#this crew is composed entirely of nerds

[lichqueenlibrarian]

Sulu and Chekov presenting Jim with a pirate flag so he knows that he has the backing of the crew. Oh my good god. They’re so cute.

[ghost-proofbaby]

SO SCARLET (IT WAS MAROON)

CHAPTER FIVE: HOLY GROUND

I LEFT A NOTE ON THE DOOR WITH THE JOKE WE MADE, AND THAT WAS THE FIRST DAY. AND DARLING, IT WAS GOOD NEVER LOOKING DOWN.

☆ pairings: rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader

☆ warnings: no use of y/n, strong language, angst, minors dni

☆ WC: 8K+

☆ A/N: trying something new in the formating here amongst the chapter - please bear with me <3

thank you to my love @hellfire--cult for the divider!

masterlist

“I’m sure you’ll find a way.” 

Oh, how you realize you’ll come to regret that taunt. 

The first week of working on organizing Corroded Coffin’s single release party is easy enough. Most of the communication is restricted to Matt and vendors, beginning the process of assessing venues as you start your list of all that will be needed for the party. An actual location, an open bar, entire stage crews. Matt is able to provide a few connections here and there, people in the live music industry that owe him a favor as he had so kindly put it. You had your spreadsheet of contacts that was growing with each passing day, you had several venues that looked as though they would work well for the occasion — the only thing you had yet to do was go over options with the band or properly reach out for their list of requirements for their night of celebration. 

You had tried to be sneaky about it. Get around asking for any of their emails, continue living comfortably in the radio silence of not hearing from Eddie. And then you’d made the fatal mistake of asking Matt if he could gather the list of things the boys may want.

And of course, as any sane person would do, he had only forwarded the email to all of the boys’ professional emails and replied: I’ve CC’d our rockstars. I’ve instructed them to personally send you any requests they may have.

Fuck.

Eddie’s email sat at the lead of the list of CC’d emails, almost teasing you as it stared back at you from your laptop screen. A full week, you had avoided this. Even if he could have gotten your email from Matt, he hadn’t, and like a fool, you’d assumed that meant you were in the clear. 

So much for that.

You compose and erase multiple emails until you decide that if the boys want to reach out, they can. There was no need for you to make first contact; they now had your email, a bait set for them to initiate a conversation by sending you their lists. If Eddie wanted to reach out to you, he had the perfect excuse to do so. 

For a few hours, you don’t hear anything, and instead of sighing in relief, it only puts you further on edge. You want him to just get it over with. To send you an email, preferably an impersonal list that allows you to continue your job. No relations, no interferences. You didn’t know it, but the Universe was already laughing in your face. 

The first email from any of the boys comes from Jeff.

A simple list, just as you’d requested. There was nothing outrageous; he’d recommended an open bar, asked for a specific brand of whiskey if possible, and thanked you for all you were doing. Simple, kind, appreciative. Jeff, it seemed, had stayed as humble as you remembered him. 

The next email came from Gareth. Less simple, but still just as expected.

Nerds (the CANDY) of any kind. That vodka infused whipped cream (does it even get you drunk?), the softest robe money can buy. Actually, can I get matching house shoes with that robe? Can we also have some cigars in the dressing room? (We are getting a dressing room… right?) 

You’re so busy snorting at his requests, rolling your eyes but also losing yourself in the warmth to know he also hadn’t changed much, you don’t see the next email come through.

It was comforting. You knew Eddie had changed — more than you could ever wrap your head around — but these boys you once knew seemed to still be connected to their roots. You read the requests and recall the times you’d spent in Gareth’s hot garage over the summer, sitting on warm concrete as you cheered overly excited, even occasionally standing up to jokingly mosh to their rehearsals. Sweltering summer nights between friends and beers that lost their chill far too quickly, laughter that echoed down the driveway and out into the empty streets of Hawkins. Nostalgia burns away at you, sitting restlessly in your chest as you let yourself simmer in it for the first time since…. since moving to New York, really. Even in that first year, life had moved so quickly, you and Eddie never took the time to ruminate in your past too often. If you did, it had caught you off guard, always fleeting to make room for the next uncertain experience. 

You two had been so busy running away from your hometown, you’d never stopped to consider what you had given up in the process. 

A soft sigh escapes your lips, and you swear you can still taste the shitty Miller Lite, the only brand that seemed to occupy the Emerson’s fridge, on your tongue as you exit the email and scribble on the notepad before you. Even if Gareth had been joking around with some of his requests, you’d take them seriously — besides, the mental image of Gareth in a plush robe and fluffy slippers to match made you laugh. You were thinking about your past, and for once, you were laughing. This part wasn’t a stain, wasn’t something you had scrubbed away at in a haste to make it fade from your ledger. This was the part you should have been lingering on. 

And linger you did until you glanced up to find the next unread email.

Eddie. 

EDDIETHEBANISHED@gmail.com. You could fool yourself, tell yourself that email is from anyone else, but you know it isn’t. It isn’t even the email that had been CC’d. It’s his personal email. 

Your mouse hovers over the highlighted and unopened message, heart dropping with each passing second. There’s a small preview of his message, but your vision blurs just enough that you can’t make out the small words. 

Is this how you were always doomed to live out the rest of your days? To freeze, to panic, to malfunction at every slightest thing that has to do with the man you left to begin with? Would he always pull such visceral reactions from you? 

In an act of bravery, you press the tip of your finger against the smooth mouse pad, a muted click that doesn’t reach your ears signaling the official opening of the email. All of your hopes are shattered as you realize it’s clearly too short to be a list similar to the other boys, a simple response that you could acknowledge and move on from. 

No, he sends something that specifically calls for you to play with him. To reply and interact, to give him what he wants. To talk. 

Two fucking words. Two loaded, vexing, provocative words that call to you with the titillating grin you imagine he wore as he typed them. 

Your fingers work faster than your brain, slamming away at the keys hurriedly without thought as you type your least professional email to date. 

The bottom of the email is automatically signed off with your work signature, including your direct personal line. If you had half the mind, you would have erased that bit of information to keep it from Eddie. It even has your actual signature, a mature one that differs from how you used to scrawl your name atop of schoolwork in high school, that you had scanned into your computer after having gone through the painful process of rewriting it what must have been a thousand times. No one had let you in on the fact that most other corporate monsters and coworkers just used one of the sloping fonts available to them. No one had shown you the ropes – you’d just assumed that it was the normal, to go so above and beyond. 

Another brick in the foundation you’d built for yourself, separate from Eddie. Another attempt to change from the girl he’d once loved. 

You’re shocked when a reply comes very quickly. You hadn’t even clicked out of the thread before it entered your inbox.

You try to channel fury, years of irritation and calluses you’d built up against him. But your chest has been weakened by that brief moment of nostalgia that Jeff and Gareth had triggered, and it’s a fruitless battle when he sends another message rapidly. He’s treating it like casual texting rather than stiff business interactions. 

Your entire body flushes, a shock to your system coming that brings you out of the allusive hypnosis easily. 

My emails are monitored. They’re going to see that we know each other. I’m going to get fucking fired. 

You steady your breathing and try to stave off the anxiety. It’ll be fine; Lydia has no reason to comb through your emails at this time. Nothing said would trigger any bells or whistles to cause concern. It’s fine. It’ll be fine. It has to be. 

You wish you had it in you to see red. He had an incomprehensible amount of nerve to be asking for your personal email all because he refused to use his professional email. 

Soft. You’d worked on becoming a hardened version of your old self for two years, and all hard work was quickly going down the drain as you remained too soft for him. It was easy, too. All the rough edges had melted so discreetly somewhere amongst the in between. 

You think he’s dropped the topic of your personal email, but you should know better. Not even mere seconds after you receive the first email, brimming with nonchalance and a teasing tone that has no room between the two of you, another message comes through.

Good to see he’s still annoying and persistent as ever, I suppose. 

He’s all bark, no bite. That’s what you convince yourself. There’s no way he could find your personal email, a plethora of power and connections at his fingertips or not. Even if he could, it would take him ages and more effort than it would be worth. 

All bark. No bite.

You hadn’t realized just how quick and consistent his replies had maintained until you’re met with silence. You wait impatiently, biting at your fingernails as you await for another one of his responses. The more the time passes, the excessive minutes piling up in the quiet midday hum of your midtown apartment, the more noticeable Eddie’s online silence becomes.

No, you think suddenly and strongly. No, I am not doing this. 

You refuse to sit around like this and succumb so easily. All your half-healed scars thrum with aches deep-rooted within the skin you’ve grown over the last two years, screaming out in phantom pains with a reminder of what happened to you the last time you’d let yourself sit around and wait on the boy on the end of the line. Every lonely night, every tear shed, every beat of your bleeding heart — you cannot be doing this again, and not so soon. 

Quickly, you click out of your email tab and back onto the list of vendors you needed to contact for the bar commodities. Distract, distract, distract. You comb through your list. Some vendors seemed to hold more potential than others, more attainable in the grand scheme of it all. For the first time ever in your very short career of event planning, budget wasn’t the issue.

Eddie’s reputation was.

But you’re not thinking about Eddie. No, your focus was anywhere but him right now. You weren’t thinking about him, or his new cologne, or his new rings, or his new life-

Just as you pick up your cell phone to start your calls down the list, a notification pings.

Only seven minutes had passed. Seven minutes, and your phone is suddenly alight with a small but terrifying notification from your personal email.

New email from EDDIETHEBANISHED@gmail.com!

Oh, fuck.

Your thumb hesitates over the tiny banner before you release the breath you were sure you’d been holding the entire seven minutes. It shouldn’t have taken him such little time. You expected it to realistically take him a few hours, all your anxious waiting aside. 

There had been only one fatal flaw in your taunting — well, technically there were several becoming more apparent as the seconds ticked by, but only one so glaringly obvious. Your personal email address. You had forgotten.

You hadn’t changed it since high school, since moving to New York, since meeting and since leaving Eddie. 

CORRODEDSUGAR@gmail.com. 

The stupid inside joke haunts you. 

“Why does your email even matter?” Eddie huffed from where he was sprawled out on your bed, tossing around some bouncy ball he’d acquired a few nights before during dinner at a local pizza joint, “No one even uses email anymore.” 

He tossed the ball of rubber into the air once more, a blur of the rainbow swirl pattern whirring too close to your ceiling for comfort. Your focus waned from your laptop for just a moment as you suddenly shot out a hand, attempting to intercept the ball. 

No use. Eddie used one hand to swat yours away, the other happily capturing the toy in his palm with a muted thud. 

“Nuh, uh, uh,” he drawled as he looked at you with his boyish grin, eyes sparkling as his fingers closed loosely around his prize, “If you wanted one so badly the other night, you should have also coughed up a quarter.” 

You snorted, “Are you really proud of that? You spent a whole twenty five cents on a hunk of rubber, Rockstar.” 

“A hunk of rubber you’re now trying to steal from me.”

“I’m not trying to steal it,” you scowled, “I’m trying to focus here. Emails are important, despite your pessimism. Something my English teacher said about professionalism.” 

“You’re really going to listen to that dinosaur? The old O’Donnel-saurus?” Eddie mused, chuckling beneath his breath at his own joke.

You refused to crack a smile in return, or show any recognition at the awful joke, but your chest still warmed. The smoke of your affection for the boy in front of you unfurled, thick enough to choke you up a few extra seconds but thin enough to not suffocate. Never suffocate — it was a time in which you could never imagine your love for Eddie Munson being your downfall. It was a wispy and adaptable type of adoration, just like the smoke that flows off of the end of the incense you’d taken to burning in your room lately in lieu of candles. 

“It’d do you well to also come up with a professional sounding email, you know,” you hummed. You were mere seconds away from shoving your laptop away and joining Eddie in his relaxed position, maybe even laying your head on his chest or shoulder and bringing up the idea of a late afternoon nap you knew he’d never turn down, “Can’t go around emailing important people when you’re a rockstar with your Dungeons & Dragons nickname.” 

“One,” he held up a stern finger, “Like I said — I don’t use email. And two, I’m very happy with my email, sweetheart. I’ll probably email the damn President with that name. Life’s too short and we’re too young to get a stick up our ass about shit like that.” 

You reached out and wrapped your palm around his finger, tugging it down. Unlike with the ball, he let you capture him in your grasp, “I don’t have a stick up my ass about it.” 

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t.” 

“Then make it something funny,” he wiggled his brows, “Make your email something stupid and live a little.” 

“A little?” you scoffed, “I think I live plenty for the both of us. You’ve put me through at least three lifetimes worth of stress before I’ve hit twenty. I probably have grey hairs already.” 

Your hand curled around his pointer finger drops to your thigh, but doesn’t release him. The touch remained, ever constant, now more for comfort rather than defiance. And he let you continue to hold him, as if your touch was a luxury he was indulging in just as much as you were his. 

“Wanna check?” he taunted. He lifted up off his back for a microsecond, tugging your arm with his before the roll of your eyes had him falling back flat once more.

It was a losing battle, arguing with Eddie.

Your conjoined hands settled back atop your thigh as you sighed. Maybe Eddie had been right, and you were stressing out too much about this. He was right; you were young, and having a dumb email was a right of passage. Something to giggle at in your maturity when you’d provide it later down the road, a flash of your youth to keep close. 

Fuck professionalism, or whatever high horse O’Donnel had been on.

“Fine,” you huffed, “What do you suggest?” 

“… To check for grey hairs?”

“For my email, you idiot.” 

A bit more back and forth, a bit too raunchy of ideas that passed Eddie’s lips only to be rejected quickly with rough shakes of your head. His finger remained locked in your palm, at some point his knuckle wiggling between suggestions to stroke at your skin. 

“Sweetheart, you’re being too picky,” Eddie finally whined as you shot down yet another one of his ideas, “At this point, just make it something related to the band. You’ll probably be Corroded Coffin’s manager when we make it big, anyways.” 

“That sounds like a nightmare,” you murmured, even if you enjoyed the thought. You already had started to get a hang of wrangling the boys in your small town for menial tasks and day-to-day activities. But on a wider, professional scale? You could already feel the headache pressing into your temples. If they ever offered you the proposition, you wouldn’t have said no, but you certainly would have complained to no end. And definitely got grey hairs.

“Sweetheart.”

The repetition of the nickname froze you. Your eyebrows furrowed as the wheels in your brain turned and you looked down at your boy, the formulation of an idea that was combining both of Eddie’s suggestions suddenly.

“Why do you call me sweetheart?” 

Eddie was taken back by your question, face crumpling with confusion, “What?”

“Why do you call me sweetheart?” you repeated yourself as you finally let go of his finger and twisted to face him fully, laptop momentarily forgotten as your legs folded beneath you and pressed into your worn mattress, “Like, I call you Rockstar because I know you’ll be a rockstar someday. Already are technically, to me, but don’t let that go to your head,” you explained, smiling shyly as Eddie narrowed his eyes and shined his dimples at you, “So why do you call me sweetheart?”

He hardly had to think about it, although his answer came out as more of a question, “Because you’re my sweetheart?”

“That’s all?”

“Is this a trick question?” 

You nearly cackled at his hesitation, “It isn’t, I swear. Just… humor me.” 

This time, he took his time to carefully deliberate his answer, “Well, I guess because it just fits,” he paused, wide eyes catching yours as you lifted your brows in question, “You know? Cause you’re sweet like sugar, and you’ve got a heart of gold,” he grabbed up the hand that once held him and drew it into his lips, peppering kisses across your knuckles and fingertips, fighting a grin as he groveled, “There. Is that romantic enough to humor you?” 

“Almost.” 

You pulled your hand away despite the fact that you wanted to let him continue his display of affection. You would have laid around all day, letting Eddie Munson shower you in all the affection he had to give. But you really needed to create this email.

And now, you had the perfect name.

CORRODEDSUGAR.

You created the account quickly. Set everything up with ease before you proudly turned your screen to Eddie. 

“Corroded sugar?” he read outloud in a murmur as a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth, “Cute. But also, very metal. Very badass. I approve, Sugar.” 

A new nickname was born that day, to haunt you and taunt you at every corner. In soft mornings when he woke before you, his voice softly cooing ‘wake up, Sugar’ as he’d brush his nose along your jaw and attempt to awaken you with needy nuzzling. Amidst heated and passionate arguments had all in good fun while out with friends, where he knew you were right but the closest he’d come to admitting it would simply be ‘whatever you say, Sugar!’. He’d even once weaponized it against you during sacred moments, where his lips worshiped you as they trailed leisurely down the skin of your torso until he’d settled between your thighs, humming as he wrapped ringed fingers around your hips and whispered nothing more than the nickname. ‘Sugar’. He had sighed as if he were a starving man, and you were the plate of sweetness that would bring him back to life.

Sugar. A prayer, a promise, a reminder. 

You couldn’t remember the last time he’d called you that. Until now.

When you’d tried to reset, rebuild, remake yourself, it had been hard to figure out a new email address. Amongst all the changes and all the decisions to be made, choosing a new email just felt overwhelming. And you’d been foolish, clung to one last relic of your past like an estranged child fisting a blanket to sleep. 

The seven minutes suddenly makes crystal clear sense. 

Whether it had really been Eddie’s rockstar connections from his fame, or simply recalling a far away memory, you hadn’t made yourself a very hard person to find. And you never considered that your laziness would have a consequence like this. 

You don’t know what else to say. Your mind keeps reading over that silly five letter word, the bold lettering jumping off the page at you. All recollections of every time he’d ever called you that slip into the forefront of your brain, slapping away any concentrated thought. 

You’d had dreams of him calling you that again. A mixture of memories and fantasies that would wake you up in the months following your departure. Compared to the other dreams you’d had amongst those, they had been a sweet reprieve. Not a nightmare of Eddie with his lips pressed to another, or mournful dreams where you reached out to him only for him to become intangible smoke where your hand should have connected with his torso. They were one of your only dreams you had awoken from without immediate tears. 

They were the type of dreams where you’d awake, and for just a moment, you’d forgotten all that had happened. They’d twist you up in a blissful blanket of delusion that he was still yours, that you were still laying in a shared bed in that small apartment, that there was still a calendar on the wall with the date of his return marked with a scarlet heart. 

The tears would come later. Once the dreamy fog cleared, and your eyes opened up to see the unfamiliar space you had taken to calling home instead.

The two of you should be discussing the release party. He should be handing over a list of requests and you should be adding them to the same page that you’d copied down Gareth’s. 

You shouldn’t be doing this. 

Talking, like nothing happened. Having a playful conversation over email that reeked of the same make-believe that had clung to your dreams of Sugar. 

He won’t break the illusion, so you do.

Messaging him from this contact only reminds you of all that could have been. All the joking conversations back in Hawkins of your involvement with the band once they inevitably blew up, all the late nights where you’d been privy to a private show as he hunched over his guitar and hummed out melodies to new songs, all the bruises those once familiar hands had left and then caressed in the afterglow. 

For just a moment, you miss it all. 

For only a second, you wish he wore the same cologne and you wish you still signed your name as you had when you first met him. You wish for days of instability and the solid touch of his shoulders beneath your palms as you convince him to take a leap of faith on himself and the band. Dancing in a small apartment, falling asleep on the phone while he was a world away, quiet confessions of love to soothe the wound that distance made grow larger — for just a moment, you want it all back. Even the pain. Even the hurt you’d been burying alive for years.

Silence. Once again, he’s left you with static lines as the minutes pass and no new message is received. 

You think you liked it better when he was being inappropriately playful. 

At least then, he was saying something. Now, as he says nothing, you have to resort back to doing your job. You bring up a knee to rest your chin on as you adjust in your home office chair, clicking over to tabs of information on a physically small but well-known venue that had several different capacity options. Ranging from a small room that could hardly fit twenty five people to a rooftop set up with the ability to entertain several hundred people. Something about it had felt very Eddie to you; reclusive, with opportunity for an afterparty. Some odd mixture of who you once knew and who you’d seen flashes of through headlines and brief encounters. You hadn’t been given many guidelines from Matt to go off of, and when you’d questioned capacity size, he’d only brushed it off.

Just something smaller than the venues they play on tour.

Would Eddie even want this small of a venue? Looking over the venue’s website, you catch sight of the approximate occupancy limit for the “largest” stage room — 750 standing. What was Corroded Coffin’s new normal? Once upon a time, you were amongst a crowd that couldn’t even break double digits. But now, a show like this might sell out for them in five minutes flat. Hell, they could probably even sell out a thousand person capacity room. 

A ding sounds to signify a new email. 

For a second, you’re nonsensically relieved when you see it’s from Eddie. You find yourself blindly hopeful for a continuation of banter, another message solely trying to get on your nerves – something to satiate that stubborn need to slip back into old habits, even if for only just today. 

It’s not. It’s a stale list of requests. Sent to your work email, this time.

No sight of his playfulness between the words. No beckoning of him taunting you, teasing you, whispering for you to just give in and play pretend with him one last time. 

It’s probably for the best. 

—

Have Mondays always been this hectic? 

Week two of working on Corroded Coffin’s album release was starting off very differently from the first week. It seemed every corner you turned, you were faced with a new challenge that only made the headache behind your temples pound more relentlessly. Denial from venues, cold calls being forwarded to voicemail when you’d reach out to vendors, and Matt being impossibly busy with the band to get back to any of your emails in a timely manner. 

If you had to hear one more venue representative turn down your business proposition with a “Sorry, but we’ve heard about Eddie’s reputation…”, you might make a detour to go jump off the Empire State Building. 

Had he really been that awful to venue properties? 

“You look stressed,” Romina notes when you hang up on your third unsuccessful call of the day, slamming the phone down more violently than you should. 

“Who, me?” you bitterly reply, looking over your shoulder to where she leans in her chair, turned entirely from her desk to watch you with gentle amusement, “Never. I have never been stressed a day in my life.” 

She quirks an eyebrow, “And before this new secret project of yours, I would have agreed.” 

“Every venue is shooting me down.”

“It happens,” you yearn to feel the nonchalance that flows through the shrug of her shoulders, as if she’s now the one without a worry in the world, “Are they giving reasons?” 

You open your mouth, but your tongue stops short. Because yes, they were each giving the same resounding, completely valid reason. But to admit this is to inform Romina what your secret project really is – something that a certain NDA strictly prohibits for the time being. 

“Conflict of schedules,” you tightly lie as your glare diverts to your computer screen, still open on a mostly empty inbox. 

Eddie hadn’t emailed you since last week. 

Somewhere amongst your frustration, there was a sore disappointment lying in patient wait. You have not a single doubt that once the storm of the task at hand passes, once you finally secure a venue, that you’ll be forced to deal with it. But for now, a boy not emailing you after being so insistent for your personal contact was the least of your worries. 

Romina’s voice draws you back in, “Really? How far out are you trying to book for?”

“Three months.” 

The squeak of her chair pauses abruptly. Your eyes shift and you catch the way all her mindless swaying has ceased, mouth flat with eyes widened in disbelief. 

“Three months?”

“What?” you finally spin your chair to face her, playing off nonchalance. You know why she’s reacting so dramatically, “Should I not be booking that far in advan-”

“I- No, no. You absolutely should be. It should actually be making it easier to book,” she leans forward in her seat, squinting at you, “Is that really the only reason they’re giving?” 

You get it. Because she’s right; giving such fair notice should be making your job easier. But you can’t defend yourself and explain how the client you’re representing is the real issue. 

“Yeah,” you force a forlorn sigh.

“Jesus,” she whistles out, “Well, that’s just… Fuck. I’m sorry, babe. That’s rough. What types of venues are you even trying for? Wait - didn’t you say you were arranging for a grand opening of a bakery? Wouldn’t they already have their shop set up-”

“Hello ladies.” 

Thank fucking God for Lydia. 

“Lydia!” you sit up just a little bit straighter, nearly leaping out of your seat with relief as your boss approaches. You knew exactly where Romina’s train of thought was heading, and you wouldn’t have been able to come up with a single pitiful excuse to keep up with your little white lie, “How are you today?” 

Romina is still perched in her chair with a confused look, but Lydia doesn’t even glance her way, looking just as concerned as she looks down at you, “I’m… fine. There’s a client for you in the conference room.” 

Straight to the point. Except, you didn’t have a meeting scheduled today. 

“A client?” you echo, shrinking down a bit. You only have one client, technically, at this moment, “I didn’t have anything on my calendar.” 

“Apparently, they were just on this side of town. Said you’d left a few voicemails and he thought it’d be easier to just pop in to discuss things.” 

It had to be Matt. He must have gotten one of your frantic voicemails you’d left over the weekend, the ones you’d instantly regretted and worried had lacked in professionalism. 

It has to be Matt. 

“Oh,” Romina’s eyes are burning holes in the back of your chair as you fumble to lock your computer screen, scrambling to gather anything you might need. The notebook you’d been using to keep track of the entire ordeal crinkles slightly in your grip, “Yeah, of course, that- I’ll go straight there. Are they in one of the smaller conference rooms or the-”

“The main one,” Lydia interrupts you, and her tone makes you pause. 

She sounds as if Matt’s arrival is the largest inconvenience she had experienced in the last month. 

Why would Matt popping in to talk to me be such a big deal? 

She’s clearly not in the mood for questions, so you only nod as you stand up, “Got it.”

And then she’s gone. No interest in joining you, or to question what could be going wrong. No sign of involvement like the day you’d originally met with the band and Matt to sign all documentation. 

Your gut twists in knots that not even boy scout’s have discovered yet. 

And they only worsen when Romina calls after your retreating figure, “Good luck with your baker!” 

You’re kind of fucked. It’s clear she’s no longer buying into your lie of your client, and the thought of facing her after Matt is nausea-inducing. What if you just came clean? Would they sue you for telling Romina? Would Romina tell anyone else if you confided in her? Your thoughts race with question after question as you quickly make your way through the maze of cubicles, taking lefts and rights far too fast as you worry about making Matt wait much longer. 

It was just stupid. Because amongst the questions, one rings out that’s insane enough to make the rest of them actually sound reasonable.

If you did manage to fuck this up in any way, would Eddie protect you?

Whether it be because you couldn’t complete the task at hand that was beginning to look impossible, or if it was because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut, would he defend you? 

You’d figured you’d lost his servitude and protection long ago, back when you’d first left that apartment and ignored every attempt at contact. But if it came down to it, would he offer you one last privilege of his defense? Probably not. Which — fair enough. You hadn’t done anything in the last week to have already earned that back. You hadn’t wanted to earn that privilege back, either. No matter how badly you found yourself wanting a new email from him in your inbox, there was a clear line in the sand drawn by your own stick, and you had to stay to your side of it. 

You were a big girl. You could handle it.

Just as you finally approach the conference room, eyes trained to the ground and brows tightly furrowed in careful consideration (definitely not frustration, because the thought of Eddie surely couldn’t frustrate you), you make a fatal mistake. It’s a small detail you’d never paid much mind to prior — a stain on the carpet just outside the doorway, subtle yet large once the shadowy shifting of the carpet’s color caught your eyes. You’re so busy letting your eyes trail the perimeter of it, trying to focus on the threaded shades rather than the shade of Eddie’s dark eyes in the hallway the week before, that you aren’t prepared when the toe of your shoe catches against the said carpet. 

You should have ate shit, to put it plainly.

One quick fumble, and you’re flying forward, hardly thinking as you throw out your hands to brace for impact. Foolish, considering the fall would have left you with severely aching wrists, or a bruised face. But it never arrives. 

Large hands suddenly appear to grab you, catching you halfway through the sudden fall, and the unfamiliar cologne that’s plagued your waking thoughts for a week now overtakes your senses. 

You thought it was Matt waiting for you.

“Woah!” his voice echoes easily in the empty hallway, “Shit, are you okay?”

You swore it was Matt waiting for you. 

“Fine,” you strangle out, pulling away from that touch as quickly as possible. Like he’s burned you. Like those hands that once knew you all too well held your entire demise in their palms.

 And they might. 

It wasn’t Matt waiting for you.

Eddie doesn’t seem shocked by your retreat, only watching with a blank face as you regain your balance on your own and avoid eye contact. He looks nice – a leather jacket too shiny to be the one he wore when you wore together, a faded band t-shirt beneath you can’t fully see the logo of but know was bought that distressed just for looks due to the familiar unfamiliarity that has begun to cloud around the man you once knew, heavy boots planted right on the stain in the carpet that had distracted you. 

“What did you even trip on?” he finally questions, looking curiously behind you as he retraces your path, “Was it-”

“Air,” you cut him off, “Save me the embarrassment, but I tripped on air.” 

If you had half a mind, you would have interrupted with something more useful. Maybe demanded to know why he was here in your office. Questioned his intentions of showing up unannounced. Asked why he never emailed again. 

Okay, maybe not that last one. 

He lets out a short chuckle, more a breath than anything else as his face finally cracks and he almost grins, “I see. To be fair, it’s an easy thing to trip on. Very hard to see. Almost as if it’s invisible.” 

He gauges your reaction, but you don’t let yourself so much as smile at his awkward attempt at a joke. 

You can’t. You can’t casually joke with him, you can’t laugh and pretend like there isn’t an elephant sitting on your chest every time you occupy the same space as him. There’s no magic eraser to everything between you two; no amount of emails, no amount of bad jokes that can vanish all that has transpired. Your past and the carpet, it seems, have something in common.

Never thought you’d say that about the ugly threads you only look at to disassociate during particularly long days. 

“What are you doing here?” you finally whisper out the right question, and internally cringe as your mouth keeps moving only to tack on a completely unnecessary addition of, “I didn’t receive any emails about a meeting-”

“Matt sent me,” Eddie shrugs. You watch the way the leather creases and fits his wide shoulders, catch yourself studying to see if there’s any new muscle beneath the layers to further estrange you further from him, “He’s been stuck in meetings for the album and single, and said you’d left him a few voice mails so… I’m the rescue team, I guess.” 

You finally look him in his eyes, jaw dropping ever so slightly, “You?”

“What about me?”

“You’re my ‘rescue team’?” the words are bitter on your tongue, his presence anything but a relief of rescue, “No offense, but how can you possibly help me?” 

And then he smiles. And, oh Lord, you’ve forgotten how nice of a smile he has. It’s painful – a sharp reminder of the past that you just can’t shake. He’s an old photograph that never quite burns, a stain on your favorite article of clothing you’ll never wear again. For a moment, it doesn’t matter how many parts of him he’s replaced, how many pieces of him have been turned over brand new and unfamiliar, because he looks just like the boy you left behind. A relic you can mourn for once you return to your apartment all alone. A whisper you’ll exchange with your children about someday, as you tell them all about the boy who changed you for the worse. 

“You’d be surprised,” he muses, reaching a hand up to drag over a chin shadowed over in faint facial hair, “Apparently, once you make it big, you have to learn about more things than just how to play an A chord on a guitar or sing in tune. Business, for example. That’s what you’ve been struggling with, yeah? The business aspect of it all?” 

You kind of want to walk away from him. To go and eat shit in a different hallway, on your way to tell Lydia you can’t do this anymore. 

“I’m not struggling,” you snap. 

He’s quick to lift his hands in surrender, “Don’t shoot the messenger. Those were Matt’s words, not mine.”

“Yeah, well, tell Matt I’m fine,” you huff indignantly, “I’m a professional who can handle myself. I can figure this out on my own.” 

You’re turning your back to him, ready to storm off dramatically for your own sanity, when he clears his throat. 

You pause. You don’t turn to look, but you halt mid-step. 

“Humor me, for a second,” he begins, “What exactly are you fully capable of figuring out on your own?” 

“The planning,” you state the obvious, staring at an odd piece of art on the office wall to your left. Not quite turning your head to him, but angling so your voice carries. 

“Yeah, no shit,” his words spark a little more anger, a little more rage, “I mean what part of the planning? You’ve left Matt at least two voicemails. Probably more, if he’s resorted to sending me.” 

More like five. Possibly seven, but you’d indulged in more wine than would be wise to admitting this weekend after receiving your third venue rejection. 

“Maybe he just got tired of babysitting you. Decided to make you someone else’s problem.” 

“Maybe,” Eddie hums, and you can hear his slow footsteps as he slowly walks to block your vision of the abstract artwork. Your gaze is cut off from the silvery lines splattered across a black background and forced upon brown eyes that are more lively than you remember from the previous week, “But I already made the trip all the way down here. Might as well make myself useful to you.” 

He’s still wearing that smile. The one that belongs captured in a polaroid at the back of your closet. The one frozen in a time that was so much simpler than this. 

The kind that leaves a mark – a stain. 

“You want to make yourself useful to me?” you narrow your eyes, straighten your shoulders, prepare for battle, “Then leave. That is the most useful thing you can do for me right now – walk out of this building, and leave me to figure this out without being a pest.” 

Your words should hurt him, but they only seem to fuel him. It’s the exact same reaction you’d imagined on the other side of all the emails. A pep to his step and a perk in his posture that elicits unhinged annoyance from deep within you. 

“No can do,” he smirks, “Sorry, I’m on Matt’s orders to not leave until we figure this out. Together.” 

You don’t care how nice Matt is – you decidedly hate him at this moment. 

“Eddie,” you don’t notice the way his chest catches when you say his name, even in your defiant tone, “I am telling you right now, there is nothing you can do to help.”

And then he takes you off guard, breathing still not quite steady as he breathes out, “Let’s go get coffee.”

“I already told you, I have no interest in getting coffee or lunch with yo-”

“Not like that,” he waves off, finally slipping back into his casual demeanor, “Just- throw me a bone here, Sugar. We don’t even have to talk. You can bring your laptop and phone, focus on work and pretend I don’t exist the entire time. But I have to stick around long enough to get Matt off my ass, and you clearly have been stuck in this stuffy ass building for too long.” 

Sugar.

Your breath catches at the nickname, just as his had when you said his name. 

Shakily, you exhale, “No, I-”

“Funny thing,” he shoves both hands in the pockets of his jeans. Well-fitted, fairly new. No signs of distress like he preferred in his youth. Just starch black that clings to skin you once knew, “I’m not asking. Technically, I’m your boss. And as your boss, I’m instructing you to join me for nothing more than a free coffee and change of scenery. Like I said, it’ll be as if I’m not even there. I’ll keep my mouth shut the entire time – strictly business.” 

You nearly slip up and inform him that it doesn’t matter if he doesn’t talk – if he’s near you, your body always seems to know. Your body, your senses, your soul. Any time he occupies the same room as you, his vicinity lights something in you impossible to ignore. It had been that way since the first day you met him. And would probably continue to be that way until the day you were buried six feet under. 

Even in death, his soul would probably haunt yours. You would never know another day of peace since meeting Eddie Munson. 

“You’re not my boss,” you argue, crossing your arms, “You’re my client. Lydia is my boss.” 

“And would Lydia appreciate you arguing with a client like this?” 

“What do you want from me?”

The question falls from your lips with unexpected weight and exasperation. 

Your arms fall down from your chest just as quickly as they’d risen, the two of you encased in silence as you both realize the implication behind the question. It’s about more than just the coffee, more than just his impromptu visit to your work. It’s the heaviest question you could have asked at this moment; and one that neither of you were ready to hear the answer to quite yet. 

There’s a million unsaid words swirling behind whiskey irises. A hundred and one conversations never had, a thousand and one battles never witnessed on both ends of this war. Something in them whispers you might not be the only one haunted. 

Maybe, just maybe, his soul will only haunt yours for as long as yours haunts his. A haunted house, a ghastly gallery. Two ghosts always meant to hang up parallel to each other in crooked frames, in an empty hallway. 

“Just a coffee,” he whispers, and something in you cracks quietly, “Just one cup of coffee, for now.” 

With all things considered, it’s not asking that much of you. 

You don’t have any fight left in you. Whether he’s here, whether he’s a world away, you’re still destined to be stuck across from him in the damn hallway. Always staring, always drawn. There might not be a single corner of this world far enough away to break whatever thread ties you to the man before you, whether you still know him or not. 

After a pregnant pause, you sigh, “Let me grab my purse.”

With all things considered, he probably should be asking more of you. 

But you’re grateful he isn’t as you retreat and do exactly as promised, not looking Romina in her eyes before you begin your doomsday march for just one cup of coffee. 

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @gagasbee @d64d-n0t-sl66p1ng @aysheashea @kellsck @cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking @witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore @mikiepeach @ali-r3n

join my taglist!

[hanakihan]

Vienna/Salieri related Singularity below because I needed to share my brainrot full of nerd arcane knowledge from my music classes in 5th grade so expect nerd arcane knowledge with added references, delusions, bad life choices and inaccuracies (also since its a delulu setting watch me screw entirety of FGO canon) ANYWAY FUCK IT WE BALL THAT’S MY SINGULARITY

Vienna: Revolution and The Little Tragedy of a Kapellmeister

- Events take place in 1825, in Vienna at time of ruling of Francis I when Holy Roman Empire fell and Austrian Empire was established. More specifically it takes place after May of 1825, and significant story divergence takes place after Francis I have died 10 years earlier than he was supposed to in 1935. This event is supposedly connected to a group of people that desire the return of HRE to its former glory and reestablishment of an absolute monarchy.

- Upon arrival in singularity, it’s pretty clear that entire thing was successful and countries that were established after HRE’s fall exist no more. Results of HRE’s fall and French Revolution were also annulated. this in itself threatens human foundation because as a result it shows futility of revolution and results in social and law stagnation.

- When collecting an information about current situation and facing an aggressive response from imperial army, Guda and Mash were aided by Camille Desmoulins (Archer, because as witness accounts state ‘… Desmoulins [was] among them arming himself with a bayonet rifle and two pistols, and embarked upon the Storming of the Bastille’) and Maximilien Robespierre (Berserker, because Robespierre faced growing disillusionment among others due in part to the politically motivated violence advocated by the Montagnards), who are also hunted by imperial forces due to being two among many famous figures who instigated French Revolution that ultimately led to fall of monarchy not only in France but later in Europe as a whole. These two are reluctant to work together and constantly exchange acidic comments, mostly Desmoulins, because he’s angry at his ex-friend for betraying their goal of freeing the country of an absolute monarchy and Robespierre being a supporter of Terror policy and resulting in their ultimate executions. These two agree to set aside their bitterness and work together with Guda to set human history back on track, because they were the ones to start French Revolution, even if it didn’t turn exactly the way they wanted it, it was still a big moment in humanity’s history.

- Further information gathering put things to more clarity: current ruler of New HRE is Joseph II who by this time is supposed to be dead. Main crew does get a chance to encounter him but ultimately is unable to defeat him as he’s now - he’s clearly in possession of a Holy Grail but appears to be in clear enough mind to be negotiated with. Furthermore, Joseph II is clearly aware that his existence contradicts proper flow of human history, he acknowledges that his actions ultimately will bring destruction to foundation of humanity, and he’s genuinely sad he has to do it, but he also wants to do it because everyone he held dear were destroyed by humans with excessive cruelty. At that moment Avenger Marie Antoinette appears and upon seeing Robespierre and Desmoulins initiates battle out of anger towards people who started her downfall which resulted in beheading. Clearly being overpowered, Guda and company retreat. After that Joseph and Marie decide to pay a visit to Salieri.

- While being pursued by imperial soldiers, they are aided by Marianna Auenbrugger (Caster) and Joseph Haydn (Caster) who escort them to a hideout where other various musicians and composers are hiding. It’s pretty much a company of Casters and a Berserker (Beethoven) who are puzzled at such turn of events - if Joseph II has issues with Revolution and downfall of monarchy as a whole, then why all of them - musicians and composers - were summoned as well, at the same time. Furthermore, they all are also being actively hunted by imperial soldiers.

- Back in Palace Marie is happily chatting with barely conscious Salieri. After she leaves, small shadow materializes and approaches Salieri promising him a soon arriving salvation. At the same time, Joseph has a conversation with Napoleon, but it’s not going that great. Joseph understands Napoleon’s desire to become an Emperor once again but he’s also not allowing him to take rule over country again, not after such spectacular failure. Multiple monarchs do not mix well. Aside from desire to reclaim his position, Napoleon also wants a rematch for that shameful result of Battle of Borodino.

- In middle of discussion among Guda and others arrives Pyotr Bagration (Rider, since in Battle of Borodino he was injured while riding a horse) and informs others that apparently they need to move or else they’ll be found and none of them are in proper state to fight back. In middle of moving they meet Andrei Bolkonsky (Saber) who gladly agrees to join and discusses with Bagration their real and fictional experiences at Battle of Borodino. Bolkonsky also mentions that he saw Pushkin wandering streets of Vienna until he was chased down by soldiers. Bolkonsky himself was ignored by soldiers despite being a man who participated in war, yet a writer and poet is chased aggressively.

- Just as they move, they stumble upon Pushkin being cornered. After helping him out, Pushkin (Archer, he himself is puzzled at being summoned not as Caster but as Archer due to his last duel) provides information that hunt after him was a specific priority order from Joseph II. Eventually it was deducted that the reason for specific hunt after Pushkin and other musicians is because of Salieri, whose role in this Singularity is unknown. More accurately to say it’s because of Pushkin’s ‘The Little Tragedies’ cycle, specifically ’Mozart and Salieri’ that was one of the reasons for Salieri’s false fame as a jealous murderer. At the same time palace if full of masterful piano play. In his chambers Salieri patiently listens to a child playing a piano. Salieri, still tired and barely conscious, praises said child before falling asleep. Child goes out and stumbles upon Joseph. ‘Keep going and you’ll forever erase my existence from his. That’s what we both want, aren’t we?’

- After circle of soldiers becoming smaller and smaller it was agreed to launch an assault on Joseph’s residence and claim grail from him, especially now that they know the reason for his actions. At entrance they’re greeted by Napoleon who refuses to let them pass. Bagration isn’t happy to see familiar face, just as Bolkonsky. Fight ensues and in middle of it appears Dantès to aid a little because apparently he’s not a fan of Napoleon and remembering whole thing that was the reason for him imprisonment he can’t deny himself the chance for a little revenge. In the end, Bagration, Bolkonsky, Dantès stay to deal with Napoleon. Before separation Pushkin jokes about meeting Dantès but not the one who shot him (d'Anthès) /a play of phonetics because in Russian both d'Anthès and Dantès sound the same/

- Further in Palace they encounter Marie Antoinette. She does mention how it’s ironic how she and them (Desmoulins and Robespierre) were beheaded for sake and as a result of Revolution. She asks them if ending like they did was worth it. They in return ask if beautiful and compassionate queen that held her head high at her own execution and loved her people would bitterly destroy bright future of her people and country over bitterness and anger. Marie desires to behead them herself just to see how it feels to be on other side of guillotine.

- Guda and Mash with others encounter Joseph and ask him why exactly he’s doing that. Joseph doesn’t really answer, but does mention that it’s not only about anger and frustration, it’s also about love and compassion. He does mention that humanity is plagued with idiocy and lack of thinking, and thus it has no right to exist. Joseph also mentions that he doesn’t care about restoring monarchy, it was about his closest people he cared the most about, but seeing Napoleon being summoned it did paint a clear picture of natural power struggle. As of seeing Pushkin, he becomes clearly obsessed with targeting him. ‘After all you’re one of the reasons he ended up like that. Unforgivable, absolutely unforgivable. It’s a shame Mozart wasn’t summoned, I would’ve liked to put my sword through his neck.’

- After Joseph’s defeat appears a little boy and takes Holy Grail. Disappearing Joseph calls him ‘Salieri’ before bitterly correcting himself and calling little boy ‘A cursed abomination’. Supposedly ‘Salieri’ stabs him with Blade of Wildlife saying that Joseph himself did an awfully bad job at granting Salieri’s wish and by analogy getting rid of ‘him’. After that ‘Salieri’ addresses Pushkin as ‘one of his creators’ and uses Grail to fully transform and don Wailing Facade. After near defeat he, barely holding himself together, runs away. Guda and others chase him only to find a little ‘Salieri’ with damaged spirit origin protectively covering a man on bed whom Beethoven recognizes as Antonio Salieri. Both boy and man are Servants and have awfully unstable yet almost identical Spirit Origin.

- Actual Antonio Salieri comforts little ‘him’ and thanks him for granting his actual wish of seeing people he loved once again. ‘Salieri’ retorts that his true wish was desire to get rid of ‘Salieri who murdered Mozart’ and humanity as whole, that was the thought of dying Salieri. Salieri explains that it was a momentary hate and bitterness that colored his last moments in life he ultimately never regretted. Just as he embraces ‘Salieri’, he says, that despite everything he does not regret ‘Salieri’ or ‘Gray Man’ existence, because despite their weird and unstable situation he’s the one keeping Salieri’s Spirit Origin somewhat whole and allowing Salieri to manifest at all, since myth is much more famous than actual person.

- After Salieri’s death, his bitterness and rumors along with fake accusation merged into ‘Salieri’ who shared feelings and memories of real Salieri. Gaining his own sentience as ‘Salieri who murdered Mozart’, this ‘Salieri’ was angry at humanity for doing this to a simple man who was too nice to be treated like that at end of his life and decided to carry out his last wish with Grail that was given to him. To maintain proper existence he used grail to summon Salieri. Then Joseph, but Joseph despises ‘Salieri’ for being a product that ruined actual Salieri he cares about. ‘Salieri’ proposes a deal: Joseph can’t kill ‘Salieri’ for it will send both him and Salieri back to Throne or even worse completely damages their Spirit Origin so they’ll never be summoned again. Instead, Joseph can take this as a chance to destroy the world that executed his precious little sister and completely twisted his beloved kapellmeister. By doing that Joseph will erase future where Salieri is known as ‘Salieri who murdered Mozart’, which means Salieri won’t have to suffer anymore.

- In the end Salieri apologizes for all the trouble. Salieri says that he doesn’t regret ‘Salieri’ being a part of him and asks ‘Salieri’ to give Grail to Guda. After it’s done, Singularity starts to fix itself, Salieri disappears first as a summon of Grail and ‘Salieri’ follows. Salieri wishes that next time they’ll meet it will be a willing peaceful summon for them both as whole, much stable existence.

- After that in Chaldea before Salieri is summoned, Joseph is summoned first because he needs to keep an eye on both his sister and beloved kapellmeister. After that Salieri is summoned as a Double class - Antonio Salieri (Ruler) and ‘Antonio Salieri’ (Avenger) /aka local tired man keeps check and adopts a shy but feral child who occasionally wants to stab Mozart, Pushkin and Joseph II with different states of success/.

[thisisahyperfixationnow]

Okay so I saw atsv recently and while I love reading everyone’s takes on the art styles, I have to bring up the music

I’m a pretty basic music nerd with minimal theory study, but I’ve taken to just playing the soundtrack. (I’m referencing specifically the Metro soundtrack, I prefer songs with lyrics, but I’m positive this will apply to the other soundtrack too, the crew of spider verse are that amazing) And in doing so, I just need to bring up how carefully these songs are constructed??

See, backing track songs need to be subtle. That’s what (in my experience) can make them boring or difficult to compose - how do you make something interesting but able to blend in? But these people, they’ve just - pulled back layers?? And spread them out???? Rarely is there more than about 3 things happening at any one point in the songs, and it means they can pack so much into them. And more than that, it gives them room to give every song a style, a reference and a character to link them to!

Take ‘Hummingbird’, for example: it’s the song that plays when Gwen opens the portal above Miles’ bed. Then compare it to ‘Sunflower’, from the original movie. The artists are completely different, the tone of the movie has changed entirely, but the songs mirror each other!! The way the vocals have a little flick (flick? Reach??) at the end, the bass and trap in the background, heck, even the emotions they convey! Miles, in each instance, is at a turning point, whether he is aware of it or not.

But the composers haven’t just decided to mimic Miles’ song from the original song - they’ve dampened it to fit the tone of the movie. The trap beat and pulses are muted, and the vocals are slightly subdued. And of course, the lyrics are very different. They are both about love, but one is optimistic, and one is resigned. GOD these people!!

And it’s like this with basically every song I’ve come across! While a lot of the characters have less (or nothing) to compare to, the composers have put bits and pieces in to make the characterisations and emotions peak through. Just look at the percussion in ‘Link Up’ (a mixture of the clicking from ‘Self-Love, which kinda was Gwen’s theme in the album, and the percussion from ‘Silk & Cologne’, which I think is supposed to be Miles’ family and their party (?)) which I took as showing Miles’ split between Gwen and the Spiders, and his family.

Just, this soundtrack has som much care and love stuffed into it. I don’t know how much this makes sense (It’s 3 AM), but I didn’t see anyone talking about it and that is a CRIME

[ulkaralakbarova]

An American oil company sends a man to Scotland to buy up an entire village where they want to build a refinery. But things don’t go as expected. Credits: TheMovieDb. Film Cast: Felix Happer: Burt Lancaster Mac: Peter Riegert Urquhart: Denis Lawson Ben: Fulton Mackay Oldsen: Peter Capaldi Stella: Jennifer Black Marina: Jenny Seagrove Moritz: Norman Chancer Geddes: Rikki Fulton Watt: Alex Norton Victor: Christopher Rozycki Rev Macpherson: Gyearbuor Asante Cal: John M. Jackson Donaldson: Dan Ammerman Roddy: Tam Dean Burn Ricky: John Gordon Sinclair Pauline: Caroline Guthrie Iain: Jimmy Yuill Mrs Wyatt: Karen Douglas Skipper: Kenny Ireland Mrs Fraser: Sandra Voe Fountain: Harlan Jordan Peter: Charles Kearney Gideon: David Mowat Anderson: John Poland Linda Fraser: Ann Scott-Jones Mr Bulloch: Ian Stewart Jonathan: Jonathan Watson Fraser: Dave Anderson Andrew: Ray Jeffries Edward: James Kennedy Sandy: Willie Joss Russian Girl: Tanya Ticktin Old Lady: Edith Ruddick Switchboard Operator: Betty Macey Switchboard Operator: Michelle McCarel Switchboard Operator: Anne Thompson Ace Tone: Brian Rowan Ace Tone: Mark Winchester Ace Tone: Alan Clark Ace Tone: Alan Darby Ace Tone: Roddy Murray Ace Tone: Dale Winchester Baby: Luke Coulter Crabbe: Buddy Quaid Film Crew: Producer: David Puttnam Original Music Composer: Mark Knopfler Lighting Camera: Chris Menges Editor: Michael Bradsell Screenplay: Bill Forsyth Art Direction: Frank Walsh Associate Producer: Iain Smith Production Design: Roger Murray-Leach Art Direction: Ian Watson Art Direction: Adrienne Atkinson First Assistant Director: Jonathan Benson Camera Operator: Michael Coulter Property Master: Arthur Wicks First Assistant Editor: Jim Howe Boom Operator: Mike Tucker Movie Reviews: CinemaSerf: Burt Lancaster is the multi-millionaire oil magnate “Felix Happer” who despatches one of his minions (Peter Riegert) to Scotland to buy up a village to turn it into an oil refinery. Once he arrives, he is taken for a bit of a ride by the canny locals as they try to milk him for as much cash as they can. In the days before cell phones; he has to call his boss from the phone box reporting his lack of progress and some astronomical sightings until eventually Happer comes over himself and immediately strikes up a rapport with Fulton Mackay who lives on the beach (and who is steadfastly refusing to sell). It is is simple story very well told with a slightly unpredictable, happy ending and a brilliant score from Mark Knopfler. Filipe Manuel Neto: **Slow, with boring characters and dialogues and a disjointed script, this film does not justify the “hype” around it.** This is one of those indie films that has won over a legion of self-confessed admirers. It’s a film that everyone speaks highly of, as if it were a solid masterpiece. I didn’t know that when I saw it for the first time, so I saw it without a lot of expectations. I’m glad I did it: despite recognizing some merits, I am convinced that the film has been well overrated. The proof is the way it fell into oblivion! If we exclude fans and movie nerds who know everything (and when they don’t, they make it up) who really remembers this movie? The film revolves around a story that is very simple: in the north of Scotland, there is a small bay with a beach and a sleepy village. When a rich oil entrepreneur decides to buy all that to build a huge refinery and a terminal for oil tankers, all those people are expectant, wanting to sell what they have for the best price. Only two people disagree: a marine biologist who want to preserve and study the local, and an old simpleton who owns a good part of that beach. The film had some potential, but it lacks solidity and a good script. Time is spent in sterile dialogue, rambling about comets, constellations and flirting. It is also very unbelievable, as a project like this would never be so consensual, there are always those who oppose it for financial or ecological reasons, or mere nostalgia. If director Bill Forsyth decided to close his eyes to the insipidity and fragility of ...

[thephantomofthe-internet]

A Fool for Love| Steve Harrington x Reader

MASTERLIST

Words: 7,354 OOF

Warnings: swearing, Shakespearean English, general fluff

Author’s Note: So I got inspired by @jxnehxpper‘s headcanon on Steve being a secret theatre lover and set to giving us what we deserve-Steve being a little theatre kid. And then I told her about it. And then I reread it. And now I’m doubtful of what this even is and how long it is. Good luck I guess

Tag List: @marvelslut16 @shinydixon @jxnehxpper 

The laces were too tight. You couldn’t breathe. You were going to faint once you got up there. And your sleeves were too tight. You were already sweating through the long sleeves. Damn your overconfidence and crappy old patterns. And damn the seventies for making their bodices too tight and tan suede lacing so pretty over rouge coloured linen. And your shoes were too loose; they were going to fall off the second you took a step. Stupid Tammy Thompson and her stupid wide feet. You weren’t even supposed to be here.

Mrs. Blackburn loved to plan out a big spring show without thinking about how many students would be there on auditions. She chose these bombastic plays without thinking about who was actually going to be there. The drama club was made up of about ten members, who’d all be there on audition day, and that was usually it. And Mrs. Blackburn would throw a fit about it to you, her trusted right hand man with a plan. Then she’d spend her classes kissing ass to get students to come out for promised roles after stroking their egos enough to get them to bother with extracurricular theatre. Most kids took the class for an easy A, a quick passing grade that would boost their GPAs without making them want to claw their eyes out. Only a certain type of student would go through with this sort of embarrassment.

So when Mrs. Blackburn announced the spring show to be an abridged version of Twelfth Night, a choice you thought was decent enough. Cutting down the b-plot with Malvolio and the servants made the story run smoother and cut a metric crap ton of roles. Unfortunately, Mrs. Blackburn didn’t have the heart to cut the fool, which meant that she needed another guy to be in the show. And your little crew of nerds only had two boys. If only cross dressing was something she deigned to allow, alas Mrs. Blackburn believed firmly in women playing women and men playing men, which made it even harder to cast anything. It was ironic, knowing the actual plot of the play she’d chosen. Still, now she had a little challenge to hum and ha over for a month before casting the thing.

It was during this casting point that you heard quite possibly the worst idea you’d ever heard.

You often ate lunch in Mrs. Blackburn’s classroom. The entire drama club did. It was a nice, quiet place where no screaming teens or bullies could attack a boy for trotting around in a kilt from costume cupboard and kick a girl for her looks if they didn’t conform to what was considered pretty by the rest of the school. A hodgepodge of personalities grew in there like bacteria. Usually, there shining saviour would eat in the teacher’s lounge with the rest of the staff, but as shows got closer, she’d make sporadic appearances.

“Y/N!” the door slammed open, Mrs. Blackburn standing in the doorway, her wild red curls bouncing wildly around her tiny face, her thin pointed glasses slipping off her nose. “I’ve done it!”

“You’ve done what?” you looked up from your sack lunch. Mrs. Blackburn looked a mess. Her olive green paisley skirt was stained with coffee and her raggedy cream blouse was flashing her bra to the world. She looked as if she’d gotten dressed in her donation bag. You had a sort of love-hate relationship with the woman. She was like a second mother to you, which meant that you loved her unconditionally but hated her in the moment.

“I’ve found us a diamond in the rough,” she marched over to the desk. As always, you’d taken over the teacher’s desk. You were the only person she trusted to sit there with her unmarked tests and unopened lipsticks gifted to her by Lisa Gardner’s Avon selling mother. Her hands slapped the fake wood “I’ve found our Duke Orsino.”

You watched from behind her as both Gordon Fisher and Dale Michaels deflated behind you. The only boys in the club would kill for a leading role. They shouldn’t have to kill, there were only two of them; there shouldn’t be a fight at all. But Mrs. Blackburn liked to do a bit of stunt casting within the Hawkins High School student body.

“No one has been chosen yet!” you turned you attention directly to them. Of course, that was a blatant lie. Both you and Mrs. Blackburn already had pretty much the entire show cast before auditions had even been announced. Dale would play the jester, who Mrs. Blackburn had flagrantly rewritten as a sort of narrator, believing herself capable of rewriting Shakespeare, and Gordon would play Sebastian. He was fundamentally much more attractive than Dale, and much less mockable. Dale was the kid hiding in the classroom in a kilt from Tommy H, which he was wearing because he ripped his pants and didn’t want to walk around with his stained tighty whities.

You turned your attention back to Mrs. Blackburn, a small excited smile spreading across your face. “Who is it?” you asked.

“Oh he’s simply marvellous! He’s in our afternoon class, a Mr. Harrington!” Mrs. Blackburn had a dreamy grin spread across her face, her hands linked together in front of her chest.

Your smile dropped “Steve? Really?” This had to be a joke. Steve was in your drama class so to speak, he was never there. He skipped every class and only showed up for tests and to do graded performances. And his performances were shit. He was never off script and even with the script in front of his face he couldn’t keep the lines straight. He was useless!

“Oh yes yes! We had a very interesting conversation just a few moments ago and he’s very intrigued by our production and I think that he’ll make an interesting, dynamic choice for the role!” Mrs. Blackburn mused, her arms floating around as she spoke as if she was performing Swan Lake instead of properly explaining her decision.

“So, he’s coming into audition?” you asked slowly, leaning on your elbows. Mrs. Blackburn nodded. That was a surprise. The great king of Hawkins high bothering to join the unwashed, artistic masses? That was a shock. You expected him to just demand the role to be his. Not that you thought he’d read the play. You doubted he’d even skimmed the Cliff’s Notes.

“Yes, I’ve already signed him up. By the looks of it, if all the auditions go well we’ll have a full cast without call backs.” She turned her attention to the cowering masses behind her, all staring up in awe. Well, all except Robin Buckley. She wasn’t really a part of the collective though; she was just there for Tammy Thompson.

“Alright, then I can’t wait to see what he does…” you replied with a small smirk. Everyone else in the room was thinking the same thing: Steve Harrington was going to choke. The second Mrs. Blackburn left the room, everyone began their muttering and musing. The only person who seemed to sympathize with the kid was Tammy, who kept whining about poor, poor Steve and how he was going to make a fool of himself. Everyone had seen Steve’s failings with performance, most of the room either spent their free period in your drama class or had taken drama with him in freshman year. His misgivings were known throughout the little crew, even Robin seemed to understand that the kid just wasn’t talented.

And when auditions rolled around, you except the worst. As always, you were playing stage manager slash costumer for the production, your chosen role, and you sat at the back of the classroom with a clipboard and red pen in hand. You had the audition list copied on a few sheets of paper with the role presumed to fit them best. You’d seen most of the room audition a million times before. Both you and Mrs. Blackburn had a clear idea of what was going to happen. And, for the most part, it all fell into place. Tammy, despite her pleas to be Viola, was much more suited to the prissy and rich Olivia; Dale actually wanted to be the fool, which made your life easier, now you wouldn’t have to crush him dreams; Heather Holloway would happily play Viola, which you were more than happy to give her; and sweet little Nicole Chandler would play the nursemaid Maria.

Then, there was Steve Harrington and Gordon Fisher. Gordon had come in and bashed all of your notions of him being fabulously brash and boisterous Sebastian by auditioning instead for the powerful and yet underwhelming awkward Duke Orsino. And he was great! He was better than great!

And then there was Steve. He was terrible. Just plain awful. He didn’t look up once from the crumpled photocopied pages he held in his fist and he didn’t seem to know what he was saying. No, scratch that he had no idea what he was saying. He wasn’t so much playing a character but instead just trying to pronounce the words on the page and string them together in complete sentences. It was painful. But, to Mrs. Blackburn, it was perfect. She clapped when he finished, smiling far too wide as she egged him on. She kicked you under the table to follow suit and you added in a few slow claps. With a hefty dose of praise hefted on him like whipped cream, she sent Steve off and turned her attention to you.

“He’s perfect,” she said. You almost expected her to let out a dreamy sigh, like a love struck teenager instead of a married middle aged woman. She just looked so happy about the whole thing. You took a bit of secret joy in popping her bubble.

“Gordon was much better for the part.” You slipped your pen behind your ear and crossed your arms over your chest. Mrs. Blackburn’s thin mouth dropped open into a tiny ‘o’, only really defined by her cherry red lipstick.

“What?” she cried before composing herself “No, no Gordon was fine, he’ll make a fabulous Sebastian, but Steve is what I want for the Duke.”

“Are you sure I mean-” You couldn’t help but try to argue the point. You knew in your heart that the little shows you helped put on weren’t award worthy by any means but you still took great care in making them as good as possible, if only as a self-serving move to make them watchable from the booth.

Mrs. Blackburn shook her head, her tiny mouth pulling into a stern frown. “The decision is made. You cannot change my mind, Y/N.” she said flippantly, turning away from her to collect her papers. “We’ll have the list up by Monday, yes?”

You swallowed and nodded once. Mrs. Blackburn swept out of the room, her silver bracelets clattering together as she left. Once the door shut, you let out a heavy sigh and put away your clipboard. You’d type up the temporary list and deal with your temperamental director. First, you had to find Steve.

You found him hunched over at his locker. If you didn’t know him better, you’d say that he was ashamed. But he was too much of a cocky shit to ever feel ashamed of his own showboating. And what you just saw was showboating. There was no other way to explain it. He didn’t care about the show, or the play, he only cared about himself and showing off.

You tapped him hard on the shoulder. Steve turned his head. He wasn’t certain of your name but he recognized you from only a few minutes prior. He wanted to disappear. He’d just made a complete fool of himself and now had to atone to his butchering of words he didn’t quite get.

“Look, I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but if you’re just signing onto this thing to fuck around and make fun of people, I suggest you back the fuck down. Fisher and Michaels might stand down to your asshole buddies but I won’t.” you sneered, planting your hands on your hips and straightening your back to reach your fullest height. You had never been in a fight before, at least not one that wasn’t staged and within a classroom setting, but you’d stand up for those kids. Anyone who volunteered themselves for theatrical productions were doing something vulnerable, and vulnerability wasn’t something that could be taught or captured in a bottle, it was something given that should be protected. And you vowed to protect them from someone with ill will, if only to make your show better.

“Look,” Steve swallowed hard, looking away from you. Your gaze was searing into him and he was already embarrassed as is. He didn’t think he could blush any harder. “I’m not bullshitting. Mrs. Blackburn offered and I said yes, that’s all. No buddy’s gonna find out about this.”

You watched him squirm like a worm on a hook. He looked genuine. His eyes spoke more volumes than his words. You nodded, letting out a sharp breath through your nose. “Alright…” you turned on your heel and walked off without a goodbye to the thoroughly embarrassed boy.

Once the work started, it was a wash of a production. You wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Tammy was over the moon that Steve Harrington was joining them to play pretend and thrilled to explain to him that his character was in love with hers. He seemed horrified by the idea but dutifully played along. Gordon was beyond pissed, having to watch Steve stumble through lines and direction given by Mrs. Blackburn while he waited for his shot to do any acting at all. Robin was pissed too. Mrs. Blackburn had roped her into the production to do a few flute solos in pivotal scenes, which meant her having to watch the scenes she’d be playing in and you’d have to make her a little costume to wear. You’d been given your budget and some ancient patterns from Mrs. Blackburn’s collection, a 1970s renaissance faire dress pattern that didn’t fit in at all with the period. You bit back complaints about how little money you had to make anything nice.

You silently thanked god for Heather Holloway and her rich parents. They would pay to have her costumes done separately from your handiwork and all you’d have to do was make some decent things for the rest of the cast. You’d be sewing until your fingers bled. You were just thankful that you had made patterns for men’s pants in the same style of the dresses. You wouldn’t have to draft different sizes off a thin parchment pattern for them. Nicole, Tammy, and Heather were all around the same size so you’d only need to two different sizes of pattern. The project would be fairly simple.

Which meant that Mrs. Blackburn had to throw a wrench in everything.

She asked you to speak with her after your afternoon class one month into rehearsals. You stood awkwardly in front of her desk, your trapper keeper clutched tight to your chest, a few fingers bandaged from pricks and pokes from rouge pins and needles. You’d spent the night before alternating between putting blocking notes into your script and hemming the skirt of Tammy Thompson’s pale yellow dress. You’d bought a very pretty pale yellow brocade fabric with thin gold laurel patterns over the material and it was heavier than expected but it looked rightfully rich enough for a duchess to wear.

“Now, I might have overestimated Mr. Harrington’s acting abilities,” she said quietly, looking between you and the door. Steve was the first out of the room when the bell rang, he wasn’t lurking by the door waiting to hear you shit talk him. “He’s not performing well.”

“Well yes, I tried to tell you that when we auditioned him.” You replied, trying to hold back an eye roll.

“There’s no need to be bitter, he’s salvageable.” Mrs. Blackburn turned her attention to erasing the board. She had a freshman year drama class after this and the smelly youths would burst through the door at any moment. “What we’ll do is simply give him some extra help, less time working with the others and have him focus on really working on his lines. He’s not off book anyway.”

You nodded “So, what do you need me to do here?” Mrs. Blackburn reached into her desk and pulled out her pads of excused late slips, pulling out a pen and scribbling out your student information.

“Well, I can’t very well stop blocking the performance and we need to start heading over to the theatre soon. So you’ll handle helping Mr. Harrington from here on out.” She said nonchalantly. Her hoard her stinky children burst into the room, taking over the class with sound and fury, signifying nothing but an assault on your eardrums.

“So, and just for clarification here, you want me to make all the costume, stage manage the production, and teach Steve his lines?” you asked, taking the green slip she dangled out in front of you.

“Well yes of course that’s what you signed on to do and we always come through on what we choose to do.” Mrs. Blackburn turned her attention to her classroom, clapping twice to grab their attention. You knew that this was your cue to leave and you slinked away with your tail betwixt your legs, put back in your place by the older woman. You could’ve screamed. Teaching lines was not what you signed up for. Working with Steve was not what you signed up for. You signed on for making costumes and stage managing. Steve was not a part of the equation. He wasn’t even associated with the equation. He was a whole separate equation that you weren’t supposed to be tasked with solving.

And yet when Mrs. Blackburn announced that the rest of the cast would be heading to the theatre and you’d be staying behind with Steve to run lines, you didn’t complain. Steve did, he wanted to see the theatre, but you stayed silent, waving them goodbye as they left the cramped classroom. You and Steve stared at each other for a moment, silent and awkward, before you reached down and picked up the paper grocery bag you’d brought along with you and pulled out the pretty rouge pink linen you’d bought to make Nicole’s dress. You lay it flat on the desks and unfolded your newspaper patterns.

“Alright, sit.” You pointed to the desk in front of you and opened your patterning kit, pulling out your white tailor’s chalk and sewing scissors. Steve obeyed, tucking himself into the desk. You looked up with a forced smile “Alright, this is how we’re doing to do this. You are going to perform the lines without your script. When you need a line, say line and I’ll give it to you. Repeat it and then start again from the top. We’ll do that until you can say the whole thing without stuttering or calling line. Got it?”

Steve swallowed hard “Got it.”

“Alright, we’ll start from the first scene.” You pulled out your copy of the abridged play. Steve looked at you for a moment, confused and you summoned him to begin.

He took a heaving breath and you began pinning your pattern pieces to the material. “If music be the food of love, play on, give me…” Steve began, already stuttering. He went silent before shamefully asking “Line?”

You looked up with a raised eyebrow. You were hoping for at least a few lines to be known before he needed help. Mrs. Blackburn underestimated how little he knew. “Give me excess of it; that, surfeiting the appetite may sicken, and so die…that strain again!” you read out, monotone before turning your attention to Steve “Start again.”

He spouted out the dialogue, just a nervous as before and stuttering all the while. You managed to get through pinning the skirt piece down before he called line again. He only got through a line of dialogue past your last prompting. Steve looked utterly defeated and small in his seat. “I can’t think like this…” he muttered.

“The stand up. Or pace. Whatever you need to do. Just get through the speech here,” you said with a sigh “Do you need the line?” Steve nodded sadly and you read out the next line and Steve started again.

“If music be the food of love; play on, give me excess of it; that, surfeiting, the appetite may sicken and so die…that strain again! It had a dying fall: o’ it came o’er my ear like the sweet south that breathes upon a bank of violets; stealing odour…enough, no more!” he took a heaving breath. He was halfway across the room now and staring at the wall. You had turned your attention to him and were watching almost in awe. He knew the lines. He knew the whole speech. When he finished, he looked to you as if for the next line. You didn’t give it, instead you stepped out from the desk.

“You know the lines…” you breathed. It wasn’t a good performance, but he was off book. He was putting in work. You were impressed. Surprised, but impressed.

“When I’m walking around the room I do…” Steve chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck with a small smile.

“But you have no idea what you’re saying…” you breathed, watching as Steve deflated, giving a small nod.

“Why can’t he just write what he means, I get it’s supposed to be like poetry or whatever, but it makes no sense.” He pushed himself up onto the desk, crossing his legs under him.

“It helps to think about the character as a whole. What do you know about the duke?” you asked, taking a step back to approach the scene with script in hand.

“I mean…he’s a duke, which is an important person with a lot of people who work under him, and he’s in love with Olivia, who’s a rich duchess,” he counted them off with his fingers, chewing on his lower lip as he thought.

“Exactly!” you stopped him mid-sentence, pointing excitedly “He’s in love with Olivia and Olivia doesn’t love him back, right?”

“Right?” he had a right to be confused; Mrs. Blackburn had given Tammy the note to stop playing Olivia so moony eyed over Orsino for weeks now. She hadn’t stopped, despite swearing up and down that she wasn’t trying.

“She doesn’t, and so when he’s talking about love and music, do you think he’s happy to hear the music or not?” you asked.

“I mean…I guess yes and no?” you raised an eyebrow at him. That wasn’t the exact answer you expected. He continued “Cause he’s love sick, and being love sick is fun and terrible at the same time. He talks about being sick in the speech.”

You nodded “Yes! And when he says that he wants to surfeit, that means to like overdose. He wants to die from all the love. He’s overwhelmed by it all.” Steve’s smile grew. For the first time, he felt like he was getting it now. When you explained it, the scene made sense.

You reached for your scissors and picked up the material, taking a deep breath before making the first cut in the fabric. “Alright, now I want you to take all that stuff I told you and try to put it on the words.” You said, gesturing with your finger for him to start again.

And he did. He did the scene over and over again, pacing the room while trying to feel different things. It was easy to be overwhelmed-he was overwhelmed. Everything he was doing overwhelmed him. It didn’t help that you were watching him. He didn’t like being watched. And you kept smiling at some parts and frowning at others. He wanted you to smile all the way through it. That meant that it was good, that he was doing good. And he liked your smile. This was the first time he’d seen it directed at him.

“Alright,” you stopped him mid sentence, holding out a flat palm out “Enough pacing. The blocking has you seat in like this big chair.” You stepped out from behind the desks and pulled out a chair, placing it in the centre of the room. “Sit down, we’re going to put it altogether.”

Steve gingerly sat in the chair, positioning himself the way Mrs. Blackburn had instructed with his legs splayed wide and his right elbow propped on his knee, holding his head up. With a heavy breath he started again “If music be the food of love, play on…fuck!” you looked up from your work curiously “I forgot the line already! I keep thinking about the words and the meaning and the emotions and the meter-I can’t do it all.”

You nodded, pulling the pins out of the pattern and marking the pieces numerically. “Tap your foot to the beat of the words, one less thing to think about.” You said, capping the pin box. “Do it one more time and then we’re done. They’re finishing up at the theatre now, we have to vacate ASAP.”

Steve tried your trick. It worked. He was shocked. You knew so much about this stuff. He didn’t know anything about any of this. He felt like a doofus. But you helped him through. He thought it was a onetime thing, but every rehearsal you’d take him aside and work on the words. Mrs. Blackburn had cut the thing down to about two acts, still longer than most parents wanted to sit through, but better than five acts and two intermissions. He didn’t know how he was going to do this at all. Still, he felt safe with you watching. He could perform to you instead of the audience.

For your part, you liked working with Steve. You didn’t think that you would, but he was pretty self sufficient with the piece after you gave him your Cliff’s Notes version of the text to help him understand the scenes he had to do and the context of the play as a whole. And he was funny. You didn’t know that he was funny. And he hated Tammy. Anyone who hated Tammy was a friend of yours. She was brutally annoying in rehearsals and at this point was refusing to kiss Gordon. And poor Gordon was more than over having Steve there, he swore that the guy was doing something to distract Tammy. Of course he was, he was existing in her world for the first time, but you were quick to defend him, because he was trying. It wasn’t his fault that Tammy couldn’t keep it in her pants or that Heather was more focused on her costumes than her performance. Still, nobody understood why he was there.

Sat with Steve at the back of the Hawkins Community Playhouse, you decided to ask him. “Hey,” you asked quietly. Gordon and Tammy were doing their little love scene on the stage below and Mrs. Blackburn would kill you if she could hear you talking. “Can I ask you something?” Steve nodded, looking up from his script.

“Why are you doing this show?” Steve frowned and you backtracked quickly “I mean, this isn’t your bag I just was curious…”

“Honestly?” Steve asked. You gave a half nod, trying not to appear too curious. “Mrs. Blackburn promised me that if I did this, she’d pass me for the year and that I can skip out on the final.” Your eyes blew wide. You were pissed. Not because he was only doing the show for a decent grade, but because you still had to prepare a monologue performance to perform for your final on top of all this work.

“That bitch…” you murmured “I wanna skip out on the final!”

Steve laughed “Ask! She was only gonna pass me, I haggled for the final.”

“She’d never. She wants to work me to death, I swear.” You chuckled darkly. You flipped up the tan suede Bodice you built, the lace dangling loosely from the eyelets. It looked good. It would look better on Nicole, for now it would have to look good on the floor.

Steve was called up to the stage and you returned to Mrs. Blackburn’s side, watching the ending go down, as Viola’s true nature is revealed and Sebastian is reunited with his sister. It was a messy scene, with the Malvolio plotline cut there wasn’t a scheme to reveal or a villain to unmask, so the scene became instead a bit of a wedding. You still wished you’d done A Midsummer’s Night’s Dream, you would’ve actually auditioned for that show. Still, Twelfth Night was turning into a half decent show. You hadn’t expected Steve to bring anything, but he played the duke like a sort of well meaning dunce, a loveable yet hopeless fool. He just seemed to have fun, especially when Nicole and Dale were acting silly behind him. He just seemed to have fun with them, unlike Tammy and Heather who had no interest in playing and seemed to be fighting for who could look the most bored. It had been a long day, it was nearly eight o���clock at night and Mrs. Blackburn had sent her husband to go pick up pizza for the cast an hour ago. Everyone was exhausted, but you were supposed to do a full fitting for the cast after they were done.

Thankfully, Mrs. Blackburn ended the torture. “Alright,” she clapped once, calling an end to the scene “Let’s call it quits there. Y/N has brought all the costumes for the show with her today, let’s have a try on and then we’ll take our pizza to go. Sound good?” the whole room let out an exhausted half cheer and you picked up the massive duffel bag you’d brought from home.

“I hope everyone remembered their shoes,” you said, pulling out the first hanger, holding the intense yellow brocade with the golden Bodice for Tammy to take. “Heather, your stuff is here, right?” Heather scoffed, taking the three off the stage and picking up her own bag. You handed Nicole her dress and passed out the brown faux burlap pants and white puffy shirts. You’d made separate vests for each character-Steve’s a rich navy blue, Dale’s a jaunty royal purple with a matching jester cap from the prop closet, and Gordon a dull olive green. Their colours would have to do to differentiate them to the audience. Everyone left to do their try on and when they returned you were transported to the ren faire.

You stepped off the stage, joining Mrs. Blackburn in the fifth row. You smiled; the brocade looked lovely under the lights, as did the silver buttons you’d put on Steve’s vest. It was a bit wide. “Alright, Tammy you’re good to change, Steve stay put.” You jumped back onto the stage, stepping behind him. Up close, it was hard to look at him. He was too attractive. You were stunned that any man could look sexy in a stupid puffy shirt, but there Steve was, ruining your work relationship with him.

“Stay still, I’m putting pins in your vest, I don’t want to poke you.” You whispered, pulling a couple pins from your cushion. You felt Steve suck in a deep breath as your fingers grazed his lower back, tingles running up his spine. You pulled the material in a bit, pinning it flat. You noted that you’d have to add a couple darts to each side to make it fit better. It only took a few moments, but when you came back around to look over Steve he looked as if he might faint. “Steve,” he looked to you with blown out eyes “Breathe.” He nodded twice and you stepped off the stage. It was only a week until performances. He must have been scared shitless.

Steve was scared shitless. Of you. He didn’t know how to act when you were watching him. Well, he knew how to act, you’d trained him to play Orsino, but he didn’t know how Steve fit into your relationship. All he knew was that when he had to kiss Heather at the end of the show, he only had you on his mind. He couldn’t even look at you when it was over, he felt like he’d cheated on you. Which was insane, but the feeling stuck in his gut.

When the day of performances came around, Steve was shaken. He didn’t know what to do with himself. He hadn’t told any of his friends about what he was doing and yet word had gone around the school. All of his friends were coming opening night, he swore with pitchforks and rotten fruit to throw. When he got the theatre at four o’clock that afternoon, however, the whole cast was in a tizzy.

Heather was an hour late. And, according to Nicole, she wasn’t coming. “Her father’s hosting a benefit at the Carmel Country Club tonight, there’s no way that she’s showing.” She moaned. Mrs. Blackburn was already in the phone book, looking up the number of the club. She left to make a call, promising that Heather would never do such a thing.

Tammy was crying off her makeup in the corner, with Robin consoling her while trying to not get blackened tears on her white shirt. “She’s going to ruin my show! She’s ruining it!” she sobbed.

You were stood in the corner, unsure where to place yourself. Luckily, Mrs. Blackburn returned quickly. “I’ve just spoken to Heather,” she announced. The room fell into a hush.

“And?” you asked, looking up from the hot rollers you were putting in Nicole’s hair.

“And she’s not coming. She told me about this and I said it was okay. I guess I forgot.” Mrs. Blackburn replied. You knew that was bullshit, but you held your tongue.

“What’re we going to do???” Tammy cried out. That sent the room into an uproar, everyone talking over one another. Steve stayed silent. In truth, he was a bit glad to be rid of Heather. Maybe they wouldn’t have to perform.

“Now, now as we know in the theatre the show must go on!” Mrs. Blackburn cried. “Y/N, as stage manager, has been learning the blocking and pacing for the show. She will go on as Viola and I will make a speech before we go on! It’s all we can do!”

Everyone turned to look at you. You turned your attention to Mrs. Blackburn, walking over to her and whispering in her ear. “If I do this, I don’t have to do the final. You grade on this.” She looked you over and then turned once. You turned to the cast and sighed softly, nodding “The show will go on.” You shrugged, heaving up your trapper keeper.

“She doesn’t look right. She doesn’t have a costume.” Tammy whined.

“I will go to the school and get what we have left. I’m sure we have a pair of trousers and a puffed shirt for her to wear.” Mrs. Blackburn grabbed her purse off the makeup counter “Girls, work your magic on her.”

You put the last roller in Nicole’s hair and she grabbed your arm, pulling her into the chair next to her. “Grab that green skirt from last year!” Nicole called after her teacher “You’re gonna wear this dress for the opening. I’ll wear the skirt and whatever else she brings back, now let’s make you Viola.”

You were poked and prodded and burned until you were as close to looking like Heather as you were going to get. Then, you were stuffed into Nicole’s dress. Thankfully, Mrs. Blackburn had found two leftover puffy white shirts and a bodice, and the decision was made that you’d wear the rouge dress and she’d wear the green skirt from last year. It was a nice enough gesture, as was Tammy being forced to give up her extra pair of character shoes, which she did begrudgingly at the behest of Robin.

And then, you were stood offstage. And you were terrified. You’d never done this before. In your four years of stage managing, no one had ever called out of a performance, you’d never had to take over a role last minute. Your mind kept focusing on the discomfort of the costume. Nicole had tied your bodice too tight. Tammy’s shoes were too big. The skirt was too long. You were too wrong for this. You wanted to run. And then, the lights came up on Steve. Your breath caught in your throat as he spoke the opening lines so well and Robin began her first flute solo. Steve was doing wonderfully. With his left foot tapping lightly on the wooden stage floor, he knew what he was saying, even with distraction surrounding him. Internally, he felt as close to someone else as he’d ever felt in his life. Steve didn’t like that you weren’t in the audience to watch him, but he couldn’t see anyone with the lights on anyway. The audience clapped as he finished his scene and left with Dale, the lights going out fully as Robin cleared her chair and music stand and Gordon carried off the throne. Steve reached out and squeeze your shoulder with a kind smile.

“You have this,” he said softly. You heaved out a breath and stepped on the stage. You went right to the centre and right up to the edge, sitting down so your legs dangled off. You had no idea how Heather did this. You were too close to the audience. As the lights came up, you looked down at the lines in front of you. Dale stepped onto the stage in a sailor’s cap. He really had to play everyone in this stupid show. He nodded to you with a smile.

“What…” you voice came out in a whisper. No one could hear you. You took a breath, closing your eyes before trying again. “What country, friends, is this?” you asked loudly.

Dale’s smile grew. The scene was actually happening. “This is Illyria, lady.” He said, doing his best to sound like an old man.

The first scene was bumpy. Dale wanted to show off a bit and make the audience laugh, even though the scene was an info dump, which meant that you could just read the lines back to him and follow the blocking. You were more comfortable moving than you were speaking. But it got easier. Once you were dressed as Ceserio and working with Steve, things went smoother. You knew those scenes very well, the lines were almost memorized on your part from playing scene partner to him. Steve was fun to work with, he constantly made you smile.

It wasn’t hard for you to pretend to be in love with Steve. You felt like you were. Well, maybe not love. But like. Like a whole lot. And you were sure that he liked you to. Or maybe he was just that good of an actor.

The show went so fast. It was refreshing. Sat in the booth, it was a slog to get through, but onstage it went quick. You were nervous over the ending. You knew Heather’s last scene was a kiss with Steve. It wasn’t the passionate, intense kiss that Tammy and Gordon would do a scene before, but it was still a kiss. No matter how he felt about you, this was going to change your friendship forever.

You joined the cast last on stage, the who’s who of the plot being broken down, Steve was supposed to be mad when you came onstage, but he smiled like he’d seen what heaven looked like. You smiled up at Steve as the changed scene began, cutting the duel that leads the group into their explanations of the mix ups. Mrs. Blackwell hadn’t had the heart to cut a bit of Viola’s dialogue, so it lead the group into the explanations instead.

“After him I love, more than I love these eyes, more than my life, more by all the mores than e’er I shall love my wife.” You had no direction for what to do with the line. Heather had said it dramatically towards the audience. You turned your attention to Steve, caressing his face with your thumb. It was greedy, you were using the scene to get a bit of affection from the boy. You knew you shouldn’t, but you couldn’t help it. Steve seemed bewildered but happy, he fit the moment perfectly.

The scene continued as planned, with all the reveals shown to the characters and couples happily coupled off. Sebastian and Olivia were revealed to be married and that all was okay between Viola and Olivia once her gender was revealed.

Steve turned to you, smiling ear to ear “Boy, thou hast said to me a thousand times thou never shouldst love woman like me.” He took your hands in his squeezing them tight.

“And all those sayings will I over-swear, and all those swearing keep me as true in soul as doth orbed continent the fire that severs day from night.” You replied, matching his giddy grin. The kiss was coming soon, he had one more line and then he’d plant one on you.

“Give me thy hand,” you both looked down at your still clasped together hands. The audience chuckled. Steve pressed on “And let me see thee in thy woman’s weeds.” You and Nicole rushed offstage and quickly changed you into the dress again. You were all butterflies and pins and needles, shaking in your loose heels. Nicole brushed out your skirt and smiled, escorting you back onstage.

The audience clapped politely on your return, you tried your best to smile although was hard to breath with Steve looking at you like that. He scooped you up in his arms and kissed you quickly before you had a moment to react. You swore that he had a line before this happened but you didn’t care. Your script was out of your hands anyway, he’d knocked it out of your hands when he lifted you off the ground. You swore you were flying.

And then you were on the ground. Steve cleared his throat. He was blushing madly. He remembered his line. He turned to Tammy, who was holding back a laugh before turning back to you.

“Cesario, come! For so you shall be, while you are a man; but, when in other habits you are seen, Orsino’s mistress and his fancy’s queen.” He announced, grabbing your hand and sweeping you off the stage, Gordon and Tammy in close pursuit. Dale and Nicole still had a scene, which Mrs. Blackburn had changed for them to share. You weren’t paying attention to them though.

“Nice work,” Steve breathed, squeezing your hand in his.

“You surprised the hell outta me,” you chuckled “Made me lose my script.”

“You look really pretty like this,” Steve said. You looked at him carefully. He was sweaty and shy, his eye barely met yours.

You smiled “Thank you, you look good in cheap period costumes.” You knocked your hip into his, making him stumble just a bit. He grabbed your hip, pulling them parallel to his.

“Yeah?” he asked, bring his left hand to grab your chin.

You smiled “Oh yeah, definitely,” you wrapped an arm around his neck, pulling him down to kiss you again as Tammy and Gordon ran to grab you for curtain call. You didn’t care. Looking into Steve’s eyes, you knew he wasn’t a good enough actor to fake the way he looked at you. And you swore the world went silent in that moment, nothing standing between you and the swirling stars and hearts in his eyes.

[sa-gt-tarrius]

Liars Ahead: Proceed with Caution

Warnings:

Foul language, needles, lots of injuries, character death. Tread carefully!

@cakercanart @secret-shifters

This fic is a bit gritty, moreso than what I usually write. If it’s too much for you to handle, or if it’s just not up your alley and you don’t really like the harsher elements, please feel free to let me know! I’d be happy to edit it down to make it less angsty.

***

No one knew exactly how many secrets MIRA Incorporated kept under wraps.

Their kind of work demanded secrecy, of course. When a company is involved in such groundbreaking fields, they are bound to draw prying eyes. MIRA specialized in relativistic aeronautics, atmospheric engineering, and long-term spacefaring. These terms were new-age babble that roughly translated to “living in outer space.” MIRA studied things that science fiction nerds could only dream of seeing. 

However, MIRA understood that profits would tank if any old Joe Schmoe could walk into their headquarters and leak their data. It was no surprise, then, that the employees of MIRA knew so little about their own company. Most workers had to stay on their assigned floor for their entire careers. Three whole levels of clearance were required to use the fancy upstairs bathrooms!

But there was one thing that was no secret to anyone: MIRA was planning something big. Something amazing. And whatever it was, it was going to happen soon. Excited whispers swept through every office and laboratory—the company had something in store that would rock the world. 

But to Henry Newground, this was all a bit underwhelming.

Henry had been tirelessly working at MIRA HQ for five years. He was an accountant for MIRA’s payroll, which meant he spent most of the day staring at lists of numbers and rummaging through file cabinets. When he was first hired, Henry naively believed that he could climb the corporate ladder and become an astronaut if he just worked hard enough. But alas, it was not to be—even after long years of no sick days and lots of overtime, Henry was still a simple accountant. He fought tooth and nail for a goddamn raise, so it was no wonder that his dream job was a mere fantasy. 

At least, that’s what he thought. But then a letter appeared on his desk one morning. 

Mr. Henry Newground,

We at MIRA have accepted your application to join our spacefaring and research apprenticeship program. Enclosed in this letter is a Level 10 Clearance Card. You will need it to access the upper office on the 50th floor, where more details will be provided. Please come to the office as soon as your shift ends. 

Kind regards, 

Elliot Rose 

Chief Executive Officer of M.I.R.A. Incorporated 

At first, Henry thought this was just a joke. His boss Kerri didn’t mention the letter all day, so she must’ve not known about it. (Either that or she had been in on it the whole time. She was a well-known jokester, after all.) And none of Henry’s coworkers spared him a second glance as he quietly left at five o’clock to head upstairs. 

The security guard at the elevator tried to turn Henry away, which seemed to confirm his just-a-prank theory. But as Henry fumbled over a frantic apology, trying to explain that he must have been set up by his coworkers, the security guard spotted a shiny blue rectangle dangling from Henry’s neck: a Level 10 Clearance Card. The guard opened the elevator door without a word, ushering the confused man inside and pressing the button for the fiftieth floor. 

“Ms. Rose doesn’t usually let people into her office,” the guard murmured as the elevator ascended ominously. “You must be helping with that big project they’re talking about. All the nerds upstairs won’t shut up about it.”

“Sh–she said she’d give me details when I got to her office.” Henry spun to face the guard, his face scrunched up anxiously. “Do I look okay? I didn’t have time to put on a suit…”

“You look fine. Stand up straight, we’re almost there.”

Given the air of mystery surrounding the upper floors of the building, Henry had no idea what to expect. But what he didn’t anticipate was to be met with a gust of wind. Henry shielded his eyes as a glare of sunlight began to burn his retinas. He was outdoors—on the roof of the building. It looked like a helicopter pad, only much, much larger. 

The security officer cleared his throat, gently ushering Henry out of the elevator. He jutted his finger towards the other side of the launch pad, towards a hallway that led back inside the building. “Just follow the path for a bit, and then take the left path at the fork. If you make it to the greenhouse, you went too far.” 

“Er, thanks…”

“And make sure you knock. Ms. Rose hates when people barge in.”

Henry nodded tentatively. He took a deep breath and marched towards the entryway, determined to get to the office before chickening out. 

The upper floors weren’t that unusual, Henry thought as he trotted along. He passed by a smelly locker room, a tiny medical bay, and a grimy computer room. Nothing about this place seemed particularly flashy or elite. Henry was starting to think he was on the wrong floor. 

Henry made the left turn, as the guard told him, and arrived in a small alcove with three rooms. One of the rooms was a lab of some sort, although it was barren and empty for the time being. The room ahead was filled with bushes and shrubs, with a large glass tube in the centre. And the last one was closed—a sign reading “please knock” hung nearly on the doorknob. 

Henry knocked three times and yanked his hand away like the wood was searing hot. 

Then the door creaked open. 

No one knew much about Ms. Elliot Rose. Even the managers and supervisors scarcely spoke of her at all. Henry honestly had no idea what to anticipate from her, aside from the cutthroat ruthlessness most company owners tended to have. But instead of a snide, fierce woman who could tear him apart with a glance, the woman standing in the open doorway was hardly remarkable. She was just barely taller than Henry, no older than thirty, and her red hair bristled out in all directions like she hadn’t brushed it in days. Her eyes were bagged and sunken, almost sickly, and her gaze was panicked and wild for a moment before locking onto Henry. 

She frowned. “Can I help you?”

“Ms. Rose?” Henry tried, unsure if he was truly talking to the CEO of the largest corporation on the planet. “My name is H–Henry Newground. I was told to come here at five, I–I have a clearance card if you need to see it—”

“Oh, right. Henry.” The woman suddenly straightened up, swinging the door open fully and gesturing for Henry to enter. “Thank you for coming. I’m sorry to inconvenience you like this.”

“It’s fine. I’m sorry for the delay.” Henry stepped inside, clearing his throat in a sorry attempt to appear composed. The room was nothing special—just a small office with four computer desks and a box-shaped radio. The woman took a seat at the messiest desk, leaning back into the chair. Henry claimed an empty chair from a desk nearby, bouncing his leg anxiously. “So, um… about this spacefaring program…”

Elliot Rose smiled, sinking into the chair cushion and leaning back. “I’ve looked over your application and was very happy with what I saw. I think you have potential, Henry.”

“Thank you,” Henry sputtered, baffled and giddy that the CEO was singing such high praises of him. “I’ve always loved learning about space, you know. That’s why I applied for this job. Even as a kid, I—”

“That’s great, Henry,” Elliot hummed, slipping out a gaping yawn before continuing. “Anyway, I just wanted to run a couple of things by you before we send you off. You got your master's degree in microbiology from Harvard, correct? I’ve also heard you’ve taken courses in astrophysics.”

Henry nodded eagerly. “That’s right. I’ve also taken extracurricular classes on geology, I was the leader of the chess club… a–and I sold drinks at the campus football games,” he finished lamely.

“You see, Henry,” Elliot drawled, twirling a pen with her fingers, “I have thirty-four other applicants with higher education than you do. Half of them have three or more doctorates. I don’t care much about your education.” She leaned forward, crossing her arms firmly over the desk. Something glinted behind her eyes—it was impossible to read. “But you have special skills, ones that could greatly benefit my crew.” Elliot leaned forward, crossing her arms firmly over the desk. “Our coordinators are getting ready to send supplies to Polus on a small dropship. The trip will last about two days. I want you on that ship before it takes off.”

“Y–you want—” Henry choked on his breath. “You want me to go to space?”

Elliot smirked. “Is that a problem?”

“I–I just— Y–you don’t— W–well—“

“Use your words, Henry.”

“I’m just…” Henry sputtered, struggling to find words to say. “Don’t I need training?”

“You don’t sound very excited… I thought you would be happy about this. Didn’t you apply to join our spacefaring program last year?”

“I mean, yeah.” Henry shuffled in his seat awkwardly. “But my application was turned down. I didn’t have enough education for it. Why do you want me now?”

“Things change,” Elliot laughed. “I’d like to personally ask you to join the Polus crew and help document alien life.”

The two fell silent. 

Elliot smirked coyly. “Is that a yes?”

“I–I mean, absolutely,” Henry sputtered. “I’m just… a little confused. Are you sure you’ve got the right person?”

“I most certainly do,” Elliot replied. 

“Okay,” Henry muttered, unsure of how he managed to get into this strange situation with no warning. “So… what now?”

“Go home, get some sleep, and come back here tomorrow. Same time, of course. I’ll get you all the details by then.” 

“Okay.”

“Have a good night, Henry.”

“Th–thanks.”

Henry’s head was still spinning as he made his way out of Elliot’s office. 

“You alright, buddy?” the security guard piped as Henry entered the elevator, his eyebrow raised curiously. “You look like you’re gonna pass out.”

“I’m fine.” Henry gripped his forehead, fighting off another dizzy spell. Butterflies were forming in the pit of his stomach as the elevator descended. “I just need to go home.”

And that’s exactly what Henry did. As soon as he fetched his lunch kit from the office fridge, the young man hopped into his SUV and drove straight home. Not even bothering to change out of his work uniform, Henry collapsed on the bed. His head continued spinning. 

Surely this was a big joke. 

Elliot herself said that many people were far more qualified than he was. So why was she so adamant about having Henry on her crew? It made no sense. 

Henry knew he wouldn’t have gotten any answers that night, not by muttering and mumbling into his pillow like a lunatic. He’d have to get the details tomorrow like Elliot told him to. So instead of uselessly mulling it over, Henry plucked his phone off the side table and quickly dialled a number. The phone barely had time to ring before someone on the other end picked up. “Hey, sweetie. How was work today?”

“Hi Henry, it was good! What about you?”

“Well, I–I was called into a meeting by the CEO. She said she wanted me in her spacefaring program.”

“Oh, that’s… hang on. Are you serious? They accepted you?!”

“Yeah. She asked me to help with some research. She said she was impressed by my application and—”

“You’re going to space!” A young woman’s voice bubbled ecstatically over the phone. She laughed and giggled, even belting out an excited shriek for good measure. “I’m so proud of you! I knew you’d get in, I just knew it!”

“You did, yeah.”

“God, I wish I could be there right now,” the woman chuckled. “I want to give you a big hug.”

Henry smiled faintly. “Thanks, sweetie.”

“I’m going to go buy a bunch of chocolates for you today. I don’t know if it’ll get delivered before you leave, but it can at least be a welcome-back present.”

“Oh, you don’t have to, Sigrid,” Henry replied. “How would you even send it? The post office won’t accept packages that big. I don’t even know if a box of chocolates would fit in the mail truck.”

The woman, presumably named Sigrid, huffed indignantly. “Well, fine. I’ll just think of something else.”

Henry had never actively sought out a relationship. He was too focused on work to consider dating, and his social circle wasn’t large enough for him to start dating around. And yet, for three years now, Henry had been in a lovely relationship with a woman named Sigrid Brandson. She lived in northwestern Canada (according to her), far away from any large cities, and Henry wasn’t yet lucky enough to meet her face-to-face. 

The reason? Sigrid was a giant. 

There few places giants and humans could casually be together—and much fewer ways to travel to each other—so they usually spent their time on the phone or video calls. Henry didn’t mind much, although it was disheartening to have never kissed Sigrid even after years of being committed. 

It was thanks to Sigrid that Henry learned to speak and write Riesian, the language of the giants. When the two first met on an online fan forum, Sigrid spoke very little English, and Henry didn’t even know the Riesian language existed. But with time and effort, the two were able to cross the language barrier, eventually teaching each other their native tongues. 

“Do you know where you’re going?”

“Yeah, she said I’m going to a planet called Polus. They have a research base set up there.”

“Polus?” Sigrid repeated. “Oh… that’s… that’s nice.”

It was then that Henry realized Sigrid’s voice had become a tad crestfallen. He frowned. “Everything good?”

“Just… be careful out there,” Sigrid murmured. “I know it’s probably fine and I’m worrying about nothing, but make sure you stay safe, okay? And call me if you can. I’m so proud of you, Henry.” She suddenly stopped speaking English and switched to Riesian. 

“Bai tcho eim, honey.” 

Be safe.

***

On the days leading up to takeoff, Elliot had been vigorously training Henry. He learned how to fix wiring issues, how to power up engines, how to use the weather nodes, and how to examine and sort specimens that were brought into the base. Henry was very quickly becoming a rather competent spacefarer. 

But still, Henry was on edge. Despite the training and the reassurances from Elliot, something didn’t sit quite right. But none of that mattered—before he knew it, Henry was stuffed into a white spacesuit, complete with the MIRA logo and the American flag emblazoned on the shoulders. Dozens of people swarmed around him, talking to each other and furiously taking notes. A brisk wind punctuated the murmur of the crowd. 

Elliot knelt before him, her hands running along the fabric to make sure the suit would fit Henry. 

“You’ll be accompanying Aesir Vidstrom while you’re on Polus,” she said as she worked. “He’s the new chief of medical staff. He’ll meet you at the landing site and help you get settled in.” Elliot fiddled with the straps on Henry’s waist, tightening the suit until it fit. Henry was quite a few inches shorter than prior astronauts, so his spacesuit needed to be altered before he could use it. “You’re to stay with Aesir at all times unless he says otherwise. Is that clear?”

Henry nodded and glanced away, choosing to stare at the looming spaceship atop the crowded launchpad—a dropship, Elliot had called it. The ship was fairly large, about eight meters in height and width, and the nose stretched outwards almost twelve meters. The jet black paint glistened in the early morning sun, and Henry’s nose crinkled at the smell of something burning. 

“And remember, my crew is always on standby. We’ll be ready to help you whenever you need it.”

“Th–thank you, ma’am.”

“Don’t mention it.” Elliot finally stepped away from Henry, admiring the finished spacesuit. “I think you’re ready. Let’s get you out of here.” She turned around, facing the crowd, and raised her voice. “Five minutes to takeoff!”

“Five minutes!” someone screamed over the din. “Fire up the reactors!”

“Starting reactors! Diverting power to the left and right engines! Standby…”

“All clear, ma’am! Someone get Newground on board!”

“Let’s go, Henry.” Elliot shoved Henry towards the dropship. The large metal plating began to slide up, similar to a garage door. A pair of men in uniform guided Henry up the steps and into the cabin of the ship. Ten plush seats lined the walls—Henry took a tentative seat in the closest one, the farthest to the left, and began to buckle himself in. The men in uniform quickly left as the engine roar increased in volume. The other staff members gathered along the edges of the launch pad in anticipation. 

“Good luck, Henry!” Elliot hollered, waving her arm up over the crowd. “You'll do great, I know it!”

Before Henry could reply, the door began to slide shut. The ship shivered and groaned, and within seconds, the whole thing began to rise and sway. Henry barely had time to squeeze his eyes shut before the ship suddenly lurched forward at unimaginable speeds. 

The poor man clenched his seatbelt like a lifeline. He knew takeoff would only last a minute or two, and yet the ordeal seemed to last a lifetime. Henry felt his body being squished against the chair, constructing his lungs and preventing him from breathing. As much as he tried to, he couldn’t even scream. 

And then, as quickly as it began, everything started to slow down again. The roar of the engine faded somewhat, and the whole cabin gradually stopped shaking. Henry wasn’t quite confident enough to get out of the seat, so he remained strapped in, gasping heavily as he tried to soothe his racing heart. 

Finally, when everything was calm, Henry shakily unbuckled himself and rose to stand. As he shuffled through the cabin, he took the time to properly examine the interior of the dropship he would be riding in. There were various steel crates scattered about, each containing canned rations and various tools. A small laptop was placed on the smallest crate, detailing the dropship’s velocity, fuel levels, turbulence, and current distance from Polus. He made a mental note to check on it later to make sure everything was normal. 

And then, on the starboard side of the ship, a solitary window glimmered.

Henry dared himself to peer outside. 

He paused, then gasped.

Even after seeing outer space countless times in photographs and videotapes, Henry was still gobsmacked by the vast starry void before him. To his right, the planet Earth was rapidly shrinking as he blasted further away, and the sun was a mere speck of light in the distance. This wasn’t a fantasy anymore—Henry was hurtling through the solar system in a spaceship, making his way towards an alien planet. 

A childish grin crept onto his face. 

This was it. After years of daydreaming, Henry was a real-life astronaut—his younger self would be so proud. Henry was so ecstatic that his earlier anxieties and frustrations were completely forgotten, left behind on his home planet. 

In less than two days, Henry would arrive on Polus to begin his spacefaring apprenticeship. He kept thinking about Sigrid, imagining all the stories he’d get to tell her when he got back to Earth. 

This was going to be amazing.

He just hoped nothing would go wrong. 

***

The trip to Polus was progressing faster than Henry ever expected. He wondered how MIRA’s ships could move so quickly and yet use so little fuel—it was a blessing of science, to be sure. 

But by the twentieth hour of the trip came and went, Henry felt anything but blessed. 

There wasn’t much for entertainment in the dropship. Henry could only fumble around on the laptop, gaze out of the window, or pace the cabin a few times. The boredom was excruciating, but the anticipation was even worse. Luckily, Elliot had reached out to him a few times via video calls, answering questions and keeping him company during the arduous journey to Polus. 

“Any turbulence today?” she asked. 

“None,” Henry replied. “No asteroids, either. Everything is fine so far.”

Elliot smiled. “Good. The dropship has a bit of a reputation for rough rides, so I was worried about engine damage. Seems like I was worried about nothing.”

The two made idle conversation every four hours or so, which was a welcome distraction. As much as Henry adored being in space for the first time, he couldn’t deny how lonely and boring it was. And having someone like Elliot to guide him was another welcome addition, even if her presence unnerved Henry somewhat. 

Two more days passed. Henry was munching on his lunch ration. He’d opened the package to find sliced canned meat—bland and oily and smelly. But with the addition of some crackers and canned oranges, the meal made for a decent lunch. However, before he was even halfway finished eating, a rumbling began to overtake the cabin. His lunch contained tumbled onto its side, spilling cracker crumbs all over the floor. Henry instinctively latched onto a nearby crate, trying his best not to fall over as the entire ship swayed. 

A synthetic voice rose over the fray. “Entering the Polus mesosphere,” it announced in a polite, monotonous tone. “Current velocity: 326 miles per hour. Engine temperature: nominal. Distance from indicated landing site: estimate of 833 miles. Please fasten your seatbelt and prepare for landing.”

Henry was knocked to the ground as the shaking intensified. The ship was approaching Polus, and fast. He crawled to the nearest seat, restraining himself a bit too tightly in his haste. The voice continued droning on as the ship entered the planet’s atmosphere. 

“786 miles… 721 miles… 678 miles…”

And then a deafening screech sounded from above. Henry winced and tightened his grip on the seatbelt as the ship suddenly did a nosedive. 

“504 miles… 452 miles…”

A siren overhead wailed loudly. Bright red lights flashed in the corners of his eyes. 

“310 miles… 259 miles…”

Something was very, very wrong. 

“199 miles… 97 miles…”

He braced himself. 

“12 miles… 2 miles…”

Everything went white. 

***

“Come on, don’t die on me.”

Black dots continued to bounce in Henry’s vision as his mind stirred. The young man let out a miserable groan, clutching his forehead painfully. 

“That’s it… Wake up, little guy…”

Henry paused. It took him a moment to realize that the voice overhead wasn’t speaking English. It took two more seconds to realize that the voice was extremely loud, almost like it was coming from a speaker. 

Both these mysteries were solved as soon as he opened his eyes. 

A monstrously large figure loomed above, blocking out the light of the bulb dangling overhead. Ginormous eyes, hazel and bright, were locked onto Henry’s trembling body. And it—he—was smiling gently. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” the giant man murmured in Riesian. “I’m not gonna hurt you, little guy.”

Henry swallowed hard. He took a moment to gather himself so he wouldn’t have a panic attack, then turned his attention back to the giant face hanging above him. The huge, strange man cocked his head curiously. “Ah geez, I hope you’re not broken or anything… That would suck.” The voice boomed and shook Henry’s core, even though the giant was trying to speak softly. Henry couldn’t even keep eye contact without his heart dropping, so he kept his gaze locked onto the giant’s chest. He only barely noticed the white MIRA spacesuit the giant wore, identical to Henry’s suit in every way aside from its massive size. “Oh yeah, you can’t understand me, huh? Maybe we have a translator lying around here…”

“I–I am fine,” Henry fumbled in awkward Riesian, forcing his voice not to waver. He wasn’t even sure if he was even speaking correctly—but he was too nervous to care about his grammar. Fluency was the least of his problems. “I am okay.”

“Sweet.” The giant nodded, froze, then gasped. “...Wait, you can understand me?”

“I d–d–do.”

“But you’re human.” The giant’s face descended further—huge strands of curly brown hair brushed along Henry’s stomach. “Humans don’t speak Riesian.”

“Y–you’re right,” Henry murmured, flinching away from the enormous eyes drilling into him. “It’s a long story.”

The giant suddenly scoffed, his sheepish half-smile giving way to a full grin. “Cheeky bugger, huh? The name’s Aesir. What’s yours?”

“You are Aesir?” Henry perked up. “Aesir Vidstrom?”

Aesir’s eyebrows shot up. “Uh, yeah. You’ve heard of me?”

Henry licked his lips, trying to remember some difficult Riesian words. “You are a… scientist. A space e–explorer. B–b–but Ms. Rose… never said you are a… giant.”

“How about that,” Aesir laughed, stroking his chin. “Never thought I’d meet a human like you.”

Thinking for a moment, Aesir snapped his fingers in a sudden realization. 

“Oh, wait—then that would make you what’s-his-name, right? HQ said some random new guy was on his way. But they never said you’d be a human. That’s MIRA for you, I guess… If they were stupid enough to wreck your ship, then they’d forget to mention that.”

“Wreck my ship?” Henry repeated slowly. Memories began flooding back into his mind. The alarms, the flashing lights, the sudden nosedive…

The dropship crashed. 

“Wait, then I—” 

“Whoa, whoa, slow down, buddy.” The giant winced when Henry scrambled to sit up. “Take it easy, yeah?” Aesir paused for a moment, tapping his foot a few times. “Actually… Wait here for a sec, alright? I need to grab something.”

With that, Aesir moved away to shuffle out of sight.

With the enormous face out of his vision, Henry was able to sit up and finally assess the surrounding area, hissing a bit as he aggravated his injury. He was sitting on a mattress that stretched several meters in every direction. The blue sheets and white pillow were reminiscent of a gurney, like ones you might find in a hospital. And sure enough, upon closer inspection, the room appeared to be a small medical bay, white walls and smell of disinfectant included. There were three other identical beds lined between curtain barriers, just like the bed he was sitting on. Henry peered to the right. He could see the silhouette of Aesir leaned over a countertop through the wall of curtains. 

What was he doing over there?

Henry forced himself to speak. “This is Polus?”

“Sure is,” Aesir replied from beyond the curtain wall. “You were lucky you made it this far on that hunk of junk—if your ship malfunctioned any sooner, you might’ve crashed into an asteroid or something.” Aesir came back into view, sidestepping the curtain to approach Henry. “Now stay still.”

“I… uh…” Henry held up his hands, carefully scooting back a few inches. Aesir hadn’t come back to Henry empty-handed; in his left palm, the giant cradled a glass syringe filled with a bluish liquid. The needle was almost six feet tall, taller than Henry was. “I–I do not need that.”

“Yes, you do. Come over here.” 

“It is t–too big,” Henry wavered, curling in on himself as Aesir continued to approach. “Nothing hurts. I am… un–uninjured. Do not need that. Do not need it.”

Listening to Henry’s trembling voice and weak attempts to dissuade him, Aesir’s face fell. “Look,” he whispered, getting onto his knees to kneel by the bed, “don’t make this harder than it needs to be. When we’re in medbay, I’m the boss.” The giant slowly reached out his free hand, grasping Henry’s shoulder with his enormous finger and thumb. His other hand, the one bearing the syringe, began to drift closer to Henry. “Now stay still, or this will hurt more than it needs to.”

In a fright, Henry leapt away from Aesir’s hand in a frantic escape attempt. He scrambled across the sheet, making a beeline for the white pillow at the head of the bed. 

“Shit—” Aesir cursed under his breath, tossing the needle to the side. He made a lunge forward, both hands outstretched, reaching for Henry’s tiny form. Before Henry could reach the pillows, the terrified human being suddenly found himself encased in musty, cramped darkness. His stomach sank when he realized what just happened—Aesir had trapped him in his hands. 

A feeling of intense vertigo overcame him as Aesir stood up straight; he felt himself being slammed against the giant palm beside him. Despite being very obviously trapped, Henry continued to squirm, searching in vain for an opening to crawl through. He pawed at the skin surrounding him, growing ever more desperate. 

And then a light shone through the fingers above him. “Stop being a brat,” Aesir muttered. Henry opened his mouth to retort, but his breath hitched in his throat when a sharp pain pierced his lower back. He let out a strangled sob, trying not to thrash around and hurt himself more. 

Aesir hummed contentedly. “There we go… nice and easy.” The needle retracted as quickly as it was injected. Henry took the moment of reprieve to dry his eyes and ease his pounding heart. “Told you it wasn’t that bad,” he chuckled. “Just be thankful it wasn’t worse.” 

Henry refused to reply—he focused on keeping his eyes locked downward. Aesir’s lack of empathy was beginning to unsettle him; although the giant paid lip service to Henry’s discomfort, he ultimately seemed to care very little about the pain and terror he was causing. 

Aesir, oblivious to Henry’s plight, lifted his hands to his face, staring down the sniffling, petrified human with unbridled excitement. “Well, now that you’re all drugged up, I figure we’re good to get your suit back on. Don’t want you freezing out here, you know.”

“Suit?” Ah, yes. They were in space, after all. It made sense that he should have to wear a spacesuit, even if they were indoors. “O–okay.”

Aesir pulled his left hand away from Henry, reaching for the nearby countertop. His hand returned quickly, dangling the white spacesuit with his index and thumb. “Legs up, bud. Let’s get you dressed.”

“I can do it,” Henry said quickly, knowing exactly where this conversation was going. 

“Yeah, nah,” Aesir chuckled. “Doctor’s orders. Now hold still this time, you brat.”

Henry huffed pointedly, knowing that he wouldn’t be getting out of this. With heavy reluctance, Henry slowly raised his legs into the air, allowing Aesir to slip the pant legs on, followed by the sleeves and the helmet. Unfortunately, the visor was cracked along the upper edge, but Aesir urged him not to worry. “The glass is three layers thick,” he explained. “You’ll be fine until we can get a replacement.” Surprisingly, Henry didn’t quite believe him. 

Henry had only just gotten the suit fitted (or rather, Aesir did the fitting for him) when someone suddenly spoke up. “Aesir.”

At the sound of the firm, strange voice, Henry flinched. His eyes landed on a figure standing in the corner of the room, dressed in a bulky green spacesuit. Henry couldn’t see her face—the light of the room reflected off the visor, obscuring whatever was behind the glass. Henry briefly imagined that she looked like a war veteran, stoic and hardened, probably with lots of scars decorating their skin.

“Oh, Svikari!” Aesir whirled around at the voice, clearing his throat and donning a lopsided grin. “What brings you here?”

“I came to see the human.” The woman, presumably named Svikari, barely budged as she spoke. It was like she was a statue with a voice of its own. “But I see you’ve taken care of things. I’ll be on my way, then.”

Aesir choked on something. “W–wait! Hang on a tic, alright? Why the hurry?”

Svikari cocked her head, acting as though Aesir’s question was incredibly stupid. “I have work to do. I came to see how the human was doing, and now I have to go.”

“Well, hang on,” Aesir stammered, fumbling over his words. “How about you come with me to storage today? I have to do some refuelling there.”

“I don’t have any tasks in storage today,” Svikari replied curtly.

“Come on, boss,” Aesir urged, lowering his voice. “It’s safer in groups. You know that.” He perked up a bit, raising his cupped hands. Not expecting to be jerked upward, Henry was almost launched off his palms. “A–and I know you wanna meet the human! He’s kind of bratty, but I think you’ll like him.”

Svikari paused. “Hello, human,” she said softly. “I trust you’ve been treated well?”

Henry hesitated. What was he supposed to say? He was tempted to start ratting off all the bruises he was getting thanks to Aesir, but he bit his tongue. Would he get in trouble if he told the truth? This Svikari character seemed far less sympathetic than Aesir, so perhaps there would be no point in complaining. They might even hurt him even more for speaking up. So he swallowed his pride and nodded slowly. “Y–yes, I am fine.” 

Svikari paused, glancing between Henry, who shuddered under her scrutinizing gaze, and Aesir, who smiled hopefully. 

“If you’re that afraid to go alone, I suppose I can come,” Svikari sighed. 

“I’m not scared!” Aesir retorted, tightening his painful grip on Henry. “I just don’t wanna get jumped in there.” Shrugging, Aesir once again prodded Henry in the stomach, chuckling as he did so. “I guess if an imposter shows up, I can use Henry as bait. You wouldn’t mind, right bud?”

Svikari laughed in reply, although something about her tone seemed… off. Henry wasn’t able to tell if the laughter was genuine or sarcastic. Henry said nothing at first, focusing on clutching his stomach to keep himself from throwing up. 

“I–imposters?” Henry finally coughed. “What are imposters?”

“Oops.” Aesir winced painfully. “Uh, well… we weren’t supposed to tell you.”

“I see no harm in explaining,” Svikari interjected. “If he’s going to stay here, he should know.”

“But Ms. Rose said—”

“I’ll handle Rose. Just keep your mouth shut.”

Aesir groaned, scrunching up his face in discomfort. “I mean… you’re the boss, dude. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. She’s scary when she gets mad.”

“Thank you, Aesir.” Svikari nodded, finally turning her attention back to Henry. “I assume Elliot never told you about the strange happenings on this base?”

“N–no.”

“I thought not. It’s in her best interest to keep this all a secret, after all.” Svikari folded her arms, exuding that terrifying, ominous energy that only giants were capable of. “Elliot probably told you that we found life on this planet. The life forms we discovered are what we’ve been calling imposters—carnivorous, man-eating shapeshifters that we’ve been trying to get rid of for the last few months.”

Henry felt his stomach drop. Carnivores? Man-eating? Shapeshifters? Someone had to be pulling his leg at this point. “Ms. Rose said you found plant life,” he countered quickly, not willing to believe Svikari’s wild claims. “She said nothing about aliens.”

“That’s because she was lying.”

“B–but why would she lie?”

“Telling people would be bad for business, I guess. Who knows what goes on in her head.” Svikari shrugged weakly. “Imposters have been wreaking lots of havoc lately. They kill the lights, mess with the reactors, cut off the oxygen supply… and I’m willing to bet they caused your ship to crash.”

“You’re right,” Aesir gasped. “I didn’t even think about that. They probably messed with the radio signals or something.” 

“We’re pretty sure we got rid of them for now, at least.”

“Don’t speak too soon,” Aesir corrected. “Remember what happened to Tor?”

“Of course I do,” Svikari huffed. “It took Bastion weeks to get the blood out of the carpet.”

Oh, dear god. 

There was no room for doubt, then. Henry began to tremble, tears causing his eyes to glimmer. What sort of cruel joke was the universe playing on him? After so long, he manages to achieve his dream of becoming an astronaut, only to find himself stranded on a faraway planet with malicious giants and man-eating aliens. Some malicious deity had to be laughing their ass off right about now. 

“Aww, don’t worry, little guy!” Aesir cooed behind his visor, bouncing the human seated in his hand. “Big bad imposter people can’t hurt you out here.”

While Aesir continued to coo condescending reassurances, bouncing his hand in what was supposed to be a comforting gesture, Svikari stared thoughtfully at the minuscule human. Henry had no idea what was going on in that strange head of hers. Henry simply gripped the coarse fabric of Aesir’s glove, trying his best not to descend into a full-blown breakdown. 

“We should be going,” Svikari said suddenly. “Let’s take care of refuelling so I can finish my tasks.” 

Aesir hummed in agreement. “Okay. Let’s go.” 

***

If Henry was being frank, which he usually wasn’t, he’d say that Polus was a bit… underwhelming. If he wasn’t looking at the dank, snowy, barren landscape, or the abnormally large scale of everything around him, Henry would truly believe he was still on earth. Still, Aesir seemed determined to remind Henry just how small he was at any given opportunity. He’d croon, poke, and tease him incessantly, despite Henry’s continual whimpers of disapproval. 

Thankfully, it didn’t take long for Aesir to fill up the fuel tank in the storage room, which was a cramped little building in the centre of the base. Svikari decided to just follow Aesir around until all his tasks were done, with the promise that Aesir would return the favour afterward. 

Svikari offered to carry Henry while Aesir worked. The giant was visibly hesitant about this proposition, refusing the offer the first few times Svikari asked. But eventually, Aesir relented, and Henry had been relegated to riding in Svikari’s hands. Henry sat in silence, rubbing his newfound bruises absently. He briefly wondered if someone would give him painkillers if he asked, but he pushed the thought away. There’s no chance they’d even consider the idea. 

“Almost done,” Aesir announced after a while, leading the group down a long hallway. Small patches of snow crunched beneath their boots as they trudged along. “I just gotta check the oxygen supply. Svikari, what tasks do you have left?”

A beat of silence passed before an answer came out. “O–oh, I need to fill the air canisters,” Svikari said quickly, stumbling over her words a bit. “And then I have to upload some data to HQ.”

“Cool.” Aesir glanced behind him, eyeing Henry with a cheeky grin. “You good back there, pipsqueak? Need anything?”

“No,” Henry mumbled. 

Aesir laughed, unfazed by Henry’s sneering tone. “Alright, don’t get your panties in a knot.”

After his initial wave of terror had passed, Henry found himself becoming increasingly agitated. He was upset with Aesir for terrorizing him in the lab. He was angry at Elliot for sending him to Polus. And he was mad at Svikari, too. He didn’t have a reason to be, but darn it, he was mad anyway. 

Henry was broken out of his thoughts when something brushed against his shoulder—a thumb. “Hey.” Svikari tapped him gently, her head tilted to the side. “You look upset. Is everything ok?”

With her intimidating presence, Henry could barely keep his eyes on Svikari. His eyes drifted to the ground, locked into his feet as he replied quietly. “Yes.”

“It doesn’t look like it,” the giant prodded. “Did he... Did Aesir hurt you? You don’t look too good.”

Henry bit his lip nervously. “N–no, he didn’t.”

Svikari sighed. “You’re lying. I can tell.” She adjusted her hands, swiveling Henry around so he had to face her completely. “Tell me what happened.”

“I–I...” Henry backpedalled, scooting as far away from Svikari’s looming face. He found his back pressing against Svikari’s curled fingers, and through the shimmering glass, he could almost see two pleading eyes locked into him. “H–he didn’t mean to. I just... wh–when he tried to give me those medications, I tried to run away—”

“What?” Svikari frowned. “Hang on, back up. What medications? What are you talking about?”

“U–um, he didn’t say what it was. Maybe it was a painkiller.”

“...Did he use a needle? Was it a blue liquid?”

“H–how did you know that?”

Svikari fell silent. She glanced towards Aesir, who was walking a ways ahead, and her muscles tensed. “That wasn’t a painkiller,” she said lowly. “It’s an experimental drug that our old medical chief was working on. We aren’t allowed to use it until we test it, since it killed our test subjects a few days ago. Aesir seriously could have killed you.”

Henry’s heart dropped into his stomach.

“I knew something was fishy,” Svikari growled, her grip on Henry tightening slightly. “Aesir was just an intern until our old medical chief got killed by impostors. No one thinks he’s cut out for the position, but we don’t have anyone else who’s even remotely qualified.”

Silence overcame them for a few minutes.

“Aesir,” Svikari finally called, a hard edge lining her voice. “Can we talk?”

Aesir stopped in his tracks. He turned to Svikari questioningly. “Hey, boss. What’s up?”

“About that drug you were working on... Have you tested it lately?”

Aesir paused, tapping his foot as he descended into thought. “Hmm... No, I don’t think so. Not since the rats died on me.”

“I see.” Svikari huffed indignantly. If she weren’t holding Henry, she most certainly would be crossing her arms. “So you haven’t used it at all since then?”

“Nope.”

“That’s funny,” she laughed. “Because I’m pretty sure you used it on the human this morning.”

Aesir’s arms and shoulders locked up.

“Am I right?”

“...Did he tell you that?”

“No, I figured it out.”

“Oh.” Aesir looked down at Henry, a faint scowl crossing his face before he turned his attention back to Svikari. “Don’t tell anyone,” he breathed. “Please. I could get fired.”

“That’s what you’re worried about?” Svikari snapped. “You weren’t worried about killing him? God, it’s just like you to pull a stunt like that. You only care about yourself.”

“I–it’s not like that, boss. I promise.”

Svikari groaned, rubbing her face with her free hand. “I won’t tell anyone. But you have to get your act together or I’m bringing this issue to the captain.” Her fingers curled inward, shielding Henry from Aesir’s view. “And until then, I’m revoking your jurisdiction over the human. He’ll be accompanying me from now on.”

“But I—”

“Is that a problem?”

“N–no, ma’am,” Aesir replied shakily. “You’re the boss.”

“Good.” Svikari nodded firmly. “Now, then... let’s finish our tasks before I change my mind.”

Aesir nodded, ducked his head, and continued walking in silence. His footsteps clomped much faster than before, but Svikari continued at her usual slower pace.

“I’ll take care of this, Henry,” she whispered. “Don’t worry.”

Way to make an impossible request. Henry wasn’t just worried—he was terrified. Not only did Aesir try to make him a test subject for his weird new drug, but now he had to face the wrath of the very giant that could have killed him. The only thing standing between himself and Aesir was Svikari, who Henry wasn’t even sure he could trust.

Svikari probably meant well. At least, Henry wanted to believe that. But something was off about her that Henry couldn’t quite pinpoint. The way she carried herself, her odd way of speaking, her constant bouts of silence… She was weird. No one would deny that.

But there was something else. Svikari wasn’t just strange—she was downright creepy. She obviously knew much more than she was letting on, and Henry couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d met her somewhere before. 

And then a thought struck him. 

Henry craned his neck up to look at Svikari’s visor, and through the glass, he could almost spot the outline of two large eyes. “How do you know my name?” he asked. 

“You told me earlier, remember?”

“No, I didn’t. I never told you my name. Neither did Aesir.”

“Oh.” Svikari slowed to a stop. She glanced at Aesir, who was too far ahead to hear them conversing. The giant huffed and lowered her voice, a frantic tinge lining her words. “I’ll… I’ll tell you later.”

“No. Tell me now.” Henry wasn’t sure why he felt so brave all of a sudden; maybe he was fed up with being constantly treated like a child, or maybe he was just experiencing an adrenaline rush. But he felt he had nothing else to lose at this point—Henry wouldn’t be giving up until he got an answer. “What’s your deal?”

“Deal?” Svikari laughed nervously. “I… I don’t have a deal. I’m just Svikari.”

Henry found it a bit strange that Svikari was caving so easily to his interrogation. She had no problem shutting down Aesir, so why was she losing face in front of a human? It made no sense. But Henry was beginning to put puzzle pieces together. Svikari knew Henry’s name. She was invested in keeping him safe. She was able to tell when he was lying. And here she was, her tail tucked between her legs, being verbally grilled by a human being. 

This Svikari person… seemed awfully familiar.

“Are you?” Henry glared daggers at Svikari’s visor. “Because I don’t think you’re telling the truth. Is that even your real name?”

“It’s—!”

 “Tell me the truth!” Henry hollered, throwing his arms to the air in frustration. “I’m tired of being babied! I’m tired of you two hiding things from me! Tell me the truth right now!”

“Okay, okay!” Svikari hissed. “Keep your voice down, alright? I don’t want Aesir listening.”

At that, Henry sobered a bit, tossing a cautious glance at Aesir walking ahead. Luckily, he didn’t seem to have heard anything. “So out with it,” Henry snapped, facing Svikari with a scowl. “What’s going on?”

“...You were onto something when you mentioned my name,” Svikari said slowly, every word hushed and deliberate. “Just so we’re clear—my real name is Svikari. But you wouldn’t know me by that name.”

“You used another name,” Henry finished, the dots finally connecting in his mind. “When you talked to me.”

The giant’s empty hand falling limp at her side. “I… I was hoping we’d get to see each other on peaceful terms, and… I wanted it to be on Earth, to be honest.”

Henry swallowed hard. “You… You’re Sigrid.”

Svikari smiled, trying her best not to look intimidating. “It’s nice to meet you, Henry.”

“This is impossible. I–it can’t be you. You’re a—”

“You fellas good back there?” Aesir called, swivelling his head around to peek at the pair. “Sounds like a real bout you’re having.”

Svikari cleared her throat. Her hands lowered, taking Henry out of her field of vision. “We’re fine. Just keep going.”

Aesir simply shrugged. “Alright.”

The group hooked right when the hallway abruptly ended. They found themselves standing before a small room secluded in the corner of the building. Something akin to grass lined the ground, and a large, towering tree stood proudly in the centre of the room. Embedded in the trunk of the tree was a small monitor, complete with wires looping in and out of the bark. While he couldn’t be certain, Henry wagered that this was the oxygen supply Aesir mentioned, although he didn’t expect the oxygen supply to be a plant of all things. 

“This won’t take long, ma’am,” Aesir stammered as he stepped into the threshold of the room, bending over to peer at the monitor. His face contorted into an expression of disgust. “Yeesh. Who messed with the RAD settings?”

“Beats me,” Svikari hummed.

“Whatever... Hang on, I just gotta fix this mess real quick.” With that, Aesir fell silent, sliding his fingers rapidly along the screen. Svikari simply stood nearby and waited, while Henry fidgeted anxiously. He couldn’t get their earlier conversation out of his head. Svikari’s words—or rather, Sigrid’s words—echoed in his brain, rattling his thoughts around. 

Svikari, meanwhile, was extremely quiet. Henry gazed at her, opening his mouth to ask a question, only to have a giant finger press against his mouth. Shh. 

Henry blinked, a little unnerved by how Svikari was acting, but nodded slowly. Svikari lifted her head and peered at Aesir, who was still focused on the monitor screen. Then, moving as slowly as possible, Svikari knelt down and tilted her hands, sending Henry sliding onto the grass below. 

It took Henry a moment to orient himself. He diligently wiped off the grass that clung to his suit and looked skyward just in time to see Svikari approaching Aesir from behind. The human watched intently as Svikari snuck up on Aesir, a kitchen knife clutched tightly behind her back, wondering what she was up to.

… 

...A kitchen knife?

Before Henry could even think to look again, he was subjected to the sound of a hideous squelch. There was a flash of red, a pained grunt, and suddenly Aesir collapsed to the ground, motionless. 

Svikari loomed ominously over the limp body, her hand still latched onto the knife that she’d plunged into Aesir’s back. Murky blood was beginning to pool at her feet, staining the grass a horrid shade of crimson. And then Svikari’s head pivoted like an owl, boring her gaze into Henry. 

“Don’t scream,” she heaved.

“Y–you—” Henry’s hands flew to his mouth. “You killed him.”

Svikari faced Henry fully. She extended her hands slowly and carefully, taking cautious steps forward as she spoke. “I know. Just… please stay quiet,” she whispered as she drew closer. 

“G–get away from me,” Henry choked, stumbling backwards and throwing his hands up to protect himself. “Please, don’t— d–don’t kill me.”

“Henry!” Svikari suddenly exclaimed, speeding up and making a beeline for Henry. “Be careful, you’re going to—”

Seeing Svikari quickly approaching, Henry made the split-second decision to spin around and bolt. But by the time he noticed the gaping crater in the floor below, it was too late. His foot whizzed through thin air, and with no further fanfare, he tumbled down into the pitch-black abyss. Time froze—a shout echoed from above. 

Then he hit the ground. Hard. 

Something snapped. Henry yowled in agony. He found himself unable to budge without pain coursing through his battered limbs. Tears began welling in his eyes, but he fought the urge to sob—crying would make it hurt even more. Thankfully, his visor was still intact, although the same could not be said for his bones. He simply laid motionless on his stomach, his arms and legs spread out, praying he would just pass out already.

“Oh no.” Svikari’s voice echoed off the crater walls, but Henry couldn’t see where she was standing. Even if the human was able to move his head and look around, the darkness cloaked everything in the vicinity. There was no telling where the giant was, but she was close. “Henry… It’s alright. I’m going to help you.”

“N–no,” Henry hissed, weakly hacking out the taste of copper from his mouth. “Not like this. Please.”

“Stop that. You’re hurting yourself. Please… let me help.”

“But you killed—” Henry couldn’t restrain himself anymore. He began to cry softly, despite how much it hurt him to do so. Every sniffle was excruciating, wracking his body from the inside-out. “You’re an i–imposter, aren’t you? And you’re going to kill me next.”

“No no no, honey… I would never hurt you.” Svikari’s voice was right next to his ear at this point. A huff of hot breath washed over Henry, rustling his hair. Wasn’t Svikari wearing a helmet, though? How could he feel her breath? “Listen… you’ve gotta trust me. I’m going to get you out of here.”

Henry cast a bitter glance to the side, unsure if Svikari was even standing in that direction. “You’re a liar.”

Svikari didn’t grace Henry with a reply. Instead, two long fingers slowly and deliberately dug beneath his stomach and hoisted him into the air. Henry squeezed his eyes shut as he was pressed against Svikari’s chest. Maybe this would be quick and painless. He could only pray at this point.

“Let me think…” Svikari inched her way forward, snaking through the dark underground pathway so as to not jostle Henry too much. In his daze, Henry failed to realize that there was no way Svikari could fit into the crater, let alone move around freely. But the only thing he was focused on was making peace with his life, knowing that he was about to die at the hands of the one he loved more than anyone else. 

Suddenly, Henry was blinded by sunlight. Svikari had begun crawling out of another crater located outside of the building. The holes in the ground seemed to be interconnected. But how did Svikari know that? And where was she planning on taking him? 

Before Henry could voice any of these questions, a deafening alarm sounded from above. He looked up just in time to see a flashing red light next to a speakerphone attached to the roof nearby. “BODY REPORTED,” a voice blared. “ALL PERSONNEL TO THE OFFICE. REPEAT, ALL PERSONNEL TO THE OFFICE.” 

Svikari swore under her breath. She lifted Henry out of the crook of her elbow, quickly swooping him towards a pocket located on her chest. “I’m gonna need you to stay quiet for now, alright?”

Henry’s breath hitched, eyeing the pocket warily as his legs were swallowed by it. “Why do I—”

“Shh.” Svikari cut him off. “Just trust me. I’ll explain everything once I take care of this.” With those ominous words echoing in his head, Henry was once again plunged into darkness, trapped in the front pocket of her spacesuit. 

There was no way this would end well.

***

[anhed-nia]

BLOGTOBER 10/17/2020: SPOOKIES

What do we watch, when we watch movies? This question was sparked by my SOV experience with the very different, and differently interesting BLOODY MUSCLE BODYBUILDER FROM HELL and HORROR HOUSE ON HIGHWAY 5. Within the Shot On Video category, one can find inventive homemade features that are driven entirely by blood, sweat, and the creators' feeling of personal satisfaction. The results are sometimes fascinating, in their total alienation from the conventions and techniques of mainstream filmmaking, and after all, one rarely sees anything whose primary motivation is passion, here in the late stages of capitalism. But, all this talk about what goes on behind the camera points to a discrepancy in how we consume different kinds of production. The typical mode of consumption is internal to the movie: What happens in it? Do you relate to the characters? Are you able to suspend your disbelief, to experience the story on a vicarious level? One hardly needs to come up with examples of films that invite this style of viewing. Alternatively, we can experience the movie as a record of a time and place in which real people defied conventions and sometimes broke laws in order to produce a work of art. SOV production is usually viewed through this lens, where the primary interest is not the illusory content, but the filmmakers' sheer determination to create. We find some overlap in movies like EVIL DEAD, which simultaneously presents a terrifying narrative, and evidence of what a truly driven team can create without the aid of a studio, or any real money to speak of. See also, Larry Cohen's New York City-based horror films, in which a compelling drama with great acting can exist side by side with phony but beautiful effects, and exciting stories of stolen footage that would be dangerous or impossible to attempt today. I'm thinking about these different modes of consumption now because I just watched SPOOKIES, a legitimately cursed-seeming film whose harrowing production history has superseded whatever people think about what it shows on the screen. The lovingly composed blu-ray from Vinegar Syndrome includes a feature-length documentary that attempts to explain the making of the film--which is accompanied by its own feature length commentary track by documentarists Michael Gingold and Glen Baisley. The very existence of this artifact suggests a lot about the nature of this movie, in and of itself. The truth behind its existence is as funny as it is tragic.

I'm not going to do a whole breakdown of the tortured origins of SPOOKIES, which is much better told by the aforementioned documentary. To summarize: Once upon a time in the mid 1980s, filmmakers Brendan Faulkner, Thomas Doran and Frank Farel conspired to make a fun, flamboyant rubber monsterpiece called TWISTED SOULS. It was wild, ridiculous, and transparently fake-looking, but it was loved by its hard-working creators; as a viewer, that soulful sense of joy can rescue many a "bad" movie from its various foibles. Then, inevitably, sleazoid producer Michael Lee stepped in--a man who thought you could cut random frames out of the middle of scenes to improve a movie's pace--and ruined it with extreme prejudice. Carefully crafted special effects sequences were cut, relatively functional scenes were re-edited into oblivion, and the seeds of hatred were sown between the filmmakers and the producer. Ultimately, everyone who once cared for TWISTED SOULS was forced to abandon ship, and first time director Eugenie Joseph stepped in to help mutilate the picture beyond all recognition. Thus SPOOKIES was born, a mangled, unloved mutation that would curse many of its original parents to unemployability. For the audience, it is intriguingly insane, often insulting, and hard to tear your eyes off of--but in spite of whatever actually wound up on the screen, it's impossible to forget its horrifying origin story as it unspools.

As far as what's on the screen goes: A group of "friends", including a middle-aged businessman and his wife, a vinyl-clad punk rock bully and his moll, two new wave-y in-betweeners, and...a guy with a hand puppet are somehow all leaving the same party, and all ready to break into a vacant funeral home for their afterparty. Well, this happens after a 13 year old runaway inexplicably wanders in to a "birthday party" in there, that looks like it was thrown for him by Pennywise, and he has the nerve to act surprised when he is attacked by a severed head and a piratey-looking cat-man who straight up purrs and meows throughout the picture. Anyway, separately of that, which is unrelated to anything, the island of misfit friends finds a nearly unrecognizable "ouija board" in the old dark house. Actually this thing is kind of fun-looking, having been made by one of the fun-havers on the production before the day that fun died, and I wonder if anyone has considered trying to make a real board game out of it...but I digress. Naturally, the board unleashes evil forces, including a zombie uprising in the cemetery outside, a plague of Ghoulie-like ankle-biters, an evil asian spider-lady (accompanied by kyoto flutes), muck-men that fart prodigiously until they melt in a puddle of wine (?), and uh...I know I'm forgetting stuff. One of the reasons I'm forgetting is because of this whole side story about a tuxedo-wearing vampire in the basement (or somewhere?) who has entrapped a beautiful young bride by cursing her with immortality. That part is a little confusing, not only because it doesn't intersect with the rest of the movie, but because sometimes it seems contemporary--as the bride struggles to survive the zombie plague--and sometimes it seems like a flashback, as our heroes find what looks like the mummified corpse of the dracula guy, complete with his signet ring. So, I don't know what to tell you really. Those are just some of the things that happen in the movie.

Some people like this a lot, and have supported its ascendance to cult status, which is a huge relief when you know what everyone went through to make this movie, only to have it ripped away from them and used against them. I found SPOOKIES a little hard to take, for all the reasons that the cast and crew express in the documentary. It holds a certain amount of visual fascination, whatever you think of it; something of its original creativity remains evident in the movie's colorful, exaggerated look, and its steady parade of unconvincing but inventive creature effects. But then, you have to deal with the farting muck-men. What was once a scene of terror starring REGULAR muck-men, that sounded incredibly laborious to pull off, became a scene of confusing "comedy" when producer Michael Lee insisted that the creatures be accompanied by a barrage of scatalogical noises. Apparently this was Lee's dream come true, as a guy who insisted everyone pull his finger all the time, and who once tried to call the movie "BOWEL ERUPTOR". But, of all the deformations SPOOKIES endured, the fart sounds dealt a mortal injury to the filmmakers' feelings, and even without knowing that, it's hard to enjoy yourself while that's happening.

Actually, all the farts forced me to ask myself: Is this...a comedy? Like for real, as its main thing? As the movie slogged on, I had to decide that it wasn't, but I was distracted by the notion for around 40 minutes. I was only released from this nagging suspicion when the bride makes her long marathon run through throngs of slavering zombies who swarm her, grope her, and tear off her clothes, before she narrowly escapes to an even worse fate. The lengthy scene is strangely gripping, and sleazy for a movie that sometimes feels like low rent children's entertainment. Part of the sequence’s success lies in its simplicity; it is unburdened by the convoluted complications of the rest of the movie, whose esoteric parts never fall together, so it seems to take on a sustained, intensifying focus. The action itself is unnerving, as the delicate and frankly gorgeous Maria Pechuka is molested and stripped nearly-bare by her undead bachelors, running from one drooling mob to another as the horde nearly engulfs her time and again. Actually, it feels a lot like a certain genre of SOV production in which, for the right price, any old creepy nerd can pay a small crew-for-hire to tape a version of his private fantasy, whether it's women being consumed by slime, or women being consumed by quicksand, or...generally, women being consumed by something. I wish I could describe this form of production in more specific or official terms, because I genuinely think it's wonderful that people do this. Anyway, Pechuka's interminable zombie run feels a little like that, and a little like a grim italian gutmuncher, and a little like an actual nightmare. Perhaps it only stands out against its dubious surroundings, but I kind of love it--and I'm happy to love it, because apparently the late Ms. Pechuka truly loved making SPOOKIES, and wanted other people to love it, too.

Which brings me to the uncomfortable place where I land with this movie. On the one hand...I think it's bad. It's so incoherent, and so insists on its impoverished form of comedy, that it's hard to be as charmed by it as I am by plenty of FX-heavy, no-budget oddities. Perhaps the lingering odor of misery drowns out the sweet joy that the crew once felt in the early days of creation--which is still evident, somehow, in its zany special effects, created by the likes of Gabe Bartalos and other folks whose work you definitely already know and love. But I feel ambivalent, about all of this. On the one hand, I can be a snob, and shit on people for failing to make a movie that meets conventional standards of success. On the other hand, I can be a DIFFERENT kind of snob--a more voyeuristic or even sadistic one--and celebrate the painful failures that produced a movie that is most interesting for its tormented history and its amusing ineptitude. I'm not really sure where I would prefer to settle with SPOOKIES, and movies like it. (As if anything is really "like" SPOOKIES) With all that said, I was left with one soothing thought by castmember Anthony Valbiro in the documentary. At some point, he tells us how ROSEMARY'S BABY is his personal cinematic comfort food; he can put it on at night, after an exhausting day, and drift to sleep, enveloped in its warm, glowing aura. He then says that he hopes there are people out there for whom his movie serves that same purpose, that some of us can have our "milk and cookies moment" with SPOOKIES. Honestly, I choke up just thinking about that.

[grimelords]

My March playlist is finished! This one is slightly more diverse than usual, swinging all the way from vibraphone jazz to Bhad Bhabie to black metal so I’ve taken the liberty of actually sequencing it properly for you. So if you’ve got 3 hours you can listen to this straight through and be taken for a hell of a ride. No matter what you like I’m sure you’ll find something in here that you love.

Tahiti - Milt Jackson: For an unknown reason I had a big jazz vibraphone phase this month and when you're talking jazz vibraphone you're talking the Wizard Of The Vibes himself, Milt Jackson. I feel insane even having an opinion on this but it's a shame that some of the best vibraphone performances were made at a time when the actual recording technology wasn't really there, they all have this very thin quality that I think misses a lot of the great character of the instrument.

Detour - Bill Le Sage: Like compare this from 1971 to Wizard Of The Vibes from 1952, the sounds is miles warmer and gives so much more of the full range and detail of the instrument. I also listened to this song five times in a row when I first heard it, the central refrain is just so fuckin good. Like I said, big vibes vibe and who knows why.

Blowin' The Blues Away - Buddy Rich And His Sextet: Superhuman playing aside, it's unbelievable how good these drums sound. The whole first minute just feels like a tour of each specific drum and I absolutely revel in it. I feel like flute and vibes is a relatively rare combo so it's extremely nice to hear Sam Most and Mike Manieri go ham in tandem.

Yama Yama - Yamasuki Singers: A friend sent me this song that he's had stuck in his head for ten years ever since it was in a beer ad from the days when beer ads were incredible strange for complicated legal reasons about not showing people enjoying the product or something https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ORfkh0OojxY and this incredible song is apparently from a 1971 French concept album where a couple of guys wrote a bunch of psychedelic songs in Japanese for an unknown reason that later became a massive drum and bass breaks album, and one of the guys was Thomas Bangalter from Daft Punk's dad! Music is crazy.

Alfonso Muskedunder - Todd Terje: I'm starting a petition to get Todd Terje to write the soundtrack for the next Mario Kart. I absolutely love this song and this whole album because it's so joyful and strange and it just sounds like nothing else I've ever heard. He seem to truly operate in a world entirely of his own.

Pala - Roland Tings: I love this song. It's like he wrote it with normal sounds and then went back and replaced every instrument with the party version. This song hands you a coconut and says welcome to the island where bad vibes are punishable by firing squad.

Keygen 13 - Haze Edit - Dubmood: There's a fucking album of keygen music on spotify and it's absolutely great and so good that someone's doing the work to recognize the value of the music this extremely weird scene produced and preserve it. If you don't know, back in the day when you pirated photoshop or whatever, you would download a license key generator which was a program made by extreme nerds who had cracked the license key algorithm to give you a fake one, and for unknown reasons they would make the keygen program play original chiptune music that someone in their nerd crew would compose. Who knows why but god bless them.

My Moon My Man (Boys Noize Remix) - Feist: The very concept of a Boys Noize remix of My Moon My Man is hilarious and it turns out it sounds absolutely amazing as well. Two great tastes that taste great together.

Low Blows - Meg Mac: I had a big Meg Mac phase this month too, listened to her album a lot and it's extremely solid. Great timing too cause her new one comes out in a month or so too. I really am excited to hear her next album because she's so good but I've always got this feeling that she hasn't reached her full potential yet, she's only going to get a million times better in an album or two.

Patience - Tame Impala: I love that the cover of this single is a pic of congas because it feels like that's the central thesis here. Kevin Parker bought some congas and is making disco Tame Impala now and I really couldn't be happier about it.

Unconditional (feat. Kitten) - Touch Sensitive: I love a 90s throwback done with love. There's nothing cynical or ironic about this it's just fun as hell!

Last Hurrah - Bebe Rexha: Get a fucking load of this Bebe Rexha song that interpolates Buy U A Drank by T-Pain for the chorus! It's a testament to how good that song is that she's using the verse melody as the chorus. T-Pain will quite literally never get the respect he deserves. Also this song goes for 2.5 minutes. There's something happening where pop songwriting is getting more and more compact, completely trimming the fat and ornamentation and it's very interesting.

Hi Bich - Bad Bhabie: Also I'm fully six months late on Hi Bich but I'm of the opinion that it's extremely fucking good. A perfect little reaction gif of a song and it only goes for 1m45!

Friends - Flume: I'm doubling down on my thesis about emo rap from last month but this song literally sounds like a Flume remix of a Hawthorne Heights song. The whole melody of it, the overlapping yelled/clean vocals. The lyrics obviously. I don't know it's just very odd how close it is. A sort of emo trojan horse to trick people into thinking The Used are cool again. 

How To Build A Relationship (feat. JPEGMAFIA) - Flume: I've been meaning to check out JPEGMAFIA (AKA Buttermilk Jesus AKA DJ Half-Court Violation AKA Lil' World Cup) for a while but this is the song that convinced me. There's just so much to digest in this. Every line is gold and delivered with massive conviction even when he realises it's total nonsense like 'dont call me unless I gave you my number'.

Bells & Circles (feat. Iggy Pop) - Underworld: Underworld alive 2019?? I love this song becuase Iggy Pop has been riding a fine line between punk provocateur and old man yells at cloud for a while now and this song is the perfect mix of both. You can't hijack airplanes and redirect them to cuba anymore and as a result it's over for liberal democracies. Just yelling about air travel for six minutes and it's good.

Guns Blazing (Drums Of Death Pt. 1) - UNKLE: This beat is some of my favourite DJ Shadow work I think. The menacing organ bass throughout, and especially the distorted drum freakout near the end. It's just great all the way through.

Homo Deus IV - Deantoni Parks: Another Deantoni Parks track like I was raving about last month. This whole album is great and flows together as a single piece of work amazingly. I love the purposefully limited sample palette of each track forcing an evolving groove throughout. He absolutely wrings every bit of variation he can get out of every single sound he uses and once you get into the groove of it it's absolutely mind blowing.

Boredom - The Drones: I love that The Drones can write a song about joining ISIS that's also a lot of fun. Spelling out radicalization in a way anyone can understand and sympathise with and then switching it in the second verse to spell out how we got into this situation anyway. 

Loinclothing - Hunters And Collectors: I love how much this song sounds like a voodoo celebration in christian hell.

The Fun Machine Took A Shit And Died - Queens Of The Stone Age: There's a good bit on the live dvd they put out after Lullabies To Paralyze where they play this song and they say it was supposed to be on the album but somebody stole the master recordings from the studio, which is an incredible and brazen crime. Then when they put it out on Era Vulgaris as a bonus track Josh Homme said in an interview "The tapes got lost. Actually, they were just at another studio, but we falsely accused everyone in the world of theft" which is extremely funny. This is really one of their best songs and I sort of really with it had been on Lullabies because it fits perfectly between The Blood Is Love and Someone's In The Wolf type of vibes, I love how it just kind of keeps shifting ideas and riffs throughout. An absolute jam overflowing with ideas.

10AM Automatic - The Black Keys: This song is an all time great in my opinion. It's so straightforward and so effective. I wonder if we'll get a blues rock revival ever or if Jack White still being alive and bad is souring everyone on that idea. This song also has one of my favourite guitar sounds in history I think - the outrageously huge sounding solo that comes out of nowhere and swallows up the rest of the mix like a swirling black hole near the end.

Gamma Knife - King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard: I've never gotten much into King Gizzard and because of their one million albums already it's hard to know where to start but I've been listening to Nonagon Infinity a bit and it's great, it's just good old fashioned 70s prog jams front to back.

Gina Works At Hearts - DZ Deathrays: I absolutely love this song and I absolutely love the second guitar sound in the chorus of this song that sounds like it's made out of thin steel.

Black Brick - Deafheaven: When I saw Deafheaven the other month I was right up the front and it was a life changingly great experience AND they played this new song live for the first time before it went up everywhere like three hours later which was very exciting to be given a sclusie like that. After they finished a guy behind me whispered to his friend "Slayer..." which was very funny to me.

Gemini - Elder: I found this band because one of my Spotify Daily Mixes was all stoner metal for a while, which is a good genre to see all lined up because it'll have Weedeater, Bongripper AND Uncle Acid & The Deadbeats right there in a row for you. Anyway this album is extremely good, the very best kind of stoner metal where it's groovy and fun and has big meaty riffs and ripping big solos and it's extremely easy to listen to three times in a row.

The Paradise Gallows - Inter Arma: My big obsession the past little while has been Inter Arma ever since Stereogum posted The Atavist's Meridian from their new album. It is just so fucking good and I can't believe I've never heard of them before. You know when you find out about an amazing band and then you find out they've been around for nearly ten years and you can't believe everyone in your life has been selfishly hiding them from you?

The Atavist's Meridian - Inter Arma: I think a big part of my enjoyment of this band has also been that I discovered them at the same time as I'm listening to an audiobook of the complete Conan The Barbarian omnibus so I'm very much in the brain space for music that sounds like it would be nice to swing an axe to.

Untoward Evocation - Impetuous Ritual: I love how halfway through this kind of just turns into a big swirling mist of dark sounds. It feels so formless and dark that it could just shake apart and dissipate at any moment and you'd look down to realise your skin is gone.

Eagle On A Pole - Conor Oberst: from Genius: 'In an interview with MTV news, Oberst stated “We were on the bus one day and a friend of ours that travels with us and works for the band kind of came out from the back of the bus and said that first line: ‘Saw an eagle on a pole… I think it was an eagle.’ And then this guy Simon Joyner, who is a great songwriter from Omaha and one of my great friends, he was on tour with us and sitting there and he was like, ‘You know, that’s a great name for a song.’ We kind of had a contest where he wrote a song with that first line, and [then] I did, and a couple of our other friends. We kind of all played them for each other. Simon’s is better than mine, but it is a good line to start a song.” Another version–Mystic Valley Band drummer Jason Boesel’s interpretation–is on the next album, Outer South.' The idea that such a good song has such a braindead origin only makes me love it more.

Lake Marie - John Prine: When I saw John Prine the other month he played this song that I had never heard before and I had to look it up after and now I'm completely obsessed with it. It feels like falling asleep during a movie and missing a critical plot point so the rest doesn't make sense when you wake up but is thrilling nonetheless. Also he absolutely screamed "SHADOWS!!!" when he played it which was a fucking cool thing to see a 72 year old man do.

Little White Dove - Jenny Lewis: The drums on this whole album are absolutely huge for some reason and I love it. My favourite recent sound is in the first chorus where there's a funny little pitch correction noise as she sings 'dove'. It's very strange and very very good.

Locked Up - The Ocean Party: I only found out The Ocean Party existed as they announced their farewell show this month which is a real shame but I'm glad I got to hear of them at all because they're very good. A very good song about that feeling we all know and love: driving for a long long time.

Plain & Sane & Simple Melody - Ted Lucas: I found out about this song from Emma Ruth Rundle's Amoeba Records video and she makes a good point about this whole album sounding like something's gone wrong and it got accidentally pitched down slightly in the recording process. It's unclear if that's what happened or that's just how he sounds but it adds a very softly spooky undercurrent to a very nice song.​ 

listen here

[castcharmperson]

Taakitz: Free Day

Time is an illusion so let’s all just pretend it’s still Day 6 of @taakitzweek, okay? This story is inspired by a concert I went to see a few weeks ago, where the conductor was a whirlwind of movement and passion, and all I could think of was “yeah this is what Kravitz would do.” Warning for a little self doubt, I guess? Mostly this is just Taako being in love with his husband.

Seeing Kravitz’s fingers twitch along with the ancient records, the way he so clearly longed to conduct without even seeming to be aware of it, it made Taako ache. It reminds him of the days when recipes race through his mind, but the sight of the kitchen makes him feel sick. Even if Kravitz doesn’t realize what’s happening, Taako wouldn’t wish that fate on anyone, especially not his husband.

That’s not to say Kravitz was unhappy with where fate put him. Most of their dinners were spent talking about their adventures, the ones happening now and ones from years past. Kravitz’s job was an endless adventure and every tale he told brought a smile to his face. Sometimes, he didn’t talk about taking down cults or the rush of dodging a sinister spell; Kravitz was equally thrilled to reenact a conversation with his Goddess or chatter about a particularly interesting piece of paperwork. Taako still wasn’t sure how paperwork could be anything other than hell, but Kravitz could probably read the dictionary and Taako would be enamored with it.

They didn’t often bring up the strangely intimate details they’d shared during that strangely intimate meeting-turned-date at the Chug N’ Squeeze, but when they did, only a few things had changed. Taako still often felt out of place, but he knew he had people who wanted him around. Kravtiz’s undeath still hadn’t really been his choice, but he was content with what he’d been given.

Content wasn’t enough though, not in Taako’s opinion. With two new reapers on the force, Kravitz had enough time for a live among mortals. He had enough time to keep up with the insanity of being part of the Starblaster family, surely he could find time to follow his calling from life. But any time Taako brought it up, tried to get him to play the piano that sat in their living room or the guitar that Magnus had made a few candlenights ago, Kravitz hesitated. He’d make some excuse about professions and destinies and “oh is that the Queen calling?”

Taako was done toeing around the subject. His husband was going to get everything he ever wanted, whatever anxieties holding him back from asking for it be damned. There was nothing to hold Taako back, not when he was an interplanar celebrity with all the resources either of them could dream of.

“So Ren got it all worked together and the kids seem thrilled, bunch of tiny nerds. But for the life of me, I still can’t find a conductor.” Taako was impressed with his own poker face- Kravitz always said he had a tell when his cards were good, but right now the reaper didn’t suspect a thing. His fork had been frozen, hanging with half spooled pasta ever since Taako had mentioned a “new music department.”

He let the natural pause draw out a little unnaturally, until Kravitz seemed to snap back to reality, spooling the rest of his pasta a little too frantically. “That’s very exciting, love. I’m sure you’ll find someone.”

“What about you?” He could help but show his metaphorical cards as he grinned.

“What?”

“How would you like to conduct the Taako’s School of Wizardry, Cantrips and other Magicks academic orchestra? It’s not exactly Fantasy Carnegie Hall, most of the kids are fairly below your skill level, but you’ll still have fun.”

“Taako, I can’t.” Kravitz shook his head.

“Flex scheduling. If you’ve got work, the kids can have a study hall.” He’d played this discussion out in his mind a thousand times already, every counterpoint was accounted for. “I’ll have a substitute for when you go on longer missions.”

Kravitz put his fork down. “I have sworn my time to my Queen.”

“Who has repeated told you and me and Lup and Barold and literally anyone who will listen that she wishes her ‘best reaper and favorite child’ would take more time for himself.”

Kravitz laughed at Taako’s poor impression of a goddess and Taako grinned. At least his husband didn’t look so tense anymore. He almost looked like he was considering the offer.

“I really am out of practice though.”

“They’re kids, they’re learning too.”

“What if they don’t—“

Taako put his hand over Kravitz’s, almost uncharacteristically serious as they locked eyes. “They will love you. You’re going to be amazing.” He felt an echo of his own goddess through him and Taako pulled back, running that same hand, now shaking, through his hair. “Besides,” he tried for causal, “they can’t give you a hard time because your husband is the headmaster. They’ll have detention for life if you they so much as look at you wrong. You’ve got nothing to worry about, my man.”

“I—“ Kravitz looked at where Taako’s hand had been, like he felt the brief swell of ethereal power too. He looked back at his pasta and tried to fight down a grin. Discussion won, game over, all chips to Taako. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Well, most folks I hire usually ask when they start, and I already checked with bird mom— your first day’s Monday.”

Kravitz blinked at his pasta, then looked up to Taako. “What day is it today?” He tilted his head, birdlike. That and his disastrous inability to understand time on the material plane shouldn’t be so damn adorable, but it was.

“Saturday.”

“What?!” Kravitz stood so quickly, his chair fell over. He righted it, before making his way out of the dining room. “Sorry, love.”

“Where are you going?”

“I have to lesson plan!” He was halfway into the living room, but turned around to quickly kiss Taako on the cheek. “Dinner was amazing, thank you, love.” And he was gone again. There was some shuffling through their vast record collection and some muttering about which composers to start with. Taako couldn’t even be mad about getting stuck with the dishes, not when Kravitz grinned at him like he really was the only reason his undead heart was beating.

“It’s about time I check out with this music department is doing! Make sure it’s worth keeping around!” Taako made his way through the halls of his school, Ren at his side and rolling her eyes. The students who overheard, tuning their instruments outside one of the building's rehearsal spaces, seemed unfazed. The semester had only started two months ago, but that was more than enough time to know their headmaster was often over dramatic with very little true intent behind it. The arts would never lose funding at this school.

Taako let the double doors slam open to announce his entrance, ignoring Ren lecturing about damages and the odds of a good strength roll. Kravitz was in one of the audience seats, next to a young cellist. The sharp sound had him on his feet, but whatever half motion he’d started to summon his scythe stopped when he saw Taako.

“Hello darling.” He grinned as he made his way up the amphitheater stairs and gave Taako a quick kiss on the cheek. The elf’s heeled boots were so tall, Kravitz didn’t even need to lean down to reach him.

“Hi babe,” Taako dropped his ruthless headmaster facade for a moment, before brushing past his husband. “So, your spring concert is coming up.”

“Yes,” Kravitz followed him back down the stairs, trying to follow his train of thought.

“I wanna see it.” He moved into the center of the third row, kicking up his boots onto the back of the chair in front of him. Ren sat next to him, immediately shoving his boots back to the floor. “Or hear it, whatever. Sneak preview for you boss.”

“Oh, I was unaware the Raven Queen was on campus.” Kravitz’s cheeky grin almost broke through Taako’s facade again, a smile twitching on the edge of his lips before he steeled his expression.

“Don’t get cute with me, Mr. Kravitz. I sign your paycheck.”

“Actually, I’m pretty sure Ren signs them.” Kravitz shot her a wink and she laughed while Taako gave a frustrated groan.

“Whatever,” he dragged out the word as far as it could go, kicking his feet up again. “Make with the music.”

Kravitz gathered his students on the stage, whispering a pep talk as they set up their instruments. “I’m so proud” “It’s just Headmaster Taako, nothing to worry about, trust me,” and other endearing snippets that Taako could only barely hear from his seat, but they were enough to win a smile out of him. Kravitz tuned back to the audience, locking eyes with Taako and all but beaming. He fidgeted with the lines of his suit, with the conductor’s baton in his hand, but the nerves were nothing compared to the obvious outpouring of joy. Taako never had any doubts his plan was flawless, but seeing just how happy Kravitz was to be on the stage again was something else entirely.

Kravitz always seemed to glow when he smiled, eyes closing and cheekbones doing all the right things as his perfect lips showed off his perfect teeth. Taako knew he could never look like that. He was more comfortable with a smirk, a scowl, or sharp words on his lips. He had fierce smiles for the press, charming looks for photos with the crew, but whatever was happening to his face when he saw Kravitz like this felt completely out of his control. His nose was scrunched up, his eyes showed his age. His smile was goofy and lopsided but, surprisingly, he was okay with that. It wasn’t pretty, it wasn’t Taako™, but sharing a moment like this with Kravitz felt good.

The moment passed when Kravitz turned back towards his students, but the warm feeling lingered even as the first cheerful notes filled the space. It sounded flawless, even without any musical training Taako could tell that much. Yet he couldn’t focus on the music; Kravitz held his attention. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting. Before their century across the cosmos, Taako and Lup didn’t exactly have the means to see live music beyond a drunken bard in some bar. Even at Legato, Taako didn’t spend any time with the musicians. And after the stolen century was basically like before.

Maybe he thought it would be sharp, neat movements, like the flawless lines of Kravitz’s suit. He’d keep time with the same dedication to order that he kept the laws of life and death with.

It was nothing like that. It was chaos and passion. While Lup and Barry had turned a worldwide performance into a space where only the two of them existed, Kravitz turned a rehearsal into a screaming declaration of every emotion anyone could dare to imagine. The braids of his hair were flying in all directions as he used both hands to ramp up the music. His whole body chased crescendos and it looked like a beautiful mess of movement to someone like Taako, who didn’t have a clue how conducting actually worked.

Honestly, without the swell of notes following his command, Kravitz would look ridiculous. It was more passion than Taako every willingly put into anything he did. Kravitz gave himself over to the art, to the melody of sound, so eagerly, excited to have his heart on display, treating an audience of two as though they were two million. Taako had never felt more in love. It was like the cheerful spring symphony was rising up in him too and suddenly he had to see Kravitz’s face.

Rolling high on his stealth check, Taako got out of his seat and out of the aisle. He took the stairs at the stage left wing and found himself staring.

Kravitz had been a bard in life, Taako knew that, but now he understood it. He was so intrinsically linked with the music. It commanded his expressions, his whole body. Or maybe the other way around. The smallest twitch of Kravitz’s fingers called for violins, the rise of his brow brought trumpets, a twist of his wrist gave life to a humble page of notes. As the song came to an end, peaceful as each gentle cord faded away, Kravitz’s serene smile remained.

Taako couldn’t help himself; the final note landed and he had already sprinted across the stage to kiss his husband. Ren was laughing, the students were laughing, it was all so joyful but all that sound was merely background noise to Taako. He could hear nothing but the echo of Kravitz’s music until he broke away to breathe.

“Not bad, Professor Kravitz, not bad.”

Now Kravitz joined the laughter with his perfect face and his perfect smile all perfectly scrunched up. “Thank you, love.” There was weight behind the words, more than just grace in receiving a compliment. He may not have noticed Taako’s plan as it first began those months ago at dinner, but it was obvious to see now. Did a music department make sense at a non-bardic institution? Not exactly, but nothing like ‘academic standards’ would get in the way of Taako making sure Kravitz had everything he ever wanted. Right now though, with his husband in his arms and the sound of joyful friends around him, Kravitz couldn’t imagine anything he wanted more.

I don’t know how to write endings anymore, ugh. Anyway, thanks for reading! Check out my charmedwords tag for more taz fics!

[topweeklyupdate]

TØP Weekly Update #69: Proud of Our Boys (11/2/18)

Technically, not a lot happened this week. Also, everything happened. Does that make any sense? I don’t know, everything’s been a blur since Tyler Joseph wore a pride flag on a Halloween show in the capital of the United States. Let’s cover that and more in this week’s Update!

This Week’s TØPics:

The Bandito Tour Continues

Tyler Visits the Live Lounge- Or, Rather, It Visits Him

The Best Interview of the Trench Era, Conducted by Fans

“My Blood” Moving Slowly but Steady Up the Charts

Major News and Announcements:

No new music, no new tour announcements, but plenty of other things going on this week.

Mark is helping to keep our lanes nicely watered, as he returned to giving us weekly doses of video content for the tour starting almost immediately after the release of last week’s Update. The first episode covers the planning for the tour, Tyler and Josh receiving the first physical copies of Trench, Josh’s unique method of opening CD cases, and Josh getting a nice head injury after falling off his riser during a rehearsal. Plus, there’s a pretty nice piano interpolation of “Morph” to kick the whole thing off. The second goes more into the depths of planning and staging the show, giving a glimpse of just how much of a diva Tyler Joseph is when it comes to getting every aspect of the tour right. It doesn’t exactly put him in the nicest light- he calls the prototype clip that drops his “Stressed Out” beanie “garbage”, clearly expects the crew to be as intimately familiar with his music as he is, and pushes pretty hard to get the transitions faster and faster. But hey, that approach worked to produce a great show, and Tyler makes sure to thank the crew in every Trees Speech.

I was wavering between whether to include the content from the BBC Live Lounge sessions here or in the Shenanigans section, but considering that we got three HD video performances and a high quality recording of a new cover, I’m gonna tie it in here. In-between the stops in Washington and Atlanta, Tyler flew back to Columbus solo to record a session for the world-famous Live Lounge from Newport Music Hall (because of course Tyler was that extra). Sitting at a gorgeous shiny piano and wearing an outfit that looks like a flannel traffic cone (in a good way, honest), Tyler played some stripped-down covers of “My Blood” and “Ride”, using brand-new vocal interpolations for both of those songs that are just incredible. Live Lounge is most renowned for its covers, and Tyler delivered there as well with his version of Damien Rice and Lisa Hannigan’s classic “9 Crimes”. It’s an incredible rendition of a gorgeous song, and the fact that Tyler mentioned the track way back on “Drown” when “9 Crimes” was a brand-new song makes it land as even more heavy. The real kicker came just this morning, when Live Lounge revealed that they recorded one more song: we have our first high quality performance of “Neon Gravestones”. I still haven’t fully recovered, mate.

Performances, Interviews, and Other Shenanigans:

Touring continues to keep us well fed. As I mentioned in the opening, Tyler grabbed an offered pride flag during “Holding On To You”, which deeply affected the entire Clique, especially our LGBTQ+ family. So many kids in that community struggle with depression and lean hard on this band’s music to get through; this clear and pure gesture of support, while small, simply means the world. 

Outside of that show, there were plenty of other great moments from the tour this week. You can tell Tyler’s been tinkering with the format as he’s been getting feedback from the audience response. Despite how dedicated Tyler was to getting back to the stage for the end of “Pet Cheetah”, the big drop now starts while Tyler is still on the skybridge above the pit’s head, which makes way more sense. The ending of “My Blood” seems to be reduced to just getting the audience to fight to be louder than the other side rather than try to harmonize different bits. And Josh keeps writing city-personalized messages on his chest that he shows off to the crowd as he walks across the bridge, dramatically removing his jacket like something out of Magic Mike.

Also, Tyler tossed a frisbee in Boston and the boys discovered finger guns in Philly. Those were pretty cute moments, gotta share ‘em if you missed ‘em.

Interviews continue as the tour travels the nation. KISS FM Cleveland kept the tradition of B.S. first meeting stories alive with a deep dive into Josh’s talent as a painter, though that’s really the only thing you need to watch that interview for. Boston station ALT 92.9 does a little better, though he mistakenly attributes the backflip to Tyler and asks when Josh will get out from behind those drums... To his credit, the interviewer asks about how Jim is accommodated on the tour (unsurprisingly, the crew fights over who gets to look after him) and what Tyler learned from co-producing Trench with Paul.

The best interviews, however, have all been in the form of fan meet-and-greet conferences that have been finding their way online. There’s just something to the energy of these interviews that is so much better than the awkward and rushed ones in cramped green rooms hosted by radio station interns who obviously just Googled a few facts before they’re rushed in. These fans truly care about their band, and their questions were thoughtful and about so much more than just trivia. 

The best of these, I think, is from St. Louis’s 105.7, a station that’s always had pretty good relations with the band.

Tyler has tried to be more intentional about seeing the places they go on tour outside of the venues, with the mindset that he wants to have better stories to tell his kids (oh my God, please help me...). His favorite place that he’s visited? Hobbiton in New Zealand. I love these nerds.

Tyler and Josh talk about the origins of that gorilla suit that shows up in the “Ode to Sleep” video.

They talk about how one of the more difficult aspects of touring early on before “making it” was eating healthily enough to sustain regular shows when they were broke and the only places that were open to eat late at night after shows were Taco Bells.

Tyler tells a truly heart-wrenching story of being at his parents’ house and seeing his two baby nieces playing with (and vomiting on) the keyboard that taught him to play music and opened up the world for him. The obvious emotion in his voice as he talks about learning the “Pachelbel Canon” from staring at the keys for hours and the clear joy he felt at getting to share this private moment with Jenna... I still haven’t recovered.

When one fan asks how she might learn to overcome creative blocks in her career of graphic design, Tyler gives a really technical explanation of how he got past blocks when writing “Neon Gravestones” and “Pet Cheetah” before taking those lessons and extracting how they might broadly be used to help any artist “shock the system” by breaking habits.

Tyler says that he anticipates that “Legend” will be pretty tough to perform live. He further states that a lot of songs don’t emotionally affect him much because he has to worry about achieving the technical aspects of his performance. That said, “Neon Gravestones” has been really emotional for him, and “Holding On To You” is so driven into him now that he actually can think about what he’s saying.

Tyler views the two-man nature of the band as a challenge rather than a crutch to excuse the use of backing tracks due to how hard they have to work to keep audience attention. Tyler does appreciate the dynamic of having a bunch of people collaborate for music (as shown by the cover medleys), and he is not vehemently against the idea of adding members in the future. He’s just very happy about the way things are with just him and Josh.

Josh once again gets very open about his struggles with anxiety, particularly speaking in front of people, tracing it back to how he would even ask teachers to give him alternatives to giving presentations because it scared him so much. He’s come so far since the Vessel days where he just wouldn’t talk in most interviews at all, and I’m so proud of him.

Tyler is against the “Magellan” method of trying any and all new foods, preferring stuff he knows will satisfy his hunger (he mentions that’s been difficult to stick with now that he’s married to Jenna).

Tyler says that you can tell which of his songs started with lyrics before composing the music based on which have rapped lyrics. The raps are almost always poetry that he’s tried to incorporate into a song- otherwise, he almost always starts with the melody.

Another great conference-style interview comes on behalf of Philly radio station 104.5, whose fans also gave some great questions:

As tactfully as possible, Tyler passes on a question about what event specifically motivated him to write about “Neon Gravestones”, saying that he could not do so without violating the respect that he hopes underlines the message of that song.

Tyler tells a pretty rough story about a time when he was working at a restaurant to support the band and school, only to lose weeks of wages to a traffic ticket. It’s a scene that will definitely be in the band biopic in thirty years, but it’s also just a very thoughtful reflection on Tyler’s part about how unfair a feeling it can be to realize that our labor and time are so commodified.

Tyler used to be real annoyed that Josh didn’t like Russel Crowe as an actor, mainly because he admitted that he didn’t have a good reason for it (Tyler Robert Joseph always has a reason). Josh deciding one day that he’d like Russel Crowe because not doing so aggravated Tyler seems like a pretty neat microcosm of their entire personal and professional relationship.

Tyler and Josh haven’t noticed any bands “copying” them, no matter what music press looking for an easy descriptor might say because all they have to copy is “freedom to write whatever kind of song they want”.

Josh keeps himself grounded by searching “21 pilots” on Twitter. Tyler agrees, but also points out that their relationships to their families also play a big role (“our respective families, to clarify”).

Finally, on social media, Tyler keeps hopping on social media to troll fans and his own band account. I hate him so much.

Chart Performance:

Things continue to be a little quiet for Twenty One Pilots on the US charts. The tracks from Trench are slowly sliding off the Hot Rock Chart, with “My Blood” being the only track to gain traction in any region- radio. With that said, however, “My Blood” also managed to sneak onto the very bottom spot of the Hot Pop chart, suggesting that we are approaching a potential crossover moment. We’ll have to wait and see if that happens. (I can only assume until then that Tyler’s having to ignore a lot of phone calls about a radio edit that cuts that slow first verse to keep the general listener’s attention; watch for that.)

Upcoming Shows:

(Can you believe that all of Tyler’s meticulous planning for the marketing and promotion of this album cycle has been totally supplanted by Josh’s cute dog?)

On topic, there’s another host of important shows this week, so let’s get into it!

Show 13: State Farm Arena, Atlanta, GA (11/2)

Capacity: 21,000

After visiting his hometown with Josh yesterday, Tyler rejoins the touring crew today to play a show for the folks in Atlanta at the newly-renamed State Farm Arena. This is bound to be a special one: though the band has headlined the huge Music Midtown festival in the city, this is their first ever arena show in this major metropolitan market. It’s sure to be a real special show.

Show 14: Amalie Arena, Tampa, FL (11/3)

Capacity: 21,500

The band’s next stop is at a more familiar ground. The band played Amalie during the last arena leg. Twenty One Pilots actually has a pretty extensive history of playing shows in Tampa stretching all the way back to college shows from before they were signed. Tyler has some relatives in the Florida area, so expect some more cute moments from this show.

Show 15: BB&T Center, Sunrise, FL (11/4) 

Capacity: 22,300

The touring crew continues their journey south to the outskirts of Miami. Again, they’ve played BB&T before, but if there’s one thing this band has proven time and time again, it’s that they’re not ones to ever get complacent.

Show 16: Toyota Center, Houston, TX (11/6)

Capacity: 19,3000

It might surprise you to learn that the band has never played an arena show in Houston, despite the city being one of the biggest metropolitan centers in the United States. That oversight will be corrected on Tuesday with a show at the NBA Rockets’ home venue.

Show 17: American Airlines Center, Dallas, TX (11/7)

Capacity: 21,000

The last show before our next Update will be held in Dallas. Once again, this marks the second show Twenty One Pilots will have played in the space. Texas will continue to get plenty of love after this show, but we’ll get into that more next week!

-

Power to the local dreamer!

|-/

[basicshadowhuntersstuff]

This week in Shadowhunters news, updates, sneak peeks, and behind the scenes. All the stuff you need to stay up to date.

Official Promotion

Maia saying what we're all thinking. #Shadowhunters 

FreeformTV tweeted: Just leaving this here. via @ShadowhuntersTV.

Awkward prom posing during #Shadowhunters Season 2 Episode 10.  #FBF 

When #Parabatai meet. #Shadowhunters 

Clary's face at the end. 😏 #Shadowhunters

What's your favorite Maia moment? #Shadowhunters

Luke has always been selfless. #Shadowhunters 

Hey handsome. Behind the scenes of #Shadowhunters Season 3B. [4]

Shadowhunters In The News

Clevver (article): Dom Sherwood Blown Away by Fan Support, Despite End of Shadowhunters

TeenVogue (article):  "Shadowhunters" Star Dominic Sherwood Has "Hope" for the Series Thanks to Fan Support   

Seventeen (interview):  'Shadowhunters' Star Katherine McNamara Shares Her Most Embarrassing Stories [2]

ComicBook.com (article):  'Shadowhunters' Star Reflects on Fan Support After Cancellation

ShumDario News (interview): Our Crazy Rich Asians Review with Harry Shum Jr. on Representation and Small Victories

Observatório Cinema (article):  Shadowhunters | Ator sentiu “esperança” por conta do apoio dos fãs após cancelamento da série 

Courier Mail (interview):  Shadowhunters star Dominic Sherwood goes bar-hopping in Brisbane

SpoilerTV (poll):  The SpoilerTV Favourite TV Series Competition 2018 - Winner and Final Words

SyFy Wire (article): 66 Bisexual+ Characters in Genre TV

The Series Regulars (article): ‘Shadowhunters’: Magnus Bane’s Positive & Powerful Bisexual Representation

TVFanatic (article):  31 Couples Who Accidentally Fell In Love

Just Jared Jr. (article): This Is The One Thing That Dominic Sherwood Wanted To Change About Jace in 'Shadowhunters'

GLAAD (article):  why we, the stans, love shadowhunters

PRIDE (article): 9 TV Shows with Bisexual Guy Characters

Twitter & Social Media Stuff

Sydney Meyer (Helen Blackthorn) shared a photo of herself as Helen:  Half and half 😉  [3]

Jack Wall (composer) tweeted:  Just finished the 42nd spotting session for our show Shadowhunters on Freeform that Trevor Morris and myself have been scoring for the last 2 years. An emotional series Finale and an emotional goodbye. Thanks so much...

Darren Swimmer (showrunner) tweeted:  If the previous 40 episodes are any indication, the score for the finale 2-parter is sure to be amazing.

Todd Slavkin (showrunner) shared a photo:  Last music spot with ⁦@DSwim⁩ ⁦@lonewolflindsay⁩ ⁦@jackwallmusic⁩ where we went over score, songs & sound fx for finale #sonicheroes #superears #thankyoulindsayandjack #shadowhunters

Lindsay Wolfington (music supervisor) tweeted:  Bittersweet final music spot with these guys. Can’t wait for you to hear! And yes, I teared up. #Shadowhunters #Shadowhuntersmusic

Jade Hassoune (Meliorn) shared a photo of himself as Meliorn on Instagram.

Kat (Clary) shared her Seventeen interview:  Thank you @seventeen for putting me through the 🔥 of the emoji challenge! Really made me 🤔 and 🤣. All my ❤ ! Check out the 🔗 for the full 📽! https://youtu.be/zUBD0xNDzLI

Isaiah (Luke) shared a photo on Instagram:  Who wore it better? #losersclub

Javier Munoz (Lorenzo Rey) shared a quick make-up trailer video:  Missing you peeps... #BTS Hair & Make-Up post shooting.... @ShadowhuntersTV @NicolaNCD @HarryShumJr @EmeraudeToubia @PrinceRoyce @Kat_McNamara @BriBriGuy23

Wevents Production announced David Castro (Raphael Santiago) and Nicola Correia-Damude (Maryse Lightwood) as guests for The Hunters of Shadow 3 in Paris.

Matt (Alec) tweeted his costars accomplishments:  If you don't know already, @Kat_McNamara is heading over to @CW_Arrow, @isaiahmustafa is crushing #IT2, @HarryShumJr is in @CrazyRichMovie and more, @WainwrightAE is in #raisingdion. More updates from the rest of the cast coming soon! Send them your support and love!

Sydney Meyer (Helen Blackthorn) tweeted:  Proud baby sister. Arrow is lucky to have you. Give em hell 👊🏹😉👏🙌❤

Wevents Production announced Will Tudor (Sebastian Verlac/Jonathan Morgenstern) as a guest for The Hunters of Shadow 3 in Paris.

Nuno DeSalles (cast trainer) shared a photo of Matt (Alec) on Instagram:  #motivationmonday !!! The #infamous #midworkout expression!! @matthewdaddario psyching himself up for the rest of the #workout Thank you again to @ac3_photos For another great shot!

Harry (Magnus) tweeted an animal request:  @MatthewDaddario yo, hit us with another Koala pic and maybe a kangaroo too.

Harry (Magnus) shared a video of a tour of his “backyard” via a new app.

Taylor Mallory (writer) tweeted:  When your Discover Weekly playlist tries to make you cry...  @jamiegorenberg @EmeraudeToubia #Shadowhunters #3x08   

Brian Hui (makeup artist) tweeted:  Super excited to be the new makeup HOD on S4 of The Expanse! Don’t worry SH fans, you’ll still get BTS of 3B but I hope some of you will join me in outer space! #TheExpanseSeason4

People’s Choice Awards

Shadowhunters is a finalist in three People’s Choice Awards categories, #TheSciFiFantasyShow, #TheBingeworthyShow, and #TheShow. Kat McNamara (Clary) is a finalist for #TheFemaleTVStar and Harry Shum Jr. is a finalist for #TheMaleTVStar.

Voting on the People’s Choice Awards website can be done here.

ShadowhuntersTV posted on Twitter and Instagram:  

We’ve. Been. Nominated. Retweet to vote #Shadowhunters as #TheScifiFantasyShow in the #PCAs.

We sure can. Retweet to cast your vote for #Shadowhunters as #TheScifiFantasyShow in the #PCAs.

You and your #parabatai can help us win as #TheScifiFantasyShow. Retweet to vote for #Shadowhunters in the #PCAs.

@Kat.McNamara is a finalist for @PeoplesChoice Awards #TheFemaleTVStar of 2018! Vote now, link in bio. You can vote up to 25x per day. #PCAs

There’s no shortage of magic in #Shadowhunters. RT to vote for us as #TheSciFiFantasyShow in the #PCAs.

We’re a finalist in the @peopleschoice awards. RT to vote #Shadowhunters as #TheShow in the #PCAs.

He’s wonderful both on and off screen. RT to vote for @HarryShumJr as #TheMaleTVStar in the #PCAs. #HarryShumJr

Somebody hug us. We’re a finalist in the @peopleschoice awards. RT to vote #Shadowhunters as #TheBingeworthyShow in the #PCAs.

And so are all of you. RT to vote for #Shadowhunters as #TheBingeworthyShow in the #PCAs.

We made it to the finals. RT to vote for #Shadowhunters as #TheSciFiFantasyShow in the #PCAs.

Vote for #HarryShumJr as the @peopleschoice’s #TheMaleTVStar? Challenge accepted. RT to vote for him in the #PCAs.

People’s Choice Awards tweeted:

Vote for Shadowhunters by retweeting this post: #Shadowhunters #TheShow #PCAs

Vote for Shadowhunters by retweeting this post: #Shadowhunters #TheBingeworthyShow #PCAs

Vote for Shadowhunters by retweeting this post: #ShadowHunters #TheScifiFantasyShow #PCAs

Vote for Katherine McNamara from Shadowhunters by retweeting this post: #KatherineMcNamara #TheFemaleTVStar #PCAs

Vote for Harry Shum Jr. from Shadowhunters by retweeting this post: #HarryShumJr #TheMaleTVStar #PCAs

 Harry Shum Jr. ✔ Champagne ✔ #Shadowhunters Nominations ✔✔✔ #PCAs

In The News

TVLine (article): People's Choice Awards 2018: Grey's, Shadowhunters Lead TV Nominations

Just Jared Jr. (article): 'Shadowhunters' Earns Five People's Choice Award Nominations - See The Full List Here!

Matt Carter (article):  Shadowhunters gains ground at People’s Choice Awards; what it means

Hidden Remote (article): Shadowhunters nominated for 5 People’s Choice Awards (and 4 of them were write-ins)!

Nerds and Beyond (article):  Sci-Fi/Fantasy Finalists for People’s Choice Awards

Billboard (article): 2018 E! People's Choice Awards Finalists Announced: See the Full List

E!News (article): 2018 People's Choice Awards: Complete List of Finalists

TVFanatic (article):  People's Choice Awards 2018: Grey's Anatomy, Shadowhunters Lead the Way

PureFandom (article): People’s Choice Awards: ‘Shadowhunters’ fans won’t back down

Kathie Lee and Hoda (video):  Exciting news! We just announced additional @peopleschoice award nominations! Get in on this second phase of voting! Voting is open now through Friday.

E!News (interview):  He wasn't an original #PCAs nominee, but #Shadowhunters fans are no joke!

E!News (article):  Harry Shum Jr. Pops Champagne Over Shadowhunters' Unprecedented PCAs Write-In Votes

Cast and Crew Reactions:

Kat (Clary) tweeted her thanks and voting instructions for each category!

Kat (Clary) posted about her nomination on Instagram.

Harry (Magnus) tweeted his thanks and voting instructions for the PCAs.

Harry (Magnus) shared a video thanking fans for the nominations encouraging voting on Instagram.

Todd Slavkin (showrunner) tweeted: The people have spoken! Congrats ⁦@Kat_McNamara⁩ on your much deserved PCA nomination. Your talent & dedication & positivity are an inspiration to us all #ClaryFairchild #girlppwer #shadowhunterslegacy #shadowhunters

Todd Slavkin (showrunner) tweeted: Of the people and for the people! Congrats ⁦@HarryShumJr⁩ on your PCA nomination. Your talent knows no bounds. There is nothing you can't do #magnusbane #rolemodel #Shadowhunterslegacy #Shadowhunters

Darren Swimmer (showrunner) tweeted:  It's an honor to have been able to work with #PCA finalists, @Kat_McNamara and @HarryShumJr, and I am incredibly glad their amazing talent is being recognized by those who matter most - the audience.

Matt (Alec) tweeted his support:  Hey! @Kat_McNamara and @HarryShumJr are nominated for #PeoplesChoiceAwards! Go to their pages and vote for them. Its the smartest choice you'll ever make.

Harry (Magnus) tweeted:  My reaction this morning looking at my phone.😲😆  

Kat (Clary) tweeted: Amazing work, angels! If you want vote, make sure you use all three hashtags! There are many posts for Shadowhunters, Harry and me that only have 2#s - you need to hashtag the name too for it to count - like this -  #KatherineMcNamara #TheFemaleTVStar #PCAs    1 RT = 1 vote

Oz Comic Con

Matthew Daddario (Alec) and Dom Sherwood (Jace) spent a weekend in Brisbane, Australia at Oz Comic Con.

The entire panel can be seen on the Oz Comic Con Facebook Page.

Clare Kramer shared a number of photos from the weekend’s panels:

Here’s @MatthewDaddario on the @OzComicCon main stage! #Shadowhunters #OzComicCon18

Here’s @DomSherwood1 smoldering at a fan @OzComicCon.  #OzComicCon18 #Shadowhunters

.@MatthewDaddario and @DomSherwood1 are cracking up the #Shadowhunters panel audience with their stories of mean magpies, eyepatches, and swimming kangaroos. #OzComicCon18

Deep thoughts with #Shadowhunters @MatthewDaddario: Why do they call them action figures? @DomSherwood1: Because you can make them do actions. #OzComicCon18 @OzComicCon

.@DomSherwood1 “You broke the sword.” @MatthewDaddario “I did not break the sword! The ground and the manufacturer conspired to break the sword!” #Shadowhunters #OzComicCon18

“This is what happens. I ramble, then he rambles, and people lose interest.” @DomSherwood1 on his #Shadowhunters panel with @MatthewDaddario #OzComicCon18 [1]

It’s time for the #Shadowhunters panel with @DomSherwood1 and @MatthewDaddario @OzComicCon, and it’s a packed house! #OzComicCon18

Here’s @DomSherwood1 telling the crowd @OzComicCon that @MatthewDaddario doesn’t like pandas. #Shadowhunters #OzComicCon18

SPOILER ALERT @MatthewDaddario @DomSherwood1 #Shadowhunters #OzComicCon18

It’s time for the #Shadowhunters panel with @DomSherwood1 and @MatthewDaddario @OzComicCon, and it’s a packed house! #OzComicCon18

“Matt had a lot of sugar before coming out.” @DomSherwood1 on @MatthewDaddario @OzComicCon #OzComicCon18 #Shadowhunters

Here’s @MatthewDaddario’s profile @OzComicCon, all chiseled and whatnot. #shadowhunters #OzComicCon18

#SaveShadowhunters (continued)

On June 4th, it was announced that Freeform wouldn’t be continuing on with a fourth season of Shadowhunters. Here are a few major highlights. (Our full roundup for #SaveShadowhunters can be found here.)

Amazon Adviser (article): Is it time for Amazon to save Shadowhunters?

Other News

Kat (Clary) will be joining the cast of Arrow in a recurring role for Season 7:

TVLine (article):  Arrow Season 7: Shadowhunters' Katherine McNamara Joins Cast

Kat tweeted:  THRILLED to finally be able to share this news. So excited to be joining @CW_Arrow!  Thanks @tvline

Hidden Remote (article):  Arrow Season 7: Shadowhunter’s Katherine McNamara joins the cast

The Series Regulars (article): Katherine McNamara Nabs Recurring Role On ‘Arrow’

TV Guide (article): Stop Everything! Kat McNamara Just Booked Her First Post-Shadowhunters Role

Just Jared Jr. (article):  Katherine McNamara Joins 'Arrow' Season 7!

Entertainment Weekly (article):  Arrow casts Shadowhunters star Katherine McNamara in recurring role

ComicBook.com (article):  'Shadowhunters' Star Katherine McNamara Cast in Major 'Arrow' Role

Screen Rant (article):  Arrow Season 7 Casts Shadowhunters Alum In 'Pivotal' Role

Digital Spy (article):  Shadowhunters star Katherine McNamara lands a crucial role in Arrow season 7

Matt Carter (article):  Shadowhunters star Katherine McNamara reacts to Arrow season 7 casting

Kat shared a thank you video:  Thank you, Angels! My heart is so full from all the love for #Arrow and #ShadowhuntersLegacy. SO many exciting things in store on all fronts.  @ShadowhuntersTV @CW_Arrow

Glitter Magazine tweets their congratulations:  Congrats to #Shadowhunters' @Kat_McNamara as She Joins Cast of Arrow

Elle (video and article): Activists, Designers and Actors Share Their First Time Voting featuring Kat (Clary)

[interdimensional-ventures]

Sounds of Silence

This short fic was written based upon a conversation with @miraculousagentsofkrypton

Daisy hated going on EVA’s.  They had been looking for Fitz for months and sometimes things had to get fixed outside.  Fitz would have been first choice for a spacewalk to repair damage to the Zephyr but he wasn’t there of course.  Mack was second choice but he couldn’t do all of the outside work himself. Daisy was the third choice, sometimes she had to spell Mack when he had already been working outside and needed a break.  She wished Deke was there, he was used to spacewalks and would be really helpful but he wasn’t. She didn’t even know if he was wandering Earth seeing the sights or if he had simply disappeared as Fitz had theorized.

Jemma double checked the seal on her helmet for her and gave her a thumbs-up sign.

“Keep talking to me the whole time,” Daisy told her.  Mack didn’t like to much conversation when he was working, it was distracting to him.  Daisy, on the other hand, needed the distraction.

“Of course,” Jemma smiled and patted her on the shoulder.  “We are right above the rings of Saturn, they are spectacular.  Don’t forget to take a look at them while you are out there.”

Daisy shook her head, always the science nerd.  Jemma left the airlock and cycled it shut.  Daisy braced herself for the cold, suffocating, numbness that was about to surround her.  The air was pumped out of the airlock and back into the ship, the door swung open, and Daisy stood alone in the universe.

Saturn’s rings spread out before her in jaw-dropping majesty but Daisy barely noticed.  The others couldn’t possibly understand and she was not about to start complaining about it but space was very different for her than it was for anyone else.  She had become so used to the vibrations of the world around her that the oppressive silence of a hard vacuum crushed her.  Every day as she walked on the earth or even on the ship she was surrounded by the feel of the floor vibrating, the hum of the air molecules bouncing off of each other, the breathing of her teammates, the hypersonic squeaks of electrons pulsing through circuits.  Out in the vacuum of space, there was nothing.

Vibrations in the everyday world surrounded her, held her, caressed her.  She heard them all, felt them all, knew them all intimately in a way that she could never describe to someone who didn’t have her powers.  They made her feel … immersed in, and connected to, everyone and everything around her.

But vibrations don’t travel through a vacuum.  The only thing she felt on these EVA’s was her own breath, her own heartbeat, the faint whisper of her own space suit.  Everything else beyond that was…gone.  It was like her whole body was numb.

“All of your vitals are strong,” Jemma’s voice came through her earphones, “though your heart rate and blood pressure are both spiking.  Take some deep breaths and try to relax, everything will be okay.  You’ve done this before, your suit is working perfectly and you are tethered securely to the ship.”

Jemma thought that Daisy was afraid that something would go wrong on the spacewalk but that wasn’t it at all, she needed vibrations like other people needed light.  “Pull it together Johnson,” she muttered to herself, clenching her fists.  She had a job to do and she was going to do it.

“I’m unhooking my primary tether,” Daisy alerted the crew inside.  They used a two-tether system so that you were always connected to the ship by at least one tether.  She wished she had some magnetic boots so she could at least walk on the hull of the ship and feel its vibrations through her feet but magnetic boots didn’t work on the titanium-composite hull of the Zephyr.  She floated out of the airlock and was reaching for an exterior stanchion to attach her primary tether to when it happened.

A chunk of ice the size of a microwave slammed into the side of the airlock door and several hundred miles an hour and shattered, spraying her with ice shards.  Saturns rings were, of course, composed of ice chunks, some as big as a car but this one was above the rings and moving in the wrong direction. It must have been thrown out of orbit by one of Saturn’s shepherd moons.

She took a closer look at the ship to see what kind of damage it had done to the hull and was stunned to see that it had cut through her secondary tether leaving her unconnected to the ship.

“Zephyr, we have a problem,” she called out over he mic.

No response.

“Hello Zephyr, do you copy?”

No response.

She watched as the airlock tried to cycle shut but a tiny deflection in the door jamb from the impact kept it from closing properly.  The other spacesuits were in the airlock, which meant that if they couldn’t get the airlock to close properly then they couldn’t put on suits and rescue her.  There were emergency suits in lockers inside the ship itself but they would have to put them all on and then open the entire ship to space in order to come get her.  That would damage a lot of things inside and waste most of their precious air so it would be the last option if no one came up with something better.

She realized with a start that she was slowly drifting away from the ship.  Why was that happening? And Why weren’t they answering?  

She started, her suit was leaking it must be the escaping air that was pushing her away from the ship.  It was hard to hear the faint hiss of leaking air over the pounding of her heart but it was there.  She forced herself to calm down.  “I am The Destroyer of Worlds” she whispered quietly to herself.  She had hated that nickname for so long but she had finally claimed it as her own when she was talking to Kasius Sr.  There was power in that name and in that moment she needed to remind herself that she was powerful.  She was The Destroyer of Worlds!  Her jaw set, her breathing calmed, and her training as an agent took over.  The vacuum of space, the leaking air, and the broken tether were all major obstacles but none of them could stop her, she would find a way.

Normally when Daisy flew or moved things she caused vibrating air to push against them.  There was no air out here to push with.  “Okay, Destroyer of Worlds,” she muttered to herself, “we are going to have to think our way out of this instead of just blasting something.”

She took a quick survey of what she had to work with.  She had the primary tether but since the stanchion she had originally been reaching for had been crushed by the ice, she didn’t see anything that she could throw at and hook on to.  Suddenly she saw the end of the secondary tether floating around in the airlock.  She was 10 feet from the ship and slowly getting further but the tether was at least 40 feet long.  That gave her an idea.  She began to focus on the back end of the tether where it was attached to the inside of the airlock.  She made the molecules at the back of the tether vibrate against each other and slowly push the front end out toward her.

It was maddening.  It was like pushing a rope across the floor by just pushing the back end of it.  She realized just how much she used her ability to feel vibrations to give herself feedback in these kinds of situations.  It was a little like having your hand fall asleep and then trying to use it to pick up coins off of a desk in a dark room.  Your hand still works but you have no sense of touch so you can’t feel hand or the coins at all.   You can control your fingers but without the feedback that your sense of touch gives you aren’t quite sure where the edges of the coins are in relation to the tips of your fingers.

She stayed focused on her task even though her vibration sense felt numb.  Slowly the tether worked its way out toward her until she could finally reach it.  She quickly pulled herself back into the airlock and used her powers to push the door jamb back into alignment.  It was only a moment before the airlock filled with air and the entire crew was pushing their way in to give her a hug.  She let herself bathe in the sea of sounds that surrounded her and just rested in their arms.

“That was incredible!” Jemma exclaimed.

“Not as incredible as being back inside,” Daisy laughed as she gave Jemma another hug.

[cromulentbookreview]

Weaponized Jaws

Or: Seafire by Natalie C. Parker!

Action on the seas featuring badass female protagonists? Yeah, I’m definitely going to read that. Very little needed in the way of convincing me to read this book.

Seafire had been advertised before as Fury Road meets Wonder Woman meets the ocean, which makes sense. Though with much less Wonder Woman and way more of Kevin Costner's Waterworld.

Alright, children, gather around while I explain to you what Waterworld was.

Yeah, Waterworld. Not a video game, it was a movie starring Kevin Costner, the world’s only American-accented Robin Hood (hey, I like that movie, Alan Rickman was a treasure and I’ll fight anyone who says otherwise). Waterworld came out in 1995 and was massive flop, now a bit of a cult-classic. I remember 1995, somewhat vaguely. God I’m an Old now, aren’t I?

I’ll never be as cool as Steve Buscemi, though.

For those of you who enjoy both Fury Road and Waterworld, then you’ll definitely like Seafire. I love anything that takes place on the ocean - a side effect of my strange Dudes on Boats fixation that I’ve mentioned previously (my apologies to For a Muse of Fire, . Sea stories are kind of my thing. So is post-apocalyptic YA fiction. So this book ticked all the “I need entertainment and want to forget the news exists right now” boxes and worked out perfectly.

Caledonia Styx lives in Crapsack Waterworld, a post-apocalyptic flooded version of our world (referenced occasionally as the “old world”, flooded/destroyed as a result of some unknown calamity). Caledonia has the misfortune to live in an area controlled by Aric Athair, a vicious warlord and sir-not-appearing-in-this-book (since Seafire is the first in a planned trilogy, I’m sure we’ll meet him eventually). Anyway, Athair controls his war boys, called Bullets, by drugging them with something called Silt, made from some sort of weird hybrid poppy-flower-thing. Life in Athair’s territory sucks, so Caledonia’s mom, Rhona, and a bunch of other families have gotten together on the Styx family’s ship, the Ghost, to break through Athair’s blockade and head off to freedom elsewhere.

Unfortunately, the night the Ghost intends to escape, Caledonia and her best friend Pisces (they’re really big on the names from Greco Roman mythology in crapsack Waterworld) are sent ashore to gather some last minute supplies. Caledonia comes across a bullet called Lir, who asks for her help. It’s all bullshit, though - the second Caledonia gives away the location of the Ghost, Lir and his fellow bullets attack, slaughtering Caledonia and Pisces’s families and sinking the Ghost.

Pisces didn’t witness Lir’s treachery, though, and Caledonia, feeling responsible for the deaths of all those onboard the Ghost, keeps that bit where she gave away the position of the ship to herself. That makes sense, considering how guilty it feels, but later, as Caledonia refers to Pisces as her “sister”, the fact that she kept this bit of intel under wraps does become a tad annoying. Especially when Caledonia refuses, multiple times, to clarify why it is she does’t trust Bullets. She’s just like “nope, can’t trust Bullets” instead of “no, that one time I trusted a Bullet, he slaughtered our families.”

Anyway!

Four years after the deaths of their families, Caledonia and Pisces have raised and repaired the Ghost, renaming it the Mors Navis.

(Language nerd sidebar: Mors Navis, by the way, is Latin for Death Ship. Thank you Google translate! No thanks to my 10+ years of German education. Why couldn’t I have picked a Latin language? Noo, I had to go with the Germanics. Mors Navis does sound way more menacing than Totenschiff. Eat it, B. Traven).

Over those four years, Caledonia, acting as captain, and Pisces, her first mate, have collected a crew composed entirely of girls and women, all of whom have no love for Aric Athair and his Bullet army. Caledonia and her crew basically go around the Bullet seas, making life hell for Athair’s people. During one such mission, Pisces is wounded and then captured, only to be rescued and returned to the Mors Navis by a Bullet who claims he wants to escape. Caledonia, who has literally zero reasons to trust Bullets, doesn’t trust him. Pisces points out, reasonably, that he saved her life when he could have left her to die. But Caledonia simply repeats her mantra of “no trusting Bullets” while refusing to elaborate.

Until the Bullet lets it slip that Donnally and Ares, Caledonia and Pisces’s brothers, respectively, survived the massacre on board the Ghost and were pressed into Athair’s drug-addled Bullet army. He knows what ship Donnally and Ares are on, and the route it takes to bring in conscripts (read: children stolen from their families, drugged, and forced into Athair’s army, refusal to comply met with extreme violence, in the usual fashion of a murderous tyrant).

Suddenly, Caledonia has reason to question her strict “don’t trust Bullets” policy. But it’s one of those Meek’s Cutoff situations: the Bullet could be a lying sack of shit and leading the Mors Navis into a trap. Or he could be telling the truth, leading Caledonia and Pisces to their long-lost brothers. What to do?

Well, it’d be a pretty short book if they just shot the Bullet, dumped his body in the ocean and moved on, wouldn’t it?

It took me a little longer to read Seafire than I intended - I’m a slow reader anyway, but while I was reading Seafire, I was also binging on Scott Lynch’s Gentleman Bastard series (which are fantastic by the way - highly recommend the audiobooks, Michael Page is an amazing audiobook narrator) so my focus may have been just a wee bit divided. My biggest complaint is now we have yet another seafaring heroine with red hair. How come all the seafaring heroines have to have red hair? Also, it’s funny you should bring up red hair, because in the world of the Gentleman Bastards, bad things happen to girls with red hair. Seriously, how come all the fiery heroine types have to have red hair? I mean, it’s not like I’m jealous or anything. I mean, it’s not like I should have been born with red hair, but no, it ended up a dull, boring blonde, and hair dye is expensive and smells terrible...

Uhm.

I mean.

Seriously, though, red hair is a rare thing - if Caledonia’s father had dark hair and her mother had red hair, the most likely outcome would be a bunch of kids with...dark hair. Though if her father did have a recessive red-hair gene, then it’s entirely possible for him to have produced red-headed children... So I guess it’s possible. 

Not that I’m annoyed that my hair didn’t turn out red. Even though it should have, goddamn it! I know those recessive genes are in there somewhere!

Stupid lousy blonde hair grumble grumble grumble...

Ok, back to Seafire - it is definitely a highly enjoyable book, lots of nonstop action, but not a lot of resolution because it’s the first in an intended series. I highly recommend breezing through the book in one go, rather than endlessly picking it up and then putting it down in order to find out whether or not Locke and Jean finally kiss (they don’t). 

But yes, jealousy over fictional characters’ red hair aside, the only major complaint I have about Seafire rests with a single line. The thing about reading ARCs, which I think I’ve mentioned before but, again, nobody reads these, so I might as well: ARCs are not finished copies. The final copy of Seafire might not even feature this line, so it seems silly to complain about it, but complaining is fun so I’ll do it anyway.

So the secondary-boss villain, Lir, Caledonia’s sworn enemy as he killed her whole goddamn family, is described as having a “long face with a jaw that looked sharp enough to be a weapon of its own.”

From that line onward I found I was unable to focus on anything except how a man’s jaw could be sharp enough to constitute a weapon. It’s a question that’s been driving me to distraction for weeks now. Is Lir’s jawline sharp enough that it comes to a point, like a knife? What would that look like on a three-dimensional human person? How would one wield their weaponized jaws? Like a battering ram? Or would you just like, wave your head around like a sword? Does this mean his chin comes to a point, too? That one line of the galley proof of Seafire has caused me more consternation than anything else in the book - and this is a book that features lots of violence. Lots and lots of it. And here I am contemplating a man with a weaponized jawbone. 

I mean, of the whole book it’s one line and it doesn’t even matter but...but...gah, I can’t help but picture a guy with knives for a jaw. 

RECOMMENDED FOR: Fans of badass female protagonists kicking ass on the high seas, fans of YA lit who also happen to be fans of Kevin Costner’s Waterworld.

NOT RECOMMENDED FOR: Anyone who takes physical descriptions of fictional far too literally.

RELEASE DATE: August 28, 2018

RATING: 4/5

ANTICIPATION LEVEL FOR SEQUEL: Lhotse

OBLIGATORY STYX REFERENCE:

[miraimisu]

Oh boy, what do we have here, I WANT ALL OF THEM jk can i request a 30 for kacchako? You're the best 💖

I think this is gonna be the toughest and shortest one out of them because this is too tight as plot-wise and… idk? It turned out to be a bit clumsy. I’ll just let my imagination fly. And you are the best hon, where did your creativity come from? WRITE ME A FIC TOO.

Bakugou Katsuki hated libraries.

This was general knowledge among all students that dared come near the blonde– which reduced the count to, like, a pair of people? which was a bit sad actually. But Bakugou didn’t mind having a lame social life as long as nobody took him to a library. He had actually tried some tutoring with Kirishima some months ago and trust him, being kicked out of the quietest place on Earth was everything but pleasant.

Today, however, he had no other option but stay there, in the jampacked library full of nerds listening to music or reading books like their life depended on it. All tables were taken around him: shelves were surrounded with people swarming for tons of emboilled wording, tables were packed to the brim with bags, sheets and notebooks. There was this lingering scent of wood, pine, and closeness around him, silence that tried to be silent but ended being composed of hushed murmurs.

He knew why,

It was because of his table.

His table had the best spot in the entire library. It was near enough to the entrance, but not as close as to let winter breezes reach him. There was a big window by his side, letting night snow be seen, but cars weren’t heard this late in the evening. It shows that Yuuei was going through it’s final exams– Bakugou had, no joke, been there from sun to sun and he was too tired to deal with people.

They whispered.

They whispered because his table was completely devoid of any people but him, everyone too scared to approach him lest he threw a tantrum over personal space and threw them off the window. The fire king was fierce, had possesion of the best table around and was undeniably untouchable.

Bakugou, again, hated libraries. They weren’t as silent as they preached to be, there was always this subtone of hushed voices that spoke no pragmatic matter, only petty gossiping that brought no good to his ears. He was easy into focusing, and quirk to do his homework, but that little toneless chatter was pestering him– hell, if he couldn’t stand Deku’s mumbling for a living, how was he going to condone such generalized murmuring all around him?

Another of his pencils broke in twain when he heard his name being pronounced among a pair of girls. Maybe his pencil breaking business was what got him so isolated. There were people sitting on the floor, as if truthfully fearful of the explosion boy.

Suddenly, a low voice came beside him.

“Can I sit here?” oh, he could recognize that voice anywhere. “All other tables are full.”

He pulled the chair out for Uraraka to take, and she gladly jumped in with a stack of hero law books tucked in his arms. She silently tidied her place with a little smile– people could only stare at her, mouths agape, as if she had dared to cross a forbidden threshold for all humankind. His response to her presence was almost inmediate and utmost unkind. “Don’t make any fucking noise, Uraraka. I can sniff your chatter urges a mile away.”

She rose an eyebrow to him. The first thing he noticed was the lack of spark in her brown pools, a evident sign of exhaustion that he had learnt to tell apart from other ocular displays of her– blinking ‘I need your help’ eyes, doe eyed ‘you’re so cool’ eyes, or the now ‘please I am tired don’t be too hard on me’ eyes, devoid of shine and only full of the brown color of her soul. Drowning in them was the only pathetic way he was willing to die

“I have better stuff to do other than talk with you, you know. As I said, I only sat here because there are no other tables available.”

“You can sit with all those fuckers down on the floor.” he stiffled in a yawn. “I don’t give a damn.”

She decided not to answer that and decided to focus on her books. Uraraka had decided to come to the library mostly because she was too tired to make her way to the dorms without getting some rest. Admittedly, she had expected to find the place empty so she could nap for a pair of minutes in a corner– her plan obviously backfired when the library ended up being full and she had no ther option but sit by Mr. FireHell Blondelocks.

As far as she was concerned, Bakugou’s dorm was being repaired due to some of his angry fits being thrown towards a wall, making his dorm look creepily open. That huge hole by his bed was all but tranquilizing. She should have known he would be in the library while his dorm was under repairations, because he couldn’t stand noise while studying and the crew taking care of his room would sure make too much of it.

Brief story: she was stuck with Bakugou until she finished her homework. And time was passing by way too slowly to her liking.

There was a moment when people started leaving the room. Stars twinkled outside the building and threw some shadows across the wooden floor, and lamps lit up the cozy place with a dim, orange light. Uraraka found this to be a bit too pleasant for her tired senses– there was a second in which her head fell a bit too down for Bakugou’s liking, who had been watching her silently as she started to doze off.

“Oi.” he nudged her rudely, and her head snapped up again. “Don’t go falling asleep on me.”

She started messing with her hair sheepishly, making Bakugou fidget uncomfortably in his seat. That antic of hers drove him insane: she was always doing it in front of everyone, in front of teachers, in front of fucking Deku. And he sometimes wondered what the fuck did that bastard have to make her so nervous when he couldn’t wake a single of her hairs up while being by far the most fearsome boy in their class.

“I’m sorry.” whispered she. He saw her grimace, keeping a yawn in– and it made him outwardly yawn, hand covering his mouth. “It’s been a rough day, today. I’ve been going from one place to another and I just couldn’t wait to crash the bed.”

And Bakugou understood the struggle. He was also fighting the exhaustion away, barely keeping it at bay and the fact that the staff had decided to royally mess with him by turning on the heat was not fucking helping. He had already removed his jacket and he was still a bit too warm to his liking. Knowing Uraraka and how sleepy she was, the fight must be tougher for her.

He shuffled a bit closer to her, feeling himself more tired than ever. “There’s not much people around.”

Her head rested on her palm now, looking at him with an interested gaze. “Mhm.”

“You can have your damn sleep, now.”

This– this startled her. He could have a heart, too? What was the world coming to that night? “Are you suggesting to keep watch on me… and actually let me have a little nap?”

“I am not gonna be your fucking babysitter.” spat he, crimsom eyes glaring at her despite the kindness within his flames. He eyed her unkempt hair and the dryness of her pretty stars, and her skin suddenly seemed paler than usual. “You look like a car ran over you. If you can’t take care of yourself I’ll have to show you how to fucking do it.”

He legit slammed her head against the wooden table, making a loud terrifying noise. Somebody could have mistaken that with a murdering attempt. Uraraka, however, laughed at his antics while watching the snowflakes drop before her. “I could use… some sleep.”

Bakugou almost didn’t catch what she said, as she was inmediately out of commision the moment her head crashed against the table. “Stupid woman.” mumbled he, taking a last glimpse at his diagrams and summaries while keeping an eye on her. Her hair was a mess, and he could tell it was bothering her.

Bakugou caressed her cheek with his fingertips and quickly brushed some strands away, the notion inmediately bringing him close to rage with this newfound feeling of intimacy. “Fuck this girl, fuck her!” he glared at her. “Fuck her in hell…”

But the way she was sleeping was kind of cute, too. Her head rested atop her hands, even breaths fanning some locks away and her face in peace for the first time in a while. He had never seen her so relaxed until now, and the image filled him with a sense of peace that he didn’t know he could feel until he stumbled with her.

His back was throbbing. He bet hers wasn’t right now.

She must be… comfortable, too.

Bakugou looked away and started cursing colorfully as he took his jacket from his spot on the chair’s back, and put it on top of her quiet body. The thought of her scent impregnating his clothes wouldn’t occur to him until midnight clocked by– and he would fall asleep thinking about her, too.

The blonde blushed, and all he could think about now was about how good a nap would be to him and how nice her warmth would be– he was half a meter away from her and he could already feel her whole self lulling him to sleep against his will.

That had to be illegal. His heart shouldn't be racing as hard as it was.

Eventually, Bakugou gave in and his head ended up on his arms too, both teens closer together than they had ever been– and Bakugou had taken her sweater as a paid back, he thought tiredly and without much logic, and draped it across his back. 

Uraraka shifted closer to him in her sleep, and he was only drawn to her scent. The sound of snowflakes melting against the windowpane made him remember that he hated libraries, but he would never hate this spot and he could forget about this hatred for a while as long as Uraraka was by him all the time, too.

She had had tons of space to sit at– floors and on top of shelves. But all tables had been full and, at the end of the day, he couldn’t find the heart to complain.

Aizawa eventually found both kids fast asleep on the table and sighed. “Man, kids these days. They grow up so fast.”

[imusuallyobsessed]

Star City Ninja Warrior

@spaztronautwriter : “Somebody write me the Mayor Queen does an obstacle course for charity and the whole city goes nuts AU please and thank you”

Is this good? Who knows! I like it. Pounded it out in like... 30 minutes? Hope you guys enjoy it!

Months of preparation had gone into this moment. At least, for Oliver. The event itself “Beat the Odds,” had been in the works for almost a year.

The Glades Foundation created the obstacle-course style fundraiser to attract donors and raise money for the people and various charities that specifically benefit the Glades. People could also bet on the competitors.

The Glades Foundation President Raina Coppin, a no-nonsense, whip-smart woman had approached Star City Mayor Oliver Queen four months before. The event was having trouble attracting enough sponsors and getting enough press, so she asked the young, eligible, handsome mayor to participate.

Oliver had agreed. He couldn’t deny the Queen family’s part in the destruction of the Glades. His father’s closing of the steel mill and subsequent loophole in the union contract had left thousands of people high and dry. Oliver felt like it was his duty to do his part.

Once Raina had Oliver’s okay, she issues a press release.

Oliver really needed to stop being surprised by the media frenzy that followed him everywhere.

Now, Oliver was standing in the preparation area psyching himself up. Merlyn Global CEO (and Oliver’s childhood best friend) Tommy Merlyn was also participating, as well as renowned daytime-TV doctor (and Oliver’s childhood… frenemy) Carter Bowen. Ray Palmer had come to Star City from Coast City to participate. John Diggle, Oliver’s bodyguard, also got roped in when Raina visited. There were a few participants Oliver didn’t already know – including Sophie Baker, conveniently a bakery owner in Star City whose favorite hobby was parkour and Crossfit. Oliver was secretly intimidated by her.

“Okay, everyone! The cameras start rolling in 30 minutes! Hosts are pre-filming some stuff and we’re getting b-roll. Until then, this is our resident tech genius Felicity Smoak to give you all a few reminders,” she said, her dark brown eyes stern but excited. She was in a white pantsuit that set off her dark-brown skin and huge, white smile. She stepped aside – she was wearing heels, Oliver noticed, somehow composed and graceful on the grass.

Behind her was a woman Oliver never would’ve expected. Most of the filming crew was wearing comfortable clothes, but this woman was just as put together as Raina.

She was wearing a bright pink dress and turquoise heels. The color combination was a little blinding, and when she waved at the contestants he noticed her glittery nail polish. Her lipstick was the exact same shade of blue as her dress, and when she smiled Oliver was instantly… charmed.

Oliver was entirely positive he’d never used that word in relation to a woman before.

“Hi everyone!” she said, her sweet, beautiful voice floating through the waiting tent. Oliver took a few steps closer.

Tommy nudged Oliver and mumbled something about “nerd hot.” Oliver elbowed him in the side and said murmured, “Pay attention.”

“You guys won’t have to worry too much about the tech. That’s my job. Just remember to be aware of the cameras. This is televised, after all! But it’s still a charity fundraiser, do try and do a good job. I’m not saying you shouldn’t try to win. Though, the point isn’t winning. But – ”

“Miss Smoak?” Oliver said, entirely unaware of when he decided to open his mouth. “Mrs. Coppin said something about instructions.”

“Right,” she said, her entire face flushing as she glanced at Oliver before biting her lip. Oliver tried not to stare at her like he’d been struck dumb.

“Anyway, just do your best and have fun! And this is a family-friendly fundraiser, so if you do badly try and keep smiling!”

Carter grinned his slick, disgusting, smarmy grin and leaned closer to Felicity. “We’ll… I mean, at least I’ll be fine. My CrossFit coach says I’m the best student he’s ever had. And I hiked the Appalachian Trail last year,” he said.

Felicity pursed her lips and tilted her head. “I read that you hiked three days then dropped out because you said you had altitude sickness,” she mused.

Oliver and Tommy smirked, unable to hide the expression.

Felicity immediately flustered. “Oh, I’m sorry! Sometimes I just say the first thing that comes to mind. Anyway, you guys can… disperse, or psych yourselves up or whatever! I’ve said my piece,” she said with a grin.

She didn’t leave, though. She talked with Raina for a few moments after the competitors dispersed to their own places, but Oliver found himself drifting closer to Felicity.

“Oh, Mayor Queen,” she said, startling as she turned and saw him there. “I’m sorry about that babble, by the way. And thank you for stopping me. I do appreciate it.”

Oliver couldn’t help but smile. “There’s nothing to thank me for. You did great,” she said, sincere.

Felicity tilted her head, but she was smiling. “Well, if you say so,” she agreed.

“So, how did you get into doing tech for this event? Last I heard, you’d left QC to build your own company,” he said, having remembered her name halfway through her speech. Walter and bemoaned Felicity’s loss often at the dinner table since she’d left. Apparently, QC had offered her a hefty raise and new title, but she’d left it all on the table.

Felicity looked startled, and she blushed again.

“Walter talks about you a lot.  He’s still not over losing ‘the smartest person at Queen Consolidated,’” he said, imitating his stepfathers British accent.

Felicity gasped a little and her eyes widened. She seemed even more flustered than before.

“Oh, that’s too kind of him. But yeah, I was at QC until about a year and a half ago. Honestly, I was kind of… floundering at first. I had all these ideas but no idea how to achieve what I wanted. I met Raina at a coffeeshop where I fixed her laptop. It had a really, shockingly terrible virus on it, and we got to talking and she had this idea for a charity event and… I wanted to help. I quit QC to take a more active role in the world and this seemed like a great place to start,” she explained, then blushed again. Oh frack, that was so cheesy. I can’t believe I just said that.”

“No, I understand,” Oliver said, instantly reassuring her. “That’s why I became mayor. I never wanted to be CEO, and this was how I felt I’d make this city better.”

Felicity nodded, her blue eyes wide behind her two-tone glasses. “I know. I’ve listened to all… I mean, some of your speeches. I can tell you really care about this city,” she said.

Oliver felt instantly warm and couldn’t stop another smile. “Hey, I know this is kind of sudden, but – ”

“Okay everyone, places! Felicity, Camera 8 said they needed your help with something,” Raina said.

Was it Oliver’s imagination that her face fell? She’d looked excited, but maybe it was a general thing. The event was exciting.

She had to leave, and Oliver went back to Tommy.

His friend rolled his eyes and laughed. “Dude. You used to have game,” he said.

Oliver glared. “Shut up.”

XXX

Oliver was done. He’d done it! Across all the obstacles, up the vertical wall to push the button. He, Digg and Sophie had been the only three to manage it, and they posed with spectators and each other for pictures and interviews.

Felicity stood behind the last camera, a huge set of headphones over her ears and speaking quickly and quietly into the attached microphone.

Oliver definitely wasn’t imagining her blue eyes trained entirely on him.

Once it was all over, Oliver walked right up to her and asked, “Would you like to go out to dinner with me?”

Internet Friends:

@chronicolicity @acheaptrickandacheesyoneline @yellowflicker09011996 @dettiot @felicityollies @nessafra @almondblossomme @pleasantfanandstudent @miriam1779 @emmilynestill @tinaday3w @alexiablackbriar13 @suchaprettypoison @green-arrows-of-karamel @realityisoverrated-fic