#sometimes I don´t even know if you can hear the stuff I interpret... well I try ok

[spill-to-t]

This melodie came up by accident and then I had this idea for Constance... here it is (Sorry if sound is bad)

The melody is supposed to sound threatening, hidden by the kind and charming. She is a cruel woman, the only thing she cares about is her own welfare and youth. She pretends to care about her children, but has to realize how her family falls apart because of her...

[yandere-daze]

So, I've had no one to talk to about this, then I remembered we're moots, so that legally makes you my friend.

Can we just talk about how Watatu is most likely to be self aware out of anyone, but also least likely to fight anything? I've always had this suspicion but I've been watching the anime recently, and he's totally willing to do things that will (or should) devastate him, but because it's part of the script.

Like, he knows you. He loves you more than anyone. But the script says he has a role to play. So he'll play his part and he'll play it gloriously.

Also!!!!! He says things like he's "everyone's Wataru". He doesn't belong to anyone. So it's just another reason that if he was self aware, he would play along. He's yours, but the both of you belong to everyone. So he must allow you to follow your own script to its completion.

This has been a ted talk from your friendly neighborhood dot! I would love to hear the thoughts of someone who is not myself 😅

Hello, hello! Indeed, being mutuals means we are now best friends, sorry I don´t make the rules😌

Now I have to admit that my knowledge about Wataru is very limited so my interpretation of his character might be very off!

But yes, I think Wataru would be pretty quick to realize the whole truth of this being a game and you being the player. Both because of his experience with doing magic and how that requires performing different tricks. That probably enables him to see these kinds of "tricks" a bit better than other people. Also despite trying to act like a clueless clown in front of other people sometimes, Wataru is actually really smart and attentive, so I wouldn´t be surprised that he would figure all of this out pretty quickly.

And Wataru is indeed willing to play his role if he thinks that it is necessary for a better future/ a good outcome. I think that in elements for example, he did his "final performance" against fine even though he knew he would lose, because he probably believed that it was the necessary thing to happen. He strikes me as someone that does sometimes steps away from his own personal wants.

So once he realizes that he´s simply a character you play with, he wants to play that role as well as he can! He does it with so much passion, he wants you to pay attention to him and he wants ti impress you too.

All his life, Wataru has been a genius when it came to acting and performing tricks. Everyone told him so all his life and yet, time and time again people would start to become bored of his tricks eventually. But he doesn´t want people to abandon him so he keeps trying to do more and more impressive stuff, just to keep people watching, looking at him. ( at least that is what I remember from reading phantom thieves vs detectives like 2 years ago)

So I think it would be much the same here. He doesn´t want to be forgotten by darling so he keeps doing more and more attention grabbing things, in the hopes that they won´t turn away.

And yet, when he sees someone that is close to him enamored with you, he´s conflicted and Wataru starts stepping away, even though it breaks his heart.

I have no doubt in my mind that Wataru would start slowly giving up on you if Eichi, anyone in fine or any of the eccentrics started showing an interest in you. Tomoya and Hokuto for that manner too, probably. He´s ready to play the role of a hopeless clown, a smile on his face as he watches you being swept away by someone else.

[arthurflecksgirl]

Subway scene /Arthurs POV

The subway is moving forwards, while everything inside of me is standing still. Frozen. Numb even. The numbness takes over me, except for the real bad headache. I shouldnt have done that. Hurting myself. But sometimes I just cant help it. Sometimes the sadness turns into anger and I dont want to hurt anyone, so I punish myself instead of anyone else. Instead of the people that hurt me all my life. I just sit there and take it, and try to cry my eyes out afterwards, but I cant even do that. Not a tear.

Silence. At least on the outside. Inside of me silence doesnt excist.

I don`t say much. I would love to talk a lot actually, but I gave it up when I realized that people won`t listen anyway. I prefer to write in my jornal nowdays. Its saver for me. My journal can`t missunderstand me. At least I hope so.

But yeah… if only they would give me the chance to explain myself. They would notice that I`m a good guy.  But they won`t. To them it doesnt matter how big my heart is or that is filled with lonelyness. I do write my jokes for OTHER people. To make them happy. To be seen as someone who want to spread positivity. But they remain unheard. My jokes are only scribbles in my journal. At least up until now. I`ve got the feeling that change is about to come. Like….I can feel soemthing growing inside of me. Not sure what it is though. Its just a gut feeling but trusting my feelings is another story...

I look outside the window. Graffitys on the dirty surface cover half of my reflection. Half of my face, a blurr. Funny because thats how I feel right now. I notice how worn out my face must seem to others. A sad eyed clown, abandoned from the rest of the world. I can`t smile for anyone today. Not after Hoyt fired me. How could I ever tell my mum when I get home? I just told her that she shouldt worry about money, or me. That my stand ups are ready for the big clubs. And now I got nothing left.  Not even my job, which I loved. Mum and I didnt had much money but it was enough to get us through. What now? She`ll be so dissappointed in me. I wanted make her proud. I wanted her to watch her son up on the stage, thinkng “I`m so proud of him. He really made it. ” But all she is going to say now is “Oh happy. I guess you just weren`t funny enough”.

I turn around and face the seats, trying to get eye contact with a lady. I crave human connection so much. It would feel so good if she would just look me in the eye for a second. It would be like a proof that I am here and people notice. But she doesnt. Maybe she`s too caught up in her own thoughts. Maybe she questions her own existence just like me.

The doors open, she gets up and leaves. A deep sigh is escaping my painted lips. Three guys are getting in, talking about a girl they danced with. The conversation caughts my attention. Sounds like they were at a dance club or something. I`ve never been at one, so I try to hear all the details about how a normal guy would manage to make out with a girl. I really could need some good advice, but after only a few seconds I realize that the guys must be drunk. One of them claims that the girl was in love with him, while his buddy says it aint true. Nothing to learn here.

It is now that I realized that there is a pretty girl sitting across me. “Want some french fries?” one of the drunk guys asks her and the way he does so makes me feel uncomfortable.  Him trying to get her attention feels wrong.

“Helloooo?” .

“No, thank you” The girl seems annoyed. “They`re real good!”  he says, before he starts throwing the food at her.  “C`mon” the other one says “He`s being nice to you”.

The girl just wants to read her book. Why would they even bother her? I have never been on a date before but this sure isnt how I woud treat a woman. I would try to be a gentleman. To become a beautiful memory which she writes down in her diary when the day is done. I want to become a romanic page in a womans diary. A poem. A lover.

I take a look at the cover of what she is reading. Alice in wonderland. I like that. Alice knew how to create a world of her own. Reality couldnt bother her anymore. But her dream world did. I guess there is just no way to escape your own mind.

I get nervous, noticing that she makes eye contact with me. I was longing for eye contact just minutes ago but now that this pretty girl looks right at me I`m sweating.  I guess she wants me to say something to them. To step in and tell them to leave her the fuck alone. The friendly clown looks like he could help her out. And I want to. I want to stop them so bad. I want to get up to those guys and tell them to fuck off. To leave the girl alone with her book, Alice and her imagination. But my body won`t let me. I am frozen. My legs won`t move. I`m just sitting there. What kinda man am I, to not help her out? Just a sad clown on the subway. Nothing more. All I wanna do is cry.

And there it comes….. hmmm... haha. I shake my head. No. please not now. Not in front of a pretty girl and some bullies. This is bad. I`m in deep shit now.  I can`t hold it back. The pain. The urge to cry, to shout out. To scream.

The laughter. Its making its way up my throath again. I want it to stop! At the same time there is something inside of me that acually thinks that this is funny. Those drunk idiots trying to impress a girl by throwing french fries at her and I`m actually hoping to learn something here when they came in. What a joke.

I can tell  by their dirty looks that I already caught attention . The wrong kinda attention. the kind of attention I`ve never asked for. Leave me alone to cry.

“Is something funny, asshole?” his voice is hurting me. I try to tell him that he should ignore my laughter by gestures, but he doesnt get it. I guess the girl is scared of me now which makes it all so much worse.. She passes me by,disappearing, as the guys throws stuff at her “Bitch!”

Hahahahhahahah. I reach the point of pain right now. My throath feels sore from trying to hold it back.  My heart tired from asking myself why I am still laughing.

And just as the pain starts to spread its fire on my insides, the guy comes up to me, starting to sing. I know that song. I know it well.  “Isnt it rich? Are we a pair? Me here at last on the ground. You in mid air. Send in the clowns.”

A chalkboard.  Chairs. That smell. My teacher looking at me like i´m a freak. Fists. And more fists.

With every step he comes closer I get flashbacks from getting bullied at scool. The look in his face. in his eyes. I know that kinda look. He`s a fucking bully. And I`m his victim.  Nothing new I know. But that song…it really gets me. I love Frank Sinatra. His music means so much to me. It hurts that this guy is using it against me like a weapon.

“Isnt it bliss. Dont you appprove? One who keeps tearing around, one who cant move?”

Yeah….thats right……hahahahhaah I CANT move while you are dancing around like an idiot. Hurting me. Do you have any idea how much you are hurting me? Look at my face. I´m hurt. I`m in pain. But people never notice and you keep on dancing. You`re the one who is laughing. Not me. I`m crying while I have to listen to your terrible interpretation of Send in the clowns.  You can`t even carry a fucking tune!!!!

“Send in the cloooooowwwnnnsss” he sings, his eyes focused on me in a disgusting way, while the other one is sitting down next to me. I feel intimitated as he grabs my Carnival wig, exposing my real hair , while I cant stop laughing with pain in my eyes. Not the wig. Please not the wig. I need it. I cant afford another one and I have to find a new job as a clown soon.

“There ought to be CLOOOOOOOWWWWNNSSS…..” the first one looks at me in anger, the second one putting my wig on, laughing right into my face. I can smell the alcohol in his breath. The way he laughs at me. So rude. Just like back in scool. I`m back in scool. This is a nightmare.  Why would they want to hurt me? Don`t they realize I just want to be left alone?  I wish they would go away. Why is no one else around? But I guess I dont deserve someone saving me. I wasnt even able to hold them back from annoying the girl.

“So tell us buddy. Whats so fuckin funny?”

“Nothing!”. Finally my chance to explain myself.

Hahahhahahah “I have….I have a condition” I try to catch my breath. Its so hard to breathe, so hard to talk between the laughs. My hand reaches for the card. I  have to read it out loud, so they know.

Its too late.

“I´ll tell you what you have, asshole” he replies, grabbing my bag. I try to get it back, but the other is fast, holding me back. Grabbing me violently from behind, while the first one tries to attack me. I cant belive this is happenening.

I cant use my arms. This is worse than being handcuffed. I kick the guy in front of me. Kinda shocked I was able to make a move.

“We got a kicker, huh?” he says. “Hold him steady, hold him steady” he screams, right fore he punshes me right in the face ,so hard that the other one lets go of me. The next thing I feel is hitting the ground. Hard.  Lying there with a sharp pain that makes its way althrouh my body. I lie on my right side. My ribs hurt´. My head is pounding, hands  touching the dirty ground, trying to figure out if this is really happening ? I cant move. Freezemode is taking over. . I just cant do anything but take it like a good, little boy.

I`m a kid. Just a kid again. And its dark. And I dont know where I am. Or what day it is.

“Stay down,freak!“

Happy

Freak

Arthur, my name is Arthur.

They kick me in the back.Harder. All three of them now.  

For a moment I am afraid they will kick me to death. Three guys and some clown, paralyzed on the floor? I could definitaly die in here and no one will ever know. I`m not afarid of dying. But this isnt how I want to go. Not on the floor. Not while getting kicked by some assholes. They would step over my dead body and I would remain invisible..I cant let them do this to me. Not again.

Is this my inner voice talking? The one I used to feel lately? Is this the blurry part of my reflection?

I feel my left  arm moving and  remember the gun. The fucking gun Randall gave to me. The weapon that brought me nothing but trouble. Maybe this thing will be good for something eventually. Maybe it will save my life. Well Randall. Sorry for ruin your plan.

Those guys will get what they deserve now.

Bang! Bang!

That was fast. One is already on the ground.

Bang! Bang!

I never thought it could be so easy to defend yourself.

The other one is hitting the subway door.

There is blood but  no time to take a look at it. The third one tries to run away as I fire the gun one more time. I only caught his leg. He`s liping, as I grab my stuff, trying to catch my breath. To get my thoughts straight. The gun in my hand. God. there is a gun in my hand. Still. For a brief moment I seem to lose all orientation. Did i just killed someone? What should I do now? What about the third one? My mind is all over the place.

Breathe, Arthur. Breathe. I have a lump in my throath. Not sure if from the laughing or from the panic.

The sound of the guy banging against the subway door awakens me from my thoughts. The door opens and he tries to get away. But he won`t. I`m a fast runner and he can barely walk. I have to finish this now. Just one more guy. I have to bring this to an end. One more shot. He falls to the ground.

How does it feel there, on the dirty ground? Can you taste the concrete? Because I did.

Can you feel the cold against your aching bones? Well, I did. And it was crawling up its way on my insides.

You killed me first.

Every single one of you bullies.

You killed my hopes and dreams.

My innocence.

This is what you finally get.

Do you see me now?

Can you feel, that I am real?

Because I am.

And so is this gun.

I ran up close to him as he screams, trying to crawl closer to the stairs.

No one heard MY whimpers when I thought I was  almost dying in the alley.

I fire the gun. Bang Bang Bang. Until there are no bullets left. Until he doesnt move anymore.

Freeze mode, huh? How does it feel?

One who keeps tearing around. One who cant move.

And then… silence.

Exept the noise in my ears. I take a short look at the body lying in front of me. He really is dead. Huh. . Kinda surprising what a gun can do.

I press my hand against my ears. That noise.  I hope there will be music again, soon.

I take a look around. No one is there. Time to grab my stuff and get gone.

I ran up the stairs as fast as I can and  feel myself changing with every step I take, with every short breath I become something.

There is a glow inside, as I run into an unknown desitination, my shadow ahead of myself

[flying-elliska]

(1)Okay I just need to vent and i hope you don't mind. I understand why Arthur was in shock. And why he said what he said. I honestly never saw hearing loss as something that need discussion and I don't even know why. For me it's like losing your eyes(i have very bad eyesight) and now with all this technologies you can function pretty well in our society (at least i hope!) But his father reminded me so much of my mother that i didn't even blinked. I was like "he saying reasonoble things?" And

(2) and only when i started to see all comments that he was cold i was like. Damn. When my mother and father starting discussions with me i can even exaggerate something because. They never just support me. With words. Maybe sometimes you don't need reasonoble things. You need warm words and hug and forget for one day about exams. I'm honestly in shock. I'm so insensitive? Or i saw that my parents were like this. How people even learning to support each other??? This message is a mess I'm sorry

Don”t worry anon, it’s perfectly understandable ! It’s a complicated question, though, huh ?

I think when it comes to Arthur’s father, we’ve seen in several clips that there is something wrong with their relationship. We don’t know exactly what, but we’ve seen that Arthur isn’t comfortable around his father, that he hides stuff from him, that the father makes dismissive comments about other people who are not successful enough in his eyes...in short, he’s a bit of an asshole at the very least (and his vibes are not great). So in this clip, of course, part of the fandom is going to interpret his actions in a negative light. Arthur obviously needs emotional reassurance, he’s under a lot of pressure already and his father only adds to that by thinking of his studies only. 

I don’t believe all parents who focus on their children’s material success are bad parents ; it often comes from a place of wanting them to have a happy, comfortable life. But like you say, sometimes you need a hug, not a reminder that your future is at stake. And parents who completely ignore the emotional needs of their child do inflinct damage - some kids are more sensitive to that than others, though. I feel it’s very typical of a certain generation to behave like that and I’d like to think our generation is learning how to be more open with our feelings and is making some progress there. Especially when so many of us have suffered of this kind of stuff. Focusing too much on ‘pragmatism’ - even though yeah, sure, Arthur’s father isn’t wrong, creates an environment in which Arthur obviously doesn’t feel safe sharing his troubles because he knows they will be overlooked or boiled down to practical stuff. Like emotional suffering isn’t valid or a ‘real problem’ and he should just ‘get over it already’ ? I know exactly how hurtful this situation can be, and it’s not easy to work through it because the parents who do this often function like this in many, many areas of their lives, this tendency to just...idk, repress their own emotions to get through tough shit and expect others to do the same. I feel the season is very subtly drawn so far and that’s why not everyone is seeing the problem. 

Or maybe you just get used to your parents being that way, but honestly - yeah. I think it’s important to nurture the emotional, empathetic, nourishing aspects of a relationship, no matter what it is. And men/fathers should definitely not get a pass on that either because ‘that’s how fathers are’. That shit sucks. I know because my father used to be like that for most of my life, only focused on success, completely ignoring emotional issues ; and it’s only recently, after remarrying, that I saw him learn to connect to that side of himself and honestly I can see how much happier he is and how much better our relationship is - but it has left a lot of damage, and that takes time to undo. As a kid it leads you to invalidate your own needs and feelings like they don’t matter. Maybe Arthur’s father will realize he’s handled things poorly but honestly I expect it to get worse before it gets better (also because doctors strike me as exactly the type not wanting to realize they’re in the wrong)

Anyway I hope you can figure shit out with your parents. Maybe they don’t even realize what they’re doing. Sometimes people are just embarassed to talk about and show feelings because they’re not used to it. It’s a complicated thing, and I think it’s important to be aware of so you don’t repeat the same mistakes yourself. (But also, communication helps a lot tbh) It’s not bad to want more, I think, even if the relationship is not necessarily bad. 

[xxx-cat-xxx]

Devils and Dust, part 2

This is for @builder051. Thank you for the idea, I didn´t even know how much I wanted to write this before you told me. I hope I did it justice.

This is dark: Fever, emeto, anxiety, PTSD, flashbacks, not exactly suicidal, but some phrases can be interpreted in this directon, so take care.

Yes, the ending is meant to be ambiguous.

Find part 1 here.

What if what you do to survive Kills the things you love Fear's a powerful thing, baby

When Tony wakes up, he is embedded into blissful nothingness. For the shortest of moments, he doesn´t remember where he is, or when, or why, and the ignorance is nothing but comforting. He wants to stay like this forever, guiltless, protected, unscathed.

Then everything returns to him with one blow that knocks the air out of him, sucks out every last bit of energy. It´s all back. The pounding in his head, the feverish heaviness in his limbs, the sick churning in his stomach. And the memories, and the guilt, and the pain.

He opens his eyes to the stinging light. He is in bed, his own. He slowly sits up, his body weighed down by stones, his mind by darkness. He can´t remember ever waking up and feeling more hopeless, more worn out and less capable of facing whatever horrors the day has to offer. All he knows is that he has to scrape through, somehow, again.

But firstly he needs to be sick. Bile is starting to collect around his tongue, hangover, illness and looming anxiety taking their toll. Tony gets out of his bed, shivering as soon as the blanket slides from his shoulders. The fever must have climbed during the night, everything is a haze, vibrating around him like desert air.

His vision goes black as soon as he stands up, and he staggers into a wall, pushing his back against it to stay upright while stumbles to the bathroom and falls onto his knees. Opening the toilet lid feels like lifting up the iron suit with his bare hands.

He hangs his head over the bowl and waits for the inevitable, letting strings of spit waft down into the water and feeling lines of cold sweat trickle on his forehead. He knows what´s coming, the nausea carrying him up and down in waves. He feels sicker with every breath that passes, but it takes painfully long until his stomach finally contracts and disgustingly warm liquid is being pushed up his throat. It hurts, and as soon as the first mouthfull is out, he gags again, a thick gush of booze and bile hitting the water.

His body curls into itself when the retching doesn´t stop. Soon, he can´t breathe anymore, feels himself starting to panic. “Fuck”, he exhales, trembling hands grasping the toilet seat hard, trying to ground himself. For a moment he is back in a cave in Afghanistan, ice-cold hands closing tightly around his chest –

“Tony!”

It´s her voice, but it can´t be. His mind is playing tricks on him again, fueled by the fever. She´s been around a lot recently, this mock version of Pepper, comforting him when he was crying and shouting and puking his guts out, cursing himself and the world in drunken stupor.

He glances towards the door frame, where she is standing a few feet away. He yearns to bury his head in her embrace, longs for her cool fingers on his burning forehead, her calming touch on his tortured body. God, he never knew it was possible to miss anyone this much.

The vision-Pepper always tends to his touch-starved body the way he needs it, but this time the figure keeps her distance, and that´s how he finally understands that she must be real. He´s a miserable mess on the floor, and he wouldn´t want her to see him like this, not after all that happened. But he can´t help to feel a surge of disappointment when she doesn´t even try to enter the room.

He briefly wonders how long she´s been around, and who let her in, then another heave knocks him over, making him moan when the pain in his head explodes. There are shadows lingering in the corners which he figures don´t belong into the bathroom, but he shakes them out of his head, causing the world to spin. Not now. Not in front of Pepper.

Tony throws up one last time, wipes his mouth, gets up, and then vertigo brings him back to his knees immediately, ending the weak pretense of him getting his shit together.

Pepper motions to support him.

“Leave me”, he growls.

“- are really sick.” he hears. She must have been talking for some time.

“Yeah, I’m okay”, he lies, voice hoarse from retching.

But everything is shattering. Her presence destroys whatever remainders of composure he ever had left. She was the best thing in his life, the one person worth living for, and he squandered his chance.

He can´t think clearly. He needs the workshop, distraction, now. Tony heaves himself up on his feet, ignoring the black spots that appear in his vision, makes for the door.

“You can’t go out like this, Tony, you really need to rest!” she stops him.

“Pepper, just...leave it,” he pleads, avoiding to look at her. “I don´t know why you are here, but seriously, just go.” His fingers curl around the doorknob.

“I am here because Steve called me at four in the morning saying you are drunk, delirious and scaring him with the stuff you´re talking. Scaring Captain America. And all that on Peter´s party.”

Fuck, the kid´s birthday. One more tick on the endless list of things he managed to ruin.

“Where’s Pete?”, he croaks, hating how weak his voice sounds.

Her expression softens. “Back at his aunt’s”, she sighs.

“He doesn´t know”, she adds upon seeing his alarmed gaze, “Steve told him you caught a bug and need to sleep it off. Don’t know if he believed it, though. People are not as stupid as you think, Tony. They care.”

He shrugs. “Not enough to stay, apparently.”

He hates himself the moment it’s out. He didn’t want that, hurt her even more than he already has. He’d told her that he respects her decision to leave, after that terrible night when everything had fallen apart, that he didn’t judge her for going, and that was the truth, give or take. But god, sometimes it is so hard not to blame. Sometimes the world is just too cruel for him to remain a decent human being.

He suddenly feels hot and cold at the same time, and his legs won´t hold his weight anymore. He manages a few steps towards the bed, then slips down onto the floor next to it, burying his aching head in his hands. He needs to be alone before he loses it completely, but he doesn´t think that he can stand. He’s starting to feel like puking again, and he can’t have her around for that. It’s not embarrassment, she’s seen him in worse states often enough. It’s rather that he doesn’t know how long he will be able to resist the urge to beg her to stay, just today, just until he’s better and the fever stops making him confuse reality and nightmares.

He looks up at her.

“I´m sorry, Pepper, I didn´t mean to  -

“No, Tony, sorry doesn´t cut it.” Her voice is shaking, and he can see her forcing down the tears glistening in her eyes, but she keeps speaking.

“I will talk now. And you listen. I had the whole night of sitting at your bedside and worrying my head off to prepare what I am going to say to you, so do not interrupt me.” She takes a deep breath.

“I wanted to stay, Tony, I really did. But you….you kept pushing me away while at the same time telling me how much you needed me. You…you always keep everything that hurts you inside, everything that really matters. You might think that you protect me by not telling me what´s going on, that you spare me the pain of it, but in reality, you just make it worse. Because I know that things aren´t alright, but you don´t talk to me. You, you just bury yourself in your work and your machines, which might have been understandable at the time you were poisoned and I was still your employee, but it´s been years now and you still don´t ever ask me for help. Not after New York, not after Extremis, not when Wanda made you see that vision. You just shut yourself away and created Ultron –“

“You weren’t even there when Ultron happened, Pepper.”

“Yeah, but would it have made a difference? Would you have asked me for advice had I been there? Would you have stopped, Tony, actually stopped, if I had asked you to?”

There´s a beat of silence while the answer writes itself crystal clear into the air.

“I trashed the suits after Extremis.” He knows it´s futile.

“Yes, and I was grateful for that. It…. it actually meant something, at that time. But then Ultron happened, and I just feel like we´ve come full circle again.”

“Ultron was a mistake-“

“People died, Tony, lots of them! It’s not just a mistake-“

“Don’t you think I know that, Pepper?” He is shouting now, crying maybe, losing control. Doing all that he´d sworn himself not to do. But it doesn´t matter, because everything is collapsing around him. His life. His sanity. The whole world, too.

“Don’t you think they are in my head as well? Don´t you think they fucking keep me awake at night? Don’t you think I see it happening over and over again, all the time?”

“You - did you just say you see it?”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. He shouldn´t have let himself go.

“See, like the ´see´ in flashbacks?” she probes again, taking a step towards him, her whole posture torn between anger and fear. “Tony, did it get this bad again? The panic attack last night Steve told me about, it wasn’t just a one-time fever occurrence?”

He should have never had this talk.

„I… got it under control, Pepper.“

“No, you don’t, you clearly don´t. How long has it been, Tony?”

“I-“

“How long? Did it get this bad before I left?”

He stays silent, because he can´t lie to her anymore. There’s so many things in her eyes when she looks at him, but mostly it’s sadness. For a moment, he irrationally believes that she will step forward and hold him, become his anchor in reality, tell him he will be okay. But that must be his fever talking, because instead, she moves away, and her gaze hardens.

"And that’s exactly it.” she says quietly.

And he knows what´s coming. It´s so different from the last time they fought, her lack of shouting, his lack of sarcasm, both of their regret. But then, the result is just the same all over again, and it hurts no less.

“There it is. The reason I left. You...you still believe it was wrong to let that slip right now, don´t you?” She pauses, swallows. “You can’t keep anyone close to you and hide things like these from them. You can never understand. I’m… I’m done, Tony. I´m sorry. I truly am.”

She makes for the door, unable to hide the tears on her cheek.

“Pepper.”

That´s it, he’s begging now. It’s the last attempt, because he knows that there will be no reason left to fight if he let’s her leave the room. He can feel his life bleeding out of him with every step she takes away. He knows there’s no coming back after that. Not for her, not for him.

She turns, the hand on the door knob. “I don’t want to do this, either, Tony.” She is openly crying now, the pain on her face slowly tearing apart every single cell of his body. 

“Then don’t,” he whispers, hearing his voice break.

“Give me a reason.” she pleads, her tone desperate, and he knows she means it.

But he can’t. Because, deep down, he has long since understood that it was true what Killian Aldrich told him all these years ago, in a night tinged by devils and fire, the first time he’d nearly lost her. He never deserved her. And it’s the best for her to get far, far away from him before he will destroy her, too. Tony closes his eyes. He’s tired of pretending, of fighting, of holding together what has been broken so long ago. He can see the wormhole inside his feverish mind, and this time he knows it won´t let him escape. There’s voices in his head, pictures, things that don´t belong there. He wants to run from it all, and at the same time there is this tempting, dangerous desire to just give in to it, lose himself in the madness. He´s cared too much for so long. Finally, he is all ready to go down for good.

He waits for the noise of the door falling shut.

----- But it doesn’t. Instead, he thinks that he can feel a cool finger on his blazing skin, wiping a tear from his face. He blinks.

“I´ll hate myself forever if I leave you here like this”, she whispers. Then, “God, you´re truly boiling.”

He tries to reply, but he´s devoid of words. “Don’t… Pepper, just don´t. Just… Just go, okay?” he manages after a long time. He’s given up. He can’t let the possibility of this, of them, exist in his head. He can’t allow himself to hope again.

“When have I ever listened to you, Tony Stark?” she says so tenderly that it pierces through every single layer of his shell. He knows this can´t be happening. She is just a fever vision, another ghost sent by his crazy mind to torture him.

But it feels so good.

A sob fights its way up his throat, then it turns into a gag. His body hunches forward, and he turns away from her, escapes her cool hands. He vomits bile onto the floor, the strain shaking his body. Blackness creeps into his field of vision.

“I´m a mess.” he brings out.

“We can fix this. This is what we do, remember?”

He leans against the bed, forcing his aching eyes to focus on her wavering form. “Go.” he commands. Stay, everything inside him screams. I don´t know how to go on without you.

“I´m not leaving for good, Tony,” she says softly, ”I never did.” She kneels down beside him on the floor, opening her arms.

He lets himself fall forward, into her, finally giving in to her embrace. It´s all so familiar that it hurts deep, deep inside of him, brushing pieces of his soul he´d thought to be long dead by now. He closes his eyes, rests his burning head against her collarbone.

Please be real, he breathes. And he holds her tight before the darkness pulls him under and Pepper´s figure dissolves into nothingness.

[twistedstorm]

13, 33, 34, 35, 40, 44, 46, 47 and 50 for the writer ask meme

Whoever you anon(s) are who keep sending me in these questions from my ask memes I love you so much! Here we go!

13) What’s your favorite writing quote? I don’t actually know…but the best thing I’ve ever read about writing is something like “Don’t be afraid to write what you want even if it’s been written by someone else before because while it may have been written it’s never been written by you” and I love that because it’s true, nobody writes exactly like anyone else so no matter what you write it will always be unique to you regardless if the same idea has been done before. 

33) Are you interested in having your work published? Maybe someday? I think I’d like to have something I write whether a poem or a short story or a novel or whatever published one day because I’m pretty proud of a lot of my writing and I’d like to know what people think and I’d love for people to connect with my words or my characters and I love to hear about their interpretations and stuff like that because I love it when people feel something, anything after reading what I’ve wrote. Right now the list of people to have read my work is limited to some teachers (one really awesome one who encouraged me to keep writing no matter what who is a huge reason why I still write), my mom, and some of my friends and as much as I love hearing their reactions I think I’d like a bigger pool of people someday.

34) Describe your writing space. I write in my room, on my bed with usually my fan going to provide white noise. I used to play music or a movie or something but I end up pausing it whenever I’m actually putting words down because it distracts me so the fan is better. If I’m writing by hand then I’m surrounded by notebooks (because I write different things in each one so I don’t have to be flipping through the notebook I’m actually writing in to try and find that one date or one character detail I need for this one scene because that’s hella annoying) and pencils and stuff and if I’m writing on my computer I’ve got google docs open to save whatever I’m writing in a separate place (copy and paste are my best friends I swear) because I’m paranoid about my computer freezing or something and me losing everything I’ve written because it’s happened before and it’s the worst (I still have a million notebooks open around me but less pencils) and sometimes I write with headphones in just to block out the noise from everywhere else because I’m very easily distracted and random noise genuinely pisses me off if I’m writing. Oh and I always have chocolate and at least one full water bottle because they are both very important to my writing process of course. 

35) What’s your favorite time of day for writing? Honestly I don’t think I have one…I do most of my writing really late at night though since that’s usually when I have the most energy because my brain’s a dick but otherwise it’s pretty much a whenever I feel like it sorta thing. When I was still in school it was usually first thing in the morning or right after lunch in the afternoon though…I have no idea why those times but I did a lot of writing then. 

40) Which is your favorite original character, and why? Okay this is really hard because I love all my ocs for different reasons, even ocs I made up as a kid are still important to me. So I could pick the very first character I ever made I guess. His name is Darius and he’s a white haired red eyed vampire with an accent I dreamed up (literally by the way, he showed up in a bunch of recurring dreams I had as a kid) when I was like 8 and I still use him in stuff today (and yes he sounds just like Soul from Soul Eater and I’m pretty sure that’s why I like Soul so much) and I honest to god talk to Darius when I need someone to be my voice of reason, I just picture him and he gives me advice and reminds me to breathe (yes I talk to my ocs as if they were real people in the real world, I have conversations with them really often actually. I know they’re not real and it’s just me talking to myself but it helps me a lot) . Or I could pick my current favorite characters to write at the moment which are two characters in my new story named Sil and Holt. One is a sarcastic phantom with emo hair who makes jokes like “Oh no we’re all gonna die!!! Oh wait…I’m already dead…never mind guys I’ll be fine, you guys on the other hand…not so much…” and I love him so much and the other is a half nymph half siren and he’s literally just me but cooler and with white hair and cool powers who get’s flustered easily and likes sea shanties. I love them both for the weirdness that is their personalities and how fun it is to write dialogue for them 

44) What’s the weirdest character concept you’ve ever come up with? The time I made Alice in Alice in Wonderland an evil zombie (species called a Queen) who could raise the dead and infect others with her own special mutation of the zombie virus and then wrote out a detailed explanation of how Queens were created when the zombie virus interacted with a recessive mutation only active in xx chromosomes but was carried by people with xy chromosomes and could be passed on to their children and activated if the mother was a carrier as well and the disease was incapable of effecting xy chromosomes at all, and when the disease/defect interacted with the zombie virus it creates a species of zombie capable of in-depth thought and calculation who was equipped with a new version of the virus that is specifically hers so every Queen had her own specific virus unique to her that allowed her to turn and control other people and also raise the dead maybe. I wrote out the entire backstory of how the disease was discovered and the entire list of symptoms it presented with and how it progressed over time and then I named it after my cousins because I decided that the disease was first studied by experimenting on and observing two little girls in an asylum who were there for killing someone as small children because the disease drove them crazy. So basically I turned Alice evil and crazy and spent months creating and writing about a disease to explain why she was so fucking crazy and murderous even though she wasn’t even my main character…yeah that was pretty weird. Not the only weird one though…my mind is a strange place.

46) Describe your perfect writing space. Comfy office-like space with a desk for my laptop or my notebook or whatever with a comfy swivel chair and footrest but also a big bean bag chair and big pillows and a daybed type thing so I can move around and write wherever. There would be a big window with a window bench seat thing so I could let light in or open it to feel a breeze but it’s never loud outside so there’s no stupid noises to distract me. Magically I have speech to text that works perfectly so I can pace and stuff and just speak my story out loud when I need a break from typing. Covering one wall is just a total story line of my story in pages and sticky notes and pictures all connected with different colors of string that mean different things so I can keep track of everything without a million notebooks. There’s a cabinet for my millions of notebooks that I’ll have anyway because it’s me and I love notebooks. I have just a huge pencil case with like those pull out parts like in a makeup case and it’s just full of pencils and pens and sticky notes and highlighters and stickers so I don’t have to always search for them when I need them. There’s a mini fridge for my water bottles and snacks and I have a fan that makes the perfect amount of noise and surround sound speakers with voice control so that if I decide I want music I can have it right away and the entire room is sound proof so I don;t have to hear anything from outside the room and there’s a light up sign on my door that I can turn on with a remote or a switch or whatever that says “Writer at Work” so that people know not to come in and disturb me. The room is painted blue because I like it the best and there’s a big soft rug in the middle of the room because I like fuzzy things and there’s also a fuzzy blanket for if I get cold.     

47) If you could steal one character from another author and make then yours, who would it be and why? I dunno…I don’t think I’d take anyone really…actually scratch that, there’s a lot I would probably take because I’d want to give them a better life or a cooler story or a better relationship or a better family and friends, but I won’t pick a specific one.

50) If you could live in any fictional world, which would it be? Dark Hunter novels by Sherrilyn Kenyon, I’d love to meet my favorite characters and have cool magic powers and give my precious tortured babies (*cough cough* Ash and Nick *cough cough* and everyone else *cough cough*) a cookie and a hug…and high-five Simi. Or alternatively any universe where I could have shape-shifting powers (so maybe X-Men?) or my own created universe where I’m still me but with shape-shifting powers and magic and way cooler clothes and stuff but like my friends and family are still there because I’d miss them a lot if I was in some other universe. (Also acceptable is Batman/ Justice League universe provided I’m a hero with powers) 

Thank you kind anon for sending this in, I love you and have a fantabulous day! Feel free to send in more (that goes for everyone)!

~ZZ

I’m gonna go write something…

[mm4-fyp]

Can’t recommend this book enough, some amazing insights and anecdotes into music creation and performance but also the psychology and social aspects of music.

Extract to note for our show, inspired by Japanese Theatre he talks about making things bigger, more theatrical or purposely deconstructed and not be afraid to make them unrealistic or letting the audience see the workings of a piece is not necessarily a bad thing,they are there for a performance and to suspend their belief but must also be led on that journey of the optimum effect:

Chapter 2 My life in performance:

The tour eventually took us to Japan , where I went to see the traditional th eater forms: Kabuki, Noh, and Bunraku. These were , compared to Western theater , highly stylized; presentational is the word that is sometimes used, as opposed to the pseudo-naturalistic theater we in the West are more used to. Everyone wore massive, elaborate costumes and moved in ways that were unlike the ways people move in real life. They may have been playing the parts of noblemen , geishas , or samurai , but their faces were painted and they spoke in voices that were far from natural. In Bunraku, the puppet theater , often a whole group of assistants would be onstage operating the almost-life-size puppet. We weren't supposed to "see " them , but they were right there , albeit dressed in black. The text, the voices , would come from a group of guys seated off to the side. The character had in effect been so fragmented that the words they spoke didn 't come from close to or even behind that puppet , but from oth er performers on an entirely different part of the stage. It was as if the various parts of an actor 's performance had been deconstructed, split into countless constituent parts and functions. You had to reassemble the character in your head. Was any of this applicable to a pop-music performance? I didn't know, but over dinner in Tokyo one night the fashion designer Jurgen Lehl offered the old adage that "everything onstage needs to be bigger." Inspired, I doodled an idea for a stage outfit. A business suit (again!), but bigger, and stylized in the manner of a Noh costume. This wasn't exactly what he meant; he meant gesture, expression, voice. But I applied it to clothing as well.

There is another way in which pop-music shows resemble both Western and Eastern classical theater : the audience knows the story already. In classical theater , the director 's interpretation holds a mirror up to the oft-told tale in a way that allows us to see it in a new light. Well , same with pop concerts . The audience loves to hear songs they 've heard before , and though they are most familiar with the recorded versions , they appreciate hearing what they already know in a new context. They don 't want an immaculate reproduction of the record, they want it skewed in some way. They want to see something familiar from a new angle .

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

While we were performing the shows in Los Angeles that would eventually become the Stop Making Sense film, I invited the late William Chow, L a great Beijing Opera actor, to see what we were doing . I'd seen him perform not too long before, and was curious what he would make of this stuff. He'd never been to a Western pop show before, though I suspect he'd seen things on TV.

The next day we met for lunch after the show. William was forthright, blunt maybe; he had no fear that his outsider perspective might not be relevant. He told me in great detail what I was "doing wrong" and what I could improve. Surprisingly, to me anyway, his observations were like the adages one might have heard from a vaudevillian, a burlesque dancer, or a standup comedian: certain stage rules appear to be universal. Some of his comments were about how to make an entrance or how to direct an audience's attention. One adage was along the lines of needing to let the audience know you're going to do something special before you do it. You tip them off and draw their attention to you (and you have to know how to do that in a way that isn't obvious) or toward whoever is going to do the special thing. It seems counterintuitive in some ways; where's the surprise if you let the audience in on what's about to happen? Well, odds are, if you don't alert them, half the audience will miss it. They'll blink or be looking elsewhere. Being caught by surprise is, it seems, not good. I've made this mistake plenty of times. It doesn't just apply to stage stuff or to a dramatic vocal moment in performance, either. One can see the application of this rule in film and almost everywhere else. Stand-up comedians probably have lots of similar rules about getting an audience ready for the punch line.

A similar adage was "Tell the audience what you're going to do, and then do it." "Telling" doesn't mean going to the mic and saying, "Adrian's going to do an amazing guitar solo now." It's more subtle than that. The directors and editors of horror movies have taught us many such rules, like the sacrificial victim and the ominous music (which sometimes leads to nothing the first time, increasing the shock when something actually happens later). And then while we sit there in the theater anticipating what will happen, the director can play with those expectations, acknowledging that he or she knows that we know. There are two conversations going on at the same time: the story and a conversation about how the story is being told. The same thing can happen onstage.