#though i can recognize that how i think is silly. nobody in this game follows human gender presentation rules bc they are not human

[transgaysex]

watching a new outer wilds analysis and trying very hard to not get silly mad at inaccuracies in the video

[beanghostprincess]

Sabosan Modern AU in which Luffy hosts a party in his house because Ace and Sabo are both out for the night and he thinks it's a great opportunity to turn it into fun (because he hates having the place to himself. It's boring and lonely). It's just the usual six people (East Blue crew + Vivi) but they always have so much fun anyway. So the thing is- They're drunk. Wasted. And they don't even get in trouble anyway, they're just playing silly games in the safety of their home and there's nothing wrong with that, surprisingly. It's impressive how they manage to get in more trouble when they're sober. However, Sanji is going through a rough time. He's been quiet all night and everyone knows something's wrong with him because he has been in a mood for the past week, but he's Sanji, so, he won't talk. Something something, Zoro and Sanji fight like usual but this time Sanji is drunk and honest and everything hurts, so he ends up genuinely feeling like shit and going upstairs to ignore everyone because he can't handle all of that right now. Nobody follows him because again, they're all drunk and they don't even know what to do with that and it'd be surprising if they even noticed the fight because, again, drunk and playing games. And since Sanji has always been and always will be in a romantic teenage coming-of-age movie ever since WCI happened, Sabo just casually, randomly, comes back home because of inexplicable reasons (the reason being he fought with Koala in their college dorm for setting on fire one of their books while saying the educational system is a scam and she kicked him out for the night). So the guy sees all this party they have and just goes "I'm too tired for this. Just don't break anything and God, please, don't go into Ace's room" / Usopp: Wait, why? / Sabo: You don't wanna know.

So Sabo goes upstairs to his room, hoping to get some sleep or work done (work being planning his next riot, not studying. Imagine Sabo studying, pffft) but instead, he finds a blond sitting on his bedroom floor on the verge of a panic attack, drunk, crying and begging Sabo not to kick him out because he doesn't want to go back home. Sabo has no idea why the hell he's saying that because he doesn't want to kick them out, especially Sanji, now that he's saying all of these incoherent things about being afraid to go back home. Sabo recognizes what's going on because he has gone through this himself and they also have to deal with Ace's panic attacks a lot. So he helps Sanji calm down and ends up reassuring him that no, he's not going back home tonight. He can stay all he wants. And Sanji keeps crying and whispering things and names Sabo only knows because of magazines and the news ("Vinsmoke Ichiji, next in line to preside the executive table at Germa Enterprises!" / "Commonly known as a heartbreaker, Vinsmoke Niji was recently seen on a date with one of Charlotte Linlin's daughters!" / "Accused of problematic commentaries, Vinsmoke Yonji addresses the discourse by saying, and I quote 'Who the fuck cares?'"). So, alright, Sabo is not fond of the Vinsmoke family and at first he wasn't fond of Sanji either for the same reason, but he's different from them and he has known ever since two years ago the guy came over with lots, and lots of food only because Luffy wasn't eating properly. But Sabo now knows the rich family isn't just full of shit socially but also inside, and seeing Sanji so anxious and weak about it makes his blood boil. Now is not the time to get angry, though, so he just stays by his side and waits for him to calm down, offering him a shoulder to cry on. The guy is drunk and having the breakdown of his life and the only thing Sabo can do right now is be there for him, even if he wishes he could just go over to their ridiculously huge house and burn it down. The things Sanji talks about aren't pretty. They make him want to throw up.

Sanji ends up falling asleep and Sabo takes him to his bed so he doesn't sleep, well, on the floor. Sabo goes downstairs instead. Besides, he has to clean up the mess the others made anyway.

So Sanji wakes up in a random bed, recognizing the room, and wanting to die from the hangover he's having right now. But he remembers everything, sadly, and he wants to die from embarrassment because he just vented to his friend's brother like it's nothing. They get along, but not that much to do shit like this. He wants to try and sneak out of their house before anybody notices, but of course, Sabo does. It seems the guy has a power for these things. But Sabo is extremely nice, actually, and it isn't that awkward in the end. They're alone because the others got up earlier to go home and Luffy went with them too to spend the rest of the day with Zoro (wow, who could've guessed). Sanji doesn't want to go home but he needs to get the fuck out of here because he feels like he's intruding, especially since Sabo has made breakfast (normal, regular breakfast. Nothing too special but it's way more than what he expected from these siblings). He has to finish eating and then he'll go home! But then Sabo offers him a shower and- Okay. He'll go home after having breakfast and showering! But then Sabo tells him to, please, stay, and be my guest, it's a bit boring here on my own and I want an excuse not to study. And how can Sanji say no to the guy who has helped him so much? So he stays. And one thing leads to another and it's already nighttime because they actually have a lot of things in common and they have fun together- But Sanji needs to go home. Now. Because if the news finds out about him being away for this long it's gonna be a problem and his brothers will be twice as annoying.

Sabo finally lets him go but- But there's something in his eyes when he does. He's worried sick. He's so concerned for him that it's aching inside of Sanji's heart too. Sanji wants to stay the same way Sabo wants him to not go. Almost begs him to. But he can't. But Sanji knows, then, that if he ever needs somebody to talk to, Sabo isn't that far from home anyway.

[steelminds]

biting u!!! gimme ur 4 Kanna headcanons :3

(if ur willing to I wanna hear ur Jackson headcanons too /nf)

realistic: kanna has a bunny plush :] she had it before she found her hat, and coincidentally, it was named bucket !

not v realistic but funny: went through a phase where she kept dyeing her hair different colors,,, like a year before the death game she had it dyed red

heart-crushing and awful, but fun to inflict on friends: following up on the last one, her parents were a little confused as to why kanna suddenly wanted to have a different hair color,,, at some point she said it was because people always asked her why she was a blonde (sorry i've been infected by the greenblings natural blonde disease) and the rest of her family wasn't. nobody rlly questions it when its obviously dyed.

unrealistic: once got stuck on the roof of her middle school. how it happened even she doesnt really know . the story changes a little every time you ask LOL

4 silly headcanons ask game! (jackson hcs under cut)

realistic: i think he can play guitar :] sometimes wenna jackson & maiko go camping and they always ask him to bring the guitar. he takes requests for songs but usually he improvises for fun <3

not v realistic but funny: he owns like 50 of the same green shirt that he always wears. sometimes he wears a different color though and no one recognizes him ever

heart-crushing and awful, but fun to inflict on friends: i was thinking about [spoiler] [spoiler] [spoiler] and i just. maybe one time maiko or wenna heard him crying in the next room. the door was locked & either wenna didn't want to disturb him or maiko didn't want to get in trouble for being up so late, but neither of them wanted to just leave him so they. sat outside. in the hallway. jackson came out the next morning and saw them sleeping on the ground :(

unrealistic: the scar on his face is because he did something really stupid once like. threw a heavy book in the air and it hit him on the head LOL

[heliads]

The Football Player (Part One)

Based on this request: “Bucky is a football player and you are a fan of the team but you're also really shy. Secretly Bucky also developed a crush on you. He sees you getting mocked by some idiots and he gets in between to stand up for you. Later then he asks you for a walk and he kisses you.”

masterlist / part two

According to every ounce of common sense still left in your body, you should be paying attention. You’re in school, might as well actually learn something, right? You have a test next period, and if you were smart or wanted to pass at all, you should be focusing right now, tracking every single word that your professor is saying. The only problem is that you’re not doing this whatsoever. No, your gaze is instead directed out the window, where a certain football team is just beginning practice.

It’s not like you were intentionally trying to get distracted. You had come to the classroom right on time, pencils lined up and notebook out, ready to start the day. Your gaze just happened to accidentally shift to the window instead, and when you saw number seventeen in red and gold, well, how could you focus on math at a time like this? You’d seen James Barnes around the school many times, but he never ceases to amaze you.

Honestly, even talking about him tends to light a fire behind your cheeks. You’ve seen this movie dozens of times before: shy, studious girl falls for the football player, hijinks ensue. However, this isn’t a Hollywood blockbuster. Bucky is a star member of the team, and you’re just a fan of your school’s football games. Whenever you do icebreakers in class and you’re forced to describe yourself in one word, you always reach for ‘bookish’ or ‘smiling’. Certainly never ‘superbly athletic’ or ‘on Bucky’s radar in any way’. Those aren’t even one word.

However, you never quite seem to let yourself be brought back to reality. Time and time again, you don the red and gold colors of your school- Mid-Capital University, or MCU, ready to go cheer on the team and your favorite player especially so. In fact, there’s a game tonight, you’ll be going with your friend. No matter how many times you laugh at yourself, though, you can’t shake your crush. You doubt it’ll be going away anytime soon.

The night is young, the shouts loud. You cheer with your friend and the rest of the school as the football team runs out onto the field. Their manager, a Mr. Stark, watches from the sidelines, yelling directions or complaining about how much the equipment is going to cost. The team jogs over to their captain, Steve Rogers, to huddle up and discuss final strategy. Steve is a senior, and you’ve heard rumors that he’s chosen Sam Wilson to take his place as captain next year. He’s Bucky’s best friend, so you’ve heard, although they pretend to fight often enough that you’d think they were rivals.

Bucky is here as well now, eyes glinting from underneath his helmet. He’d had long hair for the longest time, but when he’d cut it over the summer there had been more than a few desolate sighs from the cheerleaders. You had to smile at that- at least you weren’t head-over-heels enough to give up your crush based on his hair. You weren’t that bad yet.

As you watch, the team takes their position. They’ll be playing their rivals tonight, the Hydras. Steve heads to the back, Bucky and Sam on either side of him. Further along the team, you can begin to recognize other players- Scott Lang, a kid who’s scrawny off the field but seems to grow twice in size the second he puts on his gear, Peter Parker, the freshman who managed to make it on the team within his first few days, and Natasha Romanoff, the one girl on the team who’s got a death stare promising she’ll tear any objectors to shreds.

The whistle blows, and the teams are off. You watch with bated breath as Bucky darts left, right, catches the ball from Steve and takes off down the field. Apprehension grows across the student body until at last- touchdown, your school! You rise with the others, cheering in unison. Maybe you’re just being silly, but you could swear Bucky looked at you with a smile just as he started off back towards the line.

The rest of the football game is a breeze. Your school wins easily, and Bucky definitely did his part to secure the victory. The next day, everyone is still buzzing over the catches and near misses with their friends, not wanting to miss a single moment. You suppose it’s still on your mind, which is why you’re frozen in your tracks when your new lab partner sits down beside you in biology.

It’s Bucky. Of course it is Bucky. Of course, the one time you have to have a new lab partner in class, your teacher manages to have the terrible luck to place you with the one person who reduces you to a blushing mess every time he steps within ten feet of you. Bucky slings his backpack down beside his chair, offering you an easy smile like a flyer, free of charge.

“I’m Bucky.” He says, and you remember yourself. “I know. I saw the game, you were really good. I’m Y/N, uh, by the way.” Bucky’s smile grows even wider when you mention the game, if that’s possible. “You saw the game? That’s so nice of you.” You feel like you can’t form a coherent thought. “Yeah, I went with my friends. Your team won.” You want to slap yourself in the head- of course he won, he was there. You’re stating the obvious.

But Bucky doesn’t laugh at you, or act like you’ve said anything strange. He just nods, shoulders slumping slightly as he thinks about last night’s game. “It was hard. I guess every time you go against your rival school the pressure’s just ten times worse. It took a lot to just run out on the field.”

He stiffens slightly after he says this, like he wasn’t intending on sharing that secret just yet. However, you’re just grateful that you’re not the only one saying whatever pops into your head. “I can’t blame you. If it’s worth anything, though, I thought you were great.” Bucky’s beaming smile is back, brighter than ever. “It’s worth a lot from you.”

Maybe this sudden seating arrangement won’t be that bad after all.

Your friend catches up to you the second you leave the biology room behind. She looks back and forth between you and Bucky’s retreating form, something in between astonishment and a teasing grin lingering on her face. “Tell me I didn’t just make that up. Tell me you’re actually the lab partner of the one and only Bucky Barnes, the guy you’ve been crushing on for, like, forever.”

You shove her slightly, although you can’t help but smile. “It’s true. I don’t know how, but it’s true. Guess the bio teacher really liked me that period.” Your friend loops an arm around your shoulders. “It’s not just him who really likes you. Did you see the way he was looking at you? All through class, he kept stealing glances. I think Bucky Barnes has a crush on you.”

You stop in your tracks. “That’s impossible. He would never.” Your friend crows in victory. “But he did! You don’t stare at somebody like that unless you’re hopelessly in love with them. It’s the same way you stare at him.” Indignation rises in you like a spring. “I don’t stare at him. I just observe, casually.” Your friend snorts. “Well, you casually observe him a lot. Honestly, I just see this as a success. If you can get the star football player to fall in love with you, then I think I can win the lottery or something.”

Even after your laughter rises and dies away, you can’t help but think about what your friend said. Surely it’s impossible- Bucky would never so much as talk to you outside of class, let alone have a crush on you. But your friend wasn’t exactly lying. You had seen Bucky out of the corner of your eye, the way a smile lingered on his lips when he glanced over at you. That wasn’t just nothing, right? Honestly, this whole lab partners deal might be more pressing than you ever thought possible.

The only way to move on is to go through the next day, and the next. After that, however, you have biology again, and that means finding your place next to Bucky Barnes and pretending like your heart rate isn’t skyrocketing the second he smiles up at you, saying he’s glad to see you again. Your friend keeps stealing glances your way, eyes wide and thumbs raised in an expression of impressed awe.

As it turns out, your friend isn’t the only one to see something between you and Bucky. You make your way out of the bio room, unable to hide a smile, although your happy outlook disappears the second somebody blocks your path across campus. This somebody just happens to be Mandy Fleming, bottle blonde junior who thinks she owns the school, and her entourage of preening followers.

Mandy folds her arms over her chest, considering you. Her lip purses. Evidently she finds something lacking. “You know, I don’t think we’ve had a proper conversation in a while. We need to make a few things clear.” You force a smile, trying to step around her. “Can we do it later? I have places to be.” Mandy curls her lip. “I don’t wait. This can’t wait. See, you’ve developed the unfortunate habit of spending too much time around Bucky Barnes.”

You raise an eyebrow. “We’re lab partners. What, you want me to ignore him?” Mandy’s eyes narrow. “That would be preferable. Next class, you’re going to go up to the professor and tell him you want to switch partners. Make something up about wanting to be closer to the board or something, I’m sure he’ll believe it.” You can barely listen to her. “And why would I do that?” Mandy takes a step closer. “Bucky is mine, not yours. I’m going to need you to back off.”

You stare at her. “You want me to switch lab partners all because a boy you’re not even dating is sitting next to me?” Mandy’s head rears back. You’ve obviously struck a nerve. “Listen here, honey. This isn’t an issue about me, it’s an issue about you. What, did you really think Bucky would ever even give you the time of day? You’re a nobody, a nothing, somebody not even worth a fraction of his time. Honestly, I’m doing him a favor by getting rid of you. He doesn’t want to see you, not for a second.”

With every word, you can feel your confidence plummeting. Mandy notices this, a smirk burning even deeper into her lips. Sometimes, you swear she can smell fear just like an animal. “You’re worried because you know I’m right. You’re pathetic, really, and Bucky Barnes wants nothing to do with you.” Just as you feel like you want to go back to your dorm room and never see the light of day again, a voice rings out from behind you. It’s a voice you recognize instantly, and one that Mandy does too, as she shrinks back the second she hears it.

“You couldn’t be more wrong.” Bucky steps forward, taking a place next to you. Mandy forces a smile. “I, uh, don’t know what you’re talking about. Y/N and I are just having a little chat about homework. We had homework, right, a textbook reading and-” Bucky cuts her off coolly. “I heard every word. If you think I’d want to choose you over her, you’re wrong. She’s a hundred times the girl you’ll ever be.”

Mandy stammers, fishing around for words but coming up with nothing. It’s almost cathartic to watch. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, Y/N and I have somewhere to be. And if I hear you trying to talk to her like that again, believe me when I say that this won’t be the worst I’ll say to you.” Bucky offers you a hand like a proper gentleman, and you take it, letting him steer you away from Mandy and her followers, who are still gaping at your backs.

The second you’re out of earshot, Bucky turns to you, apologies and regret written all over his face. “I’m so sorry about that. It’s all my fault- she’s been trying to flirt with me all semester, and I finally gave up and rejected her, and now she’s taking it out on you. I wish none of this ever happened.” You manage to force a smile. “Trust me, it’s fine.”

Bucky looks at you, concern still lingering in his eyes. “Are you sure? I can talk to them again if you think they’ll bother you.” You laugh at that. “Don’t worry about me. I’m perfectly alright.” Bucky smiles at that. “Well, if you are perfectly alright, I was wondering if you were busy this Saturday. I saw this new park that opened, and it looked really interesting, but if you’re busy or something we can totally do something else, or nothing at all, whatever you-”

You cut him off, unable to hide a smile at his rambling. “I think that sounds excellent. I’ll see you there?” Bucky’s face lights up. “I’ll see you there.” He gathers his courage one last time, then leans forward to kiss you. He flashes you one last perfect smile before disappearing around the corner, leaving you with a smile and the memory of his lips on yours. When you look up, you see scores of jealous girls staring at you, but for once, the attention doesn’t bother you. Why should it? You have Bucky at last, and he doesn’t want anyone but you.

marvel tag list: @mycosmicparadise​

[ragingbookdragon]

Do You Believe In Life After Love? PT. 2

Arkhamverse!Jason Todd x Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 2K Warnings: Explicit Language and Angst

Author's Note: I have emerged victorious from my second round with the enemy known only as...The Cringe...it was a glorious battle and I FUCKIN' WON IT. Enjoy that I have now edited two previous stories to read better for y'all! -Thorne

Her cowl was discarded somewhere on the penthouse floor, but she couldn’t’ve been bothered to even care about it since most of Gotham either knew who she was now, or they strongly suggested they did. Even if they did know, they still treated her with the same respect as when she was unknown. She moved automatically to the bar as she unclipped the cape from her shoulders, letting it fall with a thud in a heap of leather as she poured herself a generous glass of bourbon. Setting it on the table, she undid her gauntlets, one coming off, and then the other.

She picked up the glass and walked around the bar towards the couch and coffee table. A flashing red light caught her eye and she looked over, seeing the landline blinking on the side table. As she swirled the amber liquor around in her glass, her fingers pressed the button on the answering machine. Her eyes turned to the heavily tinted windows, and she stared at the city below the penthouse as the machine spit out its usual tone.

“You have one new message, Friday, December 19th.” A sigh sounded through the line, followed by a soft and barely cheerful voice. “(Y/N)? It’s me, Dick…calling for…the seventh time this week.” He let out another sigh, and this time, his voice betrayed his feelings. “Look, I know it’s been hard on you since Bruce…died…but I really think it would be good for you if you got out of Gotham for a while, even if it was just coming over to Blüdhaven for a few weeks.” The line went silent, and after a moment, his voice picked up. “…I really miss you sis and I know that you’re suffering from the weight of keeping Gotham in check. Let Lucius carry it for a while and come spend Christmas with me…Look, I have to go to work now, but please think about it (Y/N). For me…and for Bruce and Alfred…they wouldn’t want you to keep all this up…so…just gimme a call back and we’ll plan something, okay? I love you sis…bye.”

The mention of her departed father and butler made her heart tighten so painfully in her chest that it seemed to stop her from breathing and (Y/N) looked down at her glass, seeing a diluted reflection she didn’t recognize staring back.

Lately, it seemed like every time she caught her reflection as Batgirl, she appeared less and less like she remembered, image darkening with every passing night she was out on the streets alone, fighting with no backup, with nobody in her ear telling her where enemies were or encouraging her for a job well done. She could tell that the woman who wore the cowl and the woman who was the cowl were starting to become one instead of two different people, much like her father appeared sometimes. And while it had been his thing when he was alive, it wasn’t her. She was somebody outside the cowl, but now? Now she didn’t know who was Batgirl and who was (Y/N) Wayne—and the divide between was only it was getting worse as it closed closer and closer to the line.

She finally remembered how to breathe and inhaled deeply, shoving it aside and looking back out the window. His image caught in her eye before she focused on the skyline, her voice firm as she said, “You know, I have to wonder…when you kill someone, do you ever get a little voice in your head that tells you it’s wrong…Arkham Knight?”

(Y/N) spun around, turning her attention to the man standing beside her coffee table, dressed in a suit that was armored similarly to his earlier one a few months back, though the colors were different, and he wore a dark jacket with white leather patches along the shoulders and arms. The helmet was different too, instead of mimicking the ears of her father’s cowl, his was simply rounded and crimson in color, though she bet that his visor input ran on the same tech her father’s did. Her eyes briefly fell to the red bat symbol painted across his chest, and for a moment, everything seemed to fade until the anger came back to her.

She clapped a hand to her chest, her voice cheerfully fake. “Oh, silly me, I forgot! You’re not going by Arkham Knight anymore! You’re going by ‘The Red Hood’!” Her voice lost the fakeness, replaced by a hard edge and she leaned back against the window, suppressing the urge to shiver from the chill, her eyes dark. “What do you want, Jason?”

He stood up straight, his head tipping upwards, and she couldn’t see his eyes, but she knew they were trained on her. “I wanted to see you.”

(Y/N) scoffed, a smile crossing her lips. “Well, you saw me. Now fuck off.”

Jason sighed. “That’s not what I mean.”

“Oh, so you mean you wanted to see how I was doing after you ruined mine and the lives of the people I cared about?” He said nothing, and she leaned over, finger running along the button of the answering machine. “You wanna see me, Jason? Well how about you listen to this?”

She hit play, and a message came through. “(Y/N) Wayne? This is Vicki Vale. I really would like to talk to you about what’s happened in the past few months, and with your dad—”

(Y/N) hit the next button, and another voice filled the room. “(Y/N), this is Jack Ryder. Listen, I know you’ve been hounded by reporters since it’s been revealed that your dad was Batman. I want to talk to you about—”

She hit stop, glowering back at him as she pointed to the machine. “Every. Day. Every day I get the same messages over and over and over again. (Y/N) Wayne are you Batgirl? We should talk about it! Your dad was Batman, so you must be Batgirl! How are you going to pay for all the damage and destruction your dad did all these years? How are you going to answer for what he’s done? How can we trust Wayne Enterprises anymore? What’s it like having to pick up the pieces of a broken life after your dad…after your dad…”

(Y/N) brought a hand to her face, covering her mouth. The tears ran down her cheeks, cascading over her hand, and she glared at Jason, her voice raw with emotion. “Everything that’s happened…is all your fault.”

He took a step towards her, shoulders squared as he placed a hand to his chest. “You can’t blame this all on me, (Y/N). Bruce was the one who activated the Knightfall Protocol—not me.”

Her lips wobbled as she countered hoarsely, “After Scarecrow revealed his identity because of events that you put into place.” She placed the glass on the table, spreading her arms. “So, have you gotten your revenge, Jason? Does it feel better to know that you succeeded in killing my dad? In killing Batman?”

He looked away and something wrathful inside (Y/N) snapped; she picked up the liquor glass and chucked it as hard as she could, missing him by an inch as it hit the wall. It shattered into a million shards as the amber liquid trickled down the wall, and her words came out enraged. “ANSWER ME DAMNIT!”

He met her eyes and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly, hands flexing at his sides. “I didn’t mean for all this to happen,” he said, and she barked a laugh full of disbelief.

“What did you think was going to happen, Jason? Reveal who Batman was, kill my dad, and everything else was just gonna work out in the end?” She pointed to the street below. “I can’t walk ten feet out of this building without being hounded by press and reporters about everything.”

She shook her head, feet carrying her past him towards her bedroom. “You get off scot-free with anonymity and I get stuck cleaning up a giant shitstorm. Figures. You can find your way out.” She hadn’t made it a step past him when a hand shot out and curled around her bicep, pulling her back.

(Y/N) thrashed, trying to yank her arm away from his grip. “Let go of me!”

Jason’s grip tightened, and he grabbed her other arm. “No!” He leaned close to her, his voice firm. “We’re not leaving this alone anymore. We’ve been circling one another since that night, and I’m done playing games, (Y/N). We’re talking about this.”

She huffed in disbelief, staring at him. “There is nothing to talk about, Jason.” (Y/N) waved a hand between them. “What we had…it’s gone.”

“Are you sure it is? Because as much as you seem to hate me, you can’t stay away from me whenever we’re patrolling Gotham together.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Okay, firstly, I follow you to make sure you don’t kill innocent people. And secondly, I’m pretty damn sure what we had is gone. I think about punching you more than I do anything else.”

He hummed, staring down at her and she was starting to get the urge to right-hook him when that familiar smugness set in his gaze. The same smugness he used to pull with her a few years ago when they were together. A memory flashed of Robin and Batgirl arguing, her annoyed and him smug as hell.

“I don’t believe you,” he countered lightly.

“I don’t give a flying fuck what you believe, Jason. The truth is we aren’t together anymore.” She started squirming again. “Now let go of me and get the hell out of my penthouse.”

He fell silent and simply stared at her before responding quietly, “Tell me you don’t love me or that you don’t need me anymore and I will.”

(Y/N) froze and her eyes went wide. “Excuse me?” Her voice was a whisper, as Jason released one of her arms, his gloved hand coming up to caress her cheek.

“You can tell me that we’re done all you want, (Y/N).” His hand left her cheek, rising to pull the jacket-hood from his head and yank the helmet off. He tossed it on the couch and Jason gazed at her, his teal eyes boring into hers. “But until I hear you tell me that you don’t love me anymore, I’m not moving from this spot.”

He held his head high, looking down at her. “So, tell me. Tell me you don’t love me anymore and I’ll go.” Jason searched her gaze. “I’ll go and I’ll never come back.”

(Y/N) stood there, the breath in her lungs frozen as they watched each other. After a moment, she lowered her head and murmured, “I don’t…I don’t…” She stopped, swallowing thickly, the tears that had swelled in her eyes threatening to run down her cheeks. “Oh, fuck it…I can’t do it.”

(Y/N) brought her hand up, covering her eyes even though the tears were already streaming down her cheeks. “I can’t tell you I don’t love you because…I still do love you.” She lowered her hand, gazing up at him. “And I never really stopped…no matter how furious I’ve been at you.” (Y/N) went slack against him, letting him wrap his arms around her. “Damn you, Jason Todd…damn you.”

His breath was hot against her ear as he chuckled lowly, tightening his grip. “I know.”

She pulled back a bit, looking at him teary eyed. “This doesn’t mean everything is okay now. I still want to beat the ever-living shit out of you.”

He huffed. “I know you do.”

Her voice turned watery. “I’m still pissed, and you’re still pissed and we’ve gotta work through that to get better.”

Jason nodded. “We will, (Y/N).” His hands cupped her cheeks, and he brushed his thumbs under her eyes, wiping the tears away. “I love you.”

(Y/N) nodded, burying her face in his chest. “I love you too.”

Do you believe in life after love?

[qt-caity]

Star Trek Secret Santa 2020

A fic for @saritaadam for @startreksecretsanta for the prompt of “TOS Sulu, Chekov, and Uhura on their own adventures.” Thanks to @that-one-curly-haired-chick and @wreckx for looking it over for me.

“I’m still not sure I get it, “Chekov whispered under the latest round of applause and laughter.

Sulu was already prying the Russian’s communicator out of his hand and sliding it towards the middle of the table. “Not much to ‘get’ here, pal. Just hope you aren’t unlucky.”

Moments ago, when Chekov had been hovering in the doorway of the recreation room to see a group of senior officers huddled around a ring of communicators on a table, his first impressions were those of a cult. The deck officer who glanced up and immediately asked “You in?” did little to assuage that. Yet Chekov was smart enough to know that you could hardly afford to alienate other crewmembers in the early days of your first assignment. If the four hundred something people on this ship were all members of some secret cult, well, it was time for him to learn its laws.

Luckily, Lieutenant Sulu had recognized him and immediately waved him over to sit by him, persuading the others to let him have one round to watch before joining in the fun.

Unfortunately, Chekov was still confused as to what this fun was.

“Is this something for all in Starfleet? A game everyone plays?”

Sulu smiled and shook his head. “Only we’ve got Uhura. It’s basically a free show, Pavel. The price is just—” His words faded as the bosun whistle on the wall panel sounded.

“Kirk to Sulu.”

“Shit.” Sulu groaned.

Uhura rose gracefully to a chorus of cheers and groans, which quieted as she reached the panel.

“Kirk to Sulu.”

“Nyota, be kind,” Sulu begged before he was promptly shushed by the rest of the table.

Uhura gave a wink before extending a graceful finger to the comm. “Sulu here.”

Chekov blinked. The last round that he’d witnessed, he’d assumed Uhura was just answering comms in silly voices for fun. Knowing that her voice was now a perfect impersonation of Sulu’s. . . well, apparently that was the price of the show.

“Sulu, regarding our course to Agaron PrimeI. If we were to make a stop at the Canopus  first, how much would that delay our arrival?”

The table exploded into a muted explosion of giggles as every eye turned expectantly towards Sulu, who had sprung into action. Two fingers, then six, then four. A jabbing finger. Eight fingers. His hands held close together, then spread far apart.

Chekov looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. Uhura kept her cool gaze. “Did you say Canopus, Captain?”

Two, six, then four fingers. Three jabbing motions. Eight fingers, A decidedly frustrated and sarcastic spreading of the arms.

“Yes, Canopus. How long, Sulu?”

A pause. “I’m sorry sir…I’ll need time to work that out.”

“Hmmm. I see. See that it doesn’t take you too long to find a calculator, Lieutenant. Kirk out.”

“TWENTY SIX SOLAR DAYS,” Sulu burst out as soon as the red light on the wall dimmed. “IT’S FOUR POINT 8 LIGHTYEARS, AVERAGING 5.4 WARP, CALCULATED IN THEIR LOCAL TIME, THAT’S TWENTY SIX SOLAR—”

“Don’t tell her, laddie,” chuckled Scotty as the rest of the table burst into laughter. “Sounds to me like you’ve got a call to make.”

Sulu slumped in his chair and dejectedly sipped his drink. “One more round. The captain already thinks I can’t do warp equations at the ready. Five more minutes won’t damage my reputation any further.”

“I’d spend that time practicing your charades,” Uhura added lightly as she came behind Sulu’s chair. “No sun? No days? I’m not a mind reader, you know.”

“Just a life ruiner,” Sulu muttered darkly, but his mouth twitched as he brought his glass to his lips again.

“I do think that I’ve only one more round left in me, so before you all—" Uhura frowned as one of the communicators on the table buzzed with its whistle. “Is that…Pavel’s?”

Chekov’s heart sunk. “Da.” His shiny communicator stood out in the ring of dingy dull devices. “Yes, it’s mine.”

Everyone else reached out to pocket their device, murmuring in surprise as Uhura stayed put behind Sulu.

“That’s not fair to me, he’s only just got here!”

“You’ve had seven days, Nyota! You mastered Klingon barroom slang in half that time.”

“We do tell everyone you’re the best at this, you know.”

Uhura crossed her arms. “I’ll have you know Klingon barroom slang is quite easy to pick up once you’ve mastered one particular expletive. I’ve hardly gotten to spend any time with Pavel so far!”

“Yes, give the lady a break, please. It’s not like I have any noticeable accent to copy,” Chekov added helpfully, wondering why so many people broke out into snickers again.

“Sorry, Nyota. Your own rules, after all,” said Sulu firmly, gracefully reaching across and holding the communicator over his head towards Uhura.

“Sore loser,” Uhura muttered, but opened the communicator anyway and took a deep breath. “Chekov here.”

A mutter of approval circled the table at the reveal of Uhura’s first Russian accent. Not half bad, Chekov admitted to himself. She did sound like she came from St. Petersburg instead of Moscow, but he could take that up with her later.

“Ensign Chekov, this is Mister Spock.”

Whispers of excitement now. Sulu glanced over in time to see Chekov’s mouth beginning to open, and quickly slapped his hand across it. “Rules, Pavel.”

“Yes, Mister Spock.”

“Ensign, I am calling regarding our latest discussion that we had about the—”

Uhura’s eyes met Chekov’s, which were widened in shock. Hurriedly, she cut Spock off. “Da.”

“You know to what I’m referring?”

“Yes.”

“And you are prepared?

“…Da.”

A muffled scream came from behind Sulu’s hand, and other officers had to lean forward to keep Chekov from thrashing out of his chair. Uhura grimaced. “Vell, actually…”

“All can be arranged in more detail the next time we meet, Ensign. I look forward to seeing you at 1900 hours. Spock out.”

Sulu quickly withdrew his hand before it could be bitten off as the Russian threw himself out of his chair and gestured wildly towards the whole table. “CRAZY, ALL OF YOU. INSANE!”

“I tried to keep it neutral! I said ‘Da!” Uhura offered defensively.

“A WERY IMPORTANT ‘DA.’” Chekov broke down into a string of Russian which, if Uhura’s face was any clue, followed a drastic line of thought.

“Pavel, Pavel…” Sulu awkwardly stood next to the frantic ensign and grabbed his shoulder. “I know you just got here, and Mister Spock can seem…well, he’s a lot at first. But whatever you promised, Uhura can help you with it.” He looked up to meet Nyota’s glare. “Uhura and I can help you with it.”

********************************************************************************************************

    Sulu broke into what he hoped looked like a nonchalant jog as he followed Chekov down the hall. Uhura was keeping a much more leisurely pace behind, taking the time to greet every crewmember they passed. 

    “Pavel,” Sulu hissed after having to apologize to the fourth redshirt that Chekov nearly plowed into. “You said that you--Uhura--agreed to present your research to Mr. Spock tonight. We can help you finish, you’ve got plenty of time!”

    Chekov slowed in front of a laboratory door, nervously looking up and down the corridor, and even taking a peek into an adjacent Jeffries Tube. Uhura gracefully ducked her head to hide her smile. “Research is done, only....too much.”

    “Pavel, I don’t--” the door whooshed open and behind him, Sulu heard a particular Klingon expletive.

    “Pavel, you’ve only been here a few days!” Uhura cried in dismay, looking at the parts spread across the floor. “This looks like you spent months dismantling this!”

    “Well, I guess I can’t make fun of Riley for his lab accident anymore,” Sulu said lazily, picking up a piece of circuitry to inspect. “Remind me to never introduce you to him.”

    “This is serious!” Chekov was practically vibrating between the different corners of the room. “I was finishing my research and the machine was slow, so I try to improve it, but then it jammed, and I thought if I took it apart I could find problem--”

    “You know who would be best equipped to fix this?” Sulu murmured to Uhura. “One Mister Spock.”

    “Oh, hush,” Uhura scolded over Chekov’s wounded cry. “There’s always Mr. Scott. He was just with us, I can go--”

    “No, no, no!” Chekov pleaded, his eyes wide. “No senior officers. Nobody important. I cannot risk having the first thing on my record be a demerit!”

    “Or an invoice,” Uhura added lightly.

    “Thanks for the compliment, Pavel. But neither of us are engineers.”

    “Speak for yourself.” Uhura plucked the circuit out of Sulu’s hands. “I’ve done emergency surgery on my array to at least hide most of the damage here.”

    “Fix it enough so that some other poor soul will come and break it next. Sneaky.”

    Chekov looked as though he were about to faint. “It’s not my intention to--”

    “We’re just kidding, Pavel. Grab a hyperspanner. If we’re going to let Mr. Spock in here in time, we’d better hustle.”

********************************************************************************************************

    When Mr. Spock entered the environmental sciences lab at 18:58, he found a more sociable scene than he was anticipating. 

    “Lieutenant Uhura. Mr. Sulu,” he nodded. “What brings you to this part of the ship?”

    “Just getting to know the new Ensign, sir. We’ll be out of your way now. Uhura, would you like to join me for dinner?”

    “Of course, Hikaru.” Uhura grasped Chekov’s hand for a moment, before placing it firmly on the center of the console plate, giving it an extra press before leaving to follow Sulu. “STAY confident, Pavel, and good luck.”

    Sulu waited until they were a whole corridor away before letting his head roll back with a sigh. “He’s going to be trouble.”

    “All the good ones are.” Uhura and Sulu reentered the same rec room as before just as a bosun whistle sounded from the wall panel. 

    “Uhura! I’ll wager my Enolian spice wine that you can’t fool whoever’s on the other end of that one!”

    Uhura only paused for a moment before shrugging and making her way over. Sulu shook his head, dumbfounded. “You never learn, do you?”

    “Be a dear and fetch my dinner and I’ll share some of the wine with you.”

    “Yes, ma’am” Sulu saluted and made his way over to the replicators. He was about to punch in his order when he saw a figure duck behind a receptacle. Curious, he peeked around.

    Captain Kirk was hunched over his communicator. “Ensign, you sound unwell. Should I call Sickbay?” 

    Kirk looked up to glance across the room and immediately met Sulu’s gaze. He smirked, put a finger to his lips, and winked before speaking again. “You really sound congested, Ensign. Don’t make me make this an order.” He then leaned away from the communicator to whisper to Sulu, “Keep quiet about this and I’ll keep quiet about the spice wine.”

    “Aye, sir,” Sulu whispered back and turned back to the replicator. The new Ensign might be a handful, but he would fit right in on this captain’s ship.

[dinoyoongi]

Confirm or Deny (4)

SYNOPSIS: You’re a member of the rising group FRNZEE. You’ve been dating Namjoon for years when Dispatch releases an article exposing your relationship. Your company confirms the relationship. Big Hit denies it.

PARTS: ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR | FIVE

PAIRING: Namjoon x Reader

GENRE: Romance, Angst

WARNINGS: Strong language

WORD COUNT: 4819

AUTHORS NOTE: Finally - so sorry about the long wait! Fall was an extremely busy season for me both work and personal wise. There will only be one or two more parts left depending on how I choose to wrap the story up but there won’t be toooooo long of a wait for it this time. Please make sure to like/comment/reblog if you enjoy the story! Thank you! ❤️ (P.S.- this is totally unedited so any mistakes are my own)

_________________________________________

“Are you sure that this a good idea?” Ji-na asks from the doorway, arms crossed over her chest as she watches you pull a sweater over your head. “Things are still bad, Y/N. They're still pulling vandalized advertisements from-”

From everywhere.

Since you've become the laughing stock of the k-pop industry, fans (ARMY mostly, you'd wager to guess) have begun making you into the clown that they obviously believe you are. All around the city, advertisements featuring your group have been vandalized wherever they're posted – soju posters in restaurants, fashion billboards in the train stations, album promotions on the side of city buses. The damage can be as little as a small mustache scribbled above your upper-lip to something as extreme as animal feces being smeared across your face.

“I'm aware, Ji-na. The company makes it a point to send me every video and photograph of every reported incident,” you tell her, unable to restrain the edge in your voice. “I just want to support you. I want to be there … I can't hide in this building for another minute.”

Ji-na's face softens. “Won't it be difficult for you, though? To watch us perform? To watch us stand on that stage without you? We already know that you support us – you don't have to make yourself uncomfortable to show it.”

You pause, your fingers stilling on the laces of your shoes. She's absolutely right – it was going to be uncomfortable. More than that, it was going to hurt insanely bad. You were aware of this, you were prepared for this. But as masochistic as it was, you needed to be there. Just to be in the building, surrounded by the frantic bustling of groups and managers and stylists … if that would make you feel normal – even for a minute – you would take the tradeoff.

“I want to go, Ji-na,” you stress, rising upright and turning to face your concerned friend. “Please just let me be there. I need to be there. I'll be okay – I promise.”

Her eyes roam the expanse of your face for what feels like minutes, searching for any kind of twitch or frown or quiver that might expose a wariness on your face. But when she finds nothing, she slumps her shoulder with a sigh of finality, giving up and nodding with an accepting smile.

“We leave in ten minutes. You know the drill – hat and face mask on. Be ready or we go without you,” she warns, a finger pointing in your direction. You're not given a chance to respond before she's turning on her heel to exit the room.

_____________________________________

Pulling into the parking garage of the KBS building, you're overcome with an overwhelming sense of nervousness. Lifting your hand from your lap, you're startled to see your own fingers trembling.

“Ugh, I need soju right now. I'm so nervous,” one of your members cries from the backseat. There's a chorus of agreement among the residents of the van. You'd like to join them because you also feel like throwing up, but you know it's not for the same reason.

This parking garage … this cold, dimly lit, nothing-but-concrete parking garage … how does it immediately trigger so many memories? Like the time that BTS invited you to the taping of their debut Music Bank performance and told the crew that you were one of their makeup artists so you could hang out in their dressing room – you remember a game of hide and seek in this garage before their performance that ended with Taehyung falling directly onto his face and bruising his chin. The real makeup artist had to apply four layers of foundation to cover the red and darkening splotch of skin. Or there was the year that FRNZEE and BTS were promoting at the same time. After having an argument with Seokjin, Namjoon had convinced you to sneak away from your group and the two of you hid out in his company's car with the tinted windows for almost an hour.

Out of everything, you definitely did not expect a fucking parking garage to conjure up thoughts of Namjoon.

It's been nearly one month since he abruptly ended your relationship. You want to say that you've been a strong, independent woman – that you took the breakup in stride and were moving on with your life.

That'd be a very laughable lie, though. You were – and still are – the definition of a hot mess.

You've sent texts – oh, god, you sent so many texts. You've left voicemails, of both the drunk and sober variety. You've sent emails asking him to return your texts and voicemails. You've even written a few letters but you're positive that instead of the mailing the parcels as requested, your manager probably shredded them.

Namjoon was yours for almost ten years. Ten fucking years. How could he just be done with you so quickly? How could he just stop all form of contact? Did these past ten years not matter? Did he fall out of love with you?

Maybe since he's Grammy nominated now, he knows he's capable and deserving of being with someone more beautiful than you, more talented than you, more successful than you.

Someone else. Not you.

A sharp pain in the palm of your hand makes you wince. You look down to see that at some point during your self-deprivation, you've gripped hard onto the charm of the necklace that Namjoon had given you. Designed for you. You let it go and exhale a breath to expunge the gross thoughts from your head. There's a massive part of your heart and your brain that's telling you how much Namjoon loved you, how much he respected you, that he would never do that to you. But the small portion of your broken heart and your fizzled brain are louder, screaming and screeching that you aren't good enough to be the leader of BTS' girlfriend. In a dark, dusty corner of your self-esteem, he always seemed to be too good for you. And now your insecurities have been unleashed on the possibility that it was absolutely true.

He's embarrassed of you. The other boys are embarrassed of you. They literally don't want to be associated with you.

What else are you supposed to think?

“Alright, girls, it's time!” your manager yells from the driver seat, his loud claps startling you. “Remember that you need to pose for some photos outside before you can go in. If you want to fix your makeup, do it now and be quick, please. Y/N, you'll be standing off to the side with me. Make sure your mask is pulled up, okay?”

Your sigh is exaggerated as you watch your members pull their compacts from their clutches, reapplying lip tint, pressing eyeshadow pigment onto their lids, fixing flyaway hairs. They're dressed casual but they look beautiful. They look like idols.

It doesn't escape you that as you're pulling your hat down and your mask up – you don't feel anything of the sort.

You follow behind your manager as the girls trail ahead, strutting out of the parking garage and into the designated photograph spot. A large crowd of people behind barriers excitedly call out member names as they get into position, prompting rehearsed giggles from the girls. You don't realize you're whimpering as they perform the group greeting until your manager pats your shoulder.

“Try not to look upset, okay? I'm sure some of them have already recognized you and they'll be scrutinizing your every move,” he whispers in your ear. You nod once to affirm that you've heard him, keeping your eyes locked on the group.

They pose silly, they laugh among themselves, they look like a complete group. They look perfect. They … they don't look like they miss you at all.

“She's here! I knew it!” a voice screeches not far from where you stand. You lift your head, craning your neck to see what member the excited fan was yelling for. There's a group of girls in school uniforms loitering the side of the building but their attention isn't on the group, instead on a large trash can that sits against the wall. Everyone in the vicinity startles when one of the girls knocks it over, scattering bits of trash and discarded items across the entire lot.

You turn to face your manager. “Isn't there KBS security here? Are they going to allow them to garbage pick right in front of the talent?”

He shrugs. “I don't know. That's not my problem though. We're gonna wrap this up and go instead in just a few-”

“Stay away from Namjoon, you delusional whore!”

You don't have time to search for the source of the threat before something is hurled into the side of your head. You cry out, nursing the sensitive patch of scalp as you glance down at the offending object. A half-eaten, dirty apple?

“We won't let you get away with it!” another voice shrieks. The voice is followed by a flying cup – a large tumbler that you might get at a coffee shop – that smacks you right in the center of your face, the remaining contents of the cup soaking your gray sweater in dark brown splotches. Your manager shoves you behind him as he begins to scream.

“Don't any of you move a muscle! You will be sued for assault – I promise!” he warns. On the other side of the lot, the cameras that had been capturing your members are now turned on you. You watch as more girls surround the fallen trash can, filling their arms with garbage to use as weapons. Nobody stops them.

“We should sue her for slander! She tried to ruin Namjoon's reputation with her lies!”

There's a brief cheer of agreement before more garbage is being pelted in your direction; a broken hair brush, empty snack containers, more half-drunk coffee cups that have soaked not only you but your poor manager. He's lost his grip on you, stepping forward to push at any of the girls who dare to come too close. Unfortunately, this leaves you wide open.

Banana peels, cigarette buts, more fucking coffee cups – doesn't this country ever finish their damn beverages? – discarded makeup, used tissues … they hit you with precision. You curl your body into the wall, a feeble attempt to protect your face. You tilt your chin up to glance at your group; the spot where they stood is clear now and when you look farther down, you see their backs as they rush into the building.

They left without you. All of them. Even Ji-na.

They left you here. To be drenched in garbage.

Your manager is still fighting off a horde of the girls, screeching into his cell phone for help. When one of them gets a good grip on your hair and yanks you to the ground, the group of photographers finally realize the seriousness of the situation and begin to chase them off. Above you, though, is two of the meanest faces you have ever seen. One has your ponytail in a dangerous clutch and the other sneers at you from behind her phone, another cup in her hand. They glance at each other briefly before the cup tips, dousing you in more questionable liquid.

You're not a weakling – you could fight back. You could kick her right off of you. You could kick that phone right out of her hand. It would be so easy for you.

But this … this is it. This is where you break. There is where you realize that you don't have anymore fight left inside of you. You don't have the heart or the willpower or the mental resolve to get back up on your feet right now.

“That's enough!” a deep voice booms. “Get your hands off of her right now!”

Before the girls can even react, they're being pulled from you. Because your hair is still wrapped around her fist, you're yanked upwards with them. You holler in pain, smacking at her hands for release. It isn't until a large man wearing a KBS security shirt forcibly grabs her hand from your hair does she let it go.

With vision blurred by tears, you watch through watery eyes as the girls are shoved into police cars. When did those get here?

“Oh my god, Y/N. Are you okay? Where are you hurt?” your manager asks frantically, his eyes roving your form for any scratches or bruises or blood. “I'm so sorry – I didn't see them sneak behind me. I thought … I thought you left with the other girls. I motioned for them to bring you … I thought ...”

Oh. It makes sense.

Even your own group is embarrassed of you.

You open your mouth to speak but your chin trembles too violently to form any words.

“Come on, we have to meet the police at the hospital. I'll call another manager to watch the girls here on the way.”

His arm wraps around your side, noticing your wobbling legs. You take only one step forward before he notices something on the ground. “Oh! Isn't this your necklace? You were wearing it earlier.”

It's broken, the chain completely snapped in half. The moon gem is scratched and scuffed from where it was probably stepped on. You don't remember feeling it break loose in the scuffle but in all fairness to yourself, you stopped feeling anything after the fifth piece of garbage hit you in the face.

“No, that's not my necklace. It's just garbage. Leave it.”

__________________________________

An hour and twenty-eight minutes is all it takes for news to spread that troublemaker FRNZEE member Y/N was assaulted by BTS fans at the taping of Music Bank. The incident even made the afternoon news. When your manager attempts to turn the hospital room's television off, you refuse, keeping your eyes locked onto the humiliating videos that are now being broadcast to the entire country.

“The doctors said to keep your stress levels down, Y/N. You've lost thirteen pounds in less than a month and you haven't even been dancing,” he pleas, sinking down onto the chair next to you. Stressed. Stressed, stressed, stressed. It's a word that's been thrown around multiple times since you've arrived but you know what it really means. You know what it's code for, what they don't want to outright tell you.

You're having a fucking breakdown.

“The company is releasing a statement today. Soon, probably within the hour,” he tells you hesitantly.

You roll your eyes. “Let me guess – I'm on an extended hiatus from all group activities to work on my mental health?”

“Pretty much word for word,” he confirms solemnly.

You scoff, feeling another rising pressure on your chest. You didn't do anything. You haven't been doing anything. You've been hiding out in your dorm like a hermit crab for over a month just as they wanted you to do and you're going to punished because a group of psychotic sasaengs attacked you?  

“They're going to kick me out of the group, aren't they?” you ask, your voice small. Your manager is silent and the sound of nothing only makes your chest throb even harder. “I … I don't- I don't understand … what did I do to deserve this? I worked just as hard as anyone else. I did what they told me and laid low. Those girls are going to get a slap on the wrist and I'm going to lose my group? Is this what's going to happen?”

Your manager sighs heavily before breaking his silence. “I'm sure everything will work out for you, Y/N. Please don't worry too much about it.”

Blinking back the pooling moisture behind your eyes, you divert your attention to your phone. Although your manager's phone has been ringing and buzzing non-stop since you arrived, yours has not. The media doesn't know your personal phone number so you didn't expect any messages from them but … what about the group?

“Were the members' phones taken away in their dressing room?” you ask hesitantly. Please say yes, please say yes.

Your manager shakes his head. “No, not that I know of.

“Oh,” you exhale. Sensing the dark shift in your breath, Manager glances at the screen of your phone on your lap. When he sees the text display “No new notifications,” he immediately realizes his error.

“Do you know what? My texts have been kind of delayed. Maybe we just don't get good service here. Let me take your phone downstairs and see if the messages come through, okay?” he talks so fast that you can barely make out the words that he's throwing at you. He doesn't offer you any chance to argue before he's quickly shuffling out of the room, your phone in hand.

_________________________________________________

“That's a wrap for now, Namjoon. Great job! Take an hour to eat and rest and we'll have your new wardrobe ready when you're finished,” the director of photography suggests, lifting his camera from the tripod. It's been an extremely long morning of photo and video shoots for next few chapters of BTS World – the group's successful mobile game. Namjoon bows respectfully before turning to rush to the catering table. He has spent the last hour so hungry that he knows everybody in the room could probably hear his stomach grumbling. After fixing himself a plate of assorted foods – kebabs, kimchi, sliders and some french fries – he sighs in relief when he's able to drop himself onto the sofa.

“Namjoon,” his voice is called but not loudly. Mouth stuffed with fries, he glances up to where Yoongi stands in front of him, phone clutched tightly in both hands.

“What's up, hyung?” he garbles through his food. He fights to swallow it down when he notices Yoongi's furrowed brows, the corners of his lips tilted downward in a worried frown. Something has happened. “What's going on? Are the boys okay?”

“It's not the boys,” he mumbles and Namjoon swears he hears a crack in the elder's voice. Yoongi stares at the screen of his phone for a few hard seconds before hesitantly turning the screen, holding it at Namjoon's eye level. “You need to see this.”

Namjoon is confused at first – the video begins with FRNZEE – minus Y/N, of course – engaging in silly poses in the parking lot of the KBS building. Loud voices and cheers for specific members infiltrate the audio but that's normal – there are always fans present when idols arrive to music show recordings. He's one second away from questioning his hyung on why this particular video has him so upset when it happens. There's indecipherable screaming before the shaky camera pans away from FRNZEE to the side of the building where a group of people are whipping garbage at somebody. The person in question is huddled against the wall with her hands around her head, her howls and pleas for them to stop cutting through the shouting. When the cameraman gets closer and closer, Namjoon's stomach drops to his knees when he realizes who the cowering, defenseless victim being attacked with garbage is.

The plate of food falls to the carpet.

“Namjoon -” Yoongi begins but he snatches the phone of out his hands, holding it close to his face as if the nearness of the video will make the contents stop. The video just keeps going. Nobody stops the attackers, nobody pulls you away from the scene. He's so close to Yoongi's phone that his nose brushes against the screen, his eyes wide as he watches somebody yank you by the hair. The screech of pain that follows pierces Namjoon who emits a tearless sob of anguish.

The finale of his heartbreak comes when one of the girls is violently pulled off of you by a security guard. In the scuffle, the necklace – his necklace, the one he spent months designing just for you – is ripped from your neck.

“Pick it up, pick it up,” he chants desperately, eyes trained on the small, neglected piece of jewelery on the ground by your feet. And then the video ends. The last frame it freezes on is you – hysterical, bruised, bloody and dirty – leaning against your manager for support.

When he lifts his head in shock, he's surprised to see the other five members next to Yoongi, eyes downcast and phones in their hands. They've seen it too.

“I did this,” he wheezes in disbelief. There's a painful swell in his chest and his heart is beating so hard that he can almost hear it. “I did this to her. This is all my fault.”

“Hyung, no,” Jimin admonishes, rushing to join Namjoon on the sofa. He wraps a comforting arm around his shoulder, squeezing. “You didn't do this. Those terrible girls did this.”

“They're ARMY though,” Jungkook's voice is almost a whisper. “Those are our fans that did this. To Y/N.

“No, I did this,” Namjoon snaps, shoving at Jimin's grasp and rising to his feet. “I denied our relationship to the public. I got her pulled from the comeback. I broke up with her. This is all on me.”

He's suddenly overcome with an overwhelming need to see you. To touch you. To know that you're okay with his own eyes. To get down on his hands and knees and beg for forgiveness. Maybe if he wouldn't have broken up with you, maybe if he would have just answered one of your many calls or texts, maybe … maybe this wouldn't have happened. Maybe.

Before he realizes what he's doing, his jacket is already on his shoulders.

“Namjoon, where are you going?” Jin sighs.

“Where do you think I'm going? That's my fucking girlfriend that they attacked. I need to see her.”

“She's not your girlfriend anymore,” Yoongi corrects softly. Namjoon feels a hand pull at the sleeve of his jacket, guiding him back toward the sofa. “And unless you're planning on getting back together with her, it's a very bad idea for you to visit her.”

Lowering himself back down onto the cushions, he drops his head into his hands. Does he want to get back together with you? Without a fucking doubt. You were his Sweets – the love of his life. But he didn't deserve you. No, you deserved someone who wasn't a coward, someone who would give you the world without any hesitation.

Namjoon was only somebody who broke your heart and your spirit. And now his fans – his fans, they supported him, they fought an unwanted fight for him �� were breaking you in his name.

How could he ever expect you to want him back? How could he ever let you take him back?

“I heard that she's in the hospital, anyway. You know that place is swarming with cameras. You'll only make it worst,” Hoseok adds.

Namjoon's head pops up, his bottom lip quivering. “Hospital? Was she seriously injured?”

“I don't think so, hyung,” Taehyung murmurs, lowering himself to wrap his arms around his neck from behind. “I heard she's only getting a few bumps and bruises checked out. It's mainly to record evidence so they can sue the fans.”

“The fans ...” Namjoon trails off. He's suddenly assaulted with visions of cackling girls whipping things at you, menacing snarls on their faces as they yanked you by your hair. These fans … he doesn't know them but he hates them. He feels dirty, knowing that people like them are devoted to him, to the group. “Can somebody get me a pen and some paper? I need to put an end to this.”

________________________________________

“Manager said the girls are getting sued to the fullest degree. They might end up in a juvenile detention center for a few months,” Ji-na prattles, watching you with nervous eyes as you purge the contents of your closet, holding garments to your chest to examine in the mirror before tossing into one of two piles – keep or donate.

“The international fans have been really, really supportive. Even the BTS fans overseas have been rallying for you,” she continues, her eyes firm on your back as you study a stain on the sleeve of a dress. When it's clear that you're not going to respond, she sighs, dropping her chin onto her hands. “Has management spoken to you about this? How long are they going to have you on hiatus?”

Ji-na gets an answer this time – not with words, but with an empty suitcase being dropped onto your bed.

She sits up immediately, alarmed at the sight of luggage. “Y/N? Why do you have that? Why are you packing? I thought you were just organizing your closet.”

You fold a blouse, laying it down neatly. And then another. And another.

“Y/N, will you just fucking talk to me?” Ji-na screeches from her side of the room, launching herself off of the bed. She reaches out to slam the suitcase shut just as you're about to stack more clothes inside. “Why are you packing? Where are you going?”

You sigh – the first sound that Ji-na has heard you make since you got back from the hospital.

“I'm going home,” you say matter-of-factly. Ignoring her hand on the suitcase, you pull a duffle bag out from underneath your bed and begin to pack it instead.

“What do you mean? You are home,” Ji-na says confusedly.

“No, I'm going home, Ji-na. I'm going back to Daejeon,”

“Like … for good? Were you kicked out of the group?” she asks, shifting her body closer to you in an effort to distract you from shoving more garments into your luggage. “Please tell me what's going on.”

“Not that you care but I'm on an extended hiatus for my mental health. The company doesn't think it's a good idea for me to stay here right now so I've been sent home until they can figure out what to do with me. I don't know how long I'll be gone. I don't even know if I'll be allowed to come back. The good news is that I'll be gone so nobody has to worry about delusional little Y/N to bring them down anymore – I'll be out of your hair by tonight.”

“Not that I care? I – I can't even … why are you acting as if I'm happy about this?” Ji-na snarls, her hand smacking down onto the suitcase in frustration. “One of our members is leaving. One of my best friends is leaving – how can you accuse me of being glad?”

“Aren't you?” you drawl, arms crossing over your chest. “I'm a disgrace, remember? A laughing stock to the k-pop industry? Aren't you happy that you I won't be sullying FRNZEE's reputation anymore?”

“That's your insecurities talking, Y/N. Do not put words in our mouths. We would never leave a member behind-”

“You already did!” your voice is loud and shrill and it startles Ji-na who stumbles a few steps backward. “Today … when I was being attacked, all I wanted was for somebody to whisk me away. All I wanted was somebody to take my hand and pull me inside that building. But you – all of you – you just left me there. Even after Manager told you to take me!”

Ji-na opens her mouth to defend herself but she can't find the right words.

“We … Y/N, we didn't purposely leave you there. It was … it was fucking chaos. There was screaming and there was a crowd and we weren't able to even see you properly over all of the people recording. We just – we, I mean, I don't think-”

“Can you just leave me to pack? I'll come say goodbye to everyone when I'm finished.”

“Y/N,” she murmurs through wet, blurry eyes.

“Please,” you squeak, your plea breaking as you try to hold on to your composure. You just want to wait until she's out of the room before you allow yourself to fall apart.

Eyes trained on nothing, you wait until Ji-na's sniffling and soft footsteps are completely out of earshot before you slump to the floor. Glancing around the room, you study everything – the color of the walls, the placement of the furniture, the softness of the carpet. You want to believe that you'll be back here again soon but in your heart, you know that this is the end.

It feels like just yesterday you were blowing out the candles on your birthday cake, wishing for an everlasting happiness that included your boyfriend, your group and your music. And now, just months later, you've lost all three.

Where do you go from here?

[astroellipse]

rambling time :)

Hmmm I realize now why Urianger is actually leaving the party at this point. It’s to force Thancred to actually do something concerning Minfilia. He’s served primarily as her emotional support up until now, with Thancred... idk he gave her a headpat a couple of times. His optional dialogue there was “I will talk to her. When the times is right.” You dumbass the time has been right for an eternity.

Oh and now we get death baited again. I was genuinely afraid the first time that they really killed Thancred. He seemingly had enough death flags for it, unlike with Y’shtola whose apparent death came from nowhere. God... and the hiding his very soul stuff... I wonder if that’ll make a return later. Certainly is convenient, not to mention dramatic. But man this really was bait, he just like, turns up fine later. Kinda dumb ngl.

Wtf I’m tearing up about Minfilia prime again... god...

Oh... OHHHH I understand what’s going on in this vision now! G’raha is reading Count Edmont’s book, and this roegadyn man is Bigg’s descendant... Huh, that’s funny. Two of the stories from Heavensward got muddled. A hero rides in astride a white dragon to save a little girl... The WoL riding into Ishgard on Midgardsormr, and Vidofnir saving the little girl. Fun detail.

?? Did Emet-Selch just SMILE at the WoL? His eyes crinkled. Do his eyes crinkle anywhere else??? Nobody else even saw that I think it might’ve been genuine, even if it’s just to see that the WoL hasn’t fallen apart yet. Like, he smiles in other places. There’s the mocking smiles, and the one last genuine but sad one near the end, but I can’t recall seeing one like that.

Ah. I think this is it. He’s explaining the Sundering.

I love this line and the delivery...

His logic makes sense. It IS relative, in this case. It of course doesn’t excuse the killing of millions and whatnot... it’s simply that the Ascians can’t accept things as they are now. A world without Zodiark is wrong. I wonder if they’d ever accept things as they are now if they weren’t tempered.

It’s silly that the game first explains the true nature of Ascians nowadays in some optional dialogue... the unsundered Ancients can raise fragments to become Ascians themselves, presumably anyone... though only fragments of the Convocation of Fourteen can rise to their respective office, through use of those... memory stones, or whatever they were. I’ll get back to that eventually.

Oh. You can also ask about Emet-Selch’s true name here, and there’s foreshadowing that you may one day learn... mannnnnnnnnn why do they have to kill him though??? The Hades fight is cool, though heart breaking. They bring back every other character, even Asahi to an extent for godsakes... The trailer, iirc, had a voice over from him so... maybe... maybe if we get more into the WoL being Azem... I dunno. I want to hope.

Ohhghhg I regret eating right before this bit with Vauthry downing... meol... ugghyhhh the noises this is awful I can feel my stomach turning :( That whole business... it’s not surprising the story moves past it quickly. Still funny though that they never outright acknowledge that all that was literally cannibalism.

Ah. AH!!!! There’s the line!!!!

So... he recognizes Azem even now. Huh. And what follows... he thinks the WoL would have liked it, Amaurot or however you spell it. He’s being... nice. Oh. That is... a sly proposition. He’s suggesting that the WoL just let things happen, that if they survive they’ll become whole. Of course Emet-Selch would want that, to have his friend back...

And now we come to the silliest plot point in the expansion. Really? Just make a giant Talos? Just like that? Even with an entire nation’s people working on it organizing everything and putting together the materials and all should take an eternity.

Duuuude I hate Mt. Gulg. Also this stupid audio effect they have on Vauthry, the echo is too much it hurts to try and understand what he’s saying, even with the text.

Ohhhhhhh myyyyyyyyy gooooooooooood G’raha’s deception is so bad but... it still hurts....... and Urianger... this is the most intense he sounds in the entire game... that “Do not interfere!”. G’raha!!!! You idiot!!!!! Gggghg. OH MY GOD THAT’S HIS RING HAND! HE’S REACHING TOWARDS HIM WITH THE HAND THAT BEARS HAURCHEFANT’S RING.... UNINTENTIONAL BUT GOOD!!!!!!! And finally his hood..... god.... I’m gonna cry again I can nbarely type./.... his inspiratyion...... and HIM EMET-SELCH!!!!!!!! GGGGGGGGGHGFHGH NO. THIS SUCKS SO BAD@!!!!

Ohhhhhh this story is evil. That it should be able to make you feel bad for disappointing Emet-Selch....... I mean it’s true. You weren’t strong enough, and others pay the price.

Seeing all of this... I wonder if Endwalker will attempt to top this level of relevance the WoL has. Suddenly... they are the existential threat. I mean again I suppose they could if they let the WoL take on Hydaelyn’s power as Zenos suggests. I do still hope that happens.

Ah... and again his ring hand to touch Ardbert..... cute... Hey wait why isn’t the WoL allowed to have any real heart to hearts with any of the Scions. Let them be friends :(

... ... wh. Why have they said the same thing? Emet-Selch says to the WoL before they depart, mocking how the world would react to the WoL’s affliction, “There is no hope. We are finished. Mankind is finished.” And. G’raha says this to Urianger once he arrives originally, to convey people’s reaction to the final calamity that befell the Source. I... suppose... Emet-Selch was watching? But that doesn’t make sense, they discuss other information here he doesn’t know. It’s just to draw a parallel, then? Oh. I see. G’raha then expounds on it and makes it something hopeful.

Oh also. It would have made infinitely more sense for it to have been one of Cid’s descendants to assist G’raha in traveling back in time. I can only assume that SE knows their fans well enough to know there would have been a crowd upset at what that implies with Cid, with how much they play around with the rivalry between him and Nero. Very funny thing to notice.

I can’t get out of my head what must have been the WoL’s original plan to reach Emet-Selch... take an Amaro over open water, then just dive in and swim around until the find him.

Ohhggh... I love Urianger his apology is so cute... he’ll stay by the WoL’s side for as along as he is able, if they’re willing to forgive or at least set aside their displeasure... even if they’re a danger to those around them...

Ohh and Alisaie!!!! This is why ShB is so good they actually CARE about the WoL it’s so nice... Oh right, and Urianger actually acknowledges their poorly thought out plan and thinks it’s silly. I don’t remember this from the first time, that swimming that far would probably make them die from exhaustion anyhow.

I saved this as a draft when my internet was being stupid hoping closing firefox would help. It did not. Anyways i came back to close this up and also note. I have been playing GNB terribly wrong for a while now. You’re granted a bonus damage ogcd after every move of your cartridge combo, not just the last one. I’m so stupid I thought it was like, an option of which one to use, but no. GNB is confusing, the combos are like... barely combos you can interrupt them to do whatever and return to them later. I’m looking at the optimal opener and i can feel my brain melting how the hell do I remember this??? I mean I don’t have to yet, I’m not at 80, but jfc. Idk if I’m ever gonna be able to raid like, properly lining up skills during battles sounds too difficult for me. I have a pea brain when actually fighting things case in point that one raid where it makes you do simple addition and division. It made me think 6+4 was 12. It’s hard enough for me as is to not let too many ogcds drift, at least not too bad...

Anyways. going to keep playing but I can wrap this up.

[kiarcheo]

         Hidden Histories    -     Chapter 2     -     Wait for it      

The alternate happy ending to Hidden Histories -   There Is No Future for Us as a Pair, the one where Katherine Howard and Catherine Parr meet during the early days of Anna’s marriage, they keep making plans and the king keeps messing them up.

Disclaimers/notes from the first chapter are even more valid for this one…heavily fictional, with one big change in 'history', obviously.

Being part of Mary’s household makes exchanging letters with the Queen if not easier, certainly quicker. Not only the physical distance to cover is less, but correspondence between royal households is common, frequent, and more efficient than anything private that Catherine had ever been able to arrange when she had been in Yorkshire. It is not unusual for Catherine to send a letter one day, receive Katherine’s reply the next one and send a new one the day after.

Catherine sees the flourishing in Katherine’s letters, both in penmanship and in content. Her missives almost unrecognizable from the first ones they had exchanged, where the efforts clearly put into them couldn’t fully make up for the dreadful handwriting and spelling. Their letters are a mix of mundane topics and more intellectual discussions. After Katherine remarks in one message that Henry appreciates Catherine taking the time to share her knowledge and education with Katherine and wishes to thank her for it, Catherine is glad that they had employed from the start a sort of coded language. Discussions about pastoral literature would have surely appeared less innocuous had Henry known that every mention of a desired bucolic life was meant to stand for Katherine’s desire for a life away from court and that discussing lives devoted to God, free from ‘earthly’ duties, was a way to talk about lives without husbands and wifely obligations. Still she knows that nobody would ever believe the Queen capable of such subterfuges. She seems to be the only one aware that Katherine is much more than the stupid vapid girl they believe her to be at court, apparently unable to see beyond her looks, as stunning as they are.

And then one letter arrives that makes Catherine’s blood run cold. Almost lost among descriptions of clothes and plans for a trip, a throwaway mention of Katherine revisiting a conversation they had in the past and asking Catherine’s opinion on what the character should have done when ‘the ghosts of the past came back to haunt him, demanding their tolls’.

‘I am not sure I understand your reference. Is it about the story we discussed that warm afternoon in the royal gardens while my dear sister Anne attended to the King’s beloved sister? If so, my opinion is that the protagonist should have chosen disgrace over death. It is possible to come back from ruin, especially with friendly help, but one cannot come back from death. A chance of redemption, no matter how small, is always preferable to the certainty of death.’

Catherine pens her response as quickly and as carefully as she can.

She hopes Katherine will understand.

She hopes it won’t come to it.

But of course, hoping never did Catherine Parr any good. It’s Mary who brings her the news that Katherine has been stripped of her title and is currently held waiting for the King’s decision after being questioned.

The court’s preconceptions about Katherine reveal themselves a blessing in disguise. Katherine plays the naïve girl, manipulated and caught up in games too big for a silly little girl and nobody doubts it for a second. She admits having been pre-contracted with Francis Dereham and the King gets to appear both as the victim of the situation and magnanimous, as he sends her away in disgrace but sparing her life.  

For days Catherine is in turmoil, having no news about Katherine except that she has been banished. With the queen’s household having been disbanded, she is not surprised by her sister’s visit, as it is likely that she will join Mary’s household. What she doesn’t expect is Anne bringing her news about Katherine. Knowing of their close relationship and having a soft spot for the younger girl herself, she had directed the former queen to a family property in the north of the country.

Their epistolary exchanges resume, albeit at a slower rate and even more carefully than before. Catherine asks Mary to be dismissed from her service. She is friendly enough with her to disclose that her husband is not getting any better and that she knows she will be named her step-daughter’s guardian after Neville’s death and put in charge of his affairs until her majority. To manage his affairs, she’d have to return north…what she leaves out is that up north is where the disgraced former queen, and that she plans to finally bring Katherine to her.

She has already thought about everything. It will be far enough from court that most people won’t recognize Katherine, the lack of portraits of the former queen circulating helping with that. Katherine is a common name as long as she goes with Lady Katherine without mentioning the surname. And even if - when? - Katherine’s presence at her house were to be discovered and questioned, she will say that she took her in out of pity, in the name of their old friendship. And yes, she was sent away in disgrace, but a demotion from Queen of England to lady-in-waiting for a lesser house (barony, after all, is the lowest rank of the peerage) isn’t disgraceful in itself? And if His Majesty had seen in his immense benevolence to spare her life, shouldn’t Catherine follow his enlightening example by providing that lost soul a mean to support her life rather than seeing her squandering the gift His Majesty has so generously given her? Laying it on thick, she knows, but Catherine won’t let her pride getting in the way, not after everything they already went through and managed to overcome.

Catherine genuinely mourns Neville when he dies, but she can’t help herself: she is finally seeing her dreams on the verge of becoming reality. Twice widowed, guardian of a teenage girl, she should be allowed some respite, right? She just wants to live peacefully, taking care of her family and friends, and pursuing knowledge. She doesn’t ask much, does she?

But once again her plans are thwarted by the King, newly single and ready to make an unsuspecting woman his wife. Just her luck. So she has to write a letter to Katherine, once again ending things before they could even start.

Catherine had built a future in her mind with Katherine, but now the hope is gone. She doesn’t have a choice. She never had a choice. They never had a choice. If Henry says it’s you, then it’s you. Nobody knows that better than Katherine. And yes, if she could speak up, without holding back, she would tell him that there is no way she is giving up her girl, her work, her dreams for him. But of course, she can’t say that. Not to the king.

So she sends the letter to Katherine. Tells her goodbye. Marries the King.

And then finally. FINALLY. Henry dies. Not a minute too soon.

Catherine becomes the one who survived (as a wife, since both Anna and Katherine are still alive but not wives anymore), but she almost wasn’t.

She supposes that she had become too confident. She had published two books, the second one being the first to be published in English by a woman under her own name in England. The first one, though anonymous, had been published by the King’s printer. Henry knew of her interest in religious matters and as he had permitted her to publish, she thought he approved. Until she gets the news that an arrest warrant had been drawn up. She takes her own advice and a page out of Katherine’s book: she plays stupid and lies to save her skin. Of course she would never dare to think that she knows better than the King, she only debated with him to distract him from his pains and to learn from him. She is just a woman, after all. Humiliating but convincing enough that she becomes the last wife of Henry VIII instead of being added to the list of discarded consorts.

Among the good things coming from the King’s death, there is the fact that nobody expects a dowager queen to remarry again. In fact, she thinks it would actually be frowned upon.  After Edward’s coronation she is more than happy to retire from court to a property left to her by Neville where Katherine is waiting for her.

When Catherine had married Henry, she had brought her stepdaughter with her since she was her guardian, but she still had been in charge of the properties left to her by her second husband. Nobody at court was surprised by the regular correspondence she entertained as they had quickly learned she was quite an hand-on person if allowed to be and they correctly assumed that she wanted to be informed and involved in the running of those places. And if the majority of the exchanges happened to be with one particular property...They had no way to know that the household there was headed by a most trusted woman and had been recently joined by a certain Lady Katherine…who didn’t take long to win the other woman over. It never takes long, for better or for worse. Catherine remembers receiving a letter praising how quickly Lady Katherine was learning how to properly lead a household and how she would make a very good wife for a lucky man. She had replied that no talks of marriage would be entertained, for any reason, ever, and that she was to make it clear to anyone approaching the topic.  She doesn’t know whether she knew or suspected the reason, or even if she knew who Katherine was (which would have made it clear why she could never get married - again), but the topic was never brought up again and Catherine was content with that.

And even more content when finally, seven years after Catherine had first proposed the idea to Katherine, their dream of living together becomes reality.

 Not many details are known about the last period of Catherine Parr’s life. The Dowager Queen maintained good relationships with all her stepchildren, raising Elizabeth and receiving visits from Mary and even Edward, despite the busy life of the young king. Despite various invitations, she never returned to court, choosing to live the rest of her life in quiet retirement in the same place where her tomb now rests, the only English queen to be buried in a private residence.

                                          ———————————-

I rambled a bit in the end notes on Ao3 if you are interested, but probably the only thing you might care about is the final question...would you like a fluff family reunion?

[marshmallowgoop]

Doing yearly writing reviews isn’t really a thing. But once you start doing ‘em, it doesn’t feel right to stop, you know?

Seeing progress in other arts is of course a lot easier than seeing progress in writing, but I think there is some forward movement for me, especially when I also consider my compilations from 2017 and 2018.

In regards to 2019, I’ve selected various kinds of writing for this post: analytical essays, opinion pieces, news articles, creative fiction, and maybe some works that can’t be categorized so easily, too. It was a very difficult year on many fronts; I dealt with job struggles, financial insecurity, destroyed relationships, medical hardships, seemingly endless cyberstalking and online harassment. 

But there were good things, too. New friendships. New passions. New outlooks. I feel like I’ve learned and grown a lot more in these past couple of months than I have in a long, long time.

The end of 2019 is more than just the end of one year. It’s also the end of a decade. But I think the best advice I’ve received all decade comes from this year:

✄ Sometimes, you have to say yes to saying no.

✄ If you can’t do something well, do something poorly!

✄ The best option may be to simply not engage.

✄ You don’t have to apologize for disappointing others.

✄ Your worth isn’t measured by how much you “accomplish.”

✄ You have rights: the right to have your needs and wants respected, the right to make mistakes, the right to determine your own priorities, the right to not be responsible for the actions or problems of others, the right to express yourself, the right to be human. It’s not selfish or narcissistic to stand up for your rights.

And, since it is the end of the decade and all, here’s also a comparison between one nerdy fandom essay from August 2010 and another from August 2019:

2010 (with added spaces because yes, this really was just a huge block of text originally):

Also, in my own opinion, nobody really gave a damn for Xion all that much save for Roxas. I mean, yeah, Axel cared a little, but in the end, he got totally mad at her, got mad any time she was mentioned, got mad whenever Roxas worried about her, got mad when she showed up at the clock tower. She was his friend, yeah, and he didn’t want her to go, but in the end, he would have chosen Roxas above her anytime.

The other “mean villains” didn’t really care. Luxord didn’t care, Demyx didn’t care, Xaldin got exasperated once at her, but overall didn’t care, Xigbar didn’t care, Xemnas outright said he didn’t care, Saix was rather cruel to her, but really, in the end, he didn’t give a damn for her. The others weren’t around long enough to have an impression on her. I think even Riku didn’t really care all that much for her, in all honesty. He just wanted his best friend back.  

Also, you have to keep in mind that we played the game through Roxas’ perspective, and it’s in my personal belief that he fell in love with Xion. And if you’re in love with someone, when she gets into a coma, or goes missing, or ignores you, you’re gonna be upset, and talk about it. So Roxas did. 

But you know, he doesn’t actually do a lot of it until the end of the game. Before that, it’s all about the THREE of them. He loves his friends (even if he doesn’t know it), and he wants them to be together forever, but when Xion goes missing or whatnot and they can’t ALL have ice cream together, he gets upset.

2019: 

I’ve written more on the subject here, but to keep it short, Ryuko only tries to take Nui’s life when she’s convinced herself that she’s a monster, and her development is less about her becoming less okay with killing people and more about how she won’t let her anger and rage control her. What makes Ryuko’s attitude so different in the end isn’t that she’s reconsidered her thoughts on murder but that she’s composed. Come episode 22, Ryuko ain’t saying that she’s gonna kill anyone to sound tough or to intimidate. She keeps her cool even against her worst enemies.

But that’s just what I think! Maybe I’ve interpreted the character all wrong. But Ryuko’s freak-out after she goes berserk and hurts others in episode 12, her devotion to defending even people she’s just met… I just struggle to see her as someone who’s actually a-okay with killing. The fact that Ryuko’s perfect fantasy in episode 20 depicts her as a sweet girl without any of the violent tendencies that she has in reality also points this way; not to mention, Ryuko outright admits that her picking fights and causing trouble are bad things when remarking on her childhood in episode 8.

And Ryuko? She doesn’t want to be bad. All the poor girl’s ever wanted is love, and I can’t imagine she’d ever think that getting angry and killing people would get her a lot of that.

Progress may be slow, but it does happen.

At least, I think so.

Image Texts

January 2019

And personally? I find that sweetness just absolutely, utterly charming. When I understood what the rap was trying to communicate, I couldn’t imagine listening to the song without it. Heck, even before I understood, I found the “without rap” edits empty and barren. No matter how “silly” the lyrics might come off, the unabashed cheese is fantastic. The rap section that I was once “meh” about legitimately became my favorite part of the song.

Plus, I really can’t stress enough how sad the song is when it’s purely Ryuko. The official [nZk] remix replaces Senketsu’s rap with a reprise of Ryuko’s first verse, which recounts how she and Senketsu met. And it’s tragic! She says, “But I’m all alone,” and she is. Senketsu isn’t singing with her, no matter her claim that she can hear his voice. Considering what happens to Senketsu in the end, his absence in the song hits even harder.

Full post: https://marshmallowgoop.tumblr.com/post/182361051017/oomoj-marshmallowgoop-the-rap-is-good

February 2019

The focus then shifts away from Ragyo, but Kill la Kill ain’t at all done with building the audience up yet. As the scene moves to the following day, viewers are met with quick, close-up shots of Uzu’s note to Ryuko, timed right to the beat of “Blumenkranz.” Uzu wants to duel, and we soon get to see his full request in an engaging low-angle shot where Ryuko looks up to this sign looming over her. The weight and gravity of the situation is effectively conveyed: the smooth transition from Ragyo to here, as well as the music and shot composition, let us know in no indirect terms that this fight isn’t something to be brushed off. Uzu’s duel is a big deal, and it’s very much connected to Ragyo’s expansive empire.

And the tension just keeps growing. Ryuko’s reaction to Uzu’s note is presented with a dramatic canted, high-angle shot. The camera—which is just slightly tilted—peers down at both Ryuko and the sign, communicating a sense of danger and unease. Viewers already know that the upcoming battle is important, but here, we also understand that it’s not going to be easy.

Full post: https://marshmallowgoop.tumblr.com/post/182841724817/all-the-discussion-around-episode-6-of-kill-la

March 2019

Kill la Kill the Game: IF is currently being featured at the 2019 Game Developers Conference that runs until March 22nd in San Francisco, and a flurry of new gameplay videos are now available for viewing. Notably, these videos feature full English subtitles for the character dialogue for the first time since EVO 2018 last year and never-before-seen stages, such as what seems to be the Fiber Castle in the Kiryuin Manor.

Full post: https://marshmallowgoop.tumblr.com/post/183766224117/kill-la-kill-the-game-if-gameplay-footage-from

April 2019

I mean, Kill la Kill ended over five years ago now. There’s been fairly minimal new content ever since—an OVA in September of 2014, a few pieces of merchandise here and there, a small crossover with Grand Summoners last year. And then, not even 11 months ago, out of seemingly nowhere, there was confirmation for a full-blown Kill la Kill video game. That we now know will be released in just 14 weeks!

Lots of jokes were made about the announcement for a game so many years after the series finale, but, like, seriously, as a longtime Kill la Kill fan, it’s hard to wrap my head around. Ever since the show ended, I’ve dedicated over half a million words to writing about it, spent tens of thousands of yen on books and Blu-rays and CDs, devoted nearly 60 GB to my own GIFs and edits. I’ve loved this thing to death. I’ve always found more and more that I want to write and create from this series, but I never really imagined nor expected that we’d ever get much more official content from the original creators themselves. And now we are getting so much more, and???

Full post: https://marshmallowgoop.tumblr.com/post/184228103137/kill-la-kill-the-game-if-releases-on-july-25th-in

May 2019

Kiznaiver: Oh, I was so excited to love this show! I was lucky enough to see an advanced screening of the first two episodes, and I was totally hooked. It was drop-dead gorgeous—and probably the prettiest series Trigger has ever put out—and I was very intrigued by the plot and characters. I remember just coming back to my hotel room at like 3:00 am after the premiere, utterly filled with excitement. I mean, Kiznaiver  was directed by Hiroshi Kobayashi, the episode director behind the two episodes that got me hooked on Kill la Kill (episodes 5 and 18)!

But… my excitement quickly died. The story tried to develop way too many characters in way too little time, and I never enjoyed the romantic pairing of Katsuhira and Noriko, finding it shallow, undeveloped, and nonsensical (in a bad way), which… kind of ruins a lot of the series when that’s arguably the heart of the whole thing.

Kiznaiver is still super, super pretty, though. That last episode’s animation got me shook.

Full post: https://marshmallowgoop.tumblr.com/post/184700944732/so-have-you-watched-the-other-stuff-studio-trigger

June 2019

I do recognize that many, many matters do not warrant conversation. I do recognize that the phrase “I’m just trying to have a conversation” can be—and has been—utilized as a means of directing criticism away from inflammatory, unacceptable, inhumane remarks. I in no way feel that hateful, discriminatory comments should be promoted.

Simultaneously, however, “conversation” should not automatically be a dirty word in the field of analyzing and seriously engaging with fiction, and thoughtful reactions should be supported and striven for. Nothing in fiction is ever black and white. There are so many nuances and complexities to the storybook realities of our media. I want commentators and critics of fiction to be passionate about listening, considering, and rethinking those nuances and complexities. Isn’t that why we do this work at all? To share our own point of view and open ourselves up to others?

Full post: https://marshmallowgoop.tumblr.com/post/185289615202/we-need-to-change-the-way-we-seriously-discuss

July 2019

Initially, I was really bummed by this lack of development. But as I thought about things more, I… didn’t mind so much. If this dream or universe or whatever is something that Satsuki “experiences” before the events of the anime, of course she won’t grow as a character here. Maybe this game is kind of the Kill la Kill prequel I’ve been begging for for over half a decade.

And as much as I didn’t get anything, I thought the ending bits between Ryuko and Satsuki were so good.

Like, I suppose Ryuko’s absorbing the Life Fibers or something?? But wow, pretty.

And the part where they talk before Satsuki disappears? That’s my kinda anime bullshit. It’s the kinda anime bullshit I wanted from the OVA between Ryuko and Senketsu.

Full post: https://marshmallowgoop.tumblr.com/post/186648065467/goop-plays-kill-la-kill-the-game-if-satsuki

August 2019

That book, Log. 2, is a fan doujin from Kotaro Nakamori, who worked as an animator and animation director in Kill la Kill. There’s a bunch of assorted fanart in there, and I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Nakamori is a fan of Urusei Yatsura and wanted to make a little crossover between that series and Kill la Kill.

Personally, though, as someone not too familiar with Urusei Yatsura, I kinda just saw the image as oni-Satsuki (with oni being demon/ogre-like creatures in Japanese folklore). Oni are traditionally depicted wearing tiger skin loincloths, and Lum herself is definitely basically a space oni. So, I saw the cover and got super excited about oni-Satsuki because I love oni a lot, haha.

Fun fact: character designer Sushio has also drawn Kill la Kill characters as oni for setsubun, a celebration that’s held on the last day of winter (February 3rd). During setsubun, you might see folks dressed up like oni—who get beans thrown at them in an effort to bring in good luck and chase naughty demons away.

Full post: https://marshmallowgoop.tumblr.com/post/187228888187/do-i-see-satsuki-wearing-lums-outfit-in-your-last

September 2019

Though I don’t see it much anymore, I remember lots of comparisons between Ragyo and the villains of Saturday morning cartoons back in the day. She was described as a generic, two-dimensional “evilz for the sake of evilz” baddie and criticized for her simplicity.

And though I did admittedly agree to an extent—I craved a lot more depth and insight, particularly in regards to her haunting line about “still having something of a human heart” whilst brutally attacking her own daughter in the final episode—I also found Ragyo to be a remarkably compelling, powerful, and horrifying villain even without tons of backstory and explanation. Perhaps my write-up on her first scene in episode 6 best details why; this woman has such a presence, and the visual language of the series amplifies that presence spectacularly. Ragyo’s intimidating and scary without the audience even needing to know anything about her.

And… I’d say that’s a good villain. That’s exactly what a villain should do.

Full post: https://marshmallowgoop.tumblr.com/post/187987858537/on-ragyo-kiryuin

October 2019

And, though there are no visuals, so I can’t be sure if it’s an “Ocean of Light” or not, the fourth Drama CD also has the same kinda deal happening. In the CD—which takes place immediately after Ryuko learns the truth of her origins—Ryuko’s pain manifests as an explosion of light that knocks both her and Senketsu unconscious and pushes Senketsu away from her. The sound effect here is familiar, and I’m personally convinced that this is another “Ocean of Light” moment.

Which brings me to the “light” part of the terminology. Light is often associated with good, yes, but light is also associated with heat, and heat is associated with pain. In the Drama CD, Ryuko’s light is so hot that Nui even remarks that Senketsu “almost burned” from it, and when Mako embraces Ryuko after swimming through her “Ocean of Light” in episode 12, Ryuko’s touch scorches Mako’s skin.

I’ve already written an essay on the symbolic and narrative use of fire, warmth, and heat in Kill la Kill (that you should totally read because it’s actually maybe Kinda Good, Maybe), and relating to that, I see the “Ocean of Light” as a physical representation of Ryuko’s fiery spirit. That fire can be used for good, and that fire can also be painful, but no matter what, that fire is a part of Ryuko.

Full post: https://marshmallowgoop.tumblr.com/post/188247077227/i-always-wanted-some-explanation-you-are-smart

November 2019

She looks around her cottage. Her eyes find the walls and the furnishings. Her eyes find the scratched floors and stained wood. She does not voice it to the once-emperor, but she had never been able to remove the stains from the attack. Her son's blood has painted the brown wood red. It is a reminder of what she cannot remember. It is a reminder of the past she has forgotten.  

“This home feels so desperately lonely,” she admits. “I do not know who is missing. But it is not complete.”  

The man is quiet. He did not expect to find himself feeling sympathy for the woman's plight. Perhaps she is a fool, to have given her heart to a demon. But kindness ought not be punished, he thinks. Or has he grown so cold that he believes it should be?  

December 2019

🏀 Michiru and Shirou’s relationship may be the focus, but Nakashima emphasizes that Michiru’s relationship with Nazuna is also involved in the story in a big way.

🏀 Nakashima stresses the importance of depicting teen girls realistically. Two women screenwriters are on board: Kimiko Ueno and Nanami Higuchi. Both wrote for Little Witch Academia. Ueno also wrote for Space Patrol Luluco, and Higuchi was behind the production reports in Trigger Magazine (and, interestingly, wrote the script for the anime adaptation of BEASTARS).

🏀In regards to Michiru and Nazuna’s relationship, producer Naoko Tsutsumi (also an animation producer for Kiznaiver and Little Witch Academia) provides input as well. Nakashima says that they greatly value and take to heart the opinions of the women creators.

Full post: https://marshmallowgoop.tumblr.com/post/189928986922/otomedia-winter-2020-bna-brand-new-animal

[sophfandoms53]

History Repeats Itself AU

It all started on that one Christmas Eve. At age 17, when a strange duck dressed all in purple appeared at McDuck manor. She claimed to Webby that she was a distant relative and said her name was Violet. Webby, of course, having a complete encyclopedia of the McDuck tree didn’t really buy it, but didn’t question it.

“So.. where’s Dewey?”

“I don’t know. Probably outside somewhere.”

“Why aren’t you with him? Aren’t you guys like.. together?”

“Yeah we are.. I’m just.. I just wanted some time to myself today.”

“On Christmas Eve? That’s boring! C’mon, lets go find Dewey!”

That was ‘Violets’ main goal. To find the blue duckling. Webby followed the young ones enthusiasm and they went on their quest to find him and when they did, he does his Dewey thing.

“Haha! Caught ya gorgeous!”

“Dewey! I’m not in the mood for one of your games right now!”

“....Dewey..?”

There he was. In the flesh. Not that he’d recognize her at his age. His main concern was getting Webby out of this funk.

“Would you do me a favour and get us down.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said no. Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong!”

“You’re such a bad liar Webby! I know somethings bothering you.”

“How could you possibly know that!? I haven’t been with you all day!”

“That’s how he knows somethings wrong! You two have been together for over a year now! And even before that, you guys are best friends, of course Dewey’s gonna know when somethings bothering the girl he loves. That’s why he set this all up. He just wanted to spend Christmas Eve with his girlfriend but you were too caught up in your own brooding to notice he was trying to help you- and I have to apologize to my family when I get home.”

“You set all this up.. for us?”

“Well yeah.. this is kind of our spot anyways.”

“Awh, Dewey Im so sorry.. I’ve just been so busy with something I don’t have, that I forgot the great guy I do have.”

“It’s alright, I’ve been there too, Angel.”

Seeing them both happy and in love brought a smile to ‘Violets’ face. This wasn’t something she saw often, and it made her slip up.

“That was some quick problem solving back there Violet. Your parents are lucky to have a such bright daughter.”

She then jumped into his arms hugging him tightly, she’d never had this chance before.

“Um.. okay.. this is happening now.”

“Sorry it’s just, I’ve never been able to spend Christmas with both my- cousins on my great aunt nephews brother side- yes, that was it.”

Dewey and Webby exchanged a look.

“You’re name’s not really Violet, is it?”

“Uhhhhhhh..”

It didn’t take long for Dewey to connect the dots. The girl’s determination to find him and wanting to spend Christmas with both him and Webby, he figured it out. But he knew that meant something else. He couldn’t worry about that now though, who knows when it happens? Before he and Webby sent her off, she left Dewey with this small bit of information.

“Dad-... Dewey!”

“Yeah?”

“It’s Skye.”

“What?”

“My name is Skye.”

Skye thought she could handle it on her own, with the help of her cousin Troy too, but she was wrong. Hiding it wasn’t right. Even with her good intentions.

The look of betrayal and distraught on both her twin brother and younger brother’s faces made her heart snap. She didn’t realize what she was doing until it was too late.

“Skye! What is up with you?!”

“Why are you being so strange! In case you haven’t notice this isn’t exactly the best time!”

She clenched the jacket and bag close to her.

“Because it belongs to Dad!”

“WHAT?!”

Chase, her twin, was furious.

“How do you know this belongs to Dad?!”

“Uh.. I’ve kind of been.. doing some research on him by myself.. only a little bit. I just looked him up in the Archives and when we made that stop to Ithaquack I spoke to the goddess Selene and god Storkules- aaaand this isn’t making my case better.”

“How could you not tell us about this!?”

“I was trying to protect you both in case Dad did something bad!”

“Yeah Okay! Or you just kept to yourself because you’re insecure about your place in this family! Typical Skye! He’s our father!”

“No! It’s not like that Chase! What happened was I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you guys to get hurt, then with all this new information and holes in the story I couldn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to hurt me! I’m sorry okay!”

“You’re only sorry because you got caught!”

While her twin called her out on her actions, her little brother stayed quiet, steadying his breath as he held his father’s jacket close. It was his dad’s. His father’s. The man he never met. Their father was around for the first two years of Skye and Chase’s life. Danny on the other hand, never knew his father, and having this piece of clothing in his arms, made him feel several things.

“Danny... are you okay?”

“You kept a secret about Dad... nothing about that is okay.”

Desperation. Ambition. Impulsion.

It was the last bit of information she needed. It was now or never. The truth about Dewey Duck.

Her eye was on the prize and nothing and nobody was going to hold her back. Not even her families cries.

Her cousin, Troy, who was with her since the start of the investigation pleaded to her first.

“This is insane Skye! Get back here! I know you want to learn about your dad but this isn’t the answer you’re looking for!”

Danny was next.

“I get it Skye! I want to know what happened to Dad too but you can’t risk all of us just find out what happened to someone we lost!”

Her Uncle Huey grabbed the walkie talkie, holding his son, Troy, close and pleaded to his niece.

“Skye sweetheart please, you have to get back here! I was in a similar situation to this a few decades ago! If your father was here he’d be telling you the same thing I am now! You need to get back here!”

Her twin, Chase, spoke out last.

“Skye, I miss Dad too, and I want to know where he is. But think about this. Mom and the others had to deal with losing him when it happened, and they pulled through together! Don’t you see? Our family is incredible! We’re enough! Let this go!”

Gritting her teeth as anger boiled her blood, she chucked the walkie talkie away.

Let this go?

No.

That wasn’t an option. Not when she was this close. And without knowing the truth about her dad, it would never be enough.

Louie looked on at his niece and watched as she slowly turned into Dewey when he was desperately seeking an answer about Della.

“She really is her father..”

The plane hit a snag and caused the duo to fall onto their bodies. Louie almost falling off the edge, and Skye crashing into the propeller. She looked up and saw the last piece. It was right there. She stood up and reached for it.

Louie pulled up close behind her. Begging and pleading.

“Skye please! I.. okay! I can’t protect you as much as I thought! Okay I said it! How can I get you to come back with me!”

Skye looked at her uncle, her hand crushing the paper, and her glare instense. She opened the paper up and her eyes scanned it. They widened as they looked over the image conveyed in front of them, a glimmer of sadness, tears forming in her eyes but she refused to let them fall.

“You want me to come back?”

“Yes! What can I do?!”

Skye held the paper up and into her uncle’s view as she yelled.

“Tell me what happened to my dad!”

Webby knows her babies are hurting. She’s been there. Losing Dewey was the hardest thing she ever went through. But her children are what kept her at bay. She needed to stay strong for them.

It’s what Dewey would’ve wanted.

When everything happened, Webby cut off ties with everyone and took her kids. She watched on her own as Danny hatched, and helped when he learned to walk and talk. Skye and Chase, despite both being two, helped as much as they could.

They all grew up with little or no memories of their father and it hurt Webby everyday to wake up with no one next to her. This wasn’t suppose to happen.

He promised her he wouldn’t make the mistake his mother did.

He swore he’d be there to see his children grow up.

But he lied.

Possibly.

Webby didn’t know. She had a constant clashing in her chest. Her husband made her have all these mixed emotions. She was angry and furious but she was also hurt and sad. She knows Dewey. She knows he loves her. He would never abandon her like this. There was more to the story, she knew that. But she didn’t know what.

She thought keeping her children away from the McDuck family would make them not want to be apart of adventures but silly her. They have her and Dewey’s DNA in them. Adventure is in their blood and core. Nothing was gonna stop these three rascals.

Letting them see their Uncle Louie, Uncle Huey and Aunt Shelly brought a new happiness to their lives, and she knew that.

But she never told them about their father. She wanted to but.. she was afraid telling them about him meant she’s accepted he’s truly gone. And she didn’t want to accept that. A small part of her believes he’s still out there. Somewhere. And that’s because of her kids. The lights of her life. The reason she looks forward to the mornings. All of them inhabit something from their father. And she took note of that every single day.

When she saw how distraught the truth made them, she had to tell them the rest.

“I get it you’re all upset. We were too. We all miss Dewey very much. But you three need to understand your Uncle Louie didn’t just give up on him. Louie tried everything to get him back. But if he tried anything else,he’d be broke and lost.”

“Broke and lost?”

“He really did try to get Dad back..”

“Well whatever Uncle Louie tried, it doesn’t matter, Aunt Shelly. We’re sticking with our true family. Right mom?”

“...No.”

“W-What?”

“Your Aunt Shelly is right. Louie did everything in his power to find your father. And to no avail. I don’t know exactly what he tried but that’s his brother. He wouldn’t leave him behind.. I walked away from this family before and that was a big mistake. The McDuck’s are always stronger when they’re together. I just.. I forgot that for a moment. But not again. We all need to stick together. Come here my babies.”

Tears welled up in her eyes, as they did in her two sons, who jumped into her arms and she held them tightly, allowing them to sob and let their tears out.

She looked up at her daughter, tears in her eyes.

Skye tried her best to keep her composure but she felt herself slowing falling apart.

“Skye, sweetie, I understand. You’re hurt. You’re sad, scared, and confused. Your father meant more to me than anything. I know what this is like. And it’s okay for you to be upset. Let yourself cry.”

She sniffed and looked down at her boys.

“If your father was here right now, he’d be incredibly proud of the three of you. Awh Danny, if he saw how your hair is when it’s zooshed back, he’d call you his mini him! And Chase, you were his little buddy, champ and warrior! The things you had him chasing you around for! And Skye, you were his baby girl and little princess. I never saw him have so much fun while teaching you how to walk. He was protective of you even when you were in your egg. I guess he knew the beautiful duckling you’d become. You three meant the world to him, and I know he’d give up his life if it meant you’d three are happy.”

Her daughter looked up, tears falling down her cheeks and ran into her mothers arms. She felt her brothers embrace her and the four of them all cried.

They all loved each other. And they all loved him. They knew if he was still out there, he’d be proud.

“We’ll stay strong for him.”

8 years.

He has spent 8 years alone on that orange rock, Mars that is.

Now being on another planet would usually sound like an exhilarating opportunity for Dewey but not when it meant he’d miss so many milestones and life on Earth.

When he first crashed, it was the week his son was suppose to hatch and he missed it.

Dewey did have his hands full at the time, as he had to deal with his right leg being crushed and unable to get it out. He looked around and had no other options.

Hey, Scrooge and Donald did say he reminding them of Della.

With his right leg now amputated, which he did so with the help of Della’s book, and Oxy-Chew on his side, still only Black Licorice flavoured, thanks Gyro.

Dewey has one goal. Get back home.

He missed his son’s hatching, he missed Danny’s first words and steps. He missed Skye and Chase’s birthdays and Danny’s too.

He missed anniversaries with Webby.

Man did he miss his wife.

Other than his kids, she was the only one in his thought.

“What was I thinking!? I just left Webby! And with three kids to raise! On her own! Ugh.. some husband and father I turned out to be..”

Was what he said on his first transmission.

Everyday he looked at their family portrait. Which was him holding Skye in his arms, Webby holding Chase in hers, and each of them placing one hand on Danny’s egg whom was placed in the middle of them.

His children and his wife, they were his motivation. He had to remind himself of that. He needed to get back to them. He needed to get back to her.

Each transmission Dewey tried his best to remain postive but it became harder as each year went on. Things became bleaker and he began to doubt that there was a way for him to get home.

During the 8th year on Mars, Dewey broke down. Collapsing on his knees, the tears he very rarely let fall, were pouring out like waterfalls as he sobbed into his own arms.

“I’ve tried everything! And nothing!”

He felt hopeless. He was stuck. Nothing he tried worked. And he didn’t know what else to do. He looked down at his wedding ring and choked back his tears. He couldn’t even begin to imagine the kind of state Webby’s in. 8 years of raising their kids on her own.. he felt terrible. He wants to be there for her but because of his own stupidity he’s stuck here.

A static sound caught Dewey’s attention. He looked over his shoulder and saw the tv he’d been working on the past few months. He walked over and placed his goggles on, connecting the wires and adjusting the satellite. He saw the picture appearing and heard the sound.

It was a live new casting.

“And all the magic in our town has gone away as Lena and Aurora De Spell have returned to normal and been reunited with Duckburgs saviors! Louie Duck and his family!”

Dewey’s eyes scanned the screen. He saw his younger brother in his green suit, smirking at the camera with his arm wrapped around Lena’s waist whom was in a dark purple gown and her hair had a light pink stripe in it. On the left side of the screen he saw Huey in a red shirt and white vest, with Troy whom was in a similar outfit as his father standing in front of him, and next to Huey he saw Shelly with a short low ponytail, a light blue sweater over her turquoise shirt with a blue skirt. Then on the right side of the screen he saw,

“Webby...”

She looked just a beautiful as ever even with the slight tired look in her eyes. He couldn’t help the small smile that reached his beak at the sight of his wife.

That smile slowly turned to a gape as he looked down at the three small figures standing in front of Webby.

Pink, Purple and Blue.

They were cheering and smiling at the camera. They all looked so familiar.

Dewey slowly placed his hand on the television and it hit him.

He gasped while lifting his goggles up and backed up to get a clear view of the trio.

“...Kids?”

-

They say history repeats itself because we don’t learn from the past.

But what if we do?

And we just make those decisions again hoping for a different outcome?

Or to make sure certain events happen?

History will always find its way to repeat itself.

And it hit the McDuck family in the hardest way possible.

[ill-skillsgard]

Ascent - Bill Skarsgård

Title: Ascent

Warning: 18+ voyeurism/masturbation/language

Description:  A collection of scents and scenes strung together by strange sequences of secrecy and surveyance.

A/N: DAMNIT YOU GUYS. This is my 3rd time posting this fic. It will no longer include the image of the sexy Bill look-alike wanking because wE cAn’T hAvE NiCe tHiNgS. Also, please don’t ask me to send the image because I can’t be sure of ages and I won’t be dinged for providing pr0nz to potentially underage people. I’m so sorry. I tried!

ISO: Quiet roommate; preferably female. Males acceptable too if you're cleanly. Split rent loft in quaint & upscale Rosewell neighbourhood with everything included. 1200 upfront first and last and then rent can be negotiated. E-mail. Do not call/text.

I only had 900 dollars on me but I figured if I e-mailed the person that had put out the ad and set up a time to meet the following week then I could earn enough in tips to cover the rest. Easy as that. Breathing became a little less laboured once I sat back on my futon and realized that I wasn't quite as fucked as I initially thought. Then I wondered how in the hell somebody could use the words quaint and upscale to describe the same neighbourhood. Which one was it? Quaint or upscale? How could it be both? All I was sure of was that I had to find a roommate quickly. The new landlord of my apartment building had decided that I had something to do with the junkies shooting up in the storage unit behind the building, as though I had knowledge of it the whole time and failed to make a report of it, therefore, making me part of the problem. But it wasn't just that; this guy was a jackass of ultimate proportions- a seedy little rich momma's boy that had inherited his parents' sense of self-entitlement and strings of real estate offices spanning across the city and surrounding counties. We did not click at all upon first meeting when he made his rounds to see exactly what kind of tenants he would be dealing with. In fact, the moment I opened the door to my apartment and he peered in to see the apparent cluster-bomb that had gone off in my bachelorette pad, he set his sights on destroying me, or at the very least, evicting me. If only I hadn't answered the door in my stained sweatpants and wrinkled t-shirt from a decade ago when my taste in music remained under-developed. If only I hadn't had the day's worth of crusted mascara stuck in the inner corners of my eyes like black boogers. If I had thrown my hair up in a semi-cute messy bun, rolled down the waistband of my stretchy pants and tossed on my only reputable sweater maybe things could have gone differently. But I didn't. Instead, I let him catch a glimpse into the trash-covered world of crooked posters, laundry and pizza boxes. His prissy, Gucci-wearing ass got one whiff of my body odour and my fate was sealed. Whatever though, shit happens. Even if Millennial pretty-boy newbie landlord hated me, I didn't quite hate myself. Sure, I had had better times in my life but there had also been much worse. I was just going through my annual depression when the Summer was long gone and the scent of leaves rotting in the gutters rang in the impending frost. Who wanted to do anything but sit around and play video games or watch TV for six straight hours after work? Certainly not I. I e-mailed the guy living in Rosewell because I had been through that area once or twice and remembered that it was one of the nicer neighbourhoods; its remnants of old city charm and decadent architecture still intact. That's when I gave it a second thought. 1200 for first and last month's rent was not that much, considering the location. My brain caught up with me and I recognized that there would probably be dozens of people replying to the listing and that my chances were diminished to almost nothing. Oh well, I read on and circled more potential ads with the tip of a fresh permanent marker that was starting to give me a headrush. By some grace of luck, I received an e-mail back the next day from the person that had put out the Rosewell advertisement. It dawned on me that I also didn't know whether he or she was a he or a she or a they. It seemed mundane to ask but the person didn't include their name in the reply and their email address was an obscure reference that I wasn't sure I understood. My imagination decided to take a jog and came upon the silly little notion that perhaps this was one of those things when serial killers lure in unsuspecting victims with promises of rent so cheap in a gentle neighbourhood where nobody would think to look for a body. It was classic of me but I couldn't pretend like I wasn't thinking about it. At least death would help put a stopper in my rut. I didn't know what to expect, walking up to the building with a face sectioned off into quadrants- each with their own tiny glass door and artful wrought iron laced balcony. What kind of a person lived inside? Was it a peppy university student with a small dog and a knack for pulling off an active-wear-is-all-I-wear look? Could it be another snotty, uptight rich boy like my fuck-bag of a landlord? Or perhaps it was a nice older lady that fancied her wine and lived in an effortlessly baroque den, lined with books and trinkets from her travels abroad. Either way, I just hoped they approved of me since I had taken the time to shower, put on a bit of makeup and dress like the clothes I owned weren't questionably clean or variably dirty all the time. The door was painted black and nobody could see through the glimmering panels of stained glass that made up an intricate checkerboard of red and blue with two cantaloupe roses coiling up and away from each other, petals agape and ready to fall. I gave the door a good look over with a smug grimace that was just a feint for my awe. The place was definitely too nice for me but I soldiered on and smiled when I heard the door being unlocked. A man opened the door and the scent of wood and something else immediately wafted out like a ghost casually passing by. Not only was he a man, but a looming sculpture dressed in a sagging brown wool sweater that threw me off from my rehearsed speech. He was tall, pale and had such striking eyes behind his glasses that I couldn't quite meet them without feeling some hint of discomfort. It was like somebody had tossed a limp rug on the statue of David the way his knitted sleeves hung loosely around thick veiny wrists. "Hi. Bill," he motioned to himself. "Won't you come in?" "Um, yeah. Sure." The mud room was painted in tarnished blood orange and was home to a wooden rack full of men's shoes. There were trainers with hints of dirt on the toes and soles, leather dress shoes with the fancy gold buckles on the front, more dress shoes, stylish suede ankle boots, and beaver fur lined moccasins. I could taste the transition from the cool Autumn air to the musky inside of the home. The floors were all wood, the banister leading upstairs was carved from another expensive type of tree and the shelving units were solid oak stretching from floor to high ceiling. Every wall was home to some kind of meticulously placed decorative object. But there were also family photos to lend the place a warm and happy glow. Or it could have just been how the sun shone through the clear bay windows. I was led through the house, past a large cupboard tucked beneath the staircase and a small writing desk that was home to a  vintage typewriter cased in filigrees of polished silver. It was then I noticed all the framed book pages lining the walls. We entered a kitchen and I was blown away by how roomy it was compared to the tight, warm front that made up the mudroom and what I had determined was a living room that had been converted into a reading room. There was no TV but there was a chaise lounge with a stack of old books reaching up to a cascading hand-carved armrest. "This is the kitchen. The fridge will be mostly yours. I just use the bottom shelf and the crisper on the left. I just ask that you keep your section clean." "Right," I nodded. "The stove is gas, the fireplace is gas... Everything is gas in here. Um... It gets kind of cold in the winter because the electric baseboards don't really work. If you turn them on it makes the whole place smell like burning sawdust. So... You can use a plug-in heater in your room but... Just wear slippers on the floors." "Oh, okay. Good to know." "Uh... Yeah. The laundry room is through there. I also keep my bike back there. There's another rack mount for a bike if you have one." "No, just my car." "Hmm," Bill pondered with a grimace. I bit my lip and hoped that he wasn't biting his lip from derision. He took in a breath through one of the daintiest noses I had ever seen on a man and adjusted his glasses for a moment before pulling them off completely to wipe the lenses on the hem of his brown knit sweater. "Parking can be kind of a bitch around here," he warned. "Yeah, " I chuckled. "I probably pulled around the block six times before something opened up." "You'll have to get used to that... Or just get a bike like everyone else." With a forced laugh, I attempted to hide the odd sense of shame that he had instilled by suggesting that nobody around these parts bothered with silly things like motor vehicles. Fuck, that could mean he was some sort of health nut that would turn his nose up if he saw the types of meals I made for myself and how lazy I could get. Aside from his alarming curtness, Bill seemed to be calm and easygoing. The house was a wooden ladder of a place; stacked with his worldly possessions and Scandinavian accouterments. It was easy to conclude that he was a single man that kept to himself and I did my best to show him that I fit into the same category. Although, it seemed as though he had already decided that I was moving in. He referred to everything as his, mine or ours and led me through the rest of the house like both our minds were already made up. "Here's the room. It's right next to mine. You have an en-suite bathroom. Toilet kind of acts up once in a while and the shower drain is prone to clogging but it's all easy fixes. Oh... And the walls are kind of thin. I ask that if you have guests over in the evening to keep the socializing downstairs. I suppose I can't really stop you from having people in your room but... I do enjoy my quiet." "That's okay. I don't really hang out with too many people," I said. Bill strolled into the center of the empty room, the soles of his shoes hitting the floor echoed off the bright white walls. He had his hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers as he spun on a heel to face me. His shoulders drew up to his ears and for the first time, he cracked a smile. It didn't last long and was accompanied by a shrug of closure. "What do you think?" He asked. "It's nice. I like it. A lot. It's very... Homey." Bill nodded, "yes. So will you take it?" "Uh... You don't have any questions for me? Or anyone else to show the place to?" His full lips set into another grimace as though my question scratched the scab off of a wound that had yet to close. Swallowing hard, I immediately began to regret my inquiry. I should have just been grateful that he saw fit to trust me without so much as delving into my history. "To be frank, I'm not really interested in knowing a lot about you. The less we know about each other, the better. I just need a quiet tenant that won't bother me much and you seem like a sensible woman with your own distractions." "Oh." "I don't mean to sound insensitive." "It's okay. I get it." "You have a job, of course?" "Yes." "Well, that's all I need to know. Just make your rent payments on time and we'll get along." "Not a problem. Sounds good." The entire moving process took a little over a month to complete. I gave my notices where they were due, rented a small truck to pack my things into and drove it across town after handing the keys to the fuck-bag landlord who seemed more than thrilled to watch me departing. Bill had already given me keys to the house and when I arrived the first of the month he was nowhere to be found. Luckily, my possessions didn't extend further than my bed, wardrobe, futon and a couple of side tables that had collected more dust than I thought. After hauling up the ripping black trash bags I had stuffed full of clothes, I tried to decipher a way to get my bed up the winding stairs without scratching the wood or getting myself stuck in a corner. It would have been easier if I had another set of hands and I wanted to clear the halls of all my things before Bill came home and saw the clutter in the front hall. Something told me he was not a fan of mess and I had left a heaving trail all over the mudroom, halls and stairs. With my bed frame already stuck on the first few steps, I decided to sit down and reevaluate my strategy. It was definitely a two-person job that I would not be able to complete on my own. "Fuck, " I cursed as I pulled out my cell phone to make a call to the only person I knew that would be willing to give me a hand; my cousin. On the third ring, I heard the sound of the door opening and footsteps coming through. I was sat on the stairs pouting, my cell clutched to my ear and my breath hitched in my throat.  Bill looked up at me from the first-floor landing through the rails of the staircase and smirked at me. "Need some help?" He asked. I immediately terminated the call to my cousin before he could pick up. Shooting up from the fifth step up, I smoothed out the front of my shirt and tried to make it seem like I wasn't about to burst into tears of frustration. "Um, yes. Sorry. I thought I could do it by myself." "No worries," Bill said as he lifted the edge of the bed frame that was hanging off the first step. We dislodged the frame and slowly carried it upstairs but not without a few grunts of effort and sighs when we finally made it to the top floor. Bill's arms were bulging with the strain and when he helped me gently lay the frame down on the floor I couldn't help but stare at the muscles I never knew he had. We had only had a handful of encounters and each time he had been wearing baggy clothes that veiled the true form of his body. Bill helped me bring everything else I had upstairs and once the last of my belongings arrived he evaluated the mess that I would have to organize myself. Half my clothes were spilling out of bags and my furniture was yet to find a proper place. "Well, I'll leave you to it. Unless you have anything else?" "No. This is it. Thanks for your help." "No problem," he nodded with a small pointed smile that brought out a sweetness in his face before exiting the room. I heard the sounds of his footsteps drumming down the stairs but before I had the chance to get to work unpacking, Bill came back. When I looked up at him he had a peculiar look on his face that I couldn't read. It may have been a cross between uncertainty and embarrassment. "You um... These were on the stairs," he showed me what he had clutched in his hand and the moment I realized that the black material in his hand was a pair of my underwear, I paled. "Oh my god," I laughed uneasily. "I'm so sorry. They must have fallen out when I was dragging the bags up the steps. My panties looked crumpled and insignificant in his large hand as he dangled them between two fingers for me to grab. When I caught them I stuffed them in my pocket immediately and blushed even harder than I had when he had come home to see me flustered on the stairs. "It's all right. Could be worse things to find," he pointed out. "I guess so," I chuckled. Bill smirked at me, eyes darting to the pocket that contained the stray panties and gave me one last glance before leaving me to stew in my mortification. Once I was certain Bill was gone, I took the panties out to evaluate just how embarrassed I should have been. The last thing I needed was for my new roommate to have already discovered a pair of my dirty underwear on the floor. They were generic and made of stretchy faux lace that covered next to no ass cheek but I would have considered them to be a good go-to pair nonetheless. Based on visual inspection and a quick sniff, I was assured that everything checked out and Bill hadn't had the displeasure of picking up a pair of my period panties with the permanent stains in the crotch. If anyone had to have found a pair of my underwear I was glad it was a sexy pair and not ones that I had been hanging onto since high school. But because it was a man that had found them, I felt a strange yearning for approval. I thought about what he could have been thinking about for a long time as I set up my bed and unpacked my necessities. It was going to be weird having a roommate.

~*~

Bill was a strange man. Bill had an office in his room and a writing desk stacked with papers and manuscripts. Bill was a writer. When I asked him if I could read something he had written he said nothing. He only peered at me warily over his wire-framed glasses. We were in the kitchen at the same time and I figured it friendly to strike up a conversation. I had seen all of his papers and looked at all of the stuff he had in the house by then and deduced that he had to have been a writer. All I got from him was a gentle shrug of his stately shoulders and a mumble that I couldn't hear. "You're a writer, aren't you?" I continued. "Yes. I suppose, in a way I am." "Ever had anything published?" Bill rapidly shook his head and muttered, "not here, no. Back home... In university. But not here." The subject of him being a writer seemed touchy so I left my line of questioning at that while I boiled water to make tea. I couldn't help but watch him on the other side of the kitchen preparing his lunch because he was comically lanky yet carried himself with graciousness and poise. His side profile was vexing to me as well. It was then that I realized that Bill was not just commonly handsome, but sculpted in a way that I wasn't used to seeing. With a cute boyish nose and arrestive eyes that shone light green through the lenses of his glasses, I felt that old familiar pang of a crush plunging its way from my chest to my gut and all the way down to my groin. He didn't speak much and I hardly ever saw him because he was always in his room with the door shut. I had a feeling that me bringing up his writing had alarmed him into keeping the door closed at all times. It must have been an adjustment for him to go from living alone to having somebody sleeping in the room right next to him. I tried not to make much of the crush but the times that I did see Bill I always tried to stare for as long as possible. He was a mystery to me; a person living in the very same quarters but with a totally separate life that I had no windows into. Bill had pictures of him and a lot of other people that looked kind of like him so I tried to piece together what his family was like without asking him personally. The family photos were all in chunky brass frames and placed in a strategically sporadic way on the wall shelf. There were many books and three different runs of encyclopedic information stacked side by side with their brightly dyed leather spines displaying a prestigious title and the volume number, but it was the pictures that intrigued me most. By the looks of it, Bill had a lot of brothers and a sister. The longer I analyzed each shelf the more I managed to paint a picture of him for myself based on his belongings. There was a photo of Bill next to some other men of similar heights and facial structures, all dressed warmly and huddled together, each with his own version of a charming smile on. It was amusing to see pictures of him smiling since he had hardly tossed more than a crooked smirk my way. I wasn't sure if Bill was standoffish or if he thought me a slob because of the first day I arrived. The house was cleaner than any place I had ever had by myself and I gathered that he liked to keep it that way. I remembered what it had said in his ad about cleanliness. Maybe I had disgusted him. He had been so sold on having me as his roommate but that was weeks ago and he hadn't tried to engage me much since. It didn't weigh heavily on my mind for long. After all, even though I was the crusty definition of a bachelorette, I could put it together that trying to fuck my roommate that I didn't know was probably a surefire way to complicate things beyond repair. And the place was nice. I wanted to stay and I wanted Bill to like me.

~*~

I walked into his room when I knew for certain that he was gone. I don't know why the sudden urge overtook me and steered me to his bedroom door. I opened it and a waft of his scent came over me. It was like fresh cotton and chopped wood or an old book that had been kept in pristine condition. His writing desk beckoned me so I went without hesitation to cast my eyes over the papers on its surface. There were some printed pages full of words with hand-written notes scribbled in the margins. One of the most eye-catching pieces was a mostly blank white page that had been the last of the bunch to be placed upon the altar of his creative expositions.

I can't get enough of the scent that she left behind.

After reading that one line, I snapped out of my mindless intrusion and left his bedroom at once. Why I had gone in there in the first place was a mystery and I was overcome with guilt that pushed me in the direction of avoidance. I felt somehow he would know that I had gone into his room without permission.

~*~

A man from work had asked me out on a date and I stood in the shower vigorously washing the shampoo out of my hair. I was already late and had to scramble to put together an outfit out of what little clean clothing I had. There had been no time for me to do any laundry so I made do with an old sundress that I had worn the shit out of the Summer before, a pair of black nylon leggings with a hole in the crotch and the only pair of underwear that I could find that wasn't stretched out from me wearing them. I had laid out everything on my bed and bustled around trying to find my good face moisturizer and the only high-end lipstick that I had been coveting for the better part of two years. When I got dressed, I had somehow lost pieces of my attire along the way and rushed around looking for the underwear that I had dubbed acceptable to wear out on a date. My phone went off with a notification from my date saying that he was circling around the block again because he couldn't find a place to park. I quickly messaged him back and told him I would be down in five short minutes. Forgoing the panties, I hiked on my nylons and hoped that the skirt of my dress would manage to cover me enough all night that I didn't accidentally flash my pussy while getting in and out of his car. The date was boring and I didn't find myself connecting with him as we had at work. Maybe it was because we were co-workers or maybe it was because he was smiling too much at me the whole time, but I decided to put an end to the night after a dessert and the last of a bottle of cheap wine. When I got home, I shut the door and pulled my vibrator out of my empty underwear drawer.

~*~

In the morning on one of my days off, I stood in the kitchen making myself a pathetic breakfast of two pieces of toast with a slice of tomato and chunks of a too-ripe avocado splattered between them. First I was focused and calm and then suddenly I felt like something had materialized behind me. When I turned around, I let out a gasp as I noticed Bill standing next to me with no shirt on, his hair a mess and his eyes half-closed. "Sorry," he breathed through his nose. "Need a glass, please." I got out of his way and watched as he opened the cupboard that I had been standing in front of and took out a clean glass to pour water into. My eyes were drawn to the burgeoning of hair from his armpits when he reached to the top shelf. Without saying a word, he filled his glass from the tap and then walked back upstairs casually sipping his water. I don't know how he had managed to sneak up on me without me hearing the floorboards protesting beneath his feet but it had happened and my heart continued to race until I heard him enter his bedroom right above the kitchen.

~*~

I had tossed my laundry into the dryer and let it run while I left for work. When I got home my laundry was all folded and put back in my basket. My jeans and work pants were on the bottom, my shirts the second tier and then several pairs of my panties had been folded neatly in halves and placed on top. "Um... Okay," I whispered to myself, lifting the basket off the dryer that was still rumbling full of Bill's laundry.

~*~

A nap was on the immediate horizon for me when I got home from work. I kicked my shoes off as soon as I got in the door and made right for my bedroom. Bill must not have heard me climbing the stairs as I hadn't heard him come up behind me the week before because his door was open and what I saw halted me in my place and robbed me of the abilities to breath or think. There he was, laying on his bed naked with his right hand wrapped around his dick. But it wasn't that he was stroking himself that caught me completely off-guard, it was what he clutched to his nose and mouth with his other hand; the pair of my panties that he had discovered on the floor all those weeks ago when I first moved in. Rooted with panic and intrigue, I covered my mouth and watched on from the third-to-last step at the man taking deep breaths of my underwear while he pulled on his cock and massaged his balls. When I heard a faint groan leave his mouth I felt my floodgates crashing open. The tingle I felt budding from my clit grew so strong that my hands went numb and my face turned red-hot. There was no way that Bill hadn't heard me coming in the door and ascending the steps. But if he knew that I was there watching him play with himself, he didn't acknowledge it. He was in his own world of pleasure, getting high off the fumes that I had infused into the fabric of the underwear he was meddling with his fingers. I wanted to watch him shoot his cum from the tip of his cock but I was so scared that he would see me that I cowered back so that if his gaze did travel beyond the walls of his bedroom, perhaps he wouldn't catch me staring. Another long, deep moan left him and the sound of it somehow filled every sense I had. It was as though I could smell what he was smelling, feel how he was feeling and the taste left behind in my mouth was wetted with saliva being over-produced by my own sexual appetite. I pictured him kissing my clit, pushing my legs back and using his tongue to bore into me, letting it run down, down, down so he could taste every inch of me. A gasp nearly escaped me when I saw him push the crotch of my stolen panties into his mouth. His head dropped back into his pillows and his slow, languid strokes of his cock turned erratic. "Fuck!" He emitted after spitting the panties out and dragging them down his body to wrap around the base of his shaft. "Fuck, fuck, fuck... Mmm, my god." After a minute of every muscle in his body flexing, it looked like he was inches away from coming and I leaned forward with my hand out on the last step to balance myself so I could watch the end result. It took a bit longer than I expected but I watched on unblinkingly until he finally managed to pump out an orgasm that ripped through his body and exited him in a glorious spurt of cum. Then there was another spurt and another, all landing in a perfect sticky mess over his stomach and chest. The sun coming in through his window glittered over his spackled body while a dryness hardened my tongue. I gawked as he moved to mop up his own mess with my black lace panties. What he was going to do next was as much a mystery to me as the last ten minutes I had spent as a voyeur. His cock laid over the top of his thigh and shrunk with each passing second while he rolled my panties up into a ball with his fist. All of his muscles relaxed and he sank further into the bed, closed his eyes all the while my stolen cum-soaked panties remained clutched to his chest like a cross. I could almost smell the musk permeating from the open door. Slowly, I descended the stairs one by painstaking one.

[momentofmemory]

fictober - day twenty-eight

Prompt #28: “Enough! I’ve heard enough.”

Fandom: BBC’s Doctor Who (NuWho)

Rating: PG

Characters: The Twelfth Doctor & Missy

Words: 1972

Author’s Note: set in the vague vicinity of s10, but before Bill is a main fixture in the Doctor’s life.

>>Right Enough

Missy’s been lying indisposed on her blue suede couch for one hundred and twenty-nine thousand, six hundred and seventeen seconds when the Doctor finally decides to grace her with his presence. Normally, she doesn’t mind his absence—her couch is deliciously extravagant, after all.

Normally, however, the Doctor doesn’t wait an entire month between visits.

“Where’ve you been,” she asks, feet still propped up on the arm of the loveseat and eyes pointedly closed.

He putters about in the background, probably checking to make sure she hasn’t gotten into any mischief (why he bothers, she’ll never know—it’s not like there are any alive things in here. If she really wanted trouble, she’d just walk out of this laughably secure vault of his, kill a city or so of humans, and be back before tea).

“Why?” HIs voice echoes from across the room. “Jealous?”

“No.”

She probably said that too quickly, but he doesn’t call her out on it.

“Oh good; we wouldn’t want that,” he says, instead. “Come make yourself useful and help me move this furniture out of the way.”

Missy pries her eyes open and rises from her reclined position, as languidly as possible to make up for her earlier transgression. “Have we decided dining tables are a symbol of oppression now, too?”

The Doctor doesn’t take the bait, which is a tragedy because Missy had an entire monologue at the ready if he had. She drops her heels to the ground and stretches, spine cracking in response, and then takes out a contact mirror to inspect her hair. It’s a perfect disaster: loose ends flying every which way, fuzz clinging to the hairs along her scalp, and a tangled mess near the top. In all, it’s exactly the way she likes it.

She pokes randomly at a few curls anyway, mostly as a delay tactic to annoy the Doctor. Also, because if it looks like she’s looking at herself, it won’t look like she’s looking at him. She would never be caught doing something as caring as that.

The Doctor’s currently up on the platform in the middle of the room, hoisting chairs off of it with the kind of manic energy Missy’s only ever seen in three-year-olds (and, perhaps, herself). Something about the emotion seems wrong this time, though—a bit frayed around the edges, a weariness and desperation in his eyes.

She snaps the contact shut and strolls over to the dais. “You look tired.”

She’s made sure to infuse her words with as much derision as she can manage, but the Doctor grins anyway.

“You know, I once brought down an entire administration with that line.” He scurries behind the oak table and grabs hold, gesturing for Missy to do the same on the opposite side. “Well, sort of. In essence. Technically the full thing was ‘don’t you think she looks tired,’ but the sentiment was there.”

“Manipulating political structures for your own ends, were you?” Missy grabs hold of the lip of the table despite herself, and they start to carry it off to the side of the room. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to flirt with me.”

“You would be so lucky.” They set the table down, missing the Doctor’s toes by inches, to Missy’s disappointment.

He grins that maddening grin of his again. “Come. I’ve brought you a present.”

He all but leaps back up onto the now empty platform, nearly losing his balance in the process in what Missy’s fairly certain is evidence of a limp. She eyes him suspiciously.

“You’re deflecting.”

“I know, and I’m doing it wonderfully.” He pulls a small blue box out of his coat pocket. “Here. This is for you.”

Missy eyes him with even more suspicion. She can’t imagine liking something that’s making the Doctor this pleased, but despite her better judgment she steps over to him, accepting the proffered box.

“I hope you know if that’s not a key to that door of yours, or at least someone’s severed head, I’m going to be incredibly disappointed.”

“Well. We wouldn’t want that.” The Doctor slides his hands into his tattered coat. “You might want to stand back when you open it. Bigger on the inside, you see.”

Missy starts, wondering what could possibly be so important that the Doctor would risk giving her access to dimension collapsing technology, even if he was planning on taking it right back. She pulls at the silver ribbon holding the box together, and, once freed, lifts the lid.

“Turn it over,” the Doctor says.

“Really, Doctor.” Missy starts tipping the box over. “If you wanted me at your mercy we could’ve arranged something more—dear Gallifrey!”

Three polished, glossy-finished black legs and a pedal rack slide out of the rim of the box, and after it the large wooden frame they’re attached to. Before Missy can fully catalogue what’s happening, an entire grand piano has fallen out and landed with surprising softness on the floor.

Missy stares at the instrument with something between anger and allurement, and runs her hand along the open lid. “Why have you brought me this?”

The Doctor shrugs, wincing a bit at the movement. “I can’t just bring gifts for an old friend?”

Missy catches his pained expression and in a fit of rage, heaves the piano’s lid off its post and then slams it down to cover the strings. “No, no, you most certainly can not. Not when you’ve been who knows where for who knows how long and then saunter back in here with—with this.”

“Is that concern I detect?”

“Don’t change the subject,” she snaps, fingers drumming on the piano’s surface. “My only concern is that you’re jeopardizing the deal that’s keeping me alive.”

The Doctor holds her gaze for an uncomfortably long time, perhaps searching for that thing he keeps calling ‘hope.’ She glares back with just as much fervor, because she’s not about to give him any of that tonight. Not when he’s just spoiled her favourite dining spot for something so paltry as an apology.

Eventually, the Doctor just sighs. “Someone needed help, Missy. That’s all.”

“Must have been an awful lot of someones if it’s left you this desperate,” Missy scoffs, and she’s pleased at how mean that is. “I mean, a piano? Really?”

“A piano,” he agrees, picking the empty box up off the floor and tucking it back into his pocket. “I thought perhaps you would enjoy a more constructive outlet for your… creative tendencies, shall we say.”

Something snaps, and she finds herself climbing over the piano so she can get into his space.

“You can’t lie, Doctor,” she says. “Not to me. This is just your overblown way of trying to convince yourself you didn’t break your stupid oath by leaving me.”

“What was I supposed to do?” To her delight, something of that pain she knows all too well breaks through his eyes. “Just let them to die?”

“For Rassilon’s sake, Doctor! I don’t know how you haven’t noticed this yet, but someone’s always dying!”

The Doctor pales and takes a step back. “That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t at least try to—”

“Would you like us to look up whoever it is you saved?” Missy cocks her head, then glides off the dais towards her couch. “We can do it so easily, you know. Any database in the universe, and we’ll find their cause of death instantaneously. That’s what they are, Doctor. Pre-packaged, instantaneous death.”

“Missy—”

“Are you really that thick?” She doesn’t understand how a being that smart can be that willfully naïve. “No matter what you do, nobody lives in the end. I don’t know what it’s going to take for you to realize you’ve done enough for those silly, ungrateful, walking meat sacks you call friends.”

“Enough?”

Missy freezes mid-tirade and glances up at him, baffled by why out of all the words she’d said to them, he’d chosen that one to fixate on. She swallows, suddenly unsure of herself even though she’s not quite sure why. “I’ve heard enough from you. Yes.”

The Doctor comes down the steps, wearily: one slow assent to gravity at a time.

“Enough,” he repeats, shaking his head. “You don’t think I’ve heard enough, too? After all these years of travelling, these… these faces, these bodies. Scars.”

“I like this game where you make all my points for me. Makes things so much simpler than our usual give and take.”

“You don’t understand,” the Doctor says, and it’s said so sadly and kindly and so unlike anything Missy would ever say. “That’s all right. I wouldn’t expect you to. Not yet.”

“Then make me.”

She’s spoken too quickly again, and this time the Doctor picks up on it. He looks at her with an expression she doesn’t recognize, and eases himself down into the chair across from her.

“I know I’ve done enough, Missy,” he says eventually. “How could I not? I’ve heard enough, I’ve seen enough, I’ve felt enough. Lost enough, even. More than enough enoughs for any one person.”

He clasps his hands in front of him and stares at his gnarled fingers. “You see, what you don’t understand is that it’s not about how much I’ve done, or haven’t done. It’s not even about atonement. It’s about how much there’s still left to do.”

Missy shifts on the couch. “Has anyone ever told you there are other people in the universe that could do these things instead?”

He chuckles under his breath, and it’s without mirth, but not without life. “Do you see that instrument up there?”

“You’ve not left me with many other options,” Missy says, and she’s not sure that he isn’t just changing the subject again, but she follows his gaze.

She doesn’t know much about human design—why would she?—but it doesn’t take an expert to know time was spent in the piano’s craft. The soundboard is a mixture of mahogany and rock maple, the white keys are cast in their original ivory, and the black cut from ebony wood. The strings are steel in the treble and copper in the base, and each hammer is delicately covered in red felt.

It’s beautiful.

“Music,” he says quietly, “is not something that needed to exist. A piano, even more so—what with its complicated strings, and its hammers, and its pedals, and all its nonsense. It couldn’t even have the decency to decide what kind of instrument it wanted to be.”

“But these humans…” He smiles. “They can’t help themselves. There was something in them that told them it was important, even though it wouldn’t feed them, or clothe them, or shelter them. It wouldn’t give them anything they needed. But they knew they had to do it, anyway.”

He stands and straightens his coat, and starts making his way towards the door. “That’s what it’s like, Missy. When you do something to help others, even though you get nothing in return, because deep down, you know it’s right. That’s all—just right.”

Missy regards him for a long moment, then shakes her head. “You are the strangest man I’ve ever known.”

The Doctor laughs. “And yet, you know me.”

She waves her hand dismissively over the edge of the couch, and he disengages the lock with his screwdriver—then he’s back in the world and out of hers. She sighs. He’ll be back eventually, with more of his strange ideas, she supposes. But for now, she is alone.

Missy stares at the ceiling and resumes her counting, and it’s peaceful, and familiar, and safe.

She reaches second two thousand, seven hundred and thirty-six before she trades off running her fingers across suede to cautiously tracing the ivory keys. She’s never played the piano before, or really any instrument. Missy thinks she’ll be able to learn, though.

It feels right.

[yanderemommabean]

Yandere!Purge!Izaya Orihara

(Kinda thrown together? I pieced this mess together based on the ending of the blurb. I hope you’re okay with that! I decided if I was gonna sit around doing nothing because of my wrists I might as well try to write! After all, ‘tis but a scratch! I also apologize if the tags are sparse. They’re kinda limited and I don’t know if I can make some of my own and I don’t really know how tumblr works so I’m sorry! I know that I already placed an ask too but I accidentally clicked on this instead of archive and wanted to try it out! Oh, and I think this is gender neutral. I guess I was going for a female reader but I don’t think I used any gendered pronouns towards the reader! Just in case I did though I’m not gonna label it as gender neutral. I’m sorry from rambling I just don’t wanna offend anyone and this is how it always turns out! - Existential Bean)

         "Happy hunting, Y/N. I’ll be waiting for you, my love.“

   A chill ran down your spine. That couldn’t be him… right? If it was, you needed to run, fast. He was already too close as is. You couldn’t afford to be caught.

   Running down the street at a brisk pace, unable to mask your anxiety as you nearly ran to your apartment. You wouldn’t completely run so as to not attract any attention, though it was risky, especially with the fact he could be anywhere, though likely near you. There had to be a few things there you could pick up, and maybe a few would help. It would be the first place any yandere would look, though, so you had to hurry.

   You had your phone, a few knives, a set of clothes, and a gun from your standard purge kit given to all the unfortunate souls with a yandere. You didn’t want to actually kill anyone though, yandere or not.

   Reaching your small but relatively decent apartment, you climbed several stairs before reaching the evergreen door you needed. Maybe this was a bad idea. It wasn’t exactly the safest place, so you couldn’t exactly hide out here.

   Opening the door, you entered the entry hall, passing multiple doors, the kitchen entry being the last, closest to the dining room at the end of the hall. There was a homely coppery wooden dining table and matching chairs, with black legs and backing in the small but cozy dining room, being the first and only thing you would see, as you had everything laid out in advance. The pepper spray, flashlight, and small stun gun in the guise of a small cell phone, had all been left on the table, as you were only allowed to bring your phone and keys to the purge announcement.

   There was occasionally a different punishment for not following purge rules every year, but usually with was being locked in a room with the yandere, with purge immunity included. Generally, it was never a good idea to ignore the rules, as it always backfired, even for the yanderes.

   The people who set this up considered this a game. The time it took for the darlings to go back to their home for anything else, if they chose to, would be used to help the yandere track their love. That’s why the ones chosen by the yanderes were only allowed to bring their phone and keys.

   Deciding that this had been more than enough time spent and you should most certainly leave, you turned around, only to find someone leaning in the doorway. They were turned away, so you couldn’t see anything more than the back of their fur-lined jacket, but it didn’t take much to hedge a guess.

   "I’m glad to have found you here, as predictable as it is! Of course you would come back, you even laid everything out for your return! I would expect nothing less from my Y/N, though,” a hint of pride seeping into his tone.

   You recognized that slightly smug voice. It was the announcer, and your yandere.

   Your apartment was small. All you had was a small balcony to the fire escape in your kitchen, but you’d need to get closer to him. 

   "Playing the quiet game now, are we? I expected more. You’re not so much different from the rest of the humans after all.

   “You’ve disappointed me.”

   Suddenly, he turned around, and started walking calmly in your direction, a mildly annoyed expression on his face. You could see his admittedly handsome features- dark hair, brown eyes and a sharp jaw, set in determination.

   You wouldn’t stay long enough to admire them.

   Darting in the direction of the kitchen, you slammed the door open and shut behind you, before darting over to the small balcony connected to the fire escape, making sure you shut that door behind you as well. Leaping over the rail, you heard the entrance behind you slam open and footsteps angrily march to the fire escape.

   "Oh, Y/N, you making this hard on both of us. You’ll have to be punished twice for that. It was a smart move, I’ll admit, but I’ve already considered this.“

   By now, you were already a few levels below him, but you weren’t necessarily athletic, and you were running out of stamina fast. You could hear him catching up.

   Fortunately, you had by now made it to the ground, and was making a run for it out of the alleyway.

   You were yanked back. You had been caught.

   "It was pointless, you see now? I suppose it’s good for you I’m rather bored, and Shizu-chan hasn’t been any fun lately. I blame you for that.”

   And, as suddenly as you were grabbed, he let you go.

   "Oh, and don’t take this as me letting you go! I’ll have you by the end of the day, I’ll just give you one more chance to make yourself different from the rest of the humans. Just make sure to be more talkative next time!“

  Booking it out of the alleyway just in case, you looked back and didn’t see him again. By now, it was 12:00 P.M. and you knew you were most likely going to be taken. It started at 8:00 A.M. and if he already found you, then there was virtually no hope.

   But you had to try.

   You could run to another city, but even then there was a chance he could follow. Maybe the best option was just to roam for a while, sticking to the crowds and staying alert.

   For now though, you needed to find somewhere to eat. Something fast.

   Deciding that Russia Sushi would be the best place for now, you walked hastily, constantly looking over your shoulder. Several times you could’ve sworn you saw that jacket again, but it had to just be you. It had to be.

   Finally arriving in front of the restaurant, greeting Simon on your way in. Everyone who had lived here for a while knew him.

  "Ah, Y/N! Good to see you! Purge bad, sushi good! Come have sushi!”

   Nodding to him, a slight smile on your lips, you responded, “I think I will. I hope you have a good day yourself, Simon.”

   Opening the door and immediately walking to a table, you quickly figured out what you wanted and ordered it as quickly as possible. There was no fire escape this time, he could easily corner you and nobody could do anything, not even Simon.

   Practically inhaling your food, you looked up halfway through your meal and actually saw the jacket this time. He sauntered into a booth just behind you, but not before sending you a smirk, taunting you.

   Eating even faster now, it wasn’t too long before you finished everything, paid, and literally ran out this time.

   You didn’t know what else to do. By now, it was only 12:23 P.M. and it seemed the likelihood of surviving was next to none. 

   Maybe the best option was stick to crowds, get no attention, and run if necessary.

   For the next few hours, you had simply wandered. It was fortunately 3:56 P.M now. You hadn’t seen him again, not even his jacket, and you were starting to think you had lost him. You had even seen other unfortunate people being dragged off by their respective yanderes.

   Finally deciding it was safe enough to take a break for a few minutes, you found a bench, sat down and rested your feet.

   "I don’t think you realize just how much trouble you’ve been,“ a voice breathed in your ear, before snatching your wrist and hauling you off to the nearest alleyway.

   You sent a pleading gaze to the people around you, but they simply averted their eyes and kept going. If anything, they helped by getting out of his way, knowing exactly what was happening.

   "Let go of me! Don’t touch me!”

   Finally deep enough in the alleyway nobody would hear or see you, he turned around and said in a smug voice, “Oh? so you finally decide to say something? It was about time. You had started to bore me.”

   You had tried to yank his hand from his grip, but despite his lean frame, he was rather strong.

   "What is wrong with you? I don’t even know you! Why can’t you leave me alone?“

   He shook his head, almost as if disappointed. 

   "Oh, but you do know me. Don’t you remember? You had stood up for me against a group of thugs. Not that I needed your help, but silly little you didn’t know that, now did you?”

   That was… him?

   "Oh, you’re so forgetful! I’ll just have to make sure you’ll never forget me again.“

   He tugged on your wrist and pulled you closer to him, wrapping an arm around your waist and staring sultrily into your eyes.

   "I’ve been watching you this entire time, you know. You’re a bit of a hypocrite! You stare pitifully at the others being taken, but you make no attempt to help them, yet you almost expect yourself to be helped. I suppose it’s just one of the many things I love about you…”

   He started to lean down, trying to force a kiss.. You squirmed and squirmed but to no avail.

   "Fuck you,“ you said, headbutting him on the forehead.

   He groaned and turned away, holding his head. Unfortunately, he didn’t let go of your wrist. If anything, he tightened his grip on it.

   "I’m done playing with you, Y/N. We’ll just have to sort this out when we get home. You’ll regret being so disobedient. It’s almost as if you’re asking for some fun.”

  “IZAYA! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING NOW?” a loud and obviously very angry voice interrupted.

   The man now dubbed as Izaya looked back, still holding his forehead, and glared at you.

   "Look what you’ve done.“

   Just then, a blond haired man in a bartender’s suit turned the corner behind him and charged full force, wielding a street sign.

   Just before the man reached the two of you, Izaya scooped you up and darted down the allyway and into the street, still being pursued by the blond.

   "Come on, Shizu-chan! Can’t you leave me alone? All I want for now is to take my Y/N home!” he taunted, obviously wanting him to follow.

   "You psychopath!“

Izaya only hummed in response. He weaved through the alleys, over rooftops and through streets, and you didn’t dare let go, not wanted to be potentially killed by the blond behind, though halfway through you decided potential injury was better than being stuck with him all your life. 

   Unfortunately, blondie seemed to be lagging behind, if his distant roars of anger and frustration were anything to go by. Izaya wouldn’t be distracted at all soon.

   Soon enough, you couldn’t hear him at all anymore, and your struggles increased tenfold.

   "Ah, don’t worry, Y/N. We’re here already!”

   He abruptly set you down and grabbed your wrist, dragging you along behind him.

   "No, please! Let me go! I don’t want to-“

   "No. You’re mine now. You’ve been disobedient enough. I need to put you in your place, and you will let me!” he rudely interrupted, far past his breaking point.

   There wasn’t any point now. You were his.

   He dragged you into the elevator, yanking you around and slamming you into the wall, pressing his body against yours.

   You could’ve sworn you felt… something… pressing against you down there.

   "What will I do with you?“

   There was no sign-wielding man to save you now. He firmly pressed his lips against yours in a needy, desperate kiss, keeping your body pinned between him and the edge of the elevator.

   All you could do was squirm and whimper in the kiss, while he greedily stole your breath and forced his tongue in your mouth.

   Ding.

   The elevator saved you this time.

   He reluctantly pulled away, taking your wrist again and dragging you to his penthouse.

   He didn’t waste a second in bringing you to a bedroom, slamming the door and releasing your wrist.

   You immediately backed up, facing him.

   He slowly turned around, excitement and… lust gleaming in those brown eyes of his.

  He slowly, purposefully walked towards you, keeping you pinned with that look of his.

   Suddenly darting forward, he snatched your wrist and pulled the two of you on the bed, twisting so he was on top, pinning you down and ensuring you can’t get away from him.

   That something you felt earlier? You definitely weren’t imagining it.

   Hooking his fingers in your pants, he announced, "It’s time for your punishment.”

(He might be a little ooc though because it’s been a while since I watched DRRR!! but I think I still have him down decently. The only thing I don’t really like about this is Shizu-chan, I feel like it’s kinda cheap and I don’t like it but I don’t remember his nickname from the dubbed version if he even had one. Oh, and this may not be important, but Namie wasn’t there because she was chasing her beloved Seiji. A tad gross tho cuz she’s his sister :\)

*looks at the fortunately-still-brother/sister relationship between Namie and Seiji*

*banjo music plays in background*

(oh and I want you guys to know this is 6.9 pages lmao)

((BEAN I LOVE THIS!! YOU DID SUCH AN AMAZING JOB!)))

[thedeaditeslayer]

FanExpo Canada Interview: Actor and Host Bruce Campbell for Ripley’s Believe It or Not.

Here’s an interview that mostly covers Ripley’s Believe it or Not!

If you’ve ever watched a cop show, seen someone fight a Deadite, or stayed up late enough to watch offbeat flicks on basic cable, you’ve probably seen Bruce Campbell. Campbell has a long history on screen, starting with his breakout performance in The Evil Dead, a small film he made with his buddy, Sam Raimi, that went on to spawn sequels, spin-offs, comics, games, and a series.  Though horror fans most recognize him as Ashley “Ash” Williams from that franchise, Bruce has had a robust career. With the “face of a soap opera star”, he went on to star in shows like Ellen, Xena, and Burn Notice.  Now an actor and an author, he’s added “host,” to his hyphens, having hosted the touring live show Last Fan Standing and now, Ripley’s Believe It or Not.

The first season of this new show hit the Travel Channel this year, and so Bruce sat down with some of us at FanExpo Canada to discuss the show and his illustrious career.  The show is different from the Ripley’s of the past, focusing on the strength and perseverance of different people, what they’re able to overcome in the face of adversity.  The warmer side of the horror icon was fully on display as we pulled up some chairs to chat.

You’ve shot a few episodes now. Will you be back for any more?

Bruce Campbell: You need to call the Travel Channel and work that out. We don’t know yet. I think they haven’t decided because it hasn’t even opened in Canada yet. So, I don’t think you make those decisions until you figure out how it’s going to play everywhere.

And how did you get these hosting gigs? There’s obviously not something that you’d usually do.

Bruce Campbell: No, but other people get ideas and they pitch them out. And this one I thought was pretty good to do because it was a very reputable company that’s been around for 100 years now, which is rare, especially in America.  Companies don’t last that long. They last 20 years. They think, “Wow, Amazon, 20 years.”

This is FanExpo’s 25th year.

Bruce Campbell: That is impressive though. That’s a quarter-century but you know Ripley’s is kicking your ass too. So that’s why I thought it was worth exploring. I followed Ripley’s. I read the books and watch the TV shows and I knew exactly what was going on.

[The Ripley’s exhibit], obviously, they have this section, which is the props and movies and the film. Is there something for one of your movies that you would love to see in the Ripley’s exhibit one day?

Bruce Campbell: Yes. Yeah, they should have some stuff in Ripley’s, but Ripley’s is kind of, unless it’s amazing, they won’t have it. That’s the thing. They don’t just play it [as this] history game. It’s got to be amazing. It has to be a strange animal, a strange device, something unique that’s never been done before. So yeah, that’s what makes their collection cool.

Will you be revisiting any of the [Ripley’s stories] that were previously covered? Or like kind of a look back?

Bruce Campbell:  I think over time, they’ll have to do everything to choke the airwaves of material. You know, if you get three, four seasons into something, you have to get clever. But the thing that this first season showed me is how many stories there actually are. We did sixty stories. This for the first season alone. So, can you imagine over three, four years? That’s a lot of stories. Which shows you it’s a big world out there, and there’s a lot of crazy stuff going on. I feel like we’re playing catch up.

Any examples you can give us from those sixty?

Bruce Campbell: No, no, because it’s…I can’t.  It’s silly to single anything out.  But they are amazing. The show is higher quality than I had hoped for. You never know when you get involved in something, is it going to be something they slapped together? Or do they care about it? So, as an executive producer, it was important to, I thought on my part, to work on the tone so we treat these people with respect. Because not one of them are normal. Normal as in our traditional normal. But that’s what’s cool about the show.

And do we get to see you kind of going out and about on location?

Bruce Campbell: No, I’m a studio guy.  I tied all together. The crew goes out in films, the folks.  They filmed themselves a lot. We’re using their footage at the time. Everyone has a camera like you, we’re all running around filming their exploits.  We found some of these people on YouTube. You know, they have their own channel. It’s easier nowadays to find them than it was 10 years ago. Type in “weird shit,” and stuff comes up.

Would you ever like to travel in the future with the show?

Bruce Campbell: I travel enough. I, you know, last three years, I think it was thirty-five cities or forty cities.  I’m only twenty-five cities this year. I’ve got off easy this year.

This is Ripley’s Believe It or Not. Is there anything that you’ve come across that you just do not believe?

Bruce Campbell: I believe it. But it is amazing. Still, it’s believable. But you go “I don’t know how but it’s believable. Unbelievable.”

And I was wondering just one of the exhibits that Ripley’s is famous for is the hairball.  Have you contributed to the hairball? Have you contributed a lock of hair?

Bruce Campbell:  Screw that.  I’ll bring my cat by and give it a furball. Where is it? Where is the big ball?

Here.

Bruce Campbell:  In Toronto?

No, it’s downstairs. It’s there now people are contributing their hair to the hairball.

[PR chimed in to let us know it got stuck for a while at Canadian customs]

You mentioned the longevity of Ripley’s.  What do you think it is about the exhibit that in this day and age where there’s so much in terms of entertainment, this kind of old school form of entertaining is still popular?

Bruce Campbell:  Well, you get to know the people.  Anyone can find weird footage on the interwebs, but get to know the people that’s what’s different from us on a security camera. Showing weird things happen.  We get to know these people and then we see it act out. We see what they’re trying to accomplish, overcome. They’re always trying to meet some new challenge mostly. We’re documenting that we’re taking their footage, we’re stealing their footage.  

It’s about a good story.

Bruce Campbell: Yeah, it is because most of it, it’s come from behind because people are born, you know, kid’s born blind, just wants to ride his bike. So how do you learn? How do you ride a bike if you’re blind? You just want to be a normal kid. So, he learned that bats can echolocate, and make little clicking noises and they can see and can tell things from the sound bounced back. Is it a hard surface, a porous surface? Is it closer or further away? Is that an alley? Is it open space? Is it dirt? He learned it all and he started riding his bike by making little clicking echolocating noises just like a bat. And he got so good. You can teach other blind kids. It’s amazing.

Could you do it? Maybe? Could I do it? I don’t know. But you know, it’s how we think someone is born with a negative what you see if you make it into such a positive, the kids like abnormally gifted, in my opinion, to overcome what most of us would go “well, I’m blind. Guess I’m not riding that bike.” It’s great to see someone go, “no, I think I want to try that.” It’s great. We all get very convinced of our own limitations, and I think we could fool ourselves sometimes.

Do you think then in that vein, the show is quite inspirational?

Bruce Campbell:  It’s 100% inspirational. Most of these people have lives that kind of blew before good things started to happen. Or they had physical challenges or were hurt, injured.

You mentioned tone there. Had they ever run segments past you that you turned down?

Bruce Campbell: No, because as long as it’s real, and that is the most amazing thing about Ripley’s it’s not faked. So we move kind of beyond the reality show aspect. Reality shows are manipulated, every single aspect of The Bachelor, every aspect is manipulated no matter what you think, it’s producers behind the scenes, pulling the strings, figuring out who would be the most entertaining to put together. We don’t do that. Everything you see is completely real. The guy says he can cut an Oreo cookie and half in the middle of the air through the cream sideways, he can do it, you know, verified. We have a bunch of the Guinness World Records folks doing stuff to sell. So, there’s a lot to look at.

You came a couple of years ago doing Last Fan Standing. What have you brought over or learned from Last Fan Standing that helped you host or what did you really have to change?

Bruce Campbell:  I learned that people don’t need that show. Otherwise, we would get the show on the air by now.  Sometimes it just takes a while to learn things. It was fine. We had fun. But we tried to pitch it as a TV show and nobody wanted it. I think they don’t want to white middle-aged guys running around acting like your crazy uncle. It’s when we realized we’re a little past our demographic.

It was good in the ’90s.

Bruce Campbell: Yeah, would have been great in the ’90s probably.

Was there anything in the Ripley’s warehouse that you were excited to see or are most looking forward to seeing?

Bruce Campbell: No, because I don’t know what they have. I’d love to see the inventory. I’m sure there’s stuff in there that’s more amazing than you would think. It’d be fun to do some shows where you just get the crates, get the crowbar. Get the curator, you know, come on, let’s show some stuff and tell the stories behind it.  Because they wouldn’t have it in the museum if it wasn’t amazing. They’ll have a two-headed goat. They won’t have a one headed goat they’ll have a two-headed or a four-eyed something. Smithsonian doesn’t have that.

What do you want audiences to take from the show?

Bruce Campbell:  Just a positive experience.  Because you can sometimes see the normal side of people through extreme activity in a weird sort of way.  Doesn’t really make sense. But yeah, mostly a positive experience. The “it factor” is not that hot. We don’t want to turn people off, that’s not the idea.  But there are people who are doing stuff that’s both amazing and repulsive, at the same time. So you’re gonna have to deal with that to.

Granny’s not gonna want to watch everything and little Billy’s not gonna want to watch everything but, tough, that’s half the fun. There’s no reason for us to flinch away from it because it is real.  A guy wanted to become a parrot, so he did everything he possibly physically could to become a parrot. So what would that entail? Surgery tattoo on his eyes, removing your ears, tattooing your face, like the patterns of a feather.  He wanted to fly, so he rigged up some crazy fly rig. Amazing? Yes. Horrifying? Potentially. So, some stories have a two-edged sword. Yet at the same time, you celebrate that person’s independence. “I want to be a parrot. Here I go. Fly a little bird.”

Certainly innovative.

Bruce Campbell:  Let’s go with that.

Well, you can be whatever you want when you grow up.

Bruce Campbell: You can do whatever you want. I want to be a parrot.  Some guys want to be a fireman.

You mentioned that you have been a fan of Ripley’s for some time. So, what was your first experience?

Bruce Campbell:  Their book, they had a leather, clothbound red book. It was a good-sized book. And then they have their very unique illustrations that they always had. That was just a permanent fixture on our bookshelf in the living room.  Most people had a Ripley’s book of some kind. That’s what you get with an institution

What do you think Ash Williams would make of the Ripley’s exhibit?

Bruce Campbell:  He’d be like it’s cool.  We did a story about a woman with a bionic arm. She has parts that she can put on, clip-on and clip off. Yeah.

You’ve done some pretty cool mutilation and gory scenes like being thrown through a glass window in Lodge 49 and cutting off your own hand in The Evil Dead 2. What’s been your most favorite gory scene to shoot?

Bruce Campbell: I’m not a gore guy, so I don’t have a favorite gore. Gore is a drag to me. Yeah. Blood is sticky. Blood is cold. Not fun, sticks on all your clothes. Yeah, I’m so over it.

You’re past it. You’re in your host life now.

Bruce Campbell:  You know, once you realize you’re in your late fifties, should I really still be lying on dirt floors covered in blood? Is that really what’s on the agenda still, like still? It’s having it off the floor.

Personally, I would love to see you return to Sam Axe.

Bruce Campbell:  It’s about time. People are starting to get nostalgic.  All you gotta do is wait the right amount of time, which could be right about it now.

Quick letter-writing campaign.

Bruce Campbell: Especially when the world’s going to shit, everyone wants to find the shows that make them feel comfortable. They want that meatloaf sandwich that made them feel good. Like everything was safe.

Do you have any characters that you’d love to do one last hurrah with?

Bruce Campbell: I never sort of play that game. But you know, I could do this Western again. The Adventures of Brisco Country, Jr., Brisco Rides Again.  Could do that. Sam Axe, Burn Notice could be good. There are still d-bags in the world that need to be taken down. You know, come out of retirement. Yeah, there’s stories in there.  You know, these days with the structure of television. Everything’s going that way, anyway. Everything’s always a limited series, eight episodes or ten episodes. But that’s how you get Kirsten Dunst for Fargo. One year obligation, it’s not a seven-year contract.  All TV contracts were always seven years and actors, they really start to bristle at that.  Why you can’t get bigshot actors because they’re like “seven years. You kidding me? No chance, Lance.”

So, it’s kind of interesting how the format of TV shows works professionally because now you can get someone like Kirsten Dunst because she’ll go, “Great. I can do a whole season of a character study.” For an actor, it’s awesome. That’s the best part of Ash vs. Evil Dead, going back with experience now as an actor to that guy. To bring the character forward now and try and mess with it. It’s a very appealing aspect of it. So, I don’t know. Never say never about any remake.  Everyone’s got remake fever. But they always have. The first movie ever made in Hollywood is The Great Train Robbery. You see cowboy pointing a pistol at the camera.  And what’s the second movie? It’s the sequel, The Great Train Robbery 2.  That didn’t take long. That’s how Hollywood works.  I don’t know Marvel themselves into the ground.

Are you hoping to get a call to appear in Spider-man to prove to Tobey Maguire that you did outlast him?

Bruce Campbell:  No.  I don’t need that to prove my ability to outlast Tobey Maguire.

What is next for you then in terms of directing or acting?

Bruce Campbell:  I have stuff coming up that’s not official so I can’t really talk about it. But I’ve written some of my own stuff that I’ve just finished up. Because I realized that you can’t… I want to get back into the movie game. Sort of where I started. I got diverted into TV for years, so it’s time to go back.  But you need material. So I’ve just been writing more books, stuff like that.

Will you be working with the Raimi Brothers?

Bruce Campbell:  If it falls off the truck that way. If that’s how it works, yeah.

Is it harder to get projects greenlit these days?

Bruce Campbell:  I’m going to find out.  All the executives are twenty-five. So it could be easier, it could be impossible. They might go, “Thanks, gramps. Nice meetin’ with you.” I mean, it’s time to find out.

On Ripley’s, will we be seeing a Ripley-esque ability from yourself?

Bruce Campbell:  I don’t have those skills. Look, I got stunt guys for that. They’re there to make me look good. It’s all smoke and mirrors, you know.  But Ripley’s is not fake. I’d have to have a skill it was real. I don’t have any skills that are real, other than riding electric bikes really well.

Was there any particular character you’ve ever played that you really identify with and miss playing?

Bruce Campbell:  Most of ‘em.  But Evil Dead, Ash, I’m done with.  I’ve done that. Got that box checked. Because I think I played with enough to get my, you know, I left everything on the table. I don’t know, usually, when I’m done with the character, I’m happy to walk away from it. Burn Notice, same thing. Seven years, it’s a long run. Hundred and eleven episodes. That’s enough. Yeah, so we’ll see. Could be here next year. touting the Burn Notice movie.

What’s your favorite scary movie?

Bruce Campbell:  Well, it’s the guy who sort of, persona non grata, Mr. Roman Polanski, The Tenant. A movie that haunted me for weeks after I saw it because it messes with your head. It’s trying to make you think you’re going crazy and by the end of the movie you actually really wonder if you’re going fucking crazy and it really disturbed me.  I found it completely disturbing and not a drop of blood in the whole movie. No gore, no monsters, no nothing. I mean, it’s creepy as shit because that’s what Polanski’s really good at. And he’s in it and so it’s really weird. Yeah, he’s a weird actor. Yeah.

[nanigma]

Finished BL Route yesterday

I am not okay. I want my cubs back already. aggghh

I did enjoy the final part. A bit miffed with how many open questions remain, that we are expected to collect the answers to from other playthroughs though. (mostly BE and church route it seems. ugh) Still can’t believe nobody was aware of who Dimitri’s stepmom was (or that she was his stepmom...). 

Do Empress consorts and Queens of Fearghus just not make any public appearances?? Even then, the chances of SOMEONE recognizing such an important person would be incredibly high. How could they keep that under the wraps? It���s ridiculous.

Anyway, plot contrivance aside. Next we have Edelgard. The way she lays out her plan of “Everyone follow my vision or be trampeled in the dust” makes me side-eye her even more. And really, the ending makes all her efforts seem very out of proportion and ultimately futile.

The crest system gets reformed without any needs of burning churches and persecuting the faithful. Surely, a bit of cooperation from all three faction leaders would have achieved the same without as much bloodshed. But at least here I can see Edelgard as someone so fundamentaly damaged by her upbringing that she 100% believes there is no other way. She is wrong of course, but that’s what makes her a solid tragic villain. If only there wasn’t her route looming on the horizon. 

Her turning herself into the final boss monster was so silly though. What was that supposed to accomplish? Hubert even said there was a good chance she wouldn’t turn back, so what would have happened had she won in that state? There’s desperate actions when cornered and then there is acitvely sabotaging your own plans in order to kill off a rival.  

Anyway.. all that aside, I got my ending with the gorgeous girl I wanted:

(sorry for shitty screenshots, my switch decided it won’t allow me to upload stuff to twitter anymore)

I legit teared up when she asked for marriage. I am not forgetting how shitty this game treats same-sex romance otherwise, but this felt good.

My plan for the endings really spelled out the gay agenda too, and it definitely worked out in this case:

Yeah, get your happy ending, girls.

In other ways though... things got a bit out of hand. I had planned to pair off Felix and Sylvain while letting Dedue and Flayn duke it out over Dimitri. I had very judiciously assured that no other girls or guys got in between that, except forgot one thing... which led to the boys having different plans than me:

Look at these two clowns, leaving a trail of broken hearts and promises behind them as they ride off into the horizon to enjoy their tragic romance, beard included.

I had totally forgotten that I A supported Dimitri and Felix. Given that Felix and Sylvain had been maxed in points, it apparently means that this pairing outranks Dimidue, Dimilayn and Sylvix in priority.. good to know I guess. The others will just have to live their lifes as singles I guess. or ask very nicely if they can join from time to time

This was quite a rollercoaster of emotions. I can’t believe it’s over already, after just two weeks no less. Not sure when I’ll start the other routes. I think I’ll take a small break to let it all settle. Thanks for reading my incoherent ramblings so far!