#the greatest catharsis i have had all year…

[flowers-of-io]

the negative spaces

A register of tokens and gestures exchanged before the end of siblinghood.

Word count: 7,839

Read on Ao3

[coriphallus]

A little rant on patch 6 and the implications for bg3's future

Okay, bear with me for a sec its gonna go somewhere eventually. My first bg3 run (thats spammed here on this blog) i played ascended astarion/dark urge romance where i picked the reject bhaal and become the absolute ending.

as it was my first playthrough on release i was vibrating off mt seat and i didnt really have elaborate HCs or anything, i was just doing a quick evil run until the bugs get sorted out. i didn't think much beyond "yes this dude would want the shiny stones for himself"

first time i saw astarion enthralled, i was confused. he asked me to do it, he was quite insistent on it since the beginning of the game. i was confused for a couple of hours, digesting the entire game i just played. Then it hit me; the game was calling me out. it was telling me ive been stupid for not having seen this coming and at that point i felt awe.

it was right, everything pointed to this, it was right in front of my eyes all i needed was to connect the dots that the game laid out quite visibly and i was just too caught up to see.

'well my durge would never do that' didnt matter because thats exactly what the companions thought. Gale thought the powers of an insatiable weave wouldnt corrupt him, that he'd stay true to himself, shadowheart thought shar had blessed and her she'd guide her, that she could be her true self under her influence, astarion thought he'd be free, that he'd cherish the bond he'd made with the player but at the end of the day power reveals; and when that power is acquired through the corpses of thousands its quite evident that Absolute power corrupts absolutely. IT WAS IN THE FKIN NAME.

it was a shining bait i was so focused on getting my hands on that i didn't look back to see the mountain of corpses i had to step on to get there. the game was telling me 'HEY LOOK AT EVERYTHING YOU'VE DONE TO GET HERE, LOOK AT WHAT HAPPENED TO ALL THE OTHERS WHO THOUGHT THEY COULD ACHIEVE THIS, DO YOU THINK YOU'D HOLD HANDS AND SING KUMBAYA WITH YOUR FRIENDS AFTER ALL THIS?'

just as there was never an option where frodo could stab saurons flaming eyeball and sit on his throne with the ring on his finger and sam at his side, there was never an ending i could get my 'happy ending' the way id like it to. i wanted frodo to remain in middle earth and have some peace in the end, i didnt understand how he was 'too changed' to remain and sam wasnt when i first read the books. i was angry even, that i didnt get what i wanted. it wasnt like tolkien haphazardly put together an ending out of his ass bcs he didnt know what to do with the characters, its not that he didn't think while writing that the fans would hate it, he wrote a story that achieved its catharsis by reaching its narrative conclusion. it couldnt have done that any other way. it was deliberate. i may not have understood or agreed at the time but it was the story he wanted to tell, and it wouldnt be one of the greatest stories ever told if the writer wanted to please a 10 y/o like myself.

it was never out of character for my durge at all, i was just blissfully avoiding the NARRATIVE.

months later we get this absolute narrative abomination:

and all i can say is im worried.

im worried bcs this is a clear disrespect to the story they've written, im worried bcs if they can do off with huge plot elements and beats such as this just like that it shows a lack of commitment to their own plot and if a huge Point of the game can be treated like a minor mistake than what else can? was is just a lack of oversight that laezel gets killed under vlaakith? can it be waved off if enough vlaakith loving gith players come together and shout loud enough that they want to ride alongside their queen with their gith gf?

what part of the game is tangible to hold on to, and after two years worth of patches that are made to appease the fans at the expense of the story, will it still be the game i fell in love with?

i dont blame the fans for wanting, i blame the devs for delivering. that they could sacrifice the integrity of a pretty straightforward story bodes ill tidings for the future of this game.

yes i wanted this feature, but i was glad i wasn't given it. i may have been confused and slightly miffed that i didn't get to reign supreme with my evil bf, but i immensely respected the game that could call me out on it. i wish they could show the same respect to their own writing.

[vanellopes-mun]

Vanellope VS. Turbo: A Mini Analysis!

There are a million reasons why Turbo’s reveal in Disney’s Wreck-it Ralph is such an iconic and memorable scene. A scene that I and many others have replayed ever since 2012 and its impact has never left our minds. It solidified King Candy/Turbo as one of Disney's top villains ever created, surprising and shocking viewers with a plot twist that Disney hasn’t been able to overthrow with their other movies before they abandoned villains until King Magnifico but he sucks so. He WISHES he was as charismatic as King Candy plz-

But this analysis isn’t just about King Candy/Turbo, it’s also about Vanellope Von Schweetz. She’s the most important ingredient to making this scene work and play out the way it does and ultimately why it’s so fucking cathartic. ( More so than Ralph’s fight against Cy-Bug Turbo in my opinion) After watching how it was originally story boarded, the crew behind WiR perfected this scene with a specific detail that they changed. In the early storyboard, Vanellope causes King Candy’s vehicle to crash, causing him to glitch and transform into Turbo in front of the cameras. While I love love love the extended race between Vanellope and King Candy and sort of wished it could have been longer in the actual film, I am content that they didn’t go with the direction. In the movie, King Candy is revealed after trying to beat/kill Vanellope with his horn rod/pole thingy from his kart, she grabs it and glitches due to stress/adrenaline/her emotions, her blue glitch traveling through the cane and making contact with King Candy, finally putting down the facade he had on for 15 years and revealing him as Turbo to the characters in the film and the audience. It’s such a small detail, it only happens in a second, but it’s all it took for the start of his downfall and his eventual demise. 

And this is why it brings me catharsis every time I watch this scene. I could never put it into words before, but it’s beyond satisfying that the end of King Candy’s horrible reign starts with Vanellope and her glitch. The very same glitch that he caused trying to delete her code and remove her place from the game. The glitch that he used as an excuse to turn everyone in Sugar Rush against her. He usurped her throne and tried to ruin her life. Despite this, he still had the audacity to shout “Get off of MY track!” earlier. It brings his Roadblasters incident back up, it was his choice, trying to steal the thunder of another racing game that just got plugged in because he couldn’t stand the idea of anyone taking his place, only for Turbo Time and Roadblasters to be unplugged. All of this circling back and biting him in the ass. Vanellope was the key all along and he knew it, he feared her despite never really having a conversation with her as far as we know (Vanellope asking Turbo “What the-?! Who are you!?” leads me to believe that if they did converse in the past, it was not in his true form and he was most likely already King Candy. Plus it just goes to show how fast he hijacked Sugar Rush), but you can just tell by how desperate he was to keep her from racing, he didn’t want anyone to take his place ever again. 

So the scene continues and his famous line and breakdown goes as this: “I’m Turbo! The greatest racer ever! And I did not reprogram this world to let YOU and that halitosis riddled warthog TAKE IT AWAY FROM ME!” It’s just so ironic, unfair and hypocritical of him it makes my blood boil! And the way he’s raising his voice, jabbing his finger at her and Vanellope’s trying to shrink away from him as he yells at her face before he tries to murder her I just- So cruel, scary, wicked and disturbing! But Vanellope, this brave WARRIOR, is reminded of her glitch after Turbo calls her for what he believes is the last time. “End of the line, Glitch!” She takes a moment, everything slows down around her as she tries to control her glitch to escape Turbo. She glitches away, missing the wall and It ends up saving her life! I just cannot stress enough how beautiful that is! She used her disability, that everyone thought would simply doom her and the game, and embraced it when she needed it most. Her glitch, while it was suddenly given to her by circumstances she couldn’t control or prevent, she took control back. It’s her beautiful superpower and it’s empowering. After this scene, it’s the “end” of Turbo before he gets nom’d by a Cy-Bug. ( I want to note that he later says “I’m the most powerful VIRUS in the arcade”, part of me wants to believe he said that because clearly Vanellope bested him as the greatest racer ever but I doubt that was their intention lol)

They’re the embodiment of Selfishness vs. Selflessness. While Vanellope had everything taken away from her, she didn’t follow the same path as him. Turbo had everything taken from him, but it was his fault and he only ever thought about himself, never about the destruction he left behind. Hell, all she ever wanted was to be one of the racers, no matter how much they bullied her and ostracized her, she never ended up being evil like him even though it would be a perfect recipe to become a villain, this is also what makes her a mirror to Ralph.  (Remember in that one deleted scene where she said she wanted to break the racers’ legs but come on can you blame her!?!?! She was so real for saying that.) VANELLOPE IS MY FAVORITE CHARACTER EVER AAAA. 

Before I ramble any further, I will forever love the choices that the writers made for the climax and it just ends up being an absolutely perfect and brilliant scene and I will continue to rewatch for the millionth time. 

[bananaofswifts]

BY RACHEL SONIS

It came to her in a dream (an embarrassing one, at that), Taylor Swift recalled about the origin of her song, “All You Had To Do Was Stay.” On the cusp of her ascent into stratospheric superstardom with the release of her fifth studio album 1989 in 2014, Swift explained to TIME that in the dream, her ex had come to her front door to get her back, and all she could say back was a high-pitched “Stay.”

“It was almost operatic,” Swift said. “I woke up from the dream, saying the weird part into my phone, figuring I had to include it in something because it was just too strange not to. In pop, it’s fun to play around with little weird noises like that.”

It’s how some of our greatest pop songs have come about: making music out of the weird or the strange. That's why it is all the more surprising that “All You Had To Do Was Stay” has never gotten its due. With the release of Swift’s rerecording of 1989 bringing Taylor’s version of the song, nine years after the original, the time has come to reassess the long underappreciated track.

There’s a science, of course, behind “All You Had To Do Was Stay” and its placement on 1989. The song falls into what Swifties call the “Track Five” factor. If you look at Swift’s albums, the story goes, the fifth track of each one is the saddest and most cathartic of the project—and typically best captures its mood and message. On Fearless, it was “White Horse.” On Speak Now, it was “Dear John” and on Red, “All Too Well.” The list goes on, and for the release of her seventh studio album Lover (with “The Archer” as track five), Swift acknowledged the clear pattern.

Contrary to popular opinion, this is also true of “All You Had To Do Was Stay.” It’s one of the saddest songs in Swift’s discography, but it’s created in a way that feels foreign to those who have been following her music since she cried tears on her guitar. In fact, it’s worth asking if it’s a strategic move for the self-proclaimed “mastermind” of subtext.

Saying so long to the country darling we once knew, 1989 marked Swift’s entry squarely into the pop arena. We heard inklings of this in Red two years prior, but this time, the shift in sound was unmistakable: Swift was charting a path toward a kind of pop stardom where her music was going to become ubiquitous and permeable—heard in your bedroom, your mom’s car, or even on the dance floor.

In many ways, this album was meant to be a light-hearted pop forward soundtrack to Swift’s life. “Shake It Off” and “Blank Space” were devil-may-care responses to the media circus and Swift’s romantic throes while “Welcome to New York” was a gleeful proclamation of young adulthood and finding one’s footing in a world that is electric and full of possibility. Even the most pointed of songs, “Bad Blood,” still feels coy and playful. But as any Swiftie knows, you can never have fun without the pain. And that’s where “All You Had To Do Was Stay” plays its critical role.

Perhaps that’s part of the brilliance of 1989, but also of Swift’s mastery. Behind the pulsing synths, drum pads, and processed backing vocals, lyrically, the story she’s trying to tell is just as vulnerable, relatable, and cutting. “People like you always want back the love they pushed aside. But people like me are gone forever when you say goodbye”—a line that lands with a sinister calm before an explosive “stay!” carries us into the chorus. There, with brutal honesty, Swift battles how complicated breakups can be: how you might hate someone and still want them back. How people inflict their deepest wounds on each other despite their best intentions. And how you can dance through the sadness and feel release—from that person and sometimes, even, from yourself.

Catharsis comes in many forms and from places where you’d least expect. Sometimes it’s tender and quiet. But it can also be loud and raise hell. With “All You Had To Do Was Stay,” Swift made clear that catharsis in the form of the latter was OK—that loudness and spectacle is OK. The song’s drama, sharp storytelling, and dreamlike quality are unmistakably Swiftian. At the same time, it shows the beauty of how pop music works: How weird and crazy sounds and your most embarrassing stories and dreams can be operatic and accessible. If only you give yourself enough room to lean into it and dance.

[egg-emperor]

You're the expert on Eggman so I'm really curious to hear your answer

If Eggman found that Sonic died (something along the lines of Sonic was killed by someone else or he fell victim to some strange disease) would Eggman be upset that he didn't get to experience killing Sonic himself or would he immediately begin partying and start working on his vision for Eggman land?

I know Eggman would be ecstatic about finally getting to move towards his goals with no obstruction, but I guess what I'm really asking is how would Eggman feel knowing that something else took the life of his greatest enemy and he'll never get to experience the thrill of being the one to do it

(Also, in this hypothetical situation, Eggman did not kickstart the events that led to Sonic's death whatsoever. It was mostly out of nowhere, and Eggman is just finding out about it.)

Aww thank you I'm honored to be considered an expect hehe 💜

I feel his initial reaction is always to be absolutely delighted and burst into laughter because his arch nemesis is dead and that will never be a total downside for him. The two moments we've seen his reaction to Sonic presumably being dead, he's been overjoyed, standing out as some of his happiest moments in the entire series lol

And while technically he was pretty much responsible for both as Sonic wouldn't have been cyber corrupted in the first place if Eggman hadn't kicked it all off, we still got to see how he feels if he isn't the one to really directly finish him off, calling it his "only regret". While he would've preferred it of course, he can be happy about it regardless. It's still hilarious and delightful to him

Though if he had no involvement at all because it was from some other foe that isn't connected to him, or a sickness, or anything else, I could see him being a little disappointed or even mad about how he couldn't get the glory of killing him. Like in a possessive "Hey, that was my prey! I was going to be recognized for my power and brilliance by killing him!" type way-

But overall he'd still be happy he was gone, the benefit of him no longer being around to get in his way remains. Plus he could still get the glory of defeating the rest of his friends if he's not feeling satisfied when he can't take any pride and credit in anything. As long as he gets the sense of accomplishment and bragging rights in other areas, I think he'll be happy enough in the end

So I'd say he'd probably still have the same mindset of when he said Sonic denied him the pleasure of finishing him off. His initial reaction would always be joy and laughter, even if after it wears off, he pouts like "But it should've been me that did it though >:[" and feel a little unfulfilled. It feels like he was denied one of the greatest thrills, catharsis, and satisfactions he could feel

And he could go "Wow sucks that for years I've aspired to put that blue pest down myself and the opportunity was ripped from my hands. I wanted to put him in his place and prove myself before I rid of him forever!" Because let's not forget, the reason he kept Sonic alive in prison in Forces was because he wanted to show him his completed empire before banishing (killing) him

He would wish he could've shown his glorious empire to Sonic and said "Ha I told you I could do it, I was never bluffing! Now the world is mind and my glorious empire will rule supreme and you're nothing before me. Now goodbye forever!" And really rubbed his accomplishment and superiority in his face, then had the glory of killing him himself. That's his absolute dream scenario

Accepting that he isn't ever going to get that could be a tough pill to swallow after years of anticipation and fighting for it but it wouldn't stop it from overall being a great positive thing overall that Sonic is dead. What's done is done, so I think he'd be able to replace it in the end by proving himself to all the rest of those that try to resist him and getting the joy of killing his other enemies himself

l can also see him still thinking it was hilarious if he died in such a lame way if it was due to a sickness or something instead of in an epic battle lol. He might not have been able to prove his brilliance in it but Sonic at least proves his patheticness. Like how I can see him looking down on Maria for her terminal illness and dying by a bullet and using it as a reason to say he's better in both cases

Then he can personally prove his power and superiority by destroying or dominating the rest by himself. He'd know how to look on the bright side of it and find other ways to use his demise as proof of his own brilliance either way. In the end it'd still result in him cracking open a bottle of champagne and celebrating that blue bastard's end and the beginning of his glorious empire XD

So I think the upsides would outweigh the downsides no matter what, as he'd still get what he always wanted with his main dream of dominating the world and building and ruling his empire. It's just along the way defeating Sonic also became a part of it so it can be a bit a bummer- but he won't let that sour the happiest time of his life when the world is finally his, he has an empire to rule!

But I mean hey, maybe Eggman wouldn't want to accept it, to the point he'll go back in time to save him or find a way to revive him 06 style, something so noble and heroic. Like oh my god maybe he actually can't live without Sonic and needs him in his life! - But then it's actually just so he can kill him himself and get the glory and the credit. Dig him up to make sure he gets it lmfao

And he'd still do it in a way that he gets to prove himself, by taking him prisoner for a while while he builds his empire, shows it all to Sonic to really anger him and then gleefully declares that they'll engage in one last epic battle to the death with him, where he plans on finally killing him. That would be pretty fucking awesome. But if he loses and Sonic gets to live on, it'd immediately become his biggest regret!

[imnotasuperhero]

Some feelings, they can travel too.

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: Sometimes, the greatests love stories come to an end.

TW: Cancer, grieving, major character death. A doze of smut just to add to the angst (I set it in cursive, so you can scroll past it if you don’t mind the little bits of feels)

A/N: My dudes. I don’t know what to tell you. I’m here once again with a request that was too hard to decline since it hits home and I thought it might work for some overdue catharsis. I cried my eyes out resulting in a headache, so pardon any mistakes I made. I’ve been working on this for several hours and babysitting a 3 y/o is no calm job. Hope you enjoy this over 6k monster of mine (I reached anotehr milestone and I couldn’t be prouder) And like I say, if I hurt, it’s only fair you do, too.

Looking up at the imponent building in front of her, Wanda readjusted the straps of her backpack and followed the commands of her twin, doing some breathing exercises to calm her erratic heart.

Being the new kid at school was never something Wanda enjoyed, no matter how many times she had to transfer thanks to her dearest father. She hated feeling so small and the fact that she wasn’t the best at making friends did nothing to ease her anxiety.

“Come on, Wanda!” Pietro grunted annoyed, backing his steps and grabbing her hand to drag her along.

“Do you even know where we’re going?” Wanda sighed, trying to escape his tight grip to no avail.

“I do. And if we don’t hurry, we’re gonna miss our first period.” At the annoyance tinting his voice, Wanda decided to shut her mouth and follow him to the reception.

After getting each of their class schedules, the twins headed back through the path they walked.

“Okay, your classroom is at the next hall, third-”

“I heard what the lady said. I know where to go,” Wanda rolled her eyes at the need to punch her exasperating brother.

“Okay then, I’ll see you in the next period,” Pietro kissed the top of her head, trotting towards his own class.

Looking through the small window of the door, Wanda could feel the baby hairs of her neck spiking up at the new faces unaware of her presence.

‘Please, may this year be nice,’ She begged silently to whoever God was out there.

Wanda had to remind herself not to run the small distance that separated the teacher’s desk from the door at the numerous heads turning to her simultaneously.

“Hi,” Wanda handed the white schedule to Mr. Chadman -as she read in the tag at the door. “I’m Wanda.”

The old man inspected the paper for a few seconds and nodded quietly. “Welcome, Wanda. Please be seated and enjoy.” He gave her a smile that reminded her of her late grandpa.

Looking over the classroom, she walked hunchedly to the only seat free, beside some girl with unique glasses.

“Hi,” said girl gave her a toothy smile, making Wanda smile. “Name’s Y/N,” she turned back to doodle something on the blank page of the boy behind her before fully turning to the front. Her head leaned to her expectantly.

“I’m Wanda,” the brunette mumbled as she took a seat and slowly took her books, as if trying to seem unbothered by the stare burning the side of her body.

“It’s not all the time we get new students,” you said in a whisper, for Mr. Chadman had started the lesson already. “Where are you from?”

“Um… Sokovia,” Wanda braced herself expecting the typical questions that followed, but gasped when you surprised her.

“That’s near the Czech Republic, right?” You asked thoughtfully.

“Yep,” Wanda couldn’t help but smile. Maybe this won’t be a hard year, after all.

The rest of the school day was spent with minor inconveniences, except for Pietro’s teasing when he found out she might have made a friend.

Thought that was confirmed when she heard a familiar voice calling over her. 

Looking to her left, she saw you standing on a table waving at her with that characteristic smile she learned to like.

“Hi,” Wanda smiled timidly at the 6 smiling faces staring at her.

“Guys, she’s Wanda. Wands, they’re… my friends,” you giggled sitting back down, scooting over to leave room for Wanda.

“Natasha,” the redhead spoke, sending daggers to you, to which you just threw a small piece of bread at her. “Nice to meet you,” she now turned to Wanda, showing her white smile.

“How’s school treating you?” The tall, brunette boy sitting adjacent to her spoke next. “I’m Bucky, by the way.”

Before Wanda could answer you gasped, earning your friend's attention.

“Right! Wands, he’s from near your country,” you smiled brightly, almost excited.

“Wait. Where you from?” His blue eyes lighted up expectantly.

“Sokovia,” Wanda dried her sweaty hands on her jeans, gathering all the confidence she could muster.

“Not that near, but I'll take it!” Bucky raised his hand.

Laughing at the glee plastered on his face, Wanda high-fived him.

The passing days had Wanda relaxing by the minute as it seemed she had met the right people thanks to you. Granted you all could be a little too much for her to handle, but she was expectant of what this school year could bring to her.

What she didn’t expect though, was discovering you in a new light as you busied yourself with a well-used notepad. Be it because of curiosity or something she wasn’t familiar with, she wasn’t able to take her eyes off you for the past few minutes.

“What are you working on?” Wanda scooted over, sitting beside you on your bed. “Seems like your life depends on it.”

Pausing for a second, you sighed calmly as you turned to look at her. “Remember how you told me you loved to sing but you sucked at writing your own songs?” You asked cheerfully.

“Yes,” Wanda’s face contorted into one of suspicion. 

“Well, I’m finishing a song you might like to-”

“You what?” Wanda all but took the notepad from your hands, reading through the black letters contrasting against the white pages.

“As I was saying, I thought you’d like to participate in next month’s talent show.

“I- No.” Wanda shook her head. “Not happening.”

“But why,” you whined, taking her hand in yours and Wanda felt an electricity wave travel up her arm. “You have a beautiful voice and it’s unfair the world doesn’t know it.”

“I appreciate your willingness in sharing your talent with me and I love this song already. But I don’t sing in public.”

“You really like my song?” You asked, your eye shining with something Wanda couldn’t put her finger on.

“Are you kidding? It’s amazing!” Wanda smiled proudly.

“Thanks,” you looked down, but Wanda could notice the rosy tint in your cheeks. But as soon as the shyness came, your stance was taken over by mischief.

“Tell you what,”

“Oh, no. I know that look and I don’t want-”

“But Wanda! I promise it’s a good thing!” You pleaded and Wanda could only sigh.

“Okay,” you paused confidently. “You sing this song in the talent’s show and I show you the tons of songs I’ve written.” 

“Absolutely not.” Wanda nodded in the negative repeatedly.

“But Waaaaaands!” You whined deeply, conjuring the best pout you could, and Wanda only raised her perfectly sculpted eyebrow, clearly unimpressed.

“Besides, you dream of being a famous singer,” you continued when the silence had stretched for way too long. “How you’d make it if you don’t get out of your comfort zone?”

Wanda hated when you used her future to have it your way. But if she was being honest, she knew the day would come sooner or later, so she closed her eyes, inhaling deeply.

“You better show me all of them,” Wanda laughed joyfully when you threw yourself at her, hugging her.

“I knew you’d come to your senses.” You spoke toothily, looking down at her comfortable smile.

But said smile turned into a thin line when Wanda realized how close you were. So close she could feel your small breaths colliding against her lips like a needed breeze on a hot summer day.

Poking your side, Wanda scurried from under you. “You’re squeezing me,” 

“Blandy,” you rolled your eyes, sitting up.

“I- That’s not a wo-”

“I’m the creator here,” you shrugged her off to which Wanda poked her tongue at you.

The following weeks passed in a blur as you both worked on the song Wanda would sing. Long nights on the weekends turned into a constant between you two and Wanda couldn’t help the peace she felt when you were by her side. Despite the bubbly, -hyperactive at times, charming persona you held, you were like a soothing balm to her conflicted insides, silently healing the wounds her demons left her with.

“I can’t do it.” Wanda panicked, turning to her best friend.

“You can and you will,” you grabbed her by the shoulders, making sure her eyes stayed locked with yours, making Wanda hold her breath for a little longer than necessary. “I believe in you, Wands. You’ll do great!”

“What if-”

“Nope. I’m forbidding you to go there.” You chastised. “You said you trusted me, right?”

“Always,” she answered nervously.

“Then believe in yourself, babe. You’re capable of amazing things if you just cross the line,” you smiled comfortingly, fighting Wanda’s inner shadows away.

With those words, Wanda hugged you before she stepped onto the stage after hearing her name, adjusting her guitar trying to avoid the public’s eyes.

Looking at you one last time with your supportive smile grazing your features, Wanda faced the crowd with her eyes closed as her fingers played the right chords expertly.

Picture a place where it all doesn't hurt

Where everything's safe and it doesn't get worse

Oh my

We see through bloodshot eyes

Wanda’s soft voice accompanied the soothing notes from her guitar, creating a spell that hypnotized everyone in the room.

Jump with me, come with me, burn like the sun

We'll talk, then we'll cry, then we'll laugh 'til we're done

Oh my

It's like we're out our minds

We've been runnin' for our lives

We've been hidin' from the light

We've been far too scared to fight

For what we want tonight

Wanda dared to open her eyes as she gained the confidence needed and smiled something proud at the faces full of calm in front of her.

Close your eyes and leave it all behind

Go where love is on our side

It's a trust fall, baby

It's a trust fall, baby

By the time Wanda realizes she’s been staring at you, the last few chords come to its end. Feeling her heart burning from something she wasn’t sure of, Wanda played the last note smiling as everyone clapped and cheered at her. The adrenaline of the moment took over her, making her run to you after she walked off the stage.

“That was amazing!” Wanda giggled, closing her arms tightly around you.

“You are amazing,” you stood there, patiently holding her.

Breaking the hug, Wanda looked at your eye and felt the fire inside her burn stronger at the utter pride she found.

Before she could react, her lips touched yours, like a magnetic force dragging you together.

“I’m sorry,” she freaked when she realized what she just did. But the dreadful feeling disappeared when this time, you leaned forward, kissing her painfully slowly.

Smiling through the kiss, Wanda encircled her arms around your neck as you hugged her waist, bringing your bodies impossibly closer.

“Let me take you on a date?” You smiled when you parted for much-needed air.

“I would love that,” Wanda smiled as calmly as you, hugging you one last time hiding her face in the process, as she heard the voices of your friends nearing at a fast pace with the promise of celebrating after the show.

The stars shining over reminded you how small you were. Your small body was nothing compared to the cold rocks twinkling up in the black sky and a pang wounded your heart as Wanda shifted beside you, feeling the right side of your face burning under her intense gaze.

“Can I ask something?” Wanda’s voice was barely audible, afraid to break the calm.

Turning your head, you leaned forward pecking her lips. “Go ahead.”

“Why there’s a tinted side on your glasses?”

Closing your eyes, you sighed defeatedly. You knew it was too good to be true. Yet, you wished for the ask to never come.

“I’m blind in my left eye,” you pursed your lips, awaiting a reaction.

The gasp that escaped Wanda’s lips had you bracing yourself for the worst. You weren’t ready to give up on this living dream.

Before you could dwell too much into your sadness, Wanda’s hand cupped your cheek, as if inspecting her following actions were safe.

The burning sensation you felt on your left cheek started to prickle upwards your face as slender fingers were dragged agonizingly softly -a featherlight touch, really. Your breath stopped mid-exhale as Wanda lifted your glasses, caressing the skin beside your eye. You were thankful for the dark of the night around you, making it harder for Wanda to notice what could easily shine with the light.

As Wanda’s intense gaze shifted from one eye to the other, you closed your eyes to stop the forming tears. But what happened next had you choking a cry as Wanda kissed your broken eye and you could only wrap your arms around her waist as you hid your face in the crook of her neck, trying unsuccessfully to hide your pain.

“Detka,” Wanda mumbled with her lips against your head.

Seeing you did not move, Wanda just stood there, holding you at a weird angle that provided you the comfort you needed and you silently thanked her. You weren’t ready for this part of your story to see the light and being honest, you didn’t think you’d ever will.

“Detka,” the brunette tried once again after a few moments. This time, you complied. And the look you saw in those green eyes had you inhaling sharply.

“What happened?” She asked, combing some locks off your forehead.

“I had an accident when I was little,” you lied. “I was helping my dad with a project and a splinter got in my eye, leaving it useless.” You spoke confidently, having used the lie for so long.

“It suits you,” Wanda winked and you laughed something small, appreciating the fact she didn’t pity you. Or that she didn’t show it if she did.

“Can I have my glasses again, please?” 

“You can,” Wanda carefully placed your glasses in its place, kissing your nose to move to your lips.

Humming at the contact, you allowed yourself to relax for the time being. More than ever, you decided to live your life the best way you could without thinking of the looming ghost over you.

It was a Wednesday when the fact you were a few weeks away from graduating high school hit you. And with that, the rainy day felt even more gloomy as the thought of another milestone so close, yet so far away given the condition you were in.

But that thought was pushed to the back of your mind when the honking car outside signaled your ride had arrived.

You had planned to go bowling with your friends as the last gathering before finals started the following week, determined to cherish every single second you had with the people you loved.

That’s how you found yourself fighting with your left shoe as the lights were dimmed.

“Let me,” Natasha squatted in front of you, making a quick job of your shoelaces.

“Thanks,” you smiled toothily, hooking your arms together as you walked to your friends a few feet away rooting for each one of the Maximoff twins in some game you didn’t care to pay attention to.

Once everyone was in your booth, you started the game as Pietro decided he was going first.

The afternoon was filled with laughter and playful banter and you couldn’t be happier having your friends and your girlfriend by your side.

“You’re up,” Bucky cheered you. “Show speedster how we do it,” he winked, causing you all to laugh while Pietro grumbled something you couldn’t hear.

Walking to the line, you chose the purple ball and measured your distance with precision. Balancing forth and back until you felt confident enough, you sprint to the limit line throwing the rolling ball as hard as you could.

“Wooh!” Wanda and Natasha cheered as you dropped all the pines in one shoot.

You smiled proudly as you walked back to your friends, waiting for Pietro’s commentary.

“Pretty impressive for having one eye,” he rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed that you were leading the charts.

“Who says I just have one?” You frowned, hiding the giggle in your voice. “Tony gave me a bionic eye.” You shrugged, earning a chorus of ‘ooh’s’ from the youngsters.

“What!” Pietro looked shocked at the boy adjacent to him.

“What can I say? I like helping my friends,” Tony high-fived you as you sat beside him.

That night you held onto the toilet bowl as if your life depended on it with Wanda holding your short hair up in a ponytail as you had woken up with a sudden need to empty your guts.

“What can I do?” Wanda asked on the verge of tears as she never stopped the circling patterns on your back.

“It’s okay, love.” You sighed deeply as you stood up on wobbly legs. “It was the fried egg, probably,” you opened the mouthwash and gargled the nasty taste away.

Turning around, you couldn’t help but hug your girlfriend at seeing her so small. It was at that exact moment that you knew you did good in not telling her the truth.

“I don’t like seeing you sick,” the brunette pouted.

“Having you by my side makes it bearable,” you kissed her nose. Something that had become usual between you both whenever the other needed reassurance.

“Come on, let’s go back to bed,” you encircled her waist with your right arm, walking her to the bed.

The next minutes were spent in silence, enjoying each other’s warmth. Until the air around you started to weigh.

“Penny for your thoughts?” You turned to the body beside you.

“You think we’ll make it?” Wanda’s voice trembled and you felt your heart constrict at the not-so-positive prospect of your life.

Raising your hand to her face, you allowed your fingers to caress her soft skin, tracing her features with the lightest of touch, admiring her natural beauty and the dreamy way her eyes shone with the moonlight casted over her.

“It’s just college, baby,” you reassured her, pecking her lips.

“Far away schools,” she pouted something that had you all mushy.

Pausing, you decided to bite the bullet. “I was waiting till graduation,” you sat up, rummaging through your nightstand until you found the black velvety box. 

You smiled softly at the choked gasp that left Wanda’s mouth as her eyes landed over the small square.

Opening the cube, you took out the small chain, holding it between your faces, absorbing all of Wanda’s emotion at that moment.

“Oh my,” Wanda grabbed the silver object, smiling watery at the pendants in her trembling hand.

“I know how much music means to you and is no secret it’s what bonded us,” you spoke calmly. “This is a reminder that no matter how far we are, we’ll always be connected.”

You quietly admired Wanda’s eyes glued to both musical notes, the eighth note hanging lower than the sixteenth note.

“Thank you,”

The sudden weight on top of you had you laughing as Wanda peppered your face with kisses while she repeated the same two words after every kiss.

“I love you,” the brunette cried with a smile before she locked your lips against hers in a searing promise. Of what, you didn’t know; but you surely won’t stop her for anything in the world.

But what started as an innocent kiss filled with promises of a future you might never see, shifted to something passionate that burned your body from the inside out and the clothes hugging your body started to suffocate you.

“Wands,” you moaned as your hands toyed with the end of her shirt.

The brunette sat quickly, discarding the clothing on the floor and you couldn’t help admiring the pale skin that invited you to emboss random patterns on its surface. And you did.

Your hands cupped her breasts, massaging them gently as you sat up to meet her lips, drawing out her moans.

At the tug on your shirt, you parted to take it off before you attacked her lips once again, grabbing her waist to guide her against your cunt, enjoying the every sinful sound that escaped her mouth.

Not having enough, you rolled over, landing on her as you started to trail wet kisses down her body, applying everything you learned during these three years, determined to allow her to remind you when your time had come. 

The primal moan she mouthed when you bite on her hip bone had your hunger increasing ten times. 

“Detka, please,” Wanda grunted in a gasp, bucking her hips up trying to find what she needed.

Grazing the tip of your nose against her mons pubis, you inhaled her intoxicating essence.

If the sound Wanda freed were sinful, the guttural sob she gifted you with when your tongue lapped at her folds had you in paradise.

Repeating the action once, then twice, you gathered as much wetness as you could, moaning between every lick. As if you licked your favorite lollipop after a bitter taste.

Deciding to finally give her what she wanted, your kisses ascended up, wetting every single patch of skin you could reach, smiling at the neediness of her voice.

“I need you,” she cried as she grabbed your head and brought you to her level, devouring your lips just to moan when she tasted herself.

Taking advantage of her dizzy state, you pumped three fingers inside of her as her head rolled back breathing something so sinful that you thought you’d been cursed for life, and you didn’t complain. Moving your digits in and out of her entrance at a slow pace you groaned at how tight she felt.

“You feel so good,” you praised. “Taking me so well.” Wanda could only moan at your words, too focused on matching your movements.

Sitting up, you stilled her with your free hand, never stopping your action as you looked down at her. The immaculate way in which her body writhed under you was something you could never forget. The perfect shifts in her face’s muscles with every pleasure you provided her had you wishing for your reality to change. You wanted nothing more than to live forever just to have her this way. A vulnerable mess under your touch, trusting you her soul.

Muffling a painful cry, you leaned over to kiss her devil’s lips, hoping the knot in your throat would go away.

“I love you forever,” you cried as you increased your pace, feeling her walls clenching around your fingers. Your hips pushed your hand deeper inside her as your fingers curled up, hitting the right spot.

“Oh, fuck.” Wanda cried arching her back, unaware of your inner turmoil.

“Cum for me, love,” you commanded, stilling your shivering voice.

She didn’t need much more than a few extra pumps to cum all over your fingers, panting her way down the high.

Opening her eyes, the lust in those green orbs turned into concern as she looked at you.

“Why the tears?” She asked, bringing you to lay on top of her.

‘I’m dying’ “I love you,” you sobbed, placing your ear on her chest, desperate to hear her heartbeats full of life. 

It was all so unfair. You deserved a lifetime with the love of your life. You deserve to have a family and to grow old with the woman that had stolen your heart out of the blue. You deserved to see her in white walking down the aisle. You deserved to see her achieve her dreams.

But all you had was a sand clock emptying itself by the minute and an excruciating pain taking over your stiff body. Breathing was becoming harder and harder as the will in you fought in vain to win a war you had lost time ago.

Wanda’s sobs joined yours as she hugged you tighter, unaware of the fact that the love of her life was nearing the end of her path.

The morning came and you were thankful Wanda didn’t comment on your breakdown from the previous night, for if she did, you weren’t sure you’d be able to keep the lie much longer. You knew she deserved the know, but you also knew she’d be willing to glue herself by your side and give up on her desires, and you never wanted to be that person. She deserved to fly and you could only support her with pride.

The following weeks provided little time for you and Wanda to spend time together since finals were kicking all your asses. But Wanda consoled herself knowing that you all would celebrate after graduation, proud of having achieved a milestone together. That and the prospect of having you for herself the whole summer had her squeezing her fuel tank to no end.

To say all of you had nailed the exams was an understatement as your glasses clinked together on your designated booth.

“I can’t believe we did it, guys!” Natasha smiled toothily, proud of herself.

“Next step, a week off at my beach house,” Tony proposed, earning all of your cheers.

“You sure your parents will let us all together?” Steve raised an eyebrow, always the reasonable one.

“They will. Leave it to me,” Tony winked.

“Make sure you don’t bring any toys,” you smirked as everyone laughed at the memories of last summer’s escapade.

“You wound me,” Tony faked being hurt.

Wanda’s hand rested on your bare thigh, smiling peacefully as she enjoyed the banter between you all. 

Her mind took her back to the first day at school when she prayed before entering your classroom and she silently thanked all the gods out there for having you in her life. With your differences and disagreements, all of you conformed a tight-knotted group that she was sure would last a lifetime.

Kissing your cheek softly, she stood up with both your empty glasses in hand, walking to the bar for a refill.

“You’re Wanda, right?” A tall brunette took her out of her reverie.

“Yes,” Wanda frowned as she waited for her beers.

“I’m Maria. Maria Hill,” the lady introduced herself, stretching her hand. Once Wanda accepted it, she continued. “I saw you on stage the other day and I’ve been waiting to meet you,” her words had Wanda’s attention.

“I’m a music producer and I know how to spot talent,” she explained. “I’d like you to sing at the upcoming festival next month.” 

“Are you serious?” Wanda’s eyes opened wide at the offer the woman was giving her.

“Dead serious,” Maria nodded curtly. “If the public likes you, we can talk business.” She handed her a business card. “Call me if you’re interested.”

With that, the woman smiled politely and walked away, leaving Wanda in a frozen state until Tom called her name.

“Warm beer doesn’t taste good,” the young man smirked.

“Right. But did you hear what she said?” Wanda’s smile grew bigger by the second.

“The only way is up,” he winked before moving to another customer.

Wanda walked back to your booth in an ecstasy state after the short encounter. She could be signed up.

Feeling your eyes on her, she looked at you, unable to hide her happiness.

“I’ll tell you later,” she mumbled to you, kissing your cheek and you smiled contently.

To say you were excited was an understatement. When Wanda told you about her offer you didn’t pause to think about your words.

“You should’ve said yes!” You smiled toothily with your own body vibrating from happiness and Wanda couldn’t help giggling at your reaction.

“I was kinda shocked,” she scrunched her nose.

“My baby is getting famous!” You launched yourself at her and Wanda burst out laughing at your eagerness.

You’ve always been her biggest supporter. Always by her side in whichever gig she got and always fighting the anxiety that sometimes took the best of her.

She’ll never forget when she showed you her first song. Your eye had lighted up like the fourth of July and the pride reflected in it had her insides warming up. And the jokes of having to quit your job but still waiting to get paid had her stomach flipping at the wondering of how you’d celebrate this time when she told you she accepted to play at the festival.

But all of that flew off her mind when she got the call from Natasha saying you’d been admitted into the hospital.

All her dreams and wishes shifted into one. 

‘Please, may you be safe’ she begged to any deity willing to hear her.

Stomping through the hospital doors, she rushed to the front desk asking for your whereabouts, just to sprint the two floors that separated you both.

The air filling her lungs had become toxic and it hurt to breathe. Her trembling legs burned from the sudden running from the parking lot to your hospital bed.

“Detka!” Wanda cried entering room 274.

What she saw had her heart jumping on freefall down a cliff.

Your weakened form looked at her without the life that was so characteristic of you. All the little traits that adorned your happy features were erased as if they never existed.

Her legs menaced to give away and she wasn’t strong enough to fight back. Knees collided against the cold floor as her hand grabbed yours as if the act alone would transmit to you some of her light.

“Detka,” she sobbed as her world started to tumble.

“It’s gonna be okay,” you spoke calmly as your free hand cupped her cheek.

She placed her hand over yours, holding it tightly as she tried to understand.

Two days ago you were laughing gleefully about your vacation together and now… now you looked like a ghost.

“Come here,” you commanded weakly as you scooted over and Wanda didn’t need to think twice.

Careful not to step on any IV, she cuddled against you, choking at the warmth barely existent.

“What- Why,” she cried defeatedly as she crumpled your hospital gown in her hand.

Your arms held her trembling body, spasming with every sob that escaped her. Kissing your head, you mumbled against her. “My eye,” was all your broken voice allowed to communicate.

“It wasn’t an accident. Was it?” She should’ve caught the signs. The random sickness and the vomiting, all had an explanation she was too oblivious to note. 

“It’s a retinoblastoma,” you paused, trying to steady your voice. “It had reached the majority of my organs,” you tightened your hold and Wanda’s soul cried with her at the barely change in strength.

“You can’t leave me!” She screamed between sobs. “You- You’ve- You have promised me,” her whole face contorted as another pang ran through her heart.

The news had left her weak to speak, so she stood there, laying by your side in your hospital bed, crying her pain away as she tried to process how her life would change soon. You were slipping through her fingers and she could do nothing about it other than see you leave.

“I’m gonna call Maria and cancel-”

“What?” You cut her off, looking down at her.

She sat in bed, sighing at the refusal from her body. “You’re dying,” she groaned.

“That doesn’t mean you have to pause your life,” you frowned sternly and Wanda felt herself becoming small, like a little kid being chastised because they ate too many sweets before bed.

“You’re the one abandoning me! You can’t tell me how to spend your last moments on this earth!” Wanda spits venomously, rage taking over her.

The resentment only grew stronger as you stood quiet, your sight staring at your lap.

“You have no right when you’re the one giving up!”

By the time she realized her words, your cheeks were already marked with tears running freely.

“I-” Wanda paused as a fresh wave of tears burned her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she launched herself towards you, holding you with all the will she possessed just to anchor you here. She refused to let you go.

“I’ll always be with you, Wands,” you cried, hugging her with what little force you had left.

“I’ll love you forever.” She vowed sincerely.

And she did. Every day for the next two weeks she stood by your side, telling you about the song she was writing for the festival and watching your favorite movies along with her favorite sitcoms. Even planning gatherings with your friends as you all enjoyed the last moments together.

Against her will, the day of the recital had come sooner than she expected and her heart ached knowing you won’t be there. It was the first time you missed one of her presentations and everything in her broke. Her heart shattered and she knew a part of her would go with you.

But she had promised you. And she would never break her word, no matter how hard it was to comply.

Looking at her reflection one last time, she smiled tearily as she saw your image in the mirror by her side, with the proudest toothy smile you only reserved for her. And that alone was enough to enlight her willpower.

She stepped into the white light as everyone cheered something she could really understand and she couldn’t help the rush of adrenaline running through every cell in her body.

“Good night, Westview!” Wanda smiled cheerily when the crowd erupted. “I hope you’re having a wonderful night. I wrote this song thinking of someone special and I hope you enjoy it.” She spoke confidently, feeling your joyful energy surrounding her. Finding Natasha’s eyes, she nodded as the redhead raised two thumbs up.

As the first tunes filled the silence looming over them, Wanda breathed deeply, reassuring herself.

I've tried to leave it all behind me

But I woke up and there they were beside me

And I don't believe it but I guess it's true

Some feelings, they can travel too

Wanda sang slowly, evoking every emotion into those lines.

Oh there it is again, sitting on my chest

Makes it hard to catch my breath

I scramble for the light to change

You're always on my mind

You're always on my mind

Her intrusive smile hung crookedly on her lips, feeling your presence by her side.

And I never minded being on my own

Then something broke in me and I wanted to go home

To be where you are

Wanda allowed her mind to travel back to the moment she first heard your voice for the first time. Back then, she didn’t know that her heart could feel so strongly for someone.

But even closer to you, you seem so very far

And now I'm reaching out with every note I sing

And I hope it gets to you on some pacific wind

Wraps itself around you and whispers in your ear

Tells you that I miss you and I wish that you were here

And boy, how she wished to see your face in the crowd, with your toothy smile lightening her path.

And if I stay home, I don't know

There'll be so much that I'll have to let go

You're disappearing all the time

But I still see you in the light

For you, the shadows fight

And it's beautiful but there's that tug in the sight

I must stop time traveling, you're always on my mind

You're always on my mind

You're always on my mind

Wanda sang her soul in those lines, hoping somehow you knew.

We all need something watching over us

Be it the falcons, the clouds or the crows

And then the sea swept in and left us all speechless

Speechless

Her eyes watered at the realization you’d be the one watching over her. Always guiding her, even if she couldn’t see you. And she couldn’t feel more blessed.

And I never minded being on my own

Then something broke in me and I wanted to go home

To be where you are

But even closer to you, you seem so very far

And now I'm reaching out with every note I sing

And I hope it gets to you on some pacific wind

Wraps itself around you and whispers in your ear

Tells you that I miss you and I wish that you were here

As she sang the last words, she allowed her fingers to take over the melody, imagining said notes floating away to you, for all she wanted now was to see your proud smile one last time when she rushed to your side shortly.

But she never saw you again. 

By the time she met her friends, her legs gave up as she saw the tears running down their faces, confirming to her what her soul had felt when she saw you in the mirror was nothing more than the bond that linked you breaking as you left this world.

The arms of her friends surrounding her meant nothing at the realization that you had left her. All alone to pick up the pieces of her heart scattered around.

Sadness reigned over the group of people gathered by your casket. Each one with their own thoughts and feelings, but if Wanda was sure of something it was that everyone there asked the same question.

How come the nicest people are the first to leave? Seeing your picture over the easel with that big smile that had taken her captive and your eye shining with that unique light it held, enlightened a wave of anger roaring free. It wasn’t fair.

“Wanda,” your mom spoke softly once the funeral ended.

Looking up, Wanda couldn’t help her cries as the woman hugged her tightly, crying along with her.

“She loved you,” she spoke against the brunette’s hair. “Until her last breath, she loved you.”

Those words played in her mind like a mantra. Maybe if she repeated them enough, it wouldn’t hurt that much.

“She asked me to give you this,” the woman gave her a white envelope when they parted away. “And one last thing? Thank you for loving her.” She kissed Wanda’s head before walking away, leaving a broken Wanda by your grave.

Sitting down, she let the silence surround her, almost like a bubble that would pop with even the softest touch, breathing twice, thrice before opening the letter.

Wands, if you’re reading this it means my body is no longer by your side. But know that my soul will always be linked to yours, for a love like ours is hard to die.

Thank you for all the great moments you shared with me. Unbeknownst to you, every single smile and laugh you gifted me added time to my sand clock and that blessing is something that kept me fighting till the end.

I know you’re suffering right now and you need to mourn, like any loss. But when you’re able to truly smile again, I beg of you not to close your heart. Life is too magical to be lived alone.

Allow yourself to feel love again, don’t fight your heart. Yes? Promise me you’ll keep your head high and not let my departure keep you from enjoying the little things in life.

I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner about it, but I know you and I didn’t want you to leave your life on standby while you worried about things no one could solve. Know that till the last breathing of my heart, I lived. And I hope to live forever in your memory.

The necklace I gifted you holds a meaning. I knew it deep in me the first moment I saw you that you were my forever love. And I wished with all my heart I lived long enough to grow old with you. But as the latest didn’t happen, I found the right totem to keep our love for the end of times.

The sixteenth note means the union of our souls and the sincere love we held for each other. The eighth note holds the reminder that even though I'm not present, my spirit will always guide you through your dreams, helping you achieve them. Always silently rooting for you in whatever challenge you face. Just like I always did.

No matter what, bet your ass I’m so, so, so proud of you, baby. And I always will. You were my biggest love and I’m forever thankful for you had taken me.

I love you forever. Until we meet again.

Wanda hugged the letter tightly against her chest, silently crying her pain away as she stared numbly at your whereabouts buried three feet underground.

“I’ll love you forever,” she cried, mustering all the love she held for you in those three words, hoping the wind would let you know.

As always, coments and reblogs are appreciated (:

Taglist: @summergeezburr @red1culous @wandabear @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @mitarashi-san​

[feybeasts]

I'm never gonna play SLARPG- not from any sense of disdain, god no, quite the opposite- from the amazing impact it's had on my dear friends, the things it has done for the community, the voice it lent to folks who so desperately need one- now more than ever- it's a game I hold in incredibly high regard, ditto its creators who worked so very hard to make it happen!

It's a wonderful, heartfelt thing that I'm certain would tug at my deepest heartstrings- and that's exactly why I can never play it.

I don't really know how to put it to words- or rather, how to put it to words without sounding like a terrible bore- but... I've learned as I've untangled and addressed a lot of the pain in my life that there are certain stories, certain tropes that hit consistently close to home, tugged on chords I'm not really able to have tugged, even now. Stories of personal relationships, disappointing and ultimately reconciling with the ones we love, of identity, of doubt, of anguish, even the catharsis of defeating those things. For all I care about stories like that, for all I wonder if someday I'd tell my own- something in me broke years ago, and... well, now it's something that sets off the post-traumatic stress like a bomb.

All the harder when you know the stories told would speak to your heart of hearts.

I say all this not to sound like a miser, or to make any of this about me- god no, it's not- but I thought I'd share my experience, as I do, and just express that, even as someone on the outside and always looking in, what these folks made is something that gave the people I love- and the community I cherish- a voice, and many of them, faces and figures to look up to, to aspire to.

And I don't have to play a game to know that's the highest honor, in my eyes, a creative work can gain.

So good work, each and every person involved- and I wish you all the greatest success in whatever comes next <3

[shezamaverick]

25 Years of Black Sails

Into and Out of the Sunset

By: Davey Havok

Not long before the final tour of the A Fire Inside EP, a mutual friend asked Mark what type of AFI record he planned on writing to follow our third full-length. His earnest reply: “Unlistenable. Something everyone will hate.” Though this was the type of chaos I would have certainly supported, he never said this to me. He’d stopped speaking to me sometime in the fall of ‘98. Jade took his place shortly thereafter.

The first time I wrote with Jade was in my room beneath the stairs at the defunct frat house that AFI lived in at the time.* That evening in 1998, promptly at our scheduled hour, a knock came upon my thick wooden door. I opened it with an anticipatory smile and nod. “What’s up man?” Jade walked into the shadows of my ill-lit room carrying his acoustic guitar. My mattress and boxspring, set under the flight of stairs leading to the third floor, was the only place to sit. Our new guitarist sat on its edge. I sat on the floor with my microcassette recorder, facing him. The room was scented of cheap vanilla candles. Peter Murphy stared at me from a poster behind our new guitarist. I was excited. Jade was then and is now one of the greatest songwriters I’ve known. My band of seven years was about to begin its metamorphosis. “So, I was thinking,” he offered. “I miss the melodic stuff in AFI. How about we add some of that back in? Nothing crazy, just a bit.” As genuinely ready as I’d have been for Mark’s repellant HXC vision to take AFI down a path that forked toward cacophonous supernova (or 2024 Taco Bell commercials?) I felt Jade’s as well. Limiting myself to screaming limited my abilities of emoting and evocation as well. It was becoming unfulfilling and suffocating.

Jade picked up his acoustic, strummed some chords, and in falsetto sang, “We all begin to burn…” He’d come prepared with these parts and I was immediately hooked. Working from the scratch lyric intended to act as a gang callout, I expounded with conceptual responses and so came the rest of Malleus Maleficarum. I believe some weathered copy of the tome itself had been lying about my room—if not, some witchy text that referenced it. Malleus was the first song we’d ever written together. I can recall our writing of Clove Smoke Catharsis and God Called in Sick Today in that tiny dark room as well. With those tracks, I felt certain our next record was going to be well beyond anything I’d ever thought I would have been capable of being a part of. I was utterly inspired. In our latest writing sessions together, 25 years later, I’ve felt beyond this. What a luxury.

During that late '90s East Bay winter Jade, Hunter, Adam and I put BSITS together in our tiny Oakland practice pad, off 20th, then tracked it with Andy at the Art Of Ears in Hayward. I shredded my voice during my allotted two days of time, screaming out 15 tracks that defiantly sat steadfast at the top of my range. Oh, but to have my 23-year-old healing powers back.

Weeks later, I pulled the advanced master from the mail and squirreled to my parking space by the dumpsters behind the frat house. Sat in the faded burgundy upholstery of my driver seat, I slid the cassette into my ’83 Accord’s silver player and depressed the play button. Click. Adam’s ominous preface to Strength Through Wounding began. The gang of Skinhead Rob, Fritch, and our buddy Dan followed the warlike beat. Then came the impure chant, ominously brooding through my crackling speakers with all the blasphemous piety I’d hoped. I was so happy with what we’d made.

When Dexter Holland, singer of The Offspring and owner of the label we were on at the time, first heard Black Sails in the Sunset he told our A&R guy, “I don’t get it.” Commercially, this wasn’t a great sign. Artistically, it was affirming.

Be they pretty fly, or even barely fly, BSITS did alienate a lot of fans (as had Shut Your Mouth and every record thereafter), but with it we gained more fans who were ready to join us on the ever jagging sonic journey we’d begun. My look at the time was arguably even more confronting than the relatively unorthodox sounds of Black Sails. The rigid regulations of the extremely masculine ’90s hardcore scene didn’t make much room for a singer in whiteface, black lipstick, fishnet, and PVC. Philosophically this remains unacceptable to me. Our fierce and fabulous ancestors gave us our glitter. I’ll leave you with one of the more delightful heckle memories from the unparalleled Life on the Ropes Tour with Sick of It All, Hot Water Music and Indecision:

INTERIOR: a compact second story theatre, packed with hundreds of hardcore kids. AFI is onstage somewhere in the midwest. Clouds of fog spill over the carmine valance as Jade begins the opening riff to their final song. God Called in Sick Today whispers to life as your author crouches in the crawling billows, his vinyl pants reflecting red light into the baffled eyes of dreadlocked white boys in capacious corduroy JNCOs and commodious VOD tees. They impatiently await the NYC legends, SOIA.

A heckle bursts through the gentle riff. “Let’s go, Trent Reznor!”

Your author rolls his heavily shadowed, lined, and mascaraed eyes. How elementary, he thinks. The opening riff continues.

“Come on, Peter Murphy!”

Begrudgingly impressed by the boor’s finer reference, your author’s plucked brows slightly raise with imperceptible surprise. He gives the heckler no acknowledgment, remaining in the song. The opening line of the verse is seconds away when the boy barks,

“Ok, Count Chocula!”

Grinning, your author chuckles for the first and last time ever before singing, “Let’s admire the pattern forming…”

25 years later, the pattern continues to shift.

[adamworu]

Have you seen Codex Entry's video titled "The End of Evangelion Is (Not) A Happy Ending - An Analysis & Critique"? She makes a lot of interesting points in that.

First things first, it keeps hitting me how numerous the death threats were that GAINAX got. The contempt of man, followed by a disgusting lack of consequence has always been a central theme in Evangelion. Seeing just how painful the imitation of art to life is feels like opening old wounds. They were instrumental in EoE's conception among other things (Anno putting his feelings into film being another). The quick flashes of ire in written form really helps give EoE that unshakable bitter, pessimistic feel.

(warning for strong personal talks of suicide under the cut)

Anno's mental health worsened at the main series' end. People weren't satisfied with how it ended. They drove him to the point of contemplating suicide. If Anno's reflection of himself manifest through some of the characters, this makes Shinji's state before the infamous sequence even more haunting.

The interviewer asked 'What stopped you?' to which Anno replies 'The prospect of pain. I didn't mind dying I didn't want it to hurt.'

I didn't want it to hurt.

As someone with fluctuating highs and lows of mental health, this struck me more than I'd like to admit. During my periods of contemplating ending it all, one of my greatest fears was the pain. That death isn't the peaceful embrace from it all. That your lasting regrets die with you as your loved ones would eventually find you and become horrified at the fleshy shell that once had a name. You hear their faint screams, your strength is all but gone, and that flickering light within you is snuffed forever.

'Faced with the reality, I stopped.'

I think there's something even more painful about the end. There is no pain, but was lies on the other side...if anything?

EoE asks what if self-loathing becomes our being? Who you are affects your very being. And Shinji's self-hatred seeps into the cast, then the whole world. Considering Shinji's status as an audience surrogate, this sort of thing is very much aimed at the audience, especially those targeting Anno and GAINAX.

I personally don't think, however that EoE is an inverse to EoTV (series end). I do agree with her (Codex Entry), however that EoE is the horrifying reality of if the wrong person turns their back on humanity. EoE is more the explicit version on how humanity came to be in Instrumentality. I still wouldn't call it pessimistic even after all these years. EoTV sees the characters with more self-fulfilled arcs in the very end. There's a sense of catharsis from cast and viewer alike from having climbed a mountain of epiphany and acceptance. EoTV feels more convenient, albeit not unnaturally so.

EoE is more explicit with Shinji's flaws. They stare him in the face with no hesitation. These fears are far uglier and portray him less favorably. Less sympathetically. He views the girls and women around him as how they'd be of benefit. His ire isn't just about the realization that they're people with feelings and complexities deserving of empathy. It's also that those girls and women can as well as do hold the right to exist without him. He sentences the whole world to metaphorical death by way of relinquishment of the AT Field due to his own insecurities. His locus of control is viewed externally. His deterministic point of view harms everyone around him. The train scene is shown here and it parallels his talk with Leliel in episode 16. He blames his reality rather than hold himself accountable.

This is the importance of 'What is your hand for?' It's a gentle nudge into the prospect of free will. It's not just a doctrine of freedom, but one that argues that you are culpable.

My one and only pet peeve with the essay is the confusion of happiness and positivity multiple times throughout. EoE isn't happy, but it is positive. If we were to look at EoE as its own universe rather than a metatext, it is intensely depressing. It tells you that with your hands you can better the world around you. With the fact that it's self-aware considered, it acts as a cautionary tale, that intense self-loathing and disdain serves not just to poison you, but others. We don't all have the ability to damn the human race to metaphorical death until to bring them back because we don't exist. Shinji is understood in Codex' video to be an audience surrogate to great detail. EoE is the existence that did not want to be. Rather than being nihilistic and ireful, it grabs the audience with trembling fingers, saying 'For the love of God, be empathetic. It won't kill you! You are ruining everyone around you with your contempt for outside agency and your arrogance. Please...!'

End of Evangelion is Nyquil. It tastes strong and it tastes bad. Everyone needs bad tasting medicine if they want to get well. So drink the damn medicine.

[freakingoutthesquares]

Poptastic Words: Alexis, Portraits: Pulp Interviewed back-stage at the Highbury Garage, 15 May 1993 Catharsis Fanzine, Issue 4 Transcription: Acrylic Afternoons

"I'm Candida. Hello. I play keyboards." "I'm Jarvis. I'm the singer." "I'm Steve. I play bass." "I'm Russell. I play guitar and violin." "Therefore Nick's the drummer." sums up Candida.

And there you have Pulp - the world's greatest pop band. A band who have "been in Smash Hits" and have even had the honour of having one of that magazine's "Single of the Fortnight". Not that Jarvis can see the band ever being as big as, say, Take That or East 17.

"I can't see too many posters going up."

Pulp were formed by Jarvis whilst at school and the current line up has been together for about five years. But why did they all want to be in a band in the first place?

"I think we wanted to frustrate ourselves," says Candida.

"We're complete sado-masochists," backs up Nick.

Is it what you all always wanted to do?

"Yeah," confirms Jarvis. "I, kind of, wanted to do it at school. I used to imagine, when I was in the school's dinner queue, that I wouldn't have to queue up if I was famous. It's not particularly true. That's what I thought it would be like but it's not."

So, after deciding he wanted to be a pop star, Jarvis went to film school. Why?

"That was after we'd been doing the band for a while but I was disillusioned. We'd been messed around by loads of record companies and the final straw was when the bass player became a born again Christian and left the band. It all seemed a big mess. We didn't actually split the band up but I thought I ought to do something else cos it's all I'd been doing since I left school and I thought my brain was drying up. I thought I ought to do something else to keep it alive a bit."

Now it's 1993 and it's going to be a good year for Pulp. Their records are being picked up on - their last single 'Razzmatazz' got Single of the Week in Melody Maker - and it is rumoured that they have signed to Island Records.

"We're with them spiritually..."

"I don't think we've signed or anything," says Jarvis over Nick.

"...we're, kind of, engaged. It's been a long engagement."

"But long engagements are the best," stresses Russell.

Why do you think it's taken so long for Pulp to be appreciated (Pulp has been around in various forms for about fifteen years)?

Steve: "It's our turn."

Jarvis: "We've been waiting in queue for a long time."

Steve: "It's like when you go to the Post Office and you want a stamp but you'll wait for everyone else to go."

Jarvis: "We're very polite y'see so we didn't push in."

Nick: "We wouldn't have that."

Jarvis: "So we waited our turn."

Did it get depressing in the meantime? "No," continues Jarvis. "There's always other things to do. If you choose to sit at home thinking, "Why aren't I famous?", then you would be quite a sad character. You can always ride your bike or something."

Did you think you'd be doing it this long when you first started?

"No. I would've been horrified. I always thought pop music was supposed to be quite instant. You didn't hang around for a decade. To be doing it for so long is very strange."

How did Pulp sound when you started?

"Awful."

"It was all feedback," explains Steve.

"Yeah," recalls Jarvis. "It was a noise. Not on purpose, or anything. It was just ineptitude. I started when I was young and we just couldn't play. We still can't play very well but I don't think that matters."

What does matter then?

"It's not what you can play, it's what you can say."

And what are Pulp saying?

"That's put you on the spot," cries Nick gleefully.

"Well, it's not that we've got something to say as in there's a big message for the world. U2 are trying to shake off that image now but before they were always doing the chest beating and coming up with their big slogans. It's not like that. Hopefully it's an accurate reflection of our lives."

In that case Pulp must lead very strange lives. The opening lines of 'Razzmatazz' were, "The trouble with your brother/he's always sleeping with your mother/and I know that your sister's missed her time again this month".

"I don't think they're seedy," states Jarvis. "They're just true to life. I think they're deadpan and down to earth. I don't think they're strange. Razzmatazz is a bit sad. Babies (the single before Razzmatazz... sample lyric: I wanna take you home/I wanna give you children) is just a thing you get up to when you are fourteen and certain things are still still taboo and you get into situations because of curiosity."

What does your mother think about your lyrics?

"I don't think she's bothered. She's not made any detrimental comments. She thinks the songs should be happier. I'd rather her take no notice actually because once I went round there at Christmas and she insisted on playing the record all the time when my relatives were there. It was embarrassing. Everyone comes up and pats you which isn't very good. Also, if you're on TV or radio at your mothers then it's very embarrassing."

"Shouldn't have your hair like that."

"Smile a bit more."

"Why don't you play some happy ones."

To get to know Pulp a little better we decided to ask each member of the band to describe the others. We allotted them one word per person. Below are the results.

Nick: Candida... petite. For Jarvis I'd say dishevelled. Steve is organised and Russ is er... too tough sometimes.

Candida: Nick's loud. Jarvis is temperamental. Steve is organised and Russell is good at business.

Jarvis: For Nick I would say... high. Candida is fluorescent. Steve is clean. Russell... I'd say feedback.

Steve: Nick is too loud. Candida is calm. Jarvis is unique and that's not a compliment. Ha Ha Ha. Russell is manic.

Russell: Nick is Jean Paul. Candida is toys. For Jarvis I'd say praying mantis and Steve I would say is a cigar.

During this game several compliments and disparaging remarks were handed out and taken with apparent ease and false stroppiness in turn. Pulp complimenting each other makes them happy, but what is the nicest thing an outsider could say about them?

"I don't know. I get embarrassed if people are nice to me," says Jarvis whilst Russell lines up the butts of his cigarettes in size order. "l find it hard to accept people being nice. I always think they' re after something."

"You're paranoid," offers Steve as an explanation. "l don't know why it is. It's like when you eat out at a restaurant, not that I do very often, but when I do I don't like the waiters always coming over and supposedly being nice. (Adopts slimey voice.) "Is everything O.K. for you sir?". I find that makes my flesh crawl. I'd rather they just give it to you and then let you eat and talk to whoever you're with."

"The nicest thing someone could do to you is put a plate of food down and walk away?" asks Russell incredulously.

"I don't mean just slap it down. Put it down, then go away. I don't want them hanging around with the violin in your ear. The niceness is a bit like that."

Do you also hate it when people are horrible to you Jarvis?

"Oh yeah. I like general blandness. Ha Ha Ha. If somebody comes up to you and says "You're great", it's nice but it's also..."

"...a conversation killer," finishes Russell.

"It's a northern thing as well," observes Steve. "In Sheffield no one Would ever go up and say, "I think you're great"."

"That's why," confirms Russell, "it's uncool. It's us that's wrong but..."

"The best compliment we get is if someone says we're alright. It's good to know that other people like you but you'd rather hear it second hand," explains Jarvis.

"The first time someone said it to us we thought we'd misheard them," says Nick.

"Do you know who we are?" adds Russell.

"Yeah," continues Nick. "l thought they'd got the wrong band."

You said earlier that you don't like people being mean to you - does criticism upset you?

"Well" says Jarvis with a pained expression, "if somebody writes something like, "He's a tall, lanky streak of piss with no discernible talent. How has he managed to delude himself for so many years?" you can't just go, "Oh, yeah. Fair enough, everybody's entitled to their own opinion"."

"Truth hurts. Ha Ha Ha." comments Steve.

"It's too bad they were right," agrees Russell rubbing more salt into Jarvis's wounds. "We do like people to like us. We're not just doing this for ourselves. We want people to like it."

"But we don't pander," warns Jarvis.

What do you think about the "Crimplene scene" which is the current press play thing? Does it bother you that you've been lumped into that?

"We started it," boasts Steve jokingly.

"I don't think it exists. It's not healthy," complains Jarvis. "No. Crimplene makes you sweat. We'd rather be the British cotton scene."

"It's true," supports Nick. "Avoid Crimplene at all costs."

"I like seventies bands like Denim. Is that the Crimplene scene?" asks Russell.

From what I've read, it's you, Suede, Saint Etienne etc.

"We used to get compared to Marc Almond and World Of Twist so..."

"If I was going to chose a scene to be associated with," remarks Steve, "it would be that one but it's not like we meet at Oxfam on a Saturday afternoon and fight over classic Crimplene. None of us like it."

"I still don't think it exists," says Jarvis persistently.

If there is a scene then Pulp are the leaders of the pack. They might not be the biggest, but they are the best. In terms of sex, glamour and everything that counts they are the only band you need to know. They leave the rest of their ilk in a trail of dust. The songs are gorgeous uplifting affairs with secret tales of suburban life as lyrics. It is pure genius.

"A lot of sexual perverts like us," offers Russell helpfully. "They write us strange letters. Post grunge and post shoe gazing there is a new sort of person on the streets and they like us. People in stripey tops quite like us."

"French people like us," announces Candida.

Do any of you ever get recognised in the streets?

"Yeah," states Jarvis. "I was saying to Russell the other day, that I've always had people taking notice of me in the streets in Sheffield - usually in a bad way. They called me names and things. It does still happen. In fact I nearly had a fight yesterday 'cos this boy decided to push me. But people have started to recognize me and be a bit more friendly now. It's strange 'cos I'm always getting ready to flinch when they come up and then they say something nice and catch me off guard."

What names did they call you?

"Because I've always worn glasses it just used to be someone famous with glasses. Elvis Costello, Buddy Holly. Just anybody who wore glasses. I used to have a beard for a bit and then I was called Rolf Harris all the time. They weren't very imaginative."

Well, those people were obviously mad. Jarvis is, without a doubt, a sex symbol for the nineties along with all the others in the band. At the gig that took place after this interview Jarvis was practically pulled off the stage by adoring females. O.K. - so we know they are attractive, but how sexy out of ten does each member of the band think he/she is?

"We're all going to say ten aren't we?" asks Candida.

"You might, but I wouldn't," retorts Steve.

"I think it changes during the day," decides Nick. "When you get up in the morning you're probably a minus. The later it gets the better it gets. If it's a good day you might peak at two."

"You just about make a two, Steve," jokes Jarvis.

"Anyone who says above seven has problems," says Steve wisely.

"You'd catch them playing with themselves in front of a mirror when you came in here," suggests Jarvis.

"That means you were about a nine in the van today, then, when we set off," says Steve whilst trying to wind up Jarvis.

"Yeah?"

"I didn't think you were a nine, you thought you were."

"Self-masturbation," adds Nick helpfully.

"That's another thing that other people have to decide upon," Jarvis remarks sensibly.

"Obviously it's nice if people do find you that way."

At this point Nick's brother enters the room and Russell starts loudly announcing that "this one goes up to eleven" if you twist the nipple and put a little shilling in the slot. Everyone has hysterics.

But, don't get me wrong, Pulp take what they do incredibly seriously. They are a deadly serious band. I know this because Nick told me four times. They are funny, the music is not. Pulp are also clever, sexy, glamorous, beautiful, talented, strange, normal, erotic, under-famous, unique, sleazy, stylish and every other compliment ever. If you feel the need to check out the high life or if you just need that extra sparkle - look no further than Pulp. They're the most fun you'll ever have.

You can write to Pulp at P.O. Box 87, Sheffield, S6 2YZ and you can become a Pulp person by sending £3 to the same address.

[virtie333]

One Year Ago

I almost didn't post this. I wrote it for catharsis, but a friend said I should post it as it may help others. I can count on one hand the number of people who know about this. I don't know, maybe I'll delete it....

One year ago today, while cleaning Chester’s paddock, I made plans.

A few days earlier, I had received an email from my brother-in-law that involved some very hurtful and offensive accusations. My sister responded a few days after that, but not with an apology. She defended him, and added her own opinions.

When someone you have loved and trusted your whole life essentially says you are worthless, then it must be true.

So, the next day, I made plans.

I would have to complete my will, first. I would have to make sure Chester went to a local rescue. He wasn’t ridable and though I know a friend might take him as a ‘pasture pet,’ if push comes to shove and they ran short on money, he would be the first to go. The rescue would care for him, and I would make sure that if ever they could no longer do so, they would euthanize him.

My brother would get the other animals and all my belongings. He could sell my truck, trailer, etc. and use the funds to care for my dog Jackson, my cat Rodney, and Stache, the barn cat I had just brought home from work a month earlier. He would take care and love them.

It would have to look like an accident so my life insurance would pay out. God forbid my sister would have to pay for my funeral! I am an avid hiker, and there are trails very close that follow the canyon rim, with a 60 to 100 foot drop straight down. I usually hike with Jackson, but I could say I was leaving him home because he was sore. It would be very easy to slip while checking out the view. It’s happened before up there.

Could I actually do it? Was I brave enough? It was the only way. And I needed to do it soon.

That was my plan.

But wait. I can’t do it right away. Moon Knight just started, and I waited so long for this show and it’s even better than I had hoped and only two episodes have aired so far. I really want to see the rest. It takes my mind off the pain. I’ll wait.

Then I started posting a new story I had written. I didn’t think it would be very popular, as it was very different from my last, popular one, but I have loyal readers. I can’t just leave it unfinished, and have them wondering what happened to me. And I can’t post it all at once, because that will give away the fact that it was planned. So, I’ll wait.

An acquaintance that hated Moon Knight complained and criticized it over and over and I finally broke. I said things. I don’t regret them, because they were the truth, but I immediately became the villain to the rest of the group. Once more, I was reminded that I was unimportant, that my thoughts and feelings were inconsequential. How could I tell them? How could I explain this show literally kept me alive?

So, I waited.

A spark of hope. My brother and I worked toward a future we could both live with. I prayed, and found that I began to believe again for the first time in a long time. The story I was posting, the one I thought would not do well, became my greatest hit. Not only did its success thrill me, but once again, I had something to thank for keeping me alive.

Though low on funds, I made a trip west, to California, to meet up with my best friends in the world. They were the only people I told about my plans. They made sure to let me know how grateful they were I hadn’t followed through. I loved every minute of Galaxy’s Edge and I continued to hope for a better future. And I waited.

The hope was realized just before Christmas. My future wasn’t as dark and scary as it had been. Unfortunately, the loss of Rodney just before New Years kept me down. I was still depressed and full of non-stop anxiety, and on the anniversary of my mother’s death, I once more started falling into that darkness. I left a group I cared a great deal about because I realized a lot of my anxiety was coming from there; it’s hard caring more about people than they do about you. I bawled my eyes out while I clicked that ‘leave’ button, but I don’t regret it. It’s been over two months and only two people have even noticed I left. That says something right there.

Now, for the first time since Tariq got very sick in November 2020, I actually have the desire to do things. I’m not working and writing just to keep sane. I’m reading again. I’m playing with Chester. I’m taking Jackson on walks. I’m going back to mass, not because I have to but because I want to. I still resent my brother-in-law, and I’m still waiting for an apology from my sister, but I’m not holding my breath. I’m still alone. I’m still uncertain of my worth. But I have my animals, including two new cats, and my home. I have plans. New plans. Better plans.

One year ago today, while cleaning Chester’s paddock, I made plans.

But today I’m alive. And I’m happy. All because I waited.

Don’t give up. Things WILL get better.

[sparksinger]

rise of the beasts ficcage incoming

i finally finished my little oneshot based on 'rise of the beasts'. as usual it's angst, comfort and a whole load of fluff featuring optimus prime and elena. :3

give it a read if you fancy!

title: remember who you are

trigger warnings: implied/referenced homophobia, mention of the death of a parent

rating: mature

word count: 6.1k

summary: Rise Of The Beasts one-shot fic. Optimus Prime and Elena have a movie night which evokes powerful emotions in both of them. Catharsis and heartfelt conversations follow. (Nothing to do with my 'Love Just Is' series.)

beware of minor spoilers if you haven't seen the movie yet? it's not really spoilerific but there are some minor ones in there.

here it is on ao3

and here it is on ff.net

or you can read it below the cut if you can't be bothered to go to different sites. :3

Three years.

Three years to the day.  The passage of time had not made the emotional or metaphorical scars any easier for Elena to bear.  It was like the first time when she saw the back of a large man, a man, who with his easy-going and confident swagger, could have been her father.

For every time she inhaled the smell of freshly brewed coffee or the smell of a freshly printed New York Times. 

Every time a cab zipped past her in the busy metropolis.

Time, she decided, did not heal all wounds.  In fact, it did not heal wounds period. 

It seemed to Elena that pain and time worked in seamless symbiosis, creating a sick plethora of ­healing, heartache, regret and a whole other load of complicated emotions that she knew she wasn’t in the slightest bit ready to attempt to unravel or understand.

Her mother had become increasingly distant since the death of her father, not even phoning Elena to congratulate her on the recognition of her discovery in Peru.  Ever since Elena had bolstered the courage to tell her parents the painful truth that she had been hiding for so many years, Elena’s mother had made her disapproval of Elena’s orientation clear without ever needing to utter a single word.

Benjamin Wallace’s reaction however, had been one of an entirely different calibre.

He had unfolded himself from his favourite armchair, discarding his crossword puzzle in the Times without a second thought.

Elena remembered watching with anxious trepidation, her breath bated as she watched her father uncurl himself to his full 6’3” height.  She remembered how the cold, uneasy trepidation had fallen away as he opened his arms to her, his ochre-brown eyes softening as he drank in her appearance, as if he was a blind man seeing her for the first time.

She remembered the feel of her hand in his, the way he had reached out to bridge the gap between them, encompassing her hand in his bigger one, wrapping her in the safety and security of his unconditional and eternal love.

“Baby girl, I just want you to be happy.  That is all I have ever wanted for you.  There is nothing you could do that would make me not love you.  You are my single greatest accomplishment in this life, and I am honoured to call myself your father.” 

Elena closed her eyes against the memory, inhaling it greedily, immersing herself in every sensory aspect of it.

The feeling of her father’s strong arms at her back.

The coffee scent that seemed to cling to his very skin.

The overwhelming sense of safety and love that permeated everything that he touched.

The feeling of her father’s strong arms at her back.

Elena shook her head, attempting to dislodge the memories and push them back to somewhere that would be significantly less painful.  She did not need to be dealing with errant thoughts and emotions when she had plenty of menial things to keep her occupied for the time being.

She placed her hands on her hips and observed the space before her.

The abandoned warehouse-turned-Autobot-base hadn’t changed much in the three and a half months since she had Noah had met the Autobots. 

In the back-left corner of the expansive open space was a crude ‘R&R’ station.  Elena smiled to herself when she remembered asking Mirage what ‘R&R’ stood for.  The incredulous look he had given her would have been offensive if he wasn’t so damned endearing with it at the same time.

“What do you think it stands for, Chica?  ‘Rest and repairs’!”  He’d said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the entire universe.

The berth that had been assembled by Arcee and Optimus was an impressive size.  It was thirty feet in length and a good fifteen feet from the ground.  A little big for the other Autobots, but necessary if Optimus was ever knocked out of commission.

Elena’s thoughts turned to the task at hand as the image of the Autobot leader came across her mind’s eye.

She knew she had about an hour before he got back from his patrol. 

An hour was all she needed.

Over the past few days, Noah had helped her to bring all the necessary equipment to the abandoned warehouse, storing it under a discreet pile of black tarpaulin and strategically placed spare parts. 

The largest piece of equipment that she needed had been placed on the overhead catwalk for her by a helpful Bumblebee only the day before.

“’Talk to me…oh, what’s going on?’”  Elena had laughed as Marvin Gaye’s What’s Going On sounded from Bumblebee’s speakers.

“A surprise Bee!  You’ll be able to see it once Optimus has.”

The friendly yellow Autobot scout had helped her to secure and mount the equipment to the catwalk platform, chirping curiously and playing various sound bites through his radio throughout the duration of the installation process.

Elena took her backpack off and retrieved the film reel within it.  She affixed it carefully to the projector, making sure that the machine was calibrated properly and making sure that the angle would line up correctly with the screen.

Once she was satisfied with the set-up of the film projector, she replaced the cover and made her way over to the ladder that would grant her access to the catwalk platform. 

She left her backpack on the floor and made sure to grip the ladder firmly with both hands before placing one of her Doc Marten clad feet on the lowermost rung.

Elena had never been the biggest fan of heights, and her recent experience with giant extra-terrestrial robots had not exactly warmed her to the concept.

Pushing the annoying thoughts to the back of her mind, she determinedly ascended the ladder, laughing at herself in a dark corner of her mind.  She had survived a battle for her planet’s survival and yet she was scared of climbing a ladder that was roughly twelve feet high?

Pathetic. ­­

It did not feel so pathetic however, when she heard a low groaning sound, a sound like the creak of fatigued metal giving way under her weight.

She scrambled quickly up the rest of the ladder and tucked her legs over the edge of the catwalk platform just as the offending object clattered to the ground with an earth-resounding crash.  The noise was temporarily deafening and for a split second, she was back on the bridge in Peru, listening to the deafening clash of metal against metal as titan fought titan.

“Elena, shut it down!”  Optimus Prime’s command as he charged to jump the gap between the key console and the bridge. 

She remembered how his heavy footfalls had reverberated in her chest, making her very ribs feel like they were vibrating.

She sighed, leaning over the edge of the catwalk to see if the ladder situation was at all salvageable.

It was not.

The ladder had fallen completely flat onto the concrete floor below and there was no way on earth that she could reach it without actually leaving the catwalk platform itself, which in turn defeated the object of her needing the ladder in the first place.

She shrugged to herself and made her way over to the mounts holding the projector screen in place.  She undid one side first and then the other, untwisting the mounts that were secured like screw nails.  The projector screen unravelled with a satisfying sound, not dissimilar to the sound a boat’s sail made when it was released.

She was pleased with the overall size of the screen.  It covered a good part of the catwalk railing that it was suspended from, and its generously large size ensured that it would be seen by large and small individuals alike.  All in all, she was satisfied with the set-up of the space that was available to her.  There weren’t many options available in the abandoned warehouse, but she felt that she had utilised the space available to her to the best of her ability. 

All she had to do now was wait for Optimus to get back from his patrol.

She sat down on the edge of the catwalk, allowing her legs to dangle over the side while she wrapped her arms around the lowermost railing.

The corrugated iron floor of the catwalk still retained some of the day’s heat, a heat that she felt on the backs of her thighs as she lowered herself to the floor.  The weather lady that very morning on WABC-TV had declared the late heatwave an ‘Indian’ summer. 

Before she had left her apartment that morning, Elena had elected for a plain white camisole paired with a battered, pinafore-style faded blue denim romper suit.  Her father had bought it for her four birthdays ago and it was nearing the end of its public life.  Sooner rather than later it would be no good except when she cleaned her apartment, but the thought of parting with it made her heart accelerated to a panicked and frantic rhythm.

A strategically tied bandana adorned her head, keeping her natural curls close to her scalp in an attempt to combat the year’s late, oppressive heat. 

The temperature had hovered around the low eighties and, a fact not helped by the minimal amount of rainfall that New York City had had so far for the month of September.

Elena swung her legs slowly to and fro, her dark brown eyes tracking the movement of her Doc Marten boots.  Doc Marten boots that were scuffed, paint-damaged and at least eight years old.

A nostalgic smile kissed her lips as a sudden memory played in the forefront of her mind, like her own personal picture show.

“Elena, when are you gonna polish those god-damned boots?!  I ain’t havin’ nobody thinkin’ your father and I raised you in some poorhouse girl!” 

Her mother’s shrill insistence that everything had to look and be perfect all the time.

“Easy Gloria!  The girl ain’t gonna lose out on anything in life if she’s got some scuffed boots!” 

The gentle cadence of her father’s calm and deep voice. 

Equally as powerful, she remembered her mother’s disappointment and anger when she learnt of her daughter’s chosen career path.  She had been most horrified at the fact that her daughter was not aspiring to become the devoted and loving wife of a high-flying, Manhattan based defence attorney. 

Elena pushed the thoughts to the back of her mind, not wanting to deal with them right at that particular moment.  She was prone to ruminating and then spiralling into a deep, introspective pit of her own making.  It was seldom a happy place to be, and she already devoted enough of her mental energy spending time there.

Energy that she was determined on claiming back for herself.

Elena was pulled from her self-imposed reverie by the low growl of a Freightliner’s engine. 

She lifted her head in time just to see Optimus roll to a complete stop, his airbrakes hissing lightly with the motion.  She watched with ill-disguised awe and amazement as the vehicle parts shifted and reconfigured themselves until they had arranged into the body of the Autobot leader.

He ducked as he came in through the large doorway, his heavy footfalls reverberating in Elena’s chest.  His blue optics widened when he saw her, clearly not expecting anybody to be at the warehouse when he returned from his patrol. 

In her hurry to stand, she smashed her head against the top bar of the railing on the catwalk.  Pain shot through her cranium and into her forehead, making her see stars for a few seconds.

She heard, rather than saw Optimus hurrying towards her, his blue lower legs filling the majority of her field of vision.  Hydraulics hissed as he raised a hesitant servo. 

“Elena!  Are you alright?  Are you at all injured?”  His deep baritone was laced with concern. 

“Argh god-dammit!” she muttered, more to herself than to him.   She lifted her eyes to meet his earnest blue gaze.  Hilariously, he was slightly bending his knees so as to bring himself more to her level.  It was kind of endearing to see the massive, twenty-foot tall Autobot leader trying to get to her perspective.

“Elena, are you injured?”  his tone was a little more pressing this time, his optics worriedly fixed on her. 

“No, just my pride.”  She groaned, rubbing a tentative hand over the top of her head.

Ouch.

There was definitely going to be a lump there in the morning.

Optimus straightened, visibly satisfied with her answer. 

“Why did you do that?  If you are going to strike things with your head, would it not be pertinent to don protective headwear first?  It is my understanding that human bones, and therefore human craniums are very fragile.” 

“I didn’t do it on purpose!”  she uttered, a little defensively. 

He held both hands up defensively.  “Duly noted.  I will not make such an assumption again.”  He eyed her thoughtfully before speaking again.  “You are stressed.  Your cortisol levels are currently elevated to eighteen micrograms per decilitre; a significant amount higher than the average of ten micrograms per decilitre for your species.” 

Elena worked hard to smooth her face into some semblance of what she hoped was a polite smile.  “Did you just scan me?”

A brisk nod was her answer.

She sighed.  “Optimus, we’ve spoken about this before.  You can’t just go around scanning people.  It’s personal information.” 

The Autobot leader remained undeterred.  “I see no adverse consequences if the information revealed to me in my scan helps me to alleviate some pain, physical or otherwise.” 

That stopped her in her tracks.  She stared blankly at him for a few seconds.  His face was an inscrutable mask of polite interest, his ‘brows’ sitting in two perfectly neutral lines above his cerulean optics. 

In the end, she opted for a diversion tactic. 

“What do you think of the set-up?” she asked, nodding towards the screen. 

Optimus took the bait, casting his gaze downwards. 

His ‘eyebrows’ (could she even call them that?) rose and disappeared slightly behind his helm as he examined the screen.  He reached out a gentle hand and poked it lightly with one finger, seemingly surprised by how easily it gave way underneath his touch.

“What is it?” he rumbled, lifting his optics back up so that they rested on Elena once more. 

Elena took a deep breath.

“I thought that you and I could have a movie night, if you want?  I know Arcee and Wheeljack are busy in South America with Primal looking on how to harvest that raw energon and Mirage and Bumblebee are holed up outside Noah’s apartment.  They are having a gaming tournament on Kris’ Sega Drive.” 

Optimus did not speak for a moment, seemingly struck speechless. 

“You wish to…have a movie night with me?”  he spoke quietly, his voice almost vulnerable. 

Elena laughed.  “You don’t have to sound so scared!  I just thought it might be nice for you to have some downtime.  Don’t think about work for a while.  Lose yourself in a world of make-believe, even if it’s just for one hour.” 

Optimus smiled gently at her.  Even though it was only small, it transformed his entire face.  The metallic mosaic that made up his facial plating shifted and allowed her a glimpse of someone who had not yet been touched by the horrific burdens and responsibilities that came with trying to co-ordinate a war from an alien planet.

“You should do that more often.”  She watched in amusement as his eyebrows shot upwards into his helm again.

“I am afraid I am not following your meaning, Elena.  What should I do more often?”

“Smile!  You have a nice smile.”  Once again it appeared that she had rendered the Autobot leader totally and utterly speechless. 

This time, it was he who opted for the diversion tactic. 

“Why are you on the catwalk?  You will need to set up the movie, I am not familiar with how to operate human technology, and I fear my hands are too large to work such technology without causing irreparable damage.” 

Elena smiled warmly at him.  “I can help you with that last part, but you might need to help me get down from here.  The ladder fell as I was climbing up it.” 

His optics widened in alarm.  “Were you injured?”  His voice resumed the earlier tones of his concern. 

“Nah.  I got up here in time.  I’ve just been stuck up here for the last hour or so.  No big deal.” 

“It is a ‘big deal’ Elena.  You could have been harmed.  Where is this ladder now?” 

He followed her point to where the ladder had fallen earlier. 

Walking over, he bent from the waist and picked the ladder up easily in both of his large hands, turning it over and examining it.  Blue rays of light shot out from his optics as he continued his thorough inspection.

“What are you doing?”  Elena asked, making her way over to the edge of the platform where the ladder had previously been mounted. 

“Determining where the structural weakness is.”  Optimus replied, focusing on the top of the ladder.  He gave it a light tap with the index and middle fingers of his left hand.  A deafening clang resounded throughout the room, made all the more impressive by the warehouse’s acoustics.  The ladder had broken clean in half, one piece clasped in Optimus’ right hand and the other laying in a cloud of dust on the concrete floor.

“Hmm.  This is not salvageable.”  He retrieved the other piece from the floor and walked over to the wide doors of the warehouse, the ones he had entered through earlier and easily lobbed the pieces of the ladder outside as if they weighed nothing at all. 

He made his way back over to Elena then, the fingers of his left hand gently uncurling as he held it out in front of her. 

“May I?”  He offered her another gentle smile, his optics softening by a tiny degree.

Elena hesitated.  It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him, but he was so huge.

Humming The Sign under her breath, Elena walked towards Optimus’ outstretched hand.  She watched in awe as his fingers gently wrapped themselves easily around her midsection, lifting her with alarming ease. 

Involuntarily, her knees came up and she grabbed onto Optimus’ thumb so tightly she felt like her knuckles might tear through her skin.  She scrunched her eyes tightly shut as the sensation of leaving her stomach behind on the catwalk overtook her senses. 

A low chuckle rumbled somewhere from above her.  “Easy Elena.  I’ve got you.  I promise I won’t drop you.”  Optimus’ voice was a gentle, sonorous baritone that curled around her, caressing her senses like the forgotten embrace of a dear friend.

She didn’t respond but kept her koala-like grip tight on Optimus’ thumb, not trusting her reaction if she opened her eyes and saw how high she was suspended in midair. 

Another amused chuckle echoed deep in her chest.  “Elena, you can put your feet down.  You will find solid ground.” 

Cautiously, Elena lowered one leg, toeing the open air with her Doc Marten boot.  She was surprised to find the ground a lot sooner than she had anticipated.  Not quite trusting that, she very slowly creaked one eye open and saw that Optimus was right.  She looked up at him sheepishly and almost burst out laughing at the position he was in. 

He was crouched right down, almost on his haunches.  His right hand was splayed palm-down on the concrete floor, a counter-balance for his immense weight.  The fingers of his left hand were still wrapped firmly but gently around  her middle, patiently waiting for her to regain a steady, vertical base before he withdrew. 

She placed both feet firmly on the ground, simultaneously loosening her grip on Optimus’ thumb before letting go of it completely.  She offered him a sheepish smile, her fingers interlocking themselves together in her embarrassment.  “Thanks Optimus, ‘preciate it.” 

He inclined his helm graciously at her, pulling his hand back and resting it atop one of his bent knees.  “You are most welcome.  I am pleased to have been of assistance.  I will see about getting that ladder replaced as soon as possible.” 

He remained in the crouched position, his optics carefully trained on Elena.  “And in answer to your earlier query…I would be honoured to join you for a…movie night.  May I ask what move we are going to be watching?” 

Elena grinned up at him, all her earlier trepidation forgotten.  “Well, it’s technically a new one.  It isn’t out on VHS yet, but I don’t think there’s a drive-in theatre in the city that would accommodate your vehicle mode.  So Noah got a copy of the movie from his friend Reek.” 

Optimus raised an incredulous brow.  “Is this the gentleman who pirates cable television?” 

Elena stared at him dumbfounded.  “How on earth do you know that?!” 

Optimus had the grace to offer her a wry smile.  “Mirage is not the best at keeping certain information confidential.  However, in the grand scheme of things…I do not think a pirated movie is going to turn you into a hardened criminal Elena.”  He winked playfully at her before drawing his index finger across his lip plates in a ‘zipping’ motion. 

Elena was momentarily lost for words.

Since their return from South America and near death, Optimus’ stoic and stern demeanour had softened a lot.  He was more talkative and seemed to take genuine interest and enjoyment from interacting with both Noah and Elena. 

He would inquire after Kris’ health from Noah, asking if his little brother had had any bad flare ups recently or if at long last, he had managed to defeat the Bowser level on his ‘handheld video game device.’ 

He would spend long hours talking with Elena about her work and where her interest in ancient artifacts had started.  He had been one of the first to warmly congratulate her on the recognition of her discovery in Peru and her initiative in decoding the code to the panel that would have allowed them to deactivate the Transwarp key. 

She decided she liked this friendly, slightly goofy side of Optimus Prime.

She shook her head, realising a few seconds had passed and Optimus was still patiently waiting for an answer.

“It’s a film called The Lion King.  It is a kid’s film, but it has one of my dad’s favourite actors in it.  He’s doing one of the voices.  I know my dad would have wanted to see it.” 

Optimus’ optics softened at the mention of her father. 

“Then I would be honoured to watch The Lion King with you Elena.” 

“Awesome!  Take a seat then, it’ll take be two seconds to get the projector running.” 

His joints creaked and his hydraulics hissed as he rose to his full height, casting a long shadow over Elena.  He moved to sit against the wall directly opposite the screen, in the same position he had assumed when he had been a passenger in Stratosphere’s alt-mode; one leg stretched out in front of him with the other brought up to his chest, one arm resting easily on top of his bent knee.

She hurried over to the projector, double checking that everything was calibrated correctly and in the correct place before she set it to run.  Satisfied that everything was as it should be, she started the film reel and half-ran to where Optimus was sitting.

It suddenly dawned on her that he was sitting on the floor. 

“Aww man!”  She exclaimed, feeling foolish at the fact that she had overlooked such a massive detail. 

Optimus’ hydraulics hissed slightly as he turned his head to gaze down at her.  “What it is the matter?” 

“You’re sitting on the floor!  I should’ve thought of something for you to sit on.” 

He surprised her by uttering a barking laugh.  “Worry not Elena.  Any flat surface is more than suitable for me to recline on.  I do not require comfort in the same way that you humans do.”  He eyed the surrounding area, looking first to his left and then his right.  “However, where are you going to sit?” 

Elena laughed at her own forgetfulness.  “It’s okay Optimus.  I don’t mind sitting on the floor.  It’s no biggie.” 

Both of their attention was momentarily commandeered by the screen turning black as the film projector rolled. 

“If you would not be averse to it, would you like to sit on my shoulder?  It would be marginally more comfortable than the floor and I will be able to keep you warm.  The temperature drops quite quickly once the evening closes in.” 

Elena surprised herself when she agreed to his proposition with no hesitation at all.

His large hand descended towards her once more, fingers open and waiting for her to bridge the gap between them. 

She stepped forward into his grasp and was lifted gently and tenderly to his massive right shoulder.  His hand hovered behind her until she had lowered herself into a seated position, her legs dangling over the edge of his chest. 

“Umm, thank you Optimus.  Is this okay?”  She gestured to her legs, trying hard not to swing them to and fro as was her habit. 

He nodded the affirmative, his expression unreadable. 

“Cool.”  She settled back, leaning against the corrugated metal wall of the warehouse.  A sudden thought made her jerk upright again.  “Wait a minute, you’re not ticklish or anything, are you?” 

Optimus chuckled lightly.  “No Elena, I am not ticklish.  Assume whatever posture in which you are comfortable.” 

Satisfied, Elena assumed her earlier position, bringing one leg up to almost mirror Optimus. 

A comfortable silence fell between them as the opening notes of a dramatic voice sounded over the speakers Noah had hardwired into the warehouse within days of their return from Peru.

Elena watched, enraptured as beautiful scenes of the African plains rolled across the screen.  She was spell-bound by the colours and the emotion that the accompanying music stirred within her, piquing a curiosity for what was yet to come. 

She sneaked a sideways glance at Optimus, whose optics where trained on the screen.  He seemed to be as every part drawn in by the movie as she was. 

She felt the fine, baby-like hairs on the back of her neck rise along with the reflexive goosebumps across her arms and legs when she heard the deep, resonant tones of James Earl Jones’ voice coming from the character Mufasa.

She noticed, with interest, Optimus’ visible bristling when the main antagonist, Scar, was introduced into the cast.  He ground his lip plates subtly together, tightening the fingers of his left hand into a clenched fist at the same time. 

She watched, her throat thick with emotion as Mufasa gently reprimanded Simba after his reckless actions in the Elephant Graveyard, her eyes filming up with nostalgic tears as she watched them play rough and tumble. 

She could not however, stop the sharp intake of breath as she watched Scar cruelly throw Mufasa to his death, her own expression mirroring the one of hurt and horror on little Simba’s face. 

Tears fell freely and silently down her face, painting the pain and loss that had ached for so long to be released from her broken heart.  She worked hard to control her breathing, not wanting Optimus to see the vulnerability that was plastered across her face.

Optimus, ever tactful, shifted his helm slightly so that it was inclined towards her.  She leaned gratefully against it, silently accepting the comfort and support that he so freely offered.

She did not stop weeping for the rest of the movie but did find it within herself to laugh when Timon and Pumba attempted to distract the villainous hyenas with their ‘drag in hula’ skit.  Fresh tears assaulted her eyes as she watched Simba ascend Pride Rock for the first time since his acceptance of his role as king. 

She let herself feel the gentle flutter of her own heartbeat when Simba and Nala proudly introduced their newborn cub to the other residents of the plain, the circle of life completing once more. 

As the credits rolled across the black backdrop of the screen, Optimus turned fully to regard her.  His round optics were kind and gentle, appraising her with an unspoken sense of concern. 

“Are you alright Elena?” 

That one simple question seemed to unlock the floodgates within her. 

Her tears fell without pause now, creating a constant stream of moving liquid down her face.  Optimus’ large visage went watery in her vision, obscured as it was by the relentless tears falling from her eyes. 

With a gentleness that belied his enormous size, Optimus gently wrapped his fingers around Elena’s mid-section once more and lifted her, carefully setting her down on his right forearm.  He kept the arm she was on tucked close to his chest and leaned down closer to her, keeping his left hand cupped securely around her back.

Without even really thinking about what she was doing, Elena raised her arms and wrapped them as much as she could around the Autobot leader’s neck.  She felt him stiffen lightly in surprise before relaxing and leaning down into her embrace. 

She felt his hand tighten slightly around her back and shoulders, his metallic thumb brushing against her arm in a comforting gesture.  She buried her face into the space between his neck and chin, aching to feel the close affection of a parent.

An embrace that she had not felt for three years. 

Elena felt the smooth rocking sensation as Optimus gently moved first forwards and then backwards.  His thumb continued stroking her arm gently while his arms held her together as she fell apart.

“Shh.  It’s okay Elena.  You can let go.  I’ve got you.”  His gentle, affectionate cadence was all that she needed to be pushed off the edge and into emotional free-fall. 

Her sobs came slowly at first, creeping up upon her as the incoming tide creeps up on the beach.  They exited out of her slowly and quietly, a slow bleed of pain that she had denied herself from feeling since her father’s death three years previously. 

Then something inside her kicked up a gear. 

Anger and resentment.

Anger that her mother would not accept her for who she was.

Resentment for the fact that her mother had driven her first love away without remorse.

Anger that her father would never get to see her achievements.

The ever reaching, devastating power of the sadness that seeped from every pore in her body at the realisation that she would never again see her father, hear his voice or smell the coffee-stained newspapers in his cab. 

She cried like a wounded animal, the intensity of her pain drawing cruel lacerations up one side of her heart and down the other.  Her breaths came in short, sharp cries, like she had just taken part in a triathlon. 

She screamed out, rageful cries of someone who had taken all the pain they could bear. 

In a moment of pure vulnerability, the sound of Elena’s pain ripped up through her throat.  Her pain was echoed in her screams, reverberating with a fierce and desperate longing.  With each cry, her sobs became a little less intense as she came down from her abrupt adrenaline rush.  Each shaky exhalation was a cathartic purge of the sorrow and grief that had haunted her for years. 

Hydraulics hissed as Optimus gently withdrew from their embrace, looking at Elena with a profound sense of sadness present in his astute optics. 

“Elena, are you alright?”  He repeated his earlier question, holding her in the intensity of his soul-reaching gaze.  

She lowered her eyes from his, dropping her chin to her chest as a sudden feeling of overwhelming mortification creeped up her neck and into her face. 

Servos whirred as a gentle finger was placed under her chin, lifting her face to meet his optics once more. 

“Elena?” 

“I am…okay.  I’m really sorry about that Optimus.  I shouldn’t have allowed that to happen.”  She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, all too aware of their red and swollen appearance.  

“Do not ever be sorry for your feelings Elena.”  Optimus said, brushing a last few stray tears from her face with his thumb.  “I am profoundly sorry for your loss, and though I never had the pleasure of meeting your father, I believe he would be immeasurably proud of the woman that you are today.” 

Elena regarded him with a raised brow. 

“I say this because although I have only known you for a short amount of time, you have always conducted yourself with honour and dignity.  Even when my own behaviour was…less than courteous to you and your kind. 

“You had no reason to help us, yet you did, asking nothing in return.  In short, we could not have found the Transwarp key without your assistance.  And I wish to say, ‘thank you.’  Your valiant effort for my kind and I, as well as our planet, means more to me than I can articulate.  I am in your debt Elena.”

Elena, who had never been comfortable with receiving praise, squirmed awkwardly in Optimus’ grasp. 

“Noah did most of the hard work.  He took on Scourge and those weird spider-bot things.  He came to get the key for you from the museum.  I just stowed away really.” 

Optimus gave her a knowing look.  “Who worked out that the other half of the key was in Peru?  Who worked out the access code to the panel on the bridge?  Who,” he spoke more softly, his sonorous voice barely above a whisper, “who opposed vehemently to the destruction of the remaining half of the key once it was located?” 

Elena felt her blood run cold in her veins.  “You…you knew about that?”  Her own voice was barely audible to her ears.

Optimus surprised her by uttering a low chuckle.  “We Autobots possess extremely sensitive hearing Elena.  I do not blame Noah for his original intentions.  However, your…passionate opposition of destroying the remaining half of the key resounded deeply with me.  I could not understand why a mere human” he offered her an apologetic wink, “would want to help our kind.  I am beyond grateful that you did however.”

Elena half-smiled, refastening her bandana where it had become a little loose.  “We ain’t all bad y’know.  Sure, there are some evil bastards out there, more than there should be, but there are good ones too.  You just have to find ‘em.” 

Optimus hummed thoughtfully, seeming to agree with her. 

“Like Charlie.  Bee told me about her, when he first landed on Earth?” 

Optimus nodded.  “Indeed.  He speaks most highly of her.  I know he misses her terribly.” 

“You know, my dad always used to say, ‘if you keep your eyes and your ears open, life will show you everything you need to know.’” 

“A wise and accurate sentiment.  Your father sounded like a very wise and intelligent man.”  Optimus mused, bathing Elena in a pool of gentle blue light from his optics. 

“He was, he really was.”  Elena’s voice carried a sad tone of nostalgia, one that was tinged with the happiness of memories passed but burdened with the weight of absent love. 

Optimus seemed to hesitate before he spoke again.  “On my world, we believe that the ones who have passed on are in the AllSpark, reunited with our fallen brethren and wise mentors from the Golden Age.  In this, we are safe in the knowledge that we are never truly alone. 

“What I am trying to say Elena, is this; you are your father’s daughter.  Part of him, if you will excuse my borrowing of the sentiment from the movie we have just watched, lives on in you.  You are his legacy; you are his hope.  Remember that, and you cannot go far wrong.  Remember who you are, and I know his memory and spirit will walk proudly in step beside you.”

Elena hugged Optimus again, feeling the soft vibrations of his systems against her soft skin. 

“Thank you, Optimus.  Till all are one, right?”  She asked, holding out a closed fist to him. 

A gentle, warm smile transformed his face as he raised his massive left fist to lightly touch against hers.

“Indeed Elena.  Till all are one.”

[starlit-hopes-and-dreams]

Writer Q&A

Thanks for the tag, @clairelsonao3 <3

Template below the cut.

I don't know who's already been tagged in this one, so uh, Open Tag? 😅

What is your absolute all-time favorite idea you’ve ever had?

Writing a book and having the balls to send it out for beta reads (well, I mean, the alcohol helped, a lot, but same difference, right? lol)

Is there a question you’ve been asked in the past that really stands out to you, and you still think about sometimes?

About writing? Uhhh. No, I really can't think of anything. I've had opinions on my writing re: they didn't agree with my choices, but I don't really consider that a question.

What is your favorite part of being a writer? What parts could you take or leave?

Fav: Plucking my little ideas from my head, throwing them on page, and then having people actually enjoy them :D

Not fav: plots. editing plots. plots are evil. why they gotta make sense and shit? unfair. 😂

What is your greatest motivation to write/create?

There's a certain catharsis to beating the shit out of someone. I don't know what, but uh. yeah lol. I'm sure there's something else, but it's been a week, and this is what I've got right now.

What is the best piece of advice you’ve ever read or been given as a writer?

Write for YOU.

What do you wish you knew when you were first starting out writing?

☝ Also, not to worry so much about "craft". I'm not a technical writer, I'm an intuitive one. I spent a lot of time dithering about bc I felt like bc I didn't know "craft", what I wrote wasn't valid. I bought craft books and couldn't make myself read them.

What is your favorite story you’ve written to completion? Link it if you’d like and can!

I haven't written very much 😅 I like shattered soul more than shattered dreams (wip intro), but it isn't finished yet.

And I really like my hidden depths AU, but does that even count? XD

What is your favorite out-of-the-box quote?

My... what? Like, a think outside the box thing? I don't really do quotes, tbh.

Which of your characters would you say has the most controversial mindset? Why do you say so, and how do you personally feel about their ideals?

Okay, but controversial in what way? XD

Guess I'll go with the morally gray oc's, Carr and Nykim. I guess irl (and technically their world, too), it would be frowned upon to kill people, let alone play with their prey before doing so. Even if they've done bad things and "deserve it" lol

Personally, I can't really say. These are fictional people in a world that doesn't exist. Their behavior is not compatible with IRL scenarios, so I can't and won't pass judgement on them.

If you, when you first started writing, met you now, what would younger you think?

Younger me was three years ago, so uh. lol. I suppose younger me would be impressed I actually managed to stick to a plot line and finish the book I was struggling so much with.

What is your absolute all-time favorite idea you’ve ever had?

Is there a question you’ve been asked in the past that really stands out to you, and you still think about sometimes?

What is your favorite part of being a writer? What parts could you take or leave?

What is your greatest motivation to write/create?

What is the best piece of advice you’ve ever read or been given as a writer?

What do you wish you knew when you were first starting out writing?

What is your favorite story you’ve written to completion? Link it if you’d like and can!

What is your favorite out-of-the-box quote?

Which of your characters would you say has the most controversial mindset? Why do you say so, and how do you personally feel about their ideals?

If you, when you first started writing, met you now, what would younger you think?

[queercodedvillains]

I feel like deidaras actions after sasoris death only make sense if you see it through the lens of grief. He's mourning his partner, he can't do anything to bring him back, so all he can do is carry out his wishes post humously. Sasori hated orochimaru and wanted revenge but couldn't get it himself before he died, so deidara picks up his grudge in his honor. Their love language is revenge and violence and deidara in particular seems to process his emotions through his art. Temporary, ephemeral, transient, everything he argued for with sasori. Now I bet he understands a bit of sasoris desire for permanence. He always assumed he'd die first, that he'd never have someone he loved taken from him. Sasoris art stems from his issues with abandonment, especially in death. Deidara, when faced with the emotional consequences of impermanence, seems to wrap it around himself as a comfort. I think it's clear he doesn't intend to live long after sasori dies, because of his deeply self destructive pursuit of explosive catharsis.

Because the thing is, sasuke kills orochimaru and deidaras grudge doesn't die because his goal is achieved by someone else, it just transfers to sasuke because he's deidaras new target for grief processing murder. He has no other way to get these feelings out because he's a deeply traumatized 19 year old grieving someone he clearly respected deeply (and imo loved, no one can convince me they werent in love sorry not sorry but thats his man canonically), deidara doesn't exactly have the greatest emotional intelligence here. He pursues sasuke to a suicidal extent because that's about all he has left in terms of purpose. He wants to be temporary, and he has so little holding him to this world after sasori dies. He's beholden to the akatsuki out of fear, not belief in their cause. The only upside of his time with them is his relationship with sasori. He found comfort and companionship with him. For all their differences and bickering, they were both obsessed with art and death. Without sasori there to temper his impulsivity, or provide him stimulating company, what does he have to live for? Constant irritation with tobi?? Deidara likes being a brat, he misses sasoris casual dominance over him. He doesn't want tobi running after him calling him senpai and irritating him because HES the one who should be calling sasori Danna and irritating him just to spark a bit of spice.

So without sasori, deidara has nothing to live for but his art. And what better way to go than an explosion that everyone within a 10 mile radius sees? He went out the way he wanted to, when he wanted to. He wanted the glory of taking out sasuke and the relief of oblivion now that he had nothing to live for, not even revenge.

[denimbex1986]

'For All of Us Strangers—Andrew Haigh’s second film about lonely gays in high-rises—the director tells George Fenwick about urban isolation, what queer people share between generations, and how to write a good sex scene.

When Adam (Andrew Scott) first sees Harry (Paul Mescal) in Andrew Haigh’s All of Us Strangers, he’s a literal beacon of light: a lone figure staring out from the darkness of the near-empty apartment building in which they both live. Adam, a screenwriter, lives a solitary life of writing, eating takeout and watching home renovation shows, but when Harry appears at his door with a bottle of whiskey, a cautious romance begins between these two lonely souls, adrift in the sprawl of London.

Loneliness has long been a fascination of Haigh’s—specifically, since 2011, lonely gays in tower blocks. Scott and Mescal perform isolation with painful precision, and I tell them this on a call to collect their four favorites, before I connect with their director for a longer conversation. Both actors demur, redirecting their praise towards Haigh and Jamie D. Ramsay, his director of photography. Ramsay shot Oliver Hermanus’s Moffie and Living, which also feature grappling, secluded protagonists reaching out for connection with gentle, dreamlike textures. “Playing loneliness, as much as you want to think about it, you’re actually really reliant on the DP,” Scott tells me. “In a very subtle way, it’s allowing the audience to just see a person in a room. The visual picture is very important.”

Haigh’s script, adapted from Taichi Yamada’s 1987 novel Strangers, also sends Adam into his past; while writing about his upbringing, the character takes the train to the suburb he grew up in and finds his parents (played by Claire Foy and Jamie Bell) in his childhood home—filmed in Haigh’s own boyhood home—the same age as the day they died more than 30 years earlier. Adam’s loneliness is countered by an innate desire to connect; as he bonds with Harry over their respective isolation from their families, he is also suddenly able to speak truthfully about his sexuality to the ghosts of his parents.

It’s in these impossible conversations that Haigh’s script finds its greatest catharsis. “I find the scene on the bed so upsetting,” says Mescal, “where Harry tries to make light of [his loneliness]. He tries to describe it as an inevitable thing, and you see true love between Adam and Harry, because Adam doesn’t let Harry off the hook—not in an unkind way. He’s like, ‘Why do you think that that’s okay? It’s totally not.’ He invites a very difficult conversation. [Adam and Harry] both serve as warnings to how dangerous conversations can be in a family setting. Adam has the privilege to go back and reinvestigate that parental relationship, where Harry doesn’t have that opportunity.”

Haigh, grateful for his actors, dives deeper with us to explore how he set about analyzing the relationship between romantic and parental love through Adam’s journey, the strangeness of filming All of Us Strangers in his own childhood home, and the slippery allure of clubbing.

Gay men from slightly different generations share a lot in this film—could you talk about why that distance was important, and what unites them? Andrew Haigh: I knew that I wanted them to be different generations. The whole film is about generations, and how we see the world, and how we love. I am really obsessed with what makes us different from each other, and also what makes us the same. It’s about what we share.

There is a younger generation of queer people that have had a very, very different experience than my generation, just like mine is different from the generation above. Sometimes you can get entrenched in what makes you individual, rather than seeing [that] we are sharing so much along the lines. Even though the world has changed so much, if you are any kind of outsider, you’re definitely not in the center of the mainstream. You’re on the edges of things, and it’s very easy to find yourself drifting further and further away. For some people, that’s fantastic, and they love being in that place. For other people, it can be very painful. Within queer life, sometimes that is drifting away from your family.

I love the way you depict urban isolation in the film. Why did you want to place Adam in this empty high-rise, and what does it say about 21st-century living? Urban alienation and loneliness is a real thing. We often come to cities hoping it’s going to be the answer. Lots of us grew up in the suburbs, and then we come to the city because that’s where it’s at, and when you’re a queer person, that’s where you feel like you have to go. But when you get to the city, it can be a very isolating place. It’s not easy to meet people, to communicate, there’s people everywhere, and you can get locked into your world.

For me, this is a film about someone trying to escape loneliness. I wanted, in the beginning of the film, to really sense in every frame his aloneness in the world and his need to reach out: he’s looking out at London through the windows, he’s going on the train back to his parents’, he’s always reaching out for something. That can be a difficult thing when you live in a city. You can get trapped.

How long did it take to find the perfect high-rise? It was a nightmare. The inside is actually a set. Very few apartment blocks would let us film in them, and most wouldn’t even let us photograph the outside of them, because they’re all run by huge multinational corporations. I knew I wanted it to be a part of London that is sort of new, so we tried to shoot in Vauxhall for a while, where all these new buildings have gone up. But no one would let us film, so this is in Stratford [a suburb of east London]. I like that, because it feels like it’s on the edge of something. It’s trying to be a new community, but it’s not quite bedded in yet to the surrounding world of that area. It was kind of perfect in the end: there is London, the city itself, somewhere out there on the horizon.

I went to the Westfield in Stratford to get my outfit for the BIFAs, and it does feel like the end of the world. That Westfield center, I mean, oh, my god. If we’re going to get to the end of the world, it’s that.

The way you shot the building reminded me of the monolith in 2001: A Space Odyssey—the way it felt not human, and unknowable. It’s so grand and ugly, and you feel like it’s never going to move. It’s a really unpleasant building—I mean, I’d never live there, but for people that live there, I apologize. I’m sure it’s very nice if you live there for real.

You filmed Adam’s family scenes in your own childhood home. When did you decide that would be your location? How did it then feel once you were actually standing on set with the actors in it? As I was writing, it just kept coming into my mind. I was trying to write about someone going back home, so, of course, when I’m writing, I’m so in my own head, and all I could imagine was the memories of that place where I used to live. I left there when I was eight, and I’ve never been back before the film. As we were thinking of locations, I was like, ‘Why don’t I just go there?’

I quite foolishly thought it’d be fun, but then being there was a strange experience. It felt like it was haunted somehow, which is perfect for the film. But it was haunted by my memories of being there. It’s very strange how 45 years can go by, and you can still remember everything. I could remember what the banister felt like, I could remember what the doors were like, I could just picture everything once I got in there.

I think it helped the film enormously. Because [everybody] knew it was my house, they felt like they could be more open about their own memories of childhood. So much of it, when we were there, was us all sharing stories of when we were young, and that created a magical tone, not just from me and the actors but the crew as well. When you’re trying to capture something special on screen, it’s not just about what’s on the camera—it’s everything around it. It’s the tone of the set that you create. It’s the conversations you have with everybody that can help that appear on screen.

That’s clear in the scene when Adam comes out to his mother, which is so beautifully done. It has this humor to it—for queer viewers, a lot of the clumsy things that Claire Foy’s character is saying are so familiar. It took me a long time to write [the scene], and we were all quite nervous shooting it. I’m trying to do lots of different things. I don’t want to vilify the mother necessarily in this; she’s a product of her time. She clearly loves her son, she just doesn’t understand. The idea of her son has suddenly shifted. Also, you’re telling a story about an adult who’s got over all of this, you hope, and suddenly he’s been dragged back to exactly how he used to feel in the ’80s, when all of those things that the mother says are exactly what everybody said to us all of the time. It’s almost like the emotion builds up in Adam without him even knowing it’s building up.

I like the idea that the humor comes in at the beginning, and you’re like, ‘Oh, this is so funny, and I can’t believe they say that,’ until you realize, oh, yeah, that is what people said, and it’s actually affecting Adam. I’ve been very intrigued, as some people stop laughing earlier than other people in that scene. That’s interesting, because there’s a moment when you don’t laugh anymore in that scene, and you’re like, ‘Oh, no, this is painful for Adam.’ But I quite like what that makes the audience feel, because somehow they’ve become like an accomplice in it. For a lot of people, that must be like, ‘Oh, yeah, that is also how we used to speak, and how we used to feel.’

Let’s talk about sex. The way you portray sex throughout your work is so brilliant—it’s real and tender, and 45 Years is one of the few films I can think of that allows older people a sex life on screen. Could you talk about why sex is important to you as a writer, and why those scenes are important for your characters? It’s just what you said—it’s important for the characters. I’ve always tried to think, if I’m going to do a sex scene, what is it saying? What are we showing about the character? In 45 Years, it’s a scene when they almost reconnect in a very important moment in the film, and they can’t have sex, they don’t have sex in that moment. It doesn’t really work, and it has ramifications going forward. So it’s a fundamentally important scene.

It’s the same in [All of Us Strangers]. It’s about two people understanding what the other person needs in that moment. It’s really tender, intimate, and sexy—all of the things you want sex to be. It means something. They’re also having fun, and that’s really important for this moment in the movie. I know there are people now that feel like we don’t need sex scenes in film anymore. What I think people mean is—not to put words in their mouths—they don’t want sex scenes that don’t have any other purpose other than showing sex. There’s no reason for that. But lots of us do have sex, lots of us want to have sex as part of our emotional lives.

I have to read you a review from our Letterboxd community. Kristen writes, “You can’t have a Blur’s ‘Death of a Party’ needle drop followed by Pet Shop Boys’ ‘Always on My Mind’ and not expect me to cry.” How does music inform your writing and direction? With this one, hugely. It’s almost like a musical to me, this film. At one point, Claire’s character is even singing along to a Pet Shop Boys song. All of these songs were very, very integral, [and] most of them are there in the script stage. They’re chosen to have an emotional effect, and to comment on what’s happening: ‘Death of a Party’, for example, is a strange song to have in a club during that scene, but I remember being in that club back in the ’90s, and they did play it. But it somehow speaks to what’s happening in the film—this euphoria, but also a darkness that is overlapping.

The Pet Shop Boys song was very much in there from the [start]. I love this idea that a romantic ballad can also act as an apology from a mother to a son. I think that song weirdly defines that thing I’m trying to say, which is that parental love and romantic love are so wrapped up together. Our understanding of what we want romantically comes from how we experience love in a familial setting.

I want to talk about the club scene—in a lot of films this year, club scenes have provided such pivotal moments for characters. Can you talk about why you wanted to send your characters to an iconic queer venue, the Royal Vauxhall Tavern in London, and why that was an important turning point for Adam’s story? If you look at my own queer life, when I started feeling comfortable about things, I was going out clubbing a lot. In some weird sense, because time is very slippery in this film, their decision to go clubbing, which comes directly after Adam having that conversation with his dad, made sense to me. But the thing about clubbing and going out a lot, it is both incredibly euphoric—you’re in a collective place with other people like you—and there can be an edge to it that you can slip off. You can lose your moorings a little bit.

Queer clubbing is so fundamental to that community, and has been for a very, very long time, so I wanted to make sure there was a scene that felt like it was talking about both the highs and lows of what that can be. Plus, it’s a way for me—I don’t go out that much anymore—to go back and remember how I used to feel when I was out in those places.

You’ll have to have a UK opening party at the RVT. That’s what I thought! It’s definitely where there should be [one]—I spent a lot of the late ’90s in that place.'

[ingek73]

Harry and Meghan are right about racist Britain in their Netflix series

Readers on the uncomfortable truths exposed by the Duke and Duchess of Sussex’s Netflix series and media reactions to it

Tue 13 Dec 2022 17.41 GMT

A still from Harry & Meghan on Netflix.

I couldn’t agree more with Prince Harry’s comment in the Netflix documentary series Harry & Meghan that unlearning racism is a lifelong journey. As a 50-year-old provincial white man, I only hope I live long enough. Nels Abbey (A white lens sees Harry and Meghan as villains – through a Black one, they’ve done Britain a favour, 9 December) is right that Britain needs the catharsis of a serious discussion about racism and our colonial history.

Just as the US has yet to come to terms with the horrors of native American genocide and slavery, the UK has never addressed its role as a builder of the slave trade and brutal conqueror of a hundred or more nations. I love my country, but that love is tainted with the myth of a noble imperial history taught with equal enthusiasm by family, school and jingoistic media that reflect society only too well.

After the second world war, imperial Japan and Nazi Germany were all but erased from their nations’ iconography. It was expected that past atrocities were acknowledged, and a new identity of self-aware nationalism forged.

Perhaps it is no coincidence that Germany is the only European country to pay reparations to a former colony (though it insisted its €1.1bn agreement with Namibia was a gesture of reconciliation rather than reparations). They tore down the statues of their historical monsters. There will be no sensible discussion on race and colonialism as long as we still venerate ours.

Alex Brown

Muscat, Oman

• Nels Abbey is on point when he says that “as Britons of different ethnicities, we are often viewing the same events very differently”. Living as a black woman in Britain is like living in a parallel world to my white counterparts, who are oblivious to my experience. Watching the bigotry and racism towards Harry and Meghan play out in the media has been soul-destroying. The false narrative constructed by the media, and the relentless attacks on the couple to avoid the elephant in the room of media racism being the main factor in their departure from this country, are particularly vexing.

Harry and Meghan were wise to leave. For many people of colour silently enduring this country, leaving is an unrealised dream.

Name and address supplied

• I have been amazed by the vitriol directed at Harry and Meghan after the release of their Netflix series (TV review, 8 December). It is only when one looks under the surface that it starts to make sense. They have poked at the identity of Britain.

Traditionally, British people saw their country as a robust white democracy, with global influence and a beloved queen at the apex of society. But this myth unravelled for many people in 2022. Our democracy was exposed as flaky and, at the moment of greatest political instability, our queen of 70 years died. Underlying all this is that many people in Britain, including the royal family, don’t seem to have got their heads round the fact that we lost our empire long ago.

Britain has been changing for decades, and those in the establishment who have had most to lose attack the changes and cling to the past. For many, though, change is welcome. I believe most white British people now see black Britons as “us” not “them”, Brexit as a chauvinistic disaster, and doing something about climate change as more important than looking at yet more photos of the Sussexes.

Cath Potter

London

• I was saddened but not surprised when Harry and Meghan fled the UK. Vast swathes of our society follow our tabloid press in blind ignorance. They turned Meghan into a villain and the public, like sheep, followed. My family is multicultural, and I have seen my son tread warily around countless subtle racist comments, as well as overt abuse from strangers. In some areas, the UK’s multiculturalism is a source of great pride to me. But we still have a long way to go.

Michaela Harte

Bromley, London

• The backlash from rightwing politicians and media against Harry and Meghan’s documentary amply proves their point.

Kit Jackson

London