body tense and wound up like a spring.

Kei watched unblinking as the actor on screen walked through the deathly silent home, knowing any second could be their last. So far, the movie hadn’t relied on traditional jump scares, having the murderers who had invaded the home walk quietly and casually throughout the house in the blind spots of the protagonists. They’d pass quickly in the background, be shown at the top of the stairs, hiding behind curtains, anywhere. It was nerve wracking in the most eerie of ways, and it was so much worse given the film had no soundtrack or instrumentals to signal any attack or sudden event. There was only…dialogue, and footsteps. No music, no warning. It was as if the whole movie was one single tense moment before a scare, and he had no idea how to prepare himself other than to be tense and shield his eyes the whole time.

He felt Kuroo breathing heavily behind him, his boyfriend’s face pressed against Kei’s shoulder, and really, the blond could hardly make fun of him. Not anymore. His heart was racing all the same, and they’d both stopped poking fun at each other after the first death in the movie. It hadn’t been that gory either, just…disturbing. That was the other thing, the characters were more complex and likeable than in a typical horror movie, with interesting dynamics and relationships, only making their ends more upsetting and terrifying.

When the movie had first started, and there’d been a few fake scares, he and Kuroo had teased and laughed as usual. But the fun had ended real quickly.

There as a sudden creak on screen, and the movie seemed almost frozen on a shot of the living room. He and Kuroo held their breath, and for a moment, Kei thought the movie genuinely had stopped for some reason.

And then he noticed. In the frame, to the side, were the two intruders. Apparently, it was all he and Kuroo needed to find their voices, and to drop any remaining dignity.

“NO! Get out of the house now! Fucking go you stupid son of a bitch!”

For one thing, Kuroo seldom cussed, so Kei knew he was damn scared. Kei couldn’t blame him, Kei was two seconds away from throwing his pillow right at the screen, but then he’d be defenseless…

So no.

Kuroo screamed at the television more as the last surviving character walked downstairs, right into the danger zone, his hands shaking Kei furiously out of terror. “Oh my god I can’t watch,” Kuroo said, even as his eyes were glued to the scene playing out.

Fuckfuckfuckfuck…

Kei pulled his legs up to his chest, scooting as far back away from the television and into Kuroo’s arms as he could. It was humiliating, it wasn’t like something was going to jump out from the movie itself, but in that moment it felt real, and suddenly everything in their apartment was freaking him out. Why the hell had they turned off all the lights? Did they lock the door? How did they know someone wasn’t there right then?

There was another creak in the movie which sounded way too real, and as the character made eye contact with one of the murderers, the spell of silence was broken. Kuroo buried his face in Kei’s neck as the chase started, and the sudden loudness of frantic footsteps accompanied by the character’s screaming was way too much stimulation after the tense quiet.

“She’s gonna die, she’s gonna die—”

“Tetsu shut up,” Kei said in a voice way too high pitched to be his own, and fuck it, he threw his pillow.

The character finally reached an exit, a side door of the house which Kei had completely forgotten about. No wonder the opening credits had been a tour of the house, I should’ve paid more attention…

It was so unlike him, but he’d been so ready to be disappointed he hadn’t cared to look for details.

“Yes! Yes, fucking go!” Kuroo yelled as the actor messed with the latch on the door. A latch which had frozen over from the snow. “What the fuck.”

It was futile. There was no getting the door open, and the actor slumped to the ground, defeated as the killers encroached on them. The stupid silence was back too. There were no cheesy last words or taunting from the intruders, only the screams of the victim as they were surrounded.

I can’t watch, hell no.

But he didn’t have to. The movie cut to black right after, and Kei was so close to screaming into the emptiness of their apartment. What the hell? How could they end it like that?

Probably so we could scare ourselves shitless imagining it. Well played.

Well played indeed, since Kei would no doubt do just that.

Damn.

After an unnaturally long stretch of silence, a small paragraph of text appeared on screen against the black frame. Apparently, the film was based off a real crime which had happened. All seven people in the house had been killed, and the perpetrators were never found. It had happened less than a decade ago.

Fuck. No.

As the credits began to roll after the ominous message faded, Kei didn’t know where to start. He wanted to comment on how unfair and sudden the ending was, or talk about the text, or look up the actual crime to know more. But instead, he only felt frozen, sitting in Kuroo’s arms in their now silent apartment.

His mouth hung open slightly, his cautious eyes drifting throughout the darkness of the apartment. He had no idea what to do, he hadn’t felt so high-strung in a long time, the fear slowly consuming him. All he wanted to do was stay pressed against his boyfriend, but that would offer neither of them any protection from the threats his mind was conjuring up.

Kuroo’s arms gave him one last squeeze before one was reaching for the remote, ready to turn off the television, an act which would leave them in total blackness. Neither of them dared to speak.

Of course, rectifying the situation was as easy as strolling to the far wall and turning on the light, but they weren’t thinking rationally. Plus at that point, Kei doubted the illusion could be shattered so easily. They’d just watched a whole movie about intruders hiding in plain sight, like hell would the light help them. The blond looked down at Kuroo as sweat began to form on the back of his neck, and he was aware of how exposed he was in his shorts and flimsy sweatshirt. Kuroo’s scent and warmth provided some comfort, but the anxiety in the air kept rising. They locked eyes as Kuroo’s finger hovered over the power button, forming a silent pact in a matter of seconds.

Kei nodded once, hesitantly, untangling himself from his boyfriend in strained movements. He already missed the warmth, but it wouldn’t be for long. If he made it.

Oh my god, shut up. You’re being stupid, it’s fine…everything’s fine. There’s no one else here.

It was a rational, correct statement, as far as he knew. But right then, nothing in his head was convincing. Kei swallowed, his muscles ready to go as Kuroo bit his lip in thought.

Then Kuroo nodded in return, way too solemnly for his usual fun loving, easy nature. This was it, Kei thought, nothing to fear. But right as Kuroo pressed down on the power button, there was a creak from somewhere in the building, and all confidence jumped straight out the window.

They jumped up from the couch so fast Kei was sure he had sprained a muscle, but he didn’t care. He ran blindly to their bedroom door, flipping on the light as soon as he crossed the threshold. Kuroo was right on his heels (and Kei was pretty sure he had tripped at some point), rushing into the room and slamming the door right after. He locked it for good measure as he leaned against it, breathing way too labored for an athlete such as himself.

The slam seemed to echo forever in the quiet of their apartment, joined by their heavy breaths as they slowly inched away from the door, crawling into bed and into each other’s arms wordlessly. Every creak and footstep was an unpleasant reminder, and Kei gratefully scurried under the sheets. Kuroo’s eyes hadn’t left the door, and he was mildly shaking. Too bad Kei didn’t have it in him to mock his boyfriend, that’s how he knew the movie was horrifying.

The only good thing about it was he could totally recommend it to Hinata and Kageyama, ensuring they scared themselves to death too. If Kei suffered, everyone he knew deserved to as well.

The joy of the plot was dulled by the tightness in his shoulders, and Kei looked at his open closet in worry, slightly relieved to find it empty. Kei resisted the urge to pull the blankets over their heads, like he’d done as a child. Maybe that was going too far…

God, he was ruined. If anyone found out about this he was screwed. Luckily, Kuroo was the only person who knew, and he’d be sacrificing his own pride if he ever told anyone the story. They were stuck in this hell together. Kei was glad they’d been dating for two years and were fully committed to each other at this point. If Kuroo had been a new boyfriend, Kei wouldn’t have felt the slightest bit of remorse in leaving him behind in the living room to save himself.

Lucky for Kuroo, Kei was in love with him, and cared about protecting him from fictional threats. Yippee.

But the movie was based on a true story.

Kei buried his head in his pillow as he finally sank down into the covers, stiff as a board. Shut up brain.

Kuroo moved to lie down as well, still not taking his eyes off the door as he pulled Kei closer to his chest. At least the other’s rapid heartbeat was enough to distract Kei from the occasional creak or noise.

Kei was never used to uncomfortable silences. He enjoyed spending time alone, taking in the peaceful quiet and letting his batteries recharge after prolonged social interaction. But that silence was something he liked and chose. Even with Kuroo, Kei felt he could sit by him without uttering a word and be completely content. They’d always gotten along that way.

But this. This was pure torture. The last time they’d both been successfully scared by a new movie, they’d just started dating. In short, it had been a while, over two years, and Kei had walked home afterwards, free to act scared in solitude. It was almost some fucked up milestone, experiencing this together.

Kei had forgotten what it felt like to be so on edge, how arrogant of him to not see this coming.

He hardly knew what to say, if he should comment on the film at all, or if the mere mention of it was cursed or something. Should he laugh it off? Ask Kuroo if he was alright?

Neither felt like the correct response. They certainly weren’t acting alright, and no shit they were terrified. Kei clutched the sheets tighter, finally absorbing how silly it all was. Out of nowhere, he felt part of the fear inside him dissipate, making room for a warm feeling in his chest. He felt lighter, tingly almost, a happiness he had come to associate with Kuroo. It became clear from the feeling alone, how grateful Kei was about this whole annoying situation.

They were afraid. Since when did Kei let himself act afraid? The answer was never, he would rather die. It was how it was in high school too, his pride was too important. But this was Kuroo, who he loved and trusted. It was the single dumbest realization Kei had ever had.

He didn’t care if Kuroo knew he was scared, if he saw Kei hide under the covers or heard his pleas to keep the lights on. Kei could be as childish as he wanted, and Kuroo wouldn’t care, wouldn’t judge or think less of him. Sure, teasing was never off limits in these situations, but they both felt comfortable enough to express themselves regardless.

Of course, this had always been obvious, it was how their relationship worked. Kei had simply never felt it so strongly in a situation like this, had never experienced it in such a simple form.

A fucking horror movie on a Friday night. Wow.

Slowly, Kei began to snicker into the pillow, unable to fight a grin when he realized he was purposefully trying to keep quiet in case they had serial killers in the house.

Pft.

Kuroo tensed beside him, his confused gaze finally landing on his giggling boyfriend.

“Uh…Kei?” Kuroo sounded almost paranoid, like Kei had lost it and their life was magically gonna warp into a sanitarium thriller. It made Kei laugh harder, and if their apartment was truly under siege, at least he’d die happy.

“Kei…baby, seriously. What is it?”

Hell, Kuroo sounded so damn scared. It was awesome.

Fine, guess I’ll cut you a break.

Kei managed to repress his giggles enough to sit up and bump his forehead against Kuroo’s, a tactic he knew was a surefire way to make his boyfriend’s heart race. Kuroo was weak to how cute it apparently was, and Kei had shed a lot of shame in two years’ time.

Kei stared into his boyfriend’s eyes, having never gotten over their stunning color and the softness in them.

“Nothing,” Kei whispered, his face flushing slightly. “You’re lame, but I…love you.”

Kuroo’s eyes widened, and Kei laughed again as their lips met softly. That was another great thing about Kuroo, out of infinite examples. He was a great kisser.

“Mm, I love you too,” Kuroo said, breaking the kiss and reaching up to hold Kei’s face in his hands. “Where did that come from though? Are you just saying that in case we die?”

Kei snorted, nuzzling his face into his boyfriend’s neck. Moments like this almost made him forget about any impending doom. “Yeah, that’s exactly it.”

Kuroo laughed, somewhat subdued and tired, but it was one of Kei’s favorite sounds all the same. Kei pulled him into another kiss at the thought, and Kuroo, of course, couldn’t refuse.

Yes, moments like this were definitely fine with Kei, lingering fear or not.

There was another loud creak which echoed through the building, and the illusion of safety was quickly shattered. Both he and Kuroo’s eyes locked on each other’s, bodies tense and frozen once more.

Maybe ‘lingering fear’ hadn’t been the most accurate description…

They were silent for about a minute more before Kuroo could no longer take it, and his voice was so worried it would’ve been comical in any other scenario. “I…I feel way too exposed like this.”

“Same,” Kei replied instantly, already grabbing all the blankets he could. Well, thankfully they knew each other well enough to skip over all the ‘let’s be reasonable’ bullshit and fucking acted on their stupid fears.

Kuroo paused in his move to get off the bed, casting a contemplative glance at the mass of pillows on it. Their eyes met again, the same thought crossing their minds.

“…Pillow fort?” Kuroo asked anxiously, and another creak in the apartment answered. It was all Kei needed as motivation.

“Pillow fort.”

At the end of the day, it looked like they’d both ended up needing cuddles. Kuroo was right all along. But whatever, Kei didn’t mind. Regardless of how much sleep he lost, or how afraid he was to go get water from the kitchen, nothing beat sitting in a pillow fort with Kuroo listening to Disney songs until they passed out.

Everything worked out.

Kei doubted they’d find another movie as scary as the one that night, at least not for a while. However, Kei wouldn’t mind this becoming a tradition.

One thing was for sure though, and the thought crossed his mind as Kuroo snuggled closer to him. That movie was definitely going on their list of top horror films.

Guaranteed.

#kurotsuki #kurotsukki #haikyuuwriters #adri writing #ficsforvera

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thebirdinthesea · 8 years ago

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“I was so scared of losing you, that I did”

So, this post is just an analysis of Barry’s feelings after seeing the ‘future’ and seeing Iris die and why he made the choice to propose to her to change that part of the future. And also analysis on Iris’ view and her taking off the ring.

First of all, Barry’s attitude since he saw the horrific event was ‘There’s no way this is happening’ ‘This is impossible’ and ‘I can’t let this happen’ In fact, one of the first things he said was ‘I’m not going to let her die.’

He was overly confident in the impossibility of Iris’ death because he knows, he knows deep down inside that it will destroy him. Shatter him into pieces. He knows that indeed he will never get over it, and that he doesn’t want to even consider it. But at the same time, he’s also afraid because of that. He hides his fear in his drive to by all costs, and by all means, save Iris.

1. He considers letting a villain go free.

Asking Iris a pained “Why, why not?” when she tells him he can’t stop protecting the city to save her.

2. He pushes Wally once he realizes Wally’s speed is accelerating twice as fast as his was.

3. Part of his reasoning for going to E2 was also to change events and save Iris.

4. He considers killing Grodd.

Even before this big - big mistake of proposing mostly with the hopes that it will prevent the future, rather than proposing ready to marry her (knowing it was the right time), Barry was already blind to his conscious in hopes of saving Iris.

He wasn’t thinking about anything but the idea of keeping her alive.

And in my opinion this is what really breaks Iris’ heart.

She knows that Barry loves her, and any time he asks her to marry her, he probably does want to marry her because he could marry her at any moment. But he didn’t ask because he thought ‘this is it, now’s the time’ he asked as a means to an end, a chance to keep his happiness.

And the thing is, Iris was always more realistic about her death, but she was also afraid. Savitar mentions it, and while I would never agree with Savitar, we all know she was afraid.

She wanted to be strong for Barry.

(As well as wanting to protect herself, as well as possibly being in denial)

She also didn’t want it to consume him, as it already has. She didn’t want it to become something that takes away his moral compass, something that makes him go insane, something that keeps him from being present, from enjoying the here and now which she desperately needed from him because she was more realistic and felt as if she could actually die, even though she trusts that everyone will try their best to save her.

And in a way, Barry’s obsession with changing the future has morphed into one not just to save Iris per say, but also to save his happiness. He said in the beginning ‘I have everything I’ve ever wanted in life right now’. And when he was in that Flashpoint, that was almost like his heaven. He had the three people he will only love the most in his entire life. Back in the real timeline, he’s experienced two of those three people be violently stripped from him.

Iris is his everything.

Her being taken from him is something that ultimately takes away his happiness. His light. His anchor.

He genuinely would do anything to prevent that from happening.

And I think Iris sees this fully when she finds out why he proposed, and it’s why she says it’s tainted because he’s obsessed with saving something he already has with him in that moment. (I also think she means if they had gotten married, it would have tainted their marriage.) He’s so frightened of losing everything, that he forgets that he has everything. She loves him. She would’ve married him, but she wouldn’t marry him just to prevent her death, she would marry him because he wanted to be married to her. And it’s not like he didn’t, but that wasn’t his first or only thought.

In a way, it was as if he was choosing his happiness over Iris. And that might not be the case completely, but it was to an extent. Nobody wants to be proposed to for a specific reasoning other than love. Other than knowing they want to marry the other person. Other than feeling the desire to be called that person’s wife or husband. And Barry had another reasoning, he just didn’t want her to die.

Iris couldn’t take this. And neither could I. She wants him to be happy, she wants him to be her’s, but she doesn’t want him to be her’s with the constant fear that he could lose her. She doesn’t want him to be able to do anything in order to save her. She doesn’t want him to even use their love a means to save her.

I write this not to make Barry seem like a terrible person or anything, but simply to express this wasn’t something that was sudden, there was a slow build-up of Barry willing to bend his morality in order to keep Iris alive. And that part of it is to save his idea of happiness, rather than only to save Iris. What Iris wants is for him to be with her, in the present. But he’s always got his mind on the future. It’s his vice. This fear of having everything stripped away from him, it’s his greatest vice.

It’s something that makes me have some empathy for him. It’s also something that makes my heart break for Iris.

However, he can come out of this! Barry can and should learn from this. He can love and cherish Iris as his everything, and still make sure his actions are done purely out of love for her, and also based on the values they both share.

#westallen #barry x iris

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thecrossovergames · 8 years ago

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Accepted: Bellamy Blake

because i needed yet another muse

OOC

Name: they call me Hamlet ‘cause i’m so tragic & boring

Age: still younger than all of y’all

Preferred pronoun(s): Dadmin

Activity level: what does this mean

Time Zone: oi oi oi

Limits/Triggers: eating raw onions

Previous Roleplay Accounts: idk her

Additional Characters: i have 3 muses left and they’re all girls, can u swing it

IC Character Name: Bellamy Blake

Character Age & Birthday: 23 / August 14

Character Species*: Human

Character Face Claim*: Bob Morley, my fellow aussie pal

District of Origin: Three

Strengths:

Brave: In such a frightening world, Bellamy always tries his best to be brave, telling himself that fears are just fears, and if he slays his demons when he’s awake, they won’t be there to get him in his sleep. With a younger sister to protect and training on his side, he’s learnt to face his fears head on and keep going no matter what. Even if he’s terrified, he forces himself to deal with it because that’s how he’ll get the job done and done right. He’ll rise to any challenge and often completes them quickly and efficiently. Even arguing with him can be confronting, as Bellamy isn’t one to give up, and will share his honest opinion even if it’s unwanted.

Sharp: A trait he’s likely inherited from his father, Bellamy is extremely intuitive, and actively solves problems by doing. He’s particularly quick on his feet in dangerous situations, and is able to sense when someone or something isn’t right. By following his gut, Bellamy will decide if someone is genuine, and if so, he will support them until his dying breath, even if no one else trusts them. He relies on knowledge and experience from training, and is able to help others do the same; but he’s not opposed to using his skills to manipulate them either. Whatever gets him what he needs.

Moral code: Bellamy has set his own strict moral code that allows him to do necessary and often controversial things all in the name of survival. As a natural born leader who believes in justice, this code is the only way he can avoid stirring up excessive internal conflict, and make decisions on the spot. He is able to recognise when he’s made the wrong call however, and the guilt will always catch up with him later. Bellamy is a man of his word, and will accept all responsibility and punishment for his actions; but that won’t stop him from doing it again if he feels he has to.

Training: For over a year, Bellamy trained alongside a league of Peacekeepers in the Capitol. Working for Voldemort meant he had to be the best of the best or he’d be killed and replaced faster than he could blink. During those months, Bellamy pushed himself to his physical and emotional limit, and can now perform extremely well under pressure and adapt quickly to his environment. Although guns remain his preference, he’s also learned how to handle all sorts of weaponry with a natural ease, and is willing to train others. It’s only fair that everyone should be able to protect themselves.

Weaknesses:

Restrained: Bellamy has always believed that surviving and living are two very different things, and to do either, you have to be two very different people. A lot of things scare him, especially his own actions, but he will never show it because that’s how he overcomes. Even though he feels things deeply, actually expressing emotion is difficult for him, and he will avoid talking about them or himself. While it’s not hard to notice that he cares, he’s much more comfortable showing his affection through leading, protecting and other physical services. By burying his emotions, he survives with the hope that one day, he will live.

Octavia: Bellamy shows great restraint in his emotions except when it comes to his sister, Octavia, who he vowed to protect the moment she was born. His love for her is his most obvious, and his only self-recognised weakness. To make his sister happy, or to protect her, Bell will disregard his own ideas and change plans of action entirely, even if it means endangering others. It can often be selfish, but she’s his only family left and he will do whatever he can to make it up to her. His sister, his responsibility.

Guilt: No matter how hard he tries to justify to himself that he was only doing what he had to, Bellamy carries more guilt than any person should. He believes he’s caused all his family’s pain, and will never forgive himself for it. He was forced to do some questionable things when in training, yet made questionable decisions of his own when they were hiding out in Two. He’s convinced himself the many deaths he’s caused were essential for survival, but the guilt is always close behind. If it reaches him, he can be irrational and easily manipulated. Now a leader for Coin, he’s beginning to understand why the heroes in his favourite stories often forfeited their crowns.

Distrustful: Having been raised in such a strict and hostile environment with only his family for company, Bellamy has taken to second guessing people’s intentions, finding it hard to ever completely trust. He’s compassionate, but he has a selfish side too, his immediate priority always to protect himself and his sister. He trusts his own gut instinct and will form an opinion about something pretty fast; but he can often be wrong. Because it’s extremely hard for him to forgive, he can be prejudiced toward any type of person he hasn’t trusted before. However, if someone does manage to win Bellamy’s trust, his loyalty will be unwavering.

Biography:

Bellamy Blake spent the first five years of his life in District Three, but if you asked him about it now, he couldn’t tell you much. Just that it must have been peaceful, or he would’ve remembered otherwise. Pain is far more memorable, and Bellamy seemed to face a lot of it once they’d moved to the Capitol. He and his mother followed after his father, a recently trained Peacekeeper who’d been transferred from the Nut and hired as a security corporal in Lord Voldemort’s private affairs. Bellamy barely knew the man, and that would never change, as life within the Capitol mansion was extremely strict and family was seen as a distraction. Unless you were a pure-blood wizard, the Dark Lord had a one child policy within his ranks, and held those children’s lives against their parents, ensuring that they remained silent, and that he remained their only priority. Bellamy’s mother, Aurora, continued her job from Three as a seamstress, working right from their room. She was busy, but unlike his father she was always there, and Bellamy grew very close to her. He was tutored privately within the mansion and often brought books back to their room for them to read together, history being his favourite subject. He’d always loved stories of emperors, rebels and kings.

When he was seven, a terrified Aurora explained that she was pregnant, but Bellamy had always been bright, and he understood immediately that this was not news to share. Not that he had anyone to share it with; all of the mansion’s workers scared him. But Aurora had taught him fear was a demon, and he was to look them in the eye and never be afraid. To avoid suspicion, the infrequent visits from his father ceased entirely, and Bellamy never saw the man again. For nine months, the boy worked as Aurora’s assistant, delivering her garments and bringing back supplies, ensuring that she’d never have to leave their room; until finally, she went into labour. Bell’s little sister was born right on their bedroom floor, his near unconscious mother telling him that she was now his responsibility, no matter what. It was as if his life had started anew. Staring into his baby sister’s eyes, finger in her mouth to help keep her quiet, young Bellamy promised that he would always keep her safe. Just like Emperor Augustus would have for his sister, in the books he’d read. His sister, Octavia. Having been taught to never trust anyone in the mansion, Bellamy’s family was the only thing he’d ever known. And from that day onward, family would forever remain his first priority.

To make sure their father wasn’t executed for having a second child, Octavia was forced to live only within their quarters, Bellamy warning she could never step a foot outside their door. Whenever mansion staff visited, Bellamy and their mother would hide O in an old vent under the floorboards. The thought of his little sister being caught and killed scared him senseless, but the fear on Octavia’s face as she lowered herself into the hole each day was much worse, and Bellamy knew he had to be brave for her. He taught her to repeat “I am not afraid” to herself until it was over, something she carried out for sixteen years. Despite her begging, she could never attend school, so Bell would recount every lesson he received at tutoring, and the pair would study together at their mother’s feet. When he was fourteen, he was assigned work in the sanitation unit, despite desperately wanting to be a guard just like his father. Just like the real heroes in his books. His wishes were granted when the Rebellion broke out, reaching the mansion post haste.

Everything changed quickly after that. The Blakes were told their father died ‘during conflict’, and a shaken Bellamy was conscripted immediately to train and take his place. Grief for his father didn’t last long though, and he also had no interest in defending a leader that had always terrified him. It wasn’t until Bellamy discovered the advantages of his new position that he got into the role and the responsibility, training hard. By using his new security clearance, he was able to find out when staff would be visiting their quarters. Security was much tighter thanks to the Rebels though, and after many close calls for Octavia, Aurora took to sleeping with guards to gain intel herself. This lasted for months, until eventually, some Rebels were caught by Voldemort and his team, and the mansion hosted a televised event where captives could be bid on. As part of training field experience, Bellamy was on duty, and to take his mind off the discomfort of the evening, he decided to surprise O for her sixteenth birthday. The formal dress code made it easy to sneak her in, and for the first time ever, Octavia stepped out of their room. Despite the horrors around them, her smile that night was something Bellamy will never forget. His only mistake was not telling her who the Rebels were, and why there was even a ‘party’ in the first place. An excited Octavia spoke to the wrong crowd and was approached by guards immediately. Shaking, Bellamy stepped in, claiming she had to be a clueless plus one; but she refused to identify herself and was dragged off for questioning.

Their mother was executed immediately. A screaming Octavia was taken away to the cells, and Bellamy was left with nothing and no one but his own guilt. Shattered and demoted back to sanitation, Bellamy kept his head down for a year — until an opportunity arose for them to escape. He still had some connections within security, and as the Rebels destroyed Voldemort’s horcruxes one by one, those contacts managed to get O out of prison, and the siblings out the gates. The guarding Capitol Peacekeepers were another matter, but Bellamy dealtwith them quickly and quietly. The Blakes then fled to District Two and attempted to deal with their grief in an abandoned house, training and waiting as the rebellion swallowed Voldemort whole. The new world rose, and Coin was so promising, and the siblings were so relieved that with no other skills, Bellamy broke his own promise to never return to that mansion, and the pair gave the new President their support. Now working back in an all too familiar environment, Octavia is in training while Bellamy oversees the President’s recruits and their schedules. The Rebels, who’d Bellamy once looked at with such respect, had betrayed them and risked their new, free Panem. Imprisoning the traitors seemed fair, just while Coin works to create a better place for them all. But the longer Bellamy spends meeting terrified gazes through the bars, the more he starts to question their fearless leader’s motives. He’s now beginning to wonder just how well they really know Alma Coin.

Changes/Comments:

remember when voldemort was our biggest problem

#bellamy blake #submission #accepted

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fandomshatelgbtqpeople · 7 years ago

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(1) I'm sorry for this long ask but I'm looking for advice and I really love your blog. I grew up with parents with conservative views and I would uncomfortably agree with everything they say. They would both always pressure me to be “feminine”. So much so, that I just give in. My mom would even give me future marriage/motherhood advice even though I was still a teen. I just sit there silently and wait for her to finish. Now that I'm away from home, I'm learning more about the LGBTQ+ community.

2) I’ve learned that being queer is not as simple as being gay or transsexual. It’s a lot more complex than that and that there are more orientations that people still need to be educated about. Lately I’ve been a little braver with my parents talking about LGBTQ+ rights. It hurt that they would give me the “well you have your opinion and I have mine” defense. But in time, their viewpoints start to change. They would read posts and letters from the LGBTQ+ community and are now in support of

(3) their rights. They even went so far to apologize for how they raised me. It’s been easier to talk to them now. But as I learned more about LGBTQ+ rights, I’ve also been learning more about myself. I would think back at certain situations as a kid and thought “is it because I’m ____ that I thought that way” or “is it because I’m ____ that I was interested or not interested in this person”. There’s actually a show I love where I would replay scenes of a character having revelations of their

(4) orientation over and over again and still give them my undivided attention. I guess what I’m asking is, am I thinking too hard and too much? I believe I know my orientation, but I still want to learn more. Is it because that I didn’t grow up learning all these info about LGBTQ+ that I’m not sure about my own orientation? That I refused to learn about them as a kid because I was afraid what my parents would think of me? That it didn’t take until the beginnings of my adulthood to come to grips

(5) about myself? It seems that even people who came out knew who they were even when they were in the closet. Should I just finally accept it, in my mind, if though I don’t feel comfortable to say it out loud? I mean, I can’t even admit it anonymously. Is it weird that I’m projecting myself on one single fictional character? I’m sorry if I’m bugging you. What I love most about your blog is how intersectional you guys are. I hear that there’s discrimination even among different orientations. The

(6) racism sadly isn’t surprising. It’s hard enough being Asian, but to also be queer. Also, I want my parents to be the first people that I come out to. But at the same time, I’m scared, even if they are getting better. I’m an adult, and yet my parents still frightens me. Should I just stop caring what they would think of me?

Hey there, Nonny. How are you doing today? Thank you for coming to us with how you feel. It mustn’t have been easy, but I want you know that we’ve got your back! There seems to be a lot on your mind, so I hope you don’t mind if my reply’s a lengthy one.

Firstly, I’m very touched reading through your messages, because as a fellow queer Asian person living in a strict, conservative household myself, a lot of the things you mentioned really hit home for me. I hope what I have to say will be able to help you out, or at the very least comfort you, one way or another.

Am I thinking too hard and too much? I believe I know my orientation, but I still want to learn more. Is it because that I didn’t grow up learning all these info about LGBTQ+ that I’m not sure about my own orientation? That I refused to learn about them as a kid because I was afraid what my parents would think of me? That it didn’t take until the beginnings of my adulthood to come to grips about myself?

I think the thing about identities is that it’s a personal journey for everyone. How one feel about themselves and their identities can vary between people, as well as the ways of figuring out the details. Some have very deep thoughts and researches to how they identify, even if they’ve spent years learning about themselves or not, others consider them to be something natural to who they are from the get-go, and so on.

It’s not your fault for not having everything figured out, nor is it something wrong. Plenty of queer adults only know that they’re queer when they’re much older, some didn’t even know until they’re senior citizens. “Knowing you’re queer” tends to be trivialized as this thing known from ages as young as early teenage years, when in fact, learning about the LGBTQ+ community is probably a luxury to many of us out there, especially among communities of color (due to the awful stigmas they have regarding non-cishet people). Many aren’t even allowed to think about the possibilities of them being anything more than Cisgender Heterosexual. While it’s sad, it’s the reality. Late beginnings of self-discovery are worth acknowledging and sympathizing, and they’re completely okay. Confusions and doubts are a natural part of everyone’s journey. They’re a telling that you need to have more patience with yourself. Don’t pressure things too much.

I’m happy for you, Nonny, that you’re making an attempt to know more about who you are. There’s never a thing called “thinking too hard and too much” when it comes to it (along with how you ID, your comfort with labels and self-presentations, etc.), because understanding helps you to connect with yourself better, and love yourself. I don’t think anyone ever really “stops” learning about themselves, even when they’re already sure of how they ID from early on. Identities have a lot of personal layers to them that only you can figure out for yourself, so it doesn’t matter if your own journey is longer, more elaborated, more complicated. Your experience is your own uniqueness. There’s no need for comparisons or set standards.

It seems that even people who came out knew who they were even when they were in the closet. Should I just finally accept it, in my mind, if though I don’t feel comfortable to say it out loud?

This one, I’d say, is up to you. Self-acceptance is a difficult thing, I can empathize, so whether you end up accepting yourself or not, no one can police you on that. It’s all up to how YOUR comfort, YOUR safety, and that’s more important than anything.It’s okay if you don’t want to say who you are out loud. If you’re queer, you always belong to the LGBTQ+ community, no matter if you’re open or reserved about it. Give yourself more time, and relax. It’s going to be okay.

I mean, I can’t even admit it anonymously. Is it weird that I’m projecting myself on one single fictional character?

The interesting thing about fictional characters is how much we’d connect to them, even if our initial idea is just to enjoy a fictional person in a fictional story. This is why good representations of marginalized groups are so important! It’s a natural thing to deeply relate to s fictional character, especially when you’re in a place where you feel like you don’t belong. Heck, it’s even how a lot of people started to feel that maybe they might not be as Cishet as they thought. Fiction reflects reality to certain levels, ergo it affects reality. Many takes comfort in the characters they love. If that makes you happy, then go for it!

Also, I want my parents to be the first people that I come out to. But at the same time, I’m scared, even if they are getting better. I’m an adult, and yet my parents still frightens me. Should I just stop caring what they would think of me?

It’s nothing strange to be afraid of how your parents/family would react to you coming out, not to mention when they’re the people who had made such a tough environment for you to truly embrace yourself without fear. The Asian community has never been all that swell with the idea of queer people. Among us there are still so many conservatives, traditionalists and just overall bigots.You’re an adult and you’re still frightened of your parents, that’s honestly understandable. Our parents are the people we’ve always been relying on so much, and they’re the ones determining what we should and shouldn’t do, even how we should and shouldn’t feel about things. It’s suffocating. It’s exactly the reason why we’re so afraid of them in the first place - because they didn’t allow us to be who we are, or feel about certain things for ourselves, we’ve come to fear that the slightest difference in our own agency which doesn’t align to theirs are wrong, and should be shamed, even when it’s completely normal, hell, even when it’s the right mindset to have.

Saying this might sound a bit confusing, but I think whether you should stop caring about your parents’ opinions or not is also up to you. This includes the magnitude of impact your family has on your life, and whether or not you’ll be safe. Safety is always the most important thing. If you’re in a place where you can take care of yourself (even in the worst case scenario), then if you want to come out, you can always help them to open up to that idea more before you make the announcement. If your situation is that you can’t separate yourself from your family during the worst case scenario, then it’s better to not go for it, or if the situation is allowed to get better, you can always wait some more. There’s really no rush. You can’t imagine just how much time can make a difference in people’s thoughts.

It’s important to know that coming out is NOT a necessity. You don’t owe it to anyone. Your IDs are your own, and whether you want to share them is your own rights to do. Don’t feel guilty if you can’t come out right now, or even end up not coming out. Your well-being always comes first.

I hope things will work out well for you, Nonny, no matter what you choose to do. Take care of yourself, and take heart. We always have your back

~Mod H(ave waaaayyyy too many thoughts about this)

#ask #anonymous #mod h #queer topics #pqoc #long text

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reel-design-blog · 8 years ago

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We live in a time where remakes have become more of a way of life instead of an awesome, unforeseen treat. Sometimes it’s a nice idea to reintroduce an old film’s story to a new generation, and sometimes, it’s a complete waste of time.

Whether it’s a complete lack of originality or just a simple struggle to come up with something by ones self, the film industry has been “borrowing” stories from other sources for years. A lot of the movies we see are either adapting from books, television, or even based on “true stories” or “true events” instead of entirely taken from one’s own imagination. Sometimes a studio gets lucky and the film becomes a hit! Then there are others that don’t always do so well–and when it comes to horror movies, more often than not, the end result turns out to be more of the latter. However, the question I’m more interested in answering here is: Is the remake’s poster design scary enough for a newer generation?

1. The Texas Chainsaw Massacre

The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974)

The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (2003)

The scariest thing about The Texas Chainsaw Massacre was the studio’s marketing strategy to sell this movie as a true story. (Spoiler alert: it’s not). That aside, the premise of the movie, which has to do with being stuck in some random part of Texas and having cannibals let loose their deformed family member who chases you with a chainsaw and will inevitably murder you, is absolutely terrifying.

The original film’s poster explicitly lets the potential movie-goer exactly what would be in store for them upon the film’s viewing. The remake’s poster on the other hand tries to pull you in by relying solely on intrigue. Leatherface’s mask is partially viewable and is either a bit blurry or just non-existent. I’d say with this film, if you don’t know what it’s about, you may not be able to figure out without first having seen the trailer what it is–or even why it is that you’re seeing what you’re looking at and why you should be scared.

2. Carrie

Carrie (1976)

Carrie (2013)

Even if you haven’t seen the film Carrie, it’s almost guaranteed that the one part of the movie you know is when blood is spilled on her at a school dance and then she proceeds to lose it. As you can see from both the original and remake film’s posters, they both focus on that one pivotal scene.

Personally, I don’t believe that seeing the image of a girl covered in fake blood is a scary thing–unless we’re talking about the original film poster because the look in Carrie’s eyes in the 1976 version is a bit creepy. 2013 Carrie has nothing on 1976 Carrie’s death gaze.

3. When A Stranger Calls

When A Stranger Calls (1979)

When A Stranger Calls (2006)

When a Stranger Calls is the story of a girl who’s babysitting and receives a call from a creepy stranger who happens to be a lot closer than the babysitter realizes. Although I’ve never lived in the suburbs, I can understand why the concept of this story can be deemed frightening. Arguably, receiving unwanted, harassing phone calls and discovering that they’re in close proximity to you could be terrifying in any situation.

The 2006 film’s poster doesn’t seem anywhere scary enough. The only semblance of scary within the poster could said to be the arm within it. The coloring of it seems to suggest that it could belong to a long dead, decaying body. The image within the cellphone of a screaming, terrified girl is just a forced attempt at reminding the viewer that this is supposed to be a horror film.

4. Evil Dead

The Evil Dead (1981)

Evil Dead (2013)

The Evil Dead, which is more well known for its campy sequel, is actually a pretty decently terrifying movie, in my opinion. Even though the special effects are bad and low budget, it does not at all take away from the horror within its 85 minute runtime (give or take).

Its remake, titles Evil Dead, is almost as scary as the original, however, its movie poster isn’t as successful in inflicting terror into its viewer. Perhaps the black and white image of the girl from behind could have worked, but to me, it instead comes off as over confident with its tagline, “The most terrifying film you will ever experience.”

5. Poltergeist

Poltergeist (1982)

Poltergeist (2015)

At times, playing on a person’s specific fear can be effective. In the case of 2015’s Poltergeist remake, this is true. The single close-up image of a toy clown with minimal lighting could be considered just as creepy, if not creepier than the film’s original film.

6. A Nightmare on Elm Street

A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984)

A Nightmare on Elm Street (2010)

A Nightmare on Elm Street for years was one of the most frightening movies in my eyes. I mean, what couldn’t be considered terrifying about a man who comes after you in your dreams and can manage to kill you not only there, but also in the real world?

The remake’s poster using the feeling of anticipation to sell their film. With every popular horror film that spans more sequels than it needs, there are always fans of the franchise that will want to see every incarnation created for their favorite character. 2010’s A Nightmare on Elm Street is no exception. Freddy Krueger’s character is not only well-known but very much liked for his unique powers and comedic personality. I would think that the 2015 poster was made for fanboys who were all to eager to see what a new Freddy was to be like.

7. The Ring

Ringu (1998)

The Ring (2002)

The Ring, originally made for the Japanese market and titled Ringu, takes the idea of a chain letter and changes it to a chain tape that, upon viewing, will guarantee your death within a week if you don’t share it with another. Unless you watch the film, you won’t automatically understand what the image of the ring in the remake’s poster represents in the film. Without that bit of information, it just looks like a lame, boing ring with the movie’s title within it, and if you don’t know that, what’s so scary about a ring of light anyway?

8. The Grudge

Ju-On (2002)

The Grudge (2004)

The Grudge is another film on this list that was remade from a Japanese film. Its original version, Ju-On, is based on the belief of a curse that forms within a home where a person dies with a deep and powerful rage, and anyone who steps foot in that house is automatically cursed and will in fact end up dying, because the “grudge” is inescapable.

Just like The Ring, you must know more about The Grudge in order to get why what you see is supposed to scare you. By itself, the image of seeing a person’s single eye through their hair isn’t as scary as it’s intended to be. If I hadn’t even seen a trailer for the film, I would just automatically assume she was just a girl that was full of fear and nothing more.

9. Quarantine

Quarantine (2008)

Based on the Spanish film Rec, Quarantine is a found footage film that involves a news journalist following a couple of firefighters for a story. When they get an emergency call, the reporter and her cameraman follow close behind. When they arrive on the scene, things aren’t normal or routine at all when the CDC steps in and locks down the apartment building they’re in. Something is wrong with its residence and there’s nothing anyone can do to escape it.

Quarantine‘s poster relies on its added text on the top of the poster to allow the viewer to make sense of what they poster’s movie is about. If it wasn’t for the copy on the poster setting up the movie for me, I would have to make my own assumptions about the film. Like instead of my understanding it being a found footage film, I would have thought it was a sci-fi film where aliens could be killing off people of the human race perhaps.

9 Remake Film Posters and the Films They Were Originally Based On We live in a time where remakes have become more of a way of life instead of an awesome, unforeseen treat.

#a nightmare on elm street #carrie #evil dead #horror #movies #poltergeist #poster design #posters #quarantine #the grudge #the ring #the texas chainsaw massacre #when a stranger calls

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wellmeaningshutin · 8 years ago

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Short Story #69: Cry.

Written: 3/18/2017 Backwards Week

A speaker stands alone on the stage, which displays, behind him, LED lights of various soothing colors. His appearance is what many people call “that of a young Santa Claus”, and he looks out over the audience which is filled with women of various ages, all wearing name tags that display names that are not their own, a tradition, for all of his speeches, that promote anonymity and inclusion. Pacing back and forth, for several minutes, he studies the crowd and everyone is unsure of what he might be thinking, some women worry that he may be displeased with the audience, others question if he is some sort of pervert, but a few, who have been to his motivational speeches, feel like his mind is filled with wisdom, and he is thinking over his words very carefully. Only one of these groups is right. “There is nothing more difficult in life than to accept the hard truths.” Buttery yet stern, he begins to speak, “Time and time again, people have proven that they would much rather suffer bodily injury, than to be wrong. Who here has refused to step down in an argument, only because you didn’t want to get embarrassed by being wrong? Raise your hands.” A third of the women raise their hands. “Alright, put your hands down. Who here has disagreed with a political candidate, but still voted for them because they represented your party? Raise your hands.” Half of the audience raised their hands. “Hands down, thank you. Who here has gotten pissed of at somebody who pointed out what you did wrong, has refused to accept that somebody was a bad person, or needed help, because you didn’t want to change your initial opinion of them, who here has refused to listen to a person because of your first impression of them, even when they proved to be better than you thought, who here believes in brand loyalty, believes that anybody who calls you wrong is insulting you, believes that its better to give up instead of trying, just because a fear of failure,” and he kept listing off examples, speaking at the pace of an auctioneer, even sometimes adding in things that are off topic, just so when he is finished speaking, and finally has to catch his breath, he can look out to see that almost everyone’s hands are up, so he can simply say to the crowd, “You are all assholes. This is not an insult, this is the truth, and the only way to not be an asshole is to accept the fact, because only by knowing something can you change it, and become a better person. This is just one of the many hard truths you will have to accept to become a better person.”

Eventually, he begins discussing how everybody has faults, in a sort of damage control attempt because many people remain offended that he had insulted them on stage. He begins to talk about how he used to be a terrible father, and husband, because he would spend more time out with his friends, or working, than actually spending time at home. He had a mistress that he treated better than his wife, that he saw more often, and he started to forget his children’s birthdays, and when he did he would struggle just to figure out what a good present would be, since he only had vague ideas of his interests. “One day I got home from a business trip, two months in Los Angeles, and when I get back to town do you know what I did? I went out to dinner with my friends, and I got back to my house late at night, drunk, and didn’t bother to talk to my family until the next morning. When I woke up, for some reason I was angry because I found out that my wife hadn’t made me breakfast, and you know what I thought? I thought she was at fault, I thought she was being unreasonable because all I had done for her, but now its hard to understood how I thought I was a good husband. I remember, after yelling at her, I saw my son playing, I asked him how his day was, and he told me ‘Why would you care?’ And I became even angrier. It took me a while to realize, I really didn’t care. I was never around. I was a gigantic asshole, but I refused to see it, I wanted to be the good guy of my own story, but in reality I was the villain of so many other people’s, I was deluded, and I was especially unhappy. I’ve changed since then, but it took way too long to accept it. By the time I realized how wrong I was, I had already lost my family, they didn’t want anything to do with me anymore, but it doesn’t have to be that way for everyone.”

Then he leads women in the audience to share things that they refused to accept, deeply embarrassing things, and often it is hard to get the process going, but by the time one becomes brave enough to confide in the others, and is surprised by how sympathetic everyone is, they usually cry, and that leads to the speaker allowing more and more people to open up, cry, and he helps them try to see how things can change, “Because this isn’t about shame. You should only feel ashamed if you refuse to confide, because you are refusing to grow.”

By the end, most people are a crying mess, or have gotten over crying, and the speaker watches from the stage, congratulates them, trying to suppress a grin, beginning to inform them of how and where they can purchase his several books. ———————————————————————————————————

Airports always seemed to make him uneasy, and not because he was scared of flying, he didn’t mind it at all, but it was due to the fact that everyone just seemed to be waiting. Even the people who worked at the stores, TSA agents, the pilots and hostesses who occasionally passed by, they were all just waiting for something, whether it was their flight, for their shift to be over, it was all terrible. It made him miss Janine, she was such a lovely person, so fully of emotion, he wished he could bring her along on his trips, to the camps he runs for foster children, the battered women's shelters that he donates to and speaks at, the different cities that he gives speeches at, but there was no possibility of that. He would be lucky if he could even get her out of the house, but at least he knew that she would be there for him, waiting, always waiting. At least the last memory he had of her, before he left, was a pleasant one, but the more that time grew between that last moment and the present, the satisfaction he gained from it faded.

At least his next speech was only a day away, and maybe he would feel much better after that. Sometimes he didn’t know who was being motivated, the people he spoke to, or himself.

Scanning the waiting area, hoping to see something that would catch his interest, he noticed a sad sight: a woman, very young, maybe mid 20’s, was all alone, crying, and seemed mildly frightened. Instincts kicked in and he decided to move over to her, so that he could see what was wrong, understand her pain, and maybe could comfort her, help her.

At first she was vary wary of him, when he asked what was wrong, but after he was given a nasty look he raised up his hands in resistance, which was actually to show the ring on his finger, and said, “I’m just concerned, don’t worry.” Sometimes this was like a magic trick, all he had to do was appear married and happy, and it made women think that there were less chances of him being somebody to watch out for, and in a way he really was somebody worth trusting, so all he had to do was get his foot in the door to prove it.

In no time, he was able to figure out that she was fleeing from an abusive husband, but she had nothing since he hid all of her money, and she wasn’t sure if she was going to do well when she reached her destination, because she knew nobody in the town. She was worried that she made a mistake, and wondered if it was better to go back to the man instead. The speaker tried to help her, but it was announced that passengers would start boarding for his flight, so he left her with advice, “If you go back to him you’re dead, and it is better to be alive and feel some pain,” as he said this she had her face in her hands, crying, and he felt slighted that she refused to look at him, so he just felt some of her hair that hung over her face, sort of weighing it in his hands, and continued, “Life is pain, but the pain can only exist when something good is taken away. Know that this isn’t forever, because if you feel like it is, then you are just letting this horrible man control your life.”

He got up to leave, and she looked up at him and thanked him, then wiped her tears away. Smiling, he felt he could now endure the emotionless flight ahead of him. ———————————————————————————————————

It was finally time to leave the camp, and even if he wanted to stay longer he still had a flight to catch, so he made his rounds and said his goodbyes to the children he had supervised. It should have been quick, something to be said to the group he helped look over, but he realized that one of the boys had been missing. Apparently the missing child had gone to the bathroom, ten minutes ago, and the speaker knew that there was no chance that the child would be at the bathroom. So, following his instincts, he decided to investigate the areas that would seem the most fun, and eventually he ended up at the docks, where he saw the child swimming nearby.

Goodbye was almost shouted, with a half ass wave given after, but then he noticed something strange about the way the child swam. He was a ways away from the docks, or land, and it seemed like he was bobbing more than he was actively swimming, as if he was having trouble staying above the water. When the man realized that the child was most likely drowning, he was surprised that this was what it had looked like, instead of the splashing and thrashing that he had often seen in movies. It was incredibly boring to him, so he looked around, and there was nobody in sight. The child was all alone in the water, with nobody to come to his aid except for the man with the flight to catch, who was trying to think of any good reason to save the kid, who refused to show any emotion, just showed determination to not drown, wearing the bland face of an intensely focused mind.

Deciding that it may look bad for a child to drown at his camp, he decided to stroll down the docks, waiting for the child to react, which was all he wanted. How could the child remain there, death floating nearer and nearer to him in the water, and he couldn’t simply shout for help? Or maybe even just look afraid? Weren’t children supposed to be excessive with their emotions? Maybe he shouldn’t have run a camp for such damaged children, maybe if he had some normal kids they would scream and thrash if they were about to die, they would give him something.

As he stood at the end of the dock, the child forty feet away, head barely sticking out of the water, the man lazily took his phone, wallet, shoes, and placed them onto the wooden surface where they would remain dry. Looking up at the sky, to see what the child might see, he could tell it was a very beautiful day, it would be an amazing last sight. Then, he eased himself into the water, and began to leisurely swim over to the child, who had sunk under the water, seemingly unable to return to the surface. He was able to reach the boy in time, pull him up above the water, and get him to dry land, but the whole time he was quite angry to do so. The child thought, by the man’s expression, that he was going to get in trouble for swimming without permission, and only when he cried because of this, because he may get removed from the camp, only then did the man’s scowl become replaced with a smile, and only then did he attempt to comfort the boy. ———————————————————————————————————

“Okay everyone, just a reminder, this will be my last night at the camp.”

“Do you really have to go?” One child asked, trying to lean out of the way from the smoke of the camp fire, that had seemed to land on him every night.

“Yeah, I know you guys want me to stay, but I have a lot of work to do.”

“Well, if you have to leave,” one kid said, “then you have to tell us a scary story. You promised from day one.” The other children agreed.

“Okay, let me think for a second,” and the man couldn’t remember one on the spot, mainly because he thought of such stories as childish, dull, unrealistic, so he decided to make one up on the spot, “There was a family camping in these woods, not to long ago, back before this camp was built. Long time ago, before everything had been cleared out. You see, this wasn’t always a great spot for camping, because there was something that used to live here, something evil, so they would warn any campers about the dangers, but some people never listened. Now, there was never any information on what lived in the woods, but nobody really lived to explain anything about it, so the family just thought it was a ghost story thought up by the locals, but let me tell you, this monster is, was very real.”

“One night, they sat around a camp fire, just like this, and they see something standing a ways away, off in the bushes, watching them. So, the husband decides to go over and check, assuming its just some deer or other harmless woodland creature, but when he saw the thing he noticed it looked just like a person, but something was off about it, it made his skin crawl. Being the brave, leader of the family, he decided to blankly tell the person to get lost and leave his family alone, but the creature said one word, ‘Cry.’”

“The man decided that the person must have been a drunk, so he just firmly told the thing to leave, and it repeated the word again, ‘Cry.’ He stood his ground, swung his fist, and as his wife and kids watched he was torn right in half, and then the strange thing, which seemed less and less human by the second, approached the family, and they were afraid. They wanted to scream and run, but fear kept them in their seats. The creature looked at each one of them, and made its requests, ‘Cry, Cry, Cry’. All they could do was stare, and so it got tired and moved for one of the children, making the situation too much for the kid who began to cry, and the monster left it alone. Then it moved for the second kid, who did the same, and the thing ignored that kid too.”

“The mother saw this go on with her children, and so she decided to do the same, so thinking of her dead husband she was able to cry, but with all of that grief she ended up bawling her heart out, and the thing was so overcome with her raw emotion that it picked her up, and took her into the woods, so it could take her to its lair and watch her cry whenever it wanted to.”

“Wait,” the child who was now ducking to stay below the smoke, “what was the moral of the story?”

The man was confused by this question. ———————————————————————————————————

During his first night at the camp, while the kids were all in their bunks, the man had to piss, and he decided that it would be better to go in the woods instead of the bathrooms. How often did you get to relieve yourself while completely exposed? He didn’t really understand the point of having bathrooms in the camp, when everyone could just go in the woods, but he figured ‘To each his own’.

On his way back to his cabin, as he took a detour through a more scenic area of the forest, he began to hear a sound, a very familiar sound. Cautiously and quietly, he decided to investigate, and after several minutes of stealthy movement, he saw, in a clearing, a little ways away, one of the young, female counselors sitting all alone, crying. Crouching in the bushes, he watched. ———————————————————————————————————

In about a half an hour, his ride would finally come to take him to the camp he funded, which he liked visit every now and then to make sure things were running smoothly. He also made sure to only visit if he was doing a speech in another state, just so that he would never be expected to stay very long. Making sure that he wasn’t forgetting anything, he obsessively combed through his suitcases, checking if he had enough shirts, pants, underwear, jackets, sunscreen, toothpaste, a toothbrush, printed directions to get to where he would be speaking, sunglasses, a comb, etc. After he had gone over every little item, he realized that he had forgotten his fake wedding ring, and ran upstairs to put it on.

He liked to wear the thing because it tended to make women feel safer around him, even if he knew that he would never get married. There was just something about marriage that was off putting to him, and sometimes it was hard for him to put his finger on it, but thats only because he refused to accept that it was because there was too much complacency with marriages. There were too many moments of just cohabitation, with nothing happening of interest. Sure, every now and then there would be fights, moments of grief or happiness, but he just couldn’t stand the general emotionlessness of it all, and he felt like what he wanted in a relationship just went against the idea of being in a relationship. However, most of the time this knowledge was stuffed down, deep inside, and instead he just pretended that he just had bad luck when it came to dating, some flimsy story that allowed him to feel like he was just a victim of circumstances.

As he walked down the stairs and slipped the ring onto his finger, he realized that he would need to say goodbye to Janine before he left, knowing that if he didn’t it would be very difficult to get through the trip ahead. He would probably go crazy. So, after getting to the ground floor, he walked to the basement door, fished his keys out of his pockets, and began to unlock the five, heavy duty blocks that barred access from going down there. When that task was done, he closed the door behind him, switched the basement lights on, and began to walk down the stairs into that heavily insulated room. And there Janine was, like always, dead in the eyes, refusing to look at him, chained to the wall by her neck.

“I’m going to be leaving soon, I’ll be gone for about five days.” No response. “You’re not dead, are you?”

“No, I’m alive,” she said flatly, “I’m just dead inside.”

“Well that’s a shame. If you’re dead inside then what use would you be to me? Why would I want to keep you around.” No response. “Well, like I said I will be gone for some time, and I’m going to need you to cheer me up before I leave, so it will be easier for me to get through those boring days ahead, at least until I give my next speech. So can you just give me what I want? I’ll be out of your hair if you do.” No response. “Okay, I don’t have time for this game, I’m going to have to be blunt. I’ll be gone for five days, which is more than enough time to die of dehydration? Okay? So, if you want me to leave some water with you, a couple gallons, all you have to do is just help me out here. Just cry for me, please.”

She tried to stare intently at her feet, feeling that it would be better to die than to cry and continue living like this, but the more she thought about her situation, the more she thought about what this awful man must be doing to others, she couldn’t help but to become incredibly sad.

#Free Write #Short Story #Writers on Tumblr #Sad #Motivation

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