#that has spoken dialogue just makes my skin crawl

[wright-phoenix]

[sees a friend and two semi-friends/friends by proxy hang out in a discord voice chat that i have access to and could join anytime] dang... that looks like fun...

[moonsdancer]

There are so many good ones but any of 2, 5 and 11 for the fic rec meme?

Oh, thank you!

2. What is your favorite snippet of dialogue?

I'm highkey ambivalent about my dialogue skills. But I quite like this moment from my timebomb fic when they're discussing a childhood friend who died from a shimmer overdose. I like the off kilter simplicity of it, the insight into Jinx whim we see entirely from Ekko's pov:

"Anyway, I found her with a spoon and a lighter, slumped in the lot outside of her parents’ rental, drowned in her own vomit.”

[....]

Her parents, when he’d spoken to them, said they hadn’t even heard from her in months.

Ekko’d spent all night painting the small, brown hands and the cheerful smile he remembered from his childhood and a goldfish leaping in the air on the mural.

Jinx doesn’t say anything for a beat or two, just stays where she is in the pool of shadows at the edge of his rooftop.

“Do you think it hurt?” she asks, a curious tilt of her head.

“What?”

“Drowning in her own puke.” It’s said with an almost mechanical indifference that makes his skin crawl.

He half-shouts, “I don’t know, Jinx. What do you think?”

“I think maybe it was quiet and kind of a relief. Must be nice for things to be—quiet sometimes.”

5. What’s your favorite headcanon you use in fics?

I think that Mel is actually actually an incredibly skilled killer. That she truly does know war, that there's a lot more blood on her hands than we know since Noxians clearly have no issues with child soldiers, and that she’s essentially a weapon. And this plays into how meticulously she constructs herself in Piltover, from her clothing to how she carries herself, everything is partly performance and partly her embodying her truest self in the only ways she knows how.

11. What’s a fanfic idea you haven’t done yet?

I have this rough arcane dual time fic idea that takes place a couple hundred years in the future, with a Medarda descendent discovering Mel’s lost paintings and fragments of letters to and from an unnamed lover, kicking off the uncovering of her family’s secret history.

I wont go into too much because I'm still trying to untangle the idea but suffice to say, this descendant has an uncanny resemblance to old paintings of one of the city’s long dead heroes, Jayce Talis. But as far as anyone knows and the historical record states: Mel Medarda never married, had no relation to Talis beyond being his patron at some point and all anyone reads about her only issue (a twin son and daughter) is that she left Piltover for a sojourn to Noxus with the majority of the Medarda forces during the wars and returned a few years later with two toddlers in tow as the unquestioned Medarda matriarch.

Anyway, it would involve epistolary elements (the letters, some historical documents etc.), some snippets of the past and the unraveling mystery in the present. If I ever manage to write it.

[backtobackbakubabe]

Speak Easy Part 6

Bakugo x Reader, Dabi x Reader

Words : 4954

Masterlist

Reader has a siren quirk and has spent the past several years of her life as a captive being experimented on by “heroes” Now that she’s out she needs protection and safe place to heal. Who will be the one to put her pieces back together?

Words with ‘this’ is dialogue written in her journal rather than said out loud and and words with ~this~ is dialogue said in sign language rather than out loud.

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

You had attempted to rush off to your room, but you hardly made it back into the house before your knees gave out. It wasn’t even because your legs were tired. If that were the case, you would have gladly crawled just to get away from him. No, you fell because your head was spinning.

You couldn’t seem to catch your breath as the world spun around you. You curled up on your side and let the tears silently stream down your cheeks. You didn’t know how to make it stop because you didn’t even know what was happening. Were you having another panic attack? Was it a side effect of drowning? Was this what it felt like to break Cogernot’s quirk?

Regardless you did as Dabi taught you. You closed your eyes, you took as deep of breaths as you could manage, and you counted.

You heard him step into the house and you could feel the heat radiating off of him as he sat next to you. He made no attempts to touch you or say anything. Which was probably for the best because you could feel yourself on the verge of a mental break.

This was going to be the thing that pushed you over the edge. The whole time you’ve been here you’ve kept your shit together. In all fairness it was mostly due to Dabi’s strict routine. He didn’t give you time to wallow of feel sorry for yourself. From day one he focused on your recovery. But it wasn’t until now that you realized you never talked to him about what happened to you. It was almost as if he thought if the two of you didn’t talk about it, you would just somehow magically forget it ever happened. You bottled it up and pushed it away, but it was still there. Threatening to explode all over the progress you had made. Today just might be the day.

“I know you want nothing to do with me right now… but –“

Your eyes shot open to see him reaching a hand out to you. You smacked it away. ~Don’t touch~

Dabi visibly flinched. Why had you just signed at him? Had he not just broken you free of that shitty quirk? Had he failed? Was this all for nothing? He almost started to panic himself but then he remembered you HAD spoken. Even if your words dripped with hatred and your eyes cut him to the bone. You spoke… out loud…

He desperately wanted to pull you into his lap. To calm you down. To praise you and comfort you. But he knows he can’t. He’s lost that privilege. You don’t even need him anymore. You’re starting to walk just fine on your own now. You don’t need him… and he was the one who helped you get there.

The thought upset him more than it should have. He didn’t even want you here to begin with. How had you managed to crawl under his skin so much? You had wormed your way into his life and now every thought was consumed by you. Taking care of you, feeding you, making you strong again.

You slowly stood up and gave him one last glare before storming off to your room. Well in your head you stormed off, but in reality, it was more like a drunken wobble. You were still soaked to the bone and you were starting to shiver. You had made a puddle on the kitchen floor where you had been lying, and because that was just the kind of day you were having you slipped right through it.

Dabi was on his feet and hovering behind you. His hand gripped your elbow to steady you. You activated your quirk and let him feel the rage bubbling inside you. You wanted him to know how angry you were, how hurt and betrayed you felt. At first he gripped you tighter, but eventually your emotions overwhelmed him and he had to let go, just so he didn’t have to feel them anymore.

You ripped your arm away the second he dropped it and continued towards your room. You threw the door open and slammed it behind you. You slumped to the floor and did something you had needed to do for weeks now. You screamed. You let all of it out. Your anger, your fear, your heartache. You screamed until your throat was raw and your head pounded.

When you were done you took a deep breath, picked your head up, and let the numb wash over you. You stripped out of your wet clothes and hoped into a warm shower. The whole time the only thought in your head was ‘Why?’

The next few hours passed in a blur. You managed to get out of the shower and get into bed, but you couldn’t sleep. Your adrenaline was pumping. You couldn’t convince your body you were safe enough to sleep. It remained in fight or flight. You sat there in silence hugging the pillow to your chest.

It was so quiet that the creek of the floorboards outside you room made you jump. “Y/n… I know you’re mad at me… but you still need to eat something.” You heard him shuffle around a bit. “I’ll just leave it out here by the door. I’ll be in my room….”

You didn’t move from your spot on the bed until you heard his door close across the hall. Part of you knew that you needed to eat. But a larger part of you just… couldn’t. You didn’t understand. The food was right there, you just needed to open the door. But for some reason you just couldn’t make yourself do it. So instead you rolled over and pulled out your journal.

There was something ironic about you didn’t really need it anymore, yet now was the time you were most desperate to write in it. So you did. You poured your thoughts out page after page. Everything you wanted to say to Dabi, everything you wanted to say to Katsuki, to Izuku, to Todoroki and Kirishima. You started writing down memories of what had happened to you, in as much gory detail as you could remember. You wrote and you wrote and hours passed as you hunched over your notebook just looking for the right words to take the pain away. What would it take? What did you need to do to make yourself feel better?

It wasn’t until there was a soft knock on the door that you realized how deep into it you were. “Y/n… Be mad at me all you want, but don’t take it out on yourself. You need to eat something. Please. I made lunch. I’ll leave it here.” You heard the scraping of a plate being put on the floor outside your room.

How was that man capable of being such a monster, and yet so soft? He literally tried to kill you and now here he is worrying over you because you’re not hungry? Funny how dying tends to fuck with a person’s appetite.

You began to really think about Dabi. His motivation in all of this, what did he gain from helping you? Was he just doing his little brother a favor? Sometimes he treated you like his bratty little sister, and then there were nights like last night… You felt your face heat at the memory of you riding his thigh. It had felt so right at the time, but now it makes your stomach twist.

“Y/N! Can you at least say something, so I know that you’re fucking alive?”

The audacity of this fucking man. He wants to make sure you’re alive… after he almost killed you….

You picked up a cup that had been sitting on your nightstand and threw it at the door. It shattered on impact and it had felt to fucking good. There, that should be enough confirmation for him.

“GOD DAMNIT! ENOUGH Y/N! I’ve let you have your pity party. I don’t care if you’re mad at me. I don’t care if you want to throw a fucking tantrum. But you WILL eat something. This is getting fucking ridiculous.”

You picked up the lamp and threw that next. It was sturdier than the cup had been, so it wasn’t as satisfying but it got your point across none the less.

“Y/n… open the door please. We can talk about this.”

He had to have known your door wasn’t locked. It was one of the laws. It was one of your laws. Yet he made no attempt to open it. He remained on the other side with your uneaten food.

“Well if that’s how you want to be then fine. I guess I’ll just have to sit here and talk to the door then.” You heard him slide down the door as he sat down, leaning against it. “I’m sorry. I fucked up. I need you to know that. I need you to know that I realize how fucked up what I did was. I don’t want to make excuses, but I do want to explain. And I want to do it when you can look me in the eye, so you know I’m not lying.”

Again, he was met with radio silence. He sat there for a long time. Finally, after what felt like hours he stood up, “I guess I’ll go start dinner then…”

You looked at the clock on the wall and was surprised to see how late it was. Usually around this time you’d be finishing up with the pool, you cringed. Yeah safe to safe you won’t be getting back in, probably ever.

Dabi forced himself to leave your door, carrying your second uneaten meal of the day with him. He woke up his laptop and started up the video for today’s lesson for sign language. He watched it as he cooked, but he didn’t absorb anything. He was too focused on trying to find a way to fix this.

His hands kept clenching and unclenching. He knew what he needed to do. But it was going to suck. If it would get you to eat though then he didn’t care.

He wasn’t an idiot. He knew you wouldn’t die from not eating for a day. He was more worried about the psychological part of it. When he got out of the league, he had started messing around this hot shrink. She had a real savior complex, but the one thing she got right about him was his need for control. After being abused for so long he had to have control over every situation. Which sometimes when he really felt helpless included his eating habits. When everything else felt out of control, at least he could control that. At least he could decide when and if he ate. He was nervous you were pulling the same shit. He didn’t want to see you waste away because you were desperate for something you could control.

He’d swallow his pride. He’d do this for you.

A knock on the door had you groaning.

“Hey dork. It’s me. Dabi called and said you weren’t feeling well. I made some spicy ramen with pork… You gonna let me in before it gets cold?”

You jumped to your feet and ran to the door. You cracked it open at first to make sure it really was Katsuki and that he was alone.

He smirked at you through the small gap, “Don’t worry he’s not with me, now let me in before I kick the door down.”

He opened it enough for Katsuki to enter and then quickly shut it again. He waited and followed you over to you bed and took a seat at the foot of it. “So, Scarface was a little vague on the details, but he said you were mad at him and refusing to eat.” He placed the warm bowl of ramen into your hands, “Want to talk about it?”

Your stomach started to rumble at the familiar smell of Katsuki’s cooking. You couldn’t deny yourself any longer. You took a huge bite and almost moaned at how good it tasted. You quickly took a few more bites before wiping you mouth on your sleeve and sighing. You needed to talk about it, but was Katsuki really the best option for that? The chances of him blowing up the house was pretty high.

You reached a hand out and put in on top of his and released a calming feeling. “Uh oh…must be bad you’re already trying to calm me down.”

You gave him a halfhearted smile, “Uh… well…” The sound of your own voice made your skin crawl. It sounded wrong, even though you were pretty sure that’s how it always sounded. It made you pause for a moment to collect yourself.

In that brief pause Katauki’s eyes almost bugged out of his head, “Wait a fuckin minute! You’re talking again? Since when? Holy shit!” You could feel his excitement bubbling up along with pride and admiration. It was sweet, and it gave you the boost you needed to keep going.

You played with a strand of your hair, “Since…. Now…. I guess.” You averted your eyes embarrassed, “Or well… since I… well I kind of drowned… briefly.” You looked back up and saw fire behind Katsuki’s eyes and anger was coming off of him in waves.

“And where was Dabi when this happened?”

You knew you were practically signing Dabi’s death certificate but telling Katsuki this, but you weren’t going to cover for him either. “He was there….”

Katsuki’s fist clenched, “Don’t tell me the bastard watched you almost die and didn’t help you.” You bit your lip. “Y/n… what are you not telling me?”

You put both hands on him now desperately trying to overwhelm him with calm emotions. “He was the one who held me under…”

His hands tore away from yours as they crackled with a very real threat of explosions. He stood and stomped towards your door, not even bothering to ask you to elaborate. You knew you needed to stop him, there was no scenario where this ended well for anyone. “Katsuki stop.” He ignored you as he reached for the door. “Katsuki… please.”

He froze with his hand hovering over the doorknob. His voice was dark and oddly low,“Y/n… there is nothing you could possibly say to me right now that would change my mind about killing the mother fucker.”

You couldn’t believe you were actually about to defend Dabi, but it wouldn’t be fair if you didn’t at least tell Katsuki the whole story. “Even I told you he did so I could talk again?”

He turned to look at you and signed as he spoke, “I still don’t care! You were learning sign… you were communicating just fine.” He threw his hands up in exasperation, “Why was him drowning you even fucking necessary?”

Katsuki was starting to take that familiar condescending tone with you and you honestly were not in the mood for it. He had done this a million times growing up. He’d make up his mind about something and make you feel dumb until you agreed with him. “Look I’m not saying that what he did was right. I’m not saying I’m not furious with him. Me not speaking was because of some guys quirk.” You stood and made your way over to Katsuki and began pushing him away from the door. “Dabi knew the guy and said if my brain thought I was dying it would somehow reverse the quirks affects.”

He stopped walking and it was like pushing against a brick wall. “You could have fucking died y/n!”

“Do you think I DON’T KNOW THAT?” You pushed on him again, “Do you think I’ve just been sitting here all day twiddling my thumbs? Today has been fucking awful! I don’t need you to talk sense into me. I don’t need you to kick the shit out of Dabi. What I need if for you to just sit down with me, and just- just let me be. I don’t know!” You gave him one final hard shove which lead to him sitting back at the end of your bed.

His eyes were a mixture of sadness and hurt. “I’m not trying to make this harder on you, I promise. But he put your life at risk and that’s not just something I can just be okay with.” His hands reached up and cupped your cheeks and brushed away a tear you hadn’t even realized was there. “I don’t know if you’ve realized this yet, but I would kind of prefer you to stay alive… you aren’t allowed to die before me. Especially at the hands of some ugly sociopath.”

You leaned into his touch, “Please, for me. Just let it go for now. Let this be between me and Dabi. Be mad all you want, believe me I’m pissed, but you don’t need to get involved. I’m a big girl. I can handle myself.”

He pulled you towards him and moved one hand to cradle the back of your head and pulled you into his arms. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Only because you said please. But I hope you know this means I’m coming to check on you more often now.” His fingers carded through your hair. “Actually… if you’re not comfortable here anymore… You could always come stay with me.”

“I thought that was too dangerous, what with heroes and villains alike apparently looking for me.”

He chuckled, “I’d love to see someone try. They’d have to go through me.”

“Yeah, but you can’t always be around… you have a job to do. An important one.”

He gave a sad sigh as his grip on you loosened enough for you to pull back and look at him, “Yeah… I do.” There were a few tense moments when your eyes connected, and you could see the way his eyes drifted to your lips as he licked his own. Ever so slightly he started leaning in closer to you.

Your breath hitched in your chest, as your brain went a mile a minute. Sure, you always had a feeling things might end up this way between you and Katsuki. There was a time when you went to bed every night fantasizing about the moment he would finally break down and admit he liked you. You had known him since you were children and there was always this feeling that if ever given the opportunity the two of you would end up together. But, for some reason it felt… off.

You leaned your forehead against his. “I don’t think right now is the best time for this.” You watched his eyes close as he tried to school his emotions. “It’s not that I don’t want to, because believe me I’ve thought about it. But right now, my life is in shambles. It’s not your job to fix me. That’s my job. And I need you to let me do it. Okay? I need you to let me do this on my own.”

He groaned but nodded as he pulled his head away from yours. “I don’t like it, but I get that I have to respect it.” His thumb rubbed soothing circles on your thigh. “I don’t want you to have to do this alone. I’ve always… Fuck.” His cheeks tinted the lightest shade of red. “I can’t stand to watch you struggle. It sucks knowing you’re out here stuck with him, dealing with so much shit that you should never have to deal with.” He hung his head low, “I just wish I could fight your demons for you. I wish I could lock you away and keep you safe from all the evil of this world.”

You pulled his chin up to make him look at you. “Katsuki you have always been there for me. There hasn’t been many problems in my life that I haven’t solved leaning on you for help.” You saw a glimmer of pride in his eyes. “But this isn’t something you can punch away. It isn’t something you can yell at until it stops hurting. I have to do this on my own.”

Tension was thick in the air. You knew there was so much he wanted to say. You could tell he was ready to fight you on this. But he surprised you by nodding and untangling himself from you. “I need to get going. I have a lot of work to do.” You could see the subtle sting of rejection in his eyes but he quickly covered it with his trademark smirk. “You say you don’t want my help but I’m going to anyway. I’ll help by locking up every single shithead that anything to do with your kidnapping.” He stood up and gave you one more, quick hug. “And that’s a fucking promise.”

You followed him as he left your room, intent on walking him to the door. You wanted to make sure he actually left instead of picking a fight with Dabi. But luck never had been on your side. You exited the main hallway and Dabi was sitting in his normal recliner. He looked up eyes cold as they landed on Katsuki, much softer when they found yours. You tried to give Katsuki a push in the direction of the door, but he stopped dead in his tracks.

“Oi! When I gave you the fucking list of things to do to help her with her period, I don’t remember drowning her being on it!”

Dabi’s eyes returned to Katsuki’s agitated one and for a while you thought he wasn’t going to answer. “Did you get her to eat something?”

“Don’t avoid the subject. You’re fucking lucky she begged me not to hurt you. Otherwise your ass would be dead.”

You something like surprise flash in Dabi’s expression. “Bold of you to assume that I am the lucky one here. It seems to me she was just trying to protect her little pet Pomeranian from getting hurt.” He grinned at the way Katsuki’s hands popped in anger. “But thank you for getting her to eat. She had me worried.”Bakugo lunged at him but you quickly stepped in the way and put a hand on his chest. You looked him in the eyes shaking your head and have him a shove towards the door.

Dabi could feel his stomach sink at the fact that the only words he had heard you say was “fuck you” He knew you had been in your room chatting away with man boobs and it stressed him out. Even now you refused to speak in his presence, and it killed him. He was the reason you could speak again and yet you refused to speak to him. That idiot Bakugo had nothing to do with it and yet gets to reap the benefit of Dabi’s sacrifice.

Dabi’s blood began to boil. He knew Bakugo would never in a hundred years have the balls to do what he did. He wouldn’t have the nerve to go through with it. Dabi did what he did for you, even if you refused to see it that way. Does he hate that he had to do it? Yes. Is he sorry, of course. But does he regret it… not really.

He watched as you pushed until Bakugo was successfully out of the house. As soon as the door was closed you turned and started to run back towards your room “OH NO YOU DON’T!”

He stood up and chased after you. “We are talking about this weather you want to or not. You can’t hide from me forever. You can’t mope around all day, not eating and expect me to just let that go. Law number seven we eat three full meals a day!” He got to your door just in time for you to slam it in his face. He had been so patient with you today. Not once had he forced himself into your room even the door was unlocked. He respected the fact you needed space. However, when he reached down and noticed that you had locked the door, he didn’t feel so bad about what he was about to do.

“Law number six! No locked doors!” His pressed his palm flat against the wooden door and burned straight through it. He burned a hole big enough for him to reach his hand through and unlock it from the inside.

He carefully avoided all of the broken glass on the ground from earlier. And stomped over to where you were trying to ignore him. You went through your dresser, picking out what you planned to wear to bed. You took a step towards the bathroom, but he stepped in your way.

“Y/n. Can we please talk about this?” You tried to step around him, but he just moved to block you again. “FINE! We don’t have to talk about it, but you will listen to what I have to say!”

You crossed your arms over your chest stubbornly and avoided making eye contact with him.

“I know what I did sucked. But I HAD to DO IT!” His voice was steadily getting louder. “You had to think you were dying. What did you want me to do? Hold your hand, tell you everything was going to be fine, and then pretend to drown you? It wouldn’t have worked!” He leaned over you and grabbed your chin forcing you took look at him. “I knew you’d be mad. I knew it might fuck up all the progress we’ve made. But I did it anyway! I did it for you!”

You slapped his hand away. “You DID IT FOR ME!? YOU ALMOST KILLED ME!”

There it was. Your voice. It hit him like a truck and it was enough to spur him on. “Yes for you! So you could talk again! So you could start to take back what those fuckers took from you! I decided you liking me wasn’t as important as you being able to talk again. Go ahead and hate me, but I need you to understand why I did it! What I was willing to sacrifice!”

Your eyes bore into his and it honestly almost sent shivers down his spine. “I understand just fine! You see me as this sad little broken girl. You thought I was so broken that you were willing to risk my life to fix me. Let that sink in Dabi… you gambled with MY life. What the hell were you sacrificing?”

“YOU!” His voice dripped with emotion. “I was sacrificing any chance I had with you so that one day I could watch you take back your life and get revenge on the people who hurt you.” He ran a hand through his white hair. “I would literally burn every single one of those monsters and piss on their ashes if I thought it’d help. But I know it wouldn’t! That’s a privilege that only belongs to you and I’d do anything to be able to watch you do it. Because I know you’re not broken! You’re a badass who doesn’t need anyone’s help. You are one strong bitch!”

There was pain in his eyes “I didn’t gamble with your life y/n, because I was so sure I wouldn’t let anything happen to you I was so sure nothing would go wrong.” He reached a hand out to touch your cheek, and surprisingly you let him. “Go ahead and activate your quirk. Feel what I feel. Feel what it was like to think I killed you. Feel what it was like to think that I am the monster everyone thinks I am…”

You activated your quirk and was hit so hard with anguish that you practically choked. He was grieving, even now, and somewhere buried under all his pain was something else entirely. But you weren’t ready to address that. “I hate what I did to you, but I don’t regret it, because it worked. It made you stronger. And in this fucked up world, only the strong make it out alive. So yes, Y/n… I did it for you.”

You felt you heart pounding in your chest. This was either the most fucked up or romantic thing you had ever heard, and you couldn’t figure out which one it was. Your hand came up to his that was still on your cheek. For a while you just stood there. Absorbing each other’s presence, then out of nowhere his lips cashed to yours.

Some animalistic instinct took over as you immediately wrapped your arms around his neck pulling him closer. He leaned over cupping your ass in hands and picking you up until your legs wrapped around his waist.

His lips pulled away from yours to start kissing down your neck nipping at your ear before returning to your lips. You squealed when his hand lightly slapped at your ass.

He made his way to the bathroom and sat your ass on the counter, his hands sliding up your thighs as he pulled back to look at you. “Law number thirteen?”

Part of you wanted to say no. You were still furious with him, but all your brain could think about was the orgasm you had just from riding his thigh. Your body was aching to be touched and from the look he was giving you, he was aching to touch you.

You slid your hand under his shirt and so lightly he almost didn’t hear it you muttered, “please.”

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

Tags: tags: @falling4fandoms @wifunozomi @here-in-never-land @whore-for-anime@klecksstorys @aurorahoneybuns @theunknownrandom @insane-without-delirium @frenchsfryys @officiallydarkgeek @neofixcs @music-is-all-i-need @katsuki-bakubabe @unadulteratedtastemakerpoetry @dabislittlemouse @aimee1602 @pinkhatlizzy @kunaigirlx44

[blueprint-han]

midnight walk — bang chan.

— “I have to go back to the dorms, and so do you.” 

— “in which you and chan walk through a park during midnight to catch up on some much needed alone time, and you’re prominently reminded of how much you love him, and he does too.”

pairing: chan x (gn) reader 

word count: 3 k

genre: fluff, boyfriend au, idolverse au (though not very prominent throughout the fic)

⇥ warnings: none, very self indulgent making out but nothing sexual, just kissing. minimal dialogue, kissing in public even though there’s no people around, also this situation is just for fictional purposes okay, I am not encouraging any acts of pda that takes place here between idols or anyone (quite frankly i have no idea about it’s legality, but as I said, it’s fictional), it’s just for entertainment purposes. Please take it as such. Also this park is huge and Chan and Y/N walk pretty slowly, and they’re from different companies.

type: drabble.

⇥ disclaimer: This fic does not intend to represent the actions of the real Bang Chan in any way, shape of form, nor does it intend to represent JYPE. Events are pure fiction, please take them as such.

note — Something soft because I wanted to write. This idea was brought up in a convo between me and ella and it was originally for han but then I wrote it for chan because i need my comfort kpop boy right now. Also @meiiyue. I hope this is not shit but i have no idea haha. Please, please leave feedback. Not edited, please excuse grammatical errors and typos. I;m sorry is this is trash, I really haven’t written seriously in a while ;-;

The air over here is way too moist.

So much so that you can feel beads of sweat litter the top of your brow the moment it’s been five minutes since you’ve arrived. You suppose you can’t complain when you and Chan made up the plan to meet immediately after a heavy downpour — you loved the smell of rain and he wanted to see you — it was a win-win situation.

But where is he? 

You wipe your forehead with the back of your sleeve, clutching your umbrella tightly in one hand while simultaneously going through your phone with the other. Your surroundings are calm, quiet, peaceful, exactly what you need to delve into your own thoughts and relax from the actual week you’d gone through. You can feel the tension in your shoulders, very very slowly, seep away as a blanket of mental peace is wrapped around your shoulders. As nice as it feels to be alone in this quiet place, all you want right now, is to hold your boyfriend’s hand and revel in nature.

You make a “tsk” noise, brushing the hair stuck to your face before scrolling through your contacts. You’re about to click on the one that says “channieeee <3″ when you feel hands — warm hands, grab at your shoulders from behind, and you shriek at the sudden shock that overcomes you. Owing to it being very quiet in this park, you slam a hand over your mouth, turning around to see the only person you were waiting for this whole time, albeit not this way.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You frown, though a small smile does pull at your lips when your eyes meet his warm brown ones.

“I was letting you know of my presence?”

“By sneaking behind me and giving me a heart attack?”

“I was going to give you a back-hug—” Chan points out,  waking around the bench to sit down next to you, not needing to ask at all. “—but then you screamed and I had to revoke it.”

A part of you wishes that had happened — as terrifying as that encounter was, Chan gives  great hugs. One of a kind. It’s almost like every time his hands wrap around your waist or shoulders, every inch of stress, thoughts melt away, leaving you in a calm state of bliss. That’s what Chan’s hugs are — pure bliss and honestly, your escape.

You give yourself a second to analyze his sharp features. Soft eyes, delicate smile, the pale, soft skin on his cheek so inviting. In this place where you and Chan are together, all you want to do is crawl into his arms, let go of the barrier that surrounds you and just be... yourself. You want to cup his cheeks and kiss him, just like you do whenever you meet up in secret.

But there’s more secrecy and hiding involved in an idol’s life.

“Yeah, yeah.” You say, fixing your mask properly over your nose before standing from your place. “You know better than to revoke my hugs, Christopher.”

Chan chuckles in endearment. You only call him Christopher when you’re unsure of your own statement, and it’s evident in the way your words end like you’re questioning him. Chan’s waiting for the “...right?” that should be following soon, but, oh well. He knows himself that denying you isn’t something his heart would allow, especially not when you look at him like that. 

Eyes gleaming under the dim lights of the park at midnight, a soft, almost unseen smile that only he’s allowed to see adorning your lips, and soft, unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. You didn’t even have to tell him you missed him, or that you wished to be in his arms again, because the connection between the both of you was on a whole other level — he could read all your emotions, just from looking into your eyes.

“Can’t deny that, can I?” He says, getting up from his seat before smoothing his shirt, while you put your phone into your pouch and fix your coat. Then, his hands silently seek your own, lacing his fingers with your own as warmth spreads through your chest. His hand feels soft, even more so than the last time you met him. In a silent want to hold him close to you, you tighten your grip as you smile at him and he reflects it back.

You walk around the path slowly, each step lingering against the mossy ground for a good second before moving on to the other. It’s so, so calming. The cold, moist winds refreshingly cool against your skin now that you’re not sitting idle in one place, the darkness in the park oddly calming. There’s the slight chirping of insects that resounds through the space like gentle music, and eventually, you feel yourself relax as you take in your surroundings.

“So, how was your week?” You ask, feeling yourself blush when you silently lean your head against your shoulder whilst walking, a soft chuckle leaving his lips as he snakes an arm around your waist, sending shivers up your spine when he gently smooths the fabric of your coat with his thumb.

“Stressful, honestly.” The both of you turn around the corner without second thought. You’ve done this so many times, it’s like your bodies are being pulled to the place you wish so hard to be in right now. You missed him. You missed him so, so much. You can see the stress lines on his forehead and the darkness around his eyes, almost sure that he isn’t getting enough sleep either. After a long pause where you take in his words, he murmurs silently. “Missed you during the shoot.”

“Awh darling,” You coo, pressing a soft kiss onto his shoulder, and even though he doesn’t feel it through his own coat, Chan can feel himself smile affectionately. Every tiny gesture you provide is just so... attracting. Comforting. Be it lacing your fingers through his hair and stroking gently to lull him into sleep or just a hand against his thigh, a soft whisper of an “I’m here” when his stress gets the best of him and he’s clinging desperately onto your shirt, fluttering of your lips all over his face the occasional time you wake up together, or just this — walking through a park at midnight because it’s hard to meet up when you’re both popular idols, hand in hand with almost no words spoken. Everything about you is just so... beautiful. “Did you eat and drink well this week?”

“I did. You wouldn’t stop texting me every day, remember?” Chan laughs, the kind that makes your heart flutter and do backflips.

“It’s very necessary. We both know you're total ass at taking breaks.”

“Hey!” Chan pouts, almost offended at your statement. “I’m trying, okay?” He then smiles, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head, inhaling the fruity scent of your shampoo. “Besides, I have an amazing girlfriend to remind me, am I right?”

“Yeah yeah.” You brush him off, feeling the light grow darker in a particular section of the path, and that’s when you know you’ve reached the place you’ve been walking towards. There’s a bench placed in this place too — it’s the perfect spot for hidden conversations and maybe, kisses, because the chicken wire is completely hidden by trees, making this spot invisible from the outside.

“There it is.” You point out and Chan follows in pursuit, dusting the seat off for you slightly. Once you’ve sat down, you feel your cheeks burn, because the events that take place once the both of you find this spot has been engrained in your mind at this point. They’re the kind that get you flustered every time you see Chan in the JYP building the next day.

The chirping of insects is so much more intense here, yet you don’t even hear it when Chan puts an arm on your shoulder, gently sweeping his thumb against the material of your overcoat, a soft smile taking over his lips as your eyes lock. 

A gush of wind then sweeps past you, the chill in the air higher over here than near the entrance. You lean into Chan and he gets the idea immediately, pulling his coat over the both of you as you snuggle into his shoulder. He’s warm, so warm, so cozy, all you want to do is melt into his embrace and stay. Stay locked in this position you’ve grown accustomed to and found yourself in many times, with the gentle murmur of wind and chirping resounding all around you, almost like you’re trapped in utopia. You want to stay right here, but unfortunately, time runs fast.

“It’s cold.” He comments, and you let the words settle into the air.

“You’re warm.”

At that, Chan feels his smile widen genuinely, his grip on your shoulders tightening just the slightest before he trails up to tangle his fingers with your hair. You feel yourself tense before melting further, lifting your head up to look into his eyes, and my gosh, you can see the whole galaxy in them. His eyes are more sparkly, more lustrous than the clear night sky that lies above him, though the combined visual is truly enough to take your breath away.

“Always for you.”

One second, you feel his hand gently hold your chin and tip your head up, and the next, he leans to press his lips to your own. A mixture of warmth, fuzziness and nervousness bubbles inside you, mostly because you’re suddenly aware of the fact that you’re in the park — pitch black with dim lighting, yes, but still a public space.

Well, blame it on you for telling your partner you wanted thrill in your life when you were on your first date. It wasn’t a regular occurrence when you and Chan had the idea of meeting up at the park every Saturday midnight, kissing each other at midnight in a park where the trees were barely covering the partitions. Quite frankly, you have no idea when this whole thing started, all you know is that it became quite a frequent occurrence to go home with your cheeks feeling warm and your thumbs fidding with the collar of your shirt.

Your hands stay frozen on your lap and your brain fills with white noise. His lips feel so, so soft against your own as you basically melt against him. You can feel your knees go weak even though you’re sitting down, and Chan’s hands immediately grip your arms as though to cage you from your surroundings. Being in his arms seems like a whole other world to you. They surround you like that warm whiff of air when you get back home after a cold day at work, lock you against his body and protect you against any negativity that may threaten to look your way. Being in his arms, you feel like you’re in a cage you never want to get out from. A cage in which you are complete, you are content, you are loved.

And so, you gently press your palm to his cheek, running his thumb against the high end of his cheekbone, humming when you feel the soft skin underneath. His lips linger against your own for two seconds before he pulls away, feeling your delicate touch against his cheek. Then, he slowly turns to brush his lips against your palm, leaving a soft kiss there, and my god, you feel like your heart is gonna beat out of your chest. It’s too much for you to handle, his gestures are too sweet, to loving for you to not turn into a flustered mess.

He leans in once again, and this time, you cup his cheeks, pulling him closer until your lips meet and move in a synchrony of pure bliss. The hum he lets out is your favorite kind of music, it always build up the want for you to hear more. It’s just a pure expression of love that the both of you share, erasing every memory of anything else except each other. You love him, he loves you. That is all, and that is enough.

You never really knew that the man who wore his heart on his sleeve would end up meaning so much to you, but now that he’s yours, you never want to let him go.

It seems very practiced, owing to the countless times you’ve done this before, yet making your heart flutter all the same when the words “I love you” leave his lips in a hushed whisper. Only you’re allowed to hear those words, that tone, that beaming smile that pulls at his lips when his eyes meet your own even in this darkness. Even in this darkness, he thinks you look absolutely stunning, and all he wants to do is tell you how much he loves you over and over again. Well, that’s love. And love is an amazing thing to experience, you can say for sure.

You let yourself smile into the kiss before leaving a quick peck and pulling away, feeling him do the same before opening his eyes and gazing at your features. You shyly look to the side, noticing the leaves that sway gently where the gentle wind hits them. 

Even though the atmosphere is cold, you feel fuzzy and warm when Chan giggles, sparing a quick look to his watch before intertwining your fingers with his.

“Come on, we have some time before leaving, we can play on the swings.”

Oh, he knows the child in you too well.

When you’re done swinging the swings and collecting some flowers that seem fresh, you circle the route of of the park and back to the entrance, it’s already one in the morning. Most — especially your group members — would argue that the both of you should’ve been sleeping by now, owing to your hectic schedule that leaves you weary by the end of the day. But you tell them sometimes, just to get that one hour to spend with your lover, you’re willing to make the sacrifice — and seeing the loving, misty glint in your eyes, they understand.

“So, I guess... I’ll see you tomorrow?” Chan says, and you kick the air gently before pulling your mask over your face. Seeing you, he does the same.

“Yeah, you’ll be in your studio, right? I can drop by.” 

“Yeah. So, um...” You and Chan can never seem to ever part ways once your quality time with each other comes to a halt, the both of you want to reach out and embrace, and never leave. You often wonder what lead to your silent life being plagued with the essence of love, but then you see Chan, and you smile when you realise the answer.

And so, as if trying to hold onto the moment, freeze time a bit, you turn to him and pull him into a hug. He immediately responds and wraps his arms around your shoulders, resting his head on your neck as you sway from side to side. The road is quiet with the occasional vehicle speeding past, but you pay no attention to it. All you feel is Chan’s welcoming arms, his familiar smell that clouds your senses and makes you feel relaxed than ever.

“I love you, so much.” You murmur, not even sure if he’s able to hear it, but he does. He always does.

“I love you too.”

At that, you try to pull away to look into his eyes one last time, but Chan doesn’t let you, pulling his arms tighter across you and holding you close.

You laugh. “Chan.”

“Yes?” He drags the word and smirks mischievously.

“I have to go back to the dorms, and so do you.” You remind. “It’s late.”

“Mmh, alright.” He says, straightening himself from the embrace but not quite letting go yet. “But give me one more kiss before you go.”

You raise an eyebrow before looking around. While the interior of the park does have trees and stuff to cover the walls, the entrance doesn’t, and that sparks some nervousness within you, though you aren’t exactly worried. You’ve gotten away with stuff like this before, when either of you gets clingy and wants that one last lingering moment before you go your separate ways.

You lean in slowly and he just stands there, waiting for you to kiss him with that smile that he just can’t contain when he looks at you. When you pull both your masks down and your lips meet, it’s only for one tiny peck. You then quickly pull away and pull your mask over your face again, and Chan, though giggling furiously at the way he can see you’ve gone a little warm at the action, does the same.

You then bid goodbye and walk your way back home, the warmth that lingers all over skin so, so soothing to your mind. It’s like someone took away all your worries, leaving you in a bubble of contentment. It’s almost surprising how in the grand scheme of things, one person could stumble into your way and completely take your breath away, all because of the word we call love. You’ve realised how love means so much to you after Chan entered your life, and you don’t seem to be changing that idea any time soon.

When you’re almost close to home, your phone dings with a message, with the sender id “channieeee <3″. Instantly, you click on the message.

channieeee <3: so channieeee <3: same time tomorrow?  channieeee <3: pls 🥺👉🏻👈🏻 pls pls pls pls-

A dizzy, pure smile captures your expression, and so, not wanting to delay your plans to meet your lover again, you reply.

y/n: same time tomorrow, then 🥺💞 love you <3

*:･ﾟ✧ find the other fics here !

[chibi-tsukiko]

A Fool's Errand

A Henry & Matthew ficlet for @zullyluly who requested the prompt "Come home"

I know it was under "general prompts", and is technically dialogue, but it became a bit more on the angsty side ... I hope you like it! 🙈

Tag list : @legendofconsullightwood @themostawesomehuman @littleturtle95 @tobeornottobetequila @morgnstern @zfoxdraws @bookworm-jedi @magnus-the-maqnificent @banesbitch @fair-but-wilde-child @beclynn-herondale @khaleesiofalicante @my-archerboy @youngreckless @thomaslightwood @runecarstairs @high-warlock-of-brooklyn @itsdaughterofthemoon

When Matthew opens the cellar door, he’s hit with a billow of smoke and the sound of coughing. He stumbles back, covering his mouth, and does his best to waft away the putrid clouds.

“LOTTIE!!!” a voice bellows from below. “WOULD YOU GRAB THE WITCHLIGHT?”

Matthew rolls his eyes and makes his way down the stairs. The smoke is still thick and permeates throughout the lab. Matthew squints his eyes to see through the smog and covers his mouth with a handkerchief. He can still hear his father coughing as he fumbles his way around the lab, searching for the window. Instead, his thigh meets the corner of a table.

“Damn!” he curses.

“Lottie?” his father calls out from somewhere “is that you?” There’s a small thud followed by shuffling noises. “Blast,” Henry grumbles, “It’s on the table somewhere.”

Matthew’s hand finds the wall of the cellar, the stone cool to the touch. Standing on his tiptoes, he reaches up and finds the latch to the window, opening it.

As the smoke clears, Matthew can see the glow of the witchlight from across the room. He watches his Father waft the remaining rings of smoke from around his head. He blinks rapidly, getting his bearings.

“Oh.” Henry gasps “Matthew. When did you get here?”

“Not long ago.” Matthew shrugs, smoothing out the wrinkles in his vest.

Silence hangs between them. Tension left unresolved from the last time they’d spoken.

“So,” Henry clears his throat. “You, are you settling in, then?”

“Yes.”

“Is it very far from here? The flat?”

Far enough, Matthew thinks. “I just came to grab a few books I’d forgotten, then I’ll be on my way.”

Hurt flickers past Henry’s eyes, and Matthew has to turn away. “What were you working on?” He asks, moving around to the other side of the table.

“Ah!” Henry exclaims, a new light in his voice. “well I have been trying to test a new theory of mine using this formula…”

As Henry dives into his dissertation, Matthew falls into old habits. His father’s words drowning out as he watches the light reflect off the surface of his rings. The tiny rainbow prisms providing more comfort and entertainment than the scientific jargon. He could use a drink.

“That’s what’s got me cross. What do you think?”

Matthew blinks, startled, coming back to himself. He looks up at his Father, “Uh” he looks down at the paper in front of him. The letters and symbols merge on the page. “Whatever you think is best,” he says. “You know I’ve never taken much to tinkering. Don’t have the mind for it. Never was as smart as you.”

“Matthew…” Henry starts.

“I can ask Christopher to stop by.” Matthew interrupts, turning towards the stairs “He’s helped you before. I’m sure the two of you can make sense of it.”

“Where are you off to?”

“I’m meeting Jamie.”

“Where?”

“By the hat shop.”

“Which hat shop?

“The one on the corner.”

“The corner of—

“I’m not going to a bar!” Matthew snaps.

The side of Henry’s face twitches, and there’s a look in his eye. But Matthew can’t tell what it is. Pity? Guilt? It makes Matthew’s skin crawl. He just wants to leave.

“I should go,” he mutters, heading for the stairs. “Jamie will be waiting.”

“Matthew, wait.”

Matthew stops just shy of the bottom step and waits.

Seconds pass. Bile churns in Matthew’s stomach. He doesn’t dare turn around, afraid of the wave of emotion behind him. It’s too much. He should have just asked Christopher to pick up the books the next time he was here.

Finally, Henry speaks, his voice soft and sad. “Take care of yourself.”

Matthew feels sick. “Your goggles are in the desk draw. They’ll help… with the smoke.” He barely hears his Father’s thank you before he’s up the stairs, abandoning the books he’d come for, and heading straight for the carriage.

Why had he’d come? What was he hoping for, using a lousy excuse of forgotten books? He grips the flask in his jacket pocket, leaning his head against the window frame. “You’re a fool, Matthew,” he chuckles to himself as the carriage rides past the gate. As if his Father would ever ask his waste-of-a-son to come home.

[aguagua]

here. have a Chunk of a danror thing I was doing because im stumped on writing dialogue for the second half. started just typing this in my notes when I was sick.

its about the comfort of a bacon egg and cheese sandwich but I didn’t even GET to the bacon egg and cheese sandwich part. so it’s also about post keene, like maybe a year after, Ror and Dan lol. I’m not good at writing so be nice to me. enjoy

Patrol drove into later hours than anticipated. Certain gangs needed handling. Certain people needed apprehending. Rorschach’s lost track of time more often than he wants to admit. Time isn’t that important to him anymore, and who wouldn’t put off the time that came to tear off his face and put on a disguise for the day? But, the nite hours give Rorschach the blanket of protection he needs to operate and exact the justice this city so desperately needs. The daylight seems to frighten a specific type of evil back into whatever holes they crawled out of for the evening. But Rorschach will soon be vulnerable to the curiosity from crowds of 9 to 5’ers making their morning commute. He needs to get away from prying eyes. Normally he’d take to the sewers, climb down the nearest manhole, but, the gash on his leg needs serious tending. Unfortunately, he can’t risk getting an infection, not when the responsibility of protecting New York has now fallen solely on Rorschach’s shoulders. Not a single costumed hero is left to care for this dying community. His kind is, in fact, a dying breed.

Canal Street, where his apartment is, too far. The alley he normally leaves his things, too exposed. Time was short as the sun lazily climbed up into the sky, soon it would be a spotlight all on Rorschach. He’s in Bryant Park now. Which means the brownstone is only a few streets away and Daniel isn’t normally awake yet. Rorschach can go down to the basement, fix himself up, and eat a bowl of cereal before Daniel would ever notice. Smart idea. He’ll be safe there. The vigilante begins his trek, limping slightly but he distracts himself from the pain he feels in his calf by digging his fingers into his palm.

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

Daniel and Rorschach have not spoken to each other since the night after the Keene Act was passed. When Daniel decided to quit. Maybe it was better that way. No words needed to be shared anymore. What would even be said? Some poor attempt at reminiscing about the good old days? Good old days that Daniel chose to end? Or maybe it would be some long lecture about how Rorschach should hang up the mask. “There’s still a chance to get out.” A lecture that would sound more like a desperate plea. Ridiculous.

Through their lack of conversation, raised an unspoken agreement. It’s an uncomfortable thought to Rorschach, to know someone is thinking of him. That Daniel still has his concerns and wants Rorschach to be safe. That he cares.

When Rorschach sneaks in through the kitchen window (He’ll save Daniel the humiliation of breaking his lock again. Ha ha.) and makes his way down to the Owl Nest, he finds just some of the terms of their agreements. Replenished first aid with plenty to spare, just begging Rorschach to take them with him. The cot, back by the super computers, with fresh sheets. Always fresh. Rorschach has rested his head there more than a few times.

And Rorschach knows when he goes upstairs to eat, he’ll find the surplus of canned foods he knows Daniel did not buy for himself. The leftovers in the fridge that are tucked in the fridge, in kitschy owl casserole dishes. The cherries that Daniel does not like eating. The sugary cereal. The occasional cola. Any and all of the foods in the Rorschach diet.

Rorschach initially thought this was a method for Daniel to catch Rorschach and sit him down for a long lecture, that all this stepping out of the way had an ulterior motive, it was bait. But, he’s heard a handful of times when Daniel was awake and about upstairs and he never came down the Owl Nest steps. He never hustled into the kitchen when Rorschach was there, scarfing down cold, canned soup. Rorschach would come here and take care of himself, with food, medical supplies, and rest that Daniel provided and will always provide. Daniel respected their silent agreement and Rorschach’s space. Perhaps, Daniel, too, didn’t know how they could hold a conversation. Maybe he felt conversation was worthless but still felt the need to provide his ex partner some kind of reparation for leaving. Maybe Rorschach scared him now. All avenues made sense.

He wishes Daniel would see him. No he didn’t. Yes he did. No he didn’t.

*******

Rorschach grabbed the first aid kit, took his place on the cot, rolled up his torn pant leg (will have to repair later) and went to work. In a skirmish with one too many Knot Tops, one of the few that remained standing managed to knock Rorschach down and dig into his calf with a knife. The perpetrator didn’t succeed in incapacitating Rorschach, to say the very least.

Rorschach bit his lip to hold back a hiss as he cleaned the injury with antiseptic. Such an outward expression of pain is a weakness (it’s human) and Rorschach isn’t weak (or human).

It frustrated Rorschach to no end that he had Walter’s limitations. He couldn’t just brush off an injury, ignore the hunger pains, stave off sleeping, at least not for so long. He always pushes his body to its absolute limits. But, avoidance to these Human needs (Walter’s needs) would lead to burn out, poor performance and he can’t allow that.

So, Rorschach properly cleans and stitches the cut, with a nice tight stitching. He sits back on the cot, letting the pain dully throb in his leg while he stares out at the Nest.

A layer of dust covered everything except Rorschach’s small corner. Archie was covered in a large tarp. A whole world was down here, locked away, covered up and left to rot. Rorschach could replay dozens of memories in this space, in every little corner. The back of the workshop where Daniel broke his arm in the exo armor. The workbench, where they sat and shared colas, strategizing for their takedown of King of Skin. By Nite Owl’s locker where Daniel found a rat chewing at his uniform and Rorschach chased it down the tunnel. Beside Archie, after taking down the Big Figure, celebrating a little too closely of each other. On the steps where Nite Owl revealed himself to be Daniel Dreiberg and opened the door to share his private life with Rorschach.

How was it so easy for Daniel to close out this part of his identity? Easy, maybe, considering Daniel had the privilege to turn away. He had another life. Rorschach did not.

Best to not harp on the past, he thinks. Rorschach permits himself a pause. Lets the thoughts stop racing, a period to sit in the silence, and rest his eyes.

The quiet is cut short by the sound of footsteps upstairs. Daniel’s awake early. Why? He’s never been an early riser. Rorschach walked over to the stairs, listened close to the footsteps. Sounds like he’s still on the second floor. Rorschach could take his chances, grabbing some canned food and run back down to the tunnel. No. Not a smart move. Will be caught. The footsteps are down in the kitchen now. Something is placed down on the table. Cabinets are being opened. The fridge. It’s time to leave.

But he doesn’t want to. Yes, he does. No, he doesn’t.

Maybe the pain and exhaustion loosened Rorschach’s restraint, could be the excuse he tells himself later. Body betraying his usual code, Rorschach walks up the steps and opens the door.

*****

“Rorschach?”

[hydrangeasimagination]

Crossover Crush Competition

Wherein which our dear characters meet their rival for your affections.

The twist is that they're from somewhere else.

Another universe!

I've been writing a lot of BNHA but we need some more love for the two other fandoms I write for!

But let's get into the contestants.... Shall we?

Thoughts in quotes are italicized.

In Kusuo’s case, words spoken through telepathy are bolded and italicized and are in quotes. 

~ Dari

Round 1

Saiki Kusuo VS. Manuda Kaede (Saiki K & Kakegurui)

"It seems this is a running theme."

The thought was drier as the would-be tone used. Saiki's eyes didn't leave the bouncing form in the distance, the blur of two figures coming closer and becoming more clear with every step.

He'd wait though.

Always for you.

With that sweet as sugar smile he silently admired, you practically sang, "Kusuo!!"

His gaze drifted to the tall boy beside you. Just barely able to keep his expression neutral when he felt the onslaught of unpleasant thoughts from his head.

"So, this is the one that Jabami mentioned... I don't quite see what the fuss is."

Saiki nearly cringed, catching himself before he'd rolled his eyes.

It seems brooding megane were the type you attracted.

"What a pain."

"Kusuo, this is my friend from school," You gestured "Manyuda - senpai, this is Kusuo! My childhood friend."

Violet clashed with onyx, gazes hardening once they've crossed.

The psychic nearly considered taking off his own lenses, but with you there, he couldn't risk it.

No matter.

"Nice to meet you." The white haired male stiffly greeted. "I will be joining you both on this study session."

Kusuo just nodded.

Slowly, dark eyes flickered to give him a once over whilst the dialogue in his head played out. "There's nothing noteworthy of this Saiki Kusuo, seemed I was concerned for nothing. I don't understand why there's nothing but pictures of him in that notebook."

A fury blazed under his skin once those thoughts reached him, it'd apparently started showed in his face as he sees Manyuda narrow his eyes in return. But he didn't let him get the satisfaction for losing his temper for no good reason. Especially not in front of you.

"Ku?" The chime of your voice was filled with concern, making butterflies come alive in his stomach to overtake the anger.

"Let's go, my mom probably set out snacks."

Pointedly, he made eye contact with Manyuda and reached to take your hand.

A smug smile threatened to pull at his lips as he saw his shoulders tense.

"... Perhaps he is more of a threat than I thought."

Oh, he had no idea.

Round 2

Teruhashi Kokomi VS. Bakugo Katsuki (Saiki K & BNHA)

Teruhashi had a problem with Bakugo Katsuki.

He was a brute would be her first gripe.

Crude, rude, mouthy - not to mention cocky, self-righteous, and just straight up arrogant. It'd made him completely immune to her charms, even though he'd never hope to match up to her beauty.

Though she begrudgingly admitted he is good looking, though not enough to act how he does.

But that wasn't the root cause of the issue.

He was smart.

So much so that he could tell that she was putting up a front the entire time. It was frustrating how observant he was as it'd made him call her out even at risk of his own reputation.

Though it's clear he didn't care what people thought about him anyway so he has nothing to lose. He looked through her like it was the easiest thing he'd ever done.

But that wasn't the problem either.

Even though he drove her nuts with his indifference to her, his annoyance at her very presence.

How he'd branded her a “fake” and an “extra” boiled her blood.

She was tough - as thick skin was something she had to have as the pretty and perfect girl.

Bakugo Katsuki is a menace.

A handsome, smart, talented, menace that knew what he wanted.

They'd be a powerful pair if it weren't for one factor...

Her problem was him being around you.

Her crush.

You were lovely! So charming and soft, there's no pressure to be perfect around you because of that sugary aura and lovingly accepting nature. That tendency to fire back and match a flame makes you terribly alluring...

Much to her dismay, she wasn't the only one that thought so.

She sees how he looks at you.

How different he treats you to the rabble...

It makes her skin crawl.

"Hello, Teruhashi - san!" Chirpy and upbeat, bright eyes and all, the requisite greeting she'd grown endeared to.

"... Faker." Bakugo hissed, eyes suspiciously trained on her smile.

He stood unnecessarily close to you, hands stuffed into the pockets of his sagging pants. She could tell he was itching to hold your hand, not unlike her.

The two of them were prideful though.

Unwilling to back down.

"Shall we go? That sweets shop isn't going to be open forever." Kokomi beamed at you nonetheless, radiance pouring from her.

There was no stares of envy directed at them, likely having been scared off by the explosive blond. Knowing of his dislike for her helped in that case too.

"Sounds good." You hummed, unaware of the tension between your friends.

Carmine met sapphire.

Bolts of electricity shot between them, competitive and fiery.

It pained her to admit that he was a worthy rival.

But there can only be one victor.

Round 3

Saotome Mary VS. Uraraka Ochako (Kakegurui & BNHA)

Carefully setting teeth, careful not to grind. Withholding from speaking ruinous words lest favor is tipped differently. Peals of jealously curled deep in her gut, only barely offset by the feelings of affection blanketing her in warmth.

Uraraka was simply too cute.

Too nice.

There's no way she could be this naive, right?

Mary teetered on that fine edge, unable to tell the motives of her apparently oblivious rival in romance.

She'd barely able to keep herself composed when it came to matters of the heart. Her quirk went haywire, turning so red that she'd match the blazer Mary donned.

Sutbly nonexistent in Uraraka's dictionary, plain and simple,

But her suspicion remained, ever looming and growing.

Then there was you.

Genuinely oblivious, charismatic, kind, and so endearingly stupid... No wonder the both of them vyed for your attention so readily.

Though it seemed to be unknown to Ochako that Mary was even competition.

Her thoughts buzzed, "Or...."

Biting the inside of her cheeks, golden gaze narrowing into pinpricks.

A wash of irritation.

"She didn't think I was noteworthy enough to be considered."

Not until today.

Today would be the day.

"Uraraka Ochako."

The brunette looked startled, standing betwixt her friends. Of whom were surprised to see Saotome standing before them, her head held high with a burning fire in her gaze.

Uraraka suddenly felt uneasy, judging by her look.

Both of them knew of each other, yes, but only because of associating with you.

"C - can I help you, Saotome - san?" She squeaked out, confused.

Plantings her hands on her hips, the girl in question straightened her back and stared right at her.

Between parted pink lips, dropped a bomb, "This is a declaration of war."

"E - eh? Saotome - sa -"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about, not even you can be that much of an airhead." Mary scoffed gently, reaching her hand up and sweeping her pigtail back.

Her friends were unable to speak, unable to believe that this was in fact happening.

"For..."

The blond fixed her rival with a gaze, a little vindicated to watch her flinch back at the syllables of your given name. Nothing but a determination lined her eyes and she was going to make good on the promise she made.

"The rules are there will be no sabotage," She plainly stated "and we will be happy no matter which one of us wins out."

Uraraka still stood, gaping and red in the face.

Mary didn't stay for her answer, turning on her heels and knowing exactly where to find you.

This was her day after all.

She didn't turn her head, just kept walking.

Distinctly, she wondered if she'd been mistaken.

Ochako's shout made her pause mid-step, made her wait to make sure it was her rival that spoke...

After this night, there will be no mercy.

"... Let's do our best!!"

"Let's go to war."

[ahgaseda]

two can keep a secret || chapter 07

⇥ synopsis : when your father reveals his intention to remarry, you find an unlikely confidant in Mark, your soon-to-be stepbrother, but what began as a revenge fling ironically becomes far more complicated...

⇥ warnings : this story in its entirety includes but is not limited to strong language and dialogue, recurring alcohol and drug use, and explicit sexual content, and is intended for an adult audience only!

Only the sound of forks and knives clinking against dishes filled the dining room. Your parents always insisted on at least one family dinner per week. It had been less than a day since your fight with Mark and now you were forced to sit across from him until everyone had cleared their plates.

Mark ate like a man starved, uncaring as he stuffed his face. Your father was no different. The men said nothing whilst they filled their stomachs. Meanwhile, you poked at your steak and Mark’s mother kept looking around the table.

“Did the two of you have a fight?” she asked suddenly.

You glanced up, like a deer in headlights. Mark didn’t slow down. He swallowed what was in his mouth and simply shook his head, as if anything between you and him was inconsequential.

His mother turned her gaze to you, expectant.

“I’m sorry. I just… don’t feel very well,” you told her, offering a placating smile. It wasn’t a lie. Your stomach was in knots almost constantly since you saw those positive pregnancy tests.

“You do look pale, honey,” she crooned.

You swallowed nervously. Did you?

Mark looked up at that, giving you a scrutinizing glance. His first instinct was to worry. Had the fight and pregnancy scare stressed you to the point of illness? Before he could say something potentially damning, your father spoke up, “My daughter never complains of being sick.”

You could hear the concern in his voice.

“Don’t force yourself to eat if you feel unwell,” he continued. “You can be excused and go lie down if you need to.”

“Thank you,” you said softly, tears gathering in your eyes. You desperately wanted to get away from Mark. Rising from the table, you grabbed your plate and pushed your chair back into place. After discarding the uneaten food in the kitchen, you placed a kiss on your father’s cheek.

Then, you bolted. Locking the bedroom door behind you, you hid yourself beneath your blankets, crying until you nearly fell asleep. How were you going to tell your father that you were pregnant?

Mark set down his fork and leaned back against his chair. Was being in the same room with him that torturous for you? Because it damn sure was for him, but at least he managed to endure it.

He missed the feel of your skin and his fingers in your soft hair. The way you laughed when he tickled you or showed you something funny on his phone. How you snuggled up to him when you were sleepy and tangled your legs through his when you were cold. And the handful of times you had spoken his name in your sleep, letting him know he was on your mind even in your dreams.

Mark sharply cleared his throat and decided he needed to bury himself balls deep in another cunt until he forgot about you.

Jackson was reliable for two things: hyping up his friends when they felt like dying and organizing booze-filled parties on extremely short notice. Mark was in need of both, though he favored the latter.

When you stepped out of your bedroom, Mark was doing the same across the hall. Another downside you had forgotten about; your rooms faced each other.

You stopped in your tracks, still clutching the doorknob. Mark finished pulling on his leather jacket and met your eyes.

“Jacks is having a party,” Mark said, emotionless.

That stung. Jackson always texted you an invite to his parties. If he hadn’t, that meant Mark told him not to, which meant Mark didn’t want you to know how fucked up he was going to get.

Or that he was going to fuck around with other girls.

Flashing a brief, awkward smile, you told him, “Have fun.” Then, you brushed by him before any more words could pass between you.

Mark stood there, watching you go and battling with himself. Guilt manifested first, but he shook his head, hoping to shake the feeling away.

You hopped in the car and drove off into the night. You wanted to stay at your best friend’s place for as long as you could get away with. You didn’t want to be in the same house as Mark for a while. The secret was smothering you. Only you knew about the baby in your womb. Every time you laid eyes on Mark, you remembered you were carrying a piece of him inside you. And he had no idea.

Mark preferred drowning in alcohol than in his sorrows. Even as he chased another shot, throwing it back with a grimace, he thought about you. He couldn’t shake the image of you in his head, naked in his arms as you lulled him to sleep.

And now he couldn’t have you. He fucked it up.

You had given him a peace Mark didn’t think he was capable of anymore and it was gone as quickly as it had come. Gripping another shot tightly in his hand, Mark stared off into the distance as a realization sank in.

Jackson appeared at this side, clapping a hand on Mark’s shoulder. “How goes it, brother?”

“I’m in love with her,” Mark whispered.

Jackson froze. He knew exactly who his best friend was talking about. Rubbing his chin, Jackson glanced around to make sure no one was listening in and whispered, “I didn’t invite her. Like you wanted.”

“Good,” Mark said, downing another shot.

“Mark, do you need to talk about…,” Jackson started.

Mark rose from his seat and growled, “Where’s Leah? I know she’s around here somewhere.”

“Yeah…,” Jackson trailed, voice sympathetic. Leah was known for being easy. She was also known for having her eyes on Mark since the first time she saw him.

Mark spotted her in the crowd and headed toward her without another word. He approached her while she danced, wrapped an arm around her waist, and whispered in her ear, “Still want me to fuck your brains out?”

Leah couldn’t drag him upstairs fast enough.

Mark kissed her hard and rough, but she wasn’t you. Her hands felt like ice against his warm skin. Her legs were stiff around his waist. Mark could only picture you beneath him.

Leah, on the other hand, was ready to devour him. She stripped down to her bra under him and unbuckled his pants, reaching for his cock and letting out a moan. She gripped his half-hard shaft and nipped at his neck.

Then, Mark did the unthinkable.

He whispered your name.

Leah grabbed his face, pushing him back and scowling at him with wide, shocked eyes. “What did you just say?”

Mark blinked through his tequila-induced daze. “What?”

“Oh my god, you said her name,” she exclaimed in horror and quickly rising jealousy. “Your fucking stepsister!”

“No, I didn’t,” he stammered.

“I heard it, Mark. Holy shit. Are you screwing her?���

“What? No!”

Leah scrambled out of the bed, snatching her shirt and tugging it back on like she had finally discovered shame. “That’s disgusting.”

Rage and hurt boiled inside Mark until it spilled over and promptly exploded. Angrily, he shouted, “She’s not my stepsister!”

Leah blinked, a twisted smile pulling at her lips. Rather than deny, he justified it. “Oh, you are so fucked.”

Mark understood by the look on her face that life as he knew it was officially over. “You have no idea…,” he huffed in defeat.

You were a mixture of relieved and devastated that you didn’t see Mark at classes the next day. There were a few times your schedules overlapped and you would pass each other in the hall. He must have gotten drunk enough to warrant a hangover from hell.

But Leah made sure to shoulder check you as the two of you crossed paths.

“What the hell…?” you snapped, ready to slug her for staggering you backwards.

“Slut,” she snarled back, shoving past you to continue on her way.

You stood there shell-shocked. Leah never went toe-to-toe with you and you were tempted to pound her into the concrete as you protectively put a hand over your lower stomach.

Fortunately, your best friend appeared and looped her arm through yours, whispering, “Honey, haven’t you heard the latest gossip?”

You rolled your eyes. Never did you give a shit about gossip. “You know I have zero social media presence.”

She pulled you behind a corner and spoke in hushed tones, “It’s about you!”

“Me? What did I do?”

She bit her lip and told you, “Mark was in bed with Leah at Jackson’s party last night.”

Your heart sank somewhere below your chest, into some bottomless pit never to crawl back out again. “Oh.”

“And he said your name!”

The world came to a grinding halt around you.

Mark said your name while he was in bed with another woman. For all you knew he was finishing inside her and he literally called out your name.

You would think about the implications of that later, but for now, your focus was on the fact that it was becoming common knowledge on campus. Which meant word was spreading like wildfire.

“Oh god,” your friend murmured, saying your name in disbelief.

Your brow furrowed. “What?”

“I see your face. It’s true. You’re sleeping with him, aren’t you?”

There was a pause while you swallowed the lump in your throat. Eventually, you muttered, “It’s complicated.”

She tilted her head and tried to be gentle. “Sweetie, I know he’s technically not your stepbrother yet, but your parents are getting married. It’s happening.”

You seethed, “I’m well aware of that.”

Your best friend hesitated, watching you carefully and noting the emotions gathering on your face. “How long has it been going on?”

You didn’t hesitate to answer, “Since they got engaged.”

She gaped. “For Christ’s sake.”

“He made it better, okay? We feel the same way about them getting married and it just… we were gonna get into self-destructive behaviors anyway. Turns out fucking each other was the most convenient.”

It was hard to tell who you were trying to convince.

She simpered, but certainly didn’t condone it. “You’re in love with him.”

You wanted to scowl. “Am I?”

“When I said he was in bed with Leah, you were devastated.”

You shook your head and shrugged. “I just felt betrayed, that’s all.”

She placed a tender hand on your arm. “They didn’t screw. Apparently they were about to and he dropped your name. She hauled ass out of there.”

That surprised you.

You held up your phone, expecting a text or missed call from Mark and finding nothing. “I need to go,” you told your friend, bidding her goodbye and heading for your car before she could grill you for more juicy gossip.

Hopping behind the wheel, your phone rang and you immediately answered, “Hello?”

“Hi, we got your message about seeing Dr. James. You’re not due for your well woman’s exam just yet, so I was calling to see what kind of appointment you needed.”

It was your doctor’s office. You forgot you called.

Fighting back tears, you looked around the parking lot and whispered, “I… took a few home pregnancy tests and they were all positive.”

“I understand,” said the receptionist kindly. “I can work you in the day after tomorrow. She can confirm the pregnancy and discuss prenatal care or other options with you. Does that sound alright?”

Voice trembling, you replied, “Yes, that would be great. I really appreciate it.”

Meanwhile, Mark ditched the rest of his classes to drown himself in a video game. He was screwed, there was no doubt about it. He checked his phone again for the thousandth time - still no word from you.

He let his head fall back with a groan. You would have heard by now. The girls you tended to hang with were some of the mouthiest he had ever known. They would be itching to spill the tea all over you.

There was a knock at Mark’s bedroom door. He set the controller down and leapt up anxiously, expecting it to be you. God knows, he just wanted you to hold him and lie to him that everything would be alright.

When Mark opened the door, his heart sank.

There stood your father and his cheeks were the color of the fires of Hell itself.

“Mark,” he said stiffly.

“Yes, sir.” Mark held his breath, his heart beating violently against his ribs.

Your father clenched his jaw and hissed, “How long have you been having sex with my daughter?”

chapter 06 ⇤ chapter 07 ⇥ chapter 08

Hey there, beautiful! If you enjoyed this, please leave a like or reblog or follow me! Or maybe buy me a coffee so I can keep writing? Or check out my masterlist here for more stories! Thanks for reading :) - Katya

This work is fictional and for entertainment purposes only, but is licensed and protected under a creative commons attribution-noncommercial-noderivatives 4.0 international license. Any instances of plagiarism will be dealt with accordingly. Do not re-post or translate without my permission.

{ copyright 2018-2020 © ahgaseda // all rights reserved }

[kashimos-hajime]

promises, promises | t.s.

summary: You loved him, and he loved you, and then a boy and girl went off to war and never came back.

WARNINGS: mentions of PTSD and war flashbacks, swearing, drinking, also they’re both idiots pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!doctor!Reader word count: 4.8k

a/n: my first peaky blinders fic!! i’m absolutely hooked and i wrote this right after watching ep 2 so forgive any out of character dialogue/actions/etc. for some vibes, listen to shrike by hozier. 

The knock on your door, three raps and a pause in between each as long as a pendulum swinging, is just as he’s always done. It’s enough to let you know who’s at your door, as if the hour wasn’t telling enough.

A part of you aches to go to sleep. The other knows you can’t anyway, so you abandon your post by the fire. You give the kit you have resting on the cabinet a passing glance before making your way to the door. 

“Thomas Shelby,” you greet the man before you. He doesn’t look right and you frown, eyes raking up and down his figure. He stands straight as he does, hands at his sides but his face is milk white, stark against the tear drops that are beginning to drip down his cheeks. Not injured then, or maybe he’s just hiding it well. In the rain, his mop of hair is darker than ever. “Must be a blue moon.”

“Evening, love,” he mutters and his eyes flicker from your face to the hallway behind you, bathed in shadow. The black is chased by the spilling orange from the fire you have crackling in the night, and you cross an arm over your chest, feeling almost indecent in your robe. “May I come in?”

A soft ‘of course’ slips by your lips and you step aside, watching the man step in and you try to pinpoint what it is that makes something inside you crawl. 

Ever since the war, nothing quite shakes up Thomas Shelby anymore, and yet here he is. Shaken.

“Are you alright, Mr. Shelby?” you ask as he unbuttons his jacket and you catch the water trail that follows his wake. The rain patters at your windows and you tell yourself it’s a chore that can wait for the morning. “Are you hurt?” 

“No.” You do not know which question he answers. He thrashes it off, tosses it onto the coat hanger and you walk into the drawing room to poke the fire, to pour him a glass of his poison, to wait. 

“Would you like something to drink, then? Warm you up?” You set the poker down, stand, turn to see his eyes, unusually glossy in the firelight as they dance over his surroundings. He pulls off his hat, that Shelby hat of his, and wipes at the rain along his brow. “Mr. Shelby,” you begin because now it is unnerving, how the air shifts and how he is quiet.

Thomas Shelby is a quiet man, but not quite like this.

“Mr. Shelby,” he repeats, low and deep and it is then that his laughter cracks the air. You stand by the fire still, unsure of what to do. You haven’t seen him in weeks and here he is now, in your drawing room and laughing. 

You stay silent.

“Mr. Shelby,” he says again, quieter, somber-like. His eyes flicker to yours, lock like he can’t quite look away and you watch the fire play games in the blue of his eyes. “You never called me that before.”

“You’d rather I call you Sergeant Major?” you bite back, all at once bitter and sad. It’s too late in the night for him to speak of a time that neither of you can go back to now. “Rather I ignore the fact that all you’ve ever seeked me out for was to satisfy your need for opium? Rather I pretend like your visit is my prayer fulfilled?” You don’t have to. Your heart had sung at the sound of his knock but you cannot say that. “Or that this isn’t the first time you’ve spoken to me in months?” 

“As if you’ve done the same for me,” he growls and he sinks down onto the settee. You almost want to bark at him, stop him from spilling rainwater on your pillows, but he crumbles in a way you can’t explain.

“You don’t know a single thing,” you murmur, sitting down beside him. He barely looks at you and your fingers itch to reach for him but instead, you curl them into a fist and look into your lap. “For all your wit, Mr. Shelby, you don’t know a bloody thing about what I’ve done for you.”

“And what have you done for me, love?” he asks, scathing. His eyes dart to yours and the glowing orange plays dangerously across his godlike structure, shadows dancing beneath his eyelashes and across his cheeks. A fire rests in your belly at his words, heat coursing through your veins as he definitely looks at you like you’re an offense to his eyes and like you’re some goddess and everything that confuses him made flesh. 

“I went to war for you,” you whisper. He blinks, but he does not look away as you stand. All of a sudden, the confession has made you parched. Walking to the liquor cabinet, you pull out your father’s whiskey and pour yourself a scorching glass. You hope it’ll tame the fire that pools in the base of your skull, and that it’ll chase the memories away. “Not for Arthur or John, but for you.”

You take a pull, let it burn you all the way down to your empty stomach and grab the handkerchief left beside the glasses, turning around again to look at him. He still stares back but he almost looks empty. 

“I sewed you shut time and time again. I went down into the trenches at night to bring any scrap of good I could afford to spare and stitched up your friends even though my father forbade me from going down there.” You walk towards him, whiskey in one hand, handkerchief in the other. He sits still and silent, and you pause to take a breath, the fire beginning to wane. You set down the glass. “I wrote to your sister and Aunt Pol, lied for you when you were bleeding out on my stretcher.” You sink beside him. Leaning in close, you can smell the smoke and the racetracks imprinted into his shirt as you raise the handkerchief to his face. 

“I never asked you to.”

“As if you needed to,” you murmur, dragging the cloth over his cheekbones, and you watch his lips part, sinfully so. “I know your mind better than I know my own.” You run the handkerchief across his nose, to his other cheek. You focus on the task at hand, and not the heat of his skin or the haziness in his eyes. Not the way his lips part, watch you as if bewitched. “It’s why I know I’m nothing but a friend to you.”

“You know nothing, love,” he murmurs, almost shocked, and you can feel his hand at your thigh, tentative and heavy all at once. It trails up your body, drags your thin robe up your thigh and a shiver crawls up your skin.

“You came here tonight for a reason, Tommy,” you whisper, heat flashing in your cheeks at your own slip, your lips quivering at the soft sigh that escapes his own. How easy it would be to kiss him now. Your handkerchief stalls on his cheek after a gentle swipe across his brow and temple, his soaked hair still dripping. “And it’s not to talk about times we wish we didn’t have.”

“I just… needed to see you. I’ve missed you.” A kind of bitterness floods your tongue and you flinch, stung. You twist away to the fire and suck in a breath, his hand falling off your leg when you detach yourself from his heat. Bile crawls up your throat and you shake your head. A resentful smile curls your lip and you pull your robe tighter around yourself, standing to approach the fireplace. Sitting on the footstool nearby, you grab the poker and stir the flames. You are an idiot to fall for his wiles and charms, again and again, with nothing to show for it. To wait on him, desperate for him to look your way even for a moment. To be thrown face first into your and his shared reality when he just says the wrong thing—

“Of course you have.” You shake your head. “‘Course you bloody have when it’s convenient for you.” You stab a log violently, the tumbling of wood rattling your thoughts. He only ever comes when something’s gone wrong, when he wants a resemblance of a simpler time, when he wants something he won’t let me give him—Your mind is a whirlwind as your mouth runs. “I’m done playing your games, Tommy. It was an awful kind of fun when we were just a boy and a girl, but that was before the war.” It’s a great task not to look at him, to read his face and wonder. “Now, go home instead of hanging around here like you belong.”

“I did once,” he says softly and you wish it weren’t true. 

You finally turn to stare at him, trace the sharp curve of his cheeks and the cut of his jaw. Features you know well enough and once dreamed to lay kisses upon. Then you drag your gaze to the beginnings of darkness beneath his eyes. The war has stolen him away from you. “You look exhausted, Tommy. It was nice seeing you, truly, but go home.”

You turn back to your fire, the crackling and the tumbling of the logs filling the emptiness in your chest as you wait for his steps to begin and fade.

“What are you fucking doing?” you ask roughly when a minute ticks by and then another, and he still hasn’t left your heart or your home.

“You call yourself a game,” he says, as if something turned on in that brain of his, but it sounds more to you as if he’s stalling for reasons to stay. If he talks enough, he will convince you—the both of you know it.

You don’t turn to look. “Go home.”

“Is that all you think you are?”

“Tommy, I’m warning you. Leave.” 

“You think you’re only a game to me?”

“What else can I be?” You frighten yourself with how loud your voice is yet you cannot contain it. “Thomas Shelby doesn’t want any girl after the war.” You are grossly venomous and loud enough to fill every empty room. It shakes you and a reverent silence hangs in the air. You can’t remember what has made you so scorned, but perhaps it’s the keen knowledge of knowing that tomorrow is not certain, the knowledge that Thomas Shelby has never loved you the way you loved him and yet he still dangles promises in front of you. “That’s the word around the street. And it’s true, isn’t it? It’s the awful truth.” Your words float, hushed and dainty again across the flames, nearly consumed by the fire. You cannot let your rage grow more than quiet.

If you do, the tears will come, and you’re awfully sick of crying for men you’ve lost.

“You’ve never wanted me the way I wanted you to, Tommy,” you whisper, the yawning ache in your chest splitting you in two. “And your promise was made out of fear.” The silence that meets your words make you look at the iron poker in your hands, the handle ribs pressing into your palms. “But there is no war, no fear, no uncertainty of tomorrow.”

A shadow casts over the mantle and you look at the silhouette warily. Glass clatters against wood.

“No reason to hold you to your word,” you mumble, ashamed that you hold so much to his words—words he must’ve said in a desperate time, words that still linger in your worst and best nightmares. By his silence, you realize he has not forgotten either.

“So we resort to passing glances, then?” His voice sends chills down your spine. It’s a sharpened sword coated in honey, and you relish the way it twists your gut. The shadow crouches beside you and you can feel his heat seep into you. “Lingering touches, fires in bellies we can’t feed,” he whispers, the words kissing at your neck as he leans in towards you. His hand, open and large along you arm, pulls the poker out of your hand and you sigh, turning your face away. Metal clatters to the floor as the taste of whiskey pushes into your lungs. He’s drank it all, yet he’s sober as a priest. You know it takes more than one glass to get Thomas Shelby drunk. “Promises we can’t keep, since we’ve already started it seems.” His eyes are dark and bitter, angry, and you swallow the fire he stokes inside you.

“Tommy—” Your breath shutters in your throat and you crane your head to look only for him to be there, blue eyes half-mast and lips just parted. His fingers trail up your wrist, brush against the sleeve of your robe—“you don’t want me.”

“Trysts when we’re too drunk to see straight ‘n’ moaning the wrong name when we’re in bed with other men ‘n’ women. It’s what you want, eh?” Up and up his hand, further into your sleeve until he touches the pulse point in your elbow, feels your heart racing and a sigh flutters past your lips. His other hand grips your jaw, fingers heavy and warm. “A dirty little secret. A little game, is that what you want?” Your eyes widen and he narrows his own. “I asked a question.”

“Fuck you, Shellby.”

“I loved you.” His words hiss like smoking coals and you let out a soft whimper when he squeezes your jaw. “I fucking loved you.” His fingers wrap around your arm and you lean into him, hypnotized as his fingers grip your chin harder. The blueness of his eyes, the smattering of fine brown hairs across his forehead, the smell of him, and the heat of the fire, it draws you forward. 

Your lower lip catches between your teeth as he leans in closer. You can taste his breath on your tongue. “Then why?"

”We both know you deserve better than me,” he whispers, words hot against your lips. If you slant your mouth just so, you’d feel him everywhere. Your skin prickles as he cocks his head, eyes on your parted mouth. “No matter how much I have loved you, it wouldn’t have been fair, turning a bride to a widow. And before,” he chuckles as he repeats it and you feel the heat rise to your face. “You bloody think I had a chance with the surgeon’s daughter?”

“You bloody could’ve,” you reply stubbornly. His fingers on your chin trail down to your neck, a featherlight presence but one that makes you warm. “My father stitched up every one of your brothers and you, and adored you like his own sons. He wouldn’t have cared.” A wave of melancholy washes over you and you wrap a hand around his wrist, pulling his hand away from your neck. Your fingers slip into the crevices of his, insistent. “Damn shame he couldn’t have a chance to stitch up Finn.”

“Be thankful. I don’t want him to end up like me,” he whispers and you smile slightly, knocking your forehead into his. 

“Would that be so horrible?” you ask softly and his eyes flash to yours, eyebrows rising. “You’re a good man, Tommy. Even if you don’t see it that way.”

“Because I’m not.” His eyes close, breathing in deeply as his hand cups the back of your neck, tangles in your hair. “I don’t want you getting caught between Blinders business, love. I can’t allow it.”

“I can take care of myself, Tommy,” you promise. A sort of bravery sends your hand through his hair and you hold his head to yours, eyes closing. “I know what your business is like.”

“Love,” he sighs, and the corner of your mouth quirks up.

“I can be on your payroll. A surgeon’s daughter is a valuable asset. It’d be understandable why I have protection and I’d be nothing more than a service.” His silence causes your smile to spread. “Aunt Pol always said you only ever listened to me.”

“Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,” he quotes half-heartedly and you pull back. His eyes flutter open as you stroke his cheek, tracing the curve of his cheek. “And I’ve no doubt she’d be happy to hear I’ve spoken to you again.”

“Exactly.” You stroke the hair carefully away from his eyes, watch as he sniffs and holds back his cough from the rain. “You ought to get warm. Give me a moment and stay by the fire.” Your lips press against his temple for a moment and he freezes. Before your liquid courage can leave you, you rake your fingers through his hair again and stand. You bring another glass and the bottle of whiskey before grabbing a rough old blanket from the closest guest room. “My father’s clothes might fit,” you offer, pouring him his glass. He takes the glass and you sigh when he downs it like water. Draping the blanket across his shoulders, you add, “They’d be warmer.”

Now, without the jests and banter between you two, Thomas Shelby is cold and quiet once again, and you sit on the footstool, pouring yourself a glass of whiskey. Glancing into your liquor, you watch the fire play in it. 

“The spare rooms are always open to you and your brothers, and your Ada, too. You ought to sleep, Tommy, and get warm.”

He doesn’t respond and you half think he doesn’t hear you so you quiet yourself again, watching the fire and picking up the poker to jostle the logs.

“I don’t want to be warm,” he says at last. “And I don’t want to sleep.”

“And why’s that?” You set down the poker.

“Because all I hear is the picking and the shovellin’, and I don’t want to hear it.” 

He sits before the fire like a man watching the sunrise and the orange heat that blasts at the both of you has begun to dry out his hair. You reach for his hand, but then think better of it.

“It keeps you up, too,” you say, a terrible knot in your throat squeezing you tight. “My father said it’d happen. Happens to boys and men too after something like a war.” You down your whiskey and let it scorch your stomach before turning to pour yourself another glass. “Never said it happens to women.”

“And we volunteered.” He turns to look at you, lips parted and eyes dark with a certain kind of humour. “What do you hear?”

“The screams.” You clear your throat as you catch glimpses of blood and broken bones. “The moaning and the sound of bones breaking. It’s all I ever hear, but it’s at night when it’s worse. Silence with my thoughts, and all that.” He’s gone noticeably stiff and you blink, turning away. “What about you? What’s made you come to my door of all places?”

“I needed company.” You wait for him to elaborate. “I put a bullet through my horse’s head.”

“The horse you bought from the Lees?”

“Yes.”

Your lips press together. You know what the Lee family is capable of. Heard it enough from talk between patients and whispers on the street. Reaching forward, you touch his hand. His skin is still freezing cold and your heart wilts in your chest. “Tommy, I’m sorry for everything. For the war, for my distance, and for your horse now, too.” His hand twists beneath yours and fingers interlace as he sips his whiskey. 

“Nothing you have to be sorry for,” he says, turning to look at you. You pull your hand away and he looks down. His hand curls into a fist and you watch every vein along the back of his hand go taut. “You’re angry with me.”

“Of course not.” It shocks you that he can root out the thoughts you hadn’t known lingered in your head. You were sure you buried your previous thoughts far down deep enough they couldn’t surface, yet you shouldn’t be surprised. You weren’t his best friend, but he was yours. You were open to him like none other. “Why would I be angry?”

“I promised to marry you, didn’t I?” He sets down his glass. You note the dark dust along his fingers and an involuntary shudder passes down your spine. Your heart thuds in your throat and you swallow it down, turning the glass in between your hands.

“Tommy, stop.”

“Promised to be the man you loved. Promised to I’d come back. And then I never did.”

“Tommy—” You twist to set down the glass with a hard clack. Just the mere words, the call of his promise to the forefront of your mind makes the embers of your rage ignite. Perhaps he had been distant and different and nearly unrecognizable, but you can still see glimmers of the Tommy Shelby you’d known. 

“I failed you, didn’t I?”

Enough.

“Stop it, right now.” You slip off the footstool and fall to your knees beside him, grabbing his hand. “You didn’t fail anyone.” When he doesn’t even acknowledge your words, you squeeze his palm. “Tommy, please, look at me.”

“I’m tired, love,” he whispers, voice breaking and a quivering breath is sucked into your lungs at how his eyes seem to shine in the burning light. “I’m fucking tired and all I can see is the tunnels.” The blanket slips off his shoulders and you hasten to pull it up again as he turns to look at you. Water slides down his cheeks and you cup his face, thumbs swiping away the tears.

“Come on. I’m not going anywhere.” You urge him to stand and make sure his blanket does not fall from his shoulders as you guide him to the nearest bed. He trails like a ghost, fingers barely entangled with yours as you help him through the darkness. 

Your mind turns over, remembers wet, dirt-smeared lips against your cheek, the top of Tommy’s head as he descended down into the tunnels, a harsh whisper grating against your ear. You lead him through the dead and damaged once, just like this through the darkness, to see Freddie who you’d stitched with your own fingers.

War seemed much simpler than this.

“I don’t care about your promise, Tommy. Not really,” you confess finally as you lead him to the bed. He sits on the edge of the mattress and wood creaks beneath his weight. You sit beside him. “I suppose I’m clinging to pieces of myself that I can still recognize.” A cracking smile pulls at your lips when he turns to look at you and you brush hair out of his face, palm cupping his cheek. “We’ve both changed, and we can’t go back. All we can do now is to understand this is who we are now.” His hand lands heavy on your cheek and you smile, leaning into it.

“They stole the light from you,” he whispers and you turn your cheek away. “I’m sorry I couldn’t give you the life you wanted.”

“Our time has past.” You know it now. You had been so desperate to be the girl you once was, so desperate for any semblance of what was that it blinded you to the truth. The Tommy Shelby you’d known and loved with all your very being is all but gone, and you… you are a husk of the girl you once knew. You look at him again and reach up to touch his wet cheek. He’s warmer against your palm now and half of you thinks maybe. Maybe there will be a chance when we are both older, when we are not in a million pieces that are barely holding together by a thread. “But I still love you, Tommy.”

“And I you.” 

“Then, that’s enough.” You lean to kiss his cheek but he turns just enough that your mouth meets his. For a moment, you are startled by how hot his lips are and you catch your eyes closing before you remember who he is, and who you are, and what mustn’t happen. Your lips linger for just a moment more before you pull yourself away slowly, watching his half-lidded eyes flutter open. A sorrow lives there, one that mirrors the ache in your chest. Of missed chances and lost time, you know it is a written tragedy. “Goodnight, Tommy.”

“Goodnight, love.”

His confession follows you long after you leave his room and his kiss lingers on your lips, burning. You wonder if he lays awake, staring at the ceiling as you do, listening to the war in his head as you do. 

You hear the hours tick by and the sound of shuffling, grunts in the other room of your guest. Black edges your vision and your eyes begin to slip close.

The floor creaks.

You jolt into a sit in your bed, the blankets pooling around your waist as your gaze darts to the door. You had been slipping in and out of a light sleep, your mind hazy as you try to gather your bearings, calm your heart. A swelling sensation in your throat, you slip out of bed and amble over to the door with a half-hearted sigh.

Your home’s old enough for you to know that a mouse could disturb the floors and stairs. Your hand rests on the doorknob and you take a deep breath, wondering if it’s even worth checking every nook and cranny of your home just to be sure there’s no German soldier lurking in the shadows.

You know your mind won’t quiet until you do, but the exhaustion chaining your limbs to the ground says otherwise.

A quick search, you tell yourself. Then sleep. Or hours staring at the ceiling until it comes.

You twist the knob and pull, open the door again for the second time tonight to Tommy Shelby’s face.

“Tommy,” you utter, almost startled but the very sight of him settles your heart. His eyes flash in the moonlight. His shirt is wrinkled and sweat dots his brow in a fine sheen, and the both of you stand there, on opposite sides of the door, an invisible line between you, one he does not dare to cross and you think, What a tired man, what a lost boy.

Your name barely breezes past his lips, fragile and cautious, and you reach out to touch his wet cheek. He smells like whiskey still, and tears and sweat, too.

You step to the side as an invitation you hope he takes. He does and he crosses the invisible boundary between two souls as your heart slows. Whirlwind thoughts freeze and a warmth floods your body. His fingers hook on your wrist and he drags you to follow him. 

Your mind turns over again, this time feeling bloodied fingers smearing warm thick red over your cheeks and the bone-crunching grip of a soldier as your father dug a bullet out of his leg. You remember a time when you walked just like this, through darkness, through the trenches at night as Tommy lead you to the sick and dying. 

He sits down and you watch his face catch the silver moonlight, eyes blue-grey like frozen iron and he tugs you onto the bed beside him. You feel your joint weight dip the mattress. He is cold and all limbs, lean strength wrapped around shrapnel bones and you adjust the pillow beneath your neck as you lie down beside him. The sound of soft breathing fills the air and shadows swallow his face when he turns away from the window to look at you. 

When he looks at you, it’s almost as if everything is drowned out.

He turns on his side, thumb dragging over your cheek and lips and then closes his eyes, breathing in deeply. He smells the girl that clings to the sheets, a soft supple scent that chases away the muddy torchlight in his head as his hand trails down to find your fingers. 

You are stronger than he remembers, ironwire muscle wrapped with thick stone skin, and when you lean forward just so and his forehead meets with yours, he lets out a sharp exhale. It is as if you take some of his burden, whether he likes it or not.

“Promise me, you’ll stay,” you whisper suddenly, “not as a lover, but just as my friend. That would be enough.” His eyes flutter open, barely. He’s exhausted and in your bed, surrounded by everything that is you, he knows he can sleep for ages. Your eyes are still shut, your eyebrows knitting together as if you cannot watch him react in some poor way. Half a smile curls his mouth and he just barely, the tiniest sigh in his breath, answers.

“I promise.”

[charliejrogers]

Under the Skin (2014) - Review

For a lot of science fiction movies, I find myself enjoying the ideas of the film more than I think I actually enjoyed the film. It’s what I’ll refer to as the Annihilation-syndrome, named after the 2018 movie that I found to be an absolute bore while also being an exceedingly intellectually stimulating discussion about the nature of cancer, mutation, and biology in general. The film I am reviewing now, 2014’s Under the Skin, honestly is nowhere near as unenjoyable as Annihilation, but I mention the film because I think much of this review will focus on the really interesting ideas this movie brought up which might make you think I thought this is a masterpiece. It’s not. It’s good, very good even, but not as good as its theme and ideas.

A lot of my restrained enthusiasm has to do with the fact that the film is purposefully cryptic and full of esoteric imagery. While there are spoken parts, I don’t think much would be lost if we couldn’t hear what was being said. That is to say, the dialogue doesn’t do much to make sense of what we are seeing displayed on screen.In fact, there are large sections of characters interacting without any dialogue, yet everything is understood.

To its credit, what we are seeing is largely very beautiful from a cinematography point of view. Much of the film takes place in the city of Edinbugh, Scotland and it captures well the urban grit of the city and how our protganoist fits well within that urban environment. The way the red lights of Edinburgh’s traffic lighst cast a foreboding, menacing band over the protagonist’s eyes as she drives about town on the hunt for men to ensnare in her trap shows that this dangerous character is right at home in the anonymity of the city.

The protagonist is played by Scarlett Johansson, who spends most of the film alternating between being the pinnacle of seduction in the eyes of the heterosexual male gaze and being a lifeless void. That’s because Johansson plays an alien (I think) or at the very least a humanoid being who seems to have the sole purpose of finding lonely men, taking them back to her lair, and trapping them in a sunken-place-like void where ultimately everything but their skin is extracted from them. I’ll henceforth refer to this character simply as “the humanoid” with she/her pronouns for clarity. We never learn the humanoid’s motivations, but we know that she’s not acting alone. She’s supported in her ventures by a (presumably) humanoid motorcycle gang who also double as agents who will clean up her messes.

At the beginning of the film, the humanoid appears to have no free will or consciousness. When she comes across her first dead body, she is more interested with the ant crawling along the body than the woman who used to inhabit that body. She simply steals that woman’s clothes, and begins acting out what seems like a pre-designed course for finding and trapping men. As soon as she has completed an interaction with a human, all of the emotion drains straight out of her face. Johansson’s face takes on a scary lifelessness on par with Billy Skarsgård’s Pennywise the clown from the It movies. There’s a scene where the humanoid, in the process of attracting a new victim, stumbles across an infant that has been abandoned at the beach and is screaming out. Perhaps the director is toying with audiences’ biases that the humanoid, appearing as she does as a human woman, will “naturally” want to reach out and save this baby. That she doesn’t seems to signal to the highest degree that this “woman” is no woman at all, but a cold, merciless something else.

Yet, somehow, by the end of this movie, I found all my sympathies lying entirely with this decidedly inhuman killing machine who makes her living preying on people just like me. This is because something happens that changes the humanoid about midway through the movie. Up to that point, it would be easy to classify the film as a feminist revenge fantasy, where men’s penchant for objectifying women and their aggressive desire to “conquer” women is met with a dish that is served so very coldly. It’s oddly satisfying to watch men who will blindly get into a car with a complete stranger and follow her into a creepy house just because they want to fuck her, end up being exposed as little more than skin around a bag of meat.

But then the humanoid comes across a man whose face deviates greatly from the norm due to some unnamed medical condition. It very much resembles the face of the protagonist from The Elephant Man. He is out an a walk at night to the grocery store. The humanoid doesn’t see him like the rest of the world does. She doesn’t understand how insensitive her genuine question about why he shops at night might be to him. In a darkly ironic sense, she’s the first person in his life to truly see him as a man and not a hideous monster. He has none of the arrogant sexual bravado like the humanoid’s prior victims. He’s sexually innocent, a virgin. When she offers to take him back to her place, he doesn’t take pride in any successful conquest. We see that he’s pinching himself just to prove that he’s not dreaming. It’s a heartbreaking sequence. Whereas we may have been on board, at least symbolically, with the humanoid’s cool takedown of the patriarchy, this particular abduction flips the script. Our sympathies lie more with the man than the “woman.”

Why he doesn’t succumb to the same fate as the other men is not clear. Notably, he’s the first we’ve seen that isn’t fully erect despite the humanoid ardent attempts at seduction. Secondly, he’s like the first to take some stock of the fact that he’s been lured into some black void from another dimension. He obviously finds Johansson attractive, but it’s almost like he is more amazed by what is happening, his penis “disarmed” so to speak, compared to those who came before him who were “armed” to conquer. And in lacking their sexual aggression, he was deemed to have a “lighter”, purer heart, preventing him from sinking into the deep of her trap.

This seems to change the humanoid. It’s as if she questions her whole purpose in life up to that point. Maybe all those men who had come before were as gentle as sweet as this one. Or maybe she yearns to be more than a monster.

Previously we had seen the humanoid stare at women from her car in much the same she looked at men, yet we never see her take women as a victim. It’s more like she was curious by these creatures, like she didn’t know they would be there. She shows the same curiosity towards her own body. She stares at it, hugs her curves. Just after her encounter with the man with the dysmorphic face, she looks long at her face in the mirror and then at a fly stuck to a window. It’s as if she’s looking at how she looks to others (humanoid) compared to what she really is (more like a bug, an alien). As the film goes on, it’s almost as if she’s trying to convince herself the skin is not a farce, that it’s really her, that she’s real, and that there’s nothing else under the skin. There’s an ironic beauty in the dysmorphic man wanting to be seen for what’s on the inside where she wants to be seen for her outside.

We subsequently see the humanoid undergo something of a coming-of-age as she flees into the more rural surroundings of the bogs of Scotland, presumably to avoid her motorcycle-driving allies who don’t want her to veer off course. The camera work in this part of the film highlights her as a stranger in this strange land, with her hot pink sweater standing in stark contrast to the drab Scottish milieu. And truly from the rocky/pebbly beach below the impossibly high bluffs at the ocean to the Mars-like desert shrubbery of the bogs, Scotland has never made Earth look so alien. Yet it’s in this foreign land, far from the trappings of the dirty city that the humanoid experiences the pleasure of being a human, or more specifically being a woman. For a few days she is even one man’s princess, and I think it confuses her so much that she enjoys it.

The genius of this film is the way it makes you forget that the humanoid isn’t actually human. In the latter half of the movie we celebrate her cautious steps towards humanity. There is a love scene that is among the most intimate I’ve seen filmed. Yet, we also fear for her and feel sorry for her when her fantasy comes crashing down and it is revealed to her and to us that her initial approach to men proves was much more appropriate.

This is a slow film that rewards patience, but ultimately it doesn’t do much to excite. There are abstract sequences of light and color accompanied by discordant sounds of chanting that seem straight out of the Jupiter sequence from 2001: A Space Odyssey. These do little more than confuse, and sometimes bore. And even if the lack of excitement is deliberate (perhaps intended to deconstruct female seduction) that doesn’t make it anymore enjoyable. Still, it is a beautifully shot picture that provides a stunning condemnation of our male dominated society. It would manage to make even the most bitter-hearted viewer feel sympathy for a humanoid who just a half-hour ago was on a cold-blooded murder streak. Still, even if it doesn’t introduce any hard-hitting questions about humanity like the best sci-fi, in the end it revels in a different dominant theme of sci-fi: no matter the monster man meets, man is always the ultimate monster.

 *** (Three out of four stars)

[akkeyagentofhelheim]

Before I Fall, Fall

It was quiet in the Library.

A clock ticked rhythmically in the lazy light of the morning. The constant whir of cog and wheel filled the air, punctuated by a hum and bend, phasing between Aidorinian styled bannisters, past crane carvings on the side of a bookshelf, and above a sandy blonde head hunched in front of a small shrine, tucked away in the corner. A single incense stick smoked from where it stood in its base as Juro sat in silence, his eyes closed and hands held together in prayer, glowing softly between blue and gold as he paid his respects to the Bookkeepers that disappeared several hours ago. 

Virion gave a single croon as it landed on his good shoulder in worry. He opened his eyes to give the golem a scratch on the head, “I’m fine��” he assured it softly, carefully getting to his feet. He was still sore all over, accompanied by lethargy in his limbs from the massive output of magic he made. He carefully thumbed the torn fabric of his kimono on his shoulder, lamenting the loss of the garments, the blood already dried a while ago. He had yet to change.

"I was careless. I forgot she saw everything," he murmured as Akkey's interrogation replayed in his head. "You're attached to Yun Milae." He placed a slender gloved hand on the edge of a table, leaning his full weight against it, the other covering part of his face as he struggled, "I know that. That's the problem…" 

One thought led to another as he spiraled through his memories, ones he wished to forget but couldn’t. Virion could only watch and extend its magic around its master in protection.

“You are nothing but a tool. A vessel for infinite power, destined to be alone. You can’t leave this place. There’s nothing, nobody out there for you. Don’t let her stories get into your head.” There was a scream of pain as a whip was brought down onto his handler. He saw nothing but white.

-

“Well… this was Jurou’s idea, but I can’t fault him for it, I understand where he’s coming from. We’re your family now. Our law is no help, no harm, and record what you see...” The Elder’s lopsided grin shone down on him. He smiled back in the same way, “But between you and me, I break that rule a bit. I like helping people even just a little, makes me feel more myself, more human. But don’t tell the others.” They laughed together.

-

He fought with his Mentor, “She’s bad news, I can feel it! Why won’t you listen? She’s nothing like you!” He didn’t see him for years after as the Mentor stubbornly searched for where the suspicious girl came from. 

-

“This is all my fault,” His Mentor was crying, “I’m the one who dug around and set off their radar. You need to run, Jin. I won’t have you pay for what I did!” The Elder laid in his lap, dead. He had lost control again. Everyone was gone, it was just him and his Mentor left, cowering away from the Weapon as she pressed on with her duty to bring him back to Chuugo.

A flash of light on blade. A protecting arm flung over him. The sickening sound of sword through body, streaking blood over his face. The tip of the weapon nicking him along the jaw in the process. The Mentor heaving against the pain to keep her away from him, the blade slicing him again as bodies collided. Blood trailing in two lines down his neck as he was pushed towards nix portals, whose captured users were also escaping themselves.

“Don’t forget who you are, Little Crane.”

He ran.

A bell-like sound pinged from the flat device with the multiple buttons that he used frequently to read entries from the Modern timelines, interrupting his light speed thoughts, bringing him back to the present, “It’s like Jii-jii and Jurou-san decided to reincarnate in one goat body…” Juro couldn’t help but laugh. The smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Juro shook his head, stretching his long arms up and growling softly at the back of his throat as he returned his focus to the rest of his intended tasks, "Right. Catch up on entries…" He pulled scrolls and devices towards him, supporting his weight against the table, and got to work.

The minutes passed, slowly turning into hours, daylight sliding across books and dust and inkwells as it filtered through the windows of the Library, only the workings of machinery and the scratch of pen heard for a long time. It was a picture of peace, just like the old days.

Juro reached for another black, flat box, fingers flying over the buttons all over its surface. The face of the box lit up brightly, its blue-white glow shining softly on his cheekbones. Text appeared from the light, and his amber eyes swept across quickly as he read them.

"Nothing out of place for Dario. Out for the weekend with friends as always. He has a show next week." 

Juro's lashes lowered. Jin's entry was right on time. They've been very regular as of late, particularly revolving around a certain seidkonur's partner, worrying and keeping an eye on him. The Worst Bookkeeper truly… he grinned to himself in reproach at the Modern Bookkeeper’s unabashed display of his affinity towards Yun and his life, but it wasn't a serious issue any longer, and more in amused surrender. After all, their neutrality was a choice--it was his that wasn’t. And it was exactly how he was reprimanded in his early Bookkeeper days as well.

His brow furrowed at the intrusive memory, gritting his teeth as he balled it up and threw it in the darkest corners of his mind as he always did. His fingers clicked away again on the buttons, and the light shifted into a different set of words. 

Binate World. A fairly new thread that appeared only a month ago. It wouldn’t have garnered such attention from Juro if it weren’t for two things: the timing, and the nature of the timeline. And he might have an idea of why.

He didn’t have as deep an understanding of other universes as either Yun or Milae, but he could still tell what generally happened. Two threads twisted into one, spawning two bookkeepers housing the same soul. Juro skimmed the entries from the timeline, a small laugh escaping him. The bookkeepers were young, and the way they wrote reflected it, wonder and awe seeping into their words as they learned how to string their sentences together in neutrality. They were growing fast, their world a mix of magic and mundane. They were already 8.

But there was still the question of when it happened that metaphorically raised a brow more. First, the Battle of the Jaw kicked off way earlier than it was supposed to, bringing a seidkonur all the way to the opposite side of the multiverse. Then, within days, the unnatural thread was created, seemingly out of nowhere. There's outside forces affecting these, I'm certain… His eyes lowered even further as he stared blankly at the entries, thoughts turning in his head. Immense power surges. Twisting threads. Disappearing marionettes and souls of the Court. Weaving of time and stories.

Golden eyes and a creeping darkness.

"I can't think of anyone else but her. It must be Frigga…"  Juro’s lips barely moved when he commented, his eyes going out of focus.

The sounds of the Library became muted, like a veil was hung in the dimension where it existed within the Golden thread. Light and shadows began to melt together through his vision, becoming more hazy and indecipherable. The pen in his hand was still. Stringy shadows streaked across his line of vision. The Library disappeared.

Juro found himself in a bottomless abyss peppered with stars, standing on nothing, hearing nothing, feeling nothing. Across from him was a large, arch shaped shadow that hung from an unseen ceiling. He could barely make out the chains that wrapped around it, then shot outwards in millions of directions in a horrible scrape of metal sounds. 

A small lonely figure stood in between him and the shadow, faced away from him, yet he knew who she was, with her light locks and bare feet.

“You’re a fucking mess, aren’t ya…”

Her voice bounced around in echoes, filling up the entire space, doubling, cycling, amplifying. Chains began straining against the dome, moving and pulling across space. She spoke again.

“All this power you sealed, uncontrolled, creating problems that you can just solve on your own if you would just accept it and learn… but you don’t want that, do ya?”

Several of the chains began to glow blue then gold, and his mouth opened in a voiceless scream at the sight, crying desperately for the light to stop, to keep the lines intact.

“You’re ashamed of who you were, and you want to erase yourself by locking it all up. You detach from anything that could cause you pain, and disguise it under neutrality. You’re addicted to this solitude. You want it. You need it.”

The child turned to face him finally, but her face was void of any features, a creepy mask of smooth skin and porcelain. Her movements were choppy, unarticulated, inhuman. Her cadence was different.

“You’re trapped, yet you have the key.”

It burst into a chaotic twist of dark lines and threads from behind her, tensing and pulling to its most extreme without snapping. The space around Juro flickered violently, the space phasing in and out of reach in two, three, four, five waves, threatening to rip at the seams, streaking past the girl and heading straight for him, wrapping itself around his limbs and torso and body and face in that familiar, terrifying way. His right side pulsed.

“So many new lines to trace, new stories to collect... and their words…. words are so important,”  a different voice whispered in his ear, and his body seized, the sound crawling everywhere on his skin, the dialogue sounding familiar but incorrect, like they were spoken by the wrong lips. Light left his eyes as he stared blankly before him, unseeing. Another chain glowed with his colours.

“...fā vald ađ rifa örlagaröđina,” he replied to seemingly nobody, his voice a hollow sound.

”That’s right, darling,” the voice remained soft, “You know the importance of words and stories. Then maybe…”

It was inside his head now, “...maybe you can rewrite yours.”

The echoes of metal links and soft voices came to an abrupt stop. 

Complete silence.

Darkness faded back into the Library as cog, wheel, and hum returned. The second hand of a clock ticked once more. The late afternoon light filtered through the windows again. Everything was still in place.

Juro was staring wordlessly before him, unaware, like there was no alarming bend of space that glimmered around him. With an accompanying sigh, his eyes slowly, finally came to a full close, lashes slipping over amber in one smooth motion. He fell sideways, his knees buckling and collapsing towards the ground until he hit something soft and feathery. His golem caught him in its wings with a worried caw, as his arm dropped to the side, pen rolling out of his fingers onto the wooden floor as he laid within his golem, unmoving. 

Virion crooned again in concern, but relaxed when it realized that his breath was steady, “Sorry Vir… I’m… suddenly… really tired…” Juro could only mumble under his breath, sinking into the sea of blue and white. 

He had fallen fast asleep.

It was quiet once more in the Library.

[gauntie-o-dimm]

Avallac’h | I Give You My Heart

Prompt: ‘So, is this goodbye then?’

Word count: 2700+ Warnings: Smut, swearing, angst

Despite all the years I had known Avallac'h, the Elven Sage was still a mystery to me. How it had happened was just as big as an enigma - the way we met, the differences we had, in another world and a thousand others, the Aen Elle and I would never have been lovers, nor friends. The relationship had started in the chaos of Ciri's reappearance, the defeat of the Wild Hunt and the frenzy around the White Frost, perhaps that had been the only thing sparking it. For now when Ciri had returned and Avallac'hs lingering presence was alarming to Geralt and Yennefer, who didn't seem to trust him after he helped Ciri open the gate between worlds. I wasn't sure of who to believe, either. It only sowed doubt in my heart, even if Ciri had sworn it was her request. In another world, we might've been enemies, I speculated. After all, Avallac'h wasn't a kind soul. And honestly, nor was I. Friends-with-benefits wasn't even a way to call it. We didn't share such a bond outside of the sheets.

Still, within all this apprehension concerning our relationship, I often found myself yearning for his touch, longing to be held. The Elf was absolutely gorgeous to look at, and he was Ciri's friend - but not according to Geralt. Friend or foe, at times, this thin line blurred while my body writhed and twisted underneath him; he always knew exactly what he was doing. Against all times becoming one with him, I had no idea who he truly was.

He had asked me to meet him at Novigrad - somewhere where we both were fairly familiar, so it sparked no direct fear into my heart. Thus I sat on a wall outside, feet dangling over the edge, admiring the soft snow that fluttered down around me. It took it's time to settle down, not another purpose than to lie on the ground until it became trampled and eventually evaporated again into the air, continuing its journey around the globe. To me, it was almost meditative.

'I was wondering where I'd find you.' A familiar voice startled me from my daydream. I looked over my shoulder, raising an eyebrow as a greeting. He sighed and walked up to me, halted as he arrived at the wall. 'Fascinating, isn't it?' I said with a small huff, little clouds of hot air leaving my mouth. 'Water has so many purposes yet it never fails to alter its destiny. Wherever it goes, it will always return back into the air. It takes sometimes hundreds, thousands of years to move. Not that it matters.'

I turned to fully face him, cerulean eyes meeting with mine instantly. The sight of them made me shiver - though not pleasantly. A gust of cold air blew into my face, making me take a shaky inhale. 'Though I believe that you didn't request my presence to be to deliberate on the cycle of water.' I broke the silence. The Sage leaned on his staff, moving his hand to rub his chin. '(Y/n),' he began, my name on his tongue in a way that I could describe as odd and undecided. 'You know, since the White Frost has been defeated, no one around here requires my help anymore. I shall return to Tir Ná Lia soon, awaiting new orders. Thought I should let you know that.'

My previous statements about us not being companions in any way or form other than the occasional fuck we shared were utterly true, yet it didn't stop my heart from uncomfortably clenching in my chest. I swallowed thickly, giving the Elf a small nod. 'Okay.' I said, daring to let my eyes flicker over his body, taking in the sight of his face, his robes, and immediately reminiscing on the tattoos that I knew underneath them. 'When will you be going?' 'Tomorrow morning.' It was dusk, now. I nodded again, pursing my lips together.

The silence between us was pregnant and made me want to crawl out of my own skin - part of me wanted him to leave to pack his things so I could cry about him in secret - the other part wanted for him to stay right here next to me and have him make the moment last forever - even though such concepts were beyond his ability. 'Care to share one more evening with me?' The question startled me; Avallac'h never had been the one to imply sex so boldly. It always started without any spoken word, never a direct inquiry from either of us. I would be lying to myself if I said that it didn't confuse me at first.

'I'd like that.' I said. A rare smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. 'Good. Meet me in my room in ten minutes.' Without expecting another word from me, he disappeared, back to the inn where he had been staying at. It left me some space to let a single tear flow down my cheek. I wiped it away, sniffling slightly. Why was I upset? It wasn't like we were in a relationship or anything of the sort other than purely beneficial. We only had sex to fulfill our own needs, right?

The ten minutes seemed to be over way too slowly, but with heavy feet I walked up to the room where Avallac'h was still staying: the same room where Ge'els had the vision about king Auberon. It felt emptier without the Aen Elle's belongings scattered everywhere, now packed up in two full bags. I stood awkwardly in the door's frame, awaiting for him to notice me. 'You may come in.' he spoke, fastening the straps of a third and final bag. I stepped closer, closing the door behind me. We didn't say a word and I awaited the Elf to approach me. It didn't take long for him to do that, nimble fingers soon tucking a strand of (h/c) behind my ear. His palm rested on my cheek for a few moments, a sigh leaving his lips.

'You know, (Y/n), I have thoroughly enjoyed our nights together.' 'That makes two of us.' I added, though with a shiver in my voice. 'I am going to miss it.' His grey hair fell in front of his face as he nodded. He leaned closer, planting his mouth against mine. The first kiss was gentle, without much pressure behind it. The second one was needier and rougher in it's nature - Avallac'h reached for the back of my head, tilting my face slightly before slipping in his tongue, body pressed against mine as if he tried to crawl into me. His heat seemed hotter than ever before, his actions speaking volumes. 'That's something I'll never forget,' he murmured after a few seconds, pulling back to let me breathe. 'You taste sweeter than anything I've ever had before.' I clenched my thighs together at the thought of his head between my legs, nipping away at me, taking his time. My fingers curled around his robes, tugging at them impatiently.

Avallac'h let out a chuckle, a sound that never failed to make my knees feel weak. I witnessed him undo his clothes, tattoos soon becoming visible on the bare skin of his chest. I followed his actions, peeling off the layers that still clung to my body. As to why we didn't help out each other undress, that I did know an answer to. Well, perhaps because we had never done that before. Foreplay was always very tame, so why would it be different now? I shivered as Avallac'h reached for my breasts, warm hands cupping them for a moment as he leaned down to kiss one of my nipples, tongue soon circling it. My fingers reached for his hair, a soft moan slipping past my lips. He didn't do this because I liked it so much, he did it because he liked it.

He was fully naked in front of me, surprising me by how hard his erection already was. It bobbed up and down with every movement and made my mouth water. I loved to have him in my mouth, feel the swell on my tongue. The sight of it made my heart ache, knowing damn well it would be the final time I'd see it.

Truth be told, Avallac'hs cock was always able to make me feel incredible. Unlike anything I had ever felt before, I'd always tell myself whenever he pounded into me. Nights together were always quiet, with not much exchanged dialogue, instead filled with grunts and moans. I refused to murmur his name during these moments, though I had to stop myself several times from doing so.

A pair of hands on my butt made me gasp, letting myself be lifted up to be carried towards the bed. Avallac'h broke contact with my nipple, my fingers tugging at his hair softly to make him look up at me. He smiled, eyes glimmering in a way that I had never seen before. There was something different about his touch, more electric, perhaps. Something desperate, I daresay.

I sprawled myself out on the bed, spreading my legs for him. Momentarily, he released me, eyeing me up and down while sucking on his bottom lip. 'You're exquisite.' he murmured, 'Such a pretty woman for me. And so needy, as well...' His finger rubbed my glistening slit, coating it with my juices. His behavior was off to me - he never was one for filthy talk. I whimpered at his touch, arching my hips slightly upwards. However, he put a firm hand on my pelvis, keeping me down. He withdrew his moist finger, looking at it before putting it in his mouth, sucking off my slick. Avallac'h closed his eyes, letting out a soft breath. 'Delicious.' he muttered, crawling over me to kiss me on the lips.

There was something inexplicably futile behind his actions, but I couldn't ask him about it. No, his mouth was latched onto mine, sucking on my lips and tongue as if he had to breathe through me. Not that I minded; If anything, I'd let him maul me completely if it came to it. I moaned in his mouth, feeling the heat of his member press onto me, the weight of it brushing against my throbbing core. I wanted him to take me, to push me into the mattress, to fuck me until I was broken like I already would be in a few hours, shattered by the thought that he was leaving. And as if he read my mind, he pushed past my labia, sliding into my depths until the hilt.

A strained moan was forced from my throat, the feeling of him filling me so nicely bringing stars into my vision. Oh, this Elven Sage was absolutely and wholly gorgeous. I wrapped my legs around his torso, pulling him deeper into me, causing him to grunt. Hair fell in front of his face and he pressed his forehead against mine, basking in the feeling of thrusting into me with large movements, my fingers tracing the outlines of his tattoos before raking across his bare back. 'Avallac'h...' I moaned softly. 'Crevan...' His eyes shot open at the name, a small frown appearing on his face. I cupped his cheeks, rubbing them softly as he kept pounding into me, sweaty skin slapping skin, my clit occasionally being grazed by the soft patch of pubic hair just above his length. I looked him straight in the eye, trying to show him all the emotion I felt for him. 'I love you.' I confessed suddenly, unable to stop the words from slipping out, 'I want to come with you to the land of the Aen Elle.'

First, the quiver of the corner of Avallach's lip, a slight faltering in his pace. Then, he stopped fucking me altogether, pulling back from my body. Just now I saw his chest glisten with sweat, adorned with tiny droplets that slid down towards our connected bodies. '(Y/n), what did you say?' he questioned, as if he wasn't sure if he had heard me correctly. 'I want to come with you to--' 'No, no, before that.' I let out a shivering breath. 'I love you.' I repeated, realizing the true meaning of those words at once. Perhaps I had always known, deep down inside. We weren't friends. We weren't lovers. In the end, to whom was I lying? These past months of uncertainty, the chaos, the misery. I had fallen in love with the Elven Sage above me, whose chest was rising up and down heavily from the tension alongside the processing of what he had just heard. Avallac'h pulled himself out of me, making me whimper at the sudden loss. He rubbed some hair from his face, shaking his head as he looked at me. He moved down his hand, suddenly starting to rub my clit in circular motions. 'Oh...' I softly moaned, confused of what his plans were now. He hadn't said anything, just looked at my face in silence as he fingered my sensitive nub. My face looked down at his bobbing length, which he neglected of completely.

It didn't take long for me to reach my high. The soft pad of Avallach's index finger grazed so nicely over my clitoris that I soon burst, the building release finally washing over me in an intense and hot wave. However, I still was bewildered to completely enjoy the orgasm, so as soon as his fingers left my cunt at the final flutters of my body, the bliss was gone.

'You can't come with me, (Y/n).' Avallac'h suddenly spoke. He sat up, reaching for his robes. I propped myself up onto my elbows. 'Can't you visit me from time to time?' I asked him, watching as he found my underwear, tossing it towards me.

'No, (Y/n).' 'I don't get it.' 'Of course you don't get it. You humans are so... Small-minded. I wonder what it is like to know so little.' Tears filled my eyes while he stood up, bed moving from the shifting weight. 'Avallac'h?' He let out an almost annoyed sigh, putting on his clothes in silence. Suddenly, I felt extremely naked in front of him. I arose as well, putting on some underclothing until I didn't feel as embarrassed. I reached for his face, wanting to kiss him. He pulled away and it was enough to make me cry.

'Explain it to me, then.' I said with a crack in my voice, more vulnerable than I had ever been with him. 'You... You don't love me?' His cerulean eyes seemed guilty, sincerely and cold as they locked with mine. 'I do. I do love you. You're one of the most wonderful people I have ever met. But I cannot be with you, can't you see? I must protect both of us, and with my departure, I shall not return to you.' 'Why? Why are you doing this, then?' He sighed, shaking his head as if he was scolding me, as if I was a disobedient child. And then, it dawned on me. Perhaps it was all I'd ever be to him. An immature, simple-minded being, sensitive to the smallest amount of change, satisfied by a simple thrust of his cock.

'So, is this goodbye then?' I questioned, watching as he took his bags. Despite our previous actions, he didn't seem hot and bothered at all, as if we weren't bare and tangled mere minutes ago. No, he was the same Sage that outside of the bedroom spoke to me; cold and factual and everything but adoring.

'It is, miss (L/n).' My heart broke apart in a thousand-million pieces and I had to resist the strong urge of falling onto my knees to desperately sob. 'Farewell.' I wanted to speak to him. Tell him that I thought he wasn't leaving until next morning, but perhaps the situation had hastened him. I looked on as he opened a portal with a flick of his staff. His sandals patted against the wooden floorboards as he strode towards it. And I bit my lip, hoping that he would look over his shoulder, look me into the eye and speak my first name one more time. But he didn't. All I could do was let the tears and snot freely flow down my face as he was swallowed by the sea of orange light, listen to the sound of it closing. And then, I was left behind with nothing but myself, whimpering and full of sorrow. I should've hated him. I wished that I hated him.

[tlbodine]

1970s Horror: Monstrous Infants

The first hormonal birth control pill was released in 1960, but it wouldn’t become fully legalized until 1965. Abortion was legalized in 1973 with the landmark case Roe v Wade. 

Keeping that in mind, it’s probably not at all surprising that the 1970s might have some anxieties about childbirth and parenthood that would leak out by way of their horror movies. We watched two of them this week. 

Eraserhead, 1977, was written, directed, and produced by David Lynch, his first feature film. Despite not meeting with much in the way of commercial success (not that I think that was ever the goal or intention) it’s gained some notoriety among filmmakers and art-house film lovers.

It’s also a bit of an experience to watch. Shot in black-and-white and with very little spoken dialogue, the film is reminiscent at times of the very early horrors from the 1900s -- more concerned with images than words, evocative rather than story-driven. What it lacks in dialogue it makes up for in surrealist imagery and a backdrop of industrial noise. The story runs on dream logic, scenes unfolding with a combination of bizarre scenarios and weird imagery, and the whole thing resembles nothing so much as a long nightmare you can’t wake up from. 

The plot, such as it is, revolves around Henry Spencer, an ineffectual bumbling Everyman type who lives in a bleak little apartment (that is inexplicably filled with dirt and vegetation) and is pressured into marrying his girlfriend after she gives birth to...uh, something (”They’re not sure it IS a baby,” the girlfriend muses at one point). When his new wife can’t handle the baby’s incessant mewling, she flees the house and leaves Spencer alone to care for it, which ends...badly. Very, very badly. 

The baby itself is of course the star of the show. It’s still debated how exactly the prop was made -- apparently Lynch went so far as to blindfold crew members while they worked on the thing -- and there’s speculation that it was made somehow from an embalmed fetal sheep or skinned rabbit. But whatever the thing is in real life, the prop is frighteningly real and both disturbing and pathetic. It’s clearly inhuman, and it fusses and cries incessantly.  

The ending sequence is extremely disturbing. Also, just in case you thought the film would provide any sort of answer or closure, it does not. It remains both baffling and haunting, a movie that crawls under your skin and then just lingers there, daring you to make sense of it. 

It’s Alive! was written, produced, and directed by Larry Cohen in 1974. It’s the first of a trilogy following the same general concept, though I haven’t seen the other two films so I can’t say whether they bring anything interesting to the table. 

It’s Alive is blessedly simple in both premise and execution compared to Eraserhead, so it was a bit of a palate cleanser in that regard, but the subject matter is equally disturbing, and the themes of infanticide and reluctant fatherhood are the same. 

The film revolves around the Davis family, who are eagerly expecting their second child. That soon goes horribly wrong when the baby, uh....escapes, killing hospital staff in the process. The killer baby will continue to terrorize the neighborhood, despite roughly a million police searching for it, and news of the situation spreads all over town, damaging the family’s reputation and leading the father to lose his job. 

By the end, we determine that the baby isn’t a homicidal animal so much as just a very frightened, confused creature who fights back when people try to hurt it. Unfortunately, that’s not enough to save it from trigger-happy law enforcement and a pharmaceutical company that’s eager to cover up the baby’s existence (it’s speculated that the deformities could be caused by medications the mother had been taking). 

Apparently there’s a novelization that goes into much greater detail re: the environmental and pharmaceutical influences that cause the monster-baby. In the film, it’s a bit hard to follow, but maybe because we spent a lot of the vital exposition scene recoiling in horror at the scientist’s terrible facial hair. 

The troubling thing about It’s Alive is how difficult it is to decide whether the male lead is meant to be the hero or the villain. By modern sensibilities, he is awful. More concerned with his reputation than his wife’s trauma (or the fact that his murder-baby is killing at random), eager to kill this baby that he keeps insisting is not his. 

At one point, the wife -- who, we remember, was strapped to a table as an 11-pound baby was pried out of her, only for the thing to get loose and kill the doctor and nurses before escaping into the vents -- is trying to watch TV, presumably to get her mind off things. She has at this point already been betrayed by a nurse trying to secretly record her story in order to write about it (since the news is so sensational), and she’s been denied the ability to talk to her oldest child or have him come home, which would probably give her some comfort. So instead she’s watching TV, and the husband comes into the room and begins yelling at her for the volume and how “Nobody respects my feelings!” 

A little later, when the murder-baby ends up in their basement and the dad tries (and fails) to kill it, the wife gets upset (hysterical one might say) so the husband just...casually slaps her, hard, twice, in front of their elder child, and then runs off to chase the baby. 

The story may have been intended as a lesson on the dangers of birth control and fertility drugs (?) but in 2019 the takeaway sure seems to be that men sure are useless assholes. 

[nicole-goddessofloki]

This blogpost will perhaps be in stead of my monthly inspiring quotes blogpost. Writing is something I love to do and always films give me a lot of inspiration. I let my dreams lead my life. I start with my blog/review about The Lion King with showing my love for Disney‘s character Scar, switching to 'Scar‘s Reign', another story I enjoy writing. This week I also saw Mamma Mia 2 again and this movie is an inspiration to follow your dreams. Let that be one of my motto‘s.. Do what brings you happiness!

It‘s no secret that Tom Hiddleston, with bringing Loki in my life, has inspired me this much in writing (& sharing it) and in to believe in my Dreams. So perhaps it‘s not strange as I say the following: For me Tom/Loki is the Circle of Life!

My Lion King review/blog is below, for the story Scar‘s Reign visit the link. I‘m publishing the story here:

Scar‘s Reign (FanFiction.net) Scar‘s Reign (Archive of Our Own) Wattpad  

Perhaps in the future I will do Loki/Scar crossover.

The Lion King

Summer 2019: Where are we going? Let‘s go to the savannah of Africa, on a safari among the giraffes, zebras and last of course: lions! But you don't really have to go that far this summer (depends on where you live of course..) Just with one single cinema visit you are there! I think you have read me by now.., I'm talking about The Lion King! This summer you can watch the Disney lions Simba, Nala, Scar and Mufasa lifelike in 3D! Obviously they cannot escape the weird bird Zazu, the giggling/drooling hyenas and the comic duo Timon & Pumbaa can‘t be missed too!

The original Lion King from 1994 was a big blockbuster at the time and I think with this version it don‘t be much different. The Lion King already is one of Disney most successful franchises for years. The musical, which stops this summer here in the Netherlands but has been playing non-stop in London and in New York for years, remains a great success.

As for the Disney Remake Live Action films there‘s always the question whether it actually works just as it did in the original. The story of The Lion King is one you should definitely not add too much changes in , Disney also hasn't done that except for some expansions and some small things. Where I believe this version of director Jon Favreau rocks in, has everything to do with the breath-taking real-looking shots. The African landscapes are absolutely stunning to see and I particularly was impressed by the scenes that showed the starry sky. During the nature scenes, pay attention to the details. I must admit: The talking and singing animals are a bit of a strange sight, but of course a Lion King movie without the well-known songs is a no go! The intro is again very amazing. During the first part of the film, the cute cubs totally steal the show. The first look on baby cub Simba was without any doubts definitely an "aww moment". The Lion King from 1994 really is one that pulls your tears out! The expectation is that not everyone will keep it dry while watching some scenes in real life. However even though they look more real, I thought they didn't had the same emotion as in the animation. I thought the interaction between the animals (especially during action scenes!) looked epic (,especially on moments where they weren‘t speaking or singing haha). The home front of Timon & Pumbaa was designed to be a bit more detailed and it got more residents, that also caused some nice effects.

English version

Disney chose to let James Earl Jones return (Mufasa) as the only one of the original voice cast. People now are wondering: Why just him? A few of the missing ones are Rowan Atkinson (Zazu) & obviously Jeremy Irons, who with his English accent, really brought Scar to life. He even appears to have shown interest in this remake, but Disney chose actor Chiwetel Ejiofor to crawl into the thin skin of this lion. However he wasn‘t bad and "Be Prepared" sounded very entertaining (too bad they shortened the song, but that‘s not his fault), but it really is no match for Jeremy Irons' performance! And concerning Beyonce (Nala), the opinions are quite different. The new song "Spirit" sung by Beyonce doesn‘t sound wrong but for me certainly didn‘t reach the goose bumps level aka "Circle of Life" & "He Lives In You", although there is also a bit of nostalgia attached to that. By the way the song that you hear during the credits is called "Never Too Late" from Elton John. Timon (Billy Eichner) & Pumbaa (Seth Rogen) provide the necessary humor. This works out very well and Seth Rogen makes Pumbaa a popper! Laughing moments guaranteed!

Dutch version

The original Dutch Lion King is really nostalgic for me. That's why I thought it would be nice to also view this Dutch version. Although again it is not comparable with the 1994 version, I am sure that children will be impressed. Personally I had to get used to the voices but this version certainly did well in the songs. Hats off to the young talents who took care of the voices of the Simba & Nala cubs. They do an honour to the Dutch version of the song "Just can‘t wait until I'm king!" On moments I couldn‘t tell if it sounded any different than the original. Actor Jurgen Theuns also emerges strongly in this song as the silly bird Zazu. Scar was voiced for this version by Marc Jonkers. Also in the Dutch version of 1994 the voice of Scar (Arnold Gelderman) totally gave you the shivers, so the expectations for the voice of this evil lion is also quite high here! One moment, Jonkers‘ Scar sounded like an old lion, but when the tense music plays in the background (sometimes this was too loud to properly understand all what was said), it suddenly jumps over and he sounds pretty frightening. Scar’s own song is also very well sung. Against that, I am less enthusiastic about Mufasa (how is it possible with James Earl Jones in the original version!), The hyenas and Rafiki. Timon & Pumbaa are again spoken in by Belgian actors, which makes the fact that they come from another piece of land more alive.

In addition to the few changes in the story, Disney has given the animals a more realistic look to make the film appear more natural. The character who definitely looked the most unrealistic in the cartoon was (I just like to address him too often!) Scar with his black mane and orange-looking fur. That Disney chose not to stick to that look completely seems actually quite logical. However, you can still tell the difference between him compared to Mufasa & Simba. Of course the scar, from what he owes his name, can‘t be taken off! By the way, do you know there‘s a book that tells a part of the past of the 2 brothers? This book is called A Tale of Two Brothers. If Disney ever wants to make a Lion King movie again, I hope they prefer this prequel (in cartoon form!) over re-making Simba’s Pride!

The Lion King will no doubt be the cinema hit of the summer! The temperatures of Africa have already reached us (The Netherlands, 41 degrees on the 25th of July!) and it‘s quite ironic to say that by a cinema visit to a film about these hot landscapes, you can go for cooling down. The Lion King will bring many of us back to their childhood. Don‘t be ashamed to sing along with nostalgic songs such as "Can't Wait To Be King". Go there with your group of friends and from experience I say that it might lead to do "mini Lion King dialogues" among each other. Maybe you visited the original film with your parents and you like the idea of repeating that tradition with this version? The Lion King is suitable for children 9 years and older. Simba is laughing at you!

[pellicano-sanguino]

I was recently made aware of the fact that there's a freaking Dragonlance musical (yes, made all the way back in 2014, I'm late on the news). It's uploaded to Youtube in full (according to them, it's uploaded with the permission of the creators) and with subtitles (it's a Russian production).

I went in expecting it to be just as badly made and cringeworthy as the animated movie, and I was motivated to watch it purely by nostalgic feelings about the books (they were the first fantasy books I read) and general interest in musical theater. But turns out I...   actually liked it??? Not in a so-bad-it's-good kind of way, I genuinely found it enjoyable. What an unexpected turn of events.

Heh. Quality subtitles.

Disclaimer: It's been ages since read the books, so if I remember something wrong, feel free to correct me.

Now, this is not the next Phantom or Elisabeth or anything like that. This seems to be a rather small production. The props and effect are minimalistic and cheap, looking more like a bunch of larpers than actors (not saying larpers can't have great props, I used to larp myself when I was younger). The singing carries the story, there is very little spoken dialogue and the actors don't dance. We do get a bunch of background dancers, who at first seem really out of place crawling on the floor while the main actors just stand there and sing.

I'm also going to point out that the Dragonlance books are not the easiest or most obvious choice for a story to be adapted into a musical. These books have long, complicated plots that often arch over several books and have a whole bunch of characters. Also, being able to open the vast world and history of Krynn to an audience who may not have read a single book is challenging. Not gonna lie, I am unsure how much someone without any prior knowledge of the series will get out of this show. They do plot explaining surprisingly well but there are plenty of times where you're going to be a bit confused if you don't know the backstory.

The musical's name is The Last Trial, and it's (somewhat loosely) based on the Legends-series, describing the rise and fall of the dark wizard Raistlin Majere, who is probably the most popular Dragonlance character ever. Well, it's a wise choice, since you can tell this story with a slightly smaller cast and don't have to prop dragons. However, I question one thing. You're really going to make a musical about Raistlin? One of his trademark characteristics is his failing health, his violent, chronic cough, resulting in a creepy, raspy voice. And this is the guy you're gonna make sing.

More quality subtitles.

Oh yeah, and another thing I'm going to have to question. Are we really making this a love story? I mean, yeah, I get that all that happens between Raistlin and Crysania does also happen in the books, but I never saw any kind of romance between them. All I saw was a heartless bastard manipulating the feelings of a sensitive and naive woman. The impression I got of Raistlin from the books was a person who's asexual, aromantic and hates everyone (and who's not handsome by any standards, but rather creepy looking, especially his eyes). Not a romantic hero at all. But hey, I can kinda understand the appeal (after all, I do like such musicals as Phantom and Elisabeth, so I can totally see why a cruel and cold character gets all the fangirls; everybody likes bad boys).

The musical opens with a short introduction of this story's Greek Choir-character, Astinus. Astinus is tasked with recording the history of Krynn so he makes a good plot exposition role. I recall there being some hints that he might not be fully mortal. After the intro, stage lights reveal a violin player, who begins to play the musical's theme. The violin player stands out a little, since she's wearing modern clothes despite the story being set in a medieval-ish world. But I got to admit, the music is very, very nice, with a rather calm melody that fits the setting of a magical world of fantasy very well. This could easily be soundtrack for a fantasy movie. The beautiful music is what made me like this show.

Speaking of music, it's time for the main character to deliver the show's first song. Despite rolling my eyes at the thought of Raistlin singing with his ruined voice earlier, I have to admit, they chose the actor really well. There are at least two castings (maybe even more) of this show, and the one I saw, had Evgeny Ergorov playing Raistlin. His voice is very pleasant to listen and it carries hints of ambition, arrogance and of a powerful will that is calm and calculating but under its seeming calmness also very dangerous. I am surprised how quickly I accepted the fact that Raistlin can sing and that instead of having a voice that mirrors his suffering he has a voice that mirrors his might. The lyrics being in Russian helps, being sung in a language I don't speak a word of makes everything sound more magical and poetic. There is certain lyrical beauty to Russian and it fits the songs perfectly (obviously, since the songs were written to be sang in this language).

If we handwave the fact that Evgeny is way too pretty to be playing Raistlin (I'm presuming he's not that bad looking by het standards here, as a lesbian I'm not really the person to be judging male beauty), he looks the part and gets nicely into character. He has Raistlin's prematurely grayed hair, black robes and the staff with a glowing gem held by dragon claws. The musical goes out of its way to disrobe him, though, probably as a fanservice thing (robes really don't let you see his body well...). In the books I don't recall him ever wearing anything else, the mages in Dragonlance wore their robes everywhere like uniforms. Oh well, if wizards can prance around in muggle clothes in the Harry Potter movies, we can do the same here.

Evgeny has a rather strong stage presence. His eyes, while not as creepy as in the books, cast a very cold and powerful gaze, judging everything with distaste and cynicism but never underestimating anything in his arrogance. This Raistlin is full of pride but not blinded or hindered by it. The only trademark part of his character that I consider to be missing is his failing physical health, that creates an opposite to his powerful mind and allows him to manipulate people by using the compassion they feel when seeing a sick, suffering man. Many more prideful men would be insulted when offered help and proclaim that they can take care of themself, but Raistlin never does this; he relies on the help of others whenever it's convenient and never considers such a thing to be below the world's greatest wizard.

Astinus appears again and explains the next song number to the audience. In the war preceding the events in this show, Raistlin fought with a bunch of other heroes to defeat a dark dragon goddess called Takhisis, the primordial source of evil in the Dragonlance pantheon of gods. According to the musical, Raistlin's role was to work as a double agent – he swore an oath to Takhisis and became her servant only to stab her in the back so she could be sealed away in Abyss.  It's been ages since I read the books, so I can't tell if this is how it really went. My faint memories claim it wasn't quite like that, but this is what the musical tells us so let's just go with it. Takhisis, the highest ranking of all the evil gods, is trapped in Abyss, but she still plots her escape and bears grudge to Raistlin. She can't enter the world of mortals in the waking world, but she can appear in their dreams.

Like evil, Takhisis takes many faces aside from her iconic multiheaded dragon queen form. She invades Raistlin's dreams in the form of the Dark Lady and torments him with nightmares and ominous predictions that he'll one day be her servant again and open the gate of her prison. In this version, Takhisis is played by Vera Zoodena. And wow. Just...  wow.

Her Dark Majesty can easily be interpreted as a kinda succubus-like, sexy and seductive femme fatale (because god forbid we have evil female characters who aren't overly sexualized...). This kind of role is very easy to overdo and instead of intimidating and charismatic turn out to be just... cheesy and slutty. But Vera Zoodena knows that a revealing outfit and sexy posing isn't all you need for a powerful female villain. Yes, she is very much directed as seductive, but instead of making me feel like someone made her wear that costume and ordered her to pose like that, I feel that she is in complete control of everything. Vera's stage presence is amazing. Femme fatales rarely have any effect on me (well, they are usually geared towards a male audience anyway) but this Takhisis makes chills run down my spine when she sings. Her voice is so haunting and sexy, I can feel her fingers tipped with deadly claws menacingly caress my skin by just listening to it. (I'm sorry. I promise to keep the TMI to a minimum. But I'm totally hot and bothered for Takhisis.).

Raistlin's nightmares are interrupted by his twinbrother Caramon, who intuitively knows his brother is suffering and rushes to wake him up. Raistlin thanks Caramon for driving away the unwanted dreams, but remains distant. Caramon then begins to sing, advising Raistlin to give up his ambitious plan, which he now reveals to the audience; Raistlin intends to descend into Abyss and challenge Takhisis, ascending to godhood himself if he manages to defeat the goddess. We have fought our wars, says Caramon, the Dark Lady is safely locked away in Abyss and the world needs heroes no more. Well, that's easy for you to say, you're not the one getting your dreams invaded.

Let's talk about Caramon a little. He is supposed to be the opposite of his twin; physically strong but mentally not the brightest, a handsome fellow with a big heart that overflows with kindness towards his friends and family. No ambition, no selfish arrogance guiding his actions, all he longs for is a simple, comfortable life and he cares deeply about the wellbeing of his loved ones. Compare that to Raistlin, who cares not about the feelings of others, uses people as stepping stones to reach his own selfish goals and in his pride desires always more power; when he has become the most powerful wizard in the mortal world even that is not enough, he needs to challenge the gods.

While I do think the actors in this musical do a pretty decent job mostly, I have to say I'm a little disappointed in Andrei Loboshov playing Caramon. His acting is a bit wooden occasionally and he comes off as comically dumb sometimes (I mean yeah, Caramon wasn't the sharpest sword in the weapon rack but still). Also his voice is kinda mediocre compared to others. This is Caramon, he is supposed to be charming and lovable. And handsome. Again, I know I'm not the right person to judge male beauty, but compare this guy to the one playing Raistlin (who is supposed to be the ugly twin). Like, come on.

Raistlin refuses Caramon's offer of simple living. He points out that as a creepy weirdo he will never belong anywhere and will never be as accepted by others like someone normal like Caramon is. He is determined to seek godhood, and abandons his brother's company while making plans how to reach his ambitious goal. He receives a letter that informs him that a priestess of Paladine (the highest ranking of the good gods, adversary of Takhisis) called Crysania seeks to meet him. Fate seems to smile upon the dark wizard, for a priestess of Paladine is exactly what he needs for his plan...

So. Crysania. I have...  mixed feelings about this character. On one hand, I admire the sincerety of her character, her genuine kindness (she is the priestess of the greatest of the good gods after all) and her determination to attempt to do the right thing. And yet she is doomed to betray her god out of her love for a heartless man. Stories about a pure maiden who falls in love with a cursed prince are numerous and the appeal of such stories is clear. However, Beauty and the Beast this is not. My main problem with Crysania is this: I fucking feel bad for what happens to her! She is dumb and naive and thoroughly amai and a very good example of what happens when a woman tries to ”cure” or ”save” a cruel man. It's not even her own fault because Raistlin manipulates the fuck out of her (and even if it were purely because of her own stupidity, victim blaming is bullshit so there!). I just want to rush in there and swoop her in my arms and give Raistlin the middlefinger like NO, you do not deserve the love of this woman, you do not get to use her for your ridiculous ego-inflating power fantasy plans, farewell and up yours!

When I read the books, I imagined Crysania looking unearthily beautiful, like a Greek statue come to life, and having an aura of holiness and piety in her voice. Here she is played by Elena Minina and damn, she is amazing. I don't know how they managed to find someone who so much resembles the official artwork of the character. I find her beauty stunning (just my opinion, there are probably a ton of people who consider her mediocre) and her voice is incredible. It's so clear, like the singing of birds and the sounds of running water on a stream, like silver bells tied to a dancer's ankle. I don't know how to describe it. I know nothing of opera or other top quality singing but I could easily imagine Elena being a truly professional singer. And this is really what made me fall in love with this show; the songs and the amazing singers delivering them.

Raistlin and Crysania meet in the city of Palanthas and have a little talk. Crysania reveals to the black mage that her god Paladine is aware of his plans and does not approve. She attempts to convince him to abandon his plan, not just for the good of mankind and the cosmic balance (the proper balance of good and evil is very important in Dragonlance pantheon) but for his own sake. Repent before it's too late and save yourself! Knowing that this is a chess piece he very much needs, Raistlin immediately goes into manipulation mode and starts to suggest things to Crysania. Oh, you came to me just as a messenger of your god? What if I told you he sent you to me for different reasons – to help me. He proceeds to flatter Crysania, praising her faith and purity (maybe to suggest that someone like her couldn't commit anything unholy, and thus can help him without fear of angering her god) and plants the idea to her head that light and dark mages aren't so black and white, and that sometimes dark magic is necessary to reach a noble cause.

Crysania listens and admits that Raistlin makes many good points but still she advises him to give up his plan. At this moment Raistlin has a coughing fit (the only time we see the fragility of his body in the musical) and Crysania's heart is immediately melted by compassion and she offers her help (as a priestess of Paladine she has healing powers). Raistlin accepts her healing magic but refuses her plea to bring him to the temple to be treated properly there, since even Paladine's clerics can't cure the curse that ruined his body. But appealing to her compassion works for his advantage, as did letting her get close and touch him (it's like he knows she's going to fall in love with him and attempts to bond with her to make it happen.). He insists on leaving but invites Crysania to meet him at the Tower of High Sorcery if she wants to speak with him more. Once she's alone, Crysania sings about how she understands that her fate is tied to this mysterious man who she used to think of as an enemy but is fast growing more fond and respecting of. She feels sorry for him and wants to save him so badly. Let the fire burn my hands, I will endure it or die trying. Meanwhile, I'm here whispering ”don't do it” under my breath. This is a very pretty song.

Astinus steps once more on stage. Crysania asks him how does Raistlin think he can break open the gate of Abyss. Astinus reveals that the gates of Abyss were locked so that they could only be opened by a black mage and a light priest working together (which the gods thought would be unthinkable, apparently, since that would be bringing together two sworn enemies). Crysania understands now what Raistlin had in mind for her. So, he thinks I'm going to be his key. Despite knowing this, she still wants to see him to learn more and asks how to find her way to the Tower of High Sorcery. Astinus tells her that the road there goes through the Grove of the Dead, making it a very perilous journey. Crysania considers this a test of courage set upon her by Raistlin and declares that she will go there.

Next we visit a charming little place called the Inn of the Last Home. The inn is run by Tika, Caramon's wife and she merrily spends time with the customers who sing and dance the night away. Tika is played by Irina Kruglova and it's a shame she has such a small role, since she has a lovely voice.

Back during the war Tika was one of the heroes and fought just as well as everyone else, but now has settled down since just like Caramon she longed for a peaceful, adventure-free life.

When I saw this character, I got worried. It looks like it might be a kender. Good grief, the goddamn kender are the worst thing Dragonlance universe came up with. * shudders* Back in my larp days there was a universally known unwritten rule among gamemasters: no more than one kender per ten other characters. Everyone obeyed this rule and good for them. I never got to play one, but a friend of mine did. She crawled under the tables and stole everyone's shoelaces.  

The joyful tune is disturbed when Crysania comes in and asks if anyone can show her to the Grove of the Dead. Tika tries to convince her not to seek the Grove, explaining that wizards enchanted the forest so that non-magic users couldn't find a way to their tower.

The guests agree with Tika, no one knows what the Grove hides, for the Grove never returns its dead. Crysania is still determined, if no one comes to be her guide, she goes alone. The guests and Tika then come up with an idea to have Caramon go along to keep her safe. No one else dares to go there, but Caramon is a true war hero.

Unfortunately this is the exact moment Caramon enters the inn, drunk as a lord and holding a letter he wrote to Raistlin. Look, Raistlin sent my letter back unopened, and even wrote on top of it ”I have no brother.” The separation of the twins was hard for Caramon and he started to drink his depression away, becoming less like a hero and more like pathetic drunk every day. He sings a sad, drunken, wailing song about how this letter hurt him so deeply.

They are stealing his axe - they are kender! Out! Throw them out!

Crysania rolls eyes at such a guardian, baffled that the intelligent and well mannered Raistlin could have such a disgraceful twin and she goes forth on her own. Tika then shames Caramon for being such a wreck and giving everything up so easily like the opposite of Rick Astley and sends him after the priestess. Your brother messed with her head, now it's your job to get her back safely! Reluctantly Caramon goes, not thrilled to be back on the adventuring business.

The background dancers felt out of place earlier, but in the Grove of the Dead they fit in perfectly, creating an ominous atmosphere. These living shadows creep up to Crysania, who faces them without fear and sends them back with the power of faith. She's prevented from proceeding any further when she comes face to face with an undead warrior named Lord Soth.

In the books, the death knight was sent to assassinate Crysania by Raistlin's sister Kitiara, to prevent the opening of the gates of Abyss. Lord Soth failed in his attempt, Crysania didn't die but she was wounded. Kitiara doesn't appear in this musical, and we don't actually see Lord Soth wounding Crysania. Instead he just poses dramatically and seems to scare Crysania and Caramon from approaching the Tower. He and the rest of the shadows are sent away by Raistlin, who appears to sing a new song.

The song is all about how names have power. It's a very fitting song for a mage, but kinda out of place. I guess it implies that by the power of knowing the name and origin of the creatures of the Grove he can send them away and allow the travellers to reach the Tower. But it looks like he's singing it to Crysania, which makes no sense. Also, what is he doing there? He should be far gone by now, time travelling to the past (yes, this story involves time travelling, a kind of magic that I've always thought way too powerful to exist, since if you have the power to go back in time, wouldn't you be able to keep trying a thing over and over again until you reach a timeline where you're successful? Way too convenient for my taste in magic.).

In the Tower of High Sorcery the Conclave of Mages is holding a meeting re: what to do with Raistlin. There are the white robed light mages and the black robed dark mages, but where are the neutral red ones? Balance of power is important in Dragonlance lore, and besides the forces of good and evil there existed the middle path that was kinda allowed to do whatever they wanted because they held loyalty to neither side. They could have easily put some red mages in the background here, so I wonder why they didn't (local prop department only had white and black robes?).

The conclave calls forth Dalamar, an elf who was spying Raistlin for the Conclave while being his apprentice in dark sorcery. Dalamar reveals all that he knows of Raistlin's plans; that his teacher has time travelled to the city of Istar to look for the gate to Abyss and to learn from another dark wizard who lived there at the time. By doing so Raistlin has apparently broken some union laws the Conclave held and they are disgusted with this (I told you time travelling should be banned!). But then they decide to send Crysania back in time to Istar too, for whatever reason. In the book it was because she was injured and needed a level of healing only the clerics of Paladine back in Istar's days of greatness could offer. But here it's a bit unclear, since we don't see Crysania get wounded and the Conclave never mentions any reasons behind their decision to send her time travelling. Maybe they were just as naive as her and thought she could stop him. Crysania tells them she intends to prevent Raistlin from opening the gates of Abyss and they just...   seem to go with it.

Dalamar and Par-Salian (leader of the Conclave) high five at their decision. Classy wizards are these.

One nice detail they kept are Dalamar's scars. You can see them on his chest. Raistlin wasn't born yesterday, he knew damn well that Dalamar was spying him and to show him that he knows, he burned the elf's chest with his fingertips like branding a calf. Just so you know, I'm on to your scheme and could dispose of you any time I want, I just don't think of you as a threat and don't care if the Conclave finds out because they won't be able to stop me. In the books Dalamar had a bizarre habit of flashing his scars to people. Look at what he did to me! No, stop, put your robes back on, nobody wants to see that, you kinky biscuit!

While the background people are working on propping Istar (mainly just covering everything in white), Dalamar sings a short song that reveals that he actually sends Crysania back in time because he is loyal to his teacher. Whatever you say, Dalamar. Whatever. Anyway, we have travelled back in time to Istar now. Everything and everyone is white and shiny and full of faith. Crysania is awestuck at the beauty of the city and the grandness of faith. Istar is a theocratic city state, and we also meet the guy who runs the city, known as the Kingpriest.

Good god, Alexi Tolstorkorov who plays the Kingpriest has the perfect voice for the role. It's a powerful, booming and majestic voice, making him sound like a charismatic cult leader when he preaches his truth. His voice demands respect and acknowledgment of his authority. Alexi is also rather tall, which makes him look properly intimidating. And considering they probably didn't have much of a budget, they propped him rather decently. Very good Kingpriest, 10/10.

Kingpriest. Dude. You’re saying that to a blind person!

Crysania finds Raistlin among the crowd (disguised as a cleric, because he's smart enough not to prance around in his black robes here) and informs him that Caramon got sent back with her as well but they got separated in the crowd. Raistlin didn't expect his brother to join Crysania in her attempt to stop him, but accepts this new turn of events and is already figuring out how to use it to his advantage. Raistlin tells her that he has already located the gates of Abyss here and soon they will open them together. I was expecting Crysania to tell him she has no such intentions, but here she just seems to...  be too distracted by Wow such great city! Very pure! Much faith! Which is...  awkward. Because this is fucking Istar, in the past. Crysania should know what happens to this city. Like, did they not teach history in whatever school priests of Paladine go to? Apparently they did not and it is up to Raistlin to open Crysania's eyes and reveal the ugly truth to the audience.

Raistlin sings a song about the corruption of Istar, how the priests are drunk with power and use it in manners that should be blasphemous to do in the name of good gods. Not only is magic and the worship of evil and neutral gods forbidden, some of the good gods are banned too and there's racism (I wholeheartedly cheer at the guards jailing kender, though.) and all other disgusting misuses of religion as justification for evil. The city if full of narcisstic men who put their own words in the mouth of god and present it as truth. It's interesting that Weis and Hickman came up with Istar, since Hickman is a devout mormon, so you'd think he's not the kind of person to present a theocracy as a corrupt cult. Anyway, Raistlin uses this moment to again cultivate in Crysania the belief that light and dark are not the same as good and evil. If priests of Paladine can be capable of such wickedness, then logic follows that a black mage can seek a noble cause. Maybe I'm not your enemy, aren't the ones who betrayed your god while claiming to serve him much more deserving to be your enemies? I only seek to rid the world of the source of all evil, while they seek to tear the whole world apart in their crusade against even the smallest shadow.

And then Crysania goes and confronts her fellow priests and the Kingpriest himself like the dumb shit she is, accusing them of their false faith and questioning their authority. Like good grief Crys, how fucking amai can you be?! Did you really think that one woman marching in front of a cultist leader and his brainwashed minions could make them see the light and better their ways by just shaming them? Like oh no, she is giving us the shounen anime protagonist Convincing Shouting treatment and telling us to give up our corrupt religion that benefits us greatly, whatever shall we do? Tell her she's right and that we are ashamed of ourselves for not noticing earlier? Or how about...  we just burn her at the stake for heresy?

Seriously Crysania, did you stop for two seconds to consider what could go wrong with your master plan? Anyway, it's a very nice song between Crysania and the Kingpriest. It also shows Crysania's budding doubts about her faith. She is disgusted that she had to have this revealed to her by an enemy, that her brothers and sisters who she is supposed to trust were holding an ugly secret from her.

So, Crysania is held captive at the temple for heresy. Raistlin doesn't seem particularly concerned with this. Having Crysania doubt her faith works for his plan. Caramon gets imprisoned too, after asking people if they've seen his brother, who's a mage. Use of magic being forbidden, even family members of mages get thrown in jail. There Caramon sings a song how he trusts that his brother will soon come save him. It's sad to see Caramon projecting his own family loyalty to his brother who has never helped anyone if it wasn't relevant to his interests. You poor man, still blind to the truth that your brother can't be redeemed.

In the book Caramon was made to fight in a gladiator arena with other prisoners. This musical also makes him fight, but frames it differently. Here the Kingpriest arranges the fights to find the best warrior to be the Chosen One to deliver world of evil or something along those lines. Disguised as a cleric Raistlin declares Caramon as a volunteer to fight. He is brought to the arena but refuses to pick up his sword, because it's one thing to fight in a war and for self defence but this is just slaughter for the amusement of others and he wants nothing to do with it.

I like how when Caramon refuses to fight, his opponent strikes this seductive pose. Fight me, my love, you know you want to...

The Kingpriest is not pleased for Caramon's refusal. Raistlin explains to him that the man is an honorable knight (yeah sure) who cares not for his own life but will defend the life of another. He suggests that they bring Crysania to the arena. The Kingpriest agrees to this, and Caramon immediately picks up his sword to protect the lady. The fight is fierce and has surprisingly many real swordplay techniques used (I usually expect very little realism from stage swordfights). Yes there's still lots of unreasonable things like turning your back to your enemy and coming way too close during the close combat (you come to a distance I can punch you, you will get pommel to the face) but this is still one of the best stage swordfights I've seen. It's also unusually fast, more often stage fencing uses slower, wider strikes to make it easier to follow the fight. Here, I noticed many of the techniques used only when I was taking screenshots, they happen so fast.

I didn’t even notice this block by grabbing blade at first viewing.

Oh, this looks like a throw! Are they really going to do a throw?

Apparently yes.

I have to tip my hat to the guy who plays Purple Fake Dreads here. He is agile!

He is fierce!

He is bouncy!

Fly away, Purple Fake Dreads!

I especially like the move where he places his foot on Caramon's leg and steps up on it to kick him in the groin.

Go, go, Purple Fake Dreads!

Caramon, who fought more carefully and defensively than his aggressive and impatient opponent, wins the fight, and the Kingpriest grants him and Crysania their freedom as a reward. The citizens of Istar then begin a mass with the Kingpriest, and the chanting gets more and more ominous until everything goes red. The event known as Cataclysm happens.

Angered by the corruption and arrogance of the Kingpriest, the gods threw a fiery mountain down on Istar, sinking the city to the bottom of the sea, changing the landscape and geography of Krynn permanently. Raistlin, Caramon and Crysania escape the divine wrath by time travelling again, to a timeline little after the Cataclysm. This they do offscreen.

Having witnessed the destruction of Istar, Crysania grieves for the innocent lives struck down for the crimes of a few. Her faith weakens once more. Her god doesn't answer to her call, so Raistlin asks her to follow him, which she does. After all, he is the one who showed her the truth and hasn't lied to her, and for that she respects him. She still believes that her fate is tied to the dark wizard, but she is beginning to doubt if her role ever was to help him see the light and not the other way around.

Istar being at the bottom of the sea now, Raistlin can no longer use the gates in there, much to his annoyance. However, there is a second Gate hidden in Zhaman fortress, in a well guarded dwarf kingdom. The black mage needs to find a way to get inside, and simple knowledge of history tells him how to do it.

Caramon comes to his brother, demanding to know why he betrayed him and made him fight in the arena instead of helping him escape. After listening to this for a while, Raistlin tells him that he's being an idiot; arranging for him to get chosen to fight in the arena was his plan to get him out from jail. You got yourself arrested out of stupidity, getting you to be chosen as the one to fight wasn't easy either, you know. So don't come to me claiming I didn't help you and Crysania to get your freedom so we could all escape together instead of leaving you behind to go down with the rest of Istar!

Okay, I get it, Caramon admits. But I'm still done with all of this and I'm going back home! Oh really, Raistlin comments, what a shame, I could have used your help. It hurts me to see the change in Caramon as soon as Raistlin says that, because the dumb man doesn't understand that he's just being manipulated. Caramon is so desperate for any sign of brotherly love from his twin that as soon as Raistlin hints that he could help him, he's ready to do anything. Of course I will help you in any way I can, my dear brother! You poor man, you poor faithful dog wagging your tail no matter how many times your master mistreats you.

What Raistlin has in mind for Caramon is war. Around this time in history, there was a war waged against the dwarf kingdom. Raistlin intends to make history repeat itself, and he needs Caramon to lead the army. What army, it's just the three of us, asks Caramon. And then Raistlin begins to sing, while the background dancers begin what looks like a yoga session. Raistlin is a good speaker and manipulator, he easily convinces warriors to join their attack to Zhaman fortress. Knowing history helps him, for he knows what kind of people went into this war and what their motivations were.  Little by little they gather quite an army to march into war. Caramon questions if what they are doing is the right thing and that they are lying to people to lure them into an unnecessary war. Raistlin convinces him the war is inevitable, and Caramon, too eager to please his brother, turns a blind eye to the unethicalness of it all.

While Caramon is working his hardest to earn them an entry to the gates, Raistlin focuses on working his mindgames with Crysania. He needs to get her to agree to go along with his plan. So he attempts to use her compassion, and sings to her a sad song about his childhood, colouring everything a little to make himself look more like a sympathetic victim of forces beyond his control. He claims to have began learning magic purely for self defence, being bullied as kid, and then goes on to claim that magic is an addiction that can't be fought once you've tried it. He also very clearly has become aware of Crysania falling in love with him and fans those flames as best he can, being all gentlemanly and nice to her even if he's a jerk when he's with his brother. This is one thing that people don't get about abusive people; they are perfectly capable of playing nice when it's beneficial to them and just because someone is ”such a nice guy” doesn't mean they can't be monsters.

Crysania is smart enough to call bullshit on Raistlin claiming to have always been an enemy to Takhisis, pointing out that he did fight on her side during the past war. But Raistlin pulls the ”It was all according to my plan, so I could betray her”-card out of his sleeve. I'm a traitor to both sides and both good and evil look forward to my funerals. Pity poor me who attempted to do what was right but ended up being unfairly hated by everyone. Well, Crysania buys it all, poor woman. They get closer and closer and looks like they are about to kiss...

But no kissels. Excited Caramon arrives to bring news that Zhaman has been conquered. Crysania leaves the men alone, and Caramon sings a happy song about how much glory he has gained in these battles and thanks Raistlin for making him the leader of the army, giving his life meaning and saving him from being a useless, depressed drunk.

Raistlin is initially annoyed that his alone time with Crysania was interrupted, but knowledge that he now has access to the gates he so desires to open puts him in a good mood and he joins Caramon in the victory celebrations. At some point it even looks like he...  smiles a little...   and not sarcastically. Who is this stranger and what have you done with the real Raistlin?

Now all Raistlin needs is to make sure Crysania will follow him to the gates. At night, when they are alone again he begins to sing a romantic song for her, posing sexily while he gazes at the starry sky, and she joins the song. By now she is completely and utterly in love with him and filled with joy when suggested that the feelings might be mutual.

Raistlin does an excellent job at seducing her considering he has no prior experience in romance whatsoever.  He often takes Crysania's hand while they walk but never makes any more forward moves himself, allowing her to be the one who initiates their first kiss.

Except this time too they are interrupted before the kiss can happen. This time by peeping tom Takhisis making her nightly visit to Raistlin's mind and being all Oh my, things are getting juicy in here, wait until I get my popcorn! Raistlin is startled, looks away and tells Crysania to get out. This is the first time Raistlin's behaved like that in front of her, so she's frightened that by making that first move crossed his line and angered him. She runs away, brokenhearted.

Raistlin is left alone with Takhisis, who in her turn tries to play mindgames. She suggests to Raistlin that maybe he wasn't encouraging Crysania's love just because it was convenient for his plan, maybe he too is falling in love.

Raistlin is horrified of such a thought but compliments her Dark Majesty for pointing out his weakness so he can make sure to overcome it. I made her fall in love with me, using her weakness of compassion and pity against her, surely I am above falling into my own trap! Well, regardless of how her love was born, comments Takhisis, your feelings are genuine – don't you want to keep her? Love is stronger than you are, puny mortal, it would overcome you.

Love brings no happiness, only suffering, sings Raistlin. Look at Crysania, who was so fearless, yet now is afraid, made so weak by her love. I must not return a false love, not fall for a creation of my own making. And so he fights to resists the basic human urge, the need to be loved, considering it a dangerous weakness. Without love I can't be hurt. I won't let my feelings hinder me, my brother is nothing but a sword for me and Crysania is nothing but a key. Love will break and weaken any ruler.

Nothing matters more than love, whispers Takhisis (rather uncharacteristic for the goddess of evil to spout such sappy fortune cookie aforisms). No, power is much more dear to me, answers Raistlin, but he is a complete emotional mess after fighting his feelings and can just tiredly beg for the Dark Lady to leave him alone.

Caramon, while unable to hear Takhisis, heard everything Raistlin said and his heart breaks when he finally learns that his brother doesn't love him. So it was all lies, I meant nothing to you? Or maybe I knew this all along and was lying to myself. When Caramon says he's leaving, Raistlin calls out to him, weak and exhausted after chasing Takhisis out of his mind. And even now, after hearing the truth, Caramon hesitates only a moment before coming to Raistlin's side, making sure he's alright. He even takes off his cape to cover the sleepy wizard warmly.

Kind people are unable to ignore a call for help, even when uttered by someone they know wouldn't return the favor, because for kind people there is no such thing as ”someone who doesn't deserve help.” I still want to kick Raistlin for being such a dick, though. While watching Raistlin sleep, Caramon sings a sad song about how he misses the lost happiness and innocence of their childhood.

The next song is very painful. It's Crysania basically slutshaming herself. Instead of recognizing that her broken heart is the result of Raistlin's mindfuckery, she blames herself. And more alarmingly, she makes a decision to change. By now she is as desperate for Raistlin recognizing her worth as Caramon was for any sign of brotherly love. It hurts me to see her like this, because it reminds me too much of real women who end up trying to change to better please their male lovers. This is what has become of her – the fearless lady who went forth to save a wicked man and prevent him from going through a horrible plan has turned into a blind minion of said man, willing to do whatever he wants. Raistlin has corrupted Crysania, broken her in an incredibly vile way. Instead of leaving the cruel man, she is finally convinced to aid him in opening the gates to Abyss. In her despair to be deemed worthy, Crysania decides to do the one thing Raistlin has always been asking of her, even if that means going against her god's will. At one point in the song it looks like she's talking to Paladine (kinda looking skyward) and saying something along the lines of ”I expect you to condemn what I'm about to do.” And so she betrayed her god and went down to Abyss for the sake of love.

Into the Abyss they go, singing a triumphant song together. They went with music forth to battle, not knowing what horrors lie beyond the gates. Crysania is made fearless by her faith, but not the faith she had for her god but her faith in Raistlin's might, sincerely believing it to be powerful enough to defeat a great goddess. Raistlin is made fearless by his trust in himself.

Not too long after passing the gates, they are welcomed by her Dark Majesty herself. Takhisis is aware of Raistlin's plan to kill her, but she pretends not to know. She congratulates Raistlin for opening the gates for her like a good little minion and offers him a place at the foot of her throne. Either she is being sarcastic, or she is attempting to avoid the fight with intimidation tactics, allowing Raistlin a peaceful way out if he chickens now that he is actually face to face with a powerful goddess.

Look at those four women standing beside her Dark Majesty. I didn't get it at the first viewing, but look at them; different colours, wearing a crown decorated with dragon horns – they are the rest of her five necks! The iconic fiveheaded dragon queen form does appear in the musical, cleverly interpreted!

Intimidation tactic seems to be working, Raistlin looks hesitant for a while, but Crysania turns his head so he can't see the Dark Lady and instead looks her in the eyes and this seems to break the fear instilled in Raistlin after so many nightmares. Time for mindgames and backstabbing is over, Raistlin steps up and voices his intentions loud and clear, challenging the goddess of evil.

This is the first time we see Takhisis express anger, now that all pretense has been thrown to the wind. You can almost see her breathe fire as she gives the INSOLENT MORTAL I WILL BREAK YOU IN HALF!-speech. She then summons her minions to fight for her. Including some weird glowstick-lightsaber wielding guys. They didn't have the budget to prop actual horrors from beyond, so they got creative. I think Takhisis should have summoned a bunch of her evil dragons. No matter how incredibly powerful your wizard is, if a flock of red dragons appears, he is toast. Delicious magical toast.

In the next song Takhisis sings about how great her powers are, with a big emphasis on the fact that she can take countless forms. One great way they show this is the actress playing Crysania also joining the song as clearly a Crysania-shaped incarnation of the Dark Lady. She has been tormenting Raistlin with nightmares and goes to work with his fears and darker memories again. It is fascinating that Crysania seems to be one of the things he fears, but that is probably because of his fear of falling in love and therefore becoming vulnerable.

You know, seeing Takhisis and Crysania together and hearing their beautiful voices simultaneously, makes me want to ship them. I know it's a ridiculous crackpairing, Crysania would deem it blasphemous and Takhisis would be like ”She's not as good as Mina.” But hey, if Crysania is ready to betray her god, why not go all out and fall in love with her god's literal rival? Like how deliciously angsty would that get? I'm sorry, this is stupid. Actually, no, I'm not sorry. Because you know what, I can't go to any show's fandom without seeing a fuckton of male/male ships of characters who hate each other in canon/are sworn enemies, so I should not have to be ashamed for blushing at the thought of femslashing Crys and Taksu. The ship may be full of holes but I will sail it!

More random minions. The background dancers just really, really wanted to show off their cool fedoras and scarves, no matter how unfit they are in a fantasy setting.

The next foe Raistlin faces is a succubus. She unfortunately lacks the charisma of Vera Zoodena and comes off as trying too much. I'm sorry, but whatever she's trying, it just doesn't work. Raistlin seems nervous though, and shouts to her ”Don't touch me!” Oh, the bookworm nerd doesn't like me, eh, says the succubus, I'll just pick his brother then. And she goes to snuggle with Caramon's doppelganger. This is a rather interesting scene, because there's a book that tells about the twins' childhood and apparently there was an incident where a girl initially showed intered towards little Raistlin and got his hopes up and then crushed them by deciding to go for the handsome twin instead. So, yeah, Raistlin has brother issues, and of course Takhisis uses them against him.

Time for more childhood trauma. Takhisis summons the images of the kids who bullied Raistlin when he was little. As someone who still occasionally has nightmares of my own bullies, I have to admit I feel sorry for him here. The cruelty of children can wound a person very deeply. The creatures make Raistlin retreat, tearing open wounds he thought had scarred permanently long ago. Anxious and unable to fight his fears, Raistlin falls on his knees and, much like in his childhood, instinctively cries Caramon for help. But his brother is not here to protect him, to chase away the bullies and watch over his sleep so he can wake him up from nightmares.

Now that Takhisis has Raistlin exhausted and crawling on the ground, she appears to him in the disguise of his mother. She calls for Raistlin, and the wizard reacts to the familiar voice, rushing towards her but stopping midway when he finally gets a grip of reality, that these are all shadows summoned by Takhisis and nothing more. Once Takhisis realizes her game is discovered, she drops the pretense and appears as herself, casting her dark spells on Raistlin, pulling him closer. Eventually all of his strength is consumed and he collapses, fallen victim to the Dark Lady's power.

Crysania to the rescue! Having been separated from Raistlin in the darkness of the Abyss, she finally finds him and immediately puts her healing powers to work. Takhisis tells her she is too late, death has claimed the wizard. I will not give him to you, Crysania exclaims, continuing to revive the man she loves. If needed, she is willing to give her own life in exchange of his. Takhisis speaks to Crysania, telling her that even she feels sorry for her, but a flame always leaves its mark. And then, just as life is returning Raistlin's body, the Dark Lady blinds Crysania's eyes.

And now we get to the most painful scene in the show. Blinded Crysania seeks Raistlin's hand and tells him that they have defeated darkness (What?! How? When? The last I checked, Takhisis seemed to be alive and well. I don't get it.). My eyes can see light no more and I am wounded, but your path to godhood is open now. And then Raistlin answers...  that I don't need you anymore. I...  I...  fuck...  Crysania begs him to stay with her, to hold her hand. She was ready to give her life for you! All she wants is for you to hold her hand! I don't cry often when reading books but I remember sobbing all the way through this horrible ending.

Singing arrogantly, Raistlin leaves Crysania behind, blind and wounded, all alone in the darkness of the Abyss. I did what was necessary to reach my goal. The gates were sealed cleverly but with the help of a fool's love I opened them. I don't need you anymore. The price of love in exchange of becoming a god is not too high.

Takhisis speaks to Crysania again, and it's clear now that when she said earlier that she feels sorry for Crysania, it wasn't because of her grief over Raistlin's death, but because she wasn't aware of being used.

Taksu, please, can you not. (Why is everyone in this musical such a dick to blind people?)

Crysania sings a sad song about the senselessness of cruelty and my heart breaks for her. After devoting her life to a man who abandoned her to die alone in the dark, the inside of her chest is pitch black and a void deeper than Abyss where her heart used to be. A final song of grief echoes among the shadows. The Dark Lady's minions dance with Crysania, surprisingly calmly considering they are creatures of evil. Even Takhisis herself holds her in her arms for a while (please kiss her. I know you're not the goddess of death but please. Just kiss her.). Eventually she collapses at the foot of her Dark Majesty's throne and ends her song. The only thing I can do is close my eyes before this void and wait for someone to push. And that's the image we leave Crysania with. A betrayed, blind woman standing on a cliff's edge, waiting for the moment she has to fall down.

Astinus appears again and tells what happened next. Raistlin went on to challenge all of the gods until he was the only one left. However, he did not possess the gods' ability to create. In his war against the gods he had left the mortal world in ruin, and now as the only god of Krynn, he could not repair it. The mortal world had become as desolate, dark and lifeless as the Abyss.

Now, in the books this is not what happens. It's what could happen, but Raistlin gets shown this grim future and that scares him to finally give up his ambitious plan. However he had already opened the gates and entered Abyss, so he chose to remain there and prevent Takhisis from coming through the gates until they had been properly closed behind him. Some versions of the musical also apparently have this ending. However, I prefer this one, where Raistlin reaches that future and has to for all eternity bear the heavy burden of being the one who brought forward the end of the world, all alone in the darkness, the only remaining witness to the devastating results of his actions. I think an ending where we allow him the chance to correct his errors and sacrifice his life nobly for the sake of preventing Takhisis from entering Krynn, is cheaper and doesn't give proper emphasis on the fact that actions have consequenses and often, even in stories involving time travel, once you've made a mistake, you cannot undo it! I prefer stories with the moral ”Don't do this, once you do it there's no going back” than ”Don't do this but if you do, there's always a second chance if you're ready to make some sacrifices.” I know this is fantasy, but in real life, there often aren't second chances. You can only break a fragile thing once. You can only lose someone's trust once.

We get one final song, Lord of Nothing, and it's a great song number. For whatever reason Takhisis sings it with Raistlin, despite the fact that she should be long since defeated in this timeline. Maybe she will forever live on in Raistlin's mind, a fragment of his imagination formed from the memory of nightmares. I don't know, but I don't even care, Vera Zoodena has such a great voice that she can raise Takhisis from the dead any time she wants.

One reason I love this song is that it's basically the Dark Lady vigorously rubbing salt on Raistlin's wounds. Yeah, you wanted this, you wanted this so bad, well look at your kingdom now, oh great Lord of Nothing! As she sings the background dancers gradually take away all of the props, including Raistlin's staff and his robes and then disappear offstage, leaving him standing there alone on the empty stage. It is very satisfying to hear Raistlin sing in anxious manner, desperately trying to lie to himself that he can still fix this, oh please don't let me be left alone in the void. The last one to leave is Astinus. He gives Raistlin his quill and scroll of history before disappearing.

I liked this show and was amazed how nicely it adapted the original material. It's very different to the kind of musical theater I usually watch (Takarazuka). But even a smaller production, with a very small prop budget and actors who sing well but don't dance at all, can be as entertaining as a big, colourful spectacle.

There's been some translating projects going on. Maybe some day there might be an English version done.

[inkskinned]

Any advice to other writers?

yes. it is this: stop listening to advice.

in 2nd grade my advice was stop writing. i’m an adhd cuban kid writing bad poetry, trembling when i raise my hand in public. i get my first (and only) award at this age, when my colorblind self sees a picture incorrectly and writes a poem about the muddiness a toad sits in, where everyone else sees colors, blossoming.at 15 you will not win awards. nor at 16, or 20, or 23. 

but if this is your heart and soul, you will keep writing. because it doesn’t matter. it doesn’t matter if 215,000 people read your writing, or just 3. what matters is that you write, in margins of papers you lose, in the edges of moleskins you burn, on your exposed skin. you write and write and write until you are drained of it. but you are never, not really, drained of it. in the meantime, i learned grammar so specifically i could teach it, so teach it i did, in a better way than i ever learned it. i explained: there, their, and they’re are easy to remember. there has “here” in it, which makes it regarding times or places. their has a little person in the form of “i” in it. that’s about you or other people. “they’re” is the easiest because the apostrophe means “they are”. and that’s the end of things. “breath” and “breathe” are different but related things, when you take a breath, you swallow the “e”, to breathe means you rEleasE the ending. 

and then i crushed it under a boot. a lot of people asked me: how come. but the how is easy. the lower case and all my lack of punctuation and things. i knew the rules and broke them because it was the thing to do. bc it felt weird to talk in a fake way, u know? like i was lying.

so i told the truth. while i talked about superpowers or magic or anything fake. i told the truth. and that’s what makes it real, isn’t it. that we look for the honesty of a moment. nobody says “hey how are you doing?” “oh, i’m fine, how about you?” unless they’re being fake. two friends say “what’s up?” the other says “i’m dead inside fuck you.” 

and you watch. i watch with big eyes. i observe. i know how people talk to each other, how they move in the world. so when she glides through the doors, people turn and look at her. so that blurting isn’t just blurting, it’s meant with uncertainty. so that things have meaning.

people ask me: how come your dialogue is so good? and the truth is: i cheat. i say it out loud, and think: does this flow? does it rest? does it sound like two people talking? “how is that going” “here is exposition about my being a spy i was once in the Russian army” doesn’t sound friendly. two people being like “how’s that vent crawling going?” “oh, you know, lovely, i’m belly-flat and hungry” sounds much more lovely. this is how you fit in character development. i almost never do it without spoken word. why say “she was mad about her past” when i can say “oh, you know, lovely, i’m belly-flat and hungry, but like, you know, they carved out my insides, so, like, extra room, thanks, you fuckers,” works twice as well.

and then i throw it out. people say “here’s a list of words that replace said” so i write a story where people only use said, and it works, because the narrator’s voice is strong enough it carries it on through the universe. and i throw out commas. and i throw out quotation marks. i use whatever i think the words need. and i move forwards.

i think what writers should be afraid of the most is stagnation. not agents or how the audience will take them or how the world will scoop up words or anything. just the healthy fear of constantly rewriting the same thing in different words. that’s the true fear. and this isn’t to say that you can’t write about the same emotions or people. but everything should be a new exploration into a concept. kind of a tall order. 

so i’ll say this. who gives a shit. if you spend 4 years writing a love poetry blog to your significant other, he still ends up hating your poetry. if you write to the wrong person, you feel stupid and numb, endless. in a bad way, i mean.

so write for yourself, always. who cares about notes. i write dumb shit all the time. write because it’s the only thing worth doing. write because people told you to stop.

people ask me all the time “how did you do that!” but the truth is all you need to do is look at the number of posts. at the end of six thousand, you find a way around your land. 

and you find your voice. and that’s all that matters, in the end.