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hanibalistic · 2 months ago

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ALIEN OUTREACH PROGRAM | KIM JONGSEOB. HAKU SHOTA.

genre | fluff / found family au, slice of life au

synopsis | when a planet exploded, the government sent two of its surviving residents to live with you .

word count | 11.5k+

warning | mention of violence / unwanted sexual advances (brief; side character)

note | wrote most of this early 2024 and stopped. decided to rush finish it.

The government sent you two aliens from the alien outreach program you were referred to join by a close friend.

The program was recently created when a nameless planet that was initially suspected to be on its way to collide with the Earth ended up exploding instead. The news of the explosion was broadcast worldwide, but the fact that the surviving residents of the planet landed on Earth as a result of the explosion was kept secret to avoid social panic, hence why the outreach program operated on a 'referral only’ basis.

Each applicant underwent a relatively easy screening process and three rounds of interviews before they were notified through an encrypted text message that they’d been cleared to foster.

You underwent the same process, and in retrospect, you figured the interviews were held for the faculty to access all aspects of your life, beginning from your social circle to the depths of your mental state.

At the end of your onboarding process, you were told that you would be fostering a pair of aliens—a pair of brothers, they suspected. Either way, you were told they were bonded.

You hadn’t minded the responsibility. If anything, you figured the monthly financial compensation could significantly help your appalling rent situation. The cog in the wheel was that they were initially tested to be high-risk-level aliens.

The only reason you could think was behind that outrageous decision was not their trust in your ability to monitor them but rather their disinterest in your livelihood as a struggling new graduate.

You could always leave it to the government to treat poor people like guinea pigs. But, the more you looked at it, Soul and Jongseob didn't seem as dangerous as their profiles stated.

Soul and Jongseob—they didn't come with those names, which hadn’t been a problem during the first few weeks of their stay when the three of you spent most of your time getting acquainted with each other.

You weren’t sure how shaken up they were about their home being destroyed, so besides being cautious of their undisclosed alien abilities, you walked on eggshells around them in consideration for their emotional state.

The two were docile, for the most part, and quiet. When they weren’t whispering among themselves, they were communicating telepathically. Figuratively or literally, you were uncertain. You only knew they were difficult to read without human features. You never knew what they wanted or how they felt about anything outside of observable behaviors, such as their obsession with the television, their likeness for sweets, and their unwillingness to shower.

The program coordinator hasn't given them the green light to go out and explore Earth on their own yet, so before you could figure out how to ideally talk them up in the mandatory monthly progress reports, they've got no choice but to stay home and discover entertainment through unconventional means.

It was the furniture at first. Charred spots on the couch left behind by the apartment’s last tenant, the hinges of the balcony curtain rod torn off, and the worst of it all: shattered pieces of a set of utensils that your deceased mom gave you as a congratulatory gift for moving out, thus taking a big step into adulthood.

That was the first time they’d seen you sob, your body curled up on the floor and your palm stained with blood slit out by the broken glass. They had been unfamiliar with human emotions at that point in their stay. Still, taking a frame out of television shows, they could understand, at the very least, that what you showed was sorrow and heartbreak.

They didn't understand the concept of a mother. After all, they were born through natural phenomena, such as the trickling of water or the imploding of ancient rocks. Your response to their playful mistake was illogical. However, still, it made them fidget and waver wildly to watch tears roll callously into your mouth.

People call it empathy, they thought. Empathy, or love—the inability to see another in pain, the desire to never hurt another. Most humans have it for everyone, but more strongly for those they prioritize.

A few days later, a plate clumsily glued together by gray-colored blobs that looked suspiciously like alien skin greeted you on your nightstand. You never said anything about it, but you put it in your mother’s shrine in the apartment.

Little did you know that sometimes, in an attempt to model your actions, Jongseob and Soul would put pieces of candy next to the plate for her.

After the furniture, they tuned down their drive for curiosity. They played with less significant things, such as your freshly cleaned laundry.

At last, it came down to electronics—the television, the radio, and sometimes your laptop and gaming console. Jongseob geared more toward the console and television, and Soul liked anything that made funny noises.

As they got comfortable around the apartment and started clashing with your lifestyle, it gradually became more annoying to address them with words like 'hey!' and ‘you!' when you needed to scold them about something they've done, so you decided individual names were necessary.

Mercifully abandoning a random name generator online, you told the two aliens to choose how they wanted to be addressed.

Soul had been very excited about picking a name for himself. His outrageous choices reflected his enthusiasm, ranging from food ingredients to fictional character names to literal home appliances.

You've had to—patiently and gently—explain to him for a month the reason why you wouldn't call him Megamind or the literal stove was because they weren't real names (and you didn't want to).

Eventually, you two made a compromise. The initial choice was to have everyone call him by the famous RPG he never played—Dark Souls. He settled on being called Soul.

Jongseob was more direct but still indecisive. He mixed a few celebrity names he heard on TV into different pairs. He handed you a written list—surprisingly!—of names for you to choose.

You didn’t want the responsibility of selecting something as important as a name, so you told him you could put out a pointer finger, and whichever name you ended up pointing at after he moved the paper around would be his name.

After hearing how mundane Jongseob's name sounded, Soul came to you one night and asked that you help him think of a name of a similar caliber. He had requested that you keep this between you both, as he didn't go to Jongseob about it out of embarrassment that his other half would accuse him of being a copycat.

You attempted to deter Soul from such outrageous thoughts. Jongseob was the last person to make unnecessary accusations, after all. But Soul was determined to keep this a secret between you two, so you agreed.

It was proven difficult for him to make up something normal, as he tossed and turned for several nights only to end up knocking on your bedroom door, asking for a second opinion.

You had stayed up with him for a few nights, often laying half-asleep on the couch while he remained silent on the opposite end with pursed lips and intense eyes.

One particular night, though, you decided to turn on the television to keep yourself awake, and the channel was airing a rerun of an old, beloved cartoon.

“Oh gosh, I haven’t watched this in so long,” you exclaimed under your breath as you leaned back, the controller rolling off your thigh. “This was my childhood afterschool show.”

“Woah,” he scooted closer to you, “that’s cool.”

"It is," you muttered, wholly focused on the screen. When a particular ice-powered character appeared, you let out a soft swoon. "Ah, look at him! He's still as cool as ever."

“Who's that?” he whispered.

“His name is Shota. He was my favorite character in the show,” you said, heaving a sigh as rather embarrassing memories flooded before your eyes. “I loved him so much.”

Soul turned to you. The lights flickered in your eyes, not telling him much of what was happening in the episode but enough to let him know that you were paying a lot of attention whenever the character was present.

He noticed now that you've leaned your head on his shoulder, and your eyelids were lowering by the second. The previous attention you spent on the TV screen was replaced quickly by sleepiness under the comfort of Soul's presence.

“You did?”

"Yeah?" you hummed, his sudden question confusing your own emotions for a second. "I mean, yeah. He is really cool and–okay, technically, everyone in animation is good-looking, but he was my type."

"Oh." His voice trailed off into deep thought, but it didn't take him too long to perk up again and say, "I want to be called Shota."

You raised your brows and sat up, leaning back to watch him with amusement. “You like the name, huh?”

“No.” He shook his head. “You like Shota.”

There it was, then. Soul gained a new name that night—Shota.

Being able to call them by name gave them a sense of identity, and you had a drastic development in your connection with them. You thought you’d always received them without judgment, and you did.

Still, once it registered in your normalcy that they’ve got a name, it was as if their existence became more tangible. However, as important as that, the first milestone of your relationship was when they finally took a human form.

Before realizing they could shapeshift, they’ve been stuck in their alien form, which you thought was similar to how movies and video games have always portrayed outer-space species.

You wouldn’t have minded if they stayed in that form until it was time for them to be recalled to the facility they came from, but it seemed they were the ones who got curious about the human body.

You’ve noticed for a while how they would shift parts of their figure according to what they see, sometimes after people on the TV and other times after you.

What you thought would be a slow process turned out to be done and over between you leaving the apartment in the early morning and returning from work in the late afternoon.

Surprisingly, seeing two poorly shaped human boys loitering around in your apartment instead of the usual irregularly shaped creatures was less bewildering than seeing your old sketchbooks scattered everywhere on the floor.

Those were your fallen dreams, a career not pursued in exchange for securing a stable future, which wasn’t all that stable now that you're going through it.

You knew they were bored at home. Still, it was a surprise to see that they'd found the boxes of old things dusted away at the back of your closet—what were they doing rummaging through your clothes, anyway? You’ve got to have a strict talk about boundaries after this.

At least their attention was away from the fabrics in your closet as they pulled out your sketchbooks and decided to change themselves according to the most appealing visual. However, since your old character sketches were amateur and poorly drawn, their shifted bodies looked sloppy and humorously eerie.

Soul wasn't entirely sure what was wrong about it, especially since you couldn’t stop laughing when you saw them, and Jongseob taught him that laughing meant joy.

When you picked up one of the books to flip through them, your smile dimmed, and your eyes focused in a way he had never seen before. Jongseob later told him it may be bitterness, but not the angered kind because your eyes were soft.

Soul didn’t quite understand the distinction; your eyes were almost always soft.

That night was the first time in a long time you picked up a pen and drew something again so you could help them polish their appearances. Through that experience, you learned two things: your drawing skills have massively deteriorated, and aliens were indistinguishable from humans once they took a hyperspecific form, to a point where they bleed the same color.

Both settled on having blond hair, one frizzier than the other. Looking from far away would force you to mistake them as twins, but this was leagues better than communicating with two gooey creatures without solid features or forms.

You stared at the pencil sketches on the pages and back up at them, finding it uncanny how accurate their shapeshifting abilities were. Then you turned to them with furrowed brows.

“Both your hair is a little long,” you muttered.

Tapping the pencil at your chin, you thought about making modifications to what you’ve drawn for them, but when you told yourself to flip the pencil around for the eraser, your hand was unwilling to move.

You have sat on the floor for hours, drawing and erasing, making changes and corrections that suit their liking and help them look natural. You weren’t sure if they got tired from using their powers, but you certainly became exhausted from gripping a pen for so long. You’ve been too used to typing on a keyboard.

“Wait here,” you said, putting the papers and pen on the side.

You returned with a few trinkets in your hand, which you dropped on the floor after you knelt down across from them.

Scooting in front of Jongseob first, you hummed with disregard to his skeptical gaze as you played with the hair clips in your hand by smushing them together.

When you reached a hand out to push his bangs back, he caught a glimpse of the darkened slit still healing on your palm. He ignored it. You pushed at the tips of his locks ghostly with your nails before pressing a palm to his forehead and swiping his bangs up, exposing his forehead.

The boy closed his eyes at the sudden impact, and when the chilly afternoon air hit his skin, he widened his eyes and pursed his lips into a grimace.

Before they took a solid shape, your touch would go through their gooey form and feel indistinguishable from any objects that would poke through them.

This was the first time he’d felt the touch of your hand, and he thought it was as gentle as Soul must have thought your eyes were. Unlike Soul, though, he would never admit that he inwardly shivered in contentment when your palm subconsciously dragged over his head into a stroke.

“This should keep the hair out of your eyes,” you said after clipping his bangs to each side of his face. You leaned back to take a better look at him and nodded in approval despite him looking as if he just snapped out of a trance. “You look great.”

“You drew me well,” he said. “Thank you.”

"You're so formal, Jongseob," you mused, placing your hand against his cheek before pinching it playfully. "But being polite is good. You are most welcome."

Your injured palm touched his skin, the calloused surface dragging a regrettable line over his conscience. He hoped it would heal faster; it was a marker of his mistake, a symbol of your pain.

But, still, you used the same hand to tread over him with kind steps, so most importantly, it was all a sign of your forgiveness. He turned his head away from your pinch, but he didn't let himself swat you away for embarrassing him.

You laughed at his reaction. The sound took root inside him and made a permanent space.

“Now, Soul!” you exclaimed once you pulled away.

The boy remained still when you stood up and got behind him. After bouncing the hair tie against your wrist, you sat on the couch, and then you laid your hands over his head and carefully brushed his hair with your fingers.

You gathered just enough to fill your curled fist, your nails gingerly dragged over the side of his head to separate parts of his bangs, and then you tied it into a short ponytail.

Once you were done, you attempted to stand up to move across him for a review of your handiwork, but Soul suddenly leaned back against your legs, the back of his head hitting your knees when he faced up to look at you.

His hair brushed against your skin like a choppy broom, and then you forgot about the sensation as you met his eyes with a raised brow.

The corner of his lips quivered, and his eyes were round and wide with expectancy. When he realized you let him lay on your knees, his lips pursed into a grin, his knees pulling themselves closer to his chest as his shoulders shrunk with a barely audible laugh.

“What did you do to my hair?” he asked curiously.

“I tied it into a ponytail,” you replied as you angled your torso to look at his face straight, “so they’re not in your face all the time.”

He closed his eyes when you fixed his bangs with your fingertips. Once they were perfectly angled to each side of his temple, you ran your palm flatly down the side of his face, soothing his new hairstyle with a taste of approval.

Soul pressed his lips into a grin; his eyes opened but were barely visible, hidden behind crescent shapes. You bit back a smile; you just now noticed how his features turned out so dainty like a flower learning how to bloom in Spring.

"Hey, look at you," you said in an airy whisper. "How pretty you are.”

He laughed, his voice a weirdly pitched wave released into the air, almost like he was yodeling. Jongseob huffed in disbelief at the unexpected sound; questions, and brotherly mockery trailing out of his mouth, one worse than the last. You turned to bicker with him about saying nicer things, and Soul couldn't sense anything other than your warm hands left sitting by his jaw.

He watched you from your knees. Your chin moved with every word you said, your nails gently scratched his skin between sentences, your legs frozen on the spot to avoid discomforting him.

It was human nature. Everything.

The way your skin flopped, the way you subconsciously reached to touch, the way you put him first. Those traits were possessed by most human beings, but Soul reckoned he admired them more when they were yours.

What was that called? Jongseob taught him so many things; he was always smarter. But Soul couldn't properly receive too much information at once, not at the pace Jongseob could retain them. Was this joy? No. His fingers were itching for you, which was not a criterion for joy.

You looked down at him when you felt his hands grab your shoulders. "What's up, Soul?"

He made unclear noises as he flipped his body over, his chest pressing against your knees. He got on his feet into a crouch and leaned up, his arms circling around your neck into a hug.

You fell back against the couch and froze to register what he did. Before you could figure out he tackled you in a hug, your arms had already gone around his shoulders to press him against you.

“Hey,” you whispered. “What’s going on?”

Soul bit the inside of his cheek when he realized you allowed it. He could feel you so much more properly now, and he responded to the revelation by holding you tighter and burying his chin in his overlapped forearms.

His eyes squeezed to relish in—what was this feeling, again? Joy? He wasn't exactly smiling, though. The way his brows were pulled into a swirly furrow, and his lips were downturned would show that he was sad. But he wasn't. He was happy and tackled you because he wanted to hug you.

"I really like you."

You blinked, your lips gradually pulling into a downward smile. "Where did you learn that from?"

"Hmm." His voice was muffled. He didn't want you to know he learned it from you.

The two got the authorization to leave the apartment after you wrote in the monthly report that they've changed shapes and, more frequently than before, began to express their feelings.

However, they rarely took advantage of the newfound freedom, and you understood why.

They have yet to learn how to get around the area using public transportation. If the metro lines were less complicated than what was currently set in place, they may have an easier time navigating it.

Alas, the metro system remained both a local and a tourist's nightmare. However, even if they knew how to take the bus or the train, they've yet to learn where to go because they've never been outside.

And, last but not least, they didn't have the money to make going out enjoyable.

You have taken them out to different places after determining all the necessary expenses, such as the increased bills and grocery items. You would use whatever was left over from the program funds to take them to weekend hangouts.

There was the outlet where you bought them new clothes and their designated utensil set because they apparently needed their own.

There was the arcade, where you had sworn they used alien means to get all the prizes they did, but you also wouldn't put it past Jongseob to be weirdly good at gauging the space of a claw machine.

Oh, and a science museum, which you didn't think Jongseob was too interested in, but he hadn't complained because Soul was having the time of his life at the exhibitions.

You let them try alcohol by the river at night once. Turned out their bodies automatically eliminated all the intoxicating substances, so they were only tasting the bitterness without getting drunk.

That could be a blessing or a curse; without intoxication, you weren't sure what alcohol is good for.

You ended up dousing yourself with all leftover bottles of beer and entirely blanked out that night. You couldn't remember what happened, so the two made sure they told you the following day about how you were sobbing and throwing up. You cried for your mother, and you told them they were the closest people you've got.

You had woken up with the two on your bed. Jongseob slept with a box of tissue near his hand, always prepared to jolt awake to catch your puke and wipe your mouth of snot. Soul was curled up next to you with puffy and swollen eyes.

Apparently, he wept alongside you because he thought you were in too much pain to even move from the floor, and he didn't know how to help. He had cried so much that he tired himself to sleep, but he kept close to you to make sure your heart was constantly beating.

You haven't drunk much since, knowing how much they hated your drunken state. If you were getting drunk, it was out of obligation, like when you were invited to a business meeting.

You remembered that night well. It was the night you discovered why Jongseob and Soul were considered high-risk.

It wasn't uncommon for interns or someone of a lower rank in the company to be taken advantage of during business meetings.

When a topic could be adequately discussed and solved by presenting a supervisor with ample knowledge, yet the department chose to bring an extra, much younger employer as a companion, it was almost always a perverted decision.

You were no stranger to the problem. You have seen your colleagues be invited to join business meetings like those before, but this was the first time you were called to be in one.

The social hierarchy and the risk of unemployment made it impossible for you to turn down shots pushed your way by the department head from the negotiating company, who your supervisor was trying to rope into a grand business deal.

After a few drinks, you have entirely given up on expecting decency from anyone at the table. At least your supervisor was having a great time. Your words slurring through your unstable body jolts made the negotiation easier, and you unknowingly helped your company seal a deal when you clumsily agreed to have the department head drive you home.

He remarked about your tense knuckles on the drive home, acknowledging your skepticism but not challenging it. You watched the road like a hawk, or as much as you could, with your vision slightly blurred anyway because you wanted to ensure he wouldn't drive you elsewhere. He didn't.

After what felt like years, you arrived at the apartment building and inwardly breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thank you for driving me home," you said with a curt bow after you gathered your things from the floor.

"You're welcome," he mused, watching you clumsily loop your forearm over the straps of your bag. He leaned over the passenger seat then, whiffs of alcohol unmistakable in the air. "Hey, I should walk you upstairs. I wanna make sure you get back safely."

"That's not necessary," you said after a low, thoughtful hum. You didn't look at him when you spoke, partly because you were having difficulty focusing on anything other than the acidic taste at the back of your mouth.

"I… I have someone at home. He's going to–um… he's going meet me by the elevator. He'll walk me up."

"Oh? I didn't know you had a boyfriend."

"I don't–" you squeezed your eyes tightly and shook yourself awake–"I mean, yes. I do have a boyfriend. He's coming down to get me.”

The man stared at you silently for an uncomfortable, calculative second. Your head was heavy from his stare, mixed in with the alcohol trying to take over.

You unconsciously licked the corner of your lips when you tried to find something to fill the unease, only to realize that the only way to feel better was to leave his car. You reached for the door handle behind you blindly. Unfortunately, the search for it has given him the time to press the master lock button on his side of the door.

“I should get going," you said after heaving a defeated sigh.

"You don't actually have a boyfriend, do you?" he muttered.

You didn't know how to answer. You didn't, but it was true that there were people at home waiting for your return, both harboring the potential to be mistaken as your boyfriend if seen by an unassuming person.

You were forbidden from coming clean about Soul and Jongseob's identity, but what other reason could there be for you to have two boys sitting in your apartment? You three were orphans, and they're your brothers! Or were you just letting two friends crash at yours? You weren't thinking fast enough to pull a story out of thin air.

"Look, I don't know what made you so scared. I'm not going to ask to go inside your apartment. Trust me. I'm just going to walk you upstairs and make sure you get inside."

"No." You shook your head. Even in mild drunkenness, you could sense that the man had no good intentions. "I can do that myself. Thank you."

You pressed the lock button and pulled the door handle. You hastily flung the car door open, finding it difficult to push it all the way.

Turning around, fully prepared to dash out the second your feet touched the floor, an impending doom dropped on your head when you heard a haphazard opening of a car door behind you.

You clutched your bag to your chest and slid off the passenger seat, borderline hopping out of the car. Your ankle bent, but you recovered reasonably quickly. The next step in your emergency plan was to run for it; you've got your keycard attached to your worker's badge. All you needed to do was open the door and slam it shut behind you.

Spinning away from the car door blocking your path, as you hastily pushed it all the way open, you were immediately met with a playful scream and a pair of hands gripping your shoulders. You inhaled sharply and accidentally swallowed the knot of air.

"You didn't have to make things so difficult,” he said as he shoved you back onto the passenger seat. "Why did you have to go and force me to act so violently? All you had to do was let me walk you home.”

Gurgle of saliva rushed up your throat to drown out your cries for help. The back of your mouth soured with an acidic taste that smelt of the beer you were forced to drink; if only they could burn human skin, you would have spat them out.

The knot of air you just swallowed squeezed through your chest with difficulty, almost as if it wanted to make a home for itself in the middle of your body. It made you choked up. Breathing with your chest became a stagnant process.

There was no security at your building, and you figured the other residents would ignore any noise, given this was no high-class estate and the walls were thin.

Screaming would only make the man angrier and possibly more excited. Instead of your voice, you should use your legs instead. There may not be any final blows, but at least there's a chance to delay what felt like the inevitable.

You kicked your feet blindly, feeling them land on solid ground several times, but not enough to release yourself from his grasp. Eventually, he groaned out loud and dug his nails into your arm, bringing your torso up quickly just to slam you down.

Your back hit the center console, the bottom of your neck scratched past the gear stick, and your head hit a solid surface.

Zaps of painful numbness ran through your body; a consistent ringing traveled to your ears, but you couldn't express it. Tears dripped from your eyes when you started to desperately claw at the hand undoing your belt, but you still couldn't say anything.

You only stared at the lights above you. They were blinding, like the eyes of a God. He was observing your struggle to be free of being violated.

The sound of a zipper reverberated in your head. You've never noticed how loud they were and wondered if you would always hear it after tonight.

Fingers hooked themselves at the waist of your pants, and the next second they were gone. A pained groan traveled through the air with a gentle swoosh of wind. You needed to find out which one came first.

Jongseob hasn't used his powers for a while and has been diligent about controlling them in emergencies where they were prone to slip through his grasp. It had been challenging to learn to live in a world where his powers were destructive only because of how delicate everything else was, but he have managed well so far.

Still, his body was not used to its sudden usage, evidently shown in the way his fingers twitched uncontrollably after he pulled the man off you. A sneer found its way to his lips; how sickening to think that his undoing could be at the hands of a predator.

Rushing over to the car door, he leaned over your body to carefully pull you up. You instinctively flinched at his touch and then calmed down the next second when you realized he was not aggressive.

He reached a hand behind your head, fingers moving about to look for any apparent injuries. When he concluded that there was none, he turned his attention to you.

“Hey,” he said. “It’s me. Jongseob."

You forced your stomach to stop shivering in more oxygen and turned your eyes to stare at his familiar face. Jongseob, with his blond hair curly as ever, stared back at you with soft concern.

You calmed down; it was an instinct learned from caring for them (or your apartment) when they first arrived to live with you.

Reaching up to grasp his wrist, you stopped his hand and hoarsely asked, "Why are you down here?"

"I heard your tears fall," he said, his fingers leaning out to wipe the tears from your cheek despite your soft protest.

"From all the way up?"

"The air shifts when that happens. I'm sensitive to you–" he looked away sheepishly and quickly shrugged–"these things. I'm sensitive to these things in general."

Jongseob was vigilant. His home planet blew up, and he has a brother much clumsier than himself. His vigilance and maturity were set in place for both of them, especially as they were thrown into an unfamiliar place.

You understood. You’ve never spoken about it in great detail, only ever making small spaces to praise him for his emotional intelligence.

There had been an irk in his intuition before he rushed downstairs. The television sounded of static, the uncomfortable stick of your couch, his inability to progress in the game he was playing—everything gradually added to the unknown irritation he felt beneath his skin until, finally, a shatter of glass.

It was a hallucination, but when he turned toward the kitchen, he realized the air was painted the same color as the first time you broke down in front of him.

Something was wrong. He knew he would figure it out because he was sensitive to you. The sound of your emotions has long taken root and bloomed in Jongseob's consciousness, a garden of his own making, and now he could pinpoint you from a mere drop in the air.

You couldn't find flaws in his response. There never was any; the caliber of aliens remained unknown to you the past months. But he's here, and you felt safer than ever, so you let your guard down and breathed out a whimper when speaking his name.

It rolled off your tongue like a snowboarder outrunning an avalanche—suffocating, afraid, and desperate. Incoherent explanations followed after, an attempt to clear your name, to prove to someone that you didn’t cause this.

Jongseob's heart squirmed in discomfort at the sight.

He looked at his hand, fingers that learned dexterity, connected to his hands and arms that could do many things. He could press buttons on a gaming console, use chopsticks for food, and hold multiple recycle bags for groceries.

He remembered the day they changed into human beings, how the first thing Soul did after growing himself a pair of arms and a body that could feel was to hug you both.

You offered to hug him that night after Soul pulled away. He had refused it, and you joked about how he was too cool for a little hug. Perhaps he thought so subconsciously, but he always knew he wasn't big on physical affection. Its notion gave him goosebumps. The unapologetic, unconcealed display of affection freaked him out.

He liked to be subtle and unnoticed, like tending to the garden in his mind where the most delicate and beautiful things bloomed in your stead, like keeping you constant in his mind, like remembering that there's love there.

"Come here," he whispered, extending his arms to your back and bringing you to him. "It's okay. I believe you.”

You thought he smelled like jasmine or whatever petal scent there was. Jongseob shivered ticklishly when you buried your nose in his shoulder to sniff it. He didn't put together that no matter how much he hid it, the garden seeps out because the truth cannot be concealed nor omitted.

He wished he could hug you for the first time under better circumstances, but you and he knew he wouldn't have agreed to it if it wasn't an emergency. It was brief but much needed.

When you voluntarily removed yourself, he glanced down at your pants to find that your belt was undone, your button was gone from its spot, and your underwear peeked from the zipper forced open. His jaw locked, and his eyes hallowed out.

It checked out with your rambles. Everything you said makes sense.

A sudden feeling penetrated his insides after the conclusion was made. He found it hard to breathe at the terrifying presence of a particular, bloodthirsty desperation. He suppressed an exhausted exhale and ignored the thirst for harm.

“Let’s go home,” he muttered as he slowly helped you to your feet. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

You listened to him, pushing yourself off the passenger's seat while he reached to the floor for your thrown bag. He wore it on one shoulder, fixing the strap before reaching for your hand.

After slamming the car door shut, he brought you with him over the front of the car. His footsteps were quiet, borderline silent, leaving only your shoes' clumsy scratches on the floor. You only felt faint traces of heat from the car's headlights as he covered most of it by standing on your side.

You arched your neck up to look at his downturned lips, his hair covering his eyes even though you've repeatedly told him to keep them out. You would scold him again when you had time, knowing he'd wear the same indifference on his face.

It felt like nagging a child sometimes; you've heard adult men generally tend to behave the same way.

“I was using the hair clips you got me. I took them off to come down here,” Jongseob said, not sparing you a glance. “You could have gotten me normal ones.”

“The Powerpuff Girls are cute,” you said. “You’re exactly like Blossom.”

“Please don’t speak nonsense.”

He squeezed your hand, making you chuckle. When you bumped your head to your side, you hit his shoulder. He didn't used to be so tall, and he didn't used to be so big. You suddenly felt small beside him, in a way that rained disaster, in an unexpectedly romantic way, and you were thinking about him as if he were human again.

"Shit, no way. You do have a boyfriend, then?”

Jongseob turned around, stepping forward to keep you behind him on the way. You peeked over his arm, a distasteful sneer twitching on your face.

You both faced the man just now getting on his feet. Jongseob inwardly hummed, acknowledging that his throw had likely done a number on the man's body. He hadn't meant to react so harshly, but he also didn't care that it ended up hurting someone a great deal.

“He looks a bit young, intern.”

“I’m twenty.”

"Good grief, he can't even drink yet!" The man laughed like he was choking on the air. "Does he know what he's doing?"

Jongseob rolled his eyes.

He knew this type of person: the kind who’s all bark and no bite. At least in front of nonchalance, they have no bite in them. Their only perk was that they knew how to pick their battles.

The man clearly noticed early on that he was not superior in physical strength. Therefore, choosing a fistfight would be a solution out of his league. That left him with one thing: trash talk. A lot of it, from your taste in men to his made-up flaws.

It was fine, though. Jongseob was a sensible person, and violence is never sensible.

"Hey, you could have tried me out if he hadn't come here. I would have changed your stubborn mind."

Violence is almost never sensible.

“Wait here," he muttered monotonously as he turned to you. He brought your hands up to your cheek and pressed his palm over them so you looked at him. “It'll look scary, but I promise nothing will happen to you."

“What?” you breathed out, your eyes trailing after his back. “Jongseob?”

It took a moment, but it was all you could see once you noticed it.

The green from the leaves, the brown from the tree trunks, the orange and white of apartment and street lights, the silver of the man’s car, the gray of concrete walls, the burgundy of the brick floor, the pink and yellow of flowers, the black of tires, the blue of the sky, the light of the stars and moon, the white of the man’s shirt, the milk of his skin—the colors were being drained from everything, making it look like a frame out of a film noir.

Your hands trembled as your eyes pinned themselves at the approaching sky. It couldn’t be the alcohol forcing an illusion before your eyes as you felt yourself remarkably awake and clear-minded from the adrenaline. The sky was approaching! It felt closer. You couldn’t be mistaken. After all, it wasn’t everything you got to see a colorless world, and you’ve barely recovered from panic.

Lowering your head, you turned to the trees surrounding the apartment buildings and furrowed your brows. The leaves were falling one by one gradually, and scrapes of tree trunks were being peeled off its body. The tires of cars were deflating, the flowers were lowering, and the sound of once-stable structures cracking became more audible. Everything was falling apart; everything was dying.

Everything but you, your bag, and your clothes. Nothing happened to you, just as Jongseob promised you.

“Jongseob–“

You were abruptly cut off by the sound of a horrible coughing fit that bordered on a choke. Eyes widened, and your feet quickly brought you to stand behind the alien. He stared silently at the man who left nail marks on your shoulders, who was currently doubled over on the floor, heaving for oxygen.

The colors were drained from him entirely, and his skin began to melt from his head. Clumps and clumps of fat liquid dripped down his eyes in a honey-like texture and then down his mouth, filling it up to stop him from gasping for air.

A buzzing noise sounded from his completely enclosed body, like a train screeching to an emergency stop. No air went in or left his body. He was a box sealed shut and thrown in fire to be melted into its original form—a clump of cells. He was going to die.

Jongseob was going to kill him. As much as you felt the action was justified, a bigger picture was already painted that you must carefully analyze before prioritizing your vengeance.

It would be easier to explain the death of one man rather than the death of a plot of land. The desiccating of your surroundings cannot be explained by anything other than the doing of a supernatural. In this case, it would be Jongseob, and the program coordinator would jump through no hurdles to figure that out.

Suppose it got out that he killed someone. In that case, separation becomes inevitable, and you’ve gotten so used to having those two around that you couldn’t fathom living in a soundless apartment ever again.

The consequences of killing the man outweigh the disappointment of not.

“Hey–no. Jongseob, no. Stop it. Stop it now,” you demanded as you rushed to stand before you. You grabbed his hand and pushed it down, squeezing it with all the strength you could muster. “You will not kill anyone tonight.”

He peered down at you, no light flooding his eyes despite recognizing your face. “He was disrespectful to you.”

“He was, and that’s terrible,” you admitted. “But there are other ways to handle this. If everyone killed each other for being horrible, we’d not have the world we do today.”

He blinked, seemingly thinking through the points you presented. But then he shrugged. “I’m not everyone, am I?”

“You–“

You poked your tongue to the inside of your cheek, not surprised by his defiance but very much annoyed. Between him and Soul, he was always the one who talked back more.

For a time, you chalked it up to him being innocently curious about the human world, but after a while, you realized he was just bratty. If you kept that personality trait in every monthly report, you were sure he would have been called back for a mental evaluation or something along those lines.

But being a tattle-tale was not necessary. You knew how to snap him out of it.

“I said–“ your words flew through gritted teeth, and you shot a hand up to pinch his ear so you could pull him to your face level–“we are not killing anyone tonight!”

He stumbled at the harsh yank, redness flaring up at the spot you were squeezing. His hand let go of the tension building up through using his power, immediately returning the colors back to their original place.

Helpless whines sounded from his mouth as he bent his waist to accommodate your halfhearted corporal punishment. Still, he did not attempt to push you away.

“Okay! Okay! Calm down!” he yelled.

“Calm down?”

“No–I mean, yes! Yes, calm down, but not like that!” he exclaimed. “Stop pulling my ear!”

You squeezed your eyes in contemplation before letting go. Your short bicker gave the release of Jongseob’s power enough time to gather itself on the fallen man’s face and patch him together. He stood up and tripped on air but caught himself before his face could kiss the ground and bolted for his car.

Jongseob reflectively grabbed your arm and stepped closer to you, staring as the car engine started and the man drove away without another word.

His chest heaved up through a large inhale. He noticed the way his arm had been trembling since you forced him to stop using his power. He wasn’t afraid, only unfamiliar with something he used to hold so dear to himself.

His power has always been offensive, but not to the degree it showed on Earth. It wasn’t used to kill his peers, and it definitely was not used to pull the cosmos to him.

That discrepancy shook him as much as when he thoughtlessly maxed out his strength after not using it for so long. The muscle strain reminded him of how careless he was and caught him off guard.

He didn't like it. He was supposed to be good at controlling his given ability. He was supposed to be good at controlling his actions. He was supposed to be sensible.

“Are you okay?

He slowly turned to you. Your face came into view under the flicking street light like the moon inched closer to Earth when he pulled it down to protect you. He couldn't tell if his eyes or heart saw you more because they both jolted in your presence.

Curling his fingers around the strap of your bag, he stepped forward to close the unnecessary gap between you both. He tried to peek over his frizzy bangs to no avail, so he ducked and lightly swayed his head to move them out of the way. He tilted his head lower to your level and looked through his lashes, his brows raised.

“Are you?” he asked.

You closed your parted lips and averted your eyes. The invisible outline of the man’s car remained vivid when you glanced at the empty spot. Once you turned back to Jongseob, knowing what he could do to people and how willing he was to do it, the illusion released its tight grasp on you.

You didn’t forget—you couldn’t forget, that even in such an ordinary world, even if all you’d ever do in life was work and play, even when it came to the least threatening harm, Jongseob would never have you anywhere near it.

“You saved me,” you said. “Thank you.”

“But are you okay?”

You smiled as you reached up to rub his ear softly between your fingers. “I’m sorry for pinching your ear.”

“[Name],” he started, but when you began to frantically squeeze his earlobe, he groaned and pulled your hand away. “Okay! Okay! I won’t ask anymore!”

He brushed his hands on his shirt when you finally let him go, a permanent scoff hanging on his cutely puckered lips. Rolling his eyes when he saw your smile, he huffed a sigh before adding, "When we go back, and Soul asks you about the marks on your shoulders, tell him something happened at work. I don't want him to freak out."

Soul and his power were interlinked. They come hand in hand, particularly his own greatly conveniences Soul's. While he absorbs colors, Soul absorbs monochrome.

Once Jongseob finishes sucking up all the colors around him, he leaves behind a grayscale perfect for Soul to use. That's how they're linked with each other, like two halves of a whole.

The one difference was that Soul had a problem being in control when his power was utilized, while Jongseob knew what he was doing. When Jongseob hurts someone, it is always because he wants to, and he could be easily stopped with persuasion. Soul was different.

Given that nature is that he turns into something that isn't himself, he would also not think and act like himself. Jongseob didn't want anything more to happen tonight.

“Oh,” you nodded, “I was going to lie anyway.”

“Thank you,” he muttered, then a beat later, almost inaudibly, “for everything, actually.”

He wanted to say everything he did was for you, to let you know that he will continue to do everything for you. But, despite all his talent in thought articulation, he was too timid and shy to express sentiment, so he kept his mouth shut.

Crossing his arms, he recalled the moment he noticed you in the passenger seat, with trembling limbs and an unopened mouth. He fixed his jaw and hid his hands from the colorful world, as he felt rather afraid of the truth—the existence of his devotion to you and the responsibility it spawns.

That kind of devotion causes a strain on both parties and cannot be undone. That kind of devotion, in his willingness to drag a carcass to your feet, is a self-inflicted curse. That kind of devotion, a synonym for love, an antonym of honor, is a burden. Jongseob trapped it behind his lips and prayed to God that he relearned how to restrain it in his hands by a mere cross of his arms.

Pray to God—he licked his lower lip as the lines of your face redraw themselves in his replaying memory—look at them and pray.

You taught them to get groceries when you were away at work.

They always did well with helping out around the house; you never knew or asked whether any alien abilities were included.

Jongseob was excellent at ensuring every surface was wiped clean. Soul always knew where everything was after he put them somewhere.

Grocery shopping was included among household responsibilities. Besides the constant sneaking of junk food, they ensured they got everything you requested.

They have frequented the market so much that the elders who ran most stores could recognize their faces and orders. After giving it a few more weeks, Jongseob and Soul were, unfortunately and hilariously, roped into the pile of gossip that never ceases to circulate the shops.

Apparently, they both live with you! But which one of them is your boyfriend?

"What's a boyfriend?" Soul asked in response to the question.

The shopping bag in his hand crinkled when he squeezed the handle. His round eyes followed the fruit stand owner as she moved around to get him what he needed: apples, oranges, bananas, and whatnot.

As she brushed past Soul to get to the box of apples, she spared him a glance and rolled her eyes, mistaking his genuine ignorance as him dodging the question. She picked up a few apples, examining each one with ease before reaching an empty hand out to Soul, beckoning for his shopping bag.

"You know what a boyfriend is,” she said. “Why are you acting coy? Are you the boyfriend?”

Soul pursed his lips together into a helpless frown. He didn't know what 'coy' meant either.

The grandma dumped the apples she chose in the bag and briefly looked up as she prepared to march toward the oranges. When she noticed the clueless expression on Soul's face, she paused with squinted eyes, and then an enthusiastic gasp jumped out of her mouth.

"Oh my! The other blond boy is the boyfriend, then? But you're in love with them?" she assumed, her fingers waving and pointing accusingly at Soul. "Or is it Jongseob you're in love with? I always thought you two were brothers, but I guess I was wrong!"

"We're very close, so we're basically brothers," he clarified. "But we don't have–um. Our mom and dad don't exist."

She looked away from the box of orange, one of them still ripe in her hand. “For how long?”

“Since we’re born.”

"Oh, poor dear." She walked away from the box of oranges to give Soul a pat on the shoulder. She stopped at the front of the display and began sifting through the boxes and randomly grabbing more than he had asked for. "Dead parents and a failed romance. Living with the couple, no less!"

Soul has not a lick of an idea what she was talking about. He would repeat his question about what a boyfriend was, but the old lady's eager rambles made it impossible for him to fit his voice in the air, so he focused on listening.

Beginning with her stories about her old romance and her detailed recollection of her past loves, he realized she, surprisingly, has a lot of wisdom to offer.

Here was what Soul gathered from the nosy grandma about a boyfriend: a boyfriend is and does many things.

A boyfriend waits for you to get off school or work, wants to spend a lot of time with you, never keeps secrets from you, thinks about you all the time, hangs out with you when he has free time, takes care of you when you are sick, loves to hug and touch you, never yells at you, and puts you above himself.

Usually, he lets Jongseob do the listening and summarizing, so he was very proud of himself when he independently came to this grand conclusion: "[Name], I am your boyfriend."

"Oh my god–" Jongseob looked away from the TV at Soul, who randomly announced the statement by the kitchen door as you cut up some apples. He slapped a hand to his forehead. "Soul, I already told you we're not their boyfriend!"

After pushing all the apple slices onto a plate, you dropped the knife in the sink. Swiftly opening a drawer to pick out a small plastic tube, you slammed it shut with a swing of your hips and turned around to lean against the cabinet.

You shook the tube, the toothpicks inside making a sandy noise with each shake, and you looked out the kitchen door behind Soul's shoulder at Jongseob, who still had his head in his hands. But the peek of his snaggletooth told you he was failing to suppress a smile.

"Who told you that, Soul?” you asked.

"The grandma at the fruit stall told me about her old boyfriends," Soul answered.

“Really? All of a sudden?” you mused. “What started that conversation?”

Soul followed you out of the kitchen after you stuck three toothpicks on three random apple slices and slammed the tube on the countertop. He blindly turned the lights off and closed the door on the way, hurrying up to sit on the floor by your feet as you placed the plate of apples on the coffee table.

Jongseob scooted closer to the edge of the couch and reached over for a slice, popping it in his mouth and starting to answer before he finished chewing.

"They were asking which of us is your boyfriend at the market today," Jongseob said.

“Which one? Not even if one of you were?” you snorted.

“They’re very determined that one of us is dating you.”

“Oh, I know what dating means!” Soul perked up. “I learned it in a drama.”

You looked down in disbelief and nudged him with your feet. “You learned dating but not what boyfriend means?”

Jongseob let out a giggle. He slid off his seat and brought his knees to his chest to fit in the space between the couch and the table. You brought your legs up when he moved closer to the middle to be next to Soul.

Out of habitual playfulness, you reached down to do a series of aggressive actions, from ruffling his hair to squeezing his cheeks. Jongseob protested, leaning away from your attacking hands as his arms flew up to swat you away like a fly.

“You never do this to Soul!” he exclaimed.

“Well, yeah,” you responded mindlessly as you let him go. “He’s nice. He just lets me.”

Soul grinned from ear to ear when you touched his face. Your touch was soft, like it always was, shifting from his jaw to his cheeks to his hair. He never got enough of the sensation of human touch, no matter how trivial.

Looping an arm around an old man at a crosswalk, picking up a kindergartener after they tripped from running around, Jongseob’s hands going through his hair to tie a ponytail for him, your fingers dabbing gently on his face with skincare products—it’s warm, fleetingly so, and human, which lasts.

Jongseob feigned a puking noise after watching you mess around with Soul’s facial features for a few seconds. He got up from the floor and headed to the kitchen to find a drink.

You ignored his distaste, drowning Soul with your immediate attention. He grinned at you, his side bang falling to the back of his ears. What a sight of sore eyes, with his eyes so round and wide, his smile so genuine and willing. He looked at you like you were the only person he wanted to see and spoke like it was his first time using his voice. You cooed to yourself, to the void: look how pretty he is!

“Hello,” you whispered with your palms on his face, gently pushing his cheeks together to bring him to you, “Shota.”

“Hello,” he returned in a volume that mirrored yours, “I bought the fruit myself today.”

“Yeah, I know,” you beamed.

“[Name],” he reached up for your face to urge you close so nobody else would hear, “am I really not your boyfriend?”

You laughed from your throat, but the noise huffed out through your nose rather than your pursed lips. Shota squinted his eyes at the warm air and frowned. You kept laughing at the topic, both you and Jongseob, but he was hung up about it.

The old lady at the fruit store mentioned a list of criteria for being a boyfriend, and he believed he checked off everything on the list!

He spends his entire day waiting for you to come home from work, and after you do, he’d spend the rest of the day with you. Jongseob does the same, but Shota has never kept any secrets from you, mainly because he’s got none, but that still counts toward a check off the box!

He cared for you when you got drunk, even though Jongseob did most of the cleaning and handled your personal hygiene. However, Shota lets you hug him, so he has the upper hand that round!

“It’s complicated,” you said. “You’ve watched dramas, right? Have you noticed that although two characters love each other, they’re not considered together?”

“No,” he shook his head, “they’re together to me.”

“Well–“ you rolled your eyes up–“yeah, okay. I suppose that’s fair.”

Looking back down at him, you rubbed his cheeks with your thumb and shook your head in disagreement. “It’s still more complicated than you think.”

Shota’s bottom lip couldn’t help but jut out when he gradually pulled the corner of his lips into an upsetting frown.

The idea plagued his mind since he was first introduced to it at the market, and too much time and effort was put into giddying himself over this. The disappointment of his fantasy—you agreeing that he is your boyfriend—falling off was immeasurable.

“What are you two whispering about?” Jongseob interrupted once he returned. He looked between you and Soul, and then he frowned. “Are you still on the boyfriend thing?”

“Yeah,” Soul dragged out with a brief wave of his hand. “You won’t let me be your boyfriend because we’re supposed to be like brothers, and now [Name] won’t let me be their boyfriend because it’s too complicated!”

“You told him it’s too complicated?” Jongseob questioned, putting his elbow on the edge of the couch when he turned around to raise a brow at you.

Your eye twitched at his judgemental tone, and you almost lunged to tackle him to the floor. “It is complicated!”

Jongseob pulled a face.

One of the things that inconvenienced his technical way of processing information was relationship problems, particularly the fact that everyone around him loved to create issues that shouldn’t be there.

He understood that certain situations reveal emotions that could be difficult to ignore, but he didn’t see a reason for ignorance when one could face them straightforwardly.

People tip-toe across the winded roads too much for the sake of empathy despite it not being due, and then responses like ‘it’s too complicated’ spawn when it’s fundamentally incorrect to say so.

“How?” he questioned. “Do you like Soul?”

“I like the both of you,” you said.

“I know.” He nodded. “But do you like him?”

You smirked awkwardly. “No.”

“Then it’s not complicated,” Jongseob said with a clap. He turned to Soul, whose eyes had been darting between you two during your brief conversation, and he shrugged. “You can’t be [Name]’s boyfriend because they’re not in love with you. That’s it.”

“Woah! Why did you suddenly switch the wording?”

“Why not? It doesn’t make a difference,” he said. “Are you in love with Soul?”

“No.”

“I’m in love with you, though.”

You shook your head and patted Soul’s shoulder. “No, you’re not.”

“Ahm, we don’t–haha, we don’t know about that,” Jongseob mused between forced chuckles as he nodded at the floor.

His eyes widened briefly as a calculated thought about Soul’s untainted feelings for you flickered through his mind. When he looked up and saw your deadpan, he pulled his lips into a thin line, stretching it into an ugly smile that made his upcoming words sound flat and borderline incoherent.

“Do you remember what happened a few months ago because of the evaluation?”

It was a month after Jongseob saved you at the bottom of the apartment estate. You had decided to omit that detail from the monthly report; you told yourself it wasn’t necessary because it wasn’t an extraordinary development about Jongseob but rather an incident that happened to you.

However, deep down, you knew you kept it a secret because you were afraid the program coordinator would find issues with what happened and separate you two.

A few weeks after you turned in the monthly evaluation, a detailed post about a freak accident where a boy who choked a man through telekinesis was posted on one of the most popular social media forums.

Nobody believed in the post; most comments redirected the author to a sub-forum where people post fantasy stories they’ve written, but it was how your program coordinator found out what happened. Within five days of that post, you received an email about a temporary separation.

They gave you a week to pack their things and prepare them for leaving your care.

Jongseob hadn’t said anything when you sat them down to tell them that they would be relocated to another home indefinitely. You didn’t think Soul really understood what happened until the time of departure. Either that, or he hadn’t felt the effect of separation until the moment it was happening, as it took multiple staff members to successfully release his grip from your arm.

But what you hadn’t shown them were the scars on your forearm, all of them scratched into a bloody storm by the unassuming Shota, who, in a state of panic, had unknowingly sucked up the monochromes around him and begun the initial phase of transformation.

His sharp, blade-like nails dug into your forearm through your sweater, forcefully grounding himself by your side when he was asked to get inside the van. But you didn’t say anything other than words of reassurance. With a hand on the side of his head, all you had told him was that you’d see him again soon.

His nails dragged several lines down your skin when he was pulled off of you. You didn’t react to it, only pressing a palm to the wounds and shoving the pain to the back of your head.

If you let it be known that he hurt you, there’s no way they’d be allowed back in your house. You thought he knew, though. You believed Shota knew what he did because he stopped struggling and went to sit next to Jongseob in the van after making eye contact with you.

You three weren’t kept apart for too long, surprisingly. The worst they did was give you a slap on the wrist and a warning to not hide information from them again.

“It’s a normal reaction to being taken from his home,” you said. “I think he missed the normalcy more than he missed me.”

“You’re wrong.” Jongseob crawled over to Soul and beckoned for his attention with a finger snap. “Do you remember when we left home for a few weeks? Why did you throw a tantrum when they came to get us?”

“Huh?” Soul faintly puckered his lips in thought. Once recognition hit, he opened his mouth in realization and nodded. “Ah! That time! I–“ he tilted his head with soft inhales–“did I throw a tantrum?”

“You did,” Jongseob reached up to grab your arm and gestured to the scars, “there’s literally proof.”

“I didn’t do that on purpose,” Soul argued. “I was distraught, I didn’t want to leave [Name].”

“Case in point. See?” Jongseob dropped your arm on the couch with a triumphant shrug. “I told you.”

“That doesn’t prove anything,” you said. “Families do that with each other, too.”

“Is that what we are?” Jongseob asked, raising his brows. “We’re a family now?”

“Not legally. I would have to adopt you two,” you said. “But then you would be my son, which is weird.”

“We could be your brothers.”

“I want to be your boyfriend,” Soul chimed in. When you chuckled through a tight-lipped frown, he sighed. “Okay, brother is fine.”

“Good,” Jongseob hummed dismissively before returning his attention to you. “Is there a way for us to legally become siblings, though?”

It wasn’t something you thought about. The significant details of the outreach program were not known to its participants. They let you know before you signed the contract that it was a program to help assimilate aliens to the human world, and you didn’t doubt that to be the case.

However, calculating the money the government was spending on the participants just for them to foster aliens—it didn’t make sense.

The foster system for human children was severely underfunded, yet the one for space creatures wasn’t. If you had to guess, it was because there’s a catch to alien assimilation, especially when they’re bonded with a person from Earth.

At the end of the day, you’ve no idea if Jongseob and Soul would be allowed to stay with you for a long time.

“I don’t think we can,” you replied, leaning forward and rolling your eyes. “But who knows? Maybe they’re secretly writing a new constitution for alien residents on Earth, but we definitely won’t legally become a family anytime soon. It’s okay, though. We can do it in theory!”

“What does that even mean?” Jongseob snickered. “In theory?”

“I’ll show you at some point,” you said sheepishly. “I just have to give someone a heads-up first.”

The mausoleum was quiet. You didn’t think you’d ever seen it crowded before.

Carefully putting the flower into the compartment, your eyes brushed past your mother’s picture, and you relaxed.

“Hey, Mom. It’s been a while.”

You didn’t make a habit of visiting frequently, so whenever you did, you’ve got a lot of say. Your busy work life, social life, and almost nonexistent love life. The good and the bad. The embarrassing and the ugly. The fact that there were few people around made it easier to ramble to a picture, and sometimes, you wondered if the ones in her neighbor compartments were listening too.

You didn’t speak in detail about the alien outreach program you joined, partly because it was still confidential to the general public, but you told her about the ‘twins.’

“I’ll bring them over when I get the chance,” you said. “I’ll see you later then.”

Reaching out for the compartment door, you prepared to close it when you suddenly jumped in realization.

“I almost forgot,” you laughed. “This is for you.”

Letting go of the door handle, you reached for your bag and pulled something out. You waved it about and gently blew on it before stacking it neatly next to the flower you bought.

It was a polaroid of you three.

#jongseob x reader #jongseob imagines #jongseob fluff #soul x reader #soul imagines #p1harmony scenarios #p1harmony fluff #piwon imagines #piwon x reader #piwon fluff #piwon fanfic

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jam3sacaster · 28 days ago

Text

"Show me what you do to yourself, darling."

(Rivals) Rupert Campbell-Black x Taggie O'Hara

Suggestion by sweet @early-twentysomething 🫶🏽 / Taggie has to find her own means of keeping herself entertained whilst her husband, Rupert, is away...

18+ FANFIC / SMUT from the offset! Short work. Taggie aged up from 20, to 25. As always, requests are open! 💋

Since taking an increasingly more hands on approach as Minister for Sport, Rupert had been away for nights on end — days spent schmoozing with suited men with reddened, upturned noses and buying whiskey for women with starkly-cropped bobs and lustful eyes. Taggie, however, had found herself stuck at Penscombe Court, banished to feeding the horses and watching droll television in the sitting room.

When the men are away, women will play, she thought to herself. Lying back on the crisp, hazelnut leather sofa, Taggie reaches a svelte hand under her jeans, fiddling abrasively with the tight cotton of her pants. Unbeknownst to her, Rupert had slipped through the front door, gently placing his briefcase by his feet and intent on surprising his wife. Tiptoeing as softly as his brutish legs would allow, he silently crept into the living room. Peeking an azure eye through the gap in the thick, oak door, he spotted his copper-haired wife rubbing circles into her sweet spot. What a naughty girl, the ravishing gentleman thought to himself, tweed trousers bulging at the seams. His laboured, lusty breathing grew louder and one forwards step sent a creaking floorboard upwards — startling Taggie as she fumbled to pull her hands from her jeans.

“Tag, Tag, it’s only me!” Her husband chuckled, hands up in utter defeat. The petrified expression on her face soon softened at the sight of him, picking up a red velveted pillow and throwing it in direction. He stepped aside, allowing it to fall to the floor behind him. “Don’t stop on my account. Show me what you do to yourself, darling.” Rupert’s eyebrows furrowed, two thick, dark sprouts suggesting a multitude of sins.

More than euphoric to oblige to her husbands request, Taggie sunk into the sofa once again, unbuttoning her jeans and peeling them from her athletic calves. The fabric covering her cunt was sodden — the most magnificent symbol of her previous playtime. “Fuck, you look incredible.” Rupert spat lasciviously. Shuffling away from her underwear now too, Taggie submitted the image of her dripping cunt to her husband, folds slick and clitoris swollen. She outreached two fingers towards him, and Rupert was kneeling in front of her in a matter of moments, taking them into his mouth and swirling his tongue across them, covering them in his saliva. Backing away now to continue his voyeurism, Rupert observed as Taggie brought her coated fingers to her pussy, swirling gentle circles around herself with a tender moan.

“Does that feel good, angel?” He asked, continuing to step back and taking a seat on his favourite tartan-printed armchair, reclining backwards and watching his beguiling wife in pleasure. “Mhm hmm.” Taggie nodded, teeth chomping down firmly on her bottom lip. Her fingers drew increasingly intricate patterns across her cunt now, each stroke inducing the most majestic purr. Surprisingly, Rupert hadn’t unbuttoned his trousers, or even attempted to touch himself — even the slightest movement would draw his attention away from her, and he couldn’t risk that.

As Taggie’s congenial whimpers began to draw to the all-important crescendo, the latch of the front door clicked, and the sound of imposing stilettos snapping against the marble floor of the hallway. Rupert's eyes blazed with panic, hands flurrying towards his wife to cover herself up. Without time to dress herself, Taggie reached across at the cream sherpa blanket beside her, frantically draping it over herself. "Rupert?" An all-too-familiar Irish melody spoke out, forcing their way into the lounge. The woman was adorned in an emerald dress, with copper hair pinned together tightly with a bejewelled pin. Maud O’Hara pined towards Rupert, before even taking notice of Taggie. Momentarily gazing towards strewn jeans across the floor, scorn coursed through her veins. “What on EARTH is happening?”

#rivals #rivals fanfic #rivals disney #rivals fanfiction #rivals disney+#rupert campbell black fanfic #rupert campbell black #rupert campbell-black #taggie o hara #taggie o’hara #rupert & taggie #taggie & rupert

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loudlittleecho · 5 months ago

Text

DC Batman Prompt: Please (Dis)Incorporate

Bruce was prepping for a gala later in the evening. Tim and Stephanie would be on patrol tonight, while Dick, Duke, and Damian had to make appearances along with Bruce.

The day had felt off. Bruce didn’t like it. He had gone over all of his procedures. Nothing about this day stood out special.

He was walking downstairs when he froze. He noticed a man standing at the end of the staircase, looking up at him expectantly.

The man looked completely unfamiliar, and yet deeply familiar at the same time.

The man smirked up to him, in an expression almost reminiscent of Jason.

“Hello Bruce.”

The voice, also; unfamiliar and yet one Bruce recognized.

“Hello, I apologize, I didn’t realize I had a guest.” Bruce replied pleasantly, wondering how the man had gotten in.

The man’s eyes crinkled; it reminded him of Dick’s when he knew something Bruce didn’t.

“I let myself in; don’t worry, it’s just us- for now. Alfred has been called out.”

Bruce narrowed his eyes.

“No, no,” the man continued gesturing for Bruce to continue down the stairs. “I wouldn’t hurt Alfred. Caring-” The man’s body -glitched- “permissive” -glitch- “militaristic” -glitch- “butler of Bruce Wayne, Batman.”

The man was either a time traveler, a multiverse traveler, or a mixture of the two based on his stuttered body trying to find the correct adjective to identify Alfred.

“What do you want, then.” Bruce had reached the man. The man was both taller… shorter… the same height as him.

The man sighed, his right hand gesturing vagueling, similar to one of Stephanie’s.

“Come with me.”

He turned from Bruce, walking toward the living room often used for family night.

Bruce tried to place his posture; he seemed to share Damian’s purposeful gate.

Luckily Damian wasn’t at the mansion; he had requested getting ready with Dick, to be sure “Grayson arrived on time for this one.”

When Bruce reached the doorway he noticed the room had been rearranged. A swivel chair in the center of the room; the television, couches, carpet, bookcase, everything, all removed. Except for the chair.

The man glanced at the chair. Bruce recognized the man wanted him to sit. When Bruce didn’t, the man sighed, quickly moved the fingers of his right hand, and snapped.

Bruce found himself sitting in the chair.

“Who are you.”

The man laughed sharp and quick. This one Bruce couldn’t place.

“You don’t recognize me? You should.” His voice clipped with a bit of static- similar to how Barbaras did sometimes when on the comms as Oracle.

The man glanced around the room, and looked back at him, expression calculating. Like Tim’s when he had pieced together a case.

“Family second, work first. Tonight, that is going to change.”

With that, he snapped again. Bruce tried to rush up, but found he was stuck to the chair.

On silver disks around the room his children appeared.

Dick, with a suit jacket half on. Jason, in mid stretch. Tim, holding an energy drink. Damian holding his sketch pad. Cass, pajamas. Duke, still in uniform, hands partially outstretched, as though in a conversation.

Instantly were on high alert. Attempting to move-

“Not yet.”

Their bodies froze, though their facial expressions were unaffected.

“And no powers for you.”

Bruce glanced as the shadowed corners lightened.

The man glanced at them, then back to Bruce. Bruce noticed the mans appearance had shifted-The man stretched, and as he did he became a woman with black/red/blond/brown hair. Constantly blending under the light as the different shades.

“We’re missing some. . .”

Bruce noticed the spacing in which his children were placed. To the right, Cass, Damian, and Duke stood a couple feet apart from one another, while to the left to near center Dick, Jason, and Tim had spaces between themselves. Between Tim and Cass a large space was apparent.

The woman snapped again.

To Jason’s left, Barbara appeared, outreaching with a book in one hand, and a small stack in her lap. To Cass’ left Steph appeared, paused in brushing her teeth. With a wave of the woman's hand, the books and toothbrush disappeared.

Instantly the spaces between his family were filled with seven others he didn't recognize.

Between Dick and Babs was a young woman around their age, with black hair and hazel eyes. Between Jason and Tim was a young woman with short reddish blonde hair and green eyes wearing glasses. Between Tim and Stephanie were two people. Two almost adult teens, a girl with half her dark hair shaved, and a boy with black hair, blue eyes. Between Damian and Duke floated a. . . Starro. And after Duke stood two people. A teen girl around Dukes age, blonde and blue eyed, and a girl around Damian’s age with brown hair and eyes.

The woman laughed mirthlessly as the new ones also attempted to get out, and their subsequent frozen natures.

“No spores for you little Jarro.”

Bruce again attempted to leave the chair; he was unable.

“Let’s name and label them, shall we?”

The woman pointed down the line.

"Richard “Dick” Grayson, the first Robin. Helena Wayne, daughter of Bruce Wayne. Barbara “Babs” Gordon, the best Batgirl, the Oracle. Jason Peter Todd, the dead Robin. Carrie Kellie, the forgotten Robin. Timothy “Tim” Drake Wayne, the detective Robin. Harper Row, the badass. Terry McGinnis, the future Bats, manufactured son of Batman. Stephanie Brown, the fired Robin, the purple one. Cassandra “Cass” Cain Wayne, the weapon. Damian Al Ghul Wayne, Stabby Robin, son of Batman. Jarro the Starro, the weird Robin. Duke Thomas, the daytime Vigilante. Claire Clover, the traumatized girl. Mia “Maps” Mizoguchi, the supernatural Robin, the time traveler."

She bounced on her feet.

The chair Bruce was in turned slightly to face each person that was named.

Bruce tried to memorize the faces of the ones he didn’t recognize. Helena. Carrie. Harper. Terry. Jarro? Claire. Mia.

“Look at them. Every child you have helped hone into a vigilante. Almost all of them would have donned a mask without you guiding them.” The disk under Jason’s and Jarro's dimmed.

“Many of them have also died working under you.” The disks under Dick, Barbara, Tim, Terry, Stephanie, and Damian's dimmed. Jason’s and Jarro's dimmed further.

"We all wind up as this." She motioned to herself. Her form shifted again as shadows under her grew.

“But the mission comes first.” The voice held a bitter edge. “Family comes second. Even if I am your child” -glitch- “partner” -glitch- “mentee” -glitch- “responsibility” -glitch- “sorrow.”

She turned toward Bruce. Now her face held a green and brown eye, mismatched eyebrows. A scar of a J on her cheek. Her form shifted again, no longer specifically masculine or feminine.

"It's already started you know. The incorporating. The ones you don't recognize? They've been dropped into this universe at least for the last week. Some have done better than others.

I came here to bring the rest of us into the same universe.” Their voice cold and dispirited. “Less pain.”

Suddenly their body spasmed. Their features painfully shifting from Helena-to Damien-to Terry.

“Time for me to go.” Their face shifted into a blend of Dick and Tim. The blue eyes pierced into Bruce’s own. The anger, the condescension had gone for just a moment. The voice whispered as a small childs. Hopeful. In pain. “Fix this. Please.”

Their body spasmed again and they took something out of their pocket- Bruce couldn’t get a good look at it- and their body seemed to fade into dust.

Instantly the force holding Bruce was gone. The disks vanished, and the others could move again as well.

Dick was the first to say anything.

“I’ll let them know that the Waynes will be absent at the gala tonight.”

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ragnarokhound · 2 months ago

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Trick or treat!! 🎃🍫🍬🍭

Happy Halloween! Spooky season naturally got me thinking about ghosts... which got me thinking about ghost-type pokemon... :^)

When Tim got into this line of work, he'd said to himself it would only be temporary. Something to do while he was figuring it all out. Dropping out of your gym challenge is supposed to be temporary, but sometimes you get so distracted fixing an infamous glitch in the Burnside PC branch that you're scouted at seventeen. What was he supposed to do? Turn down the opportunity of a lifetime just to drag his Alakazam into more battles it hates? He knows he could have gone further, but Tim isn't the most motivational trainer on a good day. It would have been miserable for everyone involved. These days, Alakazam prefers meditating in an easy chair. Which works out, because these days Tim is practically chained to his office desk chair. He still doesn't know why he can't work from home (or from anywhere) because his work is digital, but apparently making yourself irreplaceable is a double edged sword; you must also be available for people to find you so they can talk to you. Tim has had so many conversations that could have been emails. (Babs makes fun of him for this constantly.) Over a decade after the fact, Tim still wonders what his life would be like if he'd pushed through. If he'd said thanks, but no thanks, and gone for his last few badges. Instead, the closest he gets to training these days is the Sinistea he picked up on a fanciful whim, thinking he could make time for it. He's watched his friends' advancing careers from the other end of a television screen, catching Kon's gym battles between code launches and admin meetings. Sometimes he'll see Jason. Not that he's looking for Jason specifically. It's purely professional interest. Crime Alley's gym challenge used to be notorious. Always cast as the villain with a rep for fronting most of the gang activity in the region, it only started to turn around after Jason took over. He'd scowl if you suggest it, but Jason's work with ghost-type pokemon is unparalleled. His work in general is unparalleled. Better programs, better outreach. Tim sees the numbers. Tim's the one who crunches, analyzes, and predicts the numbers. He knows that ghost-, dark-, and poison-type catch and retention rates have spiked in the last five years. And those numbers correlate suspiciously to the bump in trainers completing their gym challenge, trainers whose town of origin is-- wanna take a guess? So, yeah. Sometimes Tim will see Jason on the news, or catch highlight footage of his latest E4 sub-in. His Zoroark is really something else. It is purely professional. Tim was a trainer too, once upon a time. He can appreciate skill and talent in action, and he can maybe wish that he had the time to see it in person more often without it being a huge deal. It doesn't have to be a whole thing. This is what he tells himself on one of his rare days off, minding his own business at a public training ground at the park-- when who does he see but Jason fucking Todd. In the flesh. He can be casual about this. Really, he can. He knows when Jason spots him, because Tim is staring like a moron, and he watches Jason's expression morph from straight-faced, public disinterest to smirking recognition to-- Something he doesn't catch, because that's when Sinistea gets fed up with being ignored, and blasts him in the face with scalding hot water. Under his own loud, pained cursing and Sinistea's whistled scolding, he thinks he hears Jason laugh at him in surprise. Tim's face is hot and red, and he knows it's only mostly to blame on his half-trained ghost pokemon. Oh god, why is Jason even here? He's the only person on this whole fucking continent who might feasibly be busier than Tim. Why is this happening to him? He should have stayed at the office.

(For the trick or treat ask game! Send me a trick or treat ask and I'll share jaytim WIP snippets, or new 3-sentence -paragraph fics, etc :^) through the 31st!)

#i hope you don't mind but i based this on your pokemon au we talked about in discord a few weeks back :^)#i was thinking about a possible scenario for how they would have met up and started dating and didn't even make it to the explanations lmao #but it was getting way too long and i wanted to end on a funny note *honks my clown nose #also lol tim there are so many people who are busier than both of you in this au. but crush-panic is evil #jaytim #pokemon au #azol-otl #asked and answered #my writing #trick or treat ask game

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batsplat · 5 months ago

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if you were to direct a motogp movie (or make a one season of television) what season or rivalry would you make it about? and more interesting what artistic liberties would you take? it doesn’t have to be a straight up biopic bc imo those are often boring, instead it could be something like velvet goldmine (1998) aka fictional characters whose real life counterparts are pretty obvious, veering in like rpf territory. anyways👀

did you know. one time this guy put a curse on this other guy. and he never won a race again

anyway, look, I do feel like by this point that's the BORING answer from me, but obviously it's where my mind first went. I'm not sure I'd actually want it out there in film form because by now it's badly enough remembered that it's like, my cute little niche story, and I think there's something fun about the Wider World even within the motogp fandom not exactly getting how bonkers the whole thing was. (I know other humans have canonically watched motogp 2004 but I swear even journalists have forgotten some key key details and it's kinda annoying but also fun.) bold words from someone who's been blogging about it!! weird gatekeep-y instinct. but basically my job here is done as far as outreach is concerned - I wrote a very long post, now I get asks about it twice a week that allow me to think about it some more with the four other people who care, perfect balance. that rivalry doesn't need to go mainstream!! the whole point of it is that it's kinda cruel but narratively pleasing that it's gone under the radar, because it's another sign valentino won. but obviously, I cannot literally make a film about this, so the hypothetical repercussions I think maybe we can put aside for a moment here

okay I came back to this bit of the post after I increasingly got into of the spirit of coming up with dumb ideas, but it did make me flesh out what I'd even WANT from something like that. I'm with you anon, a lot of biopics are boring!! if you want to just know what happened, please just literally go and 'watch the races' and 'read books' like what are we actually getting here. you kinda want to give it a purpose for existing, right, a way of portraying real/mildly fictionalised events in a manner that is also taking some kind of stance on the material AND is doing stuff you can't do 'in real life'. thing is, look, you could make 2006 into a film, and I'm sure it'd be perfectly nice because it's fundamentally a solid underdog story (well, inherently winning a title with repsol honda is NOT being an underdog but you can write it that way), but also what are you doing beyond just telling people what happened? I feel like that generally about single seasons, they're not really doing anything for me. I was also turning around the biaggi/valentino rivalry in my head in part because that's the one valentino gave as his answer for 'rivalry he would turn into a film' (marc big wet eyes sitting right next to him), but like. a film about that rivalry from valentino's pov is fundamentally not something I'm interested in. you have all these isolated very memorable moments that make it work as a rivalry, like you can absolutely spin them into a dramatic yarn that goes through the genesis of their conflict to middle finger gate to punching gate to assen + donington + sachsenring + phillip island 2001 and it's basically *insert rousing music* successful coming of age. at most you can lean into the fact valentino became successful at being a dick. like idk it's fine but also what's the point? valentino is challenged in a sports context by biaggi, he's challenged because he realises his words have consequence and the press actually reports the words he says to journalists (the horror), but he is fundamentally not challenged on a personal level. that's the entire point, right? it's the ultimate comfort zone rivalry - biaggi is a dick who it is quite easy to hate and also reacts poorly to valentino's initial provocation. the animosity escalates and it is inherently fun to beat him. valentino is mean to him, but it's not like he even really crosses any lines to beat him. like you can make it into a film, and if you twisted the material a little bit you could make it satisfying, but I don't want to!

now the way the writing process of this post worked was that I was going to breeze through a bunch of non-sete/valentino rivalries and explain why I think some of them don't work for our purposes here, but then I ended up writing myself into changing my mind. so my take on the biaggi rivalry is that actually, you CAN make it work but it has to be from biaggi's perspective. basically, I think you've got to amadeus it (a web weave I have been thinking of making at some point btw). so,,, it's a meditation on talent and how unfair it all is, maybe minus the bit where salieri poisons amadeus (I know that doesn't happen in the film) or dresses up as amadeus' father to, y'know, make him write a requiem on his death bed. and it's not amadeus in that HERE, the clown prince gets a happy ending! but it's more like, in thematic terms, I think you have to zero in on this bit. biaggi didn't have parents who shoved him on a bike when he was three years old, he didn't have parents who were invested in his motorcycling career (or even necessarily particularly invested in him), he started the sport late and discovered that, yes, he did have a prodigious amount of skill in it - but one that he started honing far later than valentino did. he approached his career with a sort of grim resolve, surly and irascible and not interested in making friends with any of his competitors but very, very good. he goes away from the race track and dates all these models, he irritates fellow riders, he's not part of the gang and he's happy about it. he's very successful! four 250cc titles, wins his first ever race in 500cc at a time when doohan was very much winning everything. he's also just like,,,, an interesting and spiky enough character it's not hard to make him come alive

but then of course you have this gradual emergence of the amadeus character, the one who challenges his established position in the court of,, well... motorcycle racing, and also as the guy italians rooted for! and valentino's obviously, y'know, in so many ways the exact opposite from biaggi, and he's super young and cheerful and lively and is doing all his silly celebrations and is being a bit camp and goofy and treats motorcycle racing as a party (you really want to lean into the culture clash here, like in amadeus it's because you have stuffy austrian court vibes but here it's because everyone is having their bones broken every two minutes and just how... kinda grim a lot of motorcycle racing was). and he's also this innocent! yes, he insults biaggi, and yes, in retrospect we know valentino is kinda evil, but at the time he was a kid with a big mouth who was a little taken aback by how that biaggi feud sort of escalated beyond what he'd actually intended it to do! and biaggi just, hates him. and I think, sorry to the real man max biaggi here, but you've got to play with how once they're actually competing with each other, it's miserable how there's just this unbreachable gulf in talent. like, whatever biaggi does he cannot win! he isn't going to defeat valentino over the course of a full season! which is depressing and horrible and CRUEL, because there's this inevitability to the whole thing... and also! because valentino doesn't DESERVE it. and you don't have to go full salieri pleading with god to explain how god could give this CLOWN all this talent, but it's kinda the same vibe! how is it valentino, who is constantly just having a laff and canonically maybe wasn't the biggest gym-goer in the paddock and is just generally seen as, y'know, a bit of a dandy, this foppish clown who everyone loves and who doesn't have to work hard to be good - how is he the one who is winning so much!! it's miserable and unjust... and I think how you portray this is that you really emphasise the kinda, repetitive nature of the defeat. like, I think you probably want to make this into a non-linear narrative where all this biaggi backstory is communicated somehow but you don't just start it when he was born or whatever - you start it in 2001 when they're competing for a title and already hate each other. and then you heavy on the time loop vibes. the whole cinematic language and all that other shit should emphasise how all these weekends are structured in exactly the same way and if you're losing to this one guy, all these different weekends can start feeling the same. it bleeds into each other, it feels inescapable, you're trapped in this narrative you can't change... worst of all, you even return to the same places again and again - like play with that! biaggi keeps coming back to where they had the fist fight, to where valentino first insulted him all those years back. you play up the disorientation and the misery of it all, plus biaggi canonically gives us all this kinda messy freudian shit to play with like how he was dating 'valentina' and his relationship with her was falling apart because of how miserable valentino was making him. it's all there!!

ANYWAYS the way you conclude this story is!! welkom 2004!! so again we can artistic license this a little bit and, uh, ignore sete (though I do also think it's fun if you lean into biaggi being displaced as a rival and staring at them being friendly and happy with each other from the outside) - but the key bit is that valentino is finally making the big error. biaggi wasn't winning titles on a yamaha, since he left yamaha has gotten worse, now valentino is making this big mistake out of his own hubris. language of cinema that shit and make everything brighter and more hopeful.... the time loop is finally over, biaggi has escaped, this year will be different!!!! everyone in his circle agrees, valentino is fucked. step off the plane at welkom (pre season testing didn't happen in this universe) and it's literal dawn of a new day... staring out at the sun and finally, biaggi can move on, can live a new and different life. anyway. obviously we all know what's coming next - you have this big dramatic climactic race where biaggi throws himself at valentino again and again and again and he comes so close to winning it... but he doesn't. and you have valentino living his best life, being delighted, but the film is focusing on how like,,, we're bleaching the joy back out of biaggi's life, how actually he's returning to what he already knew. and it ends on the podium, with the camera focusing on biaggi on that fucking second step or zooming in or whatever (idk how cinema works) and it just finishes on this shot of biaggi dead-eyed in a bleak world, trapped again for eternity aka until the end of the 2005 season. done!! I'm not sure this is quite what valentino had in mind, but. well. that's how I'd do it

this is from the pushkin play from 1832 not the 1984 film but like. low key pushkin already kinda nailed the essence of sports rivalries in the 1830s and we just have to acknowledge that sometimes

right. so the casey rivalry is where I'm going to go completely off the wall. skip this bit to get to the slightly saner stuff. this is also one I fully admit to sometimes playing around with in my mind anyway, but. uh. I'm gonna be taking this one in just. well. places. I do have a vision here but I also don't quite know how to explain it in a way that doesn't make me sound like I've lost my mind, but well if you're still reading this then that's on you. so lemme get this out of the way: the classic sports biopic formula would work well with casey. if I had to point to a single rider I would sports biopic-ify, it's casey. so you have all this kinda,, obvious adversity that's easy to get across, and it's a narrative you can follow chronologically without too much trouble. you've got all the childhood stuff, the australian racing club not letting him join them, the move to britain, the rising through the ranks, it's also this very biopic-friendly 'nobody ever believed in him apart from like three people' stuff. and the premier class is also narratively satisfying, from the rocky rookie season to the kinda shock success to then all the lows of 2008 and 2009 and the physical ailments and the anxiety and then the switch to honda and the title and then him deciding to retire... that's all good stuff! you can absolutely biopic-ify it! gun to my head and sure, I can walk you through exactly what bits of his life I'd focus on and put in what order and so on, and I think ultimately you could make a very good sports biopic from that

[some mild gore to follow in this next section]

but also. thing is. that's fine. it's just not where I want to go here, because again I feel like at that point you can also pick up his autobiography and just read it - because what you're basically doing here is just filming that. and I get how this stuff works, you're bringing the story to a wider audience, you can show stuff in a different way in that medium etc etc, and that's all great but also I don't care about bringing stuff to a wider audience. I care about doing fun stuff in my brain. so what I'd actually do here is just, basically, go in the exact opposite direction and ditch all the realism. genuinely, ditch the live action stuff, we're going animated - what I'm interested in here is stuff where we need to be able to fully suspend our disbelief and lean into some surreal shit. I'm not going to bury the lede here: my idea is that you take that thing where casey said he hated how ducati was ruining the bike by letting valentino's yellow encroach on it and, basically,, just go all in on that bit. like come on, that is so singularly visually evocative, it truly captures a lot of what's going on thematically in that rivalry. (see also x and x for the most relevant casey posts.) casey sees valentino as the malevolent force, this infection! he associates him strongly with a specific colour, one that can be sickly or unnatural or just... evil. malignant, malicious, malevolent, all the m words. to casey, valentino is a personification of everything that is wrong with the sport. valentino is literally the walking manifestation for so many of his issues, from the dangerous riding to the lack of respect to the lying to the cult of personality to the obsession with image and the media to the backroom games to the politics to the injustice of how different riders are treated differently, like!! he's literally all of that! this is a topic for another post, but this plays out in a lot of kinda, weird and funky ways where it's a two way street and sometimes when casey talks about motogp you go 'actually I think that's just valentino?' (btw he also does this about 'europe' right I don't think those are europeans you hate casey that's literally just valentino) and sometimes when he talks about valentino it's kinda? this feels like it's about a little more than the bloke himself? and basically, right, I think you need to take this to its natural conclusion where casey used to admire him and look up to him and want to emulate him on track and then gets disillusioned when valentino's worshippers turn against casey and casey is the one to bring valentino down to earth and... listen, I think you need to play around with valentino being a literal god. and I think you need to have casey stab him to cover up the yellow on the ducati with blood

okay. look. the idea here, right, is that we're basically making the subtext text, and just digging into that process of 'bringing valentino back to earth', of taking on a god and having the audacity to succeed, and also treating valentino as this sort of. infection in his own mind. the bike is literally being infected!! casey may have left the ducati but he STILL has some fidelity and love for this project, those were his people he worked with, and now valentino is coming in and just twisting everything around himself!! but also I think how this functions is that, okay, so you have all this normal stuff that's the actual 'plot' in the 'real world', but the ISSUE with the real world is that there's a lot of stuff that just. isn't possible there. like the thing casey wants in that rivalry but is never going to have is... a captive audience. a big problem casey has in that rivalry is that he doesn't get the chance to actually say a lot of stuff to valentino. he starts using the media more and more and plays the game on valentino's level, but there's still this disconnect where mr straight talking is the valentino rival who valentino never really blanks or freezes out like... there's a disconnect! there's valentino the person, who casey never quite figures out how to just straight up hate, and then there's valentino the character, the racer, the rider, the god who casey DESPISES. but when they're doing small talk at pressers and podiums, casey doesn't get to talk to that version of valentino! he just talks to valentino the person, who obviously isn't literally a different person but is also not going to explain to casey where he's coming from, is he, and also isn't someone who casey can explain to where HE is coming from. and that gulf... it does bother casey. I don't think he can quite verbalise why either, but there's just... this creeping tension. I think it'd be easier for casey if valentino really were more of a caricature, just kinda a dick in all walks of life. and there's just these canonical hints of that... the way casey talks about how he's sure valentino as a guy is fine, but he never knew valentino like that, the whole 'I'd like to go with valentino for dinner to tell him where I was coming from in that rivalry' thing, like!! it's there

so basically EYE think what you should be doing is using the wonders of storytelling to actually. embrace that element. and just leave realism behind now and again. valentino is a god, he is literally worshipped, he's part of this pantheon that casey is trekking to reach. casey is brave enough to take him on in combat, he is the first one who is truly able to draw blood. he sees how valentino isn't just a god of joy or battles or speed or the SUN or any of that other stuff - he's a disease, an illness, a god who is also a false prophet... the worship never quite goes away, because who ever truly gets rid of their valentino rossi complex, but casey eventually is given the chance to face a chained valentino and kinda,,, ritualistically publicly humiliate him using the ducati as both this sick thing that has to be 'cured' and this symbol of valentino's failure. I'm sorry, visual language goes brr here, like chain him up, do weirdly eroticised torture idc!! (psst psst valentino's fucked up shoulder also extremely goes brr here, casey low key a teensy bit weird about valentino's injuries? his thing after the 2010 leg break where he goes 'why's everyone making such a big deal about this other people break their limbs too' and then after 2011 jerez immediately asking whether valentino's shoulder is okay in just a very obviously passive aggressive way. literally he opens with that, valentino isn't using it as an excuse or anything, for some reason it's already on casey's mind and I would politely contest it was out of genuine concern for valentino's wellbeing!! it's just kinda? I'm so compelled by it? I suppose it is kinda about how valentino's suffering gets taken more seriously than his own? how those absences are received differently by the motogp world? idk I find this fun because casey does know this is one thing valentino can't really be blamed for himself, so it just slips out a bit? but yeah, casey + valentino's injuries, nobody's talking about it but I sure will, let casey get weird and mean and a teensy bit sadistic about valentino's injuries in an artistic manner.) crucially I like animation as a medium here because I think it's easier to lean into surrealism when you don't have to hand hold the audience so much through the suspension of realism, also there's just some imagery you can do in cooler ways through animation where in live action it may just look. weird. (I think you can also do one of those things where you have a live action film with only those specific bits animated but also... why? it just feels like in live action you need more 'justifications' for things, like am I saying casey is having some weird hallucinations and is losing his mind? no I just want to have weird vision sequences ffs.) the colour stuff!! valentino/casey is big on the colour coding as a rivalry, to the extent casey is even, y'know, drawing attention to it in the literal text!! yellow and red are banger colours, valentino is big on imagery himself with all his sun + moon motifs, it's kind of all there to make the easy next step to kinda zany surreal imagery. ritualistic stabbing works better in animation, you can kinda get the blood to like. drip down and overwhelm the yellow illness that's slithered out across the bike

and. AND of course what this entire set up allows you to do is.... give them an opportunity to talk. they can't talk in real life! casey CAN'T give him his real thoughts on anything, and fundamentally valentino can't either. they're opponents. they're strangers who chat sometimes. it's not just that they aren't friends, it's that fundamentally they cannot be friends - because their ability to do their actual jobs depends on a certain level of professional distance. valentino of course does have a decent read on casey, and vice versa, because when you're figuring out how to defeat someone then (if you're valentino) you're looking to play the rider too. valentino's entire approach depends on focusing in on his rivals and attempting to throw them off, to make them unravel. he's watching casey closely!! the entire journey of casey's first three seasons in the premier class essentially becomes like, this god of their world focusing in on him. figuring him out. trying to gnaw away at him. obviously, animation also allows you to go big on the panopticon-y imagery which is kinda fundamental to their rivalry, because of their fundamentally oppositional stances to 'performing' for the ever present cameras where there IS a little bit of common ground in they have both struggled with it. but valentino isn't going to ever say that to casey! casey isn't going to open up to valentino! so if you give them,, you know, a different arena to express themselves, where casey actually has this external figure to talk to (as he's like, cutting him open I guess) whereas valentino actually is put in a position where he's allowed to respond, where he can taunt casey a little bit, where he can interrogate casey's approach and also the similarities between the two of them and how casey has been forced to become a little more like valentino to challenge him... because the thing is, right, valentino is so big on message discipline with his rivals and has completely stopped talking about that rivalry post mid 2013 that, first of all, you have this complete imbalance in who's been telling this story for the past decade, but second of all you kinda don't have a sense of what valentino would respond? idk!! I think this is mainly fun as a thought exercise for me specifically but also I do think it's kinda, digging into some of the bits that make this narratively work as a rivalry, how valentino in this rivalry is actually just kinda... removed. like he's not really emotional about it!! at most he's a bit bitchy, but even that just feels about The Game. it's the most extreme in this regard followed by jorge - but with valentino's other feuds you kinda... see a bit more an unguarded moment, see something a little more real there. the casey rivalry feels so uncomfortable precisely because valentino is a little... inhuman in this one. I mean, if you want to have valentino as some kind of cross between a deity and a monster in any of his feuds, this is the one. casey's just an obstacle to him. idk don't you think casey kinda wants to chain valentino down and stab him and make him see casey a little more... well, I think he should want it and I think it'd be fun to see and get them to talk to each other. ugh and also all the implications of making the faith vs non-believer elements more literal... casey the heretic!!!

there's some obvious stuff here you'd have to figure out, like 'how do you make this work as a narrative even to people who aren't familiar with casey stoner at all' and 'who the fuck do you think the target audience is here' and 'you do know this is not the kind of thing that would ever be made, right, go back to the casey stoner sports biopic like a sane person' but!! I do think it's material you can make work if you're just,,, efficient and smart in how you're actually telling the 'real life' version of the rivalry. also in my head this is. idk. an animated limited series not a film, which then brings in other stuff like 'episodic structure' because I'm fundamentally opposed to tv shows that think they're films. and look, I'm not going to write an entire film script treatment here, I just think a good writer can figure this stuff out. blood on the ducati is the framing device for everything else, simple. lots of animated floating eyes I reckon, first casey is watching valentino and then valentino is watching casey and the whole world is watching them... and it does bleed into real life just a little, where you're wondering whether casey is actually imagining/dreaming this stuff or valentino is or if they both know it somehow... you can get away with more ambiguity in animation. anyway, if you do want more thoughts on this one specifically for whatever reason, let me know because this one I do actually have more on

also laguna 2008 is a bit tortoise and the hare coded if you really think about it

[end of gore]

so. on to jorge. hm. the thing about jorge is that he was kinda writing a coming of age film in his own head, so like - yes, that's what you do go for? you can play it straight and follow how jorge has cast his rivals, or you can pin the whole narrative on the fact that jorge has cast them - the kinda artificiality of the narrative, the way jorge is this storyteller who isn't being recognised as much as he thinks he should be, isnt adequately appreciated. the way there's this three way discourse between what jorge thinks the story is and what the public thinks the story is and actual. you know. reality. I think this is a bit more light-hearted, like you know how the best stories about teenagers take their emotions seriously but also let them be kinda silly? because young people are silly! jorge was silly! he's got a lot of CHARM because he's so cocky and naive and full on and intense and awkward and kinda off-putting and tactless and a bit all over the place and so painfully, painfully young, like he's a good protagonist because that's a KID. but also, obviously there's also a lot of extremely not light-hearted bits of his story - everything about his father, his manager... idk this one's another one where, I don't just want to make it a generic sports biopic, and I'm trying to figure out the clear narrative arc here? I mean, you can point to the end of 2010 and really lean into him choosing victory on-track over popularity off it. the problem with 2010 is that it does not work as a dramatic season, yeah sure with the magic of biopics you can hack at it to shit but also. idk. what are we getting out of it. I think for narrative purposes you want to maybe narrow in, and end it at the end of 2008, with the switching of the numbers this kind of moment of emancipation? but also! this feels like we're straying a bit too far away from the fun sports elements and I don't want to REALLY suggest all the ways in which you could mine jorge's personal trauma in a jokey tumblr post, so I'm gonna move on from this one

the problem is 2015 just straight up doesn't work as a jorge-centric narrative, except in a very kinda comic way that leans into how absurd his role in that season was. 2012 as a season is a bit... y'know, it's fine. okay it's mostly terrible, but that's fine too. but it doesn't have a great narrative hook. which kinda leads you to the problem that I do think the valentino rivalry is more... juicy from jorge's pov, because for valentino, jorge is just kinda? an obstacle? idk he's more normal about it, it's just his job to destroy the guy, you know how it is. but also 2009 does work better narratively from valentino's pov, like it's the build up to catalunya specifically you can dramaticise... idk though, I do love catalunya but my heart isn't really in this exercise because I think valentino isn't really being... challenged here? it's a title fight where he's fundamentally using a set of tools he's already perfected, to beat a guy he doesn't really give a shit about. when the italian press is down on him pre catalunya, it doesn't spark any genuine self-doubt - it's just a handy source of extra motivation. there's no epic highs or lows that season, not real ones. and yes I know I was talking about making valentino who gets stabbed repeatedly to cover up an infection a moment ago, but that reflected real EMOTIONAL truths!! I'm committed to thematic fidelity more than I am to literal fidelity

genuinely I think the best way to tackle jorge is with the jorge/dani parallel journeys... what, film? tv show? maybe show actually - you don't have one coherent narrative Statement per se but you're constantly charting those journeys in reference to each other, really rooting it in their respective points of views, no neutral detached cinematic language like I want everything to be very much written to be from their eyes!! going from one to the other and back again. and you're charting these different journeys, right, and how they both captured different flavours of like... emotional successes and failures. I think it's actually about failure, yeah, about having to accept there's something you can't have and might never be able to get - whether that's universal love or a premier class title or whatever - but Actually, that might not be the end of the world. and during this process, they go from being enemies to tentative friends!! guys who realise they can maybe actually understand each other better than they thought!! this real moment of interpersonal connection. you have all these media narratives and the managers and so on and the fact they're competitors as these built in reasons why they've just been pitted against each other from the start... but y'know, again, it is also just a bit about maturing, about being able to set that aside, about making your peace with defeat and failure as an element of growing up. you can't win everything, maybe there's something you really really really want and you're just not going to get it, but at the end of the day it's kinda... yeah. self-acceptance. idk this is the nice one

so with marc you can go several different ways here I guess, and again he's also perfectly decent sports biopic material, probably second to casey in that category like yeah sure do the comeback story. but also, we do already have a very good self-produced documentary about what he thinks the narratives of his career are? idk this is also just a personal taste thing, I'll leave him to doing all the injury stuff himself, I don't have much to add there. we'll get to the obvious one in a second, but I was trying to figure out if there were other places I massively felt like you need the cinematic touch. and, again, the 2013 season is obviously very exciting!! but also, you have it covered in.,,,, multiple documentaries, I don't feel I have a take their either? his rivalries with dani and jorge aren't really substantive enough to sustain a bit of cinema. dovi... I mean, what are you saying there? what's the arc? I feel like if I tackled dovi, I'd go somewhere else and really go all in with the ducati stuff, and make it a bit more... you know, stark, stripped back, basically just the emotional component of how much he gave to that project and how he managed to beat away one rival after the next and how it all ended up falling apart in a kind of anti-climactic way? he's also good sports biopic material, but in a way I think the marc rivalry is the bit of his story I have the least to say on. so eg, 2017 is a dramatic season, but he's also kinda fine after it? he always knew it was a long shot, he tried his best and he got really close and then he lost. you can't amadeus it because dovi isn't (fictional) salieri. basically, I think what I'm saying here is that dovi is too well-adjusted to feature in this post. though I'd totally watch a film about his 250cc seasons, like it's a bit annoying because HE is the underdog who loses both title fights to jorge, but it'd still be kinda fun idk. I wouldn't really know what to do with the material but if someone made the film I'd absolutely watch it

right then. the thing about sepang 2015 is... yeah, sure, of course you can do it, it already exists as a narrative but... yeah, what are you adding!! idk I always think when you're adapting something, you kinda need to have a reason for it? I mean, what are you doing that's not already there in the footage? idk maybe this is just a sign of having been a fan of this sport for one too many years but to me the idea of sepang 2015 can get a bit boring (or maybe just repetitive) where I need a new TAKE on it to really get into the idea of fictionalising it. like where's the auteur's touch y'know, what can I still add to this!! but it also needs to WORK for someone who is new to the story, which kinda just makes you want to tell the story straight.... y'know the story is strong enough and COMPLICATED enough to stand on its own and it IS good but I don't really have anything interesting to say beyond 'yeah sure that'e be neat'. I can't tell you why, but I also don't think the casey approach quite works here? the idea of providing a framing device with which valentino and marc can actually talk to each other... eh. don't like that. hm. okay wait actually I just turned it around in my head for... a while and I think I've got an idea to make the worst motorcycle racing film of all time. so, my central stupid film-making gimmick here is just. centring the fact we're completely reliant on a few guys and what they're telling us in making up our minds, and our removal from that story and the imperfection of their perceptions and so on. so I think you kinda make a point of... not actually showing the motorcycle racing? like, you always show it by showing other people watching it, you're showing the tv screen rather than the actual racing. even in the cinematic medium, you're centring the theatrical aspects, where you drill it down to just a few characters. valentino. marc. uccio. marc's fuck ass manager. maybe a crew chief or two. keep it limited though, all the others are kept at a distance - you're constantly focusing in on the same few characters. and very early on you basically just like... get them to fourth wall break by telling you, the viewer, with their actual words how racing works for them, what meaning they take out of it - and again it's this remove because we're never allowed to actually feel the racing for ourselves (no helmet cams), and it sets up that as the tragedy unfolds, again and again we're just hearing from them what happened. it's all zoomed in on how claustrophobic the entire situation is, like doing the race direction room after the sepang 2015 is perfect for that kind of thing, and crucially they're only ever addressing the audience because they can't address each other. but fourth wall breaks also obviously draw attention to artificiality! I realise they are very much like, lame gimmick central, but also are these men not inherently about lame gimmicks... idk it's basically the same story but at least it feels like a kinda interesting way of telling it. kinda trite, but cinema allows you to get to the point and let valentino actually play with the camera... so literally take it into his own hands and lead it around and tell the story from his point of view. and you can play with how they do both change in what stories they think they're telling, how they're constantly revising their own stories, how their stories completely clash with each other... like. make them literal narrators. that's my pitch

so. one interesting pattern that has come up with my approaches to these rivalries is that with the exception maybe of the 2015 stuff, I feel like I'm more naturally inclined to treat valentino as a narrative device and centre his rivals. a big part of this is that valentino is a fantastic narrative device. he's kinda. this looming presence in every narrative in this sport where you can just sort of use him as a sort of way to poke away at all these other riders. the monster everyone loves who you are trapped with. BOO!! he's gonna eat you! which is fun! but ALSO, crucially, several of these rivalries aren't that emotionally challenging for him!! again, with casey right, he wants to beat him, but he's not having a crisis of faith over losing to casey. he thinks casey is annoying, he wants to beat him because he wants to win. valentino is casey's foil, but casey is not valentino's. valentino makes for an excellent personal antagonist to casey, but the reverse just isn't true. casey isn't forcing valentino to reexamine his approach except 'ramping up the levels of being a dick on-track' - like, yes, that's a serious competitive challenge, but also valentino is very comfortable in his own skin in that rivalry. sure, you could have valentino have some kind of massive revelation about the casey rivalry, but like. he doesn't in canon. he changes his behaviour towards casey in pretty predictable ways depending on what the relationship demands from his perspective at any given time. there's nothing more there

now, obviously you know where I'm going here. there IS a rivalry where you can make the argument he changes as a result of it, there IS a rivalry that tips him over the line and makes him to do stuff he hadn't done before that, there IS a rivalry that happens to coincide with a period of his competitive life that challenges him both personally and professionally. now, look, I have already talked about the sete rivalry. you know what I think about this rivalry - and if you don't, I really already have told the story here and here and here and here and also here. I think this works perfectly well as a narrative in its own right, and it's one you can tell from either perspective... but you kinda need both. I think again you probably naturally lean towards starting it from sete's perspective and that first proper meeting (I mean, idk if it is their first actual meeting, but it's the logical obvious place you start this story) with sete giving valentino advice during his first 500cc test and valentino just, y'know, ignoring him and being a cocky shit and then crashing. so you get to see sete being kinda exasperated by the whole thing. also, obviously ibiza is like, a key framing device here, like it's the most obvious in-your-face way of tracking their relationship with each other. I don't actually know how often they partied there together, but it must have been at least twice and if the commentators are to be believed it must have included 2003. artistic license and you can add one or two more times, but mainly you want to focus in on 2003 onwards right. so you've got this 2002 one where it's, y'know, high point of their friendship and in the name of narrative efficiency, you establish here that sete is looking to make the honda switch. the emphasis is on how valentino has been winning everything but on the flip side you're getting the first insight into his discontent. and there's a bit of a vibe of, what could you possibly have to complain about? like you are winning so much? so it's late one night where they've had this slightly unguarded alcohol-fuelled moment of genuine vulnerability but in the end it's actually characterised by how... unsubstantial the link between them is, because they wouldn't talk about this kind of thing with each other and they might both be similar in some ways but also don't gettttttt each other. it means you can return there as a location in 2003, where you've just had sachsenring and valentino's dramatic loss but they're still partying together and it's like. obviously In The Air that not everything is quite right... their relationship is already gradually altered and twisted because you're introducing this element of actual stakes and competition (obviously in 2004 they do NOT spend that time together, as far as we know anyway, and you can show them being very much not together at ibiza as a very obvious Oooh Things Will Fall Apart and maybe already haveeee)

and I do think basically I've already said what I think the themes here are,,,, several times by this point, so I'm not going to belabour the point. I think all of this fundamentally works as a narrative with like, minimal massaging and rearranging of the elements for dramatic effect. it's all there already, everything from sete's arc with the [insert non-tasteless way of covering a real life tragedy that fundamentally alters the course of sete's career] and how that leads to sete becoming the challenger and how he does want to win and his eventual downfall. with valentino, you have the element of liberation and self-discovery and... well, growing into your own but also kinda having the narrative drawing attention to how 'growing into your own' can involve becoming a fully realised character who is essentially quite cruel? you have this kind of... build up, right, towards this moment of revelation, where you lay bare who these two people actually ARE at sepang 2004, and then again at jerez 2005. valentino has gone his own way, he has freed himself from the chains of honda, he has embraced individualism and the chance to define himself and his own legacy and stand on his own two feet and not rely on the strongest bike or all this stuff within honda where they chose him as their flag bearer, for better or for worse... like he comes to his own here! he takes the step from 'great rider' to 'legend' because he gets to this dramatic moment of stepping into the unknown, he takes this massive risk that could have cost him so much, and it ends up elevating him. but it also puts him under duress, and in that moment he reveals himself - whatever sete did or did not do at qatar 2004, EVEN IF sete did all that shit, what you are left with is valentino vowing to ruin this man. valentino uses sete to make himself 'better', to fuel himself as a competitor. valentino turns sete into a tool in his own story. and again, thematically you've got all this stuff about how sete was managing the image of the rivalry and how valentino took advantage of that - how sete needed it to remain respectful and valentino was completely willing to abandon that. like, you have two protagonists who really are similar in quite a few ways, who think they have this shared understanding with each other, but when it comes down to it? they end up being super painfully different

now I can go on about this and how to play it straight, basically, you can just do that rivalry and I think it'd be cool and fun and very easy to arrange in a good narrative way. BUT I've kind of already. done that. like I don't want to suggest a film that is basically a nicer version of my tumblr posts. so I want to take this in a slightly different direction, and I think what we need to consider with this rivalry is this: what if you made the curse literal? basically, what's always kinda charmed me about this rivalry is that the curse should not work and all the misfortune that befalls sete after that is so comical that it's kinda... what do you do with that? and the answer is you just lean all the way in. my pitch is this: what if valentino sells his soul to the devil?

so, you know faust, right, and you know the bit at the start of goethe's faust where god and mephistopheles are basically making a wager over how corruptible this one human is. and faust is like... he's kinda disillusioned, he feels that everything he's dedicated his life to in academia is fundamentally hollow, gets very close to committing suicide. and faust has gone a bit new age-y, gotten into all this mystical shit and he's got this pentagram that ends up preventing mephistopheles from leaving his presence in their first meeting... and basically what the devil can give him is like, the chance to attain some true pleasure, and for that faust is willing to bet everything - so if faust can just have that, then maybe eternal damnation is worth it. and look, I'm not going to summarise the entire plot of faust here and it does go off the wall a bit with all the gretchen stuff, but the point is you have this version of the devil who is fundamentally a cynic and is attempting to win an argument with god by making this human succumb to his own nihilism. and what faust basically does is like, abandon his normal life where he's trying to live by normal virtues and goes off on this journey with the devil. and there's this little moment where mephistopheles,,, pretends to be faust and takes on the role of an academic adviser (you know how it is) and seduces this random student away from the word of god and sends him down a wretched path, which ends with this bit:

like, a big part of faust's tragedy is supposed to be about... well, hubris, of the relationship of god to man, of no longer being afraid of the devil... and obviously, this is all framed very much in terms of religion, but at the end of the day it's also about, you know, having purpose - faust is living a life that no longer has any meaning to him, all of his knowledge and studies now no longer fill the void inside himself. his nihilism opens the door for mephistopheles, and is what makes him willing to accept the devil's terms. now, and I am so very sorry to goethe here, I think we have some material we can use here to explore the valentino/sete rivalry. obviously, you can't do a one-to-one, you need to get rid of some of like, the depression and all that - there were times when valentino was feeling 'a bit low' in 2003, but not 'faust thinking everything he'd done in his entire life was pointless' low, yeah? also, unless you want to do a real long view here and even then it can't really be justified, there obviously isn't really a 'tragedy' here from valentino's perspective. like, he wins! this isn't valentino's tragedy, it's sete's! I was being a bit facetious when I said he was 'selling his soul to the devil', and you can kinda parse mephistopheles' motivations in different ways depending on what flavour and what interpretation of him you're dealing with here. you don't 'damn' valentino, you essentially just turn him into a tool of the devil!

so, this is how this works out in my head: the devil works more broadly as the manifestation of competitive impulses, the kind of 'how far would you go to win' question as a bloke who shows up and literally talks to the characters about it (magic of cinema). he's also engaging with valentino feeling like his victories no longer having meaning, with being disconnected from honda and from the entire culture there and just feeling like he's going through the motions. there's this element of like... opening the door to what is essentially a journey of self-actualisation, bringing him closer to being a 'god' but also allowing him to fully come into his own and become himself. to win on his own terms. I reckon ibiza is my preferred narrative device where the devil talks both to sete and valentino there (separately), first literally as a mysterious stranger and then... maybe not? he's talking to them at times of their lives when they're not at ibiza and it's not happening there in the physical world and they both end up kinda having to confront they're dealing with some potentially malevolent supernatural entity. but the important elements of the devil is that a) he's not going to do anything the humans don't actually ask for themselves, and b) everyone knows he's following his own agenda and you should be careful of the requests you make of him. so it's kinda like... essentially, the backdrop of this rivalry unfolding is they're constantly being challenged to decide what lines they're willing to cross. which culminates at qatar... and maybe you do have sete making like. a teensy mistake. a teensy error in judgement, one that is both real and deliberate but he could not have known would get that reaction and instantly regrets. and valentino, who is I think inherently sceptical of the devil coming to offer to help him and maybe does crank out the pentagrams (remember, the whole point of faust is that he was too arrogant to be scared of the devil, or one of the points anyway), in a moment of fury does decide - no, actually. I will take that step. I will curse sete. now the thing is, dramatically this is a teensy bit tricky because when you're talking about being damned by the devil, usually the consequences are a bit more severe than 'not winning a motorcycle race again' (yes, you can get into how sete did also seem genuinely cursed after that, cf his ambulance/bus crash situation, but again we are flirting with being in poor taste in this tumblr post). but the thing is, right, you have to lean into the silliness here! qatar 2004 is inherently silly, a CURSE is inherently silly, like real life is already silly here! you have to engage with the people where they are, and for these athletes all this shit is so heightened that the emotions are full on. like, valentino would've sold that guy to the devil! and to him not winning another race is basically the worst thing that can happen

so, obviously, you get to do the actual curse stuff. curses are inherently campy fun, the devil doing curses is campy fun, getting valentino rossi to crank out the pentagrams is inherently campy fun. you get to play around with this, right, like you know that bit in the brno 2005 race commentary where the commentators are talking about how valentino might as well have a little radio to talk into sete's helmet to remind him of how sete had fucked up at the sachsenring. OBVIOUSLY obviously obviously it is just so... idk scrunchy and fun to have this idea of valentino becoming a malevolent enough force to literally do that.... like damn the commentators did kinda eat with that?? ughhhhhh do you ever think about sete leading the qatar 2005 race for most of the way???? like that's SO fucked up because you literally have articles from about the race going 'hey maybe sete can break his curse' and then the commentators are talking about curses having one year expiration dates but obviously they!! do not!!!!! there's one race where sete goes off track and the commentators are talking about how valentino will surely have smiled into his helmet like that's so fucked!! it's so fucked!! but idk I think basically you have all this creeping curse-y stuff and devil stuff and then you get this twist and then it just becomes misery zone for sete until you sort of. compress the timeline and have him retire without getting into what happened at the end of 2006. and valentino just relishing in all his very worst emotions. and you've got sete who was the better man after jerez 2005, who took the high ground again and again and again and it did NOTHING for him.... and then he's cursed and his career is finished and the devil has had his fun getting mixed in with mid noughties motogp. and now obviously this is inherently kinda dumb and corny and silly but it's the devil!! mephistopheles to me is allowed to get up to dumb shit sometimes, let him have some fun!! idk I like curses being literal idc

I think the obvious critique here is 'this doesn't really feel like it gets the message of faust'. which, yes, is true - and obviously the way narratives are structured, a satisfying resolution isn't 'well selling your soul kinda slaps, actually'. and my statement to respond to this argument is as follows:

this is essentially canonically what happened. valentino DID do something kinda evil and it DID work out 100% for him and it DID kinda slap. at least when you add in the devil, you're making explicit the bit where it is a little bit bad. also, is sports not inherently about selling your soul for success... the story of valentino and sete is essentially about how we are twisted by competition, how pretending that we don't wish ill to our opponents is inherently dishonest. it is about lifting a facade for something that is already inherently there in the souls of men. this is obviously inherently a deeply cynical stance, but this is also a deeply cynical story beyond all the fun battles and camp dramatics. the devil is a cynic and he is basically the point of view character of goethe's faust - he's the one who is positioned closest to the audience. sports is all about living out some of humanity's worst instincts in a relatively low stakes setting, which means we get a free pass to have fun with a deeply cynical story that goes 'maybe selling your soul to the devil is fine, actually'

do I stand by this stance? not really, but the whole fun of storytelling is that sometimes you can just be kinda mean. I think goethe would get it... you can tell which character he enjoyed writing the most

the OTHER way you can do this is centre everything around qatar 2004 as like,,, the mystery box element...... okay look I have now made two posts that go WAY too deep on the 'what really happened' element but I do loveeeeee the whole thing like I would just make a film about that very end of the season and we show it from all these different angles as different characters narrate what happened... like fuck all the riders I want to hear from whichever mechanic used the scooter... the gresini mechanic who gave evidence to race direction.... various honda higher ups the crew chiefs like this is jb vs juan martinez it's war!!! obviously you still have the same emotional/thematic hooks as the general rivalry does but idk I would have a LOT of fun figuring out how to structure that, I loveeee mysteries... maybe I'd write it as a mockumentary yeah..... this one's just fun

anyway. a lot of stuff going on in this post, huh! you can probably tell I didn't edit this much. my classic tell when I edit my tumblr posts is I remember how 'paragraphs' work. unfortunately all I have energy for are like. a bunch of rants about things in my brain. I think when tumblr tells you that you've reached the maximum number of characters per paragraph and you need to figure out where to put a break, it's probably a bad thing? on the whole, my stance is I don't have anything AGAINST mildly fictionalised versions, but for me I'm always more of a.... well I want to take advantage of the full specificity of the events as they happened or just come up with a completely original story. kind of person. I know this ask probably wasn't looking for my 'what if you bled out valentino as he's strung up above a red motorcycle' vision but yeah. with a lot of biopics I'm always a bit 'well you could just read about this couldn't you' like I need stuff to take some kind of a stance on the material it's using... all my stuff takes a stance. that's all I've got. obviously all these stances mean that basically none of these things could ever be made. and I know what I said above but if they called me up to write the casey stoner biopic script treatment, I would also do that. if you've actually read to this point, give me a shout - you're a real one and I love you

#would an insane person write this #//#brr brr #batsplat responds #spec tag #curse tag #heretic tag #morale tag

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sjsmith56 · 28 days ago

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Affirmation - A Private Man, Chapter 24

Summary: With Christmas just days away, a decision is finally made about the Avengers and Bucky has to decide whether to move on with them or continue the life he has built in Brooklyn.

Length: 6.7 K

Characters: Bucky, Tracey, Rebecca, Janice, Rhodey, John Walker

Warnings: Some moments of disappointment and angst.

Author notes: There are some long monologues in this, as official announcements are made. Divider by vecteezy.com.

<<Chapter 23

The rest of December passed quickly enough. The Christmas party at the newcomer's centre, the first event held there since the water main broke, was a success. Receiving coverage on television due to the presence of the reporter, it garnered a lot of interest from people wanting to volunteer their time helping those who needed the centre's services. With all the food contributions brought in for the party, that included foods for other cultural celebrations, there was more than enough for people to sample the different tastes of many different countries. Samira and Amina both received inquiries about their baking and were interviewed about being Muslims who were actively involved in a Christmas celebration.

"It's just being respectful," said Amina to the reporter, as if it should be obvious. "When we celebrated Eid, after the completion of Ramadan, we extended an invitation to our non-Muslim friends to attend the celebration. In the past I've been to Hindu festivals, and a celebration of Chinese New Year. We've been to some Hanukkah, and Diwali events this winter, with an invitation to attend some upcoming Kwanzaa events as well. These people are my friends, some of them dear friends. I celebrate them."

The reporter also pointed out the centre received active support from several prominent people including Bucky Barnes and Captain America, pointing out that other Avengers attended the party, including Thor, War Machine, Falcon, Spider-Man, and the newest member Hawkeye. When he closed his segment, the reporter also announced that the centre had received a grant from the Stark Foundation, to cover expenses in maintaining the building, as well as being in talks with the Wakandan International Outreach Centre to provide technology support in training individuals for IT jobs. With one of Samira's pastries in hand the reporter signed off by taking a bite and rolling his eyes at how good it was.

After the Christmas party Bucky invited the other Avengers back to the house to relax and enjoy some Christmas cheer. They officially announced Tracey's pregnancy and the purchase of a house in Brooklyn. Rhodes officially announced that funding and approval had been secured for the Avengers to become a permanent rapid response team. It was tempered by his next announcement.

"The funding is contingent on us being based in one location which is still being determined," he said. "I tried to point out that we come from all over the place, some of us with other jobs and responsibilities. I'm still working on convincing them that with the cooperation of the sorcerers in providing portals that can transport us instantaneously we don't need to be in one spot, but the Joint Chiefs of Staff are insistent on following a strict military model." He looked at Bucky specifically. "You just bought a house and I'm very happy for you. If you want to step away from the Avengers I understand and support you 100 percent."

"If that's how it is, that's how it is," replied Bucky, who tried not to show his disappointment. "I do appreciate you trying. I do like my job on the docks, and they have been very accommodating to me."

As the others talked about other things Bucky slipped away into the back yard, where the fairy lights were on. He stood on the back step just breathing, then felt someone putting a jacket over his shoulders. Turning around he saw Tracey and put his arm around her.

"I'm sorry," she said. "You must be disappointed."

"I am but not surprised," he answered. "Can you imagine the military mobilizing to try and stop Ross? They would have spent too long arguing which branch of the military were best suited to send out before finally deciding on an aircraft carrier to search for another aircraft carrier. They would have radioed over asking for them to surrender then wonder why Ross's mercenaries were hell bent on ignoring the rules of engagement when they began firing missiles at them. By then Ross would have already been off the coast of Africa sending in his air crews, with Ghost, an enhanced human who can materialize and dematerialize at will probably at the forefront to get through the Wakandan shields. Then the government maybe would send in a Seal team or a strike force of elite soldiers to intercept, but it would take them at least 10 hours flying at Mach 2 to even reach Wakanda which would have already been breached and likely conquered. What do they say about possession being 9/10ths of the law? Ross would have control and would tell them to fuck right off, and they would because he's one of them."

She rubbed his back, sad that he was so upset by this decision. Neither of them heard Rhodes until Bucky heard the sound of his leg braces.

"I'm out of practice," said Bucky, cynically. "You almost snuck up on me. Some super soldier I am."

"I prefer to think that you were pre-occupied," said Rhodes. "Because you're the best damn soldier I've ever known. Your analytical abilities alone rival the best chief warrant officers I've ever served with. I'm angry at the Joint Chiefs for pulling this power play, because that's what it is, their attempt to maintain a semblance of control over the Avengers. Hell, even the President apologized for this. He knows the only reason we succeeded is because we were able to mobilize immediately, using a combination of our own intelligence gathering, portals and a quinjet to get to where we needed to be at the time we needed to be there. All because of you anticipating what Ross was going to do while you were working a day job and getting ready for your wedding."

"And yet, here we are, still hamstrung because the Avengers still don't have autonomy," replied Bucky. He gave out a frustrated sigh. "I know that you're trying Rhodey, and that you're navigating a very complex political system. But at some point, I have to fold. With a wife and a baby on the way I ...."

"No, don't give up," interrupted Rhodes. "I think they need to have a taste of their own medicine. I'm convinced the Avengers work best with you as one of the leaders, the tactical leader. So, we pull our own power play. Unless we have total autonomy, including not being tied to a specific location, then we don't form. We are the best of the best and I don't think they quite understand that. If I do this, they're going to recall me to Washington, and I want you with me when I go. I want you to tell them what you told Tracey just before you realized I was listening."

"You really think they're going to listen to me?" asked Bucky. "I'm still the Winter Soldier to them."

"Maybe to the Generals but I can tell you that the enlisted men think you're the goat, which means the greatest of all time. You're the sergeant they all respect, the guy who gets things done, and doesn't bullshit anyone. We need you, Buck. The Avengers just don't work without you."

Bucky turned his head to look at Tracey, silently asking for her advice.

"You should do it," she said quietly. "I know that you really want this. Don't let it slip out of your fingers because you're worried about me and the baby. I knew that night in the Bahamas that it's what you're meant to be doing."

"But it means you'll be alone," he replied.

"Never," she said. "Not where it counts, in here." She pressed her chest with her clenched fist. "Each time you come back we'll pick up where we left off and it will be glorious. I know that now. Nothing will really keep us apart, not where it matters."

"I'll just leave you two out here," muttered Rhodes, backing away as he felt the emotion flowing between the couple.

Sliding his hand onto Tracey's neck, Bucky gazed deeply into her eyes, so consumed was he with his love for her. She got him and understood him completely. He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against hers.

"I'm afraid to leave you," he admitted. "What if I don't come back?"

"You could get crushed by a sea can at the docks," she said, making him laugh a short grim laugh. "I have to believe we met because we were meant to be together. You'll always be with me. Always."

Their lips crashed together fiercely as if they would never see each other again. The feel of Tracey's body against his was as if she were a part of him, so closely did they fit together. When he looked at her face softly illuminated by the fairy lights in the garden, he drank in every feature on her face.

"Alright, I'll keep on believing we can make the Avengers happen," he said. "I believe in us first; this marriage is the priority, always. If it ever gets too hard for you, I have to know because I will choose you every time."

They kissed once more to seal their pact and returned into the warmth of the house. Rhodes made eye contact with Bucky from where he sat on the sofa with his arm around Janice and Bucky nodded to him. He was still in.

The time before Christmas went quickly. They bought a new SUV originally planning to trade in Tracey's smaller car but Janice offered to buy it when her divorce was finalized and the house sold so they transferred ownership to her, telling her it was a gift. Their possession date for the new house was set for the end of February and they began planning what to get done for renovations before they moved in.

Bucky's return to work was memorable as he was greeted by a desk covered in post-it notes, each with a different message, some funny while others were more heartfelt. It was evident he was an object of pride for the dock workers, their own real-life hero. He took it in stride, laughing at the sight of his multi-coloured desk, then grumbling in a good-natured way as he peeled the individual notes off, reading their message before sticking them into a messy pile. The docks were busy that final week as many container ships were docking and unloading their cargos before they went to a different dock for repairs or maintenance. Ship's crews were given leave to return home to their families for the holidays. Many of the cranes had Christmas trees attached to their booms, lit up in bright lights.

On the afternoon of the 24th he had just finished wishing his crew a Merry Christmas as they were released to have five days off before returning to work on Monday, the 30th. The other supervisors were doing the same with their crews. As Bucky headed into the building where the offices were, Rick leaned out of his.

"Call for you on line 2," he said.

"Thanks, I'll take it at my desk," said Bucky, heading in and taking his fluorescent supervisor's vest off. He picked up the phone receiver and pressed line 2. "Barnes here."

There was silence for a moment. "It's John Walker," said the voice. "Please don't hang up."

"John," answered Bucky, feeling anger building up in him. "What do you want?"

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm so ashamed that I wasn't strong enough to stop them from turning me. I couldn't even tell anyone that they were experimenting on me. It was like whenever I wanted to tell someone, even Olivia, that a hand came over my mouth, preventing it from working."

Bucky said nothing, then he heard the shakiness in Walker's breath, the anguish the man was feeling being expressed in his voice.

"Go on," replied Bucky. "Was anything you said to me on the level?"

"Yes, all of it," answered the other man. "I wanted out, but they found out before I met with Matt Murdock. They must have bugged my phone or my car. I don't know how they knew but I was called into a meeting a couple of days later and that Mordo was there. I told Val that I wanted out of my contract, and she was all apologetic then said to give them another chance. He said something and then it was like there was a gap in my memories. When I met with Murdock, he didn't seem to believe me. Maybe I was already being changed then."

"I believe you were," said Bucky. "Apparently Dr. Strange went through time, and said it took several sessions for Mordo to change you completely."

"Yeah, Strange and that other sorcerer, Wong, changed me back on the ship," said Walker. "It was like it was all a bad dream, everything I said to you, everything I did. I feel like I can't trust my own mind anymore. Olivia ... she's standing by me, but I see it every time she comes to see me in the lockup that a part of her still ...."

His voice trailed off and Bucky recognized the sounds of a man struggling not to cry. He could feel his own anger dissipating, as he knew exactly what Walker was going through.

"Listen," he said firmly. "You're not on the Raft, right?" Walker agreed. "That already means that the authorities believe you and with you telling them everything you remember, that will be the beginning of making amends. You need counselling. Don't go see Dr. Raynor as you know each other personally. I'll see if I can find someone who can be objective with you. Then you need to come clean with your wife about everything, including what you did when you were still in the military and what happened in Latvia."

"No, she'll leave me," answered Walker in a strained voice.

"But it's eating away at you," said Bucky. "Sam and I knew that right from the beginning. Lemar was the one that held you together and without him you're falling apart. Not even Olivia's love is enough to keep that from happening. The only way you'll know if that love is strong enough is if you're brave enough to tell her everything and ask her to help heal you. If she decides that it's not enough then you have to live with that, accept it, and move on. Trust me, John, you can't go on the way you are now. I've been there and it's an awful way to exist, because it sure as hell is not living."

"You'd help me?" asked Walker. "After all that's happened and my part in it, you would still help me?"

Bucky took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He had come a long way in his own journey but knew it would never be over as part of him still experienced guilt and remorse over the Winter Soldier's actions. But he had opened his heart to love, had become more involved in the community, had volunteered at the newcomer's centre, and the result had been that for the past half year he was happier than he had been since the war. At the other end of the line was a man who had wronged him, going through a similar journey. Was he not as deserving of a hand to raise him up?

"I'll help you," he said to Walker. "One vet to another. Honestly, I'm not ready to forgive you yet and I'll never forget what you did. But I'm also someone who was in a similar position, and I wouldn't have come through it unless people reached out and gave me a hand."

That broke the dam as he heard weeping for several minutes. Patiently, he waited through it, knowing that Walker needed to let it out. When he heard the loud cleansing breath a few minutes later he knew that it was a beginning.

"Bucky, thanks," breathed Walker. "I'll do what you asked. I've cooperated with the investigators. They've assigned me a public defender, but do you think that Murdock would represent me? Even though he didn't trust me he seemed to be an honest man."

"That's up to him," said Bucky. "You just remember that it was Ross and Fontaine that decided to do this to you. I found out that Ross saw me being tortured while I was the Winter Soldier. He was a guest of Alexander Pierce. It appears he always wanted an army of super soldiers to do his bidding. Makes him as bad as HYDRA."

"Well, that makes two of them because Val was there when Mordo was," replied Walker. "How do these people end up with the power they do? Once again, I'm sorry. I hope you have a good Christmas. You deserve it, Bucky."

The call ended and Bucky looked at the receiver in his hand before replacing it on the cradle. Pulling his cellphone out he opened the contact list and brought up Matt Murdock's name. Pressing on the call icon he waited while it rang but it went to voicemail.

"Hey, it's Bucky," he said. "I have a favour to ask. If you don't accept it's alright but I believe in second chances. John Walker was turned without his consent, but he is now cooperating with the authorities. He has a public defender representing him, but you know most of those guys are only there until they get offered a better job. If you could perhaps represent him, I would appreciate it and I will pay whatever rate you wish. It doesn't mean I've forgiven him. That will take time, but I think he just needs a hand to get back on track. Anyways, if I don't hear from you have a Merry Christmas."

He was about to put his phone back in his pocket when he had another thought and made the call. It was a long shot but no one should be alone on Christmas Day. They were already going to have Rhodey with them; one more wouldn't be a problem. The woman he spoke to was surprised to receive his call and wouldn't commit but promised to give it serious thought. If that was the best she could give him it would have to be enough.

Pulling open the bottom drawer of his desk he pulled out a paper bag wrapped around a bottle and took it to Rick's office. He was on the phone but his eyes lit up when he saw Bucky pull the bottle out, a very good scotch. Quickly, he finished his call and looked at him with a smirk.

"Drinking on the job?" he joked. "I know it doesn't affect you but damn, Bucky."

"This is a thank you," replied Bucky. "To apologize for the past month and everything that went down that kept me away from this fine place of employment. It's also to prepare you for next year."

"That sounds ominous," stated Rick. "What's up?"

He pulled two glasses out of his desk drawer and gestured to Bucky to crack the bottle open. Bucky poured them each a good portion and capped the bottle. Holding his glass up to Rick he toasted him then drank some of the amber liquid.

"They're forming the Avengers again and they want me to be part of it," said Bucky. "Even though they're still working on the logistics I've agreed because, let's face it, I'm better at that than I am riding a desk as a dock supervisor."

"I wouldn't say that," replied Rick. "You're well thought of here. Your crew operates well and I think a lot of it has to do with you. Is this your notice?"

"Not exactly. I want to stay on but I know being supervisor isn't workable considering I could be called out on a moment's notice."

Rick took another drink out of his glass and put it down. "Well, this is as good a time as any to tell you something," said Rick. "They're winding down container ship operations at the dock here cutting back on operational hours to start with. They're moving operations gradually to New Jersey and Red Hook. This area is to be redeveloped for light industrial, pleasure boat marinas, and affordable residential. It's going to take years but it's in the works and next year is when the ships will start to be redirected to the other facilities. We won't be filling vacancies in the crews starting in the new year, although supervisor positions will still be filled by internal promotions."

Bucky sat back and sipped his scotch. "What about those people currently working?" he asked.

"They'll be given the opportunity to move to the new locations," said Rick. "I'm thinking of retiring myself."

"End of an era," said Bucky. "Not surprised though. The newcomer's centre I volunteer at say they've been lobbying for more affordable housing. Immigrants still want to live in New York but are finding it less affordable. Which is unfortunate as they helped make New York what it is."

"I agree," said Rick. "My grandpa was from Italy. Got on at the navy yards before the war."

"My dad worked there," commented Bucky with a quick smile. "Small world." He drained his glass. "Well, thanks for the news. I'm going to talk to Tracey about it. She's pregnant. We bought a house in Midtown because Rebecca's place is too small for a baby and four adults."

"Already?" smiled Rick. "You work fast. Congratulations. You'll be a good dad."

Bucky stood up, offered his hand to Rick and the two men wished each other a Merry Christmas. Back in his office Bucky straightened up and looked around. He would miss this but he also knew he could leave it behind. It seemed like more than one thing was telling him to stick with the Avengers. As he clocked out and headed for the security gate he looked up at the grey sky and the light snow that was falling. Perhaps there would be enough for a soft blanket over everything by the next morning.

On the way home he stopped off at the jewellers. It was busy, filled with men buying a last-minute gift. The manager finished serving her customer and waved Bucky over to an open spot at the counter. She went to a locked cabinet and brought out a tray with four small boxes. The first, containing a pair of pearl stud earrings received a nod from him. The second box holding a white gold bracelet with two diamonds also received a nod from him when he read the inscription. The manager opened the 3rd and 4th box one after another and pushed them towards him. The white gold locket was opened to show the picture of him on one side and Tracey on the other. The engraving on the back received a soft smile from him. Then he picked the fourth box up and looked at the emerald and diamond earrings, giving the manager an approving nod.

"I must say the women in your life are very lucky," said the manager. "I've never had a customer who bought such beautiful gifts for his mother-in-law, sister, and wife all at once."

"They all mean a lot to me," said Bucky. "Haven't had the funds to show it before. You'll be able to wrap them and tag them properly?"

"Absolutely," said the manager. "Give me ten ... maybe fifteen minutes to get them wrapped real pretty. Why don't you go next door and get a coffee while you're waiting? If you pay now I can bring them over to you."

Taking out his bank card from his wallet Bucky paid what was owing then went next door, ordering a coffee at the same place where he and Tracey had their first "date." He thought back to that afternoon where she revealed that she was emotionally involved and had asked to be removed from Rebecca's case. Never did he think they would realize how much they meant to each other, and end up married, and expecting their first child. For all the trouble that happened that year their relationship was solid, strengthened by Tracey's resolve and support. He truly believed he was one lucky man to have her love. His attention was taken by the jewelry store manager bringing his package to him. Shaking her hand in thanks he took it and finished his coffee then hurried the rest of the way back home. As he stepped up the front steps the door was opened and Tracey came out, hugging him.

"What's this?" he asked, amused at her coming outside. "I haven't even walked in the door yet."

"I'm delaying you," she laughed. "Someone is finishing wrapping your present at the dining room table. What's that you have in your hand?"

"Nothing," he smiled. "Just something I found in the middle of the road."

"Give it to me and I'll put it in the garbage," she said, trying to take it.

He raised it up, out of her reach, then trapped her with his free arm and kissed her while they both laughed, earning some whistles from the neighbours who were sweeping snow off their sidewalks. Janice came to the door and said it was safe for Bucky to come inside. With a wave to the neighbours they both went inside where Bucky opened his bag and placed the small boxes on the tree branches.

"I thought you said it was nothing," accused Tracey, grinning.

"I lied," he answered. "No peeking until tomorrow."

It smelled wonderful in the house. There was a roast in the oven, and he could discern the scent of apples and cinnamon. Janice came out of the kitchen with a mug of hot apple cider.

"I put a little extra something in it," she said, with a wink. "Rhodey will be here soon."

"I thought he was coming tomorrow," said Bucky. "Where's he sleeping?"

Janice blushed. "We're sharing the bed downstairs, alright? I offered as it's more comfortable for him than the couch. It's not like either of us are kids." She pouted slightly and Bucky offered her a hug which she accepted. "He said he has something to tell you. He's doing a group video call with everyone after dinner."

"Okay, Mom," he joked, earning him a playful swat on the arm as she went back into the kitchen. He called from behind her. "Can I help?"

"No, we've got it covered," replied Rebecca in a loud voice from the kitchen. "You relax with your wife."

Doing as he was told Bucky sat in the armchair and patted his lap, joined immediately by Tracey.

"Hi," he said softly. "How was your day?"

"Good," she said. "I had morning sickness. After you left."

"Sorry I missed it?" he smiled then he kissed her. "That means that growth hormone is being produced, doesn't it?"

"Yup, completely normal in a pregnancy," she replied. "How was work?"

"Good, found something out." She looked at him expectantly. "They're going to be slowing down operations there starting in the new year and eventually relocating everything to New Jersey or Red Hook. The docks are going to be redeveloped into light industrial, pleasure boat marinas and affordable residential development."

"Oh no," she said. "What about everyone that works there?"

"They'll be able to transfer to the new areas but I'm guessing if they end up in New Jersey they'll have to move," he said. "No new hires either but they will still promote to supervisor from within. I think I should offer my notice. When the Avengers start up I can focus on that, with volunteer work during my downtime."

"Are you good with that?" she asked softly.

"Yeah, I'm good with that," replied Bucky, kissing her. "I think it was meant to happen this way. I'll only be torn between home and the Avengers, not a regular day job as well."

He was grinning when he said that, proving that he really was good with it. She ran her hands through his hair and kissed him back. When the doorbell rang, she hopped off and opened it, greeting Rhodey as he entered with an overnight bag.

"Buck, my travelling case for the suit is in the trunk of the rental car," he said. "Would you mind?"

"No problem," said Bucky, heading out the door and bringing the bulky case in. He gave Rhodey a wicked grin. "I'll put it downstairs next to your sleeping accommodations."

"Don't get snarky with your boss," said Rhodes with a gleam in his eye.

He stepped further in and entered the kitchen giving Rebecca a kiss on the cheek and Janice a hug and a kiss. Tracey watched them with interest as her mother hadn't said much about her relationship with Rhodes but if they were sharing the bed downstairs then it obviously had progressed. Not that it mattered to Tracey. For all the years that her mother had put up with her father's abuse Tracey was happy that someone made her mom feel good about herself.

During dinner Bucky tried to get Rhodes to reveal what the news was but the man wouldn't bite, saying he wanted to tell everyone in North America at one time.

"So, does that mean everyone overseas already knows?" asked Bucky, pulling his phone out.

"Don't bother them," replied Rhodes. "They wouldn't appreciate it. You'll know soon enough." He looked at his watch. "Another hour. Keep your curiosity to yourself for one more hour."

After a dessert of apple pie and ice cream Bucky started picking up the plates to put them away in the dishwasher while Tracey began putting leftovers in the fridge. She ran some water in the sink for the things that wouldn't fit and washed them while Bucky dried. Once everything was put away Rhodes pulled his laptop onto the living room coffee table. He set up a group video chat and waited for everyone to check in.

"Sit next to me," he said to Bucky. "You're going to see some new people on this chat as we extended an invitation to the enhanced humans that Ross and Fontaine abducted. A few have bowed out, not wanting to be tied to any organization. That's their right. We won't force them, but they have been advised that if they provide their services independently it should be for legitimate work only."

Peter, Kate, Joaquin, Sam, and Yelena Belova all connected. Shortly after Bruce, Clint, Scott, Hope, and Shaun also joined the chat. Finally, the President and Secretary General of the UN also connected. Bucky looked at Rhodes who grinned.

"It looks like we're all here," he said. "I held a session this morning with Princess Shuri of Wakanda, Thor and King Valkyrie of New Asgard, Alexei Shostakov, Melina Vostokoff and Antonia Dreykov who have all agreed to be part of the Avengers when it is feasibly possible for them. At this time the other enhanced humans that were abducted by Ross have declined the invitation but are aware that any services they provide must be to legitimate parties only. If they are found to be involved in an illegal activity they will be subject to being taken into custody by us. Which leads to the next part of this announcement. Secretary General Uboku, I give the floor to you."

The African diplomat bowed his head. "Thank you, Colonel Rhodes. It is my pleasure to announce that the Avengers will be resurrected as a rapid response team under United Nations sponsorship. What this means is that funding for the organization will come from all member countries. The Sokovia Accords that were negotiated under the leadership of Thaddeus Ross have been officially repealed. They will be replaced by a new agreement that will leave the acceptance and organization of missions to the Avengers themselves. Responsibility for damages caused by their actions in dealing with insurgents, terrorists, and any other entity causing disruption will be charged to those entities whose illegal activities prompted the intervention in the first place. To that event a new internationally binding law has been passed at the United Nations this morning that allows member countries to seize the assets of those entities. In other words, if they break it, they buy it. Mr. President, if you would continue with your portion of this meeting."

"Thank you Mr. Secretary General," said the President. "May I ask, Sergeant Barnes, if your sister is present?"

"Yes sir, she is," said Bucky, as Rhodes changed the angle of the laptop so that she was visible. "Mr. President, may I present my sister, Rebecca Barnes Proctor."

"Mr. President," nodded Rebecca.

"It is a pleasure to meet you onscreen," he replied. "I hope some day you will be able to come to the White House. Your determination to make sure your brother was treated with dignity and respect alerted me to something very wrong in Washington, in fact our whole country. For so many years we were under the impression that Thaddeus Ross was protecting American interests in a manner that was consistent with our ideals. Your phone call to me that one day showed me a side of the man I trusted for so long that was disturbing and alarming. Among the discoveries we made as we launched an investigation was his involvement with the head of HYDRA, Alexander Pierce, specifically in his collusion with him in the continued imprisonment and torture of your brother Sergeant James Barnes. This was in addition to his responsibility for the super soldier serum project undertaken by Dr. Bruce Banner, who also deserves an apology for how he was used, abused, and hunted as a criminal when he attempted to withdraw his cooperation. Dr. Banner, I am pleased to see you as part of this meeting tonight and hope you are able to continue with your research studies that have already benefitted the world. I am sorry for the lack of oversight which allowed Thaddeus Ross to threaten your existence as a private citizen. It will never be repeated. To ensure the rights of all enhanced humans a 28th amendment will be proposed that will enshrine their rights to be free of coercion, expectation of service, or discrimination. We invite several of you to be participants in the creation of this amendment, ensuring your rights as full citizens. The final part of my announcement is to assure you that while we will have a base of operations that you may call your headquarters, it will not require you to live on site, except by your choice. Colonel Rhodes has convinced us that with the cooperation of the Masters of the Mystic Arts you will have access to portals that can bring all of you together in one spot in a matter of moments. Considering how quickly you mobilized to deal with Thaddeus Ross and Val de Fontaine's task force it is our belief that you be given the freedom to live as you see fit. Tomorrow, on Christmas Day, both Secretary General Uboku and myself will formally announce the resurrection of the Avengers as a rapid response team that will respond to threats to humanity, including safeguarding the sovereignty of all countries, no matter if they are members of the United Nations or not. On a personal note, thank you to those of you who mobilized against Ross and his hired thugs. All of them, with the exception of John Walker, who was turned without his consent, are currently residents of the Raft. They will face trial by video conferencing. Ross, as an active member of the military has already faced court martial, has been found guilty, sentenced to life imprisonment, and stripped of his rank and all benefits. He is now persona non grata, unwelcome to join our society. I am willing to answer any questions if any of you have any."

"Excuse me sir," said Peter hesitantly. "I'm Peter Parker."

"Spider-Man," said the President. "I'm aware of you, young man, having been read into your situation. How go your studies?"

"F-fine sir, thank you," stammered Peter. "I'm just curious. Will we be paid?"

Both the President and the Secretary General smiled. "Yes, you will," said the President. "We can't expect you to put your life on the line for free now, can we? You will be paid a retainer of $6000 per month, plus a daily rate of $500 per day when you are on mission. Those rates will be revisited on a yearly basis. You will receive full medical benefits, plus have full life insurance and pension payments made on your behalf. You will still have to pay taxes but we have created a special tax rate for you which will be very advantageous. We want you to feel appreciated for what you do. Goodness knows you have done so much already without expectation."

There were no more questions and the President and Secretary General signed off. After their images disappeared Rhodes was peppered with questions but he put his hands up in surrender.

"I know you have all sorts of questions," he said. "I don't have all the answers yet as some details still need to be worked out. Suffice it to say we're back in business. I'll be in command. I want Sam and Bucky in leadership positions." Bucky started to protest but Rhodes smiled. "Don't underestimate your abilities Buck. Nearly everyone on here will follow you, me included. Your analytical abilities are among the best I've ever seen." Everyone else on screen nodded their heads or said they agreed. "So, tonight and for the next week, enjoy time with your friends and families. In the new year we will get down to business and begin to build the Avengers back to what they were always meant to be: a group of remarkable individuals brought together to face extraordinary threats. Merry Christmas everyone."

Rhodes closed his laptop and leaned back, smiling.

"What happened to me going to Washington with you?" asked Bucky.

"Wasn't needed," said Rhodes. "When I told the President that we couldn't do this right if we were forced to operate under US military control and forced to live on a military base he contacted the United Nations and presented the case that we would be better as an independent organization with rapid response capability. Turns out the world was watching when Ross made his play. They were not happy with the influence that corporate interests had on political matters. If it could happen to Wakanda, whose technology and defences are superior then any one of those member countries were also at risk. We weren't beholden to a country, military or corporate interest. We were there, standing up to Ross, because it was the right thing to do. Plain and simple."

That evening was a happy one for everyone in the Proctor / Barnes house. There was music, some dancing, and lots of talking. When Rebecca went to bed Bucky started reading The Box of Delights to her. It was another book from her childhood, a much longer one that would take all of the Christmas week to read. Still in print, it brought good memories for the brother and sister. After Bucky kissed her goodnight and turned off the light Tracey put on a Nat King Cole Christmas album. She drank hot chocolate while the other three finished the apple cider, boosted by a little bit of whiskey. It was a Christmas Eve like nothing she or her mother Janice had ever experienced with her father. It was mellow, quiet, and something that was repeated many times over the years.

Chapter 25>>

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Interview with Chris Keyser, co-chair of the WGA’s negotiating committee, on 100 days of the strike

'Chris Keyser, the co-chair of the Writers Guild of America’s negotiating committee, doesn’t see the 100-day marker of the ongoing strike as a moment to celebrate. In fact, Keyser has a few choice words for the Hollywood studios and streamers who comprise the Alliance of Motion Picture and Television Producers, calling the anniversary of the work stoppage “shameful” and “a day of infamy.”

In an interview posting Friday as part of The Hollywood Reporter’s TV’s Top 5 podcast, Keyser talks about the stalled state of negotiations with the AMPTP, why companies boasting about cash savings during the work stoppage is a “smokescreen” and his thoughts on what it will take to get both sides back to the negotiating table.

Below is an edited and condensed version of the TV’s Top 5 interview with hosts Lesley Goldberg and Daniel Fienberg. You can listen to the full conversation when episode 226 posts on Friday morning. (Subscribe here.)

Walk us through what happened with the Aug. 4 talks where both sides reunited to see if there was a path forward to resume negotiations.

Keyser: It didn’t go perfectly well, obviously. The conversation turned on Carol [Lombardini, president of the AMPTP] saying, “We’re going to talk about some things” and Ellen [Stutzman, chief negotiator of the WGA] saying, “You’re going to need to talk about everything.” And Carol saying, “I need to get back to you and talk to my member companies.” We’re waiting to hear. So, a stutter step but not really worth worrying too much about in the long run. [After the meeting THR reached out to the AMPTP, which did not comment.]

How was the temperature of the room when you walked in versus when you walked out?

Keyser: Things are cordial with the AMPTP. People are not yelling at each other. Everything is very professional; coldly professional, probably. The coldness is metaphorical. But no one needs to worry about that. The WGA is not particularly interested in playing games. Talking is the only way forward. There’s a sense somehow that you label something 100 days like it’s some kind of celebration. It’s an anniversary of shame for the AMPTP, let’s be clear about that. There was that early comment in the press about trying to starve us, and then they walked that back. But of course they are. We can make a TV show in 100 days; they can’t seem to get back into the negotiating room and have one substantive conversation. It’s a day of infamy for the AMPTP. It’s shameful. Either they cannot get it together or they intentionally are not getting it together. Or the AMPTP is doing precisely what they claimed they wouldn’t do, which was to try to create a situation in which people who are hungry and desperate no longer have the will to fight for their own survival. That’s not going to work.

Do you have an idea of when talks are going to resume?

Keyser: I don’t know. It’s impossible to get inside their heads. They could be negotiating among themselves about what they’re willing to offer. They could be delaying for the sake of delaying. At some point, I almost don’t believe that anymore. There’s a difference between the companies and the AMPTP itself. There were reports that said Carol didn’t want to meet last Friday. I don’t know if that’s true or not. You can never quite tell [what’s going on] behind that curtain. All the chatter you’ve been hearing from the companies — all of the reports of outreach — that’s because the companies have come to understand that this is no longer a tenable strategy and Wall Street’s repeating it: “We don’t understand what the companies are doing.” “This no longer makes sense.” “They can’t work without product.” It’s an inevitability that companies that make TV and film have to go back to making TV and film — with an asterisk that who knows what Amazon and Apple are up to because they could never make another program and it wouldn’t affect their bottom line. That’s part of the problem with the industry: It has players in it for whom the thing that we all love and value is an asterisk.

One of the things that you’ve been talking about is the possibility that the individual members of the AMPTP do not necessarily have the same agenda and that at some point they could splinter. As we are at 100 days, from your perspective, does that seem more or less likely?

Keyser: It’s hard not to look at the situation and see the differing interests of the companies and the ways in which this strike affects them differently means that at some point, they may need to assert their own interests rather than the interest of the group. I’m not surprised that no one has broken off yet because the AMPTP process has been highly effective for them in putting downward pressure on labor. So, in some sense, I think it needs another step for that to happen. I can easily imagine that Carol would say, “You have to give me a chance to go back in and negotiate.” She’s going to have her chance. It does not entirely make sense for Warner [Bros. Discovery] to tie its future to Apple’s point of view about the industry if Apple is intransigent. Apple [for example] would be fine, and Warner would disappear.

There was a sense of optimism, going into Friday’s meeting, from guild membership that seems to now have evaporated. How important is it for both sides to be at the table talking?

Keyser: There’s always optimism because you can’t be in a struggle for 100 days and not say, “There’s a tiny light at the end of the tunnel.” I just don’t know how long the tunnel is. We put out an email to the membership the Thursday before reminding them that of the AMPTP “playbook.” I use that term meaningfully because they do tend to go back to the same strategy over and over again — not to come right back in and say, “OK, what do you need? Let’s make a really good deal” — but to see how little they can give us. In 2007-08, they did it and talks led to breaking off. Even if we get back into a room, I don’t put it past them to continue to say, “We’ll give you a little bit.”

The AMPTP’s line is the DGA pattern and then a few other things. That’s the same way they negotiated a non-conflict negotiation. That’s what they did in 2020, during COVID. But they’ve got two guilds — 170,000 people — out on strike. You can’t just use the same line over and over again and expect it to apply to every single situation. At some point, that becomes useless obstinacy. We’re going to talk at some point because the companies can’t afford not to.

When you hear concretely that the DGA deal is going to be what they’re offering, how do you respond?

Keyser: The DGA deal was never going to be a meaningful pattern for us. There are pieces of this — like success-based residuals — that the DGA felt like it didn’t need and we feel that we do. The DGA doesn’t get to make our deal. The DGA made the deal that it needed to make. But the companies can’t use that deal as our settlement, because 170,000 people are on strike telling them that that’s not going to be sufficient and it doesn’t allow us to survive in this industry.

Companies are caught between a Wall Street regime that requires certain things of them that are hard in the middle of transition — free cash flow and growth — and the ability to deal with the fact that practices that they have adopted over the last decade have driven their workforce closer to being unable to survive. They have to figure out a way to compensate their workforce fairly, even as they have that sound in their ears saying, “Wall Street wants profitability,” “Wall Street doesn’t want to spend money.” They’re going to have to get through that, because not having us working only hurts them in the long run. It only diminishes their power in the business. It’s disruptive. They don’t even have to listen to me; they can listen to all of these Wall Street analysts.

The 2007-08 strike lasted 100 days, with negotiations resuming after 21 days. What is your expectation for how long the writers strike will go on?

Keyser: There’s no way for me to know that. Once they get into a room and they’re open to having real conversations, you do go very fast. Real negotiations don’t take very long. It’s really a question of how long it’s going to take the companies to say, “We understand that we have no choice but to sit down and have a real conversation.” I can’t determine that. When the broadcast season begins to evaporate, when Sony moves all of its movies from 2023 to 2024, when you look ahead to next year and you say, “What is Warner going to program on HBO once they get through this?” How do they manage that, month after month after month? They’re going to make a deal with us. That deal is going to be some version of what we’re looking for. If they keep us longer, that price doesn’t go down. All that’s going on now is they’re compounding their losses.

Taylor Sheridan is one of the most successful working TV writers in this moment. He told THR in a cover story this summer that he didn’t support the minimum room size, which is one of the WGA’s core issues. Others have echoed those sentiments, including John Ridley. What do you make of their comments?

Keyser: I’m not going to emphasize any one of our areas of negotiation because we had five or so, broadly speaking, areas that we need to make progress on and to make sure that writing is sustainable. One of them is the dismantling of the writers room process, and part of the solution to that is to make sure that writers are hired. We’re committed to that. We have 11,500 members. I don’t worry if somebody disagrees. Taylor Sheridan makes a lot of TV shows, and he’s good at doing that. But he’s still just one voice. And John Ridley can do the same. That’s fine. I think they’re wrong. I don’t negotiate with Taylor Sheridan. He doesn’t determine our bargaining. Whatever he wants to say, he can say.

What concessions might the WGA make in order to get back to the table?

Keyser: It’s a valid question, but it’s not a question you could possibly expect a negotiator to have with you. We have said to the companies that the solutions to these problems that we face can be negotiable. If they have an idea of what formula they want to apply to success-based residuals, they should feel free to suggest one. What we want to negotiate is the solutions, not the existence of the problems themselves. We’re not going to walk out of this negotiation with a company saying, “There are like five different ways for you to die, you can be saved three of those ways and then we’ll kill you the other two.” That’s not going to happen. All of [the issues] have to be dealt with; they can be dealt with in other ways that we have proposed or there may be variations inside that, although I don’t want to promise that every one of them is infinitely flexible. For example, we’ve got to be really careful about the language on AI to make sure that AI does not have the power to replace writers.

Has the WGA considered asking fans — or even members — to boycott streamers?

Keyser: We’re not in the business of running nationwide boycotts. But if fans feel like doing that, fans should take that on. I think the fans, without coordination, will begin to do that. All of these companies know that churn is a big problem and as their original offerings become sparser and sparser, people are going to say, “Why am I spending all this money?”

SAG-AFTRA has drawn the ire from both performers and writers for its willingness to grant waivers during its strike. I’m hearing that the WGA would oppose waivers. But if someone came to the WGA and agreed to such things as room minimums, health insurance for any length of a mini-room, and as well as acceptable AI language, would the WGA grant that network or studio or streamer a waiver?

Keyser: We’re not granting waivers. We will if a meaningful player comes and wants to make a full deal with us. That changes the complexion of this negotiation. We’re open to making that deal. But we’re not granting waivers. We did that in 2007-08 and it wasn’t advantageous; it led to complications. That is not a commentary on SAG and I’m not going to comment on their official policy.

Warner Bros. Discovery and Paramount revealed in earnings reports that they’re saving money by being media companies that aren’t actually producing media right now. Why do you think that’s a message that they’re putting out?

Keyser: It’s a smokescreen; it has nothing to do with the way things are going to work going forward. I think we really need to be concerned as a country about when Amazon and Apple have their quarterly earnings calls and don’t even mention entertainment because the results don’t matter. So, if the argument is, “We can take control over and decimate the entertainment business because it’s irrelevant to us,” that’s a real problem for writers, actors and directors, but also a problem for the public. Having said that, Warner, Disney, Sony, Comcast, Paramount and Netflix need to create product. And a pile of money on their shelves without anything for people to watch next year is only going to come back to haunt them. And they know. But I don’t think any Wall Street analyst is fooled by the short-term vision that says, “Look at us, we didn’t spend anything, we didn’t make anything. We’re rich.”

We’ve heard of back-channeling going on, and there’s been a lot written about who could be the white knight — the Lew Wasserman of this era — with suggestions ranging from everyone from Peter Chernin to Ari Emanuel to Nancy Tellem and Mark Pedowitz, as well as political folks like Gavin Newsom or Karen Bass. Who has the potential to do so and who do you trust?

Keyser: We don’t need a mediator. That’s an old wives’ tale that you need somebody to come in and have a conversation. We’re perfectly OK. Talking about whether the companies need a mediator internally is an entirely different question. I appreciate everyone who wants to help. But what’s necessary here is for the companies to get it together and be ready to talk about the issues on the table. They know where to reach us.

What is your message on day 100 of the strike to the AMPTP and to writers?

Keyser: My message to the companies is we are your allies. We are your asset, we are the way in which you create value. And we are here and ready to have a conversation about how that’s going to happen where we share enough of that value that’s fair and allows us to survive in the business as we have over the past half century. It’s good for you, and it’s good for us. So, we need to get past the rhetoric, and we need to get into a room and talk.

As writers, the real job now is to fight through the fear and the uncertainty and the tendency to think, “How can we end this without getting exactly what we need?” Hold firm and remember why we got here in the first place. With SAG by our side, we’re more powerful than ever. There will be no path forward for writers or for actors who do not say, “Enough.” There is no mercy here; there is only a revolution that comes out of our power. And that’s what we intend to achieve.'

#chris keyser #amptp #wga strong #union solidarity #i stand with the wga #long post #wga strike #writers strike

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