#really hoping to stay in Germany and feel a little bit more stable

[the-saucy-wave-equation]

aaaaah just got the call for nomination for a fast-track position to be group leader in the group i joined a little over a year ago, and I'm excited but also nervous. This would be such a cool way to have some job stability for 4 years, and get on the track to have a more permanent research position with my own group in Germany without the risk of doing a 6 year postdoc and kneecapping my ability to go back to the US academic market. And it's a pretty simple application! But that makes me more nervous, because it means it has to be totally pristine- I have no wiggle room. I have two and a half weeks to do the application (and I'm on holiday this week, but like a true academic I won't let that stop me)

[theyrealllegends]

Someone still loves you (Roger Taylor X femReader)

Synopsis: It’s 1984 and you’re John’s cousin as well as Roger’s best friend since basically forever. Not even his marriage or his kind of annoying wife can change that. However, things are getting messy between him and his wife, so of course you’re there to help him out and take care of his son Felix. 

Words: almost accurately 6k

Author’s Note: I don’t precisely remember where this idea came from but I had to share it with you all and I hope you enjoy it! Let me know what you think!

Warning: Drinking and drug use, puking, language, angst, mentions of a divorce

xoxox

Someone Still Loves You

“What the actual FUCK?”, the woman cried out, making your ears ring painfully. 

“God, shut up”, you muttered annoyed, feeling sicker the longer you looked at her. 

“What’s wrong, love?”, Brian asked her, acting innocently. 

“You’re high, that’s wrong. All of you are bloody stoned!”

“And what’s wrong with that?”, you mumbled into Roger’s chest and he chuckled before he sat up slowly, pushing you into a more upright position as well. 

“I gotta get going, darling”, he slurred and you sighed. 

“Why again?”

“Promised Cyn we’d have - uhm”, he interrupted himself, scratching his head. “Something, I guess. Can’t remember.” You snorted at his words before you steadied yourself on the couch you would now sit on alone. Roger sat straight, trying to fix his hair and shoved his sunglasses up his head to ran his hands over his eyes hardly, before he put them back on and got up very slowly. “Here we go, love”, he told his obnoxious wife who just glared at him, unable to understand that he wanted to hang out with you and the boys - his closest friends - who wanted to entertain themselves as well. And given that their band Queen was now pretty successful and they themselves as well as you considered them as rockstars there came a lifestyle of the cliché sex, drugs and rock ’n roll. 

Of course somewhere along the journey, Roger had to knock up a woman. Maybe it had been more than one but since Cynthia could be as annoying as she wanted, she knew how to get the biggest advantage for herself out of everything, she forced Rog into marrying her “for the good of his first born son”, of course! At least that was the way you saw the story because you didn’t precisely want to believe Roger had real feelings for a woman you couldn’t stand for the live of you. You didn’t even remember precisely how you happened to become best friends with him, maybe it was when you were living together in college - you’d both been flat hunting and ended up with a third person that knew both of you but wasn’t too keen when you started to hang out without them - or when you introduced him, Brian and Freddie to your cousin John because you knew how badly they were looking for a bassist. No matter what it was, Roger and you shared a very special bound. It was like you knew what he was thinking without him saying it but a glance or a simple hand move was all you needed and the other way around, Roger understood you just as well. He was the one to keep you stable when you struggled with anything in your life, he’d been the one to encourage you to apply for the magazine you were working at now and he was the one that was always down for whatever crazy thing you came up with. For him, you were the one woman he wouldn’t want to lie to or cheat on because one, he didn’t want to hurt you and two, you were the only one that truly got him, he felt like and he loved you for it. You both loved each other without letting the other one know with words - you weren’t in love after all. 

He got married fours years ago after he and the boys had gotten back from a still shocked Germany where they’d performed Fat Bottomed Girls with stripping girls on stage and finally had some months at home which were ruined when Cynthia had showed up eight months pregnant and convinced Roger to go through every test he needed to believe he was actually becoming a father. It had been a lot for him, he’d told you and you knew how worried he’d been, often enough helping him out of his panics. But now, seeing him with his son Felix, you knew it had been worth it and Roger was happy with almost everything - the only thing that upset him was the mother of his son. He wouldn’t really admit it and you guessed he felt bad or embarrassed or both but you could tell whether he said it or not. Mainly because he still left his home to get high with you and the boys - it had become way less often but still counted - and because you knew how his face looked when he was happy and it never looked like that when Cynthia was around. He didn’t look happy when he had to leave that day as well but you were a bit too dizzy to care, only really getting the situation hours later when you were home and had downed what felt like three litres of water. You were starting to worry if Roger was alright or if he and Cynthia had had one of their countless arguments about the most unnecessary shit ever and you couldn’t help but dial his number even though it was way past Felix’s bed-time. They’d probably turn off their phone if they were scared it’d wake him up. 

“Hello?”, you heard Roger’s voice after a few too many of the noises that indicated you that your call was actually going through and he sounded out of breath to you. 

“Hey, it’s me”, you whispered as if you didn’t want to answer him anymore right there. “Just wanted to hear if you were alright.”

“I am, love, everything’s alright”, Roger replied and you could tell that he was smiling into the receiver, making your heart ache for no real reason. “Thank you for calling, I was thinking about you but afraid you were already asleep.”

“You know you can always call, Rog. I was scared I’d wake up Felix as well."

“Moved the phone the furthest to his room, I don’t think it’ll so don’t ever hesitate, love.”

“Thanks, Rog”, you answered softly and he sighed deeply. 

“Who’s that?”, you heard in the background of the call and of course it was Cynthia. 

“Will I see you in the studio tomorrow?”, Roger asked directed to you, kind of ignoring her and you smiled silently. 

“I can come around if you want me to.”

“Felix will keep you company, if that’s alright?”

“Sure”, you said, knowing that your talk would be over now. 

“See you then, y/N.”

“Night, Rog.”

He often asked you to meet him in the studio, he always had but since Felix had gotten a bit older he sometimes took him as well and there had to be someone to look for him while Roger was busy recording. Tomorrow was Saturday and you didn’t have to go to work so it wasn’t a big deal for you, in fact you were happy to have a reason to see all the boys. 

***

They were all sat on a couch, laughing with each other and Felix was silently looking at all the strange men in front of him. You chuckled when you walked in and his face lit up when he spied you. 

“I think they’re weird as well”, you told him after greeting the boys and Felix started laughing, reaching for you. “Uff, someone grew!”, you continued to talk to him when you lifted him from Roger’s lap into you arms but Felix just smiled at you, playing with the strands of your hair softly. 

“You should really take care this doesn’t grow into a weird thing”, you teased Roger who was running a hand through his shortish blonde hair as well, pulling on some strands when his heart felt like it was about to burst seeing you with Felix. He looked so much calmer and happier with you then with his real mother, not that Roger could ever get himself to admit that. 

“I’ll try, love”, he said with a grin before he forced himself to get up and follow his bandmates. “You’re alright out here?”

“Perfectly fine”, you nodded with a smile. 

“You’re good with auntie y/N?”, he asked his son in a softer voice and Felix smiled at you. 

“Always fine with auntie y/N”, he answered in his soft voice and you felt your heart warm by the way he said your name just like Roger and by how much he sounded like his dad. 

“Roger, move your a-“

“Fred!”, you heard Deaky interrupt Freddie’s interruption of the moment. 

“Move your small bottom in here, would you?”, Freddie continued with a shit eating grin and Roger snorted before he had to force himself to leave you and Felix alone. 

“How’s it going at home, sweetie?”, you asked the little boy after you had settled both of you on the couch the boys had occupied before. 

“Dada’s not sleeping in momma’s bed”, he whispered to you like it was a secret. 

“Why not?”, you answered just as silently. 

“Don’t know, but he’s always in the living room when I can’t sleep.”

“And you sleep on the couch with him then?”

“Sometimes”, the child nodded softly. “But sometimes Dada’s asleep on the table and doesn’t wake up”, he told you looking concerned. “I think he’s having a lot of the drinks I can’t have.”

“Do you want me to talk to him?”, you asked Felix softly, pulling him closer and stroking his hair to relieve the tension in his face. 

“Don’t want to upset him”, he answered muffled by the skin of your neck Felix always loved to bury his head in. 

“I understand”, you said softly, continuing to stroke his back, knowing it would be hard for him to stay awake that much longer when you did this around midday. But you had to force yourself not to think too much about what the little boy had said because you hadn’t known that before and were even more concerned now, actually having to urge yourself not to cry but to focus on the boy’s recording to distract you. 

“How’ve we been?”, Roger asked Felix with a smile when they were done recording and he’d found the two of you looking at a picture book Roger had brought for him. 

“Good”, Felix told him and Roger smiled, ruffling his hair and moving to pull him from your lap. 

“Gotta get home soon, shall we?”

“Can’t we stay with my auntie?”, you heard him ask and got up quickly and put a hand on both his and Roger’s shoulder. 

“You should go home with your Daddy, love, I’m sure Mommy prepared dinner for you”, you told the boy and Roger’s face fell. 

“Actually I in fact know she didn’t”, he told you quickly and silently and you nodded. 

“You wanna come over then? We could go to the store on the way and pick up everything we need for dinner.”

“That sound good to you, son?”, Roger asked Felix while you saw every pain in the world in his eyes.

“Yes, yes, yes!”, Felix said with the widest smile ever, happy he’d gotten his will. 

“Fred, can you keep Felix company for a second?”, you called the black haired man over and Freddie smiled and swayed his hips. 

“Who prefers uncle Freddie?”, he asked Felix with a grin. “Come ‘ere young man, they’re boring anyway!”

“Boring!”, Felix repeated laughing, sticking out his tongue to Roger who just snorted and handed him to Freddie without further arguing - it told you everything you needed to know. 

“Is that really alright with you, don’t wanna -“

“Rog”, you interrupted him and softly put a hand to his biceps again. “Of course that’s fine. You and Felix are always welcome over. I can make pizza with him if you need some time to go home and talk to - her.” He rubbed his face harshly and when he looked back at you he looked broken. 

“I’d rather not but I guess you’re right. It’d be great if we’d do it like you said.”

“Sure, Rog”, you said softly and he moved towards you for a quick hug. 

“God, you’re the only girl that keeps me sane”, he mumbled into your hair and your grip on his neck tightened for a moment. 

“I’ll always be there for you, Rog.”

“Thank you, babe.”

“I want auntie y/N!”, you heard Felix rage from the outside world that surprisingly still seemed to exist while you were in Roger’s warm arms. You broke away from him, feeling like you’ve been hit in the chest at the sudden loss of his body close to yours and his smell that could always right any wrong in the world for you. “She’s mine, she’s mine, not Dada’s!” You laughed because you couldn’t help it and otherwise you might’ve started crying there and then so you settled on picking Felix back up from Freddie who had trouble holding the child that had started kicking his legs around when you’d been too far away for his liking. 

“‘m here, sweet boy, ‘m here”, you tried to calm him, swaying him around on your hips a little. “Everything’s alright”, you continued, trying to get yourself to believe your words as well. 

Making pizza with a four year old boy was hard. Harder than making pizza on your own and with a huge glass of Chardonnay for sure. Roger was gone and you had to force yourself to keep smiling and keep Felix distracted so he wouldn’t suddenly ask for his dad. However, he returned when Felix and you were about to put the dough with everything you two had wanted on it in the oven and everything seemed alright until you saw Roger’s face. He looked bet up and angry and he didn’t even try to hide it from Felix when he put the liquor-shop bag on your table and went in to put a bottle of Scotch in your freezer. 

“Sweetie, if I let you pick the music for tonight, can I talk to your dad for a second then?”, you asked the little boy and he looked at you for a moment, contemplating your offer. 

“Okay”, he finally said and you literally let out a relieved breath. “Show me your vinyls.” At first you thought you’d instantly regret letting him close to your beloved collection but apparently Roger had already thought him to handle the material the way you had to. 

“I’ll replace everything if he breaks something”, Roger was quick to assure you. “She completely freaked out”, he then continued without looking at you. “She told me I was stealing her son from her and I was a cheating bastard and that I shouldn’t even try to come home later and some other shit and she threw things at me and I left before she reached the kitchen knives. Like, sometimes I’m scared she’ll actually harm the little one if I leave them alone."

“She wouldn’t dare to, Rog. He’s the only thing that keeps you with her, I think she’s aware.”

“I can’t do much, y/N. She’s his mother and I want her to be part of his life, I guess. I hated growing up with just one parent.”

“I know, Rog.” His dad had been the talk of the town because he was a drunk and had slapped Roger’s mother to a point where she’d kicked him out of the house. He’d been to young to realise when it happened, but his mom had explained it to him later and he’d told you one night he’d felt horrible about everything. “I’m always here for the two of you.” He bit his lip and looked away and you could tell he was about to say or do something when Felix turned back to the two of you and help up Queen II. 

“Someone got good taste”, you told him with a smile and picked him up so he could sit on your sideboard and watch you put the needle of the player on the vinyl. Eating the pizza with the boys was fun and your heart was painfully beating when you let your thoughts travel for a second and thought about the fact that you were nowhere close to having what Roger had - as bad as it could be, after all he had a family he could be proud of with a son that could bring peace to your mind with just a smile. Felix had his moments where he was a child other people could dream of, actually. Especially when you brought him up to the little bed Roger had bought for your place and that waited for him in your home office every time Felix needed it. Roger had brought him a PJ to change into and as soon as his head hit his pillow, the little boy was gone. 

“Fell asleep in like two seconds”, you told Roger when you met him in your living room again and he was already three glasses into his whisky. 

“Never does that when I try to put him to sleep” he mumbled into the glass on his lips. “Hell, y/N, I’m so angry.”

“I can tell”, you said honestly, sitting next to him. His body was tense, there was a deep line between his eyebrows and his free hand was either clenched into a fist or running through his hair, a sign that he was nervous or angry - or he was playing but you knew he wasn't, not with you, ever. 

“You know how much I hate her calling me a cheater? So much I actually want to go to some fucking place and just shag someone. At least she’ll have a reason to yell at me then.”

“You don’t want to give her that reason or the pleasure to be right, trust me”, you mumbled as he downed his glass. 

“You know I cheated before but I wouldn’t wanna do it on Cyn. For the sake of Felix, I’m trying my best to stay with this crazy bitch and the only thanks I get is getting yelled at.” You moved your head to his shoulder and leaned into him when he wrapped an arm around your shoulder. 

“Sorry about that, Rog”, you mumbled, softly putting a hand on his clothed chest, feeling his heart beat rapidly through his black button down. 

Roger and you had slept in the same bed countless times before. Back when you’d lived together it had happened when you both had passed out drunk or high or if one of you was upset and the other one tried to comfort them - mostly that was you crying and Roger spooning you so you wouldn’t feel lonely while a guy had just broken up with you. After that, you’d sometimes shared a hotel room with him when you’d gone to meet him and the boys on tour for only a few nights and even after that you’d crash at his gigantic place when he’d invited you and the boys over for drinks or after one of Freddie’s parties. So it wasn’t a question that he could join you in your bed that night as well but first of all it was a torture to get him upstairs to your bedroom, out of his clothes and onto your bed and secondly, after everything you’d felt the past few days, it was weird to be that close to him again physically. It hadn’t happened in almost two years, you believed because he was really trying to be a good husband and father and slept in a bed with his wife most nights since Felix was born - excluding the nights he slept on the couch or the dining table in his own mansion. But smelling his familiar scent, a little less smoke and a bit more scotch in it this time since he’d stopped smoking when Cynthia was pregnant and moved in with him, and feeling the warmth of his body, his touch on the exact places he knew you were most comfortable with his hand there; you felt at ease. You leaned into his chest and Roger pulled you closer without noticing while he was already drifting off to sleep. You smiled to yourself and let go of the heartache at least for one night. 

***

The next time you saw Roger was Tuesday when you came home from work and you found him sitting in front of the house you had your flat in and he was drinking from a half empty bottle of cheap Vodka. 

“Roger, what the fuck?!”, you called out when you realised it was him. He looked worse than usual, his hair not sticking away from his head in the sexy way it usually did, his eyes were deeply hooded and his face looked paler than usual, a bit grey actually and he wasn’t dressed as properly as he had since he grew from all the fur coats he was sporting in the seventies. Actually you were sure he was still in his pyjamas, had just pulled a random pair of jeans on over the bottoms and didn’t have the time to care whether the colour of his jacket matched witch his pants or if his shoes were a pair. 

“Y/N, this crazy bitch just took my son and left!”, he yelled back, grabbing his bottle and trying to get to his feet. “Can you believe that? She took Felix away from me!”

“Rog, shhh”, you whispered softly, trying to calm him down before your neighbours would complain. He was way too famous to be outside that drunk and shitty looking at this point. “Let me get you inside, we’ll talk there and I’m gonna call the boys and Miami for help.” He seemed to get that because he remained silent and tried his best to be a help while you struggled to get him up the few stairs to your building’s front door and then into the elevator. He only started rambling again when you finally managed to have him sit on your kitchen table and you called the boys and their lawyer quickly before you started to roam through your fridge for the greasiest food you had, hoping it’d soak up the most alcohol in the shortest time. Even though Roger’s system didn’t precisely need food, it needed a miracle. You knew him, he’d probably start throwing up in an hour. 

“What precisely happened?”, you asked him softly when you started cutting some potatoes. 

“She wasn’t home when we came on Sunday but that wasn’t a surprise, she did that to piss me off in the past”, he slurred, leaning his elbows on your table and rubbing his big hands over his face angrily. “And she only came home Monday night and acted like everything was perfectly fine, so I go to the studio today and I come home and she packed some of her and some of Felix’s things and took my Bentley and just left.”

“She took Felix and your Bentley?!”

“You’re basically me at this point”, Roger mumbled, finally smiling again. 

The boys and Miami came when you’d put the potatoes in the oven and continued to fry bacon to aside them and they were just as shook as you’d been about that story. 

“What are you gonna do now?”, Brian asked Roger who just snorted. 

“All I wanna do is get fucking high.”

“Rog”, you said calmly from where you still stood on your stove. “If we wanted legal steps against her you’d have to be sober and presentable as fuck.”

“She’s right”, Jim said, nodding at you with a smile. “We’d have to be very careful and very aware of the huge impact it would have on publicity if you went through a big lawsuit right now.”

“Sorry, I don’t understand what you’re saying right now”, Roger said, at least you understood that he was trying to do so but Jim didn’t seem to be that familiar with Roger’s slurred words. 

“He says he doesn’t understand you”, you went to translate and turned off the stove. “I need you to get him in the bathroom right now.”

“I’m alright!”

“That’s what you always say, babe, I know you’re not.” Brian nodded and got up but it took all three of them and some very unhappy looks of Jim to be able to move Roger to your bathroom and once he saw your toilet, it was over. 

“Ehw”, John mumbled, turning to open a window for fresh air. 

“It’s fine, Johnny, you can leave if you can’t handle that. I got him from here on.”

“I won’t leave him”, Freddie spoke, stroking Roger’s back softly. “He needs us.”

“Sorry I’ll have to wait outside. I’m getting drunk only from the smell.”

“That’s fine, Bri. Just take care of my potatoes, can you do that?”, you asked, trying to keep him and John, who looked way too pale to make it another minute, busy. They both nodded and Miami joined them, leaving Roger with you and Freddie, knowing that he was in the best possible company.

“Bloody hell”, Roger mumbled into your toilet when his breathing finally stabilised and he sat back on his ass, leaning onto the next wall for stability.

“Thank you two.”

“Always, Rog”, you told him, getting up to grab him a towel. 

“I hate you, bitch”, you heard Freddie tell him and smiled to yourself when Roger said the words back to his friend. It was their very unique way to tell each other they loved them. 

***

You spent the next few nights in the same bed as Roger, however the both of you slept over at Freddie’s on Wednesday and Thursday and at Roger’s house on Friday because he was hoping to find Cynthia and Felix at their home. You hadn’t planned to fall asleep on the couch but Roger’s arms were wrapped around you tightly and you had had a few too many glasses of white wine and he’d put on your favourite movie, you couldn’t really help it. Also, you grew way to addicted to being that close to him again; how were you supposed to go back to falling asleep on your own? Being close to you calmed him too, actually resting in his bed at night sleeping next to someone he cared for and he knew it was the other way around as well was incredibly good for him. It wasn’t completely like the lazy weekends you’d had back in your college days because there was still a leftover tension in Roger’s face and muscles when he thought about everything too hard but apart from that, both of you were as happy as you could be, making a few jokes here and there, talking for hours and watching TV if you weren’t. Roger even invited you to the studio at some point to show you a song he was working on that Felix had inspired him too and it required more synthesisers as Queen would ever again use in their whole lifetime combined, you were sure about that but you still loved it. Especially the way Roger’s eyes lit up when he sang the lyrics to you, playing a few tunes on his guitar then and there. 

***

You saw Cynthia again when you least expected her. It was in your office on Monday morning. Your boss had called you into his room and you were shook for a second before you hurried your way over to his desk. Felix managed to get away from Cynthias hands and met you a few steps away from you, raising his arms desperately. 

“God, it’s so good to see you, little one. Are you alright?”

“I’ve missed you, aunty”, he replied softly and you softly swayed him like you always did. 

“I’m gonna bring him to my assistant so we can talk openly”, you suggested and you boss nodded, obviously fuming that you hadn’t mention the whole situation with one word. “FT, this is serious”, you whispered to the child when the office’s door fell close behind you. “I need you to call your dad with my phone and tell him to come pick you up at my office.”

“Okay, aunty”, he replied as silently as you were talking. 

“Everything’s gonna be alright, okay? If he’s not at home try the studio, I’ll tell Melissa to give you the number.”

“Sure”, Felix nodded, just happy to see his dad again soon. Your assistant didn’t look that happy at the sight of having to babysit but you couldn’t care and took off again faster than anything could distract you or Felix. You prayed to every god you knew he’d do what you told him and Roger would actually be here rather sooner than later. 

“So”, your boss said when you returned to his office. “What made you think we wouldn’t be interested in Roger Taylor’s marriage problems?”

“I always said I would separate my private friendship to Roger from my job here”, you answered firmly. “If I got divorced no-one in the world would care and it should be the same for Roger or anyone else, really, whatever Cynthia said, it’s his private business”, you continued and watched your boss’s face turn red and then very pale. 

“Who are you and what have you done to my best working journalist? This is exactly what your job isn’t about, y/N!”

“I’m sorry you see it that way but I wouldn’t want to get involved in this."

“As if you weren’t already!”, Cynthia finally decided to talk to you, her high voice even higher today and your ears were ringing again. “You’re what made him so distant!”

“Distant? I’m keeping him distant while you’re the one leaving the city? With his SON without him knowing? You’re crazy, Roger was dying over what you did! You can’t hold me responsible for everything, sorry.”

“Don’t even try to tell me you weren’t happy I was gone! You’ve wanted him forever and I’m sure he was desperate enough now to find relieve with you.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous”, you snorted. “He’d never cheat on you but you don’t deserve his efforts at all!”

“And how would you know?”, she was almost screaming at this point and you could tell your boss was growing uncomfortable with how the situation was turning out. 

“Because he bloody told me! And even Felix noticed you two weren’t sleeping in the same bed, I’d fucking make sure my child wouldn’t have to worry about something like that!”, you defended yourself and Roger and you knew that Cynthia didn’t have more valid arguments but wasn’t willing to give up this fight. You were interrupted nevertheless though because in front of the glass door, people started freaking out and Cynthia’s face went white. 

“You fucking called him?”

“I didn’t call anyone. I just told Felix where my phone is”, you replied with a smile, turning around to guide Roger to his son. 

“Thank you so much”, he whispered when he hurriedly followed you down the long hallway and when Felix spied him he ran into his direction just like he’d done when you walked into the office earlier. He was crying and clinging onto Roger’s leather jacket, burying his face in his dad’s neck and Roger held him for what felt like seconds before you knew Cynthia would raise hell in the middle of your bloody office. 

“Felix, come over here!” She wasn’t even trying to sound nice to the kid anymore and you snapped just as hard as Roger did, walking towards her so there was a chance he wouldn’t hear you. 

“Don’t fucking talk to him like that, you bitch! Obviously, he doesn’t want to be with you!”

“He’s MY fucking son, get out of the way!” You didn’t move though and she made the mistake to push you out of her way to approach Roger who looked like he’d rather die than hand the child in his arms over to her ever again. 

“I’d bet money on y/N beating you up right now, Cyn, I’d take care.”

“That whore got nothing on me”, she ranted and Roger’s eyes were sparkling when they met yours. 

“You clearly don’t know she’s into boxing.”

“We’re in the middle of her fucking office!”, Cynthia said but you could tell she was getting scared. 

“I’m getting fired anyway, thanks”, you told her between gritted teeth before you started pushing her backwards, unwilling to let her get to Felix and Roger. “You better move before I pull you out of her on those ugly extensions!”

“That’s my hair what are you talking about?!”

“You’re lying but if you weren’t that’d make it even worse.”

***

Of course your boss had to publish the story of the gigantic scene Cynthia had caused. And you’d tried to stop him but you’d been right as well, he did fire you. Roger had offered Miami’s help to get you back in but you denied, knowing that working there would’ve never been the same again. Also you wanted to be there for him and Felix because you knew that Roger would finally get the divorce he’d wished for the last few years. Cynthia had tried to be your friend the first six month or something and she’d been as good of a wife as she could be, attempting to make dinner for Roger and ordering take-out when she’d repeatedly failed. They were fucking pretty often, you could tell by how calm and content Roger became all of a sudden even though Felix didn’t let him sleep more than five hours a night. Roger even talked to you and the boys about it a few times but you hadn’t really been up to hear it to a point were Freddie had diagnosed you with jealousy. You’d been right in the end though, she’d turned out just as nasty as you’d expected and Roger had to admit that he’d only stuck with her for Felix. He was worried he wouldn’t get the right to have him live with him but Jim assured him that after what Cynthia did - and keeping in mind that the boy himself told the judge that all he wanted was to stay with his dad - chances weren’t too bad for him. 

Felix was staying with Roger’s mother for a few days while the lawsuit went on and there basically were paparazzi everywhere. They wouldn’t even let you through to Roger’s house when you clearly had brought take out for him and you hated the thought of having pictures of you, angrily rolling your eyes, on every paper tomorrow. You eventually made it into his house and sighed in relieve before you got plates and the cutlery to have Chinese on the couch just like you and Roger had done in college. 

“Thanks”, he mumbled with a weak smile. “Honestly, thank you, y/N.”

“It’s fine, Rog, you would’ve done the same for me.”

“Anytime”, he whispered, lacing his fingers through yours. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Rog”, you got out before your excitement could take your voice away or anything. Your heart was beating loudly, blood flowing through your veins quicker than usual and your breath caught in your chest when Roger leaned in to touch your face softly. 

“Can I kiss you?”, he asked silently, his eyes wide and his lips parted slightly. He was looking like he saw you for the first time and his breath felt hot on your skin, leaving a light tickle. 

“Do you think that’s a good idea right now?”

“Yes, if you want me to as well.”

“I’ve wanted you to forever”, you whispered, putting your fingers on top of his. “I just don’t know if it’s the right time given everything.” He was getting close and you were getting lost in his eyes, all you wanted was to feel Roger’s lips on yours. 

“Can we make this about the two of us and not think about anything else?”, he whispered and you nodded, leaning in to close the distance between the two of you. 

[sugar-petals]

Cinder | pt.1 ➝ pjm

↳ sequel to cygnet (m). 

¬ pairing: Jimin x Reader

¬ words: 7,417

¬ summary: Two and a half years later. The Black Forest. After your separation from the Prince of Bavaria, you have found and won back his lost sword, Cinder. The blade leads you on a trail behind robbers who you suspect have abducted the Prince. 

¬ genre/warnings: bavarian prince!jimin, historical, thriller, rated r, action, graphic violence, gore/body horror, angst, hurt & comfort

¬ a/n: Paintings in the separators by Rubens.

The man falls over with a dagger in his heart.

Seconds later, Anna reaches down to withdraw the hilt.

She remains stern. Austere.

While blood keeps soaking through the man’s grey shirt, heavy raindrops start to ruffle the current of the nearby river. Friedrich is all neigh and trot tonight. He looks impatient standing at the bridge. His black fur wets down almost entirely. No other horse would volunteer to ever tread this area.  

When the rain begins to permeate the air entirely with a heavy earth-like scent, Anna boots the lifeless body into the creek. A gush of clear water from the river’s edge suffices to rinse off her blade. She stuffs it back into the casing at her belt almost right away.

Meanwhile, the pour from the sky has become relentless. Anna misses the south of France. Germany is no good when it comes to stable weather. Not at all. Still, she remains focused.

The maiden heads over to the bridge for adjusting Friedrich’s saddle until she is somewhat content with how it sits. The horse is jittery, completely drenched at this point.

It’s a solemn day.

Churning, the river sweeps a few crooked branches down its current while the water surface becomes increasingly agitated by the downpour. After three whistles and two claps, Anna decides to linger at the waiting spot herself to listen for a sign. And there it is. A reply.

Three whistles. One clap.

In a heavy gallop through the mud, fervid Gretchen storms toward the creek. Her mane, dark like hickory, leaves a dense spray of rain on your vest. You keep the leather reins wrapped tight around your gloves. Maybe there is another horse who would volunteer to tread this area.

Once you stop at the bridge, Anna greets you with a tip of her hat, earning one from yours in return.

“Clap louder next time, Milady. It was barely audible.”

“My bad. Started when the wind came.”

“The whistles were pretty good anyways,” Anna pats Gretchen’s flank. The horse’s breath goes slower by the minute.  

“Couple of Duke’s chambermaids taught me last week,” you shrug. “They always use it when picking berries at the mill.”

“Friedrich’s ears went all stiff when you did it,” Anna goes on to caress her own horse’s head. His ears are still upright either way. Either of your Warmbloods had been tense all day. They feel what you feel.

You barely nod looking around with a squint to your eyes. Mud everywhere. Steep rock. More branches. The rain keeps trickling down the back of your vest.

“Where is the guy with the grey shirt?” 

Anna’s face scrunches up.

“Down the creek. Got carried away pretty fast. Disgusting smell.”

It's almost guaranteed.

“That’s washed away by now,” you say, gazing down the current. “Robbers don’t have palace etiquette. The Duke is big on sanitation.”

“Yeah, he is.”

“We’ve been catching dust at Castle Altfried for too long. I'm not used to this either.”

Admittedly so, you can hardly stand the wind and ride with a stable posture. It's almost embarrassing. By comparison, Gretchen is remarkably steady underneath you. Anna does notice.

“Was there a problem with Steinburg?” she asks, and concern laces into her words.

You shake your head fast, making excess rain drip from your hat.

“No, I couldn’t find him. Gretchen isn’t fast enough yet. We’ve never practiced riding on boulders.”

The maiden hums.

“Right. She’s used to gentler paths.”

“But at least you got rid of this one,” you point toward the red patch next to the creek’s bank a few meters away. “Good job, Anna. You threw a dagger at him, didn’t you.”

“Guy was busy picking his nose and peeing into the water.”

“Really?”

“Aimed straight at the chest when he noticed me and wanted to aim his gun.”

You laugh at the image forming in your mind.

“What an idiot.”

“I think— He was guarding something for Steinburg around here.”

You look around the barren area a second time. A few pine trees in the distance make the landscape at least a bit more inviting. But yet again, you note how much you hate the Black Forest during storms.

And either way.

It's hard to suppress the feeling. The denial, and the desire.

You wish for Jimin's body close.

Right now.

The memory still feels palpable. It’s painful in your chest.

“Not the most hospitable place."

Gretchen, as if nodding along, moves her head.

Anna affirms quickly in reply. “Must've been something important to guard, he was clad in arms, Y/N.”

You understand. As expected of Steinburg's lackey.

“We’ll search the caves over— there,” you indicate toward the cluster of hills and rocks west of the creek. “I get a feeling the robbers are hiding something in those.”

Anna sounds a lot more disgruntled at that.

“Milady, we don’t know how sloped they are. We don’t have a lamp!”

Nothing are you more acutely aware of. Even spending the upcoming night without any lighting will be hard. But what can you do but lie to yourself.

“Don’t care,” you seize Gretchen’s reins tight anew. The horse responds immediately by turning west. “It’s the only spot the grey shirt guy could guard. And if there’s nothing, at least we can escape the rain. Our horses can rest for a minute. They’ll thank us later.”

“Still don’t like the caves.”

“Come, saddle. It’s a good rest. We worry about the light when we’re there. It’s not like we just race inside.”

“Fair enough.”

Anna, after tilting her hat to let some accumulated water drip down, proceeds to climb on Friedrich’s back.

You vow to be careful when Gretchen clatters ahead through the muddy area.

The entrance is cluttered with pebbles and debris from what appears to be the remnants of a prior, heavier storm. Chunks of branches, earth. And even more rocky ground. Wetted down everywhere because the rain has even fewer mercy than Anna when she throws a dagger.

Still, you feel the longing in your chest. There isn’t much that really helps you distract yourself from it. Not in a landscape as barren as this. All you can do is soothe Gretchen with some corn from your vest. It’s a bit mushy, but a swordmaster’s horse could care less. She’s seen rougher days. At least you find it a little amusing to watch Gretchen munch and shake her mane around. The entrance spot makes for good shelter. But still, you make sure to adjust the bow on your back.

Half a minute later, you shift in the saddle to observe Anna gaze and grope about the walls of the cave on either side before she returns. You stuff the corn back into your vest when you see her expression being much graver than before.

“This place is strange, Milady,” she says. “I can’t tell why. There’s something... ashy on the walls.”

“Ash?”

“Yes.”

“Weird. But it’s not steep as you thought, right.”

“Not really.”

That's good. Very good, in fact. You let Gretchen circle about the area a bit now. 

Ash on the walls. It really does seem peculiar.

The more you try to find the marks she is talking about, the more you wonder about the ground. Something is even stranger about it. So you look down closer leaning from your saddle, indeed making out some odd, elongated imprints and shapes.

“Anna, look at this!”

“Yes, Milady?”

The maiden already hurries over.

“I think there are footprints in the mud all around the entrance, I’m not sure. It could just be grey shirt guy’s. They don’t look like yours.”

You point beside where Gretchen stands with you on her back, waving her tail from side to side. Never is she as nervous. Not even when the Duke’s clarion players and knights march up every weekend at the Castle, playing their most intricate of songs while reeking like foul wheat. A nightmare to a horse. But even that won’t compare. 

Anna crouches to twirl her gloved fingers through the mud. After a few seconds of investigation from all sides, she comes back to where you stand farther inside the cave.

“Those are traces other than grey shirt’s, Milady.”

“And?”

Her expression turns far too dark for your taste once more.

“They’re from heeled shoes.”

Jimin’s.

“What!”

“We have to go in deeper.”

Silence. You peek toward the inside of the cave. No lamp. No clue.

No time, either.

“Shit.”

“Gretchen and Friedrich can’t stay at the entrance,” Anna points at the horses. “If Steinburg or the other two robbers show up here, we’re done for.”

“They’ll send one of them to search for grey shirt guy. It’s two against two.”

“We can’t think about that now. The horses will lead the way.”

“Didn’t we just worry about having no light whatsoever, Anna?”

“They’ll fit through there, the cave’s tall. Gretchen has great sense of smell. Her first.”

“Let’s just hope there’s not a wolf or a bear in there.” 

Eventually, you unsaddle, then take the bow and quiver from your back; strap both around Gretchen’s side at a height convenient to seize an arrow from. The rain keeps getting stronger.

Anna guides Friedrich toward the right slant of the entrance.

“Milady, I’ll always throw a knife for you.”

Her words are small a solace.

Your heartbeat feels louder in the cave than the rattling breath of the horses. Cygnet’s sheath rests in your left hand ever so firmly, cool, but wet from the rain. On the other side of your belt, tapping against the side of your hip with every step— Cinder, untouched. The wall of the cave feels brusque under your right palm. Anna glances back at you.

“We’ll have to rely on Gretchen in a few meters.”

“I don’t know if she’s ready.”

You’ve been riding around all day to scan the forest for any sign of the robbers or the Prince. Gretchen’s exhaustion is audible enough in her breath. You can be fortunate Anna encountered at least one of the robbers.

“The ground is even until now, we might be lucky.”

Might. And that's the problem.

“Maybe I can whistle while we still have a bit of daylight. If there are animals inside?”

“I don’t want to think about it.”

“This is the last spot where we stand a chance, Anna.”

A flash of surprise in Anna’s eyes tightens your grip around Cygnet.

“So you'll lure them out by whistling? I never thought about this.”

You don't want to imagine how the two horses would react if a wolf was in there. But there's no choice. The image of the heeled shoe's trace is too compelling inside your mind.

Jimin is here. And he needs your aid.

“I’ll do it.”

Friedrich, ears alert as ever, shudders, then sways from one hoof to the other when you bring two fingers to your lips. A long echo reverberates through the cave. It takes half a minute until the whistling sound ceases. It is so eerie that your legs seem to freeze.

“The cave is huge,” Anna trembles. She looks times stiffer. “The Prince could be anywhere.”

“Fucking hell...”

“There must be several caves branching out down there where it gets dark.”

All the more space for wild animals to get cozy.

Friedrich’s nostrils flare up, and he tilts his head towards Anna. He’s always done this being riled up before tournaments and lance games. You exhale, allow your eyes to trace the rock surrounding you. Calm, calm. 

Stay calm.

“You said that the place is strange earlier, didn’t you.”

“Yes, what about it, Milady?”

You let your hand cup over the cragged stone surface on your right. Only a few meters and the cave will be too dark to maneuver like this.

“All those blemishes you’ve seen on the wall. I mean— Those could indicate the way.”

“I’d guess so,” Anna leans sidewards to inspect the walls before her.

“I’ve seen two ash blotches earlier. Here’s none. Yes. They appear in certain distances. I’m sure those are marks. Not random spots.”

They did look like stains made by torches, almost. Dark, grimy.

“That would make sense.”

“Say— If the cave has several branches, the robbers need the marks to find the way.”

Anna gulps. Her voice sounds hoarse now.

“The ash at the entrance looked pretty worn. Didn’t it.”

“So did the other two,” you withdraw the hand from the wall. “The ashes aren’t here since, well, recently. They applied them a long time ago.”

“I know what you mean.”

“If these are the robbers’ headquarters—”

Far around the corner, a dim light emerges.

Yellow, awfully bright in contrast to the surrounding dark walls. The horses flinch, as do you. Anna looks completely debilitated.

Only seconds later, someone shouts. It’s a deep growl. Haunting.

“Jakob, is that you?”

You know who it is. The voice.

It can belong to only one person. 

The increasing alarm in Anna’s face tells you she understands, too. The yellow light keeps on approaching. She points to the saddles. But you’re frozen. Another shout.

“Hey! Jakob? Told you to guard the entrance, not to come inside. Why did you take the horses here? I can hear them!”

Steps. The light creeps up the walls further.

Jakob, you realize, was the robber in the grey shirt. 

You've anticipated it. Both of the horses squeal in fear, then scurry to turn. Holding onto Gretchen's reins is a useless endeavor. Brushing past Anna who promptly falls, they race toward the exit, with Friedrich heading for it first.

Gretchen second— 

Carrying both your bow and arrow with her.

Goodbye, headshot from a safe distance.

You rush toward Anna. The voice reverberates inside the caves again.

“Hm? What’s going on there, Jakob!”

The tone comes close enough for you to estimate its age. Mid thirties. Not approaching fourties yet. A heavy Swabian dialect. A man.

“Answer me!”

Teeth gritting, Anna still winds on the ground of the cave, grabbing her ankle. With a sinking heart, you realize that she twisted it. You've seen this type of injury in tournaments all too often.

By now, the walls are half illuminated. The steps around the bend of the cave are firm and significantly faster. Anna tries to get up using her other leg, but you prevent it by passing down your hat into her arms. 

“No. Stay here.“

“Milady!”

“Anna. There is only one way to win such a battle.”

"Y/N..."

"I won't be a fool again. Keep an eye on the horses."

“Yes, master.”

He is as bulky as the salesman Meier described to you at Castle Altfried, selling his molded fruits.

Bearded, two meters tall, and a putrid smell preceding him. From his fur jacket’s top left pocket, a silver shine emanates in the candlelight of the lamp.

Jimin's edelweiss necklace.

“You! Must be the harlot the Prince has been pleading for all night.”

A crooked sneer. Rotten teeth. He stomps towards you with taunt written all over his face.

“Erich Steinburg.”

He laughs. Disparaging.

“Haven’t heard that name in four years. Four! You want to know how they call me nowadays?”

“You don’t sound like I have a choice.”

Steinburg bends one knee, leaning forward to put down the clattering lamp. You realize he does it to admit you a fast glance at the hefty weapon fastened to his back.

“The Axe of the Black Forest. But I don’t lumber.”

His massive arm, the circumference perhaps a third of Gretchen’s neck, reaches back. It slackens the grip of the double-bitted blade out of its leather straps. Your heart rate pounds like a kettledrum inside either of your ears. His axe looks even more massive now that he grips it.

“I see you don’t enjoy a battle of honor, Steinburg.”

His gaze falls to your belt.

“Huh! I don’t swordfight against harlots with nimble sword sticks.”

Steinburg spins the axe in the right palm now, giving you a 360° view of the heavy blade. It’s almost twice as large as his head.

“I used to fight with unfair means some time ago as well.”

“Givin' that up'll cost you your life, I’m afraid.”

Ghostly, seemingly by itself almost, Cygnet slides from its sheath. It feels different after it rained every time. You balance, listen to the blade, tilt— until finding the right way to grip.

“I will beleaguer you regardless.”

Again, it is Cygnet doing its work without much of your help. Albeit scaring you, it finds a way to arrange itself in the beginning stance of any battle you have lunged into.

With the difference that there is nothing mock about it. 

Steinburg comes to trot closer. His steps are dull on the cavern's ground. The surrounding smell is so repugnant that you feel like turning your stomach inside out.

“It really is a stick. Don’t even get ten mark for that.”

“You think?”

“I’ll have great fun slicin' your corpse. The Prince will watch. Get good ransom for him, later.”

“You can try. Cygnet has slain men larger than you.”

"Too ambitious, harlot!"

The axe comes down with a vehemence that makes Steinburg’s arms bulge out a third their diameter. Cygnet’s blade first wavers, then glides off under the blow. You let go of the handle, drop to your knees. All to evade a diagonal swing of the axe aimed at chopping through your shoulder.

Centimeters left to Cygnet lying on the ground way past your reach, Steinburg’s own weapon engraves itself. There is no way you could retrieve your sabre. It did not last a single blow. The axe is far too massive. Steinburg is stronger than most knights at the Hohenzollern brigade.

But he is not first in line.

You stay kneeling and count to five while he draws back the axe again for another strike under tremendous efforts. It's one of the heaviest weapons you have ever seen.

5, 4, 3... 2.

A fervid pierce. So brute, you feel the shock sting through your entire arm. Steinburg first wavers— then collapses on the cave floor howling. 

No second strike comes down precise. The axe has fallen from his grip before touching the ground.

His trousers turn carmine, then wine red around the spot where you rammed Anna’s dagger into his loin from below. 

Femoral artery. 

Pricked. 

Right. 

Through.

“Fool.”

Steinburg bawls out, winding on his stomach.

“What have you done!”

“This is no lance game, fucker. You kidnapped the Prince of Bavaria.”

You scramble up from your kneeling pose. A quick reach toward your belt. Unsheathed in a second.

Another spill of red. Cinder drills into the robber’s back, burying half its golden blade in flesh. He screams again. You plunge it down until the grip, and anchor it fast in his rib cage.

“My only honor will always be to protect the Prince. My sticks are just a tool.”

“You—!”

The blade through his lungs already shortcuts his breath.

“Deal with it. They call you Axe? Can’t even handle a little dagger.”

“Who, who are you!”

You shake your right arm to relieve it from the strain it took to place the knife into his loin.

“First in line of all swordmasters from East Prussia to Rhine's End,” you reach to the floor to pick up your lost sword, sheath Cygnet. It did not last the first blow, but its blade remains intact. “Bodyguard to the royal family of Bavaria. Any last words?”

“You’ll pay. You’ll pay for this.”

“Already did. 210 mark. Fucking expensive."

"What are you talking about!"

"Spent the other 39 I had at the Altfried town inn on some delicious asparagus before I met this guy Meier. Was well-invested money. You can still have it if you want. Isn’t money all you desire?”

“What?”

The cave’s ground already sticks with a pool of red under your feet.

“Wait a second. Here’s your payment.”

You take a deep breath, as close to him as possible. Inhaling every last bit of the foul scent. Lean down. Cough up. 

And puke all over his face.

Three whistles and claps reply from the entrance of the cave. You wave the lamp back and forth. Seconds later, you hear hooves. Gretchen speeds toward you. Friedrich follows, with Anna on his back.

“Are you alright, Milady? Is the Prince alive?”

“Yes. Yes, I am. Steinburg isn’t."

"You made it!"

"Don’t look at him for too long. And hold your breath.”

You nod your head toward the corner of the cave where Steinburg’s feet protrude from.

“Oh God!”

“Gretchen shouldn’t smell that, we ride past quick, alright. Take care of your foot when we do.”

The maiden’s eyes wander to your hip, scanning.

“Where is Cinder? The sheath is empty! Is it damaged?”

“The Prince will retrieve the blade himself when we return.”

You pull yourself up Gretchen’s saddle and spur. After passing you your hat, Anna follows.

“And the dagger?”

“Crotch. Thank you for lending me.”

“Crotch!”

“Not thrown like I thought I would. I’m not as good at it.”

“You’ve stabbed Steinburg up close?”

“I did.”

“Just what did he wield?!”

“You’ll see in a second.”

The horses pass the corner of the cave. You don’t have to spur Gretchen to go faster. She tramples over the stock-still pair of legs blocking the way deeper into the cave. Steinburg did bleed out fast. Bones crack. Anna keeps her nose covered with the inside of her sleeve.

Once you reach the next ashen mark on the wall, Anna removes the sleeve and huffs out.

“Steinburg had an Axe?”

“And he was two meters tall. Just like the farmers at the creek said. I think we owe them something for pointing us towards the cave.”

Their advice could not have been more priceless.

“Let’s just hope Steinburg didn’t hit the Prince with this thing.”

“He didn’t,” you shake your head, still lightheaded. “The robbers want to go for ransom. They get more when he’s alive than dead or lethally injured.”

“Right. You said the same happened at the Hohenzollern brigade. I mean when you started there as commander, Milady.”

“Yeah, that case was similar. Someone tried to abduct the Duchess Walthilde.”

“Did the kidnappers succeed?”

“No. She was unscathed. One of my soldiers had retrieved her before it was too late.”

Another ash mark passes, guiding you into a narrower cave tunnel. Either horse goes slower, but you still have enough space to fit through.

“Really?”

“But the Duchess didn’t take it well. It haunted her for years. And that’s my only fear with Jimin. I don’t want to imagine how he ended up here. It’s been so long.”

At the entrance of the lacuna, Anna picks up a heeled shoe. It is unlike the one you’ve seen Jimin wear at the ball because it is so defiled with mud, with its sole torn off. 

However, looking at the red heel, you know it is his.

“They will think Steinburg is back when they see the light. We have to watch out for other robbers in there,” Anna puts down the damaged shoe. If you didn’t already, you would start to feel nauseous at the mere sight. Stepping forward with cygnet drawn, you illuminate the lacuna. Anna limps behind you.

The cave room is filled with stacked, empty barrels. Some for gun powder, others for beer. All out of stock. You’re not surprised why Steinburg would have needed the ransom. You lift the lamp more only to spot piles of ammunition and large chunks of wood. There’s a fireplace with ashes and leftover chicken bones. It’s what they used to create the marks.

Gretchen and Friedrich stay at the entrance, with either you and Anna hoping they would stay still for once. The image of the shoe won’t leave your mind. 

The sheer panic alone slows your steps.

After climbing through the pieces of wood, you already reach the end of the barrel front, sighing out.  

“They’re all out riding. I don’t think Jimin is here either. Fuck.”

“If they were here and heard your fight with Steinburg, they would have come out anyways.”

“Yeah, the lacuna isn’t far away from the spot where we fought. The echo is stronger here, too. They would have been alerted.”

The cave room is considerably warm, and large minus the empty stocks now that you think about it. An ideal hideout.

“They use cowardly long distance weapons,” Anna comments, browsing the scattered materials on the rough ground. She picks up a few of the pistols and investigates them from all sides. Only few of them seem to be loaded at all.

“I’ve become cowardly as well,” you gaze back to the horses where your bow and arrow are. How many ludicrous straw men they have shot at Altfried Castle. You can only laugh at yourself.

“No, arrows are practical,” Anna shakes her head, turning the pistol upside down, then shaking it back and forth. You can hear what she means. “But these guns right here are loaded with everything but real powder or bullets.”

They use spikes and all sorts of metal bits, rattling inside the weapon.

“Amateurs. It won’t even fire properly. You can tell they’re broke. And that is cowardly.”

“God. You would think someone like Steinburg would amass tons of money.”

You sway the lamp towards the barrels.

“Tons of mediocre beer, you mean.”

Anna scrunches up her face.

“That’s why he smells so damn bad. I don’t know how you could stand that up close, Milady Y/N.”

“Well, I didn’t.”

Your stomach still feels uneasy.

“The wimp really was that rotten.”

“His aim was rather poor as well,” you say. “Jimin might have been lucky. What I saw was not the monstrous Erik Steinburg the peasants were talking about. He bled out faster than a cow.”

“Maybe that was a bad idea. We could have forced him to tell us where the Prince is.”

“It seemed like he was keeping him around here to me. Unless they were trying to lead us into a trap.”

“No,” Anna shakes her head. “With the grey shirt guy dead, and Steinburg? They missed their opportunity. And as we said. They’re amateurs.”

Your voice turns dark.

“They did manage to kidnap the Prince, at least.”

Silence.

“Probably when he was sleeping. You can’t defeat the Prince of Bavaria awake. With these guns in particular. It was a nighttime thing.”

“That’s how they took his sword, you mean?”

And only days later, they sold it to Meier. It makes sense now.

“Yes. We have to keep searching.”

She puts down the pistol, adjusts her hat. You turn to shed light on the other corner of the cave where a particularly large wall off barrels towers. Again, you raise the lamp.

“Maybe we find something there, Anna.”

As you sheath Cygnet and shove one beer barrel in the stack to the side to create an opening, you see a moving shadow. Anna yelps out. 

You retract your hand, four barrels come tumbling down to your left, making both of you jolt backwards. The lantern almost drops, but you manage to keep hold of it. The horses neigh at the entrance.

Now you see where the shadow came from.

Two bats flatter up to the ceiling of the cave room.

“My heart just stopped, Milady! Oh shit!”

Anna props herself up on one of the barrels that fell down. She still holds her foot. 

You gaze upward to see the two small fuzzy animals nestle together between rocks, shielding themselves with their wings from the light.

“They’re harmless,” you soothe. “They’re more afraid of us than we are of them. We have some bats in the basement of Linderhof Palace as well—”

Suddenly, Anna tugs at your sleeve.

“Milady Y/N! Look!”

You turn.

“What’s wrong, Anna?”

“Behind the beer barrels!”

You flinch.

An opening. 

Now you spot it, too. The four barrels that had fallen had revealed another hole in the wall, seemingly a tunnel. You scurry to squeeze through the stacks right away.

“He’s in there. He’s in there! I know it!”

Jimin.

Finally.

You are sure.

The dim tunnel is much smaller than the initial cave way, barely fitting a horse if it would ride through. Anna hurries right behind you, following the light, with you trying not to graze against the moist walls of the tunnel with Cygnet. At this point, you know that any person other than Jimin with the wrong intent would have an advantage coming from the lacuna, following you into the hole. You don’t want to think about it.

The lamp glints up. At the end of the tunnel’s first bit, you step into a wider space.

“An interval!”

You scan the area. All dripping wet rock. And colder. Less space. And in a far corner—

“They have more barrels over there.”

“We have to follow the tunnel!”

A few meters in and you realize that the cave walls become even more narrow. Gretchen wouldn’t fit through anymore. And by the flicker on the wall, you realize. You’re in trouble.

“The lantern!”

Its white candle has almost reached the very bottom of the attachment. You look back, then forward, to see how far you’ve come, and how far you can go. An actual tail of the tunnel is still not visible. Anna rummages inside her vest.

“It’s not the best time to pull out a snack!”

“Milady.”

A candle stub. She’s picked it up at the fireplace, or where the ammunition was.

“You gem!”

“Quick, exchange them before there’s no fire anymore!”

The end of the tunnel is not a true end, but a slight depression that ends in a furrow. With the new candle in place, you can gawk far enough down the hollow, and curse yourself. Of course.

“There’s no way Steinburg would have even fit through the majority of the last meters! For fuck’s sake, we’re dumb!”

“It doesn’t even branch out, look!”

She’s right. The tunnel is a dead end. With Jimin nowhere near. If they find you now, you’re done for.

“Back, quick! Back, Anna!”

The walls are not even broad enough for a proper strike of Cygnet. Not a centimeter there to dodge a slice either. And every pistol shot: Not even an amateur would miss.

“Shit!”

Running is hardly possible. Anna’s foot looks dangerously slanted with every step. The candlelight threatens to go out if you do, swaying around the fluid wax too much around the wick and flame. 

Cygnet regularly scratches against the cave wall, carving dents into its sheath. You curse more when Anna almost falls because of the wet ground. Helping her find balance again with a tug at her shoulder, you see that the interval room is already back in sight.

Still too far inside the tunnel. 

When you reach it, Anna fully trips. You crouch down to pull her upward by her arms that you hear it.

A thudding noise. 

No, a knock. 

Two times. Three times. You almost black out with the shock and fall down next to Anna. The thudding continues.

Those aren’t bats.

But human noises.

Echoing. Echoing. Echoing.

You can barely unsheath your blade that the knocking turns dull. Cygnet remains stuck inside its casing. Your arms are heavy. The gnarly feeling in your stomach gets worse.

It doesn’t stop.

More thuds.

You raise the lantern to brighten up the tunnel.

“They’re not here yet. We can still hide. Get up! Come on!”

Both of you scramble off the floor. Anna’s shirt is ripped up at the waist. 

The knocks turn louder, and slower.

“Come over, Y/N!” Anna limps toward the barrels, opening the very first one in sight. She climbs inside with the lid in her right hand. “Give me the lantern, I put out the candle! The robbers will see the light!”

Ceasing knocks. The horses are raucous at the entrance of the lacuna. Your state of panic rises even more. Everything within your mind screams.

The lantern fades out with one blow. You can hear Anna place the candle container at the bottom, then, feel her grab for your hands to pull you inside. Within a matter of seconds and one foot in, you realize that the barrel is too small for both of you.

“Take another barrel! Fast!”

You drag your foot out, then grope for anything to hold onto in the other direction where you believe another barrel to stand. Anna closes the lid of hers, making you flinch before you realize what she did because of the sound. 

Finally. A wooden surface underneath your fingertips. Fumbling, you realize that the barrel you found is decently large. Ripping off its cover strains your arms, but you manage to get a foot inside, careful, then another. You detach Cygnet from your belt, stuff it into the barrel, then crouch inside and pull the lid in place overhead with trembling arms.

And then you sit.

Exhale—

There’s a breath that’s not yours. 

Deep and heavy.

Right before you.

You’re scared stiff. No movement.

Until your mind catches up.

The robbers have been waiting for you inside the barrels.

And Steinburg—

Was just a ploy.

A savage blow toward the other end of the barrel with your fist. Miss.

You kick your legs forward. The first passes the aim, the other tangents what you believe to be a torso. But still, no hit. The barrel shakes. Another strike, this time, with your elbow. You can’t land it. It goes into nowhere.

Now you understand that whoever is at the other end crouches.

A lunge. You quickly make out where the body is, clamp it between your legs. You seize at it with the last bit of force left in your arms. Shake.

And realize it’s bare skin.

With a familiar scent.

Whimpering emerges from below you.

Then, a sob.

You let go.

The knocking came from the barrel. This very barrel.

“Jimin!”

Sniffles. Heavy breaths. You feel your way to the spot where you believe his head to be.

“Jimin, oh my god!”

His wet face melts into your palms. Yes. It is Jimin. You would recognize him at the end of the world. 

But something—

Obstructs his jaw. You grab at the back of his head. A heavy piece of cloth, fixated around his head like a gag.

“I get this off, I get this off!”

Tugging at the knot doesn’t help. It’s tightly bound in place. Your hands, feverish, search for Cygnet inside the barrel. You loosen the hilt only centimeters out of the sheath as not to draw out the entire blade. This time, it works. Your sword has never been more intuitive when you fell down with Anna just minutes ago and it wouldn’t react at all. But now it does.

“Don’t move!”

You glide the exposed edge of the sabre across the back of his head to cleave the piece of cloth at its surface. By the ripping sound, you know that it is cotton. The rest of the gag opens with a tug through either of your hands pulling in opposite directions. Once loose, you toss away the cloth and cup his face.

Between cries, a hoarse, almost nonexistent voice.

“You came,” it murmurs. “You came...”

It breaks your heart. Jimin’s tone is so faint.

You feel his hand at your knee. Reaching down to grab it, you realize that his hands are bound, too. It is the same fabric you remember from countless fights. The neckerchief.

It comes off with an abrupt tug of your digits clawing into the knot.

Jimin’s hands close around you while you bow down to kiss his forehead. Under your thumb, his lips and chin feel coarse and dry. The hair you bury your nose in is soaking wet with sweat and your tears.

No trace of your hands goes without feeling a sore spot on his body. Where once his coat of mail led firmly, you can feel his ribcage. You can’t stop crying.

Loosening the remaining ropes on his body leaves another hot tear on your face with every knot until the shackles are wide enough for you to get his legs out. Much like his torso, not one layer of clothing protects them from the cold of the barrel.

“I thought it wasn’t real.”

His words are nothing but a whisper.

“What, Jimin?”

“I heard your voice in the cave. I’ve had all these dreams.”

“Jimin, I’m here. We heard your knocks. I’m here. We’ll get out of here now. Hold tight.”

You wrap one arm around his waist, so lithe, you fear it breaks. With the hilt of Cygnet, you smash upward to tilt the lid off the barrel. It comes down tumbling. You attach the sword at your belt again as swift, no, as far as the darkness of the room permits.

One leg out, you exit the barrel first, then lift Jimin over the edge, leaving behind cut ropes, cloth, and the neckerchief. 

He must have dropped at least a fifth of his weight. No second passes that your hands do not grip on him. He keeps on wincing. You caress his upper back with a flat palm.

“We’ll go home soon, Jimin. It’s over. We’re home soon. Steinburg is dead. I’m here now.”

“Is, is dead?”

Another whimper at your neck. You curse yourself for saying his name.

“Anna came with me. She’s in the other barrel. I’ll call for her and get her out slowly, okay.”

Anna audibly limps close before you, almost crawling alongside the cave wall. Jimin, encased in the embrace of your right arm, cries into the shroud of your vest that you gave him.

“They’ll find us,” he weeps. “They’ll hurt us!”

“They can’t. I’m here.”

You can hear Anna curse meters before you where the cave way broadens.

“My ankle,” she groans.

“We’re not leaving you behind.”

Her voice is so serene now, it makes you feel even colder.

“You have to.”

“Stop that.”

Jimin leans crouched at your chest. His voice is almost a whisper.

“You said you had horses.”

Anna halts, as do you. Same thought. Of course.

“God fucking dammit.”

“We have.”

You cover Jimin’s ears, then whistle. Loud.

A noise emerges. Friedrich's hooves clatter in the distance.

“I’m sorry. I reek of vomit.”

Centimeter by centimeter, you pull him upwards, until he is settled on Gretchen’s back. It has taken ages to saddle up yourself. The cave is so dark, not one spark of light seeps through the rock and earth. Jimin clings tight to you leaning back, seated sideways on the horseback.  Shuddering.

“I shouldn’t have left Castle Linderhof this way.”

“Jimin. Neither you nor me can change that now. But I’ll fix this.”

Gretchen starts to trot forwards, followed by Friedrich. You duck as not to hit the tunnel ceiling with your head.

“That was so stupid,” Jimin grits.

Seizing the reins tight, you remember the flock of peasants that you encountered following the creek.

“The blame belongs to those who spread news that you were running from the Palace by yourself without a horse. Where did the robbers find you?”

“It was an ambush. I don’t know where it was. It was nighttime.”

He’s shivering. Gretchen goes a little faster.

“We figured.”

“They put a gun to my head.”

Jimin falls silent, and you bring, as well as holding the reins permits, an arm around his upper body.

The noise of Gretchen’s hooves resounds much louder now. Friedrich’s, too. You’ve reached the lacuna.

Which slowly begins to illuminate from where its entrance locates.

Once she sees it, Anna violently tugs at Friedrich’s reins to make him turn. The light comes closer. Voices become audible. Jimin freezes in your arms. The bats at the ceiling crawl further into the fissures of the cave room’s dome.

You glide your left arm, around Jimin just seconds before, down Gretchen’s side. Reaching into the quiver deep, deeper, to bring out four arrows, then disjunct the bow from its joist. Anna wants to beckon you toward the tunnel opening, but you already draw the bow’s string tight.

“Y/N!”

“No going back. We’re playing my absolute favorite game.”

“What are you doing! Y/N! What—”

“The maidens at Altfried Castle would have found it quite amusing.”

Half the lacuna is tinted yellow by now, casting light on the bruises scattered all over Jimin’s face, neck, wrists, ankles, and chest. 

“Come back to the tunnel! Milady, they carry pistols!”

Anna is on the verge of entering the hole again.

“I could care less.”

“We have no chance!”

“It’s my favorite game. I just came up with it. Do you want to know how it’s called?”

“Y/N, stop messing around!”

While Jimin ducks forward onto the mane of Gretchen, you sort the four arrows between the fingers of your right, then align them on your bow. 

“It’s called the One-Each-Eye.”

Carefree and unimpressed by the weather, the beer barrel dances back and forth strapped somewhat loosely to the back of the carriage. Pine trees dancing alongside the way accompany the vehicle headed south. It’s still cold. 

Chewing on a bit of cabbage, Anna, for a reason mysterious to you and especially the carriage vendor, has made Friedrich and Gretchen sprint faster without a single click of the whip. Her foot is tied with a sturdy band that you purchased at the market two days ago with about the very last mark from Jimin’s stolen purse that Anna, brave how she was, had managed to retrieve from Steinburg’s belt.

Inside the wooden chassis, the pattering rain is loud enough to disturb your sleep, but gladly, not Jimin’s. The Prince dozes with his mouth half open, and, at least in your imagination, with a giant woven scarf tucked around his neck. At least a blanket from the family at the mill covers him waist-down, scraggly, but clean and thick enough to do its job. The pair of linen shoes that they had left are far too big for him, at least three sizes. Every other hundred meters, a rock on the path makes the wheels judder. However, Anna is clever enough to subtly maneuver Friedrich and Gretchen around the chunkier stones and scattered bosk.

The wind is relentless, and you brood. The forest landscapes passing by look dizzy under the rain. Saying goodbye to the Duke through a herald had been hard enough, but necessary. The youngster at the mill, Meier’s son, had accepted your hat as payment and assured he would reach Altfried Castle in half an hour with your letter to the Duke in his rugged vest. The message reading a farewell—

And that Cinder had returned to its rightful owner.

Looking at Jimin’s hands, blotted purple at the wrist upward, makes you want to cry. When he wakes up during the next rocky bit of the path, you have to stop yourself yelling out of the carriage to scold Anna. The surrounding meadow still hasn’t dried up properly, so you realize that avoiding this bit of the road by going over grass is not an option. 

Jimin still has dark bags under his eyes. The soup at the mill had brought back some rosy life to his cheeks, but they still look so haggard, so taut and scratched, with stubble all over, that you find it hard to recognize him. 

The sky turns grey and pale with every minute that the carriage plunges deeper into the forest terrain. South, south. Never looking back. You grope for the quiver stored under your seat, look for the apple that Meier had given you at Castle Altfried, and hand it to Jimin.

“The doctors will take care of you, okay,” you lean toward him, and tighten the vest around his chest to withstand the wind. “We’re back home soon. Maybe even one day.”

Chewing at a corner of the red fruit, Jimin looks outside the carriage with glossed over eyes.

“I’ve been dreaming again,” he says.

“What was it about?”

“There was a festival. I don’t know. A kind of fair. We were dancing. I thought about this all the time.”

A little smile plays around his lips. His eyes are candid.

“We will dance, Jimin. I give you my word. I promise we will dance.”

The vehicle continues to rumble down the path with your words, and the horses speed up.

Three hours later, two sturdy knights, the Prussian emblem stuck to their coat of mails, open the carriage from either side.

— to be continued —

Thank you for reading. Stay tuned.

Do not repost, translate, or modify my works. © submissive-bangtan 2017-2019. All rights reserved. 

[villlaneve]

Life Update (I need help)

Hey, everyone. I’m sorry I haven’t really been active on here for quite a while. I want to explain myself. Just making this post has taken me lots of time and courage to get myself to do it but here I am.I feel hesitant to share this, as I don’t want this to seem like a pity party and feel like I should have higher standards for myself and should be able to do this on my own. My therapist and others have told me to be kinder to myself and cut me some slack once in a while so here I am.

I felt guilty reblogging posts on Tumblr after not having the energy to do so in a while and I wasn’t caught up with the shows so I punished myself by saying I shouldn’t be able to reblog anything. I will try to stop this way of thinking and am happy to go back to my usual reblogging after this!

What’s the problem?

I’ve been suicidal and struggling with depression since I was 16. I am 23 now and feel like I haven’t really accomplished all that much even though my therapist tells me that fighting for mental health and the way I am doing it is progress as well. I can’t really work up any energy to get up out of bed everyday and when I do I feel empty and can’t get myself to do things I enjoy. I can’t remember the last time I was able to read a book. My attention span and concentration is basically non existent so I cannot even watch the few things I can’t get excited about. TV shows such as Killing Eve, Supergirl and other female centric shows are the few things I DO get excited over and can find the energy to enjoy. I follow the posts on tumblr about Supergirl but the last time I watched an episode was about 6 months ago so sometimes not even that excitement makes me able to focus and watch what I love. Focusing on anything feels nearly impossible.

You can imagine that applying this to every day situations it gets even worse. I’ve lost my job around October and have so much anxiety and fear about applying somewhere else. Trying to get into new hobbies that could motivate me to do anything like photography or making videos on youtube is impossible without the money and right equipment. I grew up and still live in a household where if something I do isn’t perfect then it’s bad and doesn’t matter at all. I apply it to every action I take and am trying to actively unlearn it but so far it isn’t working. When a task or opportunity appears all I think about is the possibility of failing and not being good enough so I end up scared and freezing up. I do nothing. I can’t apply for a job or a university/apprenticeship because of that fear and have been stuck in the past few years of my life.

Why don’t you get a job/degree?

I want to address my university education. University in Germany is quite different than in the US. You choose a major once you start university and that’s what you’re stuck with. I got scared after already taking a gap year right after high school and started studying something that ultimately I realized was not right for me. I convinced myself that I should just finish it and work hard and that it could be right for me. otherwise I would be a failure once again. I froze up and stayed in this path. Except eventually I stopped going to classes all together and became more and more depressed and desperate as I did not know what to do next. I don’t know who to ask for help and am scared to do it to begin with.

I finally worked up the courage to apply to a different major earlier this year. That opportunity fell through/I did not get the spot and now I am back to not knowing what to do. Starting another path and applying for spots even if I decide what to do is going to lead me to more freezing up and thus more complications. On top of all this there is another factor that’s weighing on me.

I am in a long distance relationship and have been since I was 18. This relationship gives me a lot of strength to go on and try fighting but at the same time it is another pressure and weight on top of everything. As my girlfriend lives in the US and her plan is for me to move there, originally I was supposed to be finished with my degree at this point. 

Now I am still basically at 0 and cannot move to the US in the foreseeable future. I’ll have to finish a degree here for 3-4 years, find a way to see if my career path is even transferrable to the US. Speech therapy is an apprenticeship here; a german system that includes school and work experience at the same time and lets you start a career after finishing it; its an alternative to a university degree in a way. I feel like the pressure of tests, writing papers and failing at a university is too much for me too handle with my mental health anyway and the only universities that offer speech therapy as a university  degree are private and cost money that I cannot afford!

We try to make things work and see eachother as often as possible but financially making a transatlantic flight work and having to pay for food, transportations etc everytime I am visiting her 1-2 times a year is getting way too much for me to pay for. Especially now that I do not have a job. Only having to do this for another year or two would have been fine but now it will be another few years before we can even think about me going there. Safe to say this is a hard situation and is putting a big strain on our relationship, financially and emotionally on both sides. Having to spend so many more years apart and not knowing how to afford to see eachother. My mental health is blocking me from finding a job to start alleviating the financial side of this at least and I am frozen in panic and fear.

Why don’t you get help? You can go to a hospital or clinic to treat this

I would like to add that on top of all this most of the friends I did have here are on a semester abroad or have moved out of the country all together. Despite that I am glad to have my family and the 1-2 people I see about once a month to give me comfort. It gives me a bit of levity and strength and I tried checking myself into a clinic to face my fears and mental health problems head on. However, they completely isolated me from any cellphone usage there and going outside at any time. Visitors were only allowed on weekends. I had no way of communicating with anyone aside over a landline and only in very limited time slots (that landline was broken for several days when I got there mind you). I had to scramble to somehow find a way to talk to my partner with her buying a skype international landline and even then most of our calls were spent with us trying to find a way of when we could talk the next time and being frustrated when things would not work on some days because of commitments. If there was a change of plans there was no way for me to call her and let her know something was up. Only she could call and it was anxiety inducing for both of us having no way to reach out to eachother. The people there all had their own issues and as a person who already worries about triggering other people being around very emotionally vulenrable people only and upsetting them (they told me all the things I had done wrong during a group therapy session) launched me into the worst panic attack of my life. No one checked up on me after in the clinic and I no longer felt it was the right or safe place for me and had to leave. Moreover, having a 1 days notice on when I’d get into the clinic  They gave me no time to prepare for these new and extreme conditions (they called me and said I have to decide on the spot if I wanted to come in tomorrow, otherwise I couldnt come into the clinic until March next year).

I am thankful to be back in the little safety net of therapy, being in the city I love with cafes and parks that can somewhat relax me and calm me down and my cousin and aunts to support me. Unfortunately, my parents put me under pressure to “contribute” more in the household. I never know what “enough” is. Everday I get home and do chores I live in fear that it is not enough and will result in them yelling at me again claiming arbitrarily that what I did was not enough in their opinion. Things are tense to say the least. They want me to start something and get better with my mental health but never really offer to help me themselves and I feel lost and alone. Because of this treatment I always feel that nothing I do is good enough and I can’t/shouldn’t even try in the first place. I am never sure if the standards they set for me are too high or if I am just being whiny and weak or not good enough objectively?

What part of this is my mental health? am I just being lazy? are they right? 

Here is the part I feel especially guilty about: Asking for help.

I wanted to accurately explain why and how I am struggling. I hope at least some of you can empathize and understand why this seemingly easy situation is so hard for me because of my family history and mental health.

Money doesn’t buy happiness but it does help alleviate certain financial problems. Being currently unable to get myself to get stable income I feel even more stuck and am struck with panic about how to visit my girlfriend at all.

What will you do when you have money? How will you spend it?

I am commited to fixing my mental health and will do weekly updates on what progress I’ve made. Therapy, looking into speech therapy paths, finding deals and dates for the cheapest possible flights to the US, hobbies like photography or making videos. Having people looking and validating the process makes me feel like I can do this and gives me a project to focus on. I just hope for your kindness to spare any money you have to contribute to bettering my current situation. If you want me to write anything for you, I am happy to just tell me which pairing and the general plot idea and if you want any specific things included. I’ll sincerely do my best.

Moreover, the money would truly be spent on what I need to get better and stabilize i.e. medication, plane tickets to see my girlfriend, equipment for filming/photography, semester fees and occasional mental health treats like going out to a warm cozy cafe to relax and not be faced with the constant stress and pressure at home (max. 15€ a week). I am happy to document these spendings for you. 

As soon as my life has stablized enough and therapy or others around me have helped me to get back on my feet, get a stable income, etc you don’t need to feel an obligation to donate and I can take my posts down if necessary.

My PayPal is https://www.paypal.me/ninin96 and I am truly grateful for anything you are willing to give me or comission me. 

Thank you for your time.

[artificialqueens]

Twist Of Fate - Ch04 - (Trixya) - katyahzamo

A/N: Trixie and Katya are finally reunited. All future chapters will take place in the present, unless indicated otherwise. What’s going to happen next?

A reminder: Trixie is a hairdresser and Katya is a struggling photographer slash yoga instructor. Lesbian AU. Read the chapters on AO3 and/or come hang out on my tumblr katyahzamo!

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Katya hears herself laugh, but her eyes look for tiny changes in Trixie’s appearance, and the longer she looks the more she sees. She’s as tall as ever, slightly towering over Katya, but the dress, taut and pink, hugs her body differently. Trixie’s lost a bit of weight, her waist much smaller than the last time Katya has seen her, but her curves are still there, hips wide and thighs strong enough to break Katya’s neck if they so wished, shaping her into a perfect hourglass figure. Barbie who?

July 2018

Trixie is right there, and Katya is already on her feet, realizing she looks like a dumbass with her wet hair, lipstick smudged but not as bad as her glasses, the towel previously around her shoulders discarded on the floor somewhere. She feels like the kid who got caught red-handed, though she is not sure what exactly she feels startled about.

The soft look on Trixie’s face makes it worse, and now Katya is sure that she has stepped into a time machine that took her back to 2016.

“You look terrible.”

Trixie is the one who speaks again, expert at re-routing Katya’s overworked brain, hauling her thoughts back into present, making her terribly self-conscious of how much of a mess she looks like.

“Thanks, it’s the new look I’m trying. Hobo chic.”

A pair of arms finds her bony shoulders and pulls her into a hug, and Katya can’t remember the last time she felt this stupefied. The closest thing was the night Sharon told her she’s moving out, and even then Katya’s limbs worked properly, pacing around their tiny apartment with an unlit cigarette in her hands, trying to fix the shitstorm their relationship has become at that point in time. It didn’t really help. Obviously.

Thankfully it seems that her body has a mind of its own and reacts instinctively, because she is hugging Trixie back, holding her tightly for two long moments.

“You’re wearing glasses.”

It’s a statement, not a question, which comes from Trixie once they pull back. Katya’s still holding onto Trixie’s hand that she squeezes before letting go.

“Old age finally caught up to me. I’m almost as blind as a bat now.”

“Fitting, because you definitely look like one.”

Katya hears herself laugh, but her eyes look for tiny changes in Trixie’s appearance, and the longer she looks the more she sees. She’s as tall as ever, slightly towering over Katya, but the dress, taut and pink, hugs her body differently. Trixie’s lost a bit of weight, her waist much smaller than the last time Katya has seen her, but her curves are still there, hips wide and thighs strong enough to break Katya’s neck if they so wished, shaping her into a perfect hourglass figure. Barbie who?

Katya’s staring, pale blue eyes flitting over from Trixie’s hips to her face, softer makeup and round cheeks that seemed to have lost some of their youthful chubbiness.

She’s as beautiful as ever.

“You look amazing.” Katya says, and Kim snorts from behind them, not even trying to pretend she wasn’t watching this exchange carefully. Trixie rolls her eyes at the sound, but the smile doesn’t disappear when she speaks again.

“Thanks. I give myself two weeks in Boston before I’m back to being the white American trash.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, you never stopped being one.” Kim chirps and Trixie shoots her another look through her laughter before motioning to the chair where Katya was sitting.

Latrice is quick to suggest Trixie cuts Katya’s hair soon after, and it’s not long before Katya’s in front of the mirror again, eyes glued to Trixie. Luckily enough the other girls seem to have returned to their work, though the blonde one, Brianna, still throws curious glances their way, making Katya think she knows something that even Katya doesn’t. Either that, or Katya’s overthinking it again, which is a more likely scenario.

“When did you come back?” She’s happy that her voice is back to its usual, raspy self, feeling comfortable as soon as Trixie’s fingers start combing through her wet hair, studying it like a sculptor was to examine a piece she hasn’t worked on in a long time.

“Oh just last week. I barely had time to look for an apartment, and I feel like Kim’s about to throw me out from her couch if I don’t get moving soon.”

“Wait… so you’re staying? For good?”

Katya must have a hopeful look on her face because Trixie is grinning at her in the mirror, smoothing out blonde strands down Katya’s front after she’s taken off the glasses that rest in Katya’s fidgeting fingers.

“Oh yeah, I’ve had enough of Europe.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” She says, shrugging, both hands stopping on Katya’s shoulders, feeling warm even through the cape and the towel, burning Katya’s skin, “It was either leaving Germany for another European country, or returning here. None of the cities I visited felt like home enough so I figured coming back would be best, you know?”

“Oh yeah, I get that.”

“And I learned some cool stuff over there, so bringing it here makes my work more unique. If I stayed there, I’ve been doing the same thing everyone else does. Here- not so much.”

“So you came back to be a fancy European hairdresser in the middle of Boston.”

“Basically, yes.”

They both laugh and Katya closes her eyes when Trixie’s fingers find her scalp, splitting her hair down the middle.

“You grew out your bangs.” Trixie says, and only then do her eyes open again.

“Yeah, they didn’t know how to cut them the way you did so this was easier.”

“I told you not to go to Tammie before I left, Katya.”

“I didn’t come here actually, I cut my hair closer to where I work.”

“So Kim wasn’t joking when she said you haven’t been here since I left?”

“Nope.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Trixie digs through the drawer for a pair of scissors like Katya has seen her do a million times before, and smiles to herself.

“Do you want me to cut them again?”

“Yes, make me look like that Atomic Bland Charlize Theron fantasy.”

Trixie’s shrieking laughter is louder than Katya remembers it, and it makes her laugh just as much as it always did.

“Okay Katya, one Atomic Bland haircut coming right up.”

Katya stays around the salon even after her hair is done, since apparently Trixie isn’t back working at the Honey just yet, and officially starts Monday. It gives them time to go outside once the storm has passed, Katya smoking a cigarette and Trixie scrunching her nose at the smell.

“Anything new happening in Boston?”

A cloud of smoke puffs through Katya’s nostrils and she looks over at Trixie who’s leaned on the wall, watching her.

“No, not really. I don’t go out much, between yoga classes and working on my new portfolio, I barely have time for socializing.”

“Is Violet still around?”

“Oh yeah, she’s working at a modeling agency up north. She’s the one I bother when I need new portraits, and you know how much Violet loves having her photos taken.”

Trixie nods, and checks the phone that buzzes twice. Whatever it is on there, it makes her smile and suddenly Katya’s curious. It doesn’t last long because Trixie’s eyes are on her again, head tilted.

“So you’re finally chasing your photography dreams?”

“Yeah, figured now’s the good as time as any. I have a steady income from yoga and couple of photography gigs, so I started taking classes. I’m saving up for a new camera but I have to find a more affordable apartment now. Violet’s been offering we move in together, but I’ll see.”

The last sentence makes Trixie stand a bit straighter, and her teeth catch her bottom lip as if she’s deciding if it’s any of her business. Katya knows what the question is before Trixie can say it.

“What about Sharon?”

“Oh, that’s… we broke up. Six months ago.”

“Aw. I’m sorry, Katya.”

“No, it’s okay. It’s been a long time coming.”

Trixie still look sorry, and also looks like she’s about to reach out to touch Katya’s arm, but her phone buzzes and distracts her again. Katya says nothing but watches her instead, taking another drag of her cigarette.

“Anyway, there’s this club that my friend Craig works at, recently opened. Do you have any plans tonight? Maybe we can go, old times’ sake?”

Katya’s surprised how easily it comes out, even a little proud of herself. Her relationship with Sharon has destroyed her self-image, which she only became aware of months after break-up, and has to work on to this day. Ginger has suggested a therapist in those first couple of weeks, but Katya is yet to find a person she could open up to without feeling like crawling out of her skin.

“That sounds great Katya, but I can’t tonight.”

Oh.

“I already made plans with some of the people here, and Bob’s going to kill me if I don’t call him up while he’s here. Raincheck?”

There is no reason for disappointment that tugs at her insides, Katya thinks, so she’s nodding and stubbing out her cigarette, pushing her glasses up her nose and finally exhales, smiling.

“Raincheck.”

.

.

.

Her temporary apartment is maybe half the size of her and Sharon’s old one, but feels empty even with shelves full of books and boxes of old clothes Katya has no interest or time unpacking. It seems even emptier without Salem, the little cat they adopted from the shelter together. Sharon went to live with her parents and they both agreed the cat would have a more stable life living in one place with two other cats Sharon’s parents owned. It was definitely better than being left alone with Sharon traveling all the time and Katya too. Katya had every intention of traveling around the country and taking up photography jobs as soon as her class is done and she has saved up a little.

Traveling seems like a distant future now, when she hops into the shower, and wishes she at least had the cat to keep her company, instead of half-eaten Chinese on the coffee table in front of the TV and Netflix playing FRIENDS reruns for the umpteenth time.

It’s past nine pm when she’s done looking through and editing the latest photos she’s taken of Violet. She looks stunning and reminds her of Dita Von Teese just to the right extent, which was the ultimate goal during the photoshoot they had the week before. Katya plops down on the worn out couch and props her feet on the coffee table, flexing her sore thighs from the intense yoga workout that morning and sends her favorite shots to Violet for feedback.

She finds herself opening Tinder as she takes a sip of the flat coke left over from that morning, scrunching her nose at the aftertaste it leaves in her mouth, scrolling lazily through newest messages without opening any of them. Every girl that pops up on the app is swiped left, as Katya barely pays attention to how they look or what they’ve written. It seems as if she’s looking for something  - someone, and she pauses for a few seconds over every blonde with thick long hair and big tits.

Would Trixie even have Tinder? Katya thinks as big IT’S A MATCH! flashes across her screen and she does absolutely nothing about. Trixie never talked about her love life in the first place, never mentioning any exes or her dating life. Katya knows she’s gay, but that’s about it. If Trixie found anyone in Germany – she wouldn’t have come back, would she? She didn’t mention anyone while cutting Katya’s hair or while standing with Katya outside of the salon while she smoked.

Why does Katya care if Trixie is single, anyway? It’s a thought that crosses her mind, but she doesn’t need to dig too deep to get the answer. She’s aware now, two years later, that she’s always had a small crush on her gorgeous, blonde hairdresser with the best sense of humor in the world. When she was with Sharon it was something she never wanted to admit to herself, but now… Her stomach flips at the possibility since Trixie is back. It’s probably just wishful thinking and boredom speaking, anyway.

Another message arrives on Tinder and she closes the app with a huff, opening Instagram instead. She has followed Trixie for a while now there, but aside from several landscape or animal photos from two years ago, she wasn’t on there at all. Twenty-seven notifications catch her attention and she thinks it’s probably people liking her latest headshot of Violet, and some of them are.

trixie.mattel liked your post

trixie.mattel liked your post

trixie.mattel liked your post

trixie.mattel liked your post

trixie.mattel liked your post

trixie.mattel liked your post

trixie.mattel liked your post

trixie.mattel liked your post

trixie.mattel liked your post

trixie.mattel, pin.up_dolls and 18 others started following you.

Katya blinks at the screen and notices that she is grinning, wondering how Trixie found her profile in the first place. She taps the username and finds that Trixie has a new profile, not the one that Katya was following, and this one is filled with photos from Trixie’s life in Europe. This Instagram is full of Berlin’s architecture, different foods, different faces of beautiful girls whose makeup and hair Trixie did, and only a handful of those with Trixie’s face. Katya finds out that Bob has visited Trixie in Berlin at least once, Tammie and Kim too, and suddenly wishes she could have done the same.

Her finger hovers over the Follow Back button only for a split second before she clicks it, then goes back to see that all the photos Trixie liked were not of Violet or any of the other models, but of Katya’s selfies, Salem and one of Katya by the pool, taken by Sharon over a year ago, standing in chakrasana pose.

Katya’s palms are sweaty when she closes instagram to breathe, then goes on Facebook to find three notifications:

Honey Salon tagged you in a post.

Violet Chachki, Ginger Minj and 75 other people reacted to a photo you are tagged in.

1 friend request: Trixie Mattel

The photo is of her new Atomic Bland haircut, taken by the new girl with blue-green hair (whose name Katya forgot) as soon as Trixie was done earlier today. It looks amazing. There are no comments under it, but that’s where Trixie must have found her. She accepts the friend request and scrolls through Trixie’s profile, the only post from the past two months a check in to Boston Logan Airport a week before. Her stomach makes several somersaults when she goes through Trixie’s profile photos, the latest one in front of the Berlin Wall taken in August 2017, and likes it before she can overthink.

Ding.

Katya feels butterflies explode in her stomach as she gets a Messenger notification and sees Trixie’s photo pop up. She immediately gets up, walks over to her small fridge, gets a new can of Coke, her spare pack of cigarettes, and sits next to the kitchen window so she can smoke. She is shit at texting, that much is sure. Would she and Trixie have things to talk about? Why is Trixie messaging her, didn’t she have plans tonight, why—

You and Trixie Mattel are now connected on Messenger. Wave to say hello!

Katya takes off her glasses and pinches the bridge of her nose, then rubs her eyes and with a groan realizes she still has some eyeshadow and mascara residue from the day. She is definitely ready for bed, so she smokes quickly, Messenger still open when she stubs out the cigarette and closes the window so the AC can make the hot summer night a bit more bearable. Her finger slips while she brushes her teeth, and Katya stares at the little You waved at Trixie!, feeling like a teenage boy not knowing what to do about his first crush on the pretty girl from his class. Nothing happens even after she climbs gets into her queen sized bed, the only piece of furniture left from her and Sharon’s life. She tries to mentally will Trixie to do something, at least message her first but Trixie must be still out at this hour on a Saturday night.

Katya doesn’t know when she fell asleep, and the phone she held in her hand slipped and fell on the floor sometime during the night. She wakes up with a start some nine hours later, past 7:30am, woken up by the sunlight peeking through the heavy curtains. Her freshly cut short hair is sticking in all directions and clinging to her sweaty neck when she gets into the shower. It’s only halfway through her second cigarette and half a cup of coffee that she’s awake enough to remember what happened the night before. Fumbling through the discarded clothes on the floor, Katya pulls out her phone to find many instagram notifications and texts from Violet, before she opens Messenger with a little (1) next to Trixie’s photo.

You and Trixie waved at each other!

.

.

.

There are no notifications from Trixie for the rest of the Sunday, or the first half of the following week. Katya does nothing to message first, either, torn between being busy with photography classes, work, and worry that she’d make a complete ass of herself in front of Trixie. She has no idea how to flirt anymore, having been in a relationship for such a long time. All of her Tinder hookups did not involve a lot of talking, and Katya used it mostly to relieve the pent up frustration not even yoga or running could get out of her system. How young people get into relationships with only a set of emojis and snapchat exchanges these days, she has no idea. Even though she is only in her early 30s, Katya feels ancient.

It’s not like she doesn’t have the ability to flirt, either, since her and Trixie’s banter felt organic even when she was nervous around her, but Katya being Katya, is worried she’d get too overbearing too soon for Trixie. They are both different people than they were two years ago, so she has no idea if they would hit it off as well as they used to, when Katya was still taken and Trixie was leaving for another continent. Talk about bad timing.

The situation, though more simple now, is also complicated because what if Trixie turns her down and she is never able to step her foot into Honey again, after just getting her favorite hairdresser back? Or what if she doesn’t turn her down but then Katya is such a fuck up she disappoints Trixie, which would result in the same scenario of Katya having to find another place to cut her hair in again?

It’s a bit easier to focus on the present instead of ‘what ifs’ four days later while she’s sitting in a park several blocks away from her apartment on a warm Wednesday afternoon. She’s working on her photography Facebook and Instagram pages for homework, laptop balancing on her knees and Subway sandwich half-forgotten on the bench beside her. Her browser shows twenty-five tabs open and Katya can feel the sweat forming on her forehead despite the shade and the light breeze, wondering when the rainfall would start today and force her to go into one of the nearby cafés. It always got unbearably humid right before the storm, and every single day this week has been the same.

One of her tabs pings a facebook notification. Katya hopes it’s more people responding to her page invitation and she quickly pulls it up it to check. Instead of people liking her page, she’s gotten an invitation for an event happening in Boston that Friday. It’s from Trixie.

DJ PEARL LIAISON joins the lineup for the biggest LGBTQIA+ party in town! Bring your friends! All ticket proceedings will go to raising HIV awareness and fund housing of youth living with AIDS!

Trixie Mattel is going. Violet and 3 other friends are interested in this event.

Katya stares at her name and wonders whether this is a mass invitation Trixie has sent, or if it’s a personal thing, an attempt to connect with Katya without making it awkward? But Trixie isn’t awkward at all, Katya thinks, Trixie is always open and loud and says what she thinks. Katya’s not breathing as she opens the messenger app, deciding to do a second daring thing within seven days. Talk about living dangerously. She vehemently ignores the dumb ‘wave’ exchange and types before her overthinking mind can stop her.

Katya Zamolodchikova: Hey Tracy, ‘sup?

Katya Zamolodchikova: I saw the invitation you just sent

Katya Zamolodchikova: Are you going?

Okay, that wasn’t painful at all, Katya thinks as she hurriedly switches the tab and goes back to looking at designs she’d use for her business card. The messenger notification is instant, the little ding going off on her phone and browser at the same time.

Trixie Mattel: Katie! thought you’d never ask  ;)

Katya watches the dots hopping in the chat window, painfully aware that Trixie is calling her out on this radio silence ever since they connected on social media.

Trixie Mattel: Yeah, a bunch of people I know are going :D :D :D

Trixie Mattel: Do you want to come? :)

The excess use of emojis makes Katya laugh, but she replies immediately.

Katya Zamolodchikova: Sure!

Trixie Mattel: Great, I saw Violet’s interested too, bring her along :D

Katya sighs, staring at the message. If Trixie wants her to bring a friend, this can’t be a date. But, why is she thinking about dates? For all she knows, Trixie is just being nice and is excited to be in contact with her again. As a friend. Maybe it’s better that Katya brings Violet, after all, since Trixie mentioned a bunch of people and Katya is anything but comfortable being in a group where she only knows one person.

Katya Zamolodchikova: Violet probably knows this entire lineup, so I’m sure she’ll go. We’ll be there.

Katya Zamolodchikova: :D :) :D

Trixie Mattel: Great! see you Friday, Zamo :* :* :*

Katya Zamolodchikova: See ya!

Katya Zamolodchikova : :*

Katya is about to log out of Facebook immediately, deciding it would be best to leave the pages for tomorrow, knowing she will not be able to focus fully on task at hand now. She’ll be seeing Trixie, again, in a casual setting after almost two years. There will be dancing, and drinks, and Violet will probably be busy with pretty girls flocking to her, so anything could happen. She feels her excitement beat against her ribcage, and when another notification comes, she can feel it in the tips of her fingers too.

Trixie Mattel: Btw, give me your number so we can find each other easily on Friday?

Trixie Mattel: We’ll be there around 11:00pm

As Katya sends her phone number to Trixie and packs her laptop and sandwich, she looks towards the dark clouds that are gathering and smiles. Things might be looking up after all.

[originaldetectivesheep]

Tales of the Missing 25 - Lady Sought For Unique Situation

To enter into a plan of campaign without thoroughly understanding not only the ends that are desirable, but all that are possible and which of these are likely, is a gilt-edged invitation to disaster.

Lady Sought For Unique Situation

From the start, at least, Kent was a gentleman to the hilt, rising as she came through the doors and pulling out her chair as she approached the table.  He ordered for her from the waitress – regular coffee, cream and sugar – and when the coffee arrived and they would be alone, unbothered, for a while, gave the floor over to her to start.  "I know you must have no end of questions; I know I said I'd explain, but I want to tell you in your order.  Anything you ask, I'll answer – whatever you need to make this work, I'll give you."

"One moment, please," Marcia answered, taking out a steno pad and a pen from her bag.  "First – how many other women are currently engaged on this project of yours?"  She uncapped her pen and sat poised, ignoring the coffee in its saucer, looking Kent straight in the eyes as she waited for his reply.

He blinked and half-started, then gathered himself.  "No – no one.  You'll have a clear field.  I had – other applicants, but I'm interviewing each in turn.  The others, they either declined or when I was sounding them out, by email, something felt off.  If you take it up, I'll let the ones I have waiting know that the position's been filled – for the time being, that is.  If it doesn't work out, then, I'll have to try again."

"I'm surprised," Marcia said, not a hint of actual surprise in her voice.  "I'd've thought that if you were going to organize something like this, you wouldn't want to put all your eggs in one basket.  I expected this Harold, when I made contact with him, to be already mobbed like Tenchi – or, no, Tenchi's grandfather, at that age."

Kent scowled.  He didn't recognize the allusion at all; she was flaunting the difference in their generations like an accusation – reminding him that he was hiring a gold-digger.  "I could make this more difficult if you like," he grumbled.  "But I'd rather this was done right – the less this affects Ann, the better.  It has to be done, but that doesn't mean it needs to be any harder for her than necessary."

"I'm sorry," Marcia said, making the slightest blue trail of a note on her paper. "My apologies; please start from the beginning.  Tell me about Ann, and Harold, and where it started to go wrong."

Kent took a deep breath.  He'd told this story several times so far, but that didn't make it any easier.  And the way she'd asked was the first time he'd heard it that way – the first time he'd thought of it, maybe, from that perspective.  "Where – well, I guess that it never started right, really.  I'm sure, in the beginning, that she thought she was in love with him, and maybe she was – maybe he was in love with her back then, too. But even if they were, love didn't mean the same thing for the both of them.  They stayed together until their kids were grown, and since then I think she's just staying with him because she's expected to. That that's what you do when you're married – you stay together. That the vows mean something.  And so she just stays – even though she's not happy, and she could be happy if she made a clean break and left.  She's not going to end it – she doesn't want it to be her fault.  She doesn't want him to have anything to hang on her at the end."

"I see," Marcia said.  "And Harold, would he leave?  He's stayed married to Ann for all of this long, too, so if you'll pardon me pointing it out, it's not impossible that he, also, would have an abstract attachment to the idea of staying married.  Has he ever cheated before?  Is there any grounds to believe that he would be looking to leave Ann if the opportunity arose?"

Kent's fists tightened.  "If he did – no, I can't see how he wouldn't.  He's vain – casual – the right woman, especially a younger woman, and he'd be right off his feet.  If the right woman flattered him, chose her angles right – made him think he was something special, then he'd fall for her.  It might not be easy, but it could definitely happen."  He nodded, clear-eyed again, but his hands were still twisted into red-knuckled knots.

"Because Ann no longer loves him, and he would prioritize love and affection over keeping a stable relationship," Marcia said, making a few more notes on her pad.

"Yes. Yes, that's right."  Kent relaxed a little, just a little; this one hadn't made the best start, but it looked like she was rapidly grasping the situation.

"Indeed. Now, let's talk about your relationship with Ann.  Can you please start at the beginning with that, too?"  Marcia looked up again, looking straight through him.

"My – our relationship?  That – how far back do you want to go?  And – us – how does that affect her and Harold?"  Kent folded his hands up, keeping them away from his cup so that it wouldn't rattle against the saucer.

Marcia's expression didn't change.  "I know you're going to pretend you're doing this all out of the goodness of your heart, just a disinterested wish for the happiness of a friend, but this isn't true – I know it, and you know it, so you should know that I know it.  It'll be easier for everyone – it'll be easier, if I take this up and for the rest of our conversation, if we can agree on the truth.  You have feelings for Ann, and you believe she has feelings for you that are not expressed, or not given their full expression, because she is married to Harold and will not leave him.  You believe that if he were to leave her this would change.  So I want to know about your relationship – the history you have together that is the foundation for these beliefs."

Kent stared into the table, his cheeks flaming.  At his age.  But she'd seen straight through him – the others must have, too, and said nothing because he hadn't, because they wanted to keep up the polite fiction.  Not her – but maybe this combination of scalpel and sledgehammer would be what would work on Harold – would get to him where others failed.  "Yes," he said at last, still not looking up.  "Yes, you're right.  I – I thought that would go without saying.  Considering my situation, you should expect it.  But yes, I should explain – from back at the start.

"We were in high school together – you know how people are around here, they grow up and go to high school in the same town and they never leave; they get a job or they come back after college and someone finds them a job, and they stay forever and it becomes the next generation.  I didn't – I went into the Army, and I was in Germany, and then in California, and I didn't come back until long after, and – things had changed.  You've got to remember it wasn't so easy to keep up with people, back before the internet."

"Absolutely," Marcia said, making a few more notes.  "When you were in high school, did you date often?  Was there any point where someone might have said that you and Ann were 'going steady'?  I'm sorry if I don't have the language exactly right; it's a little bit before my time."

"'Going steady', that's a little before our time, too," Kent said, shaking his head and loosening up again.  "But, not so far that we didn't have that idea from old movies.  I wouldn't say we did – we hung around in the same circles, and we probably went out a couple times.  But no, I don't think either of us had a significant relationship in high school."

"Was Harold also around at the time?" Kent reflected for a moment.  "Not – not really.  He was a few years ahead of us – he must have been around, but I can't recall him being around her when we were in school."

"Understood." Marcia paused, looking down at her pad, to jot down a few lines, stringing connections together.  "But when you returned to your hometown, they were already married, perhaps raising a family.  And you, were you married at the time?"  There was something in that – she wasn't looking at him – but he did owe her the truth.

"No," Kent said, struggling and hesitant.  "No – I was married before, but that ended shortly after I left the service.  That's – that's part of why I came back.  I felt like I'd gotten unstuck, and I had to start over."

"I see," Marcia said, still not looking up.  "Given the difference in your circumstances, it must have been hard, at the time, to re-establish a connection.  Would it be correct to understand that you and Ann have become re-acquainted, really, only recently – within the last few years?"  She looked up at him, and Kent took a deep breath, centering himself.

"Yes – our fortieth reunion.  A few years ago – we were able to talk normally, and we exchanged contacts.  Since then, we've met – a few times.  More people our age have left – Florida, or with their kids somewhere else.  She's – grateful, to have someone to stay, someone she can see face to face and talk with – she has other friends, but they all have deep roots here, and she can't talk to them the same way: not like someone who was able to leave and get a different perspective."  He fidgeted with his cup, and tossed off the last cool dregs of coffee in the bottom.

"And has she told you, in as many words, that she's no longer in love with Harold, and is staying with him because it's her duty?"

Kent furrowed his brows, thinking.  "No – not in so many words. But it's obvious – it's obvious in how she talks about him – about them and their life.  There's nothing there – it's all just going through the motions.  It's obvious that she's tired – exhausted, worn out – and she wants something else, some way to feel alive again."

"I see," Marcia said, finishing off a note and setting her pen down on the pad.  "I think I understand the situation fully.  I must say, though, that I was hoping to meet Ann here as well, to have her side of the story."

"What?" Kent's head snapped back, his hands flat palms-down on the table. "What?  Why?  She wouldn't – she couldn't – how –"

"Well, that's how I thought it would be," Marcia said, setting her chin in the palm of her hand, faintly disappointed, "but I was holding out hope that it wouldn't be, and that this would be something along the lines of the old divorce cases – like back in the forties, before no-fault divorce was allowed, when a husband and wife would hire a private detective and a professional floozy to 'catch' him cheating and convince the judge to let them split up.  But no, Ann doesn't know you're doing this for her, does she?"

"She – no – no, never; I couldn't –"

"Yes, I understand," Marcia said, capping up her pen again, "and that is the principal deficiency with this plan.  I think I'm adventuress enough that I could convince this Harold to run away with me, and if I was willing to put in the time and the court appearances necessary I could separate him from enough of his assets to make it worthwhile, but out of consideration for you, I won't, because I would be the only person who gets anything but heartache out of this.

"In the case where a woman meets an old friend at a reunion, and is actually trapped in a loveless marriage and would rather be with him, she will give some solid evidence of such – maybe not immediately, but within a few years, at least.  That she hasn't indicates that she sees you only as a friend – as you've only ever been to her over the course of your acquaintance.  You were friends, or friends of friends, in high school; you're a friend or acquaintance with a unique enough perspective to make you interesting now, after a re-acquaintance later in life. There's no evidence in this, anywhere, that she's entertained romantic feelings for you, or that this would change if her marriage were to end.

"For your part, though, you have always been attracted to her, and carried a torch for her despite, or perhaps because of, a total lack of encouragement on her part.  When your marriage broke up, you moved home looking or hoping to re-establish a connection that was never actually there in the first place.  When that hope was immediately frustrated by learning that Ann had married while you were away, you retreated into yourself and looked out only for an opportunity to connect with her again.

"You were confident you understood her better, you loved her better, than Harold did, because after all how long had he known her for when they got married?  Buoyed by this delusion, you convinced yourself that the normal steady state, small annoyances, and tempered affection of a long-term marriage were signs that Ann was realizing that your view was right.  You convinced yourself that Ann's enthusiasm for catching up with an old acquaintance who had been out and seen more of the world than usual for people from your town was a forerunner of the affection that she hadn't ever shown you, and you reasoned on this false premise that if her marriage were to end, she would rebound with you, immediately or eventually, and you would have a real chance at the relationship, with all the benefits of mature experience, that you were never able to get off the ground in high school and lost the chance for when you first returned home.

"From what you've told me, I can believe that Harold might leave Ann under the right circumstances, but while she may not be enthusiastic about staying with him, she would be legitimately distressed at the ending of a relationship she's had as a constant for most of her life, and there is no evidence she would consider you as a romantic partner if her marriage were to break up.  On the contrary, she would probably turn down your advances in a way that would be hurtful to you and end whatever friendship you have right now, and if she found out that you were behind it, I think she'd feel tremendously hurt and betrayed.  So for her sake, I'm going to leave this right here.  I won't go after Harold as your cat's-paw, and if you really care about Ann, I would ask you to seriously think all of this over, and think it over again from the start to be sure you're not making a terrible mistake.  Thank you very much for the coffee."  She hadn't touched it at all, but Marcia still folded her pad closed and slipped it back into her bag as she stood up, then walked on out of the café without another word.

Kent sat, frozen – she was wrong, she had to be, he had no lack of examples to show her how she was wrong, and Ann did care for him, and he was doing the right thing to set her free, to set her on the way she wanted to go, and it was just that she'd been so sudden, she'd hit him with all of it with so much force that he couldn't think of a single one.  Marcia was wrong.  He wasn't wrong – he wasn't about to destroy Ann's life.  She – she cared for him.  She was wrong. She couldn't possibly be right.

And fifteen minutes later, Kent still couldn't come up with a counterexample – leaned out over the table, his eyes down in the palms of his hands until they ran dry and he could breathe cleanly again.

further Tales of the Missing ...

[trebaolsmovingcastle]

@saint-just replied to your post: “Are we all gonna die?”

(A) You’ve lumped automation in with  fiercely negative things like climate problems and doom-war. Why? (B) “A minority of people hijacked the country and do evil with it, and somehow it means that it’s all over.” - Are you referring to when a minority of evil people birthed the country then stayed on top, or are we to believe contemporary developments are a significant departure from the norm? When you say “it’s all over”, is the “it” this country? Would that even be bad?

S’alright, so there’s definitely a lot to unpack here and go through. First let me just say that the post in question isn’t a carefully crafted paean or anything, I got an anonymous ask, which got me thinking and I tend to extemporize as I go...which in turn made it a paean to hope of sorts. So I hope you’ll cut me a little slack on certain flourishes, or at the very least on not bogging myself down in some serious semantics.

That aside, let’s take a look at my concerns about automation, mind you I’ve been reading on this topic for the last five years mostly, and I’m not an academic. So I wasn’t smart enough to make a refined list of resources I can constantly drag up or refer back to when I need to reference specific numbers. That’s my fault, I just accrue information and create a holistic image of outcomes.

Also, Saint-Just, I’ll go on at length, which I think won’t bother you, so everyone else feel free to skip all of this.

At face value automation is a savior, imagine, all these jobs, roles, systems suddenly handed off uniformly to AI’s robots, machines, systems that take the human element out of the equation. It’s star trek, it’s the replicator in a way. 3D printers making houses for next to nothing, no more miserable truck drivers pulling dangerous all nighters because the freight industry is automated. no more low wage jobs, they’re all done by the push of a button. Even the white collar jobs, and medical jobs all vanish far enough down the automation line. If you can teach a robotic arm to prepare a meal, you can teach similar arms and AI’s how to close a bleeding heart valve or excise a tumor with more precision than any human surgeon. You can have your markets rise and fall at speeds completely unimaginable as processors crunch numbers and make trades at speeds that we’re basically already at.

Now, this seems all great, when I lived in Seattle I had a friend who worked at Amazon, he was obsessed with automation and the golden future it would create, he also supported a universal basic income. He believed that tech giants would pioneer the way in pushing for a UBI, that automation would render industries nonexistent, and that the capital would get picked up by either the government or that these companies themselves would willingly just hand the money to the public, providing everyone a livable income without the need for work.

The problem is that there is virtually no evidence that any corporation or business entity is likely to start handing off profits to the public for free. Nor is there evidence that the tech field is somehow immune to the corrupting influence of capitalism and for profit enterprise. 

So what seems more likely is that you’ll have industries disappear, even now you can see automation taking over a variety of industries, open a factory that used to employ 5,000 union workers, now you can open that same factory and staff it with a skeleton crew of tech savvy workers who can perform maintenance of the new robotic workers. Meaning rural communities that formerly would depend on these types of jobs can just keep waiting, because their town can’t be saved by a factory with 25 jobs for people with coding skills.

Even looking at analysis made by I think the Bureau of Labor Statistics creates this uniquely grim image. In essence they’ll go through industries and provide long term career analysis for various fields, including factors that could impact the industry in question and how competitive the work environment is for new workers. Anyway, these analyses paint a rosier picture than most, but still list automation as a major threat to a number of fields.

So you have a variety of low paying jobs disappearing from the economy, especially in service jobs, creating more and more underemployment, and stiffer and stiffer competition for these low wage jobs. As a side note consider how many retirement age americans are now expecting to work until they die. So now add in over the years all the competition created by this gradually increasing group of workers. Suddenly we have this extremely broad category of low income, or no income people, uneducated for the new automated economy, without resources to join the existing workforce. You and I know that there is no social mobility now, and that whatever income bracket your parents inhabited is now less likely to be the bracket you will occupy.

Okay, so now we’re setting a stage where you have broad automation cutting a swathe through the jobs held by the 50% of American households that are under the poverty line, then you have automation also hitting at white collar and traditionally upper class jobs. All of this we have to assume will happen without Federal assistance for the working poor, or means to support this growing mass of people unable to find jobs.

As a class, we workers in a capitalist system only have one single way to really enforce our survival and protection...strikes, attacks on production at our jobs. When you eliminate the working class, as automation does, you lose your voice, you lose the only tactic you had within the existing system to demand change, protection, recompense, anything. You’re no longer a part of the system because the system doesn’t need you. For future generations consider trying to plan a college education around what kind of career you’ll need to be in at 40...when you’re 20. We’re already sold the lie of college as an answer to security, I was told at 10 to plan for my 50′s by picking a stable job I could retire with. By the time I entered the workforce the notion of a company keeping you to retirement no longer existed for most workers. As automation comes for some industries there will be a proliferation of jobs in that industry as you can have more people working in these fields as the cost of the fields drops, but that means that those jobs are generally part time and low paying. It has happened to paralegals for example, as well as bank tellers. Sure technology has caused these industries to balloon and meet a greater demand, but now the people in those fields are paid a pittance of what they used to. 

The one thing I didn’t go into at length in that post was that a lot of this all seems to be an area of concern for the decade of 2020-2030. Most fields concerned with the health of a society seem to have this notion that this coming decade is going to be a reckoning, that what is currently modest automation will balloon as the decade progresses, that the inequality we experience now will be enhanced, I imagine that a lot of the people singing praises about the ‘singularity’ ten years ago are now biting their nails as fascism comes back and the surveillance state entrenches itself ahead of all of the increasing economic inequality.

So although automation isn’t in and of itself bad, when handled by the same humans that brought us Google and Amazon...I’m concerned. We can’t depend on capitalism restructuring itself into a system that will care for the public and redefine what it means to work...we can’t hope for a UBI and careers in creative fields and just free cash to pay for the goods generated by an automated economy. We need to see this coming and be prepared for what looks like reality, a world where the jobs for the working classes disappear, with no retraining options, and few new jobs to fight over...jobs that likely will also face automation.

Alright, bear with me, Saint-Just, if you’ve come this far I appreciate that you care enough to go further.

On to the next bit. I need you to accept a series of ideas that may seem in some bizarre or contradictory or just...impossible to accept...but neo-liberalism isn’t ur-fascism and the harm done by one isn’t categorically identical to the other. Does this mean I want a neo-liberal President, a neo-liberal system? No, I want something altogether different, but when given the choice between the agony of millions, without relief, and a boot stomping on them for decades and at least limited option to resist and alter course, I’ll take the altered course.

When you allow fascism to truly take home in your political ecology you introduce the possibility that the softness of people’s resistance to evil will see people in camps in due time. We already have these problems with our government before Trump, but this is virtually asking for an authoritarian neo-feudalism to take over. How likely is a successful revolution against a government of that type? 

So to me, in this moment, the threat George Washington poses to the world is minimal, but the threat Donald Trump poses is more important. And when offered a choice between combative resistance to Clinton and Trump, I would choose Clinton because there’s at least a minimal chance that time, effort, and action would lead to change. Now we’re entering into a realm where information technology and the changing economy will truly render our ability to avert disaster moot. We’ll be against the wall when the fascist revolution comes, and despite the beauty of the White Roses stance wouldn’t you rather they never die along with all the Jews, homosexuals, romani, and other unwanted by the fascists of Germany?

The nation was founded by slavers and self interested businessmen, the nation is crowned with the genocide of the indigenous nations that came before, our national drink isn’t coca cola, it’s blood of everyone our forefathers executed to plant a homesteader in some prairie cabin, to suppress a vote, to sell cotton...both North and South. But right now, in this moment, I have more pressing concerns, the safety of people who aren’t me, the survival of people who aren’t me. When ICE is kicking in doors and baiting families by using their children...we have people suffering on a matter of societal semantics.

As for the ‘it’s all over’ go back and reread it with a question mark, that’s a typo on my part, it’s a rhetorical question. I’m making the case that simply because you have fascists at the gate doesn’t mean that they have to win.

That is what the post is about at heart, it’s what this is all about, that there are alternatives. I’ll still make a point to answer your understandable misread of my message, namely that it wouldn’t be bad if this ended. But you have to be prepared for what happens next. I can’t rail for revolution without conscience of what can happen. I can’t take a stance that says we need to tear it all down this moment, that you, or I, is able to do that. Because in this moment, with these resources, in this world...you most likely hand all the power you need to the people who have made this world categorically worse.

Revolutionary thought isn’t just about action, it’s about vision, goals, and again, as always, over and over, hope, love for mankind, even the people we loathe most. You can’t save everyone, you can’t win without some bloodshed...but you can’t throw it all away early because your ideology can’t accept the current reality. To me, now, in the coming years, all I can do is talk, write, engage with people, stand up and be counted as the counting comes. Resist tooth and nail against the worst of it, but I need to also consider who lives, who comes next, who will benefit. Revolutionaries are better alive and volunteering, helping the living who can’t themselves muster the energy to do more than nod along with a message of something better. Martyring for causes doesn’t bring us any closer to anything better, because the life lost was a life that missed all its future opportunities to enact change.

Look at your name! Look at beloved Robespierre! A slip...a momentary accident of exhaustion, of placement, a misstep, and suddenly the ideals of a transformed society dashed and instead you get Napoleon and two centuries of ‘Bloodthirsty’ Seafoam Incorruptible. Revolutions burn the revolutionaries like kindling, that is history on repeat, so take that and consider what can be done when revolutionary action is needed? That possibly instead of burning out before the job is done, we all try being the ones to decide what comes next. No empires, no neo-feudalism, no fascists, no new Bonapartes, Hitlers, Franco’s, Kim’s, or Jackson’s...that’s the goal, that’s the seemingly impossible demand put on true souls, to think, and plan, to resist, angry, ready, eager, but with the desire to pull as much of the people out of the fire as possible.

My sincere hope is that I can help, in some small fashion, as the times demand. I do not want to be at barricades or on tribunals, I don’t want to daydream about revolutionary councils, I want to dream that the institutions that corrupt this world are dismantled, that the poor don’t suffer, that the starving are fed, that the image of western civilization...white civilization are cast down and something better is achieved. That as needed I can talk my way through problems, that when needed I can go to the streets, that as things get worse my message doesn’t stop. I can’t dream about revolution because revolution is innocent blood heaped with the guiltys for little to no gain. I am not against these things, I am not against a coming change, but when you blow a society apart, you need to have thought about the timing. There is a right time. Right now...be these ideas, life, exist in the face of these awful things. Existing at all can be revolutionary. Being an image of what could be better in the world is more important now than stockpiling brickbats in hopes that tomorrow there will be a window to break.

Now, I do not mean to imply that you’re what I fear from revolutionary thinkers, I’m expressing what I’ve experienced in the past amongst a handful of people on the coast, that there’s this suicidal desire to martyr yourself for a cause, the cause becomes a bloodthirsty god that can only be satisfied by propaganda of the deed. The purpose of revolutionary ideas should be other people, the happiness, security, FUTURE, of other people. God, but a revolutionary should love, love adoringly the world, the suffering and misery of the world should hurt the revolutionary like seeing harm come to someone you care for, multiplied again and again. 

If the time came, for anyone, to rise up, to lead, to declare, to act...surely challenges, cruelty of the times, hardship, terror all would follow, but until then it is so important to focus on what is coming and what all of us are best at, what all of us can do when called upon. I will die, as will you, as will we all, but I must live so that should I die, I will have died unwaveringly standing in my convictions and hope for something better. Let me be of the immortal dead if it means the message of love, of the people, of something better for this dismal future is what gives me voice beyond the grave.

I hope I have been clear, I know I can be long winded, I’m better in person in almost all regards and easier to understand than in writing. I also hope that this satisfies you, that you understand my position better and can see what I mean in what I said before. That post was about hope, about encouraging hope in people who are too terrified of tomorrow to have hope. We need hope, we can’t despair the future because it needs us.

[penelope-and-wonders]

Replies

@chillissims replied to your post “Replies”

Really, you love Cottbus and you were here? :o I'm not a student :) i came here three years ago because of my boyfriend. I growed up in the circle of Hannover in Lower Saxony. I know the tower, I live close by. But if you see more often he is nothing special. :D I have to admit that I was never inside there :) Okay it's Saturday now an nooo snow :( Sun, blue Sky... But who knows what the day still brings :))

No, I’ve never been to Cottbus unfortunately, I visited Germany just once and went to Berlin and Dresden, although I was quite little back then, so my memories are kinda foggy :( I googled Cottbus and saw the pictures! Beautiful! I take it Hannover is much bigger than Cottbus, was it hard to change your environment like this?

@neopixiesims replied to your photoset

She is adorable!!!

Yes, she is, thank you, but we both know, naked sims with muscles and nice butts are more appreciable in our little circle of perverts sexually healthy people! LMAO

@simwithsparkles replied to your post “Replies”

Well sad puppies are cute? So i guess It's okay to smile? Lol ❤

It feels like we NEED a picture of a cute sad puppy here! We just can’t go on without it! :D

@themysteriouscowplant replied to your post “Replies”

hahaha the "wtf" was indeed good :'')

Thank god! There’s nothing better than a good ‘wtf’ :D

@shaysugar replied to your post “Replies”

how warm of you to think of me in that situation ;D good thing our snow is gone now. Soon you guys send it to the next place and they can blame you XD

It’s already melting, but we still have some insane night temperature, like -12C, whaaaaat? Do they even remember it was 15C this Thursday?! I’m really worried about those flowers near the building I live though :( They will survive only if some snow remains!

@wifemomsimmer replied to your post “Replies”

You're so kind and I cannot fully express how happy it makes me reading your kind words. It is something I never expect, but hope that I have a positive impact on/in my little space of life. You're truly an amazing person who impacts kindness, joy, fun and love in this community and I'm so sure in your own surroundings. You havea beautiful soul and it shows. I hope all good things for you and all you hold dear. Love you!!!

@sammyshuno replied to your post “Replies”

Minneapolis!

Amazing city! This aqueduct-like bridge is so picturesque! I love the atmosphere!! And the lakes!! ♥ ♥ ♥

@romeo-and-simulet replied to your photoset

I might not have a partner, but that doesn't matter cause I have food!

Amen! She’s attracting the evil sims only so far, that’s so weird, ‘cause she’s kind of a very nice person, you know. But I guess I have to deal with it *shrug*

@romeo-and-simulet replied to your post “List 5 things most people don't know about you and pass this to 5...”

horses are vicious and so are people in stables

Okay, what vicious horse did hurt my dear Annie? I’m gonna kick its butt!!!

@mangoruby replied to your post “Replies”

Hahahaha EVIL! :D

My identity has been revealed!

@snowflakerain replied to your post “Replies”

I live in Rio, its a pretty city, but we have like one month of winter lol The rest is pure hell. We are in Autumn now, is getting quite cold, thank God! I guess the cold and snowy weather goes well with my personality :)

Rio is such an amazing city! I’ve never been there, unfortunately, but I’m always amazed by its location and overall vibes, you know! It feels a bit unreal, with those hills, and beaches, and ocean, it is unique! Are there any relatively cold regions in Brazil? I know you have some ski resorts, so there has to be snow somewhere with you guys, right?

@furiouslydecaffinated replied to your post “Merry frigging Christmas!”

It's been 80 and sunny here all week. The thought of snow rearing its head and dumping down is terrifying. I'm so glad it finally decided to stay consistently warm

Send this awesome shit my way, would you?

[spicynbachili1]

The 300 Week 45: Almost There… Almost There…

It’ll occur, guys, it is really going to occur!

Hey there, howlers, and welcome again to The 300, my big-eyed, big-eared, sharp-toothed try and see 300 motion pictures in theaters in 2018. I’ll be watching new releases, classics, hidden gems, and pageant movies to expertise the large world of cinema in all its varieties. With a lot moviegoing selection, I hope there’s one thing on this picnic basket so that you can get pleasure from.

As all the time, there are three guidelines for The 300:

The film have to be a minimum of 40 minutes lengthy, assembly the Academy of Movement Image Arts and Sciences’ definition of a characteristic movie.

I need to watch the film at a movie show, screening room, or outside screening venue.

Whereas I can watch motion pictures I’ve seen earlier than 2018, I can’t depend repeated viewings of the identical movie in 2018 a number of occasions.

A busy week as I attempt to deliver The 300 on dwelling. I’ve solely acquired 5 motion pictures left, and I do know what they’re. Oddly, that is one other week with projection points, with a 35mm print (of Gleaming the Dice, for those who can consider it) requiring a couple of minutes to repair, and a 16mm print (of A Midsummer Evening’s Dream) getting warped and warbly within the remaining minutes of the film. Meaning extra projection and print issues within the final 5 weeks than I’ve skilled your complete remainder of the 12 months. It’s odd how that occurs. Possibly it is a signal from the film gods that this was a mistake. On that time, I want to stay agnostic.

It was an attention-grabbing week of moviegoing as I caught up with a couple of extra October releases I missed, and I acquired to fill some large holes in film nerd data. I’ve acquired 9 motion pictures to put in writing up this week, and since I’m a little bit low on time, my ideas could also be comparatively transient. Seeing 295 motion pictures takes up loads of hours. I gives you a minutes depend subsequent week.

Rely them down in your fingers, people. We’re nearly there.

And so, onward.

287 of 300: Can You Ever Forgive Me? (2018)

Director: Marielle Heller Starring: Melissa McCarthy, Richard E. Grant, Dolly Wells Nation: USA Seen at The Landmark at 57 West (New York, NY) Wednesday, November seventh

Can You Ever Forgive Me? is Melissa McCarthy’s finest film, and a terrific show of her potential as a considerate dramatic actress. Her skills often get squandered by subpar materials—as was the case with The Happytime Murders (The 300 Week 34)—relegated to a one-note bumbler/shouter. There are such a lot of layers in Can You Ever Forgive Me? efficiency, which is predicated on a memoir by Lee Israel. McCarthy performs a tragic sack author who resorts to forging literary letters to pay the payments. Like many writers, she finds that crime pays higher than a literary profession.  Lee’s solely buddies within the metropolis are her cat and one other failed author (performed by a superb Richard E. Grant) who hustles and screws his manner by means of New York Metropolis.

One thing in regards to the film felt like a cross between Marvel Boys and Withnail & I; the previous as a result of it’s a narrative about writers performing badly, and the latter due to Grant’s presence and the sheer squalor of all of it. Whereas tidying up Lee’s dwelling, we uncover an enormous assortment of stray cat turds beneath her mattress. That’s Withnail as hell. However there’s such humanity to those lonely characters struggling by means of their lives. There are laughs in Can You Ever Forgive Me?, however they’re muted ones. The contours of Lee’s despair (which seemingly consists of social nervousness dysfunction and some extent of agoraphobia) are so well-rendered and sympathetic. I’m wanting ahead to extra sudden roles like this in McCarthy’s profession.

288 of 300: Wildlife (2018)

Director: Paul Dano Starring: Ed Oxenbould, Carey Mulligan, Jake Gyllenhaal Nation: USA Seen at AMC Empire 25 (New York, NY) Thursday, November eighth

Wildlife is such a handsomely made, well-observed literary adaptation. Primarily based on the Richard Ford novel of the identical identify, the movie follows the dissolution of a post-war marriage as seen by means of the eyes of an adolescent boy. The household lives in Nice Falls, Montana (the identify says all of it in regards to the American Dream), and a wildfire burns uncontrolled simply outdoors city. Its imagery is usually quietly stunning, and serves to showcase the performances. Carey Mulligan’s particularly good as a housewife who’s grown fed up together with her husband’s nonsense. She shifts fairly abruptly by the tip of the primary act: at first a modest homemaker content material to endure by means of domesticity, after which a lady in there thirties who longs for freedom, risk, simply extra. Jake Gyllenhaal, in contrast, appears to stay an archetype of outmoded American masculinity, who takes each slight as an indication of emasculation.

But this good-looking, proficient, well-considered craft is oddly a part of what retains me from absolutely loving Wildlife. The story is fairly acquainted for anybody who’s learn an American novel in regards to the decline of the post-war interval. I did, nonetheless, discover myself entranced by loads of the imagery given an opportunity to breathe on display, like the best way literary writers give area for sentences to unfold; a few of the photographs really feel concurrently watched and skim. If something, it is a stable directorial debut from Paul Dano, and it makes me marvel what he could deal with subsequent.

289 of 300: Gleaming the Dice (1989)

Director: Graeme Clifford Starring: Christian Slater, Steven Bauer, Richard Herd Nation: USA Seen at Roxy Cinema Tribeca (New York, NY) Thursday, November eighth

Gleaming the Dice is such wonderful 80s kitsch. Christian Slater performs a bodacious skater boy whose adopted brother is murdered by Vietnamese gun runners. The cops don’t take our hero critically, so he has to take issues into his personal arms. Skateboard-larity ensues, bro. I’ve seen three skateboarding motion pictures this 12 months, the opposite two being Jonah Hill’s okay Mid90s (The 300 Week 44) and Crystal Moselle’s a lot better Skate Kitchen (The 300 Week 32). Gleaming the Dice is the second better of the bunch, however I do know I’ll watch this schlock once more earlier than the others. What a goofy blast.

I’m reminded of how so many 80s motion pictures about teenagers inexplicably concerned organized crime and violent motion. This is able to in all probability pair effectively with the oddball James Spder/Robert Downey Jr. automobile Tuff Turf. (Look that one up for those who ever needed to listen to Spader sing a romantic ballad.) Take into account the next second from Gleaming the Dice: Tony Hawk triumphantly drives a Pizza Hut supply truck over the crest of a hill, harkening the arrival of a skate crew calvalry. Completely gnarly, proper?

290 of 300: Good Manners (2017) (aka As Boas Maneiras)

Administrators: Marco Dutra and Juliana Rojas Starring: Isabél Zuaa, Marjorie Estiano, Miguel Lobo Nation: Brazil/France/Germany Seen at BAM Rose Cinemas (Brooklyn, NY) Friday, November ninth

Good Manners is a such an engrossing mishmash of genres. It’s a werewolf film a couple of pregnant girl mysteriously stricken with some sort of lyncathropy. She hires a poor black girl from an outlying a part of town as a nanny, which makes the film additionally about class as race. And it will get stranger nonetheless, vacillating from horror to fable to darkish comedy, and even throwing in a couple of musical numbers for good measure. One way or the other administrators Marco Dutra and Juliana Rojas are capable of management the tonal shifts of the movie. Whereas they’re sudden, they really feel a part of a cohesive complete. The film appears like an odd story that might have been penned by Carmen Maria Machado, Karen Russell, or Kelly Hyperlink. Good Manners may even play effectively alongside Agnieszka Smoczynska’s mermaid musical horror movie The Lure.

Watching Good Manners, I by no means certain what was going to occur subsequent, and loved the surprises as they arose. That’s the wonderment of taking acquainted components and rearranging them in an unfamiliar manner. It’s a film that feels such as you’re being instructed a bedtime story however in a dream. Due to that, I used to be by no means bothered by Good Manners’ 135-minute runtime. I don’t wish to say something extra. As I discussed above, the surprises in Good Manners are a part of the enjoyment of this postmodern fairy story.

291 of 300: The Hate U Give (2018)

Director: George Tillman Jr. Starring: Amandla Stenberg, Regina Corridor, Russell Hornsby Nation: USA Seen at AMC Empire 25 (New York, NY) Saturday, November 10th

The Hate U Give is a well timed portrait of the Black Lives Matter motion that additionally presents a primer on privilege, code switching, and what constitutes good allyship. It’s such a well-distilled sequence of observations, and a part of the rationale the film is as shifting as it’s. The story considerations the demise of an unarmed black teen by the hands of a white police officer. Starr (Amandla Stenberg) is the one witness to the killing and a long-time pal of the sufferer, however fears talking out. It might influence her life at her elite non-public faculty, the place she’s the one individual of shade; it could influence her life at dwelling given her household’s place in the neighborhood and her pal’s ties to an area gang.

Stenberg’s extremely good within the movie. As an emotional anchor, she appears perpetually between totally different worlds and totally different features of herself. Like many coming-of-age tales, there’s a battle for self-discovery, and Starr has to seek out who she is each personally and politically. The supporting solid is equally sturdy, significantly Regina Corridor (who’s all the time good) as Starr’s grounded mom, and Russell Hornsby as Starr’s dad working the long-game at redemption/reformation. The Hate U Give is without doubt one of the most earnest movies of the 12 months, and a reminder of the potential in good YA writing. Given the state of police violence in opposition to unarmed black males, the e-book and the movie will hopefully provide some sense of hope and braveness shifting ahead.

292 of 300: A Midsummer Evening’s Dream (1959) (aka Sen noci svatojánské)

Director: Jirí Trnka Nation: Czechoslovakia Seen at The Movie Society of Lincoln Middle (New York, NY) Saturday, November 10th

Jirí Trnka’s A Midsummer Evening’s Dream is pure magic. Watching the film made me really feel like a toddler. This stop-motion animated adaptation of the Shakespeare is such a blinding, charming show of creativeness. The articulated dolls in Trnka’s animated movies really feel extra like puppets the have been lovingly assembled and dropped at life. Whereas there’s some narration, there’s no dialogue, which implies the puppets themselves mutely emote and convey the textual content accompanied by music. It helps for those who’re conversant in A Midsummer Evening’s Dream, however I believe simply admiring the film magic, the colour, the element, and the spectacle of this animated puppet present could also be sufficient to maintain enchantment.

I noticed the English-dubbed 16mm Academy ratio model of the film, although there are a minimum of two different variations that I want to hunt out. The movie was concurrently shot in ultra-wide CinemaScope, which makes the animated movie appear extra like a cinematic stage play. There’s additionally an English-language model of the movie with a full voice solid, together with Richard Burton because the narrator. I ponder what this full voice-cast model is like. Within the model I noticed, the narration turned the Shakespearean textual content into nursery rhyme floor beef, however the poetic imagery made it palatable.

293 of 300: Overlord (2018)

Director: Julius Avery Starring: Jovan Adepo, Wyatt Russell, Mathilde Ollivier Nation: USA Seen at AMC Village 7 (New York, NY) Monday, November 12th

Overlord is okay, however an hour or so after leaving the theater, I discovered myself wishing it was higher. Borrowing components from Wolfenstein, Frankenstein’s Military, and Shock Waves (The 300 Week 33), the film is a couple of small group of American troopers on a mission to take out a Nazi base however uncover a plot to create Nazi tremendous troopers. The scope of the story is saved small, which is to the movie’s benefit, and there’s some stable gore. And but I believe a part of my subject was how the script undermines the competence of our protagonist, Boyce (Jovan Adepo). All through the movie, he winds up doing loads of dumb and questionable issues in service of the plot. At occasions he appears much less like a soldier in WWII and extra like Scooby-Doo. I do know, individuals do dumb issues in horror motion pictures as a result of that could be a widespread trope, however I discover lazy protection of poor writing. Style per se is just not a adequate defend from shoddy character motivations.

I additionally marvel about Boyce’s shifting/inconsistent ethics in the course of the mission. So many film heroes balk on the tidiness of utilitarianism, hoping to avoid wasting the entire good guys with out shedding any buddies or allies. That’s nice, however at a sure level, Boyce needs to guard a Nazi captain from getting roughed up though he deserves it. Just some scenes earlier than, Boyce was able to kill the identical Nazi captain for tried rape; the movie even alludes to this Nazi scum being a serial rapist. Why the sudden mercy for an unrepentant Nazi? As a result of the Nazi must survive as a result of the plot dictates it as a result of horror film. Overlord is a fairly good rental, however the seams are apparent as a result of horror film.

294 of 300: Detour (1945)

Director: Edgar G. Ulmer Starring: Tom Neal, Ann Savage, Claudia Drake Nation: USA Seen at Movie Discussion board (New York, NY) Tuesday, November 13th

Detour is an unsung, movie noir basic that’s lastly acquired a 4K digital restoration. The little-seen movie is lean at only a good 69 minutes, and it was shot low-cost and fast. Detour is splendidly atmospheric, leaning into the shadows and fog of German Expressionism in addition to the snappy disillusionment of pulp writers of the time. (At one level cash is described as a bunch of folded paper coated in germs. Boss.) It’s quintessentially noir from starting to finish. Advised principally in flashback with hard-boiled narration, we learn the way Tom Neal’s hard-luck drifter wound up in his sorry state. Seems his cross nation hitchhike didn’t go as deliberate, with destiny dealing him a sequence of dangerous arms. Although it’s such a low-budget movie, Edgar G. Ulmer provides the film an ingenious visible panache, which heightens the narration and character standpoint. It’s a reminder that budgetary limitations can usually immediate wealthy visible inventiveness.

Along with Ulmer’s fashionable shoestring path, Detour is notable for an unimaginable efficiency by Ann Savage. She’s a demon queen femme fatale who is aware of find out how to grift her manner round. Her introduction into the image is exceptional. Discover her on the highway, then watching her in profile as she sits within the passenger seat, and the look on her eyes when she turns to the digital camera. She could also be driving shotgun, however we all know who’s actually within the driver’s seat.

The restored model of Detour is getting a restricted theatrical run due to Janus Movies, which implies a Criterion Assortment launch might be across the nook. Until it will get into hassle on the highway, in fact.

295 of 300: Hollywood Shuffle (1987)

Director: Robert Townsend Starring: Robert Townsend, Helen Martin, Keenen Ivory Wayans Nation: USA Seen at BAM Rose Cinemas (Brooklyn, NY) Tuesday, November 13th

When you have been to cross the “Bizarre Al” film UHF with In Dwelling Colour, the consequence could be Robert Townsend’s Hollywood Shuffle. Townsend performs Bobby Taylor, an aspiring actor searching for his large break, however the one roles out there for black males are pimps, gangsters, slaves, and butlers. Does he promote out or present some self-respect? With so few choices for actors of shade, Bobby escapes into his personal creativeness, the place popular culture parodies and comedy sketches unfold as satirical commentary. Whereas the film falls prey to the informal homophobia of the 1980s, it’s nonetheless a humorous and by the tip extraordinarily honest examination of the significance of illustration in media. The film is about imagining different roles for individuals of shade—new goals, new aspirations, a greater world—and dismantling the stereotypes perpetuated by the present media panorama.

Watching Hollywood Shuffle this 12 months appears significantly related. At one level of the film there’s dialogue of a black Superman as an aspirational mannequin. In contrast, in a surprisingly heartbreaking scene, we get to see how Bobby’s little brother reacts to the insulting manner black males are depicted within the media. In my head I sense some continuity between Hollywood Shuffle, the Solar Ra Afrofuturism movie House Is the Place (The 300 Week 5), and Ryan Coogler’s Black Panther (The 300 Week 7). These are all movies about black individuals creating a greater future by means of creativeness and artwork. Even Zoot Swimsuit (The 300 Week 11) and Loopy Wealthy Asians (The 300 Week 33) could be introduced into this bigger scope of illustration and why it issues. It’s the stuff goals, and the long run, are made from.

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