#there’s definitely a meaning and i’ve been piecing it together myself over the past few weeks

[blvrrykat]

art i made about being a crazy person.

alt txt included; sorry if its hard to interpret

copied from instagram:

art i made for a contest about mental health! this piece is a personal exploration on my ocd, dissociative issues, and autism, and how they influence my identity, gender, and personhood. i often feel like i’m sorting through a very messy web of compulsions and thoughts that is simultaneously completely incomprehensible and somehow more clear than my own sense of self. the rest of it is sorta up for interpretation as i let my subconscious create without forcing some sort of concrete meaning. this was a super fun experimental piece to make and i’m rly proud of how it came out! :]

[emmy-dekarios-bg3]

WIP Wednesday!

(Thank you @marlowethebard for the tag 💜✨🫶🏻)

Tagging: @alpydk

Sharing a piece of what I’ve been working on. “Heart of the Weave” is a fanfic of Gale Dekarios and Emmy (Tav) who are happily married in Waterdeep. 6 months after their journey has ended, Emmy ends up violently ill and they travel back to Baldur’s Gate to find answers as to why, with their other companions to tag along as well.

Emmy discovers her and Gale are expecting a baby, and from the moment they find out about her pregnancy, evil follows her everywhere they go.

Here is an excerpt of what I’ve been working on (part of Chapter 1, this isn’t the entire chapter):

Anyway, enough about my chaotic background for now. I think about it constantly: the mind flayers, the people killed, the close encounters with death myself, and saving my friends from a catastrophic end. They saved me, too, and I’m forever grateful for them.

I awaken to the sun beaming through the glass windows, being reminded by the Earth that I’m still alive. I made it another day. I’m still not accustomed to being in an actual bed, for all the adventures I had involved sleeping outside, camping with the unknown around us. I’m thankful for being away from all the lurking dangers that thirsted for my death.

“Good morning, my love,” Gale says with the sleepiest voice, his face nuzzled into my neck as he spoons me in bed. I smile, feeling his comfort and warmth against my body in the earliest of mornings. “I hope you slept well.” His warm skin is pressed against mine, and it could honestly put me back to sleep. My eyes try to adjust to the morning light, focusing from the blur as I try to full awaken.

“I’m…starting to,” I murmur, stretching my body as I turn to face him. I stare deep into his dark brown eyes which are heavily defined by his long lashes. I could stare into them all day. “How about you?”

“Oh, definitely the same. I wake up everyday thinking how happy I am, how lucky we are to be here. More importantly, I’m grateful we’re alive.” His hand is on my naked waist, holding me close to him. “Oh, how I wish we could participate in some romantic coitus right about now, but unfortunately, I have to be at the Academy in just a little over an hour. I slept in just a tad later than I anticipated.” I kiss his lips delicately and close my eyes, wishing he wasn’t leaving so soon. He has been doing some heavy research the past few days and coming up with new strategies to help his students learn magic, so having this time together, no matter how long it is, means the world to me.

“I understand completely. Maybe later, then. We are married after all and have all the time in the world.” He chuckles and proceeds to kiss my forehead. His tressym, Tara, flies in the room and nearly scares the daylights out of me. I’ve been living with Gale for a year and I’m still not used to his flying feline, though I absolutely adore her to no end. I never had cats, so it’s an adjustment for me.

“Oh, Professor Gale Dekarios, it’s time for you to get at it!” she says, landing on our bed. “I’m glad you two weren’t in the middle of…well, you know.” Gale and I look at each other, fighting laughter but blushing from mild embarrassment. Only once has Tara intruded on us and it was a moment I’ll never forget. That moment included her staring at us with eyes full of horror, but she didn’t want to turn away. Gale caught her, and she screamed, flying rapidly out of the room at high speeds.

“Yes, yes, Tara. I’m getting out of bed. Now shoo, I’m indecent and I’d rather you not look at me.” Tara flies out of the room, with Gale getting his naked body out of the bed shortly after. I am so thankful and blessed that this is my life now, and all the worries from before have faded away.

I’ve adjusted to Gale working at the Academy, and I love that he enjoys doing what he does. For ages, he’s always wanted to accomplish being a professor and teaching magic to others, and that it will be more recognized. He gets ready and begins to head out the door, but pauses for a moment to give me a kiss. The softness and perfection of his lips is enough to get me to go back to sleep, but I have to tend our garden.

“I hope your day is wonderful,” I tell him, staring into his eyes. He gently brushes my dark curly hair out of my face with his fingertips, smiling at me with contentment. The way he touches me, even after all this time of marriage, feels absolutely incredible. I can’t get enough of him. Stop it, Emmy. You will have time alone with him soon enough, it’s nearly the end of the week.

“And yours as well, my love. I will be back before you know it.” My heart already misses his body and soul as I watch him walk out the door.

{view my entire fanfic here:}:

[bloomingdead]

What do you comprehensively about focus of the heart? It’s definitely a project that’s certainly *there* with some talented folks on it.

This ask has been sitting in my box for a while, and I’ve resisted responding to it because I really don’t want beef with anyone on the project. My personal experience with those I have engaged with has been unpleasant, but that doesn’t fault their product nor everyone working on it. Also, I may jump around quite a bit because a lot of my feelings on FOTH have nothing to do with the game itself (it’s still in development) and everything to do with the “discourse” and reasons surrounding its creation.

Let me preface by saying, I’m incredibly impressed that the artists involved were able to come together to create a project inspired by the fandom they all love so much. Artist groups are a really great way to gain visibility as an artist. You could be making art that never reaches the people who would want to see it, but if you group together with other similar artists and support each other, your audiences begin to overlap and grow. That seems to be working really well for the people behind FOTH.

I should also warn that I am not the biggest fan of “fanon” content. I haven’t read a fanfic in its entirety in at least 10 years and I don’t make much content other than the occasional doodle and think-piece ramblings. I have nothing against shipping, headcanons, and AU’s. I partake in all of these myself, I have no issue with it. What I do have an issue with is people who say a creator intended for fanon that doesn’t exist in canon. Or people twisting dev’s words to their benefit, pulling things out of context to bolster their opinions. This has created conflict in the past between me and an artist or few on this project.

Shipping is very popular in the Horizon fandom, and has been since the first game was released. Zero Dawn provided us with many potential new friends for Aloy, some of which many fans were left confused as to how Aloy truly felt about them. After all, Ashly Burch who portrays Aloy is pansexual, and she claimed that over half the characters she’s played are queer. And Aloy, although inexperienced and unsure of herself in Zero Dawn, was definitely left flustered at some point by many of the popular shipping characters.

So why did it take the release of Burning Shores, a DLC that finishes with Aloy declaring her romantic attraction to a new companion, for the fandom to put together a dating sim? The Burning Shores DLC was released on April 19th 2023. The first post on the Official FOTH Tumblr was made on June 7th 2023. Their “About Us” post from the same day, says in the second sentence that they decided to create the game, “in the wake of negative internet discourse about fandom shipping.”

Negative discourse? What does that even mean in this context? Are they referring to devout fanon members harassing the game devs and Kylie Liya Page for the creation of Seyka as Aloy’s love interest? Who the fuck, other than people mad about Seyka, were creating fandom discourse around shipping Horizon characters at that time? Kylie Liya Page has literally been cyberbullied from the day the game came out. Yes, it’s died down considerably, but the only negativity surrounding shipping in the fandom was created by the very people who love shipping the most. Kylie was still experiencing the thick of this “negative internet discourse” six months ago.

So many of the very same people who desperately wanted Aloy to get her first romance, are the ones who were most off-put by Seyka’s story. It wasn’t good enough, it was forced, rushed, chosen “for me.” No, Seyka was chosen for Aloy, not you. A lot of people seem to forget that the role-playing element in Horizon is more of a tone-check. Heart, Brain, Fist. You’re not choosing Aloy's response, but how she responds. Is she going to address this compassionately, pragmatically, or stoically? Your attitude will be remembered in future conversations, but your choices have no effect on the quests or ending of the game. Your options in quests are to complete them as intended, or don’t do the quest. 

We were never going to get multiple options for Aloy’s romantic partner in this game. She could still have another! Seyka doesn’t have to be the endgame, most people don’t end up with their first love. But how shitty would it be for us to lose Seyka completely as a character in the third game, because Kylie doesn’t want to come back and face that abuse again, or because the devs don’t want to subject her to that or lose more fans over it? What if they get rid of Seyka with a shitty write-off, and then Aloy ends up alone? We’ve now seen that she’s capable of opening her heart and experiencing that kind of character development. It would suck to have that taken away.

When you’re allowed to do whatever you want in fanon space, why go out of your way to harass the creators of the canon? Why bully fellow fans for having different opinions than you? You were already imagining these made up relationships that don’t exist, why does Aloy having a canon love interest ruin that? Why is Aloy having a canon love interest a disruption to fanon? It isn’t a disruption to fanon, clearly, as the creation of and support for FOTH has proved. Not only just by simply existing, but by their inclusion of Seyka in the game.

I was accused of being a bigot because I posted on my own blog that Aloy reads as a lesbian to me. I was harassed after Burning Shores came out for joking that we now have more proof of Aloy being a lesbian than bisexual. I’m a silly little lesbian, I see gay bitch, I want a lesbian. But that’s an opinion that exists in my mind, and on tumblr. It’s definitely not something I’m going to bring to the devs and accuse them of dancing around. Because still, as it stands, Aloy is most likely coded as pan/bi. It doesn’t warrant me or the thousands of other lesbian fans being harassed over a headcanon, though.

To me, and probably most people who genuinely feel normally about this game, there are way bigger issues in this fandom than anti-ship. There have been way bigger concerns surrounding how the developers and actors have been treated by the fans. There are way worse attacks conducted by fans who love shipping content than those who hate it. There have been worse attacks on people in this fandom by people "defending" their favorite ships than by outsiders in the gaming community that invade our spaces to tell us how mannish and ugly Aloy is. The people who think shipping is the biggest point of discourse in this fandom are most likely the same ones perpetrating it.

FOTH portrays their product as bravely pushing the boundaries on something that is going to receive backlash because it is shipping content. It represents itself as an amalgamation of all the shipping content in the fandom, dedicated to it. The language applied is intended to attract anyone who is cool with shipping, which I’m pretty sure is over 95% of this website. Definitely over 95% of the Horizon fandom. A genius move, from a marketing standpoint.

“What? That’s ridiculous, why are they facing negative discourse for a silly little dating sim? I’m cool with shipping, they get my support.” 

It is ridiculous, isn’t it? Tumblr is full of shipping, how is a tumblr account for a dating sim finding itself in a position where it has to preemptively address negative discourse on the first day of the official blog existing? It’s because the negative discourse they’re warning against isn’t aimed at shipping, it’s aimed at the aggression seen from the creators on their personal blogs in regards to their favorite ship. But they opened with the discourse statement so that if they ended up receiving criticism from the people they bullied, there’d be a potential for fans of their project to blindly defend them because FOTH prefaced that all their haters just hate shipping. 

That one statement from their account tells me that FOTH seems to be picksy-choosing what issues in this fandom warrant concern. Apparently, calling Aloy a lesbian is a bigger offense than sending death threats to actors and developers. Apparently, the worst discourse to happen in the Horizon fandom is because of those who defended Seyka from unwarranted hate and not the people who were enraged with her addition to the series. Apparently, FOTH wants to ignore all the harassment the devs of Horizon went through, but keep their fans aware that any so-called hate (criticism) that the FOTH creators face is simply unjustified and toxic. They opened their blog with an attempt to alienate anyone who might ever have a reason to criticize the game.

I won’t be playing FOTH, I have little interest in it besides innate curiosity. The closest I get to touching dating sims is fantasy RPG’s though, so I likely wouldn’t be playing it regardless.

As I stated in the opening, my feelings about FOTH have nothing to do with the game itself and rather the people behind it and the circumstances that brought it to fruition. I don’t think every artist behind it has the altruistic goal of simply creating something fun for everyone in the fandom to enjoy, I think some of them are just scratching an itch. If they were looking for something productive to place their frustration into, they found it. I’d be interested to know which pairings end up being the most fleshed out, and which ones are lacking. Especially since every artist got assigned to a character they genuinely enjoy. DM me privately to place your bets. 

So, I guess, TLDR; I’m not going to try and stop anyone from playing Focus On The Heart, but I don't trust all the people working on it nor their intentions. For Reasons™.

[piratewithvigor]

MAY

BCC!Bryan x Retired!Kane celebrating May 19th

AO3

“Thank you… for coming back.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“I just want you to know I appreciate it.”

“But that isn’t like you. You don’t… I’ve never known you to get mushy over stuff like this.”

“Things change. It’s not exactly like you to be so team-oriented. Let alone a stable.”

His stable. His boys. They were all at home, probably all snuggled up together… probably wondering if he was okay.

They hadn’t exactly approved of this idea. They didn’t approve of him taking Kane’s call. They definitely didn’t approve of the fact that Bryan hadn’t blocked Kane’s number yet. But that was where the problems started coming up: Daniel hadn’t blocked his number. Daniel was the one who got a boner from yelling matches. Daniel was the one who would get misty-eyed if he was cuddled too tightly and got too warm overnight. Daniel was the kid who couldn’t figure out what a healthy relationship was.

Bryan was supposed to be better than that. The good example of what a respected veteran should be. He was the one Yuta was looking up to now that Regal wasn’t traveling with them anymore. Coaching him through the nights where he began wondering if he should check on Chuck and Orange. Reminding him why he’d swapped teams. That they were weaknesses. Parts of his past he had to let go. Yuta had to be cured of his past. Hypocrite as he was, Bryan couldn’t do the same.

He would chastise Yuta for his weakness– letting his emotions get the better of his career. Yuta would have to ignore countless messages and delete endless voicemails… Bryan had somehow been summoned to Kane’s bed with a single call. 

It was Daniel’s weakness. Under his years of being The Dragon, he kept feeling like Daniel. Daniel, who didn’t even have the strength to fight for the right to use his own name. The only person left who called him Daniel was Kane. The way he said it made it sound like it was the only name he’d ever have or ever want to have.

“It’s not like we’ve spent much time together lately. People change.”

“Don’t I know it.” It’s an attempt at a joke, but it’s a poor one. Kane’s changing was what ripped the two of them apart in the first place. When he’d taken off his mask and put on a suit and became this fake, plastic thing. Their team had broken up, but their relationship grasped at fumes for almost another seven years. Even after he changed back. He’s more like how he was in the beginning. Still not a good man, but a real one. One who’s aware of how big a deal it is for Bryan to be there. He’d practically begged, after all. When Bryan accepted, he resolved to play nice. No fights. The one issue remained that since their relationship had been built on fighting, the awkward silences are all the more awkward. “How are they?”

“Who?”

“Your boys. Dean and Cesaro and Regal and the little one… Yuta?”

Daniel would have been touched that Kane even remembered. Probably even initiated a second round in gratitude. Bryan can only remind himself that he’s told Kane a number of times who his boys are. Daniel would have made excuses, citing memory problems resulting from the very reason he agreed to show up. Bryan begged his resolve to stay strong. His boys needed his resolve to stay strong. 

“They’re okay. Regal’s retired now. Keeps sending us old man selfies from gray English beaches.”

“Been meaning to do some of that myself.”

“What’s stopping you?”

Kane shrugged, tracing a finger over the dip in Bryan’s hip. “Guess I’m not ready to go back on the road. Not when I’m finally home.”

“Mm.”

It’s a nice home, it really is. A few miles away from Taker, deep in the woods with a big lake in the backyard. It’s secluded, but not so far from the main road that it’s inaccessible. He built it himself, custom-built for his own comfort. The doors and ceilings are higher, most of the walls are primarily windows to let in natural light and almost all of the furniture is custom as well. The only piece Bryan recognizes is the bed they’re in. It’s the one from their old shared apartment; long enough for Kane to stretch out in, wide enough for them to each have their space (even though they always migrated to the middle and became a tangled mess of limbs) and their initials carved into the headboard, the result of a slightly tipsy night of foodplay. It’s a nice moment that Bryan doesn’t fault Kane for wanting to keep. God knows the genuinely good memories aren’t frequent.

Both of them want to break the silence. Daniel wants to bring up more of the good times. Reminisce on how much fun they had together. If Daniel had his way, he’d talk himself into wanting to move right back in with Kane. All Bryan wants to say is that this can’t happen anymore. When people are divorced, they need to stay divorced. No more going back and no more yearly calls. If it were Yuta, he could say it. He could tell him to stop living in the past and move on. He could tell Mox to tough it out. Claudio wouldn’t need to be told, it was what made him the best. 

Bryan tilts his head up and it feels obscenely familiar. Daniel would lace his legs together with Kane’s, more or less straddling one to be curled along his side, using his chest as a pillow. He’d tilt his head up and get kissed so softly, it would make his heart ache. It almost feels wrong that Kane doesn’t kiss him, just looks at him expectantly. 

“We can’t do this anymore,” Bryan murmurs, barely able to make out the words. Daniel almost regrets saying anything when that damn heartbreaking look reaches Kane’s eyes. He doesn’t say anything for a while, just tilts his head back and sighs deeply enough that Bryan can feel it through his bones. 

“I know.”

He didn’t want to have asked. He’d probably felt fine on May 16. He’d probably distracted himself with household tasks on May 17. May 18 got him dialing Bryan’s number more than once before finally daring to call. Bryan had taken the next flight to Texas and made it to Kane’s doorstep the morning of the 19th. Taker mourned in his own way by tending to the graves of their parents. Kane mourned by darkening the house as best he could and sitting on the floor in the darkest corner. The makings of breakfast were already out by the time Bryan arrived; proof that he’d tried to make it through the day. That he’d sworn to himself that he could handle it this year and still came up short. 

Calming him down was arduous. But it always had been. The steps never changed. He hadn’t used it in years, but Bryan still understood the sign language Kane used when he couldn’t speak. He got him fed as best he could (which involved cooking meat, but all the time around Mox lately had gotten rid of most of his avoidance to it), then to bed. He’d cry a little, sleep a lot, then it was a gamble on how he might be feeling afterwards. Thankfully, this year was one of the easier ones. Kane felt up to talking afterwards, then up to touching. The sun was almost down when he felt up to going beyond. By that point, Bryan had taken a backseat to Daniel and allowed himself to be bent over for one of the few times since their divorce.

“Please don’t call me next year.”

“I don’t want to.”

“But you might?”

“I can’t promise I won’t call. I won’t want to.”

“But you want to be alone less.”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t want to tell you how to grieve-”

“Why does it sound like you’re about to?”

“I think it’s time you and Taker acted like brothers about today.”

“Danny–” 

“Don’t call me that.” It feels biting. More than he intended it to. It’ll be a fight he doesn’t want to have. Bryan takes a breath and settles his weight onto Kane a little harder. “Don’t call me that anymore,” he repeats, softer this time.

“I know, I know, you’re Bryan now. I’ve just called you Danny for so long…”

“Yeah. But I’m Bryan now. Just like I was before we met. You called Danny and he showed up, but I can’t keep letting him show up. Danny shouldn’t exist anymore.”

Kane tilts his head. An old gesture he never quite grew out of. It makes Bryan sigh and push up onto his elbows so they can look at each other properly.

“You married Danny. You loved Danny. I’m not him anymore. Danny doesn’t exist anymore. It’s not good for us for him to exist any longer.”

“...is it wrong that sometimes I feel like I’d do anything to have him back?”

No. But he can’t say it out loud. To feel the ghost of his former husband everywhere he goes. To wish he wasn’t a ghost, but flesh and blood and warmth that could be touched. He feels Kane’s ghost all the time. Feels him every time he’s looking at someone a little too tall. His radiating heat permeates every scorching night and sends Bryan away from the arms of whoever is trying to care for him. The ‘I love you’s that used to get whispered mid-tag echo back when Yuta tries to say it on occasion, desperate for a returned one, or even an acknowledgement that it was said. 

“Try and stop. The wishing will drive you crazy.”

“...then I guess tonight’s our last night.”

Daniel’s begging for the opposite. That maybe they can spare one night a year. Skip out on the week before the week before Double Or Nothing. He’ll be there for the go-home show, that’s what matters. But nothing of note happens on the 19th. The only thing that ever happened on the 19th for the last decade was that he’d be in bed with Kane. He can’t do it anymore. 

“Yeah… guess it is.”

[studioahead]

Studio Spotlight: Creative Growth

This month we spoke with Ginger Shulick Porcella, the new executive director of Creative Growth, which since 1974 has given artists with developmental disabilities a space to grow and be part of the larger art community. What we love most about Creative Growth is not just how community-forward it is, but also how it shows by example the power of art as communication. We talked recent exhibitions, how arts and disability intersect, and how curators can be the subversive force in the institutions they are part of.

Studio AHEAD: How did you get here? We mean to California. You started at Creative Growth a few months ago having been executive director and chief curator at Franconia Sculpture Park in Minneapolis. Perhaps you can share your journey with us.

Ginger Shulick Porcella: I've always been somewhat nomadic in nature, using my past experiences and the communities that I help cultivate to inform my next step. I've always gone where there is the greatest need, and for the past 15+ years I've focused on leading contemporary arts organizations through major transitions, which typically involves healing a wound or trauma within the organization and/or community – all through the lens of contemporary art. My journey has been simultaneously circuitous yet direct in nature – leading me to this exact place and moment in time to lead Creative Growth, an organization I've long cherished and admired. I've lived coast-to-coast and everywhere in between, but being back in California, and the Bay Area in particular, feels like I've finally found my forever home. 

SA: We see the term "outside art" a lot, especially applied to Creative Growth's artists. What is the curator's role in closing the gap between the mainstream art world and those who have been historically left out of it? Does the curator just curate or does the curator produce–through the act of curation–as well?

GSP: We typically use the word "self-taught art" instead of "outsider art" because "outsider art" implies an "us" and an "other." That being said, I think one of my primary roles as a curator is to use my platform and privilege to amplify the voices of those historically underrepresented in our nation's cultural institutions, whether it’s artists with disabilities, women, queer or trans artists, artists of color, Native artists, etc. I am not an artist; I'm an arts administrator and a curator to my core, but I guess you could say that my art is curating: in making the impossible possible and in bringing what I call "unexpected audiences" and communities together, to build empathy through art.

SA: Bouncing off that: what are the steps institutions can take in changing this?

GSP: I think that more cultural institutions need to identify and eliminate the physical and intellectual barriers for cultural participation. It seems so simple but it’s really one of the most radical things that organizations can do, because most museums were designed to codify that ideal of us/other, haves/have nots, outsider/insider. This nonhierarchical approach is antithetical to the very fabric of those institutions. Which is exactly why I've chosen to extract myself from the museum world and better utilize my skillset and passion in the nonprofit arts arena where my values are mirrored by the mission of the organization.

SA: We love the pieces in a new exhibition on Joseph Alef ("Recent Abstraction") done in an abstract expressionist style and very colorful and vibrant. Can you speak a little bit about the paintings, Alef's creative process, and how the exhibition came about?

GSP: Yes – that work by Joseph Alef is stunning! Joseph has been working at Creative Growth off and on for over 20 years now, and his style definitely embodies what the exhibition "Recent Abstraction" is all about. His works are so gestural and active and alive; and there's really nothing like seeing his work in that large of a scale. Many of the artists at Creative Growth work in abstraction: it really gets to the root of pure artistic expression, joy, and that magical energy that the artists embody at Creative Growth. Our gallery director Nadia Ghani identified the need to highlight these artists working within similar techniques and styles through a curated exhibition. And certainly so many audiences and collectors have positively responded, since a majority of the works on display have already been purchased!

SA: That’s amazing! What is an exhibition you'd love to do–even if it may never happen?

GSP: My dream exhibition at Creative Growth would be to do a celebrity exhibition with alumni artist Kim Clark. Kim was incredibly prolific and practiced at Creative Growth for 20 years. Her work is completely influenced by pop culture and has so much fun and humor in it. I recently purchased a work of hers featuring the cast of ALF from the 80s! I think doing a solo exhibition of Kim Clark's work in Los Angeles where we can invite all of the celebrities that she's documented over the years would be incredibly fun.

SA: Finally, who are some lesser-known Creative Growth artists you'd love to put on our radar? This blog is all about Northern California as a community–we want to support our artists!

GSP: Two of the artists I'm most excited by that have a big career ahead of them are Nathaniel Jackson and Latefa Noorzai. Jackson came up through our Saturday youth program and now is in the adult day program at Creative Growth. He paints these amazing portraits of Godzilla that have become increasingly abstracted to the point where they're now rendered in these delicate watercolors. We recently showcased the work of Jackson at the Outsider Art Fair in NY and he was definitely a hit. All of his work sold to different collectors so it was exciting to see people so excited about the work. Noorzai has been working at Creative Growth for the past ten years and is an Afghani refugee. Her portraits are simultaneously whimsical yet haunting, and her recent series of soft sculptures really make these characters come to life.

Photos by Ekaterina Izmestieva

[weaselbrownie]

U open for a req? Can you do Notice by Little Mix for a Draco smut? Really love your writing aaaaaaa 🙈🙈🙈

notice | d.m

draco malfoy x fem!reader

summary : it’s been a while since you’ve been intimate with draco and you are determine to change that

warning : NSFW! smut, swearing, degradation, praising, overstimulation, breeding kink (?) (lemme know if i missed any)

word count : 3.3k

a/n : feels like i’ve been dead but hopefully i’ll be consistent again :) also thank you for requesting and hopefully i didn’t mess this up 

MASTERLIST

You twist and turn in front of a big mirror that sits on the floor, smiling as your fingertips graze over your figure. Looking back through the mirror to see just the ends of your bed in the dimly lit room. You began to fix your hair into a low ponytail so it wouldn't get in the way of your robe. You looked over the mirror one final time to make sure everything is in place before marching to your boyfriend's dorm. Your reflection was a true beauty, standing so still in the cold atmosphere as the delicate white lace decorates your body, covering only the necessary bits.

Oh, he's gonna love this, or maybe not?

Lately, your relationship with Draco has taken a toll, nothing terrible but it's definitely something, an inconvenience if you will. Since the exams are coming up he has not been able to put down his book, perfecting his skills to come out on top of everyone else. Not that there's anything wrong with being ambitious– he is a Slytherin after all. It's just– he's been benching you to the sidelines, though he still gives you attention he's not giving you the attention that you need. Specific attention that only he can give to you.

The throbbing ache in between your legs has been kicking you in the guts for days and you have been so patient but tonight is the night you change things.

You quietly hum as you pick up your house robe to put on over your lingerie, walking delicately across your dorm as you opened your door, heading straight to the blonde's room. It wasn't a long walk and as you approach the door at the end of the corridor you didn't even bother to knock, slowly twisting the doorknob as you let yourself in.

Just as you predicted Draco is sitting by his desk, drowning in hundreds of parchments and textbooks. Like your dorm, his is also dark, only a little desk lamp to unveil his pale face. You were so quiet he didn't even notice you come in, and so you walk closer and closer to his sitting figure.

With every step, a new feature of his is brighter– clearer. How the top of his head is messy– probably from running his hands over it again and again. How his brows knit together as his eyes wander over the page of the book he's reading. How he bites his lips in between those perfect rows of teeth. Or how his long slender fingers toy with the edge of the paper– the veins running down his flexed arms– oh how much you've missed those fingers.

Right as you revealed yourself from the dark he looked up, his bright orbs meeting yours in the dark. He was happy you've come, you could tell by the way the corner of his lips twitches into a tiny smile he likes to hide– thinking you wouldn't notice them.

"I didn't hear you come in" He whispered as he extended his arms out to reach your hips– slowly pulling you closer to him.

"Well, you had your nose buried deep in those books" You replied with an identical tone, hushing to him in the dark.

Draco was about to set you on his lap before you stopped him, picking up your hand as your fingers grazed over his, grabbing onto it softly as you guided his hand onto your chest. You were halfway there before his hand froze,

"Not tonight darling, I've got a lot t–"

"When is it then Draco?" You snapped at him before he even got the chance to finish his sentence. Shocked at your reaction Draco's brows shot up, looking up at you as if you were an unsolved puzzle with a missing piece. "You're always busy studying! I put in all this effort into myself and– "

"Effort? Not to burst your bubble darling but you came exactly in a school robe, what effort?" He cut you off as you did with him seconds ago.

"You haven't even tried taking it off– oh for merlin's sake–" You continued to raise your voice as frustration takes over you, in which you ended up ripping off your robe– showing Draco everything that sits underneath.

From the way his eyes shot open to analyze every aspect of your body, you really thought he was going to put down his book for a second but everything comes crashing down as he parts his lips. "I'm still busy Y/N," He said as if you didn't just strip yourself in front of him.

He sighs as he continued to speak "Maybe if you go and sit down and be quiet like a good girl, I might just consider your little offer" He finished off his sentence.

"Consider? Oh, you've got to be fucking with me" You started again as the palm of your hands flew to your hips, right when you were about to open your mouth again an idea struck you. Maybe if– yeah that might just work.

"Dray please" Your figure softened as you pouted to him, showing him your big shiny eyes. "I miss you" You continued as you lowered yourself to his lap, your hands slithering around to the back of his neck as you move around in the spot.

"Later okay?" He replied as he kissed your nose.

Frustrated with him you shot out of his lap to stand straight. "Fine, I'll do it myself" You hissed at him as you stomped down to his neatly made bed. You continued your way to the bed as you heard Draco chuckle from behind. You knew he was enjoying this, toying you around on a string knowing he's the only one who could really get you there.

You sat right in the middle of his bed as you got comfortable on top of the heavy sheets. You had a few ideas and one of them has got to work, right?

You began to gently trace your hand from the top of your neck, slowly bringing it down to your collar bone and to the valley of your breast where each sat so beautifully on the cup of your lingerie. You squeezed your breasts ever so gently, drawing out the pleasure that comes with it.

You looked up to see Draco still reading his stupid books. You casually rolled your eyes as you continued your actions. With every movement, you imagined it to not be your own but rather the touch of the boy in front of you. How he would run his hands all over your body before ripping each piece of clothing off.

Your hand left your breasts to continue down to the heat in between your legs. Keeping all eyes on him, you slowly drew your legs apart, touching everything that could be reached before placing your cold fingers directly on top of your cunt.

You were soaked– your juices staining the outside of your underwear. Just then you began to put pressure into your fingers, slowly rubbing your clit through your underwear as you let the little moans slip out.

Draco tensed immediately upon hearing your voice, yet he continued to face the other way, keeping his eyes on the long pages of the book. You resumed your actions and moved your underwear to the side, goosebumps start to form on your arms as the cold wind hit your sopping cunt.

"It's not gonna work princess" Draco called out as he flipped a page. You knew that if you answered he was gonna win, and so you push and push until you could get to him.

Your moans and whimpers grew louder by the second as you worked your fingers faster on your clit, you knew it was starting to bother him, but you needed that one last push to really rail him.

"Oh– fuck" Your moans cut in parts as you found a sweet spot,

"Yes– Oh god Theo–"

The second his name slip past your lips Draco immediately stood up, throwing the book that was in his hand across the room, and sprinted towards you just to rip your fingers away. Right when he touched you, you could see flames behind his cold eyes, anger as you moaned out his best mate's name instead of his.

Draco didn't say anything at first, all you could see was his eyes, roughly as he took both your hands and pinned them right on top of your head on the headboard. "So this is how you're gonna play hm?" He asked as his face neared your own. He was so close that all you could smell was him, how his toxic scent of mint and citrus circles around the air as you inhale it.

You looked deep into his eyes, and you knew he would give you what you wanted all along. The air was thick around you as you didn't answer his previous question. All you could do was wait for him as he trapped you under his body and his strong gaze.

"I asked you a question Y/N, now where are the manners I taught you?" He asked as he slurred his words.

"Y-yes! I mean no or I–" You opened your mouth to answer him yet all that came out was blabber.

"Pathetic" Draco basically spat at you as he pinned your hands higher, making you sit straight rather than slouched down like you were earlier. "Open your fucking legs" He continues as you obeyed every order coming out of his mouth.

You slowly opened your legs as your wet cunt revealed itself, your underwear going to its original position to cover your heat. You could see your juices leaking down the side. You switched your gaze back to your boyfriend on top of you, a small smirk formed on the edge of his lips as he looked into your heat.

You stayed silent as Draco carefully picked out his next moves. Slowly he stroked your thighs higher and higher until he rested his palm right on top of where you needed him, he was so close yet so far away, and so it surprised you when all of sudden he delivered a hard smack onto your cunt, jolting your body awake as your back arches.

He didn't stop there, giving you exactly two more slaps before soothing the covered skin. Tears pooled on your bottom lashes as you looked at him, his eyes still bore into your sopping cunt and his hand strong as he kept both your hands in place.

Draco kept quiet as he slowly moved your panties to the side– exposing your burning cunt to him. Your hole clenches as the cold air swoops over it, the mixture of pain and pleasure clung onto you. Your body jolts once more as Draco gave your cunt another slap, right on your clit where you're most sensitive.

"Fucking Theo" Draco said, breaking the silence. His fingers slither around your cunt as he gathered all the widespread juices. Massaging your clit gently as you threw your head back. "You wanna go down to his dorm now? Show him how much of a cockwhore you are?" He said as each word went straight to your core.

You quickly shook your head but that wasn't good enough for him "Use your words" He spat as his hand broke away from your cunt to grab your face.

"N-no" You quickly said as he tightens his hand around your jaw,

"No who?" He asked once more

"N-no D-Draco," You said as you mentally cursed yourself for stuttering so much.

Draco stayed still for a second, looking deep into your eyes before letting go of your face just to shove his fingers up inside you. He didn't give you time to adjust as he started to fuck you with his fingers.

A loud moan escaped your mouth as you threw your head back and your eyes roll to the back of your head. The continued feeling of pain and pleasure didn't leave you as it got more intense from Draco's actions. His long and slender fingers worked themselves deep inside you, turning you into a puddle under his touch.

"Can Theo do this?" He asked through gritted teeth as he kept pumping his fingers in and out of your sopping cunt "Fucking answer me Y/N! Can Theo do this to you?" He snapped as you failed to answer his question once more.

"N-No he can't" You finally screamed out as he speeds up.

His fingers continued to assault your throbbing cunt as he felt every inch of you. How your walls tighten around him every few seconds due to how good he made you feel. The fact that it's been a while since you've done this adds to the pleasure, it feels exactly or even better than the first time he went down on you.

It wasn't long until you feel like you were about to burst. The tight coil starts to form at the pit of your stomach as Draco moved to kiss you down your neck. "This is what you wanted right?" Draco mumbled against your collar bone.

"Yes– please I'm so close" You moaned out loud once again.

You were right on the edge, screaming his name as the once silent room was now filled with the sound of your filthy moans and slick heat. Draco didn't have to do much to get you there and so he continues as you felt your walls tighten and your breath hitched. "Oh, I'm gonna cum– Draco fuck.."

Suddenly he stopped his actions, pulling his fingers out of you as you whined at the loss. "But as I remembered you wanted Theo, not me," He said as a smirk grew on the corner of his lips.

A feeling of panic grew within you as Draco started to get up, without thinking twice you grabbed onto his wrist keeping him from standing up, you got up on your knees as your face met his. "N-no no please, I only want you" You brought your hands up to cup his face as you peck his soft lips. "I'm sorry please–". The room fell into silence as you tremble in front of Draco. Just as you were about to speak again, he opened his mouth.

"Get on your hands and knees"

Your eyes widened as you slowly let go of his face, scrambling back onto the bed to get into position. You settled down as you faced the headboard, arching your back just like he taught you. You couldn't see him but you could hear the light shuffling behind you and soon the warmth of his hands on your hips.

"My poor baby, you want to come don't you?" Said Draco as his fingers work to slide your underwear down– the cold air meeting your open cunt once more. "Let's see if you deserve it" You jumped as you felt a tongue flat on your cunt, slithering around as it works down on you. It didn't take long for that one familiar feeling in the pit of your stomach to return.

You arched your back further, shoving yourself to him to finally reach orgasm yet he surprises you once more. You knew you were close but as soon as that feeling came you felt the loss of his tongue on you as the air filled his spot.

"Draco please– I'm sorry" You choked out as another orgasm was robbed from you. He didn't reply as he simply taps your lower back. Before you know it you felt the tip of his cock prodding at your entrance.

"Are you sorry though?" He said as the tip of his cock slips into you "For all, I know you're just a cock hungry whore" He continued as he pushed more of himself into you "Willing to take anyone to fuck you" His hands made way to your hips, gabbing onto them as he rammed the remaining of himself into you, forcing his way in– taking your breath away.

You felt every inch of him, ripping his way through you as the pain and pleasure continued to linger. Just as you were about to answer him, he abruptly pulled back and slammed into you, giving you merely seconds to adjust before repeating his actions.

Then and there he started to pound into you, taking all the air from your lungs. You felt him- his hand as one left your hips to grip your throat, slowly lifting you up so that your back meets his chest.

"You're mine..." He said as the grip on your throat tightens "...And I'm not sharing you with anyone" The feeling that was robbed from you twice started to come back. Your walls tighten as Draco's other hand snuck down to your clit, rubbing in fast motion as you struggled to keep still. "Did I make myself clear?"

You had a hard time processing his words as his cock and his fingers work on you "Y-Yes– Clear Draco" You spat out as the feeling becomes too overwhelming. You couldn't think straight but you knew you were close. Your moans became louder as your eyes rolled to the back of your head, the darkroom making you dizzy.

You could hear Draco talk and groan behind you but you couldn't register what he was saying. "I'm c-coming– Please can I cum?" You started to stutter as the feeling sits on the edge of your body. "Please Draco please can I– fuck" You lost your breath as he didn't slow down his movements.

"Go on then, show me how good you can be coming on my cock" He whispers into your ear as you let go. Your hands grabbing onto him as he helps you through your high, continuing the motion on your clit and pounding into you as the feeling grew stronger and stronger. His hand slowly unclasped your throat– letting the air flow through you again. He guided you through it all just like he always does but he doesn't stop there.

"D-Dray too much -p-please" You whined pathetically as he continued to rut into you, overstimulation started to take over you. Black spots started to appear at the edge of your vision and your consciousness started to slip.

"I'm not done darling– you wanted this so be a good girl and take it," He said in between groans as he speeds up once more. You continued to moan and whine as he reached his high.

Finally, his hips began to stutter, his thrusts becoming uneven as his breath hitched behind you. Draco held onto you as he was approaching, making you feel the warmest of love at the pit of your stomach. "Fuck Y/N" Draco groaned as one of his hands reached out to grip the headboard.

Soon you felt him come inside you, shooting white ropes of cum deep into you as he finally stops his movements completely.

His deep breathing could be heard from behind you as he slowly pulls out from behind you and guides you back down onto the mattress. "Hold it in" He whispered as he turned you to lay on your back.

You could feel your eyes stutter and Draco moving from somewhere above you. The warmth of his palm made contact with your skin as he glides them up and down the side of your legs. "Dray–" You whined as you could feel yourself returning from the fizzy headspace, moving around as you slowly sat upright before you were stopped by him once more.

"Oh no we're not done here," He said as a small smirk formed the edge of his lips. You wanted this, and now you will have to sit in for the whole night as you two caught up on what you've missed.

TAGLIST : @microwavedhampster @o-rion-sta-r @willowmores @whenuwereyoung

[57greenstreet]

Gossip Guy podcast with Willem De Schryver

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yYjtRYOGS00

translated by @jackfrostsander @bruisingknees @lblogss @yousmina and me :)

-

E: I do have another present for you.

W: Oei oei oei, presents.

E: I do that every week. I give something to my guest of the week.

W: Oei oei oei. Do I slide it?

E: Here in the front is a flap that you have to fold upwards…

[Intro]

E: Wassup people, welcome to a new episode of the Gossip Guy podcast. My name is Ender Scholtens and today I’m here with Willem De Schryver. Everything ok?

W: Sure sure (In Dutch sure is used as a confirmation to a question).

E: Is this your first podcast?

W: Yes, this is my first podcast.

E: Stress?

W: No, it will be fine, right? Relaxed.

E: I don’t know… (laughing). For the people who don’t recognize you, from where could they know you?

W: Hmmm, probably from the youth series WTFOCK where, in the third season, I play the role of Sander.

E: And we are allowed to talk about it in this podcast.

W: Yeah I also heard that. Yes, it’s over.

E: Was it a difficult chapter of your life to close?

W: Yes, I still clearly remember the last moment… Like really the last last scene at the sea… That was an emotional moment because you went through a lot as a group, you did a lot together, and emotional scenes, intimate scenes. But yes, I think, if I speak for the whole group that it was a goodbye to the series but not a goodbye from each other. We still keep in contact. Mainly through WhatsApp.

E: Yeah, the end of the series was beautiful. I sat next to my girlfriend when it just came online. Because there were a few scenes that we hadn’t seen yet and we were just watching them… And we refreshed and the last episode was online… The last piece was online… So, I thought… I really cried… It caused quite some emotions.

W: For many people… Also under the cast and even the extras that were present for that last scene… Even among them. I can remember that they got emotional because it really was over over. I think that we, WTFOCK, have been able to impact a lot of young people in Belgium. So, it’s beautiful… We closed it beautifully…

E: I don’t doubt that. I really liked the end. What is your favorite memory from your whole WTFOCK experience?

W: Hoh, hmmm. Do I have to choose one? Difficult to choose one… I think that the most enjoyable moments… At the end of each series… Almost… We were at the sea or in the Ardennes, as a group, for a vacation. Away together. And those moments… Away with the whole cast and crew… Being away for a whole weekend. And in the evening, talking late into the night and that creates a special connection and I think that, in general, was the most enjoyable… Yes, it affects me… You share, as a young person, a common dream or something we want to realize as an actor to succeed and everyone who works so hard for that… That’s nice to see.

E: I recently talked to Veerle and I know that if she sees Nora, like somewhere, say at a party… Then they stay together for the whole evening… Do you have that? With who did you have the best connection throughout that whole experience?

W: Yes…

E: That doesn���t mean that the rest is not chill or so…

W: No the rest is all stupid… There’s only one person… I hate you all! (joking) No! Yes, hmmm, I think that I definitely have the best connection with Willem. Just because we have been through a lot… I always compare the WTFOCK crew a bit to my own friend group, aside from the cast. I mean, I know to whom I can go for what. I know I can go to some if I feel sad, to talk and I know who I can go to to have a laugh. And who I can go to to have a general chat. And everyone has their qualities or like their own aura around them… Where I love to hang around. So, it differs from person to person. So, it’s hard to choose one person but Willem then in the sense that, if you jump naked together in a swimming pool and if you have intimate scenes together… That creates a connection, of course. So, yes, if I have to choose one person…

E: Is there a barrier that you have to overcome to play such scenes? Because they are very intimate, indeed. And I, personally, couldn’t imagine… I can’t act… But, to empathize with a role… To play such scenes… Is that difficult for you?

W: Huh, yes, that’s a question I get often. I mean like… Yeah and you have to empathize with that character… But yes, you step into that project with a certain professionalism and you say “okay, we are going to create a story and bring it to the public with certain values and that we want to tell something and show something” …So, yes, you don’t really think about it. So, it’s not like I thought “Ooooo, I am kissing with a boy but I am interested in girls”. That was not a problem for me because it really is about telling the story and making that together and if the story requires that then you just completely go for it.

E: That’s cool. What are your future acting ambitions? You now have played in a series, is that something you want to do more in the future or do you like theatre more or movie or…

W: I find it difficult to choose between theatre and film, for example. After WTFOCK I played in Déjà Vu, which you can see on Streamz and later this year on Channel 4… And I study theatre at KASK. And I notice the difference, due to the recordings, I am really in the field and I am busy and I work, while at school I learn new things about theatre… So, in my opinion I have more experience in television work because I actually have done projects for that and I haven’t yet for theatre, which is still school and learning. So, I think it’s currently hard to choose but I think, maybe it’s a cliché answer, but the combination is maybe ideal, of course. But I am still exploring and I will see how it goes…

7:02

E: What is your favorite food?

W: My favorite food?

E: Yes.

W: Hmmmm, in the past I was really a basic guy… Like spaghetti bolognese or so… But now, generally after my exams, I go to a restaurant with my grandma. She always buys. That’s always amazing. I am a fan. And I always take steak tartare with fries. That remains a bit of a guilty pleasure.

E: How long, do you think, would it take you to eat five full plates of spaghetti bolognese?

W: Hoh, hmmm. The thing is, my stomach is rather small…

E: Small?

W: I think that I would have to schedule in… Okay, after a certain time I would have to throw up and then eating further…

E: You’re allowed to take a break. You’re allowed to say… Okay, I take a few days…

W: No, no, not that…

E: You’re going to do it in a day?

W: Look, two plates… Three if I really push…

E: You get preparation time so you know like a week before… So, you can like…

W: Train yourself?

E: Yes, train…

W: Hoh, alee say about four hours…

E: Four hours?! Five plates, he? Like five really big plates…

W: Yeah but yeah, four minutes… I am exaggerating… Let’s say a day… In a day five plates…

E: Ok, that should work. Then you basically have every meal… Breakfast… Lunch… Dinner… and in between… pasta…

W: Pasta as breakfast…

E: One day should definitely be feasible.

W: Yes, indeed.

8:49

E: What is, according to you, the reason you were placed on this planet?

W: Fuck (laughs).

E: Existential crisis, okay? Have you never thought about what the purpose of life is and what…

W: Yes, certainly… Hmmm, I'm someone who worries a lot. When I'm in bed in the evening I start to think about questions like that and then I think “what am I doing? Willem… where do I want to go to and…” Hmmm, why was I put on this planet? Hmmmm… (speechless followed by laughing). This is really bad… It’s like I don’t value myself…

E: Noooo, but I didn’t expect a deep philosophical answer. Well, if you had one… really good but…

W: Okay I’m going to think about my philosophical answer… but no. If you want… No! Yes, now I'm really going to sound philosophical but… (crosstalk) Everyone who is on earth has a certain reason to be here and everyone… I for example have that… I really feel that… I never liked going to school. Especially, in lower and high school. I… I actually, on purpose, put my fingers in my throat in the morning to throw up…

E: Wow, that’s heavy…

W: And then going downstairs to say “papa I’m ill, can I stay home?” I don’t know why but that whole system… Sitting behind a desk all day… And those classes… that was not for me. And then I discovered my passion for acting and discovered that it really suited me. And that’s the thing… A lot of people often ask me like “how did you start?” and “I also would like to do that and where do I start and I have been rejected does that mean I am not good enough?” but I think that sometimes you shouldn’t rush to find your passion. It can take longer then you would like it to take. I think that if you too intensively search for "what am I good at?" and “I have to find something that I am good at” and… For me that’s happened unexpectedly. I did take acting classes on Wednesday afternoons after school and I kind of got into it like that… I think it differs for everyone and that everyone has their own purpose here on earth.

E: And would you say your purpose is acting?

W: Yeah…

E: There isn’t a right answer but how does it feel for you at the moment? Is that the thing you love doing the most or do you see yourself doing for a long time?

W: The thing is… I’m a person who gets tired of things very quickly. I’ve had a lot of hobbies.

E: So maybe next week you want to garden or something?

W: No, no I wouldn’t say that. No the thing is, with acting that isn’t the case. Since I was twelve… well first on amateur level…

E: How old are you now?

W: 19.

E: Oh wow I thought you were my age. 19… damn bro you’re three years younger than me.

W: 2001 represent.

E: That’s literally… you’re the same age as my brother! What the shit. Alright, no okay.

W: In November so almost 2002. I’m really a latecomer.

E: What?! You look like you’re the same age as me and everything.

12:14

W: But that’s honestly – thank you for saying that! I always used to be the “little guy.” None of the girls wanted to be with me cause they just thought I was cute.

E: I see.

W: And they came to me to talk about their love lives.

E: Oh, okay.

W: So I was always that guy who was like: “I’m in love with you.” “Oh, how cute! You’re so cute!” So I was always like: “Okay then, I’m never going to find anyone, I’m always going to stay… short. I’ll be all alone.” And then all of a sudden I –

E: Do you think height matters in regard to your chances with certain… people?

W: At this age I don’t think it does anymore, but I do think that – I think at – I just remember in high school that the romantic idea of what love was supposed to look like was very: a boy and a girl, and the boy has to be taller and stronger and bigger than the girl. But I think that now it’s more… I mean, at my age I’m convinced it’s more fluid than that, and it doesn’t have to be that way. So it doesn’t have to be an issue anymore.

E: But still, when you go on Twitter, short guys are still –

W: Yeah.

E: Totally annihilated.

W: I have notice – I have noticed – Yeah, it’s still… It’s still this… general thing that people get stuck on. Like: “Oh, a short dude. That’s not okay.” Or whatever.

E: Or like the guy has to be taller. But no, we’re – we’re – not… not all relationships… we’re really generalizing here. But I get what you mean.

W: Yeah.

E: No, it’s – I do think it’s still important. I think that when you’re, and this is really harsh, but that a lot of people look at you differently when you’re taller. I have this dude in my friend group, Louis Ledegen, and he’s close to 2 meters tall, and just some girls look at him and they just think that’s so… attractive or whatever. And I just can’t even imagine.

W: I don’t get that either.

E: That that makes them go like: “Wow!”

W: I was in the train just now and this dude walked by me and he was honestly like 2 meters tall and I was just thinking: “When you’re that tall, and you’re with…” I mean, the girl almost has to get on a stepping stool to reach him for a kiss! And girls are like – I mean, I’ve heard before that girls think it’s attractive when a man is really tall.

E: Yeah.

W: And yeah, I don’t know… I don’t totally get it.

E: No.

W: Maybe it’s cause I’m not that tall myself, that I’m like trying to protect myself and be all: “That’s not necessary!”

E: Yeah! If anybody knows the answer, do we, being shorter guys, have less of a chance?

W: Let us know, please.

14:53

E: Please let us know! We need some answers! Now in the show, wtFOCK, your hair’s a different color.

W: Yeah.

E: Yeah. Is that something… So that was actually – it wasn’t really blonde?

W: It was completely bleached.

E: Bleached.

W: It was more to the… But the thing is that they had to do it twice, cause the first time… I got there, for the first table read with the director and Willem [Herbots] and they were like: “Hey, Willem. We wanted to ask you something. We’d like to bleach your hair for the role.”

E: Yeah.

W: And I was like: “… Okay.”

E: Okay.

W: “And why?” No. “Just for the character and stuff.” So I was like: “Okay. That’s fine.” The thing is I had to be at the hairdresser for 4 hours for this.

E: Oh wow, heavy.

W: It was like this and this product, and it had to sit for a long time. It had to be bleached all over. And I got out of there the first time and I was completely yellow – but yellow like an egg.

E: Oh, shit!

W: And I… My mom dropped me off, and I texted her: “I’m done, will you come get me?” And I saw my mom approach and she just passed me by.

E: Oh wow.

W: She didn’t – she almost didn’t recognize me anymore. Like halfway - she was like – and then she was like: “Oh! Willem!” Like she hadn’t seen –

E: Oh shit.

W: That it was me. That I looked completely different. And then I arrived for another table read and Tom [Goris – director] was like: “Yeah… We’re not gonna go this route… This is too yellow.” So then I spent another 4 hours at the hairdresser. After that I had to be there for four hours almost every month. I did think it was cool to have bleached hair, but… You have to be at the hairdresser for so long, so that really wasn’t… my thing. I mean, I had some really cool moments with Mitch [Fabry – hair & make up wtFOCK]. Thanks, Mitch.

E: Would you ever dye your hair again?

W: Uhm.

E: Maybe another color?

W: Yeah, I don’t think so. I’m quite happy with my hair color, actually, I don’t know.

E: Alright.

W: Now it’s also like… Everyone always asks me: “So this is your natural hair color?”

E: Yeah.

W: And then I have to tell them: “Yeah.” And it’s like: “Oh, okay!” It’s this switch. But no, I’m happy with my hair. It’s fine.

17:03

E: I can also tell that you’ve got an earring? You can’t really tell on camera, but –

W: I’ll come a little closer [to the camera]. Yeah, I only got it recently, four weeks or something.

E: Yeah. Was it an impulsive, drunken decision, or something you wanted… for some time?

W: I’ve wanted it for a long time, but I was a little anxious about it like: “It’s not gonna look good on me,” and then after a while, a couple of months ago, I was like: “Fuck it, I’m just gonna do it.” And if it didn’t look good I could still just take it out, so it doesn’t really matter. But all in all I was pretty happy with it. My father, my parents – my mom: “Oh, so nice!!” And it was like – at first they give you a stud and then after four weeks you can change it to a hoop. And I really wanted a hoop, and I even asked the people in the (piercing) shop: “Can’t I please just get a hoop straight away?” And they were like: “No, sorry, it doesn’t work like that. For hygiene reasons that’s not okay.”

E: Okay.

W: But okay, so I had to wait four weeks and then eventually I could change it to the golden hoop. So I get home and the first thing my father said was: “Wow, you look like a douchebag.” That was the first thing out of his mouth, that I looked like a douchebag.

E: Is that the look you were going for?

W: No, not at all! Not at all!

E: I think it looks cool.

W: Thanks.

E: Cause a little while ago I wanted one, and so I put on my girlfriend’s earring – because even if your ear isn’t pierced it sticks a little –

W: Yeah.

E: And so I just put it on there for a day or something, and then I was like: “Okay, that’s quite enough.” I don’t know if I’d want it for longer than that. Recently I’ve been getting into rings and stuff though.

W: I wore rings for a long time, but I don’t have any anymore. I actually want – I like them too. But I have to –

18:47

E: If I’d known, I would’ve brought you a gift!

W: Go shopping. Goddamn!

E: I did bring you another gift though!

W: Another gift? Oei oei oei, gifts!

E: This is something I do every week,  I give my guest of the week something.

W: Oei oei oei. 

E: It’s just…

W: Do I just slide it –

E: There’s a little hatch over here, that you have to lift, and then you can just lift it like that. There we go.

W: There we go.

E: White hairspray.

W: If I’d want to go back to – there we have it. Too good.

E: It can be washed out really easily as well. So this way you don’t have to be at the hairdresser for like four hours. And then when you’re sick of it, you can just get rid of it again!

W: That was the thing… Thank you, by the way.

E: You’re very welcome.

W: Now I can go back – Now I can go back to my past life. No, that was the thing as well. People who – people who - after wtFOCK came online, people really recognized me with the white hair. I mean, it’s pretty noticeable, when I’m walking through Ghent station – if someone with bleached hair. I mean, if you watch the show, I can imagine that when you see someone with bleached hair, you immediately connect the two and think: “Oh, that could be him.” And then you run in to some people who ask for pictures. After that my hair was really short, cause the people from Déja-Vu were like: “We’re not gonna do this, just go back to your natural hair color.” So I cut it all off, and there was this time where… nobody came to talk to me anymore. I was able to just be myself again. It was as if – looking back on it, it was actually really nice that for wtFOCK I was able to completely get into a different character with different hair. And the first time I got rid of the hair I really noticed that was no longer being associated with the character.

E: Hannah Montana vibes! Your hair changes color and nobody knows who you are anymore.

W: “Who are you?”

E: “Who the fuck are you?!”

W: “Does anybody want to take pictures with me? It’s me! It’s me! I swear!”

E: “I’m that dude from wtFOCK! I’m that dude from wtFOCK!”

W: So if people don’t recognize me anymore I can just… *pshhht* in the morning.

E: Exactly! If you want to take some more pictures, you can just…

W: No, no. That’s fine. No, yeah.

E: It’s kind of crazy, actually. Because, honestly? The very first time I saw a flash of you, with this hair color, I also thought: “I recognize you from somewhere…” But I think I’d already gotten in contact with you through social [media] and I didn’t put two and two together that you…

W: Yeah.

E: “Aaah!”

W: “Aaah! You’re that guy!”

E: Yeah, so…

W: But that’s the whole thing. If someone recognizes me, which doesn’t happen that often by the way, it’s always – I think it’s funny to be like: “No, that’s not me.”

E: No.

W: People really start doubting themselves, it’s very: “Uhm, can I ask you a question? Are you that guy from wtFock?” “Me? No.”

E: “No!”

W: “That’s not me.” And people will often be like: “Oh? What? But I recognize you…” That doubt on their faces is pretty funny but yeah, then I tell them it’s me.

E: Just the reaction of someone being like: “Huh, do I know you from somewhere?” “Do you watch porn?”

W: The confrontation.

E: “Oh… qmdkjg.” And it’d be even better if the parents were right there as well. “Argh!”

W: “Yes, Jürgen, care to explain yourself, young man?”

E: No, it’s just funny to joke about. But you’ve never – Do you just get: “Hey, are you that guy from wtFOCK?” Or have people also asked you: “Do I know you from somewhere?” Or: “What do I know you from?”

W: Yeah, it depends. The thing is – I go to school in Ghent and when the [popular place where college students go out] was still open before Covid-19, not that I went there often because I didn’t really like it there –

E: No.

W: - in the sense that the combination of young people who –

E: Watch wtFOCK.

W: - watch wtFOCK and alcohol – and people who’ve had alcohol to drink –

E: And are horny?

W: - their limits or boundaries are just gone. “Oh my god!!! You’re that dude from wtFOCK!! Can I kiss you??” Things like that!

E: Oh, fuck!

W: And I was really like: “Okay…?” I’m just a regular dude and I’m trying – and I actually thought it was less annoying for myself, but I thought it was more disruptive for my friends. Like even when we were just walking down the street, we got recognized a couple of times, and I was just like: I just want to have fun with my friends, and not have to spend too much time thinking. That’s another thing I was subconsciously thinking about. Imagine I drink way too much.

E: Yeah.

W: And I end up in the gutter somewhere, and people start filming that… So yeah, that made… So because of that I spent more time in friends’ dorm rooms just having dorm parties.

E: And since your bleached hair is gone, have you gone to a party?

W: When my bleached hair was gone corona was already a thing so I haven’t been able to enjoy it. But it’s starting to come back [the parties] so that’s nice. I’m looking forward to… tomorrow I’m going-

E: Are you going as well?

W: Are you going to Plein Air by Fuse?

E: Tomorrow I’m going to Jaimie Lee who-

W: …Is going to DJ at three festivals.

E: Yeah at three festivals and I will be backstage I guess.

W: Okay.

E: One of those festivals?

W: Yeah I don’t know. I have tickets for Fuse Open Air in Brussels.

24:19

E: I honestly have no idea where I’m going. Anyway, I’m excited. And I always asked, what’s the first event you went to ever since it’s allowed? Did you go to We Can Dance festival?

W: No I was studying.

E: Was today your last exam or yesterday?

W: Yesterday was my last exam in the morning. I was stressing so much, because I thought I would fail, but eventually I think it went relatively well. If you’re watching professors, let me pass please. No I think it went well.

E: Are you someone who is stress resistant?

W: Uhh no.

E: No?

W: I let it take over my body.

E: You get physically unwell?

W: I will be laying in bed and I’m tossing and turning and sweating. And I think about how I’m not gonna pass tomorrow. And the combination with my worries is really not good. It makes me stay up really late. The thing is with stress resistant, I for example made my own play at high school about a kid with divorced parents for my final work and the whole audience was filled with my family and my parents. That’s pretty confronting to tell a story that’s also a little bit of their life and is pretty personal. I’m always stressed for things like that. Then it’s weird – from the first word I spoke I had a lot of stress and worries and the first sentence that I said was something like “I don’t know what to do”, and then it’s all of a sudden poofff. The train has left.

E: You said you didn’t really know what to do now.

W: That’s the first sentence of the text that I wrote and the moment I said that sentence I thought in my head “the train has left, there’s no way back now” and then the stress disappears automatically. But before the final rehearsal there was a moment that I was moving around heavily and I was throwing with chairs. And afterwards I had to pack moving boxes, which was okay. But from moving around and the combination of stress it made me almost gag in the box from the stress so I almost puked. So at these moments it gets pretty heavy.

E: Did other people notice or were you hiding it?

W: Yeah the final rehearsal was luckily not with an audience, but my teachers were like “Everything alright?” and I was like “Yeah I’m good. It’s a bit much”. But when it comes to stress, a lot of people always say – I’m even a little stressed right now actually.

E: Really?

W: Podcasts, oh no no.

E: Oh shit. You have to be (stressed)

W: A lot of pressure on my shoulder here. No, but a lot of people say that it doesn’t look like that I’m stressed even though I really am dying from all the stress.

E: Only now you can hide it really well. You should become an actor.

W: A lot of people have said that to me often, but it’s not my interest. Also not much work in the field.

E: That too, fuck. Are you someone who constantly pretends like you’re okay?

W: Yes.

E: Even when you have a lot of shit going on in your head and you’re processing other things?

W: I'm one person. One person?

E: "I'm one person" [laughs]

W: I am one person. No, but I'm someone who often keeps their stuff to themselves, so that I can listen to what others need.

28:15

E: That was my next question. You listen more to other people’s problems and you’re the person people come to with their problems?

W: I think, at least I hope, that a lot of my friends do know that they can always come to me for a talk or a phone call. I'm someone that will shove away their happiness for someone else, which isn’t always positive of course.

E: It is a beautiful characteristic, but it shouldn’t take over indeed.

W: In the past it has happened that I was falling apart, but I kept pushing it away, because I wanted to take care of someone else. I noticed this a lot during the divorce of my parents. My parents had a hard time with the divorce and I remember that I came home as a little boy and I saw my mom sitting and I felt the duty to comfort her and to be there for her, even though I was 8 or 9 years old. That’s not something you expect to do or think from an 8 year old. It really broke me and now I can openly speak about it, because I have had enough conversations with my parents about it, about how it was for me. And I made a play about it, as I told earlier, so it’s been a whole process and that has scarred me till at least my 16th. My parents got divorced when I was 5 or 6 years old. It took me a long time to open up because of that. I notice it a lot in previous relationships, that I walk away from fights, because I would find the confrontation too heavy to get into a fight and to discuss. The divorce and fights with my parents scarred me so hard that I didn’t want that again. I wanted everything to be rainbow and sunshine, but life doesn’t work like that. And that was partly a misconception from me, that I thought that a relationship had to be perfect, if there is a fight, then it’s not going well. Now I realize that fights are part of a relationship. And also part of steps you take into accepting each other, listening to each other and understanding each other. It’s needed for a stronger connection. You can’t, well you can, but in my eyes you can’t be with someone for a long time without ever having had a conflict. Even if it’s a discussion, because then you’re adapting too much to the other, and then you say okay, I’m adapting to the demands of her and I suppress my own things or things I want to do, only to avoid the discussion, and that’s something I learned. And that’s how everyone learns their own things along the way.

E: You still see it in the youth, those romantic movies, where everyone is so in love and it always ends with a kiss or something and it’s always good and then you think, this must be the case in real life. Why can’t I find Gabriella Montez for my Troy Bolton. Even though that was a shitty relationship too, they were constantly fighting. No, but that gives a wrong image about relationships and for other things because of movies. And the reality is just different.

32:16

W: Yes. I recently for the first time -this is kinda embarrassing because it’s a must see- watched The Notebook.

E: Me too! What did you think?

W: It has been a few weeks ago. Or a few weeks, maybe 3 or something.

E: I watched it last weekend.

W: I almost cried.

E: Really?

W: I’m a really emotional person. I can really cry. I can really get lost in a movie. “No not the puppy, why?!” Those things, where I think "Willem, act normal". But no it was a beautiful movie.

E: Yeah I have a different opinion, because I just fell asleep. I fell asleep, because it all went so slow, it started so slow. I didn’t even watch the kiss in the rain scene.

W: The moment. It’s in literally every romantic movie. In the rain, it happens everywhere.

Ender: Yeah mate, it’s such a cliché actually, but yeah.

W: I bet you that they’re just standing there with a garden hose.

E: Definitely.

W: It can’t be that they’re waiting, “is it gonna rain today? We need to do that scene now”.

33:27

E: Checking the rain alarm while everyone is inside. There are definitely sprinklers there. It’s in a lot of romantic movies. Now that we’re talking about it, the filming you did with wtFock, you sometimes had scenes outside. Here we have those (light) spots, I assume that you don’t carry them outside. How do you guys do that?

W: Sometimes we do have spots outside, but as long as the light from the sun is okay – with a binocular (telescope), well it’s not a binocular, it’s a round thing you can look through and with it they can determine the brightness of the sun and if the sun is too bright for the lightning they need, then it gets shielded, the same that is in front of your lamps. With that they can dim the lights. Or when there is not enough they use isomo plates, that’s really weird. Sometimes there are really intimate scenes in a series where it looks like it’s really close to the skin of the actors. There is a camera with a plate on it and a stick for the sound above it, it sometimes made it really hard for me to focus, because everyone is sitting there and the director and I’m like “yeah, okay okay”. So it takes a lot to get it all professional.

E: Was there a crazy moment where you forgot your lines? That you’re laying in bed and you’re like “which sentence do I have to say now?”

W: Yeah we’ve definitely had a lot of bloopers. Yeah forgetting lines or.. the thing is, as long as the director doesn’t say cut, you have to keep going. It’s a matter of "how do I improvise myself around this scene to get to the point we actually have to get to", because you have a scene and you have your lines, but if you forget something, then you do know the main lines of where the scene has to go to. You know the scene will end in a kiss or something and these subjects will be spoken about in the conversation, so when you forget your lines, you try to work your way through it as best as possible. And when the director says it wasn’t good, then we’ll do it again. I’ve had a lot of moments where I forgot my lines and I was laying in bed with Willem and we would look at each other and we’d know that I had to say something, but I was stuck, so there would be a 10 seconds silence, hoping for them to say cut. Yeah so those kinds of moments a lot or moments where I… I also had that with Déjà Vu. I remember… by the way it was amazing to work together with such big names as Natali Broods and Koen De Graeve. And Koen, lovely person, was kind of the father figure on set and we had a scene, next to the bed, a quite emotional scene. And the camera was focused on me, close up on my face. And I still remember that, the sound was going, everything, and Koen had just told a joke, or made a face that made me laugh. So, I had to laugh really hard, but I had to act very sad. It was an intense scene of goodbyes. All the time, starting to laugh about everything. I still remember for wtFock we made a video with bloopers and those are very fun to watch back.

37:03

E: Are those bloopers ever published somewhere online?

W: I don’t think so.

E: I think if you’d be able to release them somewhere that a lot of people would be interested in them.

W: Yes, yes. I don’t know why, indeed. The fans would be happy with those.

E: I think a lot of people- because we were just talking about your biggest fan.

W: My biggest-

E: Your grandma.

W: My grandma, yes. Big shout out to my grandma.

E: Do you think she’s watching right now?

W: She’ll definitely watch, I hope so.

E: What’s your grandma’s name?

W: Micheline.

E: Micheline, thank you very much for watching Micheline.

W: Micheline.

E: I appreciate it.

W: Women in power. She deserves a special place. No really, she follows all the fan accounts of wtFock. And then sometimes, or very often, we call and she gives me an update of what’s being said on the internet. Or yes, I also remember, when scenes come out and there’s things being said and she’s like "Willem, is that true, what are they saying?" And I say "Grandma, it’s nothing, it’s all from the show." "Ah okay, okay." So yes, very sweet grandma. She’s like the grandma where everything was allowed. I think that’s the same for everyone. At home, there are a lot of rules, and then you got to sleepover at your grandma’s and it was like: "Oh, I get to stay up later, and she made pudding for me." Her vanilla pudding-

E: That good?

W: Grandma, if you’re seeing this, please make some vanilla pudding when I visit.

E: Dude, everything’s falling out of my pocket.

W: You’re letting everything fall out of your pocket? Maybe you need to buy another pair of pants.

E: The chair is too comfortable that I’m kind of sinking in it, and now I constantly get-

W: The conversation’s too comfortable-

E: It’s just my phone, it’s vibrating, I think it just vibrated out of my pocket. So, silent, great. Eh, what were we talking about? About your grandma.

W: About my grandma.

38:46

E: Now, totally different subject. If you were a fish, what color fish would you be?

W: A fish?

E: Which color do you identify most with?

W: Eh.

E: And you’re a fish too of course.

W: Identify with which color. The thing is, I’m in the scouts. And in the Jins, that’s the last year before you become a leader, we were given a color totem, and the whole group decided on a color that fits you.

E: All right.

W: And mine was mango orange.

E: Wow, that’s cool.

W: Yeah, I thought it was cool too. And it means, if I have to think back, mango has quite a hard peel, relatively, but the fruit itself is quite soft. And that refers to my personality. I’m someone that lets people in fast, around me, but in the beginning, suspicion is a little strong, but kind of like, testing. Let’s say that. But once- From the outside I might look a bit hard. A lot of people say that when I have my straight face-

E: Resting bitch face.

W: That I’m angry. I was once told on the subway by a dude, and I was just listening to music, staring in the distance, and I think, suddenly a dude comes up to me, in French: "C’est quoi ton problème, heh, tu regardes come ça, c’est quoi ton problème." And I was like: "I’m sorry". Apparently, I was looking in his direction with my-

E: Bitch face.

W: Bitch face. He must have thought I was looking for problems. So yeah, that’s why the mango, a little hard on the outside, but once you get to know me better, a soft, sweet boy. So that’s why, orange. So, an orange fish then.

E: A little bit of Nemo vibes.

W: Yes, Nemo then. But let’s, what’s that theory. Did you hear that?

E: Theory?

W: About Nemo.

E: What’s the theory?

W: Haven’t you heard that? I keep seeing that online. I’m having a crisis. So the thing is, your childhood will get ruined.

E: Fuck man.

W: The thing is-

E: But there really are, no keep going, I have something I want to say afterwards.

W: The thing is, I’ve heard, that Nemo is Latin for nobody, and that the father is imagining that he still has an egg left, but that that fish doesn’t actually exist.

E: Oh fuck.

W: And that Dory joins him, and he sees, we’re actually not looking for anyone, but because he has memory issues, he constantly forgets that they’re not looking for anyone. So, they’re actually looking for nobody. And I saw that online and I was like.

E: Damn, so all the eggs are eaten, but he imagines that someone still has to be there.

W: Yes, something to keep living for.

E: Fuck man, that’s very brutal. That’s very fucked up.

W: Sorry to everyone for who Nemo is ruined now.

E: There’s a similar theory about Phineas and Ferb, and then Candice, their sister, is based on a true story about a girl that lost her brothers and still imagines that they're still doing stuff in the garden. And she keeps telling her mom: "Look, look, they are still here, they’re doing that." And that the mom says: "They’re not there." And that’s why she can never see that. You get it? Brutal right?

W: My whole childhood is ruined. Fucking hell.

E: That’s going to be the title of this podcast.

W: Childhood ruined.

E: We’re ruining your childhood.

42:17

W: We’re ruining your childhood. No but that’s good because, thankfully, I have a half-sister, but I say sister because I think half-sister is an ugly word, of seven years old. She thinks she’s 16. She’s a real diva.

E: Oh wow, okay.

W: She’s very, I’ll tell you a story later, but the thing is, I experience all those things with her again. In the beginning it was like, turning the tv on, Bumba, again. And I could secretly watch with her without feeling guilty. I was like, I’m watching Bumba and secretly I’m enjoying it, but sssh, I’m just watching it with my sister.

E: That exactly.

W: And now it’s Ketnet, like Hoodie, those series that she’s watching. And yes, I notice that because of all the technology today, she has an iPad, she’s on YouTube, she’s watching those self-made crafts.

E: 7 years old?

W: 7 years old, yes.

E: Wow.

W: She watches those- where people are playing with Barbies and they make a little play with them online on YouTube and they do stuff. Yes, a tablet. She has an iPad that’s bigger than her head. That makes me think- well, an iPad is usually bigger than everyone’s head. Or well, almost.

E: Not if you have a mini of course.

W: Her head isn’t that big.

E: Okay.

W: She’s on it a lot though. But she’s a real diva. I think the best story I have, there’s multiple. I remember the story, we were sitting at the table and she was having another moment of "I’m the princess, and everyone can leave because I do what I want and fuck you all". But the thing is, there’s five kids at home. I have a brother and two stepbrothers. So, she has four brothers, and she knows very well that she has four brothers. And that makes her feel even more like she’s the princess at home. So, we were sitting at the table. And she kept staring at my dad like this while throwing her cutlery on the ground. Like "what are you going to do". And my dad was like: "Liv," because her name is Liv by the way, "stop that."

E: That wasn’t nice of Liv. (Liv sounds the same as lief which means nice in Dutch.)

W: No. Not nice of-

E: Haha. Sorry.

W: Badam pam ts. Can’t we put that under here. Yes.

E: No, sorry, keep going.

W: So, he was like: "Liv, stop that, stop that." He started to get annoyed, because she kept going. "Liv, what is so hard to understand about no." And then it got silent at the table so I thought, okay, it’s done. The o.

E: Oh wow.

W: 7 years old and she drops that.

E: Oh wow.

W: And I thought, okay.

E: Damn bro.

W: The o. That she even dares to say that. Yeah, and she has those moments. She was sitting at the table, with her mask on, eating. So, she pulled her mask down to eat, and then she was chewing with her mask on. And then I asked: "Liv, why are you wearing your mask?" "Yes, you came back from Ghent, you’re not in my bubble."

E: Okay, okay.

W: So, then I said: "Okay, that’s fine." It’s crazy how that goes around among young children. Because my sister came back home from school crying once. And I asked her: ‘Liv, what’s wrong?’ "Yes, my friends didn’t let me play with them." So, I was like: "Why?" "Margot says I’m not allowed in her bubble."

E: Oh wow.

W: See, that’s becoming the new- we played with Pokémon cards on the playground and now it’s about playing games in bubbles because it’s so-

E: Damn.

W: Yes, you’re only allowed to have four people in your bubble so we don’t play with more than four.

E: Oh wow.

W: So I found that kind of crazy, or confronting that it made me think like, even at such a young age it has an impact. And I know that the-

E: That it leaves an impression.

W: Yes, and I know that my dad-

E: It’s sad that children have to think about it.

W: Yes, exactly.

E: Well, it’s not that- everyone should think about it of course.

W: Yes, yes, of course. It’s also that I know the way my dad feels about raising, that he tells Liv straight up about things that are happening in the world. He doesn’t make things seem nicer, or saying, eh, yes, no, but that’s- The classic story of how babies are made, with the cauliflowers, and what not.

E: I also just think-

W: How am I going to explain that to my kids?

E: If you don’t make it a taboo to start with, is it that bad? It’s just- it’s just. Oh well, that’s a whole other conversation.

W: Yes, no, definitely.

E: But straight up just telling what’s going on to your kids. I think I would prefer that to making up a story about the flowers and the bees.

W: Yes, yes.

E: Because the story about the flowers and the bees, I don’t even know how you actually- pollinating and stuff, is that what that means?

W: You do it like this, pollinating.

E: Yes, no, exactly.

W: Yes, but well, children, that’s still a long time from now.

E: Do you want kids, you think, later?

W: Yes, please.

E: Do you think you would be a good father?

W: I hope I would be a good father. Despite my parents’ divorce, I really do… I do look up to my parents. I’m proud of the way they raised me. So yeah if I would be a good father… sometimes, but maybe that’s the age, kids frustrate me. I’m a leader in the scouts for the Welpen and Welpen -great guys- but they can also be annoying and say “I’m not participating” and “that’s a stupid game, can we do something else?” and I’m like “we invest so much time in this and so much preparation, please participate” so sometimes that bothers me. But I would prefer not to have just one (child). Certainly more than one because… are you an only child?

E: No I have a little brother.

W: Yeah only child… with all due respect to people who are only children but sometimes I think… for example, I’m very happy that I have a brother. Not that it wouldn’t be fun without a brother per se, but I don’t know, the contact I have with my brother is nice.

E: The thing is, you don’t know what you’re missing so it’s hard to miss it I guess. But I do think that my brother has been a great added value to my life.

W: Yeah, yeah.

E: In the same way, I never really had grandparents. They all died before I was born and the grandfather I did have was quite old when I was actually aware that I had a grandfather. So I’ve never really had the grandparents experience that you see with family gatherings and stuff. But I don’t feel like I’ve missed anything but I still know how much other people benefit from having grandparents. Also what you just said about how often you call each other and stuff. I think that’s the same with being an only child. If you don’t have any brothers or sisters, you don’t know what it’s like to have that, what you’re missing. But if you do have it, it’s an added value I think.

W: Yes, exactly. No that’s true. My brother is very helpful to me now. I know that I can count on him.

E: Older or younger by the way?

W: Older.

E: A lot older?

W: 21.

E: 21.

W: Oh boy I had to think about how old my brother is. Embarrassing. Love you man. No but we had - maybe you had that too – but when we were younger, we really fought.

E: Physical?

W: Real fighting. Yeah, it’s has now gotten much better. I think we understand each other a lot better, but it used to be real… we had Catch WW on the Wii and we reenacted that on the couch so that was… “In the right corner Ramy Stereo” and we were bare-chested and both had one boxing glove on and fighting each other until one of us cried, bled or gave up. Usually it was me.

E: That’s just the fate of the little brother.

W: I always went… I’ve never admitted that actually, [whispers] it’s a confession. I’ve never admitted it, but afterwards I always went to my parents and cried “Kwinten hurt me”.

E: That’s really… that’s the moment, you feel it coming and you think “ah fuck no, if I hit again it’s probably over but I want to…” [cross-talk] “no no no don’t tell mom! Don’t tell mom!” I think I was a pretty nice big brother. We often did shit together. We were at home playing on the couch together and Olaf bumps into a large box that was standing there and the box, bigger than Olaf back then, fell down on his hand.

W: Oh shit.

E: So Olaf broke his hand. And I thought “I made him jump over those chairs” and then you have to say “sorry sorry don’t tell them, don’t tell them!” but yeah if your hand is fucking broken, you’re not gonna stop crying because your big brother says “don’t cry”. Yeah, that are…

W: Yes, but the relationship [between Willem and his brother] has improved. Okay we still have our discussions but... I think moments like when we’ve both been to a pub or something and we come home at the same time and we’re always hungry and standing in the kitchen making sandwiches. Those are great moments. I don’t necessarily need to have emotionally heavy of deep conversations with my brother to know that he’s there and that I can have a good time with him. So I think that’s the added value of having a brother or brothers in general.

E: Do you guys also have a specific sense of humor? Or like those moments when the two of you are laughing and your parents or people around you think “what the fuck is going on?”

W: Yeah we speak some slang to each other for fun. Like “stu stu” and [my slang knowledge is very limited so I have no idea what he’s saying here lol], those kinds of things. Typical slang from Brussels and Leuven. It’s funny because my parents are always like “why are you talking to each other like that?” and recently, I was leaving and my mom said “stu stu!” so they are adopting those words and then my brother and I can’t stop laughing.

E: Also if your mom suddenly says “are we going to chill later?” and I’m like [laughing] “what? Mom!”

W: “Okay??”

E: It’s kind of cute. Yeah it’s fun. And what are… I almost want to go deep like…

W: That’s okay.

E: Is there a particular interaction or experience you’ve had with your brother that sums up your relationship right now? Or are those the moments when you’re laughing and eating at night? It doesn’t have to be a super deep or emotional moment.

W: I think it’s an accumulation of those moments and emotional moments too. For example, after it was over with my ex. I was really down back then, it hit me pretty hard. Those are the moments when I can walk into my brother’s room in the middle of the night and he’s there for me. I know that dude is always going to be there when something’s wrong, no matter how much we argue or how much we shit at each other. I just know, and I hope he does too, that I can call him 24/7, walk into his room 24/7 and he will be there or ready to listen. I think that’s just something… the fact that we know that about each other, that creates that bond. And the thing is, if only he would do his best and go to work, earn real money… because we went on holiday together and he still hasn’t… he still has some work to do but we’ve already planned something. I’m really looking forward to it. We’re planning to go surfing in Portugal together. Those are moments I just know I can go somewhere with him and have the time of my life without-

E: …That you can remember for the rest of your life what you did together.

W: Yeah, absolutely. Those moments that I want to cherish or want to keep or experience.

E: My little brother is also just the most annoying dude on this planet who I love the most.

W: Exactly that combination. Annoying, but you love them.

E: Of course. The cameras are back on. That means we’ve been at it for over 50 minutes.

W: 50 minutes? It feels like we’re chatting for 20 minutes.

E: Exactly.

W: Pleasant.

E: That’s good. If it’s pleasant and the stress is gone.

W: Do you actually like me? “No I hate you. We’re going to finish. It has been good.”

55:29

E: No we’re not going to finish yet, but before we do, is there anything you’d like to send out into the world before we finish? On average there are 10 to 50 people watching. Is there anything you want to say to them?

W: To the 10 to 50 people?

E: Yes.

W: 10 to 50 people, you are awesome. No, what I’m saying… maybe a little deep but it doesn’t matter. Very often in your life you are going to encounter that you run into a wall, that you’re going to have setbacks, that you think “I don’t want to anymore, I can’t to this anymore, life is all one big shit show” but I think that there is a certain… at least I believe that – everyone has their own opinion of course- that a certain path has been mapped out for everyone. Not necessarily that things are set in stone but there is a road that you are going to take and that road is going to have curves, is going to have hills, is going to have valleys, is going to have everything. Maybe it’s a gravel path, maybe rocks you stumble over but -it sounds a bit stupid- put on your best walking shoes and just walk that path the best way you can. Just try to live life with complete joy and euphoria because you’re 100% worth it. No matter what other people say or think about your ideology or style or way of life. Everyone is entitled to it or should be given the opportunity to be appreciated for who they are. I think that’s something we do too little in this society, but yeah.

E: Just don’t be too hard on yourself in the end?

W: Yeah, don’t be too hard on yourself. A lot of people blame themselves too much. Or “oh I’m like that and I don’t fit in because of that” or something. Then I think: so be it.

E: Do you sometimes feel that you should do more or have achieved more at this age? Of course you’re already doing a lot of cool shit but social media, I know there is a highlight reel of all people’s achievements and that sometimes it’s very difficult to filter between what is real and how much is that person actually sitting on the couch doing nothing. Do you sometimes feel that because of social media of because of your environment or I don’t know, that you’re not doing enough?

W: Gosh, sometimes I think my life is too full.

E: Too full?

W: Not that I’m saying “oh I have so many things to do” but I’m like... I’m letting that grow organically or so.

E: Not putting too much pressure on yourself?

W: Not putting too much pressure on yourself. I’m doing a course now that I’d like to finish because I’ve had those two projects and there are friends of mine who say “why are you still studying? You’ve had your opportunity, you’re going to get new opportunities right?” and I say “hey! I’m also only 19”. Sometimes I think “fuck Willem you should have achieved more already” but I also think I’m only 19. There was a conversation at school… I really think that’s one of the added values of the course. We receive an observation report twice a year, 5 pages where the teacher writes about you and how they see you, what they think about you, what your qualities are, what you still need to work on. It’s always spot on. So strange how they can just see right through you, even though I sometimes try to hide it. Yeah, where was I going with this… we had subsequent conversation about it and I said to my teacher “sometimes I feel like I’m too young for this course” that I have too little life experience. There are people in my class who are in their 20s or older, who have already studied something else before this, have read a lot more, seen a lot more than me, a lot more experience and I think “fuck, I don’t have anything”. People talk about certain topics and I don’t follow at all. I mentioned that I felt too young and she [the teacher] said “you’re young, but that also has its advantages. Your youthfulness can actually be an interesting tool in this course and look at it from a different perspective”. So I’m convinced: don’t be too hard on yourself, don’t think “whew, I’m already 20 and I haven’t achieved anything yet” so to speak. I even saw a video recently where… “if you don’t make it in your 20s, you might make it in your 30s and if you don’t make it in your 30s, you might make it in your 40s”. There are so many… there really are a lot of people… people often forget that there are people who only find out what they want to do or discover their passion later in life.

E: And also just… I think it’s so ridiculous that you set certain goals for a certain age or something. That it’s so expected that by 18 you must have completed high school and by 25 you must have had your first job interview, by 28/30 you must have a house and a serious relationship where you’re committed to for the rest of your life and by 40 you must have already had a promotion, that you can provide for yourself and fix your pension. All those fucking predetermined milestones. I think that’s kind of bullshit, you know?

W: Absolutely.

E: If that were the case, then I should graduate in a few years so to speak while I’m clearly not studying here because I have – fuck normally I have a re-exam today. And here we are.

W: Here we are.

E: I knew I was doing this but I mean that’s just… there’s so much time. I’m 22 now and I’m doing some shit, if I go nuts now or people don’t want to listen to this podcast anymore, don’t want to see what I do online, okay then I have to look elsewhere. But I did this and I went for it and I tried. I’m 22. Even if I go nuts now and it’s all gone, I’m only 22. There are still so many ways it could go. A lot of people don’t have a job at 22. If I started looking for a new job or something now, hopefully I’ll have one by 25. Then it’s still okay because I’m only 25. I don’t know, I always find that… I could go on for a long time about this. I think those predetermined milestones/goals of things that you must have achieved by a certain age, I just think it’s bullshit.

W: I sometimes make the comparison that people too often see life as the sports world. Football players who are good until 35 and then they are done. As if you must have already performed before that age. That’s not how it works. You really have all the time and you really don’t have to stress. I also notice that many people… you mentioned re-exams. That people say “fuck I have re-exams, oh no I’m not going to pass, oh no you have extra…” chill. You do your best, but suppose you have to repeat a year, that’s not a disaster either, is it?

E: What I also think is crazy is how many people have studied law and you eventually hear that they ended up in a marketing agency because they found it much more interesting. When I talk to some people who… I was seeing a social media manager recently [laughs] “seeing”, I was talking to him.

W: “seeing” okay [laughs].

E: I was talking to him.

W: [joking] Ender has something to say.

E: And I asked “what did you study?” and he said biochemistry. “How the fuck did you end up here?” Him: “uh yeah that just wasn’t the right fit for me. I have a master’s degree but I started working here because I found it much more interesting”. I thought: why am I pretending that the degree I’m trying to get is going to determine the rest of my life, you know?

W: Absolutely.

E: If there are so many people now… because he was only 28 or something. So I thought “aah okay so you’ve been studying biochemistry for so many years and now you’re here – I don’t know if I’m talking about the correct position – but now you’re just sitting here making content. Cool. But why do I attach so much importance to that one direction I’m studying right now that doesn’t even have anything to do with media or anything. I mean I’m very interested in media, I’m studying economics. Which is also interesting, but that’s not what I see myself doing in the coming years.

W: Yeah, yeah.

E: Anyway enough about me. Do you think you could win in a fight against a cow?

W: [laughs] I really like that. You can switch to totally different shit like that. Like before you suddenly asked what color fish do you want to be. Okay. That’s nice. Win… I’ve heard if you knock over a cow it dies. That it has a heart attack then. We don’t want to kill cows okay!

E: And purely hypothetical, you’re just standing in a kind of meadow so it’s not super big so you can’t go in all directions. There is a limited domain. You come face to face with that cow and you have to begin. No weapons. You’re standing there and the cow stands there and you both know you’re going to fight.

W: It knows that too?

E: It knows that too.

W: [makes mooing noises] okay ca va.

E: It’s not a bull but it does have horns so in fact it would-

W: I would shit my pants. I’d give up already. I would lie on the ground, come on. Really crazy, I saw Jackass recently. Those guys, that Wee Man, who was in that link with the bull and he’s being catapulted, so to speak.

E: I don’t understand how those guys aren’t all dead yet.

W: Yeah they are really crazy.

E: There was also a rumor that Wee Man died from a bowling ball during… but apparently that wasn’t true.

W: I don’t know.

E: Fucked up shit. Would you win against a cow?

W: Would I win against a cow? No, I wouldn’t win against a cow. I don’t think I would win against a cow.

E: I think I would. I think just like with a bull I would try to jump out of the way like that and once you’re on the side it’s just a matter of pushing. If what you said is true, it’s game over when it’s down and you know, that’s your tactic.

W: But the thing is, a cow is heavy, isn’t it?

E: True.

W: You can’t just push it over like that, can you?

E: Sure, but it’s a matter of life or death, isn’t it? The adrenaline rush. You have to image, a cow just comes running towards you. The adrenaline that goes through your body. You shouldn’t underestimate the power you have then.

W: Just find the best patch of grass and when it’s there, sneaky knife in the back. No, now people are going to think I’m that kind of person.

E: That you’re just a snake.

W: Snake. Definitely and I admit it. No, that would be fucked up.

E: I’m going to do one more thing that’s important. I’m going to find a Twitter shout out and in the meantime, I already asked you what your message is to the world and that was a beautiful message. Got something more banal that you’d like to share? Something that you want to share from your social media or something?

W: What do you mean from social media?

E: Where they can follow you. You can say something if you have a really good video that you want to share. “Check me everywhere”.

W: No I don’t have… people should do what they feel like doing. Do you think I’m cool, do you think I’m fun, follow me on Insta. No really doesn’t matter. Doesn’t really matter.

E: Alright, I’m just going to scroll and you say stop. I’ll go back and forth and you have to say “yes that’s the one who gets to have this week’s shout out”.

W: Exciting huh. Stop.

E: [reads twitter account] M. Verschuren.

W: M. Verscheure.

E: Is that…

W: [reads quote] “If you were never sad, you wouldn’t know you could be happy”.

E: Wow. Damn bro.

W: I’m going to edit my quote.

E: “If you were never sad, you wouldn’t know you could be happy”. Wow. If you didn’t have shitty days, you wouldn’t know what the best days of your life were.

W: Exactly. But what if you get stuck in your shitty days for the rest of your life?

E: That won’t happen. That’s my biggest fear.

W: Me too.

E: Looking back at your life and thinking-

W: …Fuck I’ve never been there again.

E: …That’s where I peeked. Hope that doesn’t happen. Anyway M. Verscheure thank you very much for listening, I really appreciate it. You as well, I think?

W: Absolutely, absolutely. How much were you going to pay me?

E: 50 euro.

W: Then I’ll come… awesome. Super cool.

E: Thank you so much to everyone who listened. I appreciate it. If you want to hear more you can always subscribe to this channel. It’s also good for my ego. I’ll just put your Instagram link in the description, for people who are interested. Okay, that was it.

W: Thanks, it was fun.

E: There’s an audio only episode on Spotify every Sunday and the video comes out on Monday. That’s it. See you next Monday. Or Sunday. Peace.

[deviiancetv]

Cinema Starview Presents: Things Are Gettin’ Strange

I absolutely loved Volumes 1 & 2 of Stranger Things Season 4, that I had to watch the episodes a few days a piece. The feel of this season is so different and new, but so familiar with season 1. With all of the characters in different locations & all grown up, it gives this season a much more mature theme. ‼️Spoilers ahead so you can steer-clear from my perspective & opinions on this season ‼️

Vecna, The 5 Star General:

The storyline of Vecna is also really intriguing, with him being one of the first test subjects 001, and how similar he is to a lot of old horror movie villains, in a paranormal way & a slasher thriller way all at the sametime. We know that Vecna resides in the upside down, and he looks like a humanoid form of the Mind Flayer. What’s so unique about his powers is that he’s the embodiment of what you feel at your lowest point, he’s made of trauma and depressive thoughts, and he attacks those that are feeling guilt for what they’ve done, in a dream realm similar to Freddy Krueger, especially with those claws he has lol. I love that we learned about his past & how disturbed he was. He’s the face behind everything in The Upside Down, and the creator of The Mind Flayer. The final season is gonna be really epic with his portrayal, I just hope it won’t be as easy as it was to take him down again.

California Love:

I want to mention that ever since the first season, I’ve started to see the implications of Will being queer-coded, and the fact that this season, he’s began to remind me so much of myself in high school is really what is making me root for him to be loved and to find love. If not with Mike, then someone else. The love triangle is kinda messy, because of Will having a crush on Mike even though Mike doesn’t like him in that way, it’s gonna be a bit controversial for Byler shippers, but I do hope that Will can openly admit who he is, even if it means he can never confess his love for Mike in the end. On their way to find El, Will eventually showed Mike the painting he had been working on, after Mike started to wonder what his role in Eleven’s life would be. Will essentially have a heartfelt speech about how Mike is the heart of the group, and in a bittersweet way admitting his feelings to him in the guise that Eleven & Mike would always be together. Once he was done, Will turned and began to cry looking out of the window. Eventually after the battle was said to be done, they all travel back to Hawkins, and Will tells Mike that Vecna’s plans aren’t over, he’s still alive and he will be coming for everyone. I definitely think Will is gonna play a big key role in the next season because of his connection to Vecna.

Eleven 011 vs. Vecna 001:

Eleven dealing with not having her powers, and feeling like a social outcast at her new school, and having to work with her captors to regain her powers again. The bullies are just so mean, and it’s paralleled to the type of bullying she faced when she was in the lab with other kids who bullied her for being “weaker” than they were. Dr. Brenner is like a roach that never dies, but in this case he was very helpful, both him & Owen coming together to help Eleven go through memory regression to unlock her powers once again. The similarities between her & Henry/Vecna of them both being 001 & 011 was compelling, as she is the second strongest lab kid since Henry, even though she was experimented by trying to recreate Henry’s powers. They used the Nina Project to help El get her powers back, but Papa wanted her to stay longer than it was anticipated, and before long The General from earlier in the season that wanted to kill Eleven, came and raided the facility she was in, but Eleven successfully stopped them. Honestly that fight was very cool with how she was just spinning the helicopter in the air, as if she was just playing with them lol. After being rescued by The Cali Boys, they find their way to Surfer Pizza to fill an ice freezer with water for Eleven to help Max & defeat Vecna. With Max almost dead, Eleven comes to grasp her powers and now has the ability to heal. Which isn’t fully out of the realm of possibilities since Vecna & Eleven are similar opposites of each other. I hope next season this is further expanded upon to see what she’s capable of being able to do with this new ability to defeat Vecna.

Max’s Story:

Victor & Max’s story of being able to break free from Vecna’s Curse using music and the will to overcome is so powerful to me. ‘Episode 4, Dear Billy’ really a showcases that with Max. I’m so proud of her development this season, cause it’s something I’m struggling with myself as I write this review. The Hawkin’s Gang realize that Max is the final key to opening the portals for the Upside Down to manifest into their world, and most importantly in Hawkins. Eleven tries to save Max and goes all out in a battle of the mind to rescue her, but in the end Max gets taken, and almost dies. Once Eleven healed her, she’s currently in a state of being both alive and dead, due to the portals now being open.

Hawkin’s Mystery Gang:

I also want to mention, I love Robin so much!! The team up of Robin, Nancy, Lucas, Max, Dustin, & Steve is always a treat. I feel like Lucas’ character from being the runty nerd to popular jock is something that I wasn’t fully expecting, but I’m glad he came to his senses and helped his friends in the end look for Eddie. I really loved Eddie, he’s got a very charismatic charm to him & full on goofball. I loved the parallel when Erica, Max, Dustin, and Lucas were riding their bikes the same way Robin, Nancy, Steve, and Eddie were in the Upside Down. I could literally watch a show with all of them and just be entertained. They make an amazing group for hunting down mysteries. Once they all ventured out of the Upside Down, Nancy was taken by Vecna, and her tortured her with different visions of a possible future that could happen if they don’t defeat him & find Eleven, but luckily The Hawkins Gang started gearing up for battle, stealing somebody’s Trailer Van, and going to a honky store to buy weapons along the way. After going in, Dustin & Eddie hold down the fort to lure in the bats, while Robin, Steve & Nancy go to kill Vecna while Max distracts him. Eddie sacrifices himself, and dies a very heroic death, which brings Dustin to tears (and me too).

The Russian Prison:

Truthfully, I wasn’t that interested in the Russia plotline, and it does suck that Hopper, Joyce, & Murray get taken on side missions for character purposes, it sometimes feels like they’re underutilized. Though I do like the bond that Hopper & the guard Antonov had, as he helped him break from the prison. After escaping the prison, the adults tried to find away to leave Russia, after finding a secret lab where the Soviets had been incubating a bunch of Demogorgon’s. They find their way back to the prison to kill the Demogorgon’s and destroy the Hive Mind that creates them. Following this, Hopper & Joyce are able to make it back to Hawkins and reuniting with their kids… all the while Hawkins is in complete disarray. I’m happy that Hopper & Joyce are officially a couple!!

Conclusion:

After 3 years of waiting, The Duffer Brothers DID NOT DISAPPOINT!!! It’s amazing how each season of ST the show gets better & better, with storylines and the ongoing plot of The Upside Down. Granted, I understand peoples frustrations with how long the show takes, and it’s waning popularity as the seasons continue. Overall, I just think that the world building & the nostalgia factor of the 80’s period makes this show sooo enjoyable to watch. I’m excited to see what’s in store for us in the final chapter of Stranger Things!!

SCORE: 9.5/10 ⭐️

[wkemeup]

Sunrise (2)

summary: After an explosion takes his arm and his only sense of belonging, Bucky is content to live out the rest of his days in the hollow comfort of the dark. This is, until Sam drags him down to the local VA and he meets you. (Modern AU) pairings: bucky x reader chapter word count: 3.5k warnings: heavy focus on Bucky’s PTSD/anxiety, hella nervous!bucky, dangerously sweet!y/n  🧡 series masterlist / series playlist

“What the hell do you mean ‘you’re not going’?”

Bucky shrugged, taking a bite of the bagel Steve picked up on his way to the apartment. He flinched as Steve flung open the curtains, expelling a cloud of dust as the sunlight invaded the living room, illuminating over months of untouched mail on the coffee table and crumbs in the carpet.  

Sam kept his eyes burning on Bucky from the other end of the table. “You can’t back out now, Barnes. She’s expecting you!”

“What’s this about again?” Steve asked as he slid into the chair beside Bucky.  

“Book club. Y/n. Barnes is being a coward again,” Sam explained a little too nonchalantly for Bucky's taste.  

“I’m not being a coward,” Bucky grumbled, avoiding Sam’s eyes and very much proving his friend’s point. “I’ve just— I’ve got better things to do.”

He regretted it the moment it left his lips because both Sam and Steve exchanged a less than subtle, irritatingly familiar glance.  

“Yeah, like what?” Steve scoffed. He extended his arms out to gesture to the empty apartment. “You got tons of plans this week? Think you might see sunlight again or did someone hang garlic in the hallway?”

“Shut up,” Bucky warned, rolling his eyes. It had been a few days since he’d ventured out to the VA for the first time and it was more than he’d done in weeks. It should have been enough for these two, but it never was. They always wanted more out of him. They couldn’t just leave him to rot in his apartment, could they?

“It’s Sunday, you know,” Sam said, devilish smirk rising on his face.  

Bucky gritted his teeth. “Yeah, I’m well aware.”  

“Come on, man!” Sam groaned, slamming his hand on the table enough to cause a ripple in the coffee mugs. “I saw the way you were looking at her. You can’t tell me seeing her again isn’t a good enough reason to go...”

Bucky’s cheeks flushed red. They burned hot on his skin and it only seemed to make it worse. He’d never been like this before he was discharged – flustered and easily embarrassed. He supposed before he came home with one less limb and baggage the size of his living room, he didn’t have much to be embarrassed about. He was a flirt, a bit shameless about it, too. He’d had girlfriends and hookups and never thought much about it.  

But now? The vague idea of even presuming to be interested in a woman was borderline laughable. What chance could he possibly have? He was washed up and broken, missing a few pieces, and half off his rocker. There wasn’t a chance in hell you’d go for a guy like him. It was easier to just pretend like he didn’t care, give into the empty void he believed his heart to be, and waste away.  

“Seeing her again isn’t a good enough reason to go,” Bucky said flatly, much to Sam’s annoyance. It was a bold-faced lie, one all three of them were well aware of, but it didn’t mean Bucky needed to give them the satisfaction of admitting it.  

He thought of you in that sunset red sweater, holding a book tight to your chest with that sort of bright starlight look in your eyes as you listened intently to a retired vet go on and on about his personal connection to some corny book. He’d only met you for maybe a span of a few minutes, and still, he could somehow still picture your smile. He wanted to see it again.  

But there was a sharp pain in his left arm; it burned, enough for Bucky to reach across his chest and try to put pressure on it, only to slip through thin air and land against his ribs. The pain remained, like an extension of himself, on an arm that was no longer apart of him. There and not there all at once. He groaned.  

“It’s not a good enough reason, Sam,” Bucky repeated. “I’m not going. She probably won’t even notice.”

Another lie.  

Sam shook his head, the smile quickly leaving his face in favor of one Bucky knew all too well. Disappointment. Frustration. The thing was, it didn’t hurt as much when Bucky was purposeful in creating it.  

“I thought you liked her?” Steve asked cautiously, eyes catching Sam’s for only a moment before he turned back to Bucky. They’d been talking about him. He hated when they did that.  

“I don’t even know her, Steve,” Bucky shot back. He shouldn’t be getting angry with them. They were only trying to help. And yet here he was – pushing away the only two people left in his life that still managed to tolerate him. He rubbed at the stubble on his jaw, trying to push past it. “She’s nice, okay? She’s pretty. Is that what you want me to say?”

Steve sat back in his chair, exhausted. “I want you to be happy, Buck.”

Bucky scoffed. “Yeah, well, shoulda thought of that before I got myself blown up.”

“Bucky--”

“Let it go, man,” Sam sighed, setting a hand on Steve’s shoulder.  

Bucky felt like he could sink straight into his chair. Why did he always do this?

“I hope you change your mind,” Sam said simply, gathering up his things as he and Steve started to make their way to the door. “It could be good for you.”

Bucky knew what he meant by that, the underlaying message hidden just beneath the surface: she could be good for you.  

Right on cue, the pain started up again in his arm that was both there and not there, and Bucky tried to grit his teeth through it, though Sam could spot the tells almost immediately: his right-hand gripping to the arm rest, the flinch in his jaw, the short tense breaths.  

Sam sighed, pausing in the door frame. “We’ll be back in a few days. Try to clean up the place, will you? It’s a shithole in here.”

“Ma said she’d bake you cobbler if you promise to eat it,” Steve offered, too hopeful for his own good. It had been Bucky’s favorite once; the sort of dessert he talked about on desert nights when the mess hall served day old meatloaf and bland potatoes. He didn’t have much of an appetite these days.  

Bucky forced out a smile for his friend’s sake and nodded.  

A familiar silence swept over the apartment as the door closed behind them. It had been a comfort once; a darkness that swept around his shoulders like a blanket. It kept him isolated and suffocated and still, safe.  

Now, it mocked him.

He stared at the knob on the door, tapping his fingers against the edge of the table. He’d done this about a dozen times before, trying to convince himself to do something more with his days than waste away in an expensive one-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn.  

Steve was right. What the hell else was he going to do today? Stare at the wall for a few hours? Pretend to watch TV and not catch a single word of dialogue? Make a meal he wouldn’t eat?

He thought of you again. How you might scan the room in search of him and a frown might pull at the corner of your lips to not find him amongst the crowd. He wondered if you’d be dressed in yellow or orange or if you’d resemble a cloudless sky as the sun touched over the peaks of the city in soft pinks and purples.

He wanted to know so badly it was killing him.  

“Fuck.”  

He dragged his feet to the bedroom to find something half decent to wear.  

***

It had been a less than ideal start to your day.  

The children’s reading presentation at the library got a little out of hand when the speaker – a local theater student – got caught up in the voices and scared half of the toddlers to tears as he took some interesting liberties with The Cat in the Hat.

Then, a rather unpleasant woman yelled at you for twenty minutes about a man sleeping on the bench outside the near the entrance as if it were a personal affront that this man, a little down on his luck, dared to catch a few minutes of sleep in a public place.  

The internet was shotty all day, leaving a few college students red in the face and with fat tears matching those of the toddlers in the next room over when hours' worth of work had suddenly disappeared in front of their eyes.  

And of course – the teenagers. A band of four boys who hid under the brim of baseball caps with skateboards tucked under their arms, who found it rather amusing to stalk out the adult section and flip through the sorts of novels with bare chested men on the cover until their snickering could be heard from the floor below.  

It warranted a coffee, at least.  

The only solace was that it was Sunday. Your favorite day of the week. It meant a few hours at the VA and catching up with the guys. You hadn’t seen Natasha in a while and you were hoping to see how her new job at the security firm had gone. She was exceptionally qualified and you were almost certain you had her interview answers memorized by the time you’d finished practicing together.  

But there was something different about this Sunday, something that left a few butterflies in your stomach where an easy contentment usually belonged. You were nervous, but there was an excitement, too.  

There’d be a new face in attendance.  

A beautiful face.  

A face that you imagined required a double take were you to see it for the first time on a busy street.  

“You’re smiling again there, darling.”

You looked up to find Mrs. Jefferson keeping a careful eye on you from over the top of her reading glasses. She wore a smile upon her face, one that blended into the laugh lines by her eyes. Her hand trembled with a familiar quiver as she reached up and slid the glasses off her nose. They rested comfortably on a purple beaded chain as they hung around her neck.  

“You always have so much going on inside that head of yours,” she quipped, chuckling to herself. She was a slow mover as she turned to the computer to begin typing in her code. “Have you checked out the books for the VA yet?”

“Already done,” you confirmed, your mind still a little in the clouds. Coffee would definitely need to be a requirement before you stepped foot in the VA.  

“Get a move on then,” Mrs. Jefferson said, gesturing to the door with a trembling hand. “I know you like to get donuts for the kids.”

You still had a few minutes left on shift, but Mrs. Jefferson was always so understanding. She had a son who was in the military once who saw about four tours. Always had a habit of going back, she’d said, like he was testing his luck. You weren’t sure how he’d died, but you knew he didn’t have the chance to go back for a fifth.  

She was a part of a group no one wanted to be in: those who have lost someone to war. Membership cost was steep and there was no going back once it was paid. It was a lonely group, one far too many people occupied. Your own membership card was heavy in your pocket.  

You glanced toward the door. The sun was shining bright on the pavement. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

She smiled. “Yes, of course, dear. Tell the boys I said hello.”

“Yes, ma’am!” you called as you gathered your things and the shoulder bag stuffed with books and quickly scurried out the door before another disaster could reel you back inside.  

The sun was warm on your skin and you took a minute to savor it before shoulders started to bump into you, forcing you off balance. You could see your breath in the autumn air, and still, the sun touched your cheeks and left behind a comfort there. Smile on your face, heavy bag draped over your shoulder, you resided to grab coffee and donuts at a café close to the VA before book club started.  

It was one you visited a few times before, right across the street from a painfully busy Starbucks. The quaint coffee shop was often empty inside, save for a few college students with headphones in, typing away at their laptops, and a regular you often saw nursing a black coffee by the front windows, watching the people as they walked by.  

It smelled of coffee beans as you stepped inside. Fresh. Aromatic. You took in a deep breath.  

“Ah, Y/n!” a voice called from the back in a thick Colombian accent. “It’s good to see you again!”

“Hi, Luciana,” you laughed as the woman who owned the shop rounded the corner behind the counter and ran out to give you a hug. She was a tiny woman, short and shout, but her hugs could render even a giant of a man to a puddle.  

“Donuts for your friends down at the VA again?” she asked, releasing you from her embrace, though she still managed to pinch your cheek on the way out.  

“Yes, please!”

“And coffee for yourself?”  

She knew you too well.  

“I could use a bit of a pick-me-up,” you admitted. She knew your order by heart.  

“You should see if that Sam wants to have some good coffee for a change at his next event instead of the bean water he serves our veterans now,” Luciana inquired as she pulled on a pair of gloves and began to stack your box with assorted donuts. She had that smile on her face you recognized well. She asked about Sam a lot.  

“I’ll be sure to get his thoughts,” you replied, trying to stifled a smile.  

“Have him come by,” she offered rather smoothly. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen his pretty face and I could use a little pick-me-up myself.”

She winked at you and set the box of donuts on the counter. Then, your coffee; lid pressed on top, cardboard around the edges to protect from heat. You reached for your wallet but she snuck her hand over the counter and grabbed your wrist.  

“No, no, not today, my dear. My treat.”

You parted your lips to protest but she shook her again.  

“Tell those kids to come visit me every once in a while, okay? I’ve got a discount for ‘em,” she offered, bright smile over painted red lips. She waved you off and you knew there was no arguing with her.  

“That’s very kind of you, Luciana. I’m sure they’ll appreciate it.”  

“So will my business, dear.” There was that wink again.  

You laughed, heading for the door. “I’ll see you next week!”

The bell rang on your way out.  

The VA wasn’t more than a few blocks from Luciana’s, but the bag piled high with books was starting to weigh on your shoulder. It didn’t help that you had to weave expertly between the pedestrians to balance your coffee and the donut box, too; tourists walking about 10 mph too slow and locals stuck in their path with no qualms of shoving you out of their way if you managed to jump in their trajectory.  

As you approached the VA, the crowd began to disperse. There weren’t too many people who frequented this street as there was little more than the VA building itself to occupy the tourists. You were surprised to find a man standing in front of the doors, staring up at the building as if it offended him in some way.  

Dark brown hair tucked under a baseball cap, just barely peeking out at the nape of his neck. Right hand tucked deep into his pocket, rigid in his stance as he stared down the double doors. He was talking to himself, you realized, judging by the soft clouds of chilled air by his mouth.  

James Barnes.

Bucky.

A smile suddenly took over your face, enough that you had to bite down on the edge of your lip in an effort to suppress it. You’d hoped he would come, but Sam had talked about his friend Bucky long before you met him in the empty library of the VA a few days prior. He didn’t say ‘yes’ to much of anything and he seemed to be the sort of soldier that got left behind by the system when he returned home.  

But he was sweet. You could tell that just from the small interaction you’d had. Quiet. A little flustered. Maybe reserved. But he had beautiful eyes; blue, like they could capture even the faintest colors in the sky and the sweep of a current in the Mediterranean. He’d only barely lifted the corner of his lips to a smile that day and it left you wondering how lovely he was when it touched his eyes.  

“Bucky!” you called, moving a little quicker now as you approached, but he didn’t seem to hear you. Still focused on his staring match with the building, it seemed. For a moment, it seemed as though he might be turning to leave and your stomach twisted.  

You were nearly at his side, a little out of breath when you called his name again and it registered this time. Only, it must have startled him because an arm jutted out in your direction, knocking the coffee from your hands. You were too stunned to do much of anything about it as they coffee flung itself to the pavement, the contents spilling to the ground and over your sneakers. You clutched the box of donuts tight to your chest.  

Bucky froze, almost as still as a statue, his eyes focused on the coffee spilled on the sidewalk. His jaw clenched so tight you could see the muscle twitch and slowly, his eyes drew up to meet yours. He stared at you for a moment, mouth falling agape. His ears were burning red.  

Then, he seemed to come back to reality as he blinked a few times, his eyes darting from the shock on your face to the coffee on the sidewalk.  

“Y/n! Shit—fuck! I am—so sorry,” he started to ramble, his hand reaching out, though he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. “I didn’t realize you were-- fuck—”

“It’s alright, Bucky,” you tried to ease him, a laugh in your voice. “Don’t worry about it. Probably didn’t need the caffeine anyway.”  

“I should, um,” he looked around desperately, scanning the street for the nearest coffee shop, his hand clenching and releasing at his side in a repetitive squeeze. It was really sort of sweet. “Let me buy you a new one.”

You smiled at him and he softened a bit. “That’s really not necessary.”  

He gritted his teeth as you bent down to pick up the empty cup and shook the excess coffee off your shoes. They were old sneakers anyway and you were looking for a halfway decent excuse to get new ones. Then came a shy ex-soldier barreling in from the sky with a strong aversion to your coffee.  

“I knew this was a bad idea...”  

He was talking to himself, grumbling under his breath, and you realized why he was staring at the building for so long. You took a step closer to him, studying the way his chewed on the inside of his cheek and shoved his right hand into his pocket.  

“Is it?” you asked.

Blue eyes flickered to yours, brows furrowed. He didn’t think you’d heard him. “Sorry?”

You just smiled at him, shaking your head. You’d been working at the VA long enough to recognize the man behind the soldier; one who’d been beaten and bruised and left to waste the second he was dropped back on American soil. Constantly beating himself up, constantly wondering if he was doing the wrong thing and struggling to be the version of himself he was before the war.

“So, James Barnes,” you grinned, “you decide if you’re coming in or not? It’s a little chilly out here. Don’t want you catching a cold.”  

Bucky stared back at you, unsure. But you could see the tension easing off his shoulders. His right hand was hanging back at his side again as his eyes flickered up to the doors again.  

“Come on.” You smiled at him again and you noticed pretty quickly that he softened when you did that. It made your stomach flutter. You took a step forward, hoping he’d follow behind. “There’s shitty coffee inside we can share before book club starts.”  

“I don’t even know what you’re reading,” he admitted, that sweet nervousness taking over again.  

“You don’t need to,” you shrugged and his brow scrunched up again, confused. You glanced back at the doors. “Well, I’m going inside. I hope I see you there.”

With that, you turned and shouldered your way through the doors, donut box clutched tight to your chest. You waited by the entrance until you heard the soft grumble of a graveled voice outside, and then, footsteps as they approached the door.

You smiled.

[after-witch]

Hook Line and Sinker [Yandere Ransom Drysdale x Reader]

Title: Hook Line and Sinker [Yandere Ransom Drysdale x Reader]

Synopsis: You’ve broken up with Ransom Drysdale, and you mean it this time. But the freedom that comes with the breakup leads to a series of unexpected coincidences that leave you wondering: was it worth the price?

Word Count: 8955

notes: yandere, mentions of physical abuse, financial abuse, comfort sweaters

Nothing lasts forever. Not even relationships--and certainly not love. What might start off as an intense, passionate relationship can (and did, in your case) eventually fizzle; things that you were willing to overlook when you were absolutely besotted would wear down with time, and eventually they became too much to ignore.

That’s what you tell yourself, what you remind yourself, in the moment after you tell him:

“It’s over, Ransom. We’re done. I’m leaving.”

It couldn’t last forever. Not with his inability to stay sober, not with his tendency to cheat on you with meaningless flings that somehow hurt more than any steamy single-minded affair. Not with his flare-ups of controlling tendencies that left you in tears on the bathroom floor as he asked you to please stop dressing like a slut in front of his family, is that too hard to ask?

You’d asked him to change. He swore he would; he never did. You forgave him, more than once, more times than you could count. But enough was enough. Maybe he thought you were too weak to leave him, especially three years into your relationship, when your lives were becoming so integrated, pushing you towards a potential permanent future. It was a future that left you feeling numb and anxious. Stuck in a marriage with someone who wanted to stay with you but treated you horribly, all the same. And that wasn’t even getting into the family dynamics that left your head spinning.

He stares at you now, and his mouth opens just a little bit in what you know is going to be a barrage of questions, insults, maybe even threats spurred on by your words. But instead he closes his mouth and shakes his head, letting out a soft, bitter chuckle.

“Well, damn. This sucks.” You can see the indent of his tongue in his cheek before he clicks and shrugs. “Guess that’s it then. Need help packing your shit or what?”

His response is so blasé that you’re genuinely shocked and, you must admit, a little hurt. He didn’t even ask for a second chance or beg you to stay or argue with you about your terrible timing because our-vacation-to-Hawaii-is-coming-up. So it’s your turn to look surprised, and you shake your head.

“No, I… already took care of it. It’s at a storage locker.” You didn’t have family left, and your close friends had pulled away from you one by one once you stayed with Ransom time and time again--so you’d had to pay movers to help you pack and transport everything to storage over the weekend, while Ransom was away and you were free to make a clean breakup.

He nods, sticks his hand inside his jacket pockets. He’s looking around the room, avoiding direct eye contact in a clear show of his discomfort. It’s weird seeing Ransom like this--the normally self-assured, cocky Ransom, looking for any excuse not to look at you.

“So… see ya around?” His tone is sincere, if still confused. The idea of you leaving must have really never crossed his mind. The look on his face when he finally faces you again appears genuinely puzzled.

He sticks out his hand and it feels almost comical for things to end this way, particularly considering the nights you’d spent imagining some big blow up, some big fight with Ransom screaming and you firing off the many reasons why it had to end no matter what he said.

But it didn’t go the way you expected at all. It was calm. Easy. A clean break-up.

So you shake his hand and grab your purse and the small roller-suitcase and give a half-hearted wave as you walk out the door; the taxi you’d hired to pick you up is waiting, car running, meter going. You would be staying at a hotel for two weeks, which would hopefully be enough time to find a semi-decent apartment; your credit score had improved so much since Ransom added you to his cards, to a shared checking account, and it wouldn’t be too difficult to get approved.

A new life, one where you could focus on yourself for once, was just around the corner.

**

"I'm sorry, miss, but it's definitely not the reader. The card is declined."

You've had this nightmare before. No, you've lived this nightmare before--years ago when your credit was shit and you ran up your cards and had to face the music in a publicly humiliating display with the longest checkout line you'd ever seen behind you. Only that was years ago, in a little grocery store, and since getting together with Ransom you never had to worry about problems like this. You never had to worry about the shame of not having enough, not being enough.

But this? This was happening now. In an upscale hotel. With your nice purse (a Christmas present) and designer clothes (casual, comfortable) and your cheeks flushed undeniably warm.

The hotel clerk has a tight, sympathetic smile on her face. A coworker who walks behind her glances at you, judging, and you just know he's going to head into some break room and tell everyone but yet another piece of discarded army candy with a declined credit card. You wish you'd kept your sunglasses on.

"Did it, um, say why? I don't--" you plaster a smile on your face, hating the way this all feels familiar, like a part of your past coming back to haunt you. "I don't understand, the card is good."

The clerk's smile flickers, just a bit.

"It says there's a fraud alert on this card. Perhaps you'd better call the company. Or would you like me to call them?"

Fucking. Ransom.

"Oh, oh no, don’t worry about it. I’ll call them myself. I'm so sorry about this." You turn away from the clerk as quickly as possible and step away from the counter, away from the person waiting behind you who will surely have no trouble with their card, away from the clerks giving you a passive side-eye. You lean against a cool cement pillar in the lobby and you know what you have to do.

You have to call Ransom.

You haven't deleted his number yet--you'd planned on calling him today or tomorrow to figure out how to split up your shared finances--so it's easy enough to find the number. It's not so easy to tap his contact, but you have to, so you force yourself to do it and stare at his photo as the call rings. And rings. And rings. “Hello?” Your breath catches but in an instant, when the message continues, you feel stupid. It’s his voicemail. Fuck.

You text him, instead. Emergency. Call right away. And of course: He leaves you on read. Fuck.

You call him again. And again. He picks up on the sixth call, but your heart is racing too hard and sweat is beading down your forehead and it takes you a moment to confirm that the "Hello?" wasn't part of the voicemail message this time. Fuck.

"Um. Hey," you say, keeping your voice as un-royally-pissed-off as possible, because if he did put in a fraud alert then you don't want to risk any additional asshole moves. "So there's something wrong with the card? The one that ends in 8921? The hotel said there was a fraud alert and--"

"Did you really think I'm going to keep paying for your shit if we're over?"

His voice is quick, biting--exactly what you'd expected from him earlier. Somehow it stings even harsher over the phone, where you feel more helpless, unable to avoid his words.

"I thought..." you wet your lips, trying to maintain your cool. "Look, my name is on them, so I thought send you my part of the payments until I can get cards in my own name."

He chuckles, low and short. "Yeah? What, you want to create a payment schedule or something?"

You fight back the annoyance in your tone. You hate having to be the bigger person, but your finances--your life--is on the line. "Yeah, actually, that'd be perfect. It wouldn't be for long. You know I'll pay them on time, I'm not looking to screw you over."

"You're going too pay me on time? For all the stuff you've bought, the stuff I’ve bought for you, this hotel room and god knows what else? How are you going to afford all that?"

He knows you recently earned a promotion at your work. He knows this, because you were so excited about it, and his half-assed congratulations over lukewarm leftovers left you feeling bitter and sad and useless. So you can't help it when bitterness seeps into your voice with your answer. "You know I just got a promotion."

"Did you?" It's said in such a casual tone that it gives you pause, but a moment later he simply hangs up on you.

Fucking. Ransom.

You shove your phone back into your purse, and the clerks at the counter are staring at you. Sweat has trickled down your back and your shirt sticks to your skin ever-so-slightly as you pull away from the pillar and approach the counter, awkward smile and cheeks hot.

"There is an issue with the card, they're working on it, so I’ll just call for a new reservation when it's fixed. I'm so sorry for the mix up!" Your voice is so peppy and high-pitched and fake and you feel like you’re back at your old job, feet aching with falling apart shoes, forced to deal with people returning old toasters laden with crumbs, calming they’d “just bought it the day before and it didn’t work.”

"Of course," the clerk says, and you know this is hotel clerk code for "You're a shitty liar."

You roll your suitcase out of the lobby with tears in your eyes and you shove your sunglasses on as soon as you've cleared the building. You feel exhausted, drained--so you use what little energy you have left to start googling for cheap motels.

**

The room smells musty. You pin the plastic sheet you’d snagged at a dollar store over the comforter and pray it will be enough to protect you from whatever is on the likely unwashed fabric. The TV is broken, there’s no WIFi, and there’s a few suspicious stains on the floor that make you wonder if this hotel has ever been featured in a porno, true crime show, or both.

But it’s all you could afford with the cash in your wallet. You only had enough cash on hand for 2 nights at a ragtag hotel that offers nightly and hourly rates. You didn’t dare use your debit card or any credit cards with Ransom’s name or information on them.

You just need some sleep. A good night’s sleep to feel renewed and ready to tackle retaking your life, bit by bit. In the morning, you need to go to the bank and withdraw your money from the joint bank account. Then you can reopen an account in your name, get a new debit card, and apply for a few credit cards afterwards.

Sure, it would have been nicer to do this without Ransom being an asshole. But deep down, you suspected he wouldn’t let you have a clean, lets-still-be-friends type of break. Not after all the times he’d pressured you into staying, manipulating you with words and gifts and promises, promises. Promises that were worth shit. 

The sheet crinkles underneath you as you scroll through your messages. You’d texted a few formerly close friends about the breakup earlier, hoping that they’d maybe want to reconnect. So far, you’d been left on read, blocked, and received only one response: “New number, who is this?”

So much for that. Not that you can blame them. There are only so many times they can rush over for a late night intervention in which you tell them every horrible thing Ransom does (he’s controlling, he doesn’t want me to meet with friends without permission, he tells me what I can and can’t wear, he cheats, he lies, he pushed me--)--before they get tired of you returning to him, again and again and again.

The only one who’d been texting you recently--okay, for the past year--had been Ransom. Mostly dick pics. And demands for you to send him something back, which you always did after a while, because you didn’t want to deal annoyed texts or voice messages accusing you of clearly cheating on him or hating him because why else wouldn’t you be willing to send him so much as a sexy selfie to your boyfriend? 

But in between those, there were conversations. Sometimes sweet ones, sometimes thoughtful ones that always made you remember why you fell hard for him in the first place. Late night conversations from when he was off on trips. You try not to wonder if he was fucking someone on each of these trips, if while you were sending him a late night ramble about a TV show and he was humoring you with jokes and quips, he was actually snuggled up with someone else. Laying in bed, naked, laughing at your dumb ass waiting at home.

The not-so-sweet conversations were ones that you had screenshotted and sent to your friends more than once, before they pulled themselves away. Texts asking where you were. Asking who you ate lunch with, and whether or not you were fucking them. Asking why your new office was connected to a certain co-worker’s, and how many blowjobs you had to give to get said new office because you didn’t tell him about the new office until after you were moved in, so you were clearly hiding him. Asking you to send him outfit pics so he could approve them or make you change if they were too slutty or not slutty enough or if you were only clearly wearing that halter dress to try to get with the bartender.

Yet your mind had always returned to the nice Ransom, the Ransom who made you laugh and squeezed you hard when had a shitty day of work and let you bury your face in his sweater as you snuggled on the couch. Maybe that’s why it took so long to leave.  You were waiting for him to stop being Ransom and start being the fantasy of Ransom you’d conjured in your head.

Your eyes feel heavy so you plug in your phone, turn the sound off, and lay down on the uncomfortable plastic sheet that crinkled over the pillows. It feels strange to lay on a lumpy mattress covered in plastic, after years of custom-made beds and memory foam pillows and all the other luxuries that Ransom was able to provide.

You try not to think about it too much. While you won’t exactly be indulging in all the luxuries you had with Ransom, but your job pays you well, and you won’t ever have to go back to living hand-to-mouth like you did before. You won’t have to worry about late bills and debt collectors and landlords who come late at night and demand inspections while you’re in your pajamas.

You have work in the morning. You have to get to the bank in the morning. Your thoughts are still buzzing with anxiety as you fall into an uneasy slumber.

**

“I’m sorry, but the account has been closed.”

You feel years of customer service training cracking underneath your skin. You can’t freak out. If you freak out, they won’t feel inclined to go the extra mile. You know this, from firsthand experience.

So you take a shaky breath. “Um, this just--it isn’t possible. It’s a joint account. I’m on the account. There was money in there, you can check--”

“I’m sorry, but the funds were transferred and account has been closed by the other account holder. There’s nothing I can do. I suggest contacting the other party in the account.”

You swallow and nod and walk away, this time having been smart enough to keep your sunglasses on to hide your humiliated expression. Why didn’t you insist on having your own account? Ransom said it was better to keep it joint, so you could just buy stuff whenever you wanted. You’d agreed because it was so generous, something you’d never thought possible at the time, when you were used to having to pay overdraft fees and cringing whenever you checked your balance.

Your fingers tremble as you bring up his contact on your phone. You tap. No answer.

You don’t have time to call him two, three, ten times--you have to get to work. So you steady your nerves. You breathe in, you breathe out. You get in your car and plug your phone in and decide to contact your lawyer. Fuck--your lawyer was Ransom's lawyer. But the anxiety eases when you remember that you’d paid him a retainer fee months ago, and Ransom couldn’t do anything about that. You could at least get a basic consult out of the retainer.

The call ringing sounds muffled through your car’s speaker but it isn’t long before someone answers, and you’re transferred to the lawyer Ransom insisted you have--gotta have a lawyer when you have money, babe--and that you hadn’t spoken to in ages.

“Hi,” you say, voice artificially bright, “this is--”

You don’t get a chance to finish.

“I know who this is.” The lawyer sounds tired, and his tone is curt and clipped. “I’m sorry. I’m no longer able to provide you with any legal counsel.”

You almost miss a red light and regret calling the office while you were driving.

“Is this about the debit card? Because I paid the retainer months ago--”

“The retainer has been refunded into the connected checking account.”

Your voice looses its artificial cheeriness and you stumble over your words in frustration. “That’s--it’s--it was a joint account, which is why I called, Ransom drained it and took everything. Isn’t there something we can do, because that was my money too and--”

“I am no longer able to provide you with legal counsel.”

You want to cry. You hate crying, as an adult. It makes you feel weak. Especially on the phone.

“I don’t understand. Why was the retainer refunded? Did--did someone call you?”

He clears his throat into the phone. “I am no longer able to provide you with legal counsel. Goodbye.”

He hangs up. Your hands shake.

You pull into the parking lot of your work and park the car and as soon as you do, you hunch yourself over the steering wheel and simply shake in frustration.

You have no bank account. Ransom drained it. You have no credit cards. Ransom blocked them. You couldn’t even talk to a lawyer, because--shock--Ransom made sure you couldn’t. Everything was in Ransom’s name. He insisted on adding you to his accounts, closing out your own paltry ones; insisted that he pay off your credit card debt, and making you close those, too, instead adding you to his cards. It was all to help you out, he said, at the time.

Wasn’t it? He was shockingly not judgmental about the state of your finances, and while you’d put up some protest, you didn’t exactly argue with him when he suggested wiping your debts clean and getting your credit back up. And considering that he wasn’t immune to needing a bail-out now and then (late night calls to his grandfather, snarky comments at his parent’s dinner table, come to mind) maybe he could sympathize with being in over your head. Even if your issues were rooted in poverty and shitty jobs and his were rooted in a total lack of financial discipline and, as you’d later found out, a drug addiction.

Still. He helped you before. He would help you now, once he realized how serious it was. For now he was just--reacting like an asshole, acting childish and ridiculous. He was an asshole. You know this. You’ve known this. You need to call him and meet with him and make him realize how ridiculous he’s being, and he’ll sigh and snark but he’ll agree to stop acting like such an ass.

But first you have to work. Life goes on. Even without Ransom--even with Ransom, screwing you over out of pettiness.

The air conditioning in the lobby is on blast, and the familiar smell of clean furniture and floor cleaner from the late-night cleaning crew is surprisingly comforting. Here, you can forget about Ransom--forget about the cards and the lawyer and the fact that your life has been upended in mere hours. If only until your lunch break, at least.

Anthony is working the front desk and you give him a a soft, if strained smile. There’s something in the smile that he gives you in return that reminds you of the hotel clerk. Sympathetic and judgmental.

Ah. You probably look like--well, less than your best, you realize. You did pack some toiletries in your suitcase but the water in the motel had streaks of brown and you didn’t shower, opting instead to rinse your face with what was left of a water bottle you’d bought earlier and layering on more deodorant to make up for the lack of a proper scrub. You probably looked a bit tired, haggard, not unlike some of the employees who got stuck with big clients the night before their paperwork was due.

Still. Nothing that freshening up in your private bathroom--thank god for the new office--can’t help. So you hit the button on the elevator and take deep breaths as you ride up, intent on working as productively as possible. The doors open and you navigate the familiar maze of open-plan desks for the lower-tier workers, desks surrounded by half-walls that always kept you staring straight ahead, lest you accidentally glance over and see a co-worker picking their nose.

Yet as you weave in-and-out of the familiar rows, heading towards the back of the room where the real offices, the ones with full walls and doors and privacy glass lay, you can’t help but feel that something is… off. 

No one calls out to greet you, though that can be easily attributed to the jealousy over your promotion. You’d been working there for far less than most of the lower level workers--Ransom got you the job, with his connections and a hefty revision of your resume and, you assume, some personal phone calls--and you’d already been promoted to senior management. That wasn’t technically Ransom’s work, though. That was all your own effort, your own blood, sweat, tears and intense devotion to each project that came your way. Sure, the connections he helped you make, the dinner parties, all that helped--but if it weren’t for your skills, the connections wouldn’t have made a difference. Right? 

Still, whatever bitterness existed in the people hunch in open-air cubicles, the receptionists always greeted you. But today they caught your eye then awkwardly glanced down, or pretended to be looking for something in their drawers. It was odd. Did you look that bad? That out of sorts?

You shake off the heavy feeling in your stomach and for once, you shut the door to your office instead of keeping it open for passers-by or people needing approval for this-and-that. It feels good to lean against the solid wood door and take a breath, a deep one, invigorating and calming.

A quick trip to the bathroom has you staring at yourself from all angles. You don’t look that bad, you reason. Just tired. But who wouldn’t be, sleeping on a plastic sheet in the shittiest motel in the area? You take a quick sniff under your arms but even that reveals nothing much but a faint hint of sweat and powdery deodorant.

There’s a firm knock at your office door and you glance at the mirror for a final once over before opening it up. It’s your boss. Did you have a meeting? You try to do a mental scan of something you’ve missed, but nothing comes to mind.

“Hi,” you say, wavering with uncertainty at the threshold. Should you invite him in? “What can I do for you? We didn’t have a meeting, did we?” You let yourself chuckle, dry and quick. “I’m sorry, I’m a bit scattered this morning.”

Your boss doesn’t return your chuckle, which immediately raises the hairs on the back of your neck. Something was wrong. Shit--you were working on a major project for a seriously important client. The type of client that could genuinely make or break a company, if you got on their bad side. You press your lips together and make a silent vow to keep it serious.

“I’d like to keep this conversation private.” His tone is low and serious and you invite him in without a second thought, shutting the thick door behind you, trying to ignore the way everyone was shooting glances as it closed. Fuck, fuck, fuck, your thoughts race--no wonder everyone was giving you the stink eye. Something was wrong with the client, and you were the one making primary contact with them.

Your boss takes a seat on the leather sofa pushed up against the wall and you immediately set yourself down behind your desk.

He sighs. Short. Frustrated. Annoyed.

“We have to let you go.”

The words don’t register.

“Go where?”

It’s only after you say it that you realize what he said, what it meant, and you feel like a colossal moron in every respect.

“It’s not working out,” he continues, staring at your desk and not at your face. “Since you’ve only been in this position for a month, you don’t quality for senior severance. The best we can do is to pay you what you’ve earned this week.”

Your mouth is so dry that you don’t know if you can talk. Your hand fumbles on your desk for a water bottle you’d left overnight, and that’s when you see it--the photo frame. You keep a photo of yourself and Ransom, cuddled together for a selfie, on your desk. The photo was lying on your desk, frameless, ripped in half--leaving only your vacantly smiling face staring up at you.

Ransom was here.

“Did he put you up to this?” You whisper. “Did Ransom tell you to fire me?”

You know he won’t answer. But you stare at him so fervently that he can’t help but look up at you, and you see it all in his eyes, in the subtle, embarrassed expression of his face.

You can imagine Ransom strolling in--maybe he called first--and settling in for a private audience with your boss in his office. He’d probably pull the chair up to the desk and put his feet on it, just to be an ass. Then he’d bring up… you. And why you had to be let go. Did he give a reason, did he tell your boss why a respected employee who he once secured a position for, who shot up the ranks through intense effort and work, needed to be fired? Did he even need to give a reason?

“This is absolute bullshit,” you say, finally, voice dry and hoarse and bitter. You want to say you’ll be contacting a lawyer. That this won’t stand. But you know--and he knows--that there’s nothing you can do.

Your boss stands, slow, and sighs again. “I’m sorry it had to end this way. Pack up your things as quickly as possible.”

He leaves, and you keep your eyes trained on the ripped photograph to avoid seeing the expressions of the people in the doorway before your boss mercifully shuts the door.

It takes all of your effort not to cry.

You don’t have much effort left.

**

Your things consisted of a handful of personal items, little touches you’d brought in to make your office feel more like “you.” A nice picture print. A pastel afghan to drape over the couch. A stapler with a floral design. You have the strong urge to dump them in a trash can, but that’s quickly quelled by the realization that you can’t afford to buy new things, or any things, at this point.

You don’t care if wearing your sunglasses as you power walk to the elevators makes you look stupid. You know someone, somewhere in this office is filming you and probably captioning it with something stupid to post to their Reels or TikTok, and it just makes you leave faster. A few people murmur comments your way, sympathetic in tone, but you’re not really listening. None of their platitudes matter, because Ransom was here, in your workplace, in your office, and he stole the thing you were most proud of from under your feet.

To his credit, when you reach the bottom floor, Anthony practically fumbles out from behind his desk and holds the door open for you. He mouths a “Sorry” and he probably is, but he’s probably used to dealing with rich assholes like Ransom who get what they want, when they want it; even when what they want is to fire a good employee on demand for very personal reasons.

The sun is beating down hard, even for the morning, and the stress of your situation makes you blast the air conditioning as soon as you get in the car. God, the car--how are you going to afford the payments? You wish you could call your mom. You wish your friends--are they even your friends, anymore?--would call you back.

You grab your phone from your purse and stare at the black screen. Maybe you should call the friend who didn’t block you. She would answer, if you called, because she knew you didn’t make calls unless it was serious. She might not rush to your side, but maybe she can offer you a place to stay, a couch, some advice. A kind word would do, right now, with how much anxiety and frustration has been packed into the last 12 hours.

But when you unlock your screen, your gut sinks. Five missed calls. From the storage company. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You tap their number and bring the phone to your ear and pretend that your hands aren’t shaking.

The man who answers is the same one you talked to on the phone before, when setting up your move. “Hello, Move’nSecure Storage Company. This is Steve speaking. How many I help you?”

“Hi Steve!” You hate how chipper you sound. “I actually just got a few missed calls from you guys, I’m sorry, I was in the office and--”

“Oh.” His voice is surprisingly flat, suddenly flat, losing its customer service inflection in an instant before picking it back up. “Yes. We’ve been trying to reach you. For confirmation, the storage locker your purchased is A443, correct?”

You fumble in your purse for the receipt and confirm the little numbers printed neatly on the paper. “Yes, A443. Is everything okay?”

“No, it’s not.” You’re grateful that you didn’t have much for breakfast because you know it would be clawing its way back up at this point. “The card you gave us for the storage fee was declined.”

The debit card. You’d paid in cash for the move, and paid for 1 month of storage with the card. The card that was now useless, connected to an empty and closed bank account.

“Is there another card you can give us?”

“No, but...” You say, because no, there is not. There is not a card. There is not a job. There is nothing. “But if you could just hold my stuff, I’ll be there in less than a hour to get it.”

“We don’t hold items,” Steve tells you, a rehearsed banality to his tone. “Your items are currently outside the unit.”

You instinctively want to yell at Steve but, fuck fuck fuck, you’ve been there, behind the counter, dealing with people who couldn’t pay for shit and then had the nerve to get upset with you. “All of it?” You ask, your voice cracking slightly.

“Yes.”

You hang up, and toss your phone onto the passenger seat. The quicker you get there, the less chance that something will get broken or stolen or who knows what else.

The trip to the storage unit seems to take forever, and when you arrive you don’t even take a second to lock your car doors. Instead you sprint inside, startling Steve--looking at his phone, then at you, then at the sign plastered up on the wall leading to the storage locker floors. He points. Row A, separated into 100s, 200s, 300s, and--your number--400s.

You don’t remember if you say ‘thank you,’ because you’re speed-walking down the hallway and following the signs and it isn’t long before you see it: a storage locker with tons of stuff piled up, dumped, outside the now-empty unit where it was supposed to be safe and sound. Waiting for you to get an apartment and pick it back up and rearrange it into your new life, your new “you.”

The problem is immediate: You can’t fit all this in your car. You don’t know anyone who could take the stuff for you. You mind reels for options and the only thing you can come up with is ferrying your belongings to and from the hotel. You can pay for a few more days once you cash your partial paycheck. After that… you don’t know.

Pawn your things? Yeah. That might work. You can get enough cash by pawning most of your stuff, the good stuff. Enough money to get you into a shitty apartment with leaks and a bad landlord. Then you can a job that barely pays rent and you’ll be right back where you started, before you met Ransom. Before you thought leaking ceilings and $20 paychecks after taxes were a thing of the past.

You ignore the humiliation that makes your stomach curl as you take your things out to the car, handful by handful. Steve doesn’t bother holding the door open for you. You mention that you’re going to be back on your way out, and he offers a non-committal hum.

At least when you get to the hotel, the owner sees you fumbling with boxes and offers to help you out. It takes less time with two hands to get everything in the room, and once it’s locked up you head back out to the storage units.

You keep your sunglasses on for the second trip into the storage unit, even though you don’t know Steve or care what he thinks. He doesn’t look up when you walk in and it’s just as well, since you’re only heading back to the A-400s and don’t need his non-existent help.

But the sight that greets you when you round the corner to your unpaid-for storage locker makes your blood run cold.

Your stuff is gone. All of it.

You rush back to the desk, where Steve does look up, startled by your urgency.

“My stuff,” you spit out, “My stuff is gone! Someone took it!”

Steve shrugs. “Sorry.” He points to a sign behind him: “We are not responsible for the loss of items inside or outside storage lockers.”

“Are you fucking kidding?” You can’t the anger in your voice this time. “You just watched someone walk off with my stuff and didn’t say anything?”

Steve raises his eyebrows. “If it was that important, you shouldn’t have left it here. Or you should have given us another card.”

You feel like throwing your hands up but you just clench your fist and storm out the door, huffing as you reach your car. The anger melts into the sense of loss, the realization that you only have a few meager items that you’d managed to collect; you picked the lightest stuff, first. And in retrospect it was things that didn’t matter much at all. Clothes. Hair supplies. Makeup. You should have grabbed the box with your USB sticks, your memory cards, your photo albums; your personal mementos and sentimental shit. Instead you grabbed the box with your shampoo.

At least the clothes might get something in a pawnshop. The makeup, too, on Facebook or Depop or Instagram. But it wouldn’t be enough to put you up in an apartment. You’ll have to live in your car. Until they repossess it for lack of payment.

You don’t have your bank account, your credit cards, your job, a place to stay, or your personal possessions. And soon, you won’t have your car.

You have no friends. No boyfriend. No family.

All you have $20 left in your wallet and well, fuck it. You grab some McDonalds on the way home because, fuck it, and eat all the fries before you make it to the motel. The thought of eating in your dirty room makes your stomach turn and you decide to eat everything else you bought, the burger and the shake and the chicken nuggets too, tossing the wrappers on the floor. It feels like deja vu--getting cheap fast food to make you feel full, tossing trash on the floor of the passenger seat, all bringing back the way you used to when you’d grab something from the dollar menu on your way to work at the call center.

You almost wish you could stay at this hotel, brown water and all. The owner is decently nice. He smiles at you when you enter and doesn’t bring up that you didn’t come back with more boxes, like you said you would.  

You’re surprised at how grateful you feel for the dingy hotel room now that you won’t be able to stay here more than another day. Now that the alternative is sleeping in your car, then sleeping on the street, if you were lucky.

Your phone feels heavy when you set it on the table and stare at the home screen. Another photo of you and Ransom stares back up at you. You haven’t had time to change it up yet. He’s grinning. You’re smiling. It’s a good photo. You try to place it in your memory, try to remember what beach that was, but your trips blur together and you can’t.

Should you call him? If it was just the cards, just him being petty over credit and finances, it was one thing. You could try to placate him with returning gifts, just asking him to give you what you put in from your own paychecks. But making you lose your job? It was too far, too fucking far. And there was no going back from that. Fuck, someone was probably moving into your office as you sat in this dimly lit room mourning the loss of your entire life.

For a brief, very fleeting moment, you consider calling Harlan. You weren’t exceptionally close, but he seemed to like you well enough. He’d even asked you once, puling you aside at a tension-filled family party, if Ransom treated you right, told you to tell him if he ever got to be too much. Harlan felt like Ransom’s keeper--in more ways than one. You could never tell Harlan about the shouts or the occasional bruises from when Ransom really, really lost his temper--it’s not like you could prove them, anyway, as Ransom made sure to keep you away from his family when he lost control like that. No need for excuses about running into doors when he made sure you looked your best at family functions.

But the thought of breaking the uneasy stasis that Ransom had with the most significant member of his family made you want to vomit. There would be no coming back from that, and you knew better than to cross any line involving the great Harlan Thrombey.

You could call your friend--ex-friend? The one who didn’t block you or forget your number. You should. No, you will. Because what else do you have to lose.

But before you can bring up her number, you get a text--Ransom. It’s a photo and your curiosity gets the better of you as you click the notification.

“What the fuck?”

He’s sent you a photo of his car, trunk open. It’s filled with boxes, odds-and-ends. It’s filled with your stuff.

You text him: What??

He texts back: Hey. I’m in front of the hotel. Come out? Bring your suitcase. :P

It’s your stuff. It’s his car. He’s here. All reason is thrown aside as you grab your suitcase and purse and rush down the hallway, ignoring the owner’s confused response from behind his desk as you push open the front doors and look around the parking lot.

His car is parked to the side, not in front of the hotel’s glass double doors. He’s standing outside his car, leaning against it. He takes off his sunglasses and tucks them in his pocket when he sees you approaching, face confused and fuming all at once.

“What the fuck, Ransom, what the fuck is your problem--”

“Hey, hey,” he says, hands up in defense, “You’re not even going to thank me for picking up your stuff?”

You feel suddenly, impossibly rooted to the spot.

“What do you--what? You took my stuff?”

He shrugs. “C’mon, did you really think I’d just leave your stuff in some shitty storage unit? Someone would’ve taken it if I didn’t get there first.”

You swallow. “Why?” You ask, because Ransom never does anything for no reason. Or so you’ve learned.

His expression loses a bit of its cocky casualness. He tilts his head a bit, looking at you as if you’ve asked a particularly offensive question.

“Why do you think?”

To lord it over you? To make you think your stuff was gone and make you worried, sick, crazy?

“I don’t know,” is what you settle for in the end. “I really, really don’t. You--” You lick your lips, and try to calm down, calm the pitter-patter of your heart, and think before you speak. “You’ve done some pretty messed up stuff today. My job?” The last question comes out soft and pained, and you know your eyes are starting to tear up.

“Hey.” His voice is soft and placating and it makes your stomach flip as he approaches you, standing there on the sidewalk with your purse and suitcase. “Hey, c’mon. Don’t cry on me.”

You know this Ransom. The Ransom that holds you and pets your hair and offers to get Thai food delivered even though he doesn’t like it just to make you happy.

He puts his hand on your shoulder and you jerk it away. “Don’t.” That Ransom is a fantasy. Or an incomplete version, the version that pretends he doesn’t lie and cheat and hurt you in more ways than one. “Don’t you fucking dare, especially not after what you pulled today. My job? My job, Ransom? You’re a--a fucking asshole.”

He puts his hands up again, defensive, and takes a step back. But he doesn’t return to his car, and stays just a few steps in front of you.

“Look. Call me an asshole. Sure, fine, I can admit that. But do you know what else I am?”

He waits a beat, waits for you to look at him, before he continues. “I’m a realist. I like facts. And the fact is? You aren’t much without me. No job, no credit cards, no bank account. Without me, you’re just some broke chick scrambling to get an apartment in the shittiest part of town, working a dead-end job that don’t pay shit. With me though…. “

He leaves the words unfinished, but you know what he means. Flashes of your life, cocktails and smart business outfits and dinners at restaurants you didn’t even dream about attending before you met him. Phone calls with shakers in the industry and social media requests from people you’d never dream you’d meet. Connections that meant something, a career path, dinner parties with people who could offer tangible benefits to your career and your life.

It wasn’t that he spoiled you. He wasn’t a sugar daddy. You weren’t getting gifts for blowjobs. It was that his presence in your life boosted you, socially, financially, mentally, physically, in every which way possible.

His presence got you a job that you loved, which meant you weren’t burnt out when you came home, which meant that you had the time and energy to spend hours catching up on books or redecorating the house or watching movies. Good money meant you could order in whenever you felt like it, meant you didn’t have to worry if you burned dinner because you could just buy new steaks or order-in or go out, last minute, and still get a great table. It meant you had all the clothes you wanted, stylish and personally tailored; it meant you had easy access to a gym and exercise equipment and an indoor pool to keep you healthy. It meant you had a life that provided comfort in every way possible.

Being with Ransom Drysdale was like… like a little shot of privilege directly into your arm.

Privilege that he took away just as easily as he gave it. Just as easily as you took it. Just as easily as you took it and eagerly ignored the dark side underneath. Or maybe you didn’t ignore it. Maybe you liked it, maybe it reminded you of who you were underneath the designer clothes and expensive dinners.

Maybe you wanted to fix him, like he fixed you? He wasn’t totally bad, after all, he did make sure no one took your belongings. Maybe it was your presence that gave him the idea for that touch of sympathy, maybe with Ransom change was slow and muddled, not picture-perfect sweeping changes like the kind in movies.

“So?” Ransom’s voice cuts through your thoughts. “Are you going to come home or,” he waves his hands around dismissively, at the hotel, at you.

You feel very, very less-than right now. You look awful, your hair mussy and your makeup mostly melted off with sweat and sun. You probably smell more than you normally do, thanks to the lack of a shower. Your muscles, sore from the motel bed, ache for the large spa bathtub that Ransom had installed in the master bathroom just for you, stocked with bubbles and salts and overpriced bath bombs that were $10 a pop.

But your muscles had hurt before, when he pushed you against the dresser.

You have nothing, and no one. Except Ransom. Ransom who didn’t judge you when you instinctively saved plastic bottles and boxes, but merely nudged you towards recycling and took you out to splurge on a reusable water bottle and proper storage containers the next day. Ransom who asked you what sort of job you wanted, really wanted, and made it happen for you. Ransom who shrugged and wiped away your credit card debt without making you feel like shit.

Ransom who didn’t let you leave the house if your wrists were sporting fingerprint shaped bruises. Ransom who argued with you about talking to men, even men at work. Ransom who held you tight at night and said he never wanted to let you go, and wouldn’t you just make a fine-ass addition his crazy family. Ransom who took care of you, now that you had no one else.

“What do you want me to do?” The words feel slow, sluggish. Like they wanted to stick to the roof of your mouth and it took everything in you to get them out.

His voice turns low and serious as he stares at you with an characteristic expression. “Well, the first thing is to get down on your knees…”

You feel your eyes practically bugging out.

“What the fuck, Ransom?”

He laughs. He always did have a nice laugh.

“I’m just messing with you, Jesus. Take a chi-I-il pill. Just grab your purse and come sit your sweet ass in the front seat. Let’s go get some burgers, I’m starving.”

Your legs feel like jelly when you take that first step, and the sound of your roller suitcase as you pull it along seems louder than ever. Ransom pops the truck and you just manage to fit it inside with the handle closed, jamming it in between some boxes at an odd angle. The handle of the passenger side is familiar, warm from the sun.

You open the door and practically shove yourself into the seat, closing the door as fast as possible. You can’t do more than glance at him as humiliation and anxiety and just the smallest bit of relief washes over you. It’s been less than 24 hours since you broke up, and here you are--again.

He’s staring at you quietly, his expression difficult to place. He looks relieved. He looks annoyed. He looks like he wants to kiss you. He looks like he wants to slap you. Maybe he wants to do it all at once and can’t decide which to pick.

Instead, he puts his hand on your thigh. Gives it a squeeze. Hard, bordering on painful.  He’s staring straight ahead, at the worn-out sign on the hotel’s front door, one hand gripping the flesh of your thigh. He looks good in profile. “Don’t ever try to pull something like that again. I mean it. I really mean it.”

You turn, glance out the window, familiar tears at the edge of your eyes.

“I won’t,” you whisper, dreaming of the tub and bubbles and how good a warm soak will feel on your back, on your thighs, on your soul.

“Good girl,” he says, patting your thigh firmly. He plucks his sunglasses out of pocket and puts them on in a smooth motion. The car starts smoothly, its fine-tuned and expensive engine a familiar sound, and your hands feel robotic as you pull the seatbelt over your chest and click it tight.

“Let’s get dinner and get home. You have some unpacking to do.”

[alexskarsgardnet]

New Interview & Photo Shoot!  Alex photographed by Johan Sandberg and interviewed by Timothy Small for L’Uomo Vogue (October 2020)!

Alexander Skarsgård: the photo shoot and interview for L'Uomo

BY TIMOTHY SMALL, JOHAN SANDBERG 25 SEPTEMBER 2020

Alexander Skarsgård is a really, really nice man. A Swede through and through, Alexander, or Alex, is a very down-to-earth gentleman who could definitely act as more of a big shot, considering he is also one of the most interesting actors in Hollywood right now, a town that, in true Swedish style, he once defined as “kind of silly”. After getting his first big break as the lead in David Simon's excellent Iraq War mini-series for HBO, Generation Kill, Skarsgård exploded in our collective imaginations as Eric Northman in True Blood, while also acting for Lars von Trier in the wonderful Melancholia. 

Since then, he has been a very buff Tarzan in The Legend of Tarzan, a mute bartender in future Berlin in Mute, a very dark killer in Hold the Dark, and a hilarious Canadian Prime Minister in Long Shot, as well as giving an Emmy- and Golden Globe-winning turn in HBO's Big Little Lies. The self-defined “restless” 43-year-old is set to star in The Northman, Robert Eggers's highly anticipated third film, a “Viking revenge story” that Skarsgård himself was crucial in bringing to production – and, by all accounts, it seems like it could have all the right pieces to become a future cult classic. It certainly has that kind of hype.

L'Uomo Vogue:  The Northman is such an interesting project. I know it's important to you. It's also part of a growing resurgence of interest in the Viking era and Norse mythology and that sort of epic Scandinavian adventure. How did it all begin?

Alex:  It all started seven or eight years ago. As a Swede living in America, I realised there was a certain level of fascination with the Viking era and Viking culture – and this was before any of the Viking shows that have since happened. It made me realise that there basically had never been a real great epic Viking movie made, and I thought that that's what I wanted to do.

LV:  So how did the project kick off?

Alex:  I started having conversations with a studio back then, trying to crack the best story. All I knew at the time is that I wanted to make a big Viking movie. We had a couple of potential different starting points: we had a story about two brothers, and then one about the Viking travels down to Constantinople with the Viking siege of the city. We were looking for the right story, but I never really felt we were there. I knew the scope I wanted it to exist in. But what was the story?

LV:  And that's when you met Robert Eggers.

Alex:  Yes, like three or four years ago. We met about something else. I can't remember how, but we started talking about Vikings. And he was, like me, a huge fan of Viking culture and of that historical era, and I immediately felt he would be the perfect guy to direct this movie. And then we found an author and poet in Iceland, Sjón, who came onboard to write the screenplay – and they did a fantastic job, just cracking the story and the essence of it.

LV:  Sounds great.

Alex:  It's a real adventure movie, but it's much more. It taps into the culture, and the mysticism of the Vikings, it becomes more intimate and more personal. I didn't want it to be a generic “swords-and-sandals” movie. Robert is one of the best filmmakers out there. And the whole process is so much more gratifying than when you're quote-unquote “just an actor”. It's been truly extraordinary.

LV:  But then you had to halt production.

Alex:  Yeah. I was in Belfast, Northern Ireland, three months into prep on The Northman about seven days away from principal photography. Just gearing up, you know, getting ready to start a very long, very intense shoot -- a shoot that we were scheduled to wrap in July – and that's when the virus hit.

LV:  What did you do then?

Alex:  I normally live in New York, while my family lives in Stockholm. When the first wave came, I was on the fence: nobody really knew how long it would be, or what precisely was going on. So we shut down production for six weeks. The idea was to then see what would happen. I basically moved to Stockholm for four months.

LV:  How do you feel about this forced break from work?

Alex:  I had not been home for this long in... more than 20 years. It was strange. We were in a bubble; we were all healthy and safe. In a lot of ways, I had moments when I felt being surrounded by my loving family, feeling safe and loved, and taking a break from work, but then also feeling very guilty because I was, for the lack of a better term, being spared.

LV:  In the past, you've described yourself as being a nomad. Did you miss Sweden and the North?

Alex:  I realised how much I have been missing it. I go to Sweden regularly, but usually only for three or four days, maybe a week, tops. My father and two of my brothers are actors, so we're used to never being in the same city. We all travel all over the world. Maybe we'd get back together for Christmas. And I can really say that I had missed spring in Sweden.

LV:  Do you think we will change the way movies are produced?

Alex:  We're going to have to figure out how to shoot movies with dozens of crew members and hundreds of extras while still respecting social distancing rules. It's an unprecedented situation and everyone is scrambling to figure out the best approach. My brother was one of the first people who worked in our industry during the pandemic. He shot a movie in Iceland in the middle of the lockdown. The way they solved it is they split the crew into colour sections. So, hair and make-up had yellow armbands and the camera department had blue, and they had a “Corona appointee” on set who would call out, “Now blue go in!” and then “Blue, out! And yellow, in!” And then they would all do their job in turns. It was very military-like. Productions are already complicated, so we'll just have to add another layer.

LV:  How did you become an ambassador to the Clarks brand?

Alex:  To me, authenticity is very important. I don't want to endorse products I don't genuinely like. That's why I was excited when Clarks reached out. I've been wearing Desert Boots for 25 years. Also, I like to travel a lot. I like to explore new cities by foot. I want to be able to walk around comfortably in a classic, iconic shoe. I travel from movie set to movie set, and I often live out of a suitcase. And this teaches you to be frugal. Whatever fits in that suitcase, that's all I can bring.

LV:  Is that the Swede in you?

Alex:  Maybe. But we consume way too many things in this society. Also, you give things more meaning when you live with them, and when you go on adventures with them. Like, these are my boots. I've been places with them. And when they fall apart, I'll buy a new pair. If you have the right stuff to begin with, you don't need more.

LV:  Going back to The Northman, that really sounds like a dream project.

Alex:  It is. It will be a rollercoaster ride. I can't wait to get back to Northern Ireland and get back to the production. It's also a very physically demanding project, so I have been training for, well, since a few months before production stopped.

LV: In a way, getting into a role, getting on a movie set, acting through it, the whole process of making a movie is a bit like a little adventure. You have to prep, you have to travel, often with people you don't know, and you have to push boundaries.

Alex:  Absolutely! A huge part of the appeal of this profession is you get to travel, and you meet amazing, interesting people from all over. And the uncertainty, you know? What was it, 12 years ago, I was in New York, and I'd never heard of Generation Kill. And then two days later I was on a plane to the Kalahari Desert to be out there for seven months to shoot the series. And I'll never forget the feeling, sitting on that plane, thinking, “Two days ago I didn't even know about this project, and here I am on my way to Southern Africa to spend seven months in the desert with 200 strangers.” It's very exciting.

LV:  What a feeling that must be!

Alex:  And every single job is like that. Every movie is different. Your part, the tone, the energy, the people – it's always different. And for someone like myself, who has that kind of wanderlust, who's always looking on the horizon, it's very attractive to never know just what the next adventure might be.

October 14, 2020:  Updated with the full interview courtesy of our friends at the ASkarsLibrary (x).

Fashion credits:

Photographs by Johan Sandberg Styling by Martin Persson Grooming Karin Westerlund @ Lundlund Hair Amanda Lund @ Lundlund Stylist’s assistant Isabelle Larsson Digital Daniel Lindgren Production Madeleine Mårtensson and Olle Öman @ Lundlund

Read the full interview by Timothy Small and see the photo shoot by Johan Sandberg in the October issue of L'Uomo, on newsstands from September 22nd.

Sources/Thanks:  Interview:  Timothy Small for L’Uomo Vogue (x), Photos:  Johan Sandberg for L’Uomo Vogue (x), artlistparis.com (x) via artlistparisnewyork instagram (x),  luomovogue instagram (x) &  atomomanagement.com (x) via atomomanagement instagram (x), our caps from artlistparisnewyork’s September 23, 2020 insta story (x, x)

[alpacaparkaseok]

Could you repeat the question?

pairing: Taehyung x reader, oc x Yeonjun (TXT)

premise: a joint interview with your group, BTS, and TXT two months after you met your soulmate.

word count: 2k

[2/2] continuation of Can’t Keep My Hands To Myself

requested by anon - a picture of your request will be at the bottom of the post! 

------------------------------------------

“Please don’t tell them.”

“Me? Why would I say anything?”

“You...you have that look.”

Yeonjun whirls around to face Taehyung, who just entered the room. “Do I have a look?”

Taehyung winks at you in greeting, something that nearly makes you swoon and your group members snicker. 

“A look?” He frowns for a moment before giving his dongsaeng a pitiful smile. “Oh yeah, you do. Definitely.” Taehyung smiles at Jiwoo, my band member who is busy sending death glares at her soulmate. “He’s gonna spill it.”

Yeonjun jumps up from his seat at the same time Taehyung settles down beside you, placing his arm on the back of the couch and brushing your hair off to the side. It’s enough to make goosebumps rise on your skin, which of course he notices. 

Oh, how you’d like to wipe that knowing little smirk off his face right now. 

“I can’t believe this! I’m not going to say a thing-”

“Yeonjun, and I’m saying this with love, if you say a single thing about it, I will personally unplug your refrigerator when you least expect it.”

Your attention is pulled away when you feel Taehyung leaning in to whisper something in your ear. “So, do we know what they’re arguing about?”

You can’t help but giggle. “Nope. Jiwoo won’t say anything.”

“Neither will Yeonjun.”

The smitten couple have been teasingly arguing for the entirety of the morning, leaving the rest of us in complete and utter confusion. 

Oh well, I suppose it’ll help make the broadcast a bit more exciting. 

It’s been two months since Jiwoo and I first *ahem* teleported to our soulmates at the MAMA awards. Or rather, since I landed in Taehyung’s lap and Jiwoo was nearly knocked unconscious when Yeonjun was thrown into her at full force. Of course, Jiwoo claims that it was horribly embarrassing, to which I’m always quick to say that she should feel lucky that at least she didn’t end up in a grown man’s lap. For all to see, no less. 

Ari, our other group member, just rolls her eyes and tells us that beggars can’t be choosers. 

Yeah, whatever that means. 

The past two months have been busy, with hardly enough time to spend with my soulmate. Between the busy schedules and BTS and TXT and our own schedule, we’ve had to settle for late-night FaceTimes and the occasional lunch at the Bighit building. I’ve become really good at sneaking in and out of that building in broad daylight - so far I have yet to be discovered. 

Today, however, is an important one. It’s our first official schedule together as soulmates. Naturally, all three groups have come together for the interview/variety show. 

“Alright, time to head on!” A manager shouts into the room, and suddenly there’s a flurry of movement as we all head toward the door. “I need all the soulmates to stick to their own groups, ok? We don’t want to be causing a riot today.”

Right. With a gloomy expression, Taehyung parts from me to head back to his members. Jiwoo and I glue ourselves to Ari’s side, much to her chagrin. “Ready?”

Both you and Jiwoo respond simultaneously. “Nope.”

Ari just sighs, feigning annoyance. Together, the three of you await your cue as one by one, your groups are introduced. 

TXT goes first, the hosts making a big deal out of swooning over Soobin who now has a cult of his own due to his MC abilities. They make a show of handing the microphone over to him, begging him to take it over from there. He politely declines, while the rest of the boys bicker and chat in the background. 

Then your group is called out, and you find yourself walking out before a huge crowd. You didn’t realize that many people could fit in this building, but here they are. And all of them are here for the same reason: to get a look at the soulmate couples that have newly formed. 

And that have been trending on Twitter and Tumblr for two solid months, breaking all kinds of records. 

As BTS is introduced with an almost reverent tone, you understand why you’ve been trending for so long.

It has a lot to do with one of the men walking out right now, smiling at the crowd and waving, graciously bowing his way across the stage. 

Taehyung wears a gray casual suit which has him looking like he just stepped off a photoshoot. Hair perfectly styled and eyes glowing with adoration for the fans that roar and wave, he commands the entire room with a single raise of his eyebrows. 

Your soulmate, ladies and gentlemen. 

Today is the day where you prove to the rest of the world how much of a perfect match you are for this man. The notion is terrifying. 

“Wow!” The host, a jovial man named Donghyun shouts out, exaggerating how amazed he is by the crowd’s reaction to all three groups sharing the same stage. Indeed, it’s a rare sight. “Ok! Should we get started?”

After a few minutes of more introductions, a few cursory questions (he asks Yeonjun what he’s been up to recently and you’re pretty sure Jiwoo manages to telepathically threaten him, because he chooses the most vague answer imaginable), and instructions on how to begin the next activities, you’re off to the races. 

Painting races, that it. 

Donning a frock and eyeing the empty canvas before you, you glare at your opponent across the way. Taehyung, to his credit, refrains from winking at you. He thinks you’re adorable when you’re flustered, but now’s not the time. 

“Taehyung-ssi!”

Taehyung blinks up at Donghyun. “Yes?”

“Are you going to let your soulmate win?”

The game is simple: paint the listed object with as much detail as possible in a sixty second period. The others will have to guess what it is. 

Taehyung pouts his lips a bit, glancing over at you with a glint in his eye. “I’ll have to see, I think.”

Donghyun chuckles into the mic, turning to face you. “What about you? If Taehyung-ssi falls behind, will you help him win?”

You wiggle your eyebrows at your soulmate, heart soaring when he delivers a boxy grin. “Oh, of course not. I came to compete, not hold hands.”

The crowd bursts out laughing, and someone yells out, “I’ll hold his hand for you!”

You all dissolve into a fit of laughter at that, your cheeks blushing madly. “Yeah, thanks for the offer,” you say between giggles. Readying your paint brush, you wait for the signal. 

You’ve been given the word ‘Iceland’, which you figure shouldn’t be too hard. 

What you failed to account for was the fact that you’re perhaps the worst painter you know. What should look like a globe looks like a basketball and what should be a cube of ice instead looks like nothing more than a cardboard box. 

In the end, you’re pretty sure you laugh more than you paint. Your team members, consisting of a mix from both teams, look utterly confused at the end product. Eventually it’s Jin - who happens to be on Taehyung’s team - that accidentally calls out the answer. 

The rest of the games pass by in a blur of laughter and covert glances toward Taehyung. He always manages to find a way to make you laugh, even though he remains on the other side of the stage for the most part. You don’t miss all of the fans that look at him dreamily, and you can only hope that they’re happy with your overall performance today. 

At the end, you all squeeze onto a couple of couches. Donghyun makes a fuss over allowing the soulmates to sit together, and you can’t hide your smile as a beet-red Yeonjun sidles down to the couch to sit beside Jiwoo, placing his hands in his lap and trying not to do anything that will go viral. 

Taehyung sits on your right, crossing his arms in a way that pulls on his suit jacket enough to expose the outline of his biceps. You catch your eyes wandering, snapping your attention back to the front where Donghyun reads some questions off of a card. 

“I believe that this was the first time soulmates have met while performing at MAMA, is that correct? What were your first thoughts when you suddenly found yourselves face to face with your soulmate?”

The four of you that now have all the attention riding on your shoulders look to each other for help. Finally, with a racing heart, you answer first.

“I think the obvious answer is that I was shocked,” you smile as knowing chuckles ripple through the room. “But I was also really grateful, because Taehyung was so kind and understanding. The staff were very professional and helped us quickly. Overall, I really can’t imagine it having happened in any other way.”

There’s a few ooh’s and aww’s that greet your ears, but you look down at your lap as you blush. Taehyung slightly nudges your knee with his own, and in that simple movement you feel the comfort that he’s trying to give you. 

“I’d actually been talking to Jiminie earlier about soulmates,” Taehyung pipes up. 

“Oh, yeah! That’s right!” Jimin says, giving his friend a slap on the shoulder. “What are the odds?”

Taehyung flashes a shy smile. “I told him that I felt like I was ready. It can be strangely lonely sometimes, and there are times when I just felt like I was missing something. Now, all I have to do is pick up my phone and my missing piece is on the other side, ready to talk with me.”

Now people are really swooning, you included. You dare to peek over at your soulmate, heart nearly melting when you see that his shy smile is paired with pink cheeks. You wish that you could snuggle up to him right now, but that would definitely not end well. Instead, you lightly nudge his knee with your own, returning the little slice of comfort he provided you earlier. 

“And you two?” Dongyun asks after wiping fake tears away from his eyes. 

Yeonjun chews on his bottom lip, Jiwoo too lost in thought to notice that he has that look again. 

“I, er...” Yeonjun begins, squirming a little in his seat. “I was...really happy.”

Donghyun urges Yeonjun to continue. “Of course you were! What about finding Jiwoo made you so happy?”

Jiwoo looks up in horror, but it’s too late. Yeonjun has already opened his mouth and begun to speak. 

“I was so happy because the first thing she said to me was that she thought I was so hot.”

Radio silence. 

And then-

“Oh-ho!! Yeonjunnie you’re so dead!” Hueningkai laughs, and soon everyone follows suit. Even Donghyun has to throw his hand over his mouth to keep himself from snorting with laughter. 

Jiwoo looks at Yeonjun, who completely avoids her gaze as he stares unblinking at the floor. Then, quietly enough for nobody to hear except for you who sits beside her, she whispers, “Say goodbye to all the perishable items in your fridge.”

In the chaos that ensues, Taehyung discreetly traces circles against your arm and mumbles, “Why didn’t you say that to me when we first met?”

You smack his shoulder. “I should be asking you the same thing!”

Just before everything calms down again, Taehyung leans over to grab the abandoned canvas on the ground. Taking the still-wet paint and dipping his finger into it, he draws something out on it. Nudging you to get your attention, he flashes the canvas for you to see, hiding it from the cameras. 

It’s hard to keep a neutral expression as you see his handiwork. It’s just six words, but they’re enough to have your entire face flushed a moment later. 

I think you’re hotter than Yeonjun ;)

Stifling a laugh, you roll your eyes. “I hope you know I’m keeping that,” you mumble. Taehyung grins.

“Great. We’ll get it framed.”

A few days later, you do. It hangs in the front room of your apartment, for all to see. And for Jiwoo to loathe, as it serves as a constant reminder of her embarrassing first words to her soulmate.

Oh well. In the words of Ari, “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

masterlist

[hellotherekenobi]

─── tired. [pt.ii]

summary: tired from a mission, you fall asleep on obi-wan's shoulder.

index: part one.

MINI-SERIES. ⟶ 2,533 WORDS.

cw: padawan!reader, master kenobi.

a/n: big thank you to those who helped me with this idea and giving me one hell of an inspiration boost!

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It felt as if you had blinked. When your eyes opened, you expected to see the inside of the ship you and your master were on, and yet, you saw the inside of your private quarters. It didn’t seem like you had fallen asleep that long, but with how heavy your head felt and the feeling of sleep in your eye, apparently it was much longer than that. On any other day, you would have assumed that perhaps you were so tired that you forgot walking to your quarters yourself, but the sheets were far too neatly tucked to have been your doing.

Someone had carried you, and that same someone had tucked you in.

You sit up and look around, expecting to find something. You were alone in the room, that much was clear. How long it was since you were brought here, you don't know, but it’s definitely no mystery as to who that someone was. After all, who else was with you when you fell asleep? Then, speak of the devil, your comlink beeps. It’s loud enough that it startles you wide awake, as you scramble about in the sheets after patting your pockets and finding them empty. Finally, after some more digging, your fingers touch the curve of it and you quickly pick it up, but much too quick, you find, it slips right out of your hand and goes flying for your door.

Hitting the floor with a thud, your knees sink into the carpet as you start to shuffle over to your discarded, and hopefully not broken, comlink, almost burning your knees through the fabric of your robes. Imagine having to tell the Council that the red marks on your knees were due to carpet burn and not the mission. As you reach your comlink and swoop it up in your hand, you try your best to sound casual and not as if you had just woken up and bee-lined for the call.

“Hello?”

“Ah, you’re awake. How did you sleep?” it’s your master’s voice.

“Um, good, thank you.” you wait a moment. “How did I get here?”

You can hear Obi-Wan chuckle through the line. “You were completely asleep by the time the jet landed. I couldn’t find it in myself to wake you up.”

Okay. Processing... connecting the dots... registering. Obi-Wan, your master, carried you all the way from the hanger bay to your quarters?

“Yes, well, I couldn’t have woken you up even if I tried.”

Oh kriff, you had said your thoughts out loud.

“There’s much to do today. I know you would like to get some more rest in, but I hardly think I would be much of a Jedi Master if I let you take a day off.”

“Right, of course.” you say. “I’ll be ready in a moment.”

“Take your time. We don’t want you walking around with your robes on backward again, do we?”

Click. You hang up on Obi-Wan.

─────── ⋯ ───────

Obi-Wan’s lips curve into a soft smile, barely there but still noticeable. His comlink sits inside his pocket after he had put it there with a laugh, thinking of how you must have groaned at the memory he mentioned when he had called you earlier. He couldn’t help it, he loved to poke fun at you from time to time—you almost made it too easy. He also couldn’t help but think of you earlier, falling asleep on his shoulder. It was cute.

“Master Kenobi?”

His eyes lift up to the mention of his name. For a moment, he looks on in silence, wondering why he had been called (and completely forgetting his reason for being here), until he remembers.

“Yes,” he sits up in his seat, knees hitting each other. “I believe so.”

The Council members nod and for a moment it seems as if he’s getting away with the very obvious fact that he hadn’t been paying attention. Only for a moment. His arm is nudged by the Jedi next to him, one who had been on the mission too, and he quirks his brow. Obi-Wan shakes his head before crossing his arms and looking outward again, this time actually trying to listen.

He can hear the Jedi chuckle beside him, but he doesn’t mind. He’s alright being swept up in his thoughts of you, of how proud he is of you and of how young you make him feel, as the years go on and he finds himself growing further away from the young padawan he used to be. You almost help him make time stand still, like there could never be a sunset with the promise of spending the day with you. When he’s with you, he feels that same easy-going amiability he felt with his former master.

When the meeting is over and Obi-Wan leaves the room alongside the other Jedi, he finds you standing not too far from the door. The first thing he does is check your robes. On right. Good. The next thing he does is smile at you, which has you bopping a bit on the spot and smiling back at him. Sometimes he thinks one look at your smile could end the war. If only it were that simple.

“You look well-rested.” Obi-Wan says as he nears you, patting you ‘hello’ on the shoulder.

You smile, looking around you, watching the other Jedi walking past for a moment. “That was the most sound sleep I’ve had in months.”

He chuckles. “I’m glad to hear it. That must mean that you’re ready for a full day of training.”

The grumble under your breath does not go amiss to Obi-Wan.

─────── ⋯ ───────

You’re so tired again. This time it wasn’t a long mission, or an army of droids, but your very own master who had the audacity to smile at you all dazzling-like, as if he couldn’t tell how badly you wanted to hit your bed right now—or the floor, if you stay here any longer—after the training you went through today. He was seemingly upping the pressure each time you two trained and you had to wonder why he was doing so all of the sudden. Anytime you asked him, though, you were met with the same response: “It’s for your benefit.” Gee, thanks.

By the time your heels are aching, Obi-Wan finally calls a wrap on training. You could jump with glee if you had the energy, so instead you just smile at him and mutter a ‘thank you’ as you reach for your cloak on the chair beside him.

“You’re doing very well. I can see your progress each day.” he says, smiling up at you.

“All thanks to your training, master.” you reply, trying to hold back a yawn.

Obi-Wan chuckles. “You better go get some rest.”

“If you insist.” you shrug your shoulders, even though you’re internally crying with joy, then slip your cloak on.

You tell him goodbye, and goodnight, before trudging out of the training room and heading over to your private quarters. As you turn down the hallway where your door is, you’re greeted by a few other padawans who are walking in the direction you came from. They smile politely at you and you offer a wave, when suddenly one of them says: “Caraya’s soul, you look like death.” GEE, THANKS.

“I’ve been training so much these last few days,” you tell them. “I’m just really tired.”

“Where’s Master Kenobi?” one of them asks, looking behind you.

“Back in the training room. Why do you ask?”

“I figured he’d carry you to your quarters again.”

Some of them giggle when you stand there mutely. Take a deep breath, you tell yourself, then you try to laugh it off. “You saw that?”

“Who didn’t? You were out like a saber.”

“If you ask me,” another one pipes up. “it was pretty romantic. I wish he’d carry me like that.”

“You’re so lucky to have him as a master.”

You start to zone out from the embarrassment of it all, only picking up a few words and the grumble of one of them being trained by Master Windu. It’s a bit of a blur when they say goodbye, with you forming a smile in a tight line and then hurrying into your quarters just up ahead. They saw! If they saw, then who else did? You hadn’t really ever thought about it. To be honest, you were trying to forget about it. You’re so incredibly tired and this isn’t helping.

“Oh, Maker,” you groan, burying your face in your hands. “This is horrible! How can I possibly fall asleep now?”

As soon as you hit the bed, you’re out.

─────── ⋯ ───────

It’s for your benefit, that’s what Obi-Wan kept telling you. It wasn’t exactly the honest answer, but in a way it was. Truthfully, Obi-Wan does want to see you progress to becoming a Jedi Knight. He knows you have it in you. Yet also truthfully, he’s been pushing a bit more with your training because... well because he’s holding onto the ridiculous hope that you might fall asleep on his shoulder again if you’re really tired.

He thought he had done rather well at avoiding attention the day he carried you back to your quarters. No one had spoken about it and he hadn’t heard a single mention of it from the Council either. Yet all it takes is the giggling of a few padawans walking toward the training room, hushed together, and becoming silent the moment they see him standing in the doorway for him to think kriff. He steps to the side for them to walk on ahead and they all smile at him politely, before going back to their hushed talking.

Obi-Wan makes a hurried pace over to your quarters. He’s hoping they didn’t say anything to you, or that you didn’t piece it together by their giggles alone, like he just did. It’s a horrible feeling in his chest when he knocks on your door. He’s felt his heart skip a beat many times in his life, mostly when fighting, but nothing compares to the feeling now—it’s almost thunderous. The true worry starts to kick in when you don’t answer his knocking. Were you upset? Embarrassed? It’s too much for Obi-Wan to think about, so he pushes the door open with the force and steps inside, ready to apologize or at least explain himself, when a noise shuts him up.

You’re... snoring.

There you are, sprawled out on the bed, almost looking like a heap of fabric and you’re snoring. Obi-Wan isn’t sure if he should be happy or disappointed that you’re asleep, and then all together he feels apologetic. He worked you too hard. He let himself want so much that he didn’t even really think about how it was affecting you. He feels like the most oblivious Jedi Master in the galaxy.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, though he knows you can’t hear him.

He stands there a bit awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. He needs to tell you he’s sorry in person, not like this. Letting out a deep sigh, he turns on his heel and makes his way back over to the door, and then for the second time since he stepped inside your quarters, a noise stops him in his tracks.

“Obi-Wan,” it’s your voice, muffled and sleepy.

His heart is definitely thundering. He steps back over to you quickly, his fingers instinctually reaching out to brush gently along your cheek. “Yes?”

Your eyes flutter open and his worries dissipate when you crinkle your nose at him, smiling slightly. There it is, the smile that could end the war.

“Can you tuck me in before you go?”

He lets out a breathy chuckle, feeling all the weight in his chest drop to his feet and melt into the floor. “Of course, dear one.”

He’s as gentle as ever, pulling the sheets up and over your body, moving the pillow slightly so that you can lay more comfortably. It’s almost like the first time, expect this time your eyes are still smiling up at him. When he’s done, he leans down to press a soft kiss to your forehead and this time he can see just how far your smile grows.

“Rest well.”

He lets you sleep in the next morning, no matter what kind of Jedi Master that makes him.

─────── ⋯ ───────

The jet lands smoothly and Obi-Wan is thankful. He didn’t want a rough landing to wake you up, but then he remembers that you have to wake up—the jet is landed and it’s time to get off. But he can’t. He can’t wake you, not when you look so peaceful and he was enjoying the feeling of your head on his shoulder. He probably could have gotten some sleep in as well, if he was being honest with himself. You have a way of helping him switch off of battle mode; turning him back into a person, rather than a General.

He simply wants this moment to last a little longer, but the door hisses open and the ramp lowers before he could even think to wish the thought. He doesn’t let up, though, so he waits until you’re both the last people on the jet. Then, very gently, he moves to cradle you in his arms; scooping you up and lifting you from the seat. He carries you the way over to your private quarters, not caring about some of the eyes on him, but does take an alternate route to save yourself from any future embarrassment, should anyone mention it to you when you’re awake. You’re still a padawan but no longer a child. He can only imagine what a sight this is and how you’d hold this to him for months if word spread.

When the door opens and he walks inside, he almost stops to allow the feeling of you in his arms to linger just a little longer, yet settles you down onto your bed before he can let himself stand there. He tucks the sheets in over your body, after putting your lightsaber on the nightstand. He wouldn’t want that turning on, Maker knows he’s almost done it a few times. Your hand is curled in an open fist on the pillow, right beside your face. You look so peaceful, not at all as if you had fought off a hoard of droids just a few hours before.

He wonders if you’re dreaming and, maybe, if those dreams involve a life free from the Order, where you didn’t have to fight for peace because there was already peace in the galaxy. Obi-Wan won’t lie to himself, he’s often wondered what his life would be like if he weren’t a Jedi and if there were no war. Would he farm? Would he do something creative, like paint? Would he still have met you? No, there’s no dream that could be worth nearly enough from the reality of knowing you. He wouldn’t offer it up for anything.

The only dream Obi-Wan has is that you can fall asleep on his shoulder again.

taglist: @penfullofwordsaheadfullofstories @alwayssleepingforreal @immoral-rose @bloodybunnyuwu @nagitokomaeda-onthe-nintendo-ds @princessxkenobi @mythandmagik @i-cant-hear-you16 @pradahux @inukako @whyiminlove @cosmicsierra @dxnxdjarxn @voidmalfoy @darthkenobii @chogisss @obiwns @nectav @hellolitty

[dathen]

Does Jon deny all the statements/the Supernatural ROUND EIGHT:  TMA 36-39

At last...the final installment I procrastinated on as I got caught up in my s2 relisten.  And the thrilling conclusion!!

- TMA 36 - Taken Ill:  “Another tale full of dead ends,” Jon says.  The lack of documentation and corroborating evidence for this one was notable even to Sasha, but Jon notes that “based on this statement, that’s not necessarily a point of incredulity.”  AND THEN!!  This entire last paragraph deserves attention!!

Still, there’s a lot here that puts me in mind of other statements. Something in the way Ms. Baxter talks about fear. I can’t help but be reminded of statement 0142302, how Jane Prentiss talks about her own fears. And the old man and his companion… who does that remind me of? If he wasn’t dead, I’d think it might have been Trevor –

Jon, is your academic detachment fleeing you again?  Did you forget that you’re supposed to be pretending not to believe these?  Look at you comparing the vibes of the statement to one you’ve already stated you believe (and for the correct entity too!), working off your gut feeling again!  Look at you making connections to statement-givers that it took me three listens to catch!  These are not the words of a dismissive researcher.  Conclusion:  Not dismissed, connected to other statements.

- TMA 37 - Burnt Offering:  Jon admits that there’s no evidence that would require that this incident is supernatural, but doesn’t go so far to say it isn’t.  Despite the lack of definitive corraborating support, Jon concludes shakily, “I have no idea what this means. I have no idea what any of this means. I’m...very tired.”  Conclusion:  Not dismissed.

- TMA 38 - Lost and Found:  The last statement of season 1!!  Here, Jon is clearly on the way to supporting it:  “Before I dig too deeply into the background of this statement, I feel I should mention something that puts much of it in a slightly different light.”  He then brings up the half-empty marriage license, then goes on to talk about Salesa as the source of many of the items in Artefact Storage--which he and his fellow professed-skeptic Sasha easily agree is full of genuinely supernatural items.  Conclusion:  Supported.

TMA 39 AND CONCLUSION

Throwing the rest under a cut as I tie it all together!

Let’s look at both Martin’s accusation and Jon’s response.

Martin: Why do you do that?

Jon:  Do what?

Martin:  Push the skeptic thing so hard?  I mean, it made sense at first, but now?  After everything we’ve seen, after everything you’ve read!  I hear you recording statements and you just dismiss them!  You tear them to pieces like they’re wasting your time, but half of the ‘rational’ explanations you give are actually more far-fetched than just accepting it was a...a ghost or something.  I mean for god’s sake, Jon, we’re literally hiding from some kind of worm…queen…thing, how-- how could you possibly still not believe?

“It made sense at first” is a very curious comment here.  If you look back over my past posts, Jon is more critical of the earlier statements, but Martin thought that approach made sense.  However, more recently, Martin feels Jon has gotten more vicious and more in denial.  There’s a few important things to note, here:

- As I noted in my previous entry in this series, Jon flat-out stated that he knew the “worm queen thing” was supernatural.  Apparently, Martin hasn’t listened to this statement, which in turn shows that Martin isn’t listening to 100% of Jon’s recordings.  

- Jon is also recording dozens of false statements.  Which--as time goes on--he is more and more sure they’re false.  As soon as something starts recording to the laptop, the “this is fake” sign starts flashing in Jon’s brain.  He’s trying to be kinder to Martin and not take his stress out on him, so imagine him unleashing all his stress and fear by ranting about the statements he knows are lies, or pranks, or superstitions, or “I think my weird neighbor is a cultist,” or “I had sleep paralysis but I’m pretty sure it was a demon,” or conspiracy theories...   Martin is hearing all of this!  Martin doesn’t have the Beholding instinct of feeling the weight of a god’s gaze on his back whenever a Real Statement is being read!  He’s hearing Jon snarl and snark about a good 98% of what they record, and it’s a matter of chance for whether he even listens to the 2% that were caught on tape--and that we hear in the show.

- Martin was really, really worked up about the Carlos Vittery statement.  Just like what happens with a lot of listeners, that one no doubt stood out in his mind as the #1 example of “Jon comes up with bullshit explanations to brush off stuff that is OBVIOUSLY weird” that would easily overshadow more rational follow-ups like “this person admitted to drinking heavily that night.”

So what is Jon confessing to?

Jon:  Of course I believe!  Of course I do.  Have you ever taken a look at the stuff we have in Artefact Storage?  That’s enough to convince anyone.  But...but even before that…  Why do you think I started working here?  It’s not exactly glamorous.  I have…  I’ve always believed in the supernatural.  Within reason.  I mean...I still think most of the statements down here aren’t real.  Of the hundreds I’ve recorded, we’ve had maybe thirty, forty that are…that go on tape.  Now, those, I believe, at least for the most part.

Martin:  Then why do you--

Jon:  Because I’m scared, Martin!  Because when I record these statements it feels…it feels like I’m being watched.  I… I lose myself, a bit.  And then when I come back, it’s like like if I admit there may be any truth to it, whatever’s watching will…know somehow.  The skepticism, feigning ignorance...  It just felt safer.

Here, Jon is repeating what we’ve seen the whole time: that he never said he doesn’t believe the supernatural, as we’ve seen from how up-front he is about the danger Leitner tomes pose, and how much effort he makes in the follow-up.  The difference is that after a certain point he knows which are and aren’t real right off the bat--

--but doesn’t admit it.  

It isn’t that he’s accusing them all of being fake, it’s that he KNOWS they’re true, but Hive is the only one where he admits “I know this is true because I can feel it.”  He’s feigning ignorance--pretending that he doesn’t know in his gut that those 2% are real.  That’s where the professional skepticism comes in, which genuinely is part of his job!  He’s relying on his skills as a researcher, using corroborating evidence and follow-up to verify the likelihood of a statement being a prank, a lie, a misunderstanding, or something genuinely paranormal.  

In reality, Jon feels the weight of those eyes on him the moment the tape recorder clicks on, and has to pretend he doesn’t know right away that it’s real.  

[carelessannie]

Thunderspider anon here: omegaverse, maybe Thor and Peter meet and have a sort of flirtation happening, but Thor holds back because he thinks Peter is with Tony. He finds out they are not together then... Idk

Sorry this took a minute, sweet Anon! I’ve been in love with Thunderspider the past few weeks and... alright, I hope you like this.

There also might be some more sweet Peter and Thor coming up soon...

Warnings: mmm only for Omegaverse and misunderstandings

---

“So, uh... where did you say you were from again?"

“New Asgard, off the Southern shore of Norway."

Peter hums in interest, “And how did you meet my Alpha?"

“Did he not tell you?"

“... mm, no. I don’t think so."

“We are work partners, and I owe Tony a great debt for assisting in the resettlement of our people."

They’re relatively close on the couch, knees touching, and Thor feels a bit uncomfortable. The boy in front of him is charming, stunning, but sadly, completely unavailable. It apparently doesn’t stop the younger man from leaning closer and resting a hand on Thor’s knee.

Peter's eyes brighten in recognition, “Oh! I didn’t realize that was your country, I’ve heard a bit about it, but I usually don’t get all the details, you know?"

Thor does know. His mother would often complain about being left out of important delegating decisions. So he just reaches down a pats the pretty Omega's hand comfortingly, holding it lightly and enjoying the slight warmth.

Peter blinks up at him and shuffles closer, squeezing Thor’s hand, “You can tell me more about it, if you’d like,” his delicate fingers rub slowly across Thor’s skin, “I’ve been told I’m a pretty good listener.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” Thor agrees. He already feels lost in those soulful eyes— a silent plea to give this man the world. His scent is alarmingly sweet, addictive. If Thor didn’t know better, he would think that the young Omega was in heat.

But Tony Stark would never let his Omega socialize with other Alphas if that were the case.

“So what do you think, Alpha,” Peter purrs, batting his eyelashes, “wanna take me up on it?"

This feels... wildly inappropriate and suggestive. Thor tries to slide away and avoid the Omega’s advances, but he’s quickly cornered against the arm of the couch with a lap full of Peter.

“Oh... oh, I don’t...”

“Didn’t my Alpha tell you why you’re here, Thor?"

His name sounds like sin coming from those sweet lips, and Peter shifts in a way that has Thor making a very dignified, manly squeak.

“T-to meet his Omega, while he’s away...”

Peter is still squeezing his hand, and uses his other to card a few fingers through Thor’s beard, tilting his head in admiration. “And I thought you agreed? Didn’t my dad fill you in on the details?”

“Your... no,” Thor shakes his head, trying to move the squirmy Omega off his lap, and sighing in frustration when he holds on tight, “No, I haven’t spoken to your father yet.”

“Oh.” Peter pouts, finally letting himself be moved. His perfect skin, porcelain and soft, warps into a frown, and Thor finds himself pulling the Omega closer to pet his hair. He hates seeing such a pretty Omega so sad, and rumbles comfortingly when Peter starts to sniffle. “I’m sorry then. I didn’t know that you didn’t want me.”

Thor feels so confused, but he places a light kiss on the boy’s hair anyways, “I’m sure there’s no one in the world who wouldn’t want you, darling Omega.”

“Then... does that mean you want me, Alpha?"

“It doesn’t matter what I want.”

Peter looks determined, and grabs Thor’s shoulders. “Okay. Let me get my dad, and we can iron things out.”

Oh, gods no. “I don’t think...” Thor tries to protest, but the Omega is up and off the couch in a flash, sprinting out of the room and leaving Thor in a heap of confusion.

He has no idea what Peter’s father will say, but it’s almost certain he’ll refer to the Alpha’s judgment— the judgment of Peter’s mate— before just letting Peter drape himself over another man.

Actually, on second thought, it might be best for Peter’s father to step in.

Standing to his feet, Thor’s surprised when Peter bursts back into the room, smiling timidly, with an annoyed Tony following behind him.

“Okay,” Peter chirps, coming to a stop next to Thor and motioning to Tony, “I brought my daddy. Can you two just talk it out?”

Thor stutters, “D-daddy? I... okay,” he’s definitely heard that term for a partner, but it’s still a surprise, so he turns to Tony, “I don’t... I don’t mean to overstep, Mr. Stark.”

Tony waves him off and turns to look at Peter, “Do you like him, Pete?"

“Yeah, Alpha,” Peter gives him a wink, “I like him a lot. He’s big.”

With a chuckle, Tony loops an arm around Peter, pulling him close. Are they really... are they considering...

“I didn’t think you would be apt to share, Anthony.”

“Share?” Tony and Peter exchange a look, “No, Thor. I don’t share. Was it not clear? Peter would be yours.”

“I think I need a drink.”

Thor sits back down on the couch, rubbing his head where he feels the beginning of a migraine setting in. His? Over all his years, he has never heard of an Alpha just giving away their Omega like this.

As he thinks about it, a spark of rage ignites inside his chest, “What type of Alpha are you, Stark?”

“Excuse me?” Tony’s eyes are wide, and Peter looks offended.

With an amused laugh, Thor gestures between them, “You would just give up your Omega to a random Alpha?”

“... well, not random...”

“I need to talk to his father about this. He should be aware of how careless you’re being with his son.”

There’s a pause. Tony crosses his arms, “Alright, wise ass. Tell me exactly what I should be doing with my son.”

“Dad, I don’t think...” Peter steps in, and it suddenly clicks.

Oh.

By Odin’s fucking beard.

“Peter Stark.”

Peter looks to him, “Yes?”

Oh.

“And your father is...”

“Me.” Tony says, frown deepening, “Who did you think he was?”

Thor sighs, scrubbing his face. “All I knew was that you wanted me to meet your Omega. I had assumed you meant your Omega mate.”

Another pause. And suddenly Peter is exhaling sharply, smiling, and then breaking down into heaving laughter, holding his stomach. Both Thor and Tony smile, enjoying the sweet Omega’s amusement.

“Oh god,” Peter wheezes, wiping tears out of his eyes, “I’m so sorry Thor, you must be so confused, poor Alpha.”

He sinks down onto the couch next to Thor, settling a hand on his shoulder and wiggling closer. Peter still scents so sweet— joyous laughter just adding to his already gentle Omega scent. Thor looks up to Tony for help, and the other Alpha just shakes his head.

“I thought you knew about Western mating procedures, but I shouldn’t have assumed that, so it’s my bad. My invitation— our invitation— was for you to court Peter and, if he chooses you, join him for his first heat.”

Peter ducks his face, hiding it in Thor’s shoulder, while his scent blooms with embarrassment. The young Omega murmurs, “Daddy says you’re the best Alpha for me, and I wanted to see for myself.” His eyes are wide as they peer, beseechingly, up into Thor’s face, “and I like you a ton, Thor. Offer’s still on the table.”

He feels confused still, but Thor’s focus is set dead ahead. He knows what his answer will be before he gives it— this Omega, with all his beauty and complications, has to be his.

“Tell me what I need to do, and it’s yours, Omega.”

At his words, Peter sways a bit, leaning on him fully as his scent shifts, this time more aroused and interested than embarrassed. It’s alluring and Thor can’t look away.

Tony clears his throat, “We were both prepared for you to take him back to New Asgard at the end of the week, if you end up choosing each other as mates. Let’s talk more later— I need to get back to the call Peter yanked me from, and I’ll leave you to... mingle.”

“Dad,” Peter whines, hiding his face again as Tony heads for the exit, leaving the two of them alone in the living room. Thor, at a loss for words, just pets the Omega’s hair, enjoying the soft weight of his body, how easily they fit together.

Peter is easily only a fraction of his size, yet their compatibility is almost flawless. Two pieces of a puzzle, stars circling in the night.

“Are you gonna mate me, Alpha?” Peter whispers. His voice is timid and unsure, and Thor gives him a soft smile, hoping his scent is reassuring as well.

He turns them both so that the Omega can lounge across his chest, making sure his hands are above the generous swell of his ass. Thor takes a deep breath and begins to rumble, coaxing Peter to join him in a steady purr.

It’s been a long time since he’s had an Omega purr for him.

“If you’d like, Peter. It would be my honor to mate you, to be your Alpha.”

“My Alpha,” Peter hums, closing his eyes and snuggling further into Thor’s arms, “I’d like that a lot.”

Thor can’t help but agree.

[theregoesmylurkerstatus]

So... I have a lot of thoughts on the finale. I've deliberately kept my mouth shut, more or less, on the campaign overall because I'm a firm believer that you can't pass judgement -- at least not complete judgement -- on stories until they're over and done with.

Well, it's done! Kind of crazy. I've been watching Critical Role with almost insane consistency, viewing almost every single episode live, with maybe five-ish exceptions, since episode 19, and I've been blogging it for, what, two and a half years?

It's a weird feeling. It's been such a constant thing for me that I'm always gonna have love for it and remember with a lot of fondness.

...Which is in spite of the fact that I can now comfortably say I'm pretty eh on the ending. I know not being positive about something most of us have loved a lot for a very long time can sting a bit, but I personally think it also stings when people relentlessly crow over how good they think it is or want it to be, to the point where you feel you can't voice your absolutely valid upsets or dissatisfactions. So, here goes, if anyone's interested! I'd be curious to see other opinions, too!

I actually drafted a post talking about my overall frustrations with the campaign a whole two weeks ago, and then scrapped most of it when 140 blew me out of the water. I was really touched, and really happy. I hadn't expected it, but it shockingly felt right, you know?

Unfortunately 141 robbed me of most of that satisfaction and brought me right back to neutral.

The blanket statement you have to make, of course, is that you can’t criticise this as a DnD game, and you can’t be mad at the cast for playing it in a way they think is best for them. They’re the players, Matt’s the DM, and in the end it makes no sense for them to try to make themselves act how they think the audience wants them to, and I’m sure most of the audience wouldn’t like the result anyway.

That said, there is an audience. And that’s where I see this clash coming in. As a DnD game, as long as the players and DM have all enjoyed it and been satisfied, it’s a successful game! But for us, it’s not a DnD game. For us, we’re watching a story be written in real time through the medium of an RPG. And while as a DnD game you can’t fault it, as a piece of media, I completely get why the way things have gone has sat weirdly for a lot of people.

It's not satisfying to see so many character hooks dealt with so quickly or left as an offscreen "and then you do it." If they don't want to keep playing to dive into it, absolutely, but for us who have been watching this as a story with all these character elements get so built up, it's a huge anti-climax.

Which is a lot of what this campaign has been, really.

Oh, Nott’s cursed! But through a really cool character moment that problem is completely taken care of with no consequences we see. Yay, I want her to be Veth and that was an iconic move from Jester! Still, it kind of feels like this was built up to be a big problem and at the first success it was let go... Caleb's got a really intense frightening past he tries to hide, I wonder how the Mighty Nein will respond? Oh, they found out, but it's not a difficult revelation for anyone. Looks like it's easy for them to move past it and forgive. Yeah, that's healthiest for the characters, but huh, kinda undercuts it as a storyline or point of interest. Oooh, Avantika’s back! Ah, they’ve killed her and grabbed the eye again. I mean I don’t want them to die or for Uk’otoa to be free, but I’m starting to feel like that’s not much of a threat anyway. The Traveler’s been kidnapped! Nah he hasn’t, he tried to save Jester so he was let go with no further issue, and also he wasn’t actually in any danger anyway. Oh... Cool. So... Why should I care or be worried?

And these are just the biggest ones I remember being kind of let down by. I wanted to see them STRUGGLE for the successes to have meaning. To my view, threats of failure -- real failure -- really decreased the more the campaign went on, with a few exceptions.

Because don't get me wrong, we've definitely had struggles, and those have made for some of the best moments! Molly’s death, Yasha’s kidnapping, Yeza’s imprisonment. When failures that were threatened are allowed to occur, it’s far more gratifying when it’s followed by success, because you understand that that success was actually necessary. It shows us that what they do really means something.

Honestly, that's why the final battle really shut me up, because nothing makes you quite feel stakes and failure like having two PCs die, and having a resurrection ritual fail -- AND knowing that failure would be delivered on, had it not been for a seemingly miraculous roll of the dice to turn it around. One of the greatest failure's -- Molly's death -- made the success of his resurrection put a lot of my other issues to rest immediately, because to be honest? Molly's resurrection was the biggest success of the campaign, exactly because it was originally the biggest failure.

But this episode, we got to see the other side of making threats and successes feel disappointing -- when you get the impression that success was robbed from you. Again, their characters, their choices, but to have them roll an intervention to get Molly's soul, to convince Molly to come back with his own possessions they've so loved, after so long and so many struggles... only to apparently not get Molly at all?

Changed, of course. Memories, maybe he'd never get them back, though that seems inconsistent to how the initial resurrection was played and Matt's hints. It even makes sense that not having his memories and being a bit different, he might forge a new identity, but insisting Molly was a different person entirely after such a supposed hard won success to get Molly back, especially after what his death meant to the audience and potentially healing that old wound? It robs the narrative of a LOT of catharsis, at least for me and I know many others.

Trent, too, I'm very up and down on. He was so built up -- and what fun that build up had -- and I very much disagreed with the idea that the best story would be dealing with him offscreen.

It's true that you don’t need to explicitly address, confront, or explore every big aspect of character's story hooks and background ties for PCs to move past them and grow healthily. But that does not make it a satisfying viewing experience. People quietly healing in real life is healthy. People quietly healing in an explosive fantasy setting is frustrating for the audience.

What on earth is the point of a story if you don’t get to SEE THE ESTABLISHED CONFLICTS go anywhere? A lot of the characters got distant, quiet resolutions, if that, to everything we wanted to see.

Except, we did get to see Trent. It was a really fun, inventive battle, from opening to conclusion, but much like Travelercon, much like Nott's/Veth's problem with the hag, these were things that the audience in general wanted to see be really dug into and explored, and every single one of them got, in my opinion, quickly tidied up instead. Trent got beaten in the first and only proper battle they had with him, which, after all his build up, is pretty disappointing for a villain many of us wanted to see be a big deal. It really just felt like they were trying to tidy up to get on with the epilogue, which is not what a lot of us were looking for with Trent especially.

And that's how most of their endings felt to me. It didn't feel like any of them had reached a comfortable conclusion. Literally all of them, bar Veth and Caduceus, continued on their character journey threads, without each other and very quickly. Meeting Yasha's tribe and Vandran, Caleb finally openly debating changing time for his parents, Trent and Zeenoth's trials and the changing of the guard at the Assembly... All were things it would have been so fun to have all the PCs react to and explore together, and instead they were fleeting encounters in the latter half of a seven hour finale.

Is all this, from Molly not really coming back to Trent being a finale side plot to the Nein continuing on their individual journeys, potentially realistic to how these fantastical things might go down in real life? Sure! But that's not necessarily a good thing.

Stories THRIVE on conflict and resolution. That’s what makes them FUN! Conflict isn’t nearly so fun in real life and resolutions are often frustrating question marks, so no, past a certain point I don’t WANT stories to be realistic. I want stories to be SATISFYING.

And campaign 2 has fallen far short of the mark.

I haven’t spoken... Basically a word of this for most of the campaign, because as I said I’m a firm believer that you can’t necessarily judge something until it’s over, and because I ALSO firmly believe that being negative WHILE trying to enjoy something is counterproductive. I have had no interest in spoiling or naysaying the fun of the campaign for anyone, least of all myself.

But it's done now, and all I can say is... I really have had fun. I love the characters. I love their relationships. I’m pretty okay with where they’ve ended up. I’m not mad, really, and I’m still going to think of this campaign with a lot of affection. But it hasn’t been a satisfying story, even though for a week following episode 140 I thought, despite all the brushed over story threads, it might be.

So... to try and reclaim some of that satisfaction for myself, I might ignore some aspects of the finale proper. Namely Kingsley specifically. Taliesin's choice -- but to me, it's pretty clear that who we saw at the end of 140 was Molly, and the tags on my posts will reflect that, just as my 141 tags will be for both Kingsley and Molly, for clarity's sake. I personally want to believe Molly did come back, however others might want to interpret it. The victory in 140 that meant so much to me is hollow otherwise, and it just kind of hurts that we would lose Molly after everything. I was okay with him being dead -- I'm not so okay with his resurrection being stolen.

Kingsley will always be canon, but Molly is what I choose to acknowledge. I get if you don't like that take, and that's okay! I didn't care for canon's in the end. That's the good thing about storytelling, is that no one can stop you from making your own versions.

For the people who are hopefully hyped for campaign 3, heck yeah have fun! I’m on the fence. My investment, which... I think I can objectively say was pretty substantive as this blog will attest, doesn't feel rewarded, so I’m not convinced I can faithfully keep up for over three years all over again with a strong possibility that I will once again be left disappointed. It's been a huge chunk of my life, and... yeah!

I’ll take a break, probably, view (and liveblog, if people want!) campaign 1 when I’ve had a mental stretch and vacation, and then... I might start campaign 3. I definitely won’t be able to put the same time in it I did campaign 2 (my first love no matter what), knowing that it’s likely to not be so vindicated, in the end.

I swear I’m actually writing this in fairly good humour, but I totally get its always disappointing when the people you come to for fandom enjoyment just aren't sharing your fun. Honestly I’m half tempted to write all those frigging AUs I have sitting around! But I wanted to say my piece, and try and logically outline why this ending has been lacklustre for so many people, ultimately myself included.

Episode 140 felt right because it felt like a natural conclusion -- these disparate people coming together and finally being whole, finally soothing the hurt that MADE them so long ago. Episode 141 spat on that sentiment -- they all scattered to the winds, not as happy people to live out their dreams, but as confused people chasing up loose threads towards an unknown future, with the friend they thought returned still lost to them, ultimately.

It doesn't feel like the ending we should have gotten for the Mighty Nine, who were finally, finally all together. Until they weren't. So to me? I choose to acknowledge that they were, even if I have to force it to happen post-epilogue in my head.