#the tragedy leaves me fucking gobsmacked

[sapphire-weapon]

Can you explain what you mean when you say that a lot of RE2's tragedies are a result of Leon's inexperience at the time? To me it just felt like my poor guy was just at the wrong place at the wrong time and non of it was in his control :(

So -- just to be clear, I specified RE2make for a reason in that post. RE2make made Leon far more culpable/liable in people's deaths than RE2 OG ever did. OG pretty much was wrong place/wrong time for the majority of things that happened to or around Leon, but RE2make was very different.

But as a disclaimer, I haven't played through RE2make myself since about 2020. I recently did a quick refresh of it by watching cutscenes on youtube, but that's not the same. So, as a result, this is hardly going to be a comprehensive list or explanation -- just things that I can think of off the top of my head right now.

Leon absolutely gets the manager of the gas station killed in the very, very beginning. He just stands there like a dipshit, not moving, not trying to help, while the dude is holding back a zombie -- and he becomes a complete and total distraction as a result, which gets the guy bitten. If Leon hadn't been there, or if he had actually idk HELPED in some way, that guy would've lived.

When Leon first arrives at the RPD and tries to save that one officer who's trying to crawl under a shutter away from zombies, Leon does what most normal people would do in that situation and tries to pull him to safety -- but that's what gets him killed. A more experienced Leon would've known to look under the shutter and shoot any zombies back there first before actually trying to put hands on the officer. We see him do things like this fairly frequently later in the series.

LEON IS THE SOLE REASON BEN BERTOLUCCI DIES IN RE2MAKE HOLY SHIT I COULD NOT BELIEVE THIS WHEN I SAW IT THE FIRST TIME LMAO In OG, Ben kind of just gets suckerpunched by Birkin through the wall and has a lil G-creature burst out of his chest Alien-style. In RE2make, there is a SIGNIFICANT WINDOW OF TIME in which both Ben and Leon hear Mr. X approaching, and Ben BEGS Leon to let him out of the cell, and Leon's actual fucking response is "I'd have to ask Chief Irons" because he's more concerned with following the rules than saving the life of a man who is CLEARLY a sitting duck about to be murdered.

Everything with Ada. Literally everything with Ada is because Leon's a fucking idiot who's Bad At Things in RE2make.

A more experienced Leon would've absolutely tried to save Annette Birkin, regardless of her involvement with Umbrella and the development of the G-virus -- because, at the end of the day, she's still a person. In OG, Annette is kind of an evil villain caricature, but RE2make humanized her a lot and turned her into a more tragic figure who's still sane and recognizes the horror of what's happened. But RE2make Leon is so completely fucking gobsmacked by the revelation that Ada was lying to him -- again, because he's a fucking idiot -- that he just leaves Annette not only to bleed out, but to throw herself more completely at her own death. This one's kind of iffy just because there was probably no way to save her even if he did try, but the fact that he was too emotionally stunned to do anything at all led her to a much worse fate than she probably would've had otherwise. She could have died with some dignity, as opposed to none at all.

And this is just off the top of my head. There's probably more. Like. Thank god Claire was there, because there's no way Sherry would've made it if it'd just been Leon on his own.

[magpiecaranthir]

Time travel fic but it's Aredhel getting dropped into the 3rd age instead of one of the Feanorions. So much drama and tragedy. Galadriel sends her a bottle of wine because she can't come to Imladris right now.

Listen. I have a vision. LISTEN. HEAR ME OUT. Aredhel getting spat out around esgaroth. Her hearing about the elves from some Bargeman.

She goes and suddenly stands in front of what has already started to become Mirkwood. Talk about uncanny valley. But there's already wardens who see her and maybe they dont recognise her but they offer to help her to "their lords halls" and THEN Thranduil or his wife recognise aredhel.

Bc eol had (I headcanon anyway) relatively good relations with the Laiquendi who lived in the east of Beleriand who fucked off before the War of wrath many of which settled in Mirkwood with their brethren.

Anyway thraduils wife is gobsmacked. Didnt aredhel die? What happened? She is all for telling Galadriel immediately and writes a letter. Thranduil doesnt want that bc he never really liked Galadriel in my headcanon.

By the time aredhel was able to leave (freely escorted but with many a "are you sure you want to leave?" From the queen) galadriel had already sent off someone to get aredhel the fuck to lothlorien.

[rogue-durin-16]

STICK TOGETHER

Summary: When Fred finds out Y/n is planning on leaving the Wizarding World, he canalizes his feelings in the worst way possible, which leads to a terrible outcome that seems unfixable.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Slytherin!Reader

Genre: angst

Tags:

Fred Weasley: @whiskeyn-rain @lumos-solemn

Permanent taglist: @elia-the-bibliophile @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa @just-here-to-escape-from-reality

Warnings: swearing

A/N: @meph1stophelian is here putting pressure on me to post this already so I'm apologizing for the poorly written ending lmaoo enjoy <3

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

"Fred, calm down." George begged me; he walked by my side, trying to talk some sense into me, but it was not the moment. "You gotta understand her— throwing a fit isn't going to help anyone—" I didn't even look in my twin's direction while he spoke. "Bloody hell, Fred—"

"Y/n!" I quickened my pace, leaving George behind after spotting her in one of the corridors, having a chat with a couple of Ravenclaws. "Can I have a word?"

"Sure— Oi!" I hadn't waited for her to reply before grabbing her hand and snatching her away to pull her into the nearest broom closet. "What was that about?"

"Tell me I heard Katie wrong and you're not actually leaving."

"I can't tell you that." She plainly responded, her voice steady.

A single, gobsmacked snide left my throat. "You're joking, right?" My heart ached as if it was being constricted when she shook her head no. "So you're fleeing?"

"What?"

"Things are getting ugly so you're running away."

Her eyes dug into mines as she stayed in a very uncomfortable silence before replying with. "So what if I am?" When I averted my eyes from hers, she called my name. Her eyes were somewhat softer now, with a gleam of plea in them. "For the last two years we had nothing but tragedy. Diggory died, You-Know-Who is back and recruiting, the ministry is full on going against a teenager, this pink colored nasty toad is physically abusing us, and on top of that, I have to put up with my housemates' bullshit for having muggle blood— I'm tired!" Her voice had raised a bit, enough for me to know she was struggling to keep it at bay, but still managed to. "If I can have a life out of this then—"

"You're a coward."

"Fred." there was a warning on her tone, but I couldn't listen.

"You're leaving... people behind," she attempted to reason; I didn't let her. "Dunno why I'm surprised, really. At the end of the day you're a Slytherin for a reason."

Her eyes started to well up, and I couldn't tell if it was with anguish or fury. I knew I was getting under her skin, but that was exactly what I intended to do; if I was going to leave that room scarred, so would she.

"Self-preservation, you call it." I scoffed, feeling my own rage building up faster each passing second. "Pure cowardy."

"Is that what you think?" Her tone wasn't steady anymore; she was holding back the poison of her words, for my sake.

"Yeah." I wasn't capable of doing the same thing for hers. "And I don't want your cheap excuses and emotional manipulation to convince me otherwise." My face was probably red due to the anger, my jaw and fists hurt from clenching them; I was off the rails, and the person who would usually stop me was standing in front of me. "Better leave now so you don't have the chance to sell us out when shit goes down."

Silence fell upon us, our gazes locked, equally watery and with the same amount of fury and sadness within them.

And finally she snapped. "Maybe I'm a coward, but you're a self-absorbed prat who's not able to see beyond your own ego!" The way she said it hurt me more than the sentence itself. "This is not gonna be a DADA class, Fred! I don't want to fucking die because I was too slow casting Protego."

"Good luck, Y/l/n." I curtly wished her before stalking out of the broom closet I have initially dragged her into.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

We avoided each other for a week. The following Monday, when I entered the Great Hall, I found George and Katie quite depressed.

"What's gotten into you?"

They shared a look before my brother turned to me, deciding to break the news himself.

"Y/n left last night." He gave me an apologetic look. "Thought she'd wait until the graduation—"

"But she's had enough." Katie finished, toying with her breakfast. "Honestly, I wish I had a life in the muggle world too."

My lungs were refusing to take the air inside; I felt as if I would choke if I stayed there, so I stormed out, jogging to reach the countryard.

I needed to breathe.

Even after the wind hit my face, that vital task felt like the most difficult thing in the world to accomplish.

I hate her I hate her I hate her I hate her.

A sob escaped my chest, realising the harsh words I had spat at her were probably the last ones she would ever hear from me.

I love her.

A Year And A Half Later

READER'S P. O. V.

I managed to apparate somewhere in the cornfield —the only place around the Burrow I remembered clearly.

I should have landed with a broom, but apparently, Mad-Eye didn't inform Lupin that I would serve as an extra escort for Harry if they were ambushed, so my broom was now smashed somewhere down the muggle road we had flown over.

Mentally cursing the damn moment in which I spoke to Shacklebolt in hopes of being useful in this war, I looked for the entrance of the Weasley home, which took me quite a while.

Funnily enough, it was Lupin who stepped out, wielding his wand and casting yet another hex at me that I somehow managed to block.

With a swift wave of my hand, he was propelled back into the house. "YOU!" A long-haired redhead I recognized as the eldest Weasley helped my old Professor up as I stalked to them with my wand up. "YOU HEXED MY BLOODY BROOM! I'M LUCKY TO BE ALIVE!"

"Y/n, calm down—" Shacklebolt was now besides me with his hands up. "He didn't know you were coming— he was trying to protect George from further harm."

My brain was slow to process his words, but as soon as it did, I started to down my arm. "What happened?"

"Snape hit him with the sectumsempra." My eyes widened at Lupin's heavy words.

"Did everyone else make it?" The three of them remained silent, the ginger shaking his head no.

My breath caught up in my throat, but before I could ask if Fred was alright, another tall ginger flashed the corner of my eye, and my head snapped to the living room's door.

FRED'S P. O. V.

Everyone was scattered around the house. Ginny took Hermione and Fleur to her room; Ron and Harry made its way up too; Tonks went out —she needed a moment alone to mourn Mad-Eye—, and, while my parents and I stayed with George, Lupin, Shacklebolt and Bill went to guard the entrance.

I was still kneeling by George's side, holding his hand while our mother healed his wound the best she could, when we heard a yell followed by a strong blow in the kitchen.

I looked at my mum and dad, my eyes flickering to my twin while I reached for my wand.

As I got up, more yells were heard, this time clearer; the voice was familiar— I knew that voice all too well.

There she stood, at the entrance of my home.

Her eyes met mines as soon as she caught a glimpse of me, and my head started to spin. I knew I had no right to do what I was about to do, but after that night's events, in which the war became very much real, I couldn't help but rush to her and engulf her in a tight hug.

Surprisingly enough, I couldn't take more than two steps forward, since she did what I intended to do first.

"You're alright." She mumbled against my shoulder. My eyes shut, trying to block the tears that threatened to fall. "How's he?" She inquired whilst pulling away with a concerned frown.

Not trusting my voice, I nodded in the living room's direction. A quiet sough escaped my lips as she passed by, her hands lingering on my arms for a brief instant before she entered the room and took careful steps towards the settee.

I barely caught a couple of words from George and Y/n's exchange, my mind still buzzing due to the shock.

"What do you say, Freddie?" I frowned at my twin, regretting not listening to the conversation. "She can take my bed, right? I'm not gonna get far anyway."

"Right." I agreed, struggling for my voice to come out steady. It was Y/n we were talking about; I had known her since our fourth year, I had been friends and more with her, seeing her shouldn't be that nerve-wracking.

A couple of minutes later, we were all heading to our respective rooms, and as I closed my room's door behind me and Y/n, it dawned on me that I had underestimated the anxiety that could cause me being left alone with her.

Get it together, Fred.

"If you want, you can grab a shirt from the drawer." I finally managed to speak, motioning at the chest besides the window. She nodded and turned to it to look for one she could sleep in.

Now that I had the opportunity, I carefully observed her, and soon realized how much she had changed in the time we were apart. Not only when it came to her physical appearance; she stood a bit straighter, talked a little calmer; the joy with which she used to sparkle was dim now, eclipsed by a severe, worried attitude— a sign of us no longer being the kids who messed around at Hogwarts.

"I missed you" I knew right away that wasn't the best start for the conversation.

"It sure didn't seem like it." The bitterness in her tone stung my heart harsher than I expected.

"You're still mad?" The way I was conducting the conversation was making me want to bang my head against the wall.

She sighed, turning around now that she had the shirt on to meet my gaze. "A year and a half, Fred. You didn't contact me for a year and a half. I thought we were friends."

"You left me behind!" I talked back, partly because I panicked, but also because I, to my surprise, was still mad too. "What did you even expect?"

"A letter?" She questioned, throwing herself down on the bed. "I mean— I didn't really expect anything, but a letter would have been a good way to let me know you didn't fucking hate me." My eyes, now fixed on my lap, went wide when Y/n's voice broke at her last three words.

"I'm sorry." I mumbled, quite ashamed of having to apologise while also being scared of saying anything that could harm her further. "I'm sorry about not writing and- uh... I'm sorry about what I said to you. I know it's not an excuse but I was really mad and..." I cleared my throat and felt the blush creeping up my neck even before I finished the sentence. "... and hurt 'cause you- I thought that maybe I wasn't important enough to you and- yeah, I'm sorry about what I said." I tried meeting her eyes but they were fixed on the wall before her.

"It's fine." She shrugged, "I guess you were right anyway."

"I wasn't right-"

"You were." She hugged her knees to her chest and hid her face there. "Wanna know why I'm back?" She didn't need my response. "They're hunting down my family." My heart stopped beating for a second due to the shockingly deadpanning tone. "A friend gave me a tip-off— they were tracking them down. I got to them just in time." I refrained myself from asking about them —the less I knew, the better. "So yeah, you're right, I was a coward and left people behind."

My body shot up and my legs carried me to George's bed; without me being fully aware of what I was doing or which consequences it could have, I sat down and pulled Y/n into my arms.

Though she was shocked at first, her body soon relaxed into the familiarity of my arms, and she let out a relieved sigh. "You're not alone on this." I whispered, pecking her crown. "I'm here, okay?"

"So you don't hate me?" She murmured against my chest.

Maybe it was the fragility of her voice, or the warmth of her embrace I missed so much; maybe it was this past year and a half of regret, or the night's events, but I couldn't hold back my words.

"I love you."

And even though she went stiff, even if I had just blurted them out almost in accident, I didn't regret saying them, because I, in fact, loved her.

She pulled away to look into my eyes. "You mean it?"

"Yeah." I replied, calmer than I had been in a while. "And I'm really sorry about everything, if I could turn back time—" words and air were cut off by her lips crashing against mines.

We had kissed before, but it was on a bet's behalf or to prank someone; this was different, this was her pouring her 'I love you' into actions, and I embrace it gladly.

"No more running away." I commanded when she pulled back. "From now on, we stick together." She nodded, her forehead resting against mine and her palms on my chest.

[juleswolverton-hyde]

Not by the Moon | 05

Genre: Smut, Romance, Strangers to Lovers, Drama, Tragedy, Werewolf AU, Supernatural AU, Bookshop AU

Pairing: Bookshop keeper!/Werewolf!JB x Reader

Warnings: A sprinkle of grumpy jealous werewolf!Jaebeom who gets a wee bit violent, tooth-rotting domestic fluff, werewolf courting, sexual tension, werewolf!Jaebeom acting like a pup, and poor yet adorable attempts at coming across as human.

Summary: Every story has a purpose or goal it is dedicated to, their authors at times going to great lengths to see the project they once started to completion. Nevertheless, the things the writers swore on to see their latest art piece to completion are static.

Unchanging.

None of them swore by the Moon nor Love because they can solely genuinely swear on all that changes like themselves.

And yet, a wolf in love foolishly swore by the moon.

That is when Time truly started ticking.

Author’s Note: This chapter is from Y/N’s POV. Bam and Jinyoung make a cameo.

Previous Chapter / Next chapter

Masterlist

Wonderful as a trip abroad might be, there’s nothing that can compare to the secret feeling of relief when returning home. No longer there is luggage to drag along, languages to swap between, or cultures to assimilate to. While it is in good fun, it’s also physically and mentally exhausting. Henceforth, coming home is like a cozy blanket to wrap around your shoulders by the fire on a cold November day. And once you’re bundled up, it is time to breathe easy and rest.

Although, home is not necessarily a place. In fact, mine has made good on his promise and puppy dreams, standing in the crowd to pick me up.

“Y/N,” a familiar voice calls out as we enter the hall of arrivals, “over here!”

Manes tucked away under a dark red beanie and wearing a simple black jacket over an oversized black shirt, Jaebeom waves to pull attention to himself.

“Who’s that?” Bam follows my gaze to the adorable tall man as we make our way through the crowd of trolleys, suitcases, hellos and goodbyes. “Is that the dude you’ve been texting and calling?”

“He is,” I whisper in reply as we approach him. With every step, the storm of butterflies in my stomach worsens although I feel light as air at the same time. Happiness in Love is a strange thing. 

“So that’s your boyfriend,” my colleague purrs. He sounds pleased in the way I imagine he’d sound if he was my older brother.

I whip my head around, tongue-tied but not enough to protest the assumption. “He’s not my boyfriend!”

Bam merely chuckles to himself, grinning like the Cheshire Cat as he continues. “Sure he isn’t, Y/N. After all, you’ve not been touching your lips and turning into a blushy mess afterwards. Or keeping those books you have with you close at all times, looking at them fondly.”

“Of course I am.” Jaebeom jumps into the conversation when we’ve reached him, acting as if he’s heard our conversation perfectly through the ruckus of the crowd. The sparkle in his eyes dims and turns into a poisonous glare when he notices the guy besides me. “Who are you?”

“JB, this is Kunpimook.’’ I gesture from one to the other, jaw clenched in the hope the wolf man won’t actively show the hostility harboured in his gaze. ‘’The colleague I told you about.”

“Just call me Bam.” Politely, he holds out his hand.

“Im Jaebeom,” the other man introduces himself, fortunately accepting the gesture howbeit with a strained expression. “Her boyfriend.”

“Hey, you must be Y/N.” Holding a tray with three coffee cups in it, a young man joins our company. 

Like Jaebeom, who has proudly proclaimed himself my boyfriend, he is tall, slender yet muscular in build and has black hair. Nevertheless, whereas Jaebeom has a flair of being unapproachable, the stranger has a boyish air around him that’s open for contact.

He moves the carrier from his right hand to his left for a handshake. “I’m Jinyoung.”

Immediately, bells start ringing at the mention of his name. After all, there hasn’t been a single call the past week wherein he wasn’t mentioned. “Jaebeom’s told me about you. You’re a professor at the university here, right?”

“I am,” he beams, his proud tone indicating how much he likes his job. “I teach Mythology. It’s a course that encompasses folklore around the world, so it’s fairly broad.”

“You teach only one course?”

“I do, but I’m also a doctor. Well, still studying to be one officially, but I’m allowed to work at the university’s clinic already.”

 “Wow.’’ A professor and a doctor. There’s little else I can say as a mere travel journalist, so I just try to remain casual despite being utterly gobsmacked. 

“I know, it’s a lot. Nevertheless, somehow I manage to do it and occasionally write an article.”

How does he do it? He’s likely not that much older than I, but he’s evidently busier than I am.

“Show-off.” The grumbled insult interferes with the friendly conversation. The focus of Jaebeom’s glare has changed targets from Bam to the professor. However, the latter doesn’t seem to notice his friend’s chagrin.

“I’m simply introducing myself, Jay. Here,” Jinyoung hands him one of the paper cups from the carrier, “your apple and cinnamon tea.”

“You drink tea now?” I raise an eyebrow, surprised. It sounds like a strange concept because I’ve never seen him drink anything but black coffee.

“Doctor’s orders,” JB murmurs in response, discontent and keeping a close eye on Bam as he nips the warm beverage.

“I’ve put him on tea, preferably green, to lower the caffeine levels in his blood. Otherwise, he’ll be staying up all night reading and trying to cook. Oh,” he reaches for something in his pocket, pulling out a small bottle like the one JB showed me in the park and handing it to his friend, “you forgot your meds.”

“You’re on medication?” Bam asks without any implications or judgment. The funny thing is, despite being extroverted and extravagant - extra, in general - he actually studied psychology and thought about becoming a psychiatrist for a while. Therefore, he has a general interest in medicine and its function of helping the human psyche.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Jaebeom sneers sarcastically, his voice closer to a growl than human speech. Then, he turns his attention to Jinyoung, who continues to hold his calm. “Why are you giving this to me now? Couldn’t you wait until we’re back? I’m not gonna take them in front of some stranger, especially not someone close to her. Besides, what does skipping one time or by a few hours matter?”

“Jay, don’t be like this,’’ the young professor sighs. ‘’You know how important timing is, especially with this new treatment.”

“You’re embarrassing me.”

“I’m not.”

“You are!”

A nudge against my shoulder distracts me from the fierce bickering, Bam lowly whispering he’s leaving for home as well as an apology for what he has unleashed. I answer in a similar fashion when promising to call him later and apologizing for putting him into this situation. He merely waves dismissively, unbothered, and disappears in the crowd of trolleys and journeying strangers.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough,” I intervene lest the situation gets out of hand. A hand on his chest, I try to distract Jaebeom by shifting his focus to me. “Let’s go search for somewhere quiet around here where it’s just us. It’s important to me too you take your meds.”

“Let’s just go home.” His features soften, compromising like I did that day in the bookshop and didn’t want to eat. “I’ll take them in the car, alright?”

“Why do you have to be cross with me about it when you readily accept to take them when Y/N tells you to?” Jinyoung crosses his arms in defiance, lips pulled into a displeased pout.

 “Because she’s my mate,” Jaebeom argues, sure to show his teeth. Withal, he turns into a gentle giant again once he wraps an arm around my waist and looks down at me with so much adoration I feel my cheeks burning up. “Girlfriend, I mean. We’re dating, so she’s my girlfriend.”

“We’ve only been out together once,” I sputter. It’s wonderful to hear the affirmation we’re an item, although I still think it’s a bit too early to claim we are.

“Twice after today. And we’ve kissed,” he corrects me, tone indicating there is no use in protesting. Nevertheless, the sternness wavers as it warms into merriment. “I got you something. I’ll give it to you once we’re home.”

Jinyoung leans in as we head to the exit, whispering. “He went kinda overboard.”

“I didn’t,” Jaebeom growls. “Stop embarrassing me. Know your fucking place.”

“Boys,” I sigh in warning.

Both lower their head and let out a whimper in apology. “Sorry.”

“This is where you live?” Jinyoung parks the car in front of the tall white brick building overlooking the quay at the edge of town.

“Wow...” Jaebeom murmurs in the passenger seat, awed by the fact I live on the east side of town. It’s a recently redeveloped area, the warehouses refurbished into apartment complexes to help combat the growing housing issue.

“I do. Not for much longer, though.”

Both men turn in their seats, looking at me as if I’m insane.

 “You’re moving out?” The professor asks, although it’s more of an exclamation than a question. “Why would you leave this place? It’s one of the most desired places to live within the city.”

However, JB doesn’t care about the reason which makes me want to leave the neighbourhood behind. Instead, he’s anxious to know where to find me. “Where will you go?”

“Do you know those orchards on the outskirts of town? With the old cottages?” Both nod as confirmation. “Well, that’s where I’ll be moving to. I’ve been meaning to get out of the city for a while. Granted, the harbour district isn’t as busy as the city centre. But, despite being only twenty-two, I crave the silence of the countryside. Or, rather, its tranquility which I can also find in the suburbs.”

“You’re twenty-two?” Jaebeom asks, head tilted to the side.

 “I am,’’ I admit as I pull my knees up to make myself as small as possible. ‘’I never mentioned it because I didn’t think it’d matter. Does it, though?”

My voice is hardly audible, a frog stuck in my throat. Why did I have to be the one to bring this up?

“No, not at all! I still like you. A lot. A lot, a lot. But, I’m older than you. Quite a bit, I think.”

“How old?” The question barely rolls off the tongue, pale with dread.

Please, don’t let there be too big of an age gap.

“I’m twenty...” He looks at Jinyoung, brow furrowed.

“Twenty-eight,” the good doctor whispers, unconscious of the fact that the well-meant reminder is loud enough for me to hear.

“Twenty-eight,” Jaebeom confirms, staring back at me in anticipation. “Six years difference. Does it matter? To you, I mean. In how you see me?”

“It doesn’t. Do you see me differently?”

“I never did.”

“Age is only a number, after all,” the professor pitches in to cheer us up further. “Anyway, I’m dropping you off here.”

“Can’t you stay?” Surely I can’t let him leave without at least thanking him with a cup of coffee or tea.

“I’d love to, but- Don’t you snarl at me.” He points an accusing finger at JB, who’s showing his teeth and lowly growling like he did at the airport.

Caught red-handed, the wolfish man feigns ignorance and stares out the window. However, his sulky expression and scoff betray his true feelings.

“As I was saying,” Jinyoung continues after an exasperated sigh, “I’d love to, but I get to attend an interesting transplant operation today and have a bit of research to do for a new article.”

“That’s a shame. I owe you a cup of coffee, then. That’s the least I can do to repay you for driving me home.”

“I’ll make good on that promise soon. But for now, go on, you two.” He motions for us to get out of the car. “Don’t make it awkward by making me the third wheel.”

“Jinyoung.” Hesitantly, the big wolf man holds up his fist.

“No hard feelings.” He bumps his fist against JB’s.

“Good.” The seat belt comes undone, but Jaebeom doesn’t move to step outside yet. Instead, he leans in towards Jinyoung and takes a whiff, squinting as invisible question marks float in the air. “You smell weird, though.”

“Really?” The other man sniffs the collar of his jacket, shrugging casually in jest. “It’s not that bad.”

“Jinyoung.” Despite still looking a bit pale with remorse, the wolf man says the professor’s name harshly, his voice deep as he chastises the turn to humour. He grows still, gaze focused on his friend as he tries to look for what’s unspoken in the other’s body language.

However, there is nothing to see. Although, if there actually is something off, the professor hides it well. But Jaebeom doesn’t get the chance to scrutinize him long enough to see for himself because Jinyoung turns back to the wheel and waves dismissively. “I’m alright, Jae. Go. Have fun with your girlfriend.”

His friend nods, a strained look on his face, and opens the door. I follow behind, having silently observed the conversation from the backseat.

What’re you worried about? Jinyoung looks fine. Nothing wrong with him whatsoever.

Nevertheless, barely have we opened the trunk when the doctor hangs out the window. “And don’t forget your present!”

“Got it right here.” In confirmation, Jaebeom holds up a neat-looking paper bag, chique enough to originally have been used in a boutique.

“That’s my boy,” he chuckles before he resumes his seat.

With a dull thud, Jaebeom closes the trunk again. 

The engine roars to life and the car pulls out of the parking lot, Jinyoung honking a few times as we see him off.

I look from Jaebeom to the bag, leaning in to try and sneak a peek of its contents. “What did you get me?”

You promised me a shirt, but do you really need this big of a bag for one?

“I’m not telling you,” he muses.

I straighten my posture, a smile building as a golden opportunity presents itself. “Aw, what’s in the box?”

“Box? Y/N, it’s a bag.”

“I know, but- Never mind.” I wave the apparently obscure allusion with a dismissive gesture, disappointed he doesn’t get the reference. “Let’s go inside.”

“Are you upset?” he asks as we walk to the entrance of the building.

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Another reassuring question burns on his tongue, but before he can ask it I stand on the tips of my toes to peck him on the lips and nose. “I’m not going to get upset simply because you didn’t understand me. Besides, it’s just a trivial matter. Come on, let’s go. I’m hungry.” 

Though I failed the first time, I again try to get a better look at the mysterious bag. As before, the attempt is in vain. “And curious.”

“I think you’ll like it. In fact,” his lips pull into a smug smirk, “I’m fairly sure you’ll look pretty in it. More pretty than you do now.”

It’s prettier.

I let the mistake slide.

To let him have his little moment of triumph.

There is no place like home. Truly, not a single hotel room or bed and breakfast in the world can substitute the small studio with its minimalistic interior in shades of white and grey.

I breathe in deeply, glad to stand in the familiar narrow hallway leading to the kitchen and space beyond. A faint musty smell cuts through the fragrance of the Nordic leather diffuser sticks I bought before going to Belgium.

Guess I’ll be cleaning tomorrow.

Luckily, it’s been only a few days so the level of dust isn’t too bad. Notwithstanding, the place could do with a little clean-up.

“Well, this is me.”

“I know,” Jaebeom replies sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck with his eyes on me.

“No, I mean, this,” I gesture around as I walk into the apartment, “is my place. My house.”

He murmurs something under his breath, seemingly contrasting two words as he tries to understand them or, rather, the difference between them.

“It’s nice,” he remarks when he has figured out his train of thought, looking around appreciatively.

“The cottage will be nicer, I think. I can’t wait to decorate it, make it cozier than this place. Maybe get some plants, hang up a few photos-’’

“A few of us together, maybe?” He proposes as he, too, takes his shoes off and follows me into the living room.

“For example.” I nod at the bag when we settle down on the couch next to the window overlooking the quay. “Can I open my present now?”

“Say ‘please’.” Arms crossed, he leans in so our faces are mere inches away from each other. His breath ghosts warmly over my lips when he continues in a tender yet playful babying tone. “Life is short, but there is always time for courtesy. Manners, young lady.”

“Can I open my present, please?” Regardless of the chance to finally satisfy my curiosity, I don’t dive into the gift directly. Instead, I stay my hand, bothered by a nagging feeling his words are familiar to me. “What you just said, isn’t that a quote?”

“It is, but,’’ Jaebeom bites his lip, eyes averted to the ground, ‘’to be honest, I can’t remember who said it.”

Funny, how you can remember quotes. Maybe that’s how we can communicate in the future if your condition gets worse. Although, let’s hope that’s not the case for a long time.

“Ralph…’’ I start, trying to recall who originally said it. ‘’Ralph Waldo? No, that’s not right. He went by his middle name. Wait, his middle name was Ralph so it was him.”

“Have you read his work?”

“Honestly speaking, I haven’t. However, I have a friend who studies American literature and poetry and she sends poems, quotes and the occasional snippet. I think I’ve seen him in passing. Anyways,’’ I pull the bag onto my lap, giddy as a child in a candy shop, ‘’let’s see what’s inside.”

The present catches me off-guard because the bundles of clothing are both what I expected and yet not. “You...” I trail off, checking and double checking the amount of shirts. “Seven?”

“One for every day of the week,” he beams, proudly barking his reasoning.

These will last me two weeks if not longer. Minimalism isn’t his thing, is it?

I pull out a big grey hoodie and hold it up to my nose to sniff it. A wild forest of which the air is faintly scented by a cologne with fruity undertones and the musty smell of books. I hum contently, enraptured by the scent. By him. 

From the corner of my eye, I see Jaebeom grinning in unadulterated amusement. Albeit not without effort, I lower the article of clothing. “I know this is likely stupid to ask, but eventually they’ll have to be washed so what if your scent fades?”

“I’ll just scent them again.’’ He shrugs casually before he points inside the bag. ‘’Also, what’s in the little box on the bottom might help with that too.”

In my astonishment, I missed the cardboard square at the bottom which turns out to be the packaging for a bottle of cologne. “You can spray it on. Sure, it’s not really purely my scent but hopefully it’s still rem- remi- a reminder of me.”

You meant reminiscent, didn’t you?

“Or I can go to you and have you scent them,” I joke, only half-serious.

“If that means more time together,” his mismatched eyes sparkling with gleeful stars, “sure, why not? I’d be glad to help.”

“Thank you.’’ Absentmindedly, I fidget with the folds of the hoodie. ‘’I really like it.”

Jaebeom ruffles my hair, letting out a chuff. “You’re welcome. Now, why don’t you just sit tight and I’ll make us something to eat?”

“Don’t set my kitchen aflame, though,” I warn him as the wolf man gets up from the couch.

“I won’t,” he answers smugly before leaning in to steal a kiss. “I promise.”

With a spring in his step, JB sets off for the kitchen with the bag of groceries he pulled from Jinyoung’s trunk. The two must have dropped by the supermarket before coming to pick me up.

A pillow propped up against the armrest and the blanket formerly draped over the couch now covering my shoulders, I lie down for a nap.

As consciousness fades, a warm affectionate wolfish smile pierces through the growing haze. Jaebeom murmurs something unintelligible and turns his gaze back to the chopping board.

I am home.

Dreaming of two little pups running around an orchard.

“Dinner’s ready!” The loud remark barely filters in until it’s repeated up close, the merry bark lowered in volume. A hand shakes my shoulder, but what does the trick in waking me up is the warm wetness nibbling away at my ear. However, it doesn’t stay there, but travels down the side of my neck and ends its journey at the hem of my shirt, giving it a gentle yet fierce tug.

“Y/N, come on. Get up,” JB whines, the words distorted thanks to keeping the fabric firmly between his teeth. He tugs at it again.

What on earth?

I turn onto my other side, causing the big wolf man to let go. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to get you to eat.” He makes himself smaller, gaze briefly averted to the side before looking at me again, continuing in the same tender yet stern tone he uses whenever food is involved. “With me. This is my first time cooking for you and I practiced really hard while you were away. So, please, eat with me. I want to know whether I did a good job.”

“Do you have to drag me by the collar for that?” I reach out to scratch him behind his ear, tracing his jaw as my fingers work upwards.

Jaebeom’s eyes mist over, his expression turning dreamy as he leans into the touch. “Want- Don’t know… know how to- Come to… kitchen. Although, maybe, just...”

“Feels good?”

A hasty sheepish smile flashes on his lips as he nods in agreement, eyes closed and speechless.

You really are a wolf. Weirdo. My weirdo.

A whine slips out when I stop. JB slowly opens his eyes again, blinks a few times before he clears his throat. “Can we do that again? After dinner, maybe?”

 “If I liked what you made, sure. However,” I kiss his forehead, “since you asked so nicely, we can do this again after we’ve eaten. So, will you eat with me?”

Will you stay with me?

“What’s wrong?” Picking up on the worrying thought, he tilts his head to the side and scrutinizes my face as he did Jinyoung’s earlier today.

“Nothing.” I shake my head, dismissing the thought since we’ve already said everything there is to say about it. “Just a silly thought.”

His expression falters. “I’m being over- overbear- too much.”

“No, not at all! Don’t say that, silly.”

Jaebeom nudges my nose with his, his tone sweet in an attempt to make me confess what’s bothering me. “Then what is it?”

“I’ve never done this before,” I admit at last. “No one’s ever cooked for me aside from my mom and grandmother or had a guy proudly proclaim himself as my boyfriend. This is simply new to me so it makes me feel, well, a bit awkward. It’s unreal, like a dream that might go up in smoke any second. That’s maybe a better way to put it.”

“I’m really here. Also, remember what you promised me? You’d stay by my side until you can’t anymore and I promised you the same. I’m a wolf, after all. Loyal to my pack or, rather, my- uh- my bi- no, that’s wrong. My lady,” he grabs my hand and lifts the fingers to his lips for a chaste kiss, “I am your gentleman and I won’t go anywhere without telling you first. And, if possible, I’ll take you with me because I refuse to leave you behind. But for now, let’s go eat. Together. I’ll try not to make a mess.”

Don’t cry, Y/N. Don’t you tear up right in front of him.

I take in a shivering breath, swallow hard, and try to regain composure.

We’re here together and wherever it is we’re going next, we’ll be there as we are now.

Side by side.

Even though I’m hungry and the table is literally three steps away, I groan as I get up from the couch. Travelling takes its toll, no matter how short the distance might be. All the same, I shuffle towards the chair facing the kitchen and plop down on it, watching JB plate up. “What are we having?”

“Steak with blanched vegetables and sweet potato mash,” he proudly announces while serving the food.

“Uhm, that’s very nice. However- it’s alright if you don’t remember, but I’m vegetarian.”

“I remembered.” A bright smile forms on his lips, eyes alight with triumph and joy. “That’s why your steak is soy-based. I found it while doing groceries or, rather, Jinyoung pointed it out. He’s been teaching me how to cook and bake. Well, we’re still working on the latter, but I did bring homemade cheesecake for dessert. I still wonder why they call it cheesecake when what’s going in it isn’t really cheese.”

“Beats me too.”

“You got slapped by cream cheese?” Visibly gobsmacked, he leans in with an expression that holds the middle between curiosity and utter confusion. “How did that happen and was it painful?”

“I mean I don’t understand either,” I reply, shaking my head with a low chuckle, and cut into the steak. As the knife sinks into it, a rosy fluid oozes out of it as if it’s been cooked medium-raw which is exactly how I liked it back in my non-vegetarian days. “But baking hasn’t been a success?”

Jaebeom sits back, shoulders hunched as he pokes the carrot on his plate with his fork. “I burned a cake, pulled it from the oven as black as charcoal. Then there’s the case of the exploded soufflés and marble cake that turned out to have no marbling at all. Not to speak of the melted... what’re they called again? There’s also a song that’s got to do with them. Jinyoung sings it a lot. Rocky road! Melted rocky roads and millionaire’s breads.”

“Maybe stick to cooking instead of baking. Not everyone has a knack for both.”

He sighs in defeat. “Maybe I should, but I’ll still try to make you something every once in a while that’s actually good.”

“As long as you don’t blow up one of our kitchens.” I include my kitchen as well because the mere thought of baking together spreads a rosy flush throughout my body that leaves me warm with affection. Besides, it’s another excuse to see him wear an apron, maybe pull some shenanigans myself and have something to eat with a cup of tea or coffee and a good book.

That would make for a nice date. We should do that soon.

“I’ll try.” He holds out his pinky. “Promise.”

The adorable genuineness of the determined gesture is what drives me to seal the promise by wrapping my pinky around his. “I’ll hold you to it.”

While eating the simple yet well-made dinner, the conversation is about novels, the shop, Jinyoung’s cooking lessons and the weary stories of how Kunpimook and I crossed Bruges in search of the best chocolate. Jaebeom hasn’t done much in the time I was away it seems. The bookshop’s been quiet, so he’s had plenty of time to read and work on his cooking. Nevertheless, his expression turns dreamy when I show him the pictures from the trip, but right beneath the surface of it floats a form of sad longing which is too unclear to be certain of or to be properly described.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m glad you got to see this,” he murmurs as he takes my phone from my hand to leave through the collection again. “I’m kinda jealous, though. It’s been so long since I went somewhere other than here. I’m not sure if I’ve ever been somewhere else.”

Brows furrowed, he tries to remember the last time he travelled. Withal, he comes up short, the melancholy of missing memories staining his voice. “I’ve been nowhere except here. Chained.”

“This place clearly is your home, that’s why it’s keeping you here. It knows you belong here and I’m glad you’ve remained.”

He lets out a breathless laugh which oddly holds the middle between a growl and a giggle. “I’m happy you showed up at my doorstep, then. But, the cottage you’ll be moving to... it’d- it’d be nice if I could make that my home too.’’ His cheeks grow pink like rose petals. ‘’Well, maybe not literally, but it would be nice if it would become our little somewhere.”

“Our little somewhere,” I repeat, charmed by the sound of it.

“Our home. Well, concretely speaking. Abstractly, and most importantly, you are my home.’’ He gets up to move to my side, where he crouches at my feet. Foreheads rested against each other, he easily nips at my nose and nuzzles it affectionately with his. ‘’You are what breaks the silence, makes me able to hope for better days.”

“The same goes for you because even though you sometimes still intimidate and freak me out a little bit, you make my days more interesting than they have been in years. So, thank you. For being here, spending your time in my company.”

“Thank you for the same reasons. Now,” JB leans away to get up and starts to clear the dishes, “how about dessert?”

Before either of us is aware of it, the clock on the wall notes it’s already ten past eight when we finish off the homemade cheesecake. Naturally, partially to also do my fair share, I stand up from my chair before the big wolf man does in an attempt to clear the table and do the dishes. However, when I’m about to walk to the kitchen with them, Jaebeom unapologetically takes them from my hands.

“What’re-? JB, you don’t have to do everything! Let me at least do the dishes.” Flattered yet a tad annoyed by the kindness, and poorly conveying my appreciation, I protest in a harsher tone than I intended to use.

Fortunately, though also a bit comically, he remains unperturbed. Notwithstanding, an unyielding sternness underlines his voice when he responds. “You’ve had a long journey, so sit down and relax. I’ll be right with you after cleaning up.”

Henceforth, unable to protest and rendered comatose by the delicious food, I plop down on the couch. Nestled into the corner, I have a proper view of the man who’s claimed my kitchen for himself.

Although it’s an intrusion to a certain degree, it’s quite soothing to watch Jaebeom defy classic gender roles. Contently humming a song and barely shy of skipping, he cleans up the mess with a tea towel tucked into the side of his pants. 

When he’s done, he hangs the tea towel over the stove’s handle, washes his hands, and settles down next to me. On a whim, though it’s maybe because of instinct, I get up from my little corner and nestle against him. He wraps an arm around my shoulder, pulling me closer as I drape my leg over his thigh to get into a more comfortable position.

Situated snugly in his safe presence, I close my eyes and sigh in pure content. “Can you stay here tonight?”

“Are you sure? Don’t you want to be alone and rest?” he murmurs into my hair.

“I can recharge with you. Besides, you’re nice and warm.” I snuggle up to him more, basking in the mixture of wild wood and cologne. “A perfect pillow.”

He pulls me on his lap, wraps his arms around my body and pulls me flush against his chest, which feels sculpted but not hard with muscle. Abs are nice and all, but I prefer the softness of a defined though not hardened chest. 

“If it brings you rest,” he curls his finger under my chin and lifts it, compelling me to look at him, “I’ll stay.”

I run my fingers along his jaw and up to his ear, immediately reducing him to the puppy-like state he tends to get into apparently when being touched like this. “Thank you.”

“My pl- pleasure.” What would have been a normal response is lost in a growl when I accidentally brush against his crotch as I shift my weight and sit up a little.

His eyes snap open, the hazelnut brown and ocean blue irises darkened, devoid of any sense of their former satisfied tenderness. With his thumb he traces the outline of my lips, lowly purring. “Pretty.”

“Jaebeom,” I place my hands on his shoulders, maintaining a bit of distance between us. We shouldn’t rush this, but the sensation of his growing bulge against my thigh, throbbing against the inside of it, convolutes every thought. Somehow, his scent seems to have gotten stronger too, overwhelming me with the same clear message the firm grip on my hips has. 

I don’t push him back as he leans in, bridging the emptiness I initiated. Foreheads rested against each other and his calloused hands on my cheeks, he guesses what’s essentially withholding me. “Scared?”

“A bit,” I whimper against his palm, the words muffled by the rough warm skin.

“It’s me, Y/N. I won’t hurt you.” Feverish yet sweetly with persuasive conviction, he kisses me. “I’m your gentleman, your boyfriend.”

“I’m afraid it’ll hurt. That we’re going too fast.”

“We’re not. I want this. I want more of you. With you. But,’’ lips pulled into a straight line, he clears his throat while looking as if he is restraining a wild beast that can easily get the better of him if he lets go, ‘’I’ll leave it up to you.”

So, what you’re asking is… 

Jaebeom takes a deep breath to regain his composure, though it has little effect. His breathing remains heavy, close to panting. Nevertheless, the gentle stars return to his eyes as the strained expression softens. “Will you have me?”

[giant-sketches]

Hello everyone! I’m sorry it’s been so long since I’ve gotten any writing done, but I’m back with a brand new chapter for you all. I think I have a pretty good ending planned for this story so from this point on it won’t be open ended anymore. 

I have another story I’m working on as well to replace Guardian Naga that I hope to have the first chapter up of soon-ish. Quarantine has been tough and I’ve not been feeling the greatest. Still it’s nice to be back at it with my fanfics and I hope you all like the new chapter.

This leaves off two chapters ago when Virgil finally got to meet Thomas. You can find all my works here.  Please feel free to ask me questions or comment on how you liked it. :3 Disclaimer: Swearing/Cursing/Violence/Paranoia/Memory Loss

What was happening? Suddenly, Virgil’s mind was filled with memories of a past he had forgotten. A past of a full family living together in the Light Side of the mindscape. His head hurt as he slumped over in Thomas’s arms.

“Woah hey there. Take your time, I think we all are feeling rather confused right now.”

Thomas looked to the others who were holding their heads. It looked like they were all having a massive migraine.

“What is this? These memories...are they real?” Roman was in disbelief.

“No please stop!” Patton cried out. Whatever he was remembering seemed to be painful.

“How could we have forgotten? Is this another side-effect of destabilization? How cruel.” Logan mumbled.

Virgil stood up, gripping onto Thomas’s shoulder for support. “Guys, are you all okay?” It’s like they were all having a mind blast! It was going to take a second for the dizzy spell to disappear.

“I don’t know, this is all so confusing!” Roman shuffled over to grab Virgil’s hand. “Still to think we could ever forget you. I’m so sorry Virgil.”

Logan followed suit, except for the hand part. “Indeed, I am also sorry Virgil. This current situation is unprecedented! A complete wipe of someone's existence from the mindscape...it’s too much to fathom.”

Patton remained as the others looked to him. He was bawling as he continued to wipe away his tears in a losing battle. “I can’t! This is...this is too much. It’s all my fault Virgil! How could I ever apologize enough to you over what I’ve done?”

“Patton...it’s o-”

“IT’S NOT! It’s n-not okay Virgil. I-I-I caused you to destabilize!”

This was the shocking truth. Sides didn’t destabilize by nature and they didn’t do it to themselves. Destabilizing always required a catalyst and for Virgil, that had been Patton.

Many years ago in the mindscape Virgil was known as Curiosity. He was naive and full of questions. He had no sense of danger and this had led to a tragedy no one would remember. The aftermath is the story of his own destabilizing.

------- Many Years Ago in the Mindscape:

Months...it had been months since Janus was erased from the others minds. Yet, for some reason I remember him. How he was like a big brother to me and would always keep me safe. How did this happen? Was it my fault, or was it them who made him disappear? Virgil felt like he was losing his mind as his doubts grew day-by-day.

“Hey kiddo! How are you doing?” Suddenly, Patton snuck his way into the sulking sides room with a fresh batch of cookies.

“Fine I guess...I’d be a lot better if you told me where Janus went to though.” Virgil pleaded with his eyes as he stared at Patton. If he could trust anyone it should be Morality right?

“Oh no. Did you lose your imaginary frien-”

“HE’S NOT IMAGINARY!!!”

Virgil shoved Patton up against the wall with a loud thud. His strength was unreal, the innocent cookies fell to the ground in horror. “Woah! Woah! Virgil I’m sorry. I-I didn’t mean to upset you. Please you need to calm down.”

“NO! What I need is big brother Janus!!! Where is he? WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM!?” Virgil came in fast for another go, but Patton dodged as he scrambled to the door. “I’m sorry.”

Patton let out a sorrowful apology as he fled from the room to find the others.

“Patton! What happened to you?” Virgil’s shouting and that large thud had alerted the entire household so some kind of trouble.

“Ah Roman...I-I don’t know what to do.” He began crying into his stock friend’s chest. “I want to help, but I have no idea who this Janus person Virgil keeps going on about is. What do I do?”

“Oh gosh Pat, it’s going to be okay. We can work together to figure this out.”

“Y-yeah you’re right let’s go find Logan and come up with a plan.”

Roman smiled as he held his friend's hand tightly. Hastily, they walked down the hallway until they reached Logan’s office. “Hey it’s Pat and I.” A quick knock and then they entered. “Bro!”

“Ah Remus? Why are you here?”

“I thought it best to have all of us here to discuss this current issue with Curiosity.”

Guess that made sense. Still it was hard for Roman to be near his impulsive brother. His thoughts were always too intense. Yet, he seemed quite calm for the moment; at least Roman could breathe easy for the time being. The group took their spots around the desk to begin formulating their plan. “So...what exactly is happening with Virgil?”

“Well, we have a theory.”

“We? You don’t mean you and Remus do you Lo?”

“I do actually.” Logan eyed the creative twin while adjusting his glasses. “The both of us believe Virgil is undergoing a mental change based on Thomas’s growth. Yet, it’s putting a strain on his mind...thus he is mixing up fantasy with reality.”

“Really? You think Curiosity is having some kind of meltdown?”

“Well brother, you and I both know first hand how intense mental changes can be on us sides.” Remus smirked, twirling his mustache.

True, the twins were definitely the prime example of how extreme these changes could be. However, this had been going on for months. When Roman and Remus split it only took a few seconds. Why was this situation so different? Because it was Virgil or because it was only one side being affected?

While Roman was lost in thought Patton spoke up, “If that’s true then we need to be there for him. He’s obviously confused and pained by thoughts he’s not able to control.”

“Agreed. I’d like to have you be led on Virgil’s treatment until this passes. If you need anything the rest of us will support you Patton.”

“Thanks Lo!”

With that their plan was set into motion...the only problem being that they had no idea what was really going on. Lurking inside the darkened room was a side falling into madness by his fragmented memories of a now forgotten family member. “Liars. They are all liars.”

Two weeks went by with Virgil sinking further and further into his paranoid thoughts. He spent most of his time in his room and avoided contact with the other sides at all cost. Annoyingly, Patton always came to his door in the morning, afternoon, and evening to talk with him from the hallway.

“He’s a deceiver. You can’t trust them or anyone. They lie, all they do is lie.” Virgil only let out hushed mumbling to Pat’s meaningless chatter. “Think you could come to dinner tonight? We miss you a whole bunch kiddo!”

Same kind words. “Will Janus be there?” Same old question.

“...no. Virgil please, this Janus person isn’t real. You’re just confused kiddo, but that’s okay. I’ll always be here for you, we’re family after-all.”

Liar! Deceiver! Fake! All of them were just a bunch of snakes trying to lure him out in order to suffocate his mind with false ideas. No more. No more. NO MORE!!!

*CRASH*

“What in the world?!” Suddenly a loud crashing sound came from behind the door. “What was that?”

“Roman! I-I don’t know. I was just in the hallway when this loud noise came from behind that locked door.”

“Stand back!”

Quickly moving aside Roman proceeded to slice the lock with his trusty katana and kick down the door. Yet, nothing could prepare the sides for what they saw next. A tall, looming shadow inching higher and higher into the air until two large purple hued eyes stared down at them.

“Oh my…”

“I-it’s a giant! We need to get the others, we’re under attack!”

Snatching Patton’s hand, the two booked it to the dinning hall and alerted the others to the current situation. Mysteriously though, once the group returned the giant was nowhere to be seen and another family member was erased from their memories’.

------- Back to Current Time:

Slowly, Virgil made his way to his crying friend and shifted to a size where he could easily pick him up.

“Hey there Pop-star. You don’t need to cry so much on my account.”

Patton chuckled a bit at the pun as he looked up to Virgil with a lingering expression of pain and sorrow. “I-I’m so sorry I didn’t believe you. That I wasn’t there for you like I should have been.”

The baby sized side raised a hand up to caress his long lost friend's face. “You couldn’t have known Pat and besides it’s in the past now. I’m just glad that you remember now...you do remember right?”

“Yeah, I think? Like I remember you, but Janus...he’s still kind of fuzzy. I remember him interacting with you, but still nothing on my own relationship with him. Sorry.”

“No, no it’s okay. What you’ve said is enough.”

“While that may be true I’d like to know more about this strange phenomenon. Why do we forget...why do you forget?” Logan came over. He needed answers, they all did. “I mean not even Thomas himself was aware of this!”

“Now that I’ve remembered everything I hope I can answer all your questions.” Virgil set Patton down and shifted downwards. “To start, when you destabilize your mind and the entire mindscape goes into shock.”

“Shock?”

“Y-yeah. In order to fight against the trauma the mind r-represses Thomas’s mind and our minds as well. That’s how it affects all of us. I forget about you all and you forget about me in order for the mindscape to stay balanced. It also works to stabilize my body as it expands.”

Everyone was gobsmacked at this information. “Wh-what do you mean by stabilizing your body?”

Virgil looked to his family with saddened eyes. “As you expand...cracks appear. The repression helps stop the already unstable core from....shattering.”

“Fuck. That’s so messed up.” Roman held himself, pained by what he was learning.

“So either you forget about who you are and about all your loved ones or you break?” This was all so heartbreaking as Patton made his way to Roman for comfort.

“Mhm…” Silence. Virgil didn’t really know what else to say at the moment. Honestly there was nothing more to say. This was the cold, hard truth and yet there were two blaring problems. “Remus...what about my brother? H-he remembers! How!?”

“Yeah what about Remus and Janus too? You were able to restabilize so can’t the two of them as well?” Was there any hope for the others who were afflicted? Virgil appeared uneasy at the notion, but tried to stay level headed.

“I-I’m not sure. The thing is that we shift in size to minimize the damage to our cracked bodies. Even though growing causes cracking, the cracks are smaller in comparison...so tha-”

“That means the bigger you are the more cracks you have.” Finally Thomas spoke up with a serious expression plastered on his face.

“Is that why Remus is different, because he’s the biggest?” Virgil nodded.

“The way we destabilize has an effect on it too. I destabilized because I felt betrayed and alone so forgetting definitely helped to lower my anxieties. Remus on the other hand destabilized because he wanted his brother back. I think because of those strong feelings he remembered at least you Roman. Yet, that discrepancy in his mind caused him to crack even more than I or Janus.”

“And because of that we remembered him as well.”

“Though, I forgot because the effect was only on you guys and not me overall.”

“So it’s my fault my brother ended up like that.”

Virgil winced and quickly embraced Roman in his arms. Princey’s eyes widened by the sudden show of affection by the usually shy side. Still he wrapped his arms around his friend's warm body and internally thanked him for the hug.

“Roman you can’t blame yourself. You didn’t know, none of you did!” Ro nodded, pulling Virgil back to look him in the face with a brand new resolve.

“Right! Then we have to make up for our ignorance and save them both!” His eye’s sparkling.

“That’s the spirit kiddo!” A rescue operation huh? Guess it was only fitting with this bunch of action heroes.

It was time for a plan, a real plan now that everyone had the necessary information. Finally the truth was revealed, the cruel reality of it all lay before them. Although, who were they going to go after first?

To be continued.

@crystalk17​ @paranoidgurl​ @gentlegiantdreamer​ @suckedinfandoms​ @craz-ewaters​ @rainbowbowtie​ @pattonvirglsanders​ @enby-phoenix​ @sanders-sides-virgil​ @just-some-gt-trash​ @notkolaidoscop​ @bluegreeninbtwn​ @lgbtqiaemo​ @avenirunknown​ @ncanspeak​ @maryann-draws​ @himeperson @perfectly-princely-emo-nightmare​ @daydreamburritoworld​ @im-a-creepy-cookie​

[the-desolated-quill]

BBC’s The War Of The Worlds blog - Episode 2

(SPOILER WARNING: The following is an in-depth critical analysis. If you haven’t seen this episode yet, you may want to before reading this review)

Never before have I witnessed something this god awful. I’m actually gobsmacked. I knew Peter Harness was a terrible writer, but I didn’t think even he could fuck up this badly. I was utterly dumbfounded by the end of the second episode. I couldn’t believe what I just watched. Not only does this fail as an adaptation of War Of The Worlds, it fails as a story in and of itself.

The problems with Episode 2 surface almost immediately within the first few minutes. A flash forward to a post apocalyptic Earth where we see Amy taking care of her son as humanity struggles to survive because of the red weed (which doesn’t look terribly convincing sadly, but that’s the least of this series’ problems). From there the episode continuously switches back and forth to the invasion and the aftermath throughout, which completely ruins the pacing, but it’s actually even worse than that. These flash forwards also giveaway the ending of the story. That the Martians end up losing. Harness tries to act all clever-clever with it by having British propaganda claim that the army defeated them, but the damage has already done. Thanks to this reveal, Harness has successfully managed to completely suck all tension from the story completely. The Martians no longer pose a threat because we, the audience, know they eventually lose, and we know that Amy at least survives, so at no point do we ever worry about her safety. I was absolutely flabbergasted when I saw this. I couldn’t believe any writer could be this stupid as to sabotage their own story by completely defanging their villains. As for the red weed slowly killing the planet, not only do I feel this unnecessarily complicates a perfectly simple narrative, it also opens the door for humanity to overcome their Martian oppressors when the whole point of the original story was that we only survived by the skin of our teeth. Our human ingenuity had nothing to do with it. We’ll have to wait and see what Episode 3 brings, but I’m not optimistic.

Meanwhile the invasion itself is still just as stilted and lacking in focus as it was before. Certain scenes stand out, like the black smoke enveloping London and the Tripods attacking the ferries, but because we know the Martians ultimately lose and that Amy survives, there’s absolutely zero suspense. (And yes, I know War Of The Worlds is a hundred year old story and everyone knows how it ends, but that doesn’t mean you can’t build tension). Also because of Harness wilfully reducing the Martians to incompetent fools, he has to resort to cheap shock tactics in the desperate hopes of scaring the audience, like when we see one of the Tripods kill a baby. Or how about the bit where Amy almost gets raped in the post invasion scenes? After all that performative feminist posturing last week, it’s quite galling to see such a sexist trope be used here for a cheap bit of drama. It’s fucking pathetic.

And once again the focus is in all the wrong areas. Instead of depicting the horrifying events of the Martian invasion, Harness is more preoccupied with Amy and Rupert Graves’ character (I’m sure he has a name, but I can’t be bothered to remember it at this point) squabbling every five minutes. Guys! Humanity is being destroyed by fucking aliens! Can this not wait?!

I’m assuming the whole baby killing thing was an attempt to show us the selfish nature of man or something, but George and the Artilleryman barely make the effort to actually look for the baby and the scene doesn’t go on nearly long enough to get us invested in the search and their eventual failure. The baby is practically thrown away just so Harness can have a moment where social media will go ‘OMG, they killed a baby in War Of The Worlds! How edgy!’ And the annoying thing is the book does actually have morally grey and shocking moments that Harness could have adapted if he wasn’t too busy trying to second-guess the audience and show what a dark and edgy writer he is. There are two important characters in the source material that the narrator encounters who offer different points of view on the events of the novel. There’s the priest who we see slowly lose faith in God and become more and more panicked and erratic, and there’s the Artilleryman, who represents British colonial attitudes, believing that humanity will ultimately triumph when the evidence clearly doesn’t support this. Here the Artilleryman is played by Dudley Dursley himself Harry Melling, who does a decent job with the material he has been given, but unfortunately the character he’s being forced to play is just utterly inadequate.

Continuing with his trend of writing allegories to things that have nothing to do with War Of The Worlds, Peter Harness takes the opportunity to comment on military conscription, even though conscription wasn’t introduced to the UK until 1916. So now the Artilleryman isn’t some impressionable nationalist that has willingly bought into imperial dogma, but rather he’s a scared little bunny rabbit forced to fight a war against an enemy beyond his comprehension. Worse still, George gets conscripted into the military for literally no fucking reason. He doesn’t get given a gun or anything and despite the fact that he knows more about the Martians than the soldiers do, none of them fucking listen to him when he tries to explain the heat pulse thing or why it might not be a good idea to shout at a Tripod. Then, when they think they won the battle, the captain points his gun at George and forces him to wade into the marshes and investigate. Again I must stress that George doesn’t have a gun! It’s just utterly contrived!

Oh but don’t worry. Harness finally addresses what the source material is actually about. British imperialism and colonialism. Unfortunately he does it with the subtlety and nuance of a giant steamroller driven by Marilyn Manson. Now admittedly the book isn’t very subtle about it either as the narrator comes right out with the comparisons between the British and the Martians, but the thing is the book gets away with it because it’s told from the perspective of a journalist writing about his own experiences after the fact. H.G. Wells has the licence to draw direct parallels because the narrative form he has chosen allows him to. A TV series however - a visual medium - cannot get away with this. Harness, not having the faintest idea how to address the themes of the source material organically in the visuals or the plot, resorts to sledgehammer tactics to get the point across. In the flash forwards to post apocalyptic Britain, we see Amy’s son reading a book that details how the British defeated the Martians as part of some propaganda initiative. A speech is made about how powerful and unstoppable the British Empire is, whilst intercut with soldiers having their arses handed to them by the Tripods. We see several characters maintain a stereotypical ‘stiff upper lip’ attitude as though the Martian invasion was a minor inconvenience instead of a shocking tragedy. There’s even a moment where the Minister of War is babbling on about how much more powerful the Empire can become if they can use Martian technology before succumbing to the Martian’s black smoke and we see literal bile foam from his mouth. It’s all so painfully on the nose and doesn’t offer any intelligent points or topics for discussion other than ‘empires are bad.’

And that’s not to mention all the other contrivances and annoyances in this episode. Despite Eleanor Tomlinson giving it her all, I still couldn’t give two shits about her character. Rafe Spall’s performance as George is still utterly atrocious, running around with a gormless expression on his face as though he’s just lost his wallet. Rupert Graves is utterly wasted as George’s brother and has no good material to work with. We also have a little girl join the group in a desperate bid to draw some sort of emotional reaction from the audience (it doesn’t work) and we have a sick older woman who serves no purpose whatsoever as far as I can see. In fact she really pissed me off due to the way in which she gets poisoned. It’s clearly meant to be there to establish the Martians terraforming Earth, but good God it’s stupid. How does she get poisoned? By drinking a random cup of water someone had just happened to leave lying around in the middle of a field.

I... I... Harness.... Harness, does your brain work?! How the flying fuck did you ever manage to get a career as a writer?!?!

BBC, I beg of you, please stop using our TV licence fees to fund hack screenwriters’ poorly thought out and unentertaining fanfiction!

PLEASE!

[starfaring-princelotor]

Fifth Taste

Summary: The good doctor has to make a choice.

★ Disclaimer: I do not ship Lotura and I respectfully ask that this story to not be tagged as Lotura. This is a Lotor x Reader/Self-Insert OC story which is in no way related to Allura at all. Please be respectful of my chosen pairing.  ★

Warnings: Needle talk, little bit of blood

A/N: So anyways, fuck S8. Now and forever. 

Touch Series: Part One___Part Two___Part Three___Part Four___Part Five

Taste Series: Part One___Part Two___Part Three___Part Four___Part Five

Sight Series: Part One___Part Two___Part Three___Part Four

Music: Sky is a Neighborhood by Foo Fighters

When it comes to the horrors you experienced in life, experienced on the battlefield and off of it, there was always one common factor in every occurrence: desperation. The captain who cut off her own leg to save her crew. The soldier who graced a quick, painless death to his dying brother in arms. The doctor who willfully injected drugs to stay alive for one more day, just one more, despite knowing the grave consequences of repeated use.

Desperation drove innocent souls to face the harshest ultimatum: what will you do to survive?

And you hated it. You hated making that decision when there were no other options left besides death. When you would rather lose a piece of yourself every time you took that needle to live. When you would deliver a mercy killing for the soldier you knew wouldn’t make it. And you hated lying, hated keeping it all together just to survive because, fuck, if you didn’t, then who would? Who would take up the mantle that no poor unfortunate bastard would dare touch?

You did. And you gave yourself the right to do so. You decided who lived and who died, who you felt guilt for and who you knew earned it. No one else bore these sins in God’s eye, but God was not here. God abandoned you long ago and left you to your own devices. And you took them in your hands, changed your wrongs so you could see the light of day once more, made your own code to follow. Your own code to break and reform over and over again.

And you swore on your very life, your very fucked up life, that you would follow it and no one else’s. For your own damn survival.

“That’s...horrifying.”

Alteans being painfully drained of quintessence against their knowledge? Against their will? No, that wasn’t just horrifying. That was evil. Pure, raw evil. The kind of evil that Hell itself would crown king of the most sadistic atrocities ever committed in history. And while you had your share of following decisions condemning acts of violence for the sake of justice or out of pure revenge, Romelle’s story, the way she told it, the dripping hated coating her every word, left you on high alert.

But it wasn't because whether you believed her, but because you recalled several times where acts of desperation tugged on vulnerable heart strings to commit murder, commit barbarism that led to irreparable damage on people. Left damage on people like you. Don't panic. Don't think about it. Don't think about how they had the best intentions in mind for you, for your father, for their war, for their lies -

“He’s a monster.”

Something didn’t add up and you were ashamed to say it took the death of your father for you to recognize missing information early on in any situation.

“Shiro,” you gained his attention, brows knitted and eyes unable to leave Romelle’s vengeful face, “This doesn’t feel right.”

Nothing added up, nothing from Lotor’s lectures about quintessence and restoring the Empire and healing the universe led you to objectively accept her story. You knew that to see both sides of the coin before making an action, you needed to step into both people’s shoes. That is how to be fair. That is how justice has failed you in the past. Back then, it wasn't about who was right or who was wrong, only that someone paid the price.

Was her story true? You would say she needed to believe it with all her shattered, broken heart. Death does that to people. It clouds, it puts them in a mind where any answer would be the right answer, it spreads lies that revenge will bring a lost loved one at peace. Bring closure. And grieving for death? Never before have you met someone who didn’t cry at a funeral.

“I know. I know, doc,” he agreed, keeping his stern gaze on the group, “Now isn’t the time, though. We have to make sure the Princess is safe first.”

And that was exactly your concern. It wasn't her you were worried about. It was Lotor.

It doesn't take much for a story to be heard, even less to be felt, and right now everyone felt Romelle’s story. Having Keith corroborating only led the group to trust her more. All of them did, because they were young, because Coran was Altean, because every single person here had some sort of history with the Galra. However, only two had history with Lotor. You and Shiro.

The both of you could sense trouble. You could especially see a tragedy unfold before your very eyes faster than any other could. It wasn't something you were proud of, but you'd be damned if you said thinking ten steps ahead didn't save your life more than once. And right now, when the pieces don't fit, people would do anything, say anything, to make it work in their favor. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

The second your monitor beeped back to life, indicating Allura and Lotor were successful on their journey, was the second you knew Romelle wasn't here for justice. She was here for revenge, and one of the worst kinds of all.

“What are you waiting for? Open fire!” she ordered without a smidgen of remorse.

“Absolutely not! The Emperor and Allura are in there,” you countered, facing Coran who was the only one who could command the console, “Open the hangar, let them in. I need to check their vitals, see if they were affected by quintessence exposure first before anything else.”

“No, all of us stay together,” Shiro’s brows lowered in determination, but even you could see the conflict stirring in them, “Once the Princess is secure, we will take down Lotor.”

“Shiro, you know I don’t approve of this,” you voiced, Romelle’s eyes widening with disbelief, “I can’t let this happen. We shouldn’t let this happen.”

We. Shiro knew this was wrong, no matter how all the signs pointed in one direction. He knew why you were adamant about being fair, he just wasn’t sure if it was because of your connection with Lotor or because of your personal history saying otherwise. Shiro can not turn his back on the innocent, but he can not deny what is right.

“You would side with him?!” Romelle pleaded, gobsmacked that after sharing her pain, she was not being supported, “He killed my brother and many of my people! Murdered them!”

“I don’t deny your story - “ “It isn’t a story! I saw them dying with my own two eyes!”

You clenched your jaw shut, gritting your teeth and narrowing your eyes at her. At everyone, at Pidge who seethed at you while remembering the history between you and her father. At Shiro, who was always the one that at least listened to your reasoning. Your logic that saved him, saved others, many more times than he can remember. Both of them knew what you were going to say. You were going to abuse your power again.

“They are my patients and no one is to lay a hand on them when they return,” you announced with a cold, frigid tone of finality, “No one.”

If you respect me, if you thank me for saving you, if you trust me with your life, then trust me with other people’s lives as well.

The door opened and everyone froze, everyone sent death glares at Lotor. Now, tension was rising with each passing second, and it only took one little reaction to make a solution explode. The Emperor’s body instantly felt it, making his hackles rise in defense. He stepped behind Allura, behind the only other body that could protect him from Lance’s gun should he decide to shoot first and ask questions later.

Allura’s eyes widened at the mere sight of Romelle.

“Lotor is a monster and has been harvesting Altean quintessence for generations!”

“He’s a murderer!” Pidge spat at Lotor, “He’s been lying to us all this time!”

“Pidge, Romelle, don’t - “ you orders fell on deaf ears before you could even get it all out.

“No! You’re part of his Empire, the Galra Empire!” she let her rage take over again, let it seek refuge in Romelle’s tragedy, “His Empire! Lotor’s just like his father!”

Add heat to a solution -

“You know NOTHING about what you speak!’ Lotor yelled back, louder, to be heard by anyone, “Allura, listen to me.”

- to induce a reaction.

“I’ve dedicated my life to preserving Altean culture.”

You focused your attention on the both of them. They always said that eyes are the window to the soul. You saw dark clouds of uncertainty storming in hers. Fear, disbelief, broken trust. Hesitation. She avoided looking at him, avoided listening to his words he so desperately needed her to hear. Then, you saw it, you saw the switch flick in her eyes. You saw her stare at Romelle.

“Shiro…” you took a step forward to Allura, your heart starting to beat faster in your chest, “Shiro, I - you have to stop this.”

“Allura, do not let this ruin everything we have worked for,” Lotor begged, his hand cupping her clenched ones at her hip, “Think about what we experienced in the quintessence field.”

You prepared for many unforeseen circumstances in your life. It was a necessity at this point, but you never thought in the span of your existence that you would experience injustice on a monumental level twice. They always say if you blink, you’ll miss it. If you aren’t paying attention, you’ll miss important information. Part of you wish you did, yet another knew that if you did not bear witness to the scene before your eyes, you would have been unprepared. Ignorant.

Allura clutched her hand around Lotor’s arm in a fierce grip, anger and rage guiding her actions, then hurled him over her shoulder with an immense amount of power.

The power of the misguided, the power of the heart, the power of a judge.

“ALLURA!” you screamed at her, feeling your own temper rising at the abhorrent scene in front of you, “What the FUCK are you doing?!”

You thought she was good. You thought she was improving, honestly changing for the better. You thought...you thought wrong. After all this time, it wasn’t Lotor fooling everyone. It was Allura. Your legs automatically rushed past her cringing form, either ashamed of herself or of him, you didn’t know. You didn’t care. Lotor was unconscious when you kneeled down and turned him over.

Fuck. Fuck! This was all wrong! This wasn’t justice, this was...it was worse. It was forced silence.

“Doc, step away from Lotor-” Lance cautiously warned, oblivious to the fact that he was already knocked out.

“NO!” you faced him, face the entire group with a turmoil of disappointment and barely contained wrath, “Shiro, restrain Allura. Now! She isn’t stable!”

You checked Lotor’s scalp for any serious indentations that would otherwise indicate his skull might’ve cracked or caved in. Nothing but blood from a split cut. A quick check to his pulse, weak but there, did little to temper the bitter taste on your tongue. What happened? What happened to the world, to the universe, for it to end with such violence? And for what? For what?

Shiro did as you commanded, or at least, tried to. He witnessed an atrocity today, one he thought was reserved only on the confines of Earth. But war is war and we are but simple souls with feelings. If anything, the Black Paladin realizes this would make the team doubt him, but when has that ever affected him before? With firm determination, he approached Allura, who was still grieving with the reality of the situation.

“Shiro, she isn’t going to hurt anyone, you know that!” Keith butted in, but the only response he got was a loud, painful scream coming from deep within Shiro’s chest, “S...Shiro?”

You heard punching, you heard grunting and pain and shrieks of a mechanized arm landing blow upon blow against weak flesh. The second you turned to face the commotion, you were met eye to eye with the barrel of a gun. Your friend, your old friend that suffered with you, was the one pressing death against your forehead. Heart beating faster, nearly dropping to your stomach, you kept your stare fixated with his cold, soldier worn face.

The face of a killer who has seen too much.

“Takashi, don’t do this,” there was a quiver in your voice, a faint one, one you didn’t even know you still had after all these years, “I’m here to help you. I’m here to help...him.”

Everyone else was knocked unconscious, there was a deafening explosion coming from the hangar, but all you could focus on was the very close possibility that death was literally staring you in the face. Shiro wouldn’t do this. He wouldn’t. Birds of a feather, he said once. War brought you two together and forged a bond of pain and suffering in your hardened spirits. We survived.

He lowered the gun and in a gravelly voice ordered, “Come with me.”

You nodded yes, agreeing only out of the desperation to stay alive. Shiro hauled up Lotor’s body and slung him over his shoulder before rushing to one of the Altean pods. Following suit, thinking about what was wrong with Shiro, what was wrong with Lotor, and what was wrong with Allura, you felt your stomach twisting in uneasy knots. You weren’t sure if it was the sickening anxiety or something else, but your mind was on overload.

A hand grabbed at your ankle and you quickly looked down, only to scowl at the Princess of diplomacy. She was bleeding down the side of her temple. She was silently begging, hoping against all odds, that you would stay. The Paladins need you, she once said. We could use your expertise. We could end this war with your help. Right now, Allura was the one who needed help, laying at your feet like a wounded noble she was.

You glared at her, yanked your foot out of her already weak grasp, then insulted in the most truthful tone you could muster.

“Don’t fucking touch me, you wretched liar.”

“Shiro, come in! It’s Keith! Look, I don’t know - “

He ended the transmission before Keith could finish his sentence. Your attention was on Lotor, but you were also well aware that you were dancing on edge. Tense. As you checked the unconscious man’s neck, making sure nothing was snapped out of place, you took a few seconds to warily glance at your old friend. Shiro was stoic, back to the captain in command, and it left you reminiscing on the good old days.

Oh, fuck. Lotor’s shoulder has popped out of place. Dislocated, most likely from the throw. The brace protected his back, but not all of him. Taking a deep breath, you gripped onto his shoulder and felt around with your thumb, locating the socket. Staying disjointed for too long would have side-effects, some permanent if not taken care of early on -

You stopped your mind from rambling and pushed his shoulder back into place, the pain making him jolt awake with an agonizing yelp. Immediately, his face contorted into a snarl, his hand coming up to grip at his sore joints. For a few seconds, he sat there, gritting his teeth as he took in his surroundings. Then, they landed on you, on your own calculating expression taking him in.

“What happened?” he asked, moving to fully sit up, “Where are you taking me?”

“You’re being detained for…” for what? “For questioning. Allura - “

Lotor’s eyes widened as everything came rushing back. That Altean girl. The accusations. All of them intimidating him, leaving him little to no way to defend himself aside from using his words. And then Allura. The woman he trusted, the woman he shared his work with, believed in. She betrayed him. She hurt him. She abandoned him. And that bile in his stomach began rising when everything he felt began clawing to the surface.

The hatred of being used, discarded for his actions, rejected as a child and now as a man. Allura was just like -

“No, we must return,” he shook his head, pushing aside your hand and interrupting your examination, “I must talk to her.”

“After that, I don’t think it’s a good idea to be anywhere near danger,” you tried to reason, “You can't go back there now. Both of you are under arrest until this problem gets sorted out.”

Hopefully. Hopefully it could get sorted out.

Lotor saw your dedication waiver the longer you two kept eye contact. He listened, but he knew Allura was the one he needed to see right now. He could explain himself. He needed her help. It was a mistake and it did not even occur to him that he was going through the five stages of grief upon seeing all his hard work crumble to pieces. Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Lotor knew he felt something for the Princess. He knew she did reciprocate those feelings.

He knew with all his heart. It was just...a misunderstanding. He had to vindicate himself to her. The fate of the universe relied on it.

“Shiro, the cuffs.”

The pod landed and Lotor willingly complied to you handling him. He was wasting time, but with you and Shiro guarding him from escaping, he knew he didn't have a chance. However, if he was stuck in a cell for holding, then who knows what would happen to the colony. Who knows what would happen to the ones he saved, the ones he preserved? If only he could talk to Allura now, try to reason with her.

With the two of you escorting him, he kept his mind busy with finding a way out of this. He spotted the Sincline ships in the hangar, which could only mean that...who could possibly have known about his work? And who were piloting them to reach the Galra fleet? Lotor’s mind was putting the pieces together and, right when the door opened, there was Ezor and Zethrid standing guard.

“Zethrid. Ezor.”

“Who’s the tag-along?”

A loud bang and the hull of the ship was breached, air whooshing in the new hole, and you looked to see who could have caused the damage. The black lion’s maw was peering in, facing you three, as you held onto Lotor’s elbow so you did not get sucked out into space. The doors shut behind you, securing the airlock and now, now you were fully able to stand to take in the Galras before you. His generals. His ex generals.

“We’ll take it from here,” Zethrid ordered, holding a hand out to stop Shiro and you.

“Emperor Lotor just woke from consciousness, he may need medical attention before being confined in a cell.”

“I am fine, doctor,” Lotor spoke up, much to your disagreeing look, “I will not be needing your assistance as of now.” “I suggest you rethink this - “

“Enough. Ezor, let’s go!” Zethrid interrupted, pulling Lotor away.

He didn’t bother sparing you a second glance. It was Shiro’s arm gripping on your wrist that stopped you from following him. His hold was strong, firm, more firmer than you ever recall how he handled you in the past. His thumb was in the right position to snap your wrist in half and that knowledge made you stare at him in question. You didn’t resist. You knew resistance would be worthless.

“Let go of me, Shiro.”

He matched your gaze with his own hardened one, then released you. Something was...off with Shiro. He should have been able to detain Allura easily, but he instead attacked the entire group. His family. You have heard of leaders going rogue, but this? This isn't something he would do. There were no signs indicating a cracking mentality. Not your friend, not Shiro. Was he...

“Captain, are you relapsing?”

And yet, before you could observe him longer to pick out anything, anything that he was going to be okay, Shiro turned and left you standing there alone. You called out to him once. Twice. But no reply. Was he muttering to himself? You tried again. One more time, just one more, Shiro, please, give me a sign. We were in this together, captain. My captain.

“Where are you going? Shiro!” you called out, “We still have to handle this. Emperor Lotor and Allura, Voltron - we can’t let this fall.”

No response, no recognition when the pilot barrier covered him. His ship took off and that was the last you saw of him. All you could do now was stand there and watch the ship leave a trail of light in its dust. Too fast, he was gone too fast, and you had no idea why he didn’t listen to you. He did before, even with a gun to your head. He heard you, so why now?

Nothing was adding up. Something was...missing. Too many missing pieces. You had no control on the situation.

The Galra ship jolted, engines whirring with power, and jumped to hyperspace. You braced yourself against the wall, finding that there wasn't anything else which could help stabilize you. There wasn’t...anyone else. No one except Lotor was here, but with him being locked up, your options were dwindling down to solely relying on you. But this is what you wanted, right? You wanted to rely on no one but yourself.

“-if you are with me, we need to get to the Sincline ships now.”

Lotor’s footsteps echoed the hallway, rushed, and followed by his generals. The ones who willfully tried to kill him at the exchange. You recognize them. The Emperor halted at seeing your form holding onto the wall then ordered his crew to continue on without him. When he stood before you, uncuffed and pulling you up to steady your feet, he was just about to speak to you. Explain some vital information you needed to hear.

That is, until saw what he was searching for since the day he laid eyes upon you.

Confliction. Not of him, but of yourself. You were well aware of the circumstances now dawning upon you, and the predator and prey were facing off. No. No, you were no prey. If anything, Lotor saw you as his equal in some ways. In a lot of ways, before any of this catastrophe in his life happened. But now that he was here, he was Emperor, he was on the brink of letting the universe down, letting people he cared for down, he realized that breaking you to this point was pivotal.

You were a partner within his Empire, but Allura was more than that.

Lotor should have asked if you were still by his side. Still with the Empire. Still with him. But no words came out. His own mind was overclocking with plans that needed to be done, words that needed to be said, and how he could tell Allura that he needs her. He needs her by his side more than you. Allura had something special with him. They were made for each other. They worked well together.

“I need you to remain here,” he gently gripped your elbows, ordering you to stay but knowing damn well you can leave if you wanted to, “I must get Allura back.”

“You can’t go, Lo-Emperor Lotor. You were unconscious for a long time, it isn’t safe for you.”

He saw something then, something small in your eyes.

“Allura is dangerous. We barely got you out of there before she could’ve done something worse to you. I've seen it happen before.”

Was it fear? Fear of...him or for him? Or fear of something else?

“Listen to me. Shiro and I brought you here to face a trial. If you leave, if you go, then there is nothing I can do to help you.”

Fear of history repeating itself.

“I need to find him, we need to find him. It’s your only chance at proving your innocence. One witness can not - will not be enough.”

But you knew one was enough to prove him guilty.

Lotor did it. He finally broke you. He made you choose. He no longer gave you the option to be neutral. And that itch? That one which nagged and teased him for so long? Now that he scratched it, scratched you, he found it wasn't...good. It wasn't satisfying. If anything, deep within his chest, it actually hurt. His hands dropped down your arm, gently skimming over your wrist before threading your fingers with his.

One of the rarest shows of affection since that kiss. A simple joining of hands.

“Don’t do this, my Emperor.”

His face already told you he made a decision. You didn't understand why. You gave him every logical explanation why this was a bad idea. This was not going to turn out how he expects it, but without proof, why would he possibly listen to you? You needed hard evidence, not experience. That was the cold truth of justice. The rules didn't apply here. This was the Emperor of the Galra Empire. Whatever morals you nitpicked from Earth don’t work here.

When he let your hand go, you reacted. You refused to let him do this. Not again. You can't lose someone again. You turned him around and forced him against the wall, but not as a way to subdue him. No, you were hugging him. Arms wound tightly around his chest and your face buried in the crook of his neck, Lotor found himself immobilized. Willfully immobilized.

“Tell me,” you whispered, voice quiet and composure failing, “Tell me right fucking now. Is it true?”

Lotor’s strong arms returned the embrace, thoughts quieting down significantly with you pressed against him like so. This felt...calming. You were panicking, nails digging into his suit as if to tether him here, yet he felt his tense muscles and unyielding determination wither. He wasn’t quite aware of what you were asking, either. Was it true? Was this true? Was his leaving truly the only way to clear his name from those horrendous accusations? “No. No, my dear, it is not true.”

He felt you slump your arms down slowly. A sign trust. You were letting him go. You shouldn’t, you know justice isn’t going to be fair to him. But what was fair? Who are you to judge the universe? Lotor slipped out of your grasp then headed for the door, headed away and into the inevitable battle without neither you or Shiro aiding him this time. It took all your willpower not to chase after him, not to pull him back and beg again and again, despite the answer always being the same.

You hated it. You hated making that decision. You hated that war has yet again yanked someone you care deeply about from your life.

[wordssplatteredoncement]

A Really Shitty Story

The evening started off innocently enough. After an eight hour excursion to the southern most part of our state, my dear friend and I arrived at our destination... a Halloween costume party centered around a toy company. Just two grown-ass men who have such a love of everything childish that we’re willing to invest an entire weekend to our affinity for the plastic arts; nothing sad or pathetic about this... right?! RIGHT!! After meeting up with a mutual friend, we made our way to the line of nearly 400+ other nut jobs who’ve decided that plastic art is more important to them than significant others or a social life of any kind. As we strolled to the back of the line, I seen many people dressed as Darth Vader, Mario, and other things that reminded me I was among kindred spirits. I hastily put on my costume, a hybrid of pope and pimp (or Pimp-Pope, if you will, and I insist you do), and watched as my friend found a truck to hide behind to slip into his pink dress to complete his Eleven (Stranger Things) ensemble. Adorned as a whore-leasing man of God and a 12 year old girl with mind powers, we walked through the doors of the already impressive looking building, unsure of what the night would usher unto us.

Immediately, we’re both gobsmacked by the decor. Giant framed pictures of mad scientists, chandeliers with lights that gave the room a touch of crimson red, and every employee working the party in an elaborate costume. We were handed a bag full of enough toys to make a child cry tears of joy on Christmas morning and whisked into the main hall. A couple of drinks, some good conversation, a few claimed prizes, and the party came to an end. My friend and I were invited to pizza place/ nightclub hybrid (yeah.. I thought such a thing was strange too). Not wanting the night to end, we accepted the offer and found our way to the place where dancing and pizza dough were found in unholy union. We each ordered our own personal pizza, but soon found that “personal” equated to enough food to feed half of Africa... or roughly a quarter of what my friend could eat in one sitting. After a few slices, I pushed my pie aside for fear of what my weak stomach would do to me if I kept indulging. My friend, however, finished his pizza and was helping others with theirs. “No problem, this was par for the course for my dear friend”, I thought. As we left, we were invited to a hotel that was supposedly haunted. I asked my friend if he wanted to visit the spook-filled inn and he gave me a look so intense it could have brought back David Bowie, Lemmy Kilmister, and Gene Wilder to life with just one glance. He leaned into me and with a tone that read stern, but pained he managed to expel through whispered breath “I need to get back to the hotel. I think I’m going to shit my pants.” And with that, we soon found ourselves back at our hotel.  My friend ran to the hotel with a haste I’ve never seen from his normally stationary frame. I grabbed our bags and slowly made my way to the elevator. Surprisingly, and quite unfortunately, my friend was in said elevator muttering curses or speaking in tongues. I’m not sure which. He was dancing in a way that could best be described as Native American meets smack-addict and I watched as sweat collected on his forehead while waiting for the elevator to hurry up and do one of the only two functions it was designed for; going up. When the lift met our floor, I watched as he tried to pry the elevator door open, then run for our room. I followed at a normal pace and was met with sounds coming from our bathroom that could only be described as outtakes from The Exorcist. After a bit of time, my friend emerged from his exorcism of the shit demon, but instead of the expected relief, I seen a different look of panic. “I can’t get it to flush, man!”, said my scared friend. I told him to call the front desk and explain the situation. He did, but gave me news I wasn’t ready to take in.. the maintenance guy wasn’t going to be back until early in the morning. Trying to be supportive, I told him not to worry. We only needed a few hours of sleep and would be back on the road. This is when we discovered our first problem. I’d had a few drinks and needed to piss. My friend’s multiple attempts to flush didn’t allow room for me to pee in the toilet so, through a held in breath, I urinated in the bathtub. In this moment, I hear my friend’s laughter through the walls. His laughter caused me to laugh and breath in what I can only describe as death itself. I dashed out as quick as my bladder allowed me to, ran out of that awful room, closed the door, and vowed never to return. We laughed over the absurdity of it all, took a couple of sleeping pills, and zonked out... 

until....

“OMF’NG!!!@!!! MY FUCKING STOMACH HATES ME!!!*!”, I thought as I woke in a full blown panic. This pizza hated both of us and it was my turn to “exorcise”, but was immediately reminded of lasts nights debacle. Not knowing what else to do, and afraid of the horrors that bathroom presented, I found myself quickly Googling “Public Restrooms”, throwing on shoes, and wandering the streets of San Diego. I passed many vagrants as I made the four block trek to the closest public restroom. “I wish I had it as good as you guys do.”, I thought as I seen their dirty, but content, faces asleep on the pavement. Cold sweats, stomach cramps, and a pace quicker than people trying to make their way to Space Mountain when Disneyland opens it’s gates overtook my body as I had several thoughts of doubt that I’d retain the contents of my bowels for even a few seconds longer crept into my head. When I arrived, I tried to open the door to the men’s room, but it was locked. I read a sign that said “Max Occupancy: 2″. SHITFUCKCUNTGODDAMN!! This couldn’t be happening. Just when I thought I’d lost the battle with my intestines, I noticed a man behind Plexiglas. I motion that I need in the restroom and he obliges by hitting a life-saving switch, unlocking the door. I shoulder-checked the bathroom door like a rookie hockey player with something to prove, and was met with several things that sent my head spinning. 

The room, maybe 15x15 in size, had 4 other men in it. One, a well dressed homeless man, I nearly bowled over with my off-ice slam of brutality. The other three men, also homeless, were huddled around a sink. One was tying another off. The other was injecting, what I could only assume wasn’t medically needed drugs, into the arm via a syringe. I completely locked up when I seen this, but my stomach quickly reminded me why I was there. My head spun around to find the most horrific sight of all... only one urinal and a single stall that was occupied. “This is it”, I thought. “This is the moment I’m going to evacuate last night’s mistake into my blue jeans”.. but then the sound of a man screaming at the top of his lungs was coming from the stall. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!”... a few beats... “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” was reverberating from the walls of the restroom/ crack house. It scared me enough to keep my mind off of things until a man emerged from the stall. He had a ton of things in arms, including a cell phone. He said nothing, walked between myself and the well dressed homeless man, and threw everything in the trash. He held up one finger as if to say “one minute”, walked back into the stall, and reappeared with an armful more of belongings. These items once again met the bottom of the bin and the man left. I looked at the well dressed homeless man, and he said “You clearly need this more than I”. I thanked him and bolted for the stall. 

To say this thing looked like a horror scene would have been making this stall sound more glamorous than it should be accredited for. Some kind of substance was oozing down the walls (yes, plural), and used toilet paper was balled up along the ground. Whatever. I was here and there was no turning back now. I went to close the door, only there was no latch. No way of keeping the door closed. This wasn’t a standard sized stall, but one that allowed for handicapped patrons use as well (i.e. - I wouldn’t be able to keep the door closed from the toilet as it was out of arms reach). The time had come, I couldn’t worry about such trivial things any longer. A handful of toilet seat covers, a quick chant to whatever god within earshot, and I was on my way to finish the mission I’d set out to accomplish. Just then, the door swung open. “Oh sorry.”, said someone I hadn’t seen before and he quickly closed the door. No sooner than ten seconds later and the door was greeted in a way that told me this guy was also in the NHL (National Hockey League for those of you a bit puck-deficient). The door smacked the wall with a “THUD!”. The man, clearly out of his mind, just stood there. We locked eyes... a tragedy that cannot be felt through text, but suffice to say, you never want to stare in the eyes of another soul while trying to relieve yourself. “It’s taken!”, I shouted, in hopes of ending this uneasy feeling, but he just kept locked in his gaze. After a few more agonizing seconds, he slowly walked away, but the door was left wide open. A third man emerged at to what can only be described as the “Portal of Shame”. He said something to the effect of “Oh, are you going to be long?”, before he wandered off. 

My stomach, partially relieved, was now in full shock. It wouldn’t allow me to finish the job. A quick scrub of the hands and I was Ubering to another public restroom. Locked! Walked to another. ALSO FUCKING LOCKED!! This continued until I found my way into a place with a punch code for employees. I slipped in behind someone attempting to leave, and completed the task. I shamefully called for an Uber to take me back to my hotel after my friend sent me a few worried texts. 

I recently told this story at a party. Expecting laughter, I was only met with “That’s it?! That’s where the story ends?” What can I say, it is a really shitty story.  

[ismael37olson]

The Sweet Smell of Success

I used to go to New York at least once a year to see shows. Recently, neither New Line nor I have been able to afford to send me, so I settle for bootleg videos (don't judge me!). But I have seen a lot of really wonderful shows in New York over the years, quite a few of which New Line has produced soon after. In fact, our company has been the first to produce several musicals after their Broadway or off Broadway runs, short runs in many cases, 'cause that's the kind of weirdo, tourist-unfriendly shows we like... It was in 2002 that I saw The Sweet Smell of Success on Broadway. I loved a lot about it, but somehow it didn't totally work for me. Now that I'm working on the show, I think I understand what it was missing. First, it's a very intimate story about four people with incredibly volatile, complicated relationships, and even though I had good seats, the theatre was too big for us to connect to these people emotionally, so that the tragedy of the ending couldn't really gobsmack the audience the way it should. I think doing the show in a 140-seat blackbox will fix that problem. There will be no distance from these ugly, ferocious, fragile emotions, no safety. Second, this is almost a jazz opera. Like Sweeney, the music only stops periodically, to underline certain moments, to punctuate the flow of the story. But this kind of 1950s club jazz, as filtered through Marvin Hamlisch's rich, dissonant film and Broadway sound isn't a big, heavy, orchestral thing; it's an up-close, sweaty, sexy, subtle thing. A full Broadway orchestra, a big stage, and a big chorus, took the urban and the desperate out of this story. Our band will be two keyboards, bass, drums, reeds, and trumpet. The kind of sound you'd hear in a jazz club in the 50s. The third thing was J.J. Hunsecker, the Devil/Evil Wizard figure in this Faustian tale. He's thoroughly despicable, deeply, irretrievably fucked up. And genuinely powerful. As much as I love John Lithgow, who created the role, I now think he didn't really access the full darkness of this terrifying man. Zak Farmer will play the role for us, and he specializes in deeply fucked-up villains. And again, the intimacy of our theatre will allow Zak to do much more subtle, more interesting work than Lithgow could do in a Broadway house.

A couple years ago, I came across a bootleg video of Sweet Smell of Success, and I really did love the material, so I watched it again. And it worked much better for me than it did the first time. I think it was because most of the video was shot in close-up. The bootleg provided the intimacy the theatre itself couldn't, the kind of intimacy which the Marcelle Theater gives the New Liners. The reviews of the Broadway production weren't great, but I think many of them really missed the point. This isn't a conventional musical, if there even is such a thing anymore, and that's how they judged it. Like almost every show we produce at New Line, Sweet Smell is sui generis, one of a kind. But like a few other shows we've done in recent seasons, The Sweet Smell of Success is a moral thriller. It will leave you breathless, and the Act I finale is a killer cliffhanger! More than any other show I've worked on, this show is a virtuosic translation to the musical stage of the devices, tone, and atmosphere of film noir. Which reminds me... one of the coolest things about The Sweet Smell of Success is that the story is so different in its three different forms, first as a short story by Lehman Engel, then a greatly expanded screenplay also by Engel, and then this jazz noir stage musical. Each one is so different from the others, each one brings unique elements to the story, and yet they all feel like they are fashioned from the same clay, each one so right in relation to the other two. I was sick the first week of rehearsals, so I didn't start my blogging like usual. By now, we've finished learning the score, and Taylor Pietz has choreographed three of the four dances. Starting next week, I block the show. I've worked out all of Act I, and I may wait to work on Act II until after I see how my Act I blocking works... But I feel pretty good about what I've got. Even though there aren't any other musicals quite like this, there are other shows that taught me lessons I can apply here. Working on Andrew Lippa's genius Wild Party was a show in which 90% of the staging was to music, with an ensemble both inside and outside the story at the same time, living the story and narrating it directly to us. Though Sweet Smell shouldn't look as stylized as Wild Party, it's very theatrical, very music driven, and constantly bursting through the Fourth Wall. I think there are two keys to this show. First, we really have to swim in the period and the jazz. I've asked Rob for an all-blue, New York, 1950s set. Wait till you see it. There's an attitude to this world that's pretty foreign to us; we have to find it and get comfortable with it. Second, we cannot fear the Darkness. As the great scholar Joseph Campbell taught us, in many Hero Myth stories, the hero has to go to the Underworld to do battle with the Evil Wizard and learn something about himself. You can't get more Under than the 1952 world of New York newspaper gossip. We have to embrace the Dark Side. That's our story.

I'm reading some great books about that time and place, and about Walter Winchell, the real life Broadway columnist that J.J. Hunsecker is based on. What surprised me the most -- and it made me understand better the high stakes in our story -- was that sixty million Americans across the country read Winchell's nasty, petty, shitty gossip column every morning over their coffee. Sixty Million People. That's close to half of all the men, women, and children in America. This horrifying idea is explained in Act II as our Greek Chorus of press agents sing:

Dirt! It's the reason I read. Dirt! It's an animal need. I don't pick up the paper For the sports or the news; Those ain't the sport That I choose. Dirt! With my bacon and eggs. They go together like a skirt, And a nice pair of legs. Got the ink on my fingers, Got the smudge of a smear. Oh my! What dirt we got here!

By the end of this song, you might be laughing, but you'll also realize deep down that J.J. only has power because sixty million people want their morning dirt. Like Chicago, Sweet Smell lays the responsibility for this nightmare world right at our feet. But I don't read gossip columns. Yeah, nice try. Do you ever read the headlines of the tabloids at the checkout? Do you ever watch Access Hollywood, Entertainment Tonight, or E!...? Do you click on celebrity stories your friends share on Facebook? I honestly don't. And maybe you don't either. But a hell of a lot of people do.

Dirt! Got a hunger to feed, Got a hunger and a thirst, Gimme, gimme some dirt, take me down in the dirt! It's an animal need! Give it to me in the First Amendment! Give me something that can get me through, Something dirty on the whole who's-who And keep this in mind as you dirt: It don't have to be true... Don't have to be true... Don't have to be true... Yeah!

Oklahoma! this ain't. In the age of Fox News, Breitbart, social media, and Fake News, The Sweet Smell of Success may be even more timely than it was when Hamlisch, lyricist David Zippel, and playwright John Guare wrote it in 2002. This is muscular, fearless, adult musical theatre about the real world. Today's real world. So we don't forget that information is power. And power corrupts. It's already been such a great ride, working on this amazing piece, this rich, gorgeous music, these brilliant, caustic, acrobatic rhymes; now we get to really dive into these dark, complicated characters and their deliciously acid dialogue. Another wild, awesome adventure! Long Live the Musical! Scott from The Bad Boy of Musical Theatre http://newlinetheatre.blogspot.com/2017/04/the-sweet-smell-of-success.html