#when this scene begins we see art completely pass by the window without looking

[artsfavoritehorn]

Love the fact that it was easier (in Art's thought process) for Art to have to go in the bar and kill a Santa impersonator and a few other guys in order to get the Santa suit instead of just buying one

[whileiamdying]

The Fall of the House of Usher Part One

Part 1:

IT WAS A DARK AND SOUNDLESS DAY NEAR THE END OF THE YEAR, and clouds were hanging low in the heavens. All day I had been riding on horseback through country with little life or beauty; and in the early evening I came within view of the House of Usher.

I do not know how it was — but, with my first sight of the building, a sense of heavy sadness filled my spirit. I looked at the scene before me — at the house itself — at the ground around it — at the cold stone walls of the building — at its empty eye-like windows — and at a few dead trees — I looked at this scene, I say, with a complete sadness of soul which was no healthy, earthly feeling. There was a coldness, a sickening of the heart, in which I could discover nothing to lighten the weight I felt. What was it, I asked myself, what was it that was so fearful, so frightening in my view of the House of Usher? This was a question to which I could find no answer.

I stopped my horse beside the building, on the edge of a dark and quiet lake. There, I could see reflected in the water a clear picture of the dead trees, and of the house and its empty eye-like windows.

I was now going to spend several weeks in this house of sadness — this house of gloom. Its owner was named Roderick Usher. We had been friends when we were boys; but many years had passed since our last meeting. A letter from him had reached me, a wild letter which demanded that I reply by coming to see him. He wrote of an illness of the body — of a sickness of the mind — and of a desire to see me — his best and indeed his only friend. It was the manner in which all this was said — it was the heart in it — which did not allow me to say no.

Although as boys we had been together, I really knew little about my friend. I knew, however, that his family, a very old one, had long been famous for its understanding of all the arts and for many quiet acts of kindness to the poor. I had learned too that the family had never been a large one, with many branches. The name had passed always from father to son, and when people spoke of the “House of Usher,” they included both the family and the family home.

I again looked up from the picture of the house reflected in the lake to the house itself. A strange idea grew in my mind — an idea so strange that I tell it only to show the force of the feelings which laid their weight on me. I really believed that around the whole house, and the ground around it, the air itself was different. It was not the air of heaven. It rose from the dead, decaying trees, from the gray walls, and the quiet lake. It was a sickly, unhealthy air that I could see, slow-moving, heavy, and gray.

Shaking off from my spirit what must have been a dream, I looked more carefully at the building itself. The most noticeable thing about it seemed to be its great age. None of the walls had fallen, yet the stones appeared to be in a condition of advanced decay. Perhaps the careful eye would have discovered the beginning of a break in the front of the building, a crack making its way from the top down the wall until it became lost in the dark waters of the lake.

I rode over a short bridge to the house. A man who worked in the house — a servant — took my horse, and I entered. Another servant, of quiet step, led me without a word through many dark turnings to the room of his master. Much that I met on the way added, I do not know how, to the strangeness of which I have already spoken. While the objects around me — the dark wall coverings, the blackness of the floors, and the things brought home from long forgotten wars — while these things were like the things I had known since I was a baby — while I admitted that all this was only what I had expected — I was still surprised at the strange ideas which grew in my mind from these simple things.

The room I came into was very large and high. The windows were high, and pointed at the top, and so far above the black floor that they were quite out of reach. Only a little light, red in color, made its way through the glass, and served to lighten the nearer and larger objects. My eyes, however, tried and failed to see into the far, high corners of the room. Dark coverings hung upon the walls. The many chairs and tables had been used for a long, long time. Books lay around the room, but could give it no sense of life. I felt sadness hanging over everything. No escape from this deep cold gloom seemed possible.

As I entered the room, Usher stood up from where he had been lying and met me with a warmth which at first I could not believe was real. A look, however, at his face told me that every word he spoke was true.

We sat down; and for some moments, while he said nothing, I looked at him with a feeling of sad surprise. Surely, no man had ever before changed as Roderick Usher had! Could this be the friend of my early years? It is true that his face had always been unusual. He had gray-white skin; eyes large and full of light; lips not bright in color, but of a beautiful shape; a well-shaped nose; hair of great softness — a face that was not easy to forget. And now the increase in this strangeness of his face had caused so great a change that I almost did not know him. The horrible white of his skin, and the strange light in his eyes, surprised me and even made me afraid. His hair had been allowed to grow, and in its softness it did not fall around his face but seemed to lie upon the air. I could not, even with an effort, see in my friend the appearance of a simple human being.

In his manner, I saw at once, changes came and went; and I soon found that this resulted from his attempt to quiet a very great nervousness. I had indeed been prepared for something like this, partly by his letter and partly by remembering him as a boy. His actions were first too quick and then too quiet. Sometimes his voice, slow and trembling with fear, quickly changed to a strong, heavy, carefully spaced, too perfectly controlled manner. It was in this manner that he spoke of the purpose of my visit, of his desire to see me, and of the deep delight and strength he expected me to give him. He told me what he believed to be the nature of his illness. It was, he said, a family sickness, and one from which he could not hope to grow better — but it was, he added at once, only a nervous illness which would without doubt soon pass away. It showed itself in a number of strange feelings. Some of these, as he told me of them, interested me but were beyond my understanding; perhaps the way in which he told me of them added to their strangeness. He suffered much from a sickly increase in the feeling of all the senses; he could eat only the most tasteless food; all flowers smelled too strongly for his nose; his eyes were hurt by even a little light; and there were few sounds which did not fill him with horror. A certain kind of sick fear was completely his master.

“I shall die,” he said. “I shall die! I must die of this fool’s sickness. In this way, this way and no other way, I shall be lost. I fear what will happen in the future, not for what happens, but for the result of what happens. I have, indeed, no fear of pain, but only fear of its result — of terror! I feel that the time will soon arrive when I must lose my life, and my mind, and my soul, together, in some last battle with that horrible enemy: feaR!”

Part 2:

RODE RICK USHER, whom i had known as a boy, was now ill and had asked me to come to help him. When I arrived I felt something strange and fearful about the great old stone house, about the lake in front of it, and about Usher himself. He appeared not like a human being, but like a spirit that had come back from beyond the grave. It was an illness, he said, from which he would surely die. He called his sickness fear. “I have,” he said, “no fear of pain, but only the fear of its result — of terror. I feel that the time will soon arrive when I must lose my life, and my mind, and my soul, together, in some last battle with that horrible enemy: fear!”

I learned also, but slowly, and through broken words with doubtful meaning, another strange fact about the condition of Usher’s mind. He had certain sick fears about the house in which he lived, and he had not stepped out of it for many years. He felt that the house, with its gray walls and the quiet lake around it, had somehow through the long years gotten a strong hold on his spirit.

He said, however, that much of the gloom which lay so heavily on him was probably caused by something more plainly to be seen — by the long-continued illness — indeed, the coming death — of a dearly loved sister — his only company for many years. Except for himself, she was the last member of his family on earth. “When she dies,” he said, with a sadness which I can never forget, “when she dies, I will be the last of the old, old family — the House of Usher.”

While he spoke, the lady Madeline (for so she was called) passed slowly through a distant part of the room, and without seeing that I was there, went on. I looked at her with a complete and wondering surprise and with some fear — and yet I found I could not explain to myself such feelings. My eyes followed her. When she came to a door and it closed behind her, my eyes turned to the face of her brother — but he had put his face in his hands, and I could see only that the thin fingers through which his tears were flowing were whiter than ever before.

The illness of the lady Madeline had long been beyond the help of her doctors. She seemed to care about nothing. Slowly her body had grown thin and weak, and often for a short period she would fall into a sleep like the sleep of the dead. So far she had not been forced to stay in bed; but by the evening of the day I arrived at the house, the power of her destroyer (as her brother told me that night) was too strong for her. I learned that my one sight of her would probably be the last I would have — that the lady, at least while living, would be seen by me no more.

For several days following, her name was not spoken by either Usher or myself; and during this period I was busy with efforts to lift my friend out of his sadness and gloom. We painted and read together; or listened, as if in a dream, to the wild music he played. And so, as a warmer and more loving friendship grew between us, I saw more clearly the uselessness of all attempts to bring happiness to a mind from which only darkness came, spreading upon all objects in the world its never-ending gloom.

I shall always remember the hours I spent with the master of the House of Usher. Yet I would fail in any attempt to give an idea of the true character of the things we did together. There was a strange light over everything. The paintings which he made me tremble, though I know not why. To tell of them is beyond the power of written words. If ever a man painted an idea, that man was Roderick Usher. For me at least there came out of his pictures a sense of fear and wonder.

One of these pictures may be told, although weakly, in words. It showed the inside of a room where the dead might be placed, with low walls, white and plain. It seemed to be very deep under the earth. There was no door, no window; and no light or fire burned; yet a river of light flowed through it, filling it with a horrible, ghastly brightness.

I have spoken of that sickly condition of the senses, which made most music painful for Usher to hear. The notes he could listen to with pleasure were very few. It was this fact, perhaps, that made the music he played so different from most music. But the wild beauty of his playing could not be explained.

The words of one of his songs, called “The Haunted Palace,” I have easily remembered. In it I thought I saw, and for the first time, that Usher knew very well that his mind was weakening. This song told of a great house where a king lived — a palace — in a green valley, where all was light and color and beauty, and the air was sweet. In the palace were two bright windows through which people in that happy valley could hear music and could see smiling ghosts — spirits — moving around the king. The palace door was of the richest materials, in red and white; through it came other spirits whose only duty was to sing in their beautiful voices about how wise their king was.

But a dark change came, the song continued, and now those who enter the valley see through the windows, in a red light, shapes that move to broken music; while through the door, now colorless, a ghastly river of ghosts, laughing but no longer smiling, rushes out forever.

Our talk of this song led to another strange idea in Usher’s mind. He believed that plants could feel and think, and not only plants, but rocks and water as well. He believed that the gray stones of his house, and the small plants growing on the stones, and the decaying trees, had a power over him that made him what he was.

Our books — the books which, for years, had fed the sick man’s mind — were, as might be supposed, of this same wild character. Some of these books Usher sat and studied for hours. His chief delight was found in reading one very old book, written for some forgotten church, telling of the Watch over the Dead.

At last, one evening he told me that the lady Madeline was alive no more. He said he was going to keep her body for a time in one of the many vaults inside the walls of the building. The worldly reason he gave for this was one with which I felt I had to agree. He had decided to do this because of the nature of her illness, because of the strange interest and questions of her doctors, and because of the great distance to the graveyard where members of his family were placed in the earth.

We two carried her body to its resting place. The vault in which we placed it was small and dark, and in ages past it must have seen strange and bloody scenes. It lay deep below that part of the building where I myself slept. The thick door was of iron, and because of its great weight made a loud, hard sound when it was opened and closed.

As we placed the lady Madeline in this room of horror I saw for the first time the great likeness between brother and sister, and Usher told me then that they were twins — they had been born on the same day. For that reason the understanding between them had always been great, and the tie that held them together very strong.

We looked down at the dead face one last time, and I was filled with wonder. As she lay there, the lady Madeline looked not dead but asleep — still soft and warm — though to the touch cold as the stones around us.

Part 3:

I WAS VISITING AN OLD FRIEND OF MINE, Roderick Usher, in his old stone house, his palace, where a feeling of death hung on the air. I saw how fear was pressing on his heart and mind. Now his only sister, the lady Madeline, had died and we had put her body in its resting place, in a room inside the cold walls of the palace, a damp, dark vault, a fearful place. As we looked down upon her face, I saw that there was a strong likeness between the two. “Indeed,” said Usher, “we were born on the same day, and the tie between us has always been strong.”

We did not long look down at her, for fear and wonder filled our hearts. There was still a little color in her face and there seemed to be a smile on her lips. We closed the heavy iron door and returned to the rooms above, which were hardly less gloomy than the vault.

And now a change came in the sickness of my friend’s mind. He went from room to room with a hurried step. His face was, if possible, whiter and more ghastly than before, and the light in his eyes had gone. The trembling in his voice seemed to show the greatest fear. At times he sat looking at nothing for hours, as if listening to some sound I could not hear. I felt his condition, slowly but certainly, gaining power over me; I felt that his wild ideas were becoming fixed in my own mind.

As I was going to bed late in the night of the seventh or eighth day after we placed the lady Madeline within the vault, I experienced the full power of such feelings. Sleep did not come — while the hours passed. My mind fought against the nervousness. I tried to believe that much, if not all, of what I felt was due to the gloomy room, to the dark wall coverings, which in a rising wind moved on the walls. But my efforts were useless. A trembling I could not stop filled my body, and fear without reason caught my heart. I sat up, looking into the darkness of my room, listening — I do not know why — to certain low sounds which came when the storm was quiet. A feeling of horror lay upon me like a heavy weight. I put on my clothes and began walking nervously around the room.

I had been walking for a very short time when I heard a light step coming toward my door. I knew it was Usher. In a moment I saw him at my door, as usual very white, but there was a wild laugh in his eyes. Even so, I was glad to have his company. “And have you not seen it?” he said. He hurried to one of the windows and opened it to the storm.

The force of the entering wind nearly lifted us from our feet. It was, indeed, a stormy but beautiful night, and wildly strange. The heavy, low-hanging clouds which seemed to press down upon the house, flew from all directions against each other, always returning and never passing away in the distance. With their great thickness they cut off all light from the moon and the stars. But we could see them because they were lighted from below by the air itself, which we could see, rising from the dark lake and from the stones of the house itself.

“You must not — you shall not look out at this!” I said to Usher, as I led him from the window to a seat. “This appearance which surprises you so has been seen in other places, too. Perhaps the lake is the cause. Let us close this window; the air is cold. Here is one of the stories you like best. I will read and you shall listen and thus we will live through this fearful night together.”

The old book which I had picked up was one written by a fool for fools to read, and it was not, in truth, one that Usher liked. It was, however, the only one within easy reach. He seemed to listen quietly. Then I came to a part of the story in which a man, a strong man full of wine, begins to break down a door, and the sound of the dry wood as it breaks can be heard through all the forest around him.

Here I stopped, for it seemed to me that from some very distant part of the house sounds came to my ears like those of which I had been reading. It must have been this likeness that had made me notice them, for the sounds themselves, with the storm still increasing, were nothing to stop or interest me.

I continued the story, and read how the man, now entering through the broken door, discovers a strange and terrible animal of the kind so often found in these old stories. He strikes it and it falls, with such a cry that he has to close his ears with his hands. Here again I stopped.

There could be no doubt. This time I did hear a distant sound, very much like the cry of the animal in the story. I tried to control myself so that my friend would see nothing of what I felt. I was not certain that he had heard the sound, although he had clearly changed in some way. He had slowly moved his chair so that I could not see him well. I did see that his lips were moving as if he were speaking to himself. His head had dropped forward, but I knew he was not asleep, for his eyes were open and he was moving his body from side to side.

I began reading again, and quickly came to a part of the story where a heavy piece of iron falls on a stone floor with a ringing sound. These words had just passed my lips when I heard clearly, but from far away, a loud ringing sound — as if something of iron had indeed fallen heavily upon a stone floor, or as if an iron door had closed.

I lost control of myself completely, and jumped up from my chair. Usher still sat, moving a little from side to side. His eyes were turned to the floor. I rushed to his chair. As I placed my hand on his shoulder, I felt that his whole body was trembling; a sickly smile touched his lips; he spoke in a low, quick, and nervous voice as if he did not know I was there.

“Yes!” he said. “I heard it! Many minutes, many hours, many days have I heard it — but I did not dare to speak! We have put her living in the vault! Did I not say that my senses were too strong? I heard her first movements many days ago — yet I did not dare to speak! And now, that story — but the sounds were hers! Oh, where shall I run?! She is coming — coming to ask why I put her there too soon. I hear her footsteps on the stairs. I hear the heavy beating of her heart.” Here he jumped up and cried as if he were giving up his soul: “i Tell you, she now stands at the door!!”

The great door to which he was pointing now slowly opened. It was the work of the rushing wind, perhaps — but no — outside that door a shape did stand, the tall figure, in its grave-clothes, of the lady Madeline of Usher. There was blood upon her white dress, and the signs of her terrible efforts to escape were upon every part of her thin form. For a moment she remained trembling at the door; then, with a low cry, she fell heavily in upon her brother; in her pain, as she died at last, she carried him down with her, down to the floor. He too was dead, killed by his own fear.

I rushed from the room; I rushed from the house. I ran. The storm was around me in all its strength as I crossed the bridge. Suddenly a wild light moved along the ground at my feet, and I turned to see where it could have come from, for only the great house and its darkness were behind me. The light was that of the full moon, of a bloodred moon, which was now shining through that break in the front wall, that crack which I thought I had seen when I first saw the palace. Then only a little crack, it now widened as I watched. A strong wind came rushing over me — the whole face of the moon appeared. I saw the great walls falling apart. There was a long and stormy shouting sound — and the deep black lake closed darkly over all that remained of the house of usher.

[dracowars]

LOVED YOUR TOM RIDDLE. Can I please request a arranged marriage au where yn is in love with him but he hates her so when she decides to let him go or someone else wants to marry her, Tom finally realises he’s in love with her. happ ending :))))

my heart belongs to you | tom riddle

pairing: tom x black!reader

word count: 3,3k

summary: where tom and y/n are in an arranged marriage

a/n: i'm so sorry for being so inactive recently, uni is taking its toll on me.. i had to do a bit of research for this one and also tom is a pureblood here!

warnings: toxic relationship, violence

universe: harry potter

“Get out of my sight, will you?”, he angrily snaps at you out of nowhere, for the third time already on this still very early day. Furiously, he stomps past you, pushing you to the side harshly, the filled glasses on your tray swaying dangerously. Knowing that you should just leave him alone, you stand there completely frozen at the door, still feeling the breeze on your skin after he stormed past you.

The glasses clink on the serving tray as you try to keep your trembling hands under control, but you terribly fail while tears shoot into your eyes. A lump forms in your throat and you gasp in desperation, losing your composure after hearing the front door slam shut.

Slowly, you slump down and therefore with a loud rattle let happen what could have been foreseen already: a thousand shattered pieces of glass scattered across the floor around you while you cower against the wall, your elegant dress pulled over your knees, your forehead leaning against it. Heavy sobs rock through your body and tears find their way down your cheeks, dripping from your chin onto the expensive fabric of your dress.

You just wanted to spend some time with him. Together, in the house of your parents, who went on a daily trip with their close friends early in the morning, all part of the most notorious popular pureblood families in the wizarding world – the Nott’s, the Macmillan’s, the Malfoy’s, the Lestrange’s. And if his parents were still alive, probably with the Riddle’s as well.

This is primarily the reason why you even are in this position right now; crying and huddled in the living room because your fiancé hates you profoundly.

After graduating from Hogwarts last year, the School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, you, descendant of the pureblood Black family, got engaged to Tom Marvolo Riddle, the last living heir of the Riddle’s. He would offer you a good future, they said, and you would never have to worry about anything again.

But nobody knows that in reality, your own beloved fiancé really does not want to have anything to do with you. He does not even want to stay in the same room as you.

You can’t explain why he acts like this towards you. You do not know why he harbors such an abysmal hatred for you and any clear-headed, rational person would have done something about it long ago. Unfortunately for you, you feel the exact opposite for him.

Your heart belongs to him and only to him.

You have liked him since you first met him at Hogwarts, back in 1938, when the two of you were sorted into the Slytherin house. This initial friendly liking has quickly evolved into something more than that over the years and lead you to where you are now, at a point where you would have never seen yourself back then.

You have already tried everything to convince him that you are not as bad as he seems to think. Every morning you bring him his breakfast, you give him everything he needs. Even when you were still at Hogwarts, you always looked after him, finished his homework for him when he was too busy to do it by himself, and helped him pass all of his exams.

And not once did you hear a thank you. Not then and not now either.

Slowly gathering your thoughts together again, you rub the long sleeves of your velvet dress over your damp face, wiping away all of your tears before you get up on shaky legs and begin to clean up the mess that you have created. After you went back to the kitchen with the broken pieces and some injuries on your hands, your gaze longingly slides out the window.

Outside, the sun stands high over the magnificent garden of the mansion, making the clear water in the fountain shimmer in its bright light. A gentle breeze blows through the air and rustles through the perfectly cut trees that line a small path through the garden.

The loud, excited voices that suddenly roar through the house snap you out of your daydream and you quickly wipe the blood from your fingers before you step into the huge marble entrance hall. You arrive at the front door just in time to open it for your parents, who, to your surprise, did not come back alone. You are amazed to find not too familiar faces in front of you as they climb up the stairs to the door where you are still standing.

“And that has to be Y/N. Oh, how you have grown!”, an older man smiles friendly at you and you return his smile with a certain uncertainty in your face.

“Darling, we brought guests over for dinner today. You surely remember the Lestranges?”, your father announces happily and only now do the faces that you have seen at numerous balls and celebrations seem familiar again. Especially one.

“Reinhard?”, you ask in amazement when you spot him standing behind his parents, a big smile on his face when he sees you.

“Y/N, how nice to see you again”, he grins, carefully pushing his way past your parents in order to slightly bow venerably to you, taking your hand in his to place a kiss on the back of it. “It has been some time.”

“I am sure you have a lot to tell each other”, your mother mentions in a sweet voice, but before she can continue, she watches how your facial expression changes from one second to the other as you look past them, out into the yard.

Next to the carriage with which they have returned, Tom is standing now, petting one of the splendid noble white horses before he joins all of you.

“Tom! There you are, I was already wondering where you went”, your father says, visibly pleased when he too spotted his future son-in-law, drawing everyone’s attention to him.

“Reinhard?”

“Tom?”

Within a few seconds, the two former best friends lay in each other’s arms, obviously happy to finally see the other again.

“Let us go inside. We want to show you our newest masterpiece of art in our wonderful collection, come on”, your mother announces happily and leads the Lestranges inside, but not without turning around to you once more. “The children can catch up on what they have missed.”

“I can’t believe it! You are really here, Tom. Man, you look even better than at Hogwarts”, Reinhard laughs, playfully pushing Tom to the side while you watch them in silence. “What are you doing here with the Blacks?”

“They kindly took me in”, Tom lies to him and for a moment you think he threw you a glance out of the corner of his eyes after uttering these words. His statement makes Reinhard realize that you were still there with them, who had apparently completely forgotten that you were even there.

“I am so happy to see you again, Y/N!”, he grins and takes a step closer to you, probably to be able to take a closer look at you. “Still just as beautiful as I imagined. And just as smart, I guess?”

Reinhard’s sudden compliments make you blush and your cheeks glow, which is why you nervously avert your gaze from him, directly falling on Tom, who looks at the scene in front of him with incredible resentment.

Unlike Tom, Reinhard was always there for you. You spent a lot of time together in your school days and if your parents had known about your close friendship, you are sure that he would have been your fiancé by now. Which, to be honest, does not sound bad anymore right now.

And yet your heart still belongs to Tom.

When you all sit together at dinner later in the evening, where your parents are talking about irrelevant things like Ministry of Magic, you keep making eye contact with Reinhard, who seems to be staring at you.

“Is there something on my face?”, you ask uncertainly and put your glass back on the table when you can no longer bear his piercing gaze.

“No, no, not at all. I was just wondering how a beautiful witch like you could have become so much more stunning”, Reinhard winks at you, causing you to swallow hard. You are not used to getting compliments, especially not from a handsome young man like him. Before you can answer to him, however, there is a loud clink and you startle, your eyes immediately fixed on the cause of the noise.

The glass, which you have certainly placed far away from the edge, is now lying in your lap, the little liquid that was still inside now spread over your elegant evening gown. You move your chair back in shock when, in the corner of your eye, you see how Tom puts away his wand. And not only did you notice Tom just now, but the rest of them follow your gaze.

“Tom, darling, how about you tell our guests how you and our daughter got to know each other”, your mother suddenly prompts him, not even realizing that he has just deliberately spilled your drink on you. But why did he in the first place?

„I would love to“, Tom puts on a really believable smile that no one but you questions and starts telling them how you met and fell in love with each other. He tells one lie after another, explaining the web of lies that you have spun around you over time to make your relationship as credible as possible, at least in front of other people. And suddenly nobody cares about you or your still soaking wet dress anymore.

“What a wonderful story”, Mrs. Lestrange applauds and everyone else seems to be completely enthusiastic about Tom’s fairytale. To top it off, he then reaches across the table to take your hand in his, just like a real affectionate couple would do.

You lower your gaze as he gently strokes the back of your hand with his thumb, trying your best to not show how uncomfortable you are. Oh, how much you wish that this were real, that Tom would actually treat you like this when you are alone, the same way as he does in front of your parents.

But he does not and deep down you know that he will never do.

“So, you are engaged?”, Reinhard scrutinizes the statement of his former best friend, his eyes focused on you suspiciously, as if he is expecting an answer from you and not from Tom. A slight pressure on your hand makes you flinch and look up.

“Y-Yes”, you force a smile onto your lips, whereupon Tom seems satisfied with your answer, letting go of your hand again with a - what seemed to you like a – disgusted expression on his face.

An uncomfortable silence spreads between the three of you, which is drowned out by the loud conversation of the adults on the other side of the table. Finally, making up your mind, you clear your throat loudly and get up from your chair, gaining everyone’s attention in a matter of seconds.

“Excuse me, I have to go freshen up for a moment”, you explain with a slight polite bow before turning away to leave the dining room.

“Reinhard, would you be so kind and help Y/N”, Mr. Lestrange asks his son, who stands up with furrowed brows, apparently just as surprised about this sudden request as you, but then follows you out into the hallway with no further objection.

“I really do not need any help, thank you”, you try to get rid of him as you walk up the large staircase leading to the first floor together, only wanting to be alone.

“Dinner like these are totally boring anyway”, he chuckles softly and shows no intentions of leaving your side any time soon, which is why you do not even try to search for further arguments. He follows you to your room where you are able to tear yourself away from him to put on a new dress while he waits outside in front of the door.

With an equally elegant burgundy red dress you step out of your room after a few minutes, Reinhard’s eyes greeting you with a sparkle.

“Wow”, he breathes out barely audible and takes you hand without asking to swirl you around, causing your dress to fly around gorgeously. Unintentionally, warmth rises in your face again and your hearts makes a barely noticeable jump inside your chest when he looks deep into your eyes after catching you back in his arms.

The loud clearing of a throat behind you makes you turn around in shock, only to see that Tom himself is now standing at the end of the corridor, not seeming very enthusiastic.

“We did not see you there, Tom”, Reinhard disguises his obvious nervousness with a laugh, acting like Tom had just caught you in doing something he should not have seen. Tom, however, does not even react to his words, but looks past Reinhard at you, his eyebrows raised meaningfully.

But when you do not move under his piercing gaze, his facial expression changes and he quickly approaches you, Reinhard instinctively pushing you behind him so that you can only see Tom approaching further over his shoulder. Before neither you nor Reinhard can say or do anything, Tom has already pulled out his wand and aims it directly at Reinhard, who flies back through the air only a few seconds later, hitting the hard marble floor at the end of the corridor with a thud.

“What the-?!”

“Come with me”, Tom orders, now standing directly in front of you. When you stubbornly refuse, he suddenly grabs your wrist to pull you away from there. No matter how much you fight against his firm grip, you cannot tear yourself away from him as he pulls you into the closest room, which turns out to be the library.

Once there, you can finally free yourself from his tight grip, but before you can reach for the doorknob to leave immediately, he locks the door with a spell. Angrily, you turn to him, despair written all over your stunning face.

“What is this supposed to be, Tom? Let me out of here, now!”, you command him in a loud voice, not caring if anybody can hear.

“What did he want from you?”, he asks you urgently and steps closer to you. Since the door is in your back, every possible escape route is blocked, and you are caught.

“We just talked to each other, you know. Like normal people do”, you answer irritably and cross your arms in front of your chest, not in the mood to justify yourself, especially not in front of someone who does not care about you at all and not after what he has done.

“But that did not look like it.”

“Tom, stop it.”

“You belong to me and nobody else!”

These words coming out of his mouth echo loudly through the dark library, his face wrapped in an eerie candlelight. Before you can even control yourself and fully process what he said, you severely slap him.

Frightened by your own horrible deed, you immediately pull your hand away, your gaze filled with fear, but the anger that keeps building up inside of you winning the upper hand after all.

“How dare you call me your property?!”, you scream in rage and tears form in your eyes because of your uncontrollable anger. However, Tom needs a moment to collect his thoughts after your heavy smack before he can answer you.

“You are my fiancé”, he spits out coldly, a touch of shock in his voice, apparently not expecting you to react like this.

“And that does not make me nowhere near your property! You never treat me like your fiancé anyway, so why now all of a sudden?!”, you bicker at him, your voice loud and constant, even though you would like to flee from this situation right away if you were able to.

But Tom does not have an answer.

“Fine, okay. If you have nothing to say to me, like you never have, then I will go back now and ask my parents to end this damn failed engagement and engage me with someone else who truly cares for me!”

Suddenly, without letting you time to catch your breath after your outburst, he presses you with your back against the door completely, his hands tightly grabbing your wrists, a little too tight for your personal liking.

“You mustn’t do that”, he softly whispers, his head lowered as if he does not dare to look you in the eyes.

“What is stopping me?”, you hiss, still full of anger and – probably for the very first time – hatred towards him.

But when you feel his lips on yours all of a sudden, all of these emotions evaporate and all that remains is your racing heartbeat, which is being repaired at this very moment. You never would have thought that at some point in your life the moment would come when Tom Marvolo Riddle, who absolutely loathes his fiancé, kisses you.

After kissing you, he looks straight into your eyes, and the Tom you met in 1938 is standing in front of you again. The Tom you fell so deeply in love with.

“I can’t explain it to you”, he finally breaks the silence, his gaze directed to the floor as he moves away from you, giving you enough space to breathe regularly again. You, however, do not say anything but just stare at him.

“I was not aware that I am capable of feeling such feelings for someone. I am unfamiliar with this feeling and I did not know how to deal with it, Y/N. I treated you badly because I did not want it to be true, I did not want to accept it. I could not imagine having feelings for the little nuisance that has always been running after me”, Tom explains, choosing each and every single word very carefully, trying to put his emotions into words which does not really work the way he would like it to. But that is how you know him. You know that this confession must be extremely difficult for him, but you can’t help but feel a sense of relief inside of you.

“When?”, you ask and manage, with this tiny little word, to make him look up at you. “When did you know?”

“Since I have been here. You served me every day and took care of me, even though I wanted to push you away from me with all of my might. You have already helped me so many times in the past without me even asking, you have always accepted me for who I am”, he desperately tries to but his feelings into words, asking himself what he is even doing right now.

“Tom..”

“No, I have to sincerely apologize to you. I had no right to treat you the way I did. And also today.. when I saw you with him and how well you got along, it finally became clear to me. Reinhard has felt something for you since our school days, I know that even though I could never understand, but now I do. I understand why he fell in love with you”, Tom continues without breathing, pouring out all of his feelings that he has hidden for so long.

“I understand if you want to dissolve this engagement and I will not stop you if that is what you want”, he quickly adds, looking at you with desperation in his eyes. He already prepares himself for the worst when you are the one getting closer to him this time.

“Idiot”, you smile slightly and place a gentle kiss on his lips while he looks at you puzzled. “I love you, I thought you knew that.”

“I know, but-“

“But nothing”, you interrupt him and take his hand to lead it to your fast pounding heart. “It always belonged to you.”

[eliemo]

Call Me When You're Sober

Summary: Remus tells Janus he loves him for the first time. Or at least...Janus thought he had.

TWs: alcohol usage in the beginning and talk about being drunk throughout, misunderstandings, hangovers

Notes: Human au, loosely based on a drawing from @underdog-arts their art is amazing go support their patreon.

Established romantic Demus/Dukeceit and background (very background) Prinxiety

“I’m not going to kiss you.”

Janus frowned, something that could probably be considered a pout with how out of it he was. He chased Remus’s mouth as the other man pulled away, one hand still carded through Janus’s hair.

His frown was definitely closer to a pout judging from the way Remus laughed out loud, eyes softening in a way anybody else rarely got to see, and Janus felt his cheeks flush even further. They’d been tinged with pink since his second drink (Remus hadn’t stopped pointing out the color in his face all night, adorably smitten by it) but at this point there was no way to blame his blush entirely on the alcohol.

“I’m not gonna kiss you, Jan,” Remus repeated, grinning insufferably when Janus slurred an illegible plea. “Not right now.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re drunk,” Remus said, moving his hands from Janus’s hair to keep him steady on the bar stool. “You won’t even remember any of this in the morning.”

“I will,” Janus protested, tongue slow and heavy in his mouth. “I always do.”

“Alright then, party animal.” Remus smirked, standing from the bar stool to drape one of Janus’s arms over his shoulder, helping him stagger to his feet. “Let’s get you home. Pat bought us an Uber.”

“But--”

“You can have a kiss when you’re sober,” Remus said, waving at a blurred shape Janus thought might be Patton. “Ok?”

Janus couldn't even make out his own reply, stumbling and leaning heavily against Remus’s side. He felt weightless, floating through the air, and it took him a moment to realize it was because Remus had picked him up and carried him out of the bar.

It felt like forever since he’d let himself get this drunk at a party before, and even longer since Remus had been the one sober enough to take care of things.

It was...nice. Really nice. Even if what rational thought he had left knew for a fact he would feel like shit tomorrow.

He was vaguely aware of Remus gently putting him in the backseat of a car and carefully following in after him, their hands loosely intertwined.

The driver said something before pulling away from the curb and driving off but Janus couldn’t make anything out, overcome by giddy exhaustion, and focused entirely on Remus.

He snorted when he caught Janus staring, and Janus knew he’d never get Remus to admit to blushing at the attention.

Janus leaned into the touch when Remus carefully framed his face, running his thumbs along his cheekbones, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.

Nobody else got to see Remus like this, thoughtful and loving and gentle. It was rare, but Janus always felt honored in some way. Even if he was so drunk he could barely comprehend it.

Remus suddenly leaned closer to press a gentle kiss to Janus’s forehead, slow and careful, one hand still cupping his jaw. He pulled back, just barely lit up by the passing streetlights, gaze soft as he looked Janus over.

“I love you,” he said for the first time, and Janus’s heart soared. “And I know you won’t remember this tomorrow.”

His face was beginning to ache with how much he was grinning, replaying the words over and over again in his head despite the fog weighing him down. Janus fell into Remus’s chest and shut his eyes to the sound of the car’s engine, trusting Remus to get them home safe.

---

Janus unfortunately did remember the night before, blurred and distant as it was, and that last conversation with Remus was the only thing keeping Janus from swearing off alcohol for the rest of his life.

His head was pounding, the light filtering in from the window felt like someone was poking knives in his skull, and every time he tried to sit up every single bone in his body violently protested, stomach lurching dangerously.

But he couldn’t even be annoyed at any of that right now.

Remus had said he loved him for the first time last night, holding his face like the most precious thing in the world, and that was the only thing on Janus’s mind.

He’d known Remus loved him. Or at least, he’d assumed. Remus tended to show love every way except verbal. It had taken some getting used to, insecurities Janus refused to voice always making him doubt that Remus actually felt the same, despite them dating for months and being friends for longer.

But Remus had said it last night. Remus had kissed Janus’s forehead and looked at him with soft fondness and told him he loved him.

He loved Janus.

And he had assumed Janus would be too drunk to remember, which meant he got to mercilessly tease Remus for the rest of the day about it.

Janus forced himself out of bed, noting with a small smile the water bottle that had been left on the bedside table. He could hear some commotion from the other room, probably Remus looking for food in the kitchen.

He sipped at the water, untangled himself from the sheets and slowly stumbled to his dresser to get a change of clothes. As uncomfortable as sleeping in jeans was, he appreciated Remus not changing him into pajamas while he was passed out.

When he felt human enough to leave his bedroom, wrapped up in sweats and a flannel, Janus slipped out of his bedroom and padded down the hall where Remus was sprawled out on Janus’s couch with a half eaten poptart on the coffee table.

“You could have slept in the bed, you know.”

Remus grinned up at him, disheveled and probably a bit sore. “Yeah well, you smelled gross.”

Janus knew Remus would never admit he just hadn’t been sure he was allowed, if Janus would be comfortable with someone sleeping next to him without clear permission.

Remus had a brass sense of humor, he was forward and grossly affectionate in public, but he was always so careful with Janus. There were so many unspoken questions, silent searches for approval, and private check-ins.

“You’re cute,” Janus said, grinning when Remus stuck his tongue out. “Do I get my kiss now?”

Something unreadable flashed in Remus’s eyes, and Janus assumed it was the realization Janus hadn’t been drunk enough to completely forget the night before.

It was gone in an instant, and Remus pushed himself up off the couch to shuffle across the small room, gather Janus in his arms, pull him close and kiss him just like he’d wanted the night before.

Remus pulled away with a wink that made Janus scowl playfully, and made his way to the connected kitchen. “I can’t figure out how to work your coffee maker.”

“If you break anything else in my kitchen I’m killing you.” Remus had managed to break his old toaster when they’d first started dating, and Janus never planned on letting him live it down. “I’ll make you some.”

Remus jumped up on the counter, watching Janus refill the pitcher in the sink and grab the coffee grinds from the counter, eventually distracted by scrolling through his phone while the pot brewed.

“Hey,” Janus called when it was done, smirking when Remus hummed nonchalantly. “Did you tell me you loved me last night?”

Remus jumped and nearly dropped his phone, fumbling for a second before managing to put it down on the counter, hands ridiculously unsteady.

Janus expected the momentary surprise, but he didn’t expect Remus to bark out a panicked laugh and shake his head.

“What? No.” He scoffed, swinging his legs over the side of the counter. “I didn’t say that. Jeez how much did you drink, Jan?”

Oh.

He’d been ready for a bit of embarrassed denial, some teasing and flirting that had become normal between them. Last night had made Janus stupidly happy- happier than he remembered being in months- but Remus had jumped straight to denying it, like it was the most ridiculous thing in the entire world.

He suddenly felt cold, and a little bit like someone had shoved him to the floor. He quickly averted his gaze so Remus wouldn’t see how much that had hurt.

“Right,” he said, sliding Remus his mug of coffee. “Yeah, duh. Sorry. I was...super out of it.”

“It’s cool.”

Janus didn’t know what he was supposed to say now. There was a lump growing in his throat, something a little more crushing than simple disappointment weighing down on his chest.

“I’m...gonna make some food,” he said after a few seconds of unnatural silence. “We still have those frozen waffles, you want any?”

“Sure.”

Remus was being abnormally curt and dismissive, and Janus could practically see him searching for an excuse to escape the tense atmosphere that had never existed between them before.

“I, uh, have a change of clothes in my bag,” Remus said, waving a hand at the hallway. “I’m gonna go get dressed.”

Janus nodded, not trusting himself to speak as he went to rummage through the freezer to hopefully distract himself with making breakfast once Remus disappeared.

This wasn’t a big deal. He could blame his suddenly blurry vision on the hangover.

He’d...really thought he remembered last night. He could still feel Remus’s hands in his hair and that stupidly sweet smile on his lips when he refused to kiss him when he was drunk.

He remembered the pink blush on his nose when he’d said those three words, quiet like they were in their own little world that night. The scene had been replaying over and over in his head until he fell asleep, and had picked right back up when Janus had woken up.

It had felt so real. He’d thought...he’d thought it was real. He thought he’d finally be able to say it freely without worrying about moving too fast for Remus.

It was possible it could have all been a dream, but...

But Remus had answered so quickly. He’d been so adamant about how he hadn’t told Janus he loved him. Like he would never even consider doing such a thing.

Which...which was fine. Janus wasn’t going to hold Remus’s feelings against him, and he certainly wasn’t going to make a big deal about it.

He’d just been mistaken assuming he and Remus wanted the same kind of relationship. Janus loved Remus and Remus...didn’t. Janus wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted, but he’d made his feelings on the matter pretty clear today.

Janus had just been too blind to realize it after months of spending nearly every waking moment together.

That was fine. It was a stupid misunderstanding. Janus wasn’t going to cry like a heartbroken idiot just because Remus didn’t love him back.

He hissed out a curse under his breath when almost immediately there were tears slipping down his cheeks, and Janus pressed a hand firmly to his mouth to muffle the sobs that tried to escape.

He was so stupid. It wasn’t like this was the first time this had happened, Janus figured he would have been able to see the signs by now. People just didn’t want him like that.

He’d just...really thought Remus was different.

He didn’t think he would ever laugh off the idea of loving Janus.

Janus wrapped his free arm around himself, swaying slightly in the middle of the kitchen as he stared blankly at the toaster, trying and failing to get himself to suck it up and stop crying.

He was being ridiculous- shaking with the force of trying to hold back his sobbing, blinded by endless tears gathering in his eyes and flowing down his cheeks- and he needed to get a hold of himself before-

“Woah, what the fuck?”

Janus jumped, refusing to look at Remus standing in the hallway as he quickly tried to wipe his tears away with the palms of his hands. “Do you want syrup?”

He heard Remus move closer and kept his head down, staring resolutely at the kitchen tiles until he could see socked feet step into the room.

He still didn’t touch Janus, still so focused on his comfort (was any of it even for Janus’s comfort? Maybe Remus just hadn’t wanted to touch him this whole time) but he moved as close as he dared and lowered his voice.

“Why are you crying?”

“I’m not crying,” Janus said automatically, choking on another hiccuping sob. “I just...have a headache. Stupid hangover.”

“Oh.” Remus hesitated, and Janus could feel him staring. “Did you take an ibuprofen? I can get you a couple from the bathroom. And like...gatorade. You still have some, right?”

Janus nodded and took a shaky breath, hating the way the tears still wouldn’t stop falling. “Yeah. In the fridge.”

“Good,” Remus said, and Janus still couldn’t bring himself to look him in the eyes. “I don’t want you hurting.”

“I’m fine. Just drank too much.”

“You were pretty drunk.”

“I don’t remember last night at all,” Janus said, more bitter than was probably necessary. “Clearly.”

It was enough to give Remus pause, plunging the kitchen into heavy silence. Janus crossed his arms and risked a glance up when he awkwardly cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah. Anyways, gatorade—”

“I can get it.”

“No, I got it,” Remus said, and Janus watched warily as he pulled out a chair from the table. “Sit down.”

Janus hunched his shoulders, tears still sliding down his jaw just as fast as before, but he did as Remus said and shakily made his way over to the table, lowering himself carefully until he could curl up in his chair.

Remus returned almost immediately with a bottle of blue gatorade from the fridge and two painkillers from the bathroom medicine cabinet. He handed them over silently, standing awkwardly by the table while Janus took them.

Janus did his best, carefully swallowing the pills and sipping the gatorade with shaky hands. But he couldn’t get himself to stop crying, or even slow his tears, wracked with seemingly never ending sobs no matter how hard he tried to get a hold of himself. Remus standing there just made it so much worse.

He saw Remus crouch down to Janus’s level, breaths only coming out more frantic when Remus frowned and moved to hold Janus’s face in his hands.

“C’mon,” Remus said softly, brushing Janus’s cheeks with his thumbs. “What’re you crying for?”

Janus couldn’t answer. Remus sounded so gentle and adoring and it only made him cry harder, choking on a pathetic whimper as he squeezed his eyes shut.

“Hey, hey, you’re ok.” Remus kept wiping Janus’s tears, his touch light and grounding. “It’s just me, Jan. You can tell me.”

Janus shook his head, weakly clutching at Remus’s sleeves. “N-no, I’m just...I’m being an idiot. Go get your waffles.”

Remus didn’t move, and Janus could practically feel him staring. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m being stupid,” Janus insisted, because he was. He knew he was. “I sw-swear I just...you don’t want to deal with this right now.”

“I’ll be fine, Jan. Tell me what happened.”

Remus kept brushing his tears away, warm and gentle, and Janus couldn’t catch his breath. Maybe there was a way he could fix this, get Remus to change his mind, or at least understand how he’d misread everything so horribly.

Janus finally managed to take a shaky breath, loosening his hold on Remus’s arms. “Did...did I do something wrong?”

“Wh- no?” Remus frowned, straightening a little to try and look Janus in the eyes. “You didn’t do anything.”

“You just,” Janus hesitated, wondering if it would be easier if he just gave up and dropped it. “You answered really fast when I asked about last night.”

Realization dawned on Remus’s face, and Janus’s heart dropped when he suddenly looked uncomfortable. “Oh.”

“I get it,” Janus said quickly, because now Remus was the one refusing to meet his gaze. “I do, it’s fine. I just...didn’t know if I had done something, or—”

He cut himself off when Remus suddenly pulled back, taking his comforting warmth with him, leaving Janus feeling frigid and empty.

He curled in on himself, wondering if at this point it would be a better idea just to kick Remus out of his apartment so they could start over and pretend none of this ever happened.

“It’s not...you- you didn’t...” Remus was stumbling over his own words, shuffling uncomfortably where he stood, and each attempt to explain only crushed Janus further. “It isn’t—”

“Yeah, no I get it,” Janus snapped, any venom overshadowed by the misery in his tone. He was hurt and tired and he just wanted to go back to bed. “It’s fine, Remus.”

“No, I’m—”

“I said I get it! It’s ok, I...I shouldn’t even have asked.”

“I lied.” Remus wasn’t looking at him, his back turned to Janus as he pulled and fiddled with his chain necklace. “Sorry.”

“Oh.” Janus...suddenly wasn’t sure what to say. “That you...loved me? Or that you didn’t say it.”

“That I didn’t say it,” Remus confessed, and Janus’s tears started to slow. “I, uh...I did. I said it.”

Janus didn’t move, terrified that he might somehow break the illusion and Remus would turn around laughing again, waving off any silly ideas of love or commitment.

“Did you mean it?” he asked carefully, hating how shaky his voice was. “If you were drunk we can just drop it.”

“I wasn’t drunk,” Remus said. He sighed, running a hand over his face, still turned away. “Yeah, I...I meant it.”

“Oh.” Janus expected to feel relieved, but now Remus was shaking too, and he still wouldn’t turn around, and Janus just felt scared and numb. “Why did you—”

“Because I wasn’t ready,” Remus blurted. “I don’t...I don’t know if I’m ready, and I don’t know if you...I didn’t think you would remember. It’s...it’s a huge jump, Jan. And usually I’m all for being impulsive, you know that, but you just...this is different. You deserve better than that.”

Janus wiped once more at his eyes, but something had loosened a bit in his chest at Remus’s words, the other man still tense and refusing to look up from the floor.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, rubbing his sleeve over his face until his eyes burned. “I shouldn’t have pushed, I just thought...something else.”

“What?” Remus finally turned to face him, but his confusion only lasted a moment before his eyes widened. “Oh, fuck I didn’t even...I didn’t think about your feelings. Shit, I’m- I’m so sorry, I didn’t—”

“No, Remus it’s fine—”

“I wasn’t thinking,” Remus pressed, running a shaky hand through his hair. “I’m sorry.”

“I jumped to conclusions,” Janus said, trying to sound casual despite how his face was stained with tears and it felt like he’d just been punched in the chest. “It’s ok.”

Remus nodded, though he still seemed a little frantic. “We can just...ignore this. If you want to.”

Janus wasn’t sure how he felt about that solution, but he wasn’t going to push Remus out of his comfort zone any more than he already had today. “Is that what you want to do?”

“I don’t want to make you...uncomfortable,” Remus said slowly, and he smirked at the irony of his own words. “Not with this, anyway. Feelings are fucking gross and dumb and I know you don’t want any part of that, and I’m really sorry.”

“What?” Janus sat up a little straighter, wondering how he’d managed to find someone just as stupid as he was. “No, Remus—”

“I understand!” Remus kept going, barrelling over whatever Janus had been about to say. “Like, obviously I understand. I’m awful but I’m not gonna—”

“God, you’re such a dumbass.” Janus scrubbed a hand over his face, smiling into his palm. “I was upset because I thought you didn’t love me.”

Remus froze, staring with wide eyes like Janus had just said spoken in a foreign language. “Oh.”

“You answered so fast when I asked you,” Janus explained. “I thought I did something to fuck this up. Or that I’d just...misunderstood your intentions.”

“You didn’t,” Remus said. “I was- you know. Just scared.”

Janus nodded, forcing himself to take a deep breath and look Remus in the eyes. “I know. I...I know. I love you.”

Remus’s head snapped up. “You do?”

Janus actually laughed outright at the shock on Remus’s face, like a child that had just been told he was getting his first puppy. “Yeah. Fuck, yeah of course I do, Remus.”

“For real?” Remus asked, even as a huge grin began to take over his face. “Like no joke? You’re not fucking with me?”

“Well, I did think it was obvious,” Janus said, and he couldn’t help but match Remus’s smile. “I love you, you idiot.”

“Me? Shit, Jan, you need higher standards, dude.”

“Don’t call me dude.” Janus took another sip of his gatorade to hide his obvious smile. “I literally just confessed to you.”

“You confessed to having horrible taste.”

“I love you,” Janus said again, because Remus was blushing and he was absolutely using this to his advantage. “Obviously. I’m sitting here crying at ten in the morning because I thought you didn’t.”

Remus had the decency to look embarrassed, another thing almost no one besides Janus got to see. “You could have been crying because you were hungover.”

“No. I was heartbroken, dumbass.”

Remus made a face like he’d tasted something sour. “That’s gross.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Janus scoffed, capping and pushing away his drink. “You said you loved me first.”

“Gross, don’t bring it up,” Remus said, and Janus smirked as he pushed himself to his feet. “I sound like a sap.”

Janus laughed, moving to wrap his arms around his boyfriend’s (Boyfriend? They’d have to talk about that one later) waist and rest his head in the crook of Remus’s neck. “You told me you loved me. While I was drunk.”

“You cannot tell anyone.”

Janus scoffed, having no intention of honoring that wish. “Why not?”

“Because,” Remus said. “It makes me sound gross and gay.”

“You’ve always been gross and gay.” Janus pulled back, just enough to grin at him. “Besides, you’ve been teasing Roman about Virgil for months.”

“He deserves it,” Remus declared. “He needs to get over himself.”

“At least he doesn’t confess to people while they’re drunk and then lie about it the next day.”

Remus’s blush deepened and Janus finally relented. He leaned forward to press a kiss to the corner of Remus’s lips- which quickly turned into something deeper when Remus moved to capture the rest of his mouth and pull him closer.

He only pulled away when he realized he'd started crying again, the relief that Remus loved him, that he hadn’t been wrong, that he wasn’t losing what they had, hitting all at once.

Janus shuddered and struggled to catch his breath, his breathing coming out in quick gasps again, and he clung onto Remus’s shirt like a lifeline.

“Oh, shit.” Remus’s eyes went wide in panic, and Janus found himself laughing around the tears. “Sorry, I didn’t—”

“You’re ok,” Janus assured him, leaning forward again to rest his head on Remus’s shoulder. Remus didn’t hesitate before wrapping his arms around him. “I just...really thought I was losing you.”

“You’re not. I’m still here.”

“I know,” Janus said. He was overwhelmed and exhausted and he’d never been awake this long with a hangover. “The ibuprofen didn’t help either.”

Remus had one hand carding through his hair, the other cupping his jaw as he pressed a kiss to Janus’s forehead. Just like he had last night when he’d told Janus he loved him.

When he’d told Janus he loved him and meant it.

“We should get you back to bed,” Remus said, every bit as adoring as he’d been when Janus was too drunk to stand. “How about I bring you your waffles and we can put on a movie?”

“You’re going to get crumbs in my bed again.”

“No I’m not.” Janus didn’t even get a chance to protest further before Remus had his arms around his waist, hoisting him into the air and over his shoulder. “And you’re too hungover to stop me.”

Janus couldn’t argue with that, relaxing into Remus’s hold as he carried him down the hall and back into the dimly lit bedroom, the darkness already soothing his pounding head.

Remus set him down on the bed, kissed him again for good measure, and returned a moment later with the waffles Janus had left in the toaster. He put the plate on the nightstand beside the half empty water bottle, and settled in beside Janus.

He didn’t even pay attention to Remus’s laptop opening, or the waffle that was offered to him. Janus just wrapped his arms around Remus and rested his head on his chest.

“You’ll stay with me?” Janus asked, already drifting off to the smell of waffles and the clicking of Remus’s keyboard.

“I never planned on leaving,” Remus said, muffled from where he’d pressed his nose into Janus’s hair. “And I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

Janus muttered something even he couldn’t make out, letting his eyes slip shut, breaths steadying in sync to Remus’s own.

It wasn’t until a few minutes later, when he must have thought Janus was already asleep, that Remus began running his fingers through Janus’s hair again, leaning forward to press one last kiss to his temple.

“I love you too,” he said, barely above a whisper. “I love you, Janus.”

Janus smiled, content with letting Remus believe he’d fallen asleep before he could hear the words. Just this once.

People who asked to be tagged for this one:

@self-taught-mess @hannahdra-ws

[a-smile-hides]

A WARM CUP OF COFFEE - A.H.A.

Pairing: Alex x reader

Warnings: none, just ... not really - that great?

Sum: This was a request (thank you for that!) and I would like to apologize because it took so long and.. Yeah. The request:

"Hi 🥰 do you still take request for Alex Andersen? Something like the OC is alex teacher at university and they fall in love with each other but the age gap is a problem so she broke up with him but BOOM they really love each other!! With some fighting and fluffy 🤤🥲hahah sorry if its bad 🥰 thank you!"

A soft ‘thing’alerted the old man behind the desk, making him look up from today’s newspaper and push his glasses further back on his nose. The small café he owned was somewhat concealed from the busy streets, tucked away in between two large buildings. It created the perfect escape for the chaos of life. Oh, how he was proud to own this little palace. A simple, ‘back to basics’ coffee shop where people could enjoy a good cup of coffee. Where people could talk or just relax, or in your case, find some inspiration to prepare for a new class.

Returning his friendly smile, you easily manoeuvred between the mismatched tables and chairs until you reached the one next to a small window. As usual, a silver sign stood on the table reading ‘reserved’ in a beautiful font. And as usual, you plopped down on the chair that gave you a look out on the street, sliding the sign to the end of the table so that it could be picked up by one of the staff members. Throwing a notebook and different prints out on the table, you breathed in deeply.

It had been a long day already... And it was like... what? – 11 a.m.?

“There you go, honey.”

Without even looking up you already knew who stood next to your side, presenting a large cup of coffee with one of those delicious self-made biscuits.

“Jer, I can’t thank you enough”.

The man laughed, seemingly pleased with himself after seeing the frown on your eyebrows clear up for a second. He waved your gratitude off and returned to his kitchen.

He had grown used to your visits over time. It wasn’t hard to miss you, sitting stressed in the corner of his little café, browsing through pictures and notes trying to decide which was the best one.

It hurt him every time he saw a lost soul enter his little café, in a rush and completely lost to the world around them. In you, he saw one of those lost souls. Busy, busy, busy... Overloading themselves with work.

It seemed as today would bring no exception. And you once again would ignore the beauty and comfort his café hoped to give to its customers. Especially when he saw you fiddling with a large package, no doubt filled to the brim with new photos for a possible lecture, he knew you only came here to work even more. Sighing, the old man turned around, reaching towards the different treats and cakes his little shop offered. He knew you would be there for a while and figured that the need for sweets may come soon. In the background, he could hear the familiar sound of your papers falling onto the ground. Accompanied by some swear words, immediately followed by mumbled apologies. And he could not hold himself back as a laugh passed his lips. It became a routine really...

Still chuckling, he turned around and placed a large piece of cake on a plate, decorating it with an extra piece of dark chocolate. The sound of someone entering his café made him look up momentarily, greeting the young man who just entered with his signature smile. The young man returned his smile warmly, before letting his eyes wander over the place. He had clearly never been in here before. His eyes narrowed once he focused on something in the back of the café, furrowing his eyebrows in worry. Skilfully, he walked between the tables and chairs as if he had decorated the place himself. To a small table next to the big window, where you were still mumbling under your breath about how life seemed to hate your guts. And it made the young man chuckle. Loudly.

Freezing for a second, you immediately collected all the pictures that had fallen off the table, carelessly throwing them back on the table. Refusing to meet the eye of whoever found enjoyment in your clumsiness, you side stepped back to your table. Hoping and praying that they would just go away. But they stayed.

“It’s good to see you’re still as clumsy...”

It was a good thing you were leaning against the table, otherwise you would have been knocked to ground right now.

“Mister Anderssen.” You nodded your head.

The young man pressed his lips together in a tight smile at the greeting, feeling a sting in his heart that he believed to have been long gone by now.

The long silence that followed felt dense and awkward. He was trying to make eye contact, his lips were turned up in a little, comforting smile. He did not know what to say or feel as he looked at how your body seemed to turn away from him. Your arms were wrapped around your middle, your eyes glued to the pictures on the table without truly looking at them. And then, his gaze fell on the smallest amongst them. He could recognize that gloomy setting from anywhere. His heart jumped, he felt overjoyed and the smile on his face grew larger.

“You kept it?” He breathed out, making it sound more like a question.

Slowly, he crouched down, careful not to make you run away. As he took the card from under one of the chairs, brushing some dust of it. Looking up, he waved with the picture he once offered you to use in your classes.

Nodding to himself, he kept his eyes locked with yours as he slowly came up. “You kept it.”

“I did” You spoke out softly.

***

“Fuck”

The curse had left your mouth before you could hold it back, as you watch yet another one of your cards fall on the ground.

It was good that none of your students had the habit of arriving in time for your class. Choosing to rather arrive just in time for the lecture to begin instead of showing some interest and being there before it began. Otherwise, they could enjoy this little comedy show as you desperately tried to stick those cards on a timeline.

You had never thought that one day, you would stand in front of class, as a teacher. Talking about something that had been a passion for so many years. Movies are a piece of art, a way to express and communicate. And now, you had the power to let others see that as well.

And even thought the path of being a teacher had crossed yours rather unexpectedly, it had made you happier than you’ve ever been.

And it had let you to some beautiful and interesting moments.

Looking down at the picture in your hands, a warm feeling overcame you, painting a very small smile on your face. It was a simple photo of a man standing alone in the street. The sky was pitch black; the only light provided by a single streetlight on the far right. The yellow light cast dark shadows on the ground. And on the left, almost completely hidden in the shadows, you could see the silhouette of another man. His back was turned to the man he had left behind under the streetlight. And thus, he missed how the other reached his hand out in a desperate attempt to call him back.

Every year you would collect pictures to show off how a simple setting can bring out different emotions to an audience. This scene would often bring feelings of sadness, grief, loss, misery and heartbreak to your students. Ironically, this scene brought you only a warm feeling. The beauty of the shot together with the memory of how you had come across this movie, cancelled out those unhappy emotions.

Completely lost in the moment, you almost jumped up when two hands sneaked around your hips.

“Morning”

His voice was raspy as he failed to conceal the chuckle that passed his lips.

“Morning, mister Anderssen”

He laughed, rubbing his nose in the crook of your neck. He found it almost amusing how you spoke so formerly to him now when at night...

“Mister?”

You rolled your eyes, fighting your way out of his grip. Without giving one look to the young man behind you, you picked up the card that fell out of your hands. Looking down at it again, you sighed and returned to your desk. The classroom needed to be ready before the students would arrive.

“I thought we made an agreement; you would not visit me this early to avoid suspicion, right?”

Alex smacked his lips, nodding his head slowly. He played with the straps of his backpack as his mind brought him back to that memory. It was around three weeks ago; you were collecting everything to go home after a long day when the young man suddenly sneaked in to share some ‘alone time’. Sadly enough, another student had forgotten her scarf that day and ran back to retrieve it. Even though you tried your hardest to not succumb to his advances, his willpower was way too strong. And the poor girl had almost walked in on you and him kissing. He had pushed his luck too far that time.

Still, if he could, he would not take that moment back. Every second spend with you was worth it.

“It’s nice to see you still like that picture...” He said, pointing to the card in an attempt to effort to change the subject. “After you told me what subjects we would discuss in the future, I immediately thought of that movie and-”

Alex’ voice died once your eyes met his. He was always the first to enter your classroom. In those moments you always could be yourselves. There was no reason to hold back. In that way, these few minutes of privacy would always be filled with love and jokes, stolen kisses and hugs. He couldn’t really recall the precise moment his dream came true, and you returned his affection. The way to earn it had been long and filled with obstacles. The boundaries that needed to be crossed were great. And it felt unlawful, disgusting, wrong... And still, so right.

Now, as he stood only a few feet away from you, it felt like a mile. Your eyes danced across the room, only meeting his for a mere second before quickly darting away again. Your hands brushed some imaginary dust of the picture, while you tried your hardest to breath normally. Little signs of how the nerves started to creep up.

“If you want other recommendations...” He tried, but again... The strength in his voice died before he even finished his sentence. Alex grew concerned as he watched you turn around and hung up the card. The whole thread portraying different scenery throughout film history over the last 50 years shook as you clumsily pined it next to a very bright photo, depicting two children running around at a fair.

Alex frowned when you still did not respond to him. Softly, he moved his hands to rest on your shoulders, trying to turn your body towards him. His head was lowered down a bit, a friendly look on his face as he shakily asked: “What’s on your mind?”. Hoping that whatever bothered you, he could help you solve it.

You didn’t need to see his face to know how his eyebrows were scrunched up with concern. Or how his mouth was slightly twisted as he pondered over who or what could have made you behave so coldly.

But the reason was crystal clear to you.

The adoration you had received from the man in front of you was overwhelming. These past months have been a dream. Almost indescribable. Just as all those sappy quotes on Pinterest say: some things just need to be felt. And this, this felt great.

It had been great.

Felt.

Had.

You bite your lip, feeling nervous all the sudden. Turning around, you tried your best to avoid his blue eyes. They were hypnotizing, demanding for a reason, an explanation.

“Mister Anderssen-” You started again.

“You know, we never did that kind of play, but I am open to anything.” He tried. His attempt to lighten the mood was only met with silence. A silence that felt deafening. And it made his stomach turn.

With his finger and thumb, he slowly lifted your chin up, forcing you to meet his eye. He was a bit taller than you, and he loved that. He used it to his advantage on every occasion he got.

“What’s on your mind?” He asked again.

You sighed, feeling it was better to speak the truth. “This.” You answered, “Us.”

Alex lifted one of his eyebrows, scratching the back of his neck. “Us? What's wrong with us?”

“You’re smart, Alex.” You answered. “Deep down, you know.”

Alex eyes widened. He was speechless, dumbfounded.

“I am a teacher, your teacher to be exact.”

“And you’ve been teaching me amazing things.” He snickered, wiggling his eyebrows.

You snorted, shaking your head. Until you remembered what you wanted to share with him, and your face went blank again. It was almost impossible to not give in, to hold back your laughter when he was around. But you had to.

“Alex.” You said, pushing him lightly away. “The age gap is way too big.”

His hands tightened their grip on your hips as he turned your body more towards him. His eyes narrowed. And although they still sparkled, the hurt he felt could not be hid. The time he could hold back secrets had long passed.

“What made you start doubting us?” He asked.

You sighed, looking down at the ground.

“What if I said... What if the doubt never left? What if it was a thought that always bugged me?”

That made him halter. His muscles stiffened for a second. A millisecond in which he let the guard down and his pain became visible. But just as quick as it fell, the wall was back up again. He stood upright, the hands on your hips now slowly making their way up towards your shoulders. The corner of his lips was pulled up, a fine grin that silently asked you to laugh or say it was just a joke. That it wasn’t the truth.

Alas, it was the truth.

The lingering thought that had been filling your mind with doubts and questions for a while now. Making you question yourself and your choices, but above all, the day on which you gave into his charm.

He was a young, handsome man filled with life and chances. He was almost at the end of the first big chapter in his life, ready to begin a new one, to step into an adventure. After this... Did he want to work somewhere? Move back in with his parents? Maybe he wanted to travel? See the world after being closed off from it after keeping his nose in his books all the time. He could explore, try to discover who he really was. And... Fall in love with someone else. Someone … more of… his age.

How could you hold him back from that?

His thumbs started to stroke small circles of comfort on your neck, while he kept on trying to make eye contact with you. With each passing second, he felt himself grow more uneasy and lost.

“Little one... Love.” Alex winced as he saw you flinch with each nickname that passed his lips. His voice pitched and he sounded in a rush, as he wanted to find a way to ease those doubts. “Y/N, what...?”

The corner of your lip twitched in a weak effort in making a smile appear on your face. It failed horribly, as you felt yourself get overwhelmed by guilt and sorrow. “We have to stop this now, Alex.” You managed to make out. “It’s done.”

In the back of the room, he could hear the slow ticking of the big silvery clock. It was only five minutes until the lecture would begin. Any time now, someone could enter the room and walk in on their teacher standing in a, what they would think, romantic embrace with her own student. It only made you more nervous and desperate to get out of his hold. To just say goodbye. To leave this all behind and start new.

Alex squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head widely. “The age gap is just a number, not even a high one. You want me as much as I want you, right?”

“I do- I- I did. And now, I am ending it.” You said, biting the inside of your cheek to stop the stinging feeling in your eyes. “I am letting you go.” you whispered, finally pushing his arms away.

Alex breathed in deeply, stepping forward as you took a step back. Again, and again, you shoved his hands away. He tried to make contact, to touch your arms, to hold your hands, but every time you slapped his hand away. And his heart broke as you kept on avoiding him. He grew frustrated.

“What do you want, Y/N? Since when are you afraid? So, what if they say something? We- We are the ones in love! They-”

“Alex! It’s done! I don’t want this anymore. I don't want- I-”

At this point, he felt the blood in his veins boiling. His heart clenched. His stomach turned. “So, we-this meant nothing to you?”

“That’s a low blow, Alex” You bit back.

“What do you want, Y/N?!”

“I don’t want this. I don’t want you anymore, Alex! This is done! Over!”

He scoffed, his fists clenched at his sides while his chest went up and down with every heavy breath.

“Over? Why are you acting like this? When have you turned into this scarred shell of-”

“I don’t care if you don’t see the problem. Someday you will. And you will understand I made the right call.”

The clearing of a throat ended the discussion sooner than Alex would have wanted. Another student had entered the classroom. Her eyes were wide open as she stared at her teacher and the class top student. Her mouth was slightly open as she tried to form a sentence, but no sound seemed to pass her lips.

You swallowed, quickly wiping a fallen tear off your cheek, stepping even further away from Alex, whose eyes were still glued to you.

“Good afternoon, miss Tuffin. Please take a seat.”

Alex slightly shook his head from side to side, unable to comprehend the situation.

“So, mister Anderssen. Now that you know your answer, please take a seat.” You said quietly, flinching as your voice cracked a bit. Your eyes did not meet his anymore, even though he was hoping you would look him in the eyes again. He knew deep down you did not mean one word of the things you had said. "Class will begin soon.”

***

The silence that had formed was killing the both of you. No one knew what to say or do. The awkward tension held him back from taking the first step, the fear mixed with the embarrassment from a few moments earlier made it impossible for you to move. It felt strange to be in each other’s presence without having the ability to look each other in the eye for longer than a few seconds. And even stranger to know how different this was only a few months back. You had resorted to dust off the pictures that had fallen onto the ground while Alex let his eyes wander around. He did not know what overcame him as he walked up to you. The little café had never come to his attention before. He blamed the big buildings that flanked the warm place for that. As he stepped in, looking for a place to enjoy a good cup of coffee, he wished he had discovered it a long time ago. The mismatched tables and chairs, the hanging lightbulbs, the old paintings decorating the flower wallpaper… Everything breathed out comfort and safety.

The older looking man had greeted Alex with a warming smile, until both men were distracted by the loud curses of a woman in the far back of the café who had dropped her papers all over the floor. Alex did not know whether to laugh or run away when he saw that you were the poor soul collecting all the different photos of the ground. And before he even knew it himself, he stood in front of you. Trying his best to make a casual conversation, without losing his cool.

He was failing miserably.

He really wished the sudden urge of confidence hadn’t left so suddenly.

Jeremy frowned upon the sight in front of him from his place behind the counter. The large piece of cake he had prepared for you earlier stood abandoned next to him. He had never seen that young man in your presence before. Every day you visited his little café alone. Never were you accompanied by a friend, nor had you ever invited one. He could not help the chuckle that passed his lips as he saw the strange boy fumble his way towards your table. But by the way his steps slowed down with each second and how he now stood before you as if he had committed a crime, the old man could not help but wonder what your relationship had damaged to become so uncomfortable.

“Y/N…” Alex started, sighing as he noticed you close your eyes for a second, turning your body slightly away from him.

“Y/N.” He tried again; his voice sounded a bit stronger, more certain. As if he had found his courage and willpower again. But then it crumpled again, his shoulders dropped as he frantically tried to make eye contact. “I am happy to see you again.”

This made you look up. “Me too.” You nodded. “How are you?”

Alex snorted, looking around the café as he tried to find words. Why had it become difficult to speak to you? “Good?” He nodded, more to convince himself than you, “Yeah, I have been good. Taking pictures, trying to improve my photography-“

This made you laugh, the sound making his heart jump for a second. “As if you needed any more improvement.”

Alex bit his lip, glad that you weren’t paying attention to his red flushing cheeks. He breathed out deeply as he looked down at the different cards. His eyes glided over the different pictures depicting scenes of romance, hope, grief and so on. Without saying anything, he sat down, flipping through them one by one. Some of the pictures made the corners of his lips slowly turn up, while others made his brows furrow.

This gave you the opportunity to finally take a look at him. His hair had gotten longer since the last time you saw him. Back then it was cut short, but now his long locks were held together in a little man bun. His jaw was accented by a subtle beard. It’s crazy how much he changed in a few months time… Yet he still looked as dashing as back then.

“I still think this one is the best.” He smiled, showing you the gloomy picture from earlier.

His words made you snap out of your daze, clearing your throat as you took a seat opposite from him after he arched one eyebrow, pointing to the empty chair.

“That’s a shocker,” you shrugged, “You came to me with that movie.”

Alex nodded, the confident smile on his lips reached his eyes for the first time, making them shine bright. However, that light quickly died. Absent-mindedly, he let his finger wander over the picture, contemplating if he should speak up about the shared past or not.

“I… I knew we would meet again, you know? Well, I hoped”

You looked down at your coffee, once again escaping his eyes while wrapping your hands around the lukewarm beverage. It didn’t offer you much comfort anymore.

“Now that I am older,” He lightly joked, “More mature, more-“

“Alex” You interrupted his train of thoughts. “Don’t- Don’t do that.”

“Maybe now you can give me the real reason as to why you gave up on us so easily.” He continued, his voice was low, almost a whisper but the sneer in it could not be ignored. All of the sudden, it felt as if you were on the artic. The blood in your veins ran cold as he had backed you up in a corner. Alex knew he could have pushed you even further away from him, but simply needed to know. The young man sat there before you with his heart beating loudly in his throat. His jaw was clenched, and his fingers lightly drummed on the table.

You sighed, not daring to look into his eyes. Before you even opened your mouth to answer his burning question, he softly spoke up again. “The truth, please.”

You laughed dryly, now really feeling trapped under his demanding stare and the growing tension between the two of you. “I did not want to.” You confessed, feeling your eyes well up. “I really… I really loved you, you know? The time I shared with you was wonderful, and I want you to know that it wasn’t your fault or anything… I just let myself get carried away by my feeling for you, Alex.”

“And why is that a bad thing?” He asked, not understanding your motive.

You grinned, looking at his confused face. “I was your teacher, Alex. We had this conversation before, I wasn’t-“

His hand immediately flew towards your hand, making you fall quiet. “So what? I never cared. Not then, not now. I am no longer your student, there is no reason anymore to hold back anymore.”

You snorted; he would never change. He would always be this cocky little brat and-

“Wait. What do you mean… ‘no reason to hold back anymore’?”

He grinned, squeezing your hand a bit. “I always hoped we could meet again, so I could tell you should not be afraid of our relationship anymore. Or your feelings. Or… us. Don’t say anything because I know that fear held you back. We can be together, Y/N! Please, just-just leave behind your doubts for once. Don’t give a fuck about other people!” He said, his voice becoming louder with each word, growing with passion. “Put yourself first…” His face sprouted a smile, but it was not one of happiness or relief, no, it was because he felt helpless. He could feel you slipping right through his fingers again as he saw you shaking your head. He saw the doubts written all over your face. The questions rummaging through your mind. Was he being truthful? Was it unethical? Could you just start over again and continue this relationship? Was it worth the risk? “Just, choose with your heart for once. You know my feelings for you, but I am waiting for you.”

His words warmed your heart and made the corners of your lips turn upwards slightly. The worries clouding your minds made it hard to really focus on his words, still… You could no longer deny how he made you feel deep down.

As you licked your lips, the both of you suddenly got shaken out of your little bubble by a friendly voice complimenting the handsome man in front of you.

“My dear boy, you could not have a better timing. She really needs someone to make her laugh and escape that world of hers full of work and deadlines she dares to call a life.” Jeremy laughed, waving off your shocked expression, knowing you were about to contradict him. “You both need each other, children.” He paused, placing down two cups of coffee, accompanied with two large slices of one of his famous cakes. “Listen to an old man’s wise words.” Without any further words, and still ignoring your shocked face and Alex’ gestures that he had not ordered anything yet, he left the table to go back to his counter.

From there, he watched how you both broke into a fit of laughter, figuring it was better to enjoy the food and drinks than let them spoil. As Alex shrugged his shoulders and took a careful first bite of the pie, you took a first sip of your new and cup of coffee, never breaking eye contact with him. And… it felt good.

The old man behind the counter watched proudly as the two of you slowly picked up a conversation, sharing what you had been up to these past months to the finest details. The words suddenly came easily and talking felt comfortable again. Laughs, giggles, and loud exclaims of shock and delight were audible throughout the whole café, often making the other customers look up from their spot in the far back of the café. But you couldn’t be bothered by them. No, you were far off in your bubble. A bubble that was warm and joyful, filled with light and love now that Alex was in it.

And as the hours passed and the second slice of pie had been devoured, Jeremy’s heart filled with joy as he saw how your hand was still in the hands of that handsome boy.

Thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed! xxx

[fruitcoops]

Could you maybe write a “73 questions with Sirius Black” Vogue one? Or something like that.

Yes! I had never seen these videos before and it was a fun challenge to write. Hope you enjoy! Sweater Weather credit goes to @lumosinlove!

The house is large, two stories tall and painted a soft gray with white trim around the windows. Holiday lights have yet to be taken down and shine in all colors of the rainbow from the eaves as the camera crew walks up the front steps. The curtains in the window tremble for a moment, then a dog pokes her head through—she is all-black and curious, and looks quite large.

Dorcas Meadowes knocks on the front door; a moment later, it swings open and reveals Sirius Black. “Hey, guys, come on in! You can leave your shoes by the door inside.”

“Thanks, Sirius.” Dorcas kicks off her flats and follows him inside as he sets a dish towel on the end table and leans against it. “How are you today?”

“I’m doing pretty well. Morning practice was productive and I’m feeling good about our upcoming game.”

“We’re here today to ask you 73 rapid-fire questions while you lead us around. Sound good?”

“Sounds good. You can all come inside instead of freezing on the porch,” he laughs, waving them closer. The door shuts with a gentle click.

“First question: on a scale of 1-10, how excited are you about life right now?”

“Hmmm. A solid seven.”

“Do you have any pets?”

“I do!” Sirius leads them into the other room, where the dog is curled up on the couch below the window; he picks her up and gives her a kiss on the head. “This is Hattie and I love her very much.”

“Cute! If you could do a dramatic love scene in a movie with anyone, who would it be?”

Sirius sets the dog down and thinks for a second. “Aside from my fiancé, I’m going to say James Potter. We would kill it and I don’t think it would be that awkward.”

“What’s the origin of your name?”

“Pretty much my whole family has star-themed names. Sirius is the dog star from Canis Major.”

“Brightest star in the sky, too. What’s one thing people don’t know about you?”

“I’m an introvert. Lots of people assume that I’m super social because of my job, but I’m very quiet in real life.” He walks back out to the entrance and takes the towel off the table, then moves into the kitchen. It’s well-lit and painted a deep, warm red. The countertop is scattered with knickknacks and picture frames—clearly, this is a place people spend a lot of time. Hattie, who followed them in, lays down by the oven with a heavy sigh.

“What’s your wakeup ritual?”

Sirius reaches up and pulls two mugs out of the cupboard. “I wake up around seven am and make coffee while Re is in the shower, then rinse off and get dressed while he makes breakfast. It’s a good system. Want some tea?”

“Sure. What’s your bedtime ritual?”

“I don’t think I have one,” he says as he puts the kettle on and ignites a burner on the stove. “Usually we read or watch a movie, then go up to bed and talk for a while. There’s not a big routine or anything.”

“Sounds nice. What’s your favorite time of day?” Dorcas sits on the other side of the kitchen island while he takes a box of peppermint tea down.

“That’s a tough one. I like the in-between spots, like just after sunrise or dusk. Three in the afternoon is usually pretty chill as well. Does anyone else want a cup?”

There are a few murmurs behind the camera and he takes two more down. “What is one thing no one knows about you?” Dorcas asks.

He raises an eyebrow. “If I told you, everyone would know, and it wouldn’t count.”

“Fair enough. Dream country to visit?”

“Anywhere. I think I want to go to Ireland first, though.” Small wisps of steam begin curling out of the kettle, but it doesn’t whistle.

“Do you ever feel pressure to post things on social media?”

Sirius makes a face. “I used to. Eventually I just got tired of it, you know? The whole point of social media is sharing bits of your life with people and it makes me happy to show off my dog, or Re, or my friends. I post things just for fun now.”

The kettle begins to hiss and he reaches back to turn it off. “Sneakers or skates?”

“Skates.”

“Vintage or new?

“Vintage, especially for t-shirts and sweaters.”

“Who is your biggest role model?”

“Pascal Dumais.” Sirius stops pouring for a moment to look up at the camera. “If you ever get a chance to meet him, listen to what he has to say. You’ll be better for it.”

“Wise words. How do you deal with negativity? Oh, thank you.” Dorcas wraps her hands around the mug and takes a small sip while Sirius passes the other ones to the crew.

“Honestly? I don’t give a shit. It used to really bother me, but I’m happy, I have a job I love, and my family cares about me. Why should I care what people I’ve never met think of me?” He sits on the counter and rests his elbows on his knees, blowing on the hot water.

“What are three things you can’t live without?”

“My dog, Remus, and my family.” There is no hesitation in his voice.

“Not hockey?”

“I’d be devastated if I couldn’t play, sure, but it’s not the central focus of my life anymore.”

“What’s one ingredient you put in everything?”

“Does salt count?” He winces as he takes a drink. “Ugh, burned my tongue. I put salt on a lot of things because I drink so much water that it throws my balance off.”

“What is something you’re completely bored of right now?”

Sirius rolls his eyes. “Gossip columns and tabloids in general.”

Dorcas hums in agreement. “What’s your biggest fear in life?”

“Losing my loved ones.”

“Window or aisle seat?”

“Window. Anyone walking by always steps on my foot or hits my elbow if I’m in the aisle. Plus, I get a good view and an easy nap spot.”

“What’s your current TV obsession?”

“Avatar: The Last Airbender, which I’m watching for the third time already.” He shakes his head. “It’s just so good.”

“Favorite app?”

He takes a second to think. “Spotify.”

“Secret talent?”

Sirius looks at her over the rim over his cup. “This is going to shock you. Ready?”

“Ready.”

“Hockey.”

“You’re the worst.” Despite her words, Dorcas smiles. “What the most adventurous thing you’ve done in your life?”

“Uh, probably going to Europe with some of the guys last year. We had a lot of fun, but it was crazy.”

“I can imagine it was. How would you define yourself in three words?”

“Tall, dark, and handsome.”

“And apparently not humble,” Dorcas teases. “Favorite piece of clothing?”

“Hoodies.”

“Clothing item everyone should have?”

“Hoodies.”

A door opens behind them and the camera turns; Remus walks out of the basement, covered in sweat as he wipes his forehead with the hem of his shirt and holds his skates in his other hand. “Baby, have you seen…” he trails off when he sees the group of people in the kitchen. Hattie’s tail thumps on the floor. “Um. Hello.”

“Hey, Remus, how are you doing?” Dorcas asks mildly.

The camera pans out to catch both Sirius, who is laughing quietly, and Remus, who flushes pink. “I’m good. I thought you were coming at ten?”

“It’s ten-thirty, sweetheart,” Sirius says, hiding his smile in his tea.

Remus glances at the clock before giving an awkward nod and walking toward the stairs. “I guess I’ll take a shower, then. Sorry about that. Uh, carry on.”

“What’s a superpower you would want?” Dorcas asks as soon as he disappears.

Sirius shakes his head with a grin. “Uh, teleportation. That would be really cool.”

“What’s inspiring you in life right now?”

“Ah, une grande question.” He thinks, then tilts his head toward the staircase. “Moments like that. And the Stanley Cup, of course.” He reaches back and knocks on the wooden cupboard.

“What cause is closest to your heart?”

“LGBT+ rights, especially trans rights. I’m privileged enough to have a platform and I intend to be loud as hell about that.”

“Good.” Dorcas sets her almost-empty mug on the table. “What’s one thing you’d say to your teenage self?”

Sirius lets out a long breath and drums his hands on the light blue ceramic of his cup. “I would say…it gets better. It really, really does. You’re going to feel super shitty for just a little bit longer, but then I promise you will be so incredibly happy that you wake up every morning and it hits you all over again.”

Dorcas nods, and the kitchen is quiet for a moment. “What’s a book that everyone should read?”

“The Hobbit, by J.R.R Tolkien.”

“What would you like to be remembered for?”

“This is going to sound so corny, but I want to be remembered for just being a good person.”

“That’s not corny. How do you define beauty?”

“Remus Lupin.”

“That’s corny,” she laughs, making him smile. “What do you love most about your body?”

“I’m a big guy, which can be a little bit intimidating, but it means I give really great hugs. I’m sure everyone saw the video that went around a while ago.”

“Cap Cuddles?”

He snorts. “Right. You’ve got Finn O’Hara to thank for that.”

“In your opinion, what’s the best way to take a rest or decompress?”

“Being alone,” Sirius says. “There is literally nothing better than getting home and sitting down with a book or something while I can hear Re doing his own thing and Hattie’s napping. It’s one of my favorite parts of the afternoon.”

“That’s the most introverted thing you’ve ever said.” Dorcas grins and finishes her tea just as a faint beeping noise begins in another room. “What’s your favorite way to experience art?”

“Through music, for sure.” He slides off the counter and walks down the hall, leading them toward the laundry room. He gives the camera crew a look as he pulls dry clothes out of the machine and heads back to the living room. “What? Did you think I didn’t do my own laundry?”

“You lost a sock,” Dorcas informs him, picking it off the ground and laying it on top of his head.

“Thanks, D.”

“What question do people ask that you wish they wouldn’t?”

“Lots of people have asked me when I decided to be gay, which is wrong on so many levels.”

“If you could master one instrument, what would it be?”

“Guitar or piano.” He dumps the load of laundry on the couch and opens the back door, holding it for the crew as they walk out into the sunshine. Hattie weaves through their legs and disappears into the bushes along the back.

“I might have to take your dog home with me. If you had a tattoo, where would it be?”

Sirius mock-glares at her. “Let me have my girl! Um, I would love to have a tattoo somewhere on my arm.”

“This might be a hard one. Dolphins or koalas?”

“Oh, that is hard. Probably dolphins. The ocean is terrifying but those little guys are just having a blast.”

“What’s the best gift you’ve ever received?” Dorcas asks as he picks up a tennis ball and throws it across the yard. Hattie emerges from the bushes and races after it in a blur of black fur.

“An engagement ring.”

“Yeah, it was.” Remus walks into the backyard and kisses Sirius’ cheek before bending down to catch Hattie in his arms. His hair is still damp from the shower. “Hello, sweet girl!”

“Who’s your favorite musician?”

“Queen.” Sirius laughs at her surprised look. “I’m gay, what did you expect?”

“True. What’s your favorite board game?”

“Monopoly.” Remus and Hattie disappear from the frame, but the bouncing sound of the tennis ball creates some background noise and Sirius watches them for a moment with pure affection.

“Favorite color?”

“Blue.”

“Least favorite color?”

“Orange.”

“Bowties or knot ties?”

He frowns. “Don’t they all have knots?”

“Smartass.”

“Yep! Uh, regular ties.”

“Bowties are superior!” Remus calls.

“Get your own questions!” Sirius laughs.

“Going off your music answers: records or CDs?”

“I don’t own a lot of records, so I’m going to have to go with CDs. I love the way vinyl sounds, though.” His eyes widen as he looks to the side. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Remus wheezes. “I didn’t need those ribs anyway.”

“For the viewers, the dog just football-tackled him into the grass,” Sirius says, and Dorcas snorts.

“Your hair is famously luscious. Blow-dry or air-dry?”

“Air dry.”

“Coffee or tea?”

“Coffee, but tea is nice in the evenings.”

“What’s the weirdest word in the English language?”

Sirius laughs. “There are so many. Uh, ‘jeez’ is the one that comes to mind first.”

“What about the French language?”

“Oiseaux,” he says in a crisp accent. “It means ‘birds’, and you pronounce about three of the actual letters.”

“Good to know. Do you prefer dark chocolate or milk chocolate?”

“Dark chocolate.”

“Stairs or elevators?”

“Elevators. I don’t want to walk up three floors after playing hockey for two and a half hours.”

“Summer or winter?”

Sirius bites his lip in thought as they walk around the yard, where small flowers line the fence in beds and colorful pots. “I love summer because I have actual free time to be with my friends, but winter is hockey season. I don’t know, next question.”

“What’s a dessert you don’t like?”

“I’m not a huge fan of caramel. It’s too sticky.”

“A skill you’re working on mastering?”

“Will you ban me from more interviews if I say hockey?”

“Yes.”

“In that case, I’m working on keeping plants alive, as you can probably see.” He taps the nearest flowerpot gently with his foot; it has ‘Harry’ painted across it in sloppy blue letters. “My godson made that for my birthday.”

“What’s the best thing to happen to you today?”

“This, for sure,” he says with a smile. “I haven’t seen you and Marley in ages.”

“We missed you, too. What’s the worst thing that happened to you today?”

He pouts slightly. “Burning my tongue on tea.”

“Hugs or kisses?”

“Hugs! Though I’ll accept kisses from a few very specific people.”

“Do you have a favorite smell?”

He pauses and cranes his neck to look behind the cameras. “Re?”

“Yeah?”

“What shampoo do you use?”

“Uhhh…” There’s a moment of quiet. “It’s something with lavender, I think.”

Sirius turns back to Dorcas. “Something with lavender.”

“How specific,” she laughs. “What’s the best compliment you’ve ever received?”

He smiles to himself. “There was a young woman, maybe sixteen or seventeen, that came to one of the games earlier this season. I saw her standing with a puck and went over, and while I was signing it she looks at me and says, ‘you are exactly what I wish my older brother was like’. Turns out, she was bisexual and her brother wasn’t super accepting of her. That was…” He shakes his head. “That meant the world to me. I’ll never forget it.”

“You’ve definitely made a big impact on the community,” Dorcas agrees. “What’s the last piece of content you consumed that made you cry?”

“I watched ‘Soul’ the other night and almost had to pause it at one point to pull myself together.”

“Do you prefer animated movies or live-action?”

“Animated, mostly because I wasn’t allowed to watch Disney movies as a kid, so I’ve been catching up as an adult and they rock.”

“What’s your nerdiest quality?

“I love watching documentaries.”

“Sweet or savory?” The back door creaks a bit as they walk back inside and the camera catches a few frames of Hattie and Remus running around the yard together.

“Sweet.”

“In ten years, you have a daughter. What age do you let her date?”

Sirius gives Dorcas a look. “Whenever she wants to. I’m going to impose curfews and stuff, but I’m the last person on the planet to police her love life.”

“Good answer. What’s a song you can listen to on repeat?”

“Don’t Stop Me Now by Queen. Absolute banger.”

“If you could switch lives with someone for a day, who would it be?”

“Arthur Weasley,” he says after a moment. “I would love to know what it feels like to get up in the morning and know you’re about to spend another day wrangling our team. It’s a miracle he hasn’t killed us all with his clipboard.”

“How do you know you’re in love?”

“Oh.” Sirius blinks at her in surprise at the sudden topic change. “Well, for me, I think it’s just…being comfortable around someone. Being able to spend time with them without saying anything and knowing you’re safe, no matter what. It’s the best feeling in the world.”

“What are you most excited about at this time in your life?”

A slight smile crinkles his eyes. “Getting married. That’s going to be awesome.”

“Who is your go-to for having a good laugh?”

“James Potter. He’s the best, and I love him.”

“Last question,” Dorcas says, sliding her list into her pocket. “Many LGBT+ people, especially teenagers, have spoken about how you’re an inspiration. Any words for them?”

Sirius hums in thought. “First of all, thank you for being so open and welcoming. I would never have expected the sheer force of people’s love to come through like that when so many people were saying horrible things. Second, to any kids out there who need to hear it: I’m proud of you. It takes a lot to be true to yourself and even if you’re still in the closet, you’re just as valid as the rest of us. Stay proud.”

“That’s a wrap.” Dorcas gives him a quick hug that he happily returns. “Thanks for letting us crash your morning, Cap.”

“Any time. Thanks for tuning in to Lion Pride, everyone!”

[thekingofwinterblog]

Getter Robo Retospective - Getter Robo Part 1 -Ryoma Nagare

So, Iv’e been wanting to do an overall retrospective of the Getter Robo manga franchise for a while now, and since the Getter Robo Arc is nearing it’s finale as of the time of this writing, and will either give it a definite ending, or be the final nail in the coffin that the series will never be finished before Getter Robo falls into public domain, I thought now might as well be the time to do it.

As such, I’ll be doing an overall analysis over the entire collection of Ken Ishikawa’s Getter Robo manga series, it’s plots, themes, characters, and covers the various ideas this crazy and amazing sci-fi series covers.

Also, this retrospective will NOT cover the various anime adaptations, or the behind the scenes stuff that has gone on with Getter Robo over the years, such as Go Nagai being credited as the writer of the original manga despite only having come up with the overall concept and designs for it(the rest was by Ken Ishikawa), or the way that Ken went back and added in some extra chapters in the original two manga to explain some things and to tie the early manga more closely into what came after.

For the purposes of this retorspective, I will be focusing exclusively on the manga itself, and what it has to offer, without going into anything else.

And of course there is no place better to start, than the beginning.

So, what is the story of the original Getter Robo Manga?

Well, the overall plot of the original manga is about the conflict between two sides of a conflict, as laid out rather well in it’s prologue chapter.

The first is our protagonists, the Saotome Institute of Japan, who’s leader and namesake has invented the titular giant mecha, the Getter Robo.

Powered by a revolutionary newly discovered form of energy called “Getter Energy”, this enormous metal behemoth is a fighting machine unlike any other.

This war machine was originally supposed to be used for space exploration, but due to necessity, it has instead been reworked into a fighting machine.

It’s only weakness is that it requires 3 different living pilots to operate it to draw upon its full strength.

Opposing the Saotome Institute, is the forces of the Dinosaur Empire

An empire of humanoid Sentient Dinosaurs that long ago was forced to flee the Earth’s surface after it was bombarded with a strange kind of energy from space that was deadly to their kind, their only way to survive being to use their incredible technology to hide on the only place on Earth where the rays couldn’t reach them. The Earth’s very core.

Now, after millions of years underground, and the rays that forced them beneath the earth to begin with having seemingly ceased, they have finally returned to reclaim the earth’s surface for their own. At it’s disposal, it has incredible technology, and giant cyborg dinosaur monster in it’s quest to wipe out the newcomers, the human race, to achieve total dominance over the Earth.

If you think this premise sounds very generic, and you’ve seen it in some form or another in countless other Mecha series, you are not wrong. Ancient evil group attacking the protagonists, and only the new giant robot can stop it, probably the biggest stock plot in mecha overall, having been done in everything from Neon Genesis Evangelion to Megas XLR in some form or another. The set pieces and details are different, but the overall plot is the same.

However, where Getter Robo fits into this, is that it was one of the first giant robot manga there was, and many, many of the tropes and ideas it pioneered would be used and imitated by its successors.

In fact, I would argue that Getter is the second most influential mecha series in history, only second after it’s big cousin, Mazinger Z.

However, we are not here to detail how it influenced the manga industry, but how Getter holds up on it’s own, and in this regard, despite having a plot that has been overused time, and time again by it’s successors, this isn’t really that much of a problem for Getter Robo. Because like any good Mecha series, Getter’s biggest strength is it’s cast of characters.

Starting off in chapter 1, we are introduced to the first of the Robot’s giant pilots.

Ryoma Nagare.

Each of the pilots of Getter Robo is given an introductory mini-arc to set them up, and Ryoma’s is easily the best of the 3.

We are introduced to the main character of most of the franchise at a very unusual spot to open a main character, especially for a Shonen protagonist.

At the end of a revenge story.

To put it bluntly, Ryoma does not start off this series as a particularly likeable, nor good person, as his introductory scene is him crashing a perfectly legal martial arts tournament and beating the everloving shit out of it’s referee, it’s participants, and the judges who arranged it.

His reasons for doing all of this?

Revenge for his old man.

As it turns out, Ryoma had a massive beef with the arrangers for this contest, as his father, Ichigan Nagare was a pro karate champion back in the day, whose reputation was purposely destroyed by those arrangers.

Now he’s come to take revenge by utterly crushing their disciples on national television, to hammer in the point that his father’s martial arts was superior to theirs for all the world to see.

During this whole thing, we also get a very good look into how Ryoma thinks at this point in time.

When the arranger tries to appeal to the “Sacredness” of the Sport to get him to stand down, Ryoma laughs in his face, proclaiming that there is nothing sacred about combat at all. The only thing that matters is who emerges as the victor.

This is backed up by how he doesn’t show the least bit of compassion or honor to the first of the contestants he defeats, easily smashing him to the ground then gloating over him after having demonstrated the sheer difference in the combat prowess between the two of them.

He is very blunt about the fact that he believes that one should pursue strength for strenght’s sake alone, and never stop until you have crushed anyone who stands before you. Always train to get stronger, and always seek out those who can challenge you and beat them too.

Might makes right.

This is a REALLY good introduction for showcasing Ryoma as a character. How he thinks, his immense near superhuman strength, his ruthlessness, his pride in his own strength.

It also ties in directly into the themes of this series, as this kind of thinking is essentially Evolution itself boiled down to it’s bare core. The survival of the strongest. What is the point of Evolution after all, if not this? Those with the traits to survive and thrive will do so, while those who cannot, will be crushed by those who can, who in turn will pass down what made them successful to begin with.

Of course that is not what the actual message of this series is, but it is a concept that this series is rather blunt about, and it’s not a coincidence that the most prominent of all the main characters of this series began his journey while believing wholeheartedly into that ideal.

All in all this scene is just great, and it sets up Ryoma really well, as well as making it clear that this is a boy who has a lot of growing to do as a person.

And so, having achieved his life’s work that he’s trained for for years and years, Ryoma nagare quietly leaves the arena, leaving behind a dozen bruised, battered and broken men on the ground.

Of course this display of power has not gone unnoticed, as in the audience were two men from the Saotome Institute who came here hoping to find someone strong enough to pilot their giant robot.

As it happened, they just found one that fit the bill rather spectacularly.

Then in the next scene we are showcased Ryoma’s home.

Ryoma Nagare, a fighting genius that at the tender age of 16-17 smashed the greatest karate practitioners in Japan with ease while being outnumbered a dozen to one, lives in a ramshackle part of town, in a rundown old building that has broken windows, a leaking roof, and can at best be called a ramshackle cottage.

It’s a rather brutal contrast to the sight of the prestigious, well made and maintained karate tournament building we were just in.

Inside we find the sight of something else rather unusual for a Shonen protagonist. Having now achieved his goals, and avenged his father’s memory, Ryoma is slowly starting to come to the realization that this has all been one giant waste of time. He hasn’t actually earned anything on this journey. His father is dead, he’s still poor, and his only belongings is this shitty building and the clothes on his back.

As we learn here, Ryoma has spent his entire life being trained in martial arts, to insane degrees even for an adult man, much less for a child. All for the purpose of one day doing what he did today, and avenging his father’s memory.

This scene really hammers in the fact that for all his ridiculous strength, Ryoma is a child, and he has a child’s way of looking at things.

He thinks back fondly on being pitted against stray dogs in death matches, and he reveals here that in his mind, this was all about “Redeeming” martial arts somehow, as if this display would really change anything in the grand scheme of things within the sport.

It wasn’t of course. This was all about revenge. Everything Ryoma ever trained for was for this moment, this moment of what should have been absolute and total triumph as he achieved a truly spectacular victory and proved his father’s fighting style the best in all the land and he has proven that he himself is the strongest fighter in all Japan.

Instead he is coming to the realization that so many people that wasted their lives on vengeance have come to over the years. That it was all a giant waste of time.

Revenge is a suckers game.

Having achieved his goals, Ryoma has found them to be completely empty, and has nowhere to go. This is a really fascinating way to open up a character arc, as usually a character that learns the lesson that David Xanatos knew so well, happens either at the end, or somewhere later down their line. Ryoma however, learns it in the very first chapter, and now has to find something else to live for.

However, his soul searching is then interrupted by a few gentlemen from the Saotome institute.

Who immediately tries to kill him.

Now before I discuss the next part, I wanna praise this overall scene, because it really works great within the context of this chapter.

Ryoma has been introduced as a massive asshole, who firmly believes in the mantra of Might makes right, and he doesn’t feel any regret at having brutalized a dozen of innocent people, just the fact that he realizes that there was no real satisfaction to be had from it. Now the other shoe drops, and HE is attacked in his own home, completely unprovoked for reasons that frankly he has no personal involvement in on his own side. While this attack does have an in universe reason behind it, it main purpose is that it serves as a nice cathartic moment for the reader, as while he’s never going to legally punished for what just happened at the tournament, he is punished by the narrative for his actions, which is something i’ve seen far, far too many stories do over the years fail to do with asshole protagonists.

It also serves to put Ryoma’s current belief in Might Makes Right to the test. After all, aren’t these men doing exactly what he said that those who practice martial arts should do? Seek out those stronger than them, then crush them.

All of this makes it a shame that it is horribly undercut by the one, genuine stain on the original manga. Namely that one of the attackers is this guy.

And it’s at this moment you realise, oh yeah, this was made in 1970’s Japan. The unfortunate fact is that Mangaka of this period generally based their depiction of black people on early American comics(Which had plenty of this kind of artwork), and Ken Ishikawa was unfortunately not an exception to this rule.

He would THANKFULLY not repeat anything like this later down the line(his depiction of black people is far more natural and realistic in later manga), but hot damn is it both uncomfortable and distracting to read the pages with this guy. And it’s a real shame too, because frankly, not only is the following fight scene very good as a narrative punishment for Ryoma, but it’s just a good fight scene in general.

Unlike the Tournament fight, which was mainly a beatdown to establish Ryoma’s ridiculous strength, this is an actual fight, which showcases Ishikawa’s ability to draw energetic, exciting fight scenes where action flows very naturally.

It also shows that for the kind of ridiculous strength Ryoma possess, he isn’t some superhuman, as early in the brawls he’s heavily wounded by the rather mundanity of taking a throwing knife to the shoulder. This is in general something that makes action if Getter Robo stand out from other shonen series too. When characters, or Robots for that matter, takes hits, they rarely shrug them off with no problem, instead taking real, genuine damage that doesn't just instantly go away. They might power through them, but that isn’t the same as them disappearing into the ether.

In any case, the battle ends up outside the house when Ryoma is thrown through the wall.

He’s then forced to do the classic, catch the blade between the palms of his hands trope, which is depicted much more believable than most cases I’ve seen, as despite succeeding, it still left him bleeding from those palms.

Ryoma then redirects the blade into the big guy who is attacking him from behind, killing him. I really love how the artwork sells that this is a desperate move on Ryoma’s part. He is genuinely fighting for his life here, and he’s pulling out every trick he has to to win despite his wounds.

He then follows that up by ripping the blade out, and throwing it at the knife thrower guy. I also like that after doing so, he immediately falls flat on his ass, in a rather realistic manner(he is fighting in the rain after all, so the ground is undoubtedly pretty slippery.), while also showcasing the force of the throw. My only main complaint is that for this one panel Ken forgot to include the wound and the knife on his shoulder, as I think it would really sell just how desperate Ryoma is here if we’re visually reminded in the moment that, oh yeah, he’s powering through and using the arm whose shoulder has a knife in it to to throw this thing.

Thankfully, that missed opportunity for visual grittiness is more than made up for by the next part.

Having now effectively won the battle(I think the swordsman broke his foot in the fall, at least that’s how it looks), Ryoma suddenly realises that, holy shit, he just killed someone. The contrast between here and how he looked as he challenged the tournament fighters couldn’t be more different. The cooky, arrogant youth is completely gone, and you're reminded that Ryoma is just a kid. A kid who just had to kill someone. The bravado is completely gone, leaving only a kid who is tired, confused, in pain, and probably pretty scared.

He is then approached by the man who just had 3 grown ass men jump and attack him, Dr. Saotome.

Wounded, and mentally exchausted as he is, he is in no position to argue as Saotome declares that Ryoma is what he’s been looking for, and as one of his men rips the knife out of his shoulder, Ryoma screams before losing consciousness from the pain. Afterwards he is dragged into a car, and bandaged up.

Then as they're driving, the’re attacked by a giant flying dinosaur that grabs unto the car and flies away with it, Ryoma and Saotome barely managing to get out in time, alongside one of Saotome’s unlucky goons who breaks his neck in the fall.

And so ends Chapter one of Getter Robo.

All in all, other than the horribly racist black guy, this is a really good first chapter, that sets up Ryoma Nagare really, really well, showcasing his way of thinking, his origin, and where he needs to grow, while also showcasing his ludicrous strength, and that he is fully capable of going balls to the wall to win a fight, which will be showcased many, many times in this series. It also ends on a reminder of the fact that oh yeah, this is a series about one side vs dinosaurs, as Ryoma gets his first introduction into the enemy he will be fighting time, and again in this manga. It also gives a distinct first impression of just how ruthless Saotome is, as he is perfectly willing to send 3 dangerous goons on a teenager just to test his prowess in battle, which is absolutely going to come into play in future chapters.

All in all, it’s a good start. Not an amazing beginning, but certainly a good introduction to our first main character.

[bluesky-thewebcomic]

Final thoughts from Elvenwhovian

So here we are at the end. The last panel. There were a lot of times that I thought I wouldn’t make it to this point. It’s been an incredible and long journey, and finishing a project like this is satisfying beyond words. I know that many of you were not here from the start, so I just wanted to share the story of how this 930 panel monster of a project came to be and thank a few people who helped along the way.

Really it all started in March of 2014. My roommate had taken a trip to New Zealand to visit family and I was having a pity party at home alone (It’s always been a dream of mine to go to New Zealand). I was window shopping online on Thinkgeek (RIP Thinkgeek) and I was seeing all this merch for a game called Portal. This led me to Steam, which led to finishing the first Portal in about a day, then Portal2 in about 2 weeks. 

Of course this led me to begin looking up fan art which led me to discover the fanfiction “Blue Sky”. I read the whole thing in about 4 days. I was so engrossed in the story, I ate, slept, went to work, and read Blue Sky and nothing else. I vividly remember sitting at my kitchen table, ipad in hand, as I read the last lines of the story. I sat back, let out a long breath and said, “Wow. That was one of the best stories I’ve ever read.” 

The fan art came next. Being relatively new to tumblr, I was used to getting 3-6 notes on a post. Suddenly, people were coming out of the woodwork liking and reblogging. My mind was blown and it made me want to make more fan art. Then I met @starry-nightengale who became one of my best friends on this site. We fangirled over “Blue Sky” and Portal over the next year which led to us co-writing “The Trial of the Bow” trilogy, a medieval/fairytale retelling of Portal, Portal 2, Blue Sky, and Portal Stories: Mel. 

It was on Labor day weekend of 2015 when my internet went down inexplicably. My roommate who had the internet in her name was out of town yet again and I conceded that I would have to wait until she got back to get the issue resolved. The Trial of the Bow Trilogy was finished and I had just co-written with @the-royal-sketchbook a Half-life Medival/fairytale fanfic “The Legend of the Freeman.” However, my passion for Half-life was not as strong as it was for Blue Sky and I longed to do something else involving Wheatley, Chell, and the citizens of Eaden. 

Most of the people that I encouraged to read Blue Sky did not have the time to invest into a novel length book. I longed to create something more accessible. A comic book/graphic novel of the story had been in the back of my mind for a long time, but when the desire rose up in me, the thought of “but you would have to do backgrounds and you suck at backgrounds” reared its ugly head. 

But on that Labor day weekend, a thought occurred to me. “What if I did it as a comic? Very loose and simple. Something that I could do for fun without any heavy commitment.” So that weekend, I did a quick pencil drawing of the scene when Wheatley and Chell argue from Chapter 5. I threw some color on it and put it on tumblr and it got a great response. Then I did the scene when Chell transfers Wheatley into the hardlight avatar from Chapter 3. Another great response. It was simple and loose but people seemed to like it. I asked Starry what she thought about doing the whole story in such a way. If memory serves, she was for it but warned me not to get too far ahead of myself. If I did this, it would be a huge project and would take a lot of planning and forethought. BTW, good advice Starry ;)

After completing all of Chapter 1, I made the announcement, created the page, and the Blue Sky Web comic was born.

One of the things that helps me to recharge each week is drawing/working on art on Sunday afternoons. In the past, I had struggled to find things to work on, but no more. Sunday was now Blue Sky Comic day. I would post 2 panels and create 4 more. If I had extra time on holidays or days off I would get extra done. This system allowed me to consistently add to the project without feeling rushed or overwhelmed. I was able to get ahead so that I could take breaks for holidays, trips, computer problems, and eventually planning my wedding and getting married. The Blue Sky Web Comic became a constant in my life. Whenever I needed to decompress and just draw or color in panels, it was there. 

In late summer of 2019, my Father was diagnosed with cancer. If any of you have walked through cancer with someone, you know how difficult and painful it can be. My husband and I took a trip to see my parents about once a month for the next 8 months. The drive was fairly long and was the perfect opportunity to work on what I called “pencil work” for the comic (sketching out the layout of each panel, a process that took the most concentration and time). Working on the comic helped to keep my mind off of things. Each time we visited my Dad his condition declined and being able to focus on something like the “pencil work” helped to make the trips better.

In spring of 2020, right before the COVID-19 lockdown, my Father passed away. It was right before that final trip that I finished the “Pencil work”. By then I had also made a lot of headway on the comic itself, with only a few chapters left to ink and color. I remember reading stories and blogs about how people made it through difficult times by focusing on a hobby, tv show, book, or music; not living in denial of the bad things, but just having something to help them take a break from it all. That was what the Blue Sky Comic was for me in those final days and I will always cherish how it was one of the things that helped me to make it through that difficult period in my life.

With the COVID-19 lockdown, I had some extra time to work on the comic and by late spring of 2020, I finished the last panel. It still kind of blows my mind. From 2015 to 2020 was how long it took to complete.

____________

To the 2000+ followers and those who replied, liked, reblogged, and sent messages, your words helped me to keep going when I wondered if it was worth it. Your kind thoughts helped me to know that this story is still enjoyed by people and Portal fans alike.

To @starry-nightengale, thank you for your advice at the beginning and your support and friendship along the way. Here’s to many more ^w^

And to @wafflebloggies, thank you for writing Blue Sky. It may seem overdramatic, but when I found this fic back in 2014, I was in a dark place and your story helped me hold onto the light. Even years later when faced with new trials, it helped me to focus on what was ahead. I truly believe that this story resonates with so many people because it taps into the most simple and profound truth: the most powerful love is selfless. And selfless love can conquer any difficulty. Also your support of the comic over the years made me smile with delight. I’m so glad you liked it :)

So that’s the story. I plan to do more audiobooks of the rest of the Trial of the Bow trilogy, but after that I’m going to be taking a nice long break from Blue Sky and Portal.  I have a personal passion project that I am in the initial stages on. It's another web comic that I actually couldn’t have even considered doing if not for the experience I gained over the past 5 years. I’ll have updates on my personal tumblr for that project and the audiobooks, but for this page, The Blue Sky Web comic, this will be one of my final posts (aside from responding to any messages from you guys). Thank you all again for following. What an incredible journey this has been! This fandom is so amazing and I love you all. Take care and God bless. - Elvy

[dreamer213]

Broken machines: Lights the dark

Chapter 2 Beautiful Night

In dark quiet room a young man sits atop his bed waiting. The room itself is opulent and pristine, a queen size bed with silk sheets, oak wood floor, a gorgeous antique armoire full of designer clothing, a full length mirror, silver trend curtains, an ornately detailed desk, bookshelf filled with materials on business, culture, and the arts and even a bath en-suite. Truly a scene ripped straight from a magazine with it’s presentation and uniform coloring. Nothing but dark blues, grays, and whites as far as the eye could see, it gives off a very chic and vintage feel but such a cold color scheme leaves little room for light to enter. With darkness of night sky peeking through the window It is as though the room itself becomes like snow, beautiful and magnificent in appearance but cold and devoid of life. The same can be said for the boy, smooth white hair set neat and tidy in a simple but elegant cut, a long and slender figure with good posture and a gorgeous face with high cheek bones, full lips, a perfect jaw line, long lashes, and beautiful deep blue eyes. But behind those beautiful eyes lays a cold and empty stare, no youthful joy or warmth to speak of, just the cold stare of empty soul. If not for his breathing and movements he could be mistaken for a porcelain doll, left in it’s display never to be moved or play with but to be held up and admired. But that is not important right now. No, what matters right now is if Weiss’s found the back doors they left open for her and made her escape yet.

It’s been a while she should be long gone by now, if she hasn’t left yet it won’t be long before Father finds her then Gods know what he’ll will do. I mean getting caught trying to escape the city after nearly killing a defenseless woman at a public event over some unkind remarks. Cleaning up this mess is going to be hell on its own but if Father finds her trying to run away He’ll-

Whitley tenses up and grips his biceps through his sleeves, there’s a dazed look in his eyes. He closes his eyes, takes some deep breath, and calms himself.

No, I can’t think like that now. I have to believe that she followed through, that she ran away pre her usually sanctimonious behavior. I mean what did she think she was going to achieve by acting like that. Did she think that was going to change their minds? Did she really think that screaming like a child and losing control of her powers was going to do anything but cause chaos. If General Ironwood hadn’t been there we all could been killed by that monster. But no, even after fighting Grimm and seeing how terrifying they are first hand, she still never once gave a thought to what the consequences of her actions would be for anyone but herself. But then again that just might be who she is now. Doesn’t matter if she to her if she’s right or wrong, if she feels attacked she’ll just lash out either physical or verbal. With all her talk of restoring our family name I never thought she would do something like this. I never thought she would go this far but then again I never thought she’d treat me like an enemy. I try my best to engage with her whenever I could and she accuses me of wanting to her get disinherited and acts like I’ve stolen her role away from her. Really? She thought I would want the life both she and Winter ran away from the first chance they could. Seriously? What do I gain from her failure, living at home with a drunk for mother, a tyrant father, and a staff of people traumatized from working with them. Having my every move monitored and commanded by a man who cares more about money than human life. The enormous amount of work that comes with preparing to take over a company of such great magnitude and whatever grunt work Father doesn’t feel like doing. OH! Let’s not forget the fact that you’ll never truly be in charge as Father will surely keep you trapped under his heel until the day he dies! A life as puppet to a man whose dragged our family name through the dirt trapped in a house colder than the coldest of blizzard. Yes Weiss, I so desperately wanted you to run away to live your dreams so I could live your nightmare.

“WHERE IS SHE!!!” “WHERE DID THAT WORTHLESS BRAT GO!”

Whitley hears his father screaming down the hall, the screaming continues for almost an hour until it’s becomes clear that Weiss has escaped. For moment everything’s quite as though the entire manor has become frozen in time. But not long after the silence there’s a crash then another and another. The commotion grows louder and louder with every passing second until the shirks of manor staff become just loud as the havoc Jacques Schnee is wreaking.

Whitley: Looks like it’s time to clean up the mess.

Whitley gets up and walks out of his room towards the commotion. As he gets closer and closer as follows his father’s path of destruction. Broken glass, fallen paintings, and décor pieces smashed and scattered across the floor the halls are in shambles. When he finally reaches his father the situation is much worse than he expected. Jacques has completely lost his composure, he’s throwing things, screaming wildly, his face is beet red and his eyes are bulging. The servants are trying their best to calm down while trying to avoid getting hit. They try and try but nothing they do seems to calms him. As this struggle continues Whitley approaches them, he quietly walks up behind them. He stands there waiting for an opportunity to grab his father’s attention.

Jacques: AFTER EVERYTHING I’VE DONE FOR THAT UNGRATEFUL BITCH SHE DARED TO DEFY ME LIKE THIS!

Whitley: Father please, you need to calm down the stress isn’t good for—

Before he can get another word out an object goes flying past Whitley’s head. It was a small antique clock a gift from a business associate. His father Jacques Schnee, who was now facing him, had thrown it within an inch of his own son’s head. Jacques stalks over towards Whitley, getting closer and closer until he is standing over his son and stares directly into his eyes.

Jacques: What did you say?

Whitley: Stay calm, stay focused, you have to see this to an end before things get worse. I said you should calm down you shouldn’t be stressing yourself over such a minor issue. It’s not good for your health.

Jacques: And do tell me Whitley, how is your sister running away a “minor issue”.

Whitley: Well she’s already been disinherited and made a public spectacle of herself, there’s no real need for her to be at the manor anymore. That and when people ask about her and how she was punished you can say she was kick out and thrown to the streets for her awful behavior. For most that were present at that party the very idea of being cut off is the stuff of nightmares, hearing that the heiress to Schnee dust fortune got herself thrown out for her reckless mistakes should help calm the ruckus Weiss created.

For a moment everyone pauses, they hold their breath waiting for the elder Schnee’s reaction. After what feels like hours Jacques puts his hand above Whitley’s head. He brings it down and begins to slow pat his son’s head.

Jacques: Good job Whitley, you always have your mind in the right place when I need you to.

Whitley: Of course Father, I’m always thinking of what’s best for the Schnee legacy.

Jacques: Good, now then get this mess cleaned up I need to go have a talk with Klein. I just know that dog had a hand in this.

Whitley: Yes Father, I’ll have the staff get this up right away.

Jacques gives an approving nod then walks away. As soon as his step can no longer be heard and he is out of earshot the servants all breathe a sigh of relief and start cleaning up. Whitley walks down the hall, searching for someone. After roughly half an hour up and down the second floor Whitley finally finds the person he’s been looking for, Mary Shellor.

Mary Shellor has been working at the Schnee Manor for several years. When she first arrived no one expected her to last very long but to their surprise she acclimated to the environment rather quickly. She was also a very diligent worker, never making a mistake more then once. And because of her skill, not long after her hiring Mary was promoted to one of the most important and most difficult positions in the manor, Willow’s personal maid. She’d become Willow’s shadow following and serving her wherever she may go unless dismissed. During her first year as Willow’ maid also sought out and obtained another role, or rather a long term investment. You see after observing the family for a time it became clear to Mary which child would inherit the family fortune. The children, Winter, Weiss, and Whitley, had been raised quite incorrectly for their natures. Like wolves raised as show dogs ,they were trained to be obedient, intelligent, and outstanding but because of their strong willed and fierce natures they could never truly be tamed. First and second born were allowed enough freedom to want for more and seek an end to their captivity even if it meant losing everything. Eventuality they were able to beard their fangs and break free of their chains. But the third born, the son, was not allowed such opportunities, No Jacques had learned from his past mistakes he wasn’t letting this one get away. Whitley was kept closer, his chains made tighter, and cage made much smaller then his predecessors. And yet Mary could still see the wolf in him, though different from his sisters it was still there. Unlike his sisters he couldn’t attack or run from his situation so the boy did the only thing he could and did it well, he played along. He played the role of Father’s loyal dog so well that even his sister believed the act without question but unbeknownst to her or their father beneath that mask Whitley’s fangs were growing strap, he was waiting. Whitley knows when he’s at a disadvantage he knows when to act and when to retreat, he knows how to play games, the game of Atlas politics, his father’s games, and the games of the business world. The day Whitley would strike would be the day everything would be returned to a true Schnee, one who knew how to survive in this world, who knew the mistakes of the past and how not to repeat them. Mary wanted to be on the right side when that day came and so she became Whitley’s eyes and ears in and outside of the manor as long as he promised to keep her in mind when the time came. That was their argument one Mary never doubted would play out in her favor.

Whitley: Mary where’s Mother?

Mary: The Mistress has retreated to the library. After the shouting started she ran inside and hid. I asked her if there was anything I could do and she dismissed me.

Whitley: Thank you Mary, stay here I’ll be back in a moment.

Mary: Yes, Young master

Whitley walks pass her towards the library, once at the doors he pulls them open only to find that the lights are off and the scent of alcohol is heavy in the air. Whitley follow the scent deeper and deeper into the library, gagging slightly the closer he gets, as he draws nearer to the source he finds a trail of wine bottles.

Whitley: They’re all empty, she’s close.

He picks up the bottles as he follows the trail until he finds a blanket covered figure sitting on the floor tucked into a corner. Whitley puts the bottles down and slowly approaches the figure, small sobs escape it as he drew closer, he kneels down in front of them with his hands on his knees. He then gently pulls the blanket off the figure to reveal his mother Willow Schnee, sobbing and trembling beneath the blanket she’s wrapped herself in.

Whitley: It’s over Mother, Father’s gone back to his office. You can go back to your room now he won’t be coming out for some time.

Whitley holds out his hand towards Willow, with a shaky hand Willow grabs onto her son. Whitley grabs onto tightly, wraps his free arm around her shoulders and pulls her up. He steadies her as she gets on her feet, and guides her through the darkness and into the hallway. Once they’re out out of the library he hands Willow off to Mary.

Whitley: Take her back to her room she can barely walk, make sure to leave a bucket by her bed. And don’t let her have anything else tonight she has too much in her system already. She’s also left a good amount of empties on floor again, have someone clean those up before Father’s next reading hour.

Mary: Of course Young Master, we’ll have everything clean and in order before Master Jacques get up for breakfast.

Whitley:Thank you Mary , that will be all for tonight.

This was why Mary chose to put her faith in the boy, for as cold and defensive as Whitley was he was also incredibly loyal. Whenever the Master flew off the handle the Young Master would do everything in his power to calm him down and keep him calm for as long as possible. At first Mary thought this was more his loyal dog act but after a few more incidents it was clear what he was doing. Whitley would never sacrifice another’s safety for his own. His true purpose for playing the Master’s game was not to obtain power but peace and freedom from the chains that bind this manor and the people in it.

With that Mary and Willow depart towards Willow’s bedroom while Whitley retreats his own. Once there he closes the door behind himself and pressing his back against the door. He takes a deep breath then slumps down the door, gets into the fetal position and starts to sob. He cries and weeps for a long, long time, until his face is red and his voice horse. Once he finally he stops Whitley gets up and goes to his ensuite to clean himself up. After a long bath he puts on his sleepwear and lays down on his bed, he stares up at the ceiling until he finally succumbs to his own exhaustion and falls into a dreamless sleep.

[a-duck-with-a-book]

REVIEW // Nevernight (The Nevernight Chronicle, #1) by Jay Kristoff

★☆☆☆☆

So I’m very late to the party, but I just finished reading Nevernight by Jay Kristoff I had such high hopes for this series based off of what people recommending it had told me and what I read about it before picking up. Dark fantasy? Check. Strong leading lady? I’m here for it. Gays? It’s literally my only personality trait. Sign me up. Unfortunately, this book fell flat in all those categories. It reminded me a lot of Sarah J. Maas’s Throne of Glass, which made me take one point off of to begin with simply for making me think of Maas’s writing. Overall, I just found the book to be too predictable, with bad writing, exposition, and pacing, and too many parts that just made me ~uncomfortable~.

In case you are not familiar with this novel, Nevernight tells the story of Mia Corvere, a girl who lost her family when she was a child after her father was convicted of treason. When the book begins, she is 16 years old and embarking on a journey to join the Red Church, a school for assassins, so that she may one day be able to avenge her father’s death. Along the way she meets a bunch of forgettable characters whose names I can’t be bothered to remember and is taught by the most fearsome killers in the Republic. Here she gains many valuable skills, like how to survive being poisoned, how to fight, and how to get big boobs.

+ Side note: by chapter 3 three I started picturing Mia as the crow guy from RWBY and I could not shake that for the rest of the book

I had many issues with this novel that I will try to summarize in some sort of coherent fashion, but to be honest this book sucked the will to live out of me so I don’t know how much energy I can put into this review.

// image: official cover art by Jason Chan //

FOOTNOTES

The footnotes were probably the most jarring element of the book for me, and, unfortunately, there’s a lot of them. Their function seems to be twofold:

they are the form of most of the world-building, explaining several customs, the history of the institutions and peoples Mia meets, and the mythology followed by the people of the Republic.

they allow for the narrator of our story to interrupt with comical one-liners or cryptic foreshadowing

In my humble opinion, both of these are unnecessary and stupid. The interruptions come off as crass and immature and make the other more textbook, boring exposition come off as a joke, especially when it is dealing with sensitive or serious topics. There is one that explains this brothel called the Seven Flavors, which the footnote explains refer to “Boy, Girl, Man, Woman, Pig, Horse, and, if sufficient notice and coin was given, Corpse.” Now, on its own, this passing mention of pedophilia, bestiality, and necrophilia could very well contribute to the world building and tone of the novel, but when placed side by side with the childish, joking tone of the “cue the violiiiiiiiins” or, regarding the acoustics of a room, “…they were, as it happens, exceptional. Falalalalalalaaaaaaaa”, come off as way too light-hearted for the topic at hand. Maybe I’m being way too sensitive, but I’m pretty tired of authors using serious topics as off-hand remarks as a lazy way to make their world daker and grittier. Plus, these footnotes were just so incredibly cringy that I would recoil from second-hand embarrassment every time. They resemble the things I wrote when I was 14 and trying (and miserably failing) to be funny. Also… there are way too many of them. While at first I appreciated the attempt to deepen the lore of the story (I’m a sucker for world-building), after a while it became evident that the author was just forcing information down our throats without taking the time to actually weave the lore and background into the story itself. It came off as a very lazy way to force exposition.

OVERLY FLOWERY LANGUAGE

This story is BRIMMING with similes and metaphors, like every other sentence is some overly complicated way to describe something that could have been presented in three words. When you include so many metaphors/similes/etc., they begin to lose power. They should allow the reader to extrapolate more meaning and emotion from a sentence, but if the book is bursting at the seams with them, they become increasingly ordinary, to the point of losing all of their luster. One prime example appears on page 30:

“It was a bucktoothed little shithole, and no mistake. Not the most miserable building in all creation. [here there is a footnote about some other inn/brothel] But if the inn were a man and you stumbled into him in a bar, you’d be forgiven for assuming he had—after agreeing enthusiastically to his wife’s request to bring another woman into their marriage bed—discovered his bride making up a pallet for him in the guest room.”

So first of all what the fuck is that supposed to mean? That whole paragraph is a fever dream. Let’s begin with “bucktoothed little shithole”. Bucktoothed? Really? What does that mean. Please, someone explain to be right now what a bucktoothed building is. Is it uneven? Is it awkward? Is it half-finished? Is one side longer than the other? Did they do a bad paint job that only covers on side? Are the windows askew? Is the door too big for its frame? We already know from the paragraph above that it is “disheveled” as well, so why the need for another weird phrasing of its appearance? We then move on to that whole JOURNEY of a sentence, where the inn is compared to a man being cuckolded. That is the most insane tale-can you imagine running into someone in a bar and that story being the VERY FIRST thing that runs through your mind??? I know I’m focusing way too much on this stupid paragraph, but basically what I am trying to get at is that even though we spend half a page talking about how bucktoothed and disheveled and cuckolded this building is, we get no actual physical description of it. Imagine if Kristoff had just written that it was a run-down, ill-kept building that looked as worse for wear as its owner did. Done, one sentence. Great. Let’s move on. Instead, we spend so long reading these absolutely batshit descriptions that ultimately tell us next to nothing. Flowery language is placed over actual context. You may think that a description this long and complex means that this inn is a significant or recurring setting in the novel. Nope. It’s not. Mia leaves and that’s that. The reason that I’m focusing so much on this objectively irrelevant paragraph is because it is so representative of the biggest issue I have with the writing in this book. There are so many unnecessary comparisons that function only to make the author feel clever rather than add anything to the story at all. It’s very à la 2010s Tumblr.

THE (IN MY OPINION, BAD) WRITING

For the first half of the book, we are constantly being TOLD things rather than being SHOWN things. With the exception of one of the teachers cutting off Mia’s arm, we rarely see the ruthlessness that the assassins are so feared for, but we hear about it in nearly every other sentence Where are the consequences? I think this book would have been way more enjoyable if there were actually consequences to the characters’ actions. The inclusion of the weaver and the weird vampire guy completely remove any tension regarding the fate of the central cast. When Mia had her arm chopped off, I was shocked, and pleasantly surprised. How was she going to overcome this unexpected obstacle in her training? Then a couple pages later, its reattached with absolutely no lasting consequences. All of the initial tension and shock value of the loss of Mia’s arm is entirely removed because of the two incest-y siblings. Their entire purpose for existing is just to undo all damage to the main characters. Then suddenly, out of the blue, Mia is willing to take on a ton of consequences and completely throw away her chance at becoming initiated in order to avenge her family just to save Tric from receiving like one punishment??? Like why?? As an aside, the only moment I truly enjoyed was when Ash fucking stabbed Tric to death. I assume that when the reader’s favorite moment is one of the central characters’ death, it does not bode well for their reception of the book.

THE THEMES

TW: rape-y subjects

The author seemed a little too keen to include rape and sexual assault in his story. Mia withdrew her consent in the sex scene in the very first chapter, and even if you read it as consensual (which I do not), it is described as incredibly unpleasant on her end. Tric is the result of a rape, which is brought up several times throughout the story. Further, Mia is constantly facing harassment from men. I understand that this is frames the idea that the world she lives in is misogynistic and ruthless, but there are other ways to push that idea through other than constantly putting in her in those situations. As in, this didn’t need to be the ONLY way we explored this subject. Beyond the uncomfortable propensity for sexual assault, I also very much disliked the sexualization of the 16-year-old main character. Oh. My. Gosh. Mia is CONSTANTLY sexualized. Every single damn character makes comments about her body, how hot she is, how much sex she potentially has. It is so weird and uncomfortable. I feel the need to reiterate that she is SIXTEEN. There is, however, a focus placed on the power Mia can gain from seducing her targets. Girl power? Not to me, really. The issue I have with this is the idea that a woman has to be overtly sexual in order to be considered powerful. This is something that we can see in many female assassins and supposedly powerful female characters in fiction (like Black Widow) especially those written by men. Now, there is nothing wrong with using one’s sexuality as a weapon, and I’m certainly not saying that a strong female character cannot be sexual, but the idea that a sixteen-year-old girl is shown having her body painfully modified tp be more desirable, and in a graphic sex scene with another character, in order to for the reader to read her as liberated and powerful does not sit well with me. I don’t really feel like this aspect of her training should be relevant to the overall story. I wish the time that Kristoff had dedicated to hammering into our heads that Mia is a femme fatale to developing her Darkin powers instead. The way she is written now feels more like she is a faux strong female character written for a male audience.

Secondly, Mia is fully written as “the plain-girl-who-is-actually-pretty”. This whole trope bothers me IMMENSELY. YA is full of girls who are described as plain, forgettable, or ugly while their physical descriptions are just the dictionary definition of conventionally attractive. It seems like a way to market off of girls’ self-consciousness while still being able to market the main character as a hot heroine in official art. And there is, of course, the issue of Mia’s boob job Readwithcindy (just “withcindy” now!) did a whole video about this so I won’t get into it much just to repeat what she already said, but I agree that the idea of a 30-something year old man including this completely unnecessary detail regarding the sexualization of teenage girl, who we have ALREADY seen in a rape and being sexualized by other men in the story, made me really, really, uncomfortable. I highly recommend you go watch her video, as she touches on this in way more detail. [Cindy's video

RATINGS

Worldbuilding: ★★☆☆☆

A lot of thought obviously went into the world-the mythology, society, and politics are well-thought out. But the way they are introduced is annoying and bland. It seems like the author put a lot of effort into constructing this world but realized a lot of it would be left out of the book, so he crammed it into footnotes instead.

Tone and writing style: ★☆☆☆☆ for first half, ★★★☆☆ for second half

The tone of the first half is all over the place, like it doesn’t know if it should be dark and gritty or comical and immature. Footnotes and character dialogue ranges from lighthearted and crass to seeped with themes of torture and sexual assault. It is jarring, to say the least, and often feels like the author doesn’t take these ideas of rape or violence seriously. There are so many instances where the scene is tense or gritty, and Kristoff is actually writing it pretty well, I’m enthralled and on the edge of my seat, and then Mia or some other character (or the footnotes) throw in some stupid comment or make the same “Mia is such an asshole lol” joke for the billionth time and completely ruin the mood of that scene. The second half of the book moved much faster and was helped with way better writing, but it really did not do enough to make up for the horrendous structure of the first half of the book.

Pacing and structure: ★☆☆☆☆

The first half of the book really drags on. Once we arrive at the school, there are constant jumps in timeline, marked with periods when a thousand things happen all at once and the plot moves forward at a dizzying rate, and others when the characters just seem to be going about their daily lessons.

Concept: ★★★☆☆

I found the overall idea of the books to be very interesting, even though it is certainly not the most original or unique concept for a YA fantasy book. The issue is that the potential is squandered with a poor execution.

Characters: ★☆☆☆☆

I truly did not care about any of the characters. The token mean girl, the bumbling nice-guy-who-is-definitely-the-love-interest. too many of the characters just sat nicely within their tropes, doing nothing much to pique my interests. I think my favorite overall was Mister Kindly.

[elizabeth-mitchells]

would you have it any other way? | Andy x Quynh

The Old Guard Mini Bang 2020 | @theoldguardevents |  Art created by @elenorasweet​ can be found here

Fandom: The Old Guard (Movie 2020) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Andy | Andromache the Scythian/Quynh | Noriko Words:  6773 Summary: If you put together the age of all the other immortals, it still wouldn't match the number of years that Andy and Quynh have loved each other. Their love, the oldest, the strongest, and the truest thing they both have ever known in their endless lives, might be about to go through the most challenging test yet. The entire team, the entire family, is going through one of its most difficult times so far, including the appearance of a new immortal. Meanwhile, Andy and Quynh have a secret within themselves that they also have to deal with, but, at least, they're happy to be dealing with all of it together, as they were always supposed to do.

aka basically just the exact same plot of the movie, but Quynh is there the entire time because canon is too cruel and i said no thank you

Golden light filled the streets of Morocco and two women walked there as confident as if they could command the very sunlight to their will.

Andy wore black from head to toe and nobody dared stare at her long enough to notice the details. The gun on the waist of her pants, the knife on the heel of her boots, the thin thread from which an ancient pendant hung from, the backpack filled with gifts for her family, and the dark dragon printed on her t-shirt. She looked ready to kill, but so heavily charged with emotional specifics that nothing she did could possibly be taken as meaningless. In conclusion, she looked like she had plenty of reasons, several people in fact, that she was more than ready to kill for. One of them, and pretty obviously judging by the way her otherwise stone-cold face lighted up with a smile every time their hands so much as brushed, was the woman right beside her.

The lightness of Quynh’s outfit, much more fashionable than Andy’s, didn’t exactly make her look any more approachable. She wore a fresh white shirt and stylish, cream-colored pants, but she knew how to hide a dagger in any kind of attire, and if her purse carried nothing but a gun, that was still a deliberate fashion choice. Both women wore dark sunglasses but, where Andy’s frown warned people she wouldn’t hesitate to begin or end any kind of trouble by whatever means necessary, Quynh’s little smile was more of a promise there would be trouble following her.

Still, when the annoying sounds of a bike got impossibly close and a man finally caught up with the women, stopping his bike right ahead of them, Andy and Quynh grinned with genuine affection.

“Booker,” they greeted him in unison.

“Ladies,” the frenchman playfully bowed his head, parked his bike, and then with easy familiarity wrapped his arms around both women, “You guys good? Did you travel?”

Andy fondly patted him in the back and when they all pulled back from the hug she answered, “We did. And I brought you something.” 

While Booker admired his first edition copy of “A Hundred Years of Solitude,” Quynh chuckled and led them forward.

“Don’t be fooled, Sebastien, I got the gift for you, Andromache only carried it on her cute little bag,” Quynh looked back once, smirking at Andy, and reached out to brush her fingers to the other woman’s wrist, teasing.

--

When the doors of the hotel room opened, for an instant, time stopped. Time crashed, time got all tangled up on itself, turned over on its own head. Time was meaningless. Because, how many times had this exact scene played itself in the past thousand years? Andy embraced Nicky with all solemnity and all-encompassing care they felt for one another and the people around them. Quynh pretty much jumped into Joe’s arms, almost, but never completely, catching him off guard. He spun her around once and when he put her down she kissed his cheek with all the unmeasurable love that to this day still made him happily blush. The hugs continued, of course. Joe lifted Andy up in a bear hug that got a laugh from her unlike any other in the world. Then Quynh hugged Nicky, allowing herself a second of safety and warmth surrounded by his arms before playfully doing her best to lift him up. He laughed like only the people in that room had ever heard him.

Greetings, jokes, and gifts exchanged, Quynh let herself fall on one of the couches beside Andy. She had a feeling this moment of bliss wouldn’t last too long and that was the only reason she didn’t allow herself to truly get comfortable at least resting her legs on top of Andy’s. But, she was content for the time being, watching the love of her life get absolutely, almost inappropriately lost in a sweet piece of baklava.

It’s been centuries and this never gets old, Quynh thought, shaking her head fondly as she broke her own gifted baklava in imperfect halves. As always, she ate the smaller half. As always, she saved the rest of Andy.

All too soon the conversation shifted to the reason behind their reunion. It’s a job, we can do some good, this is what we do, we’re not helping, they said. Andy sighed and stood up, walked to the window, and addressed Quynh. “What do you think?” Andy asked her, even though she probably knew, even though it was always the same.

Quynh, who, at that point had twisted herself on the couch into a more comfortable, most probably improper position, thought about it for a second. All around her, her family had felt compelled at one point or another to aid humanity for all possible reasons. Duty, sheer goodness of the heart, guilt, nothing better to do. Personally, she was a restless person. She couldn’t stand being still in a place for long, let alone be useless for longer than to catch her breath and have some fun, her mind wouldn’t let her, her heart wouldn’t allow it. But she didn’t let the struggles of the world plague her every thought, not like Andy did.

“Let’s hear him out,” she said finally, unsurprisingly. If they had had to vote at the moment she wouldn’t have said yes. She would have agreed with Andy, it was too risky, and probably useless. But, every time, as soon as she heard the details of whatever horror humanity was currently inflicting on itself, she’d be the first one out of her seat, ready to right all the wrongs of the world.

Carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders for thousands of years, Andy got used to the feeling. But that didn’t mean it ever stopped being so fucking heavy. It got heavier each passing day and, just lately, Quynh was finding it increasingly difficult to soothe that burden on her lover’s back, to get her to share a little of the strain. She could see, like she didn’t ever remember seeing, Andy truly struggling with the weight of it all or, more specifically, with the conviction it was any worth it to keep holding on. Handling her part of the weight, plus her determination to help the love of her life, it was its own kind of burden on Quynh’s shoulders, but she wasn’t focusing on her own pain, physical, psychological, or of any kind, she didn’t want to.

Almost without Andy noticing, Quynh walked up behind her. The shorter woman wrapped her arms around Andy and kissed her shoulder. They stared out the window for a moment longer before Quynh stated, “This one’s special,” she murmured, fearless as always to put into words what the other woman felt to her core, “I am going with you.”

Usually, Andy would meet with their contacts alone or with Booker, they made a good team. And it was always useful to have a plan B, to make it seem like they had a trick under their sleeves, like they were more in numbers than anyone would ever know, to hold back laughter when poor devils that thought they could play smart with them had to face a meeting with Quynh and Nicky. So, that day, Andy, Quynh, and Booker, met with James Copley.

They accepted the job.

--

Even if Andy didn’t secretly hold the belief that her own heart continued to beat after countless deaths partially out of sheer desire to beat along with Quynh’s heart. Even if she wasn’t forever, eternally in love with the other woman. Even still, Andy would have been thankful to have her on her team, to travel with her, to fight alongside Quynh.

Nobody would question Quynh’s professionalism. She hadn’t selfishly or accidentally endangered her team or their missions too many times more than any of the others had throughout the centuries. She just had the strange little talent of knowing exactly when and where and how much she could push the boundaries of their professionalism in order to make the most out of their time on Earth.

In helicopters, she playfully disregarded security measures. In deserts, she walked with a spring on her step. Wearing a picture-perfect ponytail, dark sunglasses, and all-black clothes that somehow she had forced to fit into a greater fashion sense than any mercenary had ever been known for, she did every little thing only she could get away with. Starting with genuinely trying to distract Nicky when he was about to shoot two guards at once, as she had dared him to do, but just because she trusted him, because she’d taught him that move herself. Then, being the only one quick enough to shoot just once before the five of them died on that kill floor. Lastly, winking at Andy as they came back to life, with holes on their clothes and wounds still healing and just seconds away from tearing down a small army of men.

Quynh was a synonym for life, Andy thought, she is life, I am alive because she is life, and I will live as long as she is with me. Quynh lived her endless life in bold, bright strokes of a brush. And things, the best and worst of them would have probably been so much easier, simpler, if Quynh had been just that, excitement, energy, a mischievous smile. But of course, she was so much more

Quynh was gentleness in places that knew only hostility. She was capable of conjuring patience and calm in the blink of an eye. She was endless conversations and fantastic stories. She carried little kids when they saved them, she found ways to make women feel safe and men believe in peace. She washed Andy’s hair with all the care in the world, and she made sure none of the boys had any blood left in their beards after a battle. She held Andy’s hands because she could tell Andy needed her, but she held so tightly because she needed Andy. At times she was quiet. She was thoughtful. With really big events she took her time to process them instead of any relatively usual impulsiveness. A trait of hers that pained Andy because she knew, the longer Quynh thought about something, the longer she was hurting.

Quynh believed in revenge. She always had. Her heart could fit millions of good, selfless, benevolent feelings, but she still believed in revenge. If the stars aligned for her, she’d kill James Copley herself. But it was never so easy, was it? They had made mistakes too, that day. Could she get revenge on herself? Self-recrimination was one excruciating characteristic she shared with the love of her life. There was no use in pondering about it, if it was a coincidence or if they had picked it up after the other one. At least, one thing more powerful than that was the fierceness with which they’d protect the ones they loved, resulting in them perfectly protecting each other, even from themselves.

--

They were on a train somewhere away from their latest mistake. Booker had started to snore and Joe and Nicky had been perfectly still in each other’s arms for a while now. Andy’s thoughts were too loud to let her sleep, and Quynh’s thoughts too dangerous to keep herself awake for them. She was laying down, with her head comfortably resting on Andy’s lap, even if the rest of her body was unusually uncomfortable in the rough surface where they lay.

“Sleep,” Andy would tell her every few minutes, mindlessly slipping into the old habit of a dead language that only they could remember.

“I can’t, not without you. Sleep with me, my heart. Sleep,” Quynh replied, again and again, the ancient words coming out almost easier than modern English ever did.

“Sleep,” Andy insisted, soothingly running her fingers through her lover’s hair, even after Quynh fell asleep, just until she slept too.

It didn’t last long though… there was Nile.

“She’s beautiful,” Quynh said, somewhat sadly, a minute later as they all discussed what they saw of the new immortal in their dreams, “and smarter and braver than she knows what to do with.” 

She exchanged a look with Andy, silent understanding of what it all meant. It wasn’t the most convenient of moments, but it had never been convenient at all, right? Together they had welcomed four other immortals, and it never got easier. Not when Lykon died. Not when having to explain to Joe and Nicky why they’d never win the war one of them had started. Not when watching Booker lose himself when he lost his family. And it certainly wouldn’t be easy to explain to the new kid how an endless life would mean the ending of the life she already had.

But Nile Freeman was beautiful, smart, and brave. Quynh could tell. Just as she once said Lykon was a hero unlike anybody else, and Joe and Nicky were naturally kind, and Booker was, well, he had been mostly just tired. Her favorite judgment, however, remained that one of a day thousands of years ago when she woke up from a dream, firmly convinced that she had just dreamt of the love of her life.

--

“Good. You’re awake,” Quynh smiled down at Nile.

While Andy was driving the car, Quynh had insisted on sitting in the back to keep company to the new kid. Nevermind the young woman was unconscious after Quynh had allowed Andy to go pick her up by herself.

“Who- What’s going on?” Nile mumbled. Her head hurt and she could barely make sense of the scene around her beyond being in a strange vehicle with an unknown woman gently smiling at her.

“I know you probably have a lot of questions- Ugh, fuck!” Quynh’s explanation was cut short when Nile’s knife pierced through her chest.

An instant later, the young woman had kicked open the trunk of the car and fallen off it.

“What the fuck?! Quynh are you okay?” Andy slammed the brakes of the car and quickly got out. She had been trying to be nonchalant about this whole thing, but a line had been crossed. “Did you just stab my wife?!” she yelled at the retreating figure of Nile, and pulled out her gun.

“Andromache, don’t!” Quynh reached her just in time to make it so that Andy shot only at the ground near Nile. The surprise made her stumble and fall, but it could’ve been worse.

“She stabbed you!” Andy protested, frowning and the blood that was tragically staining Quynh’s otherwise perfectly white t-shirt.

“And we kidnapped her,” Quynh gave her wife a pointed look and with a hand on her arm prompted her to walk forward to properly introduce themselves to the newcomer.

“Who are you?” Nile asked when they were close enough to talk. She was still on the ground, breathing heavily and trying to think of a way to get out of this situation. In front of her were standing two women, one with short brown hair, a black tank top, and a look in her eyes incredibly threatening. Beside her was another woman of long black hair, wearing a now blood-stained white t-shirt with rolled sleeves and looking a little too put together for the desert they were in, she was smiling, but she somehow didn’t seem much more friendly than the other one.

Before replying, Andy shared a look with Quynh, as if finding all necessary answers there. “Don’t worry,” she said at last, “You’re safe, you’re not in any danger. We are… we are people like you. I know you just figured out you can’t die, we can’t either. I know it might not look like it at the moment, but we are saving you from much worse situations. We don’t have all the answers, kid. But you don’t have to figure it out alone, okay?” There was a pause then where Andy and Quynh exchanged another look. It might have been reassuring or encouraging, teasing, or amused. It could have been an entire silent conversation in the span of a second. But the point was that Andy looked at Nile once more and with more relaxed features added, “Now, could you please get back in the car?”

Andy offered Nile her hand, and helped the young woman stand back up. When Andy started walking away, Quynh turned to look at Nile. “Her name is Andromache, you should probably call her Andy. And my name’s Quynh,” She offered her hand to Nile, smiled when she heard her name, and then immediately tightened her hold until it almost hurt. “If you stab me again, you’re going to regret it,” she winked, and she was smiling, and Nile was fascinated by the perfect balance of menacing and welcoming in that gesture. “Welcome to the team!” Quynh added in a sing-song, turning around and following Andy back to the car.

--

Throughout history, Quynh had to sleep in the strangest of places. It was just a part of their lives, warriors couldn’t be picky about a place to rest their heads for a few hours. Besides, with one of Andy’s arms draped over her waist, Quynh felt safe enough to fall asleep even in the sketchy plane of an even sketchier… businessman, of sorts. However, her sleep was interrupted after a while when, in a matter of seconds, she made a move to turn around, found herself restrained, her struggle woke up Andy, they realized they had their wrists chained to the seats of the plane, and the new kid was pointing a gun at the pilot of the plane.

“Oh, this will be fun,” Quynh mumbled through a yawn, getting comfortable in her place.

She smiled when the pilot played dead as instructed by Andy. “Yeah, I do not recommend it,” she said when Nile swore she wouldn’t jump off a plane. “Not me?” she playfully pouted when Nile freed Any first. And she grinned expectantly as she watched the two other women engage in a fight that she knew was necessary and more meaningful than any outsider would have guessed. She teased Andy, cheered Nile on, and threw her head back laughing when the young woman got two hits at Andy’s face.

After the fight was over, Andy took the keys from Nile and got Quynh out of her restraints. The newest immortal was still standing, looking a little lost and teary-eyed in the middle of the plane, when Quynh stood up and faced her. “My turn?” she playfully asked, and felt her heart swell with affection at the sight of the confusion and hint of irritation in the young woman’s face. “I’m kidding,” Quynh said softly and smiled genuinely this time. Then she opened her arms, a silent offer that she wouldn’t push and wouldn’t be offended if rejected but-

Nile stepped forward and lightly wrapped her arms around Quynh’s shoulders, accepting the hug. It was strange, it was completely unfamiliar, but so much had happened in the past day or so. She had died, for fucks sake, she deserved a hug. “I’m sorry for stabbing you,” Nile grumbled.

In response, Quynh chuckled, “It probably won’t be the last time. And you can thank me for the clothes, Andromache alone would have kept you in your bloody uniform.”

--

“You two are the oldest,” Nile stared seriously at the two women at the other side of the table.

Andy and Quynh exchanged a look. “Andromache is a little bit older,” Quynh said with a smile.

“How old?” Nile asked.

“It’s not our first millennium I can tell you that,” Quynh took a sip of wine and leaned back on her chair.

“How old?” Nile insisted.

“Too old,” Andy said with finality.

--

The night wasn’t quiet, it never was in that place though. They were all accustomed to the sounds of the planes, and Nile had been exhausted enough to fall asleep despite the noise. Still, Quynh was so in tune with her lover’s mind, that she felt Andy’s thoughts to be even louder than the planes above their heads. When everyone else had gone to sleep, she had stayed in one of the armchairs, talking with Andy about everything, and nothing, and their upcoming mission. At least, they had been talking about that, until Andy’s worries got the best of her and she was rendered silent, staring at her own hand as if it was the first time she saw it.

From her place curled up in the other chair, Quynh stared at her. She wouldn’t be surprised if she had figured it out before Andy herself. She could say with certainty she knew Andy’s body better than she knew her own. Their way of living had made it so that at times they went years without facing an actual mirror. In all her years Quynh had stared at Andy way more than at herself. Had loved her intensely, tenderly, carefully, hurriedly, in every way they had possibly thought of. She had held her in her arms as she died and came back to life more times than she could count. There was no language, in all languages humanity had ever come up with, for Quynh describe the intimate connection she shared with Andy. It would have been a deadly offense to her for anyone to think that she hadn’t noticed a change, in Andy’s eyes, in her hands, in her skin, in the very way she was breathing.

Andy had been lost in her thoughts until she noticed Quynh perching herself on the arm of the chair she was in.

“I’m sorry, my love, what were you saying?” Andy looked up at her, just realizing she had stopped listening and talking a while ago.

Quynh sighed and met Andy’s eyes, kicking through any and all walls the other woman could attempt to put up to hide her real thoughts. Andy’s eyes widened a little when she realized Quynh was already caught up with her train of thought, but she didn’t have anything to say, not yet.

“I was saying…” Quynh started to say, picking up Andy’s hand to kiss her knuckles and then hold on tightly, “That you look beautiful tonight, my heart,” She felt a knot on her throat and it only worsened when Andy smiled at her. It was a unique smile, amused, genuine, she was thankful, she wasn’t afraid, but there was an apology in there somewhere. “As beautiful as the first day I saw you,” Quynh added with all the conviction she could muster without breaking down.

Both women were still silent, staring at their intertwined hands when Nile woke up from a nightmare, gasping for air.

--

“His name was Lykon,” Andy said, trying to explain to Nile why she’d just had a nightmare of a warrior dying from a wound on his stomach. “He was the third immortal. Only Quynh and I got to know him. He died before the rest of you were born, way before.”

“He was dying,” Nile whispered, “He was… he was bleeding so much, and there was no way to stop it. He was calm, he felt… ready but, it hurt. It hurt too much, and I don’t think he wanted to die.”

Andy didn’t need to turn around to know that, behind her, Quynh was standing by the dining table, holding to its edge until her knuckles were white, and her eyes were burning a hole on the ground. Lykon’s death would never stop hurting them, not really. He was Quynh’s best friend in a way that nobody could ever match again. He was far from the first soldier Andy lost, but definitely the one loss that hurt her the most. Plus, only with his death, and after thousands of years of life, the two women had to face the reality that they weren’t completely immortal, and losing each other would forever be a possibility.

“He was the best warrior, and man, I’ve ever met,” Andy stated, her voice steady, unwavering, honoring him, even thousands of years later, “He was all full of courage, light, skill and… smiles.” She made a quick pause, allowing herself to remember one of the most painful days of her entire existence on this Earth. “We were fighting a small battle, nothing we hadn’t done a hundred times before. Everything was going according to plan, seamlessly. We got hurt, we stood back up. Until… he didn’t. He got hurt, and his wounds didn’t heal. Just like that. His time had come. Nothing we can do about it.”

Nile closed her eyes for a second. She still had an arm holding on to her own abdomen. “Why am I dreaming of him?” she asked, opening her eyes to glare at Andy.

“The dreams stop when we meet. Then they restart, when one of us dies. Those dreams, memories of them, they aren’t constant, but they don’t stop,” Andy explained, taking a quick look at the rest of her team, the three men that had dreamed of Lykon their entire lives without ever meeting him. “They won’t always be of his death, I promise,” Andy tried to explain, but a second later Nile was standing up and hurrying out the door.

After another meaningful look to the other half of her family, Andy grabbed a gun out of habit, and followed the young woman outside.

“I’m going with you,” Quynh said, as Andy passed beside her, “I need some air.” And the group was split in half, for longer than any of them could have expected. 

--

“Wait for my signal,” Andy said to Nile before turning around, accepting the sword Quynh was holding out for her. Then the two of them confidently moved toward the abandoned church, to wait for a group of soldiers that during their last seconds of life would deeply regret ever taking that job.

“I could have done this by myself, you know?” Andy smiled at Quynh from their hiding place among the shadows.

“You could, doesn’t mean you have to,” Quynh replied, making an effort to not even hint at the fact that for the first time ever Andy’s mortality wasn’t as certain as it had always been. Instead, Quynh put on the playful smile that she knew Andy needed to see in her. “My heart, it’s been an eternity already, please accept that for as long as I’m here, you’ll never have to do anything alone.”

Quynh kissed Andy’s cheek and a second later she urged her lover to get out and dive, almost literally, into the fight waiting for them. Quynh let her go first, Andy always went first, and usually, Quynh didn’t complain. She loved looking at her wife conquer a battle fearlessly, almost effortlessly, it was a sight worth all the treasures in the world. But then, of course, as soon as one of the men showed even the remote intention of pulling a knife from behind Andy, Quynh was already there, making sure he didn’t live enough to even picture Andy hurt because of him. 

It went on and on, almost too easily. Andy and Quynh fighting side by side, picking up guns and swinging their swords and not letting their enemies even a chance to think about the goddesses of war that had stepped in their paths. It was over as quickly as it started. The whole place catching fire, Joe and Nicky already too far away, Nile and Booker in the backseat of the car.

Quynh had been there to guard Andy’s back, and keep her from any serious injury, and maybe she was the only one looking for confirmation of her greatest fears, but the fact remained that she could hardly tear her eyes away from Andy’s bruised knuckles holding the steering wheel. Insignificant little bruises, but they were there, not healing as they should. 

--

Quynh had to take a step back when Nile explained to Andy why she couldn’t go along with them. That experience was hurting Quynh more than anyone realized. She felt physical pain in a way she couldn’t explain. She had accepted Nile as a member of their family, she already felt protective, and charmed by the young woman. It hurt to watch her go, it hurt to watch her pick a different side when they needed her.

Andy seemed to understand though, of course she did. Andy had been a leader for pretty much as long as she had been alive, which was… a lot. Andy could make sense of why everybody did what they did, in and out of battle it seemed, and she always explained it to Quynh in a way that was too forgiving of the others. It hurt Quynh to watch Andy understand what was the right thing to do, it hurt because there was no one and there would never be anyone like Andy. It hurt Quynh because she could never do what Andy does, be like Andy, and she didn’t ever want to take over that role, didn’t even want to picture it, and now she might have to.

So, it was only Andy, Quynh, and Booker stepping into Copley’s office. It felt wrong, Quynh couldn’t explain why but it did. What kind of man is so calm when three immortal warriors are pointing at him with guns?

Well, the explanation lies with the third immortal, Booker, who wasn’t aiming at Copley at all. He was shaking, making the most difficult decision of his life, even if it was just a small part of the worst decision that he had already taken a while ago. He was thinking about how long they take to heal. He was thinking about who would react the quickest, and who wouldn’t hesitate to shoot him in the head for shooting her wife. So, he shot Quynh in the heart, killing her instantly, and buying himself enough time to shoot Andy near the stomach. Andy had enough time to shoot him in the leg, but her gun fell off her grip, and she fell to her knees.

By the time Quynh came back to her senses, there were tears streaming down Andy’s face, and there was a wound on her stomach that wouldn’t stop bleeding. Quynh gritted her teeth and accepted the pain, forced herself to accept Andy’s mortality, Booker’s betrayal, her own rage, and her even greater heartache. She wanted to reach out to Andy, she wanted to kill Booker a thousand times over this, she wanted to just lie there and hope for it all to be a nightmare. She didn’t have a chance to do any of that before she was restrained by a group of strange men taking her and her broken family away.

--

“Fuck! Let me go,” Quynh groaned as she was being securely tied down to one of the beds in Merrick’s lab. She was the only one fighting it. “Let me kill him just once and I’ll gladly settle down after. Fucking-”

Andy was staring at her while the doctor sedated Quynh for the third time already. If she had had the strength, maybe Andy would have smiled. It was the natural reaction, to smile when she watched Quynh fight, smile when Quynh was bold, when she was playful, when she loved Andy in every way possible, and beyond. It didn’t feel right then, to look at the love of her life and feel only the need to start crying. From her point of view, this was the end for Andy. The weight of the world had finally become too much for her to bear. The world had finally crumbled down around her, taking her family down with it, turning Booker against her, rendering Joe and Nicky helpless, and Quynh… Quynh would lose her any moment now. Was this where all their promises would break?

--

Their time in Merrick’s lab was anything but boring. Quynh had been angry enough, had been quick enough, to knock out one of the doctors and free one of her hands on one occasion. That was as far as she got. She was sedated two times more. Each time she woke up was more frightening for her than the last. Andy’s name was the first thing coming out of her lips, and the first thing she heard was her lover’s reassuring “I’m here. Still here, Quynh, still here.” But it could only be so reassuring when “here” was one of the worst places they had ever been.

Two memories had made its way to the forefront of Quynh’s mind. One, the first time Andy and her died after Lykon’s definitive death. She had never felt as scared as she was during the seconds it took Andy to come back, and she had never been as desperate to come back to life, back to Andy, as she did that time. The second memory, the witches’ trials, the iron coffin, the feeling of being trapped, entirely hopeless. Andy had escaped just in time to follow in a different ship, but she couldn’t stop them from throwing Quynh to the ocean. She jumped right after her, but it still took hours to free Quynh from her prison. Some nights she still had nightmares where they didn’t manage it at all. This couldn’t be it. Not again. Quynh knew she had to fight with everything she had but, what if it wasn’t enough?

Andy wasn’t putting up a fight. Her hopelessness pained Quynh more than she could put into words, but it also inspired her to fight harder, to get all of them out of there. But it was difficult. It couldn’t be impossible, but it was difficult. She couldn’t even hear herself think. There was Joe fighting Booker, and Quynh related to that anger, but she had new priorities. There was Nicky trying to calm Joe down, and Quynh understood his silent rage, but she didn’t have time to listen to all their words. Least of all, she couldn’t stand the noise of Booker trying to defend himself. Loudest of all, however, was Andy’s silence, and Quynh’s own heart, breaking in her chest.

--

Nile’s arrival had been the closest thing to a miracle the four immortals had seen in their long, long lives. Quynh grinned as soon as she saw her, because it wasn’t a miracle, it was the most, if not only reasonable thing she’d seen in days. She had known, maybe since the moment that Nile had stabbed her, that the young woman had the potential to be everything the world needed, and more. At least, at the moment, she was everything the group needed, and that much was clear. Nile was hope, and just the sight of her was enough to send the five warriors up to their feet and ready to fight. 

Andy convinced Booker to stand up, and convinced Joe to postpone the arguing. However, nobody, except for Booker, flinched at all at the moment Quynh confidently and calmly walked up to him just to punch him in the face strong enough for him to require a few seconds to recover. It was enough, for the moment. They had bigger problems waiting for them on the other side of the doors.

The fight was equal parts exciting and terrifying. It wasn’t the most difficult thing they’d done, but it was the first time they did it while one of them was mortal. It wasn’t easy, trusting their backs to Booker during the fight, but it came naturally enough. It was their priority, but it was undeniably difficult, to think of protecting Andy. Andy, who always moved first, Andy who regularly died for them, Andy who barely adjusted her fighting to be a little more defensive than usual, but not enough. Quynh and Nile found a common ground there, fighting anything and everyone, including Andy herself, to make sure the newly-mortal woman remained safe enough. If Andy slipped away from them at one moment, well, that much was inevitable.

--

There was one moment, right before the worst of the fight.

“Are you going to let her do this?!” Nile asked Quynh, talking about Andy refusing to wear any protection and insisting on entering the fight first.

Quynh was resting her back against the wall, eyes closed and breathing heavily. She had never felt this exhausted for as long as she could remember. Her body was screaming, her mind was beyond overwhelmed, and her heart couldn’t exactly handle the emotional stakes of the situation. There would be pain in seeing Andy risk her life, the only life she had. There would be pain in seeing Andy be careful, in seeing the love of her life, who Quynh had associated with invincibility for all of her life, act anything but unbreakable. Quynh could ask, she could very seriously ask and she could probably get Andy to take a step back for once in her life.

“I can’t stop her,” Quynh replied finally. But not in the way Nile thought right then. She couldn’t stop her, because Quynh knew and understood her wife and so she knew that to ask this of Andy at that moment, it would be an offense she wouldn’t be able to take back. Andy needed this moment, even if it was the last one, especially if it was the last one. They would walk into this battle as they always had and if it was up to them, they would also walk away from it as they always had.

--

Finally, it was all over. The boys were chasing the elevator down to catch Merrick, Andy and Nile were standing by the window, talking. Quynh was just rounding a corner, walking toward them with a smile, when something hit her in the head hard enough to knock her down to the ground. 

Quynh fought with everything she had to stay conscious. She opened her eyes, and Merrick was pointing his gun at Andy. She closed her eyes and heard gunshots. She opened her eyes, and only Andy was standing there, looking proud as ever.

“Is it over?” Quynh asked Andy with a smile while the taller woman offered her a hand to get her up to her feet.

“Which part?” Andy laughed.

They were both a little unsteady on their feet but, holding on to each other, they walked over to the elevator and started their descent. It was the first quiet moment they had to themselves in days. They could finally breathe, they could finally take a good look at each other and let the reality of their situation settle in around them.

“How do you feel?” Quynh asked.

“How do you feel?” Andy turned the question around on her. She smiled when she noticed the confusion on Quynh’s face. “You’re bleeding, my love,” she explained, her voice breaking just slightly. Andy moved a hand to Quynh’s face and one of her fingers just lightly grazed the small wound where Merrick had hit her with the handle of Andy’s labrys. Quynh hissed in pain. She had felt it for a short while already, and the confirmation wasn’t as startling as it should have been. She wasn’t healing either. “But you were out there, risking yourself for me,” it was just a statement on Andy’s part, not really a question, but not completely a reprimand either.

“Well, obviously,” Quynh replied, smiling as genuinely as ever, smiling in that particular way that Andy loved more than ever, brighter than any star, more meaningful than any combination of words could dream of being.

“We will figure this out together,” Andy said, taking Quynh’s bruised hand and interlocking their blood-stained fingers with all the tenderness they had accumulated through three thousand years of love for each other and the world around them. “Just you and me,” she promised.

Quynh looked at her, her best friend, the love of her life, the person she admired the most, the person she’d die a thousand times and come back for, her favorite endless source of happiness and passion, purpose and strength. They had first made this promise back when they didn’t know an “end” was even possible for them. This time would be the most difficult occasion when Quynh would have to say the words, but also the most important. “Until the end,” she swore, meaning the words more than ever before.

The doors of the elevator opened, and Andy and Quynh walked out, hand in hand, facing the beginning of their end bravely, happily, ready, as long as they were together.

[strangerays]

Nothing in Particular Update #1

Hello, hello!! It’s been a really long time since I’ve written an update for this story! (this is a real update btw, forget the “first” one I had) To be honest, I haven’t been able to work on this story as much as I would like, being busy with classes and... well just life in general. (what I mean by this is that Shadow and Bone was released on Netflix) But! I do have some excerpts I wanted to put out there as well as some overall changes to the story.

Before I start: here’s the actual link to the story synopsis/characters!

TAGLIST (ask to be +/-): @wannabeauthorzofija @a-completely-normal-girl @baguettethebooklover @corkytheguar @writeherewaiting​ @raenawrites

STORY CHANGES/IDEAS:

First off: I had to rewrite 30,000 words and basically turn it into 10,000. The first draft was icky, but I turned it into something I really enjoy! This is a sign that writing is always worth it!!

I added in a couple of characters! I was starting to feel like the story might not have been balanced enough. Luckily, the muse struck me and I created Mars and Theo! Mars is a lovely (and enigmatic) older woman that Ray meets at a bird sanctuary and Theo is a new friend of Lonan’s.

There wasn’t much action in the beginning of the story, so I wrote a confrontation between Jude’s friends and another person that Ray spies on. This is how she meets Jude, and I am in lovvve.

The timeline for the entire story might be a little bit longer than I intended! I went into this project thinking it might only take place over a month, but in order for Ray’s mental health journey to be realistic, I’m going to shoot for an entire school year (around six-seven months). Honestly, I’m just happy I get to write a Halloween scene. As for the word count total HAHA I have no clue what that will look like.

I think Lonan will be a bit of a back-burner character! At first, I was a little wary of this decision since he’s my favorite, but I think it would be very exciting to have Ray hype him up before he ever appears in the story. That way, the reader sort of starts to think about him in one way, yet he might be completely different when he finally shows up...??

Chapter titles are one of my favorite things about this story. Also! I am a huge fan of short chapters! They move the story right along.

I prefer to write slower and use other projects to balance out this one when I get a little tired of it. Over the last month or so, I’ve gotten really into short story writing again! This has been really helpful in working on my specificity and pretty prose. Even though the short stories don’t contribute to Nothing in Particular, I’ve been taking a lot of what I’m learning and applying it!

EXCERPTS (UNDER THE CUT)

CHAPTER ONE: THE SPY

#1

During the summer between my sophomore and junior year, Lonan Herrings packed me into his Dad’s repainted Chevrolet, left his name sharp on his mother’s tongue, and drove to New York City at six in the morning. For the first time since we’d become friends, jealousy weighed our silence. He buzzed across the highway, even though we knew his mother had no intention of finding us.

#2

“Which animal would I be,” he asked, “if I left tomorrow and lived in the forest?”

“Why would you want to do that?” I smiled even though I knew he was probably serious.

His shoulders squared and he looked out his window. Two men in the next car shouted at each other, their windows down. Something about a mortgage. “You would come with me, of course.” He turned to me. “Which animal gets along best with a doe?”

#3

I shut my eyes to snap the cold. It might have been the fact that, most times, his gentle voice pulled ragged words from his throat, as if he had just stepped out of the rain after standing in it for hours. It might have been the way he cupped the rim of a camera with humble demure. I was never afraid to tell him anything in the patience that bled from him. His eyes were milky blue and he wore an olive jacket covered in pins that kept strangers interested. Since he seemed like he felt out of place most times, I never did. We were a grade apart; our friendship bloomed late. So long as I had a friend at all, I didn’t care how we’d met.

“You would be a blue jay,” I decided. For only a second, I’d been worried that I offended him, until his mouth curved to one side and he laughed softly, as though he wasn’t sure he was allowed. His head hovered over the steering wheel. A patch of freckles absently creeped over the bridge of his nose like winter weeds.

This first chapter is a flashback to exactly a year before the second chapter takes place! After an argument with his mom, Lonan drives out of state with Ray. I plan for it to be all we see of Lonan (in the present) up until the halfway point of the story.

CHAPTER TWO: I WAS QUIET

#1

I was a firm believer that the best art was created when the artist was alone, angry, or depressed.

After Lonan secured his train ticket to New York, I was surprised to find that I became none of these things. We buried a time capsule, painted his walls cerulean, and drove two-hundred miles without a word to anyone. Some of my most colorful memories were unplanned in the beginning.

#2

Katherine Herrings’ bakery loitered over the coast of town, sheltered in pitch crags and shallow tide pools congested with cigarettes. I often ate lunch on the deck on my break. She was the only person I knew who – after everything her nephew had said – didn’t make him the first topic of our conversations.

An indie rock song that I recognized buzzed from a radio below me. I pulled my tablet screen down and pushed my chair out so the plastic legs kicked up and scratched the backs of my legs.  Slowly, I peered between my ankles, through the patio boards, and into the boat lodge below. Pumpkin-red hair plastered to my forehead in the heat that clung to the late days of September. Waves bubbled and crashed, peanut oil dripped from hot dog buns, and muffled gossip chirped like a family of cicadas. I bit my tongue at the bitter smoke that warped the wind.

#3

Jude laughed then, and her shoulders tipped, haughty. Waves hissed in her silence as the lights in the kitchen behind Katherine flickered. Her mouth opened slightly at the ring of dishes and laughter that danced with each other inside. A moment passed before she took a wide step back.

Together, her accomplices waltzed after her as she ran down the pavement, flecking sand until the night’s blue air gulped their outlines. Katherine beat a towel against the patio leg, then she slid and locked the door. Frogs jeered in the silence that pervaded the sea.

I whispered the name back to myself so I wouldn’t forget it. Jude Ahuja. I took a sip of ginger ale, and she buzzed on my lips.

The story cuts to Ray’s senior year of high school. Summer has just ended, Lonan has left for college, and her camera is broken. Jude is a bit like a character out of a film to her, and she wishes she could know more about her after witnessing a loud argument with Katherine Herrings, Lonan’s aunt.

CHAPTER THREE: PEOPLE-WATCHING

#1

Early into our friendship, I’d learned this patience. The first time he brought me to Sugarfell, he told me that all of the paths led back to the same place. As long as you played the game, you were guaranteed a prize. He didn’t speak much, but I knew he wasn’t a very good liar.

Less than an hour passed when I was met with silence. I crept up and down the same path four times. Each step sent a shock through my legs to my chest. The sun hadn’t risen to the highest point in the sky, still glimmering through tree branches in golden fractals, pulling on static darkness.

#2

“Are you crying?” he asked.

I shook my head fast. “No.” My voice barely reached a whisper. It was a lot deeper than normal.

He puckered his lips as though I had offended him. “But you were about to.”

“You said that all the paths lead back to one another.” I stood up from the jagged stump and shuffled through the leaves until the tips of our shoes were inches apart. “I knew you’d come back. And you did.”

#3

When I turned back, sore curiosity teased the emerald in Lonan’s eyes.

“Do you ever people-watch?” he asked softly.

This chapter is another really short chapter that I’m ultimately not sure I’m going to keep! I sort of included it by accident while Ray was riding her bike to the forest, but I ended up really liking it as a bridge into the next scene. Hopefully, I find I way to make it fit!!

CHAPTER FOUR: SUGAR-COATED

#1

Years with Lonan had prepared me for being alone. If you spend any long amount of time with someone, you’ll become a thief to their behaviors. Lonan observed too much. If I stared long enough, trees began to replace all of the people we’d ever seen. Oaks with roots that serpentined the ground like children splashing in the bay, pines with needles like spindly old hands, maples with hollows like watchful eyes.

#2

I did remember, but I couldn’t then. Blood gushed too close to his eyelid and dripped down his cheek like tears. There was a grace period in my life – likely when I was a newborn – when I couldn’t picture what my blood would look like on the light side of my skin.

And this is where I’ll leave off on the excerpts for now! I’ve been really focused on taking my time and setting things up before the next chapter, which is going to have lots more action in it. Things are going to start picking up again, so I’m really excited for that!

Thanks for reading if you made it this far :)

[jisungsmochi]

the coffee shop boy - njm

new coffee shop employee! jaemin / little rivalry b/w reader x jaemin hehe / just lots of teasing eachother and some fluff too 

some references to my jeno imagine for my nct dream job au series! 

link to my masterlist so you can read the others! 

a/n: inspired by katie & aiden’s story in ‘alexa & katie’ on netflix! pls stream it hehe 

word count: 3.9k - hope you all enjoy :) 

//

the first time you met na jaemin was in front of the cafe you worked at. your manager was running a donation drive where customers could donate toys or books for the local children’s hospital. you offered to bake complementary cookies for each person who donated. so there you were, standing outside the cafe, handing out cookies. you swore you turned away for one second, when you heard someone halt infront of the stand. the person swiftly grabbed a handful of cookies, shoving one into their mouth. you turn back around, glaring at the clueless boy infront of you.

“excuse me! those are only for people who have donated” you sternly informed, the boy still not having any sign of regret,

“my bad, i just see free cookies” he smirked, taking another bite of one. you reached to grab the others that were in his hands, but he ended up pulling away before you could reach him. you felt your body tip over the table, the plate of cookies and some donations, falling onto the ground. you loudly groan to yourself, quickly standing up and brushing off any dirt on your apron. your manager, doyoung, immediately rushed outside and to his dismay, he only saw you and a broken table with cookies scattered everywhere. the mysterious boy just took off, what an asshole.

“y/n, clean this up, now” doyoung orders, as you nod. you hoped that boy never came anywhere near the cafe ever again, or you might as well just lose it entirely.  

“and then, he grabbed the cookies and took off! if i ever see him again i want to give him a piece of my mind” you rant as your friend lia listens carefully. you were both eating lunch at a random restaurant she had heard about.

“he sounds like a dick” lia shakes her head in disappointment as you both chew on your fries.

“i know right! and now doyoung thinks i’m incapable of being assistant manager” you grunt, frustrated at the events of the day prior.

“don’t be so negative! you are a loyal employee and you are good at your job. you’ll get promoted soon, i’m sure of it” lia gives your an assuring smile, as you nod along with her. you were glad to have her by your side whenever you would rant like this, it helped you not completely lose it.

“hey! cookie girl!” you heard a sudden voice echo through the restaurant. both you and lia turned to the voice calling you, only to be met with the boy from yesterday.

“you’ve got to be kidding me” you groaned, putting on a small, fake smile to greet to boy.

“fancy seeing you here, stalking me now right?” he chuckled to himself, approaching your table. lia looked over at you with a ‘what the hell?’ expression, you just widened your eyes, unsure of how to respond to either of them.

“whatever helps you sleep at night” you respond, as jaemin just smirks.

“sorry about the cookies by the way. don’t get offended but, they weren’t that good to begin with” he slyly poked at you. you wanted to give him a good lecture about how hard you worked on those damn cookies but you noticed how lia was getting concerned about your next moves. you took a deep breath before giving the boy another blunt answer,

“you’re entitled to your own wrong opinion. now may you please leave me and my friend alone?” you just shot another fake smile, as jaemin couldn’t take his eyes off you. you started feeling repulsed by just his gaze, why did he have to stare for such long periods of time?

“sure thing, see you around” he winks before heading out of the restaurant.

“who the hell was that? is he the cookie thief?!” lia’s mouth was agape as you nodded.

“he was indeed. i just want to wipe that grin off his face!” you cross your arms in frustration. lia just rolls her eyes,

“he’s kinda cute, don’t you think?” she starts to wiggle her eyebrows as you throw a fry at her.

“you have a boyfriend!” you begin to tease as she starts blushing,

“jeno doesn’t need to know” she jokes as you both begin laughing.

(a/n: yes the jeno here is from the bubble tea girl au hehe) 

you were happy that lia had a boyfriend, but it often made you feel distant from her. you felt like you couldn’t ask her to hang out as much, incase she had plans with jeno. you knew that she would have dropped everything to hang out with you, but you still felt guilty if she ditched jeno like that. you wished that you had a boyfriend of your own, so you could hang out all together without the awkward third wheel vibe. but that was a long shot for you, or so you thought.

//

it had been a solid two weeks since that interaction with jaemin, in which you still didn't know his name yet. after constant hassling, doyoung promoted you to assistant manager.

"we have a new employee coming in today, i need you to train him" doyoung orders as you nod in agreement.

"never fear! i'll teach him everything in my barista 101 guide!" you smile, pulling out a pastel green notebook with random coloured tabs sticking out of it.

"i didn't ask, but you do you" doyoung shrugs, patting your shoulder before heading to the back room. doyoung always picked on you, but you were sure, you were his favourite employee.

you were fixing up any last notes in your guide, when you heard the bell above the door ring. you set everything aside, ready to take the next order. you look up, eyes meeting those of the boy you never wanted to see again.

"you" you huff out, eyes immediately glaring, face now stone cold.

"me" jaemin smiled widely, walking up to the counter, leaning his elbows on the top of it.

"fall on any more tables yet?" he chuckled to himself as you mimicked his words, turning away from him to continue writing in your book. he had some nerve teasing you like that.

"y/n, what are you doing? this is jaemin, the new employee" doyoung bursted out of the backroom, standing behind you. you instantly froze, looking over to jaemin who was now standing up straight with his arms crossed over his chest. he had bright blue hair, a blue denim jacket on, and that damn smirk of his plastered on his face. you couldn't stop glaring, slowing moving to face jaemin and doyoung.

"just train him well okay? i don't want to have to deal with any mess in here" doyoung sighed, walking away from the both of you. jaemin had his eyes fixed on you.

"you know just cause you're cute and all, doesn't mean this job is going to be easy" you muttered as you dig behind the counter to find jaemin a spare apron.

"oh so you think i'm cute?" you could hear the flirtatious tone leaving his mouth. you shot up from behind the counter and threw the apron forcefully at his face. to your displeasure, he ended up catching it before it could hit him. jaemin tied the apron on himself, meeting you behind the counter.

"let's get started shall we. i have written pretty much everything you need to learn in this book right here! it's a beginner's guide, with all my best tips and tricks so i-" you were interrupted by jaemin fiddling with the coffee machine, not paying attention to a single word that left your mouth. you groaned in annoyance, watching as he handed you the cup of coffee he had just made.

"try it" he urged you, observing your every move. you cautiously look at him and then at the cup in your hands. you didn't want to admit it, but it looked and smelled pretty good. you slowly took a sip of the warm drink, eyes avoiding those of jaemin. you hated to compliment him, but the boy had some skills. you felt jaemin's eyes on you, ready for your verdict.

"it's alright i guess" you sigh, trying to play off how impressed you were. jaemin just chuckled, knowing he was already doing a good job.

"i don't need that little book of yours, i think i'm just about perfect" you rolled your eyes at the taller boy, giving him a small slap on the shoulder.

"get to work buddy, tables need some wiping and coffees need to be made" you made your way to the cash register, beginning to take orders as customers entered the shop. jaemin couldn't help but shake his head at your bossy persona. he found it entertaining, but also quite enticing. he couldn't wait to work with you more.

//

weeks had passed since jaemin started working at the coffee shop. he never asked for any of your help, making you quite frustrated that he wouldn't even listen to a single piece of advice you had. it's as if your authority as assistant manager and his trainer, was thrown out the window. you were getting ready to start your shift, noticing jaemin drawing something on the front window with some paint pens.

"what the hell are you doing? doyoung hates it when we mess with the window art!" you nag at the blue haired boy. jaemin just rolls his eyes, turning back at you,

"can you like stop nagging me for one minute?" he responds, continuing to draw on the window. you let out a small huff, and as if on cue, doyoung approaches both of you.

"ooo you're in troubleee" you slyly mutter, waiting for the scene to unfold. jaemin turns to face doyoung, who at first didn't say a word.

"jaemin, i didn't give you permission to do this" doyoung started, you felt yourself perk up at the possibility of jaemin getting scolded.

"but i was kind of wanting a new design anyway, your doodles are quite nice actually. keep it up" doyoung smiles, looking over at your pissed off expression. he just pats your shoulder before heading off to do business of his own.

"you can't bust me, sweetie. i'm just that good" jaemin walks closer to you, backing your up against the counter.

"you are so infuriating" you grunt through your teeth, eyes meeting jaemin’s. he had a slight kindness in his eyes. as if he was pleading for you to not to be so mad at him. jaemin chuckled softly,

"you're gonna just have to deal with it then" he leaves you stunned as he walked behind the counter, starting to take orders.

was he always this handsome?

you shook your head from your thoughts, na jaemin was utterly unbearable to be around, so why couldn't you stop thinking about him?

//

"you know what he did the other day?" you begin another rant, this time lia and jeno were your audience.

"what did he do?" lia played along, looking over at jeno who was invested in your story.

"so, you know suzy? the dreaded middle aged woman who always complains about her coffee having too much sugar? yeah well, jaemin served her the other day and she complimented him! right infront of me!" you started to pout. lia started giggling causing jeno to start giggling as well.

"what's so funny?" you furrow your eyebrows at the couple.

"doesn't sound like you hate him all that much to me" jeno smirked, wiggling his eyebrows at you. you just give him a scowl in return.

"no you see jeno, y/n hides her feelings for jaemin through all this teasing, and so does he. it’s adorable" lia commented, causing you to know scowl at her.

"you guys are being ridiculous! he is so infuriating, no one can be that perfect at making coffees? especially a beginner anyway" you continue being stubborn as your friends just roll their eyes, already convinced you were in complete and utter denial.

you went home that day, thinking back to the times you felt yourself stare a bit too long at jaemin. he was so charismatic, he could practically charm any person who entered the shop. he had doyoung, the most stone cold person you had met, wrapped around his finger. he was the perfect barista, and could even do coffee art. you envied how good he was, considering it took you months to perfect your own skills. you knew that hating jaemin wasn't the way to handle this whole situation, but it was much easier than having him know that you sort of liked him.

//

you were writing down stuff in your weekly planner, it helped you stay organised with your daily tasks so you knew you wouldn’t forget anything. well, except your pastel green notebook. you swore you had left it at work, but for the past week you hadn’t been able to find it. you were slowly starting to accept that you lost it, and all your hard work over the past 6 months was for nothing. you let a soft groan, finishing up your final sentence, as you heard the boy next to you clear his throat.

“may i help you?” you move your head to face him, not realising he was already inches close to you. you immediately froze, unsure of what to do next.

“you’re slacking off, i can’t make all these coffees on my own”  jaemin smirked, like he had many times before but this time, you couldn’t help but admire how handsome he was up close.

“i- well uh, yeah sorry” you stuttered, pulling away from the boy. jaemin just sighed, he didn’t understand why it was so hard to talk to you. he wanted to get close to you, possibly even ask you out, but your repeated attempts to ignore him during your shifts together had deflated his confidence. you caught yourself glancing over at him multiple times during work, watching how he interacted so kindly with customers and somehow always kept his composure when being lectured by doyoung.

you were about to close up, making sure to double check that the bathrooms were clean. as you made your way back to the counter, you caught jaemin in the act. he was reading from your notebook. the one you thought you had lost. he didn’t see you approaching, making it an even better bust.

“AHA! i knew it! you read my book” you exclaimed, catching the boy off guard, causing him to fall into his butt. you couldn’t help but laugh at his exaggerated reaction, before helping him from behind the counter.

“it’s not what it looks like” he just sighs, knowing he had already been caught.

“oh really? cause it looks like you were reading my book, and have possibly been following every single piece of advice in it” you continued to tease, a bright smile plastered on your face. jaemin couldn’t help but crack a smile back at you, nodding in defeat.

“yes okay, i read your book. it helped a lot! is that what you wanna hear?” jaemin could feel the redness flush his cheeks and the tops of his ears. you couldn’t help but gush over how hilarious the situation was.

“and here i was, thinking you were a barista prodigy! well na jaemin, you just got schooled!” you started getting up in his face, watching as the taller boy just shook his head at your incredibly quirky antics. he found you adorable, not that he would admit it anytime soon.

from that day onwards, you and jaemin bickered less. of course you’d still poke fun at him now and then for initially taking your book, but it was all fun and games.

“y/n look!” you heard him call, as you were both closing up that night. jaemin had smeared on a foam moustache on his face, attempting to make you laugh. you just threw a dirty towel at him, rolling your eyes at us childish antics.

“god you’re such a loser” you smile softly, removing your apron. jaemin wipes off the foam, placing the towel away, before removing his own apron.

“you know, i think that all this teasing from you, is really a way for you to hide how much you like me” his words made you freeze. you didn’t want to face him. you weren’t sure if he was kidding or not, so you opted to just crack another witty comment, to avoid any more awkwardness.

“in your dreams, i do it because you’re just easy to make fun of. it’s what friends do” you shrug, looking over at the blue haired boy. you were expecting atleast a small smile to come from jaemin, but instead, he had an unreadable expression. he approached you slowly, causing you to shuffle backwards, your back now pressing against one of the cupboards behind the counter. jaemin places his right hand next to your head, leaning closer to you. you felt your breath hitch as he stared into your eyes. jaemin didn’t want to keep beating around the bush, he needed to know how you felt, and soon.

“ so you’re telling me, we are just friends?” he mumbles, quiet enough for only you to hear. you could practically feel him begging for you to deny it, but your heart wasn’t sure if you were completely in it. of course you found jaemin attractive, who wouldn’t? but to be in a relationship or even start something more than a friendship, with anyone was a huge step for you. you had never had a boyfriend before, and watching your friends experience immense heartbreaks in the past, made you unsure of your own experiences.

“y-yeah jaemin, we’re just friends” you whisper, watching as jaemin’s face softens. you didn’t know if he was upset, hurt, or both. but you knew something was off. jaemin just nodded, packing up his things.

“have a nice night, y/n” jaemin gave you a small wave before exiting the coffee shop. you felt your heart tighten, what the hell was he doing to you?

//

“y/n, i’m your best friend and all, but you’re an idiot. jaemin clearly likes you and you have just ruined your chances!” lia sighs, comforting you the next day. you just nod, knowing everything she said was true.

“i know i messed up. i just don’t want to get his hopes up if i’m a shit girlfriend or something” you worry, unsure whether you could really show jaemin the appreciation as love he deserved.

“stop being so afraid! don’t stay sheltered! if you like him, you should tell him. you deserve to be in a happy relationship, never doubt that” lia pulls you in for a long hug and you begin t think about what you wanted to say to jaemin, the next time you saw him. you knew she was right. if you didn��t confess soon, it would eat at you inside about what could have been. it was time to take a chance.

//

at your next shift at the coffee shop, jaemin came in late. he apologised to doyoung who didn’t mind, as today was fairly slow. he would usually shoot a witty comment at you before he started making drinks, but today he just gave you a small smile without a single word. your heart clenched at how he was acting. but you knew exactly why he was doing it. you wanted to wait until closing time, to properly talk with jaemin. but you couldn’t help but notice how down he looked whilst he was serving customers. it really must have affected him a lot. you tried to talk to him during your shift, standing next to him as he was making a drink.

“h-hey, how are you?” you tried to start, watching as jaemin halts his movements. he turned his head to face you, the expression was unreadable. jaemin knew he was being petty for giving you the cold shoulder. it wasn’t like he could have forced you to like him back, especially since he hadn’t properly right out confessed to you.

“i-i’m alright, and you?” he tried to act as normal and nonchalant as possible.

“i’m okay i guess” you mumble, unsure of how to continue. you were thankful that jaemin had to serve more customers, cutting your conversation short.

you waited for the clock to strike 9:30pm, as it was time to start closing up. doyoung tossed you the keys before he finished his shift earlier that day, leaving both you and jaemin to pack up together. jaemin had finished cleaning the bathrooms and all the tables as you worked on the countertops and back area. you made eye contact with him from across the room. he looked so solemn, as if he would rather be anywhere else but here with you. you sighed to yourself, knowing what was on his mind. you approached the blue haired boy slowly. he watched your every move, his heart beat increasing with every step you took.

“i lied” you blurt out as his eyes furrowed, confused at your words.

“when you asked me if i thought we were just friends. i lied. i don’t think of you as just a friend, jaemin. i-i think of you as something more” you avoid his eyes, watching as he sets down the dirty towels onto the nearest table. he pulls your chin up with his fingers, making sure you were looking at him directly.

“why didn’t you just say so?” he had that cocky smirk on again, which would have drove you nuts before, but now you found really attractive.

“i was in denial, okay? i didn’t know if you really liked me back or not and i guess i was just scared about what to do next” you admitted, as jaemin’s lips formed a small pout.

“you drive me crazy” jaemin smiled, cupping the side of your face with his left hand, softly caressing your cheek with his thumb.

“well so do you” you mumbled while blushing.

“just so you can hear me say it, i like you too. kinda have been trying to drop hints. you’re completely oblivious” he playfully teased, causing you to give him a small shove. you couldn’t help but smile at him as he pulled your face closer to his with both his hands on your cheeks. you move your hands to wrap around his neck, watching as his smile widened.

“bold move there” he muttered, lips brushing briefly over yours.

“can you just kiss me already?” you whine, which made jaemin’s heart burst. he nodded eagerly before connecting your lips with his. he moved one hand to grab your waist and the other was left caressing your cheek. you couldn’t believe you were kissing the same guy who stole your cookies months ago.

jaemin suddenly pulls away, mumbling,

“i knew you’d fall for me, i mean i am a catch”

“you really know how to ruin a moment don’t you?” you pull away from his completely, letting his take his hand in yours.

“yeah but we have a lot of time to have more moments, won’t we?” jaemin pulls you to his side,

“we sure will” you smile up at him, leaning in for another kiss when you were interrupted by a familiar voice,

“i freaking knew it! you two better not do this lovey dovey stuff during your shift otherwise i’m firing one of you” doyoung warmed as you both burst into laughter.

you didn’t know what you were getting yourself into with jaemin. but that was the thrill of it all. he was constantly surprising you with new things about himself. you completely adored him, as he did with you. you realised it was okay to let yourself be vulnerable, you never know what you could get out of it.

a/n: ahhh i loved writing this one! let me know if there were any mistakes! x 

[doomedandstoned]

Scarecrow Ups the Wow Factor with Frenetic, Bluesy ‘II’

~Doomed & Stoned Debuts~

By Billy Goate

Album art by Igor Odincov

The last time we encountered Russian doom-rockers extraordinaire SCARECROW, they'd just wowed us all by appearing from out of nowhere with a self-titled full-length year before last, which grabbed a foothold on the Doom Charts, premiering at no. 9 and held on tight. Subsequently, they contributed "Madman" to the breakthrough overview of the contemporary Russian heavy music scene, Doomed & Stoned in Russia (Volume 1), which came out earlier in 2021 and is slated for a sequel next month.

In October, the mighty Scarecrow once again spreads its wings over the planet, as the soulful three-piece -- raised in the region of snow leopards and Amur tigers -- takes flight with eight new songs nestled in the inauspiciously titled LP, 'II' (2021). Fans will be elated when they hear just how contagious the vibe of the new record is. If you're a newcomer to their sound, don't worry! You could start here and work your way back to Scarecrow's eponymous debut and lose none of the impact. The first two singles alone are a marvelous introduction to the band's groovy balance of powerful Ozzyesque vocals with proto-metal blues, all situated in a monster retrofitted sound machine of doom. Their bio says it best:

Instead of forming in post-war England like the first wave of British heavy rock, Scarecrow’s members grew up in the hopeless chaos of 1990s Russia. Their new album II uses those experiences to transport listeners to wastelands of earth and mind. Like their contemporaries in Graveyard, Uncle Acid, and Witchcraft, Scarecrow imbues proto-metal and classic rock with dusky occult doom and heavy electric blues.

It is said that Scarecrow could pass as one of the heaviest bands of 1969. Nay, I say heavier still. Think Sir Lord Baltimore or better still, the big dogs themselves, Led Zeppelin. What if Sabbath came first, then Zep hatched from that egg? Now you're coming closer to conceptualizing the stylistic proclivities of Scarecrow. But you shouldn't stop by drawing vintage parallels, for the music on II continues to surprise us as the record spins along. Dig the epic wall of sound that opens "The Moors," shifting us back to the realm of Candlemass following several up-tempo hard rock footstompers. We find ourselves falling into a psychedelic timewarp between past, present, and the uncertain future.

There's a whole lot of "wow" on II, for sure. Throughout the record, frontman Artyom "Artimus" Nikitins expresses a vocal range that is nothing shy of impressive, reaching high notes effortlessly and with power to boot (see: "Blizzard"). You get the sense that he might even be holding back on some more "umph," but he's doubtless holding that back for just the right occasion. Artimus gives us some background on how Scarecrow's disparate influences fuse with the band's own songwriting proclivities and creative hunches.

"I would refer to predominantly English classical rock bands - Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, Budgie, Leaf Hound, Steel Mill, Black Widow etc. I can go on forever. They are very close to us in spirit, because they were all ordinary guys from the provincial cities of England destroyed by the bombing. When they started their journey, they did not believe that they would become great, and did not hope for it. They just did the best they could, despite the circumstances and the hostile environment surrounding them. And this is what makes us related to them."

"Frenzied stubbornness against the background of a complete lack of hope for the best is the same fuel on which we grew up. And this is what is very well heard in our music. You know, I'm sure - the audience will not be fooled. It's one thing when you compose your music in the sampler on a brand new MacBook, between eating a muffin and drinking a smoothie in a trendy corner restaurant, and quite another thing when you are on sleepless dank nights, when 30 outside the window, sitting in your tiny room and torment your a cheap instrument, grinding riffs and passages hunched over the notes, trying to create something really worthwhile, turning your soul inside out, pouring out all your pain, fear, anxiety, despair, hopelessness, anger and hatred through your music. Only then do you get the right to sing about love, faith and hope. Only then does the music become "honest." And this essence is always heard.

Look for the new album 'II' (2021) to drop October 22nd on Wise Blood Records (pre-order here), which will also be reissuing 'Scarecrow' (2019). A must-spin for fans of Black Sabbath, Early Man, Purple Hill Witch, Goatsnake, and Electric Citizen (to name a just a few bands top-of mind) and a welcome companion to such genre-defying bands as Mr. Bungle and Boss Keloid. II will knock a lot of folks right off their high horses. Must-listen fare to break through the haze and apathy of pandemic delirium. And because we love you so much, Doomers & Stoners, we're giving you a first listen to the new single, "Magic Flower," which Doomed & Stoned is premiering today!

Give ear...

Scarecrow II by Scarecrow

Some Buzz

The Russian city of Perm is surrounded by impenetrable forests, cold swamps, and the ruins of prison labor camps. The region has a bloody history of close supervision and surveillance that started during the second World War. While the members of doom rockers Scarecrow grew up in the ‘90s, they acknowledge a “haunted prison mentality” endures in Perm to this day.

“[The ‘90s are] associated with widespread lawlessness, the dominance of crime, widespread poverty and lack of confidence in the future,” shares Scarecrow vocalist Artemis. “The country was simply divided among themselves by numerous criminal groups. The corruption in the government was monstrous, people were literally robbed and killed right on the streets, and wars were constantly going on in the periphery. The ‘90s ended long ago, but their traces do not disappear anywhere to this day. Of course, the generation that grew up in such conditions was doomed.”

While Scarecrow are part of that doomed generation, their music feels like it was pulled from the age of unrest in the late 1960s and early ‘70s. Picture Led Zeppelin if they had a doom phase, or if Leaf Hound got into occult rock and Black Sabbath instead of shrooms. Contemporary bands like Graveyard, Uncle Acid and the Deadbeats, and Witchcraft have explored their own versions of heavy and haunted electric blues. Scarecrow embodies the first wave of English heavy rock, and their new record sounds like one of the heaviest albums of 1969.

“[English proto-metal] is very close to us in spirit, because they were all ordinary guys from the provincial cities of England destroyed by the bombing,” Artemis explains. “When they started their journey, they did not believe that they would become great, and did not hope for it. They just did the best they could, despite the circumstances and the hostile environment surrounding them.”

Scarecrow II by Scarecrow

Scarecrow’s second full length—simply titled II—elevates the band’s skill and songwriting even beyond their impressive 2019 debut. The songs are familiar but fresh. Artemis wails with power and purpose. The riffs conjure treacherous weather but can radiate warmth at will. Scarecrow’s rock ‘n’ roll majesty indulges excess without losing compositional strength. The epic scale of II begins with the rumble of waves and leads the listener on a journey to wastelands of earth and mind while ruminating on the motif of time.

“[Time] does not just flow away from us like water,” Artemis writes, “it crushes us like ocean waves crash ships.”

Scarecrow’s doom rock will lure you to the ocean when Wise Blood Records releases II digitally and on Digipak CD within the United States on October 22nd. Scarecrow’s debut will also finally be available in the states. Make time and listen to Scarecrow summon the sunset.

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[gnar-slabdash]

01.01: The Nigerian Job - Nate

Okay so the deal is I could NOT get my comments on this episode down to a single post so I’m going to make a post for each character. We’re gonna start with bae and you are forewarned that it is gonna be a lot of swooning. But before we get to the swooning, I have some QUESTIONS:

1. What was happening before the first scene?  a) Was he actually going to be on a plane? Where to? Where from? Why is he in a hotel? b) Why also is he pouring one alcohol into another alcohol, I mean I love it, but why? He’s at a bar he could just ask them to put two alcohols together, its literally their job. 

2. I wanna know what’s up with how impatient he is after the first job while the files are uploading, after being very cool and very invested so far. Conscience catching up? Exhausted and too long without a drink? I don’t know but I love how awful he looks all hunched over and anxious to get back to his bed and his bottle. Also I can just feel the early morning up too late sniffly  cold in this scene it’s so well shot.

3. Anybody know enough about guns to tell me if the safety was really on?

4. When they’re in the hospital, all of a sudden Nate is out of the cuffs and eliot isn’t? Did I MISS a shot or did he just DO that casually offscreen? Because that would be incredibly awesome. 

5. I know this is just for the dramatic irony later on, but it bothers me so much that supposedly “everybody knows” the deets about Sam and IYS . . . . . EXCEPT, as we later find out, M A G G I E????? HOW????? I understand the WHY, but not the HOW, if literally everyone else knows, from friends at work to every art thief in the world.

6. I know it makes sense logistically since he’s usually doing the behind the scenes stuff so he’s usually available when they need a quick getaway, but on a “let’s not die” level, whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy do they always let Nate be the getaway driver holy crap we literally KNOW he drinks and drives. 

7. Is anyone else always bothered that in the last scene, in the middle of everything that is so perfect about it, he’s sitting in a chair that looks just slightly too big for him?

Okay, that’s all my Questions, now it’s time for Things That Are Amazing And Sexy:

- Nate being a jackass

- that dark button up over white undershirt -- who was it that pointed out how it imitates priest’s vestments? Whoever you are you’re a genius and I’ve been thinking about it ever since.

- how fast he transitions from “punch you in the neck” to just a totally reasonable analysis of the situation once he gets interested.

- that their HQ tech in this episode is a fucking projecter and call center headset, in contrast to what they have once they find out just how goo Hardison is.

- the stubble, hi yes can I get more stubble forever.

- that amidst his vast array of knowledge Nate also has knowledge like “it’s the playoffs.” Idk, I don’t like sports at all but for some reason I like that there’s part of him that’s a normal enough dude to like sports. 

- oh no he does the steepled fingers thing thanks I didn’t need my underwear anyway.

- my favorite, the morning after shot: totally bare hotel room, three empty hotel liquor bottles, still dressed and on top of the covers, and that’s it, like, you can just see how completely exhausted he was and how nice it was to be able to come in and drink those and just pass out immediately. And then Dubinich has to go and ruin everything by yelling at the poor hungover sleepy boy. 

- the fact that Nate suggests GOING TO DUBINICH’S OFFICE, he must REALLY have not been awake yet, can you imagine Nate showing up at Dubenich’s nice clean office looking the way he looks in this scene to “straighten out” their CRIME DEAL it’s such a good picture.

- Obviously Eliot could have taken Hardison’s gun in some super smooth way but instead Nate just fucking yoinks it like “You have got to be kidding me, you’re gonna shoot your eye out.”

- there’s such great character hints in how they all hold the guns, Nate straight and matter of fact not trying to prove anything but knows what he’s doing, Hardison fancy and useless, Parker looks like she COULD use it but that’s not her main goal her main goal is to be cool and craaaazy

- and then Nate has like a fuckin velociraptor moment with his crazy daughter to get her to put the gun down lmao

- Swooshy cooooooat! - Nate opening the garage door, making sure they get out safe before him -- he feels responsible, he’s playing dad even as he tries to separate himself from them -- he owes them nothing really and he’s still taking charge and risking himself to save them. @ everyone who says nate doesn’t have actual caring emotions, that’s some bullshit.

- god his eyes are pretty

- his reactions in the hospital, first waking up to instant panic, then just moving straight to “well fuck it’s just one thing after another huh.” Look how awful he looks and he’s still immediately seeing what they don’t and pulling their strengths together, this is a much better example of what he’s capable of than the dumb lines in the beginning that were supposed to tell us he was smart.

- the beautiful ultimate irony that Dubinich’s fake story not only got the crew together but also gave them their whole modus operandus, they just take the lie he gave them of stealing things to help people and then they actually do it.

- I’m never, ever gonna get over the fuckin “balls tied to the stock market” line

- Nate smashing the car windows. So hot. Also MAN that must be therapeutic, lmao he looks so satisfied at the end

[spnwatch]

Season 2: The Rankings

Whew. Oh boy.

They were still puttering about in season 1 to an extent. But now? Now they’ve really hit their stride. This season was a veritable chocolate box of delights and I ate my way through it. The overall myth arc was kind of nonsensical, but that emotional throughline? Christ. Spn buries SO MUCH emotional complexity into its leads, and they cashed in every cent in that two part finale. It packs one hell of a punch. And yeah, okay, I knew the broad strokes, the twists and turns. It’s hard not to be spoilered for a season of tv that aired over a decade ago. But reader! It mattered not!! I. Still. Wept. That’s when you know it’s the good kush.  1.) 2x12: NIGHTSHIFTER. This one just snagged the top spot by merit of its sheer ambition. Supernatural often feels like a very empty universe to me, just two guys and one car drifting from place to place. Which is fine, it makes for compelling TV, but they totally flipped the script here and this episode really dazzles precisely because of that contrast. It’s a huge, cinematic episode, a metropolitan setting full of uncontrollable elements, and it’s great to see Sam and Dean so profoundly vulnerable. The outside world is pressing up against the windows. They have sniper dots trained on them! They are, literally and figuratively, out of their depth! We’re not in Kansas any more, baby. God, I haven’t even mentioned the supporting characters. The entire mandroid rant deserves an Emmy. Victor Henrickson’s entrance! Heist movie antics! Agh!  10/10  

2.) 2x07: THE USUAL SUSPECTS. Again this episode was a cut above precisely because it showed us what the brothers look like from the outside: sketchy as all hell. It’s so good when reality ensures, because it’s great to be reminded they lead objectively insane lives! Through Linda Blair’s eyes we get to see just how unknowable, feral and amoral they appear to the eyes of polite society. Put under a microscope like this, they’re scary guys! They’re just not socialised like normal people. They don’t really care about being arrested, or about the felonies. Getting arrested is an irritant above everything else. They’re still working the case from the inside. They’re professionals; excellent liars, and totally in sync with each other. The handwritten notes they pass, like delinquent school kids! A delight! The thrill lies in watching Blair slowly unwrap their strange logic, and unravel the mystery of both the brothers and the ghost. Ugh, what a great perspective shift. I’m 100% here for it. 10/10 

 3.) 2x09: CROATOAN. Ugh, this setting. Small Town Gothic, complete with eerie mist, hostile locals and creepy Stepford vibes. Sam really shone in this episode. He’s so soothing and giant, and it made his suffering at the end all the more devastaing. The real reason this episode ranks so highly is their conversation in the surgery. It just killed me. Dean’s sheer, bone-deep exhaustion, his admission that he’s tired of the life. Sam’s despair, because he knows Dean won’t leave. The performances were so steller. I can’t even really think too deeply about it because it makes me too crazy. 10/10  

 4.) 2x21: ALL HELL BREAKS LOOSE: PART ONE. I loved this finale so much more than the finale in Season 1, LOL. It might just be because I’m more invested now, who knows. The opening of this episode is a piece of art: Boston playing on the car stereo, the rain, the small cafe, the lighting. Gorgeous. I love when they have to interact with ordinary people! It adds so much: texture, humour, personality! It draws things out of Sam and Dean that we just don’t see when they have each other to bounce off of. It was so good to see Ava and Andy again. “I just woke up in freakin’ Frontierland!” The gang’s all here, folks! This episode would rank higher, but recieves minus points for the long boring speech the demon gives Sam, and killing off the first gay in the show 0.2 seconds after her introduction. Anyway. The ending of course unzipped me; Dean cradling Sam’s dead body, muttering “It’s okay, it’s not even that bad.” The elation of their reunion, so devastaingly cut short! Sam, twenty two years old, bleeding out in the mud. The sheer, hopelessness of it all. The horror. My notes for the end of the episode simply read: “Dean oh Christ. Oh my God. Oh no.” It’s just one of those scenes that stay with you long after the credits start rolling. 9/10   

5.) 2x20: WHAT IS AND WHAT SHOULD NEVER BE. I never thought I could be so profoundly upset by watching a man happily mowing a lawn. Dean’s trauma over the loss of his mother has undercut the whole show up until this point, and here it bursts to the fore. What really got me was the simplicity of it all. Just a sit-down dinner, an engagement. A beer on the porch. Fuck, he deserves it. He deserves everything. All the performances were great, they really served to show there’s a whole life in these AU characters. The fact it wasn’t all perfect was bizarrely more devastating. AU Sam’s weird straight hair and dorky jacket sealed the deal for me, as did his baffled terror in the warehouse. But even here, with no training and no idea what’s happening, he gets into the Impala! Because that’s his brother! Because I’m a huge baby I had to remove points because of how upsetting I found Sam’s quiet hostility towards Dean, HA. But that’s really just a testament to how well-realised their dynamic has become by the second season. 9/10  

 6.) 2x15: TALL TALES. Every single thing Sam does in any of Dean’s memories. Also alien slowdance set to “Lady in Red.” Also Bobby breaking them up like they’re petulant children. Gold, all of it gold. 9/10 

 7.)  2x11: PLAYTHINGS. So I’m a slut for a cool setting, obviously. Turns out, Supernatural did The Haunting of Bly Manor fifteen years ago. The swimming pool! The attic! Creepy dolls! The weird little playground! This episode has it all! I loved the saga between the ghost sister and the old lady, which would honestly make a killer movie in its own right. But I’m digressing. The main star of this episode was, of course, Dean’s profound and escalating sexual insecurities. “Well, you are kinda butch. People probably think you’re overcompensating.” FATALITY. I would’ve placed this one higher but the weird incestuous undertones kinda squicked me out... however, I did think we were meant to be creeped out by it, which is more than I can say for some other uh. Instances. It was, after all, beautifully paralelled at the end with the two sisters reuniting in death. “I can’t leave here, and you can’t leave me.” SHUDDER. Also, honestly, can Sam have one (1) breakdown on his own without Dean’s own emotional baggage taking over? Older siblings, smh. 9/10

8.) 2x22: ALL HELL BREAKS LOOSE: PART TWO. This one ranks lower than part one purely because I thought the yellow-eyed demon’s overall plot was kinda nonsensical, and I cared not for John’s weird deux ex machina moment. Like do you expect me to feel sorry for that bitch? I don’t! Anyway, that being said, let’s move on to Dean’s eyes in the junkyard when Bobby asks him, “do you have that low an opinion of yourself?” They’re so flat. So dead, like a shark’s. He doesn’t need to say anything back, because it’s all over his face. That non-expression says it all. This is the culmination of the emotional arc that began with his savage beatdown of the Impala in episode 2x02. To call it survivor’s guilt wouldn’t even begin to cover what Dean goes through this episode. It’s all in Ackles’ performance; in the the way he yells, “What am I supposed to do now, Sammy?” The complete claustrophobia of it all. There’s nothing for it but to make the deal. Dean’s been moving inexorably towards this moment for the entire season. 9/10   

 9.) 2x13: HOUSES OF THE HOLY. What a kooky little episode! Magic fingers! Sam’s costcutter seance purchases! The scooby-doo placemat he uses as a makeshift altar! I love him, your honour. Obviously this episode has a lot of *~dramatic irony~* in it because of the later seasons, but it stands alone as a total banger. I was so gutted for Sam when the "angel” was revealed. So many good little Sam moments to be found in this episode. His soft, quiet little revelation that he prays every day. His awkward, earnest explanation to the horrified priest! Dean gets some great moments chasing down the would-be rapist down those dark, snow-covered streets. His speech to Sam where he explains his lack of belief is brief, but it’s a total gut punch. Rounding it off with Knockin on Heaven’s Door was just the cherry on top. 9/10 

 10.) 2x14: BORN UNDER A BAD SIGN. Ahaha I love the way Dean acts whenever Sam’s psychic powers come up. He treats him like a rebellious teen, it’s so funny. “What’s going on with you, Sam? Smokin’, drinkin’?” As if Sam’s behaviour was a) at all under his control or b) anything Dean wouldn’t HIMSELF do. Dean’s just like, this isn’t how I raised you! Truly hysterical. The whole sequence between Meg!Sam and Jo was fantastic and horrible. Sam’s huge physique is never threatening, but it really was in that moment. The interplay between them was totally spine-tingling. Meg’s impression Sam slowly crumbling away over the course of the episode was so compelling and I’m sure it will be a really fun rewatch now I know the *twist*. 9/10  

Favourite lines this season: 

The way Sam says “black cat’s bone” in 2x08

“You’re not gonna go kill somebody because a ghost told you to, are you insane?!” - Dean, 2x13

“Dean, this is a very serious investigation, we don’t have time for your blah blah blah blah.” - Sam (according to Dean), 2x15

“I’m fine, except for every single thing that’s happening.” - Ava, 2x21