#the whole thing just oozes love and passion on every page

[joshuamj]

I FINALLY GOT MY SCARLAND ARTBOOK, HELL FUCKING YEEAAAHHHHHH :DDD

[yaimlight]

For The Sake Of Writing

A/N: I am struggling with this, with writing in general right now. Can’t find the drive, the desire to do so and I have tried, many a time but nothing comes out, the page stays blank. So I put it all away and decided to write something else, something completely different and unrelated to anything else but even this has been difficult, like pulling teeth to get the words on the page. I have no idea what this but I feel at least a little accomplished that I managed to get it out. I didn’t know what to do with it once finished but I thought I would share it with you guys. It’s not part of a fandom or anything, it’s just me and whatever came out and though I may not be 100% with it I still hope that maybe you will enjoy it.

Love is not the morel of the story. It is not a fix all or a balm to sooth deep wounds and it is definitely not an excuse for any wrongs done. It doesn’t ride in on a white horse and save the day, making everything perfect and happy and all sunshine and rainbows. It doesn’t make a bad person suddenly good and nor does it render all wrong doing excusable.

Love is the biggest lie the world was ever sold. All it ever brings is pain and suffering and people welcome it with open arms and eager smiles.

Idiots the lot of them.

Though you supposed you shouldn’t knock it, people’s misplaced desire for love was what kept you in a job. Well, sort of. You were what came after, when hearts were broken, people’s pried bruised and their reputations damaged. Funny how that was normally the one that hurt the most. People claimed that love was everything yet it was their reputation and wealth they cared more about. When push comes to shove they always picked the material things in life, dressing it up as something other than greed, like that made their actions better, excusable.

Sighing you focused your attention back on the room across the street. The blinds were wide open, the two people as clear as day as you adjusted the scope. You would think they would be a little better at hiding this kind of shit, considering the illicitness of it all but their idocity made your job easier. They looked so happy, the women smiling as she pulled the mans shirt off him, the two of them making quick work of stripping the other down to their underwear and trading passionate kisses and teasing touches.

Objectively the man was attractive with broad shoulders and rippling muscles, his skin perfectly smooth and tanned. It was clear to see he took care of himself, hours spent at the gym as well as in front of the mirror. You knew the type an you would bet money on him being a narcissist, more concerned with himself than the people he was pissing off along the way. He was young though, to caught up in the fact he had caught the eye of someone hot and rich. To young to think about the consequences of his actions. He was probably so fucking smug, landing a women at least a decade older than him that still looked like a model and had enough money not to even notice when hundreds of dollars started to disappear from her account, squirrelled away for a rainy day. Her husband on the other hand had noticed almost straight away and it hadn’t taken long to find out where it was going.

The women fell back on to the bed, the man crawling after her until he hovered over her. You could see the two of them smiling at each other, staring into each other’s eyes like they could see the whole universe there. He leant down, pressing his body against hers as they went back to kissing. Her hands sunk into his black hair, her wedding ring glinting in the light.

You readjusted your aim, lining up the shot as you focused on her ring finger. You breathed in, your finger pressing down and you breath out.

The glass cracked, her eyes going wide as the man slumped lifeless on top of her. A second passed, a beat of a heart. Just a moment where she lead there blood splattered and missing a finger, not understanding what had happened before everything settled and she started to scream. Frantically she shoved the dead body off of her before falling to the floor and scrambled away to a corner, screaming the whole time.

Huffing out in amusement you stepped away from the window and dropped down onto you knees next to your bag. You made quick work of taking your gun apart, placing every bit back into the correct slot without really having to look. Clipping the case shut you slung it over your shoulder, rising to your feet and heading towards the door without a backwards glance. The job was done, there was nothing left for you here now.

You took the stairs, slipping on your sunglasses and cap before shoving your gloved hands into you pockets. It was still sunny enough you could get away with it though dusk was starting to settle in but you would be far enough away by the time your attire started to become suspicious. For now you would blend in with the crowd, be able to slip away unnoticed and unremarkable amongst the other occupants of the building coming and going.

You took the train, skipping the nearest subway station and heading to the next one along, going in the completely wrong direction and changing lines twice, paying in cash and keeping your head down. You lost the glasses after half an hour, the hat an hour latter when you finally got on the right line and sank into one of the ratty sets with a sigh, your gun case safely between you legs. You didn’t worry about closing your eyes and tilting your head back, counting stops in your head and knowing that if someone tried anything you had a switch blade in your jacket pocket with their name on it. You must just give off that air of danger though because no one comes near you, not even taking the empty seats on either side of you but that was fine. It’s how you liked it.

It was dark when you finally got off the subway, hands still shoved into your pockets as you kept your head down and navigated the still busy streets. It didn’t take long for your destination to come into view, the glitzy looking hotel standing out amongst the boring and monochrome buildings next to it. You slipped round the back, smiling and exchanging greetings with the people you passed and slipped into character like you did every other night you came to your other job.

The building was alive, the hustle and bustle of activity having you weaving around people as you made your way through the busy corridors until you could slip into the locker room. It was just as busy in there, people getting ready for their shifts and seemingly being as loud as they possibly could. You let the sound was over you, blocking it out until it was almost like static in the background and focusing instead on the steady beat of your heart as you headed towards the back corner of the room. You stuffed your case in your locker, the black box fitting perfectly inside before pulling out your change of clothes and hanging the garment bag up on the door. It wasn’t idea but it wasn’t the first time you had brought a weapon here and you doubted it would be your last. You did try not to mix jobs, mix lives but on days like this it was unavoidable, you just hadn’t had the time to go home first.

Toeing off your shoes, you quickly stripped down to your underwear, folding your clothes nicely and placing them on to the small shelf, your shoes just fitting at the bottom of the locker next to your case. “Cutting it close tonight Harland,” a teasing voice came from behind and you scoffed, not even bothering to look as you pulled on the white blouse, deft fingers making quick work of the buttons. “You know I like to live dangerously,” you smirked, finally glancing over your shoulder to look at the women leant against the row of lockers next to yours.

Rosie huffed, rolling her eyes at you but her smile still stayed in place on her to red lips. She looked pristine in her black pencil skirt and white blouse, the cut low enough to just show of a hint of cleavage but not enough to be overtly suggestive. Her auburn hair was pulled up into a bun, her emerald bright eyes rimmed in perfectly applied eyeliner and her pale skin looking like porcelain. She looked the picture perfect representation of professionalism, what with her head held high and oozing confidence. Shame it was just a front, the woman was addicted to amphetamines and a borderline alcoholic who was just teetering on the edge of a full blown breakdown but at least she was normally fun to be around.

Turning back to your task you quickly rolled your stockings on, having barely snapped them into place before you were pulling on your own black pencil skirt, slipping on your black kitten heels at the same time and tucking your blouse in. The two of you chatter away about pointless shit as you finish getting ready, platting your hair and doing your makeup whilst Rosie tells you about her boyfriend and how much of a dick he is being about her work hours. You hum along but don’t really comment on the state of her most likely doomed relationship. You’ve had that conversation before and it hadn’t gone well. Lucky for her you had been willing to stick around and take her to the hospital instead of letting he choke on her own vomit. You had thought about it though.

She doesn’t seem to either notice or care that you don’t really participate in the conversation and as you take the lift up to the lobby you contemplate telling her that her precious boyfriend was screwing around with her sister just to get her to shut up but the headache it would bring you outweighed the satisfaction you would get at seeing the shock and hurt on her face. It wasn’t that you wanted to hurt her you just couldn’t stand the constant insistence that she loved the scumbag and their relationship was perfect. It made you want to smack her head against the nearest hard surface until she finally understood how stupid she was or passed out. Whatever one came first.

The lift doors dinged as they opened, Rosie finally falling silent as you both slipped into your rolls. You were on the clock now and it wouldn’t do to be caught gossiping about personal matters by the famous and affluent that frequented the hotel. No instead the two of you would smile and listen, taking in every little detail. You did it because information helped in your other line of work and you had even got wind of a contact or two from guests who didn’t seem to know the meaning of a private conversation. Rosie did it just for the gossip.

It didn’t take long to change over shifts, the list of requests and awaiting check ins surprisingly small. It meant a slow and easy night, only really having to deal with any calls that came from the demanding guests up above and that was fine. It was why you worked the night shifts anyway. You hardly had to interact with people face on and the mindless and repetitive activities brought you a kind of peace that you didn’t really get anywhere else. It‘s why you had stayed, originally getting the job to do recon on the rooms for a job but long after the women had been found dead and the body moved you found yourself reluctant to move on. So you hadn’t. You had an understanding with the owner anyway, having deposed of his abusive farther or him. As long as you didn’t kill anyone else in his hotel he didn’t care what you did and that suited you just fine.

As midnight crept closer a calm fell over the hotel. Most of the guests were sleeping now and those that weren’t were either still at the rooftop bar or would be out partying till the early hours. There had been no calls for the last hour, no idiots stumbling into the lobby and being loud and rude drunks that you wished you could stab in the face when they broke your serenity. Rosie had abandoned you as well, allegedly in search of coffee but you highly doubted that. Most likely she had slipped off to go make eyes at one of the bartenders in the lounge and score a shot of something. The point was that you were blissfully alone, with nothing but silence and admin to keep you company and it was perfect.

It didn’t last long.

The sound of the city beyond flooded the lobby as the doors were open, the warm night air spilling in and interfering with the air conditioning. As quickly as it had all come though it was gone, instead replaced by the steady thump of shoes hitting the tiled floor. Lamenting the loss of your solitude you kept you eyes on your screen, finishing up your notes on room 308 and the new spattering of complaints about its occupants. You didn’t look up as the person got closer, didn’t even acknowledge them when they came to a stop in front of the desk, highly unprofessional but you were technically busy. Surprisingly though they stood there in silence, patiently awaiting you to finish what you were doing. Shocking considering most would be huffing by now or impatiently ringing the bell, even hurling abuse at you.

It was odd, unusual and you weren’t sure how to deal with it so as you submitted the form you plastered a smile on and started the expected greeting as you looked up. “Welcome to the Hotel Astoria. How can I help you...” the words died on your lips, your smile falling as dread filled you. No. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not ever. You had been having such a good day as well.

Your fingers twitched towards the letter opener as you stared straight ahead, trying to work out how best to get rid of the man before you without it being noticed. Eyes like the summer sky stared back at you, endless and bright and almost impossible to pull your attention from but you managed it, letting your eyes slowly drag across the rest of him.

He had gotten older, now in his early thirties instead of his twenties but he still looked just as good. He was tall, with broad shoulders and well defined arm muscles that were straining at the sleeves of his black shirt. His skin was golden, sun kissed and oh so very tempting. His jaw was sharp, a light covering of stubble that gave him a rugged handsomeness apposed to the boyish charm you had known. He still had the same ridiculous haircut though, his blonde hair parted to the side with one side longer than the other, his fringe hanging just over his right eye and looking soft despite the amount of product he had probably used. He looked good, annoyingly so considering the time of night but despite all that it was his smile that held your attention, his lips twisted in a cocky smirk that left you wanting to punch him in the face. God you hated him.

Huffing in laughter Johnathon leant forward, resting his arms on the counter and tipping his head to he side slightly. Your fingers tightened around the letter opener, body tensing as you got ready to attack. “I see I still leave you speechless,” he teased, smirk getting wider and sounding oh so smug. You blinked, his words jogging you out of your stupor and you narrowed your eyes at him, lifting your head up higher to look down your nose at him. “Hardly, I was just trying to decide on the best way to dispose of your body.” You let the letter opener go, instead crossing your arms over your chest and schooling your features, trying not to give away how much you were panicking. He was an idiot, not a threat, not in that way at least.

“You always say the sweetest things,” he winked, exuding confidence as he flipped his fringe out of his eye. You had liked that about him once but now it had your jaw clenching and your fingers twitching with the desire to grab a fistful of his hair and smash his face into the marble countertop. “If you think that’s sweet wait until I tell you about how I’m going to stuff your body in the trash compactor,” you said, voice sickeningly sweet and a smile on your lips.

The idiot actually laughed at that, the sound rich and deep and you didn’t even know you had missed that sound until heard it once more. Huffing you shoved that thought down, trying to drown it under the anger you were currently feeling. He shouldn’t be here, couldn’t be here and yet he stood before you without a care in the world, acting as if this was all some big joke when in reality it was so much worse. “As charming as always. Going to finish it all of with a kiss,” he waggled an eyebrow at you, smirk getting impossibly wider and something inside you snapped.

You moved quickly, one hand darting down to grab the letter opener as the other shot out to grab at the front of his shirt and yanked him forward. His hands slapped down on the counter, his eyes going wide as you leant forwards and pressed the edge of the blade against the delicate skin of his throat. “You have five seconds to explain to me what the hell you are doing here before I shove this through your carotid and watch you choke on your own blood,” you hissed, pressing the blade harder against his throat and watching the way it bobbed as he swallowed. His eyes had gotten darker, his lips parted slightly and breathing deeply, a slight flush to his cheeks. You knew that look and it had no reason to be present in this situation.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” you hissed angrily, jerking away from him like he had burned you, dropping the letter opener on the counter with a clatter as you moved. He had the decency to look embarrassed if only slightly as he coughed nervously and stood up straighter, eyes darting around the room and rubbing at the back of his neck. He licked at his lips, your eyes tracking the movement before you even knew they were doing it. He let out a deep breath, “in my defence I didn’t know...” What ever he was going to say was cut off though as both of your attentions were pulled to the doors.

The doors opened once more, a warm breeze filling the space as a women stepped inside. She was stunningly beautiful, with long blonde hair and legs that seemed to go forever and a figure most women would be envious of. She looked like a model, like she had stepped right of the pages of some glossy magazine. “Fuck,” Johnathon mumbled and you tore you eyes away from the women working her way towards the desk to raise an eyebrow at him. He was finally starting to look worried but you didn’t think it was in regards to yourself.

“Sorry darling but you know how Cynthia is, I couldn’t just ignore her call,” she smiled, slipping up to Johnathon’s side and wrapping her arm through his before leaning down and pressing a kiss to his lips. Something twisted in your gut, dark and ugly as you watched them pull apart, the women beaming at Johnathon whilst he offered he a soft smile. You didn’t like it, whatever the feeling was you would have been quiet happy never to experience it again.

“So we good?” she asked, that ridiculously bright smile still on her lips. “Hum?” Johnathon hummed, looking at the other women in confusion and you had to fight the urge to snap out no, nothing was good. They needed to leave, he needed to leave. The two of you had had a deal and him being here was like throwing your kindness back in your face and spitting on it. The blonde tipped her head slightly towards you and he turned to you with a frown. You could practically see it when he realised what she had meant, his eyes widening and lips forming into a small ‘o’. “Oh, yeah, right,” he rushed out, laughing nervously as he turned to look at you.

You already knew what was coming, that heavy feeling of dread back again as you silently begged him not to do it. To say there was a mistake and take his arm candy and just leave before things got bad but you knew he wouldn’t, could see it in his eyes as his looked at you with genuine apology. “Johnathon Harland, checking in,” he mumbled, offering you a small smile and not for the first time this night you had to push down the urge to punch him.

Love was rotten, a twisted ugly thing and all it ever did was make every situation go from bad to worse. It made smart people make mistakes, act stupid and irresponsible when normally they were so calm and collected. Love ruined everything, made people weak, soft and once that set in you could never undo it. It set in like rot, leaving you crumbling into dust. In the end you were better off without it, were stronger for never knowing what it felt like to have that connection with another. It would save everyone a lot of pain, a lot of suffering and maybe the world would be better for it.

You really should have killed him when you were supposed to.

[artsoupsoupart]

Madney Week 2021: Paint Me as You Mourn Me

Day Three:   “I don’t care what happens to me as long as you’re safe.” + angst

Read on Ao3  

“Ch-Chim,” her voice is so far off in the distance, somewhere behind the ringing in his ears. It’s dark, but there are flashes of light pulsing into his line of vision, and he knows he’s hit his head at some point. “Chim, you can get out. Something—”

Her own grunt of frustration cuts her off as he shakes his head, eyes blazing with certainty as his vision clears enough to focus on Maddie, the one person he had secretly vowed to protect from the moment he had met her (even if he didn’t really know the extent of said vow). He looks around for something, anything that could free her from the weight crushing her. “No, gotta get you out first.”

He can think a bit clearer now that the dust has settled, and he’s taken in his surroundings. There had been an earthquake. It had shaken everything and anything, but then it had stopped. The aftershock, though, was quick and intense, and then they were falling, and Chimney was losing everything that meant anything to him. She’s not gone yet; he has to remember that. She’s not allowed to leave him he thinks to himself. Not yet at least. There’s a long trail of blood dripping from her head, thick and oozing, and her eye and side of her face is already beginning to bruise something grotesquely purple. He remembers the ground shaking, remembers thinking this is one of the biggest earthquakes he had ever experienced. He had shielded her with his own body, protecting her in the passageway of the parking garage but then the floor gave out beneath them, and they fell and tumbled to whatever was below.

“Baby, I’m…” she groans out in a pain so distinct that it sinks his heart. “I’m stuck. You have to go. If you don’t,” Maddie winces in pain, her words slurring. “If you don’t—”

“No!” he cuts her off again, his hands cupping her cheeks. “I don’t care what happens to me as long as you’re safe.”

The first time he had picked up a paintbrush, Howard Han was eight years old and at school. It had been the most natural transition from crayons and color pencils to acrylics and watercolors. He had loved it immediately and had gushed to his mother over and over again about how he had wanted to paint for the rest of his life. He painted even the most mundane of scenes. There were canvases of the sky and the moon and the woods behind his home. He had journals and sketchbooks of little moments of ice cream trips and big events like graduating. He mapped out every important event of his life through acrylic and graphite and watercolor.

Setting up Maddie’s security system had been an easy tradeoff for beer and pizza. He had said yes before even meeting her, mainly because he is kind and gentle and the safety of someone is his main priority no matter if he’s on the clock or not.

And then he had seen her. She had said she’d never seen Mission Impossible and what a travesty that is, he had joked. Immediately he takes notice of her, drinking her into his system in the least creepy way possible. She’s blue but not in the dangerous, threatening midnight or oxford blue of a raging ocean where the sea threatens to swallow and drown him whole. She’s nothing like the broad strokes of a pallet knife, thick and aggressive and coarse. She’s far from the aquamarine that drips of hopelessness and grief that he knows so well. She doesn’t make him sad. She doesn’t make an alarm go off in his mind that encourages him to put up false pretenses that will lead to absolutely nothing and drain him of everything he thought he was.

Instead, the strokes of paint are soft under the round brush. Featherlight but abstract because this is already beautiful but so wonderfully new. Chimney doesn’t know the last time he’s felt like this or if he’s ever felt this feeling before. He yearns for her already though they barely know each other, they don’t know each other. Still, she’s a calming sapphire, welcoming and brilliant. He wants to learn what makes her smile, what makes her laugh, what makes her dream of love and light. She sparkles already and he’s only known her for a couple hours. For just a moment he knows he can’t begin to capture what she makes him feel on a piece of linen wrapped around planks of pine.

…

Takeout and a movie between friends, that’s all this is. It’s all this will be because they’re friends and he’s content with that. For each tomorrow, he makes a vow that says if friendship is all they have, that will do. Because she’s been through a lot. It’s what she needs and what she deserves and he’s grateful to be witness to a side of her that he thinks is reserved for few people in her life. He is witness to her tenderness, to her gentle hands and soft voice. He’s on the receiving end of her bright sarcasm and welcomes it just as she does his (corny) jokes. They are friends, but they’re closer than that. She leans her head against his shoulder when they watch movies. He comforts her when scenes are a bit too much. Being allowed to hold her hands is sage green with wide, smooth strokes. They laugh together. She makes him walk and talk differently but they’re just friends. Maybe.

The thin liner brush traces the blobs on the canvas, outlining, defining the images beneath the black paint. For what it’s worth, the old Chimney is gone. The old Chimney would contrast with what exists now. The old Chimney is replaced with one that compliments the sage of who she is. Perhaps now he is a blush of pink that mimic his cheeks when he’s near her, or a muted orange that is warm in a way he couldn’t be before. Together they are a peach sunset on a sprawling meadow. He’s relaxed when he’s with her. He doesn’t have to pretend, doesn’t have to lie. She laughs at his jokes and leans against his side. They are warm and inviting and everything good pools just from being together.

They’re just friends and he can be okay with that for as long as she is as well. He won’t push. He won’t press without her because they’re friends but somehow they’re also partners. Together, they are free to be, to exist and open themselves up entirely.

…

He told her he loved her. She is who he loves, with cats in her throat in the morning. She is who he loves, dancing together in the kitchen, cuddled together on the couch, the morning after saving a life. He is who she loves, with his jokes and his strength. He is understanding and hope and joy. She loves him just as much as he loves her and that burns across the pages of his sketchbook, page after page being filled with their desire, affection, and devotion to one another.

Her eyes shine as she smiles at him, they sparkle more than stars in the deep onyx of an unpolluted sky. Perhaps that’s what he’ll miss the most if he loses her one day. The way those deep ebony pools of burnt umber darken because he loves her. The look in her gaze shoots him directly in the heart every time, without fail. She’s gold, a brilliant yellow that blazes through his very being, his very soul. The light that they’ve turned on is bright and blinding and he thinks this is the end all, be all for him, for them. It takes every bit of self-control in him to not fidget as he paints their passion against the pale beige canvas.

Then they’re red, scarlet, burning bright as they connect with one another. This time is different, better. They’ve professed their love for one another, and it shows in their touch, in their kiss, in the warmth of skin against skin. The strokes are angled, precise. He thinks of time as he paints. How they’ve spent so little of it together in the grand scheme of things, but that doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because time goes along with space and they’re well beyond that. They care about each other’s most benign details. They are one and will be for as long as they chose to be.

…

Chimney doesn’t know why he brought the paintings. Each one leans against the wall of the hospital room, comforting him, mocking him. His eyes flicker to each one and his heart breaks that much more. The doctors say she’ll be fine. Somewhere in the back of his mind he believes their optimism, believes she’ll wake up and won’t hate him for failing her, for losing his grip on her, for being the indirect cause of why she’s even in the hospital in the first place. She’d never see it that way, see him that way. Still, he can’t help but think he should have held her tighter, protected her better.

He looks over at Maddie, watches the rise and fall of her chest under the skinny tubes connected to her. There’s so many wires, so little sound, so much light in this room and it’s overwhelming. Everything about this situation is overwhelming. He can’t get the flashes of falling out of his head. He can’t figure out why his hold on her hadn’t been strong enough, how he could have possibly let her slip out of his grasp. It’s not his fault, he’s heard it many times in the last two days. But he had let go, he had let her arms go as they fell, and she had ended up pinned beneath thick, unmovable cement and there had been a rebar of her own through her shoulder. And so much blood.

He’ll never get the image of the color fading from her face as she joked that they’d have matching scars. If only he was good enough, worthy enough to be able to wake her up. He wants to hold her while he waits but can’t risk jostling her and making things worse than they already are.

“I’m going to love you for a long time, Maddie.” His hand finds its place back in hers, tears pooling in his eyes as he realizes how cold it is. She runs cold anyway, but this is practically frigid ice against his. It’s just his mind playing tricks on him, he knows. The fact doesn’t stop him from worrying anyway. “So, just wake up now and then you can rest until you’re better.” She doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch, or speak or even flutter her eyes.

With one hand still in hers, he turns to the travel easel holding a small canvas frame and picks up a paintbrush, dipping it into the flat wash with a sigh.

[bakugou-tm]

Karma with an artist s/o? Does he pester them to see their drawings? Does he list off all the different ways to kill someone with a pencil? Does he tease them for drawing him? Basically any head canons or scenario you have because I’m a desperate person.

OOoOooooOOOOooo this is a cute idea, but forewarning this is my first time writing for a character other than Bakugou so if it isn’t super on point d o n t @ me pls :’)

Rating: S for karma being a little S h e t

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Who knew being in a class filled with children training to be assassins and an unkillable octopus like teacher could be so morning.

If you had told anyone else that this was the environment you walked into everyday they would probably put you in an insane asylum, but sure enough it was your boring reality.

Sure things were exciting at first, everyone hoping they would be the one to end that stupid yellow octopus’ life; but as months went on it was clear you needed to learn from the master to kill him.

Most of the time you were honestly paying attention, subjects like math and science you tended to struggle in, but with your sensei blabbering on about some time in history, you decided to partake in your other skill to kill the time.

You started doodling in class about the second month in during school. Whether it's to calm you down, lighten your mood, or just to prevent you from smacking your head against the table and snoozing away; you grew a liking to doodling. This liking getting to the point where you bought your own journal just for doodling.

The drawings started out with simple things like nature, your classroom, your family... but soon you decided you wanted to draw everyone in your class. 

Each person had their own unique features, especially Korosensei himself, but the person you loved to draw most of all was your infamous boyfriend: Karma Akabane.

Though you did draw him more often because he was your boyfriend of course, you also loved drawing his perfect features in many unique ways. It always reminded you how lucky you had been to call him your soulmate, making sure to drill each unique feature he had until you could picture his face with your eyes closed.

His simple vermillion locks, his calm yet mischievous smile, that jawline so soft yet sharp you swore he carved it at night, to your favorite feature of all: his golden eyes. In a way you almost saw them as bronze, the way they shimmered with delight whenever he had his way to even when they darkened when it was the opposite.

All he ever had to do was glance at you with those ravishing golden eyes and you felt like you would melt before him every time.

Most people in the class didn’t quite understand why Karma chose you. He was stereotyped as a heroic lunatic, meanwhile you always preferred to stay calm and rational.

Honestly most of the time you didn’t even know why he had chosen you, the only thing you did know is you would try your best to never lose him. Sure in person he didn’t seem like a fan favorite, but when you two were alone he treated you as if you were an angel from heaven.

The feeling of his love you hoped would never be replaced.

During the last five minutes of the class you had dozed off in your own thoughts, lightly shading your boyfriend’s light locks in your notebook. When five minutes passed and the bell rung for lunch, you hadn’t even noticed the loud sound or your classmates obnoxiously getting up to grab their lunch.

All you could focus on was your beloved boyfriend, continuing to admire everything about him. It was almost as if you could hear his voice beside you..

“If you get any closer to that notebook you’ll be making out with it (F/n).”

This comment made you realize that it wasn’t indeed your mind filling Karma’s voice in your head, but actually himself speaking right beside your desk.

Letting out a small gasp of surprise you decided to slam your book closed, disregarding the sharp pencil that was still inside before you felt a sharp stab to your finger.

Karma didn’t look over your mini panic attack or the way you flinched in pain from obviously stabbing yourself. Though he did want to ask about both things, he knew if he asked about the book he would never know. So to play along with it, he focused on your new wound.

“You seem a bit startled their doll, everything alright?”

It wasn’t long before your felt a rush of warmth flood to your cheeks, you only hoped it wasn’t as visible as it felt. Standing up quickly you shoved your notebook in your bag and covered your now bleeding hand with your other palm, “Yup! Everything’s just dandy! I just got a paper cut is all.”

The red haired boy raised an unimpressed eyebrow at you before letting out a chuckle. You hadn’t even noticed how quickly he snatched your right arm from your own grasp, holding your hand firmly so you couldn’t move away before inspecting your oozing finger.

“I’m sure lead poisoning is just dandy too right?’ Karma said with one of his many teasing grins.

Karma simply admired you in this state. Your soft lips pinched together and puffed out just in the slightest to match your rosy cheeks, giving you the perfect pout as you avoided his gaze. Small expressions like this he made sure to save to his memory every time, you didn’t even try to but you were so damn adorable.

“Relax pouty pants, let’s just get you to the nurse before this lead poisoning makes you even more klutzier.” Karma said smoothly, grabbing your bag from you grasp before leading you to the door, grinning as you shouted profanities and arguments the whole way out.

-----

Honestly, Karma didn’t think his plan was going to go so smoothly. From him grabbing your bag from you to you being in the nurses office (or at least Korosensei’s office) for a solid twenty minutes.

All of this gave him plenty of time to see just what those pretty fingers have been creating every class. It was obvious by the way you focused so intensely on your notebook every class that you were doodling something. 

Karma never cared too much because he knew you had good grades, and if it kept you from falling asleep then kudos to you for finding a way not to pass out during that snooze fest.

But ever since you’ve been so secretive and protective of this damned book, he knew he had to figure out what you were hiding.

He never assumed he would be offended by what you drew, infact by the way your rosy cheeks grew even darker in shades each time he neared you while the book was open, he figured he would find some fantasy crap in here.

Though as he looked through every page of your notebook, he came to realize there was nothing embarrassing at all. Just pages and pages of his classmates, more specifically of him.

He was astonished at how well your artistic abilities truly were. With just a pencil and paper you were able to capture every feature of him so perfectly. Though he would never admit, it made his heart swell when he thought of the idea of you daydreaming about him.

Love was such a mystery to him during the few years of his life, never would he of imagined he could discover every detail of it just spending a few months with you. You always kept surprising him, day after day just giving him another reason to love you even more.

Though even with these strong feelings he held for you, he knew he would never reveal them until the time was right. So in the meantime, he would make it his life’s mission to see that pouty look on your face over and over again.

Just in time, the door slid open your form walking out still facing the door frame as you waved a goodbye and offered a warm smile to your sensei before closing the door behind you.

Whipping your head to the side another shriek ripped from your mouth to see Karma leaning against the door frame, smirk on his face as he raised his brows to you.

“My goodness Karma, how many times are you going to scare me like this?” You said with a nervous giggle as he wiggled his eyebrows down to you.

“Sorry I just can’t help it, being the best assassin in the class and all.”

At this you rolled your eyes, poking his cheek with your now wrapped finger before  grabbing your bag from his hold. Karma watched as you began to walk down the hallway, expecting him to follow you.

“But now I know who the best artist is.”

Your footsteps suddenly froze. A wave of fear flowing through your body as you prayed those very words didn’t just escape his lips.

Spinning around you felt as if your entire body was on fire when you saw your boyfriend waving around your sketchbook, devious glint written all over his features.

“K..Karma how did you-”

The vermillion haired boy placed a finger against your lips staring down to your frame as he flipped through the pages, “Well after you had your seizure when I came to your desk today, I decided to distract my attention to your bleeding finger instead of your book. Obviously my plan worked as you handed your bag right to me with ease.”

Inhaling sharply you felt as if you could float away with the draft of the hallway. All of your doodles, all of your kind words written next to them. He saw all of it, and oh what does he think of you now? An obsessed crazed person? A psycho stalker?

“I..I..” You stuttered, not even finding words as you felt warm tears fill at the rim of your eyes, the only thing keeping them in were your long lashes and the sheer will to not cry in front of Karma of all people, “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to draw you without your permission! I..I was just bored.. and I love looking at you and d..drawing you it just.. it just makes me calmer and-”

The more words that flooded out of your mouth the more you felt yourself fall apart, you thought you were done with for good until you felt his smooth fingers grip your chin and his lips smash against your own.

This kiss wasn’t like his usual intimate ones, though it still had his crazed passion he always carried. It seemed more like one to shut you up, and to send you the message he couldn’t always say aloud.

Once he pulled away he analyzed every feature of you. Your shimmering (e/c) eyes still glossed over with a layer of tears making them shine more than usual, your silky (h/c) locks sliding off your shoulder as your head was tilted up to reach his own, your smooth lips parted slightly as small breaths of air came in and out of them after such a sharp kiss.

He wished he could kiss you for hours, days, years. You were to damn perfect for him, but he would be damned if he let anyone else treat you less than the royalty you were. 

You felt your breath hitch when you noticed his expression darken in the slightest. His thumb tightened on your chin as he remained close to your lips, eyes narrowed as they stared right through you.

“Listen now angel face, I don’t want you having any damn fear when it comes to me learning more about you. I don’t care if you had the strangest thing in the world in there, I will always love you for you and I will forever want to know everything about you do you understand?”

You let a small sliver of your lower lip slip in between your teeth, your eyes falling to the floor before you let out a small sigh, “Y..Yes, I’m sorry...”

Karma felt his face soften in the slightest as his arms snaked around your own, holding you tight against him as your arms found their place on his chest, “You having the fear to hide those drawings from me pisses me off..”

Looking up to him quickly you noticed the rising anger in his expression, but as your hand cupped his cheek you saw it disappear as fast as it came.

“I didn’t want you to be upset Karma, I just was scared you would be weirded out if you found out I was drawing you randomly.” You admitted, feeling a wave of relief as his eyes met yours once more.

“You kidding? Those drawings were amazing! I’m always down for an ego boost.”

A small grin broke across Karma’s face when he heard your angelic giggle fill his ears, running his fingers through your strands of hair he held your head to face his one last time with a serious expression.

“Promise me you’ll be honest next time, alright?”

Smiling softly you placed your lips on his with the sweetest kiss he’s ever had before pulling away, “I promise Karma-kun.”

Placing a quick kiss on your forehead, the red haired boy slid his fingers down your arm until they were locked in your palm, leading you to the rest of your classmates to eat lunch.

“You know babe since you’re so good with drawing with that pencil, I can show you how to be good with murdering with it.” Karma spoke in a husked voice, your head whipping up to his to see that trademark grin of his that made sure to show all his canines that only made him look more mischievous as he held your pencil up right in his hand.

Bursting out into giggles you snatched the pencil from his hold, enjoying how his eyebrows furrowed before leading him to the lunch room,

“Maybe later my little demon, but first let’s eat, I think all this lead poisoning has me starving to death.”

[thetypedwriter]

If We Were Villains Book Review

If We Were Villains by M.L. Rio Book Review 

    This book came to me highly and yet underwhelmingly recommended by obscure book bloggers I like to follow and I definitely had my doubts, but most, if not all, were assuaged at one point or another.

If We Were Villains is the debut novel by author M.L. Rio and follows closely the pragmatic premise of the older The Secret History, a novel about a small knit group of college students who descend into anarchy and become killers. Villains is similar in premise, yet different in execution and those differences make the crucial impact between a book I liked and a book I loved. 

    So. This book is rife with Shakespeare. No hyperbole intended, this book has Shakespeare dripping from the pages, leaping off of words, and scrambled madly on every surface. To say this book is a homage to Shakespeare would be selling it lightly. That being said, if you don’t like Shakespeare this book is probably not your cup of English breakfast tea.

The author is obviously very influenced and passionate about Shakespeare and his collected folio and it oozes from every orifice. I, for one, found it fascinating, but I understand that most normal people do not want to ask “how was your night?” and get “Swift as a shadow, short as any dream” in response.

Although, no judgement here, if Shakespeare is what you like, then kudos to you. But this reference to Shakespeare seemed important to mention from the onset, so consider yourself forewarned moving forward. 

    Other than the Bard, the book revolves around seven thespians at a small, elite Fine Arts college named Dellecher in which our seven protagonists are all fourth-year theater majors. Now, think of the most elite, pretentious, and cripplingly obsessed small school or group you can think of. Now times that by ten. Dellecher on the outside runs as an esteemed Fine Arts institution, but really, through the course of the play, the university coming across more like a feverish cult becomes more and more apparent.

However, something I adore about Rio is that nothing is spelled out for you. Rio is almost like an objective third party observer along with the rest of us instead of the masterful creator. She observes and points out thoughts, behaviors, and settings, but leaves everything, sometimes to frustration, up to interpretation. 

    These seventh years act only in Shakespeare productions, but not only that. They breathe Shakespeare, drink Shakespeare, and speak Shakespeare, often colloquially and without preamble.

Once again, as an English teacher and a lover of literature, this didn’t bother me, I was more obsessed with the social implications of how this made them feel special and connected and “different” than others, versus the elitism of the actual prose itself. 

    But everything changes once their roles start oscillating into their real lives as well, and the line between stage and curtain becomes blurry until it is altogether impossible to differentiate. Everything comes to a screeching, deafening halt when one of their own is murdered. Gruesomely. Bloody. Horrifyingly. 

    The rest of the novel plays out like a play itself, often with Rio interjecting stage names for dialogue instead of natural dialogue tags. And instead of chapter parts, she has labeled it into acts and scenes. As Shakespeare put it himself: “All the world’s a stage,

And all the men and women merely players;

They have their exits and their entrances;”

    I could not have summarized this novel/play hybrid better myself. As the characters deal with the aftermath of the death of one of their own, they slowly start to unravel at the seams as secrets get out of control, feelings escalate into raging tornadoes, and consequences of doing nothing are almost worse than doing something.

I won’t be giving away who was killed and by whom and how as that is half of the book’s magic and intrigue and you are better off reading it for yourself. 

    One thing I absolutely loved was that the book was not in chronological order. The book starts with our main resident, forever the sidekick, Oliver Marks, being released from jail. Except he’s innocent, he didn’t commit the murder, and the cop who put him in there finally wants to know the truth, completely and irrevocably. And on the day that Oliver is released from his ten years of second degree murder he gives in and begins the tragedy...or is it?

    The whole book you are kept suspended in midair, dangling with your breath just beneath you, never quite being able to get in a full lungful of oxygen. The exhilaration and thrill of trying to discover the real murderer amongst the seven, how Oliver, despite being innocent, was the one blamed or framed or otherwise punished, and who was killed and why, is what makes this book such an intrinsically deep read.

And the moment of clarity in which we swing back and forth in time between thirty-one-year-old Oliver telling Detective Colborne the truth is then offset by his first stage account of the melodrama that occurred as an active participant. 

    This book is riveting, the characters are dangerously mad and lovely, the fluctuation between the past and the present creates a delicious friction of clarity and backwards thinking, and the anticipation of trying to unravel the truth before it falls away from you is a chase that I haven't had in such a long time.

This book was fun, was relatable, was insanity, and was also, at the same time, beautiful. I loved the meta-cognition of what this book was to itself, the author, and the characters, and this self-awareness made it all the more brighter to me. 

Recommendation: “My bounty is as boundless as the sea,

My love as deep; the more I give to thee,

The more I have, for both are infinite”

-Romeo and Juliet 

Score: 9/10

[figure-skating-watch-party]

Russian Cup, stage 4

I’ll try to mention some of the lesser known skaters this time. Because they are all so good but often this is not enough because this is Russia: there are countless talented skaters and only a very limited number of international spots. (I came to the conclussion that - especially in juniors - the key is not to get attached too much to one skater, one team and just appreciate everything we get to see)

Pairs

Sometimes I really can’t wrap my mind around it. They are all sooo good. First warm-up group and they are so good, second group and they are great, third group world class. 

Let me scream VIKTORIA VASILIEVA / Nikita Volodin. She was a singles skater a year ago. I saw her two years ago at JGP with my own eyes. And now? She is a pair skater. That was such an awesome debut for this new pair. I am in awe. And especially their Mickmacks FP is great. 

I also liked Maria Alchova/Sergei Bezborodko and their Peal Harbour FP. (Poor them and the death spiral though)

Karina Akopova/Nikita Rakhmanin they are speeeed. (Limelight SP and based on my very limited knowledge of cyrilic alphabet a mix of P. I. Tchaikovsky’s music with A. Bocelli’s Fall on me???) Anyway they are so quick on the ice.

I love every Memoirs of a Geisha program and of course I loved Jasmina Kadyrova/Ivan Balchenko and their SP. 

I love Boikova/Kozlovskii so so so much. And I love their SP, I’m so happy that we finally saw them. Their SP is so light, tender, classical. Their FP was good but not just that magically great as we maybe got too much used to it. It couldn’t be easy for them skating just hours after their coach’s husband passed away on top of everything else. (I absolutely didn’t know but they formed a pair in 2015 having skated only in singles prior to that.)

I have to admit I have a complicated relationship with Tarasova/Morozov. Though I liked their Adagio FP and after rewatching Bolero many times, yeah, there’s in fact nothing wrong with this program... They are just not my favourite skaters but I can still see why they are one of the best in the world. If I associate B/K with lightness, T/M are definitely power. 

Mishina/Galliamov are back. Well, they were not away, it was just one bad comp and it happened to be Russian nationals which was so unfortunate. They were oozing confidence this time. They were flawless, I loved the low death spiral and the whole Esmeralda SP and the dance lifts and creative choreo sequence in their Bohemian Rhapsody FP. 

Ice Dance, Sr. 

I really appreciate that the organizers give the opportunity to foreign skaters training in Russia to unofficially take part in the Russian Cup series. You won’t find them on the results pages, but I think for them the most important thing is that they can skate in whatever form it is... 

This time, it was Hungarians Anna Yanovskaya/Adam Lukacs skating to Grease RD and Hymne l’amour FD. (I love these combinations of programs: one more upbeat one more classical). 

If I’m counting right it’s at least fifth Grease I’ve seen this (or last) season: Guignard/Fabbri, Shpilevaya/Smirnov, Pavlenina/Aleksanian and the queen and the king of Grease Smart/Diaz - I enjoy watching and comparing these programs, so there’s never too much Singing in the rain, Too darn hot... etc. ;) ) 

If you want to see passion and also synchronized hydroblades watch Vlada Pavlenina/Aleksandr Aleksanian La sal de la terra FD. 

I like L’Opera Rock FD of Svetlana Lizunova/Alexander Vakhnov. 

And then Julia Tulseva/Anatolii Belovodchenko. Cabaret / Umbrella. I simply love these programs, Cabaret, Burlesque... And their FD was even better, their speed, the interpretation, the curve lifts, the jazzy feel...

And I’m really happy that Anastasia Skoptsova/Kirill Aleshin won this stage and that they kept their Bonnie & Clyde RD.

Ice Dance, Jr. 

Let’s take a look at some junior ice dancers! Of course Arina Ushakova/Maxim Nekrasov (I like their Chicago RD) and Vasilisa Kaganovskaya/Valerii Angelopol (here I like their FD) were the best but there were so many great performances:

Polina Kocherigina/Evgenii Artyushchenko - Mala Luna FD.  

Polina Usova/Egor Goncharov - Anything goes RD / Sigur Ros FD. Especially the FD was such a mature performance. 

Ksenia Davidova/Michail Antonov - Singing in the rain RD I liked the choreography, the whole performance aaand the speed. 

Daria Bukovschikova/Alexander Vdovin - New York, New York RD A relaxing “feel-good” program (a style I really like)

Taisia Linchevskaya/Timur Baklanov-Smirnov - Cabaret RD The stylization, the poses, the carriage on the ice...

Alexandra Shabalina/Maxim Kiryukhin - Romeo and Juliet FD

And now let me present three teams I absolutely fell in love with:

Alina Abdulina/Maxim Nuralyev - Fifty checks / Mindfields I love the variations of the famous P/C lift in the RD. And the more pop/rock feel of the FD and synchronized cartwheels?!!  (I called it “P/C lift” but let’s not be like twitter moral police saying that anyone else doing this lift is a copycat; this lift was there long before P/C, eg. Belbin/Agosto did it...)

Sofia Kachushkina/Oleg Muratov - A chorus line / Walking castle?? I nicknamed them Team Red according to their RD costumes. The RD is such a fun and energetic performance, they even use the lyrics - saying steps, walk, ministeps and they do on the ice. And their FD is totally different, very balletic, like a fairy tale. 

Alisa Ovsyankina/Matvei Samokhin - Aladdin / Dance of the Sugar plum fairy

They are babies and these programs are so fitting for them. The FD is from Nutcracker and I squealed. Yes, yes, yes, yes, that’s a perfromace, that’s so cute and just lovely to watch. 

[yellowhippo]

𝚃𝚁𝙰𝙲𝙺𝚂 2 : 𝙳𝚊𝚢𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐

I move amongst the crowd, lost but entranced by the buzzing people and the honking of cars.

It's been a week since I last saw Jade walk away towards her school and here I am, still in the same busy city hoping for one last look from her before leaving. Every morning and late afternoons, I'd take a sit outside of a small library by the station. Maybe, just maybe, I'd get to see her get down or see her off before she leaves for home. No luck though. It's my bas anyway for not asking her time off from classes. Guess luck's just not on my side. One train ride was all I had.

One train ride was enough to wake my passion up and gear myself up for a fight.

"Here's the book you wanted to have extended." The granny who runs the library puts the book on the table with a homey smile.

I smile back and bow as I stood, ready to take my leave with the book securely hugged between my arms and chest. It was one of the many books you recommended me while we were on the train.

"Perhaps you would like that book to yourself, young man?" I look down to the granny as she pats my shoulder. "You don't have to return that here. But feel free to read here on your spot if you'd like. I barely have any customers except for that one young lady who frequents this shop. I haven't seen her for a week though. She loved that book as well. Kept borrowing it even though she's finished reading it. Gave her a copy as well as an early graduation present."

"Lady?" I ask as I remember Jade saying how she loved visiting a certain library with homey vibes and the kindest librarian too.

"Yes. She's actually from the school over there-" She looks over at Jade's school, sparking a fire in my heart. "-a double major, I believe. But you must forgive this granny. My mind is a fog and I don't remember much details. But I do know she's got green eyes that sets her apart from anyone else. Must not be from around here."

"Thank you, ma'am! I really am." Without control over my own body for some reason, I hugged the elderly as I stepped down the patio of the library.

"I'll visit again! Thank you!" I raised the book and waved it in the air as I ran backwards and waving at the elderly lady with a smile.

But I have been stuck in my dorm this whole week. With finals coming up and papers due in no time, I could not even leave for some fresh air. Let alone find a street for my dream home.

A heavy sigh leaves my lips as I stare back down at my laptop, only a page full, 19 more to go. Wanting to distract myself for a few minutes, I look around my room and spot a book by the window. I stood up and reached for it. A sad smile forms on my face as I caress the cover of the old copy of "The Little Prince" from the local library shop just down the street of this school. I miss the granny that owns the little library. The library rarely gets many customers, what with the books in her shop mostly classics and are outdated. Only a student or some tourist trying to find some gems come and go. 

'I wonder how she's doing' I look out the window having the perfect view of the little library from down the road. Maybe I should visit? Work on my paper there. I'm pretty sure granny could use some company like I do. And I missed her muffins that she personally bakes in her room upstairs the shop.

Grabbing my bag, I pack my laptop and the stack of papers full of my drafts and notes. I also bring my copy of "The Little Prince" as I run out of my dorm and down the busy streets, the little homey library just a few puffs of breath away. My legs ache from unuse, but the awaiting warmth from granny and her place is worth the ache.

"Granny!" I greet as I see you sitting on the chair at your patio.

"Ah my little miss. I was just thinking about you." A crinkled smile meets me as I run to hug her.

"Me?"

"Yes you dear one. A young man has been frequenting my shop for a week and sits here with a certain book in hand as well." She stares at my arms hugging my copy of "The Little Prince" that she personally gave me after having borrowed it a number of times.

"Young man? Is he a student at my school too?"

"I don't think he is. Seems like he's not from around here either. Like you."

A name comes to mind. 'Ace?'

"Gonna get some work done?" Granny points to my bag and I nod with sigh.

"Let me get those muffins in the oven then." A pat on my head and she's off to her little home above the library.

As I was left to sit on the patio, I look around hoping to see that brunette mop of hair under a beret of tall and lean guy. My eyes drift towards the road leading to the train station but I see no trace of who I was looking for.

It's all that ever pushes me up my bed.

But it's also all that keeps me pushing my family away.

I want this dream to include my family. They may not see the future that I want to work on as they already have everything planned and laid out for me after I comeback from this 'vacation'. They think that this could help freshen me up and see that they are right. I do love my family as they love me, but we're not always seeing the same picture and it drives me insane knowing that we never will be on the same page.

"How's the vacation going, kiddo?"

"When are you coming back? I need to set the date for the company's turn over soon and you obviously need to be there, son."

"Hyung! Don't forget to bring a present  home for me!"

Voice message after voice message greeted me back in my hotel room after I came from the library. I look at the book on my bed and open to the last page where the previous borrowers' names were, and the two most current ones were from a month ago.

'Jade Myers' A chuckle makes its way out as I read the name and remembered how Jade talked about this book. It's not a big favorite of hers, but she keeps finding herself grabbing it and reading again until the end.

 [flashback]

"I keep wondering if the prince got back home and what he's doing." The old lady who sat beside you has left and as I sat back down beside you, you open a book to the final page.

"What's that about?" I jut my chin towards the book. "-a children's book?"

"You don't know 'The Little Prince'?" You stare up at me in surprise, closing the book and faced the cover up as she points at the blonde boy on the cover.

"Never heard of him. Must be an obnoxious one?" I shrug as you gasp into your palm before hitting me lightly on the shoulder.

"What? No. See, it's about how the prince traveled." You whip your hands excitedly as you tell me the story, your eyes shining with every new adventure the boy has and with every new creature he meets.

[end flashback]

Like the Little Prince, you dreamed of the unknown.

Like the Little Prince, you've gone on your adventure.

After about an hour of working on my papers, granny came back out with a basket of her muffins. She sat in front of me with a smile and a caress to my cheek, her gentle eyes meeting mine.

"Did the man say anything?” I dropped my pen and closed my laptop, grabbing one of the steaming muffins and burning my fingers in the process.

“Just that he would be visiting again.” A knowing smile mixed with a curious look, granny offers me a napkin.

“Visit again? Soon?”

“Is this young man your lover, little miss? Your curiosity is leading me to think that you young ones are-“

I cut granny off with a wave of my hands and a shake of my head, a raisin choking me in the process as I hurriedly chewed wanting to deny the impression granny has.

“We’re not, granny. I just happened to meet him and he piqued my interest, that’s all.”

“Well, you might meet him again if you decide to comeback as well. I have a feeling he’s going to be another frequent customer while he’s here in town.”

I stared out on the streets, people to engrossed in their own lives that they don’t even have time for such trivial things like a visit at their local library shop and grab some rare finds. I can’t blame them. They have their own world to rotate about, pretty much like the Little Prince does. But at least he was able to travel and see other places that he thought never existed.  At least before going home, he had no regrets.

It’s lightly raining outside. I was planning on coming back to the library and read the book there. Maybe even enjoy the company of the elderly librarian. She had this warm aura surrounding her that makes you want her company to be a constant. Even the library oozes the same aura as her. Homey. Warm. Home.

I grab the book by the window as I sit and read a few pages while waiting for my breakfast. Umbrellas scurrying as they open and close - the only view I have from my window and only the pitter patter of the rain on the window sill for my background noise. I smile sadly down as I see a picture of a lone rose. It had no one. Or maybe it did? I don’t really know. Every time I open a page to read, my mind travels towards that one Sunday train ride with Jade and I remember her stories. But her eyes screaming defeat. As if she has accepted a fate not her own. A fate that leaves her all alone in the end. Pretty much like this lone flower now.  

But she has dreams. And I want to meet her again and tell her to go for it. Only she can create her fate. Only she can define the future she wants. She can still make a path for herself. She has so much more she can fight for. She doesn’t have to fight alone. She doesn’t have to end up like this rose. Is it perhaps the reason she keeps reading this book? She feels alone like this rose? I was right then. The prince was obnoxious enough to leave the rose all on its own. Well I’m not him. I’ve been fighting, and just when I was about to take my last fight before curling in on what people expect of me, Jade made me want to keep fighting. I want to return the favor in any way. Be her pillar. Be a different prince who’s brave enough to stand by her until she wins her fight.

Another lazy morning for me as my classes doesn’t start until the afternoon. It’s raining out just when I was about to leave campus and have breakfast at the library with granny. Hoping to maybe meet a certain gentleman who might become a frequent customer while he’s in the city. I wonder though. Ace, as far as I remember hearing his stories, he’s not one to stay in a place for too long. It’s been almost a month now since that day we met on the train. How long does he stay in one place? A week? A month? Somewhere in between? I hope I at least get to meet him before he leaves this town. A thanks, no matter how petty it might be, is still something I wish to give him. He made me realize that I should keep running for my dreams. There will be sacrifices and regrets along the way, but in the long run? It’s all for my happiness and contentment.

I just want to get out of this box already. I want to set myself free. I want to experience and realize on my own just like the Little Prince. I want to see what life can feed my dreams. I want to really live.

The rain is not stopping; instead it got stronger after a few minutes. Why rain today? Is he there? Probably keeping dry inside. Maybe he’s getting a taste of granny’s muffins as well and some tea. Should I run over there? It’s just down the street. I can always dry myself at granny’s. I can bring some dry clothes with me to change with before I leave for class. Granny’s going to be alone too. More people would be staying inside their own homes, hunched over a book, rather than a library no matter how cozy the library may be.

I decided to go for a visit. Ace or no Ace, I have granny and hopefully some of her hot chocolate and cookies. I dress lightly and put on my hoodie, my schoolbag on my shoulder and a change of dry clothes in a paper bag. I ran from building to building only stopping for a few seconds to shake myself dry. I laugh to myself as I should’ve brought my umbrella and spared myself from running like a wet chic under the rain. Well, this is what laziness does. Or just simply dumbness? I guess both? I mean, who wouldn’t bring an umbrella in this down pour? Obviously an airhead like me. Not wanting to climb the stairs back up my dorm, I continue running from building  to building, shed to shed, keeping myself as dry as this downpour could offer. I’m reaching the library, just a few more roofs away.

“A-ace?” My words stumble out as I ran towards another roof, seeing granny’s patio just a few more strides away. Not noticing that I have walked out from under the roof to get a clearer view of Ace, he pulls me over the patio of the library, his hands on my head trying to keep me dry, though we both know it’s going to be a failed attempt. He opens the door and pushes me in as he soon follows.

“Hey!” I giggle as I cover my face from how he’s shaking his head dry splattering me with water as well.

“Hey to you too, Jade. So much for keeping yourself dry, huh?” He pulls my hood down as he points at my wet hair.

“Where’s your umbrella?” We gasped as we asked at the same time. We shared a chuckle and some shy stares that led us looking down the floor instead.

A shuffle from upstairs made us look up and saw granny with towels and some old clothes in her hands.

“Look at you two! Come quickly and dry yourselves upstairs. These kids-“ Granny pushes us upstairs as she drops a towel and clothes in each of mine and Ace’s hand.

“Oh come sit while you wait for her.”

“Thank you ma’am.”

“Please. Call me granny. The neighborhood kids all do. Would you like some coffee? Tea?”

“Some tea would be perfect. Thank you granny.” I sit as she waddles her way to her kitchen. The rain has dwindled down to softer pitter patter with occasional thunder from afar. As I look out the window, I chuckle to myself. Fate did its wonders.

“Where did granny go?” Jade appears from the stairs, the towel resting on her head as she dries her hair.

We both turn our heads as the smell of something sweet wafts from the kitchen.

“That enough answer your question?” I smile towards Jade with knuckles on my chin as she sat at the other side of the table.

“Oh?” She points at the book under my towel on the table with glittering eyes. “Did you borrow it from here?”

“No. I gave him his own copy.” Granny’s soft voice made our heads turn towards the kitchen. I stood in haste as I helped her with the tray, 2 cups of steaming drinks and a bowl of cookies with muffins on a plate.

“Gave? You have a new favorite customer now?” Jade pouts up at her as she places the hot chocolate in front of her the tea beside my book.

“Little miss, I don’t have favorites. But I do have those regulars. Now away with that sadness and make yourself warm and full.”

The two of them was a sight. The way granny pats her head and the way she automatically knows that Jade prefers hot chocolate over any warm drink. Jade in return seems relaxed. She looks free. I stare at the lovely scene unfold before me with a content smile as I sip my tea.

A comfortable silence envelops the room. Jade has her nose buried in her books. Granny was on the kitchen preparing lunch. As for me? I’ve been nibbling on a muffin as I read ‘The Little Prince’.  Now I see what Jade sees. Turns out this kid, the little prince, was an adventurer of some sort. Probably Jade sees herself in him? In the rose left alone?

I look towards the seat in front of me and see my own rose I’d wish to keep by my side. But like the little prince, I have to leave. I’ve realized what it means to go back. It’s not entirely giving up but more of acceptance and finally growing up. My smile is serene when my eyes meet Jade’s as she lifts her head up from her book.

“What are you looking at, huh, little prince?” She snapped her fingers just inches from my eyes, a total contrast of her own that hides the adventurer within herself. A soul waiting for the door to open and to be let out and fly away. I can see that she’s held down by something which leaves her trapped in her spot.

“Just thinking how childish you are for liking children’s books at your age.” A chuckle and my tongue out, I shake my book in front of her and use it to block out her attack - throwing a broken piece of cookie at me.

“See? Mature.” I was able to catch the cookie and pop it in my mouth as I opened the book and hid my face from her, not before lolling my tongue out again to spite her further.

“Yeah and lolling your tongue out is mature?” A comfortable silence with the pitter patter of the rain and granny’s distant humming as the background noise.

‘Where will you go, little prince?’ I think to myself as Ace and I settle back down with the comfortable silence. His eyes differently shine from before. It’s not dimmer, just a different kind of shine. A shine that lost something but gained something new.

“Where to next?” I say out loud.

“Home.” He smiled as he closed The Little Prince and put his chin on his palm as he finished his cup of coffee.

“Home?” My face tilted in question as I closed my own book.

“Yes. Home.” He chuckled as he grabbed a piece of cookie.

My thoughts went haywire for a moment.

“You can’t give up!” Unknowingly, I stood up, both my palms slamming on the table.

“I mean – sorry.” I sat back down slowly as I fanned my face with my hands and hid my heating up face back on my book.

“Thank you.” Ace said gently as a hand pulls my book down, exposing myself to the unknown which is Ace.

“This isn’t me giving up. This is me fighting in a way that I don’t need to keep running. I’m fighting and ready to accept whatever may come.” He leans towards me, both his arms on the table as I stare back, mouth agape and face feeling hotter than before. “So. Thank you.”

“Thank you? For what?” I ask still breathless from my sudden burst out moments ago. I get a shrug as he leans away and continues reading ‘The Little Prince’, avoiding my question, with that serene smile of his I remember from when we parted just outside my school. I relax my tense shoulders as I smile down at my book. ‘This isn’t me giving up.’ His words play over and over my head like a mantra pushing me forward.

Jade and I left the library sometime after lunch, promising granny another visit on the weekend. I promised granny to be an early bird for her and help setting up the library for the day and in return, she promised to cook something I like. I earned a glare from Jade as she heard the exchange of promises with granny pinching her cheeks assuring her that she was still the favorite along with me. She stomped her way back to her school as granny and I watched laughing from the door of the library.

“And as for this little prince of ours.” Granny turned towards me with her warmest smile. She handed me an umbrella while I shook my head, refusing gently, as the rain was only a drizzle as compared to this morning. She huffed and grabbed my hand shoving the umbrella towards me, a finality in her look.

“Thank you, granny.” I awkwardly hugged and looked at her, my eyes meeting teary ones. She hurriedly wiped her eyes with her shawl while chuckling.

“It’s nothing. I guess this old lady will just miss you when you leave.”

A lump was stuck in my throat. In just a matter of weeks in this town, I felt like I finally found a niche, a home.

“Oh granny.” I wiped her cheek as a stray tear rolled down. “I’ll come visit once everything is settled back at home.” I cringed at the last word. Home? This was home already. A home which made me understand and see myself. “Besides we still have this weekend. I’ll be here even before your feet touches the floor when you wake up.” She hits my arm gently and shoos me off.

“Get back to your hotel now before the rain picks up again.” She wipes at her eyes and I hug her once again as I waved my hands and thanked her for letting me borrow the umbrella.

“You stay dry now, little prince.” She waved her hands, staying on her spot as she watched me with her warm smile, her eyes never leaving me while I turned the street.

As I bought a sandwich for dinner back in the hotel, I remembered what Jade had asked me as we were eating lunch with granny.

“Would you be okay going back home?” she asked as she chewed on her first bite. Granny then held my hand, her face contorts with worry. I place my other hand on top of hers and pats gently as I nod towards Jade.

“Yes, more than fine.” I think I finally found my purpose, thanks to my last stop.

“We’ll be here for you, alright?” Granny squeezes my hand in hers and I smile back at her. Not only did I find my purpose but I found a home that filled the void in my heart.

I’m complete. I’m alive.

“I’ve packed my bags.” Ace said as the three of them sat at the library’s patio, each nibbling on a muffin and their hot drinks keeping them warm.

“You’re going back home.” It wasn’t a question though Jade wanted it to be so badly and get a ‘no’ from Ace. His presence helped her after all to take brave steps ahead for her dreams.

“My family needs me and I think my I’ve traveled enough. I’ve found what I lost.” Ace sips his tea as he turns his head towards granny. “Granny, you have to tell me your secret recipe. No one would be baking these for me back home.”

Granny chuckles and nods towards Ace as she held his hand in hers firmly. The rest of the morning was spent with Jade showing Ace her favorite books and she would earn a chuckle from Ace.

“Just how many times have you actually borrowed these?” Ace finds himself endeared at the thought of Jade’s name almost occupying all the dates from the library card with her name from top to bottom of the list.

“I love reading.” She huffs as she grabs the current book, The Wizard of Oz, in Ace’s hand.

“You love reading children’s books?”

“I love reading because I feel like I’ve travelled and met all the people in these books.”

Ace smiles as Jade looks down at the books’ cover.

“You’ll travel too.”

Jade looks up at him and smiles.

“I think I’ve met one of them.”

“Met who?”

“The cowardly lion. Well a cowardly prince who’s now found his courage.”

When Ace gave Jade a questioning look, she pulled him towards one of the bean bags and sat facing each other. She proceeded to tell him the story of how Dorothy landed in Oz and met all these characters who think they lack certain things and finds themselves accompanying Dorothy to meet the wizard and hear how they don’t really lack on things. Their journey itself served its purpose with the help of Dorothy was they able to realize that they’ve always been complete.

Ace was smiling all throughout the storytelling as he reminisce the train ride they met and how passionate Jade was explaining how The Little Prince was no usual children’s book. Now he is seeing the Jade on the train, her hands busy flailing between them as she now explains how Dorothy and her new friends helped each other all throughout the quest to find the wizard.

The fire in her eyes never left. It was already there even before they met. All it needed was a rekindling to keep it aflame and alive.

Jade takes a deep breath after telling the story and snapped her fingers in front of Ace.

“Earth to Ace. Did you even listen?”

“Of course. It was the most wonderful journey I’ve heard.” Ace smiles serenely at her. “I beg to differ though. I am no lion. Cowardly, yes. But you on the other hand.” He points at a flower by the window as it absorbs the early sunrays. “You’re a hybrid of the flower from The Little Prince and Dorothy.”

She looks at him and tilting her head as she tries to understand what he just told her. He stands up and ruffles her hair fondly and walks towards a book shelf as he found the book Jade was talking about and started to read as he sat back down. The silence stretched until late afternoon with only a few people coming in to borrow or inquire about a book. Granny left them in their own bubble as she buzzed around quietly, smiling endearingly at the two.

                                                        * * *

It was early evening when the two joined granny in the lobby and helps her close the library for the night.

“Thank you for the help, you two.” She looks at Jade and Ace as she caressed both of their cheeks.

“You know I love helping you out.” Jade said as she held granny’s hand.

“Thank you.” Ace whispered as he leaned closer to granny’s warm touch, his eyes flicking from granny to Jade. “I need to get going if I want to hop on the last train tonight.”  Leaning away, he sighs.

“Come visit again when you can.” Granny smiled up at him meeting his sad eyes. Jade sniffs quietly beside him.

“I meet you crying and I’ll leave with you still crying?” Ace chuckles as he awkwardly reaches his hand out to wipe Jade’s tears. She shakes her head as she brings out a handkerchief in her pocket and wipes her own tears. Ace instead ruffles her hair with a smile.

“When I come back, I want my subject to ne happy.”

“I am happy?” Jade says. “I’m glad you’ve found what you were looking for.”

“Yeah my last stop brought me to her.”

Jade hid a blush as she looks out the window, stars already lighting up the sky.

Ace grabs for his coat as Jade and granny walked him out.

“Accompany him to the station.” Granny whispered as Jade stood with her watching Ace walk further.

“Hey, Ace!” She ran towards him and stood beside him. “Granny told me to accompany you to the station. It’s getting late. She doesn’t want you to get lost on your way.

“Of course she did.” He laughed as he looked back at granny and with a final wave, he turned and walked back to his hotel with Jade beside him. They ate a light dinner and checked out, his bag in hand.

With the moon lighting the road ahead, they walked to the station.

                                                       * * *

“Our last stop.” Jade said after Ace bought his ticket. He nods with a heavy sigh as he tries to meet her avoiding eyes.

“Just a pit stop. Our race will continue. Remember our bet?” He catches her eyes as she laughs at that.

“I remember.” She says quietly as her eyes move up to finally meet his.

It’s as if time stopped as they stood facing each other. They were once again inside their own bubble, like how they always end up when together. The announcement for Ace’s train leaving soon pops their bubble and Jade’s heart stopped for a second.

“Goodnight, Jade.” His voice was soft but he knew she heard him clearly. She squeezed on his handkerchief in her hand as he started to walk backwards towards the train doors, their eyes never leaving each other.

Tears threaten to fall on her eyes but she held back as she walked forward the train doors. The gap between the train and the platform separating them. A whistle startled them both with a guard telling Jade to move a little away as the doors would close soon. The two laughed as she took a step back.

“Goodnight, Ace. Goodnight.” The doors close slowly as the train engines roar to life. The train chugs away under the moonlight.

[admiralty-xfd]

the whole truth

Chapter One: The Lie | Chapter Two: The Push | Chapter Three: The Descent

Chapter Four: The Split | Chapter Five: The Beginning

Chapter 6: The Thick

ST. HEDWIG HOSPITAL

BERLIN, GERMANY

NOVEMBER 1994

“Cassandra Spender?”

Diana knocked on the door of the hospital room, pushing it gently. The woman in bed sat up, seeming eager for a visitor.

“Come in, please,” she said politely. Diana walked over and held her hand out.

“I’m Special Agent Diana Fowley with the FBI,” she greeted her. “I’m just here to ask you a few questions.”

“About my abduction, you mean.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Well, yes,” Diana said, sitting across from her.

Her assignment over the past couple of years had been contacting abductees and tidying up after The Company’s experiments were over. Whatever information she gathered through official FBI channels would mysteriously disappear to maintain the secrecy of the project.

She’d done it for so long now it didn’t even seem wrong anymore; she knew these experiments were crucial to the very survival of the human race. She was well aware of the Machiavellian lows she’d been asked to sink to; but the ends truly did seem to justify any means necessary.

At least she convinced herself of that when things got confusing.

She’d met with countless people, particularly women, all over Europe, listening to their stories. MUFON members were specifically targeted by the Company for the tests because they were convinced of the lie that had been tailor made for them: that they’d been abducted by aliens, not men.

The second scenario would raise questions. The first would only raise eyebrows.

“It says here you were involved in the Skyland Mountain incident a few months back, and that wasn’t the first time,” she says. “What are you doing in Germany, if I may ask?”

Cassandra looked a bit dreamlike. “I felt a great desire to come here. It’s hard to explain, but ever since my abductions… I seem to go where I feel called.”

“I see you’re a member of the Mutual UFO Network? You believe you were abducted by aliens?” Diana settled back into her chair, waiting for yet another alien abduction story. It was a common refrain, and she knew by this point the ins and outs, the inner workings of the Company, what was expected of her.

“They’ve taken me many times. The aliens told me I was a prophet,” Cassandra explained. “This has been happening to me for years and years, but I’ve finally decided to stop hiding, to stop lying.” She smiled at Diana. “I want to live my truth, Agent Fowley.”

“I see,” she said. “And what makes you so certain you were abducted by aliens, Ms. Spender?”

Cassandra leaned over, picking up a copy of The Times from her bedside table. She leafed through it to find a page she’d dog-eared and handed it to Diana.

There, in the margin, was a tiny photograph of Fox. It was odd to think of him still out there, still existing in a life that didn’t have her in it. But there he was.

She scanned the article and saw that Fox had been intimately involved in the Skyland Mountain incident she’d been sent to help clean up. One of the abductees, Duane Barry, had died mysteriously after claiming multiple abduction scenarios. Fox was the only person who allegedly believed his story.

Still doing his thing, she smiled inwardly. It was comforting, in a way.

“There are people out there who believe,” Cassandra said. “If this man believed Duane Barry, maybe he’ll believe my story, too.”

Diana smiled, knowing Fox certainly would. And she was beginning to see how he was quickly becoming the “Mulder problem” she’d heard about from the Elders in that meeting a while back.

“I’m sure there are lots of people who will believe you, Cassandra,” Diana smiled.

And even though they’re all correct, they’ll be passed off as crazy just as you will be.

Just as Fox will be.

DIANA FOWLEY’S APARTMENT

DAS WASSERTOR WOHNUNGEN

BAHNHOFSTRAßE 19

BERLIN, GERMANY

SEPTEMBER 1995

Sweaty.

It was her favorite descriptor; her favorite thing about him. He was always sweaty. It evoked passion, restlessness, fervor. And those were the things she missed the most, especially in bed.

Diana turned to look at the man next to her. She didn’t like him very much, but the sex was always incredible. Always fast, always hard, always exactly what she needed. And there was rarely any talking. Almost everything that came out of his mouth was a lie anyway. She knew he didn’t want to lie to her, so she let him use his mouth in other ways.

She was using him, but she was allowing herself to be used as well. Personal relationships, even if she’d desired one, were impossible now. Against the rules. Putting the project at risk for the sake of personal pleasures was not something she was supposed to do. But she had needs, and so did he. They’d decided to break the rules together.

He lay beside her, breathing heavily, exposed. Whenever it was over they usually pulled apart and lay silently side by side, minds drifting to whatever else. Whoever else.

She rarely thought about Fox anymore but for some reason tonight she did. She found herself trying to remember the last time they’d slept together before she left. It had already been so many months since they’d been intimate before then, she hadn’t given it much thought at the time, but now, with almost four years behind her since they’d last been in each other’s arms, she allowed herself to regret.

“Same time tomorrow?” her companion murmured from beside her.

She rolled over and looked at him, sex appeal oozing from his pores just like the sweat she’d put there over the last several minutes.

“I have to travel. Back in a few days,” she said. She reached over and brushed a lock of his hair out of his face. It was usually short but appeared unruly tonight.

“A few days?” He sounded disappointed, as disappointed as he ever sounded. He covered her hand with his and slid it down to his lips, kissing it. She didn’t love him, never would, and she knew he didn’t love her either. But he always treated her well in bed.

“Back next Friday.”

“That’s a long fucking time, Diana,” he said.

“I’m sure you’ll manage.”

He rolled back into the pillow and sighed loudly, rubbing his eyes. She thought of his sweat seeping down into the pillowcase and looked forward to having the scent of a man in her bed when she returned.

“We’ve gone longer,” she pointed out. “And I’m sure I’m not your only option.”

He didn’t say anything. She didn’t really give a shit who he slept with while she was away. All that mattered was that he was here when she wanted him.

“Do you ever wish things were different?” he asked out of the blue. He was still staring up at the ceiling.

“So many things,” she offered. She would not get specific.

“Sometimes I wonder what I’d be doing if I ever escaped all of this.”

His words surprised her; it was so unlike him to speak so openly this way. But Diana wondered, too. She’d become somewhat different over the past few years. Her goal had always been the same, however; changing the world. Doing something important. Discovering, learning, advancing.

She’d never known what his goals were, not really. He probably wouldn’t tell her the truth in any case.

“I don’t want to escape this,” she said carefully. She didn’t want to be in a position where she’d have to reveal him or be revealed to the Elders as some kind of traitor.

He rolled over, half on top of her. “You don’t have to lie to me, Diana. You’re not cut out for this crap. You don’t have the stomach for it.”

She pushed him off her, hands on his chest, hard.

“What do you know about what I’m cut out for? You don’t know a thing about me.”

His eyes narrowed. “I know you’re the best fuck I’ve ever had,” he amended, eyes flashing. She smiled at him in spite of her anger. It didn’t really matter what he thought about her anyway, as long as he thought that.

Maybe it was a lie, but she still liked hearing it.

His cell phone rang and he answered it. A brief conversation ensued and he hung up to look at her.

“Turns out I have to go, too. To the States.”

“For what?”

He gave her a look, the look that meant he was most certainly being sent out on a hit. She turned away.

“One of the Syndicate members. It’s a big one,” he answered.

She looked back, interest piqued. “Who?”

“Does it matter?”

It really didn’t. There were few she knew personally, much less their names.

“I have to go,” he said again. He leaned down over her, kissing her neck, down her body, and she could feel him hardening against her, so soon again. More of his sweat was trickling down onto her skin. It made her insides reawaken.

“One more time then,” she said, as he rose to meet her gaze, brown eyes black with lust beneath long lashes. “And make it count, Alex.”

ANNAPOLIS NATIONAL CEMETERY

SEPTEMBER 1995

Dana Scully was completely numb.

When she’d been abducted, her work had become personal, more personal than she was even aware.

But when her sister had been murdered, the personal entered brand new territory.

Mulder felt this pain acutely, she knew. He’d already lost a family member to this quest and he’d just lost his father.

“I know the truth, Mulder. Now what I want are the answers,” she’d said to him in the hospital.

He’d pulled her close and she’d rested her head against him then, just as she did now, as they stood side by side next to Melissa’s gravesite. She’d become accustomed to this kind of support from him, this kind of comfort.

She’d become accustomed to Mulder taking up every last inch of space in her life.

Yes, it was very personal.

“God, Scully,” he whispered into her ear. “I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry this happened.”

“I know,” she replied. She didn’t want him to be sorry, she knew it wasn’t his fault. It was them. Them. The same ones who’d abducted her, who’d killed her sister. Who'd probably taken Mulder's sister. Who’d made them both an intricate part of this seemingly endless web of conspiracy of which she couldn’t see a way out.

“You almost died too, Mulder,” she said. “You were dead. I can’t believe you’re even standing here.”

“I wouldn’t be if it weren’t for Albert Hosteen,” he said. “He was… my savior, Scully.”

She snaked an arm around his waist, something she didn’t usually do, but it felt natural, like it belonged there. “I’m so thankful you’re alive,” she said softly. He rubbed her back as they stood together silently.

“Take a few more minutes, okay?” he said gently. “I’ll go get the car.”

She nodded, and when he left she felt a bit emptier. Her sister was dead, and so was Mulder’s father, and for what? They hadn’t found any answers, they hadn’t brought anyone to justice. She wondered if they ever would.

After a few more minutes she felt a presence beside her and turned in surprise.

“I am very sorry for your loss,” Albert Hosteen said gently. “It is hard to know why these things must happen. But answers come in time.”

Scully nodded, smiling gently. “Thank you for coming,” she said. “Today, and at the hospital.”

“Of course,” Albert said. “I wanted to be here, but I also wanted to tell you something. Something important.”

“What is it?” she asked.

“A white buffalo calf was born among my people the same time your partner was revived,” he said to her. “This may not mean anything to you, but to my people it is a sign. I believe great change is coming for you both.”

“What kind of change?” Scully asked, confused. "What do you mean?"

Albert looked at her for a moment, as if unsure how to proceed. “When the time comes, you will know,” he finally said. “You’ll know in here.” He brought his index finger above her heart and pointed. Then he smiled and walked away, his departure as mysterious as his arrival.

2630 HEGAL PLACE, APT 42

ALEXANDRIA, VA

APRIL 1997

“Do you remember anything, Mulder?”

He sprawled on his couch and Scully leaned back against him from her position on the floor. He’d been released to her medical supervision after firing six rounds into the wall at the Martha’s Vineyard residence. She’d brought him home and didn’t intend to leave him alone.

“Bits and pieces, I guess… but I don’t remember a whole lot before you came into the house, to be honest.”

Scully turned slightly to look at him. “No, not tonight,” she clarified. “I’m talking about your sister.”

Mulder looked at her. “I’ve told you what I remember.”

Scully wanted to tread carefully. This was a sensitive topic for Mulder, obviously. But she’d long suspected his eagerness to participate in deep regression hypnosis had troubling implications. The more a person was willing to believe, the more they could potentially be led, and she’d feared from the start that this was what may have occurred in this case.

“I know what you’ve told me you remember since your regression, but not from… before.”

Before. The word sounded strange on her tongue. For a moment she reflected back even further in his life and found it hard to imagine, as if any notion of a life before Samantha’s disappearance for Mulder was, for lack of a better word, alien.

“You mean before my memories were manufactured, right? Is that what you’re suggesting, Scully?” He sounded defensive, and she didn’t want to argue. She just wanted a moment of honesty, a moment of disclosure.

“No, Mulder. I’m not suggesting that at all,” she said gently. “I just…I want to know, I want to know more… about you.”

The incident with Eddie Van BlundHt a couple of weeks ago was mostly something she wished they both would forget, for several reasons. But it had stirred up so many feelings inside her about Mulder; primarily the idea that she had thought she knew him, but now realized she didn’t really. Not at all. Not when it came to the personal. And she felt an ache come over her, an ache to know him in a way she never had before.

She caught his eye and hoped her expression mirrored her thoughts, her willingness to listen. She watched his eyes soften as they flickered in color: mossy, chartreuse. Mulder. How did they do that?

“Before the regression I didn’t remember anything,” he said.

This surprised her, as she’d always suspected he’d concocted the alien abduction scenario during his childhood and his regression had only furthered that tale.

“I guess… the shock, the trauma. The terror, even… I must have blocked everything. She was there one minute and then she was just gone.”

Scully let this information settle. It was looking more and more likely Mulder had in fact been led. He’d been led down a path as an adult that ended at an answer that was as irretrievable as his sister.

“My parents never blamed me, ever, but… I blamed myself.” He stared up at the ceiling and she leaned back into the couch, watching him, her cheek settling very close to his thigh. She just listened. “I don’t think they ever knew how much I blamed myself, because we never talked about it. They fought all the time, and I knew it was because of what happened to Samantha. They didn’t have to say it.”

She tried not to think about herself, compare herself to Samantha, but in this moment she couldn’t help it. Mulder was nothing if not a martyr to his cause, and that included the guilt she knew he felt about her own cancer; that due to some horrible twist of fate she’d landed herself with him and received this disease as punishment. She didn’t see it that way, but she suspected Mulder did. And it had all begun when he was twelve and took responsibility for losing his sister.

She couldn’t imagine what that had done to him, to his psyche. To his heart, his mind, and his soul. To everything that made him the man he was right now, in this room, lying here next to her.

“I didn’t know how to deal with that kind of guilt. I was twelve, then thirteen, then fourteen. Life moved on without Samantha and I had to as well. The only way I knew how to deal with any of it was to forget it happened. So I tried that for a long time.” He was still staring at the ceiling. “A long time.”

“Until you decided you wanted to remember?” she asked. He nodded. “What made you decide?”

He hesitated then, as if there were something on his tongue that refused to slip out. Something he was holding back.

“My, uh… my ex convinced me, actually.”

Ex. Huh.

“You mean… Phoebe Green?” she asked.

He sighed. “No. Someone else. After.”

An odd sensation ran throughout her body. A college relationship was one thing. The idea of Mulder maintaining any kind of romantic, adult relationship seemed surprising to her. She felt bad for thinking so, but she did.

He’d revealed more than she’d expected already, and she didn’t want to push, but goddamn, was she curious.

“And the layers keep peeling back,” she said, as playfully as she could, echoing a sentiment he’d directed at her a couple of years earlier. She was eager to know about this ex-girlfriend now, but there was no way to take a detour from the topic at hand. She could only hope it would come up again someday.

“She was a psychologist, and she… thought the regression would be helpful.”

Scully nodded. “And was it? I mean, are you glad now, in retrospect, that you did it?”

Mulder shifted on the couch so he was on his side, looking at her. His arm was tucked underneath a throw pillow and she was so close to him she could smell the dried sweat on his white T shirt. She tried not to think about how good he smelled, how masculine, how much she missed having a man in her life in the kind of way Mulder couldn’t be.

“If it brings me closer to the truth,” he said simply. She had known that would be his answer.

“And… if it pushes you further away from it? What then, Mulder?” She honestly wasn’t trying to be combative. She wanted the truth, too. But she was starting to realize the lengths to which he would go for his truth and they were terrifying.

“I don’t know, Scully,” he sighed, and he wasn’t irritated or upset, just exhausted. He’d had a rough few days, so she couldn’t be the least bit surprised.

Scully wasn’t sold on hypnosis. As a scientist, she felt the method itself was questionable at best, and it had raised plenty of eyebrows in the medical field. She had no idea who this psychologist ex-girlfriend was, or what she knew of Mulder, but Scully felt immediately resentful of her, distrustful. Protective of Mulder. This woman should have known better.

This woman should have known him better.

Scully smiled just then, realizing maybe she knew Mulder better than she thought she did, after all.

The topic finished for now, she wanted to get him to bed, to get him comfortable. “Come on, Mulder, get up. Let’s get you into bed.”

“No,” he said immediately. “I’m fine here, Scully.” She never really understood why he insisted on sleeping on his couch all the time. She worried the man never slept, not really. She didn’t even know if he had a bed, now that she thought about it.

“Well, I can’t leave you alone, Mulder. It’s been court-ordered.”

“It’s fine, okay? You know I’m fine, I know I’m fine. I won’t rat you out. You can go on home, Scully. Thanks for driving me.” He turned over on the couch until his back was to her, and she rolled her eyes, knowing he fully intended on sleeping right there.

“I’ll go, okay? I’m just gonna sit with you for a few more minutes.”

He didn’t answer, and as she watched him shifting to get as comfortable as humanly possible on that couch, with its well-worn Mulder indentation, her hand reached out of its own volition to touch his back. She felt the same heat radiating off his skin as she’d felt in that house, and feeling it once more was an odd comfort. She rubbed his back softly, between his shoulder blades, and the tension she felt began to ebb with every passing second. She heard him sigh, contented, and it was probably one of the best sounds she’d ever heard him make.

After a couple of minutes she knew he was asleep. But she lay down on the carpet next to him, still rubbing his back, until she fell asleep herself.

DIANA FOWLEY’S APARTMENT

DAS WASSERTOR WOHNUNGEN

BAHNHOFSTRAßE 19

BERLIN, GERMANY

MAY 1998

After nearly ten years working for the Company, Diana Fowley had seen her share of shit.

She never lied to herself that she didn’t want to be there; she did. But as the years passed she’d had to turn a blind eye to many, many things. Bad things that she knew were the reason this work had to be protected and kept secret.

Experiments. Assassinations.

Lies.  

She’d always been a proponent of the philosophy that the government had a right and responsibility to protect its secrets, and the secrets this group held were similar; proportional to the protection they gave them. By a certain point she wasn’t sure if anything was out of the realm of her capacity to compartmentalize. Sometimes the work was dirty and it still needed to be done. Diana was tough, and she rarely backed down from anything.

She’d made her choice and she never fooled herself about that. It was preferable in her mind to sacrifice the few rather than allow the entire world to perish.

For the good of the project, for the good of the world. A mantra she repeated daily.

Even if she wanted out, she knew it would be beyond difficult. Diana Fowley didn’t have a job she could just quit.

It had taken years, but ever so surely she was beginning to earn the trust she’d sought. The relationships she’d formed with some members of the group were beneficial to moving up from simply an employee of the Company to the upper echelon: the Syndicate.

Particularly the relationship she’d formed with him.

As mysterious and murky as the trail of cigarette smoke that followed him wherever he went, his name was Spender, and that was all she knew of his personal life. She’d been intrigued by him since the day she laid eyes on him in Senator Matheson’s office; the way he commanded a room, the way he never lost face. Even in times of disruption and chaos he kept his cool, and he always seemed to know what to do.

She admired that.

He’d taken her under his wing, brought her into his circle of trust. She still hadn’t ever seen another woman in a meeting with the Elders and was certain she was the highest ranked female in the Company, which pleased her.

She also admired a philosophy Spender had imparted: Don’t become part of someone else’s cause or crusade. Pursue your own self interest, always. Losing herself in this work completely had never been intended or desired and the fact that he was giving her permission to avoid such an outcome was one more thing she admired.

Unfortunately, just as she felt she had been gaining some footing within the hierarchy, Spender had been shot in his apartment. His body hadn’t been found. It had been a year since that happened, and although she held out hope that he’d somehow survived, she felt over the past several months that she’d started over at the bottom yet again.

She lay on her side, restless, staring out the window at the Berlin nighttime sky. She actually loved it here, so far away from everything she’d left back in the States. It made the work somewhat easier knowing everyone she knew and cared for in her life was nowhere around to witness it.

Alex was asleep in bed next to her. After he’d been banished from the Syndicate they hadn’t seen much of each other for some time, but he’d found his way back into their web again. He hadn’t shared the details and she didn’t really want to know.

Alex’s cell phone rang from her nightstand. He rolled over to answer it, and as he did, her own phone rang as well. He eyed her meaningfully and slid off the bed, taking his phone into the other room. She sat up and answered her own phone.

“Agent Fowley, ” the voice said. It was one of the Elders.

“Yes, sir?”

“Your scheduled trip to Tunisia has been changed. We need you back in Washington immediately. There’s been… an incident. ”

Washington. She felt a coiling in her gut and cursed herself inwardly for only just ruminating on her contentment living in Germany.

“Why me, sir?” She rarely questioned orders but this was indeed unusual. And she’d be lying to herself if she didn’t admit she was extremely nervous to be going back home. Back to, presumably, the Hoover Building.

Back to where Fox most certainly was.

“There’s been an assassination attempt, on the life of a young boy who is vital to the Project. The FBI believes the man who was shot was the target; they have no reason to believe otherwise. But we need this boy protected until we can get him back in our custody.”

“What can I do?” she asked.

"We’re putting you on the task force. Just keep him safe and await further instructions. A car will arrive for you in an hour.”

The man hung up and she sighed. She had no idea how long she’d be gone this time, she never did. As she slipped out of bed naked and headed to the bathroom, Alex rounded the corner, hanging up.

“I have to go,” he said.

“Me too,” she replied. He started pulling his clothes on and she watched him. “Where are they sending you?”

“Canada,” he said. He pulled on his jeans and caught her eye as he buckled his belt. Simple tasks were more difficult for him since he’d lost his arm, and she briefly considered helping him dress but he looked away. She turned to go into the bathroom and then heard his voice again.

“Diana.” She turned back around. “Smoking man’s alive.”

She stared at him, amazed. “He’s alive?” she asked. “How did they track him down?”

Alex shrugged. “Guess I’ll have to ask him, won’t I?”

He pulled his T-shirt over his head, which was a bit of a task, and grabbed his jacket, walking up to her. He traced a finger from her temple down her neck, all the way down her naked body until his fingers rested on her hip. He only had one functioning hand but with it he could sure work wonders.

She had to ask. “Alex…” she was unsure of how exactly to phrase the question. “Do you think it’s possible one of ours actually tried to murder a child?”

He looked at her half-lidded and squeezed hard, gripping the flesh of her hip, and pulled her against him. “I told you you didn’t have the stomach for this work.”

She closed her eyes, knowing the truth. But there was another truth; that she’d allowed herself to drift far from the person she knew she used to be.

She wanted nothing more than to make him stay just a few more minutes, tear his clothes off again and let him make her forget what she’d become.

But she didn’t. And he didn’t.

He went to Canada. And she got into the shower and washed him off her, thinking instead of the possibility of seeing the fox again.

[fircbcrn-blog]

      ♕ —  henlo once again all, it is i charmi ur local muse machine, this is my precious and pure son jia ‘emrys’ xinya and below the cut you can learn some fun lil facts about him, a link to his stats page can be found here and i will sort a plot page out for him at some point soon but for now i’ll put a few plot bunnies at the end of this and brainstorm !! if you want to plot pls like this or reach out to me and i shall message u quickfire, without further ado :  

so rhys is like this edgy biker boy but with a heart of gold who is rlly a super big softie, he just looks like an intimidating biker boi with his style.

he falls in love with everything but i don’t mean like he’ll fuck anything with a pulse kind of love or oh wow u were nice to me and now i adore u and want to run off into the sunset, i mean he’s just in love with the world around him i mean it’s a shitty fuckin place sometimes but he sees the small beauties in it, the miracles of nature and human behavior that isn’t learned but just inherent to us and he thinks its fuckin magical so sue him

 very wise and mature and down to earth as a person, despite being super popular because he just comes across as very cool and easygoing and in general easy to get along with plus he’s a total heart throb in the modelling world. 

pretty artsy for a living, very much a creative soul. he paints and sketches and can mould things and he does actually commission it and earn a decent amount from it but his main career and income comes from the modelling definitely. bc ya know business for artists in general just isn’t amazing even for the richer few. 

super in touch with the world and at peace with himself, like he is an immovable force nothing you say or do to him will upset him bc he’s just like lol that’s ur opinion and perspective ig and ur entitled to it so go off but imma do me thanks. 

pansexual iCoN although he does lean more towards homoromantic, he will love anyone pretty down who he can see something good in and he can see good in basically anything other than actual dictators obviously.

guru of life advice, people often come to him because he offers a sense of stability and security without getting his own emotions attached just from his presence alone and the atmosphere he surrounds himself with. 

exudes charisma and magnetism we stAn, fully sits around with fancy expensive wine and his art in his super cosy yet modern and majorly artistic big ass penthouse suite apartment studio and walks around in open blazers shirtless with his long hair all pushed back and wet like the queer bohemian pixie that he is uNF. 

he definitely has an approachable just creative and exciting persona without making you feel like you have to be wild to be alive with him. he’s also very spiritual

boi does yoga every morning and meditates every night without fail, very aware of mindfulness and does the exercises for it a lot, very aware of his health and keeps like excessively on top of it. he’s buddhist so he believes in the chakras, is interested in white magic and crystal healing too though, definitely practices feng shui, don’t fuck with his feng shui

he is a dancer however he doesn’t do dance as a full time gig bc he’s worried it would eat away at his time and take away from his other passions but ye he be a busy boi

he gets a reputation from the media for being a ‘playboy’ bc he’s deemed a heart throb fUNNILY enough he is the furthest thing from that, but everyone finds him attractive and tries to get him into scandals. he deffo does have flings like the average amount as anyone else but HERES THE THING...

rhys is an idiot and he has a thing for guys who think they’re gods gift who are all don’t go falling in love with me and part of me thinks he likes it for the thrill a lOT as well bc he’s too laidback for that trap so he’s all yeah as if bud u would have to change ur act a loT for that to be possible and they get shooketh like HOLD UP WAIT A SECOND-

he does not have their shit if they do the whole im such a hardass and i don’t do commitment but they want him to fall for them rlly he’s like okay good for u see u in like a week when u wanna fuck again until then i’ll be busy with my perfectly substantial life which i don’t need u in anyway dude

big bitch u aint special energy bc no one is and everybody got other priorities to put first depending on what they choose so like lemme know when u wanna get ur act together if not we can chill 

but he a good boi he just floats around the place with his shirtless blazer self all here have a sprinkling of wisdom beyond my years and compassion mi casa su casa bby make urself at home in my crafty creative den. 

( @hijinae​ ) is like a sister figure to him bc they perfectly match in persona’s and energies and she is very close to his familia it hasn’t happened yet but eventually they will be adoptive siblings when rhys’ parents legally take custody of jinae after her father’s passing. SIBLING POWER DUO I TELL U NOW they’re literally like siblings who are each other’s missing halves and best friends.  had they have been biological they would probably have been twins

PLOT IDEAS: 

so here’s a few loose ideas to throw around until i have more time to sort a plot page out for him purely bc as much as i’m invested in him and oozing with muse i have a lot of pACking to do still since i’m moving out and back home for the summer this weekend : 

but of course some of his much loved flings especially his fave messy boy toys bring em to me 

modelling rivals potentially who don’t actually want to be rivals at all but the media simply makes them out that way

dance buddies 

running buddies 

maybe some people who can help him manage his art business prospects and side of things

best friends bc who don’t love that

childhood friends

friends from china yES pls

modelling partners u know like kylie and her besties type shit always posing with each other on instagram and going to shows together or promoting together

ex’s bc that’s fun and spicy 

childhood love 

childhood best friend

frenemies 

friends he’s made internationally bc of music or dance or even modelling and got close with 

sibling like bond 

good influence and bad influence

people interested in spirituality or buddhism and maybe looking to him as a guide on it all 

honestly anything else u can think of even maybe a past unrequited love, his first ever boyfriend or girlfriend or just experience with either (also open to non-binary muses ofc) just hit me with it all and i will happily work with it

[princess-of-purple-prose]

[ID: Screenshots from an article. They read:

"Sept. 10, 2020: Harold Perrineau Answers Every Question We Have About Romeo + Juliet.

"What's most impressive about Luhrmann's film is that every actor is on the same exact page about the films' highly specific tone: deeply earnest with a winking self-awareness, woozy & weird, campy enough to keep things tizzy & fun until they're decidedly not anymore. The most successful encapsulation of that tone comes in the form of Harold Perrineau's exuberant Mercutio, who enters the film in a spangled two-piece, heels, smudged red lipstick, & a wig, wielding a stash of ecstasy with a flourish, then hops onstage at the Capulet's party & lip-syncs "Young Hearts, Run Free" in full drag. Perrineau is only in three scenes, but he's riveting in each of them, oozing mercurial rage & sexuality & lyricism & yearning for his best friend, Romeo."

RH: What was your initial understanding of the character of Mercutio in this movie, did you know he'd wear dresses & sheer tops & headbands?

HP: I didn't know that until I got to Mexico and I went to a fitting. I was like, "Who's that dress for? [Laughs.] "Who's wearing that skirt, me?" All of us had studied Romeo and Juliet in school, and we knew these young men were very hot and lusty. We knew that was the world, that this real love affair between Romeo and Mercutio, what that meant, how to explore that. But I didn't realize until we got there that we were going to play with all of those ideas of young men and love and gender-bending, as it were.

RH: How did Baz explain Mercutio's love for Romeo? Did he direct you as being in love with him?

HP: His vision for it was ... how do I explain this? They were [in love], but in the way that 14-year-old boys can be in love with each other. It doesn't necessarily have to be a sexual thing. But sexuality is a thing that young men are always talking about. So it could be confusing. And Mercutio is full of great passions. Of the badasses that could be out there, Mercutio was the baddest ass there was. And wearing a skirt was no problem for him, because if you were going to challenge his manhood, he was ready for that, as well. That's sort of the stuff we played with.

RH: Did you play Mercutio as on drugs the whole time?

HP: Not the whole time. I was just playing him basically like a young punk, really full of himself, loved his boys, loved being part of that crew, and would defend them against any threat. His desire to be Romeo's best friend was so great —when I say he loved Romeo, he really full-heartedly loved him. And clearly got stabbed for it. He'd give his life for Romeo. So that's what he does.

RH: You cycle through so many emotions in this scene: You're flirting with Romeo, you're furious, you start laughing as you die.

HP: The lucky part is we filmed it bit by bit, versus a play where you string it together. That took days. So I got to really focus on — like, when Tybalt says, "Thou consort'st with Romeo," we had time to really figure out "consort." [Pretends to get angry] "Are you saying I'm fucking him? Is that what you're saying?" It gave us time to really play with those emotions. It's like, one little boy calling another little boy, in a time of extreme machismo, "Hey, are you gay?" "Am I gay? Am I gay, motherfucker?!" I don't ascribe to that, but that's what's happening for those two. And that's really all it takes. He wants to fight anyway, but that's it. And he turns it from an argument of words into, "Oh, you must want to die today." Boys that young don't care enough about life." End ID]

excerpts on sexuality and homoeroticism in baz luhrmann’s romeo + juliet from harold perrineau’s interview with rachel handler of vulture magazine

[alainawriteswwe]

Pride and Prejudice and Wrestling

Pride and Prejudice and Wrestling – Part 1

Characters: Seth Rollins x Reader, Sasha Banks, Bayley

Summary: When a superstar Hollywood actress (The Reader), interacts with WWE Superstar Seth Rollins at Monday Night Raw, sparks fly. Can Rollins overcome his pride and convince the reader to take a chance on him when she’s still recovering from a nasty scandal caused by her cheating fiancé?

Warnings: Lots of flirting, angsty longing and maybe some bad words.

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a wrestler, in possession of good talent, must be in want of a Championship.

Chapter 1: First Impressions

He was just as egotistical as he seemed on tv.

It was impossible not to think that when he stood there lording it over all the other superstars backstage at the arena as if he owned the place. Seth Freakin’ Rollins. Even the name screamed that he was full of himself. Six foot one inches and 217 pounds of pure ego. Didn’t Ambrose call him that once? It made sense. Over confidence my name is Seth. It seemed to ooze from every pore of him. It was just too bad that in addition to the ego, he was also insanely hot.

That was impossible to ignore as I pretended not to look at him. But dear lord the man had presence. There was a aura and a sex appeal that seemed to radiate from him oh so easily. Not an easy feat when there were fit, handsome men all around.

Looking at him my brain reminded me that men like him; cocky, arrogant, sexy in the extreme, were dangerous. I had first hand experience of it. What did it get me? A shameful breakup on the front page of the tabloids and an embarrassing sex scandal I could not live down.

Yet, even though my brain was working overtime with dire warnings, my loins were ignoring them. They focused on other things like sending heat to my core to create that tell-tale tingle that signaled excitement and arousal.

Even in his street clothes he looked sexy. The simple tight-fitting Black Craft t-shirt that showed off his biceps. The messily perfect man bun slung low on the back of his dark head, the deep chocolatey brown eyes that could flash ego but also great warmth seemed terribly inviting.

And how could I not focus on the pair of black skinny jeans that curved to every inch of those spectacular legs of his. I have to admit, legs were always my weakness on a man. Long, muscular, strong. The kind of legs that were strong enough to support some really interesting standing sexual positions. My mind wandered naughtily, picturing me enjoying those particular positions with Seth. It was too much really to take in.

I wanted to look away from him but I couldn’t. So I watched him surreptitiously as he interacted with some VIP fans as they got their photo with him and the other superstars.

But that quick, sweet tilting of the lips he displayed with the fans grew decidedly into a smirk when he caught me looking at him. Oh God. It was written all over my face wasn’t it? Desire in all its torturous forms. I turned away quickly and focused all my attention to the script I had been given for tonight’s episode of Raw. I could feel my heart race from the embarrassment of the situation. And now he was walking towards me. All that brash cockiness fully focused on me.

“Well, well, well if it isn’t the current Princess of Hollywood. I heard you were here tonight to host Raw and promote your new movie.” He held out his hand, “Hi, I’m Seth Rollins.” The cocky swagger in his normally annoying nasally voice should have been a turn off but damn if it wasn’t borderline seductive.

“I know who you are,” I said in what I hoped sounded like a normaI, disaffected voice. I didn’t take his hand in greeting. Way too dangerous to touch him. “We met once at a charity function WWE was hosting last year. Stephanie introduced us.”

He didn’t remember meeting me! Of course he didn’t. Ouch! I tried not to look disappointed by that. Not in a “don’t you know who I am” way a lot of Hollywood actors adopted but in a “of course he would never look at me or remember me kind of way.”

I immediately looked back down at my script, memorizing the brief lines I had been given. Don’t look at him. Don’t look at him.

Seth was about to say something. His face indicating he was about to lay on the charm when a savior suddenly appeared.

“Lay off, Rollins,” Sasha said as she handed me an ice cold water. Perfect to help me cool off in presence of The Kingslayer. “You don’t need to crowd our guest host.”

Seth rolled his eyes. “I am just being polite, Sasha. As the uh, face of the company it is my role to greet our guests.”

Sasha’s eyes crinkled with mischief at Seth, the way a little sister would find a way to torture her older brothers. “Face of the company? Then I should get Roman or maybe Cena. Brock of course is not around.”

Seth put a hand to his chest as if he had been actually wounded by her barbed words. “You just gonna knock me down like that Sash. Come on, man. And in front of our distinguished guest.”

He waved a hand at me and flashed a sexy grin that made me wonder what his kisses would be like. Would they be filled with a devouring, all consuming passion? I wanted to find out even though I was trying desperately not to show it.I tried not to smile at either of them.

Sasha sat down next to me and looked at my script. “Who are you working with tonight? I’m betting it’s The Miz considering the whole Hollywood angle.”

Seth cleared his throat, stroking his beard in a theatrical way.

“Oh it’s you,” Sasha noted at her friend, looking a little shocked.

Seth gave a little bow. “Yes. She is working with me,” he answered smugly. “Ambrose and I crash the Miz TV segment with her.”

“A-ha.” Sasha poked him in the chest. “Ultimately I am right.”

I chuckled at their banter. Life on the road had obviously made them good friends. Friendship was something I was sorely lacking after the scandal broke. Friendship was always fickle in Hollywood but it was non existent during a scandal, unless there was more money to be made off the story.

“Well, face of the company or not I accept your warm welcome,” I answered to Seth. “It is really interesting to see all this backstage life we don’t see on camera.”

Damn. I let that slip. I didn’t mean to let folks know I was a total fan. On set while I waited for scenes to be set up or during long mornings in the makeup trailer, I whiled away hours watching old eps of Raw and Smackdown. But I was also fluent about what was going on today. I knew all the storylines and I had my very particular thoughts on how to improve the bookings.

So it was fascinating to see how the superstars interacted with each other, killed time and prepared for the show. It was way better than eating a fancy fruit platter in isolation in the green room of a late night talk show.

Seth looked triumphant. “Ahh, so you’re a fan huh. Who is your favorite  superstar?” That smug grin went all the way to his dark inviting eyes this time. Too damn sexy for sure! “From the current roster. Male, if you please.” He had thrust his hands in his pants as he made his demands and that caused me to check out his jeans, so tight fitting and distracting.

I gave him the dreamiest stare I could. “Roman Reigns. Strong. All those muscles and with eyes that pierce you. That hair. He’s a god. The kind you want to throw you over his shoulder and carry you away. He is so commanding in the ring and those spears look painful. But then you know all about that seeing as you faced him in the ring as his ‘little brother’. You remember that don’t you, Seth?”

Sasha snorted with laughter. For a moment I thought she was gonna do a spit take with her bottle of water.

The cocky grin on Seth’s face slipped just a little bit. I scored a hit. “Second favorite.”

“Mmm,” I pretended to think a moment. “Cesaro. Ahh yes. The Swiss Superman. Strips out of his clothes. Unstoppable with Sheamus. He also seems adorable on Twitter with his love of coffee.”

Sasha just guffawed again, covering her exquisite abs with her hands as she tried to not bend over with laughter. “Do you dare ask her for her third favorite Seth or will you continue to bruise your ego?”

Now challenged, Seth refused to back down. He leaned in close to me, placing both his hands on the arms of my chair. I tried not to greedily inhale his scent which was clean with hints of musk. Definitely a cologne I knew even if the name escaped me.

How could I think when he was looking at me with those deep, hooded eyes of his. Bedroom eyes. They gave me their full power and intensity, daring me to say something other than his name as my answer. It made me think what it would be like to look up into those eyes while I called out his name in another setting.

Mistake! My body was switched on between his proximity, those damn eyes of his, and his scent. There was an arrow of electricity arcing to my core as he looked at me so intently. I wanted desperately to cross my legs or leave this scene and escape to a private place where I could touch myself and think of him. He hadn’t touched me and yet I felt marked by him. Branded. His.

He stayed leaned in, refusing to increase the space between us. The tension amped up. His beakish nose seemed arrogantly tilted as he noticed my nipples hardening against the designer fabric of my top. He silently dared me to answer.

I couldn’t resist letting a smaller smile slip. “Braun Strowman.”

“Touché,” he said. His words a warm caress against my skin. And then he straightened up. Away from me. No! I felt stripped by him and now he was pulling away and taking that intense sexual aura with him

“I could keep going,” I said, determined to strike fully at his ego. “Mmm, AJ, Baron, ooh Kevin Owens. Now he’s a fantastic heel. The Usos. Oh definitely Neville is high up on a top ten list. That whole dominant king gimmick is great.” It was my turn for a smug smile to light up my face.

Hands on his hips, Seth perfected an annoyed pout as he nodded his head with my still growing list.

Sasha was still laughing. “Stop it please. I’m laughing so hard my cheeks hurt.”

She looked up at Seth. He had gone from a pouting look to a sad puppy look. It was a ruse of course but there was some truth visible that his exclusion from my list hurt.

“So no Seth Freakin’ Rollins on her list at all. Poor Sethie,” Sasha said. She got up and gave him a hug.

Jealousy coursed through me as her arms innocently curled around that neck of his and I turned away before the bastard caught the frustration on my face.

“You can stop calling me Sethie. The punishment for losing that bet ended a month ago Miss Banks.”

“And as for you Miss Hollywood Princess, you will find that Seth Freakin’ Rollins is ‘The Man’ in WWE, even if he isn’t on your list.”

He looked me over. “Unless there is another list you want to put me at the top of,” he said with a wink.

“Egomaniacs anonymous?,” I answered blandly, not resisting the witty repartee between us. In the movies this would be a “meet cute” but there was nothing cute about it. Certainly you could have a “meet lust” right?

“Our meetings wouldn’t be anonymous. We are egomaniacs. We want people to know what we do. We crave attention. Being desired. And anyway, we meet on Wednesday evenings if you want to come by. As a Hollywood A-lister I bet there is quite a lot of ego in you too. You can bring The Miz with you.”

I laughed at that. Okay, so we had better stop our jousting game of tit for tat.

“At least you didn’t mention Bálor on your list.” Seth looked at me a moment, all humor and smuggness gone from his face, his eyes serious and hard. “I’m serious. Stay away from him.”

There was a chill to his tone that I was not going to submit to. “You don’t own me, Kingslayer.”

Seth was about to answer when Bayley bounced over, all smiles. She slid a arm around Seth’s waist in a friendly pseudo hug. “What’s going on? I can hear Sasha laughing all the way in Catering.

I decided to fill her in. “I was just telling Seth Freakin’ Rollins here that he has no right to tell me to stay away from Finn Bálor. He doesn’t own me.”

A nervous chuckle escaped Bayley’s lips at the mention of Finn. She didn’t comment. Only tugged on Seth’s arm to leave. “It’s our turn on the ping pong table. We should go.”

Seth gave Bayley a smile that was protective. He hugged her closer and turned to walk away but of course he had to get in the last word. He turned his head to call out to me, “Next time we hang out I want you to ask me to name all my favorite Hollywood actresses. You may be surprised by my answers.”

Then he was gone. Those sexy thighs of his carrying him off to play ping pong and not torture me with his presence. I suddenly felt adrift.

“That was priceless,” Sasha said as she sank down into her chair again and flipped her vibrantly hued hair over her shoulder. She looked over at me. “Don’t worry about Seth. He’s just messing with you. It’s part of his charm.”

“Humph, I don’t know about charm but he definitely makes an interesting first impression.”

Sasha leaned in and looked at me conspiratorially. “Oh come on, I would have to be as blind as a ref to not see the sparks between you two.”

I dropped my gaze, unable to meet her inquisitive stare. “Oh, I am not in the market for a boyfriend right now. Things were pretty bad with my recent breakup.”

Sasha put her hand over mine. We had only met earlier in the day but she already felt like a confidant. “I know. It must be hard having the world know your business. Making assumptions.”

“It is. But its also hard to know who to trust, if you know what I mean.”

“I do. Being a woman in the company is hard. People make up all sorts of reasons for why you advanced up the ranks. None of it comforting.”

I nodded my head. I had been there too although in a different setting.

“Well you still need to shake off the ‘ring rust’ relationship wise and you are interested in my boy, Rollins.” The way Sasha said it, the words were more statement than question.

I bowed my head. Damn. It was that obvious. “I don’t know.”

Sasha however was not going to be denied. “Look, after the show we are all gonna go to a bar and relax, do some karaoke. Come with us and hang out. Seth will be there.”

I furrowed my brow. “I’m not looking for some long term relationship.”

“I’m not saying till death do you part girl. But that doesn’t mean you can’t have fun, even if its only for one night.” She did a little dance in her chair, excited by her matchmaking attempts.

Even though I didn’t know Sasha long, I felt like she was an old friend. The kind where you might not see them for years but when you do get together you fall immediately back into a comfortable rhythm. The kind that wanted to see you happy with no ulterior motive. “I feel its best that I’m just off men right now.”

“Okay. There are some hot girls on the roster who might be just the ticket.”

“I blushed. I didn’t mean like that.”

“Look, breakups are hard. Your ex was a ass for what he did to you and to be so public about it. But don’t give up on the human race because of it.”

She paused a beat. “Is it true you are taking a hiatus from acting for awhile?”

“Yeah. This is my last bit of contracted promotion and honestly I needed to get out of Hollywood for a bit.” Especially from the pitying glances of folks I met there.

Also, the possibility of running into my ex and having it filmed by some gossip rag terrified me. It wasn’t so much a hiatus as much as it was a self imposed exile.

Sasha was going to press though. Not out of nosiness but a desire to help and empathize. It was best to change the subject.

“So what’s the damage between Seth and Finn?”

Sasha sighed. “I don’t know all of it. They are both insanely talented and competitive. All I know is that their kayfabe feud became real.” She shrugged her shoulders. “It happens. WWE is a company but it’s also a family. You have to be family to allow someone to take control of your body in the ring. You have to have trust. When that is gone, well things get dangerous.”

“Have they ever physically fought like backstage, not in the ring?”

Sasha shook her head. The cascade of colorful waves settling around her shoulders perfectly. “Oh no. That’s a first class ticket to being fired around here. You can’t put your hands on someone. That would be throwing away your career.” She paused. “But enough about that. What does a girl have to do to get you to come out and sing karaoke?”

“Easy. Allow me to take down Seth Freakin’ Rollins in song form for calling me a Hollywood Princess.”

Sasha laughed.  “Done.”

[stargleeksil-blog]

Criminal Minds s04e12 Soul Mates review - or more aptly named, the episode where Shemar acted for his life and I nearly shed a tear at his passion. FUCK.

Episode 12 – Soul Mates

Hey guys! So last episode was definitely a doozy in the weirdest way possible, and ended up with me freaking out in an embarrassing way. Lol.

This title has my filthy mind going in whichever direction you can possibly think.

Let’s see what happens.

Oh my god, Sarasota is so pretty.

Oh I love this actress!!! I’m horrible with remembering where they are from … it’s 2008 in there, give me a break!  Oh my god! That’s Chastity from the series of ’10 Things I Hate About You’! COOL!

Oh this girl is well-informed, good girl!

Wait. They’re arresting her dad? What the hell?

Wait. They’re seriously suspecting him? SHIT.

Oh fuck. Even my superheroes suspect this guy? Then he must have done something wrong.

Sigmund Freud: “No mortal can keep a secret. If his lips are silent, he chatters with his fingertips. Betrayal oozes out of him at every pore.” Yikers. And people wonder why he’s considered a freak.

I love how Matthew reads the excerpt. So into it. I love it!

Why is Jordan still here? I thought JJ was back? FUCK YOU JORDAN!

Sorry. Still resentful she bitched at my baby.

Oh god, that breast pocket is doing things to me on that pectoral. Fuck.

“We have a witness who can place you at the mall the same time of her abduction.”

Oh damn.

“And, uh, well, rumor has it that you seem to have a history of this type of behavior.”

WHAT?

Derek is judging you.

Not a good place to be.

Whoa. Those women are fierce. I love them.

“Give me a minute, I will find the grime.”

You go, girl.

“I’m always in control, sweet cheeks.”

Sweetie, that’s poodle you’re talking to, not hot stuff.

“Yeah, just because you delete your history, it doesn’t mean all your dirty cyberlaundry isn’t hanging out there for me to find on your hard drive.”

“Rookie mistake.”

XD

Wait. Did he just tell them to put up the house for bail money? Where would they go? Dummy.

“She found an encrypted link to a web page.”

“Where did it take you?” You can see the Shemar part of the brain going ‘porn, porn, porn’

“An unsearchable, untraceable blog with tons of journal entries. It’s like some sort of diaries.”

“I was able to differentiate between two distinct voices, two authors.”

Now that’s weird.

“I found various idiosyncratic words, phrases, punctuation, and orthography within the blog entries consistent with each separate person – words like ‘soda’ and ‘pop’. One guy uses dashes while the other uses ellipses.”

Aw, my poodle giggled.

“Where’d you find this kid?”

“He was left in a basket on the steps of the FBI.”

Oh my freaking goodness, Rossi is killing me over here.

“One side of the discourse made a reference to the devil’s strip.”

“What the hell is that?”

“Uh, it’s a small patch of grass that separates the sidewalk from the street.”

What?

“Now, that term is only used in central Ohio.”

“William lived in Atlanta for twenty years, but he grew up in Columbus.”

Dang. My baby is good.

“Kid, you sure about this?”

Reid’s bitch face gives me life.

“Right.”

The found Missy.

Detective! What the fuck?

Dead. They found her dead.

Damn. It wasn’t fucking William. Shit.

Wait. The wife is in on this? Oh damn.

Calculating poodle is the best poodle you can kanoodle with.

“Tell me you found his partner.”

Yes, please.

“It’s all so cryptic.”

Well, that’s not good.

Look at my two gorgeous men at work.

“Well, they clearly enjoyed being together.”

“They wrote a cluster of others right after the first victim, Kim Groves, was killed.”

Oh boy.

“We need to figure out how they met. There’s gotta be something in all this about their courtship.”

Hold the fucking phone, Shemar said courtship.

That’s one of the sexiest words out there, and he just said it.

I’m dead.

“He didn’t start killing until he met his soul mate.”

Yikes.

Talk about the devil on your shoulder.

“Sounds like these two aren’t just obsessed with rape and murder. They’re addicted to one another.”

You know, the higher Shemar’s vocabulary and expression is in this series, the hotter he is? Fuck.

They had me reeled in when he said the word ‘love’ and I’m hooked now he’s said ‘courtship’.

And of course ‘soul mate’.

“The partner is a biter.”

Kinky.

“They never did that before.”

Damn.

“DA was ready to charge him when Missy was still alive. How the hell are we supposed to keep him now?” damn.

“I’m surprised you’re writing all this stuff to a fella. Sounds like you have a real special thing going on.”

Wait, so now they think he’s having an affair with a dude? Cuz I’m pretty sure it’s the wife.

“I mean, I’m thinking if the two of you had just got it on, maybe these women would still be alive.”

“So where’d you meet him? Chat room? Porn sites? Gay bar?”

Oh honey, you’re biting up the wrong ass.

“Whoever this guy is, he’s looking out for you, cleaning up for you.”

“I wanna know why your pen pal killed her when he could have let her rot.”

“Wow, this friend of yours wants to please you bad, doesn’t he?”

What do they got, William?

“Proof that someone out there is just as sick as you.”

Hell yeah.

“It turns out there’s a lot of sick pups in central Florida.”

Well, I’m keeping out of there.

“So we’re looking at two dominant personalities.”

Damn.

“Makes sense. They have similar discourse. They’re equally well-written.”

Can I just say? I love it when Reid uses the word ‘discourse’ so academic and rare.

“These men are addicted to each other.”

Oh damn. So they’re using that to lure the fucker out? Good.

So it’s not the wife like I thought.

Okay.

“A betrayal could devastate him.”

Oh boy.

“All we have to say is that William’s cooperating, and then hope he takes the bait.”

I hope so.

Sounds like the dude is rather frisky.

Wait. His wife posted bail? Oh god.

“Partner made the first move. He’s the one with the balls.”

Whoa, there, Rossi.

“Yeah, and it was pretty risky, too. Think about it. What if you did turn in here? Or at least your partner thought you turned in here? Then he’d have no choice but to turn himself in. Your lives would be ruined.”

“That’s the reason it works. You both have everything to lose.”

“He’s only cleaning up because he can’t afford to get caught either.”

“How is he gonna react to the entry we wrote?”

Oh god, they’re goading him. I love those two.

“William, you wrote, ‘thanks for the perfect place to play’.”

“What were you talking about?”

Golfing. Right.

“What was it like?”

Hey! I know the white guy! God, I love that actor too.

Oh god, I love the guest stars they’re casting.

Oh god, I can’t handle hot people sitting on furniture that is so obvious you can fuck on. Shit. Now I’m having dirty desk sex fantasies.

“Not an ounce of sincerity.” Damn.

What’s going on?

Aw, see, now that’s just sad.

“It’s been so long, my heart aches.”

“I need to see that face again soon.”

Oh god, Shemar reading out love letters is too much.

“Sounds more like two men in love with each other.”

Let’s see how this unfolds.

“I have absolutely no idea what it’s like to be in love with another man.”

Well, now it’s been confirmed that Derek is straight. Yay for me.

“Now who’s the one who has no idea what he’s talking about?”

Damn straight. William can shut up about my baby, he has no idea what happened to him.

“First of all, I am not your boy.”

Oh shit.

“And this look on my face is a look of contempt, because you disgust me.”

“You and I are nothing alike.”

Oh and just so we’re clear, it’s obvious that Derek’s disgust isn’t about the homosexuality part, am I right? It’s so obvious it’s because they kill people. I mean, ugh.

That daughter is one smart cookie.

“I feel like such an outsider, no one understands me. I watch them chase their little spawns, the same old conversation. Nothing stimulates me.”

Ew.

“Sounds like a party with kids.”

Double ew.

“I looked across the room, and everything changed. The only spark in my day. It feel so good, so free, so right.”

You know, if he took the contempt out of his voice, I would be a melting puddle right now.

“You know what you are? You’re lost.”

Wait, now he’s trying a different tactic? Oh boy.

“I think you’ve been running from yourself your entire life, trying to disappear.”

“What’d you think you were gonna do, man? What, if you got away from Atlanta, all these little urges, they’d just go away?”

“So you go find another posh little uppity neighborhood, and you think it might make you feel al little better about yourself?”

Oh god, Derek said posh. I can’t.

“But then you wake up one day, and there he is, somebody just as sick and pathetic as you are, and your whole world changes.”

Is this all about that black comment? Seriously, dude? You think Derek is that weak?

“You really think that we’re the same because of our skin color?”

“You hurt innocent people. I don’t.”

“You’re not even a man.”

Yup.

“I’m a serial killer writing to my partner.”

Never.

They never write about a time.

“So how’d they know when to meet?”

Oh boy. How?

“Other than the blog, there is nothing else suspicious on Mr. Sneaky’s phone or his computer.”

I love her nicknames. So pure.

Shit. They used songs to give signals? Oh boy.

Good girl, Garcia.

Shit. Andrea followed Steven because she was suspicious, and now the fucker got her. Shit.

“No, Steven Baleman is not just your neighbor.”

“And you know this, how?”

“You told us.”

Yup.

Oh good girl. She didn’t post bail.

Love you, lady.

Oh god, those two taunting William about his daughter is seriously freaking me out and turning me on at the same time. Shit.

“Your little boyfriend is twisted, and now he’s got your baby girl.”

Uh-oh, he brought out the special nickname.

“What, is nothing sacred to you?”

Yup. Nothing.

“Man, turn around and look at me!”

Yeah, you coward.

“What is wrong with you, man?”

Oh god, Derek angry is freaky and hot.

“Why aren’t you trying to run out that door and save your child?”

“He’s alone with your little girl.”

Oh my god, Derek just turned emotional. The most emotional I’ve ever seen him in an interrogation room, holy mother of all that is sacred. Fuck.

“She’s probably crying out for you.”

“Daddy.”

Oh my god, look at his expressive face!!!!!!!

“Why aren’t you helping me?

“Why, because you’re standing here, doing nothing.”

Oh shit, he just spat! Oh my god, that is one amazing performance. Fuck.

“Be a man. For god sakes, be a father.”

Oh god. This man is amazing.

Why did they let him go to get his daughter? I’m not following.

Oh god, how the fuck can he actually stand there and talk to this fucker? If I were a parent, I would have strangled him and got my daughter out of there.

Oh they bugged him. Good.

“Those two had everything figured out.” “Except how it would end.”

Yup.

C. Northcote Parkinson: “Delay is the deadliest form of denial.” Wow. That is some serious stuff. And I’m so happy Shemar read that out.

 Hi? Okay, I am so sorry for the long review, you guys! I didn’t even notice how long it was getting till I reached the last word. I am so sorry! But holy fuck what an episode! At first you’re like, there’s no fucking way it’s the dad, he’s so loving to his daughter, then you’re like – fuck. it’s him. Shit. And then you think his wife is in on it. Turns out he’s killing because he’s repressing his homosexuality and he’s a sick fucker. Then you have Shemar Moore acting for his fucking life and turning me on like a kettle, getting me emotionally involved. Then it was just – holy shit, how can this end so much better? Ah yes, Joe Mantegna was acting with Shemar and it was glorious.

Seriously. One of the best episodes out there, hands down.

Not too bloody. Amazing acting. Emotional. I love it!

Hands down, best season ever.

Can’t wait to see what’s next tomorrow, cuz I have to go to sleep unless I want to accidentally sell guns and murder instead of coffee and machines XD

Good night lovelies…. And yes, I’m writing this while the second season is still posting itself in my queue … oh god. By the time this is posted I’ll be balls-deep in season seven, won’t I? Oh boy.

As ever, thank you so much for your support, folks! It makes my day to hear those tiny ‘pings’ on my gorgeous rose gold Xiaomi phone.

[homeplanetreviews]

Wind River (2017) Review by: Tristan Bunn

Wind River was probably my second most anticipated film of the year, so I’m very excited to finally see it and talk about it. It’s written by one of my favorite writers, Taylor Sheridan (Hell or High Water, Sicario), and it’s also directed by him, this being his directorial debut. I want to be a screenwriter, and my screenplays rely on a lot of dialogue so I naturally gravitate to writers with a similar style. Sheridan writes dialogue so poetic, yet so realistic, that I stay gripped to the screen every time I’m hearing his words. Wind River is a powerhouse piece of cinema and easily one of the best of 2017 so far.

Let’s start by talking about the man himself, Taylor Sheridan. I was so excited to see what a masterful writer would do as a director. He delivers. This doesn’t feel like someone’s directorial debut. This feels like a veteran who has been honing his craft for years. Wind River is genuinely one of the greatest directorial debuts ever. Sheridan uses the camera as a character. There is so much passion oozing through every single frame, that I was hooked to the film from the first shot. He has a really wonderful balance of mounted camerawork and handheld, depending on how he wants the viewer to feel at any given moment. That’s what impressed me most from Sheridan as a first time director: He uses the camera as a lens for the audience. I know that sounds obvious, but it’s rare that a director can truly transport an audience to the location with just framing and shooting style, but Sheridan does it marvelously. A lot of credit should be given to the cinematographer, Ben Richardson, because he paints pictures for the audience here with his lighting and camera setups. Sheridan makes the location feel like a character in this film. It is so integral to the plot and to the reason characters are who they are. He shoots the dialogue scenes brilliantly, sucking you in slowly, and his direction of the violence is some of the best work I’ve seen all year. This film is beautiful, unrelenting, important, and captivating.

Much of this is due to his remarkable screenplay. I still think Hell or High Water is probably his best script, but this is a close second. These characters are so well written, that I sat in my seat glued to their every word. There is so much depth to them, particularly Jeremy Renner’s character, that transported this to greatness. There is a murder investigation going on, but the emotional core of the film is what this moment brings to the surface for Renner and how he must not only help Elizabeth Olsen hunt a predator, but deal with his own personal demons. Renner walks the line to perfection. He just feels like a man who has been through these things. There’s never that “actor moment.” You know when they really let loose or make themselves cry or just show off? I’m not saying emotional actors are showing off, I’m just saying that Renner is so reserved in his acting and it suits the character and the script so well. You’re able to see the pain behind his eyes, but he has a tough exterior and just feels like a real human being. This is his best performance to date. A lot of this goes back to Sheridan’s brilliant screenplay. I’ve heard great actors say it’s almost easy when you’re working with a great script, and they definitely all had what they needed on the page for this film.

Elizabeth Olsen is also really good in her portrayal of this FBI agent who is in over her head. What’s so great about her character and what makes her so well written is that she’s very smart. She’s strong mentally and physically. She doesn’t need Jeremy Renner because she’s a girl and he’s a big strong man. There’s nothing like that happening here. She really asks for Renner to help her because of the location and because she knows his knowledge of it will lend a hand in solving this case. She’s smart, she’s resourceful, and she’s strong. Her acting is so good because we don’t know a lot about her past like we do about Renner’s. However, we feel like we know her almost immediately because Sheridan uses his dialogue as a tool so well and Olsen acts it perfectly, that you don’t even notice you’re getting to know her character until the stakes are raised and you realize you actually care for everyone involved because they’re real human beings.

Gil Birmingham is also mesmerizing in every single scene he’s in. There is so much depth to him and his culture and Native Americans as a whole, that it genuinely breaks your heart. He feels depressed and trapped, but the script lets you know that almost everyone in this place feel the same way. The characters are products of their environment and I think this might be the area where the script is the strongest. You don’t forgive characters for their actions, but you understand how this isolated location and this iron fist of government upon Native Americans can create undesirable situations and even more undesirable people. This goes back to the location being a character, and I love films where that is the case.

Wind River is truly phenomenal and it makes me even more excited to see where Sheridan’s career goes from here because I believe he’s one of the most talented human beings working in the industry today. The cast is great, the directing is remarkable, and the writing is perfect. Not only is this a stunning film, it also has something to say that I think people should see, particularly in the divisive time we live in currently. This is the perfect storm of cinema and I absolutely adored it.

Grade: A

[devilishdewitt]

The 2019 Moscow Burlesque Festival

Oh my.

First things first, the most important part of any review I shall ever write:

~The Eternal Disclaimer~

It is hereby declared that this little nook of the world wide web shall be devoted to the praise & critique of the art of Burlesque, specifically in Russia.

Let it also be known that I am first and foremost a benevolent force, and every single criticism is documented solely for the purpose of evolution, growth and inspiration, darling.

Never forget - it is fantastic that the burlesque scene in Russia has grown so much in the last few years. Brava, ladies! As a fact and a statement, it is absolutely fabulous.

However, I volunteer to wear the heavy crown of expertise, having seen many a show in many a place, and having a keen eye for detail and a heart hungry for that wow factor.

I always come with an open heart, am quite easily entertained, and know how hard the craft is - I can overlook many a fault when there’s stage presence, charisma and that fire of passion.

Oh, and self-irony.

All is sickly without self-irony.

Now, onwards! To fabulousness!

The Moscow Burlesque Festival is an annual event that began in 2018.

It is organised by Lyalya Bezhetskaya, a legend of Russian burlesque (it is widely acknowledged that she is responsible for bringing the genre into Russia in 2006, after studying in London) and Alexandra (Leela) Zharkaya, who is a director and a writer.

The theme of the 2019 festival was “History of Burlesque/Feminine Sexuality through history”, 1899-2019.

The organisers have announced that they wish to move away from the usual classic structure of a festival in favour of a more theatrical approach - have a storyline, not just a succession of acts.

The place of action was the fabulous Moscow Hippodrome, specifically it’s “Astoria” restaurant.

My story shall be divided into three parts, beginning with

HEAVEN

What was great about this event?

First of all, THE VENUE. It was simply sumptuous. Everything, from the name to the location, every single interior (apart from the bathrooms, perhaps, but that is of little importance) was oozing with promise of glamour.

The stage was of an inspiring size and seemed quite well-equipped for such a performance. The waiters were an absolute delight - the uniforms and hair-styles were at times more exciting than those of the performers, and their kind and slightly sly attitudes made the prolonged waiting time fly by.

THE GATHERING OF THE GUESTS was also done well. The welcome hall featured a small number of stands (soft, simple, almost minimal lingerie, gorgeous accessories and a variety of headpieces). Though scaling down from last years bazaar, it was still dainty and delightful. The display of curious dresses proved to be a fruitful topic of conversation, and the champagne pyramid was a lovely touch.

THE LECTURE about the history of lingerie was superb - I could listen to Megan Virtanen all day long. It was truly splendidly educational and entertaining in the most classy, intellectual way.

It was quite curious to see the performers roam freely during the guest arrivals. To see their immaculate costumes up close…what a treat! Lyalya Bezhetskaya, mistress of the evening, looked particularly breathtaking, and her dignified opening speech was full of poise and class.

Also worth mentioning are the illustrations for the festival - the logo & the set of postcards are absolutely brilliant. The style of drawing is very elegant, and every single lady from those postcards is an inspiration!

Kitty Orlova’s Jazz Band accompanied all acts 1899 to 1959, and goodness me were they spectacular. The idea itself is absolutely genius and was executed with charming efficiency. Excellent musicians!

The Marshmallows, a retro-style singing trio responsible for the music break, are a gift to this world and to Moscow in particular. Impeccable singing, impeccable style, impeccable attitude. The dancers (The Jiving Rockets) that graced the stage during their performance moved with such ease, joy and class…that whole performance was a dream come true for this little retro snob.

As for the performances, I have my own holy trinity of divinity.

Katerina Sahara, Tamasinushka & Xana Martin.

Katerina was responsible for bringing the 30’s to life, and oh dear God it was extraordinary. To be quite frank, dear reader, it was everything I ever want to see in a classical burlesque act. Who knew that the goddess of twerk would embody a thirties diva with such ease? She did it like a natural - from the mood through the tight curl of her hair and to those eyebrows (which are very hard to pull off, darling). Brava, immaculate.

You might remember my main critique of Tamasinushka - self-indulgence without a shade of irony, a confidence that turns sour. Boy did she prove me wrong! Something clicked for her that night and the results were breathtaking. Could not take my eyes off her - she uncovered a tenderness and fragility that immediately elevated her to greatness. Appearing in the end of the show, she was The Ultimate Embodiment of Burlesque, one might suspect? (as you might understand, dear reader, it was not quite clear). Whatever she was, she was a feast for the eyes.

Xana Martin was a stand-out for me last year, and I couldn’t wait to see what she would do this year. She did not disappoint! Representing the 90’s, she brought her own fire and gorgeous skills and married them beautifully with the aesthetic. Queen of the Night indeed! You can see that she LIVES on stage, and that passion is contagious. Electrifying performer!

However, we do also have....

LIMBO

Regretfully, there was a bit of tension before the start of the show.

As guests were taking their places in the main auditorium, they were informed that a deposit must paid for the services of the restaurant. That is in every way to be expected and all tickets did specify that this will be the case.

However, an exact sum was demanded - and it was the same as the ticket price.

Many people have expressed their surprise and inability to pay the full sum (it was a slightly-higher-than-average price tag for most table seats).

It was Lyalya herself who came to speak to each confused customer, and once again, her grace and poise were on point.

However, the situation progressed and Ms Bezhetskaya appeared on stage, and began to address the issue without the aid of a microphone. The speech was a perfect example of passive-aggressive, we even got a treat of a threat - “the festival will not begin until everyone has paid some sum of money. Or shall we all just cancel it right now?”.

The situation had to be addressed, of course - but not by Lyalya.  A Queen must have her loyal subjects - her mastery lies also in the ability to delegate, to wisely guide and trust. Unfortunately, this incident brought the mood down (which could’ve been resolved with a good warm-up!) and it seemed to stiffen Lyalya herself up - somehow all her numbers seemed impeccably rehearsed, but rather lifeless. And I don’t mean in an ethereal, dreamingly detached way - unfortunately, I mean in a distracted way.

Also, let me tell you about a lady that I find to be incredibly captivating -

 Kitty Orlova.

She is a vision and a titanic talent, but her presence went somewhat amiss.

She had two acts in the very beginning of the show, singing and undressing.

The first was the opening song explaining the premise of the story, the second one was her being a museum statue that comes to life.

Orlova is star material, but it feels as if she wasn’t given a chance to shine.

I couldn’t help but wonder, why is she in a creative union with Bezhetskaya? I’m not sure it does her justice.

The story that was chosen for the narrative of this event was a clear echo of last year - Lyalya’s fiancee comes to see her perform, is shocked by the fact that she’s undressing and breaks the engagement. She answers by cursing  him - I mean, literally casting a curse - he shall fall helplessly in love with performing beauties only to be ignored by them.

The curse will last a 100 years.

Which leads us straight to….

HELL

How did Zharkaya & Bezhetskaya, the infamous duo, sabotage a nearly foolproof idea?

I’m afraid that style plays a crucial part here. Style, or lack of thereof.

However, style is an extremely touchy and subjective topic, so I shall begin with more objective points.

1) Lack of proper introduction, aka NO WARM-UP.

If you are a seasoned admirer of the art of the tease, dear reader - or, in fact, if you’ve been to a single proper Burlesque show - actually, to any live performance of anything ever — you know that the relationship between audience & performer is crucial. In Burlesque this connection is especially vital, as a good cheer elevates both the (perhaps somewhat awkward) spectator and the performer (who by their nature crave reaction, it is their stage fuel).  

So when the audience at this so-called festival received NO warm-up whatsoever, what followed? Awkward silences. I heard and saw a few single enthusiasts let out an occasional cheer-and-clap, but they were met with icy stares of misunderstanding from the frozen, confused crowd.

2) No act introduction.

I find this especially surprising, since Miss Lyalya herself specifies on her Facebook page that amongst the things of outmost importance to her is the way she’s announced. “The right presentation creates the required, necessary aura around any performer, but especially - the Queen of Burlesque”. (She does specify that the title has a tinge of irony, even though it did not shine through on this particular night).

The ladies simply appeared on stage, accompanied by change of background projection and a scene with the male protagonist (the cursed one).

In the very end, the actor did attempt to introduce each performer, but was drowned out by the music…clearly the sound engineer was as confused as most attendees.

As there was no programme, the only way to find out who you saw on stage was either to come up and ask or use the internet.

Both are bearable, but still - the fact that there was no proper announcement is simply disrespectful.

3) Every story told through male presence.

The actor (Maxim Loginov) was on stage most of the time.

What was he doing? Ogling.

Ogling.

Honestly, for what purpose?

This is 2019, ladies. Surely the story of feminine sexuality can be told without the aid of a male protagonist.

Perhaps if it were done more tastefully, it would work better, but here it simply looked clumsy.

Which naturally leads us to the two main problems.

First of all, it was not a festival, and not a burlesque one, either.

Was it a show? Of course!

But clearly the premise of creation was not that of a festival - which is perfectly fine, just don’t call it a festival, darling!

There is a reason why the classic approach became a classic - because it works!

A festival is a showcase of talent, a wider view on a topic that unites those who might feel the need to be in opposition. It’s a place of connection, expansion and exchange.

And this grudge-holding/envy-drinking/unhealthy competition air in the community is not doing any one any favours.

Furthermore, most of the acts had nothing to do with Burlesque.

Pregnant tribal dance by Armata Hari? Captivating! But what’s it got to do with Burlesque?

Attitude walking and whip-handling by Fetish Mari? Juicy! What’s it got to do with Burlesque?

Half-naked & lazing around high on a hazy stage? My Tuesday morning, honey, but what’s it got to do with Burlesque? (and what a waste of the playful genius that is KittenTits McGee!)

Prancing around in your own space-age fantasy? Well, why not, but what’s it got to do with Burlesque?

Expert blade skills by Tamara Skarzhinsky? Breathtaking! But what’s it got to do with Burlesque?

Mia Zarring, a sumptuous DJ? Fantastic!  But what’s it got to do with Burlesque?

Can this show exist? Of course it can!

If it were simply “the exploration of female sexuality on stage, 1899-2019”, it would be a completely different story. A variety of genres would be welcomed!

But what’s the point of calling an event “The Moscow Burlesque Festival” and not giving Burlesque itself enough attention?

However, even that is not the biggest issue I had with the event.

I’m afraid that he ultimate description for this creation would be two words.

Tone. Deaf.

The line between vulgar and vivacious in Burlesque is a tricky thing, but it does exist.

It was simply quite poorly written, and some creative decisions were plainly crass.

From the aforementioned man (the actor is perfectly fine, it’s the circumstances he was put in and the way he was directed that’s problematic), a white Josephine Baker number (with the talents of the brilliant Ellisha Fox completely misused. He is surely NOT an accessory to Leela’s cold dancing), to Lyalya’s army number which shocked me quite horribly. War as entertainment? Throwing a grenade at the audience? I understand the playful, metaphorical subtext that was, perhaps, (hopefully!) intended, but it looked vulgar.

But nothing was as vulgar as the final kiss between producer and director…completely uncalled for, painfully serious, it had the aesthetic value of pretentiously cheap, lifeless porn.

Rueful.

Although, what can you expect from a director who blatantly announces this in her festival promoting video:

“I am an actress of eccentric burlesque. Do you know what eccentric burlesque is? It’s when during my act I will have sex with men...women...leopards...bananas...and so on. Come.”

Needless to say, this crass formula has nothing at all to do with Burlesque.

Oh good Lord, and that poor stage kitten’s styling…for what sins must she suffer so?…

It goes without saying that we should have an array of different styles and approaches, and comparisons are a sickly business. However, a painfully clear parallel comes to mind almost instantly.

While Pavlova declares “Down with the patriarchy” with elegant defiance, Bezhetskaya seems stuck within the limits of her disastrous “School of Burlesque” online series (shockingly vulgar, and not in an exciting, tingly way).

I’m afraid that events like this are the reason why so many people still associate the fine art of Burlesque with vulgarity.  ✶✶

THE FINALE

But there is a solution. In fact, a glorious one.

The creation of a truly splendid festival - in the full sense of the word.

Russia is blessed with an extraordinary kaleidoscope of burlesque enthusiasts.

Unite Pavlova, Gajndr, Shpiller, Bezhetskaya and put on a remarkable feast of talent.

How’s that for a spectacular challenge?

[bleedingcoffee42]

Absent- Part 27

I forgot how much I like playing with Kimblee.  I am sorry this got so long. I am sorry this whole story is so long.   

prev parts

xxxxxxx

“What toll?” Riza countered.  “I'm not an alchemist and I certainly didn't perform human transmutation to get here so exactly why do I owe you anything?”

“The only reason you have any answers here is because you are more of an alchemist than you realize.  Do you honestly think that seeing yourself as the Flame Alchemist was really that much of a fabrication?”  Kimblee asked.  “The truth is that you are more terrified of what you would have done had you been in Mustang's position during Ishval than what you did sniping from the rooftops.   Admit it, you have some serious Daddy issues. You pride yourself on your abilities and had you had flame alchemy at your fingertips instead of a trigger you would have been so much worse than him.   That drive to be the best cadet, the best marksman; it all stemmed from that deep rooted desire to get the accolades and attention your starved for growing up.   It felt good to be recognized didn't it?   What is Truth other than your own hubris, your damned pride.   Without pride, who would dare play God and try to make a human?  Or control fire?   Or deliver the kill shot to a complete stranger, deeming yourself the superior in race, morals and life in general.  So deep down you fear becoming me, because you felt that thrill when you hit your mark and it scared you more than anything.”

Riza finally sank into the chair he pulled out for her and stared at him as he flashed his palms, the array tattooed on them and she felt a pulse of some energy go across her back... her own array tattooed into her skin. Then he wove his fingers together, rested his elbows on the table and set his chin on his hands in display of satisfaction and waited on her.   To be that good in any field you had to be drive had to have some degree of pride in what you did.   Perhaps she always did question how she could be good at something that was only practically used for killing.  “So you're Truth because you will tell me exactly what I don't want to hear.”

“That's what you expect of me.”  He shrugged.   “Am I not the embodiment of pride? So proud of my superiority over mankind and immunity toward the most crippling weakness humans have, sympathy?”

“I believe it's called sociopathy.”

He chuckled.  “This isn't about me.   You're the one pouring over books about psychology and dreams and damned near anything under the sun to conquer what haunts you.   It would all go away if you just accepted that it was the choice you made and that deep down you are proud of yourself for thriving in a contest of survival of the fittest.  Do I look like I lose any sleep over it?  You're more terrified over what you did that you never thought you could do, than the actual lives you took.  Truth”

“That's not...”

“Do you remember their faces or just the ones that you were forced to look at?   I remember each and every one of them.  So the question is, do you really value the lives you took or just hate yourself for your inability to stand up and do the right thing?”

“I did my duty.”   Riza snapped.   God they were nothing alike and his sick satisfaction at remembering faces was hardly appreciating the lives he took other than for his own pleasure!  Why did it have to be him here, judging her?  Anyone else.....

“A lovely word, duty.  All encompassing in it's ability to deflect blame and decision making onto a superior, patriotism or some other entity.”  Kimblee put his hands on the table and smirked.  “Consider if you will that the reason you are here with me, beyond those doors of Truth and Knowledge behind you, is because you have been lying to yourself and that is what your subconscious is screaming at you to see each time it replays your war flashbacks.  Not what someone made you do, nobody made you do anything.  You could have missed, but you didn't. You couldn't, because you were an excellent marksman and they made an exception to the rule for you and let a cadet go to war.   You were the only woman in the sniper unit.  You felt special and you did your job so well to keep that feeling of pride no matter the cost.   Just like Flame, we all knew he was the youngest ever commissioned and that he had something far deadlier than we could ever compete with and he was even a good military man...top of his class.   He was the perfect soldier.”

Riza leaned forward, she was tired of Kimblee having a podium to preach at her for all her failings.   She was tired of hearing him talk down to her, as if he had that right.  “Something you can't comprehend, being a sociopath, is that being human is about having the full array of emotions and a conscience.   Having sinful ideas is completely different than acting upon them.  It's about having a concept of morality that guides your thoughts at all.   Selflessness versus selfishness.   There are sins and virtues.   There are also situations were there is no win and each path is terribly wrong but lack of action even worse. Decisions, life..being human is not done without pain or error but it's how you deal with it afterwards that defines you.   I make no excuses for my actions during the war, but Roy and I emerged from that with a greater purpose and dedicated our lives to making a chance to benefit the entire country.  What did you do?  Saw the end of your fun and decide to test how far you could go before they took you down?  Turned on your own?  You quit because life after the war didn't look appealing.”

“If you only aim to be better than me, that's a pretty low standard.” Kimblee smiled.

“What is the point of all this? Confession?  Acceptance?” Riza shoved the stack of books at him. “Tell me how to get out of here.”

Kimblee opened a book.   “Shell shock.  This one is an old edition, I gave them something else to write about after Ishval.  You should have seen that first wave of soldiers come through town after the first time the Alchemist Corps went through.  What a sight!   Body parts and blood splattered everywhere.   Buildings collapsed on people.  Charred and melted bodies.   Even some of the veterans, the ones who had been there for six years finally saw something that shut them down that day.  Flame was sloppy.   He hadn't honed his craft yet.   Left most of his victims alive, just melted and oozing....too damaged to scream out in agony but you knew they were suffering.   I...humanely destroyed his little mistakes.”

Riza ground her teeth.  She was about to say something but he laughed and continued.

“Imagine if it had been you, a hunter.   Someone who understands how to properly put down their kill.” Kimblee flipped a few pages and rolled his eyes at some 'ye olde medical drawings' that looked like something out of a torture manual.  People 'helping' could be more cruel than anything he ever did.  Idiots.   Humane thing to do was kill, anything else was just fulfilling a selfish desire to cling to a life spent or prove their ability to elude death with medicine.   Fools.  “You could have been so much better as the Flame Alchemist from the beginning.   Focused, deadly, beautiful.  Fully realized potential from the start.”

She could feel herself react to that, the idea that she could have been in Roy's place.  She didn't want the title or his job, but if she could have saved him....

“Remember 'Naive Happy Roy' is dead and laying in a morgue in East City right now.   Brain liquefied and dripping out his orifices.  So happy and carefree he walked right into the fucking serial killer's hand and never put up a fight.” Kimblee clucked his tongue.   “Think instead of you, Major Riza Hawkeye the Flame Alchemist.  You're walking down the streets of some miserable little desert town, screams and explosions everywhere and you with your fingers on the trigger....of your Daddy's little family secret ready to help those poor people meet their God.”

He said it in the most mocking tone and she never wanted to shoot him more than this moment.

“Deny it.  Go ahead.  Tell me, Truth, that you wouldn't have done your duty and put down your prey as humanely as possible.    A gunshot to the head would have been better, but you have only your gloves and this wealth of knowledge passed down to you by a father you loathed.   Here is your chance Flame, stand here and show that worthless father of yours how capable you always were and how you are even better than him.  Able to not only use his life's work but also use it better than his apprentice could because you have the training of a skilled hunter.  You don't need people to accept you, you grew up in isolation with a cold emotionless parent.  You were the perfect candidate.  You know how to most effectively dispatch an enemy and you do it without hesitation because you have honed your skills to pull the trigger immediately when the shot presents itself.   Feel that swell of pride as you walk past men like Alex Armstrong quivering on the ground and too weak to carry on with his duty.   Society's elite, he had everything you didn't have and yet here he is unable to do the most basic duty with his prized alchemy!   You can feel those stares now, not as a pariah but as a God.   They look at you with awe, respect and fear.  You're one of the best and this war will end because of your contributions. The entire country knows your name and you are the hero.  How does it feel?”

“I would have given anything to save Roy.”  She replied honestly.   “I would have walked his path for him if it meant he could be spared, but....being that weapon and seeing exactly why there could never be another Flame Alchemist because of what I did in the name of duty.   I would have had to have been destroyed.   I would have never seen past the end of the war, I...could not live with this heavy of a burden more or less used it to fuel a passion to change things.   I hate what it did to him, what I did to him, but this entire alternative reality has lead me to see that it really is equivalent exchange.   There is nothing that powerful that does not come without a cost.   This guilt, reliving my mistakes every time I close my eyes, it reminds me of why it's so important to accomplish our goals.   So perhaps I would have been worse, but in this scenario the lives lost would have been for nothing because the Flame Alchemist would not have been compelled to change this country.”

“Interesting take.”  Kimblee said.  “I suppose I am biased.   I always thought it was a shame Flame Alchemy rested in the hands of one so weak, so sympathetic....so conflicted.”

“That's why I chose him, because he understands the weight of his curse.” She said.   “Even in our darkest hour he was weighted down by the guilt not the power.”

“So we have explored your alternatives of being the Flame Alchemist in both aspects: One as a hermit and the other as a participant.   Each one ends with death, though you have attributed a higher value on a man you deem capable of changing the country despite the quantity of nameless Ishvalians that are on the other side of the scale.”   Kimblee held out his hands, palms up, symbolically showing the weights and them being on an even plane.  “Interesting.”

“I think I forgot how much I hated talking with you until now.”  Riza said.   Fireside chats with Kimblee were always unsolicited and condescending, but typically short lived due to someone trying to strangle or hit him.   If this was about dredging up old war memories bravo subconscious, however it was helping her get seriously pissed off at this whole scenario and start fighting back instead of being whipped around in the storm.   “Perhaps I do fear becoming like you which is not a compliment in any way, it's simply just applying a more personal face to the devil.”

“How rude.”  He said and frowned.

“We were naive, we didn't quite grasp the weight of the job we were signing up for.  We wanted to be soldiers to protect and be part of something good.  We thought there was a real enemy to be defeated. How...how does anyone comprehend something so horrible as war without seeing it?  How did we know our government was orchestrating a genocide?   How would anyone know about the corruption without being immersed in it?   You were right, killing was part of the job I signed up for when I put on this uniform.  To defend our country, to defend our way of life.   I had my eyes opened in Ishval, but my oath and belief in my duty have not changed.  I will help put a man in power who will not declare way on an entire race.   He will end the military's hold one every fiber of this country's  livelihood.   I will kill again to protect my country and those I love.   I wear this uniform still and believe in it.   Has my perception changed, yes, but for the better even if it is a darker vision of it all.   What you don't understand is that some of us made the selfless decision to serve our country and that does not change even if it means changing the country so that future generations do not endure what we did.”

“That, my dear, is called treason not loyalty.”  Kimblee replied.  

“Like you're one to lecture on the definition of either.” Riza countered coldly.

[aion-rsa]

Midnight Sun Review (Spoiler-Free)

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Like Edward Cullen, Midnight Sun is older than it looks. Stephenie Meyer’s retelling of Twilight, her iconic YA novel of female desire, from the perspective of the smoldering vampire lover was first teased back in 2008, around the release of the final book, Breaking Dawn. At the time, Meyer announced that she would not be finishing the manuscript, as the first twelve chapters had leaked online and she felt like she had lost control of the story. By the time she warmed again to the idea, over the intervening years, the project was again derailed by the emergence of E.L. James’ Fifty Shades of Grey (based on James’ Twilight fanfic) and its own reversed-perspective retelling, Grey.

Then, suddenly, this past May, it was announced that Midnight Sun would be published in just a few months. With no real context for why the book is finally seeing the light of day, it’s difficult to see the rushed timing as anything more than a cash grab. Over a decade after Bella Swan made her final choice, is it really worth resurrecting this book into a second life?

Unfortunately, the answer is: only for the most diehard Twilight fans, and even then it’s a stretch.

Part of Edward’s appeal in Twilight was his inscrutability, the fact that he played much of his motivations concerning Bella close to his unbreathing chest, except for when he felt the need to bellow that he was a monster and how could she love him, but he loved her too. Midnight Sun sheds some sparkling sunlight on that interiority, though by dint of being a retelling, the facts remain the same: Century-old vampire meets seemingly unremarkable human girl in high school biology class. Vampire seems repelled by girl, but it’s really a ruse to try to resist her overwhelming scent. Vampire fails, and forbidden love begins. Vampire refuses to have sex or otherwise get too close to human girl, for fear of tearing her to shreds in his passion. When other vampires come sniffing around girl, our vampire must push her away to save her, but the real way to save her requires him to get closer to her than he ever thought he’d have the self-control to be.

That said, it is genuinely a different perspective; where Bella was so oblivious to her own allure in Twilight, Edward is hyper-aware of everything. His constant cataloguing—of high-school minutiae, of every potential threat that could befall clumsy disaster-magnet Bella, of the hundreds of blushes that darken her skin—creates a high-strung narrative obsessed with not missing a single detail, lest it bring his carefully-crafted control crashing down around him. While he initially takes for granted his talent for reading people’s minds, the discovery that he cannot read Bella’s thoughts throws him off-balance. As the Twilight series has drawn ire for often making Bella a passive figure in her own fate, this turning of the tables—of Edward not knowing if she desires or fears him—is appreciated. Let him (figuratively) sweat a little.

But because these star-crossed lovers are so inexorably drawn to each other, it’s especially difficult to make a retelling that doesn’t just copy-and-paste the same dialogue but swap the pronouns and proper nouns. Meyer does what she can within the constraints that she created fifteen years ago. It helps that Bella sleeps, and Edward doesn’t; while we know that he creepily watches her for at least one REM cycle each night, he does spend some time away from her, with his own vampire family.

The Cullens are the only real aspect of the story that Meyer can expand. Unusual even by vampire standards, they are more than just a coven, even if they’re bound less by shared blood than by shared bloodlust (or, more accurately, their covenant to tame those predatory impulses). To this family tree Meyer adds leaves and blooms, building out the backstories of each Cullen, but especially Rosalie and Alice, through Edward’s strained and tender dynamics with each.

The one thing that Midnight Sun does is provide something of a reasonable context for Edward’s downright ridiculous protectiveness of his mortal love. Though he cannot read Bella’s mind, he can join his telepathic talent to Alice’s affinity for visions of potential futures; through his sister’s eyes, he can scan ahead to various hypothetical consequences of his actions. This lends a dramatic irony to how he goes about first avoiding, and then courting, and ultimately saving, Bella.

Yet even with this added advantage, at times Edward seems truly ignorant of how his words and actions pluck at Bella’s fragile emotions, not understanding why certain bouts of protectiveness make her go weak at the knees (when he assumes she should be quavering in fear) or get angry at being underestimated (when he expects her to think like a predator protecting prey). His own obliviousness is laughable, but a small price to pay for slogging through the same overwrought narrative.

Even Twilight fans will be hard-pressed to find enough that’s new and compelling about this retelling.

Midnight Sun swaps Twilight’s iconic cover—a girl cradling an apple, tempting symbol of forbidden knowledge—for a pomegranate, more graphic than suggestive: While the apple is whole, existing in the moment between plucking and first bite, the pomegranate has been cut in half and oozes out seeds. When this cover was first revealed, one might have thought that it was a nod to the shift in thinking that the archetypal apple in the Garden of Eden was actually, considering the Garden’s likely real-life location, more likely to be a pomegranate. A truly charitable reading of the cover design process would perceive the choice of fruit as reflecting the wisdom of hindsight, the effort to make a narrative more accurate with new information.

Instead, its purpose seems to be for Edward to recast Bella from Eve, yearning to better know the world into which she was created, to Persephone, who thought first of tart taste and only later of what it would mean to take that red juice inside herself. Both women are punished for their insatiable curiosity, but Eve with the curse of childbearing and thousands of generations; Persephone, by contrast, to forever move between the world of the living and the underworld, cursed to live parallel half-lives instead of one full one. (Edward, of course, styles himself as Hades, unable to see himself as anything but a steward for the dead mourning their lost lives.)

Of course, all of this has yet to unfold for Bella. Knowing how the Twilight series concludes, it’s difficult to remember that Midnight Sun retells only the first of four books, and that by its end not even Edward knows Bella’s ultimate fate. Honestly, it would have been better for everyone if Meyer had retold the entire series in one 600-page (or even, let’s be generous, 1,000-page) tome: Instead of retreading every single step like a slow, plodding human, go the vampire route and speed through the whole narrative, stopping to linger at the moments that actually required his side of the story.

Midnight Sun is available now from Little, Brown and Company or for purchase from Amazon.

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